“She spake, and I replied: ‘O goddess, deign To tell me truly, cannot I at once Escape Charybdis and defend my friends Against the rage of Scylla when she strikes?’
“I spake; the mighty goddess answered me:— ‘Rash man! dost thou still think of warlike deeds, And feats of strength? And wilt thou not give way Even to the deathless gods? That pest is not Of mortal mould; she cannot die, she is A thing to tremble and to shudder at, And fierce, and never to be overcome. There is no room for courage; flight is best. And if thou shouldst delay beside the rock To take up arms, I fear lest once again She fall on thee with all her heads, and seize As many men. Pass by the monster’s haunt With all the speed that thou canst make, and call Upon Crataeis, who brought Scylla forth To be the plague of men, and who will calm Her rage, that she assault thee not again.
“ ‘Then in thy voyage shalt thou reach the isle Trinacria, where, in pastures of the Sun, His many beeves and fading sheep are fed— Seven herds of oxen, and as many flocks Of sheep, and fifty in each flock and herd. They never multiply; they never die. Two shepherdesses tend them, goddesses, Nymphs with redundant locks—Lampelia one, The other Phaëthusa. These the nymph Naeëra to the overgoing Sun Brought forth, and when their queenly mother’s care Had reared them, she appointed them to dwell In far Trinacria, there to keep the flocks And oxen of their father. If thy thoughts Be fixed on thy return, so that thou leave These flocks and herds unharmed, ye all will come To Ithaca, though after many toils. But if thou rashly harm them, I foretell Destruction to thy ship and all its crew; And if thyself escape, thou wilt return Late and in sorrow, all thy comrades lost.’
“She spake; the Morning on her golden throne Looked forth; the glorious goddess went her way Into the isle, I to my ship, and bade The men embark and cast the hawsers loose. And straight they went on board, and duly manned The benches, smiting as they sat with oars The