“Farewell, O queen, through the long years, till age And death, which are the lot of all, shall come. Now I depart, but mayst thou, here among Thy people, and the children of thy love, And King Alcinoüs, lead a happy life!”
So spake the highborn chieftain, and withdrew, And crossed the threshold. King Alcinoüs sent A herald with him to direct his way To the fleet ship and border of the deep. Aretè also sent her servant-maids— One bearing a fresh cloak and tunic, one A coffer nobly wrought, and yet a third Bread and red wine; and when they reached the ship Beside the sea, the diligent crew received Their burdens, and bestowed within the hold The food and drink, but spread upon the deck And at the stern a mat and linen sheet, That there Ulysses undisturbed might sleep. He went on board and silently lay down, While all the rowers in due order took Their seats upon the benches. Loosing first The hawser from the perforated rock, They bent them to their task, and flung the brine Up from the oar, while on the chieftain’s lids Lighted a sweet and deep and quiet sleep, Most like to death. As, smitten by the lash, Four harnessed stallions spring on high and dart Across the plain together; so the prow Rose leaping forward, while behind it rolled A huge dark billow of the roaring sea. Safely and steadily the galley ran, Nor could a falcon, swiftest of the birds, Have kept beside it, with such speed it flew, Bearing a hero who was like the gods In wisdom, and whose sufferings in the wars And voyages among the furious waves Were great and many, though he slumbered now In peace, forgetful of misfortunes past.
Now when that brightest star, the harbinger Of Morning, daughter of the Dawn, arose, The barque had passed the sea, and reached the isle.
A port there is in Ithaca, the haunt Of Phorcys, Ancient of the Sea. Steep shores Stretch inward toward each other, and roll back The mighty surges which the hoarse winds hurl Against them from the ocean, while within Ships ride without their hawsers when they once Have passed the