“Yes! now I call to mind the ancient words Of prophecy—my father’s—who was wont To say that Neptune sorely is displeased That we should give to every man who comes Safe escort to his home. In coming times— Such was my father’s prophecy—the god Would yet destroy a well-appointed barque Of the Phaeacians on the misty deep Returning from an escort, and would cause A lofty mount to stand before our town. So prophesied the aged man; his words Are here fulfilled. Now do as I appoint, And let us all obey. Henceforth refrain From bearing to their homes the strangers thrown Upon our coast; and let us sacrifice To Neptune twelve choice bullocks of the herd, That he may pity us, nor hide our town With a huge mountain from the sight of men.”
He spake, and they were awed and straightway brought The bullocks for the sacrifice. So prayed To sovereign Neptune the Phaeacian chiefs And princes, standing round the altar-fires.
Now woke the great Ulysses from his sleep In his own land, and yet he knew it not. Long had he been away, and Pallas now, The goddess-child of Jove, had cast a mist Around him, that he might not yet be known To others, and that she might tell him first What he should learn; nor even might his wife, Nor friends, nor people, know of his return, Ere he avenged upon the suitor crew His wrongs, and therefore all things wore to him Another look—the footways stretching far, The bights where ships were moored, the towering rocks, And spreading trees. He rose and stood upright, And gazed upon his native coast and wept, And smote his thigh, and said in bitter grief:—
“Ah me! what region am I in, among What people? lawless, cruel, and unjust? Or are they hospitable men, who fear The gods? And where shall I bestow these goods, And whither go myself? Would that they all Were still with the Phaeacians, and that I Had found some other great and mighty king Kindly to welcome me, and send me back To my own land. I know not where to place These treasures, and I must not leave them