wave rolled by, And so escaped its fury. Back it came, And smote him once again, and flung him far Seaward. As to the claws of Polypus, Plucked from its bed, the pebbles thickly cling, So flakes of skin, from off his powerful hands, Were left upon the rock. The mighty surge O’erwhelmed him; he had perished ere his time— Hapless Ulysses!—but the blue-eyed maid, Pallas, informed his mind with forecast. Straight Emerging from the wave that shoreward rolled, He swam along the coast and eyed it well, In hope of sloping beach or sheltered creek. But when, in swimming, he had reached the mouth Of a soft-flowing river, here appeared The spot he wished for, smooth, without a rock, And here was shelter from the wind. He felt The current’s flow, and thus devoutly prayed:—
“Hear me, O sovereign power, whoe’er thou art! To thee, the long-desired, I come. I seek Escape from Neptune’s threatenings on the sea. The deathless gods respect the prayer of him Who looks to them for help, a fugitive, As I am now, when to thy stream I come, And to thy knees, from many a hardship past. O thou that here art ruler, I declare Myself thy suppliant; be thou merciful.”