He spoke: the river stayed his current, checked The billows, smoothed them to a calm, and gave The swimmer a safe landing at his mouth. Then dropped his knees and sinewy arms at once, Unstrung, for faint with struggling was his heart. His body was all swol’n; the brine gushed forth From mouth and nostrils; all unnerved he lay, Breathless and speechless; utter weariness O’ermastered him. But when he breathed again, And his flown senses had returned, he loosed The veil that Ino gave him from his breast, And to the salt flood cast it. A great wave Bore it far down the stream; the goddess there In her own hands received it. He, meanwhile, Withdrawing from the brink, lay down among The reeds, and kissed the harvest-bearing earth, And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said:—
“Ah me! what must I suffer more? what yet Will happen to me? If by the river’s side I pass the unfriendly watches of the night, The cruel cold and dews that steep the bank May, in this weakness, end me utterly, For chilly blows this river-air at dawn; But should I climb this hill, to sleep within The shadowy wood, among thick shrubs, if cold And weariness allow me, then I fear, That, while the pleasant slumbers o’er me steal, I may become the prey of savage beasts.”
Yet, as he longer pondered, this seemed best. He rose, and sought the wood, and found it near The water, on a height, o’erlooking far The region round. Between two shrubs that sprang Both from one spot he entered—olive-trees, One wild, one fruitful. The damp-blowing wind Ne’er pierced their covert; never blazing sun Darted his beams within, nor pelting shower Beat through, so closely intertwined they grew. Here entering, Ulysses heaped a bed Of leaves with his own hands; he made it broad And high, for thick the leaves had fallen around. Two men and three, in that abundant store, Might bide the winter storm, though keen the cold. Ulysses, the great sufferer, on his couch Looked and rejoiced,