Me wishing home, angry at my neglect
To heap their altars with slain hecatombs.
For they exacted from us evermore
Strict rev’rence of their laws. There is an isle
Amid the billowy flood, Pharos by name,
In front of Ægypt, distant from her shore
Far as a vessel by a sprightly gale
Impell’d, may push her voyage in a day.
The haven there is good, and many a ship
Finds wat’ring there from riv’lets on the coast.
There me the Gods kept twenty days, no breeze
Propitious granting, that might sweep the waves,
And usher to her home the flying bark.
And now had our provision, all consumed,
Left us exhausted, but a certain nymph
Pitying saved me. Daughter fair was she
Of mighty Proteus, Antient of the Deep,
Idothea named; her most my sorrows moved;
She found me from my followers all apart
Wand’ring (for they around the isle, with hooks
The fishes snaring roamed, by famine urged)
And standing at my side, me thus bespake.
At least in intellect, or thy delight
Is in distress and mis’ry, who delay’st
To leave this island, and no egress hence
Canst find, although thy famish’d people faint.
I tell thee, whosoever of the Pow’rs
Divine thou art, that I am prison’d here
Not willingly, but must have, doubtless, sinn’d
Against the deathless tenants of the skies.
Yet say (for the Immortals all things know)
What God detains me, and my course forbids
Hence to my country o’er the fishy Deep?
Stranger! I will inform thee true. A seer
Oracular, the Antient of the Deep,
Immortal Proteus, the Ægyptian, haunts
These shores, familiar with all Ocean’s gulphs,
And Neptune’s subject. He is by report
My father; him if thou art table once
To seize and bind, he will prescribe the course
With all its measured distances, by which
Thou shalt regain secure thy native shores.
He will, moreover, at thy suit declare,
Thou favour’d of the skies! what good, what ill
Hath in thine house befall’n, while absent thou
Thy voyage difficult perform’st and long.
By what effectual bands I may secure
The antient Deity marine, lest, warn’d
Of my approach, he shun me and escape.
Hard task for mortal hands to bind a God!
I will inform thee true. Soon as the sun
Hath climb’d the middle heav’ns, the prophet old,
Emerging while the breezy zephyr blows,
And cover’d with the scum of ocean, seeks
His spacious cove, in which outstretch’d he lies.
The phocæ also, rising from the waves,
Offspring of beauteous Halosydna, sleep
Around him, num’rous, and the fishy scent
Exhaling rank of the unfathom’d flood.
Thither conducting thee at peep of day
I will dispose thee in some safe recess,
But from among thy followers thou shalt chuse
The bravest three in all thy gallant fleet.
And now the artifices understand
Of the old prophet of the sea. The sum
Of all his phocæ numb’ring duly first,
He will pass through them, and when all by fives
He counted hath, will in the midst repose
Content, as sleeps the shepherd with his flock.
When ye shall see him stretch’d, then call to mind
That moment all your prowess, and prevent,
Howe’er he strive impatient, his escape.
All changes trying, he will take the form
Of ev’ry reptile on the earth, will seem
A river now, and now devouring fire;
But hold him ye, and grasp him still the more.
And when himself shall question you, restored
To his own form in which ye found him first
Reposing, then from farther force abstain;
Then, Hero! loose the Antient of the Deep,
And ask him, of the Gods who checks thy course
Hence to thy country o’er the fishy flood.
I then, in various musings lost, my ships
Along the sea- beach station’d sought again,
And when I reach’d my galley on the shore
We supp’d, and sacred night falling from heav’n,
Slept all extended on the ocean-side.
But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,
Look’d rosy forth, pensive beside the shore
I walk’d of Ocean, frequent to the Gods
Praying devout, then chose the fittest three
For bold assault, and worthiest of my trust.
Meantime the Goddess from the bosom wide
Of Ocean rising, brought us thence four skins
Of phocæ, and all newly stript, a snare
Contriving subtle to deceive her Sire.
Four cradles in the sand she scoop’d, then sat
Expecting us, who in due time approach’d;
She lodg’d us side by side, and over each
A raw skin cast. Horrible to ourselves
Proved that disguise whom the pernicious scent
Of the sea-nourish’d phocæ sore annoy’d;
For who would lay him down at a whale’s side?
But she a potent remedy devised
Herself to save us, who the nostrils sooth’d
Of each with pure
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