Page:The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer (IA iliadodysseyofho02home).pdf/239

Book X. The palace of the sorceress, a God Met me, the bearer of the golden wand, Hermes. He seem'd a stripling in his prime, His cheeks cloath'd only with their earliest down, For youth is then most graceful; fast he lock'd His hand in mine, and thus, familiar, spake. Unhappy! whither, wand'ring o'er the hills, Stranger to all this region, and alone, Go'st thou? Thy people—they within the walls Are shut of Circe, where as swine close-pent She keeps them. Comest thou to set them free? I tell thee, never wilt thou thence return Thyself, but wilt be prison'd with the rest. Yet hearken—I will disappoint her wiles, And will preserve thee. Take this precious drug; Possessing this, enter the Goddess' house Boldly, for it shall save thy life from harm. Lo! I reveal to thee the cruel arts Of Circe; learn them. She will mix for thee A potion, and will also drug thy food With noxious herbs; but she shall not prevail By all her pow'r to change thee; for the force Superior of this noble plant, my gift, Shall baffle her. Hear still what I advise. When she shall smite thee with her slender rod, With faulchion drawn and with death-threat'ning looks Rush on her; she will bid thee to her bed Affrighted; then beware. Decline not thou