Page:The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer (IA iliadodysseyofho02home).pdf/307

Book XIII. In the drill'd rock, and, resupine, at once With lusty strokes upturn'd the flashing waves. His eye-lids, soon, sleep, falling as a dew, Closed fast, death's simular, in sight the same. She, as four harness'd stallions o'er the plain Shooting together at the scourge's stroke, Toss high their manes, and rapid scour along, So mounted she the waves, while dark the flood Roll'd after her of the resounding Deep. Steady she ran and safe, passing in speed The falcon, swiftest of the fowls of heav'n; With such rapidity she cut the waves, An hero bearing like the Gods above In wisdom, one familiar long with woe In fight sustain'd, and on the perilous flood, Though sleeping now serenely, and resign'd To sweet oblivion of all sorrow past. The brightest star of heav'n, precursor chief Of day-spring, now arose, when at the isle (Her voyage soon perform'd) the bark arrived. There is a port sacred in Ithaca To Phorcys, hoary ancient of the Deep, Form'd by converging shores, prominent both And both abrupt, which from the spacious bay Exclude all boist'rous winds; within it, ships (The port once gain'd) uncabled ride secure. An olive, at the haven's head, expands Her branches wide, near to a pleasant cave