No More Learning

He spake, they, terrified, the bulls prepared.
Thus all Phaeacia's Senators and Chiefs 220
His altar compassing, in pray'r adored
The Ocean's God. Meantime, Ulysses woke,
Unconscious where; stretch'd on his native soil
He lay, and knew it not, long-time exiled.
For Pallas, progeny of Jove, a cloud
Drew dense around him, that, ere yet agnized
By others, he might wisdom learn from her,
Neither to citizens, nor yet to friends
Reveal'd, nor even to his own espoused,
Till, first, he should avenge complete his wrongs 230
Domestic from those suitors proud sustained.
All objects, therefore, in the Hero's eyes
Seem'd alien, foot-paths long, commodious ports,
Heav'n-climbing rocks, and trees of amplest growth.
Arising, fixt he stood, his native soil
Contemplating, till with expanded palms
Both thighs he smote, and, plaintive, thus began.
Ah me! what mortal race inhabits here?
Rude are they, contumacious and unjust,
Or hospitable, and who fear the Gods? 240
Where now shall I secrete these num'rous stores?
Where wander I, myself? I would that still
Phaeacians own'd them, and I had arrived
In the dominions of some other King
Magnanimous, who would have entertain'd
And sent me to my native home secure!
Now, neither know I where to place my wealth,
Nor can I leave it here, lest it become
Another's prey. Alas! Phaeacia's Chiefs
Not altogether wise I deem or just, 250
Who have misplaced me in another land,
Promis'd to bear me to the pleasant shores
Of Ithaca, but have not so perform'd.
Jove, guardian of the suppliant's rights, who all
Transgressors marks, and punishes all wrong,
Avenge me on the treach'rous race! --but hold--
I will revise my stores, so shall I know
If they have left me here of aught despoiled.
So saying, he number'd carefully the gold,
The vases, tripods bright, and tissued robes, 260
But nothing miss'd of all. Then he bewail'd
His native isle, with pensive steps and slow
Pacing the border of the billowy flood,
Forlorn; but while he wept, Pallas approach'd,
In form a shepherd stripling, girlish fair
In feature, such as are the sons of Kings;
A sumptuous mantle o'er his shoulders hung
Twice-folded, sandals his nice feet upbore,
And a smooth javelin glitter'd in his hand.
Ulysses, joyful at the sight, his steps 270
Turn'd brisk toward her, whom he thus address'd.
Sweet youth! since thee, of all mankind, I first
Encounter in this land unknown, all hail!
Come not with purposes of harm to me!
These save, and save me also. I prefer
To thee, as to some God, my pray'r, and clasp
Thy knees a suppliant. Say, and tell me true,
What land? what people? who inhabit here?
Is this some isle delightful, or a shore
Of fruitful main-land sloping to the sea? 280
Then Pallas, thus, Goddess caerulean-eyed.
Stranger!