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She gave him, fitted to the grasp, an ax 280
Of iron, pond'rous, double-edg'd, with haft
Of olive-wood, inserted firm, and wrought
With curious art. Then, placing in his hand
A polish'd adze, she led, herself, the way
To her isles' utmost verge, where tallest trees
But dry long since and sapless stood, which best
Might serve his purposes, as buoyant most,
The alder, poplar, and cloud-piercing fir.
To that tall grove she led and left him there,
Seeking her grot again. Then slept not He, 290
But, swinging with both hands the ax, his task
Soon finish'd; trees full twenty to the ground
He cast, which, dext'rous, with his adze he smooth'd,
The knotted surface chipping by a line.
Meantime the lovely Goddess to his aid
Sharp augres brought, with which he bored the beams,
Then, side by side placing them, fitted each
To other, and with long cramps join'd them all.
Broad as an artist, skill'd in naval works,
The bottom of a ship of burthen spreads, 300
Such breadth Ulysses to his raft assign'd.
He deck'd her over with long planks, upborne
On massy beams; He made the mast, to which
He added suitable the yard;--he framed
Rudder and helm to regulate her course,
With wicker-work he border'd all her length
For safety, and much ballast stow'd within.
Meantime, Calypso brought him for a sail
Fittest materials, which he also shaped,
And to his sail due furniture annex'd 310
Of cordage strong, foot-ropes, and ropes aloft,
Then heav'd her down with levers to the Deep.
He finish'd all his work on the fourth day,
And on the fifth, Calypso, nymph divine,
Dismiss'd him from her isle, but laved him first,
And cloath'd him in sweet-scented garments new.
Two skins the Goddess also placed on board,
One charg'd with crimson wine, and ampler one
With water, nor a bag with food replete
Forgot, nutritious, grateful to the taste, 320
Nor yet, her latest gift, a gentle gale
And manageable, which Ulysses spread,
Exulting, all his canvas to receive.
Beside the helm he sat, steering expert,
Nor sleep fell ever on his eyes that watch'd
Intent the Pleiads, tardy in decline
Bootes, and the Bear, call'd else the Wain,
Which, in his polar prison circling, looks
Direct toward Orion, and alone
Of these sinks never to the briny Deep. 330
That star the lovely Goddess bade him hold
Continual on his left through all his course.
Ten days and sev'n, he, navigating, cleav'd
The brine, and on the eighteenth day, at length,
The shadowy mountains of Phaeacia's land
Descried, where nearest to his course it lay
Like a broad buckler on the waves afloat.
But Neptune, now returning from the land
Of Ethiopia, mark'd him on his raft
Skimming the billows, from the mountain-tops 340
Of distant Solyma. [21] With tenfold wrath
Inflamed that sight he view'd, his brows he shook,
And thus within himself, indignant, spake.
So then--new counsels in the skies, it seems,
Propitious to Ulysses, have prevail'd
Since AEthiopia hath been my abode.
He sees Phaeacia nigh, where he must leap
The bound'ry of his woes; but ere that hour
Arrive, I will ensure him many a groan.
So saying, he grasp'd his trident, gather'd dense 350
The clouds and troubled ocean; ev'ry storm
From ev'ry point he summon'd, earth and sea
Darkening, and the night fell black from heav'n.
The East, the South, the heavy-blowing West,
And the cold North-wind clear, assail'd at once
His raft, and heaved on high the billowy flood.
All hope, all courage, in that moment, lost,
The Hero thus within himself complain'd.
Wretch that I am, what destiny at last
Attends me! much I fear the Goddess' words 360
All true, which threaten'd me with num'rous ills
On the wide sea, ere I should reach my home.
Behold them all fulfill'd! with what a storm
Jove hangs the heav'ns, and agitates the Deep!
The winds combined beat on me. Now I sink!
Thrice blest, and more than thrice, Achaia's sons
At Ilium slain for the Atridae' sake!
Ah, would to heav'n that, dying, I had felt
That day the stroke of fate, when me the dead
Achilles guarding, with a thousand spears 370
Troy's furious host assail'd! Funereal rites
I then had shared, and praise from ev'ry Greek,
Whom now the most inglorious death awaits.
While thus he spake, a billow on his head
Bursting impetuous, whirl'd the raft around,
And, dashing from his grasp the helm, himself
Plunged far remote. Then came a sudden gust
Of mingling winds, that in the middle snapp'd
His mast, and, hurried o'er the waves afar,
Both sail and sail-yard fell into the flood.