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. 95
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. 100
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 105
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 110
(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 115
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
Umbrageous,
