IV.
ULYSSES SHIPWRECKED AND NAUSICAA.
“‘No evil man I deem thee nor unwise,
Stranger,’ Nausicaa the white-arm'd replied,
‘To all alike, as pleasing in his eyes,
Olympian Jove doth good or ill divide;
Bear then as sent from him whate'er betide:
Here thou of us shalt nothing ask in vain,
Till all a sufferer's wants shall be supplied;
This is Phæacia's city and domain,
O'er which my honour'd sire Alcinous doth reign.’
“Her fair-hair'd maidens then she bad to stand,—
‘Why fly, ye maidens, with no cause for fear?
There lives not one who on Phæacia's strand
With hostile ill intentions would appear;
For this our isle to all the Gods is dear;
No mortals e'er to this our country rove,
Save some poor ship-wreck'd stranger; him revere;
The stranger and the poor are sent by Jove;
However small the gift, the giver he will love.’”
THE FAREWELL OF NAUSICAA.
“As from the bath unto the festal board
He went, Nausicaa, fair in beauty's bloom,
In beauty which the immortal Gods afford,
Stood by a pillar of the vaulted dome;
She saw with wondering eyes Ulysses come,
Address'd these wingèd words, and thus begun,
‘Stranger, farewell;—and should'st thou reach thy home
There in thy native land think thou of one
Who saved thee from the sea, and first thy safety won.’”
ON THE FOREGOING.
Still wandering on, still far away from home,
While still the mirror is before him brought
Of some calm place where he might cease to roam,
Some rest'mid Ocean-storms; all turns to nought,
It is not home, his home is ever sought,
Now in his hands, and yet now far away;—
E'en as around us and beyond our thought
The resting-place of Everlasting Day
Lies close, and touches on this falling house of clay,—
Yet seems afar. No more the Ogygian grot,
Embowering deep its sylvan solitude,
The toilsome world excluded and forgot;
Where owls and wild sea-birds skim the dark wood
On broad-expanded wing
, or nestling brood
On sea and foam delighting;—Nature's shrine
Of grots and lawns and fountains; all imbued
With Godhead—half-terrestrial, half-divine;
Yet toward the “wine-faced sea” the wanderer's heart doth pine.
Another scene of rest, another shore,
Safe from the roar of hostile elements,
Another Fair;—of human presence more,
And less divine in all that charms the sense,
But inly dress'd with nobler innocence;
With goodly nature and sweet modesty,
In kingly roofs parental rear'd, and thence
With youthful maids disporting
on the lea,
By fountain, grove, or field,—domestic, regal, free.
She seem'd the guardian spirit of the place,
In palace-halls scarce-seen, and yet the while
Her form, though absent, seems each scene to grace;
Say, cannot aught in that sweet tranquil isle
A wearied spirit into rest beguile,
With kind Alcinous in kingly hall
Of royal gentleness and friendly smile?
No—these delights the home-bent spirit pall,
And on the exile's heart the saddening shadows fall.
He who so late the sands of ruin trod,
Himself a naked wreck, more than restor'd
Now in the grace of Pallas walks a God.
Not ships Phæacian, honour'd as their lord,
Nor sports Phæacian, and chaste regal board,
Nor in Phæacian gardens to recline,
Nor all the scenes Phæacian arts afford,
Can soothe; but still the wanderer's heart doth pine,
Bent toward the “wine-faced sea.” That wanderer's heart be mine
!
