The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems

Of Dionysus, noble Semele’s Son, I now intend to render mention, As on a prominent shore his person shone, Like to a youth whose flow’r was newly blown, Bright azure tresses play’d about his head, And on his bright broad shoulders was dispread A purple mantle. Strait he was descried By certain manly pirates, that applied Their utmost speed to prise him, being aboard A well-built bark, about whose broad sides roar’d The wine-black Tyrrhene billows; death as black Brought them upon him in their future wrack. For, soon as they had purchas’d but his view, Mutual signs past them, and ashore they flew, Took him, and brought him instantly aboard, Soothing their hopes to have obtain’d a hoard Of riches with him; and a Jove-kept king To such a flow’r must needs be natural spring. And therefore straight strong fetters they must fetch, To make him sure. But no such strength would stretch To his constrain’d pow’rs. Far flew all their bands From any least force done his feet or hands. But he sat casting smiles from his black eyes At all their worst. At which discoveries Made by the master, he did thus dehort All his associates: “Wretches! Of what sort Hold ye the person ye assay to bind? Nay,

which of all the Pow’r fully-divin’d Esteem ye him, whose worth yields so much weight That not our well-built bark will bear his freight? Or Jove himself he is, or He that bears The silver bow, or Neptune. Nor appears In him the least resemblance of a man, But of a strain at least Olympian. Come! Make we quick dismission of his state, And on the black-soil’d earth exonerate Our sinking vessel of his deified load, Nor dare the touch of an intangible God, Lest winds outrageous, and of wrackful scathe, And smoking tempests, blow his fiery wrath.” This well-spoke master the tall captain gave Hateful and horrible language; call’d him slave, And bade him mark the prosp’rous gale that blew, And how their vessel with her mainsail flew; Bade all take arms, and said, their works requir’d The cares of men, and not of an inspir’d Pure zealous master; his firm hopes being fir’d With this opinion, that they should arrive In Ægypt straight, or Cyprus, or where live Men whose brave breaths above the north wind blow; Yea, and perhaps beyond their region too. And that he made no doubt but in the end To make his prisoner tell him every friend Of all his offspring, brothers, wealth, and all; Since

that prise, certain, must some God let fall. This said, the mast and mainsail up he drew, And in the mainsail’s midst a frank gale blew; When all his ship took arms to brave their prise. But straight strange works appear’d to all their eyes: First, sweet wine through their swift-black bark did flow, Of which the odours did a little blow Their fiery spirits, making th’ air so fine That they in flood were there as well as wine. A mere immortal-making savour rose, Which on the air the Deity did impose. The seamen see’ng all, admiration seiz’d; Yet instantly their wonders were increas’d, For on the topsail there ran, here and there, A vine that grapes did in abundance bear, And in an instant was the ship’s mainmast With an obscure-green ivy’s arms embrac’d, That flourish’d straight, and were with berries grac’d; Of which did garlands circle every brow Of all the pirates, and no one knew how. Which when they saw, they made the master steer Out to the shore; whom Bacchus made forbear, With showing more wonders. On the hatches He Appear’d a terrible lion, horribly Roaring; and in the mid-deck a male bear, Made with a huge mane; making all, for fear, Crowd to the stern, about the master

there, Whose mind he still kept dauntless and sincere, But on the captain rush’d and ramp’d, with force So rude and sudden, that his main recourse Was to the main-sea straight: and after him Leapt all his mates, as trusting to their swim To fly foul death; but so found what they fled, Being all to dolphins metamorphosed. The master he took ruth of, sav’d, and made The blessed’st man that ever tried his trade, These few words giving him: “Be confident, Thou God-inspired pilot, in the bent Of my affection, ready to requite Thy late-to-me-intended benefit. I am the roaring God of spritely wine, Whom Semele (that did even Jove incline To amorous mixture, and was Cadmus’ care) Made issue to the mighty Thunderer.” And thus, all excellence of grace to thee, Son of sweet-count’nance-carry’ng Semele. I must not thee forget in least degree, But pray thy spirit to render so my song Sweet, and all ways in order’d fury strong.