Nine days they sailed smoothly, favoured by the western wind, and by the tenth they approached so nigh as to discern lights kindled on the shores of their country earth:  when by ill fortune, Ulysses, overcome with fatigue of watching the helm, fell asleep.  The mariners seized the opportunity, and one of them said to the rest:  “A fine time has this leader of ours:  wherever he goes he is sure of presents, when we come away empty-handed; and see, what king AEolus has given him, store no doubt of gold and silver.”  A word was enough to those covetous wretches, who quick as thought untied the bag, and instead of gold, out rushed with mighty noise all the winds.  Ulysses with the noise awoke and saw their mistake, but too late, for the ship was driving with all the winds back far from Ithaca, far as to the island of AEolus from which they had parted, in one hour measuring back what in nine days they had scarcely tracked, and in sight of home too! up he flew amazed, and raving doubted whether he should not fling himself into the sea for grief of his bitter disappointment.  At last he hid himself under the hatches for shame.  And scarce could he be prevailed upon, when he was told he was arrived again in the harbour of king AEolus, to go himself or send to that monarch for a second succour; so much the disgrace of having misused his royal bounty (though it was the crime of his followers and not his own) weighed upon him:  and when at last he went, and took a herald with him, and came where the god sat on his throne, feasting with his children, he would not thrust in among them at their meat, but set himself down like one unworthy in the threshold.

Indignation seized AEolus to behold him in that manner returned; and he said, “Ulysses, what has brought you back? are you so soon tired of your country? or did not our present please you? we thought we had given you a kingly passport.”  Ulysses made answer; “My men have done this ill mischief to me:  they did it while I slept.”  “Wretch,” said AEolus, “avaunt, and quit our shores:  it fits not us to convoy men whom the gods hate, and will have perish.”

Forth they sailed, but with far different hopes than when they left the same harbour the first time with all the winds confined, only the west-wind suffered to play upon their sails to waft them in gentle murmurs to Ithaca.  They were now the sport of every gale that blew, and despaired of ever seeing home more.  Now those covetous mariners were cured of their surfeit for gold, and would not have touched it if it had lain in untold heaps before them.