In spite of these dreadful omens they continued for six days to feast upon the herds of Helios.  On the seventh day the wind blew fair, and they launched their vessel and continued their voyage.  The last vestige of the island had hardly been lost to view when the sky became black with clouds, and a violent squall struck the ship, snapping her mast, which fell upon the helmsman, and dashed out his brains.  A moment after, a deafening peal of thunder broke overhead, and the avenging bolt of Zeus fell upon the ship, scattering her timbers, and strewing the charred carcasses of the crew upon the waves.

Odysseus alone escaped with his life from that tremendous stroke, and clinging to a spar floated all day, until he came in sight of the strait between Scylla and Charybdis.  By the favour of heaven he was once more preserved from this great peril, and on the tenth day after the loss of his vessel he was thrown ashore by the waves on the island of Calypso.

Odysseus lands in Ithaca

I

The last farewell has been spoken, the good ship is loosed from her moorings, and Alcinous is standing on the quay, surrounded by the nobles of Phaeacia, to bid his illustrious guest god-speed.  The picked crew bend to their oars, and the galley leaps forward, like a mettled steed who knows his master’s voice.  The setting sun is just gilding the towers of the city as they cross the harbour bar.  Swift as a falcon the magic vessel skims over the swelling waters, and the toil-worn hero lays him down to rest on a soft couch prepared for him in the stern.  Then a deep and deathlike sleep falls upon him, and he lies breathing gently as an infant, while the soft southern breeze plays with his dark clustering hair.

There is a certain haven in the island of Ithaca, protected by two lofty headlands, leaving a narrow passage between them.  Within, the water is so still that ships lie there without moorings, safe and motionless.  At the head of the haven is a long-leaved olive-tree, overshadowing a cool and pleasant cave, sacred to the “Nymphs called Naiads, of the running brooks."[1] Inside the cave are bowls and pitchers of stone, and great stone looms, at which the Naiads weave their fine fabrics of sea-purple dye.  It is a favourite haunt of the honey-bee, whose murmurs mingled with the splashing of perennial springs make drowsy music in the place.  There are two gates to the cavern, one towards the north, where mortal feet may pass, and the other on the south side, which none may enter save the gods alone.

[Footnote 1:  Shakespeare, “Tempest.”]

The day-star was gazing on that still, glassy mere as the Phaeacians steered between the sentinel cliffs and drove their galley ashore in front of the cave.  They lifted Odysseus, still sleeping, from the stern, and laid him down gently, couch and all, on the sand.  Then they brought all the rich gifts, and set them down by the root of the olive-tree, out of the reach of any chance wayfarer; and having bestowed all safely they launched their ship, and started on their voyage home.