“The joyful crew survey his mighty size,
And on the future banquet feast their eyes,
As huge in length extended lay the beast;
Then wash their hands, and hasten to the feast. 
There, till the setting sun roll’d down the light,
They sate indulging in the genial rite. 
When evening rose, and darkness cover’d o’er
The face of things, we slept along the shore. 
But when the rosy morning warm’d the east,
My men I summon’d, and these words address’d: 
“’Followers and friends, attend what I propose: 
Ye sad companions of Ulysses’ woes! 
We know not here what land before us lies,
Or to what quarter now we turn our eyes,
Or where the sun shall set, or where shall rise. 
Here let us think (if thinking be not vain)
If any counsel, any hope remain. 
Alas! from yonder promontory’s brow
I view’d the coast, a region flat and low;
An isle encircled with the boundless flood;
A length of thickets, and entangled wood. 
Some smoke I saw amid the forest rise,
And all around it only seas and skies!’

“With broken hearts my sad companions stood,
Mindful of Cyclops and his human food,
And horrid Laestrygons, the men of blood. 
Presaging tears apace began to rain;
But tears in mortal miseries are vain. 
In equal parts I straight divide my band,
And name a chief each party to command;
I led the one, and of the other side
Appointed brave Eurylochus the guide. 
Then in the brazen helm the lots we throw,
And fortune casts Eurylochus to go;
He march’d with twice eleven in his train;
Pensive they march, and pensive we remain.

“The palace in a woody vale they found,
High raised of stone; a shaded space around;
Where mountain wolves and brindled lions roam,
(By magic tamed,) familiar to the dome. 
With gentle blandishment our men they meet,
And wag their tails, and fawning lick their feet. 
As from some feast a man returning late,
His faithful dogs all meet him at the gate,
Rejoicing round, some morsel to receive,
(Such as the good man ever used to give,)
Domestic thus the grisly beasts drew near;
They gaze with wonder not unmix’d with fear. 
Now on the threshold of the dome they stood,
And heard a voice resounding through the wood: 
Placed at her loom within, the goddess sung;
The vaulted roofs and solid pavement rung. 
O’er the fair web the rising figures shine,
Immortal labour! worthy hands divine. 
Polites to the rest the question moved
(A gallant leader, and a man I loved): 

“’What voice celestial, chanting to the loom
(Or nymph, or goddess), echoes from the room? 
Say, shall we seek access?’ With that they call;
And wide unfold the portals of the hall.