The monarch spoke:  they trembled and obey’d,
Forth on the sands the victim oxen led;
The gathered tribes before the altars stand,
And chiefs and rulers, a majestic band. 
The king of ocean all the tribes implore;
The blazing altars redden all the shore.

Meanwhile Ulysses in his country lay,
Released from sleep, and round him might survey
The solitary shore and rolling sea. 
Yet had his mind through tedious absence lost
The dear resemblance of his native coast;
Besides, Minerva, to secure her care,
Diffused around a veil of thickened air;
For so the gods ordain’d to keep unseen
His royal person from his friends and queen;
Till the proud suitors for their crimes afford
An ample vengeance to their injured lord.

Now all the land another prospect bore,
Another port appear’d, another shore. 
And long-continued ways, and winding floods,
And unknown mountains, crown’d with unknown woods
Pensive and slow, with sudden grief oppress’d,
The king arose, and beat his careful breast,
Cast a long look o’er all the coast and main,
And sought, around, his native realm in vain;
Then with erected eyes stood fix’d in woe,
And as he spoke, the tears began to flow.

“Ye gods (he cried), upon what barren coast,
In what new region, is Ulysses toss’d? 
Possess’d by wild barbarians, fierce in arms? 
Or men whose bosom tender pity warms? 
Where shall this treasure now in safely be? 
And whither, whither its sad owner fly? 
Ah, why did I Alcinous’ grace implore? 
Ah, why forsake Phaeacia’s happy shore? 
Some juster prince perhaps had entertain’d,
And safe restored me to my native land. 
Is this the promised, long-expected coast,
And this the faith Phaeacia’s rulers boast? 
O righteous gods! of all the great, how few
Are just to Heaven, and to their promise true! 
But he, the power to whose all-seeing eyes
The deeds of men appear without disguise,
’Tis his alone to avenge the wrongs I bear;
For still the oppress’d are his peculiar care. 
To count these presents, and from thence to prove,
Their faith is mine; the rest belongs to Jove.”

Then on the sands he ranged his wealthy store,
The gold, the vests, the tripods number’d o’er: 
All these he found, but still in error lost,
Disconsolate he wanders on the coast,
Sighs for his country, and laments again
To the deaf rocks, and hoarse-resounding main. 
When lo! the guardian goddess of the wise,
Celestial Pallas, stood before his eyes;
In show a youthful swain, of form divine,
Who seem’d descended from some princely line. 
A graceful robe her slender body dress’d;
Around her shoulders flew the waving vest;
Her decent hand a shining javelin bore,
And painted sandals on her feet she wore. 
To whom the king:  “Whoe’er of human race
Thou art, that wanderest in this desert place,
With joy to thee, as to some god I bend,
To thee my treasures and myself commend. 
O tell a wretch in exile doom’d to stray,
What air I breathe, what country I survey? 
The fruitful continent’s extremest bound,
Or some fair isle which Neptune’s arms surround?