As thus pavilion’d in the porch he lay,
Scenes of lewd loves his wakeful eyes survey,
Whilst to nocturnal joys impure repair,
With wanton glee, the prostituted fair. 
His heart with rage this new dishonour stung,
Wavering his thoughts in dubious balance hung: 
Or instant should he quench the guilty flame
With their own blood, and intercept the shame: 
Or to their lust indulge a last embrace,
And let the peers consummate the disgrace
Round his swoln heart the murmurous fury rolls,
As o’er her young the mother-mastiff growls,
And bays the stranger groom:  so wrath compress’d,
Recoiling, mutter’d thunder in his breast. 
“Poor suffering heart! (he cried,) support the pain
Of wounded honour, and thy rage restrain. 
Not fiercer woes thy fortitude could foil,
When the brave partners of thy ten years’ toil
Dire Polypheme devour’d; I then was freed
By patient prudence from the death decreed.”

Thus anchor’d safe on reason’s peaceful coast,
Tempests of wrath his soul no longer toss’d;
Restless his body rolls, to rage resign’d
As one who long with pale-eyed famine pined,
The savoury cates on glowing embers cast
Incessant turns, impatient for repast
Ulysses so, from side to side-devolved,
In self-debate the suitor’s doom resolved
When in the form of mortal nymph array’d,
From heaven descends the Jove-born martial maid;
And’hovering o’er his head in view confess’d,
The goddess thus her favourite care address’d: 

“O thou, of mortals most inured to woes! 
Why roll those eyes unfriended of repose? 
Beneath thy palace-roof forget thy care;
Bless’d in thy queen! bless’d in thy blooming heir! 
Whom, to the gods when suppliant fathers bow
They name the standard of their dearest vow.”

“Just is thy kind reproach (the chief rejoin’d),
Deeds full of fate distract my various mind,
In contemplation wrapp’d.  This hostile crew
What single arm hath prowess to subdue? 
Or if, by Jove’s and thy auxiliar aid,
They’re doom’d to bleed; O say, celestial maid! 
Where shall Ulysses shun, or how sustain
Nations embattled to revenge the slain?”

“Oh impotence of faith! (Minerva cries,)
If man on frail unknowing man relies,
Doubt you the gods?  Lo, Pallas’ self descends,
Inspires thy counsels, and thy toils attends. 
In me affianced, fortify thy breast,
Though myriads leagued thy rightful claim contest
My sure divinity shall bear the shield,
And edge thy sword to reap the glorious field. 
Now, pay the debt to craving nature due,
Her faded powers with balmy rest renew.” 
She ceased, ambrosial slumbers seal his eyes;
Her care dissolves in visionary joys
The goddess, pleased, regains her natal skies.

Not so the queen; the downy bands of sleep
By grief relax’d she waked again to weep: 
A gloomy pause ensued of dumb despair;
Then thus her fate invoked, with fervent prayer