With that the goddess deign’d no longer stay,
But o’er the world of waters wing’d her way;
Forsaking Scheria’s ever-pleasing shore,
The winds to Marathon the virgin bore: 
Thence, where proud Athens rears her towery head,
With opening streets and shining structures spread,
She pass’d, delighted with the well-known seats;
And to Erectheus’ sacred dome retreats.

Meanwhile Ulysses at the palace waits,
There stops, and anxious with his soul debates,
Fix’d in amaze before the royal gates. 
The front appear’d with radiant splendours gay,
Bright as the lamp of night, or orb of day,
The walls were massy brass:  the cornice high
Blue metals crown’d in colours of the sky,
Rich plates of gold the folding doors incase;
The pillars silver, on a brazen base;
Silver the lintels deep-projecting o’er,
And gold the ringlets that command the door. 
Two rows of stately dogs, on either hand,
In sculptured gold and labour’d silver stood
These Vulcan form’d with art divine, to wait
Immortal guardians at Alcinous’ gate;
Alive each animated frame appears,
And still to live beyond the power of years,
Fair thrones within from space to space were raised,
Where various carpets with embroidery blessed,
The work of matrons:  these the princes press’d. 
Day following day, a long-continued feast,
Refulgent pedestals the walls surround,
Which boys of gold with illuming torches crown’d;
The polish’d oar, reflecting every ray,
Blazed on the banquets with a double day. 
Full fifty handmaids form the household train;
Some turn the mill, or sift the golden grain;
Some ply the loom; their busy fingers move
Like poplar-leaves when Zephyr fans the grove. 
Not more renown’d the men of Scheria’s isle
For sailing arts and all the naval toil,
Than works of female skill their women’s pride,
The flying shuttle through the threads to guide: 
Pallas to these her double gifts imparts,
Incentive genius, and industrious arts.

Close to the gates a spacious garden lies,
From storms defended and inclement skies. 
Four acres was the allotted space of ground,
Fenced with a green enclosure all around. 
Tall thriving trees confess’d the fruitful mould: 
The reddening apple ripens here to gold. 
Here the blue fig with luscious juice o’erflows,
With deeper red the full pomegranate glows;
The branch here bends beneath the weighty pear,
And verdant olives flourish round the year,
The balmy spirit of the western gale
Eternal breathes on fruits, unthought to fail: 
Each dropping pear a following pear supplies,
On apples apples, figs on figs arise: 
The same mild season gives the blooms to blow,
The buds to harden, and the fruits to grow.

Here order’d vines in equal ranks appear,
With all the united labours of the year;
Some to unload the fertile branches run,
Some dry the blackening clusters in the sun,
Others to tread the liquid harvest join: 
The groaning presses foam with floods of wine
Here are the vines in early flower descried,
Here grapes discolour’d on the sunnyside,
And there in autumn’s richest purple dyed,