To whom appeased:  “No more I urge delay;
When Neptune sues, my part is to obey.” 
Then to the snares his force the god applies;
They burst; and Mars to Thrace indignant flies: 
To the soft Cyprian shores the goddess moves,
To visit Paphos and her blooming groves,
Where to the Power an hundred altars rise,
And breathing odours scent the balmy skies;
Concealed she bathes in consecrated bowers,
The Graces unguents shed, ambrosial showers,
Unguents that charm the gods! she last assumes
Her wondrous robes; and full the goddess blooms.

Thus sung the bard:  Ulysses hears with joy,
And loud applauses read the vaulted sky.

Then to the sports his sons the king commands,
Each blooming youth before the monarch stands,
In dance unmatch’d!  A wondrous ball is brought
(The work of Polypus, divinely wrought);
This youth with strength enormous bids it fly,
And bending backward whirls it to the sky;
His brother, springing with an active bound,
At distance intercepts it from the ground. 
The ball dismissed, in dance they skim the strand,
Turn and return, and scarce imprint the sand. 
The assembly gazes with astonished eyes,
And sends in shouts applauses to the skies.

Then thus Ulysses:  “Happy king, whose name
The brightest shines in all the rolls of fame! 
In subjects happy with surprise I gaze;
Thy praise was just; their skill transcends thy praise.”

Pleas’d with his people’s fame, the monarch hears,
And thus benevolent accosts the peers: 
“Since wisdom’s sacred guidance he pursues,
Give to the stranger-guest a stranger’s dues: 
Twelve princes in our realm dominion share,
O’er whom supreme, imperial power I bear;
Bring gold, a pledge of love:  a talent bring,
A vest, a robe, and imitate your king. 
Be swift to give:  that he this night may share
The social feast of joy, with joy sincere. 
And thou, Euryalus, redeem thy wrong;
A generous heart repairs a slanderous tongue.”

The assenting peers, obedient to the king,
In haste their heralds send the gifts to bring. 
Then thus Euryalus:  “O prince, whose sway
Rules this bless’d realm, repentant I obey;
Be his this sword, whose blade of brass displays
A ruddy gleam; whose hilt a silver blaze;
Whose ivory sheath, inwrought with curious pride,
Adds graceful terror to the wearer’s side.”

He said, and to his hand the sword consign’d: 
“And if (he cried) my words affect thy mind,
Far from thy mind those words, ye whirlwinds, bear,
And scatter them, ye storms, in empty air! 
Crown, O ye heavens, with joy his peaceful hours,
And grant him to his spouse, and native shores.”

“And blest be thou, my friend, (Ulysses cries,)
Crown him with every joy, ye favouring skies
To thy calm hours continued peace afford,
And never, never mayst thou want this sword,”