Ulysses monologue — Circe : $b A dramatic fantasy

Our good ship! Ah yes; the seams Gape in her sun-parch’d sides, and rank weeds twine Their prickly meshes round her shriveling keel. Yes, yes, my men; full long we have sat still, Basking in languorous fancy, rapt, unheeding This summons to the wave. Nor tarried others Behind, to follow and seize us: as when those Who clomb the banks of Lotus-land and straying Ate of the flowery food, their souls Steep’d in forgetfulness, we seized and bound, Stifled their cries and dragg’d them to the shore.— To-day they are no more: so many Death’s winged minions snatch’d and in wild sport Flung them to feed the sea-god’s ravenous brood; Or, on strange shores their white bones strewing, sign’d The landmarks of our course.—What wonder, then! What wonder, O brave comrades, if, so spent, So spared, beaching beside enchanted bowers Our single bark, lull’d under lustrous skies, Encircled by fond arms, we linger’d fondly And long. But now, welcome the tug and strain Once more, as ye have will’d it: the bent oar, The creaking rowlock, Zephyrus’ shrill pipe, The thundrous pounding surge! Nor now, as then, Shall we unpiloted and blindly plow Our swift sea-furrow; but wise Circe’s words Will be to us as beacons. We shall know What winds press homeward; on which hand to hold (When oft to night course our sick yearning prompts) Orion and the Bear.—If only Her solemn friendly warnings ye can heed, Which in good time I shall expressly cite, All may be well.