_Ulysses_. I am Ulysses. And thou, too, sleeper? 115 Thy voice is sweet. It may be thou hast follow'd Through the islands some divine bard, By age taught many things, Age and the Muses°; °120 And heard him delighting The chiefs and people In the banquet, and learn'd his songs, Of Gods and Heroes, Of war and arts, 125 And peopled cities, Inland, or built By the grey sea.--If so, then hail! I honour and welcome thee.
_The Youth_. The Gods are happy. 130 They turn on all sides Their shining eyes, And see below them The earth and men.° °134
They see Tiresias° °135 Sitting, staff in hand, On the warm, grassy Asopus° bank, °138 His robe drawn over His old, sightless head, 140 Revolving inly The doom of Thebes.° °142
They see the Centaurs° °143 In the upper glens Of Pelion,° in the streams, °145 Where red-berried ashes fringe The clear-brown shallow pools, With streaming flanks, and heads Rear'd proudly, snuffing The mountain wind. 150
They see the Indian Drifting, knife in hand, His frail boat moor'd to A floating isle thick-matted With large-leaved, low-creeping melon-plants, 155 And the dark cucumber. He reaps, and stows them, Drifting--drifting;--round him, Round his green harvest-plot, Flow the cool lake-waves, 160 The mountains ring them.°
They see the Scythian On the wide stepp, unharnessing His wheel'd house at noon. He tethers his beast down, and makes his meal-- 165 Mares' milk, and bread Baked on the embers°;--all around °167 The boundless, waving grass-plains stretch, thick-starr'd With saffron and the yellow hollyhock And flag-leaved iris-flowers. 170 Sitting in his cart, He makes his meal; before him, for long miles, Alive with bright green lizards, And the springing bustard-fowl, The track, a straight black line, 175 Furrows the rich soil; here and there Clusters of lonely mounds Topp'd with rough-hewn, Grey, rain-blear'd statues, overpeer The sunny waste.° °180
They see the ferry On the broad, clay-laden. Lone Chorasmian stream°;--thereon, °183 With snort and strain, Two horses, strongly swimming, tow 185 The ferry-boat, with woven ropes To either bow Firm harness'd by the mane; a chief, With shout and shaken spear, Stands at the prow, and guides them; but astern 190 The cowering merchants, in long robes, Sit pale beside their wealth Of silk-bales and of balsam-drops, Of gold and ivory, Of turquoise-earth and amethyst, 195 Jasper and chalcedony, And milk-barr'd onyx-stones.° °197 The loaded boat swings groaning In the yellow eddies; The Gods behold them. 200 They see the Heroes Sitting in the dark ship On the foamless, long-heaving Violet sea, At sunset nearing 205 The Happy Islands.° °206