The palace of the sorceress, a God
Met me, the bearer of the golden wand,
Hermes. He seem'd a stripling in his prime,
His cheeks cloath'd only with their earliest down,
For youth is then most graceful; fast he lock'd 340
His hand in mine, and thus, familiar, spake.
Unhappy! whither, wand'ring o'er the hills,
Stranger to all this region, and alone,
Go'st thou? Thy people—they within the walls
Are shut of Circe, where as swine close-pent 345
She keeps them. Comest thou to set them free?
I tell thee, never wilt thou thence return
Thyself, but wilt be prison'd with the rest.
Yet hearken—I will disappoint her wiles,
And will preserve thee. Take this precious drug; 350
Possessing this, enter the Goddess' house
Boldly, for it shall save thy life from harm.
Lo! I reveal to thee the cruel arts
Of Circe; learn them. She will mix for thee
A potion, and will also drug thy food 355
With noxious herbs; but she shall not prevail
By all her pow'r to change thee; for the force
Superior of this noble plant, my gift,
Shall baffle her. Hear still what I advise.
When she shall smite thee with her slender rod, 360
With faulchion drawn and with death-threat'ning looks
Rush on her; she will bid thee to her bed
Affrighted; then beware. Decline not thou
Her
