And, moving towards the ship’s swift flight, it seemed,
Behold a land! that nearer, nearer sailed
In misty blue, ’mid the blue-twinkling waves.
Anon a purple peak that stormed the sky;
Then down the peak the frothing gullies leaped
’mid tufts of bristling brushwood and bare rock;
And on its spurs sprang into view long rows
Of vines; and at its feet the verdant fields
Fleecy with shimmering blades of new-sprung grain,
Till it stood out entire—a rocky isle,
Harsh, and not pasture fit for neighing steed,
Altho’ good nurse for oxen and wild goats.
And here and there, upon the airy peaks,
Died, in the clearness of the wakening dawn,
The herdsmen’s fires: and here and there shot up
The morning swirl of smoke from Ithaca—
His home at last—! But King Odysseus’ heart
Floating profound in sleep, beheld it not.