And in the ship, now entering the port,
The worse part won the day. The men untied
The leathern bags, and straight the winds out-whistled
Furious; the sail flung wide, and flapped as doth
A peplum by a woman left outspread
To dry i’ the sun upon some airy peak.
And lo! the labouring ship hath left the haven—
The haven where, upon the shore, there stood
A goodly youth propped on a spear bronze-pointed.
Under the grey-green olive stood the youth
Silent, with dreaming eyes: and a swift hound
Around him leaped, waving his plumy tail.
Now the dog checketh in his restless play
With straining eyes fixed on the infinite sea;
And, snuffing up the air o’ the briny tracks,
After the flying ship he howls aloud—
Argus his dog. Yet still nor heard nor saw
Odysseus’ heart, in balmy slumber bathed.