He shows from Hell his safe retreat
To th’ isle Ææa, Circe’s seat;
And how he ’scap’d the Sirens’ calls,
With th’ erring rocks, and waters’ falls,
That Scylla and Charybdis break;
The Sun’ s stol’ n herds; and his sad wreak
Both of Ulysses’ ship and men,
His own head ’scaping scarce the pain.