I
The last farewell has been spoken, the good ship is loosed from her
moorings, and Alcinous is standing on the quay, surrounded by the
nobles of Phæacia, to bid his illustrious guest god-speed. The picked
crew bend to their oars, and the galley leaps forward, like a mettled
steed who knows his master's voice. The setting sun is just gilding
the towers of the city as they cross the harbour bar. Swift as a
falcon the magic vessel skims over the swelling waters, and the
toil-worn hero lays him down to rest on a soft couch prepared for him
in the stern. Then a deep and deathlike sleep falls upon him, and he
lies breathing gently as an infant, while the soft southern breeze
plays with his dark clustering hair.
There is a certain haven in the island of Ithaca, protected by two
lofty headlands, leaving a narrow passage between them. Within, the
water is so still that ships lie there without moorings, safe and
motionless. At the head of the haven is a long-leaved olive-tree,
overshadowing a cool and pleasant cave, sacred to the "Nymphs called
Naiads, of the running brooks."[1] Inside the cave are bowls and
pitchers of stone, and great stone looms, at which the Naiads weave
their fine fabrics of sea-purple dye. It is a favourite haunt of the
honey-bee, whose murmurs mingled with the splashing of perennial
springs make drowsy music in the place. There are two gates to the
cavern, one towards the north, where mortal feet may pass, and the
other on the south side, which none may enter save the gods alone.
[Footnote 1: Shakespeare, "Tempest."]
The day-star was gazing on that still, glassy mere as the Phæacians
steered between the sentinel cliffs and drove their galley ashore in
front of the cave. They lifted Odysseus, still sleeping, from the
stern, and laid him down gently, couch and all, on the sand. Then they
brought all the rich gifts, and set them down by the root of the
olive-tree, out of the reach of any chance wayfarer; and having
bestowed all safely they launched their ship, and started on their
voyage home.
But they were destined to pay dear for their good service to the
stranger. Poseidon marked their course with a jealous eye, and he went
to his brother, Zeus, and thus preferred his complaint: "Behold now
this man hath reached home in safety and honour, and brought the oath
to naught which I sware against him, when I vowed that he should
return to Ithaca in evil plight! Is my power to be defied, and my
worship slighted, by these Phæacians, who are of mine own race?"
"Thine honour is in thine own hands," answered Zeus. "Assert thy
power, lift up thy hand and strike, that all men may fear to infringe
thy privilege as lord of the sea."
Having thus obtained his brother's consent, Poseidon went and took his
stand by the harbour mouth at Phæacia, and as soon as the vessel drew
near he smote her with his hand, and turned her with all her crew into
a rock, which remains there, rooted in the sea, unto this day.