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And, ringed with flakes of splendid fire of foam, The son of Terra rose half-way and blew The triple trumpet of the water-gods, At which great winds fell back and all the sea Grew dumb, as on the land a war-feast breaks When deep sleep falls upon the souls of men. Then Ares of the night-like brow made known The brass-clad hunter of the facile feet, Hard clinging to the slippery logs of pine, And told the omen to the hoary god That touched on death and grief to Ithaca; Wherefore Oceanus, with help of hand, Bore by the chin the warrior of the North, A moaning mass, across the shallowing surge, And cast him on the rocks of alien shores Against a wintry morning shot with storm. Hear also, thou, how mighty gods sustain The men set out to work the ends of Fate Which fill the world with tales of many tears And vex the sad face of humanity: Six days and nights the brass-clad chief abode Pent up in caverns by the straitening seas And fed on ferns and limpets; but the dawn, Before the strong sun of the seventh, brought A fume of fire and smells of savoury meat And much rejoicing, as from neighbouring feasts; At which the hunter, seized with sudden lust, Sprang up the crags, and, like a dream of fear, Leapt, shouting, at a huddled host of hinds Amongst the fragments of their steaming food; And as the hoarse wood-wind in autumn sweeps To every zone the hissing latter leaves, So fleet Telegonus, by dint of spear And strain of thunderous voice, did scatter these East, south, and north. 'Twas then the chief had rest, Hard by the outer coast of Ithaca, Unknown to him who ate the spoil and slept. Nor stayed he hand thereafter; but when noon Burned dead on misty hills of stunted fir, This man shook slumber from his limbs and sped Against hoar beaches and the kindled cliffs Of falling waters. These he waded through, Beholding, past the forests of the West, A break of light and homes of many men, And shining corn, and flowers, and fruits of flowers. Yea, seeing these, the facile-footed chief Grasped by the knot the huge Aeaean lance And fell upon the farmers; wherefore they Left hoe and plough, and crouched in heights remote, Companioned with the grey-winged fogs; but he Made waste their fields and throve upon their toil-- As throve the boar, the fierce four-footed curs
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