You'll say, oh worthy, oh unhappy lovers!

An impious Circe, who presumes to boast
Of having for her sire this glorious sun,
Welcomed us after many wanderings:
Opened a certain urn,
With water sprinkled us,
And to the sprinkling added an enchantment.

Waiting the finish of this work of hers
We all were quiet, mute, attent,
Until she said, "Oh ye unhappy ones,
Blind be ye all,
Gather that fruit
Those get who fix their thoughts on things above."

Daughter and Mother of horror and darkness and woe
They cried, who sudden were struck blind,
It pleased you then, so proud and harsh,
To treat these wretched lovers,
Who put themselves before you,
Ready to consecrate to you their hearts.

But when the sudden fury somewhat stayed,
Which this new case had brought on them,
Each one within himself withdrew,
While rage to grief gave place;
To her they turned for pity,
With chosen words companioning their tears.

Now if it please thee, gracious sorceress,
If zeal for glory chance to move thy heart,
Or milk of kindness soften it,
Be merciful to us,
And with thy magic herbs,
Heal up the wound imprinted on our hearts.

If wish to succour rules thy beauteous hand,
Make no delay, lest some of us
Unhappy ones reach death, ere we
Praising thy act
Can each one say,
So much did she torment, yet more did heal.

Then she replied: Oh curious prying minds,
Take this my other fatal urn,
Which my own hand may not unclose;
Over the wide expanse of earth,
Wander ye still,
Search for and visit all the various kingdoms.

Fate hath decreed, it ne'er shall be unclosed
Till lofty wisdom, noble chastity
And loveliness with these combined,
Shall set their hands to it;
All other efforts vain,
To make this fluid open to the sky.

Then should it chance to sprinkle beauteous hands,
Of those who come anear for remedy,
Its god-like virtues you may prove,
And turning cruel pain
Into a sweet content,
Two lovely stars upon the earth you'll see.

Meanwhile be none of you cast down or sad,
Although long while in deep obscurity
All that the heavens contain remain concealed,
For good so great as this,
No pain, however sharp,
Can be accounted worthy of the cost.

That Good to which through blindnes