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Horrid with cliffs, our meagre land allows
Thin herbage for the mountain goat to browse,
But neither mead nor plain supplies, to feed
The sprightly courser, or indulge his speed:
To sea-surrounded realms the gods assign
Small tract of fertile lawn, the least to mine."
His hand the king with tender passion press'd,
And, smiling, thus the royal youth address'd:
"
O early worth! a soul so wise, and young,
Proclaims you from the sage Ulysses sprung.
Selected from my stores, of matchless price,
An urn shall recompense your prudent choice;
By Vulcan's art, the verge with gold enchased.
A pledge the sceptred power of Sidon gave,
When to his realm I plough'd the orient wave."
Thus they alternate; while, with artful care,
The menial train the regal feast prepare.
The firstlings of the flock are doom'd to die:
Rich fragrant wines the cheering bowl supply;
A female band the gift of Ceres bring;
And the gilt roofs with genial triumph ring.
Meanwhile, in Ithaca, the suitor powers
In active games divide their jovial hours;
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