From old or modern bard, [in hall or bower]. 45
[Bacchus], that first from out the purple grape
Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,
[After the Tuscan mariners transformed],
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,
On Circe’s island [fell]. (Who knows not [Circe], 50
The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,
And downward fell into a grovelling swine?)
This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks,