He is dazed by his long, long sleep. Where is he? What land is this? Whose are those young figures that he can just see by peeping through the leafy thicket in which he lies? Are they the nymphs of the river along which he was drifted out of the sea? Or are they human maidens who may be besought to help? He does not hesitate long. At all hazards he must speak to them, for he is in desperate need. So, hastily breaking off a leafy bough to hide his nakedness, he strode out of his lair. His uncouth figure struck amazement and terror into the hearts of the girls.
Dreadful to them the sea-stained man drew nigh:
And up and down they ran dispersedly
Along the jutting beaches; only then
The daughter of Alcinous did not fly:
Such courage put Athena in her breast:
Unfaltering she stood up and undistressed,
And faced him.[[12]]
For once Odysseus is at a loss. How shall he address her? He is almost naked, haggard, and sea-worn, a terrible object to girlish eyes. Shall he go up close, and in the attitude of the suppliant, clasp her knees? Or will not his touch and his close approach startle and shock her? But his wits are not long to seek. He decides that it will be better not to come too near, but to address her gently, from a little distance. “I kneel to you, Protectress. God are you, or mortal?” Thus he speaks first, gracefully complimenting her beauty and courage.
“If a god indeed you be