ting in his own strength, refuses to give
unto thee honor, always vengeance is thine afterwards."

We have already noticed the creed of the poet to be that every action
has its penalty; the deed, even the good deed, is the fruit of a
conflict and puts down something which has its might, aye its right,
which is soon to make itself felt in counteraction. _Es raecht sich
alles auf Erden_, sings our last world-poet in full harmony with his
eldest brother.

It is not surprising that Alcinous at this point remembers an "ancient
God-spoken oracle," which had uttered in advance the wrath of Neptune
and the present penalty. In like manner, Polyphemus, in his crisis,
remembered a similar oracle. It is indeed the deep suggestion of Nature
which the sages have heard in all times. The poet takes his thought and
works it into a mythical shape, in which, however, we are to see not
merely the story but the insight into the world order.

Ulysses now leaves the sea, after having been chiefly in a struggle
with it for years, ever since he sailed from Troy. It was the element
in his way, the environment always hostile to him; Neptune was the
deity who was angry and made him suffer. Still the God of the sea could
not prevent his Return, such was the will of Zeus. Thus we cast a
glance back at the Phaeacians who vanish, and at Neptune who also
vanishes.

The poem henceforth quits the sea, after marking the fate of the
sea-faring people of Phaeacia. That great mysterious body of water, with
its uncertainties of wind and wave, with its hidden rocks and magic
islands, is now to drop out of the horizen of the Odyssey. It is the
great sea-poem of the Greeks, yes of the world; the sea is the setting
of its adventurous, marvelous, illimitable portion. It comes out the
sea, with its realm of wonders; henceforth it is a land poem in the
clear finite world. Ulysses the Hero must turn his face away from the
briny element; not without significance is that command given him that
he must go till he find a people who take an oar for a winnowing-fan
ere he can reach peace. So the fairy-ship ceased to run, but the
steam-ship has taken its place in these Ithacan waters. Still the
poetic atmosphere of the Odyssey, in spite of steam, hovers over the
islands of western Greece to-day; the traveler in the harbor of Corfu,
will look up at the city from the deck of his vessel and call back the
image of Phaeacia, and if he listens to the speech of the Greek sailo