What then? Had Trojan yard Taenerian dame and her CunnusNever delighted, of song never a subject had he;But for the Tantalid's tool being known to Fame and well notedOld man Chryses had naught left him for making his moan.This did his mate dispoil of a fond affectionate mistressAnd of a prize not his plunderèd Aeacides,He that aye chaunted his dirge of distress to the lyre Pelethronian,Lyre of the stiff taut string, stiffer the string of himself.Ilias, noble poem, was gotten and born of such direfulIre, of that Sacred Song such was original cause.Matter of different kind was the wander of crafty Ulysses:An thou would verity know Love too was motor of this.Hence does he gather the root whence springs that aureate blossomWhich whenas 'Moly' hight, 'Moly' but 'Mentula' means.Here too of Circe we read and Calypso, daughter of Atlas,Bearing the mighty commands dealt by Dulichian BraveWhom did Alcinous' maiden admire by cause of his memberFor with a leafy branch hardly that yard could be dad.Yet was he hasting, his way to regain his little old woman:Thy coynte (Penelope!) claiming his every thought;