BY the example of certain Grecian mariners¹, who, being safely returned from the war about Troy, leave yet again their old lands and gods, seeking they know not what, and choosing neither to abide³ in the fair Phaeacian island, nor to dwell and die with the Sirens, at length end miserably⁴ in a desert country by the sea, is set forth⁵ the VANITY OF MELANCHOLY⁶. And by the land of Phaeacia is to be understood the place of Art and of fair Pleasures； and by Circe's Isle⁷, the places of bodily delights, whereof men, falling aweary, attain⁸ to Eld, and to the darkness of that age. Which thing Master Francoys Rabelais feigned⁹, under the similitude of the Isle of the Macraeones. THE SEEKERS FOR PHAEACIA.THERE is a land in the remotest day, Where the soft night is born, and sunset dies； The eastern shores see faint tides fade away, That wash the lands where laughter, tears, and sighs, Make life, -the lands beneath the blue of common skies.

    But in the west is a mysterious sea, （What sails have seen it, or what shipmen known？） With coasts enchanted¹⁰ where the Sirens be, With islands where a Goddess walks alone, And in the cedar¹¹ trees the magic winds make moan

    Eastward¹² the human cares of house and home, Cities, and ships, and unknown Gods, and loves； Westward¹³, strange maidens¹⁴ fairer than the foam¹⁵, And lawless lives of men, and haunted groves¹⁶, Wherein a God may dwell, and where the Dryad roves.

    The Gods are careless of the days and death Of toilsome men, beyond the western seas； The Gods are heedless of their painful breath, And love them not, for they are not as these； But in the golden west they live and lie at ease.

    Yet the Phaeacians well they love, who live At the light's limit, passing careless hours, Most like the Gods； and they have gifts to give, Even wine, and fountains musical, and flowers, And song, and if they will, swift ships, and magic powers.

    It is a quiet midland； in the cool Of twilight¹⁷ comes the God, though no man prayed, To watch the maids and young men beautiful Dance, and they see him, and are not afraid, For they are near of kin² to Gods, and undismayed.

    Ah, would the bright red prows¹⁸ might bring us nigh The dreamy isles¹⁹ that the Immortals²⁰ keep！ But with a mist they hide them wondrously²¹, And far the path and dim to where they sleep, - The loved, the shadowy lands along the shadowy deep.