While we made our melancholy way to the ship at the sea’s edge, weeping without restraint, Kirke already had passed before us and tethered a ram and a black ewe beside the vessel. She had slipped past us unperceived; what eyes could discern a god in his comings and his goings if the god himself should wish it otherwise? We reached our ship at the sea’s edge and hauled it down to the bright water, then stowed the mast and the sails inside; we took the sheep and put them aboard; last of all, we ourselves embarked, still despondent, weeping still unrestrainedly. But Kirke of the braided tresses, the goddess of awesome powers and of human speech, sent the best of comrades after our dark-prowed vessel, a following breeze to fill our sails. We made fast the tackling everywhere, then seated ourselves while wind and the helmsman bore the ship forward on her course. The sails were taut as she sped all day across the sea till the sun sank and light thickened on every pathway.

Homer, The Odyssey

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