In Chrysa’s port now sage Ulysses rode; Beneath the deck the destined victims stow’d: The sails they furl’d, they lash the mast aside, And dropp’d their anchors, and the pinnace tied. Next on the shore their hecatomb they land; Chryseïs last descending on the strand. Her, thus returning from the furrow’d main, Ulysses led to Phœbus’ sacred fane; Where at his solemn altar, as the maid He gave to Chryses, thus the hero said: