On thrones she seated them, and lounging on chairs, while she prepared a meal...with Pramnian wine, adding her own vile punch, to make them lose desire or thought of our dear father land.
Low she sang in her beguiling voice...No one would speak, until Polites--most faithful and likable of my officers, said: 'Dear friends, no need for stealth: here's a young weaver singing a pretty song to set the air...Goddess she is, or lady. Shall we greet her?'
Scarce had they drunk when she flew after them with her long stick and shut them in a pigsty---bodies, voices, heads, and bristles, all swinish now, though minds were still unchanged.
Down to the ship Eurylochus came running to cry alarm, foul magic doomed his men! But working with dry lips to speak a word he could not...When we were frantic questioning him, at last we heard the tale: our friends were gone. . . .
So reassured, they all cried out together, and she came swiftly to the shining doors to call them in. All but Eurylochus---who feared a snare---the innocents went after her.