The West Wind fell; the South rose and frightened me — it would drive me back on dread Charybdis. All night I drifted, and at sunrise I came to Scylla’s rock and Charybdis sucking down the sea. I leaped for the great fig tree and clung like a bat; I had no foothold and no way to climb. I held on till she vomited my keel and mast up again — late, late, as a man rises from court when he has judged many quarrels for young claimants. I dropped on the timbers and paddled hard. Scylla did not see me again, or I would never have escaped death.
Nine days I drifted. On the tenth night the gods cast me ashore on Ogygia, where Calypso of the lovely hair lives, dread goddess with a human voice. She took me in and cared for me.