“Wretch,” cried Circe, giving him a smart stroke with her wand, “how dare you keep your human shape a moment longer?  Take the form of the brute whom you most resemble.  If a hog, go join your fellow swine in the sty; if a lion, a wolf, a tiger, go howl with the wild beasts on the lawn; if a fox, go exercise your craft in stealing poultry.  Thou hast quaffed off my wine, and canst be man no longer.”

But, such was the virtue of the snow-white flower, instead of wallowing down from his throne in swinish shape or taking any other brutal form, Ulysses looked even more manly and kinglike than before.  He gave the magic goblet a toss, and sent it clashing over the marble floor, to the farthest end of the saloon.  Then, drawing his sword, he seized the enchantress by her beautiful ringlets, and made a gesture as if he meant to strike off her head at one blow.

“Wicked Circe,” cried he, in a terrible voice, “this sword shall put an end to thy enchantments.  Thou shalt die, vile wretch, and do no more mischief in the world, by tempting human beings into the vices which make beasts of them.”

The tone and countenance of Ulysses were so awful, and his sword gleamed so brightly and seemed to have so intolerably keen an edge, that Circe was almost killed by the mere fright, without waiting for a blow.  The chief butler scrambled out of the saloon, picking up the golden goblet as he went; and the enchantress and the four maidens fell on their knees, wringing their hands and screaming for mercy.

“Spare me!” cried Circe,—­“spare me, royal and wise Ulysses.  For now I know that thou art he of whom Quicksilver forewarned me, the most prudent of mortals, against whom no enchantments can prevail.  Thou only couldst have conquered Circe.  Spare me, wisest of men.  I will show thee true hospitality, and even give myself to be thy slave, and this magnificent palace to be henceforth thy home.”

The four nymphs, meanwhile, were making a most piteous ado; and especially the ocean nymph, with the sea-green hair, wept a great deal of salt water, and the fountain nymph, besides scattering dewdrops from her fingers’ ends, nearly melted away into tears.  But Ulysses would not be pacified until Circe had taken a solemn oath to change back his companions, and as many others as he should direct, from their present forms of beast or bird into their former shapes of men.

“On these conditions,” said he, “I consent to spare your life.  Otherwise you must die upon the spot.”

With a drawn sword hanging over her, the enchantress would readily have consented to do as much good as she had hitherto done mischief, however little she might like such employment.  She therefore led Ulysses out of the back entrance of the palace, and showed him the swine in their sty.  There were about fifty of these unclean beasts in the whole herd; and though the greater part were hogs by birth and education, there was wonderfully little difference to be seen betwixt them and their new brethren who had so recently worn the human shape.  To speak critically, indeed, the latter rather carried the thing to excess, and seemed to make it a point to wallow in the miriest part of the sty, and otherwise to outdo the original swine in their own natural vocation.  When men once turn to brutes, the trifle of man’s wit that remains in them adds tenfold to their brutality.