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He gave me a sack, the skin of a full-grown ox, binding inside the winds that howl from every quarter,
They loosed the sack and all the winds burst out and a sudden squall struck and swept us back to sea,
We reached the Aeaean island next, the home of Circe the nymph with lovely braids,
And so, numbering off my band of men-at-arms into two platoons, I assigned them each a leader: I took one and lord Eurylochus the other.
she struck with her wand, drove them into her pigsties, all of them bristling into swine—with grunts, snouts—even their bodies, yes,
Circe gave them slipped away from their limbs and they turned men again: younger than ever, taller by far, more handsome to the eye, and yes, they knew me at once and each man grasped my hands and a painful longing for tears overcame us all,
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