{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3160/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3160","id":"gutenberg_3160","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3160","summary":null,"tags":["Banned Books from Anne Haight's list","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Classical Antiquity","Epic poetry, Greek -- Translations into English","Harvard Classics","Homer -- Translations into English","Odysseus, King of Ithaca (Mythological character) -- Poetry"],"text":"The Odyssey\n\nby Homer\n\nTranslated by Alexander Pope\n\n\nContents\n\n INTRODUCTION.\n THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER\n BOOK I.\n BOOK II.\n BOOK III.\n BOOK IV.\n BOOK V.\n BOOK VI.\n BOOK VII.\n BOOK VIII.\n BOOK IX.\n BOOK X.\n BOOK XI.\n BOOK XII.\n BOOK XIII.\n BOOK XIV.\n BOOK XV.\n BOOK XVI.\n BOOK XVII.\n BOOK XVIII.\n BOOK XIX.\n BOOK XX.\n BOOK XXI.\n BOOK XXII.\n BOOK XXIII.\n BOOK XXIV.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nScepticism is as much the result of knowledge, as knowledge is of\nscepticism. To be content with what we at present know, is, for the\nmost part, to shut our ears against conviction; since, from the very\ngradual character of our education, we must continually forget, and\nemancipate ourselves from, knowledge previously acquired; we must set\naside old notions and embrace fresh ones; and, as we learn, we must be\ndaily unlearning something which it has cost us no small labour and\nanxiety to acquire.\n\nAnd this difficulty attaches itself more closely to an age in which\nprogress has gained a strong ascendency over prejudice, and in which\npersons and things are, day by day, finding their real level, in lieu\nof their conventional value. The same principles which have swept away\ntraditional abuses, and which are making rapid havoc among the revenues\nof sinecurists, and stripping the thin, tawdry veil from attractive\nsuperstitions, are working as actively in literature as in society. The\ncredulity of one writer, or the partiality of another, finds as\npowerful a touchstone and as wholesome a chastisement in the healthy\nscepticism of a temperate class of antagonists, as the dreams of\nconservatism, or the impostures of pluralist sinecures in the Church.\nHistory and tradition, whether of ancient or comparatively recent\ntimes, are subjected to very different handling from that which the\nindulgence or credulity of former ages could allow. Mere statements are\njealously watched, and the motives of the writer form as important an\ningredient in the analysis of his history, as the facts he records.\nProbability is a powerful and troublesome test; and it is by this\ntroublesome standard that a large portion of historical evidence is\nsifted. Consistency is no less pertinacious and exacting in its\ndemands. In brief, to write a history, we must know more than mere\nfacts. Human nature, viewed under an introduction of extended\nexperience, is the best help to the criticism of human history.\nHistorical characters can only be estimated by the standard which human\nexperience, whether actual or traditionary, has furnished. To form\ncorrect views of individuals we must regard them as forming parts of a\ngreat whole\u2014we must measure them by their relation to the mass of\nbeings by whom they are surrounded; and, in contemplating the incidents\nin their lives or condition which tradition has handed down to us, we\nmust rather consider the general bearing of the whole narrative, than\nthe respective probability of its details.\n\nIt is unfortunate for us, that, of some of the greatest men, we know\nleast, and talk most. Homer, Socrates, and Shakespere have, perhaps,\ncontributed more to the intellectual enlightenment of mankind than any\nother three writers who could be named, and yet the history of all\nthree has given rise to a boundless ocean of discussion, which has left\nus little save the option of choosing which theory or theories we will\nfollow. The personality of Shakespere is, perhaps, the only thing in\nwhich critics will allow us to believe without controversy; but upon\neverything else, even down to the authorship of plays, there is more or\nless of doubt and uncertainty. Of Socrates we know as little as the\ncontradictions of Plato and Xenophon will allow us to know. He was one\nof the _dramatis person\u00e6_ in two dramas as unlike in principles as in\nstyle. He appears as the enunciator of opinions as different in their\ntone as those of the writers who have handed them down. When we have\nread Plato _or_ Xenophon, we think we know something of Socrates; when\nwe have fairly read and examined both, we feel convinced that we are\nsomething worse than ignorant.\n\nIt has been an easy, and a popular expedient of late years, to deny the\npersonal or real existence of men and things whose life and condition\nwere too much for our belief. This system\u2014which has often comforted the\nreligious sceptic, and substituted the consolations of Strauss for\nthose of the New Testament\u2014has been of incalculable value to the\nhistorical theorists of the last and present centuries. To question the\nexistence of Alexander the Great, would be a more excusable act, than\nto believe in that of Romulus. To deny a fact related in Herodotus,\nbecause it is inconsistent with a theory developed from an Assyrian\ninscription which no two scholars read in the same way, is more\npardonable, than to believe in the good-natured old king whom the\nelegant pen of Florian has idealized\u2014_Numa Pompilius_.\n\nScepticism has attained its culminating point with respect to Homer,\nand the state of our Homeric knowledge may be described as a free\npermission to believe any theory, provided we throw overboard all\nwritten tradition, concerning the author or authors of the Iliad and\nOdyssey. What few authorities exist on the subject, are summarily\ndismissed, although the arguments appear to run in a circle. \u201cThis\ncannot be true, because it is not true; and that is not true, because\nit cannot be true.\u201d Such seems to be the style, in which testimony upon\ntestimony, statement upon statement, is consigned to denial and\noblivion.\n\nIt is, however, unfortunate that the professed biographies of Homer are\npartly forgeries, partly freaks of ingenuity and imagination, in which\ntruth is the requisite most wanting. Before taking a brief review of\nthe Homeric theory in its present conditions, some notice must be taken\nof the treatise on the Life of Homer which has been attributed to\nHerodotus.\n\nAccording to this document, the city of Cumae in AEolia was, at an\nearly period, the seat of frequent immigrations from various parts of\nGreece. Among the immigrants was Menapolus, the son of Ithagenes.\nAlthough poor, he married, and the result of the union was a girl named\nCritheis. The girl was left an orphan at an early age, under the\nguardianship of Cleanax, of Argos. It is to the indiscretion of this\nmaiden that we \u201care indebted for so much happiness.\u201d Homer was the\nfirst fruit of her juvenile frailty, and received the name of\nMelesigenes from having been born near the river Meles in B\u0153otia,\nwhither Critheis had been transported in order to save her reputation.\n\n\u201cAt this time,\u201d continues our narrative, \u201cthere lived at Smyrna a man\nnamed Phemius, a teacher of literature and music, who, not being\nmarried, engaged Critheis to manage his household, and spin the flax he\nreceived as the price of his scholastic labours. So satisfactory was\nher performance of this task, and so modest her conduct, that he made\nproposals of marriage, declaring himself, as a further inducement,\nwilling to adopt her son, who, he asserted, would become a clever man,\nif he were carefully brought up.\u201d\n\nThey were married; careful cultivation ripened the talents which nature\nhad bestowed, and Melesigenes soon surpassed his schoolfellows in every\nattainment, and, when older, rivalled his preceptor in wisdom. Phemius\ndied, leaving him sole heir to his property, and his mother soon\nfollowed. Melesigenes carried on his adopted father\u2019s school with great\nsuccess, exciting the admiration not only of the inhabitants of Smyrna,\nbut also of the strangers whom the trade carried on there, especially\nin the exportation of corn, attracted to that city. Among these\nvisitors, one Mentes, from Leucadia, the modern Santa Maura, who\nevinced a knowledge and intelligence rarely found in those times,\npersuaded Melesigenes to close his school, and accompany him on his\ntravels. He promised not only to pay his expenses, but to furnish him\nwith a further stipend, urging, that, \u201cWhile he was yet young, it was\nfitting that he should see with his own eyes the countries and cities\nwhich might hereafter be the subjects of his discourses.\u201d Melesigenes\nconsented, and set out with his patron, \u201cexamining all the curiosities\nof the countries they visited, and informing himself of everything by\ninterrogating those whom he met.\u201d We may also suppose, that he wrote\nmemoirs of all that he deemed worthy of preservation. Having set sail\nfrom Tyrrhenia and Iberia, they reached Ithaca. Here Melesigenes, who\nhad already suffered in his eyes, became much worse; and Mentes, who\nwas about to leave for Leucadia, left him to the medical\nsuperintendence of a friend of his, named Mentor, the son of Alcinor.\nUnder his hospitable and intelligent host, Melesigenes rapidly became\nacquainted with the legends respecting Ulysses, which afterwards formed\nthe subject of the Odyssey. The inhabitants of Ithaca assert, that it\nwas here that Melesigenes became blind, but the Colophonians make their\ncity the seat of that misfortune. He then returned to Smyrna, where he\napplied himself to the study of poetry.\n\nBut poverty soon drove him to Cumae. Having passed over the Hermaean\nplain, he arrived at Neon Teichos, the New Wall, a colony of Cumae.\nHere his misfortunes and poetical talent gained him the friendship of\none Tychias, an armourer. \u201cAnd up to my time,\u201d continues the author,\n\u201cthe inhabitants showed the place where he used to sit when giving a\nrecitation of his verses; and they greatly honoured the spot. Here also\na poplar grew, which they said had sprung up ever since Melesigenes\narrived.\u201d\n\nBut poverty still drove him on, and he went by way of Larissa, as being\nthe most convenient road. Here, the Cumans say, he composed an epitaph\non Gordius, king of Phrygia, which has however, and with greater\nprobability, been attributed to Cleobulus of Lindus.\n\nArrived at Cumae, he frequented the _conversaziones_ of the old men,\nand delighted all by the charms of his poetry. Encouraged by this\nfavourable reception, he declared that, if they would allow him a\npublic maintenance, he would render their city most gloriously\nrenowned. They avowed their willingness to support him in the measure\nhe proposed, and procured him an audience in the council. Having made\nthe speech, with the purport of which our author has forgotten to\nacquaint us, he retired, and left them to debate respecting the answer\nto be given to his proposal.\n\nThe greater part of the assembly seemed favourable to the poet\u2019s\ndemand, but one man \u201cobserved that if they were to feed _Homers_, they\nwould be encumbered with a multitude of useless people.\u201d \u201cFrom this\ncircumstance,\u201d says the writer, \u201cMelesigenes acquired the name of\nHomer, for the Cumans call blind men _Homers_.\u201d With a love of economy,\nwhich shows how similar the world has always been in its treatment of\nliterary men, the pension was denied, and the poet vented his\ndisappointment in a wish that Cumae might never produce a poet capable\nof giving it renown and glory.\n\nAt Phocaea Homer was destined to experience another literary distress.\nOne Thestorides, who aimed at the reputation of poetical genius, kept\nHomer in his own house, and allowed him a pittance, on condition of the\nverses of the poet passing in his name. Having collected sufficient\npoetry to be profitable, Thestorides, like some would-be literary\npublishers, neglected the man whose brains he had sucked, and left him.\nAt his departure, Homer is said to have observed: \u201cO Thestorides, of\nthe many things hidden from the knowledge of man, nothing is more\nunintelligible than the human heart.\u201d\n\nHomer continued his career of difficulty and distress, until some Chian\nmerchants, struck by the similarity of the verses they heard him\nrecite, acquainted him with the fact that Thestorides was pursuing a\nprofitable livelihood by the recital of the very same poems. This at\nonce determined him to set out for Chios. No vessel happened then to be\nsetting sail thither, but he found one ready to start for Erythrae, a\ntown of Ionia, which faces that island, and he prevailed upon the\nseamen to allow him to accompany them. Having embarked, he invoked a\nfavourable wind, and prayed that he might be able to expose the\nimposture of Thestorides, who, by his breach of hospitality, had drawn\ndown the wrath of Jove the Hospitable.\n\nAt Erythrae, Homer fortunately met with a person who had known him in\nPhocaea, by whose assistance he at length, after some difficulty,\nreached the little hamlet of Pithys. Here he met with an adventure,\nwhich we will continue in the words of our author. \u201cHaving set out from\nPithys, Homer went on, attracted by the cries of some goats that were\npasturing. The dogs barked on his approach, and he cried out. Glaucus\n(for that was the name of the goat-herd) heard his voice, ran up\nquickly, called off his dogs, and drove them away from Homer. For some\ntime he stood wondering how a blind man should have reached such a\nplace alone, and what could be his design in coming. He then went up to\nhim and inquired who he was, and how he had come to desolate places and\nuntrodden spots, and of what he stood in need. Homer, by recounting to\nhim the whole history of his misfortunes, moved him with compassion;\nand he took him and led him to his cot, and, having lit a fire, bade\nhim sup.\n\n\u201cThe dogs, instead of eating, kept barking at the stranger, according\nto their usual habit. Whereupon Homer addressed Glaucus thus: O\nGlaucus, my friend, prythee attend to my behest. First give the dogs\ntheir supper at the doors of the hut: for so it is better, since,\nwhilst they watch, nor thief nor wild beast will approach the fold.\n\n\u201cGlaucus was pleased with the advice and marvelled at its author.\nHaving finished supper, they banqueted afresh on conversation, Homer\nnarrating his wanderings, and telling of the cities he had visited.\n\n\u201cAt length they retired to rest; but on the following morning, Glaucus\nresolved to go to his master, and acquaint him with his meeting with\nHomer. Having left the goats in charge of a fellow-servant, he left\nHomer at home, promising to return quickly. Having arrived at Bolissus,\na place near the farm, and finding his mate, he told him the whole\nstory respecting Homer and his journey. He paid little attention to\nwhat he said, and blamed Glaucus for his stupidity in taking in and\nfeeding maimed and enfeebled persons. However, he bade him bring the\nstranger to him.\n\n\u201cGlaucus told Homer what had taken place, and bade him follow him,\nassuring him that good fortune would be the result. Conversation soon\nshowed that the stranger was a man of much cleverness and general\nknowledge, and the Chian persuaded him to remain, and to undertake the\ncharge of his children.\u201d\n\nBesides the satisfaction of driving the impostor Thestorides from the\nisland, Homer enjoyed considerable success as a teacher. In the town of\nChios he established a school, where he taught the precepts of poetry.\n\u201cTo this day,\u201d says Chandler, \u201cthe most curious remain is that which\nhas been named, without reason, the School of Homer. It is on the\ncoast, at some distance from the city, northward, and appears to have\nbeen an open temple of Cybele, formed on the top of a rock. The shape\nis oval, and in the centre is the image of the goddess, the head and an\narm wanting. She is represented, as usual, sitting. The chair has a\nlion carved on each side, and on the back. The area is bounded by a low\nrim, or seat, and about five yards over. The whole is hewn out of the\nmountain, is rude, indistinct, and probably of the most remote\nantiquity.\u201d\n\nSo successful was this school, that Homer realised a considerable\nfortune. He married, and had two daughters, one of whom died single,\nthe other married a Chian.\n\nThe following passage betrays the same tendency to connect the\npersonages of the poems with the history of the poet, which has already\nbeen mentioned:\u2014\n\n\u201cIn his poetical compositions Homer displays great gratitude towards\nMentor of Ithaca, in the Odyssey, whose name he has inserted in his\npoem as the companion of Ulysses, in return for the care taken of him\nwhen afflicted with blindness. He also testifies his gratitude to\nPhemius, who had given him both sustenance and instruction.\u201d\n\nHis celebrity continued to increase, and many persons advised him to\nvisit Greece whither his reputation had now extended. Having, it is\nsaid, made some additions to his poems calculated to please the vanity\nof the Athenians, of whose city he had hitherto made no mention, he set\nout for Samos. Here, being recognized by a Samian, who had met with him\nin Chios, he was handsomely received, and invited to join in\ncelebrating the Apaturian festival. He recited some verses, which gave\ngreat satisfaction, and by singing the Eiresione at the New Moon\nfestivals, he earned a subsistence, visiting the houses of the rich,\nwith whose children he was very popular.\n\nIn the spring he sailed for Athens, and arrived at the island of Ios,\nnow Ino, where he fell extremely ill, and died. It is said that his\ndeath arose from vexation, at not having been able to unravel an enigma\nproposed by some fishermen\u2019s children.\n\nSuch is, in brief, the substance of the earliest life of Homer we\npossess, and so broad are the evidences of its historical\nworthlessness, that it is scarcely necessary to point them out in\ndetail. Let us now consider some of the opinions to which a\npersevering, patient, and learned\u2014but by no means consistent\u2014series of\ninvestigations has led. In doing so, I profess to bring forward\nstatements, not to vouch for their reasonableness or probability.\n\n\u201cHomer appeared. The history of this poet and his works is lost in\ndoubtful obscurity, as is the history of many of the first minds who\nhave done honour to humanity, because they rose amidst darkness. The\nmajestic stream of his song, blessing and fertilizing, flows like the\nNile, through many lands and nations; and, like the sources of the\nNile, its fountains will ever remain concealed.\u201d\n\nSuch are the words in which one of the most judicious German critics\nhas eloquently described the uncertainty in which the whole of the\nHomeric question is involved. With no less truth and feeling he\nproceeds:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt seems here of chief importance to expect no more than the nature of\nthings makes possible. If the period of tradition in history is the\nregion of twilight, we should not expect in it perfect light. The\ncreations of genius always seem like miracles, because they are, for\nthe most part, created far out of the reach of observation. If we were\nin possession of all the historical testimonies, we never could wholly\nexplain the origin of the Iliad and the Odyssey; for their origin, in\nall essential points, must have remained the secret of the poet.\u201d\n\nFrom this criticism, which shows as much insight into the depths of\nhuman nature as into the minute wire-drawings of scholastic\ninvestigation, let us pass on to the main question at issue. Was Homer\nan individual? or were the Iliad and Odyssey the result of an ingenious\narrangement of fragments by earlier poets?\n\nWell has Landor remarked: \u201cSome tell us there were twenty Homers; some\ndeny that there was ever one. It were idle and foolish to shake the\ncontents of a vase, in order to let them settle at last. We are\nperpetually labouring to destroy our delights, our composure, our\ndevotion to superior power. Of all the animals on earth we least know\nwhat is good for us. My opinion is, that what is best for us is our\nadmiration of good. No man living venerates Homer more than I do.\u201d\n\nBut, greatly as we admire the generous enthusiasm which rests contented\nwith the poetry on which its best impulses had been nurtured and\nfostered, without seeking to destroy the vividness of first impressions\nby minute analysis, our editorial office compels us to give some\nattention to the doubts and difficulties with which the Homeric\nquestion is beset, and to entreat our reader, for a brief period, to\nprefer his judgment to his imagination, and to condescend to dry\ndetails. Before, however, entering into particulars respecting the\nquestion of this unity of the Homeric poems, (at least of the Iliad,) I\nmust express my sympathy with the sentiments expressed in the following\nremarks:\u2014\n\n\u201cWe cannot but think the universal admiration of its unity by the\nbetter, the poetic age of Greece, almost conclusive testimony to its\noriginal composition. It was not till the age of the grammarians that\nits primitive integrity was called in question; nor is it injustice to\nassert, that the minute and analytical spirit of a grammarian is not\nthe best qualification for the profound feeling, the comprehensive\nconception of an harmonious whole. The most exquisite anatomist may be\nno judge of the symmetry of the human frame; and we would take the\nopinion of Chantrey or Westmacott on the proportions and general beauty\nof a form, rather than that of Mr. Brodie or Sir Astley Cooper.\n\n\u201cThere is some truth, though some malicious exaggeration, in the lines\nof Pope:\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018The critic eye\u2014that microscope of wit\u2014\nSees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit;\nHow parts relate to parts, or they to whole.\nThe body\u2019s harmony, the beaming soul,\nAre things which Kuster, Burmann, Wasse, shall see,\nWhen man\u2019s whole frame is obvious to a flea.\u2019\u201d\n\n\nLong was the time which elapsed before any one dreamt of questioning\nthe unity of the authorship of the Homeric poems. The grave and\ncautious Thucydides quoted without hesitation the Hymn to Apollo, the\nauthenticity of which has been already disclaimed by modern critics.\nLonginus, in an oft-quoted passage, merely expressed an opinion\ntouching the comparative inferiority of the Odyssey to the Iliad; and,\namong a mass of ancient authors, whose very names it would be tedious\nto detail, no suspicion of the personal non-existence of Homer ever\narose. So far, the voice of antiquity seems to be in favour of our\nearly ideas on the subject: let us now see what are the discoveries to\nwhich more modern investigations lay claim.\n\nAt the end of the seventeenth century, doubts had begun to awaken on\nthe subject, and we find Bentley remarking that \u201cHomer wrote a sequel\nof songs and rhapsodies, to be sung by himself, for small comings and\ngood cheer, at festivals and other days of merriment. These loose songs\nwere not collected together, in the form of an epic poem, till about\nPeisistratus\u2019 time, about five hundred years after.\u201d\n\nTwo French writers\u2014Hedelin and Perrault\u2014avowed a similar scepticism on\nthe subject; but it is in the \u201cScienza Nuova\u201d of Battista Vico, that we\nfirst meet with the germ of the theory, subsequently defended by Wolf\nwith so much learning and acuteness. Indeed, it is with the Wolfian\ntheory that we have chiefly to deal, and with the following bold\nhypothesis, which we will detail in the words of Grote:\u2014\n\n\u201cHalf a century ago, the acute and valuable Prolegomena of F. A. Wolf,\nturning to account the Venetian Scholia, which had then been recently\npublished, first opened philosophical discussion as to the history of\nthe Homeric text. A considerable part of that dissertation (though by\nno means the whole) is employed in vindicating the position, previously\nannounced by Bentley, amongst others, that the separate constituent\nportions of the Iliad and Odyssey had not been cemented together into\nany compact body and unchangeable order, until the days of\nPeisistratus, in the sixth century before Christ. As a step towards\nthat conclusion, Wolf maintained that no written copies of either poem\ncould be shown to have existed during the earlier times, to which their\ncomposition is referred; and that without writing, neither the perfect\nsymmetry of so complicated a work could have been originally conceived\nby any poet, nor, if realized by him, transmitted with assurance to\nposterity. The absence of easy and convenient writing, such as must be\nindispensably supposed for long manuscripts, among the early Greeks,\nwas thus one of the points in Wolf\u2019s case against the primitive\nintegrity of the Iliad and Odyssey. By Nitzsch, and other leading\nopponents of Wolf, the connection of the one with the other seems to\nhave been accepted as he originally put it; and it has been considered\nincumbent on those who defended the ancient aggregate character of the\nIliad and Odyssey, to maintain that they were written poems from the\nbeginning.\n\n\u201cTo me it appears, that the architectonic functions ascribed by Wolf to\nPeisistratus and his associates, in reference to the Homeric poems, are\nnowise admissible. But much would undoubtedly be gained towards that\nview of the question, if it could be shown, that, in order to\ncontrovert it, we were driven to the necessity of admitting long\nwritten poems, in the ninth century before the Christian aera. Few\nthings, in my opinion, can be more improbable; and Mr. Payne Knight,\nopposed as he is to the Wolfian hypothesis, admits this no less than\nWolf himself. The traces of writing in Greece, even in the seventh\ncentury before the Christian aera, are exceedingly trifling. We have no\nremaining inscription earlier than the fortieth Olympiad, and the early\ninscriptions are rude and unskilfully executed; nor can we even assure\nourselves whether Archilochus, Simonides of Amorgus, Kallinus Tyrtaeus,\nXanthus, and the other early elegiac and lyric poets, committed their\ncompositions to writing, or at what time the practice of doing so\nbecame familiar. The first positive ground which authorizes us to\npresume the existence of a manuscript of Homer, is in the famous\nordinance of Solon, with regard to the rhapsodies at the Panathenaea:\nbut for what length of time previously manuscripts had existed, we are\nunable to say.\n\n\u201cThose who maintain the Homeric poems to have been written from the\nbeginning, rest their case, not upon positive proofs, nor yet upon the\nexisting habits of society with regard to poetry\u2014for they admit\ngenerally that the Iliad and Odyssey were not read, but recited and\nheard,\u2014but upon the supposed necessity that there must have been\nmanuscripts to ensure the preservation of the poems\u2014the unassisted\nmemory of reciters being neither sufficient nor trustworthy. But here\nwe only escape a smaller difficulty by running into a greater; for the\nexistence of trained bards, gifted with extraordinary memory, is far\nless astonishing than that of long manuscripts, in an age essentially\nnon-reading and non-writing, and when even suitable instruments and\nmaterials for the process are not obvious. Moreover, there is a strong\npositive reason for believing that the bard was under no necessity of\nrefreshing his memory by consulting a manuscript; for if such had been\nthe fact, blindness would have been a disqualification for the\nprofession, which we know that it was not, as well from the example of\nDemodokus, in the Odyssey, as from that of the blind bard of Chios, in\nthe Hymn to the Delian Apollo, whom Thucydides, as well as the general\ntenor of Grecian legend, identifies with Homer himself. The author of\nthat hymn, be he who he may, could never have described a blind man as\nattaining the utmost perfection in his art, if he had been conscious\nthat the memory of the bard was only maintained by constant reference\nto the manuscript in his chest.\u201d\n\nThe loss of the digamma, that _crux_ of critics, that quicksand upon\nwhich even the acumen of Bentley was shipwrecked, seems to prove beyond\na doubt, that the pronunciation of the Greek language had undergone a\nconsiderable change. Now it is certainly difficult to suppose that the\nHomeric poems could have suffered by this change, had written copies\nbeen preserved. If Chaucer\u2019s poetry, for instance, had not been\nwritten, it could only have come down to us in a softened form, more\nlike the effeminate version of Dryden, than the rough, quaint, noble\noriginal.\n\n\u201cAt what period,\u201d continues Grote, \u201cthese poems, or indeed any other\nGreek poems, first began to be written, must be matter of conjecture,\nthough there is ground for assurance that it was before the time of\nSolon. If, in the absence of evidence, we may venture upon naming any\nmore determinate period, the question at once suggests itself, What\nwere the purposes which, in that state of society, a manuscript at its\nfirst commencement must have been intended to answer? For whom was a\nwritten Iliad necessary? Not for the rhapsodes; for with them it was\nnot only planted in the memory, but also interwoven with the feelings,\nand conceived in conjunction with all those flexions and intonations of\nvoice, pauses, and other oral artifices which were required for\nemphatic delivery, and which the naked manuscript could never\nreproduce. Not for the general public\u2014they were accustomed to receive\nit with its rhapsodic delivery, and with its accompaniments of a solemn\nand crowded festival. The only persons for whom the written Iliad would\nbe suitable would be a select few; studious and curious men; a class of\nreaders capable of analyzing the complicated emotions which they had\nexperienced as hearers in the crowd, and who would, on perusing the\nwritten words, realize in their imaginations a sensible portion of the\nimpression communicated by the reciter. Incredible as the statement may\nseem in an age like the present, there is in all early societies, and\nthere was in early Greece, a time when no such reading class existed.\nIf we could discover at what time such a class first began to be\nformed, we should be able to make a guess at the time when the old epic\npoems were first committed to writing. Now the period which may with\nthe greatest probability be fixed upon as having first witnessed the\nformation even of the narrowest reading class in Greece, is the middle\nof the seventh century before the Christian aera (B.C. 660 to B.C.\n630), the age of Terpander, Kallinus, Archilochus, Simenides of\nAmorgus, &c. I ground this supposition on the change then operated in\nthe character and tendencies of Grecian poetry and music\u2014the elegiac\nand the iambic measures having been introduced as rivals to the\nprimitive hexameter, and poetical compositions having been transferred\nfrom the epical past to the affairs of present and real life. Such a\nchange was important at a time when poetry was the only known mode of\npublication (to use a modern phrase not altogether suitable, yet the\nnearest approaching to the sense). It argued a new way of looking at\nthe old epical treasures of the people, as well as a thirst for new\npoetical effect; and the men who stood forward in it may well be\nconsidered as desirous to study, and competent to criticize, from their\nown individual point of view, the written words of the Homeric\nrhapsodies, just as we are told that Kallinus both noticed and\neulogized the Thebais as the production of Homer. There seems,\ntherefore, ground for conjecturing that (for the use of this\nnewly-formed and important, but very narrow class), manuscripts of the\nHomeric poems and other old epics,\u2014the Thebais and the Cypria, as well\nas the Iliad and the Odyssey,\u2014began to be compiled towards the middle\nof the seventh century B.C.; and the opening of Egypt to Grecian\ncommerce, which took place about the same period, would furnish\nincreased facilities for obtaining the requisite papyrus to write upon.\nA reading class, when once formed, would doubtless slowly increase, and\nthe number of manuscripts along with it: so that before the time of\nSolon, fifty years afterwards, both readers and manuscripts, though\nstill comparatively few, might have attained a certain recognized\nauthority, and formed a tribunal of reference against the carelessness\nof individual rhapsodies.\u201d\n\nBut even Peisistratus has not been suffered to remain in possession of\nthe credit, and we cannot help feeling the force of the following\nobservations:\u2014\n\n\u201cThere are several incidental circumstances which, in our opinion,\nthrow some suspicion over the whole history of the Peisistratid\ncompilation, at least over the theory that the Iliad was cast into its\npresent stately and harmonious form by the directions of the Athenian\nruler. If the great poets, who flourished at the bright period of\nGrecian song, of which, alas! we have inherited little more than the\nfame, and the faint echo; if Stesichorus, Anacreon, and Simonides were\nemployed in the noble task of compiling the Iliad and Odyssey, so much\nmust have been done to arrange, to connect, to harmonize, that it is\nalmost incredible that stronger marks of Athenian manufacture should\nnot remain. Whatever occasional anomalies may be detected, anomalies\nwhich no doubt arise out of our own ignorance of the language of the\nHomeric age; however the irregular use of the digamma may have\nperplexed our Bentleys, to whom the name of Helen is said to have\ncaused as much disquiet and distress as the fair one herself among the\nheroes of her age; however Mr. Knight may have failed in reducing the\nHomeric language to its primitive form; however, finally, the Attic\ndialect may not have assumed all its more marked and distinguishing\ncharacteristics:\u2014still it is difficult to suppose that the language,\nparticularly in the joinings and transitions, and connecting parts,\nshould not more clearly betray the incongruity between the more ancient\nand modern forms of expression. It is not quite in character with such\na period to imitate an antique style, in order to piece out an\nimperfect poem in the character of the original, as Sir Walter Scott\nhas done in his continuation of Sir Tristram.\n\n\u201cIf, however, not even such faint and indistinct traces of Athenian\ncompilation are discoverable in the language of the poems, the total\nabsence of Athenian national feeling is perhaps no less worthy of\nobservation. In later, and it may fairly be suspected in earlier times,\nthe Athenians were more than ordinarily jealous of the fame of their\nancestors. But, amid all the traditions of the glories of early Greece\nembodied in the Iliad, the Athenians play a most subordinate and\ninsignificant part. Even the few passages which relate to their\nancestors, Mr. Knight suspects to be interpolations. It is possible,\nindeed, that in its leading outline, the Iliad may be true to historic\nfact; that in the great maritime expedition of western Greece against\nthe rival and half-kindred empire of the Laomedontiadae, the chieftain\nof Thessaly, from his valour and the number of his forces, may have\nbeen the most important ally of the Peloponnesian sovereign: the\npre-eminent value of the ancient poetry on the Trojan war may thus have\nforced the national feeling of the Athenians to yield to their taste.\nThe songs which spoke of their own great ancestor were, no doubt, of\nfar inferior sublimity and popularity, or, at first sight, a Theseid\nwould have been much more likely to have emanated from an Athenian\nsynod of compilers of ancient song, than an Achilleid or an Odysseid.\nCould France have given birth to a Tasso, Tancred would have been the\nhero of the Jerusalem. If, however, the Homeric ballads, as they are\nsometimes called, which related the wrath of Achilles, with all its\ndireful consequences, were so far superior to the rest of the poetic\ncycle, as to admit no rivalry,\u2014it is still surprising, that throughout\nthe whole poem the _callida junctura_ should never betray the\nworkmanship of an Athenian hand; and that the national spirit of a\nrace, who have at a later period not inaptly been compared to our\nself-admiring neighbours, the French, should submit with lofty\nself-denial to the almost total exclusion of their own ancestors\u2014or, at\nleast, to the questionable dignity of only having produced a leader\ntolerably skilled in the military tactics of his age.\u201d\n\nTo return to the Wolfian theory. While it is to be confessed, that\nWolf\u2019s objections to the primitive integrity of the Iliad and Odyssey\nhave never been wholly got over, we cannot help discovering that they\nhave failed to enlighten us as to any substantial point, and that the\ndifficulties with which the whole subject is beset, are rather\naugmented than otherwise, if we admit his hypothesis. Nor is Lachmann\u2019s\nmodification of his theory any better. He divides the first twenty-two\nbooks of the Iliad into sixteen different songs, and treats as\nridiculous the belief that their amalgamation into one regular poem\nbelongs to a period earlier than the age of Peisistratus. This as Grote\nobserves, \u201cex-plains the gaps and contradictions in the narrative, but\nit explains nothing else.\u201d Moreover, we find no contradictions\nwarranting this belief, and the so-called sixteen poets concur in\ngetting rid of the following leading men in the first battle after the\nsecession of Achilles: Elphenor, chief of the Euboeans; Tlepolemus, of\nthe Rhodians; Pandarus, of the Lycians; Odins, of the Halizonians:\nPirous and Acamas, of the Thracians. None of these heroes again make\ntheir appearance, and we can but agree with Colonel Mure, that \u201cit\nseems strange that any number of independent poets should have so\nharmoniously dispensed with the services of all six in the sequel.\u201d The\ndiscrepancy, by which Pylaemenes, who is represented as dead in the\nfifth book, weeps at his son\u2019s funeral in the thirteenth, can only be\nregarded as the result of an interpolation.\n\nGrote, although not very distinct in stating his own opinions on the\nsubject, has done much to clearly show the incongruity of the Wolfian\ntheory, and of Lachmann\u2019s modifications, with the character of\nPeisistratus. But he has also shown, and we think with equal success,\nthat the two questions relative to the primitive unity of these poems,\nor, supposing that impossible, the unison of these parts by\nPeisistratus, and not before his time, are essentially distinct. In\nshort, \u201ca man may believe the Iliad to have been put together out of\npre-existing songs, without recognising the age of Peisistratus as the\nperiod of its first compilation.\u201d The friends or literary _employ\u00e9s_ of\nPeisistratus must have found an Iliad that was already ancient, and the\nsilence of the Alexandrine critics respecting the Peisistratic\n\u201crecension,\u201d goes far to prove, that, among the numerous manuscripts\nthey examined, this was either wanting, or thought unworthy of\nattention.\n\n\u201cMoreover,\u201d he continues, \u201cthe whole tenor of the poems themselves\nconfirms what is here remarked. There is nothing, either in the Iliad\nor Odyssey, which savours of modernism, applying that term to the age\nof Peisistratus\u2014nothing which brings to our view the alterations\nbrought about by two centuries, in the Greek language, the coined\nmoney, the habits of writing and reading, the despotisms and republican\ngovernments, the close military array, the improved construction of\nships, the Amphiktyonic convocations, the mutual frequentation of\nreligious festivals, the Oriental and Egyptian veins of religion, &c.,\nfamiliar to the latter epoch. These alterations Onomakritus, and the\nother literary friends of Peisistratus, could hardly have failed to\nnotice, even without design, had they then, for the first time,\nundertaken the task of piecing together many self-existent epics into\none large aggregate. Everything in the two great Homeric poems, both in\nsubstance and in language, belongs to an age two or three centuries\nearlier than Peisistratus. Indeed, even the interpolations (or those\npassages which, on the best grounds, are pronounced to be such) betray\nno trace of the sixth century before Christ, and may well have been\nheard by Archilochus and Kallinus\u2014in some cases even by Arktinus and\nHesiod\u2014as genuine Homeric matter. As far as the evidences on the case,\nas well internal as external, enable us to judge, we seem warranted in\nbelieving that the Iliad and Odyssey were recited substantially as they\nnow stand (always allowing for partial divergences of text and\ninterpolations) in 776 B.C., our first trustworthy mark of Grecian\ntime; and this ancient date, let it be added, as it is the\nbest-authenticated fact, so it is also the most important attribute of\nthe Homeric poems, considered in reference to Grecian history; for they\nthus afford us an insight into the anti-historical character of the\nGreeks, enabling us to trace the subsequent forward march of the\nnation, and to seize instructive contrasts between their former and\ntheir later condition.\u201d\n\nOn the whole, I am inclined to believe, that the labours of\nPeisistratus were wholly of an editorial character, although I must\nconfess that I can lay down nothing respecting the extent of his\nlabours. At the same time, so far from believing that the composition\nor primary arrangement of these poems, in their present form, was the\nwork of Peisistratus, I am rather persuaded that the fine taste and\nelegant, mind of that Athenian would lead him to preserve an ancient\nand traditional order of the poems, rather than to patch and\nreconstruct them according to a fanciful hypothesis. I will not repeat\nthe many discussions respecting whether the poems were written or not,\nor whether the art of writing was known in the time of their reputed\nauthor. Suffice it to say, that the more we read, the less satisfied we\nare upon either subject.\n\nI cannot, however, help thinking, that the story which attributes the\npreservation of these poems to Lycurgus, is little else than a version\nof the same story as that of Peisistratus, while its historical\nprobability must be measured by that of many others relating to the\nSpartan Confucius.\n\nI will conclude this sketch of the Homeric theories with an attempt,\nmade by an ingenious friend, to unite them into something like\nconsistency. It is as follows:\u2014\n\n\u201cNo doubt the common soldiers of that age had, like the common sailors\nof some fifty years ago, some one qualified to \u2018discourse in excellent\nmusic\u2019 among them. Many of these, like those of the negroes in the\nUnited States, were extemporaneous, and allusive to events passing\naround them. But what was passing around them? The grand events of a\nspirit-stirring war; occurrences likely to impress themselves, as the\nmystical legends of former times had done, upon their memory; besides\nwhich, a retentive memory was deemed a virtue of the first water, and\nwas cultivated accordingly in those ancient times. Ballads at first,\nand down to the beginning of the war with Troy, were merely\nrecitations, with an intonation. Then followed a species of recitative,\nprobably with an intoned burden. Tune next followed, as it aided the\nmemory considerably.\n\n\u201cIt was at this period, about four hundred years after the war, that a\npoet flourished of the name of Melesigenes, or Moeonides, but most\nprobably the former. He saw that these ballads might be made of great\nutility to his purpose of writing a poem on the social position of\nHellas, and, as a collection, he published these lays connecting them\nby a tale of his own. This poem now exists, under the title of the\n\u2018Odyssea.\u2019 The author, however, did not affix his own name to the poem,\nwhich, in fact, was, great part of it, remodelled from the archaic\ndialect of Crete, in which tongue the ballads were found by him. He\ntherefore called it the poem of Homeros, or the Collector; but this is\nrather a proof of his modesty and talent, than of his mere drudging\narrangement of other people\u2019s ideas; for, as Grote has finely observed,\narguing for the unity of authorship, \u2018a great poet might have re-cast\npre-existing separate songs into one comprehensive whole; but no mere\narrangers or compilers would be competent to do so.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhile employed on the wild legend of Odysseus, he met with a ballad,\nrecording the quarrel of Achilles and Agamemnon. His noble mind seized\nthe hint that there presented itself, and the Achilleis grew under his\nhand. Unity of design, however, caused him to publish the poem under\nthe same pseudonyme as his former work; and the disjointed lays of the\nancient bards were joined together, like those relating to the Cid,\ninto a chronicle history, named the Iliad. Melesigenes knew that the\npoem was destined to be a lasting one, and so it has proved; but,\nfirst, the poems were destined to undergo many vicissitudes and\ncorruptions, by the people who took to singing them in the streets,\nassemblies, and agoras. However, Solon first, and then Peisistratus,\nand afterwards Aristoteles and others, revised the poems, and restored\nthe works of Melesigenes Homeros to their original integrity in a great\nmeasure.\u201d\n\nHaving thus given some general notion of the strange theories which\nhave developed themselves respecting this most interesting subject, I\nmust still express my conviction as to the unity of the authorship of\nthe Homeric poems. To deny that many corruptions and interpolations\ndisfigure them, and that the intrusive hand of the poetasters may here\nand there have inflicted a wound more serious than the negligence of\nthe copyist, would be an absurd and captious assumption; but it is to a\nhigher criticism that we must appeal, if we would either understand or\nenjoy these poems. In maintaining the authenticity and personality of\ntheir one author, be he Homer or Melesigenes, _quocunque nomine vocari\neum jus fasque sit_, I feel conscious that, while the whole weight of\nhistorical evidence is against the hypothesis which would assign these\ngreat works to a plurality of authors, the most powerful internal\nevidence, and that which springs from the deepest and most immediate\nimpulse of the soul, also speaks eloquently to the contrary.\n\nThe minutiae of verbal criticism I am far from seeking to despise.\nIndeed, considering the character of some of my own books, such an\nattempt would be gross inconsistency. But, while I appreciate its\nimportance in a philological view, I am inclined to set little store on\nits aesthetic value, especially in poetry. Three parts of the\nemendations made upon poets are mere alterations, some of which, had\nthey been suggested to the author by his Maecenas or Africanus, he\nwould probably have adopted. Moreover, those who are most exact in\nlaying down rules of verbal criticism and interpretation, are often\nleast competent to carry out their own precepts. Grammarians are not\npoets by profession, but may be so _per accidens_. I do not at this\nmoment remember two emendations on Homer, calculated to substantially\nimprove the poetry of a passage, although a mass of remarks, from\nHerodotus down to Loewe, have given us the history of a thousand minute\npoints, without which our Greek knowledge would be gloomy and jejune.\n\nBut it is not on words only that grammarians, mere grammarians, will\nexercise their elaborate and often tiresome ingenuity. Binding down an\nheroic or dramatic poet to the block upon which they have previously\ndissected his words and sentences, they proceed to use the axe and the\npruning knife by wholesale; and, inconsistent in everything but their\nwish to make out a case of unlawful affiliation, they cut out book\nafter book, passage after passage, till the author is reduced to a\ncollection of fragments, or till those who fancied they possessed the\nworks of some great man, find that they have been put off with a vile\ncounterfeit got up at second hand. If we compare the theories of\nKnight, Wolf, Lachmann; and others, we shall feel better satisfied of\nthe utter uncertainty of criticism than of the apocryphal position of\nHomer. One rejects what another considers the turning-point of his\ntheory. One cuts a supposed knot by expunging what another would\nexplain by omitting something else.\n\nNor is this morbid species of sagacity by any means to be looked upon\nas a literary novelty. Justus Lipsius, a scholar of no ordinary skill,\nseems to revel in the imaginary discovery, that the tragedies\nattributed to Seneca are by _four_ different authors. Now, I will\nventure to assert, that these tragedies are so uniform, not only in\ntheir borrowed phraseology\u2014a phraseology with which writers like\nBoethius and Saxo Grammaticus were more charmed than ourselves\u2014in their\nfreedom from real poetry, and last, but not least, in an ultra-refined\nand consistent abandonment of good taste, that few writers of the\npresent day would question the capabilities of the same gentleman, be\nhe Seneca or not, to produce not only these, but a great many more\nequally bad. With equal sagacity, Father Hardouin astonished the world\nwith the startling announcement that the AEneid of Virgil, and the\nsatires of Horace, were literary deceptions. Now, without wishing to\nsay one word of disrespect against the industry and learning\u2014nay, the\nrefined acuteness\u2014which scholars like Wolf have bestowed upon this\nsubject, I must express my fears, that many of our modern Homeric\ntheories will become matter for the surprise and entertainment, rather\nthan the instruction, of posterity. Nor can I help thinking that the\nliterary history of more recent times will account for many points of\ndifficulty in the transmission of the Iliad and Odyssey to a period so\nremote from that of their first creation.\n\nI have already expressed my belief that the labours of Peisistratus\nwere of a purely editorial character; and there seems no more reason\nwhy corrupt and imperfect editions of Homer may not have been abroad in\nhis day, than that the poems of Valerius Flaccus and Tibullus should\nhave given so much trouble to Poggio, Scaliger, and others. But, after\nall, the main fault in all the Homeric theories is, that they demand\ntoo great a sacrifice of those feelings to which poetry most powerfully\nappeals, and which are its most fitting judges. The ingenuity which has\nsought to rob us of the name and existence of Homer, does too much\nviolence to that inward emotion, which makes our whole soul yearn with\nlove and admiration for the blind bard of Chios. To believe the author\nof the Iliad a mere compiler, is to degrade the powers of human\ninvention; to elevate analytical judgment at the expense of the most\nennobling impulses of the soul; and to forget the ocean in the\ncontemplation of a polypus. There is a catholicity, so to speak, in the\nvery name of Homer. Our faith in the author of the Iliad may be a\nmistaken one, but as yet nobody has taught us a better.\n\nWhile, however, I look upon the belief in Homer as one that has nature\nherself for its mainspring; while I can join with old Ennius in\nbelieving in Homer as the ghost, who, like some patron saint, hovers\nround the bed of the poet, and even bestows rare gifts from that wealth\nof imagination which a host of imitators could not exhaust,\u2014still I am\nfar from wishing to deny that the author of these great poems found a\nrich fund of tradition, a well-stocked mythical storehouse, from whence\nhe might derive both subject and embellishment. But it is one thing to\n_use_ existing romances in the embellishment of a poem, another to\npatch up the poem itself from such materials. What consistency of style\nand execution can be hoped for from such an attempt? or, rather, what\nbad taste and tedium will not be the infallible result?\n\nA blending of popular legends, and a free use of the songs of other\nbards, are features perfectly consistent with poetical originality. In\nfact, the most original writer is still drawing upon outward\nimpressions\u2014nay, even his own thoughts are a kind of secondary agents\nwhich support and feed the impulses of imagination. But unless there be\nsome grand pervading principle\u2014some invisible, yet most distinctly\nstamped archetypus of the great whole, a poem like the Iliad can never\ncome to the birth. Traditions the most picturesque, episodes the most\npathetic, local associations teeming with the thoughts of gods and\ngreat men, may crowd in one mighty vision, or reveal themselves in more\nsubstantial forms to the mind of the poet; but, except the power to\ncreate a grand whole, to which these shall be but as details and\nembellishments, be present, we shall have nought but a scrap-book, a\nparterre filled with flowers and weeds strangling each other in their\nwild redundancy; we shall have a cento of rags and tatters, which will\nrequire little acuteness to detect.\n\nSensible as I am of the difficulty of disproving a negative, and aware\nas I must be of the weighty grounds there are for opposing my belief,\nit still seems to me that the Homeric question is one that is reserved\nfor a higher criticism than it has often obtained. We are not by nature\nintended to know all things; still less, to compass the powers by which\nthe greatest blessings of life have been placed at our disposal. Were\nfaith no virtue, then we might indeed wonder why God willed our\nignorance on any matter. But we are too well taught the contrary\nlesson; and it seems as though our faith should be especially tried,\ntouching the men and the events which have wrought most influence upon\nthe condition of humanity. And there is a kind of sacredness attached\nto the memory of the great and the good, which seems to bid us repulse\nthe scepticism which would allegorize their existence into a pleasing\napologue, and measure the giants of intellect by an homaeopathic\ndynameter.\n\nLong and habitual reading of Homer appears to familiarize our thoughts\neven to his incongruities; or rather, if we read in a right spirit and\nwith a heartfelt appreciation, we are too much dazzled, too deeply\nwrapped in admiration of the whole, to dwell upon the minute spots\nwhich mere analysis can discover. In reading an heroic poem, we must\ntransform ourselves into heroes of the time being, we in imagination\nmust fight over the same battles, woo the same loves, burn with the\nsame sense of injury, as an Achilles or a Hector. And if we can but\nattain this degree of enthusiasm (and less enthusiasm will scarcely\nsuffice for the reading of Homer), we shall feel that the poems of\nHomer are not only the work of one writer, but of the greatest writer\nthat ever touched the hearts of men by the power of song.\n\nAnd it was this supposed unity of authorship which gave these poems\ntheir powerful influence over the minds of the men of old. Heeren, who\nis evidently little disposed in favour of modern theories, finely\nobserves:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt was Homer who formed the character of the Greek nation. No poet has\never, as a poet, exercised a similar influence over his countrymen.\nProphets, lawgivers, and sages have formed the character of other\nnations; it was reserved to a poet to form that of the Greeks. This is\na feature in their character which was not wholly erased even in the\nperiod of their degeneracy. When lawgivers and sages appeared in\nGreece, the work of the poet had already been accomplished; and they\npaid homage to his superior genius. He held up before his nation the\nmirror in which they were to behold the world of gods and heroes, no\nless than of feeble mortals, and to behold them reflected with purity\nand truth. His poems are founded on the first feeling of human nature;\non the love of children, wife, and country; on that passion which\noutweighs all others, the love of glory. His songs were poured forth\nfrom a breast which sympathized with all the feelings of man; and\ntherefore they enter, and will continue to enter, every breast which\ncherishes the same sympathies. If it is granted to his immortal spirit,\nfrom another heaven than any of which he dreamed on earth, to look down\non his race, to see the nations from the fields of Asia, to the forests\nof Hercynia, performing pilgrimages to the fountain which his magic\nwand caused to flow; if it is permitted to him to view the vast\nassemblage of grand, of elevated, of glorious productions, which had\nbeen called into being by means of his songs; wherever his immortal\nspirit may reside, this alone would suffice to complete his happiness.\u201d\n\nCan we contemplate that ancient monument, on which the \u201cApotheosis of\nHomer\u201d is depictured, and not feel how much of pleasing association,\nhow much that appeals most forcibly and most distinctly to our minds,\nis lost by the admittance of any theory but our old tradition? The more\nwe read, and the more we think\u2014think as becomes the readers of\nHomer,\u2014the more rooted becomes the conviction that the Father of Poetry\ngave us this rich inheritance, whole and entire. Whatever were the\nmeans of its preservation, let us rather be thankful for the treasury\nof taste and eloquence thus laid open to our use, than seek to make it\na mere centre around which to drive a series of theories, whose\nwildness is only equalled by their inconsistency with each other.\n\nAs the hymns, and some other poems usually ascribed to Homer, are not\nincluded in Pope\u2019s translation, I will content myself with a brief\naccount of the Battle of the Frogs and Mice, from the pen of a writer\nwho has done it full justice:\u2014\n\n\u201cThis poem,\u201d says Coleridge, \u201cis a short mock-heroic of ancient date.\nThe text varies in different editions, and is obviously disturbed and\ncorrupt to a great degree; it is commonly said to have been a juvenile\nessay of Homer\u2019s genius; others have attributed it to the same Pigrees\nmentioned above, and whose reputation for humour seems to have invited\nthe appropriation of any piece of ancient wit, the author of which was\nuncertain; so little did the Greeks, before the age of the Ptolemies,\nknow or care about that department of criticism employed in determining\nthe genuineness of ancient writings. As to this little poem being a\nyouthful prolusion of Homer, it seems sufficient to say that from the\nbeginning to the end, it is a plain and palpable parody, not only of\nthe general spirit, but of numerous passages of the Iliad itself; and,\neven if no such intention to parody were discernible in it, the\nobjection would still remain, that to suppose a work of mere burlesque\nto be the primary effort of poetry in a simple age, seems to reverse\nthat order in the development of national taste, which the history of\nevery other people in Europe, and of many in Asia, has almost\nascertained to be a law of the human mind; it is in a state of society\nmuch more refined and permanent than that described in the Iliad, that\nany popularity would attend such a ridicule of war and the gods as is\ncontained in this poem; and the fact of there having existed three\nother poems of the same kind attributed, for aught we can see, with as\nmuch reason to Homer, is a strong inducement to believe that none of\nthem were of the Homeric age. Knight infers from the usage of the word\n\u03b4\u1f72\u03bb\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2, \u2018writing tablet,\u2019 instead of \u03b4\u03b9\u03c6\u03b8\u03ad\u03c1\u03b1, \u2018skin,\u2019 which, according\nto Herod 5, 58, was the material employed by the Asiatic Greeks for\nthat purpose, that this poem was another offspring of Attic ingenuity;\nand generally that the familiar mention of the cock (v. 191) is a\nstrong argument against so ancient a date for its composition.\u201d\n\nHaving thus given a brief account of the poems comprised in Pope\u2019s\ndesign, I will now proceed to make a few remarks on his translation,\nand on my own purpose in the present edition.\n\nPope was not a Grecian. His whole education had been irregular, and his\nearliest acquaintance with the poet was through the version of Ogilby.\nIt is not too much to say that his whole work bears the impress of a\ndisposition to be satisfied with the general sense, rather than to dive\ndeeply into the minute and delicate features of language. Hence his\nwhole work is to be looked upon rather as an elegant paraphrase than a\ntranslation. There are, to be sure, certain conventional anecdotes,\nwhich prove that Pope consulted various friends, whose classical\nattainments were sounder than his own, during the undertaking; but it\nis probable that these examinations were the result rather of the\ncontradictory versions already existing, than of a desire to make a\nperfect transcript of the original. And in those days, what is called\nliteral translation was less cultivated than at present. If something\nlike the general sense could be decorated with the easy gracefulness of\na practised poet; if the charms of metrical cadence and a pleasing\nfluency could be made consistent with a fair interpretation of the\npoet\u2019s meaning, his words were less jealously sought for, and those who\ncould read so good a poem as Pope\u2019s Iliad had fair reason to be\nsatisfied.\n\nIt would be absurd, therefore, to test Pope\u2019s translation by our own\nadvancing knowledge of the original text. We must be content to look at\nit as a most delightful work in itself,\u2014a work which is as much a part\nof English literature as Homer himself is of Greek. We must not be torn\nfrom our kindly associations with the old Iliad, that once was our most\ncherished companion, or our most looked-for prize, merely because\nButtmann, Loewe, and Liddell have made us so much more accurate as to\n\u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u03b9\u03ba\u03cd\u03c0\u03b5\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd being an adjective, and not a substantive. Far be it from\nus to defend the faults of Pope, especially when we think of Chapman\u2019s\nfine, bold, rough old English;\u2014far be it from us to hold up his\ntranslation as what a translation of Homer _might_ be. But we can still\ndismiss Pope\u2019s Iliad to the hands of our readers, with the\nconsciousness that they must have read a very great number of books\nbefore they have read its fellow.\n\nTHEODORE ALOIS BUCKLEY.\n\n\n_Christ Church._\n\n\n\n\nTHE ODYSSEY OF HOMER.\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nMINERVA\u2019S DESCENT TO ITHACA.\n\n\nThe poem opens within forty eight days of the arrival of Ulysses in his\ndominions. He had now remained seven years in the Island of Calypso,\nwhen the gods assembled in council, proposed the method of his\ndeparture from thence and his return to his native country. For this\npurpose it is concluded to send Mercury to Calypso, and Pallas\nimmediately descends to Ithaca. She holds a conference with Telemachus,\nin the shape of Mantes, king of Taphians; in which she advises him to\ntake a journey in quest of his father Ulysses, to Pylos and Sparta,\nwhere Nestor and Menelaus yet reigned; then, after having visibly\ndisplayed her divinity, disappears. The suitors of Penelope make great\nentertainments, and riot in her palace till night. Phemius sings to\nthem the return of the Grecians, till Penelope puts a stop to the song.\nSome words arise between the suitors and Telemachus, who summons the\ncouncil to meet the day following.\n\n\nThe man for wisdom\u2019s various arts renown\u2019d,\nLong exercised in woes, O Muse! resound;\nWho, when his arms had wrought the destined fall\nOf sacred Troy, and razed her heaven-built wall,\nWandering from clime to clime, observant stray\u2019d,\nTheir manners noted, and their states survey\u2019d,\nOn stormy seas unnumber\u2019d toils he bore,\nSafe with his friends to gain his natal shore:\nVain toils! their impious folly dared to prey\nOn herds devoted to the god of day;\nThe god vindictive doom\u2019d them never more\n(Ah, men unbless\u2019d!) to touch that natal shore.\nOh, snatch some portion of these acts from fate,\nCelestial Muse! and to our world relate.\n\nNow at their native realms the Greeks arrived;\nAll who the wars of ten long years survived;\nAnd \u2019scaped the perils of the gulfy main.\nUlysses, sole of all the victor train,\nAn exile from his dear paternal coast,\nDeplored his absent queen and empire lost.\nCalypso in her caves constrain\u2019d his stay,\nWith sweet, reluctant, amorous delay;\nIn vain-for now the circling years disclose\nThe day predestined to reward his woes.\nAt length his Ithaca is given by fate,\nWhere yet new labours his arrival wait;\nAt length their rage the hostile powers restrain,\nAll but the ruthless monarch of the main.\nBut now the god, remote, a heavenly guest,\nIn \u00c6thiopia graced the genial feast\n(A race divided, whom with sloping rays\nThe rising and descending sun surveys);\nThere on the world\u2019s extremest verge revered\nWith hecatombs and prayer in pomp preferr\u2019d,\nDistant he lay: while in the bright abodes\nOf high Olympus, Jove convened the gods:\nThe assembly thus the sire supreme address\u2019d,\nAEgysthus\u2019 fate revolving in his breast,\nWhom young Orestes to the dreary coast\nOf Pluto sent, a blood-polluted ghost.\n\n\u201cPerverse mankind! whose wills, created free,\nCharge all their woes on absolute degree;\nAll to the dooming gods their guilt translate,\nAnd follies are miscall\u2019d the crimes of fate.\nWhen to his lust AEgysthus gave the rein,\nDid fate, or we, the adulterous act constrain?\nDid fate, or we, when great Atrides died,\nUrge the bold traitor to the regicide?\nHermes I sent, while yet his soul remain\u2019d\nSincere from royal blood, and faith profaned;\nTo warn the wretch, that young Orestes, grown\nTo manly years, should re-assert the throne.\nYet, impotent of mind, and uncontroll\u2019d,\nHe plunged into the gulf which Heaven foretold.\u201d\n\nHere paused the god; and pensive thus replies\nMinerva, graceful with her azure eyes:\n\n\u201cO thou! from whom the whole creation springs,\nThe source of power on earth derived to kings!\nHis death was equal to the direful deed;\nSo may the man of blood be doomed to bleed!\nBut grief and rage alternate wound my breast\nFor brave Ulysses, still by fate oppress\u2019d.\nAmidst an isle, around whose rocky shore\nThe forests murmur, and the surges roar,\nThe blameless hero from his wish\u2019d-for home\nA goddess guards in her enchanted dome;\n(Atlas her sire, to whose far-piercing eye\nThe wonders of the deep expanded lie;\nThe eternal columns which on earth he rears\nEnd in the starry vault, and prop the spheres).\nBy his fair daughter is the chief confined,\nWho soothes to dear delight his anxious mind;\nSuccessless all her soft caresses prove,\nTo banish from his breast his country\u2019s love;\nTo see the smoke from his loved palace rise,\nWhile the dear isle in distant prospect lies,\nWith what contentment could he close his eyes!\nAnd will Omnipotence neglect to save\nThe suffering virtue of the wise and brave?\nMust he, whose altars on the Phrygian shore\nWith frequent rites, and pure, avow\u2019d thy power,\nBe doom\u2019d the worst of human ills to prove,\nUnbless\u2019d, abandon\u2019d to the wrath of Jove?\u201d\n\n\u201cDaughter! what words have pass\u2019d thy lips unweigh\u2019d!\n(Replied the Thunderer to the martial maid;)\nDeem not unjustly by my doom oppress\u2019d,\nOf human race the wisest and the best.\nNeptune, by prayer repentant rarely won,\nAfflicts the chief, to avenge his giant son,\nWhose visual orb Ulysses robb\u2019d of light;\nGreat Polypheme, of more than mortal might?\nHim young Thousa bore (the bright increase\nOf Phorcys, dreaded in the sounds and seas);\nWhom Neptune eyed with bloom of beauty bless\u2019d,\nAnd in his cave the yielding nymph compress\u2019d\nFor this the god constrains the Greek to roam,\nA hopeless exile from his native home,\nFrom death alone exempt\u2014but cease to mourn;\nLet all combine to achieve his wish\u2019d return;\nNeptune atoned, his wrath shall now refrain,\nOr thwart the synod of the gods in vain.\u201d\n\n\u201cFather and king adored!\u201d Minerva cried,\n\u201cSince all who in the Olympian bower reside\nNow make the wandering Greek their public care,\nLet Hermes to the Atlantic isle repair;\nBid him, arrived in bright Calypso\u2019s court,\nThe sanction of the assembled powers report:\nThat wise Ulysses to his native land\nMust speed, obedient to their high command.\nMeantime Telemachus, the blooming heir\nOf sea-girt Ithaca, demands my care;\n\u2019Tis mine to form his green, unpractised years\nIn sage debates; surrounded with his peers,\nTo save the state, and timely to restrain\nThe bold intrusion of the suitor-train;\nWho crowd his palace, and with lawless power\nHis herds and flocks in feastful rites devour.\nTo distant Sparta, and the spacious waste\nOf Sandy Pyle, the royal youth shall haste.\nThere, warm with filial love, the cause inquire\nThat from his realm retards his god-like sire;\nDelivering early to the voice of fame\nThe promise of a green immortal name.\u201d\n\nShe said: the sandals of celestial mould,\nFledged with ambrosial plumes, and rich with gold,\nSurround her feet: with these sublime she sails\nThe a\u00ebrial space, and mounts the winged gales;\nO\u2019er earth and ocean wide prepared to soar,\nHer dreaded arm a beamy javelin bore,\nPonderous and vast: which, when her fury burns,\nProud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o\u2019erturns.\nFrom high Olympus prone her flight she bends,\nAnd in the realms of Ithaca descends,\nHer lineaments divine, the grave disguise\nOf Mentes\u2019 form conceal\u2019d from human eyes\n(Mentes, the monarch of the Taphian land);\nA glittering spear waved awful in her hand.\nThere in the portal placed, the heaven-born maid\nEnormous riot and misrule survey\u2019d.\nOn hides of beeves, before the palace gate\n(Sad spoils of luxury), the suitors sate.\nWith rival art, and ardour in their mien,\nAt chess they vie, to captivate the queen;\nDivining of their loves. Attending nigh,\nA menial train the flowing bowl supply.\nOthers, apart, the spacious hall prepare,\nAnd form the costly feast with busy care.\nThere young Telemachus, his bloomy face\nGlowing celestial sweet, with godlike grace\nAmid the circle shines: but hope and fear\n(Painful vicissitude!) his bosom tear.\nNow, imaged in his mind, he sees restored\nIn peace and joy the people\u2019s rightful lord;\nThe proud oppressors fly the vengeful sword.\nWhile his fond soul these fancied triumphs swell\u2019d,\nThe stranger guest the royal youth beheld;\nGrieved that a visitant so long should wait\nUnmark\u2019d, unhonour\u2019d, at a monarch\u2019s gate;\nInstant he flew with hospitable haste,\nAnd the new friend with courteous air embraced.\n\u201cStranger, whoe\u2019er thou art, securely rest,\nAffianced in my faith, a ready guest;\nApproach the dome, the social banquet share,\nAnd then the purpose of thy soul declare.\u201d\n\nThus affable and mild, the prince precedes,\nAnd to the dome the unknown celestial leads.\nThe spear receiving from the hand, he placed\nAgainst a column, fair with sculpture graced;\nWhere seemly ranged in peaceful order stood\nUlysses\u2019 arms now long disused to blood.\nHe led the goddess to the sovereign seat,\nHer feet supported with a stool of state\n(A purple carpet spread the pavement wide);\nThen drew his seat, familiar, to her side;\nFar from the suitor-train, a brutal crowd,\nWith insolence, and wine, elate and loud:\nWhere the free guest, unnoted, might relate,\nIf haply conscious, of his father\u2019s fate.\nThe golden ewer a maid obsequious brings,\nReplenish\u2019d from the cool, translucent springs;\nWith copious water the bright vase supplies\nA silver laver of capacious size;\nThey wash. The tables in fair order spread,\nThey heap the glittering canisters with bread:\nViands of various kinds allure the taste,\nOf choicest sort and savour, rich repast!\nDelicious wines the attending herald brought;\nThe gold gave lustre to the purple draught.\nLured with the vapour of the fragrant feast,\nIn rush\u2019d the suitors with voracious haste;\nMarshall\u2019d in order due, to each a sewer\nPresents, to bathe his hands, a radiant ewer.\nLuxurious then they feast. Observant round\nGay stripling youths the brimming goblets crown\u2019d.\nThe rage of hunger quell\u2019d, they all advance\nAnd form to measured airs the mazy dance;\nTo Phemius was consign\u2019d the chorded lyre,\nWhose hand reluctant touch\u2019d the warbling wire;\nPhemius, whose voice divine could sweetest sing\nHigh strains responsive to the vocal string.\n\nMeanwhile, in whispers to his heavenly guest\nHis indignation thus the prince express\u2019d:\n\n\u201cIndulge my rising grief, whilst these (my friend)\nWith song and dance the pompous revel end.\nLight is the dance, and doubly sweet the lays,\nWhen for the dear delight another pays.\nHis treasured stores those cormarants consume,\nWhose bones, defrauded of a regal tomb\nAnd common turf, lie naked on the plain,\nOr doom\u2019d to welter in the whelming main.\nShould he return, that troop so blithe and bold,\nWith purple robes inwrought, and stiff with gold,\nPrecipitant in fear would wing their flight,\nAnd curse their cumbrous pride\u2019s unwieldy weight.\nBut ah, I dream!-the appointed hour is fled.\nAnd hope, too long with vain delusion fed,\nDeaf to the rumour of fallacious fame,\nGives to the roll of death his glorious name!\nWith venial freedom let me now demand\nThy name, thy lineage, and paternal land;\nSincere from whence began thy course, recite,\nAnd to what ship I owe the friendly freight?\nNow first to me this visit dost thou deign,\nOr number\u2019d in my father\u2019s social train?\nAll who deserved his choice he made his own,\nAnd, curious much to know, he far was known.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy birth I boast (the blue-eyed virgin cries)\nFrom great Anchialus, renown\u2019d and wise;\nMentes my name; I rule the Taphian race,\nWhose bounds the deep circumfluent waves embrace;\nA duteous people, and industrious isle,\nTo naval arts inured, and stormy toil.\nFreighted with iron from my native land,\nI steer my voyage to the Brutian strand\nTo gain by commerce, for the labour\u2019d mass,\nA just proportion of refulgent brass.\nFar from your capital my ship resides\nAt Reitorus, and secure at anchor rides;\nWhere waving groves on airy Neign grow,\nSupremely tall and shade the deeps below.\nThence to revisit your imperial dome,\nAn old hereditary guest I come;\nYour father\u2019s friend. Laertes can relate\nOur faith unspotted, and its early date;\nWho, press\u2019d with heart-corroding grief and years,\nTo the gay court a rural shed prefers,\nWhere, sole of all his train, a matron sage\nSupports with homely fond his drooping age,\nWith feeble steps from marshalling his vines\nReturning sad, when toilsome day declines.\n\n\u201cWith friendly speed, induced by erring fame,\nTo hail Ulysses\u2019 safe return I came;\nBut still the frown of some celestial power\nWith envious joy retards the blissful hour.\nLet not your soul be sunk in sad despair;\nHe lives, he breathes this heavenly vital air,\nAmong a savage race, whose shelfy bounds\nWith ceaseless roar the foaming deep surrounds.\nThe thoughts which roll within my ravish\u2019d breast,\nTo me, no seer, the inspiring gods suggest;\nNor skill\u2019d nor studious, with prophetic eye\nTo judge the winged omens of the sky.\nYet hear this certain speech, nor deem it vain;\nThough adamantine bonds the chief restrain,\nThe dire restraint his wisdom will defeat,\nAnd soon restore him to his regal seat.\nBut generous youth! sincere and free declare,\nAre you, of manly growth, his royal heir?\nFor sure Ulysses in your look appears,\nThe same his features, if the same his years.\nSuch was that face, on which I dwelt with joy\nEre Greece assembled stemm\u2019d the tides to Troy;\nBut, parting then for that detested shore,\nOur eyes, unhappy never greeted more.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo prove a genuine birth (the prince replies)\nOn female truth assenting faith relies.\nThus manifest of right, I build my claim\nSure-founded on a fair maternal fame,\nUlysses\u2019 son: but happier he, whom fate\nHath placed beneath the storms which toss the great!\nHappier the son, whose hoary sire is bless\u2019d\nWith humble affluence, and domestic rest!\nHappier than I, to future empire born,\nBut doom\u2019d a father\u2019s wretch\u2019d fate to mourn!\u201d\n\nTo whom, with aspect mild, the guest divine:\n\u201cOh true descendant of a sceptred line!\nThe gods a glorious fate from anguish free\nTo chaste Penelope\u2019s increase decree.\nBut say, yon jovial troops so gaily dress\u2019d,\nIs this a bridal or a friendly feast?\nOr from their deed I rightlier may divine,\nUnseemly flown with insolence and wine?\nUnwelcome revellers, whose lawless joy\nPains the sage ear, and hurts the sober eye.\u201d\n\n\u201cMagnificence of old (the prince replied)\nBeneath our roof with virtue could reside;\nUnblamed abundance crowned the royal board,\nWhat time this dome revered her prudent lord;\nWho now (so Heaven decrees) is doom\u2019d to mourn,\nBitter constraint, erroneous and forlorn.\nBetter the chief, on Ilion\u2019s hostile plain,\nHad fall\u2019n surrounded with his warlike train;\nOr safe return\u2019d, the race of glory pass\u2019d,\nNew to his friends\u2019 embrace, and breathed his last!\nThen grateful Greece with streaming eyes would raise,\nHistoric marbles to record his praise;\nHis praise, eternal on the faithful stone,\nHad with transmissive honour graced his son.\nNow snatch\u2019d by harpies to the dreary coast.\nSunk is the hero, and his glory lost;\nVanish\u2019d at once! unheard of, and unknown!\nAnd I his heir in misery alone.\nNor for a dear lost father only flow\nThe filial tears, but woe succeeds to woe\nTo tempt the spouseless queen with amorous wiles\nResort the nobles from the neighbouring isles;\nFrom Samos, circled with the Ionian main,\nDulichium, and Zacynthas\u2019 sylvan reign;\nEv\u2019n with presumptuous hope her bed to ascend,\nThe lords of Ithaca their right pretend.\nShe seems attentive to their pleaded vows,\nHer heart detesting what her ear allows.\nThey, vain expectants of the bridal hour,\nMy stores in riotous expense devour.\nIn feast and dance the mirthful months employ,\nAnd meditate my doom to crown their joy.\u201d\n\nWith tender pity touch\u2019d, the goddess cried:\n\u201cSoon may kind Heaven a sure relief provide,\nSoon may your sire discharge the vengeance due,\nAnd all your wrongs the proud oppressors rue!\nOh! in that portal should the chief appear,\nEach hand tremendous with a brazen spear,\nIn radiant panoply his limbs incased\n(For so of old my father\u2019s court he graced,\nWhen social mirth unbent his serious soul,\nO\u2019er the full banquet, and the sprightly bowl);\nHe then from Ephyre, the fair domain\nOf Ilus, sprung from Jason\u2019s royal strain,\nMeasured a length of seas, a toilsome length, in vain.\nFor, voyaging to learn the direful art\nTo taint with deadly drugs the barbed dart;\nObservant of the gods, and sternly just,\nIlus refused to impart the baneful trust;\nWith friendlier zeal my father\u2019s soul was fired,\nThe drugs he knew, and gave the boon desired.\nAppear\u2019d he now with such heroic port,\nAs then conspicuous at the Taphian court;\nSoon should yon boasters cease their haughty strife,\nOr each atone his guilty love with life.\nBut of his wish\u2019d return the care resign,\nBe future vengeance to the powers divine.\nMy sentence hear: with stern distaste avow\u2019d,\nTo their own districts drive the suitor-crowd;\nWhen next the morning warms the purple east,\nConvoke the peerage, and the gods attest;\nThe sorrows of your inmost soul relate;\nAnd form sure plans to save the sinking state.\nShould second love a pleasing flame inspire,\nAnd the chaste queen connubial rights require;\nDismiss\u2019d with honour, let her hence repair\nTo great Icarius, whose paternal care\nWill guide her passion, and reward her choice\nWith wealthy dower, and bridal gifts of price.\nThen let this dictate of my love prevail:\nInstant, to foreign realms prepare to sail,\nTo learn your father\u2019s fortunes; Fame may prove,\nOr omen\u2019d voice (the messenger of Jove),\nPropitious to the search. Direct your toil\nThrough the wide ocean first to sandy Pyle;\nOf Nestor, hoary sage, his doom demand:\nThence speed your voyage to the Spartan strand;\nFor young Atrides to the Achaian coast\nArrived the last of all the victor host.\nIf yet Ulysses views the light, forbear,\nTill the fleet hours restore the circling year.\nBut if his soul hath wing\u2019d the destined flight,\nInhabitant of deep disastrous night;\nHomeward with pious speed repass the main,\nTo the pale shade funereal rites ordain,\nPlant the fair column o\u2019er the vacant grave,\nA hero\u2019s honours let the hero have.\nWith decent grief the royal dead deplored,\nFor the chaste queen select an equal lord.\nThen let revenge your daring mind employ,\nBy fraud or force the suitor train destroy,\nAnd starting into manhood, scorn the boy.\nHast thou not heard how young Orestes, fired\nWith great revenge, immortal praise acquired?\nHis virgin-sword AEgysthus\u2019 veins imbrued;\nThe murderer fell, and blood atoned for blood.\nO greatly bless\u2019d with every blooming grace!\nWith equal steps the paths of glory trace;\nJoin to that royal youth\u2019s your rival name,\nAnd shine eternal in the sphere of fame.\nBut my associates now my stay deplore,\nImpatient on the hoarse-resounding shore.\nThou, heedful of advice, secure proceed;\nMy praise the precept is, be thine the deed.\n\n\u201cThe counsel of my friend (the youth rejoin\u2019d)\nImprints conviction on my grateful mind.\nSo fathers speak (persuasive speech and mild)\nTheir sage experience to the favourite child.\nBut, since to part, for sweet refection due,\nThe genial viands let my train renew;\nAnd the rich pledge of plighted faith receive,\nWorthy the heir of Ithaca to give.\u201d\n\n\u201cDefer the promised boon (the goddess cries,\nCelestial azure brightening in her eyes),\nAnd let me now regain the Reithrian port;\nFrom Temese return\u2019d, your royal court\nI shall revisit, and that pledge receive;\nAnd gifts, memorial of our friendship, leave.\u201d\n\nAbrupt, with eagle-speed she cut the sky;\nInstant invisible to mortal eye.\nThen first he recognized the ethereal guest;\nWonder and joy alternate fire his breast;\nHeroic thoughts, infused, his heart dilate;\nRevolving much his father\u2019s doubtful fate.\nAt length, composed, he join\u2019d the suitor-throng;\nHush\u2019d in attention to the warbled song.\nHis tender theme the charming lyrist chose.\nMinerva\u2019s anger, and the dreadful woes\nWhich voyaging from Troy the victors bore,\nWhile storms vindictive intercept the store.\nThe shrilling airs the vaulted roof rebounds,\nReflecting to the queen the silver sounds.\nWith grief renew\u2019d the weeping fair descends;\nTheir sovereign\u2019s step a virgin train attends:\nA veil, of richest texture wrought, she wears,\nAnd silent to the joyous hall repairs.\nThere from the portal, with her mild command,\nThus gently checks the minstrel\u2019s tuneful hand:\n\n\u201cPhemius! let acts of gods, and heroes old,\nWhat ancient bards in hall and bower have told,\nAttemper\u2019d to the lyre, your voice employ;\nSuch the pleased ear will drink with silent joy.\nBut, oh! forbear that dear disastrous name,\nTo sorrow sacred, and secure of fame;\nMy bleeding bosom sickens at the sound,\nAnd every piercing note inflicts a wound.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, dearest object of my duteous love,\n(Replied the prince,) will you the bard reprove?\nOft, Jove\u2019s ethereal rays (resistless fire)\nThe chanter\u2019s soul and raptured song inspire\nInstinct divine? nor blame severe his choice,\nWarbling the Grecian woes with heart and voice;\nFor novel lays attract our ravish\u2019d ears;\nBut old, the mind with inattention hears:\nPatient permit the sadly pleasing strain;\nFamiliar now with grief, your tears refrain,\nAnd in the public woe forget your own;\nYou weep not for a perish\u2019d lord alone.\nWhat Greeks new wandering in the Stygian gloom,\nWish your Ulysses shared an equal doom!\nYour widow\u2019d hours, apart, with female toil\nAnd various labours of the loom beguile;\nThere rule, from palace-cares remote and free;\nThat care to man belongs, and most to me.\u201d\n\nMature beyond his years, the queen admires\nHis sage reply, and with her train retires.\nThen swelling sorrows burst their former bounds,\nWith echoing grief afresh the dome resounds;\nTill Pallas, piteous of her plaintive cries,\nIn slumber closed her silver-streaming eyes.\n\nMeantime, rekindled at the royal charms,\nTumultuous love each beating bosom warms;\nIntemperate rage a wordy war began;\nBut bold Telemachus assumed the man.\n\u201cInstant (he cried) your female discord end,\nYe deedless boasters! and the song attend;\nObey that sweet compulsion, nor profane\nWith dissonance the smooth melodious strain.\nPacific now prolong the jovial feast;\nBut when the dawn reveals the rosy east,\nI, to the peers assembled, shall propose\nThe firm resolve, I here in few disclose;\nNo longer live the cankers of my court;\nAll to your several states with speed resort;\nWaste in wild riot what your land allows,\nThere ply the early feast, and late carouse.\nBut if, to honour lost, \u2019tis still decreed\nFor you my bowl shall flow, my flock shall bleed;\nJudge and revenge my right, impartial Jove!\nBy him and all the immortal thrones above\n(A sacred oath), each proud oppressor slain,\nShall with inglorious gore this marble stain.\u201d\n\nAwed by the prince, thus haughty, bold, and young,\nRage gnaw\u2019d the lip, and wonder chain\u2019d the tongue.\nSilence at length the gay Antinous broke,\nConstrain\u2019d a smile, and thus ambiguous spoke:\n\u201cWhat god to your untutor\u2019d youth affords\nThis headlong torrent of amazing words?\nMay Jove delay thy reign, and cumber late\nSo bright a genius with the toils of state!\u201d\n\n\u201cThose toils (Telemachus serene replies)\nHave charms, with all their weight, t\u2019allure the wise.\nFast by the throne obsequious fame resides,\nAnd wealth incessant rolls her golden tides.\nNor let Antinous rage, if strong desire\nOf wealth and fame a youthful bosom fire:\nElect by Jove, his delegate of sway,\nWith joyous pride the summons I\u2019d obey.\nWhene\u2019er Ulysses roams the realm of night,\nShould factious power dispute my lineal right,\nSome other Greeks a fairer claim may plead;\nTo your pretence their title would precede.\nAt least, the sceptre lost, I still should reign\nSole o\u2019er my vassals, and domestic train.\u201d\n\nTo this Eurymachus: \u201cTo Heaven alone\nRefer the choice to fill the vacant throne.\nYour patrimonial stores in peace possess;\nUndoubted, all your filial claim confess:\nYour private right should impious power invade,\nThe peers of Ithaca would arm in aid.\nBut say, that stranger guest who late withdrew,\nWhat and from whence? his name and lineage shew.\nHis grave demeanour and majestic grace\nSpeak him descended of no vulgar race:\nDid he some loan of ancient right require,\nOr came forerunner of your sceptr\u2019d sire?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh son of Polybus!\u201d the prince replies,\n\u201cNo more my sire will glad these longing eyes;\nThe queen\u2019s fond hope inventive rumour cheers,\nOr vain diviners\u2019 dreams divert her fears.\nThat stranger-guest the Taphian realm obeys,\nA realm defended with encircling seas.\nMentes, an ever-honour\u2019d name, of old\nHigh in Ulysses\u2019 social list enroll\u2019d.\u201d\n\nThus he, though conscious of the ethereal guest,\nAnswer\u2019d evasive of the sly request.\nMeantime the lyre rejoins the sprightly lay;\nLove-dittied airs, and dance, conclude the day\nBut when the star of eve with golden light\nAdorn\u2019d the matron brow of sable night,\nThe mirthful train dispersing quit the court,\nAnd to their several domes to rest resort.\nA towering structure to the palace join\u2019d;\nTo this his steps the thoughtful prince inclined:\nIn his pavilion there, to sleep repairs;\nThe lighted torch, the sage Euryclea bears\n(Daughter of Ops, the just Pisenor\u2019s son,\nFor twenty beeves by great Laertes won;\nIn rosy prime with charms attractive graced,\nHonour\u2019d by him, a gentle lord and chaste,\nWith dear esteem: too wise, with jealous strife\nTo taint the joys of sweet connubial life.\nSole with Telemachus her service ends,\nA child she nursed him, and a man attends).\nWhilst to his couch himself the prince address\u2019d,\nThe duteous dame received the purple vest;\nThe purple vest with decent care disposed,\nThe silver ring she pull\u2019d, the door reclosed,\nThe bolt, obedient to the silken cord,\nTo the strong staple\u2019s inmost depth restored,\nSecured the valves. There, wrapped in silent shade,\nPensive, the rules the goddess gave he weigh\u2019d;\nStretch\u2019d on the downy fleece, no rest he knows,\nAnd in his raptured soul the vision glows.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE COUNCIL OF ITHACA.\n\n\nTelemachus in the assembly of the lords of Ithaca complains of the\ninjustice done him by the suitors, and insists upon their departure\nfrom his palace; appealing to the princes, and exciting the people to\ndeclare against them. The suitors endeavour to justify their stay, at\nleast till he shall send the queen to the court of Icarius her father;\nwhich he refuses. There appears a prodigy of two eagles in the sky,\nwhich an augur expounds to the ruin of the suitors. Telemachus then\ndemands a vessel to carry him to Pylos and Sparta, there to inquire of\nhis father\u2019s fortunes. Pallas, in the shape of Mentor (an ancient\nfriend of Ulysses), helps him to a ship, assists him in preparing\nnecessaries for the voyage, and embarks with him that night; which\nconcludes the second day from the opening of the poem. The scene\ncontinues in the palace of Ulysses, in Ithaca.\n\n\nNow reddening from the dawn, the morning ray\nGlow\u2019d in the front of heaven, and gave the day\nThe youthful hero, with returning light,\nRose anxious from the inquietudes of night.\nA royal robe he wore with graceful pride,\nA two-edged falchion threaten\u2019d by his side,\nEmbroider\u2019d sandals glitter\u2019d as he trod,\nAnd forth he moved, majestic as a god.\nThen by his heralds, restless of delay,\nTo council calls the peers: the peers obey.\nSoon as in solemn form the assembly sate,\nFrom his high dome himself descends in state.\nBright in his hand a ponderous javelin shined;\nTwo dogs, a faithful guard, attend behind;\nPallas with grace divine his form improves,\nAnd gazing crowds admire him as he moves,\n\nHis father\u2019s throne he fill\u2019d; while distant stood\nThe hoary peers, and aged wisdom bow\u2019d.\n\n\u2019Twas silence all. At last AEgyptius spoke;\nAEgyptius, by his age and sorrow broke;\nA length of days his soul with prudence crown\u2019d,\nA length of days had bent him to the ground.\nHis eldest hope in arms to Ilion came,\nBy great Ulysses taught the path to fame;\nBut (hapless youth) the hideous Cyclops tore\nHis quivering limbs, and quaff\u2019d his spouting gore.\nThree sons remain\u2019d; to climb with haughty fires\nThe royal bed, Eurynomus aspires;\nThe rest with duteous love his griefs assuage,\nAnd ease the sire of half the cares of age.\nYet still his Antiphus he loves, he mourns,\nAnd, as he stood, he spoke and wept by turns,\n\n\u201cSince great Ulysses sought the Phrygian plains,\nWithin these walls inglorious silence reigns.\nSay then, ye peers! by whose commands we meet?\nWhy here once more in solemn council sit?\nYe young, ye old, the weighty cause disclose:\nArrives some message of invading foes?\nOr say, does high necessity of state\nInspire some patriot, and demand debate?\nThe present synod speaks its author wise;\nAssist him, Jove, thou regent of the skies!\u201d\n\nHe spoke. Telemachus with transport glows,\nEmbraced the omen, and majestic rose\n(His royal hand the imperial sceptre sway\u2019d);\nThen thus, addressing to AEgyptius, said:\n\n\u201cReverend old man! lo here confess\u2019d he stands\nBy whom ye meet; my grief your care demands.\nNo story I unfold of public woes,\nNor bear advices of impending foes:\nPeace the blest land, and joys incessant crown:\nOf all this happy realm, I grieve alone.\nFor my lost sire continual sorrows spring,\nThe great, the good; your father and your king.\nYet more; our house from its foundation bows,\nOur foes are powerful, and your sons the foes;\nHither, unwelcome to the queen, they come;\nWhy seek they not the rich Icarian dome?\nIf she must wed, from other hands require\nThe dowry: is Telemachus her sire?\nYet through my court the noise of revel rings,\nAnd waste the wise frugality of kings.\nScarce all my herds their luxury suffice;\nScarce all my wine their midnight hours supplies.\nSafe in my youth, in riot still they grow,\nNor in the helpless orphan dread a foe.\nBut come it will, the time when manhood grants\nMore powerful advocates than vain complaints.\nApproach that hour! insufferable wrong\nCries to the gods, and vengeance sleeps too long.\nRise then, ye peers! with virtuous anger rise;\nYour fame revere, but most the avenging skies.\nBy all the deathless powers that reign above,\nBy righteous Themis and by thundering Jove\n(Themis, who gives to councils, or denies\nSuccess; and humbles, or confirms the wise),\nRise in my aid! suffice the tears that flow\nFor my lost sire, nor add new woe to woe.\nIf e\u2019er he bore the sword to strengthen ill,\nOr, having power to wrong, betray\u2019d the will,\nOn me, on me your kindled wrath assuage,\nAnd bid the voice of lawless riot rage.\nIf ruin to your royal race ye doom,\nBe you the spoilers, and our wealth consume.\nThen might we hope redress from juster laws,\nAnd raise all Ithaca to aid our cause:\nBut while your sons commit the unpunish\u2019d wrong,\nYou make the arm of violence too strong.\u201d\n\nWhile thus he spoke, with rage and grief he frown\u2019d,\nAnd dash\u2019d the imperial sceptre to the ground.\nThe big round tear hung trembling in his eye:\nThe synod grieved, and gave a pitying sigh,\nThen silent sate\u2014at length Antinous burns\nWith haughty rage, and sternly thus returns:\n\n\u201cO insolence of youth! whose tongue affords\nSuch railing eloquence, and war of words.\nStudious thy country\u2019s worthies to defame,\nThy erring voice displays thy mother\u2019s shame.\nElusive of the bridal day, she gives\nFond hopes to all, and all with hopes deceives.\nDid not the sun, through heaven\u2019s wide azure roll\u2019d,\nFor three long years the royal fraud behold?\nWhile she, laborious in delusion, spread\nThe spacious loom, and mix\u2019d the various thread:\nWhere as to life the wondrous figures rise,\nThus spoke the inventive queen, with artful sighs:\n\n\u201cThough cold in death Ulysses breathes no more,\nCease yet awhile to urge the bridal hour:\nCease, till to great Laertes I bequeath\nA task of grief, his ornaments of death.\nLest when the Fates his royal ashes claim,\nThe Grecian matrons taint my spotless fame;\nWhen he, whom living mighty realms obey\u2019d,\nShall want in death a shroud to grace his shade.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus she: at once the generous train complies,\nNor fraud mistrusts in virtue\u2019s fair disguise.\nThe work she plied; but, studious of delay,\nBy night reversed the labours of the day.\nWhile thrice the sun his annual journey made,\nThe conscious lamp the midnight fraud survey\u2019d;\nUnheard, unseen, three years her arts prevail;\nThe fourth her maid unfolds the amazing tale.\nWe saw, as unperceived we took our stand,\nThe backward labours of her faithless hand.\nThen urged, she perfects her illustrious toils;\nA wondrous monument of female wiles!\n\n\u201cBut you, O peers! and thou, O prince! give ear\n(I speak aloud, that every Greek may hear):\nDismiss the queen; and if her sire approves\nLet him espouse her to the peer she loves:\nBid instant to prepare the bridal train,\nNor let a race of princes wait in vain.\nThough with a grace divine her soul is blest,\nAnd all Minerva breathes within her breast,\nIn wondrous arts than woman more renown\u2019d,\nAnd more than woman with deep wisdom crown\u2019d;\nThough Tyro nor Mycene match her name,\nNot great Alcmena (the proud boasts of fame);\nYet thus by heaven adorn\u2019d, by heaven\u2019s decree\nShe shines with fatal excellence, to thee:\nWith thee, the bowl we drain, indulge the feast,\nTill righteous heaven reclaim her stubborn breast.\nWhat though from pole to pole resounds her name!\nThe son\u2019s destruction waits the mother\u2019s fame:\nFor, till she leaves thy court, it is decreed,\nThy bowl to empty and thy flock to bleed.\u201d\n\nWhile yet he speaks, Telemachus replies:\n\u201cEv\u2019n nature starts, and what ye ask denies.\nThus, shall I thus repay a mother\u2019s cares,\nWho gave me life, and nursed my infant years!\nWhile sad on foreign shores Ulysses treads.\nOr glides a ghost with unapparent shades;\nHow to Icarius in the bridal hour\nShall I, by waste undone, refund the dower?\nHow from my father should I vengeance dread!\nHow would my mother curse my hated head!\nAnd while in wrath to vengeful fiends she cries,\nHow from their hell would vengeful fiends arise!\nAbhorr\u2019d by all, accursed my name would grow,\nThe earth\u2019s disgrace, and human-kind my foe.\nIf this displease, why urge ye here your stay?\nHaste from the court, ye spoilers, haste away:\nWaste in wild riot what your land allows,\nThere ply the early feast, and late carouse.\nBut if to honour lost, \u2019tis still decreed\nFor you my bowl shall flow, my flocks shall bleed;\nJudge, and assert my right, impartial Jove!\nBy him, and all the immortal host above\n(A sacred oath), if heaven the power supply,\nVengeance I vow, and for your wrongs ye die.\u201d\n\nWith that, two eagles from a mountain\u2019s height\nBy Jove\u2019s command direct their rapid flight;\nSwift they descend, with wing to wing conjoin\u2019d,\nStretch their broad plumes, and float upon the wind.\nAbove the assembled peers they wheel on high,\nAnd clang their wings, and hovering beat the sky;\nWith ardent eyes the rival train they threat,\nAnd shrieking loud denounce approaching fate.\nThey cuff, they tear; their cheeks and neck they rend,\nAnd from their plumes huge drops of blood descend;\nThen sailing o\u2019er the domes and towers, they fly,\nFull toward the east, and mount into the sky.\n\nThe wondering rivals gaze, with cares oppress\u2019d,\nAnd chilling horrors freeze in every breast,\nTill big with knowledge of approaching woes,\nThe prince of augurs, Halitherses, rose:\nPrescient he view\u2019d the a\u00ebrial tracks, and drew\nA sure presage from every wing that flew.\n\n\u201cYe sons (he cried) of Ithaca, give ear;\nHear all! but chiefly you, O rivals! hear.\nDestruction sure o\u2019er all your heads impends\nUlysses comes, and death his steps attends.\nNor to the great alone is death decreed;\nWe and our guilty Ithaca must bleed.\nWhy cease we then the wrath of heaven to stay?\nBe humbled all, and lead, ye great! the way.\nFor lo my words no fancied woes relate;\nI speak from science and the voice of fate.\n\n\u201cWhen great Ulysses sought the Phrygian shores\nTo shake with war proud Ilion\u2019s lofty towers,\nDeeds then undone my faithful tongue foretold:\nHeaven seal\u2019d my words, and you those deeds behold.\nI see (I cried) his woes, a countless train;\nI see his friends o\u2019erwhelm\u2019d beneath the main;\nHow twice ten years from shore to shore he roams:\nNow twice ten years are past, and now he comes!\u201d\n\nTo whom Eurymachus\u2014\u201cFly, dotard fly,\nWith thy wise dreams, and fables of the sky.\nGo prophesy at home, thy sons advise:\nHere thou art sage in vain\u2014I better read the skies\nUnnumber\u2019d birds glide through the a\u00ebrial way;\nVagrants of air, and unforeboding stray.\nCold in the tomb, or in the deeps below,\nUlysses lies; oh wert thou laid as low!\nThen would that busy head no broils suggest,\nFor fire to rage Telemachus\u2019 breast,\nFrom him some bribe thy venal tongue requires,\nAnd interest, not the god, thy voice inspires.\nHis guideless youth, if thy experienced age\nMislead fallacious into idle rage,\nVengeance deserved thy malice shall repress.\nAnd but augment the wrongs thou would\u2019st redress,\nTelemachus may bid the queen repair\nTo great Icarius, whose paternal care\nWill guide her passion, and reward her choice\nWith wealthy dower, and bridal gifts of price.\nTill she retires, determined we remain,\nAnd both the prince and augur threat in vain:\nHis pride of words, and thy wild dream of fate,\nMove not the brave, or only move their hate,\nThreat on, O prince! elude the bridal day.\nThreat on, till all thy stores in waste decay.\nTrue, Greece affords a train of lovely dames,\nIn wealth and beauty worthy of our flames:\nBut never from this nobler suit we cease;\nFor wealth and beauty less than virtue please.\u201d\n\nTo whom the youth: \u201cSince then in vain I tell\nMy numerous woes, in silence let them dwell.\nBut Heaven, and all the Greeks, have heard my wrongs;\nTo Heaven, and all the Greeks, redress belongs;\nYet this I ask (nor be it ask\u2019d in vain),\nA bark to waft me o\u2019er the rolling main,\nThe realms of Pyle and Sparta to explore,\nAnd seek my royal sire from shore to shore;\nIf, or to fame his doubtful fate be known,\nOr to be learn\u2019d from oracles alone,\nIf yet he lives, with patience I forbear,\nTill the fleet hours restore the circling year;\nBut if already wandering in the train\nOf empty shades, I measure back the main,\nPlant the fair column o\u2019er the mighty dead,\nAnd yield his consort to the nuptial bed.\u201d\n\nHe ceased; and while abash\u2019d the peers attend,\nMentor arose, Ulysses\u2019 faithful friend:\n(When fierce in arms he sought the scenes of war,\n\u201cMy friend (he cried), my palace be thy care;\nYears roll\u2019d on years my godlike sire decay,\nGuard thou his age, and his behests obey.\u201d)\nStern as he rose, he cast his eyes around,\nThat flash\u2019d with rage; and as spoke, he frown\u2019d,\n\n\u201cO never, never more let king be just,\nBe mild in power, or faithful to his trust!\nLet tyrants govern with an iron rod,\nOppress, destroy, and be the scourge of God;\nSince he who like a father held his reign,\nSo soon forgot, was just and mild in vain!\nTrue, while my friend is grieved, his griefs I share;\nYet now the rivals are my smallest care:\nThey for the mighty mischiefs they devise,\nEre long shall pay\u2014their forfeit lives the price.\nBut against you, ye Greeks! ye coward train!\nGods! how my soul is moved with just disdain!\nDumb ye all stand, and not one tongue affords\nHis injured prince the little aid of words.\u201d\n\nWhile yet he spoke, Leocritus rejoined:\n\u201cO pride of words, and arrogance of mind!\nWould\u2019st thou to rise in arms the Greeks advise?\nJoin all your powers? in arms, ye Greeks, arise!\nYet would your powers in vain our strength oppose.\nThe valiant few o\u2019ermatch a host of foes.\nShould great Ulysses stern appear in arms,\nWhile the bowl circles and the banquet warms;\nThough to his breast his spouse with transport flies,\nTorn from her breast, that hour, Ulysses dies.\nBut hence retreating to your domes repair.\nTo arm the vessel, Mentor! be thy care,\nAnd Halitherses! thine: be each his friend;\nYe loved the father: go, the son attend.\nBut yet, I trust, the boaster means to stay\nSafe in the court, nor tempt the watery way.\u201d\n\nThen, with a rushing sound the assembly bend\nDiverse their steps: the rival rout ascend\nThe royal dome; while sad the prince explores\nThe neighbouring main, and sorrowing treads the shores.\nThere, as the waters o\u2019er his hands he shed,\nThe royal suppliant to Minerva pray\u2019d:\n\n\u201cO goddess! who descending from the skies\nVouchsafed thy presence to my wondering eyes,\nBy whose commands the raging deeps I trace,\nAnd seek my sire through storms and rolling seas!\nHear from thy heavens above, O warrior maid!\nDescend once more, propitious to my aid.\nWithout thy presence, vain is thy command:\nGreece, and the rival train, thy voice withstand.\u201d\n\nIndulgent to his prayer, the goddess took\nSage Mentor\u2019s form, and thus like Mentor spoke:\n\n\u201cO prince, in early youth divinely wise,\nBorn, the Ulysses of thy age to rise\nIf to the son the father\u2019s worth descends,\nO\u2019er the wide wave success thy ways attends\nTo tread the walks of death he stood prepared;\nAnd what he greatly thought, he nobly dared.\nWere not wise sons descendant of the wise,\nAnd did not heroes from brave heroes rise,\nVain were my hopes: few sons attain the praise\nOf their great sires, and most their sires disgrace.\nBut since thy veins paternal virtue fires,\nAnd all Penelope thy soul inspires,\nGo, and succeed: the rivals\u2019 aims despise;\nFor never, never wicked man was wise.\nBlind they rejoice, though now, ev\u2019n now they fall;\nDeath hastes amain: one hour o\u2019erwhelms them all!\nAnd lo, with speed we plough the watery way;\nMy power shall guard thee, and my hand convey:\nThe winged vessel studious I prepare,\nThrough seas and realms companion of thy care.\nThou to the court ascend: and to the shores\n(When night advances) bear the naval stores;\nBread, that decaying man with strength supplies,\nAnd generous wine, which thoughtful sorrow flies.\nMeanwhile the mariners, by my command,\nShall speed aboard, a valiant chosen band.\nWide o\u2019er the bay, by vessel vessel rides;\nThe best I choose to waft then o\u2019er the tides.\u201d\n\nShe spoke: to his high dome the prince returns,\nAnd, as he moves, with royal anguish mourns.\n\u2019Twas riot all, among the lawless train;\nBoar bled by boar, and goat by goat lay slain.\nArrived, his hand the gay Antinous press\u2019d,\nAnd thus deriding, with a smile address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cGrieve not, O daring prince! that noble heart;\nIll suits gay youth the stern heroic part.\nIndulge the genial hour, unbend thy soul,\nLeave thought to age, and drain the flowing bowl.\nStudious to ease thy grief, our care provides\nThe bark, to waft thee o\u2019er the swelling tides.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs this (returns the prince) for mirth a time?\nWhen lawless gluttons riot, mirth\u2019s a crime;\nThe luscious wines, dishonour\u2019d, lose their taste;\nThe song is noise, and impious is the feast.\nSuffice it to have spent with swift decay\nThe wealth of kings, and made my youth a prey.\nBut now the wise instructions of the sage,\nAnd manly thoughts inspired by manly age,\nTeach me to seek redress for all my woe,\nHere, or in Pyle\u2014in Pyle, or here, your foe.\nDeny your vessels, ye deny in vain:\nA private voyager I pass the main.\nFree breathe the winds, and free the billows flow;\nAnd where on earth I live, I live your foe.\u201d\n\nHe spoke and frown\u2019d, nor longer deign\u2019d to stay,\nSternly his hand withdrew, and strode away.\n\nMeantime, o\u2019er all the dome, they quaff, they feast,\nDerisive taunts were spread from guest to guest,\nAnd each in jovial mood his mate address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cTremble ye not, O friends, and coward fly,\nDoom\u2019d by the stern Telemachus to die?\nTo Pyle or Sparta to demand supplies,\nBig with revenge, the mighty warrior flies;\nOr comes from Ephyre with poisons fraught,\nAnd kills us all in one tremendous draught!\u201d\n\n\u201cOr who can say (his gamesome mate replies)\nBut, while the danger of the deeps he tries\nHe, like his sire, may sink deprived of breath,\nAnd punish us unkindly by his death?\nWhat mighty labours would he then create,\nTo seize his treasures, and divide his state,\nThe royal palace to the queen convey,\nOr him she blesses in the bridal day!\u201d\n\nMeantime the lofty rooms the prince surveys,\nWhere lay the treasures of the Ithacian race:\nHere ruddy brass and gold refulgent blazed;\nThere polished chests embroider\u2019d vestures graced;\nHere jars of oil breathed forth a rich perfume;\nThere casks of wine in rows adorn\u2019d the dome\n(Pure flavorous wine, by gods in bounty given\nAnd worthy to exalt the feasts of heaven).\nUntouch\u2019d they stood, till, his long labours o\u2019er,\nThe great Ulysses reach\u2019d his native shore.\nA double strength of bars secured the gates;\nFast by the door the wise Euryclea waits;\nEuryclea, who great Ops! thy lineage shared,\nAnd watch\u2019d all night, all day, a faithful guard.\n\nTo whom the prince: \u201cO thou whose guardian care\nNursed the most wretched king that breathes the air;\nUntouch\u2019d and sacred may these vessels stand,\nTill great Ulysses views his native land.\nBut by thy care twelve urns of wine be fill\u2019d;\nNext these in worth, and firm these urns be seal\u2019d;\nAnd twice ten measures of the choicest flour\nPrepared, ere yet descends the evening hour.\nFor when the favouring shades of night arise,\nAnd peaceful slumbers close my mother\u2019s eyes,\nMe from our coast shall spreading sails convey,\nTo seek Ulysses through the watery way.\u201d\n\nWhile yet he spoke, she fill\u2019d the walls with cries,\nAnd tears ran trickling from her aged eyes.\n\u201cO whither, whither flies my son (she cried)\nTo realms; that rocks and roaring seas divide?\nIn foreign lands thy father\u2019s days decay\u2019d.\nAnd foreign lands contain the mighty dead.\nThe watery way ill-fated if thou try,\nAll, all must perish, and by fraud you die!\nThen stay, my, child! storms beat, and rolls the main,\nOh, beat those storms, and roll the seas in vain!\u201d\n\n\u201cFar hence (replied the prince) thy fears be driven:\nHeaven calls me forth; these counsels are of Heaven.\nBut, by the powers that hate the perjured, swear,\nTo keep my voyage from the royal ear,\nNor uncompell\u2019d the dangerous truth betray,\nTill twice six times descends the lamp of day,\nLest the sad tale a mother\u2019s life impair,\nAnd grief destroy what time awhile would spare.\u201d\n\nThus he. The matron with uplifted eyes\nAttests the all-seeing sovereign of the skies.\nThen studious she prepares the choicest flour,\nThe strength of wheat and wines an ample store.\nWhile to the rival train the prince returns,\nThe martial goddess with impatience burns;\nLike thee, Telemachus, in voice and size,\nWith speed divine from street to street she flies,\nShe bids the mariners prepared to stand,\nWhen night descends, embodied on the strand.\nThen to No\u00ebmon swift she runs, she flies,\nAnd asks a bark: the chief a bark supplies.\n\nAnd now, declining with his sloping wheels,\nDown sunk the sun behind the western hills\nThe goddess shoved the vessel from the shores,\nAnd stow\u2019d within its womb the naval stores,\nFull in the openings of the spacious main\nIt rides; and now descends the sailor-train,\n\nNext, to the court, impatient of delay.\nWith rapid step the goddess urged her way;\nThere every eye with slumberous chains she bound,\nAnd dash\u2019d the flowing goblet to the ground.\nDrowsy they rose, with heavy fumes oppress\u2019d,\nReel\u2019d from the palace, and retired to rest.\nThen thus, in Mentor\u2019s reverend form array\u2019d,\nSpoke to Telemachus the martial maid.\n\u201cLo! on the seas, prepared the vessel stands,\nThe impatient mariner thy speed demands.\u201d\nSwift as she spoke, with rapid pace she leads;\nThe footsteps of the deity he treads.\nSwift to the shore they move along the strand;\nThe ready vessel rides, the sailors ready stand.\n\nHe bids them bring their stores; the attending train\nLoad the tall bark, and launch into the main,\nThe prince and goddess to the stern ascend;\nTo the strong stroke at once the rowers bend.\nFull from the west she bids fresh breezes blow;\nThe sable billows foam and roar below.\nThe chief his orders gives; the obedient band\nWith due observance wait the chief\u2019s command;\nWith speed the mast they rear, with speed unbind\nThe spacious sheet, and stretch it to the wind.\nHigh o\u2019er the roaring waves the spreading sails\nBow the tall mast, and swell before the gales;\nThe crooked keel the parting surge divides,\nAnd to the stern retreating roll the tides.\nAnd now they ship their oars, and crown with wine\nThe holy goblet to the powers divine:\nImploring all the gods that reign above,\nBut chief the blue-eyed progeny of Jove.\n\nThus all the night they stem the liquid way,\nAnd end their voyage with the morning ray.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE INTERVIEW OF TELEMACHUS AND NESTOR.\n\n\nTelemachus, guided by Pallas in the shape of Mentor, arrives in the\nmorning at Pylos, where Nestor and his sons are sacrificing on the sea-\nshore to Neptune. Telemachus declares the occasion of his coming: and\nNestor relates what passed in their return from Troy, how their fleets\nwere separated, and he never since heard of Ulysses. They discourse\nconcerning the death of Agamemnon, the revenge of Orestes, and the\ninjuries of the suitors. Nestor advises him to go to Sparta, and\ninquire further of Menelaus. The sacrifice ending with the night,\nMinerva vanishes from them in the form of an eagle: Telemachus is\nlodged in the palace. The next morning they sacrifice a bullock to\nMinerva; and Telemachus proceeds on his journey to Sparta, attended by\nPisistratus.\n    The scene lies on the sea-shore of Pylos.\n\n\nThe sacred sun, above the waters raised,\nThrough heaven\u2019s eternal brazen portals blazed;\nAnd wide o\u2019er earth diffused his cheering ray,\nTo gods and men to give the golden day.\nNow on the coast of Pyle the vessel falls,\nBefore old Neleus\u2019 venerable walls.\nThere suppliant to the monarch of the flood,\nAt nine green theatres the Pylians stood,\nEach held five hundred (a deputed train),\nAt each, nine oxen on the sand lay slain.\nThey taste the entrails, and the altars load\nWith smoking thighs, an offering to the god.\nFull for the port the Ithacensians stand,\nAnd furl their sails, and issue on the land.\nTelemachus already press\u2019d the shore;\nNot first, the power of wisdom march\u2019d before,\nAnd ere the sacrificing throng he join\u2019d,\nAdmonish\u2019d thus his well-attending mind:\n\n\u201cProceed, my son! this youthful shame expel;\nAn honest business never blush to tell.\nTo learn what fates thy wretched sire detain,\nWe pass\u2019d the wide immeasurable main.\nMeet then the senior far renown\u2019d for sense\nWith reverend awe, but decent confidence:\nUrge him with truth to frame his fair replies;\nAnd sure he will; for wisdom never lies.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh tell me, Mentor! tell me, faithful guide\n(The youth with prudent modesty replied),\nHow shall I meet, or how accost the sage,\nUnskill\u2019d in speech, nor yet mature of age?\nAwful th\u2019approach, and hard the task appears,\nTo question wisely men of riper years.\u201d\n\nTo whom the martial goddess thus rejoin\u2019d:\n\u201cSearch, for some thoughts, thy own suggesting mind;\nAnd others, dictated by heavenly power,\nShall rise spontaneous in the needful hour.\nFor nought unprosperous shall thy ways attend,\nBorn with good omens, and with heaven thy friend.\u201d\n\nShe spoke, and led the way with swiftest speed;\nAs swift, the youth pursued the way she led;\nand join\u2019d the band before the sacred fire,\nWhere sate, encompass\u2019d with his sons, the sire.\nThe youth of Pylos, some on pointed wood\nTransfix\u2019d the fragments, some prepared the food:\nIn friendly throngs they gather to embrace\nTheir unknown guests, and at the banquet place,\nPisistratus was first to grasp their hands,\nAnd spread soft hides upon the yellow sands;\nAlong the shore the illustrious pair he led,\nWhere Nestor sate with youthful Thrasymed,\nTo each a portion of the feast he bore,\nAnd held the golden goblet foaming o\u2019er;\nThen first approaching to the elder guest,\nThe latent goddess in these words address\u2019d:\n\u201cWhoe\u2019er thou art, whom fortune brings to keep\nThese rites of Neptune, monarch of the deep,\nThee first it fits, O stranger! to prepare\nThe due libation and the solemn prayer;\nThen give thy friend to shed the sacred wine;\nThough much thy younger, and his years like mine,\nHe too, I deem, implores the power divine;\nFor all mankind alike require their grace,\nAll born to want; a miserable race!\u201d\nHe spake, and to her hand preferr\u2019d the bowl;\nA secret pleasure touch\u2019d Athena\u2019s soul,\nTo see the preference due to sacred age\nRegarded ever by the just and sage.\nOf Ocean\u2019s king she then implores the grace.\n\u201cO thou! whose arms this ample globe embrace,\nFulfil our wish, and let thy glory shine\nOn Nestor first, and Nestor\u2019s royal line;\nNext grant the Pylian states their just desires,\nPleased with their hecatomb\u2019s ascending fires;\nLast, deign Telemachus and me to bless,\nAnd crown our voyage with desired success.\u201d\n\nThus she: and having paid the rite divine,\nGave to Ulysses\u2019 son the rosy wine.\nSuppliant he pray\u2019d. And now the victims dress\u2019d\nThey draw, divide, and celebrate the feast.\nThe banquet done, the narrative old man,\nThus mild, the pleasing conference began:\n\n\u201cNow gentle guests! the genial banquet o\u2019er,\nIt fits to ask ye, what your native shore,\nAnd whence your race? on what adventure say,\nThus far you wander through the watery way?\nRelate if business, or the thirst of gain,\nEngage your journey o\u2019er the pathless main\nWhere savage pirates seek through seas unknown\nThe lives of others, venturous of their own.\u201d\n\nUrged by the precepts by the goddess given,\nAnd fill\u2019d with confidence infused from Heaven,\nThe youth, whom Pallas destined to be wise\nAnd famed among the sons of men, replies:\n\u201cInquir\u2019st thou, father! from what coast we came?\n(Oh grace and glory of the Grecian name!)\nFrom where high Ithaca o\u2019erlooks the floods,\nBrown with o\u2019er-arching shades and pendent woods\nUs to these shores our filial duty draws,\nA private sorrow, not a public cause.\nMy sire I seek, where\u2019er the voice of fame\nHas told the glories of his noble name,\nThe great Ulysses; famed from shore to shore\nFor valour much, for hardy suffering more.\nLong time with thee before proud Ilion\u2019s wall\nIn arms he fought; with thee beheld her fall.\nOf all the chiefs, this hero\u2019s fate alone\nHas Jove reserved, unheard of, and unknown;\nWhether in fields by hostile fury slain,\nOr sunk by tempests in the gulfy main?\nOf this to learn, oppress\u2019d with tender fears,\nLo, at thy knee his suppliant son appears.\nIf or thy certain eye, or curious ear,\nHave learnt his fate, the whole dark story clear\nAnd, oh! whate\u2019er Heaven destined to betide,\nLet neither flattery soothe, nor pity hide.\nPrepared I stand: he was but born to try\nThe lot of man; to suffer, and to die.\nOh then, if ever through the ten years\u2019 war\nThe wise, the good Ulysses claim\u2019d thy care;\nIf e\u2019er he join\u2019d thy council, or thy sword,\nTrue in his deed, and constant to his word;\nFar as thy mind through backward time can see\nSearch all thy stores of faithful memory:\n\u2019Tis sacred truth I ask, and ask of thee.\u201d\n\nTo him experienced Nestor thus rejoin\u2019d:\n\u201cO friend! what sorrows dost thou bring to mind!\nShall I the long, laborious scene review,\nAnd open all the wounds of Greece anew?\nWhat toils by sea! where dark in quest of prey\nDauntless we roved; Achilles led the way;\nWhat toils by land! where mix\u2019d in fatal fight\nSuch numbers fell, such heroes sunk to night;\nThere Ajax great, Achilles there the brave,\nThere wise Patroclus, fill an early grave:\nThere, too, my son\u2014ah, once my best delight\nOnce swift of foot, and terrible in fight;\nIn whom stern courage with soft virtue join\u2019d\nA faultless body and a blameless mind;\nAntilochus\u2014What more can I relate?\nHow trace the tedious series of our fate?\nNot added years on years my task could close,\nThe long historian of my country\u2019s woes;\nBack to thy native islands might\u2019st thou sail,\nAnd leave half-heard the melancholy tale.\nNine painful years on that detested shore;\nWhat stratagems we form\u2019d, what toils we bore!\nStill labouring on, till scarce at last we found\nGreat Jove propitious, and our conquest crown\u2019d.\nFar o\u2019er the rest thy mighty father shined,\nIn wit, in prudence, and in force of mind.\nArt thou the son of that illustrious sire?\nWith joy I grasp thee, and with love admire.\nSo like your voices, and your words so wise,\nWho finds thee younger must consult his eyes.\nThy sire and I were one; nor varied aught\nIn public sentence, or in private thought;\nAlike to council or the assembly came,\nWith equal souls, and sentiments the same.\nBut when (by wisdom won) proud Ilion burn\u2019d,\nAnd in their ships the conquering Greeks return\u2019d,\n\u2019Twas God\u2019s high will the victors to divide,\nAnd turn the event, confounding human pride;\nSome he destroy\u2019d, some scatter\u2019d as the dust\n(Not all were prudent, and not all were just).\nThen Discord, sent by Pallas from above,\nStern daughter of the great avenger Jove,\nThe brother-kings inspired with fell debate;\nWho call\u2019d to council all the Achaian state,\nBut call\u2019d untimely (not the sacred rite\nObserved, nor heedful of the setting light,\nNor herald sword the session to proclaim),\nSour with debauch, a reeling tribe they came.\nTo these the cause of meeting they explain,\nAnd Menelaus moves to cross the main;\nNot so the king of men: he will\u2019d to stay,\nThe sacred rites and hecatombs to pay,\nAnd calm Minerva\u2019s wrath. Oh blind to fate!\nThe gods not lightly change their love, or hate.\nWith ireful taunts each other they oppose,\nTill in loud tumult all the Greeks arose.\nNow different counsels every breast divide,\nEach burns with rancour to the adverse side;\nThe unquiet night strange projects entertain\u2019d\n(So Jove, that urged us to our fate, ordain\u2019d).\nWe with the rising morn our ships unmoor\u2019d,\nAnd brought our captives and our stores aboard;\nBut half the people with respect obey\u2019d\nThe king of men, and at his bidding stay\u2019d.\nNow on the wings of winds our course we keep\n(For God had smooth\u2019d the waters of the deep);\nFor Tenedos we spread our eager oars,\nThere land, and pay due victims to the powers;\nTo bless our safe return, we join in prayer;\nBut angry Jove dispersed our vows in air,\nAnd raised new discord. Then (so Heaven decreed)\nUlysses first and Nestor disagreed!\nWise as he was, by various counsels sway\u2019d,\nHe there, though late, to please the monarch, stay\u2019d.\nBut I, determined, stem the foamy floods,\nWarn\u2019d of the coming fury of the gods.\nWith us, Tydides fear\u2019d, and urged his haste:\nAnd Menelaus came, but came the last,\nHe join\u2019d our vessels in the Lesbian bay,\nWhile yet we doubted of our watery way;\nIf to the right to urge the pilot\u2019s toil\n(The safer road), beside the Psyrian isle;\nOr the straight course to rocky Chios plough,\nAnd anchor under Mimas\u2019 shaggy brow?\nWe sought direction of the power divine:\nThe god propitious gave the guiding sign;\nThrough the mid seas he bid our navy steer,\nAnd in Euboea shun the woes we fear.\nThe whistling winds already waked the sky;\nBefore the whistling winds the vessels fly,\nWith rapid swiftness cut the liquid way,\nAnd reach Gerestus at the point of day.\nThere hecatombs of bulls, to Neptune slain,\nHigh-flaming please the monarch of the main.\nThe fourth day shone, when all their labours o\u2019er,\nTydides\u2019 vessels touched the wish\u2019d-for shore.\nBut I to Pylos scud before the gales,\nThe god still breathing on my swelling sails;\nSeparate from all, I safely landed here;\nTheir fates or fortunes never reach\u2019d my ear.\nYet what I learn\u2019d, attend; as here I sat,\nAnd ask\u2019d each voyager each hero\u2019s fate;\nCurious to know, and willing to relate.\n\n\u201cSafe reach\u2019d the Myrmidons their native land,\nBeneath Achilles\u2019 warlike son\u2019s command.\nThose, whom the heir of great Apollo\u2019s art,\nBrave Philoctetes, taught to wing the dart;\nAnd those whom Idomen from Ilion\u2019s plain\nHad led, securely cross\u2019d the dreadful main\nHow Agamemnon touch\u2019d his Argive coast,\nAnd how his life by fraud and force he lost,\nAnd how the murderer, paid his forfeit breath;\nWhat lands so distant from that scene of death\nBut trembling heard the fame? and heard, admire.\nHow well the son appeased his slaughter\u2019d sire!\nEv\u2019n to the unhappy, that unjustly bleed,\nHeaven gives posterity, to avenge the deed.\nSo fell \u00c6gysthus; and mayest thou, my friend,\n(On whom the virtues of thy sire descend,)\nMake future times thy equal act adore,\nAnd be what brave Orestes was before!\u201d\n\nThe prudent youth replied: \u201cO thou the grace\nAnd lasting glory of the Grecian race!\nJust was the vengeance, and to latest days\nShall long posterity resound the praise.\nSome god this arm with equal prowess bless!\nAnd the proud suitors shall its force confess;\nInjurious men! who while my soul is sore\nOf fresh affronts, are meditating more.\nBut Heaven denies this honour to my hand,\nNor shall my father repossess the land;\nThe father\u2019s fortune never to return,\nAnd the sad son\u2019s to softer and to mourn!\u201d\nThus he; and Nestor took the word: \u201cMy son,\nIs it then true, as distant rumours run,\nThat crowds of rivals for thy mother\u2019s charms\nThy palace fill with insults and alarms?\nSay, is the fault, through tame submission, thine?\nOr leagued against thee, do thy people join,\nMoved by some oracle, or voice divine?\nAnd yet who knows, but ripening lies in fate\nAn hour of vengeance for the afflicted state;\nWhen great Ulysses shall suppress these harms,\nUlysses singly, or all Greece in arms.\nBut if Athena, war\u2019s triumphant maid,\nThe happy son will as the father aid,\n(Whose fame and safety was her constant care\nIn every danger and in every war:\nNever on man did heavenly favour shine\nWith rays so strong, distinguish\u2019d and divine,\nAs those with which Minerva mark\u2019d thy sire)\nSo might she love thee, so thy soul inspire!\nSoon should their hopes in humble dust be laid,\nAnd long oblivion of the bridal bed.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! no such hope (the prince with sighs replies)\nCan touch my breast; that blessing Heaven denies.\nEv\u2019n by celestial favour were it given,\nFortune or fate would cross the will of Heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat words are these, and what imprudence thine?\n(Thus interposed the martial maid divine)\nForgetful youth! but know, the Power above\nWith ease can save each object of his love;\nWide as his will, extends his boundless grace;\nNor lost in time nor circumscribed by place.\nHappier his lot, who, many sorrows pass\u2019d,\nLong labouring gains his natal shore at last;\nThan who, too speedy, hastes to end his life\nBy some stern ruffian, or adulterous wife.\nDeath only is the lot which none can miss,\nAnd all is possible to Heaven but this.\nThe best, the dearest favourite of the sky,\nMust taste that cup, for man is born to die.\u201d\n\nThus check\u2019d, replied Ulysses\u2019 prudent heir:\n\u201cMentor, no more\u2014the mournful thought forbear;\nFor he no more must draw his country\u2019s breath,\nAlready snatch\u2019d by fate, and the black doom of death!\nPass we to other subjects; and engage\nOn themes remote the venerable sage\n(Who thrice has seen the perishable kind\nOf men decay, and through three ages shined\nLike gods majestic, and like gods in mind);\nFor much he knows, and just conclusions draws,\nFrom various precedents, and various laws.\nO son of Neleus! awful Nestor, tell\nHow he, the mighty Agamemnon, fell;\nBy what strange fraud \u00c6gysthus wrought, relate\n(By force he could not) such a hero\u2019s fate?\nLive Menelaus not in Greece? or where\nWas then the martial brother\u2019s pious care?\nCondemn\u2019d perhaps some foreign shore to tread;\nOr sure \u00c6gysthus had not dared the deed.\u201d\n\nTo whom the full of days: Illustrious youth,\nAttend (though partly thou hast guess\u2019d) the truth.\nFor had the martial Menelaus found\nThe ruffian breathing yet on Argive ground;\nNor earth had bid his carcase from the skies,\nNor Grecian virgins shriek\u2019d his obsequies,\nBut fowls obscene dismember\u2019d his remains,\nAnd dogs had torn him on the naked plains.\nWhile us the works of bloody Mars employ\u2019d,\nThe wanton youth inglorious peace enjoy\u2019d:\nHe stretch\u2019d at ease in Argos\u2019 calm recess\n(Whose stately steeds luxuriant pastures bless),\nWith flattery\u2019s insinuating art\nSoothed the frail queen, and poison\u2019d all her heart.\nAt first, with worthy shame and decent pride,\nThe royal dame his lawless suit denied.\nFor virtue\u2019s image yet possess\u2019d her mind.\nTaught by a master of the tuneful kind;\nAtrides, parting for the Trojan war,\nConsign\u2019d the youthful consort to his care.\nTrue to his charge, the bard preserved her long\nIn honour\u2019s limits; such the power of song.\nBut when the gods these objects of their hate\nDragg\u2019d to destruction by the links of fate;\nThe bard they banish\u2019d from his native soil,\nAnd left all helpless in a desert isle;\nThere he, the sweetest of the sacred train,\nSung dying to the rocks, but sung in vain.\nThen virtue was no more; her guard away,\nShe fell, to lust a voluntary prey.\nEven to the temple stalk\u2019d the adulterous spouse,\nWith impious thanks, and mockery of the vows,\nWith images, with garments, and with gold;\nAnd odorous fumes from loaded altars roll\u2019d.\n\n\u201cMeantime from flaming Troy we cut the way\nWith Menelaus, through the curling sea.\nBut when to Sunium\u2019s sacred point we came,\nCrown\u2019d with the temple of the Athenian dame;\nAtride\u2019s pilot, Phrontes, there expired\n(Phrontes, of all the songs of men admired\nTo steer the bounding bark with steady toil,\nWhen the storm thickens, and the billows boil);\nWhile yet he exercised the steerman\u2019s art,\nApollo touch\u2019d him with his gentle dart;\nEven with the rudder in his hand, he fell.\nTo pay whole honours to the shades of hell,\nWe check\u2019d our haste, by pious office bound,\nAnd laid our old companion in the ground.\nAnd now the rites discharged, our course we keep\nFar on the gloomy bosom of the deep:\nSoon as Malae\u2019s misty tops arise,\nSudden the Thunderer blackens all the skies,\nAnd the winds whistle, and the surges roll\nMountains on mountains, and obscure the pole.\nThe tempest scatters, and divides our fleet;\nPart, the storm urges on the coast of Crete,\nWhere winding round the rich Cydonian plain,\nThe streams of Jardan issue to the main.\nThere stands a rock, high, eminent and steep,\nWhose shaggy brow o\u2019erhangs the shady deep,\nAnd views Gortyna on the western side;\nOn this rough Auster drove the impetuous tide:\nWith broken force the billows roll\u2019d away,\nAnd heaved the fleet into the neighb\u2019ring bay.\nThus saved from death, they gain\u2019d the Ph\u00e6stan shores,\nWith shatter\u2019d vessels and disabled oars;\nBut five tall barks the winds and water toss\u2019d,\nFar from their fellows, on the \u00c6gyptian coast.\nThere wander\u2019d Menelaus through foreign shores\nAmassing gold, and gathering naval stores;\nWhile cursed \u00c6gysthus the detested deed\nBy fraud fulfilled, and his great brother bled.\nSeven years, the traitor rich Mycenae sway\u2019d,\nAnd his stern rule the groaning land obey\u2019d;\nThe eighth, from Athens to his realm restored,\nOrestes brandish\u2019d the avenging sword,\nSlew the dire pair, and gave to funeral flame\nThe vile assassin and adulterous dame.\nThat day, ere yet the bloody triumphs cease,\nReturn\u2019d Atrides to the coast of Greece,\nAnd safe to Argos port his navy brought,\nWith gifts of price and ponderous treasure fraught.\nHence warn\u2019d, my son, beware! nor idly stand\nToo long a stranger to thy native land;\nLest heedless absence wear thy wealth away,\nWhile lawless feasters in thy palace away;\nPerhaps may seize thy realm, and share the spoil;\nAnd though return, with disappointed toil,\nFrom thy vain journey, to a rifled isle.\nHowever, my friend, indulge one labour more,\nAnd seek Atrides on the Spartan shore.\nHe, wandering long a wider circle made,\nAnd many-languaged nations has survey\u2019d:\nAnd measured tracks unknown to other ships,\nAmid the monstrous wonders of the deeps,\n(A length of ocean and unbounded sky.\nWhich scarce the sea-fowl in a year o\u2019erfly);\nGo then; to Sparta take the watery way,\nThy ship and sailors but for orders stay;\nOr, if my land then choose thy course to bend,\nMy steeds, my chariots, and my songs, attend;\nThee to Atrides they shall safe convey,\nGuides of thy road, companions of thy way.\nUrge him with truth to frame his wise replies,\nAnd sure he will; for Menelaus is wise.\u201d\nThus while he speaks the ruddy sun descends,\nAnd twilight grey her evening shade extends.\nThen thus the blue-eyed maid: \u201cO full of days!\nWise are thy words, and just are all thy ways.\nNow immolate the tongues, and mix the wine,\nSacred to Neptune and the powers divine,\nThe lamp of day is quench\u2019d beneath the deep,\nAnd soft approach the balmy hours of sleep;\nNor fits it to prolong the heavenly feast,\nTimeless, indecent, but retire to rest.\u201d\n\nSo spake Jove\u2019s daughter, the celestial maid,\nThe sober train attended and obey\u2019d.\nThe sacred heralds on their hands around\nPour\u2019d the full urns; the youths the goblets crown\u2019d;\nFrom bowl to bowl the homely beverage flows;\nWhile to the final sacrifice they rose.\nThe tongues they cast upon the fragrant flame,\nAnd pour, above, the consecrated stream.\nAnd now, their thirst by copious draughts allay\u2019d,\nThe youthful hero and the Athenian maid\nPropose departure from the finish\u2019d rite,\nAnd in their hollow bark to pass the night;\nBut this hospitable sage denied,\n\u201cForbid it, Jove! and all the gods! (he cried),\nThus from my walls and the much-loved son to send\nOf such a hero, and of such a friend!\nMe, as some needy peasant, would ye leave,\nWhom Heaven denies the blessing to relieve?\nMe would ye leave, who boast imperial sway,\nWhen beds of royal state invite your stay?\nNo\u2014long as life this mortal shall inspire,\nOr as my children imitate their sire.\nHere shall the wandering stranger find his home,\nAnd hospitable rites adorn the dome.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell hast thou spoke (the blue-eyed maid replies),\nBeloved old man! benevolent as wise.\nBe the kind dictates of thy heart obey\u2019d,\nAnd let thy words Telemachus persuade:\nHe to thy palace shall thy steps pursue;\nI to the ship, to give the orders due,\nPrescribe directions and confirm the crew.\nFor I alone sustain their naval cares,\nWho boast experience from these silver hairs;\nAll youths the rest, whom to this journey move\nLike years, like tempers, and their prince\u2019s love\nThere in the vessel shall I pass the night;\nAnd, soon as morning paints the fields of light,\nI go to challenge from the Caucons bold\nA debt, contracted in the days of old,\nBut this, thy guest, received with friendly care\nLet thy strong coursers swift to Sparta bear;\nPrepare thy chariot at the dawn of day,\nAnd be thy son companion of his way.\u201d\n\nThen, turning with the word, Minerva flies,\nAnd soars an eagle through the liquid skies.\nVision divine! the throng\u2019d spectators gaze\nIn holy wonder fix\u2019d, and still amaze.\nBut chief the reverend sage admired; he took\nThe hand of young Telemachus, and spoke:\n\u201cOh, happy youth! and favoured of the skies,\nDistinguished care of guardian deities!\nWhose early years for future worth engage,\nNo vulgar manhood, no ignoble age.\nFor lo! none other of the course above,\nThen she, the daughter of almighty Jove,\nPallas herself, the war-triumphant maid;\nConfess\u2019d is thine, as once thy father\u2019s aid.\nSo guide me, goddess! so propitious shine\nOn me, my consort, and my royal line!\nA yearling bullock to thy name shall smoke,\nUntamed, unconscious of the galling yoke,\nWith ample forehead, and yet tender horns,\nWhose budding honours ductile gold adorns.\u201d\n\nSubmissive thus the hoary sire preferr\u2019d\nHis holy vow: the favouring goddess heard.\nThen, slowly rising, o\u2019er the sandy space\nPrecedes the father, follow\u2019d by his race,\n(A long procession) timely marching home\nIn comely order to the regal dome.\nThere when arrived, on thrones around him placed,\nHis sons and grandsons the wide circle graced.\nTo these the hospitable sage, in sign\nOf social welcome, mix\u2019d the racy wine\n(Late from the mellowing cask restored to light,\nBy ten long years refined, and rosy bright).\nTo Pallas high the foaming bowl he crown\u2019d,\nAnd sprinkled large libations on the ground.\nEach drinks a full oblivion of his cares,\nAnd to the gifts of balmy sleep repairs.\nDeep in a rich alcove the prince was laid,\nAnd slept beneath the pompous colonnade;\nFast by his side Pisistratus was spread\n(In age his equal) on a splendid bed:\nBut in an inner court, securely closed,\nThe reverend Nestor and his queen reposed.\n\nWhen now Aurora, daughter of the dawn,\nWith rosy lustre purpled o\u2019er the lawn,\nThe old man early rose, walk\u2019d forth, and sate\nOn polish\u2019d stone before his palace gate;\nWith unguents smooth the lucid marble shone,\nWhere ancient Neleus sate, a rustic throne;\nBut he descending to the infernal shade,\nSage Nestor fill\u2019d it, and the sceptre sway\u2019d.\nHis sons around him mild obeisance pay,\nAnd duteous take the orders of the day.\nFirst Echephron and Stratius quit their bed;\nThen Perseus, Aretus, and Thrasymed;\nThe last Pisistratus arose from rest:\nThey came, and near him placed the stranger-guest.\nTo these the senior thus declared his will:\n\u201cMy sons! the dictates of your sire fulfil.\nTo Pallas, first of gods, prepare the feast,\nWho graced our rites, a more than mortal guest\nLet one, despatchful, bid some swain to lead\nA well-fed bullock from the grassy mead;\nOne seek the harbour where the vessels moor,\nAnd bring thy friends, Telemachus! ashore\n(Leave only two the galley to attend);\nAnother Laerceus must we send,\nArtist devine, whose skilful hands infold\nThe victim\u2019s horn with circumfusile gold.\nThe rest may here the pious duty share,\nAnd bid the handmaids for the feast prepare,\nThe seats to range, the fragrant wood to bring,\nAnd limpid waters from the living spring.\u201d\n\nHe said, and busy each his care bestow\u2019d;\nAlready at the gates the bullock low\u2019d,\nAlready came the Ithacensian crew,\nThe dexterous smith the tools already drew;\nHis ponderous hammer and his anvil sound,\nAnd the strong tongs to turn the metal round.\nNor was Minerva absent from the rite,\nShe view\u2019d her honours, and enjoyed the sight,\nWith reverend hand the king presents the gold,\nWhich round the intorted horns the gilder roll\u2019d.\nSo wrought as Pallas might with pride behold.\nYoung Aretus from forth his bridal bower\nBrought the full laver, o\u2019er their hands to pour,\nAnd canisters of consecrated flour.\nStratius and Echephron the victim led;\nThe axe was held by warlike Thrasymed,\nIn act to strike; before him Perseus stood,\nThe vase extending to receive the blood.\nThe king himself initiates to the power:\nScatters with quivering hand the sacred flour,\nAnd the stream sprinkles; from the curling brows\nThe hair collected in the fire he throws.\nSoon as due vows on every part were paid,\nAnd sacred wheat upon the victim laid,\nStrong Thrasymed discharged the speeding blow\nFull on his neck, and cut the nerves in two.\nDown sunk the heavy beast; the females round\nMaids, wives, and matrons, mix a shrilling sound.\nNor scorned the queen the holy choir to join\n(The first born she, of old Clymenus\u2019 line:\nIn youth by Nestor loved, of spotless fame.\nAnd loved in age, Eurydice her name).\nFrom earth they rear him, struggling now with death;\nAnd Nestor\u2019s youngest stops the vents of breath.\nThe soul for ever flies; on all sides round\nStreams the black blood, and smokes upon the ground\nThe beast they then divide and disunite\nThe ribs and limbs, observant of the rite:\nOn these, in double cauls involved with art,\nThe choicest morsels lay from every part.\nThe sacred sage before his altar stands,\nTurns the burnt offering with his holy hands,\nAnd pours the wine, and bids the flames aspire;\nThe youth with instruments surround the fire.\nThe thighs now sacrificed, and entrails dress\u2019d,\nThe assistants part, transfix, and broil the rest\nWhile these officious tend the rites divine,\nThe last fair branch of the Nestorean line,\nSweet Polycaste, took the pleasing toil\nTo bathe the prince, and pour the fragrant oil.\nO\u2019er his fair limbs a flowery vest he threw,\nAnd issued, like a god, to mortal view.\nHis former seat beside the king he found\n(His people\u2019s father with his peers around);\nAll placed at ease the holy banquet join,\nAnd in the dazzling goblet laughs the wine.\n\nThe rage of thirst and hunger now suppress\u2019d,\nThe monarch turns him to his royal guest;\nAnd for the promised journey bids prepare\nThe smooth hair\u2019d horses, and the rapid car.\nObservant of his word, the word scarce spoke,\nThe sons obey, and join them to the yoke.\nThen bread and wine a ready handmaid brings,\nAnd presents, such as suit the state of kings.\nThe glittering seat Telemachus ascends;\nHis faithful guide Pisistratus attends;\nWith hasty hand the ruling reins he drew;\nHe lash\u2019d the coursers, and the coursers flew.\nBeneath the bounding yoke alike they hold\nTheir equal pace, and smoked along the field.\nThe towers of Pylos sink, its views decay,\nFields after fields fly back, till close of day;\nThen sunk the sun, and darken\u2019d all the way.\n\nTo Pherae now, Diocleus\u2019 stately seat\n(Of Alpheus\u2019 race), the weary youths retreat.\nHis house affords the hospitable rite,\nAnd pleased they sleep (the blessing of the night).\nBut when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,\nWith rosy lustre purpled o\u2019er the lawn,\nAgain they mount, their journey to renew,\nAnd from the sounding portico they flew.\nAlong the waving fields their way they hold\nThe fields receding as their chariot roll\u2019d;\nThen slowly sunk the ruddy globe of light,\nAnd o\u2019er the shaded landscape rush\u2019d the night.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE CONFERENCE WITH MENELAUS.\n\n\nTelemachus with Pisistratus arriving at Sparta, is hospitably received\nby Menelaus to whom he relates the cause of his coming, and learns from\nhim many particulars of what befell the Greeks since the destruction of\nTroy. He dwells more at large upon the prophecies of Proteus to him in\nhis return; from which he acquaints Telemachus that Ulysses is detained\nin the island of Calypso.\n    In the meantime the suitors consult to destroy Telemachus on the\n    voyage home. Penelope is apprised of this; but comforted in a dream\n    by Pallas, in the shape of her sister Iphthima.\n\n\nAnd now proud Sparta with their wheels resounds,\nSparta whose walls a range of hills surrounds;\nAt the fair dome the rapid labour ends;\nWhere sate Atrides \u2019midst his bridal friends,\nWith double vows invoking Hymen\u2019s power,\nTo bless his son\u2019s and daughter\u2019s nuptial hour.\n\nThat day, to great Achilles\u2019 son resign\u2019d,\nHermione, the fairest of her kind,\nWas sent to crown the long-protracted joy,\nEspoused before the final doom of Troy;\nWith steeds and gilded cars, a gorgeous train\nAttend the nymphs to Phthia\u2019s distant reign.\nMeanwhile at home, to Megapenthe\u2019s bed\nThe virgin choir Alector\u2019s daughter led.\nBrave Megapenthes from a stolen amour\nTo great Atrides\u2019 age his handmaid bore;\nTo Helen\u2019s bed the gods alone assign\nHermione, to extend the regal line;\nOn whom a radiant pomp of Graces wait,\nResembling Venus in attractive state.\n\nWhile this gay friendly troop the king surround,\nWith festival and mirth the roofs resound;\nA bard amid the joyous circle sings\nHigh airs attemper\u2019d to the vocal strings;\nWhilst warbling to the varied strain, advance\nTwo sprightly youths to form the bounding dance,\n\u2019Twas then, that issuing through the palace gate,\nThe splendid car roll\u2019d slow in regal state:\nOn the bright eminence young Nestor shone,\nAnd fast beside him great Ulysses\u2019 son;\nGrave Eteoneus saw the pomp appear,\nAnd speeding, thus address\u2019d the royal ear;\n\n\u201cTwo youths approach, whose semblant features prove\nTheir blood devolving from the source of Jove\nIs due reception deign\u2019d, or must they bend\nTheir doubtful course to seek a distant friend?\u201d\n\n\u201cInsensate! (with a sigh the king replies,)\nToo long, misjudging, have I thought thee wise\nBut sure relentless folly steels thy breast,\nObdurate to reject the stranger-guest;\nTo those dear hospitable rites a foe,\nWhich in my wanderings oft relieved my woe;\nFed by the bounty of another\u2019s board,\nTill pitying Jove my native realm restored\u2014\nStraight be the coursers from the car released,\nConduct the youths to grace the genial feast.\u201d\n\nThe seneschal, rebuked, in haste withdrew;\nWith equal haste a menial train pursue:\nPart led the coursers, from the car enlarged,\nEach to a crib with choicest grain surcharged;\nPart in a portico, profusely graced\nWith rich magnificence, the chariot placed;\nThen to the dome the friendly pair invite,\nWho eye the dazzling roofs with vast delight;\nResplendent as the blaze of summer noon,\nOr the pale radiance of the midnight moon.\nFrom room to room their eager view they bend\nThence to the bath, a beauteous pile, descend;\nWhere a bright damsel train attends the guests\nWith liquid odours, and embroider\u2019d vests.\nRefresh\u2019d, they wait them to the bower of state,\nWhere, circled with his peers, Atrides sate;\nThroned next the king, a fair attendant brings\nThe purest product of the crystal springs;\nHigh on a massy vase of silver mould,\nThe burnish\u2019d laver flames with solid gold,\nIn solid gold the purple vintage flows,\nAnd on the board a second banquet rose.\nWhen thus the king, with hospitable port;\n\u201cAccept this welcome to the Spartan court:\nThe waste of nature let the feast repair,\nThen your high lineage and your names declare;\nSay from what sceptred ancestry ye claim,\nRecorded eminent in deathless fame,\nFor vulgar parents cannot stamp their race\nWith signatures of such majestic grace.\u201d\n\nCeasing, benevolent he straight assigns\nThe royal portion of the choicest chines\nTo each accepted friend; with grateful haste\nThey share the honours of the rich repast.\nSufficed, soft whispering thus to Nestor\u2019s son,\nHis head reclined, young Ithacus begun:\n\n\u201cView\u2019st thou unmoved, O ever-honour\u2019d most!\nThese prodigies of art, and wondrous cost!\nAbove, beneath, around the palace shines\nThe sunless treasure of exhausted mines;\nThe spoils of elephants the roofs inlay,\nAnd studded amber darts the golden ray;\nSuch, and not nobler, in the realms above\nMy wonder dictates is the dome of Jove.\u201d\n\nThe monarch took the word, and grave replied:\n\u201cPresumptuous are the vaunts, and vain the pride\nOf man, who dares in pomp with Jove contest,\nUnchanged, immortal, and supremely blest!\nWith all my affluence, when my woes are weigh\u2019d,\nEnvy will own the purchase dearly paid.\nFor eight slow-circling years, by tempests toss\u2019d,\nFrom Cypress to the far Phoenician coast\n(Sidon the capital), I stretch\u2019d my toil\nThrough regions fatten\u2019d with the flows of Nile.\nNext Aethiopia\u2019s utmost bound explore,\nAnd the parch\u2019d borders of the Arabian shore;\nThen warp my voyage on the southern gales,\nO\u2019er the warm Lybian wave to spread my sails;\nThat happy clime, where each revolving year\nThe teeming ewes a triple offspring bear;\nAnd two fair crescents of translucent horn\nThe brows of all their young increase adorn:\nThe shepherd swains, with sure abundance blest,\nOn the fat flock and rural dainties feast;\nNor want of herbage makes the dairy fail,\nBut every season fills the foaming pail.\nWhilst, heaping unwash\u2019d wealth, I distant roam,\nThe best of brothers, at his natal home,\nBy the dire fury of a traitress wife,\nEnds the sad evening of a stormy life;\nWhence, with incessant grief my soul annoy\u2019d,\nThese riches are possess\u2019d, but not enjoy\u2019d!\nMy wars, the copious theme of every tongue,\nTo you your fathers have recorded long.\nHow favouring Heaven repaid my glorious toils\nWith a sack\u2019d palace, and barbaric spoils.\nOh! had the gods so large a boon denied\nAnd life, the just equivalent supplied\nTo those brave warriors, who, with glory fired\nFar from their country, in my cause expired!\nStill in short intervals of pleasing woe.\nRegardful of the friendly dues I owe,\nI to the glorious dead, for ever dear!\nIndulge the tribute of a grateful tear.\nBut oh! Ulysses\u2014deeper than the rest\nThat sad idea wounds my anxious breast!\nMy heart bleeds fresh with agonizing pain;\nThe bowl and tasteful viands tempt in vain;\nNor sleep\u2019s soft power can close my streaming eyes,\nWhen imaged to my soul his sorrows rise.\nNo peril in my cause he ceased to prove,\nHis labours equall\u2019d only by my love:\nAnd both alike to bitter fortune born,\nFor him to suffer, and for me to mourn!\nWhether he wanders on some friendly coast,\nOr glides in Stygian gloom a pensive ghost,\nNo fame reveals; but, doubtful of his doom,\nHis good old sire with sorrow to the tomb\nDeclines his trembling steps; untimely care\nWithers the blooming vigour of his heir;\nAnd the chaste partner of his bed and throne\nWastes all her widow\u2019d hours in tender moan.\u201d\n\nWhile thus pathetic to the prince he spoke,\nFrom the brave youth the streaming passion broke;\nStudious to veil the grief, in vain repress\u2019d,\nHis face he shrouded with his purple vest.\nThe conscious monarch pierced the coy disguise,\nAnd view\u2019d his filial love with vast surprise:\nDubious to press the tender theme, or wait\nTo hear the youth inquire his father\u2019s fate.\nIn this suspense bright Helen graced the room;\nBefore her breathed a gale of rich perfume.\nSo moves, adorn\u2019d with each attractive grace,\nThe silver shafted goddess of the chase!\nThe seat of majesty Adraste brings,\nWith art illustrious, for the pomp of kings;\nTo spread the pall (beneath the regal chair)\nOf softest wool, is bright Alcippe\u2019s care.\nA silver canister, divinely wrought,\nIn her soft hands the beauteous Phylo brought;\nTo Sparta\u2019s queen of old the radiant vase\nAlcandra gave, a pledge of royal grace;\nFor Polybus her lord (whose sovereign sway\nThe wealthy tribes of Pharian Thebes obey),\nWhen to that court Atrides came, caress\u2019d\nWith vast munificence the imperial guest:\nTwo lavers from the richest ore refined,\nWith silver tripods, the kind host assign\u2019d;\nAnd bounteous from the royal treasure told\nTen equal talents of refulgent gold.\nAlcandra, consort of his high command,\nA golden distaff gave to Helen\u2019s hand;\nAnd that rich vase, with living sculpture wrought,\nWhich heap\u2019d with wool the beauteous Phylo brought\nThe silken fleece, impurpled for the loom,\nRivall\u2019d the hyacinth in vernal bloom.\nThe sovereign seat then Jove born Helen press\u2019d,\nAnd pleasing thus her sceptred lord address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cWho grace our palace now, that friendly pair,\nSpeak they their lineage, or their names declare?\nUncertain of the truth, yet uncontroll\u2019d,\nHear me the bodings of my breast unfold.\nWith wonder wrapp\u2019d on yonder check I trace\nThe feature of the Ulyssean race:\nDiffused o\u2019er each resembling line appear,\nIn just similitude, the grace and air\nOf young Telemachus! the lovely boy,\nWho bless\u2019d Ulysses with a father\u2019s joy,\nWhat time the Greeks combined their social arms,\nTo avenge the stain of my ill-fated charms!\u201d\n\n\u201cJust is thy thought, (the king assenting cries,)\nMethinks Ulysses strikes my wondering eyes;\nFull shines the father in the filial frame,\nHis port, his features, and his shape the same;\nSuch quick regards his sparkling eyes bestow;\nSuch wavy ringlets o\u2019er his shoulders flow\nAnd when he heard the long disastrous store\nOf cares, which in my cause Ulysses bore;\nDismay\u2019d, heart-wounded with paternal woes,\nAbove restraint the tide of sorrow rose;\nCautious to let the gushing grief appear,\nHis purple garment veil\u2019d the falling tear.\u201d\n\n\u201cSee there confess\u2019d (Pisistratus replies)\nThe genuine worth of Ithacus the wise!\nOf that heroic sire the youth is sprung,\nBut modest awe hath chain\u2019d his timorous tongue.\nThy voice, O king! with pleased attention heard,\nIs like the dictates of a god revered.\nWith him, at Nestor\u2019s high command, I came,\nWhose age I honour with a parent\u2019s name.\nBy adverse destiny constrained to sue\nFor counsel and redress, he sues to you\nWhatever ill the friendless orphan bears,\nBereaved of parents in his infant years,\nStill must the wrong\u2019d Telemachus sustain,\nIf, hopeful of your aid, he hopes in vain;\nAffianced in your friendly power alone,\nThe youth would vindicate the vacant throne.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs Sparta blest, and these desiring eyes\nView my friend\u2019s son? (the king exalting cries;)\nSon of my friend, by glorious toils approved,\nWhose sword was sacred to the man he loved;\nMirror of constant faith, revered and mourn\u2019d\u2014\nWhen Troy was ruin\u2019d, had the chief return\u2019d,\nNo Greek an equal space had ere possess\u2019d,\nOf dear affection, in my grateful breast.\nI, to confirm the mutual joys we shared,\nFor his abode a capital prepared;\nArgos, the seat of sovereign rule, I chose;\nFair in the plan the future palace rose,\nWhere my Ulysses and his race might reign,\nAnd portion to his tribes the wide domain,\nTo them my vassals had resign\u2019d a soil,\nWith teeming plenty to reward their toil.\nThere with commutual zeal we both had strove\nIn acts of dear benevolence and love:\nBrothers in peace, not rivals in command,\nAnd death alone dissolved the friendly band!\nSome envious power the blissful scene destroys;\nVanish\u2019d are all the visionary joys;\nThe soul of friendship to my hope is lost,\nFated to wander from his natal coast!\u201d\n\nHe ceased; a gush of grief began to rise:\nFast streams a tide from beauteous Helen\u2019s eyes;\nFast for the sire the filial sorrows flow;\nThe weeping monarch swells the mighty woe;\nThy cheeks, Pisistratus, the tears bedew,\nWhile pictured so thy mind appear\u2019d in view,\nThy martial brother; on the Phrygian plain\nExtended pale, by swarthy Memnon slain!\nBut silence soon the son of Nestor broke,\nAnd melting with fraternal pity, spoke:\n\n\u201cFrequent, O king, was Nestor wont to raise\nAnd charm attention with thy copious praise;\nTo crowd thy various gifts, the sage assign\u2019d\nThe glory of a firm capacious mind;\nWith that superior attribute control\nThis unavailing impotence of soul,\nLet not your roof with echoing grief resound,\nNow for the feast the friendly bowl is crown\u2019d;\nBut when, from dewy shade emerging bright,\nAurora streaks the sky with orient light,\nLet each deplore his dead; the rites of woe\nAre all, alas! the living can bestow;\nO\u2019er the congenial dust enjoin\u2019d to shear\nThe graceful curl, and drop the tender tear.\nThen, mingling in the mournful pomp with you,\nI\u2019ll pay my brother\u2019s ghost a warrior\u2019s due,\nAnd mourn the brave Antilochus, a name\nNot unrecorded in the rolls of fame;\nWith strength and speed superior form\u2019d, in fight\nTo face the foe, or intercept his flight;\nToo early snatch\u2019d by fate ere known to me!\nI boast a witness of his worth in thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cYoung and mature! (the monarch thus rejoins,)\nIn thee renew\u2019d the soul of Nestor shines;\nForm\u2019d by the care of that consummate sage,\nIn early bloom an oracle of age.\nWhene\u2019er his influence Jove vouchsafes to shower,\nTo bless the natal and the nuptial hour;\nFrom the great sire transmissive to the race,\nThe boon devolving gives distinguish\u2019d grace.\nSuch, happy Nestor! was thy glorious doom,\nAround thee, full of years, thy offspring bloom.\nExpert of arms, and prudent in debate;\nThe gifts of Heaven to guard thy hoary state.\nBut now let each becalm his troubled breast,\nWash, and partake serene the friendly feast.\nTo move thy suit, Telemachus, delay,\nTill heaven\u2019s revolving lamp restores the day.\u201d\n\nHe said, Asphalion swift the laver brings;\nAlternate, all partake the grateful springs;\nThen from the rites of purity repair,\nAnd with keen gust the savoury viands share.\nMeantime, with genial joy to warm the soul,\nBright Helen mix\u2019d a mirth inspiring bowl;\nTemper\u2019d with drugs of sovereign use, to assuage\nThe boiling bosom of tumultuous rage;\nTo clear the cloudy front of wrinkled Care,\nAnd dry the tearful sluices of Despair;\nCharm\u2019d with that virtuous draught, the exalted mind\nAll sense of woe delivers to the wind.\nThough on the blazing pile his parent lay,\nOr a loved brother groan\u2019d his life away,\nOr darling son, oppress\u2019d by ruffian force,\nFell breathless at his feet, a mangled corse;\nFrom morn to eve, impassive and serene,\nThe man entranced would view the dreadful scene.\nThese drugs, so friendly to the joys of life,\nBright Helen learn\u2019d from Thone\u2019s imperial wife;\nWho sway\u2019d the sceptre, where prolific Nile\nWith various simples clothes the fatten\u2019d soil.\nWith wholesome herbage mix\u2019d, the direful bane\nOf vegetable venom taints the plain;\nFrom Paeon sprung, their patron-god imparts\nTo all the Pharian race his healing arts.\nThe beverage now prepared to inspire the feast,\nThe circle thus the beauteous queen addressed:\n\n\u201cThroned in omnipotence, supremest Jove\nTempers the fates of human race above;\nBy the firm sanction of his sovereign will,\nAlternate are decreed our good and ill.\nTo feastful mirth be this white hour assign\u2019d.\nAnd sweet discourse, the banquet of the mind\nMyself, assisting in the social joy,\nWill tell Ulysses\u2019 bold exploit in Troy,\nSole witness of the deed I now declare\nSpeak you (who saw) his wonders in the war.\n\n\u201cSeam\u2019d o\u2019er with wounds, which his own sabre gave,\nIn the vile habit of a village slave,\nThe foe deceived, he pass\u2019d the tented plain,\nIn Troy to mingle with the hostile train.\nIn this attire secure from searching eyes,\nTill happily piercing through the dark disguise,\nThe chief I challenged; he, whose practised wit\nKnew all the serpent mazes of deceit,\nEludes my search; but when his form I view\u2019d\nFresh from the bath, with fragrant oils renew\u2019d,\nHis limbs in military purple dress\u2019d,\nEach brightening grace the genuine Greek confess\u2019d.\nA previous pledge of sacred faith obtain\u2019d,\nTill he the lines and Argive fleet regain\u2019d,\nTo keep his stay conceal\u2019d; the chief declared\nThe plans of war against the town prepared.\nExploring then the secrets of the state,\nHe learn\u2019d what best might urge the Dardan fate;\nAnd, safe returning to the Grecian host,\nSent many a shade to Pluto\u2019s dreary coast.\nLoud grief resounded through the towers of Troy,\nBut my pleased bosom glow\u2019d with secret joy:\nFor then, with dire remorse and conscious shame\nI view\u2019d the effects of that disastrous flame,\nWhich, kindled by the imperious queen of love,\nConstrain\u2019d me from my native realm to rove:\nAnd oft in bitterness of soul deplored\nMy absent daughter and my dearer lord;\nAdmired among the first of human race,\nFor every gift of mind and manly grace.\u201d\n\n\u201cRight well (replied the king) your speech displays\nThe matchless merit of the chief you praise:\nHeroes in various climes myself have found,\nFor martial deeds and depth of thought renown\u2019d;\nBut Ithacus, unrivall\u2019d in his claim,\nMay boast a title to the loudest fame:\nIn battle calm he guides the rapid storm,\nWise to resolve, and patient to perform.\nWhat wondrous conduct in the chief appear\u2019d,\nWhen the vast fabric of the steed we rear\u2019d!\nSome demon, anxious for the Trojan doom,\nUrged you with great Deiphobus to come,\nTo explore the fraud; with guile opposed to guile.\nSlow-pacing thrice around the insidious pile,\nEach noted leader\u2019s name you thrice invoke,\nYour accent varying as their spouses spoke!\nThe pleasing sounds each latent warrior warm\u2019d,\nBut most Tydides\u2019 and my heart alarm\u2019d:\nTo quit the steed we both impatient press\nThreatening to answer from the dark recess.\nUnmoved the mind of Ithacus remain\u2019d;\nAnd the vain ardours of our love restrain\u2019d;\nBut Anticlus, unable to control,\nSpoke loud the language of his yearning soul:\nUlysses straight, with indignation fired\n(For so the common care of Greece required),\nFirm to his lips his forceful hands applied,\nTill on his tongue the fluttering murmurs died.\nMeantime Minerva, from the fraudful horse,\nBack to the court of Priam bent your course.\u201d\n\n\u201cInclement fate! (Telemachus replies,)\nFrail is the boasted attribute of wise:\nThe leader mingling with the vulgar host,\nIs in the common mass of matter lost!\nBut now let sleep the painful waste repair\nOf sad reflection and corroding care.\u201d\nHe ceased; the menial fair that round her wait,\nAt Helen\u2019s beck prepare the room of state;\nBeneath an ample portico they spread\nThe downy fleece to form the slumberous bed;\nAnd o\u2019er soft palls of purple grain unfold\nRich tapestry, stiff with interwoven gold:\nThen, through the illumined dome, to balmy rest\nThe obsequious herald guides each princely guest;\nWhile to his regal bower the king ascends,\nAnd beauteous Helen on her lord attends.\nSoon as the morn, in orient purple dress\u2019d,\nUnbarr\u2019d the portal of the roseate east,\nThe monarch rose; magnificent to view,\nThe imperial mantle o\u2019er his vest he threw;\nThe glittering zone athwart his shoulders cast,\nA starry falchion low-depending graced;\nClasp\u2019d on his feet the embroidered sandals shine;\nAnd forth he moves, majestic and divine,\nInstant to young Telemachus he press\u2019d;\nAnd thus benevolent his speech addressed:\n\n\u201cSay, royal youth, sincere of soul report\nWhit cause hath led you to the Spartan court?\nDo public or domestic care constrain\nThis toilsome voyage o\u2019er the surgy main?\u201d\n\n\u201cO highly-favour\u2019d delegate of Jove!\n(Replies the prince) inflamed with filial love,\nAnd anxious hope, to hear my parent\u2019s doom,\nA suppliant to your royal court I come:\nOur sovereign seat a lewd usurping race\nWith lawless riot and misrule disgrace;\nTo pamper\u2019d insolence devoted fall\nPrime of the flock, and choicest of the stall:\nFor wild ambition wings their bold desire,\nAnd all to mount the imperial bed aspire.\nBut prostrate I implore, O king! relate\nThe mournful series of my father\u2019s fate:\nEach known disaster of the man disclose,\nBorn by his mother to a world of woes!\nRecite them; nor in erring pity fear\nTo wound with storied grief the filial ear.\nIf e\u2019er Ulysses, to reclaim your right,\nAvow\u2019d his zeal in council or in fight,\nIf Phrygian camps the friendly toils attest,\nTo the sire\u2019s merit give the son\u2019s request.\u201d\n\nDeep from his inmost soul Atrides sigh\u2019d,\nAnd thus, indignant, to the prince replied:\n\u201cHeavens! would a soft, inglorious, dastard train\nAn absent hero\u2019s nuptial joys profane!\nSo with her young, amid the woodland shades,\nA timorous hind the lion\u2019s court invades,\nLeaves in the fatal lair the tender fawns,\nClimbs the green cliff, or feeds the flowery lawns:\nMeantime return\u2019d, with dire remorseless sway,\nThe monarch-savage rends the trembling prey.\nWith equal fury, and with equal fame,\nUlysses soon shall reassert his claim.\nO Jove supreme, whom gods and men revere!\nAnd thou! to whom \u2019tis given to gild the sphere!\nWith power congenial join\u2019d, propitious aid\nThe chief adopted by the martial maid!\nSuch to our wish the warrior soon restore,\nAs when contending on the Lesbian shore\nHis prowess Philomelidies confess\u2019d,\nAnd loud-acclaiming Greeks the victor bless\u2019d;\nThen soon the invaders of his bed and throne\nTheir love presumptuous shall with life atone.\nWith patient ear, O royal youth, attend\nThe storied labour of thy father\u2019s friend:\nFruitful of deeds, the copious tale is long,\nBut truth severe shall dictate to my tongue:\nLearn what I heard the sea-born seer relate,\nWhose eye can pierce the dark recess of fate.\n\n\u201cLong on the Egyptian coast by calms confined,\nHeaven to my fleet refused a prosperous wind;\nNo vows had we preferr\u2019d, nor victims slain!\nFor this the gods each favouring gale restrain\nJealous, to see their high behests obey\u2019d;\nSevere, if men the eternal rights evade.\nHigh o\u2019er a gulfy sea, the Pharian isle\nFronts the deep roar of disemboguing Nile:\nHer distance from the shore, the course begun\nAt dawn, and ending with the setting sun,\nA galley measures; when the stiffer gales\nRise on the poop, and fully stretch the sails.\nThere, anchor\u2019d vessels safe in harbour lie,\nWhilst limpid springs the failing cask supply.\n\n\u201cAnd now the twentieth sun, descending, laves\nHis glowing axle in the western waves:\nStill with expanded sails we court in vain\nPropitious winds to waft us o\u2019er the main;\nAnd the pale mariner at once deplores\nHis drooping vigour and exhausted stores.\nWhen lo! a bright cerulean form appears,\nProteus her sire divine. With pity press\u2019d,\nMe sole the daughter of the deep address\u2019d;\nWhat time, with hunger pined, my absent mates\nRoam the wide isle in search of rural cates,\nBait the barb\u2019d steel, and from the fishy flood\nAppease the afflictive fierce desire of food.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Whoe\u2019er thou art (the azure goddess cries)\nThy conduct ill-deserves the praise of wise:\nIs death thy choice, or misery thy boast,\nThat here inglorious, on a barren coast,\nThy brave associates droop, a meagre train,\nWith famine pale, and ask thy care in vain?\u2019\n\u201cStruck with the loud reproach, I straight reply:\n\u2018Whate\u2019er thy title in thy native sky,\nA goddess sure! for more than moral grace\nSpeaks thee descendant of ethereal race;\nDeem not that here of choice my fleet remains;\nSome heavenly power averse my stay constrains:\nO, piteous of my fate, vouchsafe to show\n(For what\u2019s sequester\u2019d from celestial view?)\nWhat power becalms the innavigable seas?\nWhat guilt provokes him, and what vows appease?\u2019\n\n\u201cI ceased, when affable the goddess cried:\n\u2018Observe, and in the truths I speak confide;\nThe oracular seer frequents the Pharian coast,\nFrom whose high bed my birth divine I boast;\nProteus, a name tremendous o\u2019er the main,\nThe delegate of Neptune\u2019s watery reign.\nWatch with insidious care his known abode;\nThere fast in chains constrain the various god;\nWho bound, obedient to superior force,\nUnerring will prescribe your destined course.\nIf, studious on your realms, you then demand\nTheir state, since last you left your natal land,\nInstant the god obsequious will disclose\nBright tracts of glory or a cloud of woes.\u2019\n\n\u201cShe ceased; and suppliant thus I made reply:\n\u2018O goddess! on thy aid my hopes rely;\nDictate propitious to my duteous ear,\nWhat arts can captivate the changeful seer;\nFor perilous the assay, unheard the toil,\nTo elude the prescience of a god by guile.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus to the goddess mild my suit I end.\nThen she: \u2018Obedient to my rule attend:\nWhen through the zone of heaven the mounted sun\nHath journeyed half, and half remains to run;\nThe seer, while zephyrs curl the swelling deep,\nBasks on the breezy shore, in grateful sleep,\nHis oozy limbs. Emerging from the wave,\nThe Phocas swift surround his rocky cave,\nFrequent and full; the consecrated train\nOf her, whose azure trident awes the main;\nThere wallowing warm, the enormous herd exhales\nAn oily steam, and taints the noontide gales.\nTo that recess, commodious for surprise,\nWhen purple light shall next suffuse the skies,\nWith me repair; and from thy warrior-band\nThree chosen chiefs of dauntless soul command;\nLet their auxiliar force befriend the toil;\nFor strong the god, and perfected in guile.\nStretch\u2019d on the shelly shore, he first surveys\nThe flouncing herd ascending from the seas;\nTheir number summ\u2019d, reposed in sleep profound\nThe scaly charge their guardian god surround;\nSo with his battening flocks the careful swain\nAbides pavilion\u2019d on the grassy plain.\nWith powers united, obstinately bold,\nInvade him, couch\u2019d amid the scaly fold;\nInstant he wears, elusive of the rape,\nThe mimic force of every savage shape;\nOr glides with liquid lapse a murmuring stream,\nOr, wrapp\u2019d in flame, he glows at every limb.\nYet, still retentive, with redoubled might,\nThrough each vain passive form constrain his flight\nBut when, his native shape renamed, he stands\nPatient of conquest, and your cause demands;\nThe cause that urged the bold attempt declare,\nAnd soothe the vanquish\u2019d with a victor\u2019s prayer.\nThe bands releas\u2019d, implore the seer to say\nWhat godhead interdicts the watery way.\nWho, straight propitious, in prophetic strain\nWill teach you to repass the unmeasured main.\u2019\nShe ceased, and bounding from the shelfy shore,\nRound the descending nymph the waves resounding roar.\n\n\u201cHigh wrapp\u2019d in wonder of the future deed,\nwith joy impetuous to the port I speed:\nThe wants of nature with repast suffice,\nTill night with grateful shade involved the skies,\nAnd shed ambrosial dews. Fast by the deep,\nAlong the tented shore, in balmy sleep,\nOur cares were lost. When o\u2019er the eastern lawn,\nIn saffron robes, the daughter of the dawn\nAdvanced her rosy steps, before the bay\nDue ritual honours to the gods I pay;\nThen seek the place the sea-born nymph assign\u2019d,\nWith three associates of undaunted mind.\nArrived, to form along the appointed strand\nFor each a bed, she scoops the hilly sand;\nThen, from her azure cave the finny spoils\nOf four vast Phocae takes, to veil her wiles;\nBeneath the finny spoils extended prone,\nHard toil! the prophet\u2019s piercing eye to shun;\nNew from the corse, the scaly frauds diffuse\nUnsavoury stench of oil, and brackish ooze;\nBut the bright sea-maid\u2019s gentle power implored,\nWith nectar\u2019d drops the sickening sense restored.\n\n\u201cThus till the sun had travell\u2019d half the skies,\nAmbush\u2019d we lie, and wait the bold emprise;\nWhen, thronging quick to bask in open air,\nThe flocks of ocean to the strand repair;\nCouch\u2019d on the sunny sand, the monsters sleep;\nThen Proteus, mounting from the hoary deep,\nSurveys his charge, unknowing of deceit;\n(In order told, we make the sum complete.)\nPleased with the false review, secure he lies,\nAnd leaden slumbers press his drooping eyes.\nRushing impetuous forth, we straight prepare\nA furious onset with the sound of war,\nAnd shouting seize the god; our force to evade,\nHis various arts he soon resumes in aid;\nA lion now, he curls a surgy mane;\nSudden our hands a spotted pard restrain;\nThen, arm\u2019d with tusks, and lightning in his eyes,\nA boar\u2019s obscener shape the god belies;\nOn spiry volumes, there a dragon rides;\nHere, from our strict embrace a stream he glides.\nAt last, sublime, his stately growth he rears\nA tree, and well-dissembled foliage wears.\nVain efforts with superior power compress\u2019d,\nMe with reluctance thus the seer address\u2019d;\n\u2018Say, son of Atreus, say what god inspired\nThis daring fraud, and what the boon desired?\u2019\nI thus: \u2018O thou, whose certain eye foresees\nThe fix\u2019d event of fate\u2019s remote decrees;\nAfter long woes, and various toil endured,\nStill on this desert isle my fleet is moor\u2019d,\nUnfriended of the gales. All-knowing, say,\nWhat godhead interdicts the watery way?\nWhat vows repentant will the power appease,\nTo speed a prosperous voyage o\u2019er the seas.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018To Jove (with stern regard the god replies)\nAnd all the offended synod of the skies,\nJust hecatombs with due devotion slain,\nThy guilt absolved, a prosperous voyage gain.\nTo the firm sanction of thy fate attend!\nAn exile thou, nor cheering face of friend,\nNor sight of natal shore, nor regal dome,\nShalt yet enjoy, but still art doom\u2019d to roam.\nOnce more the Nile, who from the secret source\nOf Jove\u2019s high seat descends with sweepy force,\nMust view his billows white beneath thy oar,\nAnd altars blaze along his sanguine shore.\nThen will the gods with holy pomp adored,\nTo thy long vows a safe return accord.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe ceased: heart wounded with afflictive pain,\n(Doom\u2019d to repeat the perils of the main,\nA shelfy track and long!) \u2018O seer\u2019 I cry,\n\u2018To the stern sanction of the offended sky\nMy prompt obedience bows. But deign to say\nWhat fate propitious, or what dire dismay,\nSustain those peers, the relics of our host,\nWhom I with Nestor on the Phrygian coast\nEmbracing left? Must I the warriors weep,\nWhelm\u2019d in the bottom of the monstrous deep?\nOr did the kind domestic friend deplore\nThe breathless heroes on their native shore?\n\n\u201c\u2018Press not too far,\u2019 replied the god: \u2018but cease\nTo know what, known, will violate thy peace;\nToo curious of their doom! with friendly woe\nThy breast will heave, and tears eternal flow.\nPart live! the rest, a lamentable train!\nRange the dark bounds of Pluto\u2019s dreary reign.\nTwo, foremost in the roll of Mars renown\u2019d,\nWhose arms with conquest in thy cause were crown\u2019d,\nFell by disastrous fate: by tempests toss\u2019d,\nA third lives wretched on a distant coast.\n\n\u201cBy Neptune rescued from Minerva\u2019s hate,\nOn Gyrae, safe Oilean Ajax sate,\nHis ship o\u2019erwhelm\u2019d; but, frowning on the floods,\nImpious he roar\u2019d defiance to the gods;\nTo his own prowess all the glory gave:\nThe power defrauding who vouchsafed to save.\nThis heard the raging ruler of the main;\nHis spear, indignant for such high disdain,\nHe launched; dividing with his forky mace\nThe a\u00ebrial summit from the marble base:\nThe rock rush\u2019d seaward, with impetuous roar\nIngulf\u2019d, and to the abyss the boaster bore.\n\n\u201cBy Juno\u2019s guardian aid, the watery vast,\nSecure of storms, your royal brother pass\u2019d,\nTill, coasting nigh the cape where Malen shrouds\nHer spiry cliffs amid surrounding clouds,\nA whirling gust tumultuous from the shore\nAcross the deep his labouring vessel bore.\nIn an ill-fated hour the coast he gain\u2019d,\nWhere late in regal pomp Thyestes reigned;\nBut, when his hoary honours bow\u2019d to fate,\n\u00c6gysthus govern\u2019d in paternal state,\nThe surges now subside, the tempest ends;\nFrom his tall ship the king of men descends;\nThere fondly thinks the gods conclude his toil:\nFar from his own domain salutes the soil;\nWith rapture oft the verge of Greece reviews,\nAnd the dear turf with tears of joy bedews.\nHim, thus exulting on the distant stand,\nA spy distinguish\u2019d from his airy stand;\nTo bribe whose vigilance, \u00c6gysthus told\nA mighty sum of ill-persuading gold:\nThere watch\u2019d this guardian of his guilty fear,\nTill the twelfth moon had wheel\u2019d her pale career;\nAnd now, admonish\u2019d by his eye, to court\nWith terror wing\u2019d conveys the dread report.\nOf deathful arts expert, his lord employs\nThe ministers of blood in dark surprise;\nAnd twenty youths, in radiant mail incased,\nClose ambush\u2019d nigh the spacious hall he placed.\nThen bids prepare the hospitable treat:\nVain shows of love to veil his felon hate!\nTo grace the victor\u2019s welcome from the wars,\nA train of coursers and triumphal cars\nMagnificent he leads: the royal guest,\nThoughtless of ill, accepts the fraudful feast.\nThe troop forth-issuing from the dark recess,\nWith homicidal rage the king oppress!\nSo, whilst he feeds luxurious in the stall,\nThe sovereign of the herd is doomed to fall,\nThe partners of his fame and toils at Troy,\nAround their lord, a mighty ruin, lie:\nMix\u2019d with the brave, the base invaders bleed;\n\u00c6gysthus sole survives to boast the deed.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe said: chill horrors shook my shivering soul,\nRack\u2019d with convulsive pangs in dust I roll;\nAnd hate, in madness of extreme despair,\nTo view the sun, or breathe the vital air.\nBut when, superior to the rage of woe,\nI stood restored and tears had ceased to flow,\nLenient of grief the pitying god began:\n\u2018Forget the brother, and resume the man.\nTo Fate\u2019s supreme dispose the dead resign,\nThat care be Fate\u2019s, a speedy passage thine\nStill lives the wretch who wrought the death deplored,\nBut lives a victim for thy vengeful sword;\nUnless with filial rage Orestes glow,\nAnd swift prevent the meditated blow:\nYou timely will return a welcome guest,\nWith him to share the sad funereal feast.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe said: new thoughts my beating heart employ,\nMy gloomy soul receives a gleam of joy.\nFair hope revives; and eager I address\u2019d\nThe prescient godhead to reveal the rest:\n\u2018The doom decreed of those disastrous two\nI\u2019ve heard with pain, but oh! the tale pursue;\nWhat third brave son of Mars the Fates constrain\nTo roam the howling desert of the main;\nOr, in eternal shade of cold he lies,\nProvoke new sorrows from these grateful eyes.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018That chief (rejoin\u2019d the god) his race derives\nFrom Ithaca, and wondrous woes survives;\nLaertes\u2019 son: girt with circumfluous tides,\nHe still calamitous constraint abides.\nHim in Calypso\u2019s cave of late I view\u2019d,\nWhen streaming grief his faded cheek bedow\u2019d.\nBut vain his prayer, his arts are vain, to move\nThe enamour\u2019d goddess, or elude her love:\nHis vessel sunk, and dear companions lost,\nHe lives reluctant on a foreign coast.\nBut oh, beloved by Heaven! reserved to thee\nA happier lot the smiling Fates decree:\nFree from that law, beneath whose mortal sway\nMatter is changed, and varying forms decay,\nElysium shall be thine: the blissful plains\nOf utmost earth, where Rhadamanthus reigns.\nJoys ever young, unmix\u2019d with pain or fear,\nFill the wide circle of the eternal year:\nStern winter smiles on that auspicious clime:\nThe fields are florid with unfading prime;\nFrom the bleak pole no winds inclement blow,\nMould the round hail, or flake the fleecy snow;\nBut from the breezy deep the blest inhale\nThe fragrant murmurs of the western gale.\nThis grace peculiar will the gods afford\nTo thee, the son of Jove, and beauteous Helen\u2019s lord.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe ceased, and plunging in the vast profound,\nBeneath the god and whirling billows bound.\nThen speeding back, involved in various thought,\nMy friends attending at the shore I sought,\nArrived, the rage of hunger we control\nTill night with silent shade invests the pole;\nThen lose the cares of life in pleasing rest.\nSoon as the morn reveals the roseate east,\nWith sails we wing the masts, our anchors weigh,\nUnmoor the fleet, and rush into the sea.\nRanged on the banks, beneath our equal oars\nWhite curl the waves, and the vex\u2019d ocean roars\nThen, steering backward from the Pharian isle,\nWe gain the stream of Jove-descended Nile;\nThere quit the ships, and on the destined shore\nWith ritual hecatombs the gods adore;\nTheir wrath atoned, to Agamemnon\u2019s name\nA cenotaph I raise of deathless fame.\nThese rites to piety and grief discharged,\nThe friendly gods a springing gale enlarged;\nThe fleet swift tilting o\u2019er the surges flew,\nTill Grecian cliffs appear\u2019d a blissful view!\n\n\u201cThy patient ear hath heard me long relate\nA story, fruitful of disastrous fate.\nAnd now, young prince, indulge my fond request;\nBe Sparta honoured with his royal guest,\nTill, from his eastern goal, the joyous sun\nHis twelfth diurnal race begins to run.\nMeantime my train the friendly gifts prepare,\nThe sprightly coursers and a polish\u2019d car;\nWith these a goblet of capacious mould,\nFigured with art to dignify the gold\n(Form\u2019d for libation to the gods), shall prove\nA pledge and monument of sacred love.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy quick return (young Ithacus rejoin\u2019d),\nDamps the warm wishes of my raptured mind;\nDid not my fate my needful haste constrain,\nCharm\u2019d by your speech so graceful and humane,\nLost in delight the circling year would roll,\nWhile deep attention fix\u2019d my listening soul.\nBut now to Pyle permit my destined way,\nMy loved associates chide my long delay:\nIn dear remembrance of your royal grace,\nI take the present of the promised vase;\nThe coursers, for the champaign sports retain;\nThat gift our barren rocks will render vain:\nHorrid with cliffs, our meagre land allows\nThin herbage for the mountain goat to browse,\nBut neither mead nor plain supplies, to feed\nThe sprightly courser, or indulge his speed:\nTo sea-surrounded realms the gods assign\nSmall tract of fertile lawn, the least to mine.\u201d\n\nHis hand the king with tender passion press\u2019d,\nAnd, smiling, thus the royal youth address\u2019d:\n\u201cO early worth! a soul so wise, and young,\nProclaims you from the sage Ulysses sprung.\nSelected from my stores, of matchless price,\nAn urn shall recompense your prudent choice;\nBy Vulcan\u2019s art, the verge with gold enchased.\nA pledge the sceptred power of Sidon gave,\nWhen to his realm I plough\u2019d the orient wave.\u201d\n\nThus they alternate; while, with artful care,\nThe menial train the regal feast prepare.\nThe firstlings of the flock are doom\u2019d to die:\nRich fragrant wines the cheering bowl supply;\nA female band the gift of Ceres bring;\nAnd the gilt roofs with genial triumph ring.\n\nMeanwhile, in Ithaca, the suitor powers\nIn active games divide their jovial hours;\nIn areas varied with mosaic art,\nSome whirl the disk, and some the javelin dart,\nAside, sequester\u2019d from the vast resort,\nAntinous sole spectator of the sport;\nWith great Eurymachus, of worth confess\u2019d,\nAnd high descent, superior to the rest;\nWhom young No\u00ebmon lowly thus address\u2019d:\u2014\n\n\u201cMy ship, equipp\u2019d within the neighboring port,\nThe prince, departing for the Pylian court,\nRequested for his speed; but, courteous, say\nWhen steers he home, or why this long delay?\nFor Elis I should sail with utmost speed,\nTo import twelve mares which there luxurious feed,\nAnd twelve young mules, a strong laborious race,\nNew to the plow, unpractised in the trace.\u201d\n\nUnknowing of the course to Pyle design\u2019d,\nA sudden horror seized on either mind;\nThe prince in rural bower they fondly thought,\nNumbering his flocks and herds, not far remote.\n\u201cRelate (Antinous cries), devoid of guile,\nWhen spread the prince his sale for distant Pyle?\nDid chosen chiefs across the gulfy main\nAttend his voyage, or domestic train?\nSpontaneous did you speed his secret course,\nOr was the vessel seized by fraud or force?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith willing duty, not reluctant mind\n(No\u00ebmon cried), the vessel was resign\u2019d,\nWho, in the balance, with the great affairs\nOf courts presume to weigh their private cares?\nWith him, the peerage next in power to you;\nAnd Mentor, captain of the lordly crew,\nOr some celestial in his reverend form,\nSafe from the secret rock and adverse storm,\nPilots the course; for when the glimmering ray\nOf yester dawn disclosed the tender day,\nMentor himself I saw, and much admired,\u201d\nThen ceased the youth, and from the court retired.\n\nConfounded and appall\u2019d, the unfinish\u2019d game\nThe suitors quit, and all to council came.\nAntinous first the assembled peers address\u2019d.\nRage sparkling in his eyes, and burning in his breast\n\n\u201cO shame to manhood! shall one daring boy\nThe scheme of all our happiness destroy?\nFly unperceived, seducing half the flower\nOf nobles, and invite a foreign power?\nThe ponderous engine raised to crush us all,\nRecoiling, on his head is sure to fall.\nInstant prepare me, on the neighbouring strand,\nWith twenty chosen mates a vessel mann\u2019d;\nFor ambush\u2019d close beneath the Samian shore\nHis ship returning shall my spies explore;\nHe soon his rashness shall with life atone,\nSeek for his father\u2019s fate, but find his own.\u201d\n\nWith vast applause the sentence all approve;\nThen rise, and to the feastful hall remove;\nSwift to the queen the herald Medon ran,\nWho heard the consult of the dire divan:\nBefore her dome the royal matron stands,\nAnd thus the message of his haste demands;\n\n\u201cWhat will the suitors? must my servant-train\nThe allotted labours of the day refrain,\nFor them to form some exquisite repast?\nHeaven grant this festival may prove their last!\nOr, if they still must live, from me remove\nThe double plague of luxury and love!\nForbear, ye sons of insolence! forbear,\nIn riot to consume a wretched heir.\nIn the young soul illustrious thought to raise,\nWere ye not tutor\u2019d with Ulysses\u2019 praise?\nHave not your fathers oft my lord defined,\nGentle of speech, beneficent of mind?\nSome kings with arbitrary rage devour,\nOr in their tyrant-minions vest the power;\nUlysses let no partial favours fall,\nThe people\u2019s parent, he protected all;\nBut absent now, perfidious and ingrate!\nHis stores ye ravage, and usurp his state.\u201d\n\nHe thus: \u201cO were the woes you speak the worst!\nThey form a deed more odious and accursed;\nMore dreadful than your boding soul divines;\nBut pitying Jove avert the dire designs!\nThe darling object of your royal care\nIs marked to perish in a deathful snare;\nBefore he anchors in his native port,\nFrom Pyle re-sailing and the Spartan court;\nHorrid to speak! in ambush is decreed\nThe hope and heir of Ithaca to bleed!\u201d\n\nSudden she sunk beneath the weighty woes,\nThe vital streams a chilling horror froze;\nThe big round tear stands trembling in her eye,\nAnd on her tongue imperfect accents die.\nAt length in tender language interwove\nWith sighs, she thus expressed her anxious love;\n\u201cWhy rarely would my son his fate explore,\nRide the wild waves, and quit the safer shore?\nDid he with all the greatly wretched, crave\nA blank oblivion, and untimely grave?\u201d\n\n\u201cTis not (replied the sage) to Medon given\nTo know, if some inhabitant of heaven\nIn his young breast the daring thought inspired\nOr if, alone with filial duty fired,\nThe winds and waves he tempts in early bloom,\nStudious to learn his absent father\u2019s doom.\u201d\n\nThe sage retired: unable to control\nThe mighty griefs that swell her labouring soul\nRolling convulsive on the floor is seen\nThe piteous object of a prostrate queen.\nWords to her dumb complaint a pause supplies,\nAnd breath, to waste in unavailing cries.\nAround their sovereign wept the menial fair,\nTo whom she thus address\u2019d her deep despair:\n\n\u201cBehold a wretch whom all the gods consign\nTo woe! Did ever sorrows equal mine?\nLong to my joys my dearest lord is lost,\nHis country\u2019s buckler, and the Grecian boast;\nNow from my fond embrace, by tempests torn,\nOur other column of the state is borne;\nNor took a kind adieu, nor sought consent!\u2014\nUnkind confederates in his dire intent!\nIll suits it with your shows of duteous zeal,\nFrom me the purposed voyage to conceal;\nThough at the solemn midnight hour he rose,\nWhy did you fear to trouble my repose?\nHe either had obey\u2019d my fond desire,\nOr seen his mother pierced with grief expire.\nBid Dolius quick attend, the faithful slave\nWhom to my nuptial train Icarius gave\nTo tend the fruit groves: with incessant speed\nHe shall this violence of death decreed\nTo good Laertes tell. Experienced age\nMay timely intercept the ruffian rage.\nConvene the tribes the murderous plot reveal,\nAnd to their power to save his race appeal.\u201d\n\nThen Euryclea thus: \u201cMy dearest dread;\nThough to the sword I bow this hoary head,\nOr if a dungeon be the pain decreed,\nI own me conscious of the unpleasing deed;\nAuxiliar to his flight, my aid implored,\nWith wine and viands I the vessel stored;\nA solemn oath, imposed, the secret seal\u2019d,\nTill the twelfth dawn the light of day reveal\u2019d.\nDreading the effect of a fond mother\u2019s fear,\nHe dared not violate your royal ear.\nBut bathe, and, in imperial robes array\u2019d,\nPay due devotions to the martial maid,\nAnd rest affianced in her guardian aid.\nSend not to good Laertes, nor engage\nIn toils of state the miseries of age:\nTis impious to surmise the powers divine\nTo ruin doom the Jove-descended line;\nLong shall the race of just Arcesius reign,\nAnd isles remote enlarge his old domain.\u201d\n\nThe queen her speech with calm attention hears,\nHer eyes restrain the silver-streaming tears:\nShe bathes, and robed, the sacred dome ascends;\nHer pious speed a female train attends:\nThe salted cakes in canisters are laid,\nAnd thus the queen invokes Minerva\u2019s aid;\n\n\u201cDaughter divine of Jove, whose arm can wield\nThe avenging bolt, and shake the dreadful shield\nIf e\u2019er Ulysses to thy fane preferr\u2019d\nThe best and choicest of his flock and herd;\nHear, goddess, hear, by those oblations won;\nAnd for the pious sire preserve the son;\nHis wish\u2019d return with happy power befriend,\nAnd on the suitors let thy wrath descend.\u201d\n\nShe ceased; shrill ecstasies of joy declare\nThe favouring goddess present to the prayer;\nThe suitors heard, and deem\u2019d the mirthful voice\nA signal of her hymeneal choice;\nWhilst one most jovial thus accosts the board:\n\n\u201cToo late the queen selects a second lord;\nIn evil hour the nuptial rite intends,\nWhen o\u2019er her son disastrous death impends.\u201d\nThus he, unskill\u2019d of what the fates provide!\nBut with severe rebuke Antinous cried:\n\n\u201cThese empty vaunts will make the voyage vain:\nAlarm not with discourse the menial train:\nThe great event with silent hope attend,\nOur deeds alone our counsel must commend.\u201d\nHis speech thus ended short, he frowning rose,\nAnd twenty chiefs renowned for valour chose;\nDown to the strand he speeds with haughty strides,\nWhere anchor\u2019d in the bay the vessel rides,\nReplete with mail and military store,\nIn all her tackle trim to quit the shore.\nThe desperate crew ascend, unfurl the sails\n(The seaward prow invites the tardy gales);\nThen take repast till Hesperus display\u2019d\nHis golden circlet, in the western shade.\n\nMeantime the queen, without reflection due,\nHeart-wounded, to the bed of state withdrew:\nIn her sad breast the prince\u2019s fortunes roll,\nAnd hope and doubt alternate seize her soul.\nSo when the woodman\u2019s toil her cave surrounds,\nAnd with the hunter\u2019s cry the grove resounds,\nWith grief and rage the mother-lion stung,\nFearless herself, yet trembles for her young,\nWhile pensive in the silent slumberous shade,\nSleep\u2019s gentle powers her drooping eyes invade;\nMinerva, life-like, on embodied air\nImpress\u2019d the form of Iphthima the fair;\n(Icarius\u2019 daughter she, whose blooming charms\nAllured Eumelus to her virgin arms;\nA sceptred lord, who o\u2019er the fruitful plain\nOf Thessaly wide stretched his ample reign:)\nAs Pallas will\u2019d, along the sable skies,\nTo calm the queen, the phantom sister flies.\nSwift on the regal dome, descending right,\nThe bolted valves are pervious to her flight.\nClose to her head the pleasing vision stands,\nAnd thus performs Minerva\u2019s high commands\n\n\u201cO why, Penelope, this causeless fear,\nTo render sleep\u2019s soft blessing unsincere?\nAlike devote to sorrow\u2019s dire extreme\nThe day-reflection, and the midnight-dream!\nThy son the gods propitious will restore,\nAnd bid thee cease his absence to deplore.\u201d\n\nTo whom the queen (whilst yet in pensive mind\nWas in the silent gates of sleep confined):\n\u201cO sister to my soul forever dear,\nWhy this first visit to reprove my fear?\nHow in a realm so distant should you know\nFrom what deep source my ceaseless sorrows flow?\nTo all my hope my royal lord is lost,\nHis country\u2019s buckler, and the Grecian boast;\nAnd with consummate woe to weigh me down,\nThe heir of all his honours and his crown,\nMy darling son is fled! an easy prey\nTo the fierce storms, or men more fierce than they;\nWho, in a league of blood associates sworn,\nWill intercept the unwary youth\u2019s return.\u201d\n\n\u201cCourage resume (the shadowy form replied);\nIn the protecting care of Heaven confide;\nOn him attends the blue eyed martial maid:\nWhat earthly can implore a surer aid?\nMe now the guardian goddess deigns to send,\nTo bid thee patient his return attend.\u201d\n\nThe queen replies: \u201cIf in the blest abodes,\nA goddess, thou hast commerce with the gods;\nSay, breathes my lord the blissful realm of light,\nOr lies he wrapp\u2019d in ever-during night?\u201d\n\n\u201cInquire not of his doom, (the phantom cries,)\nI speak not all the counsel of the skies;\nNor must indulge with vain discourse, or long,\nThe windy satisfaction of the tongue.\u201d\n\nSwift through the valves the visionary fair\nRepass\u2019d, and viewless mix\u2019d with common air.\nThe queen awakes, deliver\u2019d of her woes;\nWith florid joy her heart dilating glows:\nThe vision, manifest of future fate,\nMakes her with hope her son\u2019s arrival wait.\n\nMeantime the suitors plough the watery plain,\nTelemachus in thought already slain!\nWhen sight of lessening Ithaca was lost\nTheir sail directed for the Samian coast\nA small but verdant isle appear\u2019d in view,\nAnd Asteris the advancing pilot knew;\nAn ample port the rocks projected form,\nTo break the rolling waves and ruffling storm:\nThat safe recess they gain with happy speed,\nAnd in close ambush wait the murderous deed.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE DEPARTURE OF ULYSSES FROM CALYPSO\n\n\nPallas in a council of the gods complains of the detention of Ulysses\nin the Island of Calypso: whereupon Mercury is sent to command his\nremoval. The seat of Calypso described. She consents with much\ndifficulty; and Ulysses builds a vessel with his own hands, in which he\nembarks. Neptune overtakes him with a terrible tempest, in which he is\nshipwrecked, and in the last danger of death; till Lencothea, a\nsea-goddess, assists him, and, after innumerable perils, he gets ashore\non Ph\u00e6acia.\n\n\nThe saffron morn, with early blushes spread,\nNow rose refulgent from Tithonus\u2019 bed;\nWith new-born day to gladden mortal sight,\nAnd gild the courts of heaven with sacred light.\nThen met the eternal synod of the sky,\nBefore the god, who thunders from on high,\nSupreme in might, sublime in majesty.\nPallas, to these, deplores the unequal fates\nOf wise Ulysses and his toils relates:\nHer hero\u2019s danger touch\u2019d the pitying power,\nThe nymph\u2019s seducements, and the magic bower.\nThus she began her plaint: \u201cImmortal Jove!\nAnd you who fill the blissful seats above!\nLet kings no more with gentle mercy sway,\nOr bless a people willing to obey,\nBut crush the nations with an iron rod,\nAnd every monarch be the scourge of God.\nIf from your thoughts Ulysses you remove,\nWho ruled his subjects with a father\u2019s love,\nSole in an isle, encircled by the main,\nAbandon\u2019d, banish\u2019d from his native reign,\nUnbless\u2019d he sighs, detained by lawless charms,\nAnd press\u2019d unwilling in Calypso\u2019s arms.\nNor friends are there, nor vessels to convey,\nNor oars to cut the immeasurable way.\nAnd now fierce traitors, studious to destroy\nHis only son, their ambush\u2019d fraud employ;\nWho, pious, following his great father\u2019s fame,\nTo sacred Pylos and to Sparta came.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat words are these? (replied the power who forms\nThe clouds of night, and darkens heaven with storms;)\nIs not already in thy soul decreed,\nThe chief\u2019s return shall make the guilty bleed?\nWhat cannot Wisdom do? Thou may\u2019st restore\nThe son in safety to his native shore;\nWhile the fell foes, who late in ambush lay,\nWith fraud defeated measure back their way.\u201d\n\nThen thus to Hermes the command was given:\n\u201cHermes, thou chosen messenger of heaven!\nGo, to the nymph be these our orders borne\n\u2019Tis Jove\u2019s decree, Ulysses shall return:\nThe patient man shall view his old abodes,\nNor helped by mortal hand, nor guiding gods\nIn twice ten days shall fertile Scheria find,\nAlone, and floating to the wave and wind.\nThe bold Ph\u00e6acians there, whose haughty line\nIs mixed with gods, half human, half divine,\nThe chief shall honour as some heavenly guest,\nAnd swift transport him to his place of rest,\nHis vessels loaded with a plenteous store\nOf brass, of vestures, and resplendent ore\n(A richer prize than if his joyful isle\nReceived him charged with Ilion\u2019s noble spoil),\nHis friends, his country, he shall see, though late:\nSuch is our sovereign will, and such is fate.\u201d\n\nHe spoke. The god who mounts the winged winds\nFast to his feet the golden pinions binds,\nThat high through fields of air his flight sustain\nO\u2019er the wide earth, and o\u2019er the boundless main:\nHe grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly,\nOr in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye;\nThen shoots from heaven to high Pieria\u2019s steep,\nAnd stoops incumbent on the rolling deep.\nSo watery fowl, that seek their fishy food,\nWith wings expanded o\u2019er the foaming flood,\nNow sailing smooth the level surface sweep,\nNow dip their pinions in the briny deep;\nThus o\u2019er the world of waters Hermes flew,\nTill now the distant island rose in view:\nThen, swift ascending from the azure wave,\nHe took the path that winded to the cave.\nLarge was the grot, in which the nymph he found\n(The fair-hair\u2019d nymph with every beauty crown\u2019d).\nThe cave was brighten\u2019d with a rising blaze;\nCedar and frankincense, an odorous pile,\nFlamed on the hearth, and wide perfumed the isle;\nWhile she with work and song the time divides,\nAnd through the loom the golden shuttle guides.\nWithout the grot a various sylvan scene\nAppear\u2019d around, and groves of living green;\nPoplars and alders ever quivering play\u2019d,\nAnd nodding cypress form\u2019d a fragrant shade:\nOn whose high branches, waving with the storm,\nThe birds of broadest wing their mansions form,\u2014\nThe chough, the sea-mew, the loquacious crow,\u2014\nand scream aloft, and skim the deeps below.\nDepending vines the shelving cavern screen.\nWith purple clusters blushing through the green.\nFour limpid fountains from the clefts distil:\nAnd every fountain pours a several rill,\nIn mazy windings wandering down the hill:\nWhere bloomy meads with vivid greens were crown\u2019d,\nAnd glowing violets threw odours round.\nA scene, where, if a god should cast his sight,\nA god might gaze, and wander with delight!\nJoy touch\u2019d the messenger of heaven: he stay\u2019d\nEntranced, and all the blissful haunts surveyed.\nHim, entering in the cave, Calypso knew;\nFor powers celestial to each other\u2019s view\nStand still confess\u2019d, though distant far they lie\nTo habitants of earth, or sea, or sky.\nBut sad Ulysses, by himself apart,\nPour\u2019d the big sorrows of his swelling heart;\nAll on the lonely shore he sate to weep,\nAnd roll\u2019d his eyes around the restless deep:\nToward his loved coast he roll\u2019d his eyes in vain,\nTill, dimm\u2019d with rising grief, they stream\u2019d again.\n\nNow graceful seated on her shining throne,\nTo Hermes thus the nymph divine begun:\n\n\u201cGod of the golden wand! on what behest\nArrivest thou here, an unexpected guest?\nLoved as thou art, thy free injunctions lay;\n\u2019Tis mine with joy and duty to obey.\nTill now a stranger, in a happy hour\nApproach, and taste the dainties of my bower.\u201d\n\nThus having spoke, the nymph the table spread\n(Ambrosial cates, with nectar rosy-red);\nHermes the hospitable rite partook,\nDivine refection! then, recruited, spoke:\n\n\u201cWhat moves this journey from my native sky,\nA goddess asks, nor can a god deny.\nHear then the truth. By mighty Jove\u2019s command\nUnwilling have I trod this pleasing land:\nFor who, self-moved, with weary wing would sweep\nSuch length of ocean and unmeasured deep;\nA world of waters! far from all the ways\nWhere men frequent, or sacred altars blaze!\nBut to Jove\u2019s will submission we must pay;\nWhat power so great to dare to disobey?\nA man, he says, a man resides with thee,\nOf all his kind most worn with misery.\nThe Greeks, (whose arms for nine long year employ\u2019d\nTheir force on Ilion, in the tenth destroy\u2019d,)\nAt length, embarking in a luckless hour,\nWith conquest proud, incensed Minerva\u2019s power:\nHence on the guilty race her vengeance hurl\u2019d,\nWith storms pursued them through the liquid world.\nThere all his vessels sunk beneath the wave!\nThere all his dear companions found their grave!\nSaved from the jaws of death by Heaven\u2019s decree,\nThe tempest drove him to these shores and thee.\nHim, Jove now orders to his native lands\nStraight to dismiss: so destiny commands:\nImpatient Fate his near return attends,\nAnd calls him to his country, and his friends.\u201d\n\nE\u2019en to her inmost soul the goddess shook;\nThen thus her anguish, and her passion broke:\n\u201cUngracious gods! with spite and envy cursed!\nStill to your own ethereal race the worst!\nYe envy mortal and immortal joy,\nAnd love, the only sweet of life destroy,\nDid ever goddess by her charms engage\nA favour\u2019d mortal, and not feel your rage?\nSo when Aurora sought Orion\u2019s love,\nHer joys disturbed your blissful hours above,\nTill, in Ortygia Dian\u2019s winged dart\nHad pierced the hapless hunter to the heart,\nSo when the covert of the thrice-eared field\nSaw stately Ceres to her passion yield,\nScarce could Iasion taste her heavenly charms,\nBut Jove\u2019s swift lightning scorched him in her arms.\nAnd is it now my turn, ye mighty powers!\nAm I the envy of your blissful bowers?\nA man, an outcast to the storm and wave,\nIt was my crime to pity, and to save;\nWhen he who thunders rent his bark in twain,\nAnd sunk his brave companions in the main,\nAlone, abandon\u2019d, in mid-ocean tossed,\nThe sport of winds, and driven from every coast,\nHither this man of miseries I led,\nReceived the friendless, and the hungry fed;\nNay promised (vainly promised) to bestow\nImmortal life, exempt from age and woe.\n\u2019Tis past-and Jove decrees he shall remove;\nGods as we are, we are but slaves to Jove.\nGo then he must (he must, if he ordain,\nTry all those dangers, all those deeps, again);\nBut never, never shall Calypso send\nTo toils like these her husband and her friend.\nWhat ships have I, what sailors to convey,\nWhat oars to cut the long laborious way?\nYet I\u2019ll direct the safest means to go;\nThat last advice is all I can bestow.\u201d\n\nTo her the power who hears the charming rod;\n\u201cDismiss the man, nor irritate the god;\nPrevent the rage of him who reigns above,\nFor what so dreadful as the wrath of Jove?\u201d\nThus having said, he cut the cleaving sky,\nAnd in a moment vanished from her eye,\nThe nymph, obedient to divine command,\nTo seek Ulysses, paced along the sand,\nHim pensive on the lonely beach she found,\nWith streaming eyes in briny torrents drown\u2019d,\nAnd inly pining for his native shore;\nFor now the soft enchantress pleased no more;\nFor now, reluctant, and constrained by charms,\nAbsent he lay in her desiring arms,\nIn slumber wore the heavy night away,\nOn rocks and shores consumed the tedious day;\nThere sate all desolate, and sighed alone,\nWith echoing sorrows made the mountains groan.\nAnd roll\u2019d his eyes o\u2019er all the restless main,\nTill, dimmed with rising grief, they streamed again.\n\nHere, on his musing mood the goddess press\u2019d,\nApproaching soft, and thus the chief address\u2019d:\n\u201cUnhappy man! to wasting woes a prey,\nNo more in sorrows languish life away:\nFree as the winds I give thee now to rove:\nGo, fell the timber of yon lofty grove,\nAnd form a raft, and build the rising ship,\nSublime to bear thee o\u2019er the gloomy deep.\nTo store the vessel let the care be mine,\nWith water from the rock and rosy wine,\nAnd life-sustaining bread, and fair array,\nAnd prosperous gales to waft thee on the way.\nThese, if the gods with my desire comply\n(The gods, alas, more mighty far than I,\nAnd better skill\u2019d in dark events to come),\nIn peace shall land thee at thy native home.\u201d\n\nWith sighs Ulysses heard the words she spoke,\nThen thus his melancholy silence broke:\n\u201cSome other motive, goddess! sways thy mind\n(Some close design, or turn of womankind),\nNor my return the end, nor this the way,\nOn a slight raft to pass the swelling sea,\nHuge, horrid, vast! where scarce in safety sails\nThe best-built ship, though Jove inspires the gales.\nThe bold proposal how shall I fulfil,\nDark as I am, unconscious of thy will?\nSwear, then, thou mean\u2019st not what my soul forebodes;\nSwear by the solemn oath that binds the gods.\u201d\n\nHim, while he spoke, with smiles Calypso eyed,\nAnd gently grasp\u2019d his hand, and thus replied:\n\u201cThis shows thee, friend, by old experience taught,\nAnd learn\u2019d in all the wiles of human thought,\nHow prone to doubt, how cautious, are the wise!\nBut hear, O earth, and hear, ye sacred skies!\nAnd thou, O Styx! whose formidable floods\nGlide through the shades, and bind the attesting gods!\nNo form\u2019d design, no meditated end,\nLurks in the counsel of thy faithful friend;\nKind the persuasion, and sincere my aim;\nThe same my practice, were my fate the same.\nHeaven has not cursed me with a heart of steel,\nBut given the sense to pity, and to feel.\u201d\n\nThus having said, the goddess marched before:\nHe trod her footsteps in the sandy shore.\nAt the cool cave arrived, they took their state;\nHe filled the throne where Mercury had sate.\nFor him the nymph a rich repast ordains,\nSuch as the mortal life of man sustains;\nBefore herself were placed the the cates divine,\nAmbrosial banquet and celestial wine.\nTheir hunger satiate, and their thirst repress\u2019d,\nThus spoke Calypso to her godlike guest:\n\n\u201cUlysses! (with a sigh she thus began;)\nO sprung from gods! in wisdom more than man!\nIs then thy home the passion of thy heart?\nThus wilt thou leave me, are we thus to part?\nFarewell! and ever joyful mayst thou be,\nNor break the transport with one thought of me.\nBut ah, Ulysses! wert thou given to know\nWhat Fate yet dooms thee, yet, to undergo,\nThy heart might settle in this scene of ease.\nAnd e\u2019en these slighted charms might learn to please.\nA willing goddess, and immortal life,\nMight banish from thy mind an absent wife.\nAm I inferior to a mortal dame?\nLess soft my feature less august my frame?\nOr shall the daughters of mankind compare\nTheir earth born beauties with the heavenly fair?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas! for this (the prudent man replies)\nAgainst Ulysses shall thy anger rise?\nLoved and adored, O goddess as thou art,\nForgive the weakness of a human heart.\nThough well I see thy graces far above\nThe dear, though mortal, object of my love,\nOf youth eternal well the difference know,\nAnd the short date of fading charms below;\nYet every day, while absent thus I roam,\nI languish to return and die at home.\nWhate\u2019er the gods shall destine me to bear;\nIn the black ocean or the watery war,\n\u2019Tis mine to master with a constant mind;\nInured to perils, to the worst resign\u2019d,\nBy seas, by wars, so many dangers run;\nStill I can suffer: their high will be done!\u201d\n\nThus while he spoke, the beamy sun descends,\nAnd rising night her friendly shade extends,\nTo the close grot the lonely pair remove,\nAnd slept delighted with the gifts of love.\nWhen rosy morning call\u2019d them from their rest,\nUlysses robed him in the cloak and vest.\nThe nymph\u2019s fair head a veil transparent graced,\nHer swelling loins a radiant zone embraced\nWith flowers of gold; an under robe, unbound,\nIn snowy waves flow\u2019d glittering on the ground.\nForth issuing thus, she gave him first to wield\nA weighty axe with truest temper steeled,\nAnd double-edged; the handle smooth and plain,\nWrought of the clouded olive\u2019s easy grain;\nAnd next, a wedge to drive with sweepy sway\nThen to the neighboring forest led the way.\nOn the lone island\u2019s utmost verge there stood\nOf poplars, pine, and firs, a lofty wood,\nWhose leafless summits to the skies aspire,\nScorch\u2019d by the sun, or seared by heavenly fire\n(Already dried). These pointing out to view,\nThe nymph just show\u2019d him, and with tears withdrew.\n\nNow toils the hero: trees on trees o\u2019erthrown\nFall crackling round him, and the forests groan:\nSudden, full twenty on the plain are strow\u2019d,\nAnd lopp\u2019d and lighten\u2019d of their branchy load.\nAt equal angles these disposed to join,\nHe smooth\u2019d and squared them by the rule and line,\n(The wimbles for the work Calypso found)\nWith those he pierced them and with clinchers bound.\nLong and capacious as a shipwright forms\nSome bark\u2019s broad bottom to out-ride the storms,\nSo large he built the raft; then ribb\u2019d it strong\nFrom space to space, and nail\u2019d the planks along;\nThese form\u2019d the sides: the deck he fashion\u2019d last;\nThen o\u2019er the vessel raised the taper mast,\nWith crossing sail-yards dancing in the wind;\nAnd to the helm the guiding rudder join\u2019d\n(With yielding osiers fenced, to break the force\nOf surging waves, and steer the steady course).\nThy loom, Calypso, for the future sails\nSupplied the cloth, capacious of the gales.\nWith stays and cordage last he rigged the ship,\nAnd, roll\u2019d on levers, launch\u2019d her in the deep.\n\nFour days were pass\u2019d, and now the work complete,\nShone the fifth morn, when from her sacred seat\nThe nymph dismiss\u2019d him (odorous garments given),\nAnd bathed in fragrant oils that breathed of heaven:\nThen fill\u2019d two goatskins with her hands divine,\nWith water one, and one with sable wine:\nOf every kind, provisions heaved aboard;\nAnd the full decks with copious viands stored.\nThe goddess, last, a gentle breeze supplies,\nTo curl old Ocean, and to warm the skies.\n\nAnd now, rejoicing in the prosperous gales,\nWith beating heart Ulysses spreads his sails;\nPlaced at the helm he sate, and mark\u2019d the skies,\nNor closed in sleep his ever-watchful eyes.\nThere view\u2019d the Pleiads, and the Northern Team,\nAnd great Orion\u2019s more refulgent beam.\nTo which, around the axle of the sky,\nThe Bear, revolving, points his golden eye:\nWho shines exalted on the ethereal plain,\nNor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.\nFar on the left those radiant fires to keep\nThe nymph directed, as he sail\u2019d the deep.\nFull seventeen nights he cut the foaming way:\nThe distant land appear\u2019d the following day:\nThen swell\u2019d to sight Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s dusky coast,\nAnd woody mountains, half in vapours lost;\nThat lay before him indistinct and vast,\nLike a broad shield amid the watery waste.\n\nBut him, thus voyaging the deeps below,\nFrom far, on Solyme\u2019s a\u00ebrial brow,\nThe king of ocean saw, and seeing burn\u2019d\n(From \u00c6thiopia\u2019s happy climes return\u2019d);\nThe raging monarch shook his azure head,\nAnd thus in secret to his soul he said:\n\u201cHeavens! how uncertain are the powers on high!\nIs then reversed the sentence of the sky,\nIn one man\u2019s favour; while a distant guest\nI shared secure the \u00c6thiopian feast?\nBehold how near Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s land he draws;\nThe land affix\u2019d by Fate\u2019s eternal laws\nTo end his toils. Is then our anger vain?\nNo; if this sceptre yet commands the main.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and high the forky trident hurl\u2019d,\nRolls clouds on clouds, and stirs the watery world,\nAt once the face of earth and sea deforms,\nSwells all the winds, and rouses all the storms.\nDown rushed the night: east, west, together roar;\nAnd south and north roll mountains to the shore.\nThen shook the hero, to despair resign\u2019d,\nAnd question\u2019d thus his yet unconquer\u2019d mind;\n\n\u201cWretch that I am! what farther fates attend\nThis life of toils, and what my destined end?\nToo well, alas! the island goddess knew\nOn the black sea what perils should ensue.\nNew horrors now this destined head inclose;\nUntill\u2019d is yet the measure of my woes;\nWith what a cloud the brows of heaven are crown\u2019d;\nWhat raging winds! what roaring waters round!\n\u2019Tis Jove himself the swelling tempest rears;\nDeath, present death, on every side appears.\nHappy! thrice happy! who, in battle slain,\nPress\u2019d in Atrides\u2019 cause the Trojan plain!\nOh! had I died before that well-fought wall!\nHad some distinguish\u2019d day renown\u2019d my fall\n(Such as was that when showers of javelins fled\nFrom conquering Troy around Achilles dead),\nAll Greece had paid me solemn funerals then,\nAnd spread my glory with the sons of men.\nA shameful fate now hides my hapless head,\nUnwept, unnoted, and for ever dead!\u201d\n\nA mighty wave rush\u2019d o\u2019er him as he spoke,\nThe raft is cover\u2019d, and the mast is broke;\nSwept from the deck and from the rudder torn,\nFar on the swelling surge the chief was borne;\nWhile by the howling tempest rent in twain\nFlew sail and sail-yards rattling o\u2019er the main.\nLong-press\u2019d, he heaved beneath the weighty wave,\nClogg\u2019d by the cumbrous vest Calypso gave;\nAt length, emerging, from his nostrils wide\nAnd gushing mouth effused the briny tide;\nE\u2019en then not mindless of his last retreat,\nHe seized the raft, and leap\u2019d into his seat,\nStrong with the fear of death. In rolling flood,\nNow here, now there, impell\u2019d the floating wood\nAs when a heap of gather\u2019d thorns is cast,\nNow to, now fro, before the autumnal blast;\nTogether clung, it rolls around the field;\nSo roll\u2019d the float, and so its texture held:\nAnd now the south, and now the north, bear sway,\nAnd now the east the foamy floods obey,\nAnd now the west wind whirls it o\u2019er the sea.\nThe wandering chief with toils on toils oppress\u2019d,\nLeucothea saw, and pity touch\u2019d her breast.\n(Herself a mortal once, of Cadmus\u2019 strain,\nBut now an azure sister of the main)\nSwift as a sea-mew springing from the flood,\nAll radiant on the raft the goddess stood;\nThen thus address\u2019d him: \u201cThou whom heaven decrees\nTo Neptune\u2019s wrath, stern tyrant of the seas!\n(Unequal contest!) not his rage and power,\nGreat as he is, such virtue shall devour.\nWhat I suggest, thy wisdom will perform:\nForsake thy float, and leave it to the storm;\nStrip off thy garments; Neptune\u2019s fury brave\nWith naked strength, and plunge into the wave.\nTo reach Ph\u00e6acia all thy nerves extend,\nThere Fate decrees thy miseries shall end.\nThis heavenly scarf beneath thy bosom bind,\nAnd live; give all thy terrors to the wind.\nSoon as thy arms the happy shore shall gain,\nReturn the gift, and cast it in the main:\nObserve my orders, and with heed obey,\nCast it far off, and turn thy eyes away.\u201d\n\nWith that, her hand the sacred veil bestows,\nThen down the deeps she dived from whence she rose;\nA moment snatch\u2019d the shining form away,\nAnd all was covered with the curling sea.\n\nStruck with amaze, yet still to doubt inclined,\nHe stands suspended, and explores his mind:\n\u201cWhat shall I do? unhappy me! who knows\nBut other gods intend me other woes?\nWhoe\u2019er thou art, I shall not blindly join\nThy pleaded reason, but consult with mine:\nFor scarce in ken appears that distant isle\nThy voice foretells me shall conclude my toil.\nThus then I judge: while yet the planks sustain\nThe wild waves\u2019 fury, here I fix\u2019d remain:\nBut, when their texture to the tempest yields,\nI launch adventurous on the liquid fields,\nJoin to the help of gods the strength of man,\nAnd take this method, since the best I can.\u201d\n\nWhile thus his thoughts an anxious council hold,\nThe raging god a watery mountain roll\u2019d;\nLike a black sheet the whelming billows spread,\nBurst o\u2019er the float, and thunder\u2019d on his head.\nPlanks, beams, disparted fly; the scatter\u2019d wood\nRolls diverse, and in fragments strews the flood.\nSo the rude Boreas, o\u2019er the field new-shorn,\nTosses and drives the scatter\u2019d heaps of corn.\nAnd now a single beam the chief bestrides:\nThere poised a while above the bounding tides,\nHis limbs discumbers of the clinging vest,\nAnd binds the sacred cincture round his breast:\nThen prone an ocean in a moment flung,\nStretch\u2019d wide his eager arms, and shot the seas along.\nAll naked now, on heaving billows laid,\nStern Neptune eyed him, and contemptuous said:\n\n\u201cGo, learn\u2019d in woes, and other foes essay!\nGo, wander helpless on the watery way;\nThus, thus find out the destined shore, and then\n(If Jove ordains it) mix with happier men.\nWhate\u2019er thy fate, the ills our wrath could raise\nShall last remember\u2019d in thy best of days.\u201d\n\nThis said, his sea-green steeds divide the foam,\nAnd reach high \u00c6g\u00e6 and the towery dome.\nNow, scarce withdrawn the fierce earth-shaking power,\nJove\u2019s daughter Pallas watch\u2019d the favouring hour.\nBack to their caves she bade the winds to fly;\nAnd hush\u2019d the blustering brethren of the sky.\nThe drier blasts alone of Boreas away,\nAnd bear him soft on broken waves away;\nWith gentle force impelling to that shore,\nWhere fate has destined he shall toil no more.\nAnd now, two nights, and now two days were pass\u2019d,\nSince wide he wander\u2019d on the watery waste;\nHeaved on the surge with intermitting breath,\nAnd hourly panting in the arms of death.\nThe third fair morn now blazed upon the main;\nThen glassy smooth lay all the liquid plain;\nThe winds were hush\u2019d, the billows scarcely curl\u2019d,\nAnd a dead silence still\u2019d the watery world;\nWhen lifted on a ridgy wave he spies\nThe land at distance, and with sharpen\u2019d eyes.\nAs pious children joy with vast delight\nWhen a loved sire revives before their sight\n(Who, lingering long, has call\u2019d on death in vain,\nFix\u2019d by some demon to his bed of pain,\nTill heaven by miracle his life restore);\nSo joys Ulysses at the appearing shore;\nAnd sees (and labours onward as he sees)\nThe rising forests, and the tufted trees.\nAnd now, as near approaching as the sound\nOf human voice the listening ear may wound,\nAmidst the rocks he heard a hollow roar\nOf murmuring surges breaking on the shore;\nNor peaceful port was there, nor winding bay,\nTo shield the vessel from the rolling sea,\nBut cliffs and shaggy shores, a dreadful sight!\nAll rough with rocks, with foamy billows white.\nFear seized his slacken\u2019d limbs and beating heart,\nAs thus he communed with his soul apart;\n\n\u201cAh me! when, o\u2019er a length of waters toss\u2019d,\nThese eyes at last behold the unhoped-for coast,\nNo port receives me from the angry main,\nBut the loud deeps demand me back again.\nAbove, sharp rocks forbid access; around\nRoar the wild waves; beneath, is sea profound!\nNo footing sure affords the faithless sand,\nTo stem too rapid, and too deep to stand.\nIf here I enter, my efforts are vain,\nDash\u2019d on the cliffs, or heaved into the main;\nOr round the island if my course I bend,\nWhere the ports open, or the shores descend,\nBack to the seas the rolling surge may sweep,\nAnd bury all my hopes beneath the deep.\nOr some enormous whale the god may send\n(For many such an Amphitrite attend);\nToo well the turns of mortal chance I know,\nAnd hate relentless of my heavenly foe.\u201d\nWhile thus he thought, a monstrous wave upbore\nThe chief, and dash\u2019d him on the craggy shore;\nTorn was his skin, nor had the ribs been whole,\nBut Instant Pallas enter\u2019d in his soul.\nClose to the cliff with both his hands he clung,\nAnd stuck adherent, and suspended hung;\nTill the huge surge roll\u2019d off; then backward sweep\nThe refluent tides, and plunge him in the deep.\nAs when the polypus, from forth his cave\nTorn with full force, reluctant beats the wave,\nHis ragged claws are stuck with stones and sands;\nSo the rough rock had shagg\u2019d Ulysses hands,\nAnd now had perish\u2019d, whelm\u2019d beneath the main,\nThe unhappy man; e\u2019en fate had been in vain;\nBut all-subduing Pallas lent her power,\nAnd prudence saved him in the needful hour.\nBeyond the beating surge his course he bore,\n(A wider circle, but in sight of shore),\nWith longing eyes, observing, to survey\nSome smooth ascent, or safe sequester\u2019d bay.\nBetween the parting rocks at length he spied\nA failing stream with gentler waters glide;\nWhere to the seas the shelving shore declined,\nAnd form\u2019d a bay impervious to the wind.\nTo this calm port the glad Ulysses press\u2019d,\nAnd hail\u2019d the river, and its god address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cWhoe\u2019er thou art, before whose stream unknown\nI bend, a suppliant at thy watery throne,\nHear, azure king! nor let me fly in vain\nTo thee from Neptune and the raging main\nHeaven hears and pities hapless men like me,\nFor sacred even to gods is misery:\nLet then thy waters give the weary rest,\nAnd save a suppliant, and a man distress\u2019d.\u201d\n\nHe pray\u2019d, and straight the gentle stream subsides,\nDetains the rushing current of his tides,\nBefore the wanderer smooths the watery way,\nAnd soft receives him from the rolling sea.\nThat moment, fainting as he touch\u2019d the shore,\nHe dropp\u2019d his sinewy arms: his knees no more\nPerform\u2019d their office, or his weight upheld:\nHis swoln heart heaved; his bloated body swell\u2019d:\nFrom mouth and nose the briny torrent ran;\nAnd lost in lassitude lay all the man,\nDeprived of voice, of motion, and of breath;\nThe soul scarce waking in the arms of death.\nSoon as warm life its wonted office found,\nThe mindful chief Leucothea\u2019s scarf unbound;\nObservant of her word, he turn\u2019d aside\nHis head, and cast it on the rolling tide.\nBehind him far, upon the purple waves,\nThe waters waft it, and the nymph receives.\n\nNow parting from the stream, Ulysses found\nA mossy bank with pliant rushes crown\u2019d;\nThe bank he press\u2019d, and gently kiss\u2019d the ground;\nWhere on the flowery herb as soft he lay,\nThus to his soul the sage began to say:\n\n\u201cWhat will ye next ordain, ye powers on high!\nAnd yet, ah yet, what fates are we to try?\nHere by the stream, if I the night out-wear,\nThus spent already, how shall nature bear\nThe dews descending, and nocturnal air;\nOr chilly vapours breathing from the flood\nWhen morning rises?\u2014If I take the wood,\nAnd in thick shelter of innumerous boughs\nEnjoy the comfort gentle sleep allows;\nThough fenced from cold, and though my toil be pass\u2019d,\nWhat savage beasts may wander in the waste?\nPerhaps I yet may fall a bloody prey\nTo prowling bears, or lions in the way.\u201d\n\nThus long debating in himself he stood:\nAt length he took the passage to the wood,\nWhose shady horrors on a rising brow\nWaved high, and frown\u2019d upon the stream below.\nThere grew two olives, closest of the grove,\nWith roots entwined, the branches interwove;\nAlike their leaves, but not alike they smiled\nWith sister-fruits; one fertile, one was wild.\nNor here the sun\u2019s meridian rays had power,\nNor wind sharp-piercing, nor the rushing shower;\nThe verdant arch so close its texture kept:\nBeneath this covert great Ulysses crept.\nOf gather\u2019d leaves an ample bed he made\n(Thick strewn by tempest through the bowery shade);\nWhere three at least might winter\u2019s cold defy,\nThough Boreas raged along the inclement sky.\nThis store with joy the patient hero found,\nAnd, sunk amidst them, heap\u2019d the leaves around.\nAs some poor peasant, fated to reside\nRemote from neighbours in a forest wide,\nStudious to save what human wants require,\nIn embers heap\u2019d, preserves the seeds of fire:\nHid in dry foliage thus Ulysses lies,\nTill Pallas pour\u2019d soft slumbers on his eyes;\nAnd golden dreams (the gift of sweet repose)\nLull\u2019d all his cares, and banish\u2019d all his woes.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VI.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nPallas appearing in a dream in to Nausicaa (the daughter of Alcinous,\nking of Ph\u00e6acia, commands her to descend to the river, and wash the\nrobes of state, in preparation for her nuptials. Nausicaa goes with her\nhandmaidens to the river; where, while the garments are spread on the\nbank, they divert themselves in sports. Their voices awaken Ulysses,\nwho, addressing himself to the princess, is by her relieved and\nclothed, and receives directions in what manner to apply to the king\nand queen of the island.\n\n\nWhile thus the weary wanderer sunk to rest,\nAnd peaceful slumbers calmed his anxious breast,\nThe martial maid from heaven\u2019s a\u00ebrial height\nSwift to Ph\u00e6acia wing\u2019d her rapid flight.\nIn elder times the soft Ph\u00e6acian train\nIn ease possess\u2019d the wide Hyperian plain;\nTill the Cyclopean race in arms arose,\nA lawless nation of gigantic foes;\nThen great Nausithous from Hyperia far,\nThrough seas retreating from the sounds of war,\nThe recreant nation to fair Scheria led,\nWhere never science rear\u2019d her laurell\u2019d head;\nThere round his tribes a strength of wall he raised;\nTo heaven the glittering domes and temples blazed;\nJust to his realms, he parted grounds from grounds,\nAnd shared the lands, and gave the lands their bounds.\nNow in the silent grave the monarch lay,\nAnd wise Alcinous held the legal sway.\n\nTo his high palace through the fields of air\nThe goddess shot; Ulysses was her care.\nThere, as the night in silence roll\u2019d away,\nA heaven of charms divine Nausicaa lay:\nThrough the thick gloom the shining portals blaze;\nTwo nymphs the portals guard, each nymph a Grace,\nLight as the viewless air the warrior maid\nGlides through the valves, and hovers round her head;\nA favourite virgin\u2019s blooming form she took,\nFrom Dymas sprung, and thus the vision spoke:\n\n\u201cOh Indolent! to waste thy hours away!\nAnd sleep\u2019st thou careless of the bridal day!\nThy spousal ornament neglected lies;\nArise, prepare the bridal train, arise!\nA just applause the cares of dress impart,\nAnd give soft transport to a parent\u2019s heart.\nHaste, to the limpid stream direct thy way,\nWhen the gay morn unveils her smiling ray;\nHaste to the stream! companion of thy care,\nLo, I thy steps attend, thy labours share.\nVirgin, awake! the marriage hour is nigh,\nSee from their thrones thy kindred monarchs sigh!\nThe royal car at early dawn obtain,\nAnd order mules obedient to the rein;\nFor rough the way, and distant rolls the wave,\nWhere their fair vests Ph\u00e6acian virgins lave,\nIn pomp ride forth; for pomp becomes the great\nAnd majesty derives a grace from state.\u201d\nThen to the palaces of heaven she sails,\nIncumbent on the wings of wafting gales;\nThe seat of gods; the regions mild of peace,\nFull joy, and calm eternity of ease.\nThere no rude winds presume to shake the skies,\nNo rains descend, no snowy vapours rise;\nBut on immortal thrones the blest repose;\nThe firmament with living splendours glows.\nHither the goddess winged the a\u00ebrial way,\nThrough heaven\u2019s eternal gates that blazed with day.\n\nNow from her rosy car Aurora shed\nThe dawn, and all the orient flamed with red.\nUp rose the virgin with the morning light,\nObedient to the vision of the night.\nThe queen she sought, the queen her hours bestowed\nIn curious works; the whirling spindle glow\u2019d\nWith crimson threads, while busy damsels call\nThe snowy fleece, or twist the purpled wool.\nMeanwhile Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s peers in council sate;\nFrom his high dome the king descends in state;\nThen with a filial awe the royal maid\nApproach\u2019d him passing, and submissive said:\n\n\u201cWill my dread sire his ear regardful deign,\nAnd may his child the royal car obtain?\nSay, with my garments shall I bend my way?\nWhere through the vales the mazy waters stray?\nA dignity of dress adorns the great,\nAnd kings draw lustre from the robe of state.\nFive sons thou hast; three wait the bridal day.\nAnd spotless robes become the young and gay;\nSo when with praise amid the dance they shine,\nBy these my cares adorn\u2019d that praise is mine.\u201d\n\nThus she: but blushes ill-restrain\u2019d betray\nHer thoughts intentive on the bridal day,\nThe conscious sire the dawning blush survey\u2019d,\nAnd, smiling, thus bespoke the blooming maid\n\u201cMy child, my darling joy, the car receive;\nThat, and whate\u2019er our daughter asks, we give.\u201d\nSwift at the royal nod the attending train\nThe car prepare, the mules incessant rein,\nThe blooming virgin with despatchful cares\nTunics, and stoles, and robes imperial, bears.\nThe queen, assiduous to her train assigns\nThe sumptuous viands, and the flavorous wines.\nThe train prepare a cruse of curious mould,\nA cruse of fragrance, form\u2019d of burnish\u2019d gold;\nOdour divine! whose soft refreshing streams\nSleek the smooth skin, and scent the snowy limbs.\n\nNow mounting the gay seat, the silken reins\nShine in her hand; along the sounding plains\nSwift fly the mules; nor rode the nymph alone;\nAround, a bevy of bright damsels shone.\nThey seek the cisterns where Ph\u00e6acian dames\nWash their fair garments in the limpid streams;\nWhere, gathering into depth from falling rills,\nThe lucid wave a spacious bason fills.\nThe mules, unharness\u2019d, range beside the main,\nOr crop the verdant herbage of the plain.\n\nThen emulous the royal robes they lave,\nAnd plunge the vestures in the cleansing wave\n(The vestures cleansed o\u2019erspread the shelly sand,\nTheir snowy lustre whitens all the strand);\nThen with a short repast relieve their toil,\nAnd o\u2019er their limbs diffuse ambrosial oil;\nAnd while the robes imbibe the solar ray,\nO\u2019er the green mead the sporting virgins play\n(Their shining veils unbound). Along the skies,\nToss\u2019d and retoss\u2019d, the ball incessant flies.\nThey sport, they feast; Nausicaa lifts her voice,\nAnd, warbling sweet, makes earth and heaven rejoice.\n\nAs when o\u2019er Erymanth Diana roves,\nOr wide T\u00e4ygetus\u2019 resounding groves;\nA sylvan train the huntress queen surrounds,\nHer rattling quiver from her shoulders sounds:\nFierce in the sport, along the mountain\u2019s brow\nThey bay the boar, or chase the bounding roe;\nHigh o\u2019er the lawn, with more majestic pace,\nAbove the nymphs she treads with stately grace;\nDistinguish\u2019d excellence the goddess proves;\nExults Latona as the virgin moves.\nWith equal grace Nausicaa trod the plain,\nAnd shone transcendent o\u2019er the beauteous train.\n\nMeantime (the care and favourite of the skies\nWrapp\u2019d in imbowering shade, Ulysses lies,\nHis woes forgot! but Pallas now address\u2019d\nTo break the bands of all-composing rest.\nForth from her snowy hand Nausicaa threw\nThe various ball; the ball erroneous flew\nAnd swam the stream; loud shrieks the virgin train,\nAnd the loud shriek redoubles from the main.\nWaked by the shrilling sound, Ulysses rose,\nAnd, to the deaf woods wailing, breathed his woes:\n\n\u201cAh me! on what inhospitable coast,\nOn what new region is Ulysses toss\u2019d;\nPossess\u2019d by wild barbarians fierce in arms;\nOr men, whose bosom tender pity warms?\nWhat sounds are these that gather from he shores?\nThe voice of nymphs that haunt the sylvan bowers,\nThe fair-hair\u2019d Dryads of the shady wood;\nOr azure daughters of the silver flood;\nOr human voice? but issuing from the shades,\nWhy cease I straight to learn what sound invades?\u201d\n\nThen, where the grove with leaves umbrageous bends,\nWith forceful strength a branch the hero rends;\nAround his loins the verdant cincture spreads\nA wreathy foliage and concealing shades.\nAs when a lion in the midnight hours,\nBeat by rude blasts, and wet with wintry showers,\nDescends terrific from the mountains brow;\nWith living flames his rolling eye balls glow;\nWith conscious strength elate, he bends his way,\nMajestically fierce, to seize his prey\n(The steer or stag;) or, with keen hunger bold,\nSpring o\u2019er the fence and dissipates the fold.\nNo less a terror, from the neighbouring groves\n(Rough from the tossing surge) Ulysses moves;\nUrged on by want, and recent from the storms;\nThe brackish ooze his manly grace deforms.\nWide o\u2019er the shore with many a piercing cry\nTo rocks, to caves, the frightened virgins fly;\nAll but the nymph; the nymph stood fix\u2019d alone,\nBy Pallas arm\u2019d with boldness not her own.\nMeantime in dubious thought the king awaits,\nAnd, self-considering, as he stands, debates;\nDistant his mournful story to declare,\nOr prostrate at her knee address the prayer.\nBut fearful to offend, by wisdom sway\u2019d,\nAt awful distance he accosts the maid:\n\n\u201cIf from the skies a goddess, or if earth\n(Imperial virgin) boast thy glorious birth,\nTo thee I bend! If in that bright disguise\nThou visit earth, a daughter of the skies,\nHail, Dian, hail! the huntress of the groves\nSo shines majestic, and so stately moves,\nSo breathes an air divine! But if thy race\nBe mortal, and this earth thy native place,\nBlest is the father from whose loins you sprung,\nBlest is the mother at whose breast you hung.\nBlest are the brethren who thy blood divide,\nTo such a miracle of charms allied:\nJoyful they see applauding princes gaze,\nWhen stately in the dance you swim the harmonious maze.\nBut blest o\u2019er all, the youth with heavenly charms,\nWho clasps the bright perfection in his arms!\nNever, I never view\u2019d till this blest hour\nSuch finish\u2019d grace! I gaze, and I adore!\nThus seems the palm with stately honours crown\u2019d\nBy Ph\u0153bus\u2019 altars; thus o\u2019erlooks the ground;\nThe pride of Delos. (By the Delian coast,\nI voyaged, leader of a warrior-host,\nBut ah, how changed! from thence my sorrow flows;\nO fatal voyage, source of all my woes;)\nRaptured I stood, and as this hour amazed,\nWith reverence at the lofty wonder gazed:\nRaptured I stand! for earth ne\u2019er knew to bear\nA plant so stately, or a nymph so fair.\nAwed from access, I lift my suppliant hands;\nFor Misery, O queen! before thee stands.\nTwice ten tempestuous nights I roll\u2019d, resign\u2019d\nTo roaring billows, and the warring wind;\nHeaven bade the deep to spare; but heaven, my foe,\nSpares only to inflict some mightier woe.\nInured to cares, to death in all its forms;\nOutcast I rove, familiar with the storms.\nOnce more I view the face of human kind:\nOh let soft pity touch thy generous mind!\nUnconscious of what air I breathe, I stand\nNaked, defenceless on a narrow land.\nPropitious to my wants a vest supply\nTo guard the wretched from the inclement sky:\nSo may the gods, who heaven and earth control,\nCrown the chaste wishes of thy virtuous soul,\nOn thy soft hours their choicest blessings shed;\nBlest with a husband be thy bridal bed;\nBlest be thy husband with a blooming race,\nAnd lasting union crown your blissful days.\nThe gods, when they supremely bless, bestow\nFirm union on their favourites below;\nThen envy grieves, with inly-pining hate;\nThe good exult, and heaven is in our state.\u201d\n\nTo whom the nymph: \u201cO stranger, cease thy care;\nWise is thy soul, but man is born to bear;\nJove weighs affairs of earth in dubious scales,\nAnd the good suffers, while the bad prevails.\nBear, with a soul resign\u2019d, the will of Jove;\nWho breathes, must mourn: thy woes are from above.\nBut since thou tread\u2019st our hospitable shore,\n\u2019Tis mine to bid the wretched grieve no more,\nTo clothe the naked, and thy way to guide.\nKnow, the Ph\u00e6acian tribes this land divide;\nFrom great Alcinous\u2019 royal loins I spring,\nA happy nation, and a happy king.\u201d\n\nThen to her maids: \u201cWhy, why, ye coward train,\nThese fears, this flight? ye fear, and fly in vain.\nDread ye a foe? dismiss that idle dread,\n\u2019Tis death with hostile step these shores to tread;\nSafe in the love of heaven, an ocean flows\nAround our realm, a barrier from the foes;\n\u2019Tis ours this son of sorrow to relieve,\nCheer the sad heart, nor let affliction grieve.\nBy Jove the stranger and the poor are sent;\nAnd what to those we give to Jove is lent.\nThen food supply, and bathe his fainting limbs\nWhere waving shades obscure the mazy streams.\u201d\n\nObedient to the call, the chief they guide\nTo the calm current of the secret tide;\nClose by the stream a royal dress they lay,\nA vest and robe, with rich embroidery gay;\nThen unguents in a vase of gold supply,\nThat breathed a fragrance through the balmy sky.\n\nTo them the king: \u201cNo longer I detain\nYour friendly care: retire, ye virgin train!\nRetire, while from my wearied limbs I lave\nThe foul pollution of the briny wave.\nYe gods! since this worn frame refection knew,\nWhat scenes have I surveyed of dreadful view!\nBut, nymphs, recede! sage chastity denies\nTo raise the blush, or pain the modest eyes.\u201d\n\nThe nymphs withdrawn, at once into the tide\nActive he bounds; the flashing waves divide\nO\u2019er all his limbs his hands the waves diffuse,\nAnd from his locks compress the weedy ooze;\nThe balmy oil, a fragrant shower, be sheds;\nThen, dressed, in pomp magnificently treads.\nThe warrior-goddess gives his frame to shine\nWith majesty enlarged, and air divine:\nBack from his brows a length of hair unfurls,\nHis hyacinthine locks descend in wavy curls.\nAs by some artist, to whom Vulcan gives\nHis skill divine, a breathing statue lives;\nBy Pallas taught, he frames the wondrous mould,\nAnd o\u2019er the silver pours the fusile gold\nSo Pallas his heroic frame improves\nWith heavenly bloom, and like a god he moves.\nA fragrance breathes around; majestic grace\nAttends his steps: the astonished virgins gaze.\nSoft he reclines along the murmuring seas,\nInhaling freshness from the fanning breeze.\n\nThe wondering nymph his glorious port survey\u2019d,\nAnd to her damsels, with amazement, said:\n\n\u201cNot without care divine the stranger treads\nThis land of joy; his steps some godhead leads:\nWould Jove destroy him, sure he had been driven\nFar from this realm, the favourite isle of heaven.\nLate, a sad spectacle of woe, he trod\nThe desert sands, and now he looks a god.\nOh heaven! in my connubial hour decree\nThis man my spouse, or such a spouse as he!\nBut haste, the viands and the bowl provide.\u201d\nThe maids the viands and the bowl supplied:\nEager he fed, for keen his hunger raged,\nAnd with the generous vintage thirst assuaged.\n\nNow on return her care Nausicaa bends,\nThe robes resumes, the glittering car ascends,\nFar blooming o\u2019er the field; and as she press\u2019d\nThe splendid seat, the listening chief address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cStranger, arise! the sun rolls down the day.\nLo, to the palace I direct thy way;\nWhere, in high state, the nobles of the land\nAttend my royal sire, a radiant band\nBut hear, though wisdom in thy soul presides,\nSpeaks from thy tongue, and every action guides;\nAdvance at distance, while I pass the plain\nWhere o\u2019er the furrows waves the golden grain;\nAlone I reascend\u2014With airy mounds\nA strength of wall the guarded city bounds;\nThe jutting land two ample bays divides:\nFull through the narrow mouths descend the tides;\nThe spacious basons arching rocks enclose,\nA sure defence from every storm that blows.\nClose to the bay great Neptune\u2019s fane adjoins;\nAnd near, a forum flank\u2019d with marble shines,\nWhere the bold youth, the numerous fleets to store,\nShape the broad sail, or smooth the taper oar:\nFor not the bow they bend, nor boast the skill\nTo give the feather\u2019d arrow wings to kill;\nBut the tall mast above the vessel rear,\nOr teach the fluttering sail to float in air.\nThey rush into the deep with eager joy,\nClimb the steep surge, and through the tempest fly;\nA proud, unpolish\u2019d race\u2014To me belongs\nThe care to shun the blast of slanderous tongues;\nLest malice, prone the virtuous to defame,\nThus with wild censure taint my spotless name:\n\u2018What stranger this whom thus Nausicaa leads!\nHeavens, with what graceful majesty he treads!\nPerhaps a native of some distant shore,\nThe future consort of her bridal hour:\nOr rather some descendant of the skies;\nWon by her prayer, the a\u00ebrial bridegroom flies,\nHeaven on that hour its choicest influence shed,\nThat gave a foreign spouse to crown her bed!\nAll, all the godlike worthies that adorn\nThis realm, she flies: Ph\u00e6acia is her scorn.\u2019\nAnd just the blame: for female innocence\nNot only flies the guilt, but shuns the offence:\nThe unguarded virgin, as unchaste, I blame;\nAnd the least freedom with the sex is shame,\nTill our consenting sires a spouse provide,\nAnd public nuptials justify the bride,\nBut would\u2019st thou soon review thy native plain?\nAttend, and speedy thou shalt pass the main:\nNigh where a grove with verdant poplars crown\u2019d,\nTo Pallas sacred, shades the holy ground,\nWe bend our way; a bubbling fount distills\nA lucid lake, and thence descends in rills;\nAround the grove, a mead with lively green\nFalls by degrees, and forms a beauteous scene;\nHere a rich juice the royal vineyard pours;\nAnd there the garden yields a waste of flowers.\nHence lies the town, as far as to the ear\nFloats a strong shout along the waves of air.\nThere wait embower\u2019d, while I ascend alone\nTo great Alcinous on his royal throne.\nArrived, advance, impatient of delay,\nAnd to the lofty palace bend thy way:\nThe lofty palace overlooks the town,\nFrom every dome by pomp superior known;\nA child may point the way. With earnest gait\nSeek thou the queen along the rooms of state;\nHer royal hand a wondrous work designs,\nAround a circle of bright damsels shines;\nPart twist the threads, and part the wool dispose,\nWhile with the purple orb the spindle glows.\nHigh on a throne, amid the Scherian powers,\nMy royal father shares the genial hours:\nBut to the queen thy mournful tale disclose,\nWith the prevailing eloquence of woes:\nSo shalt thou view with joy thy natal shore,\nThough mountains rise between and oceans roar.\u201d\n\nShe added not, but waving, as she wheel\u2019d,\nThe silver scourge, it glitter\u2019d o\u2019er the field;\nWith skill the virgin guides the embroider\u2019d rein,\nSlow rolls the car before the attending train,\nNow whirling down the heavens, the golden day\nShot through the western clouds a dewy ray;\nThe grove they reach, where, from the sacred shade,\nTo Pallas thus the pensive hero pray\u2019d:\n\n\u201cDaughter of Jove! whose arms in thunder wield\nThe avenging bolt, and shake the dreadful shield;\nForsook by thee, in vain I sought thy aid\nWhen booming billows closed above my bead;\nAttend, unconquer\u2019d maid! accord my vows,\nBid the Great hear, and pitying, heal my woes.\u201d\n\nThis heard Minerva, but forbore to fly\n(By Neptune awed) apparent from the sky;\nStern god! who raged with vengeance, unrestrain\u2019d.\nTill great Ulysses hail\u2019d his native land.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE COURT OF ALCINOUS.\n\n\nThe princess Nausicaa returns to the city and Ulysses soon after\nfollows thither. He is met by Pallas in the form of a young virgin, who\nguides him to the palace, and directs him in what manner to address the\nqueen Arete. She then involves him in a mist which causes him to pass\ninvisible. The palace and gardens of Alcinous described. Ulysses\nfalling at the feet of the queen, the mist disperses, the Ph\u00e6acians\nadmire, and receive him with respect. The queen inquiring by what means\nhe had the garments he then wore, be relates to her and Alcinous his\ndeparture from Calypso, and his arrival in their dominions.\n    The same day continues, and the book ends with the night.\n\n\nThe patient heavenly man thus suppliant pray\u2019d;\nWhile the slow mules draws on the imperial maid;\nThrough the proud street she moves, the public gaze;\nThe turning wheel before the palace stays.\nWith ready love her brothers, gathering round,\nReceived the vestures, and the mules unbound.\nShe seeks the bridal bower: a matron there\nThe rising fire supplies with busy care,\nWhose charms in youth her father\u2019s heart inflamed,\nNow worn with age, Eurymedusa named;\nThe captive dame Ph\u00e6acian rovers bore,\nSnatch\u2019d from Epirus, her sweet native shore\n(A grateful prize), and in her bloom bestow\u2019d\nOn good Alcinous, honor\u2019d as a god;\nNurse of Nausicaa from her infant years,\nAnd tender second to a mother\u2019s cares.\n\nNow from the sacred thicket where he lay,\nTo town Ulysses took the winding way.\nPropitious Pallas, to secure her care,\nAround him spread a veil of thicken\u2019d air;\nTo shun the encounter of the vulgar crowd,\nInsulting still, inquisitive and loud.\nWhen near the famed Ph\u00e6acian walls he drew,\nThe beauteous city opening to his view,\nHis step a virgin met, and stood before:\nA polish\u2019d urn the seeming virgin bore,\nAnd youthful smiled; but in the low disguise\nLay hid the goddess with the azure eyes.\n\n\u201cShow me, fair daughter (thus the chief demands),\nThe house of him who rules these happy lands\nThrough many woes and wanderings, do I come\nTo good Alcinous\u2019 hospitable dome.\nFar from my native coast, I rove alone,\nA wretched stranger, and of all unknown!\u201d\n\nThe goddess answer\u2019d: \u201cFather, I obey,\nAnd point the wandering traveller his way:\nWell known to me the palace you inquire,\nFor fast beside it dwells my honour\u2019d sire:\nBut silent march, nor greet the common train\nWith question needless, or inquiry vain;\nA race of ragged mariners are these,\nUnpolish\u2019d men, and boisterous as their seas\nThe native islanders alone their care,\nAnd hateful he who breathes a foreign air.\nThese did the ruler of the deep ordain\nTo build proud navies, and command the main;\nOn canvas wings to cut the watery way;\nNo bird so light, no thought so swift as they.\u201d\n\nThus having spoke, the unknown celestial leads:\nThe footsteps of the deity he treads,\nAnd secret moves along the crowded space,\nUnseen of all the rude Ph\u00e6acian race.\n(So Pallas order\u2019d, Pallas to their eyes\nThe mist objected, and condensed the skies.)\nThe chief with wonder sees the extended streets,\nThe spreading harbours, and the riding fleets;\nHe next their princes\u2019 lofty domes admires,\nIn separate islands, crown\u2019d with rising spires;\nAnd deep entrenchments, and high walls of stone.\nThat gird the city like a marble zone.\nAt length the kingly palace-gates he view\u2019d;\nThere stopp\u2019d the goddess, and her speech renew\u2019d;\n\n\u201cMy task is done: the mansion you inquire\nAppears before you: enter, and admire.\nHigh-throned, and feasting, there thou shalt behold\nThe sceptred rulers. Fear not, but be bold:\nA decent boldness ever meets with friends,\nSucceeds, and even a stranger recommends\nFirst to the queen prefer a suppliant\u2019s claim,\nAlcinous\u2019 queen, Arete is her name.\nThe same her parents, and her power the same.\nFor know, from ocean\u2019s god Nausithous sprung,\nAnd Perib\u00e6a, beautiful and young\n(Eurymedon\u2019s last hope, who ruled of old\nThe race of giants, impious, proud, and bold:\nPerish\u2019d the nation in unrighteous war,\nPerish\u2019d the prince, and left this only heir),\nWho now, by Neptune\u2019s amorous power compress\u2019d,\nProduced a monarch that his people bless\u2019d,\nFather and prince of the Ph\u00e6acian name;\nFrom him Rhexenor and Alcinous came.\nThe first by Ph\u0153bus\u2019 hurtling arrows fired,\nNew from his nuptials, hapless youth! expired.\nNo son survived; Arete heir\u2019d his state,\nAnd her, Alcinous chose his royal mate.\nWith honours yet to womankind unknown.\nThis queen he graces, and divides the throne;\nIn equal tenderness her sons conspire,\nAnd all the children emulate their sire.\nWhen through the streets she gracious deigns to move\n(The public wonder and the public love),\nThe tongues of all with transport sound her praise,\nThe eyes of all, as on a goddess, gaze.\nShe feels the triumph of a generous breast;\nTo heal divisions, to relieve the oppress\u2019d;\nIn virtue rich; in blessing others, bless\u2019d.\n(to then secure, thy humble suit prefer\nAnd owe thy country and thy friends to her.\u201d\n\nWith that the goddess deign\u2019d no longer stay,\nBut o\u2019er the world of waters wing\u2019d her way;\nForsaking Scheria\u2019s ever-pleasing shore,\nThe winds to Marathon the virgin bore:\nThence, where proud Athens rears her towery head,\nWith opening streets and shining structures spread,\nShe pass\u2019d, delighted with the well-known seats;\nAnd to Erectheus\u2019 sacred dome retreats.\n\nMeanwhile Ulysses at the palace waits,\nThere stops, and anxious with his soul debates,\nFix\u2019d in amaze before the royal gates.\nThe front appear\u2019d with radiant splendours gay,\nBright as the lamp of night, or orb of day,\nThe walls were massy brass: the cornice high\nBlue metals crown\u2019d in colours of the sky,\nRich plates of gold the folding doors incase;\nThe pillars silver, on a brazen base;\nSilver the lintels deep-projecting o\u2019er,\nAnd gold the ringlets that command the door.\nTwo rows of stately dogs, on either hand,\nIn sculptured gold and labour\u2019d silver stood\nThese Vulcan form\u2019d with art divine, to wait\nImmortal guardians at Alcinous\u2019 gate;\nAlive each animated frame appears,\nAnd still to live beyond the power of years,\nFair thrones within from space to space were raised,\nWhere various carpets with embroidery blessed,\nThe work of matrons: these the princes press\u2019d,\nDay following day, a long-continued feast.\nRefulgent pedestals the walls surround,\nWhich boys of gold with flaming torches crown\u2019d;\nThe polish\u2019d ore, reflecting every ray,\nBlazed on the banquets with a double day.\nFull fifty handmaids form the household train;\nSome turn the mill, or sift the golden grain;\nSome ply the loom; their busy fingers move\nLike poplar-leaves when Zephyr fans the grove.\nNot more renown\u2019d the men of Scheria\u2019s isle\nFor sailing arts and all the naval toil,\nThan works of female skill their women\u2019s pride,\nThe flying shuttle through the threads to guide:\nPallas to these her double gifts imparts,\nIncentive genius, and industrious arts.\n\nClose to the gates a spacious garden lies,\nFrom storms defended and inclement skies.\nFour acres was the allotted space of ground,\nFenced with a green enclosure all around.\nTall thriving trees confess\u2019d the fruitful mould:\nThe reddening apple ripens here to gold.\nHere the blue fig with luscious juice o\u2019erflows,\nWith deeper red the full pomegranate glows;\nThe branch here bends beneath the weighty pear,\nAnd verdant olives flourish round the year,\nThe balmy spirit of the western gale\nEternal breathes on fruits, unthought to fail:\nEach dropping pear a following pear supplies,\nOn apples apples, figs on figs arise:\nThe same mild season gives the blooms to blow,\nThe buds to harden, and the fruits to grow.\n\nHere order\u2019d vines in equal ranks appear,\nWith all the united labours of the year;\nSome to unload the fertile branches run,\nSome dry the blackening clusters in the sun,\nOthers to tread the liquid harvest join:\nThe groaning presses foam with floods of wine\nHere are the vines in early flower descried,\nHere grapes discolour\u2019d on the sunnyside,\nAnd there in autumn\u2019s richest purple dyed,\n\nBeds of all various herbs, for ever green,\nIn beauteous order terminate the scene.\n\nTwo plenteous fountains the whole prospect crown\u2019d\nThis through the gardens leads its streams around\nVisits each plant, and waters all the ground;\nWhile that in pipes beneath the palace flows,\nAnd thence its current on the town bestows:\nTo various use their various streams they bring,\nThe people one, and one supplies the king.\n\nSuch were the glories which the gods ordain\u2019d,\nTo grace Alcinous, and his happy land.\nE\u2019en from the chief whom men and nations knew,\nThe unwonted scene surprise and rapture drew;\nIn pleasing thought he ran the prospect o\u2019er,\nThen hasty enter\u2019d at the lofty door.\nNight now approaching, in the palace stand,\nWith goblets crown\u2019d, the rulers of the land;\nPrepared for rest, and offering to the god\nWho bears the virtue of the sleepy rod,\nUnseen he glided through the joyous crowd,\nWith darkness circled, and an ambient cloud.\nDirect to great Alcinous\u2019 throne he came,\nAnd prostrate fell before the imperial dame.\nThen from around him dropp\u2019d the veil of night;\nSudden he shines, and manifest to sight.\nThe nobles gaze, with awful fear oppress\u2019d;\nSilent they gaze, and eye the godlike guest.\n\n\u201cDaughter of great Rhexenor! (thus began,\nLow at her knees, the much-enduring man)\nTo thee, thy consort, and this royal train,\nTo all that share the blessings of your reign,\nA suppliant bends: oh pity human woe!\n\u2019Tis what the happy to the unhappy owe.\nA wretched exile to his country send,\nLong worn with griefs, and long without a friend\nSo may the gods your better days increase,\nAnd all your joys descend on all your race;\nSo reign for ever on your country\u2019s breast,\nYour people blessing, by your people bless\u2019d!\u201d\n\nThen to the genial hearth he bow\u2019d his face,\nAnd humbled in the ashes took his place.\nSilence ensued. The eldest first began,\nEcheneus sage, a venerable man!\nWhose well-taught mind the present age surpass\u2019d,\nAnd join\u2019d to that the experience of the last.\nFit words attended on his weighty sense,\nAnd mild persuasion flow\u2019d in eloquence.\n\n\u201cOh sight (he cried) dishonest and unjust!\nA guest, a stranger, seated in the dust!\nTo raise the lowly suppliant from the ground\nBefits a monarch. Lo! the peers around\nBut wait thy word, the gentle guest to grace,\nAnd seat him fair in some distinguish\u2019d place.\nLet first the herald due libation pay\nTo Jove, who guides the wanderer on his way:\nThen set the genial banquet in his view,\nAnd give the stranger-guest a stranger\u2019s due.\u201d\n\nHis sage advice the listening king obeys,\nHe stretch\u2019d his hand the prudent chief to raise,\nAnd from his seat Laodamas removed\n(The monarch\u2019s offspring, and his best-beloved);\nThere next his side the godlike hero sate;\nWith stars of silver shone the bed of state.\nThe golden ewer a beauteous handmaid brings,\nReplenish\u2019d from the cool translucent springs,\nWhose polish\u2019d vase with copious streams supplies\nA silver layer of capacious size.\nThe table next in regal order spread,\nThe glittering canisters are heap\u2019d with bread:\nViands of various kinds invite the taste,\nOf choicest sort and savour, rich repast!\nThus feasting high, Alcinous gave the sign,\nAnd bade the herald pour the rosy wine;\n\u201cLet all around the due libation pay\nTo Jove, who guides the wanderer on his way.\u201d\n\nHe said. Pontonous heard the king\u2019s command;\nThe circling goblet moves from hand to hand;\nEach drinks the juice that glads the heart of man.\nAlcinous then, with aspect mild, began:\n\n\u201cPrinces and peers, attend; while we impart\nTo you the thoughts of no inhuman heart.\nNow pleased and satiate from the social rite\nRepair we to the blessings of the night;\nBut with the rising day, assembled here,\nLet all the elders of the land appear,\nPious observe our hospitable laws,\nAnd Heaven propitiate in the stranger\u2019s cause;\nThen join\u2019d in council, proper means explore\nSafe to transport him to the wished-for shore\n(How distant that, imports us not to know,\nNor weigh the labour, but relieve the woe).\nMeantime, nor harm nor anguish let him bear\nThis interval, Heaven trusts him to our care\nBut to his native land our charge resign\u2019d,\nHeaven\u2019s is his life to come, and all the woes behind.\nThen must he suffer what the Fates ordain;\nFor Fate has wove the thread of life with pain!\nAnd twins, e\u2019en from the birth, are Misery and Man!\nBut if, descended from the Olympian bower,\nGracious approach us some immortal power;\nIf in that form thou comest a guest divine:\nSome high event the conscious gods design.\nAs yet, unbid they never graced our feast,\nThe solemn sacrifice call\u2019d down the guest;\nThen manifest of Heaven the vision stood,\nAnd to our eyes familiar was the god.\nOft with some favour\u2019d traveller they stray,\nAnd shine before him all the desert way;\nWith social intercourse, and face to face,\nThe friends and guardians of our pious race.\nSo near approach we their celestial kind,\nBy justice, truth, and probity of mind;\nAs our dire neighbours of Cyclopean birth\nMatch in fierce wrong the giant-sons of earth.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet no such thought (with modest grace rejoin\u2019d\nThe prudent Greek) possess the royal mind.\nAlas! a mortal, like thyself, am I;\nNo glorious native of yon azure sky:\nIn form, ah how unlike their heavenly kind!\nHow more inferior in the gifts of mind!\nAlas, a mortal! most oppress\u2019d of those\nWhom Fate has loaded with a weight of woes;\nBy a sad train of Miseries alone\nDistinguish\u2019d long, and second now to none!\nBy Heaven\u2019s high will compell\u2019d from shore to shore;\nWith Heaven\u2019s high will prepared to suffer more.\nWhat histories of toil could I declare!\nBut still long-wearied nature wants repair;\nSpent with fatigue, and shrunk with pining fast,\nMy craving bowels still require repast.\nHowe\u2019er the noble, suffering mind may grieve\nIts load of anguish, and disdain to live,\nNecessity demands our daily bread;\nHunger is insolent, and will be fed.\nBut finish, oh ye peers! what you propose,\nAnd let the morrow\u2019s dawn conclude my woes.\nPleased will I suffer all the gods ordain,\nTo see my soil, my son, my friends again.\nThat view vouchsafed, let instant death surprise\nWith ever-during shade these happy eyes!\u201d\n\nThe assembled peers with general praise approved\nHis pleaded reason, and the suit he moved.\nEach drinks a full oblivion of his cares,\nAnd to the gifts of balmy sleep repairs,\nUlysses in the regal walls alone\nRemain\u2019d: beside him, on a splendid throne,\nDivine Arete and Alcinous shone.\nThe queen, on nearer view, the guest survey\u2019d,\nRob\u2019d in the garments her own hands had made,\nNot without wonder seen. Then thus began,\nHer words addressing to the godlike man:\n\n\u201cCamest thou hither, wondrous stranger! say,\nFrom lands remote and o\u2019er a length of sea?\nTell, then, whence art thou? whence, that princely air?\nAnd robes like these, so recent and so fair?\u201d\n\n\u201cHard is the task, O princess! you impose\n(Thus sighing spoke the man of many woes),\nThe long, the mournful series to relate\nOf all my sorrows sent by Heaven and Fate!\nYet what you ask, attend. An island lies\nBeyond these tracts, and under other skies,\nOgygia named, in Ocean\u2019s watery arms;\nWhere dwells Calypso, dreadful in her charms!\nRemote from gods or men she holds her reign,\nAmid the terrors of a rolling main.\nMe, only me, the hand of fortune bore,\nUnblest! to tread that interdicted shore:\nWhen Jove tremendous in the sable deeps\nLaunch\u2019d his red lightning at our scattered ships;\nThen, all my fleet and all my followers lost.\nSole on a plank on boiling surges toss\u2019d,\nHeaven drove my wreck the Ogygian Isle to find,\nFull nine days floating to the wave and wind.\nMet by the goddess there with open arms,\nShe bribed my stay with more than human charms;\nNay, promised, vainly promised, to bestow\nImmortal life, exempt from age and woe;\nBut all her blandishments successless prove,\nTo banish from my breast my country\u2019s love.\nI stay reluctant seven continued years,\nAnd water her ambrosial couch with tears,\nThe eighth she voluntary moves to part,\nOr urged by Jove, or her own changeful heart.\nA raft was formed to cross the surging sea;\nHerself supplied the stores and rich array,\nAnd gave the gales to waft me on my way,\nIn seventeen days appear\u2019d your pleasing coast,\nAnd woody mountains half in vapours lost.\nJoy touched my soul; my soul was joy\u2019d in vain,\nFor angry Neptune roused the raging main;\nThe wild winds whistle, and the billows roar;\nThe splitting raft the furious tempest tore;\nAnd storms vindictive intercept the shore.\nSoon as their rage subsides, the seas I brave\nWith naked force, and shoot along the wave,\nTo reach this isle; but there my hopes were lost,\nThe surge impell\u2019d me on a craggy coast.\nI chose the safer sea, and chanced to find\nA river\u2019s mouth impervious to the wind,\nAnd clear of rocks. I fainted by the flood;\nThen took the shelter of the neighbouring wood.\n\u2019Twas night, and, covered in the foliage deep,\nJove plunged my senses in the death of sleep.\nAll night I slept, oblivious of my pain:\nAurora dawned and Ph\u0153bus shined in vain,\nNor, till oblique he sloped his evening ray,\nHad Somnus dried the balmy dews away.\nThen female voices from the shore I heard:\nA maid amidst them, goddess-like appear\u2019d;\nTo her I sued, she pitied my distress;\nLike thee in beauty, nor in virtue less.\nWho from such youth could hope considerate care?\nIn youth and beauty wisdom is but rare!\nShe gave me life, relieved with just supplies\nMy wants, and lent these robes that strike your eyes.\nThis is the truth: and oh, ye powers on high!\nForbid that want should sink me to a lie.\u201d\n\nTo this the king: \u201cOur daughter but express\u2019d\nHer cares imperfect to our godlike guest.\nSuppliant to her, since first he chose to pray,\nWhy not herself did she conduct the way,\nAnd with her handmaids to our court convey?\u201d\n\n\u201cHero and king (Ulysses thus replied)\nNor blame her faultless nor suspect of pride:\nShe bade me follow in the attendant train;\nBut fear and reverence did my steps detain,\nLest rash suspicion might alarm thy mind:\nMan\u2019s of a jealous and mistaken kind.\u201d\n\n\u201cFar from my soul (he cried) the gods efface\nAll wrath ill-grounded, and suspicion base!\nWhate\u2019er is honest, stranger, I approve,\nAnd would to Ph\u0153bus, Pallas, and to Jove,\nSuch as thou art, thy thought and mine were one,\nNor thou unwilling to be called my son.\nIn such alliance couldst thou wish to join,\nA palace stored with treasures should be thine.\nBut if reluctant, who shall force thy stay?\nJove bids to set the stranger on his way,\nAnd ships shall wait thee with the morning ray.\nTill then, let slumber cross thy careful eyes:\nThe wakeful mariners shall watch the skies,\nAnd seize the moment when the breezes rise:\nThen gently waft thee to the pleasing shore,\nWhere thy soul rests, and labour is no more.\nFar as Euboea though thy country lay,\nOur ships with ease transport thee in a day.\nThither of old, earth\u2019s giant son to view,\nOn wings of wind with Rhadamanth they flew;\nThis land, from whence their morning course begun,\nSaw them returning with the setting sun.\nYour eyes shall witness and confirm my tale,\nOur youth how dexterous, and how fleet our sail,\nWhen justly timed with equal sweep they row,\nAnd ocean whitens in long tracks below.\u201d\n\nThus he. No word the experienced man replies,\nBut thus to heaven (and heavenward lifts his eyes):\n\u201cO Jove! O father! what the king accords\nDo thou make perfect! sacred be his words!\nWide o\u2019er the world Alcinous\u2019 glory shine!\nLet fame be his, and ah! my country mine!\u201d\n\nMeantime Arete, for the hour of rest,\nOrdains the fleecy couch, and covering vest;\nBids her fair train the purple quilts prepare,\nAnd the thick carpets spread with busy care.\nWith torches blazing in their hands they pass\u2019d,\nAnd finish\u2019d all their queen\u2019s command with haste:\nThen gave the signal to the willing guest:\nHe rose with pleasure, and retired to rest.\nThere, soft extended, to the murmuring sound\nOf the high porch, Ulysses sleeps profound!\nWithin, released from cares, Alcinous lies;\nAnd fast beside were closed Arete\u2019s eyes.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VIII.\n\n\nAlcinous calls a council, in which it is resolved to transport Ulysses\ninto his country. After which splendid entertainments are made, where\nthe celebrated musician and poet, Demodocus, plays and sings to the\nguests. They next proceed to the games, the race, the wrestling,\ndiscus, &c., where Ulysses casts a prodigious length, to the admiration\nof all the spectators. They return again to the banquet and Demodocus\nsings the loves of Mars and Venus. Ulysses, after a compliment to the\npoet, desires him to sing the introduction of the wooden horse into\nTroy, which subject provoking his tears, Alcinous inquires of his guest\nhis name, parentage, and fortunes.\n\n\nNow fair Aurora lifts her golden ray,\nAnd all the ruddy orient flames with day:\nAlcinous, and the chief, with dawning light,\nRose instant from the slumbers of the night;\nThen to the council-seat they bend their way,\nAnd fill the shining thrones along the bay.\n\nMeanwhile Minerva, in her guardian care,\nShoots from the starry vault through fields of air;\nIn form, a herald of the king, she flies\nFrom peer to peer, and thus incessant cries;\n\n\u201cNobles and chiefs who rule Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s states,\nThe king in council your attendance waits;\nA prince of grace divine your aid implores,\nO\u2019er unknown seas arrived from unknown shores.\u201d\n\nShe spoke, and sudden with tumultuous sounds\nOf thronging multitudes the shore rebounds:\nAt once the seats they fill; and every eye\nGlazed, as before some brother of the sky.\nPallas with grace divine his form improves,\nMore high he treads, and more enlarged he moves:\nShe sheds celestial bloom, regard to draw;\nAnd gives a dignity of mien, to awe;\nWith strength, the future prize of fame to play,\nAnd gather all the honours of the day.\n\nThen from his glittering throne Alcinous rose;\n\u201cAttend (he cried) while we our will disclose.\nYour present aid this godlike stranger craves,\nToss\u2019d by rude tempest through a war of waves;\nPerhaps from realms that view the rising day,\nOr nations subject to the western ray.\nThen grant, what here all sons of woe obtain\n(For here affliction never pleads in vain);\nBe chosen youth prepared, expert to try\nThe vast profound and bid the vessel fly;\nLaunch the tall back, and order every oar;\nThen in our court indulge the genial hour.\nInstant, you sailors to this task attend;\nSwift to the palace, all ye peers ascend;\nLet none to strangers honours due disclaim:\nBe there Demodocus the bard of fame,\nTaught by the gods to please, when high he sings\nThe vocal lay, responsive to the strings.\u201d\n\nThus spoke the prince; the attending peers obey;\nIn state they move; Alcinous heads the way\nSwift to Demodocus the herald flies,\nAt once the sailors to their charge arise;\nThey launch the vessel, and unfurl the sails,\nAnd stretch the swelling canvas to the gales;\nThen to the palace move: a gathering throng,\nYouth, and white age, tumultuous pour along.\nNow all accesses to the dome are fill\u2019d;\nEight boars, the choicest of the herd, are kill\u2019d;\nTwo beeves, twelve fatlings, from the flock they bring\nTo crown the feast; so wills the bounteous king.\nThe herald now arrives, and guides along\nThe sacred master of celestial song;\nDear to the Muse! who gave his days to flow\nWith mighty blessings, mix\u2019d with mighty woe;\nWith clouds of darkness quench\u2019d his visual ray,\nBut gave him skill to raise the lofty lay.\nHigh on a radiant throne sublime in state,\nEncircled by huge multitudes, he sate;\nWith silver shone the throne; his lyre, well strung\nTo rapturous sounds, at hand Poutonous hung.\nBefore his seat a polish\u2019d table shines,\nAnd a full goblet foams with generous wines;\nHis food a herald bore; and now they fed;\nAnd now the rage of craving hunger fled.\n\nThen, fired by all the Muse, aloud he sings\nThe mighty deeds of demigods and kings;\nFrom that fierce wrath the noble song arose,\nThat made Ulysses and Achilles foes;\nHow o\u2019er the feast they doom the fall of Troy;\nThe stern debate Atrides hears with joy;\nFor Heaven foretold the contest, when he trod\nThe marble threshold of the Delphic god,\nCurious to learn the counsels of the sky,\nEre yet he loosed the rage of war on Troy.\n\nTouch\u2019d at the song, Ulysses straight resign\u2019d\nTo soft affliction all his manly mind.\nBefore his eyes the purple vest he drew,\nIndustrious to conceal the falling dew;\nBut when the music paused, he ceased to shed\nThe flowing tear, and raised his drooping head;\nAnd, lifting to the gods a goblet crown\u2019d,\nHe pour\u2019d a pure libation to the ground.\n\nTransported with the song, the listening train\nAgain with loud applause demand the strain;\nAgain Ulysses veil\u2019d his pensive head.\nAgain unmann\u2019d, a shower of sorrows shed;\nConceal\u2019d he wept; the king observed alone\nThe silent tear, and heard the secret groan;\nThen to the bard aloud\u2014\u201cO cease to sing,\nDumb be thy voice and mute the harmonious string;\nEnough the feast has pleased, enough the power\nOf heavenly song has crown\u2019d the genial hour!\nIncessant in the games your strength display,\nContest, ye brave the honours of the day!\nThat pleased the admiring stranger may proclaim\nIn distant regions the Ph\u00e6acian fame:\nNone wield the gauntlet with so dire a sway,\nOr swifter in the race devour the way;\nNone in the leap spring with so strong a bound,\nOr firmer, in the wrestling, press the ground.\u201d\n\nThus spoke the king; the attending peers obey;\nIn state they move, Alcinous lends the way;\nHis golden lyre Demodocus unstrung,\nHigh on a column in the palace hung;\nAnd guided by a herald\u2019s guardian cares,\nMajestic to the lists of Fame repairs.\n\nNow swarms the populace: a countless throng,\nYouth and hoar age; and man drives man along.\nThe games begin; ambitious of the prize,\nAcroneus, Thoon, and Eretmeus rise;\nThe prize Ocyalus and Prymneus claim,\nAnchialus and Ponteus, chiefs of fame.\nThere Proreus, Nautes, Eratreus, appear\nAnd famed Amphialus, Polyneus\u2019 heir;\nEuryalus, like Mars terrific, rose,\nWhen clad in wrath he withers hosts of foes;\nNaubolides with grace unequall\u2019d shone,\nOr equall\u2019d by Laodamas alone.\nWith these came forth Ambasineus the strong:\nAnd three brave sons, from great Alcinous sprung.\n\nRanged in a line the ready racers stand,\nStart from the goal, and vanish o\u2019er the strand:\nSwift as on wings of winds, upborne they fly,\nAnd drifts of rising dust involve the sky.\nBefore the rest, what space the hinds allow\nBetween the mule and ox, from plough to plough,\nClytonius sprung: he wing\u2019d the rapid way,\nAnd bore the unrivall\u2019d honours of the day.\nWith fierce embrace the brawny wrestlers join;\nThe conquest, great Euryalus, is thine.\nAmphialus sprung forward with a bound,\nSuperior in the leap, a length of ground.\nFrom Elatreus\u2019 strong arm the discus flies,\nAnd sings with unmatch\u2019d force along the skies.\nAnd Laodam whirls high, with dreadful sway,\nThe gloves of death, victorious in the fray.\n\nWhile thus the peerage in the games contends,\nIn act to speak, Laodamas ascends.\n\n\u201cO friends (he cries), the stranger seems well skill\u2019d\nTo try the illustrious labours of the field:\nI deem him brave: then grant the brave man\u2019s claim,\nInvite the hero to his share of fame.\nWhat nervous arms he boasts! how firm his tread!\nHis limbs how turn\u2019d! how broad his shoulders spread!\nBy age unbroke!\u2014but all-consuming care\nDestroys perhaps the strength that time would spare:\nDire is the ocean, dread in all its forms!\nMan must decay when man contends with storms.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell hast thou spoke (Euryalus replies):\nThine is the guest, invite him thou to rise.\u201d\nSwift as the word, advancing from the crowd,\nHe made obeisance, and thus spoke aloud:\n\n\u201cVouchsafes the reverend stranger to display\nHis manly worth, and share the glorious day?\nFather, arise! for thee thy port proclaims\nExpert to conquer in the solemn games.\nTo fame arise! for what more fame can yield\nThan the swift race, or conflict of the field?\nSteal from corroding care one transient day,\nTo glory give the space thou hast to stay;\nShort is the time, and lo! e\u2019en now the gales\nCall thee aboard, and stretch the swelling sails.\u201d\n\nTo whom with sighs Ulysses gave reply:\n\u201cAh why the ill-suiting pastime must I try?\nTo gloomy care my thoughts alone are free;\nIll the gay sports with troubled hearts agree;\nSad from my natal hour my days have ran,\nA much-afflicted, much-enduring man!\nWho, suppliant to the king and peers, implores\nA speedy voyage to his native shore.\u201d\n\n\u201cWide wanders, Laodam, thy erring tongue\nThe sports of glory to the brave belong\n(Retorts Euryalus): he bears no claim\nAmong the great, unlike the sons of Fame.\nA wandering merchant he frequents the main\nSome mean seafarer in pursuit of gain;\nStudious of freight, in naval trade well skill\u2019d,\nBut dreads the athletic labours of the field.\u201d\n\nIncensed, Ulysses with a frown replies:\n\u201cO forward to proclaim thy soul unwise!\nWith partial hands the gods their gifts dispense;\nSome greatly think, some speak with manly sense;\nHere Heaven an elegance of form denies,\nBut wisdom the defect of form supplies;\nThis man with energy of thought controls,\nAnd steals with modest violence our souls;\nHe speaks reservedly, but he speaks with force,\nNor can one word be changed but for a worse;\nIn public more than mortal he appears,\nAnd as he moves, the praising crowd reveres;\nWhile others, beauteous as the etherial kind,\nThe nobler portion went, a knowing mind,\nIn outward show Heaven gives thee to excel.\nBut Heaven denies the praise of thinking well\nI\u2019ll bear the brave a rude ungovern\u2019d tongue,\nAnd, youth, my generous soul resents the wrong.\nSkill\u2019d in heroic exercise, I claim\nA post of honour with the sons of Fame.\nSuch was my boast while vigour crown\u2019d my days,\nNow care surrounds me, and my force decays;\nInured a melancholy part to bear\nIn scenes of death, by tempest and by war\nYet thus by woes impair\u2019d, no more I waive\nTo prove the hero\u2014slander stings the brave.\u201d\n\nThen gliding forward with a furious bound\nHe wrench\u2019d a rocky fragment from the ground\nBy far more ponderous, and more huge by far\nThan what Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s sons discharged in air.\nFierce from his arm the enormous load he flings;\nSonorous through the shaded air it sings;\nCouch\u2019d to the earth, tempestuous as it flies,\nThe crowd gaze upward while it cleaves the skies.\nBeyond all marks, with many a giddy round\nDown-rushing, it up-turns a hill of ground.\n\nThat Instant Pallas, bursting from a cloud,\nFix\u2019d a distinguish\u2019d mark, and cried aloud:\n\n\u201cE\u2019en he who, sightless, wants his visual ray\nMay by his touch alone award the day:\nThy signal throw transcends the utmost bound\nOf every champion by a length of ground:\nSecurely bid the strongest of the train\nArise to throw; the strongest throws in vain.\u201d\n\nShe spoke: and momentary mounts the sky:\nThe friendly voice Ulysses hears with joy.\nThen thus aloud (elate with decent pride)\n\u201cRise, ye Ph\u00e6acians, try your force (he cried):\nIf with this throw the strongest caster vie,\nStill, further still, I bid the discus fly.\nStand forth, ye champions, who the gauntlet wield,\nOr ye, the swiftest racers of the field!\nStand forth, ye wrestlers, who these pastimes grace!\nI wield the gauntlet, and I run the race.\nIn such heroic games I yield to none,\nOr yield to brave Laodamas alone:\nShall I with brave Laodamas contend?\nA friend is sacred, and I style him friend.\nUngenerous were the man, and base of heart,\nWho takes the kind, and pays the ungrateful part:\nChiefly the man, in foreign realms confined,\nBase to his friend, to his own interest blind:\nAll, all your heroes I this day defy;\nGive me a man that we our might may try.\nExpert in every art, I boast the skill\nTo give the feather\u2019d arrow wings to kill;\nShould a whole host at once discharge the bow,\nMy well-aim\u2019d shaft with death prevents the foe:\nAlone superior in the field of Troy,\nGreat Philoctetes taught the shaft to fly.\nFrom all the sons of earth unrivall\u2019d praise\nI justly claim; but yield to better days,\nTo those famed days when great Alcides rose,\nAnd Eurytus, who bade the gods be foes\n(Vain Eurytus, whose art became his crime,\nSwept from the earth, he perish\u2019d in his prime:\nSudden the irremeable way he trod,\nWho boldly durst defy the bowyer god).\nIn fighting fields as far the spear I throw\nAs flies an arrow from the well-drawn bow.\nSole in the race the contest I decline,\nStiff are my weary joints, and I resign;\nBy storms and hunger worn; age well may fail,\nWhen storms and hunger doth at once assail.\u201d\n\nAbash\u2019d, the numbers hear the godlike man,\nTill great Alcinous mildly thus began:\n\n\u201cWell hast thou spoke, and well thy generous tongue\nWith decent pride refutes a public wrong:\nWarm are thy words, but warm without offence;\nFear only fools, secure in men of sense;\nThy worth is known. Then hear our country\u2019s claim,\nAnd bear to heroes our heroic fame:\nIn distant realms our glorious deeds display,\nRepeat them frequent in the genial day;\nWhen, blest with ease, thy woes and wanderings end,\nTeach them thy consort, bid thy sons attend;\nHow, loved of Jove, he crown\u2019d our sires with praise,\nHow we their offspring dignify our race.\n\n\u201cLet other realms the deathful gauntlet wield,\nOr boast the glories of the athletic field:\nWe in the course unrivall\u2019d speed display,\nOr through cerulean billows plough the way;\nTo dress, to dance, to sing, our sole delight,\nThe feast or bath by day, and love by night:\nRise, then, ye skill\u2019d in measures; let him bear\nYour fame to men that breathe a distant air;\nAnd faithful say, to you the powers belong\nTo race, to sail, to dance, to chant the song.\n\n\u201cBut, herald, to the palace swift repair,\nAnd the soft lyre to grace our pastimes bear.\u201d\n\nSwift at the word, obedient to the king,\nThe herald flies the tuneful lyre to bring.\nUp rose nine seniors, chosen to survey\nThe future games, the judges of the day\nWith instant care they mark a spacious round\nAnd level for the dance the allotted ground:\nThe herald bears the lyre: intent to play,\nThe bard advancing meditates the lay.\nSkill\u2019d in the dance, tall youths, a blooming band,\nGraceful before the heavenly minstrel stand:\nLight bounding from the earth, at once they rise,\nTheir feet half-viewless quiver in the skies:\nUlysses gazed, astonish\u2019d to survey\nThe glancing splendours as their sandals play.\nMeantime the bard, alternate to the strings,\nThe loves of Mars and Cytherea sings:\nHow the stern god, enamour\u2019d with her charms\nClasp\u2019d the gay panting goddess in his arms,\nBy bribes seduced; and how the sun, whose eye\nViews the broad heavens, disclosed the lawless joy.\nStung to the soul, indignant through the skies\nTo his black forge vindictive Vulcan flies:\nArrived, his sinewy arms incessant place\nThe eternal anvil on the massy base.\nA wondrous net he labours, to betray\nThe wanton lovers, as entwined they lay,\nIndissolubly strong; Then instant bears\nTo his immortal dome the finish\u2019d snares:\nAbove, below, around, with art dispread,\nThe sure inclosure folds the genial bed:\nWhose texture even the search of gods deceives,\nThin as the filmy threads the spider weaves,\nThen, as withdrawing from the starry bowers,\nHe feigns a journey to the Lemnian shores,\nHis favourite isle: observant Mars descries\nHis wish\u2019d recess, and to the goddess flies;\nHe glows, he burns, the fair-hair\u2019d queen of love\nDescends, smooth gliding from the courts of Jove,\nGay blooming in full charms: her hand he press\u2019d\nWith eager joy, and with a sigh address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cCome, my beloved! and taste the soft delights:\nCome, to repose the genial bed invites:\nThy absent spouse, neglectful of thy charms,\nPrefers his barbarous Sintians to thy arms!\u201d\n\nThen, nothing loth, the enamour\u2019d fair he led,\nAnd sunk transported on the conscious bed.\nDown rush\u2019d the toils, inwrapping as they lay\nThe careless lovers in their wanton play:\nIn vain they strive; the entangling snares deny\n(Inextricably firm) the power to fly.\nWarn\u2019d by the god who sheds the golden day,\nStern Vulcan homeward treads the starry way:\nArrived, he sees, he grieves, with rage he burns:\nFull horribly he roars, his voice all heaven returns.\n\n\u201cO Jove (he cried) O all ye powers above,\nSee the lewd dalliance of the queen of love!\nMe, awkward me, she scorns; and yields her charms\nTo that fair lecher, the strong god of arms.\nIf I am lame, that stain my natal hour\nBy fate imposed; such me my parent bore.\nWhy was I born? See how the wanton lies!\nOh sight tormenting to a husband\u2019s eyes!\nBut yet, I trust, this once e\u2019en Mars would fly\nHis fair-one\u2019s arms\u2014he thinks her, once, too nigh.\nBut there remain, ye guilty, in my power,\nTill Jove refunds his shameless daughter\u2019s dower.\nToo dear I prized a fair enchanting face:\nBeauty unchaste is beauty in disgrace.\u201d\n\nMeanwhile the gods the dome of Vulcan throng;\nApollo comes, and Neptune comes along;\nWith these gay Hermes trod the starry plain;\nBut modesty withheld the goddess train.\nAll heaven beholds, imprison\u2019d as they lie,\nAnd unextinguish\u2019d laughter shakes the sky.\nThen mutual, thus they spoke: \u201cBehold on wrong\nSwift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong!\nDwells there a god on all the Olympian brow\nMore swift than Mars, and more than Vulcan slow?\nYet Vulcan conquers, and the god of arms\nMust pay the penalty for lawless charms.\u201d\n\nThus serious they; but he who gilds the skies,\nThe gay Apollo, thus to Hermes cries:\n\u201cWouldst thou enchain\u2019d like Mars, O Hermes, lie\nAnd bear the shame like Mars to share the joy?\u201d\n\n\u201cO envied shame! (the smiling youth rejoin\u2019d;)\nAnd thrice the chains, and thrice more firmly bind;\nGaze all ye gods, and every goddess gaze,\nYet eager would I bless the sweet disgrace.\u201d\n\nLoud laugh the rest, e\u2019en Neptune laughs aloud,\nYet sues importunate to loose the god.\n\u201cAnd free, (he cries) O Vulcan! free from shame\nThy captives; I ensure the penal claim.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill Neptune (Vulcan then) the faithless trust?\nHe suffers who gives surety for the unjust:\nBut say, if that lewd scandal of the sky,\nTo liberty restored, perfidious fly:\nSay, wilt thou bear the mulct?\u201d He instant cries,\n\u201cThe mulct I bear, if Mars perfidious flies.\u201d\n\nTo whom appeased: \u201cNo more I urge delay;\nWhen Neptune sues, my part is to obey.\u201d\nThen to the snares his force the god applies;\nThey burst; and Mars to Thrace indignant flies:\nTo the soft Cyprian shores the goddess moves,\nTo visit Paphos and her blooming groves,\nWhere to the Power an hundred altars rise,\nAnd breathing odours scent the balmy skies;\nConcealed she bathes in consecrated bowers,\nThe Graces unguents shed, ambrosial showers,\nUnguents that charm the gods! she last assumes\nHer wondrous robes; and full the goddess blooms.\n\nThus sung the bard: Ulysses hears with joy,\nAnd loud applauses read the vaulted sky.\n\nThen to the sports his sons the king commands,\nEach blooming youth before the monarch stands,\nIn dance unmatch\u2019d! A wondrous ball is brought\n(The work of Polypus, divinely wrought);\nThis youth with strength enormous bids it fly,\nAnd bending backward whirls it to the sky;\nHis brother, springing with an active bound,\nAt distance intercepts it from the ground.\nThe ball dismissed, in dance they skim the strand,\nTurn and return, and scarce imprint the sand.\nThe assembly gazes with astonished eyes,\nAnd sends in shouts applauses to the skies.\n\nThen thus Ulysses: \u201cHappy king, whose name\nThe brightest shines in all the rolls of fame!\nIn subjects happy with surprise I gaze;\nThy praise was just; their skill transcends thy praise.\u201d\n\nPleas\u2019d with his people\u2019s fame, the monarch hears,\nAnd thus benevolent accosts the peers:\n\u201cSince wisdom\u2019s sacred guidance he pursues,\nGive to the stranger-guest a stranger\u2019s dues:\nTwelve princes in our realm dominion share,\nO\u2019er whom supreme, imperial power I bear;\nBring gold, a pledge of love: a talent bring,\nA vest, a robe, and imitate your king.\nBe swift to give: that he this night may share\nThe social feast of joy, with joy sincere.\nAnd thou, Euryalus, redeem thy wrong;\nA generous heart repairs a slanderous tongue.\u201d\n\nThe assenting peers, obedient to the king,\nIn haste their heralds send the gifts to bring.\nThen thus Euryalus: \u201cO prince, whose sway\nRules this bless\u2019d realm, repentant I obey;\nBe his this sword, whose blade of brass displays\nA ruddy gleam; whose hilt a silver blaze;\nWhose ivory sheath, inwrought with curious pride,\nAdds graceful terror to the wearer\u2019s side.\u201d\n\nHe said, and to his hand the sword consign\u2019d:\n\u201cAnd if (he cried) my words affect thy mind,\nFar from thy mind those words, ye whirlwinds, bear,\nAnd scatter them, ye storms, in empty air!\nCrown, O ye heavens, with joy his peaceful hours,\nAnd grant him to his spouse, and native shores.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd blest be thou, my friend, (Ulysses cries,)\nCrown him with every joy, ye favouring skies\nTo thy calm hours continued peace afford,\nAnd never, never mayst thou want this sword,\u201d\n\nHe said, and o\u2019er his shoulder flung the blade.\nNow o\u2019er the earth ascends the evening shade:\nThe precious gifts the illustrious heralds bear,\nAnd to the court the embodied peers repair.\nBefore the queen Alcinous\u2019 sons unfold\nThe vests, the robes, and heaps of shining gold;\nThen to the radiant thrones they move in state:\nAloft, the king in pomp imperial sate.\n\nThence to the queen: \u201cO partner of our reign,\nO sole beloved! command thy menial train\nA polish\u2019d chest and stately robes to bear,\nAnd healing waters for the bath prepare;\nThat, bathed, our guest may bid his sorrows cease,\nHear the sweet song, and taste the feast in peace.\nA bowl that flames with gold, of wondrous frame,\nOurself we give, memorial of our name;\nTo raise in offerings to almighty Jove,\nAnd every god that treads the courts above.\u201d\n\nInstant the queen, observant of the king,\nCommands her train a spacious vase to bring,\nThe spacious vase with ample streams suffice,\nHeap the high wood, and bid the flames arise.\nThe flames climb round it with a fierce embrace,\nThe fuming waters bubble o\u2019er the blaze.\nHerself the chest prepares; in order roll\u2019d\nThe robes, the vests are ranged, and heaps of gold\nAnd adding a rich dress inwrought with art,\nA gift expressive of her bounteous heart.\nThus spoke to Ithacus: \u201cTo guard with bands\nInsolvable these gifts, thy care demands;\nLest, in thy slumbers on the watery main,\nThe hand of rapine make our bounty vain.\u201d\n\nThen bending with full force around he roll\u2019d\nA labyrinth of bands in fold on fold,\nClosed with Circaean art. A train attends\nAround the bath: the bath the king ascends\n(Untasted joy, since that disastrous hour,\nHe sail\u2019d ill-fated from Calypso\u2019s bower);\nWhere, happy as the gods that range the sky,\nHe feasted every sense with every joy.\nHe bathes; the damsels with officious toil,\nShed sweets, shed unguents, in a shower of oil;\nThen o\u2019er his limbs a gorgeous robe he spreads,\nAnd to the feast magnificently treads.\nFull where the dome its shining valves expands,\nNausicaa blooming as a goddess stands;\nWith wondering eyes the hero she survey\u2019d,\nAnd graceful thus began the royal maid:\n\n\u201cHail, godlike stranger! and when heaven restores\nTo thy fond wish thy long-expected shores,\nThis ever grateful in remembrance bear:\nTo me thou owest, to me, the vital air.\u201d\n\n\u201cO royal maid! (Ulysses straight returns)\nWhose worth the splendours of thy race adorns,\nSo may dread Jove (whose arm in vengeance forms\nThe writhen bolt, and blackens heaven with storms),\nRestore me safe, through weary wanderings toss\u2019d,\nTo my dear country\u2019s ever-pleasing coast,\nAs while the spirit in this bosom glows,\nTo thee, my goddess, I address my vows;\nMy life, thy gift I boast!\u201d He said, and sate\nFast by Alcinous on a throne of state.\n\nNow each partakes the feast, the wine prepares,\nPortions the food, and each his portion shares.\nThe bard a herald guides; the gazing throng\nPay low obeisance as he moves along:\nBeneath a sculptur\u2019d arch he sits enthroned,\nThe peers encircling form an awful round.\nThen, from the chine, Ulysses carves with art\nDelicious food, an honorary part:\n\u201cThis, let the master of the lyre receive,\nA pledge of love! \u2019tis all a wretch can give.\nLives there a man beneath the spacious skies\nWho sacred honours to the bard denies?\nThe Muse the bard inspires, exalts his mind;\nThe muse indulgent loves the harmonious kind.\u201d\n\nThe herald to his hand the charge conveys,\nNot fond of flattery, nor unpleased with praise.\n\nWhen now the rage of hunger was allay\u2019d,\nThus to the lyrist wise Ulysses said:\n\u201cO more than man! thy soul the muse inspires,\nOr Ph\u0153bus animates with all his fires;\nFor who, by Ph\u0153bus uninform\u2019d, could know\nThe woe of Greece, and sing so well the woe?\nJust to the tale, as present at the fray,\nOr taught the labours of the dreadful day:\nThe song recalls past horrors to my eyes,\nAnd bids proud Ilion from her ashes rise.\nOnce more harmonious strike the sounding string,\nThe Epaean fabric, framed by Pallas, sing:\nHow stern Ulysses, furious to destroy,\nWith latent heroes sack\u2019d imperial Troy.\nIf faithful thou record the tale of Fame,\nThe god himself inspires thy breast with flame\nAnd mine shall be the task henceforth to raise\nIn every land thy monument of praise.\u201d\n\nFull of the god he raised his lofty strain:\nHow the Greeks rush\u2019d tumultuous to the main;\nHow blazing tents illumined half the skies,\nWhile from the shores the winged navy flies;\nHow e\u2019en in Ilion\u2019s walls, in deathful bands,\nCame the stern Greeks by Troy\u2019s assisting hands:\nAll Troy up-heaved the steed; of differing mind,\nVarious the Trojans counsell\u2019d: part consign\u2019d\nThe monster to the sword, part sentence gave\nTo plunge it headlong in the whelming wave;\nThe unwise award to lodge it in the towers,\nAn offering sacred to the immortal powers:\nThe unwise prevail, they lodge it in the walls,\nAnd by the gods\u2019 decree proud Ilion falls:\nDestruction enters in the treacherous wood,\nAnd vengeful slaughter, fierce for human blood.\n\nHe sung the Greeks stern-issuing from the steed,\nHow Ilion burns, how all her fathers bleed;\nHow to thy dome, Deiphobus! ascends\nThe Spartan king; how Ithacus attends\n(Horrid as Mars); and how with dire alarms\nHe fights\u2014subdues, for Pallas strings his arms\n\nThus while he sung, Ulysses\u2019 griefs renew,\nTears bathe his cheeks, and tears the ground bedew\nAs some fond matron views in mortal fight\nHer husband falling in his country\u2019s right;\nFrantic through clashing swords she runs, she flies,\nAs ghastly pale he groans, and faints and dies;\nClose to his breast she grovels on the ground,\nAnd bathes with floods of tears the gaping wound;\nShe cries, she shrieks: the fierce insulting foe\nRelentless mocks her violence of woe:\nTo chains condemn\u2019d, as wildly she deplores;\nA widow, and a slave on foreign shores.\n\nSo from the sluices of Ulysses\u2019 eyes\nFast fell the tears, and sighs succeeded sighs:\nConceal\u2019d he grieved: the king observed alone\nThe silent tear, and heard the secret groan;\nThen to the bard aloud: \u201cO cease to sing,\nDumb be thy voice, and mute the tuneful string;\nTo every note his tears responsive flow,\nAnd his great heart heaves with tumultuous woe;\nThy lay too deeply moves: then cease the lay,\nAnd o\u2019er the banquet every heart be gay:\nThis social right demands: for him the sails,\nFloating in air, invite the impelling gales:\nHis are the gifts of love: the wise and good\nReceive the stranger as a brother\u2019s blood.\n\n\u201cBut, friend, discover faithful what I crave;\nArtful concealment ill becomes the brave:\nSay what thy birth, and what the name you bore,\nImposed by parents in the natal hour?\n(For from the natal hour distinctive names,\nOne common right, the great and lowly claims:)\nSay from what city, from what regions toss\u2019d,\nAnd what inhabitants those regions boast?\nSo shalt thou instant reach the realm assign\u2019d,\nIn wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind;\nNo helm secures their course, no pilot guides;\nLike man intelligent, they plough the tides,\nConscious of every coast, and every bay,\nThat lies beneath the sun\u2019s all-seeing ray;\nThough clouds and darkness veil the encumber\u2019d sky,\nFearless through darkness and through clouds they fly;\nThough tempests rage, though rolls the swelling main,\nThe seas may roll, the tempests rage in vain;\nE\u2019en the stern god that o\u2019er the waves presides,\nSafe as they pass, and safe repass the tides,\nWith fury burns; while careless they convey\nPromiscuous every guest to every bay,\nThese ears have heard my royal sire disclose\nA dreadful story, big with future woes;\nHow Neptune raged, and how, by his command,\nFirm rooted in a surge a ship should stand\nA monument of wrath; how mound on mound\nShould bury these proud towers beneath the ground.\nBut this the gods may frustrate or fulfil,\nAs suits the purpose of the Eternal Will.\nBut say through what waste regions hast thou stray\u2019d\nWhat customs noted, and what coasts survey\u2019d;\nPossess\u2019d by wild barbarians fierce in arms,\nOr men whose bosom tender pity warms?\nSay why the fate of Troy awaked thy cares,\nWhy heaved thy bosom, and why flowed thy tears?\nJust are the ways of Heaven: from Heaven proceed\nThe woes of man; Heaven doom\u2019d the Greeks to bleed,\nA theme of future song! Say, then, if slain\nSome dear-loved brother press\u2019d the Phrygian plain?\nOr bled some friend, who bore a brother\u2019s part,\nAnd claim\u2019d by merit, not by blood, the heart?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IX.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE ADVENTURES OF THE CICONS, LOTOPHAGI AND CYCLOPS.\n\n\nUlysses begins the relation of his adventures: how, after the\ndestruction of Troy, he with his companions made an incursion on the\nCicons, by whom they were repulsed; and, meeting with a storm, were\ndriven to the coast of the Lotophagi. From there they sailed to the\nland of the Cyclops, whose manners and situation are particularly\ncharacterised. The giant Polyphemus and his cave described; the usage\nUlysses and his companions met with there; and, lastly, the method and\nartifice by which he escaped.\n\n\nThen thus Ulysses: \u201cThou whom first in sway,\nAs first in virtue, these thy realms obey;\nHow sweet the products of a peaceful reign!\nThe heaven-taught poet and enchanting strain;\nThe well-filled palace, the perpetual feast,\nA land rejoicing, and a people bless\u2019d!\nHow goodly seems it ever to employ\nMan\u2019s social days in union and in joy;\nThe plenteous hoard high-heap\u2019d with cates divine,\nAnd o\u2019er the foaming bowl the laughing wine!\n\n\u201cAmid these joys, why seeks thy mind to know\nThe unhappy series of a wanderer\u2019s woe?\nRememberance sad, whose image to review,\nAlas, I must open all my wounds anew!\nAnd oh, what first, what last shall I relate,\nOf woes unnumbered sent by Heaven and Fate?\n\n\u201cKnow first the man (though now a wretch distress\u2019d)\nWho hopes thee, monarch, for his future guest.\nBehold Ulysses! no ignoble name,\nEarth sounds my wisdom and high heaven my fame.\n\n\u201cMy native soil is Ithaca the fair,\nWhere high Neritus waves his woods in air;\nDulichium, Same and Zaccynthus crown\u2019d\nWith shady mountains spread their isles around.\n(These to the north and night\u2019s dark regions run,\nThose to Aurora and the rising sun).\nLow lies our isle, yet bless\u2019d in fruitful stores;\nStrong are her sons, though rocky are her shores;\nAnd none, ah none no lovely to my sight,\nOf all the lands that heaven o\u2019erspreads with light.\nIn vain Calypso long constrained my stay,\nWith sweet, reluctant, amorous delay;\nWith all her charms as vainly Circe strove,\nAnd added magic to secure my love.\nIn pomps or joys, the palace or the grot,\nMy country\u2019s image never was forgot;\nMy absent parents rose before my sight,\nAnd distant lay contentment and delight.\n\n\u201cHear, then, the woes which mighty Jove ordain\u2019d\nTo wait my passage from the Trojan land.\nThe winds from Ilion to the Cicons\u2019 shore,\nBeneath cold Ismarus our vessels bore.\nWe boldly landed on the hostile place,\nAnd sack\u2019d the city, and destroy\u2019d the race,\nTheir wives made captive, their possessions shared,\nAnd every soldier found a like reward\nI then advised to fly; not so the rest,\nWho stay\u2019d to revel, and prolong the feast:\nThe fatted sheep and sable bulls they slay,\nAnd bowls flow round, and riot wastes the day.\nMeantime the Cicons, to their holds retired,\nCall on the Cicons, with new fury fired;\nWith early morn the gather\u2019d country swarms,\nAnd all the continent is bright with arms;\nThick as the budding leaves or rising flowers\nO\u2019erspread the land, when spring descends in showers:\nAll expert soldiers, skill\u2019d on foot to dare,\nOr from the bounding courser urge the war.\nNow fortune changes (so the Fates ordain);\nOur hour was come to taste our share of pain.\nClose at the ships the bloody fight began,\nWounded they wound, and man expires on man.\nLong as the morning sun increasing bright\nO\u2019er heaven\u2019s pure azure spreads the glowing light,\nPromiscuous death the form of war confounds,\nEach adverse battle gored with equal wounds;\nBut when his evening wheels o\u2019erhung the main,\nThen conquest crown\u2019d the fierce Ciconian train.\nSix brave companions from each ship we lost,\nThe rest escape in haste, and quit the coast,\nWith sails outspread we fly the unequal strife,\nSad for their loss, but joyful of our life.\nYet as we fled, our fellows\u2019 rites we paid,\nAnd thrice we call\u2019d on each unhappy shade,\n\n\u201cMeanwhile the god, whose hand the thunder forms,\nDrives clouds on clouds, and blackens heaven with storms:\nWide o\u2019er the waste the rage of Boreas sweeps,\nAnd night rush\u2019d headlong on the shaded deeps.\nNow here, now there, the giddy ships are borne,\nAnd all the rattling shrouds in fragments torn.\nWe furl\u2019d the sail, we plied the labouring oar,\nTook down our masts, and row\u2019d our ships to shore.\nTwo tedious days and two long nights we lay,\nO\u2019erwatch\u2019d and batter\u2019d in the naked bay.\nBut the third morning when Aurora brings,\nWe rear the masts, we spread the canvas wings;\nRefresh\u2019d and careless on the deck reclined,\nWe sit, and trust the pilot and the wind.\nThen to my native country had I sail\u2019d:\nBut, the cape doubled, adverse winds prevail\u2019d.\nStrong was the tide, which by the northern blast\nImpell\u2019d, our vessels on Cythera cast,\nNine days our fleet the uncertain tempest bore\nFar in wide ocean, and from sight of shore:\nThe tenth we touch\u2019d, by various errors toss\u2019d,\nThe land of Lotus and the flowery coast.\nWe climb\u2019d the beach, and springs of water found,\nThen spread our hasty banquet on the ground.\nThree men were sent, deputed from the crew\n(A herald one) the dubious coast to view,\nAnd learn what habitants possess\u2019d the place.\nThey went, and found a hospitable race:\nNot prone to ill, nor strange to foreign guest,\nThey eat, they drink, and nature gives the feast\nThe trees around them all their food produce:\nLotus the name: divine, nectareous juice!\n(Thence call\u2019d Lotophagi); which whose tastes,\nInsatiate riots in the sweet repasts,\nNor other home, nor other care intends,\nBut quits his house, his country, and his friends.\nThe three we sent, from off the enchanting ground\nWe dragg\u2019d reluctant, and by force we bound.\nThe rest in haste forsook the pleasing shore,\nOr, the charm tasted, had return\u2019d no more.\nNow placed in order on their banks, they sweep\nThe sea\u2019s smooth face, and cleave the hoary deep:\nWith heavy hearts we labour through the tide,\nTo coasts unknown, and oceans yet untried.\n\n\u201cThe land of Cyclops first, a savage kind,\nNor tamed by manners, nor by laws confined:\nUntaught to plant, to turn the glebe, and sow,\nThey all their products to free nature owe:\nThe soil, untill\u2019d, a ready harvest yields,\nWith wheat and barley wave the golden fields;\nSpontaneous wines from weighty clusters pour,\nAnd Jove descends in each prolific shower,\nBy these no statues and no rights are known,\nNo council held, no monarch fills the throne;\nBut high on hills, or airy cliffs, they dwell,\nOr deep in caves whose entrance leads to hell.\nEach rules his race, his neighbour not his care,\nHeedless of others, to his own severe.\n\n\u201cOpposed to the Cyclopean coast, there lay\nAn isle, whose hill their subject fields survey;\nIts name Lachaea, crown\u2019d with many a grove,\nWhere savage goats through pathless thickets rove:\nNo needy mortals here, with hunger bold,\nOr wretched hunters through the wintry cold\nPursue their flight; but leave them safe to bound\nFrom hill to hill, o\u2019er all the desert ground.\nNor knows the soil to feed the fleecy care,\nOr feels the labours of the crooked share;\nBut uninhabited, untill\u2019d, unsown,\nIt lies, and breeds the bleating goat alone.\nFor there no vessel with vermilion prore,\nOr bark of traffic, glides from shore to shore;\nThe rugged race of savages, unskill\u2019d\nThe seas to traverse, or the ships to build,\nGaze on the coast, nor cultivate the soil,\nUnlearn\u2019d in all the industrious art of toil,\nYet here all products and all plants abound,\nSprung from the fruitful genius of the ground;\nFields waving high with heavy crops are seen,\nAnd vines that flourish in eternal green,\nRefreshing meads along the murmuring main,\nAnd fountains streaming down the fruitful plain.\n\n\u201cA port there is, inclosed on either side,\nWhere ships may rest, unanchor\u2019d and untied;\nTill the glad mariners incline to sail,\nAnd the sea whitens with the rising gale,\nHigh at the head, from out the cavern\u2019d rock,\nIn living rills a gushing fountain broke:\nAround it, and above, for ever green,\nThe busy alders form\u2019d a shady scene;\nHither some favouring god, beyond our thought,\nThrough all surrounding shade our navy brought;\nFor gloomy night descended on the main,\nNor glimmer\u2019d Phoebe in the ethereal plain:\nBut all unseen the clouded island lay,\nAnd all unseen the surge and rolling sea,\nTill safe we anchor\u2019d in the shelter\u2019d bay:\nOur sails we gather\u2019d, cast our cables o\u2019er,\nAnd slept secure along the sandy shore.\nSoon as again the rosy morning shone,\nReveal\u2019d the landscape and the scene unknown,\nWith wonder seized, we view the pleasing ground,\nAnd walk delighted, and expatiate round.\nRoused by the woodland nymphs at early dawn,\nThe mountain goats came bounding o\u2019er the lawn:\nIn haste our fellows to the ships repair,\nFor arms and weapons of the sylvan war;\nStraight in three squadrons all our crew we part,\nAnd bend the bow, or wing the missile dart;\nThe bounteous gods afford a copious prey,\nAnd nine fat goats each vessel bears away:\nThe royal bark had ten. Our ships complete\nWe thus supplied (for twelve were all the fleet).\n\n\u201cHere, till the setting sun roll\u2019d down the light,\nWe sat indulging in the genial rite:\nNor wines were wanting; those from ample jars\nWe drain\u2019d, the prize of our Ciconian wars.\nThe land of Cyclops lay in prospect near:\nThe voice of goats and bleating flocks we hear,\nAnd from their mountains rising smokes appear.\nNow sunk the sun, and darkness cover\u2019d o\u2019er\nThe face of things: along the sea-beat shore\nSatiate we slept: but, when the sacred dawn\nArising glitter\u2019d o\u2019er the dewy lawn,\nI call\u2019d my fellows, and these words address\u2019d\n\u2018My dear associates, here indulge your rest;\nWhile, with my single ship, adventurous, I\nGo forth, the manners of yon men to try;\nWhether a race unjust, of barbarous might,\nRude and unconscious of a stranger\u2019s right;\nOr such who harbour pity in their breast,\nRevere the gods, and succour the distress\u2019d,\u2019\n\n\u201cThis said, I climb\u2019d my vessel\u2019s lofty side;\nMy train obey\u2019d me, and the ship untied.\nIn order seated on their banks, they sweep\nNeptune\u2019s smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep.\nWhen to the nearest verge of land we drew,\nFast by the sea a lonely cave we view,\nHigh, and with darkening laurels covered o\u2019er;\nWhere sheep and goats lay slumbering round the shore:\nNear this, a fence of marble from the rock,\nBrown with o\u2019erarching pine and spreading oak.\nA giant shepherd here his flock maintains\nFar from the rest, and solitary reigns,\nIn shelter thick of horrid shade reclined;\nAnd gloomy mischiefs labour in his mind.\nA form enormous! far unlike the race\nOf human birth, in stature, or in face;\nAs some lone mountain\u2019s monstrous growth he stood,\nCrown\u2019d with rough thickets, and a nodding wood.\nI left my vessel at the point of land,\nAnd close to guard it, gave our crew command:\nWith only twelve, the boldest and the best,\nI seek the adventure, and forsake the rest.\nThen took a goatskin fill\u2019d with precious wine,\nThe gift of Maron of Evantheus\u2019 line\n(The priest of Ph\u0153bus at the Ismarian shrine).\nIn sacred shade his honour\u2019d mansion stood\nAmidst Apollo\u2019s consecrated wood;\nHim, and his house, Heaven moved my mind to save,\nAnd costly presents in return he gave;\nSeven golden talents to perfection wrought,\nA silver bowl that held a copious draught,\nAnd twelve large vessels of unmingled wine,\nMellifluous, undecaying, and divine!\nWhich now, some ages from his race conceal\u2019d,\nThe hoary sire in gratitude reveal\u2019d.\nSuch was the wine: to quench whose fervent steam\nScarce twenty measures from the living stream\nTo cool one cup sufficed: the goblet crown\u2019d\nBreathed aromatic fragrances around.\nOf this an ample vase we heaved aboard,\nAnd brought another with provisions stored.\nMy soul foreboded I should find the bower\nOf some fell monster, fierce with barbarous power;\nSome rustic wretch, who lived in Heaven\u2019s despite,\nContemning laws, and trampling on the right.\nThe cave we found, but vacant all within\n(His flock the giant tended on the green):\nBut round the grot we gaze; and all we view,\nIn order ranged our admiration drew:\nThe bending shelves with loads of cheeses press\u2019d,\nThe folded flocks each separate from the rest\n(The larger here, and there the lesser lambs,\nThe new-fallen young here bleating for their dams:\nThe kid distinguish\u2019d from the lambkin lies);\nThe cavern echoes with responsive cries.\nCapacious chargers all around were laid.\nFull pails, and vessels of the milking trade.\nWith fresh provisions hence our fleet to store\nMy friends advise me, and to quit the shore.\nOr drive a flock of sheep and goats away,\nConsult our safety, and put off to sea.\nTheir wholesome counsel rashly I declined,\nCurious to view the man of monstrous kind,\nAnd try what social rites a savage lends:\nDire rites, alas! and fatal to my friends\n\n\u201cThen first a fire we kindle, and prepare\nFor his return with sacrifice and prayer;\nThe loaden shelves afford us full repast;\nWe sit expecting. Lo! he comes at last,\nNear half a forest on his back he bore,\nAnd cast the ponderous burden at the door.\nIt thunder\u2019d as it fell. We trembled then,\nAnd sought the deep recesses of the den.\nNew driven before him through the arching rock,\nCame tumbling, heaps on heaps, the unnumber\u2019d flock.\nBig-udder\u2019d ewes, and goats of female kind\n(The males were penn\u2019d in outward courts behind);\nThen, heaved on high, a rock\u2019s enormous weight\nTo the cave\u2019s mouth he roll\u2019d, and closed the gate\n(Scarce twenty four-wheel\u2019d cars, compact and strong,\nThe massy load could bear, or roll along).\nHe next betakes him to his evening cares,\nAnd, sitting down, to milk his flocks prepares;\nOf half their udders eases first the dams,\nThen to the mother\u2019s teat submits the lambs;\nHalf the white stream to hardening cheese be press\u2019d,\nAnd high in wicker-baskets heap\u2019d: the rest,\nReserved in bowls, supplied his nightly feast.\nHis labour done, he fired the pile, that gave\nA sudden blaze, and lighted all the cave.\nWe stand discover\u2019d by the rising fires;\nAskance the giant glares, and thus inquires:\n\n\u201c\u2018What are ye, guests? on what adventure, say,\nThus far ye wander through the watery way?\nPirates perhaps, who seek through seas unknown\nThe lives of others, and expose your own?\u2019\n\n\u201cHis voice like thunder through the cavern sounds;\nMy bold companions thrilling fear confounds,\nAppall\u2019d at sight of more than mortal man!\nAt length, with heart recover\u2019d, I began:\n\n\u201c\u2018From Troy\u2019s famed fields, sad wanderers o\u2019er the main,\nBehold the relics of the Grecian train:\nThrough various seas, by various perils toss\u2019d,\nAnd forced by storms, unwilling on your coast;\nFar from our destined course and native land,\nSuch was our fate, and such high Jove\u2019s command!\nNor what we are befits us to disclaim,\nAtrides\u2019 friends (in arms a mighty name),\nWho taught proud Troy and all her sons to bow;\nVictors of late, but humble suppliants now!\nLow at thy knee thy succour we implore;\nRespect us, human, and relieve us, poor.\nAt least, some hospitable gift bestow;\n\u2019Tis what the happy to the unhappy owe;\n\u2019Tis what the gods require: those gods revere;\nThe poor and stranger are their constant care;\nTo Jove their cause, and their revenge belongs,\nHe wanders with them, and he feels their wrongs.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Fools that ye are (the savage thus replies,\nHis inward fury blazing at his eyes),\nOr strangers, distant far from our abodes,\nTo bid me reverence or regard the gods.\nKnow then, we Cyclops are a race above\nThose air-bred people, and their goat-nursed Jove;\nAnd learn, our power proceeds with thee and thine,\nNot as he wills, but as ourselves incline.\nBut answer, the good ship that brought ye o\u2019er,\nWhere lies she anchor\u2019d? near or off the shore?\u2019\n\n\u201cThus he. His meditated fraud I find\n(Versed in the turns of various human-kind):\nAnd, cautious thus: \u2018Against a dreadful rock,\nFast by your shore the gallant vessel broke.\nScarce with these few I \u2019scaped; of all my train,\nWhom angry Neptune, whelm\u2019d beneath the main,\nThe scattered wreck the winds blew back again.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe answer\u2019d with his deed: his bloody hand\nSnatch\u2019d two, unhappy! of my martial band;\nAnd dash\u2019d like dogs against the stony floor:\nThe pavement swims with brains and mingled gore.\nTorn limb from limb, he spreads his horrid feast,\nAnd fierce devours it like a mountain beast:\nHe sucks the marrow, and the blood he drains,\nNor entrails, flesh, nor solid bone remains.\nWe see the death from which we cannot move,\nAnd humbled groan beneath the hand of Jove.\nHis ample maw with human carnage fill\u2019d,\nA milky deluge next the giant swill\u2019d;\nThen stretch\u2019d in length o\u2019er half the cavern\u2019d rock,\nLay senseless, and supine, amidst the flock.\nTo seize the time, and with a sudden wound\nTo fix the slumbering monster to the ground,\nMy soul impels me! and in act I stand\nTo draw the sword; but wisdom held my hand.\nA deed so rash had finished all our fate,\nNo mortal forces from the lofty gate\nCould roll the rock. In hopeless grief we lay,\nAnd sigh, expecting the return of day.\nNow did the rosy-fingered morn arise,\nAnd shed her sacred light along the skies;\nHe wakes, he lights the fire, he milks the dams,\nAnd to the mother\u2019s teats submits the lambs.\nThe task thus finish\u2019d of his morning hours,\nTwo more he snatches, murders, and devours.\nThen pleased, and whistling, drives his flock before,\nRemoves the rocky mountain from the door,\nAnd shuts again: with equal ease disposed,\nAs a light quiver\u2019s lid is oped and closed.\nHis giant voice the echoing region fills:\nHis flocks, obedient, spread o\u2019er all the hills.\n\n\u201cThus left behind, even in the last despair\nI thought, devised, and Pallas heard my prayer.\nRevenge, and doubt, and caution, work\u2019d my breast;\nBut this of many counsels seem\u2019d the best:\nThe monster\u2019s club within the cave I spied,\nA tree of stateliest growth, and yet undried,\nGreen from the wood: of height and bulk so vast,\nThe largest ship might claim it for a mast.\nThis shorten\u2019d of its top, I gave my train\nA fathom\u2019s length, to shape it and to plane;\nThe narrower end I sharpen\u2019d to a spire,\nWhose point we harden\u2019d with the force of fire,\nAnd hid it in the dust that strew\u2019d the cave,\nThen to my few companions, bold and brave,\nProposed, who first the venturous deed should try,\nIn the broad orbit of his monstrous eye\nTo plunge the brand and twirl the pointed wood,\nWhen slumber next should tame the man of blood.\nJust as I wished, the lots were cast on four:\nMyself the fifth. We stand and wait the hour.\nHe comes with evening: all his fleecy flock\nBefore him march, and pour into the rock:\nNot one, or male or female, stayed behind\n(So fortune chanced, or so some god designed);\nThen heaving high the stone\u2019s unwieldy weight,\nHe roll\u2019d it on the cave and closed the gate.\nFirst down he sits, to milk the woolly dams,\nAnd then permits their udder to the lambs.\nNext seized two wretches more, and headlong cast,\nBrain\u2019d on the rock; his second dire repast.\nI then approach\u2019d him reeking with their gore,\nAnd held the brimming goblet foaming o\u2019er;\n\u2018Cyclop! since human flesh has been thy feast,\nNow drain this goblet, potent to digest;\nKnow hence what treasures in our ship we lost,\nAnd what rich liquors other climates boast.\nWe to thy shore the precious freight shall bear,\nIf home thou send us and vouchsafe to spare.\nBut oh! thus furious, thirsting thus for gore,\nThe sons of men shall ne\u2019er approach thy shore,\nAnd never shalt thou taste this nectar more,\u2019\n\n\u201cHe heard, he took, and pouring down his throat,\nDelighted, swill\u2019d the large luxurious draught,\n\u2018More! give me more (he cried): the boon be thine,\nWhoe\u2019er thou art that bear\u2019st celestial wine!\nDeclare thy name: not mortal is this juice,\nSuch as the unbless\u2019d Cyclopaean climes produce\n(Though sure our vine the largest cluster yields,\nAnd Jove\u2019s scorn\u2019d thunder serves to drench our fields);\nBut this descended from the bless\u2019d abodes,\nA rill of nectar, streaming from the gods.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe said, and greedy grasped the heady bowl,\nThrice drained, and poured the deluge on his soul.\nHis sense lay covered with the dozy fume;\nWhile thus my fraudful speech I reassume.\n\u2018Thy promised boon, O Cyclop! now I claim,\nAnd plead my title; Noman is my name.\nBy that distinguish\u2019d from my tender years,\n\u2019Tis what my parents call me, and my peers.\n\n\u201cThe giant then: \u2018Our promis\u2019d grace receive,\nThe hospitable boon we mean to give:\nWhen all thy wretched crew have felt my power,\nNoman shall be the last I will devour.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe said: then nodding with the fumes of wine\nDroop\u2019d his huge head, and snoring lay supine.\nHis neck obliquely o\u2019er his shoulders hung,\nPress\u2019d with the weight of sleep that tames the strong:\nThere belch\u2019d the mingled streams of wine and blood,\nAnd human flesh, his indigested food.\nSudden I stir the embers, and inspire\nWith animating breath the seeds of fire:\nEach drooping spirit with bold words repair,\nAnd urged my train the dreadful deed to dare.\nThe stake now glow\u2019d beneath the burning bed\n(Green as it was) and sparkled fiery red,\nThen forth the vengeful instrument I bring;\nWith beating hearts my fellows form a ring.\nUrged my some present god, they swift let fall\nThe pointed torment on his visual ball.\nMyself above them from a rising ground\nGuide the sharp stake, and twirl it round and round.\nAs when a shipwright stands his workmen o\u2019er,\nWho ply the wimble, some huge beam to bore;\nUrged on all hands, it nimbly spins about,\nThe grain deep-piercing till it scoops it out:\nIn his broad eye he whirls the fiery wood;\nFrom the pierced pupil spouts the boiling blood;\nSinged are his brows; the scorching lids grow black;\nThe jelly bubbles, and the fibres crack.\nAnd as when armourers temper in the ford\nThe keen-edged pole-axe, or the shining sword,\nThe red-hot metal hisses in the lake,\nThus in his eye-ball hiss\u2019d the plunging stake.\nHe sends a dreadful groan, the rocks around\nThrough all their inmost winding caves resound.\nScared we recoiled. Forth with frantic hand,\nHe tore and dash\u2019d on earth and gory brand;\nThen calls the Cyclops, all that round him dwell,\nWith voice like thunder, and a direful yell.\nFrom all their dens the one-eyed race repair,\nFrom rifted rocks, and mountains bleak in air.\nAll haste assembled, at his well-known roar,\nInquire the cause, and crowd the cavern door.\n\n\u201c\u2018What hurts thee, Polypheme? what strange affright\nThus breaks our slumbers, and disturbs the night?\nDoes any mortal, in the unguarded hour\nOf sleep, oppress thee, or by fraud or power?\nOr thieves insidious thy fair flock surprise?\u2019\nThus they; the Cyclop from his den replies:\n\n\u201c\u2018Friends, Noman kills me; Noman in the hour\nOf sleep, oppresses me with fraudful power.\u2019\n\u2018If no man hurt thee, but the hand divine\nInflict disease, it fits thee to resign:\nTo Jove or to thy father Neptune pray.\u2019\nThe brethren cried, and instant strode away.\n\u201cJoy touch\u2019d my secret soul and conscious heart,\nPleased with the effect of conduct and of art.\nMeantime the Cyclop, raging with his wound,\nSpreads his wide arms, and searches round and round:\nAt last, the stone removing from the gate,\nWith hands extended in the midst he sate;\nAnd search\u2019d each passing sheep, and felt it o\u2019er,\nSecure to seize us ere we reach\u2019d the door\n(Such as his shallow wit he deem\u2019d was mine);\nBut secret I revolved the deep design:\n\u2019Twas for our lives my labouring bosom wrought;\nEach scheme I turn\u2019d, and sharpen\u2019d every thought;\nThis way and that I cast to save my friends,\nTill one resolve my varying counsel ends.\n\n\u201cStrong were the rams, with native purple fair,\nWell fed, and largest of the fleecy care,\nThese, three and three, with osier bands we tied\n(The twining bands the Cyclop\u2019s bed supplied);\nThe midmost bore a man, the outward two\nSecured each side: so bound we all the crew,\nOne ram remain\u2019d, the leader of the flock:\nIn his deep fleece my grasping hands I lock,\nAnd fast beneath, in wooly curls inwove,\nThere cling implicit, and confide in Jove.\nWhen rosy morning glimmer\u2019d o\u2019er the dales,\nHe drove to pasture all the lusty males:\nThe ewes still folded, with distended thighs\nUnmilk\u2019d lay bleating in distressful cries.\nBut heedless of those cares, with anguish stung,\nHe felt their fleeces as they pass\u2019d along\n(Fool that he was.) and let them safely go,\nAll unsuspecting of their freight below.\n\n\u201cThe master ram at last approach\u2019d the gate,\nCharged with his wool, and with Ulysses\u2019 fate.\nHim while he pass\u2019d, the monster blind bespoke:\n\u2018What makes my ram the lag of all the flock?\nFirst thou wert wont to crop the flowery mead,\nFirst to the field and river\u2019s bank to lead,\nAnd first with stately step at evening hour\nThy fleecy fellows usher to their bower.\nNow far the last, with pensive pace and slow\nThou movest, as conscious of thy master\u2019s woe!\nSeest thou these lids that now unfold in vain?\n(The deed of Noman and his wicked train!)\nOh! did\u2019st thou feel for thy afflicted lord,\nAnd would but Fate the power of speech afford.\nSoon might\u2019st thou tell me, where in secret here\nThe dastard lurks, all trembling with his fear:\nSwung round and round, and dash\u2019d from rock to rock,\nHis battered brains should on the pavement smoke\nNo ease, no pleasure my sad heart receives,\nWhile such a monster as vile Noman lives.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe giant spoke, and through the hollow rock\nDismiss\u2019d the ram, the father of the flock.\nNo sooner freed, and through the inclosure pass\u2019d,\nFirst I release myself, my fellows last:\nFat sheep and goats in throngs we drive before,\nAnd reach our vessel on the winding shore.\nWith joy the sailors view their friends return\u2019d,\nAnd hail us living whom as dead they mourn\u2019d\nBig tears of transport stand in every eye:\nI check their fondness, and command to fly.\nAboard in haste they heave the wealthy sheep,\nAnd snatch their oars, and rush into the deep.\n\n\u201cNow off at sea, and from the shallows clear,\nAs far as human voice could reach the ear,\nWith taunts the distant giant I accost:\n\u2018Hear me, O Cyclop! hear, ungracious host!\n\u2019Twas on no coward, no ignoble slave,\nThou meditatest thy meal in yonder cave;\nBut one, the vengeance fated from above\nDoom\u2019d to inflict; the instrument of Jove.\nThy barbarous breach of hospitable bands,\nThe god, the god revenges by my hands.\u2019\n\n\u201cThese words the Cyclop\u2019s burning rage provoke;\nFrom the tall hill he rends a pointed rock;\nHigh o\u2019er the billows flew the massy load,\nAnd near the ship came thundering on the flood.\nIt almost brush\u2019d the helm, and fell before:\nThe whole sea shook, and refluent beat the shore,\nThe strong concussion on the heaving tide\nRoll\u2019d back the vessel to the island\u2019s side:\nAgain I shoved her off: our fate to fly,\nEach nerve we stretch, and every oar we ply.\nJust \u2019scaped impending death, when now again\nWe twice as far had furrow\u2019d back the main,\nOnce more I raise my voice; my friends, afraid,\nWith mild entreaties my design dissuade:\n\u2018What boots the godless giant to provoke,\nWhose arm may sink us at a single stroke?\nAlready when the dreadful rock he threw,\nOld Ocean shook, and back his surges flew.\nThe sounding voice directs his aim again;\nThe rock o\u2019erwhelms us, and we \u2019scaped in vain.\u2019\n\n\u201cBut I, of mind elate, and scorning fear,\nThus with new taunts insult the monster\u2019s ear:\n\u2018Cyclop! if any, pitying thy disgrace.\nAsk, who disfigured thus that eyeless face?\nSay \u2019twas Ulysses: \u2019twas his deed declare,\nLaertes\u2019 son, of Ithaca the fair;\nUlysses, far in fighting fields renown\u2019d,\nBefore whose arm Troy tumbled to the ground.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe astonished savage with a roar replies:\n\u2018Oh heavens! oh faith of ancient prophecies!\nThis, Telemus Eurymedes foretold\n(The mighty seer who on these hills grew old;\nSkill\u2019d the dark fates of mortals to declare,\nAnd learn\u2019d in all wing\u2019d omens of the air);\nLong since he menaced, such was Fate\u2019s command;\nAnd named Ulysses as the destined hand.\nI deem\u2019d some godlike giant to behold,\nOr lofty hero, haughty, brave, and bold;\nNot this weak pigmy wretch, of mean design,\nWho, not by strength subdued me, but by wine.\nBut come, accept our gifts, and join to pray\nGreat Neptune\u2019s blessing on the watery way;\nFor his I am, and I the lineage own;\nThe immortal father no less boasts the son.\nHis power can heal me, and relight my eye;\nAnd only his, of all the gods on high.\u2019\n\u201c\u2018Oh! could this arm (I thus aloud rejoin\u2019d)\nFrom that vast bulk dislodge thy bloody mind,\nAnd send thee howling to the realms of night!\nAs sure as Neptune cannot give thee sight.\u2019\n\u201cThus I; while raging he repeats his cries,\nWith hands uplifted to the starry skies?\n\u2018Hear me, O Neptune; thou whose arms are hurl\u2019d\nFrom shore to shore, and gird the solid world;\nIf thine I am, nor thou my birth disown,\nAnd if the unhappy Cyclop be thy son,\nLet not Ulysses breathe his native air,\nLaertes\u2019 son, of Ithaca the fair.\nIf to review his country be his fate,\nBe it through toils and sufferings long and late;\nHis lost companions let him first deplore;\nSome vessel, not his own, transport him o\u2019er;\nAnd when at home from foreign sufferings freed,\nMore near and deep, domestic woes succeed!\u2019\nWith imprecations thus he fill\u2019d the air,\nAnd angry Neptune heard the unrighteous prayer,\nA larger rock then heaving from the plain,\nHe whirl\u2019d it round: it sung across the main;\nIt fell, and brush\u2019d the stern: the billows roar,\nShake at the weight, and refluent beat the shore.\nWith all our force we kept aloof to sea,\nAnd gain\u2019d the island where our vessels lay.\nOur sight the whole collected navy cheer\u2019d.\nWho, waiting long, by turns had hoped and fear\u2019d.\nThere disembarking on the green sea side,\nWe land our cattle, and the spoil divide;\nOf these due shares to every sailor fall;\nThe master ram was voted mine by all;\nAnd him (the guardian of Ulysses\u2019 fate)\nWith pious mind to heaven I consecrate.\nBut the great god, whose thunder rends the skies,\nAverse, beholds the smoking sacrifice;\nAnd sees me wandering still from coast to coast,\nAnd all my vessels, all my people, lost!\nWhile thoughtless we indulge the genial rite,\nAs plenteous cates and flowing bowls invite;\nTill evening Ph\u0153bus roll\u2019d away the light;\nStretch\u2019d on the shore in careless ease we rest,\nTill ruddy morning purpled o\u2019er the east;\nThen from their anchors all our ships unbind,\nAnd mount the decks, and call the willing wind.\nNow, ranged in order on our banks we sweep.\nWith hasty strokes the hoarse-resounding deep;\nBlind to the future, pensive with our fears,\nGlad for the living, for the dead in tears.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBOOK X.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nADVENTURES WITH AEOLUS, THE LAESTRYGONS, AND CIRCE.\n\n\nUlysses arrives at the island of \u00c6olus, who gives him prosperous\nwinds, and incloses the adverse ones in a bag, which his companions\nuntying, they are driven back again and rejected. Then they sail to the\nLaestrygons, where they lose eleven ships, and, with only one\nremaining, proceed to the island of Circe. Eurylochus is sent first\nwith some companions, all which, except Eurylochus, are transformed\ninto swine. Ulysses then undertakes the adventure, and, by the help of\nMercury, who gives him the herb Moly, overcomes the enchantress, and\nprocures the restoration of his men. After a year\u2019s stay with her, he\nprepares, at her instigation, for his voyage to the infernal shades.\n\n\n\u201cAt length we reach\u2019d \u00c6olias\u2019s sea-girt shore,\nWhere great Hippotades the sceptre bore,\nA floating isle! high-raised by toil divine,\nStrong walls of brass the rocky coast confine.\nSix blooming youths, in private grandeur bred,\nAnd six fair daughters, graced the royal bed;\nThese sons their sisters wed, and all remain\nTheir parents\u2019 pride, and pleasure of their reign.\nAll day they feast, all day the bowls flow round,\nAnd joy and music through the isle resound;\nAt night each pair on splendid carpets lay,\nAnd crown\u2019d with love the pleasures of the day.\nThis happy port affords our wandering fleet\nA month\u2019s reception, and a safe retreat.\nFull oft the monarch urged me to relate\nThe fall of Ilion, and the Grecian fate;\nFull oft I told: at length for parting moved;\nThe king with mighty gifts my suit approved.\nThe adverse winds in leathern bags he braced,\nCompress\u2019d their force, and lock\u2019d each struggling blast.\nFor him the mighty sire of gods assign\u2019d\nThe tempest\u2019s lord, the tyrant of the wind;\nHis word alone the listening storms obey,\nTo smooth the deep, or swell the foamy sea.\nThese in my hollow ship the monarch hung,\nSecurely fetter\u2019d by a silver thong:\nBut Zephyrus exempt, with friendly gales\nHe charged to fill, and guide the swelling sails:\nRare gift! but O, what gift to fools avails!\n\n\u201cNine prosperous days we plied the labouring oar;\nThe tenth presents our welcome native shore:\nThe hills display the beacon\u2019s friendly light,\nAnd rising mountains gain upon our sight.\nThen first my eyes, by watchful toils oppress\u2019d,\nComplied to take the balmy gifts of rest:\nThen first my hands did from the rudder part\n(So much the love of home possess\u2019d my heart):\nWhen lo! on board a fond debate arose;\nWhat rare device those vessels might inclose?\nWhat sum, what prize from \u00c6olus I brought?\nWhilst to his neighbour each express\u2019d his thought:\n\n\u201c\u2018Say, whence ye gods, contending nations strive\nWho most shall please, who most our hero give?\nLong have his coffers groan\u2019d with Trojan spoils:\nWhilst we, the wretched partners of his toils,\nReproach\u2019d by want, our fruitless labours mourn,\nAnd only rich in barren fame return.\nNow \u00c6olus, ye see, augments his store:\nBut come, my friends, these mystic gifts explore,\u2019\nThey said: and (oh cursed fate!) the thongs unbound!\nThe gushing tempest sweeps the ocean round;\nSnatch\u2019d in the whirl, the hurried navy flew,\nThe ocean widen\u2019d and the shores withdrew.\nRoused from my fatal sleep I long debate\nIf still to live, or desperate plunge to fate;\nThus doubting, prostrate on the deck I lay,\nTill all the coward thoughts of death gave way.\n\n\u201cMeanwhile our vessels plough the liquid plain,\nAnd soon the known AEolian coast regain;\nOur groan the rocks remurmur\u2019d to the main.\nWe leap\u2019d on shore, and with a scanty feast\nOur thirst and hunger hastily repress\u2019d;\nThat done, two chosen heralds straight attend\nOur second progress to my royal friend;\nAnd him amidst his jovial sons we found;\nThe banquet steaming, and the goblets crown\u2019d;\nThere humbly stoop\u2019d with conscious shame and awe,\nNor nearer than the gate presumed to draw.\nBut soon his sons their well-known guest descried,\nAnd starting from their couches loudly cried:\n\u2018Ulysses here! what demon could\u2019st thou meet\nTo thwart thy passage, and repel thy fleet?\nWast thou not furnish\u2019d by our choicest care\nFor Greece, for home and all thy soul held dear?\u2019\nThus they, In silence long my fate I mourn\u2019d;\nAt length these words with accents low return\u2019d:\n`Me, lock\u2019d in sleep, my faithless crew bereft\nOf all the blessing of your godlike gift!\nBut grant, oh grant, our loss we may retrieve;\nA favour you, and you alone can give.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus I with art to move their pity tried,\nAnd touch\u2019d the youths; but their stern sire replied:\n\u2018Vile wretch, begone! this instant I command\nThy fleet accursed to leave our hallow\u2019d land.\nHis baneful suit pollutes these bless\u2019d abodes,\nWhose fate proclaims him hateful to the gods.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus fierce he said: we sighing went our way,\nAnd with desponding hearts put off to sea.\nThe sailors spent with toils their folly mourn,\nBut mourn in vain; no prospect of return\nSix days and nights a doubtful course we steer,\nThe next proud Lamos\u2019 stately towers appear,\nAnd Laestrygonia\u2019s gates arise distinct in air.\nThe shepherd, quitting here at night the plain,\nCalls, to succeed his cares, the watchful swain;\nBut he that scorns the chains of sleep to wear,\nAnd adds the herdsman\u2019s to the shepherd\u2019s care,\nSo near the pastures, and so short the way,\nHis double toils may claim a double pay,\nAnd join the labours of the night and day.\n\n\u201cWithin a long recess a bay there lies,\nEdged round with cliffs high pointing to the skies;\nThe jutting shores that swell on either side\nContract its mouth, and break the rushing tide.\nOur eager sailors seize the fair retreat,\nAnd bound within the port their crowded fleet:\nFor here retired the sinking billows sleep,\nAnd smiling calmness silver\u2019d o\u2019er the deep.\nI only in the bay refused to moor,\nAnd fix\u2019d without, my halsers to the shore.\n\n\u201cFrom thence we climb\u2019d a point, whose airy brow\nCommands the prospect of the plains below;\nNo tracks of beasts, or signs of men, we found,\nBut smoky volumes rolling from the ground.\nTwo with our herald thither we command,\nWith speed to learn what men possess\u2019d the land.\nThey went, and kept the wheel\u2019s smooth-beaten road\nWhich to the city drew the mountain wood;\nWhen lo! they met, beside a crystal spring,\nThe daughter of Antiphates the king;\nShe to Artacia\u2019s silver streams came down;\n(Artacia\u2019s streams alone supply the town);\nThe damsel they approach, and ask\u2019d what race\nThe people were? who monarch of the place?\nWith joy the maid the unwary strangers heard\nAnd show\u2019d them where the royal dome appear\u2019d.\nThey went; but as they entering saw the queen\nOf size enormous, and terrific mien\n(Not yielding to some bulky mountain\u2019s height),\nA sudden horror struck their aching sight.\nSwift at her call her husband scour\u2019d away\nTo wreak his hunger on the destined prey;\nOne for his food the raging glutton slew,\nBut two rush\u2019d out, and to the navy flew.\n\n\u201cBalk\u2019d of his prey, the yelling monster flies,\nAnd fills the city with his hideous cries;\nA ghastly band of giants hear the roar,\nAnd, pouring down the mountains, crowd the shore.\nFragments they rend from off the craggy brow\nAnd dash the ruins on the ships below;\nThe crackling vessels burst; hoarse groans arise,\nAnd mingled horrors echo to the skies;\nThe men like fish, they struck upon the flood,\nAnd cramm\u2019d their filthy throats with human food.\nWhilst thus their fury rages at the bay,\nMy sword our cables cut, I call\u2019d to weigh;\nAnd charged my men, as they from fate would fly,\nEach nerve to strain, each bending oar to ply.\nThe sailors catch the word, their oars they seize,\nAnd sweep with equal strokes the smoky seas;\nClear of the rocks the impatient vessel flies;\nWhilst in the port each wretch encumber\u2019d dies.\nWith earnest haste my frighted sailors press,\nWhile kindling transports glow\u2019d at our success;\nBut the sad fate that did our friends destroy,\nCool\u2019d every breast, and damp\u2019d the rising joy.\n\n\u201cNow dropp\u2019d our anchors in the \u00c6\u00e6an bay,\nWhere Circe dwelt, the daughter of the Day!\nHer mother Perse, of old Ocean\u2019s strain,\nThus from the Sun descended, and the Main\n(From the same lineage stern Aeaetes came,\nThe far-famed brother of the enchantress dame);\nGoddess, the queen, to whom the powers belong\nOf dreadful magic and commanding song.\nSome god directing to this peaceful bay\nSilent we came, and melancholy lay,\nSpent and o\u2019erwatch\u2019d. Two days and nights roll\u2019d on,\nAnd now the third succeeding morning shone.\nI climb\u2019d a cliff, with spear and sword in hand,\nWhose ridge o\u2019erlook\u2019d a shady length of land;\nTo learn if aught of mortal works appear,\nOr cheerful voice of mortal strike the ear?\nFrom the high point I mark\u2019d, in distant view,\nA stream of curling smoke ascending blue,\nAnd spiry tops, the tufted trees above,\nOf Circe\u2019s palace bosom\u2019d in the grove.\n\n\u201cThither to haste, the region to explore,\nWas first my thought: but speeding back to shore\nI deem\u2019d it best to visit first my crew,\nAnd send our spies the dubious coast to view.\nAs down the hill I solitary go,\nSome power divine, who pities human woe,\nSent a tall stag, descending from the wood,\nTo cool his fervour in the crystal flood;\nLuxuriant on the wave-worn bank he lay,\nStretch\u2019d forth and panting in the sunny ray.\nI launch\u2019d my spear, and with a sudden wound\nTranspierced his back, and fix\u2019d him to the ground.\nHe falls, and mourns his fate with human cries:\nThrough the wide wound the vital spirit flies.\nI drew, and casting on the river\u2019s side\nThe bloody spear, his gather\u2019d feet I tied\nWith twining osiers which the bank supplied.\nAn ell in length the pliant wisp I weaved,\nAnd the huge body on my shoulders heaved:\nThen leaning on my spear with both my hands,\nUpbore my load, and press\u2019d the sinking sands\nWith weighty steps, till at the ship I threw\nThe welcome burden, and bespoke my crew:\n\n\u201c\u2018Cheer up, my friends! it is not yet our fate\nTo glide with ghosts through Pluto\u2019s gloomy gate.\nFood in the desert land, behold! is given!\nLive, and enjoy the providence of heaven.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe joyful crew survey his mighty size,\nAnd on the future banquet feast their eyes,\nAs huge in length extended lay the beast;\nThen wash their hands, and hasten to the feast.\nThere, till the setting sun roll\u2019d down the light,\nThey sate indulging in the genial rite.\nWhen evening rose, and darkness cover\u2019d o\u2019er\nThe face of things, we slept along the shore.\nBut when the rosy morning warm\u2019d the east,\nMy men I summon\u2019d, and these words address\u2019d:\n\u201c\u2018Followers and friends, attend what I propose:\nYe sad companions of Ulysses\u2019 woes!\nWe know not here what land before us lies,\nOr to what quarter now we turn our eyes,\nOr where the sun shall set, or where shall rise.\nHere let us think (if thinking be not vain)\nIf any counsel, any hope remain.\nAlas! from yonder promontory\u2019s brow\nI view\u2019d the coast, a region flat and low;\nAn isle encircled with the boundless flood;\nA length of thickets, and entangled wood.\nSome smoke I saw amid the forest rise,\nAnd all around it only seas and skies!\u2019\n\n\u201cWith broken hearts my sad companions stood,\nMindful of Cyclops and his human food,\nAnd horrid Laestrygons, the men of blood.\nPresaging tears apace began to rain;\nBut tears in mortal miseries are vain.\nIn equal parts I straight divide my band,\nAnd name a chief each party to command;\nI led the one, and of the other side\nAppointed brave Eurylochus the guide.\nThen in the brazen helm the lots we throw,\nAnd fortune casts Eurylochus to go;\nHe march\u2019d with twice eleven in his train;\nPensive they march, and pensive we remain.\n\n\u201cThe palace in a woody vale they found,\nHigh raised of stone; a shaded space around;\nWhere mountain wolves and brindled lions roam,\n(By magic tamed,) familiar to the dome.\nWith gentle blandishment our men they meet,\nAnd wag their tails, and fawning lick their feet.\nAs from some feast a man returning late,\nHis faithful dogs all meet him at the gate,\nRejoicing round, some morsel to receive,\n(Such as the good man ever used to give,)\nDomestic thus the grisly beasts drew near;\nThey gaze with wonder not unmix\u2019d with fear.\nNow on the threshold of the dome they stood,\nAnd heard a voice resounding through the wood:\nPlaced at her loom within, the goddess sung;\nThe vaulted roofs and solid pavement rung.\nO\u2019er the fair web the rising figures shine,\nImmortal labour! worthy hands divine.\nPolites to the rest the question moved\n(A gallant leader, and a man I loved):\n\n\u201c\u2018What voice celestial, chanting to the loom\n(Or nymph, or goddess), echoes from the room?\nSay, shall we seek access?\u2019 With that they call;\nAnd wide unfold the portals of the hall.\n\n\u201cThe goddess, rising, asks her guests to stay,\nWho blindly follow where she leads the way.\nEurylochus alone of all the band,\nSuspecting fraud, more prudently remain\u2019d.\nOn thrones around with downy coverings graced,\nWith semblance fair, the unhappy men she placed.\nMilk newly press\u2019d, the sacred flour of wheat,\nAnd honey fresh, and Pramnian wines the treat:\nBut venom\u2019d was the bread, and mix\u2019d the bowl,\nWith drugs of force to darken all the soul:\nSoon in the luscious feast themselves they lost,\nAnd drank oblivion of their native coast.\nInstant her circling wand the goddess waves,\nTo hogs transforms them, and the sty receives.\nNo more was seen the human form divine;\nHead, face, and members, bristle into swine:\nStill cursed with sense, their minds remain alone,\nAnd their own voice affrights them when they groan.\nMeanwhile the goddess in disdain bestows\nThe mast and acorn, brutal food! and strows\nThe fruits and cornel, as their feast, around;\nNow prone and grovelling on unsavoury ground.\n\n\u201cEurylochus, with pensive steps and slow.\nAghast returns; the messenger of woe,\nAnd bitter fate. To speak he made essay,\nIn vain essay\u2019d, nor would his tongue obey.\nHis swelling heart denied the words their way:\nBut speaking tears the want of words supply,\nAnd the full soul bursts copious from his eye.\nAffrighted, anxious for our fellows\u2019 fates,\nWe press to hear what sadly he relates:\n\n\u201cWe went, Ulysses! (such was thy command)\nThrough the lone thicket and the desert land.\nA palace in a woody vale we found\nBrown with dark forests, and with shades around.\nA voice celestial echoed through the dome,\nOr nymph or goddess, chanting to the loom.\nAccess we sought, nor was access denied:\nRadiant she came: the portals open\u2019d wide:\nThe goddess mild invites the guests to stay:\nThey blindly follow where she leads the way.\nI only wait behind of all the train:\nI waited long, and eyed the doors in vain:\nThe rest are vanish\u2019d, none repass\u2019d the gate,\nAnd not a man appears to tell their fate.\u2019\n\n\u201cI heard, and instant o\u2019er my shoulder flung\nThe belt in which my weighty falchion hung\n(A beamy blade): then seized the bended bow,\nAnd bade him guide the way, resolved to go.\nHe, prostrate falling, with both hands embraced\nMy knees, and weeping thus his suit address\u2019d:\n\n\u201c\u2018O king, beloved of Jove, thy servant spare,\nAnd ah, thyself the rash attempt forbear!\nNever, alas! thou never shalt return,\nOr see the wretched for whose loss we mourn.\nWith what remains from certain ruin fly,\nAnd save the few not fated yet to die.\u2019\n\n\u201cI answer\u2019d stern: \u2018Inglorious then remain,\nHere feast and loiter, and desert thy train.\nAlone, unfriended, will I tempt my way;\nThe laws of fate compel, and I obey.\u2019\nThis said, and scornful turning from the shore\nMy haughty step, I stalk\u2019d the valley o\u2019er.\nTill now approaching nigh the magic bower,\nWhere dwelt the enchantress skill\u2019d in herbs of power,\nA form divine forth issued from the wood\n(Immortal Hermes with the golden rod)\nIn human semblance. On his bloomy face\nYouth smiled celestial, with each opening grace.\nHe seized my hand, and gracious thus began:\n\u2018Ah whither roam\u2019st thou, much-enduring man?\nO blind to fate! what led thy steps to rove\nThe horrid mazes of this magic grove?\nEach friend you seek in yon enclosure lies,\nAll lost their form, and habitants of sties.\nThink\u2019st thou by wit to model their escape?\nSooner shalt thou, a stranger to thy shape,\nFall prone their equal: first thy danger know,\nThen take the antidote the gods bestow.\nThe plant I give through all the direful bower\nShall guard thee, and avert the evil hour.\nNow hear her wicked arts: Before thy eyes\nThe bowl shall sparkle, and the banquet rise;\nTake this, nor from the faithless feast abstain,\nFor temper\u2019d drugs and poison shall be vain.\nSoon as she strikes her wand, and gives the word,\nDraw forth and brandish thy refulgent sword,\nAnd menace death: those menaces shall move\nHer alter\u2019d mind to blandishment and love.\nNor shun the blessing proffer\u2019d to thy arms,\nAscend her bed, and taste celestial charms;\nSo shall thy tedious toils a respite find,\nAnd thy lost friends return to human kind.\nBut swear her first by those dread oaths that tie\nThe powers below, the blessed in the sky;\nLest to thee naked secret fraud be meant,\nOr magic bind thee cold and impotent.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus while he spoke, the sovereign plant he drew\nWhere on the all-bearing earth unmark\u2019d it grew,\nAnd show\u2019d its nature and its wondrous power:\nBlack was the root, but milky white the flower;\nMoly the name, to mortals hard to find,\nBut all is easy to the ethereal kind.\nThis Hermes gave, then, gliding off the glade,\nShot to Olympus from the woodland shade.\nWhile, full of thought, revolving fates to come,\nI speed my passage to the enchanted dome.\nArrived, before the lofty gates I stay\u2019d;\nThe lofty gates the goddess wide display\u2019d;\nShe leads before, and to the feast invites;\nI follow sadly to the magic rites.\nRadiant with starry studs, a silver seat\nReceived my limbs: a footstool eased my feet,\nShe mix\u2019d the potion, fraudulent of soul;\nThe poison mantled in the golden bowl.\nI took, and quaff\u2019d it, confident in heaven.\nThen waved the wand, and then the word was given.\n\u2018Hence to thy fellows! (dreadful she began:)\nGo, be a beast!\u2019\u2014I heard, and yet was man.\n\n\u201cThen, sudden whirling, like a waving flame,\nMy beamy falchion, I assault the dame.\nStruck with unusual fear, she trembling cries,\nShe faints, she falls; she lifts her weeping eyes.\n\n\u201c\u2018What art thou? say! from whence, from whom you came?\nO more than human! tell thy race, thy name.\nAmazing strength, these poisons to sustain!\nNot mortal thou, nor mortal is thy brain.\nOr art thou he, the man to come (foretold\nBy Hermes, powerful with the wand of gold),\nThe man from Troy, who wander\u2019d ocean round;\nThe man for wisdom\u2019s various arts renown\u2019d,\nUlysses? Oh! thy threatening fury cease;\nSheathe thy bright sword, and join our hands in peace!\nLet mutual joys our mutual trust combine,\nAnd love, and love-born confidence, be thine.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018And how, dread Circe! (furious I rejoin)\nCan love, and love-born confidence, be mine,\nBeneath thy charms when my companions groan,\nTransform\u2019d to beasts, with accents not their own?\nO thou of fraudful heart, shall I be led\nTo share thy feast-rites, or ascend thy bed;\nThat, all unarm\u2019d, thy vengeance may have vent,\nAnd magic bind me, cold and impotent?\nCelestial as thou art, yet stand denied;\nOr swear that oath by which the gods are tied,\nSwear, in thy soul no latent frauds remain,\nSwear by the vow which never can be vain.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe goddess swore: then seized my hand, and led\nTo the sweet transports of the genial bed.\nMinistrant to the queen, with busy care\nFour faithful handmaids the soft rites prepare;\nNymphs sprung from fountains, or from shady woods,\nOr the fair offspring of the sacred floods.\nOne o\u2019er the couches painted carpets threw,\nWhose purple lustre glow\u2019d against the view:\nWhite linen lay beneath. Another placed\nThe silver stands, with golden flaskets graced:\nWith dulcet beverage this the beaker crown\u2019d,\nFair in the midst, with gilded cups around:\nThat in the tripod o\u2019er the kindled pile\nThe water pours; the bubbling waters boil;\nAn ample vase receives the smoking wave;\nAnd, in the bath prepared, my limbs I lave:\nReviving sweets repair the mind\u2019s decay,\nAnd take the painful sense of toil away.\nA vest and tunic o\u2019er me next she threw,\nFresh from the bath, and dropping balmy dew;\nThen led and placed me on the sovereign seat,\nWith carpets spread; a footstool at my feet.\nThe golden ewer a nymph obsequious brings,\nReplenish\u2019d from the cool translucent springs;\nWith copious water the bright vase supplies\nA silver laver of capacious size.\nI wash\u2019d. The table in fair order spread,\nThey heap the glittering canisters with bread:\nViands of various kinds allure the taste,\nOf choicest sort and savour, rich repast!\nCirce in vain invites the feast to share;\nAbsent I ponder, and absorb\u2019d in care;\nWhile scenes of woe rose anxious in my breast,\nThe queen beheld me, and these words address\u2019d:\n\n\u201c\u2018Why sits Ulysses silent and apart,\nSome hoard of grief close harbour\u2019d at his heart\nUntouch\u2019d before thee stand the cates divine,\nAnd unregarded laughs the rosy wine.\nCan yet a doubt or any dread remain,\nWhen sworn that oath which never can be vain?\u2019\n\n\u201cI answered: \u2018Goddess! human is my breast,\nBy justice sway\u2019d, by tender pity press\u2019d:\nIll fits it me, whose friends are sunk to beasts,\nTo quaff thy bowls, or riot in thy feasts.\nMe would\u2019st thou please? for them thy cares employ,\nAnd them to me restore, and me to joy.\u2019\n\n\u201cWith that she parted: in her potent hand\nShe bore the virtue of the magic wand.\nThen, hastening to the sties, set wide the door,\nUrged forth, and drove the bristly herd before;\nUnwieldy, out they rush\u2019d with general cry,\nEnormous beasts, dishonest to the eye.\nNow touch\u2019d by counter-charms they change again,\nAnd stand majestic, and recall\u2019d to men.\nThose hairs of late that bristled every part,\nFall off, miraculous effect of art!\nTill all the form in full proportion rise,\nMore young, more large, more graceful to my eyes.\nThey saw, they knew me, and with eager pace\nClung to their master in a long embrace:\nSad, pleasing sight! with tears each eye ran o\u2019er,\nAnd sobs of joy re-echoed through the bower;\nE\u2019en Circe wept, her adamantine heart\nFelt pity enter, and sustain\u2019d her part.\n\n\u201c\u2018Son of Laertes! (then the queen began)\nOh much-enduring, much experienced man!\nHaste to thy vessel on the sea-beat shore,\nUnload thy treasures, and the galley moor;\nThen bring thy friends, secure from future harms,\nAnd in our grottoes stow thy spoils and arms,\u2019\n\n\u201cShe said. Obedient to her high command\nI quit the place, and hasten to the strand,\nMy sad companions on the beach I found,\nTheir wistful eyes in floods of sorrow drown\u2019d.\n\n\u201cAs from fresh pastures and the dewy field\n(When loaded cribs their evening banquet yield)\nThe lowing herds return; around them throng\nWith leaps and bounds their late imprison\u2019d young,\nRush to their mothers with unruly joy,\nAnd echoing hills return the tender cry:\nSo round me press\u2019d, exulting at my sight,\nWith cries and agonies of wild delight,\nThe weeping sailors; nor less fierce their joy\nThan if return\u2019d to Ithaca from Troy.\n\u2018Ah master! ever honour\u2019d, ever dear!\n(These tender words on every side I hear)\nWhat other joy can equal thy return?\nNot that loved country for whose sight we mourn,\nThe soil that nursed us, and that gave us breath:\nBut ah! relate our lost companions\u2019 death.\u2019\n\n\u201cI answer\u2019d cheerful: \u2018Haste, your galley moor,\nAnd bring our treasures and our arms ashore:\nThose in yon hollow caverns let us lay,\nThen rise, and follow where I lead the way.\nYour fellows live; believe your eyes, and come\nTo taste the joys of Circe\u2019s sacred dome.\u2019\n\n\u201cWith ready speed the joyful crew obey:\nAlone Eurylochus persuades their stay.\n\n\u201c\u2018Whither (he cried), ah whither will ye run?\nSeek ye to meet those evils ye should shun?\nWill you the terrors of the dome explore,\nIn swine to grovel, or in lions roar,\nOr wolf-like howl away the midnight hour\nIn dreadful watch around the magic bower?\nRemember Cyclops, and his bloody deed;\nThe leader\u2019s rashness made the soldiers bleed.\u2019\n\n\u201cI heard incensed, and first resolved to speed\nMy flying falchion at the rebel\u2019s head.\nDear as he was, by ties of kindred bound,\nThis hand had stretch\u2019d him breathless on the ground.\nBut all at once my interposing train\nFor mercy pleaded, nor could plead in vain.\n\u2018Leave here the man who dares his prince desert,\nLeave to repentance and his own sad heart,\nTo guard the ship. Seek we the sacred shades\nOf Circe\u2019s palace, where Ulysses leads.\u2019\n\n\u201cThis with one voice declared, the rising train\nLeft the black vessel by the murmuring main.\nShame touch\u2019d Eurylochus\u2019 alter\u2019d breast:\nHe fear\u2019d my threats, and follow\u2019d with the rest.\n\n\u201cMeanwhile the goddess, with indulgent cares\nAnd social joys, the late transform\u2019d repairs;\nThe bath, the feast, their fainting soul renews:\nRich in refulgent robes, and dropping balmy dews:\nBrightening with joy, their eager eyes behold,\nEach other\u2019s face, and each his story told;\nThen gushing tears the narrative confound,\nAnd with their sobs the vaulted roof resound.\nWhen hush\u2019d their passion, thus the goddess cries:\n\u2018Ulysses, taught by labours to be wise,\nLet this short memory of grief suffice.\nTo me are known the various woes ye bore.\nIn storms by sea, in perils on the shore;\nForget whatever was in Fortune\u2019s power,\nAnd share the pleasures of this genial hour.\nSuch be your mind as ere ye left your coast,\nOr learn\u2019d to sorrow for a country lost.\nExiles and wanderers now, where\u2019er ye go,\nToo faithful memory renews your woe:\nThe cause removed, habitual griefs remain,\nAnd the soul saddens by the use of pain.\u2019\n\n\u201cHer kind entreaty moved the general breast;\nTired with long toil, we willing sunk to rest.\nWe plied the banquet, and the bowl we crown\u2019d,\nTill the full circle of the year came round.\nBut when the seasons following in their train,\nBrought back the months, the days, and hours again;\nAs from a lethargy at once they rise,\nAnd urge their chief with animating cries:\n\n\u201c\u2018Is this, Ulysses, our inglorious lot?\nAnd is the name of Ithaca forgot?\nShall never the dear land in prospect rise,\nOr the loved palace glitter in our eyes?\u2019\n\u201cMelting I heard; yet till the sun\u2019s decline\nProlong\u2019d the feast, and quaff\u2019d the rosy wine\nBut when the shades came on at evening hour,\nAnd all lay slumbering in the dusky bower,\nI came a suppliant to fair Circe\u2019s bed,\nThe tender moment seized, and thus I said:\n\u2018Be mindful, goddess! of thy promise made;\nMust sad Ulysses ever be delay\u2019d?\nAround their lord my sad companions mourn,\nEach breast beats homeward, anxious to return:\nIf but a moment parted from thy eyes,\nTheir tears flow round me, and my heart complies.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Go then (she cried), ah go! yet think, not I,\nNot Circe, but the Fates, your wish deny.\nAh, hope not yet to breathe thy native air!\nFar other journey first demands thy care;\nTo tread the uncomfortable paths beneath,\nAnd view the realms of darkness and of death.\nThere seek the Theban bard, deprived of sight;\nWithin, irradiate with prophetic light;\nTo whom Persephone, entire and whole,\nGave to retain the unseparated soul:\nThe rest are forms, of empty ether made;\nImpassive semblance, and a flitting shade.\u2019\n\n\u201cStruck at the word, my very heart was dead:\nPensive I sate: my tears bedew\u2019d the bed:\nTo hate the light and life my soul begun,\nAnd saw that all was grief beneath the sun:\nComposed at length the gushing tears suppress\u2019d,\nAnd my toss\u2019d limbs now wearied into rest.\n\u2018How shall I tread (I cried), ah, Circe! say,\nThe dark descent, and who shall guide the way?\nCan living eyes behold the realms below?\nWhat bark to waft me, and what wind to blow?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Thy fated road (the magic power replied),\nDivine Ulysses! ask no mortal guide.\nRear but the mast, the spacious sail display,\nThe northern winds shall wing thee on thy way.\nSoon shalt thou reach old Ocean\u2019s utmost ends,\nWhere to the main the shelving shore descends;\nThe barren trees of Proserpine\u2019s black woods,\nPoplars and willows trembling o\u2019er the floods:\nThere fix thy vessel in the lonely bay,\nAnd enter there the kingdoms void of day,\nWhere Phlegethon\u2019s loud torrents, rushing down,\nHiss in the flaming gulf of Acheron;\nAnd where, slow rolling from the Stygian bed,\nCocytus\u2019 lamentable waters spread:\nWhere the dark rock o\u2019erhangs the infernal lake,\nAnd mingling streams eternal murmurs make.\nFirst draw thy falchion, and on every side\nTrench the black earth a cubit long and wide:\nTo all the shades around libations pour,\nAnd o\u2019er the ingredients strew the hallow\u2019d flour:\nNew wine and milk, with honey temper\u2019d bring,\nAnd living water from the crystal spring.\nThen the wan shades and feeble ghosts implore,\nWith promised offerings on thy native shore;\nA barren cow, the stateliest of the isle,\nAnd heap\u2019d with various wealth, a blazing pile:\nThese to the rest; but to the seer must bleed\nA sable ram, the pride of all thy breed.\nThese solemn vows and holy offerings paid\nTo all the phantom nations of the dead,\nBe next thy care the sable sheep to place\nFull o\u2019er the pit, and hellward turn their face:\nBut from the infernal rite thine eye withdraw,\nAnd back to Ocean glance with reverend awe.\nSudden shall skim along the dusky glades\nThin airy shoals, and visionary shades.\nThen give command the sacrifice to haste,\nLet the flay\u2019d victims in the flame be cast,\nAnd sacred vows and mystic song applied\nTo grisly Pluto and his gloomy bride.\nWide o\u2019er the pool thy falchion waved around\nShall drive the spectres from unbidden ground:\nThe sacred draught shall all the dead forbear,\nTill awful from the shades arise the seer.\nLet him, oraculous, the end, the way,\nThe turns of all thy future fate display,\nThy pilgrimage to come, and remnant of thy day.\u2019\n\n\u201cSo speaking, from the ruddy orient shone\nThe morn, conspicuous on her golden throne.\nThe goddess with a radiant tunic dress\u2019d\nMy limbs, and o\u2019er me cast a silken vest.\nLong flowing robes, of purest white, array\nThe nymph, that added lustre to the day:\nA tiar wreath\u2019d her head with many a fold;\nHer waist was circled with a zone of gold.\nForth issuing then, from place to place I flew;\nRouse man by man, and animate my crew.\n\u2018Rise, rise, my mates! \u2019tis Circe gives command:\nOur journey calls us; haste, and quit the land.\u2019\nAll rise and follow, yet depart not all,\nFor Fate decreed one wretched man to fall.\n\n\u201cA youth there was, Elpenor was he named,\nNot much for sense, nor much for courage famed:\nThe youngest of our band, a vulgar soul,\nBorn but to banquet, and to drain the bowl.\nHe, hot and careless, on a turret\u2019s height\nWith sleep repair\u2019d the long debauch of night:\nThe sudden tumult stirred him where he lay,\nAnd down he hasten\u2019d, but forgot the way;\nFull headlong from the roof the sleeper fell,\nAnd snapp\u2019d the spinal joint, and waked in hell.\n\n\u201cThe rest crowd round me with an eager look;\nI met them with a sigh, and thus bespoke:\n\u2018Already, friends! ye think your toils are o\u2019er,\nYour hopes already touch your native shore:\nAlas! far otherwise the nymph declares,\nFar other journey first demands our cares;\nTo tread the uncomfortable paths beneath,\nThe dreary realms of darkness and of death;\nTo seek Tiresias\u2019 awful shade below,\nAnd thence our fortunes and our fates to know.\u2019\n\n\u201cMy sad companions heard in deep despair;\nFrantic they tore their manly growth of hair;\nTo earth they fell: the tears began to rain;\nBut tears in mortal miseries are vain,\nSadly they fared along the sea-beat shore;\nStill heaved their hearts, and still their eyes ran o\u2019er.\nThe ready victims at our bark we found,\nThe sable ewe and ram together bound.\nFor swift as thought the goddess had been there,\nAnd thence had glided, viewless as the air:\nThe paths of gods what mortal can survey?\nWho eyes their motion? who shall trace their way?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XI.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE DESCENT INTO HELL.\n\n\nUlysses continues his narration. How he arrived at the land of the\nCimmerians, and what ceremonies he performed to invoke the dead. The\nmanner of his descent, and the apparition of the shades: his\nconversation with Elpenor, and with Tiresias, who informs him in a\nprophetic manner of his fortunes to come. He meets his mother Anticlea,\nfrom whom he learns the state of his family. He sees the shades of the\nancient heroines, afterwards of the heroes, and converses in particular\nwith Agamemnon and Achilles. Ajax keeps at a sullen distance, and\ndisdains to answer him. He then beholds Tityus, Tantalus, Sisyphus,\nHercules; till he is deterred from further curiosity by the apparition\nof horrid spectres, and the cries of the wicked in torments.\n\n\n\u201cNow to the shores we bend, a mournful train,\nClimb the tall bark, and launch into the main;\nAt once the mast we rear, at once unbind\nThe spacious sheet, and stretch it to the wind;\nThen pale and pensive stand, with cares oppress\u2019d,\nAnd solemn horror saddens every breast.\nA freshening breeze the magic power supplied,\nWhile the wing\u2019d vessel flew along the tide;\nOur oars we shipp\u2019d; all day the swelling sails\nFull from the guiding pilot catch\u2019d the gales.\n\n\u201cNow sunk the sun from his a\u00ebrial height,\nAnd o\u2019er the shaded billows rush\u2019d the night;\nWhen lo! we reach\u2019d old Ocean\u2019s utmost bounds,\nWhere rocks control his waves with ever-during mounds.\n\n\u201cThere in a lonely land, and gloomy cells,\nThe dusky nation of Cimmeria dwells;\nThe sun ne\u2019er views the uncomfortable seats,\nWhen radiant he advances, or retreats:\nUnhappy race! whom endless night invades,\nClouds the dull air, and wraps them round in shades.\n\n\u201cThe ship we moor on these obscure abodes;\nDisbark the sheep, an offering to the gods;\nAnd, hellward bending, o\u2019er the beach descry\nThe doleful passage to the infernal sky.\nThe victims, vow\u2019d to each Tartarian power,\nEurylochus and Perimedes bore.\n\n\u201cHere open\u2019d hell, all hell I here implored,\nAnd from the scabbard drew the shining sword:\nAnd trenching the black earth on every side,\nA cavern form\u2019d, a cubit long and wide.\nNew wine, with honey-temper\u2019d milk, we bring,\nThen living waters from the crystal spring:\nO\u2019er these was strew\u2019d the consecrated flour,\nAnd on the surface shone the holy store.\n\n\u201cNow the wan shades we hail, the infernal gods,\nTo speed our course, and waft us o\u2019er the floods:\nSo shall a barren heifer from the stall\nBeneath the knife upon your altars fall;\nSo in our palace, at our safe return,\nRich with unnumber\u2019d gifts the pile shall burn;\nSo shall a ram, the largest of the breed,\nBlack as these regions, to Tiresias bleed.\n\n\u201cThus solemn rites and holy vows we paid\nTo all the phantom-nations of the dead;\nThen died the sheep: a purple torrent flow\u2019d,\nAnd all the caverns smoked with streaming blood.\nWhen lo! appear\u2019d along the dusky coasts,\nThin, airy shoals of visionary ghosts:\nFair, pensive youths, and soft enamour\u2019d maids;\nAnd wither\u2019d elders, pale and wrinkled shades;\nGhastly with wounds the forms of warriors slain\nStalk\u2019d with majestic port, a martial train:\nThese and a thousand more swarm\u2019d o\u2019er the ground,\nAnd all the dire assembly shriek\u2019d around.\nAstonish\u2019d at the sight, aghast I stood,\nAnd a cold fear ran shivering through my blood;\nStraight I command the sacrifice to haste,\nStraight the flay\u2019d victims to the flames are cast,\nAnd mutter\u2019d vows, and mystic song applied\nTo grisly Pluto, and his gloomy bride.\n\n\u201cNow swift I waved my falchion o\u2019er the blood;\nBack started the pale throngs, and trembling stood,\nRound the black trench the gore untasted flows,\nTill awful from the shades Tiresias rose.\n\n\u201cThere wandering through the gloom I first survey\u2019d,\nNew to the realms of death, Elpenor\u2019s shade:\nHis cold remains all naked to the sky\nOn distant shores unwept, unburied lie.\nSad at the sight I stand, deep fix\u2019d in woe,\nAnd ere I spoke the tears began to flow.\n\n\u201c\u2018O say what angry power Elpenor led\nTo glide in shades, and wander with the dead?\nHow could thy soul, by realms and seas disjoin\u2019d,\nOutfly the nimble sail, and leave the lagging wind?\n\n\u201cThe ghost replied: \u2018To hell my doom I owe,\nDemons accursed, dire ministers of woe!\nMy feet, through wine unfaithful to their weight,\nBetray\u2019d me tumbling from a towery height:\nStaggering I reel\u2019d, and as I reel\u2019d I fell,\nLux\u2019d the neck-joint\u2014my soul descends to hell.\nBut lend me aid, I now conjure thee lend,\nBy the soft tie and sacred name of friend!\nBy thy fond consort! by thy father\u2019s cares!\nBy loved Telemachus\u2019 blooming years?\nFor well I know that soon the heavenly powers\nWill give thee back to-day, and Circe\u2019s shores:\nThere pious on my cold remains attend,\nThere call to mind thy poor departed friend.\nThe tribute of a tear is all I crave,\nAnd the possession of a peaceful grave.\nBut if, unheard, in vain compassion plead,\nRevere the gods. The gods avenge the dead!\nA tomb along the watery margin raise,\nThe tomb with manly arms and trophies grace,\nTo show posterity Elpenor was.\nThere high in air, memorial of my name,\nFix the smooth oar, and bid me live to fame.\u2019\n\n\u201cTo whom with tears: \u2018These rites, O mournful shade,\nDue to thy ghost, shall to thy ghost be paid.\u2019\n\n\u201cStill as I spoke the phantom seem\u2019d to moan,\nTear follow\u2019d tear, and groan succeeded groan.\nBut, as my waving sword the blood surrounds,\nThe shade withdrew, and mutter\u2019d empty sounds.\n\n\u201cThere as the wondrous visions I survey\u2019d,\nAll pale ascends my royal mother\u2019s shade:\nA queen, to Troy she saw our legions pass;\nNow a thin form is all Anticlea was!\nStruck at the sight I melt with filial woe,\nAnd down my cheek the pious sorrows flow,\nYet as I shook my falchion o\u2019er the blood,\nRegardless of her son the parent stood.\n\n\u201cWhen lo! the mighty Theban I behold,\nTo guide his steps he bore a staff of gold;\nAwful he trod; majestic was his look!\nAnd from his holy lips these accents broke:\n\n\u201c\u2018Why, mortal, wanderest thou from cheerful day,\nTo tread the downward, melancholy way?\nWhat angry gods to these dark regions led\nThee, yet alive, companion of the dead?\nBut sheathe thy poniard, while my tongue relates\nHeaven\u2019s steadfast purpose, and thy future fates.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhile yet he spoke, the prophet I obey\u2019d,\nAnd in the scabbard plunged the glittering blade:\nEager he quaff\u2019d the gore, and then express\u2019d\nDark things to come, the counsels of his breast.\n\n\u201cWeary of light, Ulysses here explores\nA prosperous voyage to his native shores;\nBut know\u2014by me unerring Fates disclose\nNew trains of dangers, and new scenes of woes.\nI see, I see, thy bark by Neptune toss\u2019d,\nFor injured Cyclops, and his eyeball lost!\nYet to thy woes the gods decree an end,\nIf Heaven thou please: and how to please attend\nWhere on Trinacrian rocks the ocean roars,\nGraze numerous herds along the verdant shores;\nThough hunger press, yet fly the dangerous prey,\nThe herds are sacred to the god of day,\nWho all surveys with his extensive eye,\nAbove, below, on earth, and in the sky!\nRob not the god; and so propitious gales\nAttend thy voyage, and impel thy sails:\nBut, if his herds ye seize, beneath the waves\nI see thy friends o\u2019erwhelm\u2019d in liquid graves!\nThe direful wreck Ulysses scarce survives!\nUlysses at his country scarce arrives!\nStrangers thy guides! nor there thy labours end;\nNew foes arise; domestic ills attend!\nThere foul adulterers to thy bride resort,\nAnd lordly gluttons riot in thy court.\nBut vengeance hastes amain! These eyes behold\nThe deathful scene, princes on princes roll\u2019d!\nThat done, a people far from sea explore,\nWho ne\u2019er knew salt, or heard the billows roar,\nOr saw gay vessel stem the watery plain,\nA painted wonder flying on the main!\nBear on thy back an oar: with strange amaze\nA shepherd meeting thee, the oar surveys,\nAnd names a van: there fix it on the plain,\nTo calm the god that holds the watery reign;\nA threefold offering to his altar bring,\nA bull, a ram, a boar; and hail the ocean king.\nBut home return\u2019d, to each ethereal power\nSlay the due victim in the genial hour:\nSo peaceful shalt thou end thy blissful days,\nAnd steal thyself from life by slow decays:\nUnknown to pain, in age resign thy breath,\nWhen late stern Neptune points the shaft with death:\nTo the dark grave retiring as to rest,\nThy people blessing, by thy people bless\u2019d!\n\n\u201cUnerring truths, O man, my lips relate;\nThis is thy life to come, and this is fate.\u2019\n\n\u201cTo whom unmoved: \u2018If this the gods prepare,\nWhat Heaven ordains the wise with courage bear.\nBut say, why yonder on the lonely strands,\nUnmindful of her son, Anticlea stands?\nWhy to the ground she bends her downcast eye?\nWhy is she silent, while her son is nigh?\nThe latent cause, O sacred seer, reveal!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Nor this (replies the seer) will I conceal.\nKnow, to the spectres that thy beverage taste,\nThe scenes of life recur, and actions past:\nThey, seal\u2019d with truth, return the sure reply;\nThe rest, repell\u2019d, a train oblivious fly.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe phantom-prophet ceased, and sunk from sight,\nTo the black palace of eternal night.\n\n\u201cStill in the dark abodes of death I stood,\nWhen near Anticlea moved, and drank the blood.\nStraight all the mother in her soul awakes,\nAnd, owning her Ulysses, thus she speaks;\n\u2018Comest thou, my son, alive, to realms beneath,\nThe dolesome realms of darkness and of death!\nComest thou alive from pure, ethereal day?\nDire is the region, dismal is the way!\nHere lakes profound, there floods oppose their waves,\nThere the wide sea with all his billows raves!\nOr (since to dust proud Troy submits her towers)\nComest thou a wanderer from the Phrygian shores?\nOr say, since honour call\u2019d thee to the field,\nHast thou thy Ithaca, thy bride, beheld?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Source of my life,\u2019 I cried, \u2018from earth I fly\nTo seek Tiresias in the nether sky,\nTo learn my doom; for, toss\u2019d from woe to woe,\nIn every land Ulysses finds a foe:\nNor have these eyes beheld my native shores,\nSince in the dust proud Troy submits her towers.\n\n\u201c\u2018But, when thy soul from her sweet mansion fled,\nSay, what distemper gave thee to the dead?\nHas life\u2019s fair lamp declined by slow decays,\nOr swift expired it in a sudden blaze?\nSay, if my sire, good old Laertes, lives?\nIf yet Telemachus, my son, survives?\nSay, by his rule is my dominion awed,\nOr crush\u2019d by traitors with an iron rod?\nSay, if my spouse maintains her royal trust;\nThough tempted, chaste, and obstinately just?\nOr if no more her absent lord she wails,\nBut the false woman o\u2019er the wife prevails?\u2019\n\n\u201cThus I, and thus the parent-shade returns:\n\u2018Thee, ever thee, thy faithful consort mourns:\nWhether the night descends or day prevails,\nThee she by night, and thee by day bewails.\nThee in Telemachus thy realm obeys;\nIn sacred groves celestial rites he pays,\nAnd shares the banquet in superior state,\nGraced with such honours as become the great\nThy sire in solitude foments his care:\nThe court is joyless, for thou art not there!\nNo costly carpets raise his hoary head,\nNo rich embroidery shines to grace his bed;\nEven when keen winter freezes in the skies,\nRank\u2019d with his slaves, on earth the monarch lies:\nDeep are his sighs, his visage pale, his dress\nThe garb of woe and habit of distress.\nAnd when the autumn takes his annual round,\nThe leafy honours scattering on the ground,\nRegardless of his years, abroad he lies,\nHis bed the leaves, his canopy the skies.\nThus cares on cares his painful days consume,\nAnd bow his age with sorrow to the tomb!\n\n\u201c\u2018For thee, my son, I wept my life away;\nFor thee through hell\u2019s eternal dungeons stray:\nNor came my fate by lingering pains and slow,\nNor bent the silver-shafted queen her bow;\nNo dire disease bereaved me of my breath;\nThou, thou, my son, wert my disease and death;\nUnkindly with my love my son conspired,\nFor thee I lived, for absent thee expired.\u2019\n\n\u201cThrice in my arms I strove her shade to bind,\nThrice through my arms she slipp\u2019d like empty wind,\nOr dreams, the vain illusions of the mind.\nWild with despair, I shed a copious tide\nOf flowing tears, and thus with sighs replied:\n\n\u201c\u2018Fliest thou, loved shade, while I thus fondly mourn!\nTurn to my arms, to my embraces turn!\nIs it, ye powers that smile at human harms!\nToo great a bliss to weep within her arms?\nOr has hell\u2019s queen an empty image sent,\nThat wretched I might e\u2019en my joys lament?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018O son of woe,\u2019 the pensive shade rejoin\u2019d;\n\u2018O most inured to grief of all mankind!\n\u2018Tis not the queen of hell who thee deceives;\nAll, all are such, when life the body leaves:\nNo more the substance of the man remains,\nNor bounds the blood along the purple veins:\nThese the funereal flames in atoms bear,\nTo wander with the wind in empty air:\nWhile the impassive soul reluctant flies,\nLike a vain dream, to these infernal skies.\nBut from the dark dominions speed the way,\nAnd climb the steep ascent to upper day:\nTo thy chaste bride the wondrous story tell,\nThe woes, the horrors, and the laws of hell.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus while she spoke, in swarms hell\u2019s empress brings\nDaughters and wives of heroes and of kings;\nThick and more thick they gather round the blood,\nGhost thronged on ghost (a dire assembly) stood!\nDauntless my sword I seize: the airy crew,\nSwift as it flash\u2019d along the gloom, withdrew;\nThen shade to shade in mutual forms succeeds,\nHer race recounts, and their illustrious deeds.\n\n\u201cTyro began, whom great Salmoneus bred;\nThe royal partner of famed Cretheus\u2019 bed.\nFor fair Enipeus, as from fruitful urns\nHe pours his watery store, the virgin burns;\nSmooth flows the gentle stream with wanton pride,\nAnd in soft mazes rolls a silver tide.\nAs on his banks the maid enamour\u2019d roves,\nThe monarch of the deep beholds and loves;\nIn her Enipeus\u2019 form and borrow\u2019d charms\nThe amorous god descends into her arms:\nAround, a spacious arch of waves he throws,\nAnd high in air the liquid mountain rose;\nThus in surrounding floods conceal\u2019d, he proves\nThe pleasing transport, and completes his loves.\nThen, softly sighing, he the fair address\u2019d,\nAnd as he spoke her tender hand he press\u2019d.\n\u2018Hail, happy nymph! no vulgar births are owed\nTo the prolific raptures of a god:\nLo! when nine times the moon renews her horn,\nTwo brother heroes shall from thee be born;\nThy early care the future worthies claim,\nTo point them to the arduous paths of fame;\nBut in thy breast the important truth conceal,\nNor dare the secret of a god reveal:\nFor know, thou Neptune view\u2019st! and at my nod\nEarth trembles, and the waves confess their god.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe added not, but mounting spurn\u2019d the plain,\nThen plunged into the chambers of the main,\n\n\u201cNow in the time\u2019s full process forth she brings\nJove\u2019s dread vicegerents in two future kings;\nO\u2019er proud Iolcos Pelias stretch\u2019d his reign,\nAnd godlike Neleus ruled the Pylian plain:\nThen, fruitful, to her Cretheus\u2019 royal bed\nShe gallant Pheres and famed Aeson bred;\nFrom the same fountain Amythaon rose,\nPleased with the din of scar; and noble shout of foes.\n\n\u201cThere moved Antiope, with haughty charms,\nWho bless\u2019d the almighty Thunderer in her arms:\nHence sprung Amphion, hence brave Zethus came,\nFounders of Thebes, and men of mighty name;\nThough bold in open field, they yet surround\nThe town with walls, and mound inject on mound;\nHere ramparts stood, there towers rose high in air,\nAnd here through seven wide portals rush\u2019d the war.\n\n\u201cThere with soft step the fair Alcmena trod,\nWho bore Alcides to the thundering god:\nAnd Megara, who charm\u2019d the son of Jove,\nAnd soften\u2019d his stern soul to tender love.\n\n\u201cSullen and sour, with discontented mien,\nJocasta frown\u2019d, the incestuous Theban queen;\nWith her own son she join\u2019d in nuptial bands,\nThough father\u2019s blood imbrued his murderous hands\nThe gods and men the dire offence detest,\nThe gods with all their furies rend his breast;\nIn lofty Thebes he wore the imperial crown,\nA pompous wretch! accursed upon a throne.\nThe wife self-murder\u2019d from a beam depends,\nAnd her foul soul to blackest hell descends;\nThence to her son the choicest plagues she brings,\nAnd the fiends haunt him with a thousand stings.\n\n\u201cAnd now the beauteous Chloris I descry,\nA lovely shade, Amphion\u2019s youngest joy!\nWith gifts unnumber\u2019d Neleus sought her arms,\nNor paid too dearly for unequall\u2019d charms;\nGreat in Orchomenos, in Pylos great,\nHe sway\u2019d the sceptre with imperial state.\nThree gallant sons the joyful monarch told,\nSage Nestor, Periclimenus the bold,\nAnd Chromius last; but of the softer race,\nOne nymph alone, a myracle of grace.\nKings on their thrones for lovely Pero burn;\nThe sire denies, and kings rejected mourn.\nTo him alone the beauteous prize he yields,\nWhose arm should ravish from Phylacian fields\nThe herds of Iphyclus, detain\u2019d in wrong;\nWild, furious herds, unconquerably strong!\nThis dares a seer, but nought the seer prevails,\nIn beauty\u2019s cause illustriously he fails;\nTwelve moons the foe the captive youth detains\nIn painful dungeons, and coercive chains;\nThe foe at last from durance where he lay,\nHis heart revering, give him back to day;\nWon by prophetic knowledge, to fulfil\nThe steadfast purpose of the Almighty will.\n\n\u201cWith graceful port advancing now I spied,\nLeda the fair, the godlike Tyndar\u2019s bride:\nHence Pollux sprung, who wields the furious sway\nThe deathful gauntlet, matchless in the fray;\nAnd Castor, glorious on the embattled plain,\nCurbs the proud steeds, reluctant to the rein:\nBy turns they visit this ethereal sky,\nAnd live alternate, and alternate die:\nIn hell beneath, on earth, in heaven above,\nReign the twin-gods, the favourite sons of Jove.\n\n\u201cThere Ephimedia trod the gloomy plain,\nWho charm\u2019d the monarch of the boundless main:\nHence Ephialtes, hence stern Otus sprung,\nMore fierce than giants, more than giants strong;\nThe earth o\u2019erburden\u2019d groan\u2019d beneath their weight,\nNone but Orion e\u2019er surpassed their height:\nThe wondrous youths had scarce nine winters told,\nWhen high in air, tremendous to behold,\nNine ells aloft they rear\u2019d their towering head,\nAnd full nine cubits broad their shoulders spread.\nProud of their strength, and more than mortal size,\nThe gods they challenge, and affect the skies:\nHeaved on Olympus tottering Ossa stood;\nOn Ossa, Pelion nods with all his wood.\nSuch were they youths! had they to manhood grown\nAlmighty Jove had trembled on his throne,\nBut ere the harvest of the beard began\nTo bristle on the chin, and promise man,\nHis shafts Apollo aim\u2019d; at once they sound,\nAnd stretch the giant monsters o\u2019er the ground.\n\n\u201cThere mournful Phaedra with sad Procris moves,\nBoth beauteous shades, both hapless in their loves;\nAnd near them walk\u2019d with solemn pace and slow,\nSad Adriadne, partner of their woe:\nThe royal Minos Ariadne bred,\nShe Theseus loved, from Crete with Theseus fled:\nSwift to the Dian isle the hero flies,\nAnd towards his Athens bears the lovely prize;\nThere Bacchus with fierce rage Diana fires,\nThe goddess aims her shaft, the nymph expires.\n\n\u201cThere Clymene and Mera I behold,\nThere Eriphyle weeps, who loosely sold\nHer lord, her honour, for the lust of gold.\nBut should I all recount, the night would fail,\nUnequal to the melancholy tale:\nAnd all-composing rest my nature craves,\nHere in the court, or yonder on the waves;\nIn you I trust, and in the heavenly powers,\nTo land Ulysses on his native shores.\u201d\n\nHe ceased; but left so charming on their ear\nHis voice, that listening still they seem\u2019d to hear,\nTill, rising up, Arete silence broke,\nStretch\u2019d out her snowy hand, and thus she spoke:\n\n\u201cWhat wondrous man heaven sends us in our guest;\nThrough all his woes the hero shines confess\u2019d;\nHis comely port, his ample frame express\nA manly air, majestic in distress.\nHe, as my guest, is my peculiar care:\nYou share the pleasure, then in bounty share\nTo worth in misery a reverence pay,\nAnd with a generous hand reward his stay;\nFor since kind heaven with wealth our realm has bless\u2019d,\nGive it to heaven by aiding the distress\u2019d.\u201d\n\nThen sage Echeneus, whose grave reverend brow\nThe hand of time had silvered o\u2019er with snow,\nMature in wisdom rose: \u201cYour words (he cries)\nDemand obedience, for your words are wise.\nBut let our king direct the glorious way\nTo generous acts; our part is to obey.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhile life informs these limbs (the king replied),\nWell to deserve, be all my cares employed:\nBut here this night the royal guest detain,\nTill the sun flames along the ethereal plain.\nBe it my task to send with ample stores\nThe stranger from our hospitable shores:\nTread you my steps! \u2019Tis mine to lead the race,\nThe first in glory, as the first in place.\u201d\n\nTo whom the prince: \u201cThis night with joy I stay\nO monarch great in virtue as in sway!\nIf thou the circling year my stay control,\nTo raise a bounty noble as thy soul;\nThe circling year I wait, with ampler stores\nAnd fitter pomp to hail my native shores:\nThen by my realms due homage would be paid;\nFor wealthy kings are loyally obeyed!\u201d\n\n\u201cO king! for such thou art, and sure thy blood\nThrough veins (he cried) of royal fathers flow\u2019d:\nUnlike those vagrants who on falsehood live,\nSkill\u2019d in smooth tales, and artful to deceive;\nThy better soul abhors the liar\u2019s part,\nWise is thy voice, and noble is thy heart.\nThy words like music every breast control,\nSteal through the ear, and win upon the soul;\nSoft, as some song divine, thy story flows,\nNor better could the Muse record thy woes.\n\n\u201cBut say, upon the dark and dismal coast,\nSaw\u2019st thou the worthies of the Grecian host?\nThe godlike leaders who, in battle slain,\nFell before Troy, and nobly press\u2019d the plain?\nAnd lo! a length of night behind remains,\nThe evening stars still mount the ethereal plains.\nThy tale with raptures I could hear thee tell,\nThy woes on earth, the wondrous scenes in hell,\nTill in the vault of heaven the stars decay.\nAnd the sky reddens with the rising day.\u201d\n\n\u201cO worthy of the power the gods assign\u2019d\n(Ulysses thus replies), a king in mind:\nSince yet the early hour of night allows\nTime for discourse, and time for soft repose,\nIf scenes of misery can entertain,\nWoes I unfold, of woes a dismal train.\nPrepare to hear of murder and of blood;\nOf godlike heroes who uninjured stood\nAmidst a war of spears in foreign lands,\nYet bled at home, and bled by female hands.\n\n\u201cNow summon\u2019d Proserpine to hell\u2019s black hall\nThe heroine shades: they vanish\u2019d at her call.\nWhen lo! advanced the forms of heroes slain\nBy stern AEgysthus, a majestic train:\nAnd, high above the rest Atrides press\u2019d the plain.\nHe quaff\u2019d the gore; and straight his soldier knew,\nAnd from his eyes pour\u2019d down the tender dew:\nHis arms he stretch\u2019d; his arms the touch deceive,\nNor in the fond embrace, embraces give:\nHis substance vanish\u2019d, and his strength decay\u2019d,\nNow all Atrides is an empty shade.\n\n\u201cMoved at the sight, I for a apace resign\u2019d\nTo soft affliction all my manly mind;\nAt last with tears: \u2018O what relentless doom,\nImperial phantom, bow\u2019d thee to the tomb?\nSay while the sea, and while the tempest raves,\nHas Fate oppress\u2019d thee in the roaring waves,\nOr nobly seized thee in the dire alarms\nOf war and slaughter, and the clash of arms?\u2019\n\n\u201cThe ghost returns: \u2018O chief of human kind\nFor active courage and a patient mind;\nNor while the sea, nor while the tempest raves\nHas Fate oppress\u2019d me on the roaring waves!\nNor nobly seized me in the dire alarms\nOf war and slaughter, and the clash of arms\nStabb\u2019d by a murderous hand Atrides died,\nA foul adulterer, and a faithless bride;\nE\u2019en in my mirth, and at the friendly feast,\nO\u2019er the full bowl, the traitor stabb\u2019d his guest;\nThus by the gory arm of slaughter falls\nThe stately ox, and bleeds within the stalls.\nBut not with me the direful murder ends,\nThese, these expired! their crime, they were my friends:\nThick as the boars, which some luxurious lord\nKills for the feast, to crown the nuptial board.\nWhen war has thunder\u2019d with its loudest storms,\nDeath thou hast seen in all her ghastly forms:\nIn duel met her on the listed ground,\nWhen hand to hand they wound return for wound;\nBut never have the eyes astonish\u2019d view\u2019d\nSo vile a deed, so dire a scene of blood.\nE\u2019en in the flow of joy, when now the bowl\nGlows in our veins, and opens every soul,\nWe groan, we faint; with blood the doom is dyed.\nAnd o\u2019er the pavement floats the dreadful tide\u2014\nHer breast all gore, with lamentable cries,\nThe bleeding innocent Cassandra dies!\nThen though pale death froze cold in every vein,\nMy sword I strive to wield, but strive in vain;\nNor did my traitress wife these eyelids close,\nOr decently in death my limbs compose.\nO woman, woman, when to ill thy mind\nIs bent, all hell contains no fouler fiend:\nAnd such was mine! who basely plunged her sword\nThrough the fond bosom where she reign\u2019d adored!\nAlas! I hoped the toils of war o\u2019ercome,\nTo meet soft quiet and repose at home;\nDelusive hope! O wife, thy deeds disgrace\nThe perjured sex, and blacken all the race;\nAnd should posterity one virtuous find,\nName Clytemnestra, they will curse the kind.\u2019\n\n\u201cOh injured shade (I cried) what mighty woes\nTo thy imperial race from woman rose!\nBy woman here thou tread\u2019st this mournful strand,\nAnd Greece by woman lies a desert land.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Warn\u2019d by my ills beware, (the shade replies,)\nNor trust the sex that is so rarely wise;\nWhen earnest to explore thy secret breast,\nUnfold some trifle, but conceal the rest.\nBut in thy consort cease to fear a foe,\nFor thee she feels sincerity of woe;\nWhen Troy first bled beneath the Grecian arms,\nShe shone unrivall\u2019d with a blaze of charms;\nThy infant son her fragrant bosom press\u2019d,\nHung at her knee, or wanton\u2019d at her breast;\nBut now the years a numerous train have ran;\nThe blooming boy is ripen\u2019d into man;\nThy eyes shall see him burn with noble fire,\nThe sire shall bless his son, the son his sire;\nBut my Orestes never met these eyes,\nWithout one look the murder\u2019d father dies;\nThen from a wretched friend this wisdom learn,\nE\u2019en to thy queen disguised, unknown, return;\nFor since of womankind so few are just,\nThink all are false, nor e\u2019en the faithful trust.\n\n\u201c\u2018But, say, resides my son in royal port,\nIn rich Orchomenos, or Sparta\u2019s court?\nOr say in Pyle? for yet he views the light,\nNor glides a phantom through the realms of night.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen I: \u2018Thy suit is vain, nor can I say\nIf yet he breathes in realms of cheerful day;\nOr pale or wan beholds these nether skies;\nTruth I revere; for wisdom never lies.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus in a tide of tears our sorrows flow,\nAnd add new horror to the realms of woe;\nTill side by side along the dreary coast\nAdvanced Achilles\u2019 and Patroclus\u2019 ghost,\nA friendly pair! near these the Pylian stray\u2019d,\nAnd towering Ajax, an illustrious shade!\nWar was his joy, and pleased with loud alarms,\nNone but Pelides brighter shone in arms.\n\n\u201cThrough the thick gloom his friend Achilles knew,\nAnd as he speaks the tears descend in dew.\n\n\u201c\u2018Comest thou alive to view the Stygian bounds,\nWhere the wan spectres walk eternal rounds;\nNor fear\u2019st the dark and dismal waste to tread,\nThrong\u2019d with pale ghosts, familiar with the dead?\u2019\n\n\u201cTo whom with sighs: \u2018I pass these dreadful gates\nTo seek the Theban, and consult the Fates;\nFor still, distress\u2019d, I rove from coast to coast,\nLost to my friends, and to my country lost.\nBut sure the eye of Time beholds no name\nSo bless\u2019d as thine in all the rolls of fame;\nAlive we hail\u2019d thee with our guardian gods,\nAnd dead thou rulest a king in these abodes.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Talk not of ruling in this dolorous gloom,\nNor think vain words (he cried) can ease my doom.\nRather I\u2019d choose laboriously to bear\nA weight of woes, and breathe the vital air,\nA slave to some poor hind that toils for bread,\nThan reign the sceptred monarch of the dead.\nBut say, if in my steps my son proceeds,\nAnd emulates his godlike father\u2019s deeds?\nIf at the clash of arms, and shout of foes,\nSwells his bold heart, his bosom nobly glows?\nSay if my sire, the reverend Peleus, reigns,\nGreat in his Phthia, and his throne maintains;\nOr, weak and old, my youthful arm demands,\nTo fix the sceptre steadfast in his hands?\nO might the lamp of life rekindled burn,\nAnd death release me from the silent urn!\nThis arm, that thunder\u2019d o\u2019er the Phrygian plain,\nAnd swell\u2019d the ground with mountains of the slain,\nShould vindicate my injured father\u2019s fame,\nCrush the proud rebel, and assert his claim.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Illustrious shade (I cried), of Peleus\u2019 fates\nNo circumstance the voice of Fame relates:\nBut hear with pleased attention the renown,\nThe wars and wisdom of thy gallant son.\nWith me from Scyros to the field of fame\nRadiant in arms the blooming hero came.\nWhen Greece assembled all her hundred states,\nTo ripen counsels, and decide debates,\nHeavens! how he charm\u2019d us with a flow of sense,\nAnd won the heart with manly eloquence!\nHe first was seen of all the peers to rise,\nThe third in wisdom, where they all were wise!\nBut when, to try the fortune of the day,\nHost moved toward host in terrible array,\nBefore the van, impatient for the fight,\nWith martial port he strode, and stern delight:\nHeaps strew\u2019d on heaps beneath his falchion groan\u2019d,\nAnd monuments of dead deform\u2019d the ground.\nThe time would fail should I in order tell\nWhat foes were vanquish\u2019d, and what numbers fell:\nHow, lost through love, Eurypylus was slain,\nAnd round him bled his bold Cetaean train.\nTo Troy no hero came of nobler line,\nOr if of nobler, Memnon, it was thine.\n\n\u201cWhen Ilion in the horse received her doom,\nAnd unseen armies ambush\u2019d in its womb,\nGreece gave her latent warriors to my care,\n\u2019Twas mine on Troy to pour the imprison\u2019d war:\nThen when the boldest bosom beat with fear,\nWhen the stern eyes of heroes dropp\u2019d a tear,\nFierce in his look his ardent valour glow\u2019d,\nFlush\u2019d in his cheek, or sallied in his blood;\nIndignant in the dark recess he stands,\nPants for the battle, and the war demands:\nHis voice breathed death, and with a martial air\nHe grasp\u2019d his sword, and shook his glittering spear.\nAnd when the gods our arms with conquest crown\u2019d,\nWhen Troy\u2019s proud bulwarks smoked upon the ground,\nGreece, to reward her soldier\u2019s gallant toils,\nHeap\u2019d high his navy with unnumber\u2019d spoils.\n\n\u201cThus great in glory, from the din of war\nSafe he return\u2019d, without one hostile scar;\nThough spears in iron tempests rain\u2019d around,\nYet innocent they play\u2019d, and guiltless of a wound.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhile yet I spoke, the shade with transport glow\u2019d,\nRose in his majesty, and nobler trod;\nWith haughty stalk he sought the distant glades\nOf warrior kings, and join\u2019d the illustrious shades.\n\n\u201cNow without number ghost by ghost arose,\nAll wailing with unutterable woes.\nAlone, apart, in discontented mood,\nA gloomy shade the sullen Ajax stood;\nFor ever sad, with proud disdain he pined,\nAnd the lost arms for ever stung his mind;\nThough to the contest Thetis gave the laws,\nAnd Pallas, by the Trojans, judged the cause.\nO why was I victorious in the strife?\nO dear bought honour with so brave a life!\nWith him the strength of war, the soldier\u2019s pride,\nOur second hope to great Achilles, died!\nTouch\u2019d at the sight from tears I scarce refrain,\nAnd tender sorrow thrills in every vein;\nPensive and sad I stand, at length accost\nWith accents mild the inexorable ghost:\n\u2018Still burns thy rage? and can brave souls resent\nE\u2019en after death? Relent, great shade, relent!\nPerish those arms which by the gods\u2019 decree\nAccursed our army with the loss of thee!\nWith thee we fall; Greece wept thy hapless fates,\nAnd shook astonish\u2019d through her hundred states;\nNot more, when great Achilles press\u2019d the ground,\nAnd breathed his manly spirit through the wound.\nO deem thy fall not owed to man\u2019s decree,\nJove hated Greece, and punish\u2019d Greece in thee!\nTurn then; oh peaceful turn, thy wrath control,\nAnd calm the raging tempest of thy soul.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhile yet I speak, the shade disdains to stay,\nIn silence turns, and sullen stalks away.\n\n\u201cTouch\u2019d at his sour retreat, through deepest night,\nThrough hell\u2019s black bounds I had pursued his flight,\nAnd forced the stubborn spectre to reply;\nBut wondrous visions drew my curious eye.\nHigh on a throne, tremendous to behold,\nStern Minos waves a mace of burnish\u2019d gold;\nAround ten thousand thousand spectres stand\nThrough the wide dome of Dis, a trembling band\nStill as they plead, the fatal lots he rolls,\nAbsolves the just, and dooms the guilty souls.\n\n\u201cThe huge Orion, of portentous size,\nSwift through the gloom a giant-hunter flies:\nA ponderous mace of brass with direful sway\nAloft he whirls, to crush the savage prey!\nStern beasts in trains that by his truncheon fell,\nNow grisly forms, shoot o\u2019er the lawns of hell.\n\n\u201cThere Tityus large and long, in fetters bound,\nO\u2019erspreads nine acres of infernal ground;\nTwo ravenous vultures, furious for their food,\nScream o\u2019er the fiend, and riot in his blood,\nIncessant gore the liver in his breast,\nThe immortal liver grows, and gives the immortal feast.\nFor as o\u2019er Panope\u2019s enamell\u2019d plains\nLatona journey\u2019d to the Pythian fanes,\nWith haughty love the audacious monster strove\nTo force the goddess, and to rival Jove.\n\n\u201cThere Tantalus along the Stygian bounds\nPours out deep groans (with groans all hell resounds);\nE\u2019en in the circling floods refreshment craves,\nAnd pines with thirst amidst a sea of waves;\nWhen to the water he his lip applies,\nBack from his lip the treacherous water flies.\nAbove, beneath, around his hapless head,\nTrees of all kinds delicious fruitage spread;\nThere figs, sky-dyed, a purple hue disclose,\nGreen looks the olive, the pomegranate glows.\nThere dangling pears exalting scents unfold.\nAnd yellow apples ripen into gold;\nThe fruit he strives to seize; but blasts arise,\nToss it on high, and whirl it to the skies.\n\n\u201cI turn\u2019d my eye, and as I turn\u2019d survey\u2019d\nA mournful vision! the Sisyphian shade;\nWith many a weary step, and many a groan,\nUp the high hill he heaves a huge round stone;\nThe huge round stone, resulting with a bound,\nThunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.\nAgain the restless orb his toil renews,\nDust mounts in clouds, and sweat descends in dews.\n\n\u201cNow I the strength of Hercules behold,\nA towering spectre of gigantic mould,\nA shadowy form! for high in heaven\u2019s abodes\nHimself resides, a god among the gods;\nThere in the bright assemblies of the skies.\nHe nectar quaffs, and Hebe crowns his joys.\nHere hovering ghosts, like fowl, his shade surround,\nAnd clang their pinions with terrific sound;\nGloomy as night he stands, in act to throw\nThe a\u00ebrial arrow from the twanging bow.\nAround his breast a wondrous zone is roll\u2019d,\nWhere woodland monsters grin in fretted gold;\nThere sullen lions sternly seem to roar,\nThe bear to growl to foam the tusky boar;\nThere war and havoc and destruction stood,\nAnd vengeful murder red with human blood.\nThus terribly adorned the figures shine,\nInimitably wrought with skill divine.\nThe mighty good advanced with awful look,\nAnd, turning his grim visage, sternly spoke:\n\n\u201c\u2018O exercise in grief! by arts refined;\nO taught to bear the wrongs of base mankind!\nSuch, such was I! Still toss\u2019d from care to care,\nWhile in your world I drew the vital air!\nE\u2019en I, who from the Lord of Thunders rose,\nBore toils and dangers, and a weight of woes;\nTo a base monarch still a slave confined,\n(The hardest bondage to a generous mind!)\nDown to these worlds I trod the dismal way,\nAnd dragg\u2019d the three-mouth\u2019d dog to upper day\nE\u2019en hell I conquer\u2019d, through the friendly aid\nOf Maia\u2019s offspring, and the martial maid.\n\n\u201cThus he, nor deign\u2019d for our reply to stay,\nBut, turning, stalk\u2019d with giant-strides away.\n\n\u201cCurious to view the kings of ancient days,\nThe mighty dead that live in endless praise,\nResolved I stand; and haply had survey\u2019d\nThe godlike Theseus, and Pirithous\u2019 shade;\nBut swarms of spectres rose from deepest hell,\nWith bloodless visage, and with hideous yell.\nThey scream, they shriek; and groans and dismal sounds\nStun my scared ears, and pierce hell\u2019s utmost bounds.\nNo more my heart the dismal din sustains,\nAnd my cold blood hangs shivering in my veins;\nLest Gorgon, rising from the infernal lakes,\nWith horrors arm\u2019d, and curls of hissing snakes,\nShould fix me stiffen\u2019d at the monstrous sight,\nA stony image, in eternal night!\nStraight from the direful coast to purer air\nI speed my flight, and to my mates repair.\nMy mates ascend the ship; they strike their oars;\nThe mountains lessen, and retreat the shores;\nSwift o\u2019er the waves we fly; the freshening gales\nSing through the shrouds, and stretch the swelling sails.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE SIRENE, SCYLLA, AND CHARYBDIS.\n\n\nHe relates how, after his return from the shades, he was sent by Circe\non his voyage, by the coast of the Sirens, and by the strait of Scylla\nand Charybdis: the manner in which he escaped those dangers: how, being\ncast on the island Trinacria, his companions destroyed the oxen of the\nSun: the vengeance that followed; how all perished by shipwreck except\nhimself, who, swimming on the mast of the ship, arrived on the island\nof Calypso. With which his narration concludes.\n\n\n\u201cThus o\u2019er the rolling surge the vessel flies,\nTill from the waves the \u00c6\u00e6an hills arise.\nHere the gay Morn resides in radiant bowers,\nHere keeps her revels with the dancing Hours;\nHere Ph\u0153bus, rising in the ethereal way,\nThrough heaven\u2019s bright portals pours the beamy day.\nAt once we fix our halsers on the land.\nAt once descend, and press the desert sand:\nThere, worn and wasted, lose our cares in sleep,\nTo the hoarse murmurs of the rolling deep.\n\n\u201cSoon as the morn restored the day, we paid\nSepulchral honours to Elpenor\u2019s shade.\nNow by the axe the rushing forest bends,\nAnd the huge pile along the shore ascends.\nAround we stand, a melancholy train,\nAnd a loud groan re-echoes from the main.\nFierce o\u2019er the pyre, by fanning breezes spread,\nThe hungry flames devour the silent dead.\nA rising tomb, the silent dead to grace,\nFast by the roarings of the main we place;\nThe rising tomb a lofty column bore,\nAnd high above it rose the tapering oar.\n\n\u201cMeantime the goddess our return survey\u2019d\nFrom the pale ghosts and hell\u2019s tremendous shade.\nSwift she descends: a train of nymphs divine\nBear the rich viands and the generous wine:\nIn act to speak the power of magic stands,\nAnd graceful thus accosts the listening bands;\n\n\u201c\u2018O sons of woe? decreed by adverse fates\nAlive to pass through hell\u2019s eternal gates!\nAll, soon or late, are doom\u2019d that path to tread;\nMore wretched you! twice number\u2019d with the dead!\nThis day adjourn your cares, exalt your souls,\nIndulge the taste, and drain the sparkling bowls;\nAnd when the morn unveils her saffron ray,\nSpread your broad sails, and plough the liquid way:\nLo, I this night, your faithful guide, explain\nYour woes by land, your dangers on the main.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe goddess spoke. In feasts we waste the day,\nTill Ph\u0153bus downward plunged his burning ray;\nThen sable night ascends, and balmy rest\nSeals every eye, and calms the troubled breast.\nThen curious she commands me to relate\nThe dreadful scenes of Pluto\u2019s dreary state.\nShe sat in silence while the tale I tell,\nThe wondrous visions and the laws of hell.\n\n\u201cThen thus: \u2018The lot of man the gods dispose;\nThese ills are past: now hear thy future woes\nO prince attend; some favouring power be kind,\nAnd print the important story on thy mind!\n\n\u201c\u2018Next, where the Sirens dwell, you plough the seas;\nTheir song is death, and makes destruction please.\nUnblest the man, whom music wins to stay\nNigh the cursed shore and listen to the lay.\nNo more that wretch shall view the joys of life\nHis blooming offspring, or his beauteous wife!\nIn verdant meads they sport; and wide around\nLie human bones that whiten all the ground:\nThe ground polluted floats with human gore,\nAnd human carnage taints the dreadful shore\nFly swift the dangerous coast: let every ear\nBe stopp\u2019d against the song! \u2019tis death to hear!\nFirm to the mast with chains thyself be bound,\nNor trust thy virtue to the enchanting sound.\nIf, mad with transport, freedom thou demand,\nBe every fetter strain\u2019d, and added band to band.\n\n\u201c\u2018These seas o\u2019erpass\u2019d, be wise! but I refrain\nTo mark distinct thy voyage o\u2019er the main:\nNew horrors rise! let prudence be thy guide,\nAnd guard thy various passage through the tide.\n\n\u201c\u2018High o\u2019er the main two rocks exalt their brow,\u2019\nThe boiling billows thundering roll below;\nThrough the vast waves the dreadful wonders move,\nHence named Erratic by the gods above.\nNo bird of air, no dove of swiftest wing,\nThat bears ambrosia to the ethereal king,\nShuns the dire rocks: in vain she cuts the skies;\nThe dire rocks meet, and crush her as she flies:\nNot the fleet bark, when prosperous breezes play,\nPloughs o\u2019er that roaring surge its desperate way;\nO\u2019erwhelm\u2019d it sinks: while round a smoke expires,\nAnd the waves flashing seem to burn with fires.\nScarce the famed Argo pass\u2019d these raging floods,\nThe sacred Argo, fill\u2019d with demigods!\nE\u2019en she had sunk, but Jove\u2019s imperial bride\nWing\u2019d her fleet sail, and push\u2019d her o\u2019er the tide.\n\n\u201c\u2018High in the air the rock its summit shrouds\nIn brooding tempests, and in rolling clouds;\nLoud storms around, and mists eternal rise,\nBeat its bleak brow, and intercept the skies.\nWhen all the broad expansion, bright with day,\nGlows with the autumnal or the summer ray,\nThe summer and the autumn glow in vain,\nThe sky for ever lowers, for ever clouds remain.\nImpervious to the step of man it stands,\nThough borne by twenty feet, though arm\u2019d with twenty hands;\nSmooth as the polish of the mirror rise\nThe slippery sides, and shoot into the skies.\nFull in the centre of this rock display\u2019d,\nA yawning cavern casts a dreadful shade:\nNor the fleet arrow from the twanging bow,\nSent with full force, could reach the depth below.\nWide to the west the horrid gulf extends,\nAnd the dire passage down to hell descends.\nO fly the dreadful sight! expand thy sails,\nPly the strong oar, and catch the nimble gales;\nHere Scylla bellows from the dire abodes,\nTremendous pest, abhorr\u2019d by man and gods!\nHideous her voice, and with less terrors roar\nThe whelps of lions in the midnight hour.\nTwelve feet, deform\u2019d and foul, the fiend dispreads;\nSix horrid necks she rears, and six terrific heads;\nHer jaws grin dreadful with three rows of teeth;\nJaggy they stand, the gaping den of death;\nHer parts obscene the raging billows hide;\nHer bosom terribly o\u2019erlooks the tide.\nWhen stung with hunger she embroils the flood,\nThe sea-dog and the dolphin are her food;\nShe makes the huge leviathan her prey,\nAnd all the monsters of the watery way;\nThe swiftest racer of the azure plain\nHere fills her sails, and spreads her oars in vain;\nFell Scylla rises, in her fury roars,\nAt once six mouths expands, at once six men devours.\n\n\u201c\u2018Close by, a rock of less enormous height\nBreaks the wild waves, and forms a dangerous strait;\nFull on its crown a fig\u2019s green branches rise,\nAnd shoot a leafy forest to the skies;\nBeneath, Charybdis holds her boisterous reign\n\u2019Midst roaring whirlpools, and absorbs the main;\nThrice in her gulfs the boiling seas subside,\nThrice in dire thunders she refunds the tide.\nOh, if thy vessel plough the direful waves,\nWhen seas retreating roar within her caves,\nYe perish all! though he who rules the main\nLends his strong aid, his aid he lends in vain.\nAh, shun the horrid gulf! by Scylla fly.\n\u2019Tis better six to lose, than all to die.\u2019\n\n\u201cI then: \u2018O nymph propitious to my prayer,\nGoddess divine, my guardian power, declare,\nIs the foul fiend from human vengeance freed?\nOr, if I rise in arms, can Scylla bleed?\u2019\n\n\u201cThen she: \u2018O worn by toils, O broke in fight,\nStill are new toils and war thy dire delight?\nWill martial flames for ever fire thy mind,\nAnd never, never be to Heaven resign\u2019d?\nHow vain thy efforts to avenge the wrong!\nDeathless the pest! impenetrably strong!\nFurious and fell, tremendous to behold!\nE\u2019en with a look she withers all the bold!\nShe mocks the weak attempts of human might;\nOh, fly her rage! thy conquest is thy flight.\nIf but to seize thy arms thou make delay,\nAgain thy fury vindicates her prey;\nHer six mouths yawn, and six are snatch\u2019d away.\nFrom her foul wound Crataeis gave to air\nThis dreadful pest! To her direct thy prayer,\nTo curb the monster in her dire abodes,\nAnd guard thee through the tumult of the floods.\nThence to Trinacria\u2019s shore you bend your way,\nWhere graze thy herds, illustrious source of day!\nSeven herds, seven flocks enrich the sacred plains,\nEach herd, each flock full fifty heads contains;\nThe wondrous kind a length of age survey,\nBy breed increase not, nor by death decay.\nTwo sister goddesses possess the plain,\nThe constant guardian of the woolly train;\nLampetie fair, and Phaethusa young,\nFrom Ph\u0153bus and the bright Ne\u00e6ra sprung;\nHere, watchful o\u2019er the flocks, in shady bowers\nAnd flowery meads, they waste the joyous hours.\nRob not the gods! and so propitious gales\nAttend thy voyage, and impel thy sails;\nBut if thy impious hands the flocks destroy,\nThe gods, the gods avenge it, and ye die!\n\u2019Tis thine alone (thy friends and navy lost)\nThrough tedious toils to view thy native coast.\u2019\n\nShe ceased: and now arose the morning ray;\nSwift to her dome the goddess held her way.\nThen to my mates I measured back the plain,\nClimb\u2019d the tall bark, and rush\u2019d into the main;\nThen, bending to the stroke, their oars they drew\nTo their broad breasts, and swift the galley flew.\nUp sprung a brisker breeze; with freshening gales\nThe friendly goddess stretch\u2019d the swelling sails;\nWe drop our oars; at ease the pilot guides;\nThe vessel light along the level glides.\nWhen, rising sad and slow, with pensive look,\nThus to the melancholy train I spoke:\n\n\u201c\u2018O friends, oh ever partners of my woes,\nAttend while I what Heaven foredooms disclose.\nHear all! Fate hangs o\u2019er all; on you it lies\nTo live or perish! to be safe, be wise!\n\n\u201c\u2018In flowery meads the sportive Sirens play,\nTouch the soft lyre, and tune the vocal lay;\nMe, me alone, with fetters firmly bound,\nThe gods allow to hear the dangerous sound.\nHear and obey; if freedom I demand,\nBe every fetter strain\u2019d, be added band to band.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhile yet I speak the winged galley flies,\nAnd lo! the Siren shores like mists arise.\nSunk were at once the winds; the air above,\nAnd waves below, at once forgot to move;\nSome demon calm\u2019d the air and smooth\u2019d the deep,\nHush\u2019d the loud winds, and charm\u2019d the waves to sleep.\nNow every sail we furl, each oar we ply;\nLash\u2019d by the stroke, the frothy waters fly.\nThe ductile wax with busy hands I mould,\nAnd cleft in fragments, and the fragments roll\u2019d;\nThe a\u00ebrial region now grew warm with day,\nThe wax dissolved beneath the burning ray;\nThen every ear I barr\u2019d against the strain,\nAnd from access of frenzy lock\u2019d the brain.\nNow round the masts my mates the fetters roll\u2019d,\nAnd bound me limb by limb with fold on fold.\nThen bending to the stroke, the active train\nPlunge all at once their oars, and cleave the main.\n\n\u201cWhile to the shore the rapid vessel flies,\nOur swift approach the Siren choir descries;\nCelestial music warbles from their tongue,\nAnd thus the sweet deluders tune the song:\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh stay, O pride of Greece! Ulysses, stay!\nOh cease thy course, and listen to our lay!\nBlest is the man ordain\u2019d our voice to hear,\nThe song instructs the soul, and charms the ear.\nApproach! thy soul shall into raptures rise!\nApproach! and learn new wisdom from the wise!\nWe know whate\u2019er the kings of mighty name\nAchieved at Ilion in the field of fame;\nWhate\u2019er beneath the sun\u2019s bright journey lies.\nOh stay, and learn new wisdom from the wise!\u2019\n\n\u201cThus the sweet charmers warbled o\u2019er the main;\nMy soul takes wing to meet the heavenly strain;\nI give the sign, and struggle to be free;\nSwift row my mates, and shoot along the sea;\nNew chains they add, and rapid urge the way,\nTill, dying off, the distant sounds decay;\nThen scudding swiftly from the dangerous ground,\nThe deafen\u2019d ear unlock\u2019d, the chains unbound.\n\n\u201cNow all at once tremendous scenes unfold;\nThunder\u2019d the deeps, the smoky billows roll\u2019d!\nTumultuous waves embroil the bellowing flood,\nAll trembling, deafen\u2019d, and aghast we stood!\nNo more the vessel plough\u2019d the dreadful wave,\nFear seized the mighty, and unnerved the brave;\nEach dropp\u2019d his oar; but swift from man to man\nWith looks serene I turn\u2019d, and thus began:\n\u2018O friends! O often tried in adverse storms!\nWith ills familiar in more dreadful forms!\nDeep in the dire Cyclopean den you lay,\nYet safe return\u2019d\u2014Ulysses led the way.\nLearn courage hence, and in my care confide;\nLo! still the same Ulysses is your guide.\nAttend my words! your oars incessant ply;\nStrain every nerve, and bid the vessel fly.\nIf from yon jostling rocks and wavy war\nJove safety grants, he grants it to your care.\nAnd thou, whose guiding hand directs our way,\nPilot, attentive listen and obey!\nBear wide thy course, nor plough those angry waves\nWhere rolls yon smoke, yon tumbling ocean raves;\nSteer by the higher rock; lest whirl\u2019d around\nWe sink, beneath the circling eddy drown\u2019d.\u2019\nWhile yet I speak, at once their oars they seize,\nStretch to the stroke, and brush the working seas.\nCautious the name of Scylla I suppress\u2019d;\nThat dreadful sound had chill\u2019d the boldest breast.\n\n\u201cMeantime, forgetful of the voice divine,\nAll dreadful bright my limbs in armour shine;\nHigh on the deck I take my dangerous stand,\nTwo glittering javelins lighten in my hand;\nPrepared to whirl the whizzing spear I stay,\nTill the fell fiend arise to seize her prey.\nAround the dungeon, studious to behold\nThe hideous pest, my labouring eyes I roll\u2019d;\nIn vain! the dismal dungeon, dark as night,\nVeils the dire monster, and confounds the sight.\n\n\u201cNow through the rocks, appall\u2019d with deep dismay,\nWe bend our course, and stem the desperate way;\nDire Scylla there a scene of horror forms,\nAnd here Charybdis fills the deep with storms.\nWhen the tide rushes from her rumbling caves,\nThe rough rock roars, tumultuous boil the waves;\nThey toss, they foam, a wild confusion raise,\nLike waters bubbling o\u2019er the fiery blaze;\nEternal mists obscure the a\u00ebrial plain,\nAnd high above the rock she spouts the main;\nWhen in her gulfs the rushing sea subsides,\nShe drains the ocean with the refluent tides;\nThe rock re-bellows with a thundering sound;\nDeep, wondrous deep, below appears the ground.\n\n\u201cStruck with despair, with trembling hearts we view\u2019d\nThe yawning dungeon, and the tumbling flood;\nWhen lo! fierce Scylla stoop\u2019d to seize her prey,\nStretch\u2019d her dire jaws, and swept six men away.\nChiefs of renown! loud-echoing shrieks arise;\nI turn, and view them quivering in the skies;\nThey call, and aid with outstretch\u2019d arms implore;\nIn vain they call! those arms are stretch\u2019d no more.\nAs from some rock that overhangs the flood\nThe silent fisher casts the insidious food,\nWith fraudful care he waits the finny prize,\nAnd sudden lifts it quivering to the skies:\nSo the foul monster lifts her prey on high,\nSo pant the wretches struggling in the sky;\nIn the wide dungeon she devours her food,\nAnd the flesh trembles while she churns the blood.\nWorn as I am with griefs, with care decay\u2019d,\nNever, I never scene so dire survey\u2019d!\nMy shivering blood, congeal\u2019d, forgot to flow;\nAghast I stood, a monument of woe!\n\n\u201cNow from the rocks the rapid vessel flies,\nAnd the hoarse din like distant thunder dies;\nTo Sol\u2019s bright isle our voyage we pursue,\nAnd now the glittering mountains rise to view.\nThere, sacred to the radiant god of day,\nGraze the fair herds, the flocks promiscuous stray:\nThen suddenly was heard along the main\nTo low the ox, to bleat the woolly train.\nStraight to my anxious thoughts the sound convey\u2019d\nThe words of Circe and the Theban shade;\nWarn\u2019d by their awful voice these shores to shun,\nWith cautious fears oppress\u2019d I thus begun:\n\n\u201c\u2018O friends! O ever exercised in care!\nHear Heaven\u2019s commands, and reverence what ye hear!\nTo fly these shores the prescient Theban shade\nAnd Circe warn! Oh be their voice obey\u2019d;\nSome mighty woe relentless Heaven forebodes:\nFly these dire regions, and revere the gods!\u2019\n\n\u201cWhile yet I spoke, a sudden sorrow ran\nThrough every breast, and spread from man to man,\nTill wrathful thus Eurylochus began:\n\n\u201c\u2018O cruel thou! some Fury sure has steel\u2019d\nThat stubborn soul, by toil untaught to yield!\nFrom sleep debarr\u2019d, we sink from woes to woes:\nAnd cruel, enviest thou a short repose?\nStill must we restless rove, new seas explore,\nThe sun descending, and so near the shore?\nAnd lo! the night begins her gloomy reign,\nAnd doubles all the terrors of the main:\nOft in the dead of night loud winds arise,\nLash the wild surge, and bluster in the skies.\nOh, should the fierce south-west his rage display,\nAnd toss with rising storms the watery way,\nThough gods descend from heaven\u2019s a\u00ebrial plain\nTo lend us aid, the gods descend in vain.\nThen while the night displays her awful shade,\nSweet time of slumber! be the night obey\u2019d!\nHaste ye to land! and when the morning ray\nSheds her bright beam, pursue the destined way.\u2019\nA sudden joy in every bosom rose:\nSo will\u2019d some demon, minister of woes!\n\n\u201cTo whom with grief: \u2018O swift to be undone!\nConstrain\u2019d I act what wisdom bids me shun.\nBut yonder herbs and yonder flocks forbear;\nAttest the heavens, and call the gods to hear:\nContent, an innocent repast display,\nBy Circe given, and fly the dangerous prey.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus I: and while to shore the vessel flies,\nWith hands uplifted they attest the skies:\nThen, where a fountain\u2019s gurgling waters play,\nThey rush to land, and end in feasts the day:\nThey feed; they quaff; and now (their hunger fled)\nSigh for their friends devour\u2019d, and mourn the dead;\nNor cease the tears till each in slumber shares\nA sweet forgetfulness of human cares.\nNow far the night advanced her gloomy reign,\nAnd setting stars roll\u2019d down the azure plain:\nWhen at the voice of Jove wild whirlwinds rise,\nAnd clouds and double darkness veil the skies;\nThe moon, the stars, the bright ethereal host\nSeem as extinct, and all their splendours lost:\nThe furious tempest roars with dreadful sound:\nAir thunders, rolls the ocean, groans the ground.\nAll night it raged: when morning rose to land\nWe haul\u2019d our bark, and moor\u2019d it on the strand,\nWhere in a beauteous grotto\u2019s cool recess\nDance the green Nereids of the neighbouring seas.\n\n\u201cThere while the wild winds whistled o\u2019er the main,\nThus careful I address\u2019d the listening train:\n\n\u201c\u2018O friends, be wise! nor dare the flocks destroy\nOf these fair pastures: if ye touch, ye die.\nWarn\u2019d by the high command of Heaven, be awed:\nHoly the flocks, and dreadful is the god!\nThat god who spreads the radiant beams of light,\nAnd views wide earth and heaven\u2019s unmeasured height.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd now the moon had run her monthly round,\nThe south-east blustering with a dreadful sound:\nUnhurt the beeves, untouch\u2019d the woolly train,\nLow through the grove, or touch the flowery plain:\nThen fail\u2019d our food: then fish we make our prey,\nOr fowl that screaming haunt the watery way.\nTill now from sea or flood no succour found,\nFamine and meagre want besieged us round.\nPensive and pale from grove to grove I stray\u2019d,\nFrom the loud storms to find a sylvan shade;\nThere o\u2019er my hands the living wave I pour;\nAnd Heaven and Heaven\u2019s immortal thrones implore,\nTo calm the roarings of the stormy main,\nAnd guide me peaceful to my realms again.\nThen o\u2019er my eyes the gods soft slumbers shed,\nWhile thus Eurylochus arising said:\n\n\u201c\u2018O friends, a thousand ways frail mortals lead\nTo the cold tomb, and dreadful all to tread;\nBut dreadful most, when by a slow decay\nPale hunger wastes the manly strength away.\nWhy cease ye then to implore the powers above,\nAnd offer hecatombs to thundering Jove?\nWhy seize ye not yon beeves, and fleecy prey?\nArise unanimous; arise and slay!\nAnd if the gods ordain a safe return,\nTo Ph\u0153bus shrines shall rise, and altars burn.\nBut should the powers that o\u2019er mankind preside\nDecree to plunge us in the whelming tide,\nBetter to rush at once to shades below\nThan linger life away, and nourish woe.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus he: the beeves around securely stray,\nWhen swift to ruin they invade the prey;\nThey seize, they kill!\u2014but for the rite divine.\nThe barley fail\u2019d, and for libations wine.\nSwift from the oak they strip the shady pride;\nAnd verdant leaves the flowery cake supplied.\n\n\u201cWith prayer they now address the ethereal train,\nSlay the selected beeves, and flay the slain;\nThe thighs, with fat involved, divide with art,\nStrew\u2019d o\u2019er with morsels cut from every part.\nWater, instead of wine, is brought in urns,\nAnd pour\u2019d profanely as the victim burns.\nThe thighs thus offer\u2019d, and the entrails dress\u2019d,\nThey roast the fragments, and prepare the feast.\n\n\u201c\u2018Twas then soft slumber fled my troubled brain;\nBack to the bark I speed along the main.\nWhen lo! an odour from the feast exhales,\nSpreads o\u2019er the coast and scents the tainted gales;\nA chilly fear congeal\u2019d my vital blood,\nAnd thus, obtesting Heaven, I mourn\u2019d aloud;\n\n\u201c\u2018O sire of men and gods, immortal Jove!\nO all ye blissful powers that reign above!\nWhy were my cares beguiled in short repose?\nO fatal slumber, paid with lasting woes!\nA deed so dreadful all the gods alarms,\nVengeance is on the wing, and Heaven in arms!\u2019\n\n\u201cMeantime Lampetie mounts the a\u00ebrial way,\nAnd kindles into rage the god of day;\n\n\u201c\u2018Vengeance, ye powers (he cries), and then whose hand\nAims the red bolt, and hurls the writhen brand!\nSlain are those herds which I with pride survey,\nWhen through the ports of heaven I pour the day,\nOr deep in ocean plunge the burning ray.\nVengeance, ye gods! or I the skies forego,\nAnd bear the lamp of heaven to shades below.\u2019\n\n\u201cTo whom the thundering Power: \u2018O source of day\nWhose radiant lamp adorns the azure way,\nStill may thy beams through heaven\u2019s bright portal rise,\nThe joy of earth, the glory of the skies:\nLo! my red arm I bare, my thunders guide,\nTo dash the offenders in the whelming tide.\u2019\n\n\u201cTo fair Calypso, from the bright abodes,\nHermes convey\u2019d these counsels of the gods.\n\n\u201cMeantime from man to man my tongue exclaims,\nMy wrath is kindled, and my soul in flames.\nIn vain! I view perform\u2019d the direful deed,\nBeeves, slain in heaps, along the ocean bleed.\n\n\u201cNow heaven gave signs of wrath: along the ground\nCrept the raw hides, and with a bellowing sound\nRoar\u2019d the dead limbs; the burning entrails groan\u2019d.\nSix guilty days my wretched mates employ\nIn impious feasting, and unhallowed joy;\nThe seventh arose, and now the sire of gods\nRein\u2019d the rough storms; and calm\u2019d the tossing floods:\nWith speed the bark we climb; the spacious sails.\nLoosed from the yards invite the impelling gales.\nPast sight of shore, along the surge we bound,\nAnd all above is sky, and ocean all around;\nWhen lo! a murky cloud the thunderer forms\nFull o\u2019er our heads, and blackens heaven with storms.\nNight dwells o\u2019er all the deep: and now outflies\nThe gloomy west, and whistles in the skies.\nThe mountain-billows roar! the furious blast\nHowls o\u2019er the shroud, and rends it from the mast:\nThe mast gives way, and, crackling as it bends,\nTears up the deck; then all at once descends:\nThe pilot by the tumbling ruin slain,\nDash\u2019d from the helm, falls headlong in the main.\nThen Jove in anger bids his thunders roll,\nAnd forky lightnings flash from pole to pole:\nFierce at our heads his deadly bolt he aims,\nRed with uncommon wrath, and wrapp\u2019d in flames:\nFull on the bark it fell; now high, now low,\nToss\u2019d and retoss\u2019d, it reel\u2019d beneath the blow;\nAt once into the main the crew it shook:\nSulphurous odours rose, and smouldering smoke.\nLike fowl that haunt the floods, they sink, they rise,\nNow lost, now seen, with shrieks and dreadful cries;\nAnd strive to gain the bark, but Jove denies.\nFirm at the helm I stand, when fierce the main\nRush\u2019d with dire noise, and dash\u2019d the sides in twain;\nAgain impetuous drove the furious blast,\nSnapp\u2019d the strong helm, and bore to sea the mast.\nFirm to the mast with cords the helm I bind,\nAnd ride aloft, to Providence resign\u2019d,\nThrough tumbling billows and a war of wind.\n\u201cNow sunk the west, and now a southern breeze,\nMore dreadful than the tempest lash\u2019d the seas;\nFor on the rocks it bore where Scylla raves,\nAnd dire Charybdis rolls her thundering waves.\nAll night I drove; and at the dawn of day,\nFast by the rocks beheld the desperate way;\nJust when the sea within her gulfs subsides,\nAnd in the roaring whirlpools rush the tides,\nSwift from the float I vaulted with a bound,\nThe lofty fig-tree seized, and clung around;\nSo to the beam the bat tenacious clings,\nAnd pendent round it clasps his leather wings.\nHigh in the air the tree its boughs display\u2019d,\nAnd o\u2019er the dungeon cast a dreadful shade;\nAll unsustain\u2019d between the wave and sky,\nBeneath my feet the whirling billows fly.\nWhat time the judge forsakes the noisy bar\nTo take repast, and stills the wordy war,\nCharybdis, rumbling from her inmost caves,\nThe mast refunded on her refluent waves.\nSwift from the tree, the floating mass to gain,\nSudden I dropp\u2019d amidst the flashing main;\nOnce more undaunted on the ruin rode,\nAnd oar\u2019d with labouring arms along the flood.\nUnseen I pass\u2019d by Scylla\u2019s dire abodes.\nSo Jove decreed (dread sire of men and gods).\nThen nine long days I plow\u2019d the calmer seas,\nHeaved by the surge, and wafted by the breeze.\nWeary and wet the Ogygian shores I gain,\nWhen the tenth sun descended to the main.\nThere, in Calypso\u2019s ever-fragrant bowers,\nRefresh\u2019d I lay, and joy beguiled the hours.\n\u201cMy following fates to thee, O king, are known,\nAnd the bright partner of thy royal throne.\nEnough: in misery can words avail?\nAnd what so tedious as a twice-told tale?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XIII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE ARRIVAL OF ULYSSES IN ITHACA.\n\n\nUlysses takes his leave of Alcinous and Arete, and embarks in the\nevening. Next morning the ship arrives at Ithaca; where the sailors, as\nUlysses is yet sleeping, lay him on the shore with all his treasures.\nOn their return, Neptune changes their ship into a rock. In the\nmeantime Ulysses, awaking, knows not his native Ithaca, by reason of a\nmist which Pallas had cast around him. He breaks into loud\nlamentations; till the goddess appearing to him in the form of a\nshepherd, discovers the country to him, and points out the particular\nplaces. He then tells a feigned story of his adventures, upon which she\nmanifests herself, and they consult together of the measures to be\ntaken to destroy the suitors. To conceal his return, and disguise his\nperson the more effectually, she changes him into the figure of an old\nbeggar.\n\n\nHe ceased; but left so pleasing on their ear\nHis voice, that listening still they seem\u2019d to hear.\nA pause of silence hush\u2019d the shady rooms:\nThe grateful conference then the king resumes:\n\n\u201cWhatever toils the great Ulysses pass\u2019d,\nBeneath this happy roof they end at last;\nNo longer now from shore to shore to roam,\nSmooth seas and gentle winds invite him home.\nBut hear me, princes! whom these walls inclose,\nFor whom my chanter sings: and goblet flows\nWith wine unmix\u2019d (an honour due to age,\nTo cheer the grave, and warm the poet\u2019s rage);\nThough labour\u2019d gold and many a dazzling vest\nLie heap\u2019d already for our godlike guest;\nWithout new treasures let him not remove,\nLarge, and expressive of the public love:\nEach peer a tripod, each a vase bestow,\nA general tribute, which the state shall owe.\u201d\n\nThis sentence pleased: then all their steps address\u2019d\nTo separate mansions, and retired to rest.\n\nNow did the rosy-finger\u2019d morn arise,\nAnd shed her sacred light along the skies.\nDown to the haven and the ships in haste\nThey bore the treasures, and in safety placed.\nThe king himself the vases ranged with care;\nThen bade his followers to the feast prepare.\nA victim ox beneath the sacred hand\nOf great Alcinous falls, and stains the sand.\nTo Jove the Eternal (power above all powers!\nWho wings the winds, and darkens heaven with showers)\nThe flames ascend: till evening they prolong\nThe rites, more sacred made by heavenly song;\nFor in the midst, with public honours graced,\nThy lyre divine, Demodocus! was placed.\nAll, but Ulysses, heard with fix\u2019d delight;\nHe sate, and eyed the sun, and wish\u2019d the night;\nSlow seem\u2019d the sun to move, the hours to roll,\nHis native home deep-imaged in his soul.\nAs the tired ploughman, spent with stubborn toil,\nWhose oxen long have torn the furrow\u2019d soil,\nSees with delight the sun\u2019s declining ray,\nWhen home with feeble knees he bends his way\nTo late repast (the day\u2019s hard labour done);\nSo to Ulysses welcome set the sun;\nThen instant to Alcinous and the rest\n(The Scherian states) he turn\u2019d, and thus address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cO thou, the first in merit and command!\nAnd you the peers and princes of the land!\nMay every joy be yours! nor this the least,\nWhen due libation shall have crown\u2019d the feast,\nSafe to my home to send your happy guest.\nComplete are now the bounties you have given,\nBe all those bounties but confirm\u2019d by Heaven!\nSo may I find, when all my wanderings cease,\nMy consort blameless, and my friends in peace.\nOn you be every bliss; and every day,\nIn home-felt joys, delighted roll away;\nYourselves, your wives, your long-descending race,\nMay every god enrich with every grace!\nSure fix\u2019d on virtue may your nation stand,\nAnd public evil never touch the land!\u201d\n\nHis words well weigh\u2019d, the general voice approved\nBenign, and instant his dismission moved,\nThe monarch to Pontonus gave the sign.\nTo fill the goblet high with rosy wine;\n\u201cGreat Jove the Father first (he cried) implore;\nThen send the stranger to his native shore.\u201d\n\nThe luscious wine the obedient herald brought;\nAround the mansion flow\u2019d the purple draught;\nEach from his seat to each immortal pours,\nWhom glory circles in the Olympian bowers\nUlysses sole with air majestic stands,\nThe bowl presenting to Arete\u2019s hands;\nThen thus: \u201cO queen, farewell! be still possess\u2019d\nOf dear remembrance, blessing still and bless\u2019d!\nTill age and death shall gently call thee hence,\n(Sure fate of every mortal excellence!)\nFarewell! and joys successive ever spring\nTo thee, to thine, the people, and the king!\u201d\n\nThus he: then parting prints the sandy shore\nTo the fair port: a herald march\u2019d before,\nSent by Alcinous; of Arete\u2019s train\nThree chosen maids attend him to the main;\nThis does a tunic and white vest convey,\nA various casket that, of rich inlay,\nAnd bread and wine the third. The cheerful mates\nSafe in the hollow poop dispose the cates;\nUpon the deck soft painted robes they spread\nWith linen cover\u2019d, for the hero\u2019s bed.\nHe climbed the lofty stern; then gently press\u2019d\nThe swelling couch, and lay composed to rest.\n\nNow placed in order, the Ph\u00e6acian train\nTheir cables loose, and launch into the main;\nAt once they bend, and strike their equal oars,\nAnd leave the sinking hills and lessening shores.\nWhile on the deck the chief in silence lies,\nAnd pleasing slumbers steal upon his eyes.\nAs fiery coursers in the rapid race\nUrged by fierce drivers through the dusty space,\nToss their high heads, and scour along the plain,\nSo mounts the bounding vessel o\u2019er the main.\nBack to the stern the parted billows flow,\nAnd the black ocean foams and roars below.\n\nThus with spread sails the winged galley flies;\nLess swift an eagle cuts the liquid skies;\nDivine Ulysses was her sacred load,\nA man, in wisdom equal to a god!\nMuch danger, long and mighty toils he bore,\nIn storms by sea, and combats on the shore;\nAll which soft sleep now banish\u2019d from his breast,\nWrapp\u2019d in a pleasing, deep, and death-like rest.\n\nBut when the morning-star with early ray\nFlamed in the front of heaven, and promised day;\nLike distant clouds the mariner descries\nFair Ithaca\u2019s emerging hills arise.\nFar from the town a spacious port appears,\nSacred to Phorcys\u2019 power, whose name it bears;\nTwo craggy rocks projecting to the main,\nThe roaring wind\u2019s tempestuous rage restrain;\nWithin the waves in softer murmurs glide,\nAnd ships secure without their halsers ride.\nHigh at the head a branching olive grows,\nAnd crowns the pointed cliffs with shady boughs.\nBeneath, a gloomy grotto\u2019s cool recess\nDelights the Nereids of the neighbouring seas,\nWhere bowls and urns were form\u2019d of living stone,\nAnd massy beams in native marble shone,\nOn which the labours of the nymphs were roll\u2019d,\nTheir webs divine of purple mix\u2019d with gold.\nWithin the cave the clustering bees attend\nTheir waxen works, or from the roof depend.\nPerpetual waters o\u2019er the pavement glide;\nTwo marble doors unfold on either side;\nSacred the south, by which the gods descend;\nBut mortals enter at the northern end.\n\nThither they bent, and haul\u2019d their ship to land\n(The crooked keel divides the yellow sand).\nUlysses sleeping on his couch they bore,\nAnd gently placed him on the rocky shore.\nHis treasures next, Alcinous\u2019 gifts, they laid\nIn the wild olive\u2019s unfrequented shade,\nSecure from theft; then launch\u2019d the bark again,\nResumed their oars, and measured back the main,\nNor yet forgot old Ocean\u2019s dread supreme,\nThe vengeance vow\u2019d for eyeless Polypheme.\nBefore the throne of mighty Jove he stood,\nAnd sought the secret counsels of the god.\n\n\u201cShall then no more, O sire of gods! be mine\nThe rights and honours of a power divine?\nScorn\u2019d e\u2019en by man, and (oh severe disgrace!)\nBy soft Ph\u00e6acians, my degenerate race!\nAgainst yon destined head in vain I swore,\nAnd menaced vengeance, ere he reach\u2019d his shore;\nTo reach his natal shore was thy decree;\nMild I obey\u2019d, for who shall war with thee?\nBehold him landed, careless and asleep,\nFrom all the eluded dangers of the deep;\nLo where he lies, amidst a shining store\nOf brass, rich garments, and refulgent ore;\nAnd bears triumphant to his native isle\nA prize more worth than Ilion\u2019s noble spoil.\u201d\n\nTo whom the Father of the immortal powers,\nWho swells the clouds, and gladdens earth with showers,\n\u201cCan mighty Neptune thus of man complain?\nNeptune, tremendous o\u2019er the boundless main!\nRevered and awful e\u2019en in heaven\u2019s abodes,\nAncient and great! a god above the gods!\nIf that low race offend thy power divine\n(Weak, daring creatures!) is not vengeance thine?\nGo, then, the guilty at thy will chastise.\u201d\nHe said. The shaker of the earth replies:\n\n\u201cThis then, I doom: to fix the gallant ship,\nA mark of vengeance on the sable deep;\nTo warn the thoughtless, self-confiding train,\nNo more unlicensed thus to brave the main.\nFull in their port a Shady hill shall rise,\nIf such thy will.\u201d\u2014\u201cWe will it (Jove replies).\nE\u2019en when with transport blackening all the strand,\nThe swarming people hail their ship to land,\nFix her for ever, a memorial stone:\nStill let her seem to sail, and seem alone.\nThe trembling crowds shall see the sudden shade\nOf whelming mountains overhang their head!\u201d\n\nWith that the god whose earthquakes rock the ground\nFierce to Ph\u00e6acia cross\u2019d the vast profound.\nSwift as a swallow sweeps the liquid way,\nThe winged pinnace shot along the sea.\nThe god arrests her with a sudden stroke,\nAnd roots her down an everlasting rock.\nAghast the Scherians stand in deep surprise;\nAll press to speak, all question with their eyes.\nWhat hands unseen the rapid bark restrain!\nAnd yet it swims, or seems to swim, the main!\nThus they, unconscious of the deed divine;\nTill great Alcinous, rising, own\u2019d the sign.\n\n\u201cBehold the long predestined day! (he cries;)\nO certain faith of ancient prophecies\nThese ears have heard my royal sire disclose\nA dreadful story, big with future woes;\nHow, moved with wrath, that careless we convey\nPromiscuous every guest to every bay,\nStern Neptune raged; and how by his command\nFirm rooted in the surge a ship should stand\n(A monument of wrath); and mound on mound\nShould hide our walls, or whelm beneath the ground.\n\n\u201cThe Fates have follow\u2019d as declared the seer.\nBe humbled, nations! and your monarch hear.\nNo more unlicensed brave the deeps, no more\nWith every stranger pass from shore to shore;\nOn angry Neptune now for mercy call;\nTo his high name let twelve black oxen fall.\nSo may the god reverse his purposed will,\nNor o\u2019er our city hang the dreadful hill.\u201d\n\nThe monarch spoke: they trembled and obey\u2019d,\nForth on the sands the victim oxen led;\nThe gathered tribes before the altars stand,\nAnd chiefs and rulers, a majestic band.\nThe king of ocean all the tribes implore;\nThe blazing altars redden all the shore.\n\nMeanwhile Ulysses in his country lay,\nReleased from sleep, and round him might survey\nThe solitary shore and rolling sea.\nYet had his mind through tedious absence lost\nThe dear resemblance of his native coast;\nBesides, Minerva, to secure her care,\nDiffused around a veil of thickened air;\nFor so the gods ordain\u2019d to keep unseen\nHis royal person from his friends and queen;\nTill the proud suitors for their crimes afford\nAn ample vengeance to their injured lord.\n\nNow all the land another prospect bore,\nAnother port appear\u2019d, another shore.\nAnd long-continued ways, and winding floods,\nAnd unknown mountains, crown\u2019d with unknown woods\nPensive and slow, with sudden grief oppress\u2019d,\nThe king arose, and beat his careful breast,\nCast a long look o\u2019er all the coast and main,\nAnd sought, around, his native realm in vain;\nThen with erected eyes stood fix\u2019d in woe,\nAnd as he spoke, the tears began to flow.\n\n\u201cYe gods (he cried), upon what barren coast,\nIn what new region, is Ulysses toss\u2019d?\nPossess\u2019d by wild barbarians, fierce in arms?\nOr men whose bosom tender pity warms?\nWhere shall this treasure now in safely lie?\nAnd whither, whither its sad owner fly?\nAh, why did I Alcinous\u2019 grace implore?\nAh, why forsake Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s happy shore?\nSome juster prince perhaps had entertain\u2019d,\nAnd safe restored me to my native land.\nIs this the promised, long-expected coast,\nAnd this the faith Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s rulers boast?\nO righteous gods! of all the great, how few\nAre just to Heaven, and to their promise true!\nBut he, the power to whose all-seeing eyes\nThe deeds of men appear without disguise,\n\u2019Tis his alone to avenge the wrongs I bear;\nFor still the oppress\u2019d are his peculiar care.\nTo count these presents, and from thence to prove,\nTheir faith is mine; the rest belongs to Jove.\u201d\n\nThen on the sands he ranged his wealthy store,\nThe gold, the vests, the tripods number\u2019d o\u2019er:\nAll these he found, but still in error lost,\nDisconsolate he wanders on the coast,\nSighs for his country, and laments again\nTo the deaf rocks, and hoarse-resounding main.\nWhen lo! the guardian goddess of the wise,\nCelestial Pallas, stood before his eyes;\nIn show a youthful swain, of form divine,\nWho seem\u2019d descended from some princely line.\nA graceful robe her slender body dress\u2019d;\nAround her shoulders flew the waving vest;\nHer decent hand a shining javelin bore,\nAnd painted sandals on her feet she wore.\nTo whom the king: \u201cWhoe\u2019er of human race\nThou art, that wanderest in this desert place,\nWith joy to thee, as to some god I bend,\nTo thee my treasures and myself commend.\nO tell a wretch in exile doom\u2019d to stray,\nWhat air I breathe, what country I survey?\nThe fruitful continent\u2019s extremest bound,\nOr some fair isle which Neptune\u2019s arms surround?\n\n\u201cFrom what far clime (said she) remote from fame\nArrivest thou here, a stranger to our name?\nThou seest an island, not to those unknown\nWhose hills are brighten\u2019d by the rising sun,\nNor those that placed beneath his utmost reign\nBehold him sinking in the western main.\nThe rugged soil allows no level space\nFor flying chariots, or the rapid race;\nYet, not ungrateful to the peasant\u2019s pain,\nSuffices fulness to the swelling grain;\nThe loaded trees their various fruits produce,\nAnd clustering grapes afford a generous juice;\nWoods crown our mountains, and in every grove\nThe bounding goats and frisking heifers rove;\nSoft rains and kindly dews refresh the field,\nAnd rising springs eternal verdure yield.\nE\u2019en to those shores is Ithaca renown\u2019d,\nWhere Troy\u2019s majestic ruins strew the ground.\u201d\n\nAt this, the chief with transport was possess\u2019d;\nHis panting heart exulted in his breast;\nYet, well dissembling his untimely joys,\nAnd veiling truth in plausible disguise,\nThus, with an air sincere, in fiction bold,\nHis ready tale the inventive hero told:\n\n\u201cOft have I heard in Crete this island\u2019s name;\nFor \u2019twas from Crete, my native soil, I came,\nSelf-banished thence. I sail\u2019d before the wind,\nAnd left my children and my friends behind.\nFrom fierce Idomeneus\u2019 revenge I flew,\nWhose son, the swift Orsilochus, I slew\n(With brutal force he seized my Trojan prey,\nDue to the toils of many a bloody day).\nUnseen I \u2019scaped, and favour\u2019d by the night,\nIn a Phoenician vessel took my flight,\nFor Pyle or Elis bound; but tempests toss\u2019d\nAnd raging billows drove us on your coast.\nIn dead of night an unknown port we gain\u2019d;\nSpent with fatigue, and slept secure on land.\nBut ere the rosy morn renew\u2019d the day,\nWhile in the embrace of pleasing sleep I lay,\nSudden, invited by auspicious gales,\nThey land my goods, and hoist their flying sails.\nAbandon\u2019d here, my fortune I deplore\nA hapless exile on a foreign shore,\u201d\n\nThus while he spoke, the blue-eyed maid began\nWith pleasing smiles to view the godlike man;\nThen changed her form: and now, divinely bright,\nJove\u2019s heavenly daughter stood confess\u2019d to sight;\nLike a fair virgin in her beauty\u2019s bloom,\nSkill\u2019d in the illustrious labours of the loom.\n\n\u201cO still the same Ulysses! (she rejoin\u2019d,)\nIn useful craft successfully refined!\nArtful in speech, in action, and in mind!\nSufficed it not, that, thy long labours pass\u2019d,\nSecure thou seest thy native shore at last?\nBut this to me? who, like thyself, excel\nIn arts of counsel and dissembling well;\nTo me? whose wit exceeds the powers divine,\nNo less than mortals are surpass\u2019d by thine.\nKnow\u2019st thou not me; who made thy life my care,\nThrough ten years\u2019 wandering, and through ten years\u2019 war;\nWho taught thee arts, Alcinous to persuade,\nTo raise his wonder, and engage his aid;\nAnd now appear, thy treasures to protect,\nConceal thy person, thy designs direct,\nAnd tell what more thou must from Fate expect;\nDomestic woes far heavier to be borne!\nThe pride of fools, and slaves\u2019 insulting scorn?\nBut thou be silent, nor reveal thy state;\nYield to the force of unresisted Fate,\nAnd bear unmoved the wrongs of base mankind,\nThe last, and hardest, conquest of the mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cGoddess of wisdom! (Ithacus replies,)\nHe who discerns thee must be truly wise,\nSo seldom view\u2019d and ever in disguise!\nWhen the bold Argives led their warring powers,\nAgainst proud Ilion\u2019s well-defended towers,\nUlysses was thy care, celestial maid!\nGraced with thy sight, and favoured with thy aid.\nBut when the Trojan piles in ashes lay,\nAnd bound for Greece we plough\u2019d the watery way;\nOur fleet dispersed, and driven from coast to coast,\nThy sacred presence from that hour I lost;\nTill I beheld thy radiant form once more,\nAnd heard thy counsels on Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s shore.\nBut, by the almighty author of thy race,\nTell me, oh tell, is this my native place?\nFor much I fear, long tracts of land and sea\nDivide this coast from distant Ithaca;\nThe sweet delusion kindly you impose,\nTo soothe my hopes, and mitigate my woes.\u201d\n\nThus he. The blue-eyed goddess thus replies;\n\u201cHow prone to doubt, how cautious are the wise!\nWho, versed in fortune, fear the flattering show,\nAnd taste not half the bliss the gods bestow.\nThe more shall Pallas aid thy just desires,\nAnd guard the wisdom which herself inspires.\nOthers long absent from their native place,\nStraight seek their home, and fly with eager pace\nTo their wives\u2019 arms, and children\u2019s dear embrace.\nNot thus Ulysses; he decrees to prove\nHis subjects\u2019 faith, and queen\u2019s suspected love;\nWho mourn\u2019d her lord twice ten revolving years,\nAnd wastes the days in grief, the nights in tears.\nBut Pallas knew (thy friends and navy lost)\nOnce more \u2019twas given thee to behold thy coast;\nYet how could I with adverse Fate engage,\nAnd mighty Neptune\u2019s unrelenting rage?\nNow lift thy longing eyes, while I restore\nThe pleasing prospect of thy native shore.\nBebold the port of Phorcys! fenced around\nWith rocky mountains, and with olives crown\u2019d,\nBehold the gloomy grot! whose cool recess\nDelights the Nereids of the neighbouring seas;\nWhose now-neglected altars in thy reign\nBlush\u2019d with the blood of sheep and oxen slain,\nBehold! where Neritus the clouds divides,\nAnd shakes the waving forests on his sides.\u201d\n\nSo spake the goddess; and the prospect clear\u2019d,\nThe mists dispersed, and all the coast appeared.\nThe king with joy confess\u2019d his place of birth,\nAnd on his knees salutes his mother earth;\nThen, with his suppliant hands upheld in air,\nThus to the sea-green sisters sends his prayer;\n\n\u201cAll hail! ye virgin daughters of the main!\nYe streams, beyond my hopes, beheld again!\nTo you once more your own Ulysses bows;\nAttend his transports, and receive his vows!\nIf Jove prolong my days, and Pallas crown\nThe growing virtues of my youthful son,\nTo you shall rites divine be ever paid,\nAnd grateful offerings on your altars laid.\u201d\n\nThus then Minerva: \u201cFrom that anxious breast\nDismiss those cares, and leave to heaven the rest.\nOur task be now thy treasured stores to save,\nDeep in the close recesses of the cave;\nThen future means consult.\u201d She spoke, and trod\nThe shady grot, that brighten\u2019d with the god.\nThe closest caverns of the grot she sought;\nThe gold, the brass, the robes, Ulysses brought;\nThese in the secret gloom the chief disposed;\nThe entrance with a rock the goddess closed.\n\nNow, seated in the olive\u2019s sacred shade,\nConfer the hero and the martial maid.\nThe goddess of the azure eyes began:\n\u201cSon of Laertes! much-experienced man!\nThe suitor-train thy earliest care demand,\nOf that luxurious race to rid the land;\nThree years thy house their lawless rule has seen,\nAnd proud addresses to the matchless queen.\nBut she thy absence mourns from day to day,\nAnd inly bleeds, and silent wastes away;\nElusive of the bridal hour, she gives\nFond hopes to all, and all with hopes deceives.\u201d\n\nTo this Ulysses: \u201cO celestial maid!\nPraised be thy counsel, and thy timely aid;\nElse had I seen my native walls in vain,\nLike great Atrides, just restored and slain.\nVouchsafe the means of vengeance to debate,\nAnd plan with all thy arts the scene of fate.\nThen, then be present, and my soul inspire,\nAs when we wrapp\u2019d Troy\u2019s heaven-built walls in fire.\nThough leagued against me hundred heroes stand.\nHundreds shall fall, if Pallas aid my hand.\u201d\n\nShe answer\u2019d: \u201cIn the dreadful day of fight\nKnow, I am with thee, strong in all my might.\nIf thou but equal to thyself be found,\nWhat gasping numbers then shall press the ground!\nWhat human victims stain the feastful floor!\nHow wide the pavements float with guilty gore!\nIt fits thee now to wear a dark disguise,\nAnd secret walk unknown to mortal eyes.\nFor this, my hand shall wither every grace,\nAnd every elegance of form and face;\nO\u2019er thy smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread,\nTurn hoar the auburn honours of thy head;\nDisfigure every limb with coarse attire,\nAnd in thy eyes extinguish all the fire;\nAdd all the wants and the decays of life;\nEstrange thee from thy own; thy son, thy wife;\nFrom the loathed object every sight shall turn,\nAnd the blind suitors their destruction scorn.\n\n\u201cGo first the master of thy herds to find,\nTrue to his charge, a loyal swain and kind;\nFor thee he sighs; and to the loyal heir\nAnd chaste Penelope extends his care.\nAt the Coracian rock he now resides,\nWhere Arethusa\u2019s sable water glides;\nThe sable water and the copious mast\nSwell the fat herd; luxuriant, large repast!\nWith him rest peaceful in the rural cell,\nAnd all you ask his faithful tongue shall tell.\nMe into other realms my cares convey,\nTo Sparta, still with female beauty gay;\nFor know, to Sparta thy loved offspring came,\nTo learn thy fortunes from the voice of Fame.\u201d\n\nAt this the father, with a father\u2019s care:\n\u201cMust he too suffer? he, O goddess! bear\nOf wanderings and of woes a wretched share?\nThrough the wild ocean plough the dangerous way,\nAnd leave his fortunes and his house a prey?\nWhy would\u2019st not thou, O all-enlighten\u2019d mind!\nInform him certain, and protect him, kind?\u201d\n\nTo whom Minerva: \u201cBe thy soul at rest;\nAnd know, whatever heaven ordains is best.\nTo fame I sent him, to acquire renown;\nTo other regions is his virtue known;\nSecure he sits, near great Atrides placed;\nWith friendships strengthen\u2019d, and with honours graced,\nBut lo! an ambush waits his passage o\u2019er;\nFierce foes insidious intercept the shore;\nIn vain; far sooner all the murderous brood\nThis injured land shall fatten with their blood.\u201d\n\nShe spake, then touch\u2019d him with her powerful wand:\nThe skin shrunk up, and wither\u2019d at her hand;\nA swift old age o\u2019er all his members spread;\nA sudden frost was sprinkled on his head;\nNor longer in the heavy eye-ball shined\nThe glance divine, forth-beaming from the mind.\nHis robe, which spots indelible besmear,\nIn rags dishonest flutters with the air:\nA stag\u2019s torn hide is lapp\u2019d around his reins;\nA rugged staff his trembling hand sustains;\nAnd at his side a wretched scrip was hung,\nWide-patch\u2019d, and knotted to a twisted thong.\nSo looked the chief, so moved: to mortal eyes\nObject uncouth! a man of miseries!\nWhile Pallas, cleaving the wild fields of air,\nTo Sparta flies, Telemachus her care.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XIV.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE CONVERSATION WITH EUMAEUS.\n\n\nUlysses arrives in disguise at the house of Eumaeus, where he is\nreceived, entertained, and lodged with the utmost hospitality. The\nseveral discourses of that faithful old servant, with the feigned story\ntold by Ulysses to conceal himself, and other conversations on various\nsubjects, take up this entire book.\n\n\nBut he, deep-musing, o\u2019er the mountains stray\u2019d\nThrough mazy thickets of the woodland shade,\nAnd cavern\u2019d ways, the shaggy coast along\nWith cliffs and nodding forests overhung.\nEumaeus at his sylvan lodge he sought,\nA faithful servant, and without a fault.\nUlysses found him busied as he sate\nBefore the threshold of his rustic gate;\nAround the mansion in a circle shone\nA rural portico of rugged stone\n(In absence of his lord with honest toil\nHis own industrious hands had raised the pile).\nThe wall was stone from neighbouring quarries borne,\nEncircled with a fence of native thorn,\nAnd strong with pales, by many a weary stroke\nOf stubborn labour hewn from heart of oak:\nFrequent and thick. Within the space were rear\u2019d\nTwelve ample cells, the lodgments of his herd.\nFull fifty pregnant females each contain\u2019d;\nThe males without (a smaller race) remain\u2019d;\nDoom\u2019d to supply the suitors\u2019 wasteful feast,\nA stock by daily luxury decreased;\nNow scarce four hundred left. These to defend,\nFour savage dogs, a watchful guard, attend.\nHere sat Eumaeus, and his cares applied\nTo form strong buskins of well-season\u2019d hide.\nOf four assistants who his labour share,\nThree now were absent on the rural care;\nThe fourth drove victims to a suitor train:\nBut he, of ancient faith, a simple swain,\nSigh\u2019d, while he furnish\u2019d the luxurious board,\nAnd wearied Heaven with wishes for his lord.\n\nSoon as Ulysses near the inclosure drew,\nWith open mouths the furious mastiffs flew:\nDown sat the sage, and cautious to withstand,\nLet fall the offensive truncheon from his hand.\nSudden, the master runs; aloud he calls;\nAnd from his hasty hand the leather falls:\nWith showers of stones he drives then far away:\nThe scattering dogs around at distance bay.\n\n\u201cUnhappy stranger! (thus the faithful swain\nBegan with accent gracious and humane),\nWhat sorrow had been mine, if at my gate\nThy reverend age had met a shameful fate!\nEnough of woes already have I known;\nEnough my master\u2019s sorrows and my own.\nWhile here (ungrateful task!) his herds I feed,\nOrdain\u2019d for lawless rioters to bleed!\nPerhaps, supported at another\u2019s board!\nFar from his country roams my hapless lord;\nOr sigh\u2019d in exile forth his latest breath,\nNow cover\u2019d with the eternal shade of death!\n\n\u201cBut enter this my homely roof, and see\nOur woods not void of hospitality.\nThen tell me whence thou art, and what the share\nOf woes and wanderings thou wert born to bear.\u201d\n\nHe said, and, seconding the kind request,\nWith friendly step precedes his unknown guest.\nA shaggy goat\u2019s soft hide beneath him spread,\nAnd with fresh rushes heap\u2019d an ample bed;\nJove touch\u2019d the hero\u2019s tender soul, to find\nSo just reception from a heart so kind:\nAnd \u201cOh, ye gods! with all your blessings grace\n(He thus broke forth) this friend of human race!\u201d\n\nThe swain replied: \u201cIt never was our guise\nTo slight the poor, or aught humane despise:\nFor Jove unfolds our hospitable door,\n\u2019Tis Jove that sends the stranger and the poor,\nLittle, alas! is all the good I can\nA man oppress\u2019d, dependent, yet a man:\nAccept such treatment as a swain affords,\nSlave to the insolence of youthful lords!\nFar hence is by unequal gods removed\nThat man of bounties, loving and beloved!\nTo whom whate\u2019er his slave enjoys is owed,\nAnd more, had Fate allow\u2019d, had been bestow\u2019d:\nBut Fate condemn\u2019d him to a foreign shore;\nMuch have I sorrow\u2019d, but my Master more.\nNow cold he lies, to death\u2019s embrace resign\u2019d:\nAh, perish Helen! perish all her kind!\nFor whose cursed cause, in Agamemnon\u2019s name,\nHe trod so fatally the paths of fame.\u201d\n\nHis vest succinct then girding round his waist,\nForth rush\u2019d the swain with hospitable haste.\nStraight to the lodgments of his herd he run,\nWhere the fat porkers slept beneath the sun;\nOf two, his cutlass launch\u2019d the spouting blood;\nThese quarter\u2019d, singed, and fix\u2019d on forks of wood,\nAll hasty on the hissing coals he threw;\nAnd smoking, back the tasteful viands drew.\nBroachers and all then an the board display\u2019d\nThe ready meal, before Ulysses laid\nWith flour imbrown\u2019d; next mingled wine yet new,\nAnd luscious as the bees\u2019 nectareous dew:\nThen sate, companion of the friendly feast,\nWith open look; and thus bespoke his guest:\n\u201cTake with free welcome what our hands prepare,\nSuch food as falls to simple servants\u2019 share;\nThe best our lords consume; those thoughtless peers,\nRich without bounty, guilty without fears;\nYet sure the gods their impious acts detest,\nAnd honour justice and the righteous breast.\nPirates and conquerors of harden\u2019d mind,\nThe foes of peace, and scourges of mankind,\nTo whom offending men are made a prey\nWhen Jove in vengeance gives a land away;\nE\u2019en these, when of their ill-got spoils possess\u2019d,\nFind sure tormentors in the guilty breast:\nSome voice of God close whispering from within,\n\u2018Wretch! this is villainy, and this is sin.\u2019\nBut these, no doubt, some oracle explore,\nThat tells, the great Ulysses is no more.\nHence springs their confidence, and from our sighs\nTheir rapine strengthens, and their riots rise:\nConstant as Jove the night and day bestows,\nBleeds a whole hecatomb, a vintage flows.\nNone match\u2019d this hero\u2019s wealth, of all who reign\nO\u2019er the fair islands of the neighbouring main.\nNor all the monarchs whose far-dreaded sway\nThe wide-extended continents obey:\nFirst, on the main land, of Ulysses\u2019 breed\nTwelve herds, twelve flocks, on ocean\u2019s margin feed;\nAs many stalls for shaggy goats are rear\u2019d;\nAs many lodgments for the tusky herd;\nTwo foreign keepers guard: and here are seen\nTwelve herds of goats that graze our utmost green;\nTo native pastors is their charge assign\u2019d,\nAnd mine the care to feed the bristly kind;\nEach day the fattest bleeds of either herd,\nAll to the suitors\u2019 wasteful board preferr\u2019d.\u201d\nThus he, benevolent: his unknown guest\nWith hunger keen devours the savoury feast;\nWhile schemes of vengeance ripen in his breast.\nSilent and thoughtful while the board he eyed,\nEumaeus pours on high the purple tide;\nThe king with smiling looks his joy express\u2019d,\nAnd thus the kind inviting host address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cSay now, what man is he, the man deplored,\nSo rich, so potent, whom you style your lord?\nLate with such affluence and possessions bless\u2019d,\nAnd now in honour\u2019s glorious bed at rest.\nWhoever was the warrior, he must be\nTo fame no stranger, nor perhaps to me:\nWho (so the gods and so the Fates ordain\u2019d)\nHave wander\u2019d many a sea, and many a land.\u201d\n\n\u201cSmall is the faith the prince and queen ascribe\n(Replied Eumaeus) to the wandering tribe.\nFor needy strangers still to flattery fly,\nAnd want too oft betrays the tongue to lie.\nEach vagrant traveller, that touches here,\nDeludes with fallacies the royal ear,\nTo dear remembrance makes his image rise,\nAnd calls the springing sorrows from her eyes.\nSuch thou mayst be. But he whose name you crave\nMoulders in earth, or welters on the wave,\nOr food for fish or dogs his relics lie,\nOr torn by birds are scatter\u2019d through the sky.\nSo perish\u2019d he: and left (for ever lost)\nMuch woe to all, but sure to me the most.\nSo mild a master never shall I find;\nLess dear the parents whom I left behind,\nLess soft my mother, less my father kind.\nNot with such transport would my eyes run o\u2019er,\nAgain to hail them in their native shore,\nAs loved Ulysses once more to embrace,\nRestored and breathing in his natal place.\nThat name for ever dread, yet ever dear,\nE\u2019en in his absence I pronounce with fear:\nIn my respect, he bears a prince\u2019s part;\nBut lives a very brother in my heart.\u201d\n\nThus spoke the faithful swain, and thus rejoin\u2019d\nThe master of his grief, the man of patient mind:\n\u201cUlysses, friend! shall view his old abodes\n(Distrustful as thou art), nor doubt the gods.\nNor speak I rashly, but with faith averr\u2019d,\nAnd what I speak attesting Heaven has heard.\nIf so, a cloak and vesture be my meed:\nTill his return no title shall I plead,\nThough certain be my news, and great my need.\nWhom want itself can force untruths to tell,\nMy soul detests him as the gates of hell.\n\n\u201cThou first be witness, hospitable Jove!\nAnd every god inspiring social love!\nAnd witness every household power that waits,\nGuard of these fires, and angel of these gates!\nEre the next moon increase or this decay,\nHis ancient realms Ulysses shall survey,\nIn blood and dust each proud oppressor mourn,\nAnd the lost glories of his house return.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor shall that meed be thine, nor ever more\nShall loved Ulysses hail this happy shore.\n(Replied Eumaeus): to the present hour\nNow turn thy thought, and joys within our power.\nFrom sad reflection let my soul repose;\nThe name of him awakes a thousand woes.\nBut guard him, gods! and to these arms restore!\nNot his true consort can desire him more;\nNot old Laertes, broken with despair:\nNot young Telemachus, his blooming heir.\nAlas, Telemachus! my sorrows flow\nAfresh for thee, my second cause of woe!\nLike some fair plant set by a heavenly hand,\nHe grew, he flourish\u2019d, and he bless\u2019d the land;\nIn all the youth his father\u2019s image shined,\nBright in his person, brighter in his mind.\nWhat man, or god, deceived his better sense,\nFar on the swelling seas to wander hence?\nTo distant Pylos hapless is he gone,\nTo seek his father\u2019s fate and find his own!\nFor traitors wait his way, with dire design\nTo end at once the great Arcesian line.\nBut let us leave him to their wills above;\nThe fates of men are in the hand of Jove.\nAnd now, my venerable guest! declare\nYour name, your parents, and your native air:\nSincere from whence begun, your course relate,\nAnd to what ship I owe the friendly freight?\u201d\n\nThus he: and thus (with prompt invention bold)\nThe cautious chief his ready story told.\n\n\u201cOn dark reserve what better can prevail,\nOr from the fluent tongue produce the tale,\nThan when two friends, alone, in peaceful place\nConfer, and wines and cates the table grace;\nBut most, the kind inviter\u2019s cheerful face?\nThus might we sit, with social goblets crown\u2019d,\nTill the whole circle of the year goes round:\nNot the whole circle of the year would close\nMy long narration of a life of woes.\nBut such was Heaven\u2019s high will! Know then, I came\nFrom sacred Crete, and from a sire of fame:\nCastor Hylacides (that name he bore),\nBeloved and honour\u2019d in his native shore;\nBless\u2019d in his riches, in his children more.\nSprung of a handmaid, from a bought embrace,\nI shared his kindness with his lawful race:\nBut when that fate, which all must undergo,\nFrom earth removed him to the shades below,\nThe large domain his greedy sons divide,\nAnd each was portion\u2019d as the lots decide.\nLittle, alas! was left my wretched share,\nExcept a house, a covert from the air:\nBut what by niggard fortune was denied,\nA willing widow\u2019s copious wealth supplied.\nMy valour was my plea, a gallant mind,\nThat, true to honour, never lagg\u2019d behind\n(The sex is ever to a soldier kind).\nNow wasting years my former strength confound,\nAnd added woes have bow\u2019d me to the ground;\nYet by the stubble you may guess the grain,\nAnd mark the ruins of no vulgar man.\nMe, Pallas gave to lead the martial storm,\nAnd the fair ranks of battle to deform;\nMe, Mars inspired to turn the foe to flight,\nAnd tempt the secret ambush of the night.\nLet ghastly Death in all his forms appear,\nI saw him not, it was not mine to fear.\nBefore the rest I raised my ready steel,\nThe first I met, he yielded, or he fell.\nBut works of peace my soul disdain\u2019d to bear,\nThe rural labour, or domestic care.\nTo raise the mast, the missile dart to wing,\nAnd send swift arrows from the bounding string,\nWere arts the gods made grateful to my mind;\nThose gods, who turn (to various ends design\u2019d)\nThe various thoughts and talents of mankind.\nBefore the Grecians touch\u2019d the Trojan plain,\nNine times commander or by land or main,\nIn foreign fields I spread my glory far,\nGreat in the praise, rich in the spoils of war;\nThence charged with riches, as increased in fame,\nTo Crete return\u2019d, an honourable name.\nBut when great Jove that direful war decreed,\nWhich roused all Greece, and made the mighty bleed;\nOur states myself and Idomen employ\nTo lead their fleets, and carry death to Troy.\nNine years we warr\u2019d; the tenth saw Ilion fall;\nHomeward we sail\u2019d, but heaven dispersed us all.\nOne only month my wife enjoy\u2019d my stay;\nSo will\u2019d the god who gives and takes away.\nNine ships I mann\u2019d, equipp\u2019d with ready stores,\nIntent to voyage to the \u00c6gyptian shores;\nIn feast and sacrifice my chosen train\nSix days consum\u2019d; the seventh we plough\u2019d the main.\nCrete\u2019s ample fields diminish to our eye;\nBefore the Boreal blast the vessels fly;\nSafe through the level seas we sweep our way;\nThe steersman governs, and the ships obey.\nThe fifth fair morn we stem the \u00c6gyptian tide,\nAnd tilting o\u2019er the bay the vessels ride:\nTo anchor there my fellows I command,\nAnd spies commission to explore the land.\nBut, sway\u2019d by lust of gain, and headlong will,\nThe coasts they ravage, and the natives kill.\nThe spreading clamour to their city flies,\nAnd horse and foot in mingled tumult rise.\nThe reddening dawn reveals the circling fields,\nHorrid with bristly spears, and glancing shields.\nJove thunder\u2019d on their side. Our guilty head\nWe turn\u2019d to flight; the gathering vengeance spread\nOn all parts round, and heaps on heaps lie dead.\nI then explored my thought, what course to prove\n(And sure the thought was dictated by Jove):\nOh, had he left me to that happier doom,\nAnd saved a life of miseries to come!\nThe radiant helmet from my brows unlaced,\nAnd low on earth my shield and javelin cast,\nI meet the monarch with a suppliant\u2019s face,\nApproach his chariot, and his knees embrace,\nHe heard, he saved, he placed me at his side;\nMy state he pitied, and my tears he dried,\nRestrain\u2019d the rage the vengeful foe express\u2019d,\nAnd turn\u2019d the deadly weapons from my breast.\nPious! to guard the hospitable rite,\nAnd fearing Jove, whom mercy\u2019s works delight.\n\n\u201cIn \u00c6gypt thus with peace and plenty bless\u2019d,\nI lived (and happy still have lived) a guest.\nOn seven bright years successive blessings wait;\nThe next changed all the colour of my fate.\nA false Phoenician, of insiduous mind,\nVersed in vile arts, and foe to humankind,\nWith semblance fair invites me to his home;\nI seized the proffer (ever fond to roam):\nDomestic in his faithless roof I stay\u2019d,\nTill the swift sun his annual circle made.\nTo Libya then he mediates the way;\nWith guileful art a stranger to betray,\nAnd sell to bondage in a foreign land:\nMuch doubting, yet compell\u2019d I quit the strand,\nThrough the mid seas the nimble pinnace sails,\nAloof from Crete, before the northern gales:\nBut when remote her chalky cliffs we lost,\nAnd far from ken of any other coast,\nWhen all was wild expanse of sea and air,\nThen doom\u2019d high Jove due vengeance to prepare.\nHe hung a night of horrors o\u2019er their head\n(The shaded ocean blacken\u2019d as it spread):\nHe launch\u2019d the fiery bolt: from pole to pole\nBroad burst the lightnings, deep the thunders roll;\nIn giddy rounds the whirling ship is toss\u2019d,\nAnd all in clouds of smothering sulphur lost.\nAs from a hanging rock\u2019s tremendous height,\nThe sable crows with intercepted flight\nDrop endlong; scarr\u2019d, and black with sulphurous hue,\nSo from the deck are hurl\u2019d the ghastly crew.\nSuch end the wicked found! but Jove\u2019s intent\nWas yet to save the oppress\u2019d and innocent.\nPlaced on the mast (the last resource of life)\nWith winds and waves I held unequal strife:\nFor nine long days the billows tilting o\u2019er,\nThe tenth soft wafts me to Thesprotia\u2019s shore.\nThe monarch\u2019s son a shipwreck\u2019d wretch relieved,\nThe sire with hospitable rites received,\nAnd in his palace like a brother placed,\nWith gifts of price and gorgeous garments graced\nWhile here I sojourn\u2019d, oft I heard the fame\nHow late Ulysses to the country came.\nHow loved, how honour\u2019d in this court he stay\u2019d,\nAnd here his whole collected treasure laid;\nI saw myself the vast unnumber\u2019d store\nOf steel elaborate, and refulgent ore,\nAnd brass high heap\u2019d amidst the regal dome;\nImmense supplies for ages yet to come!\nMeantime he voyaged to explore the will\nOf Jove, on high Dodona\u2019s holy hill,\nWhat means might best his safe return avail,\nTo come in pomp, or bear a secret sail?\nFull oft has Phidon, whilst he pour\u2019d the wine,\nAttesting solemn all the powers divine,\nThat soon Ulysses would return, declared\nThe sailors waiting, and the ships prepared.\nBut first the king dismiss\u2019d me from his shores,\nFor fair Dulichium crown\u2019d with fruitful stores;\nTo good Acastus\u2019 friendly care consign\u2019d:\nBut other counsels pleased the sailors\u2019 mind:\nNew frauds were plotted by the faithless train,\nAnd misery demands me once again.\nSoon as remote from shore they plough the wave,\nWith ready hands they rush to seize their slave;\nThen with these tatter\u2019d rags they wrapp\u2019d me round\n(Stripp\u2019d of my own), and to the vessel bound.\nAt eve, at Ithaca\u2019s delightful land\nThe ship arriv\u2019d: forth issuing on the sand,\nThey sought repast; while to the unhappy kind,\nThe pitying gods themselves my chains unbind.\nSoft I descended, to the sea applied\nMy naked breast, and shot along the tide.\nSoon pass\u2019d beyond their sight, I left the flood,\nAnd took the spreading shelter of the wood.\nTheir prize escaped the faithless pirates mourn\u2019d;\nBut deem\u2019d inquiry vain, and to their ships return\u2019d.\nScreen\u2019d by protecting gods from hostile eyes,\nThey led me to a good man and a wise,\nTo live beneath thy hospitable care,\nAnd wait the woes Heaven dooms me yet to bear.\u201d\n\n\u201cUnhappy guest! whose sorrows touch my mind!\n(Thus good Eumaeus with a sigh rejoin\u2019d,)\nFor real sufferings since I grieve sincere,\nCheck not with fallacies the springing tear:\nNor turn the passion into groundless joy\nFor him whom Heaven has destined to destroy.\nOh! had he perish\u2019d on some well-fought day,\nOr in his friend\u2019s embraces died away!\nThat grateful Greece with streaming eyes might raise\nHistoric marbles to record his praise;\nHis praise, eternal on the faithful stone,\nHad with transmissive honours graced his son.\nNow, snatch\u2019d by harpies to the dreary coast,\nSunk is the hero, and his glory lost!\nWhile pensive in this solitary den,\nFar from gay cities and the ways of men,\nI linger life; nor to the court repair,\nBut when my constant queen commands my care;\nOr when, to taste her hospitable board,\nSome guest arrives, with rumours of her lord;\nAnd these indulge their want, and those their woe,\nAnd here the tears and there the goblets flow.\nBy many such have I been warn\u2019d; but chief\nBy one Aetolian robb\u2019d of all belief,\nWhose hap it was to this our roof to roam,\nFor murder banish\u2019d from his native home.\nHe swore, Ulysses on the coast of Crete\nStay\u2019d but a season to refit his fleet;\nA few revolving months should waft him o\u2019er,\nFraught with bold warriors, and a boundless store\nO thou! whom age has taught to understand,\nAnd Heaven has guided with a favouring hand!\nOn god or mortal to obtrude a lie\nForbear, and dread to flatter as to die.\nNor for such ends my house and heart are free,\nBut dear respect to Jove, and charity.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why, O swain of unbelieving mind!\n(Thus quick replied the wisest of mankind)\nDoubt you my oath? yet more my faith to try,\nA solemn compact let us ratify,\nAnd witness every power that rules the sky!\nIf here Ulysses from his labours rest,\nBe then my prize a tunic and a vest;\nAnd where my hopes invite me, straight transport\nIn safety to Dulichium\u2019s friendly court.\nBut if he greets not thy desiring eye,\nHurl me from yon dread precipice on high:\nThe due reward of fraud and perjury.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoubtless, O guest! great laud and praise were mine\n(Replied the swain, for spotless faith divine),\nIf after social rites and gifts bestow\u2019d,\nI stain\u2019d my hospitable hearth with blood.\nHow would the gods my righteous toils succeed,\nAnd bless the hand that made a stranger bleed?\nNo more\u2014the approaching hours of silent night\nFirst claim refection, then to rest invite;\nBeneath our humble cottage let us haste,\nAnd here, unenvied, rural dainties taste.\u201d\n\nThus communed these; while to their lowly dome\nThe full-fed swine return\u2019d with evening home;\nCompell\u2019d, reluctant, to their several sties,\nWith din obstreperous, and ungrateful cries.\nThen to the slaves: \u201cNow from the herd the best\nSelect in honour of our foreign guest:\nWith him let us the genial banquet share,\nFor great and many are the griefs we bear;\nWhile those who from our labours heap their board\nBlaspheme their feeder, and forget their lord.\u201d\n\nThus speaking, with despatchful hand he took\nA weighty axe, and cleft the solid oak;\nThis on the earth he piled; a boar full fed,\nOf five years\u2019 age, before the pile was led:\nThe swain, whom acts of piety delight,\nObservant of the gods, begins the rite;\nFirst shears the forehead of the bristly boar,\nAnd suppliant stands, invoking every power\nTo speed Ulysses to his native shore.\nA knotty stake then aiming at his head,\nDown dropped he groaning, and the spirit fled.\nThe scorching flames climb round on every side;\nThen the singed members they with skill divide;\nOn these, in rolls of fat involved with art,\nThe choicest morsels lay from every part.\nSome in the flames bestrew\u2019d with flour they threw;\nSome cut in fragments from the forks they drew:\nThese while on several tables they dispose.\nA priest himself the blameless rustic rose;\nExpert the destined victim to dispart\nIn seven just portions, pure of hand and heart.\nOne sacred to the nymphs apart they lay:\nAnother to the winged son of May;\nThe rural tribe in common share the rest,\nThe king the chine, the honour of the feast,\nWho sate delighted at his servant\u2019s board;\nThe faithful servant joy\u2019d his unknown lord.\n\u201cOh be thou dear (Ulysses cried) to Jove,\nAs well thou claim\u2019st a grateful stranger\u2019s love!\u201d\n\n\u201cBe then thy thanks (the bounteous swain replied)\nEnjoyment of the good the gods provide.\nFrom God\u2019s own hand descend our joys and woes;\nThese he decrees, and he but suffers those:\nAll power is his, and whatsoe\u2019er he wills,\nThe will itself, omnipotent, fulfils.\u201d\nThis said, the first-fruits to the gods he gave;\nThen pour\u2019d of offer\u2019d wine the sable wave:\nIn great Ulysses\u2019 hand he placed the bowl,\nHe sate, and sweet refection cheer\u2019d his soul.\nThe bread from canisters Mesaulius gave\n(Eumaeus\u2019 proper treasure bought this slave,\nAnd led from Taphos, to attend his board,\nA servant added to his absent lord);\nHis task it was the wheaten loaves to lay,\nAnd from the banquet take the bowls away.\nAnd now the rage of hunger was repress\u2019d,\nAnd each betakes him to his couch to rest.\n\nNow came the night, and darkness cover\u2019d o\u2019er\nThe face of things; the winds began to roar;\nThe driving storm the watery west-wind pours,\nAnd Jove descends in deluges of showers.\nStudious of rest and warmth, Ulysses lies,\nForeseeing from the first the storm would rise\nIn mere necessity of coat and cloak,\nWith artful preface to his host he spoke:\n\u201cHear me, my friends! who this good banquet grace;\n\u2019Tis sweet to play the fool in time and place,\nAnd wine can of their wits the wise beguile,\nMake the sage frolic, and the serious smile,\nThe grave in merry measures frisk about,\nAnd many a long-repented word bring out.\nSince to be talkative I now commence,\nLet wit cast off the sullen yoke of sense.\nOnce I was strong (would Heaven restore those days!)\nAnd with my betters claim\u2019d a share of praise.\nUlysses, Menelaus, led forth a band,\nAnd join\u2019d me with them (\u2019twas their own command);\nA deathful ambush for the foe to lay,\nBeneath Troy walls by night we took our way:\nThere, clad in arms, along the marshes spread,\nWe made the osier-fringed bank our bed.\nFull soon the inclemency of heaven I feel,\nNor had these shoulders covering, but of steel.\nSharp blew the north; snow whitening all the fields\nFroze with the blast, and gathering glazed our shields.\nThere all but I, well fenced with cloak and vest,\nLay cover\u2019d by their ample shields at rest.\nFool that I was! I left behind my own,\nThe skill of weather and of winds unknown,\nAnd trusted to my coat and shield alone!\nWhen now was wasted more than half the night,\nAnd the stars faded at approaching light,\nSudden I jogg\u2019d Ulysses, who was laid\nFast by my side, and shivering thus I said:\n\n\u201c\u2018Here longer in this field I cannot lie;\nThe winter pinches, and with cold I die,\nAnd die ashamed (O wisest of mankind),\nThe only fool who left his cloak behind.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe thought and answer\u2019d: hardly waking yet,\nSprung in his mind a momentary wit\n(That wit, which or in council or in fight,\nStill met the emergence, and determined right).\n\u2018Hush thee (he cried, soft whispering in my ear),\nSpeak not a word, lest any Greek may hear\u2019\u2014\nAnd then (supporting on his arm his head),\n\u2018Hear me, companions! (thus aloud he said:)\nMethinks too distant from the fleet we lie:\nE\u2019en now a vision stood before my eye,\nAnd sure the warning vision was from high:\nLet from among us some swift courier rise,\nHaste to the general, and demand supplies.\u2019\n\n\u201cUp started Thoas straight, Andraemon\u2019s son,\nNimbly he rose, and cast his garment down!\nInstant, the racer vanish\u2019d off the ground;\nThat instant in his cloak I wrapp\u2019d me round:\nAnd safe I slept, till brightly-dawning shone\nThe morn conspicuous on her golden throne.\n\n\u201cOh were my strength as then, as then my age!\nSome friend would fence me from the winter\u2019s rage.\nYet, tatter\u2019d as I look, I challenged then\nThe honours and the offices of men:\nSome master, or some servant would allow\nA cloak and vest\u2014but I am nothing now!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell hast thou spoke (rejoin\u2019d the attentive swain):\nThy lips let fall no idle word or vain!\nNor garment shalt thou want, nor aught beside,\nMeet for the wandering suppliant to provide.\nBut in the morning take thy clothes again,\nFor here one vest suffices every swain:\nNo change of garments to our hinds is known;\nBut when return\u2019d, the good Ulysses\u2019 son\nWith better hand shall grace with fit attires\nHis guest, and send thee where thy soul desires.\u201d\n\nThe honest herdsman rose, as this he said,\nAnd drew before the hearth the stranger\u2019s bed;\nThe fleecy spoils of sheep, a goat\u2019s rough hide\nHe spreads; and adds a mantle thick and wide;\nWith store to heap above him, and below,\nAnd guard each quarter as the tempests blow.\nThere lay the king, and all the rest supine;\nAll, but the careful master of the swine:\nForth hasted he to tend his bristly care;\nWell arm\u2019d, and fenced against nocturnal air:\nHis weighty falchion o\u2019er his shoulder tied:\nHis shaggy cloak a mountain goat supplied:\nWith his broad spear the dread of dogs and men,\nHe seeks his lodging in the rocky den.\nThere to the tusky herd he bends his way,\nWhere, screen\u2019d from Boreas, high o\u2019erarch\u2019d they lay.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XV.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE RETURN OF TELEMACHUS.\n\n\nThe goddess Minerva commands Telemachus in a vision to return to\nIthaca. Pisistratus and he take leave of Menelaus, and arrive at Pylos,\nwhere they part: and Telemachus sets sail, after having received on\nboard Theoclymenus the soothsayer. The scene then changes to the\ncottage of Eumaeus, who entertains Ulysses with a recital of his\nadventures. In the meantime Telemachus arrives on the coast, and\nsending the vessel to the town, proceeds by himself to the lodge of\nEumaeus.\n\n\nNow had Minerva reach\u2019d those ample plains,\nFamed for the dance, where Menelaus reigns:\nAnxious she flies to great Ulysses\u2019 heir,\nHis instant voyage challenged all her care.\nBeneath the royal portico display\u2019d,\nWith Nestor\u2019s son Telemachus was laid:\nIn sleep profound the son of Nestor lies;\nNot thine, Ulysses! Care unseal\u2019d his eyes:\nRestless he grieved, with various fears oppress\u2019d,\nAnd all thy fortunes roll\u2019d within his breast.\nWhen, \u201cO Telemachus! (the goddess said)\nToo long in vain, too widely hast thou stray\u2019d,\nThus leaving careless thy paternal right\nThe robbers\u2019 prize, the prey to lawless might.\nOn fond pursuits neglectful while you roam,\nE\u2019en now the hand of rapine sacks the dome.\nHence to Atrides; and his leave implore\nTo launch thy vessel for thy natal shore;\nFly, whilst thy mother virtuous yet withstands\nHer kindred\u2019s wishes, and her sire\u2019s commands;\nThrough both, Eurymachus pursues the dame,\nAnd with the noblest gifts asserts his claim.\nHence, therefore, while thy stores thy own remain;\nThou know\u2019st the practice of the female train,\nLost in the children of the present spouse,\nThey slight the pledges of their former vows;\nTheir love is always with the lover past;\nStill the succeeding flame expels the last.\nLet o\u2019er thy house some chosen maid preside,\nTill Heaven decrees to bless thee in a bride.\nBut now thy more attentive ears incline,\nObserve the warnings of a power divine;\nFor thee their snares the suitor lords shall lay\nIn Samos\u2019 sands, or straits of Ithaca;\nTo seize thy life shall lurk the murderous band,\nEre yet thy footsteps press thy native land.\nNo!\u2014sooner far their riot and their lust\nAll-covering earth shall bury deep in dust!\nThen distant from the scatter\u2019d islands steer,\nNor let the night retard thy full career;\nThy heavenly guardian shall instruct the gales\nTo smooth thy passage and supply thy sails:\nAnd when at Ithaca thy labour ends,\nSend to the town the vessel with thy friends;\nBut seek thou first the master of the swine\n(For still to thee his loyal thoughts incline);\nThere pass the night: while he his course pursues\nTo bring Penelope the wish\u2019d-for news,\nThat thou, safe sailing from the Pylian strand,\nArt come to bless her in thy native land.\u201d\nThus spoke the goddess, and resumed her flight\nTo the pure regions of eternal light,\nMeanwhile Pisistratus he gently shakes,\nAnd with these words the slumbering youth awakes:\n\n\u201cRise, son of Nestor; for the road prepare,\nAnd join the harness\u2019d coursers to the car.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat cause (he cried) can justify our flight\nTo tempt the dangers of forbidding night?\nHere wait we rather, till approaching day\nShall prompt our speed, and point the ready way.\nNor think of flight before the Spartan king\nShall bid farewell, and bounteous presents bring;\nGifts, which to distant ages safely stored,\nThe sacred act of friendship shall record.\u201d\n\nThus he. But when the dawn bestreak\u2019d the east,\nThe king from Helen rose, and sought his guest.\nAs soon as his approach the hero knew,\nThe splendid mantle round him first he threw,\nThen o\u2019er his ample shoulders whirl\u2019d the cloak,\nRespectful met the monarch, and bespoke:\n\n\u201cHail, great Atrides, favour\u2019d of high Jove!\nLet not thy friends in vain for licence move.\nSwift let us measure back the watery way,\nNor check our speed, impatient of delay.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf with desire so strong thy bosom glows,\nIll (said the king) should I thy wish oppose;\nFor oft in others freely I reprove\nThe ill-timed efforts of officious love;\nWho love too much, hate in the like extreme,\nAnd both the golden mean alike condemn.\nAlike he thwarts the hospitable end,\nWho drives the free, or stays the hasty friend:\nTrue friendship\u2019s laws are by this rule express\u2019d,\nWelcome the coming, speed the parting guest.\nYet, stay, my friends, and in your chariot take\nThe noblest presents that our love can make;\nMeantime commit we to our women\u2019s care\nSome choice domestic viands to prepare;\nThe traveller, rising from the banquet gay,\nEludes the labours of the tedious way,\nThen if a wider course shall rather please,\nThrough spacious Argos and the realms of Greece,\nAtrides in his chariot shall attend;\nHimself thy convoy to each royal friend.\nNo prince will let Ulysses\u2019 heir remove\nWithout some pledge, some monument of love:\nThese will the caldron, these the tripod give;\nFrom those the well-pair\u2019d mules we shall receive,\nOr bowl emboss\u2019d whose golden figures live.\u201d\n\nTo whom the youth, for prudence famed, replied:\n\u201cO monarch, care of heaven! thy people\u2019s pride!\nNo friend in Ithaca my place supplies,\nNo powerful hands are there, no watchful eyes:\nMy stores exposed and fenceless house demand\nThe speediest succour from my guardian hand;\nLest, in a search too anxious and too vain,\nOf one lost joy, I lose what yet remain.\u201d\n\nHis purpose when the generous warrior heard,\nHe charged the household cates to be prepared.\nNow with the dawn, from his adjoining home,\nWas Boethoedes Eteoneus come;\nSwift at the word he forms the rising blaze,\nAnd o\u2019er the coals the smoking fragments lays.\nMeantime the king, his son, and Helen went\nWhere the rich wardrobe breathed a costly scent;\nThe king selected from the glittering rows\nA bowl; the prince a silver beaker chose.\nThe beauteous queen revolved with careful eyes\nHer various textures of unnumber\u2019d dyes,\nAnd chose the largest; with no vulgar art\nHer own fair hands embroider\u2019d every part;\nBeneath the rest it lay divinely bright,\nLike radiant Hesper o\u2019er the gems of night,\nThen with each gift they hasten\u2019d to their guest,\nAnd thus the king Ulysses\u2019 heir address\u2019d:\n\u201cSince fix\u2019d are thy resolves, may thundering Jove\nWith happiest omens thy desires approve!\nThis silver bowl, whose costly margins shine\nEnchased with gold, this valued gift be thine;\nTo me this present, of Vulcanian frame,\nFrom Sidon\u2019s hospitable monarch came;\nTo thee we now consign the precious load,\nThe pride of kings, and labour of a god.\u201d\n\nThen gave the cup, while Megapenthe brought\nThe silver vase with living sculpture wrought.\nThe beauteous queen, advancing next, display\u2019d\nThe shining veil, and thus endearing said:\n\n\u201cAccept, dear youth, this monument of love,\nLong since, in better days, by Helen wove:\nSafe in thy mother\u2019s care the vesture lay,\nTo deck thy bride and grace thy nuptial day.\nMeantime may\u2019st thou with happiest speed regain\nThy stately palace, and thy wide domain.\u201d\n\nShe said, and gave the veil; with grateful look\nThe prince the variegated present took.\nAnd now, when through the royal dome they pass\u2019d,\nHigh on a throne the king each stranger placed.\nA golden ewer the attendant damsel brings,\nReplete with water from the crystal springs;\nWith copious streams the shining vase supplies\nA silver layer of capacious size.\nThey wash. The tables in fair order spread,\nThe glittering canisters are crown\u2019d with bread;\nViands of various kinds allure the taste,\nOf choicest sort and savour; rich repast!\nWhilst Eteoneus portions out the shares\nAtrides\u2019 son the purple draught prepares,\nAnd now (each sated with the genial feast,\nAnd the short rage of thirst and hunger ceased)\nUlysses\u2019 son, with his illustrious friend,\nThe horses join, the polish\u2019d car ascend,\nAlong the court the fiery steeds rebound,\nAnd the wide portal echoes to the sound.\nThe king precedes; a bowl with fragrant wine\n(Libation destined to the powers divine)\nHis right hand held: before the steed he stands,\nThen, mix\u2019d with prayers, he utters these commands:\n\n\u201cFarewell, and prosper, youths! let Nestor know\nWhat grateful thoughts still in this bosom glow,\nFor all the proofs of his paternal care,\nThrough the long dangers of the ten years\u2019 war.\u201d\n\u201cAh! doubt not our report (the prince rejoin\u2019d)\nOf all the virtues of thy generous mind.\nAnd oh! return\u2019d might we Ulysses meet!\nTo him thy presents show, thy words repeat:\nHow will each speech his grateful wonder raise!\nHow will each gift indulge us in thy praise!\u201d\n\nScarce ended thus the prince, when on the right\nAdvanced the bird of Jove: auspicious sight!\nA milk-white fowl his clinching talons bore,\nWith care domestic pampered at the floor.\nPeasants in vain with threatening cries pursue,\nIn solemn speed the bird majestic flew\nFull dexter to the car; the prosperous sight\nFill\u2019d every breast with wonder and delight.\n\nBut Nestor\u2019s son the cheerful silence broke,\nAnd in these words the Spartan chief bespoke:\n\u201cSay if to us the gods these omens send,\nOr fates peculiar to thyself portend?\u201d\n\nWhilst yet the monarch paused, with doubts oppress\u2019d\nThe beauteous queen relieved his labouring breast:\n\u201cHear me (she cried), to whom the gods have given\nTo read this sign, and mystic sense of heaven,\nAs thus the plumy sovereign of the air\nLeft on the mountain\u2019s brow his callow care,\nAnd wander\u2019d through the wide ethereal way\nTo pour his wrath on yon luxurious prey;\nSo shall thy godlike father, toss\u2019d in vain\nThrough all the dangers of the boundless main,\nArrive (or if perchance already come)\nFrom slaughter\u2019d gluttons to release the dome.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! if this promised bliss by thundering Jove\n(The prince replied) stand fix\u2019d in fate above;\nTo thee, as to some god, I\u2019ll temples raise.\nAnd crown thy altars with the costly blaze.\u201d\n\nHe said; and bending o\u2019er his chariot, flung\nAthwart the fiery steeds the smarting thong;\nThe bounding shafts upon the harness play,\nTill night descending intercepts the way.\nTo Diocles at Pherae they repair,\nWhose boasted sire was sacred Alpheus\u2019 heir;\nWith him all night the youthful stranger stay\u2019d,\nNor found the hospitable rites unpaid,\nBut soon as morning from her orient bed\nHad tinged the mountains with her earliest red,\nThey join\u2019d the steeds, and on the chariot sprung,\nThe brazen portals in their passage rung.\n\nTo Pylos soon they came; when thus begun\nTo Nestor\u2019s heir Ulysses\u2019 godlike son:\n\n\u201cLet not Pisistratus in vain be press\u2019d,\nNor unconsenting hear his friend\u2019s request;\nHis friend by long hereditary claim,\nIn toils his equal, and in years the same.\nNo farther from our vessel, I implore,\nThe coursers drive; but lash them to the shore.\nToo long thy father would his friend detain;\nI dread his proffer\u2019d kindness urged in vain.\u201d\n\nThe hero paused, and ponder\u2019d this request,\nWhile love and duty warr\u2019d within his breast.\nAt length resolved, he turn\u2019d his ready hand,\nAnd lash\u2019d his panting coursers to the strand.\nThere, while within the poop with care he stored\nThe regal presents of the Spartan lord,\n\u201cWith speed begone (said he); call every mate,\nEre yet to Nestor I the tale relate:\n\u2019Tis true, the fervour of his generous heart\nBrooks no repulse, nor couldst thou soon depart:\nHimself will seek thee here, nor wilt thou find,\nIn words alone, the Pylian monarch kind.\nBut when, arrived, he thy return shall know\nHow will his breast with honest fury glow!\u201d\nThis said, the sounding strokes his horses fire,\nAnd soon he reached the palace of his sire.\n\n\u201cNow (cried Telemachus) with speedy care\nHoist every sail, and every oar prepare.\u201d\nSwift as the word his willing mates obey,\nAnd seize their seats, impatient for the sea.\n\nMeantime the prince with sacrifice adores\nMinerva, and her guardian aid implores;\nWhen lo! a wretch ran breathless to the shore,\nNew from his crime; and reeking yet with gore.\nA seer he was, from great Melampus sprung,\nMelampus, who in Pylos flourish\u2019d long,\nTill, urged by wrongs, a foreign realm he chose,\nFar from the hateful cause of all his woes.\nNeleus his treasures one long year detains,\nAs long he groan\u2019d in Philacus\u2019s chains:\nMeantime, what anguish and what rage combined\nFor lovely Pero rack\u2019d his labouring mind!\nYet \u2019scaped he death; and vengeful of his wrong\nTo Pylos drove the lowing herds along:\nThen (Neleus vanquish\u2019d, and consign\u2019d the fair\nTo Bias\u2019 arms) he so sought a foreign air;\nArgos the rich for his retreat he chose,\nThere form\u2019d his empire; there his palace rose.\nFrom him Antiphates and Mantius came:\nThe first begot Oicleus great in fame,\nAnd he Amphiaraus, immortal name!\nThe people\u2019s saviour, and divinely wise,\nBeloved by Jove, and him who gilds the skies;\nYet short his date of life! by female pride he dies.\nFrom Mantius Clitus, whom Aurora\u2019s love\nSnatch\u2019d for his beauty to the thrones above;\nAnd Polyphides, on whom Ph\u0153bus shone\nWith fullest rays, Amphiaraus now gone;\nIn Hyperesia\u2019s groves he made abode,\nAnd taught mankind the counsels of the god.\nFrom him sprung Theoclymenus, who found\n(The sacred wine yet foaming on the ground)\nTelemachus: whom, as to Heaven he press\u2019d\nHis ardent vows, the stranger thus address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cO thou! that dost thy happy course prepare\nWith pure libations and with solemn prayer:\nBy that dread power to whom thy vows are paid;\nBy all the lives of these; thy own dear head,\nDeclare sincerely to no foe\u2019s demand\nThy name, thy lineage, and paternal land.\u201d\n\n\u201cPrepare, then (said Telemachus), to know\nA tale from falsehood free, not free from woe.\nFrom Ithaca, of royal birth I came,\nAnd great Ulysses (ever honour\u2019d name!)\nOnce was my sire, though now, for ever lost,\nIn Stygian gloom he glides a pensive ghost!\nWhose fate inquiring through the world we rove;\nThe last, the wretched proof of filial love.\u201d\n\nThe stranger then: \u201cNor shall I aught conceal,\nBut the dire secret of my fate reveal.\nOf my own tribe an Argive wretch I slew;\nWhose powerful friends the luckless deed pursue\nWith unrelenting rage, and force from home\nThe blood-stain\u2019d exile, ever doom\u2019d to roam.\nBut bear, oh bear me o\u2019er yon azure flood;\nReceive the suppliant! spare my destined blood!\u201d\n\n\u201cStranger (replied the prince) securely rest\nAffianced in our faith; henceforth our guest.\u201d\nThus affable, Ulysses\u2019 godlike heir\nTakes from the stranger\u2019s hand the glittering spear:\nHe climbs the ship, ascends the stern with haste\nAnd by his side the guest accepted placed.\nThe chief his order gives: the obedient band,\nWith due observance wait the chief\u2019s command:\nWith speed the mast they rear, with speed unbind\nThe spacious sheet, and stretch it to the wind.\nMinerva calls; the ready gales obey\nWith rapid speed to whirl them o\u2019er the sea.\nCrunus they pass\u2019d, next Chalcis roll\u2019d away,\nWith thickening darkness closed the doubtful day;\nThe silver Phaea\u2019s glittering rills they lost,\nAnd skimm\u2019d along by Elis\u2019 sacred coast.\nThen cautious through the rocky reaches wind,\nAnd turning sudden, shun the death design\u2019d.\n\nMeantime, the king, Eumaeus, and the rest,\nSate in the cottage, at their rural feast:\nThe banquet pass\u2019d, and satiate every man,\nTo try his host, Ulysses thus began:\n\n\u201cYet one night more, my friends, indulge your guest;\nThe last I purpose in your walls to rest:\nTo-morrow for myself I must provide,\nAnd only ask your counsel, and a guide;\nPatient to roam the street, by hunger led,\nAnd bless the friendly hand that gives me bread.\nThere in Ulysses\u2019 roof I may relate\nUlysses\u2019 wanderings to his royal mate;\nOr, mingling with the suitors\u2019 haughty train,\nNot undeserving some support obtain.\nHermes to me his various gifts imparts.\nPatron of industry and manual arts:\nFew can with me in dexterous works contend,\nThe pyre to build, the stubborn oak to rend;\nTo turn the tasteful viand o\u2019er the flame;\nOr foam the goblet with a purple stream.\nSuch are the tasks of men of mean estate,\nWhom fortune dooms to serve the rich and great.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas! (Eumaeus with a sigh rejoin\u2019d).\nHow sprung a thought so monstrous in thy mind?\nIf on that godless race thou would\u2019st attend,\nFate owes thee sure a miserable end!\nTheir wrongs and blasphemies ascend the sky,\nAnd pull descending vengeance from on high.\nNot such, my friend, the servants of their feast:\nA blooming train in rich embroidery dress\u2019d,\nWith earth\u2019s whole tribute the bright table bends,\nAnd smiling round celestial youth attends.\nStay, then: no eye askance beholds thee here;\nSweet is thy converse to each social ear;\nWell pleased, and pleasing, in our cottage rest,\nTill good Telemachus accepts his guest\nWith genial gifts, and change of fair attires,\nAnd safe conveys thee where thy soul desires.\u201d\n\nTo him the man of woes; \u201cO gracious Jove!\nReward this stranger\u2019s hospitable love!\nWho knows the son of sorrow to relieve,\nCheers the sad heart, nor lets affliction grieve.\nOf all the ills unhappy mortals know,\nA life of wanderings is the greatest woe;\nOn all their weary ways wait care and pain,\nAnd pine and penury, a meagre train.\nTo such a man since harbour you afford,\nRelate the farther fortunes of your lord;\nWhat cares his mother\u2019s tender breast engage,\nAnd sire forsaken on the verge of age;\nBeneath the sun prolong they yet their breath,\nOr range the house of darkness and of death?\u201d\n\nTo whom the swain: \u201cAttend what you enquire;\nLaertes lives, the miserable sire,\nLives, but implores of every power to lay\nThe burden down, and wishes for the day.\nTorn from his offspring in the eve of life,\nTorn from the embraces of his tender wife,\nSole, and all comfortless, he wastes away\nOld age, untimely posting ere his day.\nShe too, sad mother! for Ulysses lost\nPined out her bloom, and vanish\u2019d to a ghost;\n(So dire a fate, ye righteous gods! avert\nFrom every friendly, every feeling heart!)\nWhile yet she was, though clouded o\u2019er with grief.\nHer pleasing converse minister\u2019d relief:\nWith Climene, her youngest daughter, bred,\nOne roof contain\u2019d us, and one table fed.\nBut when the softly-stealing pace of time\nCrept on from childhood into youthful prime,\nTo Samos\u2019 isle she sent the wedded fair;\nMe to the fields; to tend the rural care;\nArray\u2019d in garments her own hands had wove,\nNor less the darling object of her love.\nHer hapless death my brighter days o\u2019ercast,\nYet Providence deserts me not at last;\nMy present labours food and drink procure,\nAnd more, the pleasure to relieve the poor.\nSmall is the comfort from the queen to hear\nUnwelcome news, or vex the royal ear;\nBlank and discountenanced the servants stand,\nNor dare to question where the proud command;\nNo profit springs beneath usurping powers;\nWant feeds not there where luxury devours,\nNor harbours charity where riot reigns:\nProud are the lords, and wretched are the swains.\u201d\n\nThe suffering chief at this began to melt;\nAnd, \u201cO Eumaeus! thou (he cries) hast felt\nThe spite of fortune too! her cruel hand\nSnatch\u2019d thee an infant from thy native land!\nSnatch\u2019d from thy parents\u2019 arms, thy parents\u2019 eyes,\nTo early wants! a man of miseries!\nThe whole sad story, from its first, declare:\nSunk the fair city by the rage of war,\nWhere once thy parents dwelt? or did they keep,\nIn humbler life, the lowing herds and sheep?\nSo left perhaps to tend the fleecy train,\nRude pirates seized, and shipp\u2019d thee o\u2019er the main?\nDoom\u2019d a fair prize to grace some prince\u2019s board,\nThe worthy purchase of a foreign lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf then my fortunes can delight my friend,\nA story fruitful of events attend:\nAnother\u2019s sorrow may thy ears enjoy,\nAnd wine the lengthen\u2019d intervals employ.\nLong nights the now declining year bestows;\nA part we consecrate to soft repose,\nA part in pleasing talk we entertain;\nFor too much rest itself becomes a pain.\nLet those, whom sleep invites, the call obey,\nTheir cares resuming with the dawning day:\nHere let us feast, and to the feast be join\u2019d\nDiscourse, the sweeter banquet of the mind;\nReview the series of our lives, and taste\nThe melancholy joy of evils pass\u2019d:\nFor he who much has suffer\u2019d, much will know,\nAnd pleased remembrance builds delight on woe.\n\n\u201cAbove Ortygia lies an isle of fame,\nFar hence remote, and Syria is the name\n(There curious eyes inscribed with wonder trace\nThe sun\u2019s diurnal, and his annual race);\nNot large, but fruitful; stored with grass to keep\nThe bellowing oxen and the bleating sheep;\nHer sloping hills the mantling vines adorn,\nAnd her rich valleys wave with golden corn.\nNo want, no famine, the glad natives know,\nNor sink by sickness to the shades below;\nBut when a length of years unnerves the strong,\nApollo comes, and Cynthia comes along.\nThey bend the silver bow with tender skill,\nAnd, void of pain, the silent arrows kill.\nTwo equal tribes this fertile land divide,\nWhere two fair cities rise with equal pride.\nBut both in constant peace one prince obey,\nAnd Ctesius there, my father, holds the sway.\nFreighted, it seems, with toys of every sort,\nA ship of Sidon anchor\u2019d in our port;\nWhat time it chanced the palace entertain\u2019d,\nSkill\u2019d in rich works, a woman of their land:\nThis nymph, where anchor\u2019d the Phoenician train,\nTo wash her robes descending to the main,\nA smooth tongued sailor won her to his mind\n(For love deceives the best of womankind).\nA sudden trust from sudden liking grew;\nShe told her name, her race, and all she knew,\n\u2018I too (she cried) from glorious Sidon came,\nMy father Arybas, of wealthy fame:\nBut, snatch\u2019d by pirates from my native place,\nThe Taphians sold me to this man\u2019s embrace.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Haste then (the false designing youth replied),\nHaste to thy country; love shall be thy guide;\nHaste to thy father\u2019s house, thy father\u2019s breast,\nFor still he lives, and lives with riches blest.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Swear first (she cried), ye sailors! to restore\nA wretch in safety to her native shore.\u2019\nSwift as she ask\u2019d, the ready sailors swore.\nShe then proceeds: \u2018Now let our compact made\nBe nor by signal nor by word betray\u2019d,\nNor near me any of your crew descried,\nBy road frequented, or by fountain side.\nBe silence still our guard. The monarch\u2019s spies\n(For watchful age is ready to surmise)\nAre still at hand; and this, revealed, must be\nDeath to yourselves, eternal chains to me.\nYour vessel loaded, and your traffic pass\u2019d,\nDespatch a wary messenger with haste;\nThen gold and costly treasures will I bring,\nAnd more, the infant offspring of the king.\nHim, child-like wandering forth, I\u2019ll lead away\n(A noble prize!) and to your ship convey.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus spoke the dame, and homeward took the road.\nA year they traffic, and their vessel load.\nTheir stores complete, and ready now to weigh,\nA spy was sent their summons to convey:\nAn artist to my father\u2019s palace came,\nWith gold and amber chains, elaborate frame:\nEach female eye the glittering links employ;\nThey turn, review, and cheapen every toy.\nHe took the occasion, as they stood intent,\nGave her the sign, and to his vessel went.\nShe straight pursued, and seized my willing arm;\nI follow\u2019d, smiling, innocent of harm.\nThree golden goblets in the porch she found\n(The guests not enter\u2019d, but the table crown\u2019d);\nHid in her fraudful bosom these she bore:\nNow set the sun, and darken\u2019d all the shore.\nArriving then, where tilting on the tides\nPrepared to launch the freighted vessel rides,\nAboard they heave us, mount their decks, and sweep\nWith level oar along the glassy deep.\nSix calmy days and six smooth nights we sail,\nAnd constant Jove supplied the gentle gale.\nThe seventh, the fraudful wretch (no cause descried),\nTouch\u2019d by Diana\u2019s vengeful arrow, died.\nDown dropp\u2019d the caitiff-corse, a worthless load,\nDown to the deep; there roll\u2019d, the future food\nOf fierce sea-wolves, and monsters of the flood.\nAn helpless infant I remain\u2019d behind;\nThence borne to Ithaca by wave and wind;\nSold to Laertes by divine command,\nAnd now adopted to a foreign land.\u201d\n\nTo him the king: \u201cReciting thus thy cares,\nMy secret soul in all thy sorrow shares;\nBut one choice blessing (such is Jove\u2019s high will)\nHas sweeten\u2019d all thy bitter draught of ill:\nTorn from thy country to no hapless end,\nThe gods have, in a master, given a friend.\nWhatever frugal nature needs is thine\n(For she needs little), daily bread and wine.\nWhile I, so many wanderings past, and woes,\nLive but on what thy poverty bestows.\u201d\n\nSo passed in pleasing dialogue away\nThe night; then down to short repose they lay;\nTill radiant rose the messenger of day.\nWhile in the port of Ithaca, the band\nOf young Telemachus approach\u2019d the land;\nTheir sails they loosed, they lash\u2019d the mast aside,\nAnd cast their anchors, and the cables tied:\nThen on the breezy shore, descending, join\nIn grateful banquet o\u2019er the rosy wine.\nWhen thus the prince: \u201cNow each his course pursue;\nI to the fields, and to the city you.\nLong absent hence, I dedicate this day\nMy swains to visit, and the works survey.\nExpect me with the morn, to pay the skies\nOur debt of safe return in feast and sacrifice.\u201d\n\nThen Theoclymenus: \u201cBut who shall lend,\nMeantime, protection to thy stranger friend?\nStraight to the queen and palace shall I fly,\nOr yet more distant, to some lord apply?\u201d\n\nThe prince return\u2019d: \u201cRenown\u2019d in days of yore\nHas stood our father\u2019s hospitable door;\nNo other roof a stranger should receive,\nNo other hands than ours the welcome give.\nBut in my absence riot fills the place,\nNor bears the modest queen a stranger\u2019s face;\nFrom noiseful revel far remote she flies,\nBut rarely seen, or seen with weeping eyes.\nNo\u2014let Eurymachus receive my guest,\nOf nature courteous, and by far the best;\nHe woos the queen with more respectful flame,\nAnd emulates her former husband\u2019s fame,\nWith what success, \u2019tis Jove\u2019s alone to know,\nAnd the hoped nuptials turn to joy or woe.\u201d\n\nThus speaking, on the right up-soar\u2019d in air\nThe hawk, Apollo\u2019s swift-wing\u2019d messenger:\nHis dreadful pounces tore a trembling dove;\nThe clotted feathers, scatter\u2019d from above,\nBetween the hero and the vessel pour\nThick plumage mingled with a sanguine shower.\n\nThe observing augur took the prince aside,\nSeized by the hand, and thus prophetic cried:\n\u201cYon bird, that dexter cuts the a\u00ebrial road,\nRose ominous, nor flies without a god:\nNo race but thine shall Ithaca obey,\nTo thine, for ages, Heaven decrees the sway.\u201d\n\n\u201cSucceed the omens, gods! (the youth rejoin\u2019d:)\nSoon shall my bounties speak a grateful mind,\nAnd soon each envied happiness attend\nThe man who calls Telemachus his friend.\u201d\nThen to Peiraeus: \u201cThou whom time has proved\nA faithful servant, by thy prince beloved!\nTill we returning shall our guest demand,\nAccept this charge with honour, at our hand.\u201d\n\nTo this Peiraeus: \u201cJoyful I obey,\nWell pleased the hospitable rites to pay.\nThe presence of thy guest shall best reward\n(If long thy stay) the absence of my lord.\u201d\n\nWith that, their anchors he commands to weigh,\nMount the tall bark, and launch into the sea.\nAll with obedient haste forsake the shores,\nAnd, placed in order, spread their equal oars.\nThen from the deck the prince his sandals takes;\nPoised in his hand the pointed javelin shakes.\nThey part; while, lessening from the hero\u2019s view\nSwift to the town the well-row\u2019d galley flew:\nThe hero trod the margin of the main,\nAnd reach\u2019d the mansion of his faithful swain.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XVI.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE DISCOVERY OF ULYSSES TO TELEMACHUS.\n\n\nTelemachus arriving at the lodge of Eumaeus, sends him to carry\nPenelope the news of his return. Minerva appearing to Ulysses, commands\nhim to discover himself to his son. The princes, who had lain in ambush\nto intercept Telemachus in his way, their project being defeated,\nreturn to Ithaca.\n\n\nSoon as the morning blush\u2019d along the plains,\nUlysses, and the monarch of the swains,\nAwake the sleeping fires, their meals prepare,\nAnd forth to pasture send the bristly care.\nThe prince\u2019s near approach the dogs descry,\nAnd fawning round his feet confess their joy.\nTheir gentle blandishment the king survey\u2019d,\nHeard his resounding step, and instant said:\n\n\u201cSome well-known friend, Eumaeus, bends this way;\nHis steps I hear; the dogs familiar play.\u201d\n\nWhile yet he spoke, the prince advancing drew\nNigh to the lodge, and now appear\u2019d in view.\nTransported from his seat Eumaeus sprung,\nDropp\u2019d the full bowl, and round his bosom hung;\nKissing his cheek, his hand, while from his eye\nThe tears rain\u2019d copious in a shower of joy,\nAs some fond sire who ten long winters grieves,\nFrom foreign climes an only son receives\n(Child of his age), with strong paternal joy,\nForward he springs, and clasps the favourite boy:\nSo round the youth his arms Eumaeus spread,\nAs if the grave had given him from the dead.\n\n\u201cAnd is it thou? my ever-dear delight!\nOh, art thou come to bless my longing sight?\nNever, I never hoped to view this day,\nWhen o\u2019er the waves you plough\u2019d the desperate way.\nEnter, my child! Beyond my hopes restored,\nOh give these eyes to feast upon their lord.\nEnter, oh seldom seen! for lawless powers\nToo much detain thee from these sylvan bowers,\u201d\nThe prince replied: \u201cEumaeus, I obey;\nTo seek thee, friend, I hither took my way.\nBut say, if in the court the queen reside\nSeverely chaste, or if commenced a bride?\u201d\n\nThus he; and thus the monarch of the swains:\n\u201cSeverely chaste Penelope remains;\nBut, lost to every joy, she wastes the day\nIn tedious cares, and weeps the night away.\u201d\n\nHe ended, and (receiving as they pass\nThe javelin pointed with a star of brass),\nThey reach\u2019d the dome; the dome with marble shined.\nHis seat Ulysses to the prince resign\u2019d.\n\u201cNot so (exclaims the prince with decent grace)\nFor me, this house shall find an humbler place:\nTo usurp the honours due to silver hairs\nAnd reverend strangers modest youth forbears.\u201d\nInstant the swain the spoils of beasts supplies,\nAnd bids the rural throne with osiers rise.\nThere sate the prince: the feast Eumaeus spread,\nAnd heap\u2019d the shining canisters with bread.\nThick o\u2019er the board the plenteous viands lay,\nThe frugal remnants of the former day.\nThen in a bowl he tempers generous wines,\nAround whose verge a mimic ivy twines.\nAnd now, the rage of thirst and hunger fled,\nThus young Ulysses to Eumaeus said:\n\n\u201cWhence, father, from what shore this stranger, say?\nWhat vessel bore him o\u2019er the watery way?\nTo human step our land impervious lies,\nAnd round the coast circumfluent oceans rise.\u201d\n\nThe swain returns: \u201cA tale of sorrows hear:\nIn spacious Crete he drew his natal air;\nLong doom\u2019d to wander o\u2019er the land and main,\nFor Heaven has wove his thread of life with pain.\nHalf breathless \u2019scaping to the land he flew\nFrom Thesprot mariners, a murderous crew.\nTo thee, my son, the suppliant I resign;\nI gave him my protection, grant him thine.\u201d\n\n\u201cHard task (he cries) thy virtue gives thy friend,\nWilling to aid, unable to defend.\nCan strangers safely in the court reside,\n\u2019Midst the swell\u2019d insolence of lust and pride?\nE\u2019en I unsafe: the queen in doubt to wed,\nOr pay due honours to the nuptial bed.\nPerhaps she weds regardless of her fame,\nDeaf to the mighty Ulyssean name.\nHowever, stranger! from our grace receive\nSuch honours as befit a prince to give;\nSandals, a sword and robes, respect to prove,\nAnd safe to sail with ornaments of love.\nTill then, thy guest amid the rural train,\nFar from the court, from danger far, detain.\n\u2019Tis mine with food the hungry to supply,\nAnd clothe the naked from the inclement sky.\nHere dwell in safety from the suitors\u2019 wrongs,\nAnd the rude insults of ungovern\u2019d tongues.\nFor should\u2019st thou suffer, powerless to relieve,\nI must behold it, and can only grieve.\nThe brave, encompass\u2019d by an hostile train,\nO\u2019erpower\u2019d by numbers, is but brave in vain.\u201d\n\nTo whom, while anger in his bosom glows,\nWith warmth replies the man of mighty woes:\n\u201cSince audience mild is deign\u2019d, permit my tongue\nAt once to pity and resent thy wrong.\nMy heart weeps blood to see a soul so brave\nLive to base insolence or power a slave,\nBut tell me, dost thou, prince, dost thou behold,\nAnd hear their midnight revels uncontroll\u2019d?\nSay, do thy subjects in bold faction rise,\nOr priests in fabled oracles advise?\nOr are thy brothers, who should aid thy power,\nTurn\u2019d mean deserters in the needful hour?\nOh that I were from great Ulysses sprung,\nOr that these wither\u2019d nerves like thine were strung,\nOr, heavens! might he return! (and soon appear\nHe shall, I trust; a hero scorns despair:)\nMight he return, I yield my life a prey\nTo my worst foe, if that avenging day\nBe not their last: but should I lose my life,\nOppress\u2019d by numbers in the glorious strife,\nI chose the nobler part, and yield my breath,\nRather than bear dishonor, worse than death;\nThan see the hand of violence invade\nThe reverend stranger and the spotless maid;\nThan see the wealth of kings consumed in waste,\nThe drunkard\u2019s revel, and the gluttons\u2019 feast.\u201d\n\nThus he, with anger flashing from his eye;\nSincere the youthful hero made reply:\n\u201cNor leagued in factious arms my subjects rise,\nNor priests in fabled oracles advise;\nNor are my brothers, who should aid my power,\nTurn\u2019d mean deserters in the needful hour.\nAh me! I boast no brother; heaven\u2019s dread King\nGives from our stock an only branch to spring:\nAlone Laertes reign\u2019d Arcesius\u2019 heir,\nAlone Ulysses drew the vital air,\nAnd I alone the bed connubial graced,\nAn unbless\u2019d offspring of a sire unbless\u2019d!\nEach neighbouring realm, conducive to our woe,\nSends forth her peers, and every peer a foe:\nThe court proud Samos and Dulichium fills,\nAnd lofty Zacinth crown\u2019d with shady hills.\nE\u2019en Ithaca and all her lords invade\nThe imperial sceptre, and the regal bed:\nThe queen, averse to love, yet awed by power,\nSeems half to yield, yet flies the bridal hour:\nMeantime their licence uncontroll\u2019d I bear;\nE\u2019en now they envy me the vital air:\nBut Heaven will sure revenge, and gods there are.\n\n\u201cBut go Eumaeus! to the queen impart\nOur safe return, and ease a mother\u2019s heart.\nYet secret go; for numerous are my foes,\nAnd here at least I may in peace repose.\u201d\n\nTo whom the swain: \u201cI hear and I obey:\nBut old Laertes weeps his life away,\nAnd deems thee lost: shall I my speed employ\nTo bless his age: a messenger of joy?\nThe mournful hour that tore his son away\nSent the sad sire in solitude to stray;\nYet busied with his slaves, to ease his woe,\nHe dress\u2019d the vine, and bade the garden blow,\nNor food nor wine refused; but since the day\nThat you to Pylos plough\u2019d the watery way,\nNor wine nor food he tastes; but, sunk in woes,\nWild springs the vine, no more the garden blows,\nShut from the walks of men, to pleasure lost,\nPensive and pale he wanders half a ghost.\u201d\n\n\u201cWretched old man! (with tears the prince returns)\nYet cease to go\u2014what man so blest but mourns?\nWere every wish indulged by favouring skies,\nThis hour should give Ulysses to my eyes.\nBut to the queen with speed dispatchful bear,\nOur safe return, and back with speed repair;\nAnd let some handmaid of her train resort\nTo good Laertes in his rural court.\u201d\n\nWhile yet he spoke, impatient of delay,\nHe braced his sandals on, and strode away:\nThen from the heavens the martial goddess flies\nThrough the wild fields of air, and cleaves the skies:\nIn form, a virgin in soft beauty\u2019s bloom,\nSkill\u2019d in the illustrious labours of the loom.\nAlone to Ithaca she stood display\u2019d,\nBut unapparent as a viewless shade\nEscaped Telemachus (the powers above,\nSeen or unseen, o\u2019er earth at pleasure move):\nThe dogs intelligent confess\u2019d the tread\nOf power divine, and howling, trembling, fled.\nThe goddess, beckoning, waves her deathless hands:\nDauntless the king before the goddess stands:\n\n\u201cThen why (she said), O favour\u2019d of the skies!\nWhy to thy godlike son this long disguise?\nStand forth reveal\u2019d; with him thy cares employ\nAgainst thy foes; be valiant and destroy!\nLo! I descend in that avenging hour,\nTo combat by thy side, thy guardian power.\u201d\n\nShe said, and o\u2019er him waves her wand of gold\nImperial robes his manly limbs infold;\nAt once with grace divine his frame improves;\nAt once with majesty enlarged he moves:\nYouth flush\u2019d his reddening cheek, and from his brows\nA length of hair in sable ringlets flows;\nHis blackening chin receives a deeper shade;\nThen from his eyes upsprung the warrior-maid.\n\nThe hero reascends: the prince o\u2019erawed\nScarce lifts his eyes, and bows as to a god,\nThen with surprise (surprise chastised by fears):\n\u201cHow art thou changed! (he cried)\u2014a god appears!\nFar other vests thy limbs majestic grace,\nFar other glories lighten from thy face!\nIf heaven be thy abode, with pious care,\nLo! I the ready sacrifice prepare:\nLo! gifts of labour\u2019d gold adorn thy shrine,\nTo win thy grace: O save us, power divine!\u201d\n\n\u201cFew are my days (Ulysses made reply),\nNor I, alas! descendant of the sky.\nI am thy father. O my son! my son!\nThat father, for whose sake thy days have run\nOne scene of woe! to endless cares consign\u2019d,\nAnd outraged by the wrongs of base mankind.\u201d\n\nThen, rushing to his arms, he kiss\u2019d his boy\nWith the strong raptures of a parent\u2019s joy.\nTears bathe his cheek, and tears the ground bedew:\nHe strain\u2019d him close, as to his breast he grew.\n\u201cAh me! (exclaims the prince with fond desire)\nThou art not\u2014no, thou canst not be my sire.\nHeaven such illusion only can impose,\nBy the false joy to aggravate my woes.\nWho but a god can change the general doom,\nAnd give to wither\u2019d age a youthful bloom!\nLate, worn with years, in weeds obscene you trod;\nNow, clothed in majesty, you move a god!\u201d\n\n\u201cForbear (he cried,) for Heaven reserve that name;\nGive to thy father but a father\u2019s claim;\nOther Ulysses shalt thou never see,\nI am Ulysses, I, my son, am he.\nTwice ten sad years o\u2019er earth and ocean toss\u2019d,\n\u2019Tis given at length to view my native coast.\nPallas, unconquer\u2019d maid, my frame surrounds\nWith grace divine: her power admits no bounds;\nShe o\u2019er my limbs old age and wrinkles shed;\nNow strong as youth, magnificent I tread.\nThe gods with ease frail man depress or raise,\nExalt the lowly, or the proud debase.\u201d\n\nHe spoke and sate. The prince with transport flew,\nHung round his neck, while tears his cheek bedew;\nNor less the father pour\u2019d a social flood;\nThey wept abundant, and they wept aloud.\nAs the bold eagle with fierce sorrow stung,\nOr parent vulture, mourns her ravish\u2019d young;\nThey cry, they scream, their unfledged brood a prey\nTo some rude churl, and borne by stealth away:\nSo they aloud: and tears in tides had run,\nTheir grief unfinish\u2019d with the setting sun;\nBut checking the full torrent in its flow,\nThe prince thus interrupts the solemn woe.\n\u201cWhat ship transported thee, O father, say;\nAnd what bless\u2019d hands have oar\u2019d thee on the way?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll, all (Ulysses instant made reply),\nI tell thee all, my child, my only joy!\nPh\u00e6acians bore me to the port assign\u2019d,\nA nation ever to the stranger kind;\nWrapp\u2019d in the embrace of sleep, the faithful train\nO\u2019er seas convey\u2019d me to my native reign:\nEmbroider\u2019d vestures, gold, and brass, are laid\nConceal\u2019d in caverns in the sylvan shade.\nHither, intent the rival rout to slay,\nAnd plan the scene of death, I bend my way;\nSo Pallas wills\u2014but thou, my son, explain\nThe names and numbers of the audacious train;\n\u2019Tis mine to judge if better to employ\nAssistant force, or singly to destroy.\u201d\n\n\u201cO\u2019er earth (returns the prince) resounds thy name,\nThy well-tried wisdom, and thy martial fame,\nYet at thy words I start, in wonder lost;\nCan we engage, not decades but an host?\nCan we alone in furious battle stand,\nAgainst that numerous and determined band?\nHear then their numbers; from Dulichium came\nTwice twenty-six, all peers of mighty name.\nSix are their menial train: twice twelve the boast\nOf Samos; twenty from Zacynthus\u2019 coast:\nAnd twelve our country\u2019s pride; to these belong\nMedon and Phemius, skill\u2019d in heavenly song.\nTwo sewers from day to day the revels wait,\nExact of taste, and serve the feast in state.\nWith such a foe the unequal fight to try,\nWere by false courage unrevenged to die.\nThen what assistant powers you boast relate,\nEre yet we mingle in the stern debate.\u201d\n\n\u201cMark well my voice, (Ulysses straight replies:)\nWhat need of aids, if favour\u2019d by the skies?\nIf shielded to the dreadful fight we move,\nBy mighty Pallas, and by thundering Jove?\u201d\n\n\u201cSufficient they (Telemachus rejoin\u2019d)\nAgainst the banded powers of all mankind:\nThey, high enthroned above the rolling clouds,\nWither the strength of man, and awe the gods.\u201d\n\n\u201cSuch aids expect (he cries,) when strong in might\nWe rise terrific to the task of fight.\nBut thou, when morn salutes the a\u00ebrial plain,\nThe court revisit and the lawless train:\nMe thither in disguise Eumaeus leads,\nAn aged mendicant in tatter\u2019d weeds.\nThere, if base scorn insult my reverend age,\nBear it, my son! repress thy rising rage.\nIf outraged, cease that outrage to repel;\nBear it, my son! howe\u2019er thy heart rebel.\nYet strive by prayer and counsel to restrain\nTheir lawless insults, though thou strive in vain:\nFor wicked ears are deaf to wisdom\u2019s call,\nAnd vengeance strikes whom Heaven has doom\u2019d to fall.\nOnce more attend: when she whose power inspires\nThe thinking mind, my soul to vengeance fires,\nI give the sign: that instant, from beneath,\nAloft convey the instruments of death,\nArmour and arms; and, if mistrust arise,\nThus veil the truth in plausible disguise:\n\n\u201c\u2018These glittering weapons, ere he sail\u2019d to Troy,\nUlysses view\u2019d with stern heroic joy:\nThen, beaming o\u2019er the illumined wall they shone;\nNow dust dishonours, all their lustre gone.\nI bear them hence (so Jove my soul inspires),\nFrom the pollution of the fuming fires;\nLest when the bowl inflames, in vengeful mood\nYe rush to arms, and stain the feast with blood:\nOft ready swords in luckless hour incite\nThe hand of wrath, and arm it for the fight.\u2019\n\n\u201cSuch be the plea, and by the plea deceive:\nFor Jove infatuates all, and all believe.\nYet leave for each of us a sword to wield,\nA pointed javelin, and a fenceful shield.\nBut by my blood that in thy bosom glows,\nBy that regard a son his father owes;\nThe secret, that thy father lives, retain\nLock\u2019d in thy bosom from the household train;\nHide it from all; e\u2019en from Eumaeus hide,\nFrom my dear father, and my dearer bride.\nOne care remains, to note the loyal few\nWhose faith yet lasts among the menial crew;\nAnd noting, ere we rise in vengeance, prove\nWho love his prince; for sure you merit love.\u201d\n\nTo whom the youth: \u201cTo emulate, I aim,\nThe brave and wise, and my great father\u2019s fame.\nBut reconsider, since the wisest err,\nVengeance resolved, \u2019tis dangerous to defer.\nWhat length of time must we consume in vain,\nToo curious to explore the menial train!\nWhile the proud foes, industrious to destroy\nThy wealth, in riot the delay enjoy.\nSuffice it in this exigence alone\nTo mark the damsels that attend the throne:\nDispersed the youth reside; their faith to prove\nJove grants henceforth, if thou hast spoke from Jove.\u201d\n\nWhile in debate they waste the hours away,\nThe associates of the prince repass\u2019d the bay:\nWith speed they guide the vessel to the shores;\nWith speed debarking land the naval stores:\nThen, faithful to their charge, to Clytius bear,\nAnd trust the presents to his friendly care.\nSwift to the queen a herald flies to impart\nHer son\u2019s return, and ease a parent\u2019s heart:\nLest a sad prey to ever-musing cares,\nPale grief destroy what time awhile forbears.\nThe incautious herald with impatience burns,\nAnd cries aloud, \u201cThy son, O queen, returns;\u201d\nEumaeus sage approach\u2019d the imperial throne,\nAnd breathed his mandate to her ear alone,\nThen measured back the way. The suitor band,\nStung to the soul, abash\u2019d, confounded, stand;\nAnd issuing from the dome, before the gate,\nWith clouded looks, a pale assembly sate.\n\nAt length Eurymachus: \u201cOur hopes are vain;\nTelemachus in triumph sails the main.\nHaste, rear the mast, the swelling shroud display;\nHaste, to our ambush\u2019d friends the news convey!\u201d\n\nScarce had he spake, when, turning to the strand,\nAmphinomus survey\u2019d the associate band;\nFull to the bay within the winding shores\nWith gather\u2019d sails they stood, and lifted oars.\n\u201cO friends!\u201d he cried, elate with rising joy,\n\u201cSee to the port secure the vessel fly!\nSome god has told them, or themselves survey\nThe bark escaped; and measure back their way.\u201d\n\nSwift at the word descending to the shores,\nThey moor the vessel and unlade the stores:\nThen, moving from the strand, apart they sate,\nAnd full and frequent form\u2019d a dire debate.\n\n\u201cLives then the boy? he lives (Antinous cries),\nThe care of gods and favourite of the skies.\nAll night we watch\u2019d, till with her orient wheels\nAurora flamed above the eastern hills,\nAnd from the lofty brow of rocks by day\nTook in the ocean with a broad survey\nYet safe he sails; the powers celestial give\nTo shun the hidden snares of death, and live.\nBut die he shall, and thus condemn\u2019d to bleed,\nBe now the scene of instant death decreed.\nHope ye success? undaunted crush the foe.\nIs he not wise? know this, and strike the blow.\nWait ye, till he to arms in council draws\nThe Greeks, averse too justly to our cause?\nStrike, ere, the states convened, the foe betray\nOur murderous ambush on the watery way.\nOr choose ye vagrant from their rage to fly,\nOutcasts of earth, to breathe an unknown sky?\nThe brave prevent misfortune; then be brave,\nAnd bury future danger in his grave.\nReturns he? ambush\u2019d we\u2019ll his walk invade,\nOr where he hides in solitude and shade;\nAnd give the palace to the queen a dower,\nOr him she blesses in the bridal hour.\nBut if submissive you resign the sway,\nSlaves to a boy, go, flatter and obey.\nRetire we instant to our native reign,\nNor be the wealth of kings consumed in vain;\nThen wed whom choice approves: the queen be given\nTo some blest prince, the prince decreed by Heaven.\u201d\n\nAbash\u2019d, the suitor train his voice attends;\nTill from his throne Amphinomus ascends,\nWho o\u2019er Dulichium stretch\u2019d his spacious reign,\nA land of plenty, bless\u2019d with every grain:\nChief of the numbers who the queen address\u2019d,\nAnd though displeasing, yet displeasing least.\nSoft were his words; his actions wisdom sway\u2019d;\nGraceful awhile he paused, then mildly said:\n\n\u201cO friends, forbear! and be the thought withstood:\n\u2019Tis horrible to shed imperial blood!\nConsult we first the all-seeing powers above,\nAnd the sure oracles of righteous Jove.\nIf they assent, e\u2019en by this hand he dies;\nIf they forbid, I war not with the skies.\u201d\n\nHe said: the rival train his voice approved,\nAnd rising instant to the palace moved.\nArrived, with wild tumultuous noise they sate,\nRecumbent on the shining thrones of state.\n\nThen Medon, conscious of their dire debates,\nThe murderous counsel to the queen relates.\nTouch\u2019d at the dreadful story, she descends:\nHer hasty steps a damsel train attends.\nFull where the dome its shining valves expands,\nSudden before the rival powers she stands;\nAnd, veiling, decent, with a modest shade\nHer cheek, indignant to Antinous said:\n\n\u201cO void of faith! of all bad men the worst!\nRenown\u2019d for wisdom, by the abuse accursed!\nMistaking fame proclaims thy generous mind:\nThy deeds denote thee of the basest kind.\nWretch! to destroy a prince that friendship gives,\nWhile in his guest his murderer he receives;\nNor dread superior Jove, to whom belong\nThe cause of suppliants, and revenge of wrong.\nHast thou forgot, ungrateful as thou art,\nWho saved thy father with a friendly part?\nLawless he ravaged with his martial powers\nThe Taphian pirates on Thesprotia\u2019s shores;\nEnraged, his life, his treasures they demand;\nUlysses saved him from the avenger\u2019s hand.\nAnd would\u2019st thou evil for his good repay?\nHis bed dishonour, and his house betray?\nAfflict his queen, and with a murderous hand\nDestroy his heir!\u2014but cease, \u2019tis I command.\u201d\n\n\u201cFar hence those fears (Eurymachus replied,)\nO prudent princess! bid thy soul confide.\nBreathes there a man who dares that hero slay,\nWhile I behold the golden light of day?\nNo: by the righteous powers of heaven I swear,\nHis blood in vengeance smokes upon my spear.\nUlysses, when my infant days I led,\nWith wine sufficed me, and with dainties fed:\nMy generous soul abhors the ungrateful part,\nAnd my friend\u2019s son lives nearest to my heart.\nThen fear no mortal arm; if Heaven destroy,\nWe must resign: for man is born to die.\u201d\n\nThus smooth he ended, yet his death conspired:\nThen sorrowing, with sad step the queen retired,\nWith streaming eyes, all comfortless deplored,\nTouch\u2019d with the dear remembrance of her lord:\nNor ceased till Pallas bids her sorrows fly,\nAnd in soft slumber seal\u2019d her flowing eye.\n\nAnd now Eumaeus, at the evening hour,\nCame late, returning to his sylvan bower.\nUlysses and his son had dress\u2019d with art\nA yearling boar, and gave the gods their part.\nHoly repast! That instant from the skies\nThe martial goddess to Ulysses flies:\nShe waves her golden wand, and reassumes\nFrom every feature every grace that blooms;\nAt once his vestures change; at once she sheds\nAge o\u2019er his limbs, that tremble as he treads:\nLest to the queen the swain with transport fly,\nUnable to contain the unruly joy;\nWhen near he drew, the prince breaks forth: \u201cProclaim\nWhat tidings, friend? what speaks the voice of fame?\nSay, if the suitors measure back the main,\nOr still in ambush thirst for blood in vain?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhether (he cries) they measure back the flood,\nOr still in ambush thirst in vain for blood,\nEscaped my care: where lawless suitors sway,\nThy mandate borne my soul disdain\u2019d to stay.\nBut from the Hermaean height I cast a view,\nWhere to the port a bark high-bounding flew;\nHer freight a shining band: with martial air\nEach poised his shield, and each advanced his spear;\nAnd, if aright these searching eyes survey,\nThe eluded suitors stem the watery way.\u201d\n\nThe prince, well pleased to disappoint their wiles,\nSteals on his sire a glance, and secret smiles.\nAnd now, a short repast prepared, they fed\nTill the keen rage of craving hunger fled:\nThen to repose withdrawn, apart they lay,\nAnd in soft sleep forgot the cares of day.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XVII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTelemachus returning to the city, relates to Penelope the sum of his\ntravels. Ulysses is conducted by Eumaeus to the palace, where his old\ndog Argus acknowledges his master, after an absence of twenty years,\nand dies with joy. Eumaeus returns into the country, and Ulysses\nremains among the suitors, whose behaviour is described.\n\n\nSoon as Aurora, daughter of the dawn,\nSprinkled with roseate light the dewy lawn,\nIn haste the prince arose, prepared to part;\nHis hand impatient grasps the pointed dart;\nFair on his feet the polish\u2019d sandals shine,\nAnd thus he greets the master of the swine:\n\n\u201cMy friend, adieu! let this short stay suffice;\nI haste to meet my mother\u2019s longing eyes,\nAnd end her tears, her sorrows and her sighs.\nBut thou, attentive, what we order heed:\nThis hapless stranger to the city lead:\nBy public bounty let him there be fed,\nAnd bless the hand that stretches forth the bread.\nTo wipe the tears from all afflicted eyes,\nMy will may covet, but my power denies.\nIf this raise anger in the stranger\u2019s thought,\nThe pain of anger punishes the fault:\nThe very truth I undisguised declare;\nFor what so easy as to be sincere?\u201d\n\nTo this Ulysses: \u201cWhat the prince requires\nOf swift removal, seconds my desires.\nTo want like mine the peopled town can yield\nMore hopes of comfort than the lonely field:\nNor fits my age to till the labour\u2019d lands,\nOr stoop to tasks a rural lord demands.\nAdieu! but since this ragged garb can bear\nSo ill the inclemencies of morning air,\nA few hours\u2019 space permit me here to stay:\nMy steps Eumaeus shall to town convey,\nWith riper beams when Ph\u0153bus warms the day.\u201d\n\nThus he: nor aught Telemachus replied,\nBut left the mansion with a lofty stride:\nSchemes of revenge his pondering breast elate,\nRevolving deep the suitors\u2019 sudden fate,\nArriving now before the imperial hall,\nHe props his spear against the pillar\u2019d wall;\nThen like a lion o\u2019er the threshold bounds;\nThe marble pavement with his steps resounds:\nHis eye first glanced where Euryclea spreads\nWith furry spoils of beasts the splendid beds:\nShe saw, she wept, she ran with eager pace,\nAnd reach\u2019d her master with a long embrace.\nAll crowded round, the family appears\nWith wild entrancement, and ecstatic tears.\nSwift from above descends the royal fair\n(Her beauteous cheeks the blush of Venus wear,\nChasten\u2019d with coy Diana\u2019s pensive air);\nHangs o\u2019er her son, in his embraces dies;\nRains kisses on his neck, his face, his eyes:\nFew words she spoke, though much she had to say;\nAnd scarce those few, for tears, could force their way.\n\n\u201cLight of my eyes: he comes! unhoped-for joy!\nHas Heaven from Pylos brought my lovely boy?\nSo snatch\u2019d from all our cares!\u2014Tell, hast thou known\nThy father\u2019s fate, and tell me all thy own.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh dearest! most revered of womankind!\nCease with those tears to melt a manly mind\n(Replied the prince); nor be our fates deplored,\nFrom death and treason to thy arms restored.\nGo bathe, and robed in white ascend the towers;\nWith all thy handmaids thank the immortal powers;\nTo every god vow hecatombs to bleed.\nAnd call Jove\u2019s vengeance on their guilty deed.\nWhile to the assembled council I repair:\nA stranger sent by Heaven attends me there;\nMy new accepted guest I haste to find,\nNow to Peiraeus\u2019 honour\u2019d charge consign\u2019d.\u201d\n\nThe matron heard, nor was his word in vain.\nShe bathed; and, robed in white, with all her train,\nTo every god vow\u2019d hecatombs to bleed,\nAnd call\u2019d Jove\u2019s vengeance on the guilty deed,\nArm\u2019d with his lance, the prince then pass\u2019d the gate,\nTwo dogs behind, a faithful guard, await;\nPallas his form with grace divine improves:\nThe gazing crowd admires him as he moves.\nHim, gathering round, the haughty suitors greet\nWith semblance fair, but inward deep deceit,\nTheir false addresses, generous, he denied.\nPass\u2019d on, and sate by faithful Mentor\u2019s side;\nWith Antiphus, and Halitherses sage\n(His father\u2019s counsellors, revered for age).\nOf his own fortunes, and Ulysses\u2019 fame,\nMuch ask\u2019d the seniors; till Peiraeus came.\nThe stranger-guest pursued him close behind;\nWhom when Telemachus beheld, he join\u2019d.\nHe (when Peiraeus ask\u2019d for slaves to bring\nThe gifts and treasures of the Spartan king)\nThus thoughtful answer\u2019d: \u201cThose we shall not move,\nDark and unconscious of the will of Jove;\nWe know not yet the full event of all:\nStabb\u2019d in his palace if your prince must fall,\nUs, and our house, if treason must o\u2019erthrow,\nBetter a friend possess them than a foe;\nIf death to these, and vengeance Heaven decree,\nRiches are welcome then, not else, to me.\nTill then retain the gifts.\u201d\u2014The hero said,\nAnd in his hand the willing stranger led.\nThen disarray\u2019d, the shining bath they sought\n(With unguents smooth) of polish\u2019d marble wrought:\nObedient handmaids with assistant toil\nSupply the limpid wave, and fragrant oil:\nThen o\u2019er their limbs refulgent robes they threw,\nAnd fresh from bathing to their seats withdrew.\nThe golden ewer a nymph attendant brings,\nReplenish\u2019d from the pure translucent springs;\nWith copious streams that golden ewer supplies\nA silver layer of capacious size.\nThey wash: the table, in fair order spread,\nIs piled with viands and the strength of bread.\nFull opposite, before the folding gate,\nThe pensive mother sits in humble state;\nLowly she sate, and with dejected view\nThe fleecy threads her ivory fingers drew.\nThe prince and stranger shared the genial feast,\nTill now the rage of thirst and hunger ceased.\n\nWhen thus the queen: \u201cMy son! my only friend!\nSay, to my mournful couch shall I ascend?\n(The couch deserted now a length of years;\nThe couch for ever water\u2019d with my tears;)\nSay, wilt thou not (ere yet the suitor crew\nReturn, and riot shakes our walls anew),\nSay, wilt thou not the least account afford?\nThe least glad tidings of my absent lord?\u201d\n\nTo her the youth. \u201cWe reach\u2019d the Pylian plains,\nWhere Nestor, shepherd of his people, reigns.\nAll arts of tenderness to him are known,\nKind to Ulysses\u2019 race as to his own;\nNo father with a fonder grasp of joy\nStrains to his bosom his long-absent boy.\nBut all unknown, if yet Ulysses breathe,\nOr glide a spectre in the realms beneath;\nFor farther search, his rapid steeds transport\nMy lengthen\u2019d journey to the Spartan court.\nThere Argive Helen I beheld, whose charms\n(So Heaven decreed) engaged the great in arms.\nMy cause of coming told, he thus rejoin\u2019d;\nAnd still his words live perfect in my mind:\n\n\u201c\u2018Heavens! would a soft, inglorious, dastard train\nAn absent hero\u2019s nuptial joys profane\nSo with her young, amid the woodland shades,\nA timorous hind the lion\u2019s court invades,\nLeaves in that fatal lair her tender fawns,\nAnd climbs the cliffs, or feeds along the lawns;\nMeantime returning, with remorseless sway\nThe monarch savage rends the panting prey:\nWith equal fury, and with equal fame,\nShall great Ulysses reassert his claim.\nO Jove! supreme! whom men and gods revere;\nAnd thou whose lustre gilds the rolling sphere!\nWith power congenial join\u2019d, propitious aid\nThe chief adopted by the martial maid!\nSuch to our wish the warrior soon restore,\nAs when, contending on the Lesbian shore,\nHis prowess Philomelides confess\u2019d,\nAnd loud acclaiming Greeks the victor bless\u2019d:\nThen soon the invaders of his bed, and throne,\nTheir love presumptuous shall by death atone.\nNow what you question of my ancient friend,\nWith truth I answer; thou the truth attend.\nLearn what I heard the sea-born seer relate,\nWhose eye can pierce the dark recess of fate\nSole in an isle, imprison\u2019d by the main,\nThe sad survivor of his numerous train,\nUlysses lies; detain\u2019d by magic charms,\nAnd press\u2019d unwilling in Calypso\u2019s arms.\nNo sailors there, no vessels to convey,\nNo oars to cut the immeasurable way.\u2019\nThis told Atrides, and he told no more.\nThen safe I voyaged to my native shore.\u201d\n\nHe ceased; nor made the pensive queen reply,\nBut droop\u2019d her head, and drew a secret sigh.\nWhen Theoclymenus the seer began:\n\u201cO suffering consort of the suffering man!\nWhat human knowledge could, those kings might tell,\nBut I the secrets of high heaven reveal.\nBefore the first of gods be this declared,\nBefore the board whose blessings we have shared;\nWitness the genial rites, and witness all\nThis house holds sacred in her ample wall!\nE\u2019en now, this instant, great Ulysses, laid\nAt rest, or wandering in his country\u2019s shade,\nTheir guilty deeds, in hearing, and in view,\nSecret revolves; and plans the vengeance due.\nOf this sure auguries the gods bestow\u2019d,\nWhen first our vessel anchor\u2019d in your road.\u201d\n\u201cSucceed those omens, Heaven! (the queen rejoin\u2019d)\nSo shall our bounties speak a grateful mind;\nAnd every envied happiness attend\nThe man who calls Penelope his friend.\u201d\nThus communed they: while in the marble court\n(Scene of their insolence) the lords resort:\nAthwart the spacious square each tries his art,\nTo whirl the disk, or aim the missile dart.\nNow did the hour of sweet repast arrive,\nAnd from the field the victim flocks they drive:\nMedon the herald (one who pleased them best,\nAnd honour\u2019d with a portion of their feast),\nTo bid the banquet, interrupts their play:\nSwift to the hall they haste; aside they lay\nTheir garments, and succinct the victims slay.\nThen sheep, and goats, and bristly porkers bled,\nAnd the proud steer was o\u2019er the marble spread.\nWhile thus the copious banquet they provide,\nAlong the road, conversing side by side,\nProceed Ulysses and the faithful swain;\nWhen thus Eumaeus, generous and humane:\n\u201cTo town, observant of our lord\u2019s behest,\nNow let us speed; my friend no more my guest!\nYet like myself I wish thee here preferr\u2019d,\nGuard of the flock, or keeper of the herd,\nBut much to raise my master\u2019s wrath I fear;\nThe wrath of princes ever is severe.\nThen heed his will, and be our journey made\nWhile the broad beams of Ph\u0153bus are display\u2019d,\nOr ere brown evening spreads her chilly shade.\u201d\n\u201cJust thy advice (the prudent chief rejoin\u2019d),\nAnd such as suits the dictate of my mind.\nLead on: but help me to some staff to stay\nMy feeble step, since rugged is the way.\u201d\nAcross his shoulders then the scrip he flung,\nWide-patch\u2019d, and fasten\u2019d by a twisted thong.\nA staff Eumaeus gave. Along the way\nCheerly they fare: behind, the keepers stay:\nThese with their watchful dogs (a constant guard)\nSupply his absence, and attend the herd.\nAnd now his city strikes the monarch\u2019s eyes,\nAlas! how changed! a man of miseries;\nPropp\u2019d on a staff, a beggar old and bare\nIn rags dishonest fluttering with the air!\nNow pass\u2019d the rugged road, they journey down\nThe cavern\u2019d way descending to the town,\nWhere, from the rock, with liquid drops distils\nA limpid fount; that spread in parting rills\nIts current thence to serve the city brings;\nAn useful work, adorn\u2019d by ancient kings.\nNeritus, Ithacus, Polyctor, there,\nIn sculptured stone immortalized their care,\nIn marble urns received it from above,\nAnd shaded with a green surrounding grove;\nWhere silver alders, in high arches twined,\nDrink the cool stream, and tremble to the wind.\nBeneath, sequester\u2019d to the nymphs, is seen\nA mossy altar, deep embower\u2019d in green;\nWhere constant vows by travellers are paid,\nAnd holy horrors solemnize the shade.\n\nHere with his goats (not vow\u2019d to sacred fame,\nBut pamper\u2019d luxury) Melanthius came:\nTwo grooms attend him. With an envious look\nHe eyed the stranger, and imperious spoke:\n\n\u201cThe good old proverb how this pair fulfil!\nOne rogue is usher to another still.\nHeaven with a secret principle endued\nMankind, to seek their own similitude.\nWhere goes the swineherd with that ill-look\u2019d guest?\nThat giant-glutton, dreadful at a feast!\nFull many a post have those broad shoulders worn,\nFrom every great man\u2019s gate repulsed with scorn:\nTo no brave prize aspired the worthless swain,\n\u2019Twas but for scraps he ask\u2019d, and ask\u2019d in vain.\nTo beg, than work, he better understands,\nOr we perhaps might take him off thy hands.\nFor any office could the slave be good,\nTo cleanse the fold, or help the kids to food.\nIf any labour those big joints could learn,\nSome whey, to wash his bowels, he might earn.\nTo cringe, to whine, his idle hands to spread,\nIs all, by which that graceless maw is fed.\nYet hear me! if thy impudence but dare\nApproach yon wall, I prophesy thy fare:\nDearly, full dearly, shalt thou buy thy bread\nWith many a footstool thundering at thy head.\u201d\n\nHe thus: nor insolent of word alone,\nSpurn\u2019d with his rustic heel his king unknown;\nSpurn\u2019d, but not moved: he like a pillar stood,\nNor stirr\u2019d an inch, contemptuous, from the road:\nDoubtful, or with his staff to strike him dead,\nOr greet the pavement with his worthless head.\nShort was that doubt; to quell his rage inured,\nThe hero stood self-conquer\u2019d, and endured.\nBut hateful of the wretch, Eumaeus heaved\nHis hands obtesting, and this prayer conceived:\n\u201cDaughters of Jove! who from the ethereal bowers\nDescend to swell the springs, and feed the flowers!\nNymphs of this fountain! to whose sacred names\nOur rural victims mount in blazing flames!\nTo whom Ulysses\u2019 piety preferr\u2019d\nThe yearly firstlings of his flock and herd;\nSucceed my wish, your votary restore:\nOh, be some god his convoy to our shore!\nDue pains shall punish then this slave\u2019s offence,\nAnd humble all his airs of insolence,\nWho, proudly stalking, leaves the herds at large,\nCommences courtier, and neglects his charge.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat mutters he? (Melanthius sharp rejoins;)\nThis crafty miscreant, big with dark designs?\nThe day shall come\u2014nay, \u2019tis already near\u2014\nWhen, slave! to sell thee at a price too dear\nMust be my care; and hence transport thee o\u2019er,\nA load and scandal to this happy shore.\nOh! that as surely great Apollo\u2019s dart,\nOr some brave suitor\u2019s sword, might pierce the heart\nOf the proud son; as that we stand this hour\nIn lasting safety from the father\u2019s power!\u201d\n\nSo spoke the wretch, but, shunning farther fray,\nTurn\u2019d his proud step, and left them on their way.\nStraight to the feastful palace he repair\u2019d,\nFamiliar enter\u2019d, and the banquet shared;\nBeneath Eurymachus, his patron lord,\nHe took his place, and plenty heap\u2019d the board.\n\nMeantime they heard, soft circling in the sky\nSweet airs ascend, and heavenly minstrelsy\n(For Phemius to the lyre attuned the strain):\nUlysses hearken\u2019d, then address\u2019d the swain:\n\n\u201cWell may this palace admiration claim,\nGreat and respondent to the master\u2019s fame!\nStage above stage the imperial structure stands,\nHolds the chief honours, and the town commands:\nHigh walls and battlements the courts inclose,\nAnd the strong gates defy a host of foes.\nFar other cares its dwellers now employ;\nThe throng\u2019d assembly and the feast of joy:\nI see the smokes of sacrifice aspire,\nAnd hear (what graces every feast) the lyre.\u201d\n\nThen thus Eumaeus: \u201cJudge we which were best;\nAmidst yon revellers a sudden guest\nChoose you to mingle, while behind I stay?\nOr I first entering introduce the way?\nWait for a space without, but wait not long;\nThis is the house of violence and wrong:\nSome rude insult thy reverend age may bear;\nFor like their lawless lords the servants are.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust is, O friend! thy caution, and address\u2019d\n(Replied the chief, to no unheedful breast:)\nThe wrongs and injuries of base mankind\nFresh to my sense, and always in my mind.\nThe bravely-patient to no fortune yields:\nOn rolling oceans, and in fighting fields,\nStorms have I pass\u2019d, and many a stern debate;\nAnd now in humbler scene submit to fate.\nWhat cannot want? The best she will expose,\nAnd I am learn\u2019d in all her train of woes;\nShe fills with navies, hosts, and loud alarms,\nThe sea, the land, and shakes the world with arms!\u201d\n\nThus, near the gates conferring as they drew,\nArgus, the dog, his ancient master knew:\nHe not unconscious of the voice and tread,\nLifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head;\nBred by Ulysses, nourish\u2019d at his board,\nBut, ah! not fated long to please his lord;\nTo him, his swiftness and his strength were vain;\nThe voice of glory call\u2019d him o\u2019er the main.\nTill then in every sylvan chase renown\u2019d,\nWith Argus, Argus, rung the woods around;\nWith him the youth pursued the goat or fawn,\nOr traced the mazy leveret o\u2019er the lawn.\nNow left to man\u2019s ingratitude he lay,\nUnhoused, neglected in the public way;\nAnd where on heaps the rich manure was spread,\nObscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed.\n\nHe knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet;\nIn vain he strove to crawl and kiss his feet;\nYet (all he could) his tail, his tears, his eyes,\nSalute his master, and confess his joys.\nSoft pity touch\u2019d the mighty master\u2019s soul;\nAdown his cheek a tear unbidden stole,\nStole unperceived: he turn\u2019d his head and dried\nThe drop humane: then thus impassion\u2019d cried:\n\n\u201cWhat noble beast in this abandon\u2019d state\nLies here all helpless at Ulysses\u2019 gate?\nHis bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise:\nIf, as he seems, he was in better days,\nSome care his age deserves; or was he prized\nFor worthless beauty? therefore now despised;\nSuch dogs and men there are, mere things of state;\nAnd always cherish\u2019d by their friends, the great.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot Argus so, (Eumaeus thus rejoin\u2019d,)\nBut served a master of a nobler kind,\nWho, never, never shall behold him more!\nLong, long since perish\u2019d on a distant shore!\nOh had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young,\nSwift as a stag, and as a lion strong:\nHim no fell savage on the plain withstood,\nNone \u2019scaped him bosom\u2019d in the gloomy wood;\nHis eye how piercing, and his scent how true,\nTo wind the vapour on the tainted dew!\nSuch, when Ulysses left his natal coast:\nNow years unnerve him, and his lord is lost!\nThe women keep the generous creature bare,\nA sleek and idle race is all their care:\nThe master gone, the servants what restrains?\nOr dwells humanity where riot reigns?\nJove fix\u2019d it certain, that whatever day\nMakes man a slave, takes half his worth away.\u201d\n\nThis said, the honest herdsman strode before;\nThe musing monarch pauses at the door:\nThe dog, whom Fate had granted to behold\nHis lord, when twenty tedious years had roll\u2019d,\nTakes a last look, and having seen him, dies;\nSo closed for ever faithful Argus\u2019 eyes!\n\nAnd now Telemachus, the first of all,\nObserved Eumaeus entering in the hall;\nDistant he saw, across the shady dome;\nThen gave a sign, and beckon\u2019d him to come:\nThere stood an empty seat, where late was placed,\nIn order due, the steward of the feast,\n(Who now was busied carving round the board,)\nEumaeus took, and placed it near his lord.\nBefore him instant was the banquet spread,\nAnd the bright basket piled with loaves of bread.\n\nNext came Ulysses lowly at the door,\nA figure despicable, old, and poor.\nIn squalid vests, with many a gaping rent,\nPropp\u2019d on a staff, and trembling as he went.\nThen, resting on the threshold of the gate,\nAgainst a cypress pillar lean\u2019d his weight\nSmooth\u2019d by the workman to a polish\u2019d plane);\nThe thoughtful son beheld, and call\u2019d his swain\n\n\u201cThese viands, and this bread, Eumaeus! bear,\nAnd let yon mendicant our plenty share:\nAnd let him circle round the suitors\u2019 board,\nAnd try the bounty of each gracious lord.\nBold let him ask, encouraged thus by me:\nHow ill, alas! do want and shame agree!\u201d\n\nHis lord\u2019s command the faithful servant bears:\nThe seeming beggar answers with his prayers:\n\u201cBless\u2019d be Telemachus! in every deed\nInspire him. Jove! in every wish succeed!\u201d\nThis said, the portion from his son convey\u2019d\nWith smiles receiving on his scrip he laid.\nLong has the minstrel swept the sounding wire,\nHe fed, and ceased when silence held the lyre.\nSoon as the suitors from the banquet rose,\nMinerva prompts the man of mighty woes\nTo tempt their bounties with a suppliant\u2019s art,\nAnd learn the generous from the ignoble heart\n(Not but his soul, resentful as humane,\nDooms to full vengeance all the offending train);\nWith speaking eyes, and voice of plaintive sound,\nHumble he moves, imploring all around.\nThe proud feel pity, and relief bestow,\nWith such an image touch\u2019d of human woe;\nInquiring all, their wonder they confess,\nAnd eye the man, majestic in distress.\n\nWhile thus they gaze and question with their eyes,\nThe bold Melanthius to their thought replies:\n\u201cMy lords! this stranger of gigantic port\nThe good Eumaeus usher\u2019d to your court.\nFull well I mark\u2019d the features of his face,\nThough all unknown his clime, or noble race.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is this present, swineherd! of thy band?\nBring\u2019st thou these vagrants to infest the land?\n(Returns Antinous with retorted eye)\nObjects uncouth, to check the genial joy.\nEnough of these our court already grace;\nOf giant stomach, and of famish\u2019d face.\nSuch guests Eumaeus to his country brings,\nTo share our feast, and lead the life of kings.\u201d\n\nTo whom the hospitable swain rejoins:\n\u201cThy passion, prince, belies thy knowing mind.\nWho calls, from distant nations to his own,\nThe poor, distinguish\u2019d by their wants alone?\nRound the wide world are sought those men divine\nWho public structures raise, or who design;\nThose to whose eyes the gods their ways reveal,\nOr bless with salutary arts to heal;\nBut chief to poets such respect belongs,\nBy rival nations courted for their songs;\nThese states invite, and mighty kings admire,\nWide as the sun displays his vital fire.\nIt is not so with want! how few that feed\nA wretch unhappy, merely for his need!\nUnjust to me, and all that serve the state,\nTo love Ulysses is to raise thy hate.\nFor me, suffice the approbation won\nOf my great mistress, and her godlike son.\u201d\n\nTo him Telemachus: \u201cNo more incense\nThe man by nature prone to insolence:\nInjurious minds just answers but provoke\u201d\u2014\nThen turning to Antinous, thus he spoke:\n\u201cThanks to thy care! whose absolute command\nThus drives the stranger from our court and land.\nHeaven bless its owner with a better mind!\nFrom envy free, to charity inclined.\nThis both Penelope and I afford:\nThen, prince! be bounteous of Ulysses\u2019 board.\nTo give another\u2019s is thy hand so slow?\nSo much more sweet to spoil than to bestow?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhence, great Telemachus! this lofty strain?\n(Antinous cries with insolent disdain):\nPortions like mine if every suitor gave,\nOur walls this twelvemonth should not see the slave.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and lifting high above the board\nHis ponderous footstool, shook it at his lord.\nThe rest with equal hand conferr\u2019d the bread:\nHe fill\u2019d his scrip, and to the threshold sped;\nBut first before Antinous stopp\u2019d, and said:\n\u201cBestow, my friend! thou dost not seem the worst\nOf all the Greeks, but prince-like and the first;\nThen, as in dignity, be first in worth,\nAnd I shall praise thee through the boundless earth.\nOnce I enjoy\u2019d in luxury of state\nWhate\u2019er gives man the envied name of great;\nWealth, servants, friends, were mine in better days\nAnd hospitality was then my praise;\nIn every sorrowing soul I pour\u2019d delight,\nAnd poverty stood smiling in my sight.\nBut Jove, all-governing, whose only will\nDetermines fate, and mingles good with ill,\nSent me (to punish my pursuit of gain)\nWith roving pirates o\u2019er the Egyptian main\nBy Egypt\u2019s silver flood our ships we moor;\nOur spies commission\u2019d straight the coast explore;\nBut impotent of mind, the lawless will\nThe country ravage, and the natives kill.\nThe spreading clamour to their city flies,\nAnd horse and foot in mingled tumults rise:\nThe reddening dawn reveals the hostile fields,\nHorrid with bristly spears, and gleaming shields:\nJove thunder\u2019d on their side: our guilty head\nWe turn\u2019d to flight; the gathering vengeance spread\nOn all parts round, and heaps on heaps lay dead.\nSome few the foe in servitude detain;\nDeath ill exchanged for bondage and for pain!\nUnhappy me a Cyprian took aboard,\nAnd gave to Dmetor, Cyprus\u2019 haughty lord:\nHither, to \u2019scape his chains, my course I steer,\nStill cursed by Fortune, and insulted here!\u201d\n\nTo whom Antinous thus his rage express\u2019d:\n\u201cWhat god has plagued us with this gourmand guest?\nUnless at distance, wretch! thou keep behind,\nAnother isle, than Cyprus more unkind,\nAnother Egypt shalt thou quickly find.\nFrom all thou begg\u2019st, a bold audacious slave;\nNor all can give so much as thou canst crave.\nNor wonder I, at such profusion shown;\nShameless they give, who give what\u2019s not their own.\u201d\n\nThe chief, retiring: \u201cSouls, like that in thee,\nIll suits such forms of grace and dignity.\nNor will that hand to utmost need afford\nThe smallest portion of a wasteful board,\nWhose luxury whole patrimonies sweeps,\nYet starving want, amidst the riot, weeps.\u201d\n\nThe haughty suitor with resentment burns,\nAnd, sourly smiling, this reply returns:\n\u201cTake that, ere yet thou quit this princely throng;\nAnd dumb for ever be thy slanderous tongue!\u201d\nHe said, and high the whirling tripod flung.\nHis shoulder-blade received the ungentle shock;\nHe stood, and moved not, like a marble rock;\nBut shook his thoughtful head, nor more complain\u2019d,\nSedate of soul, his character sustain\u2019d,\nAnd inly form\u2019d revenge; then back withdrew:\nBefore his feet the well fill\u2019d scrip he threw,\nAnd thus with semblance mild address\u2019d the crew:\n\n\u201cMay what I speak your princely minds approve,\nYe peers and rivals in this noble love!\nNot for the hurt I grieve, but for the cause.\nIf, when the sword our country\u2019s quarrel draws,\nOr if, defending what is justly dear,\nFrom Mars impartial some broad wound we bear,\nThe generous motive dignifies the scar.\nBut for mere want, how hard to suffer wrong!\nWant brings enough of other ills along!\nYet, if injustice never be secure,\nIf fiends revenge, and gods assert the poor,\nDeath shall lay low the proud aggressor\u2019s head,\nAnd make the dust Antinous\u2019 bridal bed.\u201d\n\n\u201cPeace, wretch! and eat thy bread without offence\n(The suitor cried), or force shall drag thee hence,\nScourge through the public street, and cast thee there,\nA mangled carcase for the hounds to tear.\u201d\n\nHis furious deed the general anger moved,\nAll, even the worst, condemn\u2019d; and some reproved.\n\u201cWas ever chief for wars like these renown\u2019d?\nIll fits the stranger and the poor to wound.\nUnbless\u2019d thy hand! if in this low disguise\nWander, perhaps, some inmate of the skies;\nThey (curious oft of mortal actions) deign\nIn forms like these to round the earth and main,\nJust and unjust recording in their mind,\nAnd with sure eyes inspecting all mankind.\u201d\n\nTelemachus, absorb\u2019d in thought severe,\nNourish\u2019d deep anguish, though he shed no tear;\nBut the dark brow of silent sorrow shook:\nWhile thus his mother to her virgins spoke:\n\n\u201cOn him and his may the bright god of day\nThat base, inhospitable blow repay!\u201d\nThe nurse replies: \u201cIf Jove receives my prayer,\nNot one survives to breathe to-morrow\u2019s air.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll, all are foes, and mischief is their end;\nAntinous most to gloomy death a friend\n(Replies the queen): the stranger begg\u2019d their grace,\nAnd melting pity soften\u2019d every face;\nFrom every other hand redress he found,\nBut fell Antinous answer\u2019d with a wound.\u201d\nAmidst her maids thus spoke the prudent queen,\nThen bade Eumaeus call the pilgrim in.\n\u201cMuch of the experienced man I long to hear,\nIf or his certain eye, or listening ear,\nHave learn\u2019d the fortunes of my wandering lord?\u201d\nThus she, and good Eumaeus took the word:\n\n\u201cA private audience if thy grace impart,\nThe stranger\u2019s words may ease the royal heart.\nHis sacred eloquence in balm distils,\nAnd the soothed heart with secret pleasure fills.\nThree days have spent their beams, three nights have run\nTheir silent journey, since his tale begun,\nUnfinish\u2019d yet; and yet I thirst to hear!\nAs when some heaven-taught poet charms the ear\n(Suspending sorrow with celestial strain\nBreathed from the gods to soften human pain)\nTime steals away with unregarded wing,\nAnd the soul hears him, though he cease to sing\n\n\u201cUlysses late he saw, on Cretan ground\n(His fathers guest), for Minos\u2019 birth renown\u2019d.\nHe now but waits the wind to waft him o\u2019er,\nWith boundless treasure, from Thesprotia\u2019s shore.\u201d\n\nTo this the queen: \u201cThe wanderer let me hear,\nWhile yon luxurious race indulge their cheer,\nDevour the grazing ox, and browsing goat,\nAnd turn my generous vintage down their throat.\nFor where\u2019s an arm, like thine, Ulysses! strong,\nTo curb wild riot, and to punish wrong?\u201d\n\nShe spoke. Telemachus then sneezed aloud;\nConstrain\u2019d, his nostril echoed through the crowd.\nThe smiling queen the happy omen bless\u2019d:\n\n\u201cSo may these impious fall, by Fate oppress\u2019d!\u201d\nThen to Eumaeus: \u201cBring the stranger, fly!\nAnd if my questions meet a true reply,\nGraced with a decent robe he shall retire,\nA gift in season which his wants require.\u201d\n\nThus spoke Penelope. Eumaeus flies\nIn duteous haste, and to Ulysses cries:\n\u201cThe queen invites thee, venerable guest!\nA secret instinct moves her troubled breast,\nOf her long absent lord from thee to gain\nSome light, and soothe her soul\u2019s eternal pain.\nIf true, if faithful thou, her grateful mind\nOf decent robes a present has design\u2019d:\nSo finding favour in the royal eye,\nThy other wants her subjects shall supply.\u201d\n\n\u201cFair truth alone (the patient man replied)\nMy words shall dictate, and my lips shall guide.\nTo him, to me, one common lot was given,\nIn equal woes, alas! involved by Heaven.\nMuch of his fates I know; but check\u2019d by fear\nI stand; the hand of violence is here:\nHere boundless wrongs the starry skies invade,\nAnd injured suppliants seek in vain for aid.\nLet for a space the pensive queen attend,\nNor claim my story till the sun descend;\nThen in such robes as suppliants may require,\nComposed and cheerful by the genial fire,\nWhen loud uproar and lawless riot cease,\nShall her pleased ear receive my words in peace.\u201d\n\nSwift to the queen returns the gentle swain:\n\u201cAnd say (she cries), does fear or shame detain\nThe cautious stranger? With the begging kind\nShame suits but ill.\u201d Eumaeus thus rejoin\u2019d:\n\n\u201cHe only asks a more propitious hour,\nAnd shuns (who would not?) wicked men in power;\nAt evening mild (meet season to confer)\nBy turns to question, and by turns to hear.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhoe\u2019er this guest (the prudent queen replies)\nHis every step and every thought is wise.\nFor men like these on earth he shall not find\nIn all the miscreant race of human kind.\u201d\nThus she. Eumaeus all her words attends,\nAnd, parting, to the suitor powers descends;\nThere seeks Telemachus, and thus apart\nIn whispers breathes the fondness of his heart:\n\n\u201cThe time, my lord, invites me to repair\nHence to the lodge; my charge demands my care.\nThese sons of murder thirst thy life to take;\nO guard it, guard it, for thy servant\u2019s sake!\u201d\n\n\u201cThanks to my friend (he cries): but now the hour\nOf night draws on, go seek the rural bower:\nBut first refresh: and at the dawn of day\nHither a victim to the gods convey.\nOur life to Heaven\u2019s immortal powers we trust,\nSafe in their care, for Heaven protects the just.\u201d\n\nObservant of his voice, Eumaeus sate\nAnd fed recumbent on a chair of state.\nThen instant rose, and as he moved along,\n\u2019Twas riot all amid the suitor throng,\nThey feast, they dance, and raise the mirthful song\nTill now, declining towards the close of day,\nThe sun obliquely shot his dewy ray.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XVIII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE FIGHT OF ULYSSES AND IRUS.\n\n\nThe beggar Irus insults Ulysses; the suitors promote the quarrel, in\nwhich Irus is worsted, and miserably handled. Penelope descends, and\nreceives the presents of the suitors. The dialogue of Ulysses with\nEurymachus.\n\n\nWhile fix\u2019d in thought the pensive hero sate,\nA mendicant approach\u2019d the royal gate;\nA surly vagrant of the giant kind,\nThe stain of manhood, of a coward mind:\nFrom feast to feast, insatiate to devour,\nHe flew, attendant on the genial hour.\nHim on his mother\u2019s knees, when babe he lay,\nShe named Arnaeus on his natal day:\nBut Irus his associates call\u2019d the boy,\nPractised the common messenger to fly;\nIrus, a name expressive of the employ.\n\nFrom his own roof, with meditated blows,\nHe strove to drive the man of mighty woes:\n\n\u201cHence, dotard! hence, and timely speed thy way,\nLest dragg\u2019d in vengeance thou repent thy stay;\nSee how with nods assent yon princely train!\nBut honouring age, in mercy I refrain:\nIn peace away! lest, if persuasions fail,\nThis arm with blows more eloquent prevail.\u201d\nTo whom, with stern regard: \u201cO insolence,\nIndecently to rail without offence!\nWhat bounty gives without a rival share;\nI ask, what harms not thee, to breathe this air:\nAlike on alms we both precarious live:\nAnd canst thou envy when the great relieve?\nKnow, from the bounteous heavens all riches flow,\nAnd what man gives, the gods by man bestow;\nProud as thou art, henceforth no more be proud,\nLest I imprint my vengeance in thy blood;\nOld as I am, should once my fury burn,\nHow would\u2019st thou fly, nor e\u2019en in thought return!\u201d\n\n\u201cMere woman-glutton! (thus the churl replied;)\nA tongue so flippant, with a throat so wide!\nWhy cease I, gods! to dash those teeth away,\nLike some wild boar\u2019s, that, greedy of his prey,\nUproots the bearded corn? Rise, try the fight,\nGird well thy loins, approach, and feel my might:\nSure of defeat, before the peers engage:\nUnequal fight, when youth contends with age!\u201d\n\nThus in a wordy war their tongues display\nMore fierce intents, preluding to the fray;\nAntinous hears, and in a jovial vein,\nThus with loud laughter to the suitor train:\n\n\u201cThis happy day in mirth, my friends, employ,\nAnd lo! the gods conspire to crown our joy;\nSee ready for the fight, and hand to hand,\nYon surly mendicants contentious stand:\nWhy urge we not to blows!\u201d Well pleased they spring\nSwift from their seats, and thickening form a ring.\n\nTo whom Antinous: \u201cLo! enrich\u2019d with blood,\nA kid\u2019s well-fatted entrails (tasteful food)\nOn glowing embers lie; on him bestow\nThe choicest portion who subdues his foe;\nGrant him unrivall\u2019d in these walls to stay,\nThe sole attendant on the genial day.\u201d\n\nThe lords applaud: Ulysses then with art,\nAnd fears well-feign\u2019d, disguised his dauntless heart.\n\n\u201cWorn as I am with age, decay\u2019d with woe;\nSay, is it baseness to decline the foe?\nHard conflict! when calamity and age\nWith vigorous youth, unknown to cares, engage!\nYet, fearful of disgrace, to try the day\nImperious hunger bids, and I obey;\nBut swear, impartial arbiters of right,\nSwear to stand neutral, while we cope in fight.\u201d\n\nThe peers assent: when straight his sacred head\nTelemachus upraised, and sternly said:\n\u201cStranger, if prompted to chastise the wrong\nOf this bold insolent, confide, be strong!\nThe injurious Greek that dares attempt a blow,\nThat instant makes Telemachus his foe;\nAnd these my friends shall guard the sacred ties\nOf hospitality, for they are wise.\u201d\n\nThen, girding his strong loins, the king prepares\nTo close in combat, and his body bares;\nBroad spread his shoulders, and his nervous thighs\nBy just degrees, like well-turn\u2019d columns, rise\nAmple his chest, his arms are round and long,\nAnd each strong joint Minerva knits more strong\n(Attendant on her chief): the suitor-crowd\nWith wonder gaze, and gazing speak aloud:\n\u201cIrus! alas! shall Irus be no more?\nBlack fate impends, and this the avenging hour!\nGods! how his nerves a matchless strength proclaim,\nSwell o\u2019er his well-strong limbs, and brace his frame!\u201d\n\nThen pale with fears, and sickening at the sight;\nThey dragg\u2019d the unwilling Irus to the fight;\nFrom his blank visage fled the coward blood,\nAnd his flesh trembled as aghast he stood.\n\n\u201cO that such baseness should disgrace the light?\nO hide it, death, in everlasting night!\n(Exclaims Antinous;) can a vigorous foe\nMeanly decline to combat age and woe?\nBut hear me wretch! if recreant in the fray\nThat huge bulk yield this ill-contested day,\nInstant thou sail\u2019st, to Eschetus resign\u2019d;\nA tyrant, fiercest of the tyrant kind,\nWho casts thy mangled ears and nose a prey\nTo hungry dogs, and lops the man away.\u201d\n\nWhile with indignant scorn he sternly spoke,\nIn every joint the trembling Irus shook.\nNow front to front each frowning champion stands,\nAnd poises high in air his adverse hands.\nThe chief yet doubts, or to the shades below\nTo fell the giant at one vengeful blow,\nOr save his life, and soon his life to save\nThe king resolves, for mercy sways the brave\nThat instant Irus his huge arm extends,\nFull on his shoulder the rude weight descends;\nThe sage Ulysses, fearful to disclose\nThe hero latent in the man of woes,\nCheck\u2019d half his might; yet rising to the stroke,\nHis jawbone dash\u2019d, the crashing jawbone broke:\nDown dropp\u2019d he stupid from the stunning wound;\nHis feet extended quivering, beat the ground;\nHis mouth and nostrils spout a purple flood;\nHis teeth, all shatter\u2019d, rush inmix\u2019d with blood.\n\nThe peers transported, as outstretch\u2019d he lies,\nWith bursts of laughter rend the vaulted skies;\nThen dragg\u2019d along, all bleeding from the wound,\nHis length of carcase trailing prints the ground:\nRaised on his feet, again he reels, he falls,\nTill propp\u2019d, reclining on the palace walls:\nThen to his hand a staff the victor gave,\nAnd thus with just reproach address\u2019d the slave:\n\u201cThere terrible, affright with dogs, and reign\nA dreaded tyrant o\u2019er the bestial train!\nBut mercy to the poor and stranger show,\nLest Heaven in vengeance send some mightier woe.\u201d\n\nScornful he spoke, and o\u2019er his shoulder flung\nThe broad-patch\u2019d scrip in tatters hung\nIll join\u2019d, and knotted to a twisted thong.\nThen, turning short, disdain\u2019d a further stay;\nBut to the palace measured back the way.\nThere, as he rested gathering in a ring,\nThe peers with smiles address\u2019d their unknown king:\n\u201cStranger, may Jove and all the a\u00ebrial powers\nWith every blessing crown thy happy hours!\nOur freedom to thy prowess\u2019d arm we owe\nFrom bold intrusion of thy coward foe:\nInstant the flying sail the slave shall wing\nTo Eschetus, the monster of a king.\u201d\n\nWhile pleased he hears, Antinous bears the food,\nA kid\u2019s well-fatted entrails, rich with blood;\nThe bread from canisters of shining mould\nAmphinomus; and wines that laugh in gold:\n\u201cAnd oh! (he mildly cries) may Heaven display\nA beam of glory o\u2019er thy future day!\nAlas, the brave too oft is doom\u2019d to bear\nThe gripes of poverty and stings of care.\u201d\n\nTo whom with thought mature the king replies:\n\u201cThe tongue speaks wisely, when the soul is wise:\nSuch was thy father! in imperial state,\nGreat without vice, that oft attends the great;\nNor from the sire art thou, the son, declin\u2019d;\nThen hear my words, and grace them in thy mind!\nOf all that breathes, or grovelling creeps on earth,\nMost vain is man! calamitous by birth:\nTo-day, with power elate, in strength he blooms;\nThe haughty creature on that power presumes:\nAnon from Heaven a sad reverse he feels:\nUntaught to bear, \u2019gainst Heaven the wretch rebels.\nFor man is changeful, as his bliss or woe!\nToo high when prosperous, when distress\u2019d too low.\nThere was a day, when with the scornful great\nI swell\u2019d in pomp and arrogance of state;\nProud of the power that to high birth belongs;\nAnd used that power to justify my wrongs.\nThen let not man be proud; but firm of mind,\nBear the best humbly; and the worst resign\u2019d;\nBe dumb when Heaven afflicts! unlike yon train\nOf haughty spoilers, insolently vain;\nWho make their queen and all her wealth a prey:\nBut vengeance and Ulysses wing their way.\nO may\u2019st thou, favour\u2019d by some guardian power,\nFar, far be distant in that deathful hour!\nFor sure I am, if stern Ulysses breathe,\nThese lawless riots end in blood and death.\u201d\n\nThen to the gods the rosy juice he pours,\nAnd the drain\u2019d goblet to the chief restores.\nStung to the soul, o\u2019ercast with holy dread,\nHe shook the graceful honours of his head;\nHis boding mind the future woe forestalls,\nIn vain! by great Telemachus he falls,\nFor Pallas seals his doom: all sad he turns\nTo join the peers; resumes his throne, and mourns.\n\nMeanwhile Minerva with instinctive fires\nThy soul, Penelope, from Heaven inspires;\nWith flattering hopes the suitors to betray,\nAnd seem to meet, yet fly, the bridal day:\nThy husband\u2019s wonder, and thy son\u2019s to raise;\nAnd crown the mother and the wife with praise.\nThen, while the streaming sorrow dims her eyes,\nThus, with a transient smile, the matron cries:\n\n\u201cEurynome! to go where riot reigns\nI feel an impulse, though my soul disdains;\nTo my loved son the snares of death to show,\nAnd in the traitor friend, unmask the foe;\nWho, smooth of tongue, in purpose insincere,\nHides fraud in smiles, while death is ambush\u2019d there.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo, warn thy son, nor be the warning vain\n(Replied the sagest of the royal train);\nBut bathed, anointed, and adorn\u2019d, descend;\nPowerful of charms, bid every grace attend;\nThe tide of flowing tears awhile suppress;\nTears but indulge the sorrow, not repress.\nSome joy remains: to thee a son is given,\nSuch as, in fondness, parents ask of Heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh me! forbear!\u201d returns the queen, \u201cforbear,\nOh! talk not, talk not of vain beauty\u2019s care;\nNo more I bathe, since he no longer sees\nThose charms, for whom alone I wish to please.\nThe day that bore Ulysses from this coast\nBlasted the little bloom these cheeks could boast.\nBut instant bid Autonoe descend,\nInstant Hippodame our steps attend;\nIll suits it female virtue, to be seen\nAlone, indecent, in the walks of men.\u201d\n\nThen while Eurynome the mandate bears,\nFrom heaven Minerva shoots with guardian cares;\nO\u2019er all her senses, as the couch she press\u2019d,\nShe pours, a pleasing, deep and death-like rest,\nWith every beauty every feature arms,\nBids her cheeks glow, and lights up all her charms;\nIn her love-darting eyes awakes the fires\n(Immortal gifts! to kindle soft desires);\nFrom limb to limb an air majestic sheds,\nAnd the pure ivory o\u2019er her bosom spreads.\nSuch Venus shines, when with a measured bound\nShe smoothly gliding swims the harmonious round,\nWhen with the Graces in the dance she moves,\nAnd fires the gazing gods with ardent loves.\n\nThen to the skies her flight Minerva bends,\nAnd to the queen the damsel train descends;\nWaked at their steps, her flowing eyes unclose;\nThe tears she wipes, and thus renews her woes:\n\u201cHowe\u2019er \u2019tis well that sleep awhile can free,\nWith soft forgetfulness a wretch like me;\nOh! were it given to yield this transient breath,\nSend, O Diana! send the sleep of death!\nWhy must I waste a tedious life in tears,\nNor bury in the silent grave my cares?\nO my Ulysses! ever honour\u2019d name!\nFor thee I mourn till death dissolves my frame.\u201d\n\nThus wailing, slow and sadly she descends,\nOn either band a damsel train attends:\nFull where the dome its shining valves expands,\nRadiant before the gazing peers she stands;\nA veil translucent o\u2019er her brow display\u2019d,\nHer beauty seems, and only seems, to shade:\nSudden she lightens in their dazzled eyes,\nAnd sudden flames in every bosom rise;\nThey send their eager souls with every look.\nTill silence thus the imperial matron broke:\n\n\u201cO why! my son, why now no more appears\nThat warmth of soul that urged thy younger years?\nThy riper days no growing worth impart,\nA man in stature, still a boy in heart!\nThy well-knit frame unprofitably strong,\nSpeaks thee a hero, from a hero sprung:\nBut the just gods in vain those gifts bestow,\nO wise alone in form, and grave in show!\nHeavens! could a stranger feel oppression\u2019s hand\nBeneath thy roof, and couldst thou tamely stand!\nIf thou the stranger\u2019s righteous cause decline\nHis is the sufferance, but the shame is thine.\u201d\n\nTo whom, with filial awe, the prince returns:\n\u201cThat generous soul with just resentment burns;\nYet, taught by time, my heart has learn\u2019d to glow\nFor others\u2019 good, and melt at others\u2019 woe;\nBut, impotent those riots to repel,\nI bear their outrage, though my soul rebel;\nHelpless amid the snares of death I tread,\nAnd numbers leagued in impious union dread;\nBut now no crime is theirs: this wrong proceeds\nFrom Irus, and the guilty Irus bleeds.\nOh would to Jove! or her whose arms display\nThe shield of Jove, or him who rules the day!\nThat yon proud suitors, who licentious tread\nThese courts, within these courts like Irus bled:\nWhose loose head tottering, as with wine oppress\u2019d,\nObliquely drops, and nodding knocks his breast;\nPowerless to move, his staggering feet deny\nThe coward wretch the privilege to fly.\u201d\n\nThen to the queen Eurymachus replies:\n\u201cO justly loved, and not more fair than wise!\nShould Greece through all her hundred states survey\nThy finish\u2019d charms, all Greece would own thy sway\nIn rival crowds contest the glorious prize.\nDispeopling realms to gaze upon thy eyes:\nO woman! loveliest of the lovely kind,\nIn body perfect, and complete in mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh me! (returns the queen) when from this shore\nUlysses sail\u2019d, then beauty was no more!\nThe gods decreed these eyes no more should keep\nTheir wonted grace, but only serve to weep.\nShould he return, whate\u2019er my beauties prove,\nMy virtues last; my brightest charm is love.\nNow, grief, thou all art mine! the gods o\u2019ercast\nMy soul with woes, that long, ah long must last!\nToo faithfully my heart retains the day\nThat sadly tore my royal lord away:\nHe grasp\u2019d my hand, and, \u2018O, my spouse! I leave\nThy arms (he cried), perhaps to find a grave:\nFame speaks the Trojans bold; they boast the skill\nTo give the feather\u2019d arrow wings to kill,\nTo dart the spear, and guide the rushing car\nWith dreadful inroad through the walks of war.\nMy sentence is gone forth, and \u2019tis decreed\nPerhaps by righteous Heaven that I must bleed!\nMy father, mother, all I trust to three;\nTo them, to them, transfer the love of me:\nBut, when my son grows man, the royal sway\nResign, and happy be thy bridal day!\u2019\nSuch were his words; and Hymen now prepares\nTo light his torch, and give me up to cares;\nThe afflictive hand of wrathful Jove to bear:\nA wretch the most complete that breathes the air!\nFall\u2019n e\u2019en below the rights to woman due!\nCareless to please, with insolence ye woo!\nThe generous lovers, studious to succeed,\nBid their whole herds and flocks in banquets bleed;\nBy precious gifts the vow sincere display:\nYou, only you, make her ye love your prey.\u201d\n\nWell-pleased Ulysses hears his queen deceive\nThe suitor-train, and raise a thirst to give:\nFalse hopes she kindles, but those hopes betray,\nAnd promise, yet elude, the bridal day.\n\nWhile yet she speaks, the gay Antinous cries:\n\u201cOffspring of kings, and more than woman wise!\n\u2019Tis right; \u2019tis man\u2019s prerogative to give,\nAnd custom bids thee without shame receive;\nYet never, never, from thy dome we move,\nTill Hymen lights the torch of spousal love.\u201d\n\nThe peers despatch\u2019d their heralds to convey\nThe gifts of love; with speed they take the way.\nA robe Antinous gives of shining dyes,\nThe varying hues in gay confusion rise\nRich from the artist\u2019s hand! Twelve clasps of gold\nClose to the lessening waist the vest infold!\nDown from the swelling loins the vest unbound\nFloats in bright waves redundant o\u2019er the ground,\nA bracelet rich with gold, with amber gay,\nThat shot effulgence like the solar ray,\nEurymachus presents: and ear-rings bright,\nWith triple stars, that cast a trembling light.\nPisander bears a necklace wrought with art:\nAnd every peer, expressive of his heart,\nA gift bestows: this done, the queen ascends,\nAnd slow behind her damsel train attends.\n\nThen to the dance they form the vocal strain,\nTill Hesperus leads forth the starry train;\nAnd now he raises, as the daylight fades,\nHis golden circlet in the deepening shades:\nThree vases heap\u2019d with copious fires display\nO\u2019er all the palace a fictitious day;\nFrom space to space the torch wide-beaming burns,\nAnd sprightly damsels trim the rays by turns.\n\nTo whom the king: \u201cIll suits your sex to stay\nAlone with men! ye modest maids, away!\nGo, with the queen; the spindle guide; or cull\n(The partners of her cares) the silver wool;\nBe it my task the torches to supply\nE\u2019en till the morning lamp adorns the sky;\nE\u2019en till the morning, with unwearied care,\nSleepless I watch; for I have learn\u2019d to bear.\u201d\n\nScornful they heard: Melantho, fair and young,\n(Melantho, from the loins of Dolius sprung,\nWho with the queen her years an infant led,\nWith the soft fondness of a daughter bred,)\nChiefly derides: regardless of the cares\nHer queen endures, polluted joys she shares\nNocturnal with Eurymachus: with eyes\nThat speak disdain, the wanton thus replies:\n\u201cOh! whither wanders thy distemper\u2019d brain,\nThou bold intruder on a princely train?\nHence, to the vagrants\u2019 rendezvous repair;\nOr shun in some black forge the midnight air.\nProceeds this boldness from a turn of soul,\nOr flows licentious from the copious bowl?\nIs it that vanquish\u2019d Irus swells thy mind?\nA foe may meet thee of a braver kind,\nWho, shortening with a storm of blows thy stay,\nShall send thee howling all in blood away!\u201d\n\nTo whom with frowns: \u201cO impudent in wrong!\nThy lord shall curb that insolence of tongue;\nKnow, to Telemachus I tell the offence;\nThe scourge, the scourge shall lash thee into sense.\u201d\n\nWith conscious shame they hear the stern rebuke,\nNor longer durst sustain the sovereign look.\n\nThen to the servile task the monarch turns\nHis royal hands: each torch refulgent burns\nWith added day: meanwhile in museful mood,\nAbsorb\u2019d in thought, on vengeance fix\u2019d he stood.\nAnd now the martial maid, by deeper wrongs\nTo rouse Ulysses, points the suitors\u2019 tongues:\nScornful of age, to taunt the virtuous man,\nThoughtless and gay, Eurymachus began:\n\n\u201cHear me (he cries), confederates and friends!\nSome god, no doubt, this stranger kindly sends;\nThe shining baldness of his head survey,\nIt aids our torchlight, and reflects the ray.\u201d\n\nThen to the king that levell\u2019d haughty Troy:\n\u201cSay, if large hire can tempt thee to employ\nThose hands in work; to tend the rural trade,\nTo dress the walk, and form the embowering shade.\nSo food and raiment constant will I give:\nBut idly thus thy soul prefers to live,\nAnd starve by strolling, not by work to thrive.\u201d\n\nTo whom incensed: \u201cShould we, O prince, engage\nIn rival tasks beneath the burning rage\nOf summer suns; were both constrain\u2019d to wield\nFoodless the scythe along the burden\u2019d field;\nOr should we labour while the ploughshare wounds,\nWith steers of equal strength, the allotted grounds,\nBeneath my labours, how thy wondering eyes\nMight see the sable field at once arise!\nShould Jove dire war unloose, with spear and shield,\nAnd nodding helm, I tread the ensanguined field,\nFierce in the van: then wouldst thou, wouldst thou,\u2014say,\u2014\nMisname me glutton, in that glorious day?\nNo, thy ill-judging thoughts the brave disgrace\n\u2019Tis thou injurious art, not I am base.\nProud to seem brave among a coward train!\nBut now, thou art not valorous, but vain.\nGod! should the stern Ulysses rise in might,\nThese gates would seem too narrow for thy flight.\u201d\n\nWhile yet he speaks, Eurymachus replies,\nWith indignation flashing from his eyes:\n\n\u201cSlave, I with justice might deserve the wrong,\nShould I not punish that opprobrious tongue.\nIrreverent to the great, and uncontroll\u2019d,\nArt thou from wine, or innate folly, bold?\nPerhaps these outrages from Irus flow,\nA worthless triumph o\u2019er a worthless foe!\u201d\n\nHe said, and with full force a footstool threw;\nWhirl\u2019d from his arm, with erring rage it flew:\nUlysses, cautious of the vengeful foe,\nStoops to the ground, and disappoints the blow.\nNot so a youth, who deals the goblet round,\nFull on his shoulder it inflicts a wound;\nDash\u2019d from his hand the sounding goblet flies,\nHe shrieks, he reels, he falls, and breathless lies.\nThen wild uproar and clamour mount the sky,\nTill mutual thus the peers indignant cry:\n\u201cOh had this stranger sunk to realms beneath,\nTo the black realms of darkness and of death,\nEre yet he trod these shores! to strife he draws\nPeer against peer; and what the weighty cause?\nA vagabond! for him the great destroy,\nIn vile ignoble jars, the feast of joy.\u201d\n\nTo whom the stern Telemachus uprose;\n\u201cGods! what wild folly from the goblet flows!\nWhence this unguarded openness of soul,\nBut from the license of the copious bowl?\nOr Heaven delusion sends: but hence away!\nForce I forbear, and without force obey.\u201d\n\nSilent, abash\u2019d, they hear the stern rebuke,\nTill thus Amphinomus the silence broke:\n\n\u201cTrue are his words, and he whom truth offends,\nNot with Telemachus, but truth contends;\nLet not the hand of violence invade\nThe reverend stranger, or the spotless maid;\nRetire we hence, but crown with rosy wine\nThe flowing goblet to the powers divine!\nGuard he his guest beneath whose roof he stands:\nThis justice, this the social rite demands.\u201d\n\nThe peers assent: the goblet Mulius crown\u2019d\nWith purple juice, and bore in order round:\nEach peer successive his libation pours\nTo the blest gods who fill\u2019d the ethereal bowers:\nThen swill\u2019d with wine, with noise the crowds obey,\nAnd rushing forth, tumultuous reel away.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XIX.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE DISCOVERY OF ULYSSES TO EURYCLEA.\n\n\nUlysses and his son remove the weapons out of the armoury. Ulysses, in\nconversation with Penelope, gives a fictitious account of his\nadventures; then assures her he had formerly entertained her husband in\nCrete; and describes exactly his person and dress; affirms to have\nheard of him in Ph\u00e6acia and Thesprotia, and that his return is\ncertain, and within a month. He then goes to bathe, and is attended by\nEuryclea, who discovers him to be Ulysses by the scar upon his leg,\nwhich he formerly received in hunting the wild boar on Parnassus. The\npoet inserts a digression relating that accident, with all its\nparticulars.\n\n\nConsulting secret with the blue-eyed maid,\nStill in the dome divine Ulysses stay\u2019d:\nRevenge mature for act inflamed his breast;\nAnd thus the son the fervent sire address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cInstant convey those steely stores of war\nTo distant rooms, disposed with secret care:\nThe cause demanded by the suitor-train,\nTo soothe their fears, a specious reason feign:\nSay, since Ulysses left his natal coast,\nObscene with smoke, their beamy lustre lost,\nHis arms deform the roof they wont adorn:\nFrom the glad walls inglorious lumber torn.\nSuggest, that Jove the peaceful thought inspired,\nLest they, by sight of swords to fury fired,\nDishonest wounds, or violence of soul,\nDefame the bridal feast and friendly bowl.\u201d\n\nThe prince, obedient to the sage command,\nTo Euryclea thus: \u201cThe female band\nIn their apartments keep; secure the doors;\nThese swarthy arms among the covert stores\nAre seemlier hid; my thoughtless youth they blame,\nImbrown\u2019d with vapour of the smouldering flame.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn happier hour (pleased Euryclea cries),\nTutour\u2019d by early woes, grow early wise;\nInspect with sharpen\u2019d sight, and frugal care,\nYour patrimonial wealth, a prudent heir.\nBut who the lighted taper will provide\n(The female train retired) your toils to guide?\u201d\n\n\u201cWithout infringing hospitable right,\nThis guest (he cried) shall bear the guiding light:\nI cheer no lazy vagrants with repast;\nThey share the meal that earn it ere they taste.\u201d\n\nHe said: from female ken she straight secures\nThe purposed deed, and guards the bolted doors:\nAuxiliar to his son, Ulysses bears\nThe plumy-crested helms and pointed spears,\nWith shields indented deep in glorious wars.\nMinerva viewless on her charge attends,\nAnd with her golden lamp his toil befriends.\nNot such the sickly beams, which unsincere\nGild the gross vapour of this nether sphere!\nA present deity the prince confess\u2019d,\nAnd wrapp\u2019d with ecstasy the sire address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cWhat miracle thus dazzles with surprise!\nDistinct in rows the radiant columns rise;\nThe walls, where\u2019er my wondering sight I turn,\nAnd roofs, amidst a blaze of glory burn!\nSome visitant of pure ethereal race\nWith his bright presence deigns the dome to grace.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe calm (replies the sire); to none impart,\nBut oft revolve the vision in thy heart:\nCelestials, mantled in excess of light,\nCan visit unapproach\u2019d by mortal sight.\nSeek thou repose: whilst here I sole remain,\nTo explore the conduct of the female train:\nThe pensive queen, perchance, desires to know\nThe series of my toils, to soothe her woe.\u201d\n\nWith tapers flaming day his train attends,\nHis bright alcove the obsequious youth ascends:\nSoft slumberous shades his drooping eyelids close,\nTill on her eastern throne Aurora glows.\n\nWhilst, forming plans of death, Ulysses stay\u2019d,\nIn counsel secret with the martial maid,\nAttendant nymphs in beauteous order wait\nThe queen, descending from her bower of state.\nHer cheeks the warmer blush of Venus wear,\nChasten\u2019d with coy Diana\u2019s pensive air.\nAn ivory seat with silver ringlets graced,\nBy famed Icmalius wrought, the menials placed:\nWith ivory silver\u2019d thick the footstool shone,\nO\u2019er which the panther\u2019s various hide was thrown.\nThe sovereign seat with graceful air she press\u2019d;\nTo different tasks their toil the nymphs address\u2019d:\nThe golden goblets some, and some restored\nFrom stains of luxury the polish\u2019d board:\nThese to remove the expiring embers came,\nWhile those with unctuous fir foment the flame.\n\n\u2019Twas then Melantho with imperious mien\nRenew\u2019d the attack, incontinent of spleen:\n\u201cAvaunt (she cried), offensive to my sight!\nDeem not in ambush here to lurk by night,\nInto the woman-state asquint to pry;\nA day-devourer, and an evening spy!\nVagrant, begone! before this blazing brand\nShall urge\u201d\u2014and waved it hissing in her hand.\n\nThe insulted hero rolls his wrathful eyes\nAnd \u201cWhy so turbulent of soul? (he cries;)\nCan these lean shrivell\u2019d limbs, unnerved with age,\nThese poor but honest rags, enkindle rage?\nIn crowds, we wear the badge of hungry fate:\nAnd beg, degraded from superior state!\nConstrain\u2019d a rent-charge on the rich I live;\nReduced to crave the good I once could give:\nA palace, wealth, and slaves, I late possess\u2019d,\nAnd all that makes the great be call\u2019d the bless\u2019d:\nMy gate, an emblem of my open soul,\nEmbraced the poor, and dealt a bounteous dole.\nScorn not the sad reverse, injurious maid!\n\u2019Tis Jove\u2019s high will, and be his will obey\u2019d!\nNor think thyself exempt: that rosy prime\nMust share the general doom of withering time:\nTo some new channel soon the changeful tide\nOf royal grace the offended queen may guide;\nAnd her loved lord unplume thy towering pride.\nOr, were he dead, \u2019tis wisdom to beware:\nSweet blooms the prince beneath Apollo\u2019s care;\nYour deeds with quick impartial eye surveys,\nPotent to punish what he cannot praise.\u201d\n\nHer keen reproach had reach\u2019d the sovereign\u2019s ear:\n\u201cLoquacious insolent! (she cries,) forbear;\nTo thee the purpose of my soul I told;\nVenial discourse, unblamed, with him to hold;\nThe storied labours of my wandering lord,\nTo soothe my grief he haply may record:\nYet him, my guest, thy venom\u2019d rage hath stung;\nThy head shall pay the forfeit of thy tongue!\nBut thou on whom my palace cares depend,\nEurynome, regard the stranger-friend:\nA seat, soft spread with furry spoils, prepare;\nDue-distant for us both to speak, and hear.\u201d\n\nThe menial fair obeys with duteous haste:\nA seat adorn\u2019d with furry spoils she placed:\nDue-distant for discourse the hero sate;\nWhen thus the sovereign from her chair of state:\n\n\u201cReveal, obsequious to my first demand,\nThy name, thy lineage, and thy natal land.\u201d\n\nHe thus: \u201cO queen! whose far-resounding fame\nIs bounded only by the starry frame,\nConsummate pattern of imperial sway,\nWhose pious rule a warlike race obey!\nIn wavy gold thy summer vales are dress\u2019d;\nThy autumns bind with copious fruit oppress\u2019d:\nWith flocks and herds each grassy plain is stored;\nAnd fish of every fin thy seas afford:\nTheir affluent joys the grateful realms confess;\nAnd bless the power that still delights to bless,\nGracious permit this prayer, imperial dame!\nForbear to know my lineage, or my name:\nUrge not this breast to heave, these eyes to weep;\nIn sweet oblivion let my sorrows sleep!\nMy woes awaked, will violate your ear,\nAnd to this gay censorious train appear\nA whiny vapour melting in a tear.\u201d\n\n\u201cTheir gifts the gods resumed (the queen rejoin\u2019d),\nExterior grace, and energy of mind,\nWhen the dear partner of my nuptial joy,\nAuxiliar troops combined, to conquer Troy.\nMy lord\u2019s protecting hand alone would raise\nMy drooping verdure, and extend my praise!\nPeers from the distant Samian shore resort:\nHere with Dulichians join\u2019d, besiege the court:\nZacynthus, green with ever-shady groves,\nAnd Ithaca, presumptuous, boast their loves:\nObtruding on my choice a second lord,\nThey press the Hymenaean rite abhorr\u2019d.\nMisrule thus mingling with domestic cares,\nI live regardless of my state affairs;\nReceive no stranger-guest, no poor relieve;\nBut ever for my lord in secret grieve!\u2014\nThis art, instinct by some celestial power,\nI tried, elusive of the bridal hour:\n\n\u201c\u2018Ye peers, (I cry,) who press to gain a heart,\nWhere dead Ulysses claims no future part;\nRebate your loves, each rival suit suspend,\nTill this funeral web my labours end:\nCease, till to good Laertes I bequeath\nA pall of state, the ornament of death.\nFor when to fate he bows, each Grecian dame\nWith just reproach were licensed to defame,\nShould he, long honour\u2019d in supreme command,\nWant the last duties of a daughter\u2019s hand.\u2019\nThe fiction pleased; their loves I long elude;\nThe night still ravell\u2019d what the day renew\u2019d:\nThree years successful in my heart conceal\u2019d,\nMy ineffectual fraud the fourth reveal\u2019d:\nBefriended by my own domestic spies,\nThe woof unwrought the suitor-train surprise.\nFrom nuptial rites they now no more recede,\nAnd fear forbids to falsify the brede.\nMy anxious parents urge a speedy choice,\nAnd to their suffrage gain the filial voice.\nFor rule mature, Telemachus deplores\nHis dome dishonour\u2019d, and exhausted stores\u2014\nBut, stranger! as thy days seem full of fate,\nDivide discourse, in turn thy birth relate:\nThy port asserts thee of distinguish\u2019d race;\nNo poor unfather\u2019d product of disgrace.\u201d\n\n\u201cPrincess! (he cries,) renew\u2019d by your command,\nThe dear remembrance of my native land\nOf secret grief unseals the fruitful source;\nFond tears repeat their long-forgotten course!\nSo pays the wretch whom fate constrains to roam,\nThe dues of nature to his natal home!\u2014\nBut inward on my soul let sorrow prey,\nYour sovereign will my duty bids obey.\n\n\u201cCrete awes the circling waves, a fruitful soil!\nAnd ninety cities crown the sea-born isle:\nMix\u2019d with her genuine sons, adopted names\nIn various tongues avow their various claims:\nCydonians, dreadful with the bended yew,\nAnd bold Pelasgi boast a native\u2019s due:\nThe Dorians, plumed amid the files of war,\nHer foodful glebe with fierce Achaians share;\nCnossus, her capital of high command;\nWhere sceptred Minos with impartial hand\nDivided right: each ninth revolving year,\nBy Jove received in council to confer.\nHis son Deucalion bore successive sway:\nHis son, who gave me first to view the day!\nThe royal bed an elder issue bless\u2019d,\nIdomeneus whom Ilion fields attest\nOf matchless deeds: untrain\u2019d to martial toil,\nI lived inglorious in my native isle,\nStudious of peace, and \u00c6thon is my name.\n\u2019Twas then to Crete the great Ulysses came.\nFor elemental war, and wintry Jove,\nFrom Malea\u2019s gusty cape his navy drove\nTo bright Lucina\u2019s fane; the shelfy coast\nWhere loud Amnisus in the deep is lost.\nHis vessels moor\u2019d (an incommodious port!)\nThe hero speeded to the Cnossian court:\nArdent the partner of his arms to find,\nIn leagues of long commutual friendship join\u2019d.\nVain hope! ten suns had warm\u2019d the western strand\nSince my brave brother, with his Cretan band,\nHad sail\u2019d for Troy: but to the genial feast\nMy honour\u2019d roof received the royal guest:\nBeeves for his train the Cnossian peers assign,\nA public treat, with jars of generous wine.\nTwelve days while Boreas vex\u2019d the a\u00ebrial space,\nMy hospitable dome he deign\u2019d to grace:\nAnd when the north had ceased the stormy roar,\nHe wing\u2019d his voyage to the Phrygian shore.\u201d\n\nThus the fam\u2019d hero, perfected in wiles,\nWith fair similitude of truth beguiles\nThe queen\u2019s attentive ear: dissolved in woe,\nFrom her bright eyes the tears unbounded flow,\nAs snows collected on the mountain freeze;\nWhen milder regions breathe a vernal breeze,\nThe fleecy pile obeys the whispering gales,\nEnds in a stream, and murmurs through the vales:\nSo, melting with the pleasing tale he told,\nDown her fair cheek the copious torrent roll\u2019d:\nShe to her present lord laments him lost,\nAnd views that object which she wants the most,\nWithering at heart to see the weeping fair,\nHis eyes look stern, and cast a gloomy stare;\nOf horn the stiff relentless balls appear,\nOr globes of iron fix\u2019d in either sphere;\nFirm wisdom interdicts the softening tear.\nA speechless interval of grief ensues,\nTill thus the queen the tender theme renews.\n\n\u201cStranger! that e\u2019er thy hospitable roof\nUlysses graced, confirm by faithful proof;\nDelineate to my view my warlike lord,\nHis form, his habit, and his train record.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Tis hard (he cries,) to bring to sudden sight\nIdeas that have wing\u2019d their distant flight;\nRare on the mind those images are traced,\nWhose footsteps twenty winters have defaced:\nBut what I can, receive.\u2014In ample mode,\nA robe of military purple flow\u2019d\nO\u2019er all his frame: illustrious on his breast,\nThe double-clasping gold the king confess\u2019d.\nIn the rich woof a hound, mosaic drawn,\nBore on full stretch, and seized a dappled fawn;\nDeep in the neck his fangs indent their hold;\nThey pant and struggle in the moving gold.\nFine as a filmy web beneath it shone\nA vest, that dazzled like a cloudless sun:\nThe female train who round him throng\u2019d to gaze,\nIn silent wonder sigh\u2019d unwilling praise.\nA sabre, when the warrior press\u2019d to part,\nI gave, enamell\u2019d with Vulcanian art:\nA mantle purple-tinged, and radiant vest,\nDimension\u2019d equal to his size, express\u2019d\nAffection grateful to my honour\u2019d guest.\nA favourite herald in his train I knew,\nHis visage solemn, sad of sable hue:\nShort woolly curls o\u2019erfleeced his bending head,\nO\u2019er which a promontory shoulder spread;\nEurybates; in whose large soul alone\nUlysses view\u2019d an image of his own.\u201d\n\nHis speech the tempest of her grief restored;\nIn all he told she recognized her lord:\nBut when the storm was spent in plenteous showers,\nA pause inspiriting her languish\u2019d powers,\n\u201cO thou, (she cried,) whom first inclement Fate\nMade welcome to my hospitable gate;\nWith all thy wants the name of poor shall end:\nHenceforth live honour\u2019d, my domestic friend!\nThe vest much envied on your native coast,\nAnd regal robe with figured gold emboss\u2019d,\nIn happier hours my artful hand employ\u2019d,\nWhen my loved lord this blissful bower enjoy\u2019d:\nThe fall of Troy erroneous and forlorn\nDoom\u2019d to survive, and never to return!\u201d\n\nThen he, with pity touch\u2019d: \u201cO royal dame!\nYour ever-anxious mind, and beauteous frame,\nFrom the devouring rage of grief reclaim.\nI not the fondness of your soul reprove\nFor such a lord! who crown\u2019d your virgin love\nWith the dear blessing of a fair increase;\nHimself adorn\u2019d with more than mortal grace:\nYet while I speak the mighty woe suspend;\nTruth forms my tale; to pleasing truth attend.\nThe royal object of your dearest care\nBreathes in no distant clime the vital air:\nIn rich Thesprotia, and the nearer bound\nOf Thessaly, his name I heard renown\u2019d:\nWithout retinue, to that friendly shore\nWelcomed with gifts of price, a sumless store!\nHis sacrilegious train, who dared to prey\nOn herds devoted to the god of day,\nWere doom\u2019d by Jove, and Ph\u0153bus\u2019 just decree,\nTo perish in the rough Trinacrian sea.\nTo better fate the blameless chief ordain\u2019d,\nA floating fragment of the wreck regain\u2019d,\nAnd rode the storm; till, by the billows toss\u2019d,\nHe landed on the fair Ph\u00e6acian coast.\nThat race who emulate the life of gods,\nReceive him joyous to their bless\u2019d abodes;\nLarge gifts confer, a ready sail command,\nTo speed his voyage to the Grecian strand.\nBut your wise lord (in whose capacious soul\nHigh schemes of power in just succession roll)\nHis Ithaca refused from favouring Fate,\nTill copious wealth might guard his regal state.\nPhedon the fact affirm\u2019d, whose sovereign sway\nThesprotian tribes, a duteous race, obey;\nAnd bade the gods this added truth attest\n(While pure libations crown\u2019d the genial feast),\nThat anchor\u2019d in his port the vessels stand,\nTo waft the hero to his natal land.\nI for Dulichium urge the watery way,\nBut first the Ulyssean wealth survey:\nSo rich the value of a store so vast\nDemands the pomp of centuries to waste!\nThe darling object of your royal love\nWas journey\u2019d thence to Dodonean Jove;\nBy the sure precept of the sylvan shrine,\nTo form the conduct of his great design;\nIrresolute of soul, his state to shroud\nIn dark disguise, or come, a king avow\u2019d!\nThus lives your lord; nor longer doom\u2019d to roam;\nSoon will he grace this dear paternal dome.\nBy Jove, the source of good, supreme in power!\nBy the bless\u2019d genius of this friendly bower!\nI ratify my speech, before the sun\nHis annual longitude of heaven shall run;\nWhen the pale empress of yon starry train\nIn the next month renews her faded wane,\nUlysses will assert his rightful reign.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat thanks! what boon! (replied the queen), are due,\nWhen time shall prove the storied blessing true!\nMy lord\u2019s return should fate no more retard,\nEnvy shall sicken at thy vast reward.\nBut my prophetic fears, alas! presage\nThe wounds of Destiny\u2019s relentless rage.\nI long must weep, nor will Ulysses come,\nWith royal gifts to send you honour\u2019d home!\u2014\nYour other task, ye menial train forbear:\nNow wash the stranger, and the bed prepare:\nWith splendid palls the downy fleece adorn:\nUprising early with the purple morn.\nHis sinews, shrunk with age, and stiff with toil,\nIn the warm bath foment with fragrant oil.\nThen with Telemachus the social feast\nPartaking free, my soul invited guest;\nWhoe\u2019er neglects to pay distinction due,\nThe breach of hospitable right may rue.\nThe vulgar of my sex I most exceed\nIn real fame, when most humane my deed;\nAnd vainly to the praise of queen aspire,\nIf, stranger! I permit that mean attire\nBeneath the feastful bower. A narrow space\nConfines the circle of our destin\u2019d race;\n\u2019Tis ours with good the scanty round to grace.\nThose who to cruel wrong their state abuse,\nDreaded in life the mutter\u2019d curse pursues;\nBy death disrobed of all their savage powers,\nThen, licensed rage her hateful prey devours.\nBut he whose inborn worth his acts commend,\nOf gentle soul, to human race a friend;\nThe wretched he relieves diffuse his fame,\nAnd distant tongues extol the patron-name.\u201d\n\n\u201cPrincess? (he cried) in vain your bounties flow\nOn me, confirm\u2019d and obstinate in woe.\nWhen my loved Crete received my final view,\nAnd from my weeping eyes her cliffs withdrew;\nThese tatter\u2019d weeds (my decent robes resign\u2019d)\nI chose, the livery of a woful mind!\nNor will my heart-corroding care abate\nWith splendid palls, and canopies of state:\nLow-couch\u2019d on earth, the gift of sleep I scorn,\nAnd catch the glances of the waking morn.\nThe delicacy of your courtly train\nTo wash a wretched wanderer would disdain;\nBut if, in tract of long experience tried,\nAnd sad similitude of woes allied,\nSome wretch reluctant views a\u00ebrial light,\nTo her mean hand assign the friendly rite.\u201d\n\nPleased with his wise reply, the queen rejoin\u2019d:\n\u201cSuch gentle manners, and so sage a mind,\nIn all who graced this hospitable bower\nI ne\u2019er discerned, before this social hour.\nSuch servant as your humble choice requires,\nTo light received the lord of my desires,\nNew from the birth; and with a mother\u2019s hand\nHis tender bloom to manly growth sustain\u2019d:\nOf matchless prudence, and a duteous mind;\nThough now to life\u2019s extremest verge declined,\nOf strength superior to the toil design\u2019d\u2014\nRise, Euryclea! with officious care\nFor the poor friend the cleansing bath prepare:\nThis debt his correspondent fortunes claim,\nToo like Ulysses, and perhaps the same!\nThus old with woes my fancy paints him now!\nFor age untimely marks the careful brow.\u201d\n\nInstant, obsequious to the mild command,\nSad Euryclea rose: with trembling hand\nShe veils the torrent of her tearful eyes;\nAnd thus impassion\u2019d to herself replies:\n\n\u201cSon of my love, and monarch of my cares,\nWhat pangs for thee this wretched bosom bears!\nAre thus by Jove who constant beg his aid\nWith pious deed, and pure devotion, paid?\nHe never dared defraud the sacred fane\nOf perfect hecatombs in order slain:\nThere oft implored his tutelary power,\nLong to protract the sad sepulchral hour;\nThat, form\u2019d for empire with paternal care,\nHis realm might recognize an equal heir.\nO destined head! The pious vows are lost;\nHis God forgets him on a foreign coast!\u2014\nPerhaps, like thee, poor guest! in wanton pride\nThe rich insult him, and the young deride!\nConscious of worth reviled, thy generous mind\nThe friendly rite of purity declined;\nMy will concurring with my queen\u2019s command,\nAccept the bath from this obsequious hand.\nA strong emotion shakes my anguish\u2019d breast:\nIn thy whole form Ulysses seems express\u2019d;\nOf all the wretched harboured on our coast,\nNone imaged e\u2019er like thee my master lost.\u201d\n\nThus half-discover\u2019d through the dark disguise,\nWith cool composure feign\u2019d, the chief replies:\n\u201cYou join your suffrage to the public vote;\nThe same you think have all beholders thought.\u201d\n\nHe said: replenish\u2019d from the purest springs,\nThe laver straight with busy care she brings:\nIn the deep vase, that shone like burnish\u2019d gold,\nThe boiling fluid temperates the cold.\nMeantime revolving in his thoughtful mind\nThe scar, with which his manly knee was sign\u2019d;\nHis face averting from the crackling blaze,\nHis shoulders intercept the unfriendly rays:\nThus cautious in the obscure he hoped to fly\nThe curious search of Euryclea\u2019s eye.\nCautious in vain! nor ceased the dame to find\nThis scar with which his manly knee was sign\u2019d.\n\nThis on Parnassus (combating the boar)\nWith glancing rage the tusky savage tore.\nAttended by his brave maternal race,\nHis grandsire sent him to the sylvan chase,\nAutolycus the bold (a mighty name\nFor spotless faith and deeds of martial fame:\nHermes, his patron god, those gifts bestow\u2019d,\nWhose shrine with weanling lambs he wont to load).\nHis course to Ithaca this hero sped,\nWhen the first product of Laertes\u2019 bed\nWas now disclosed to birth: the banquet ends,\nWhen Euryclea from the queen descends,\nAnd to his fond embrace the babe commends:\n\u201cReceive (she cries) your royal daughter\u2019s son;\nAnd name the blessing that your prayers have won.\u201d\nThen thus the hoary chief: \u201cMy victor arms\nHave awed the realms around with dire alarms:\nA sure memorial of my dreaded fame\nThe boy shall bear; Ulysses be his name!\nAnd when with filial love the youth shall come\nTo view his mother\u2019s soil, my Delphic dome\nWith gifts of price shall send him joyous home.\u201d\nLured with the promised boon, when youthful prime\nEnded in man, his mother\u2019s natal clime\nUlysses sought; with fond affection dear\nAmphitea\u2019s arms received the royal heir:\nHer ancient lord an equal joy possess\u2019d;\nInstant he bade prepare the genial feast:\nA steer to form the sumptuous banquet bled,\nWhose stately growth five flowery summers fed:\nHis sons divide, and roast with artful care\nThe limbs; then all the tasteful viands share.\nNor ceased discourse (the banquet of the soul),\nTill Ph\u0153bus wheeling to the western goal\nResign\u2019d the skies, and night involved the pole.\nTheir drooping eyes the slumberous shade oppress\u2019d,\nSated they rose, and all retired to rest.\n\nSoon as the morn, new-robed in purple light,\nPierced with her golden shafts the rear of night,\nUlysses, and his brave maternal race,\nThe young Autolyci, essay the chase.\nParnassus, thick perplex\u2019d with horrid shades,\nWith deep-mouth\u2019d hounds the hunter-troop invades;\nWhat time the sun, from ocean\u2019s peaceful stream,\nDarts o\u2019er the lawn his horizontal beam.\nThe pack impatient snuff the tainted gale;\nThe thorny wilds the woodmen fierce assail:\nAnd, foremost of the train, his cornel spear\nUlysses waved, to rouse the savage war.\nDeep in the rough recesses of the wood,\nA lofty copse, the growth of ages, stood;\nNor winter\u2019s boreal blast, nor thunderous shower,\nNor solar ray, could pierce the shady bower.\nWith wither\u2019d foliage strew\u2019d, a heapy store!\nThe warm pavilion of a dreadful boar.\nRoused by the hounds\u2019 and hunters\u2019 mingling cries,\nThe savage from his leafy shelter flies;\nWith fiery glare his sanguine eye-balls shine,\nAnd bristles high impale his horrid chine.\nYoung Ithacus advanced, defies the foe,\nPoising his lifted lance in act to throw;\nThe savage renders vain the wound decreed,\nAnd springs impetuous with opponent speed!\nHis tusks oblique he aim\u2019d, the knee to gore;\nAslope they glanced, the sinewy fibres tore,\nAnd bared the bone; Ulysses undismay\u2019d,\nSoon with redoubled force the wound repaid;\nTo the right shoulder-joint the spear applied,\nHis further flank with streaming purple dyed:\nOn earth he rushed with agonizing pain;\nWith joy and vast surprise, the applauding train\nView\u2019d his enormous bulk extended on the plain.\nWith bandage firm Ulysses\u2019 knee they bound;\nThen, chanting mystic lays, the closing wound\nOf sacred melody confess\u2019d the force;\nThe tides of life regain\u2019d their azure course.\nThen back they led the youth with loud acclaim;\nAutolycus, enamoured with his fame,\nConfirm\u2019d the cure; and from the Delphic dome\nWith added gifts return\u2019d him glorious home.\nHe safe at Ithaca with joy received,\nRelates the chase, and early praise achieved.\n\nDeep o\u2019er his knee inseam\u2019d remain\u2019d the scar;\nWhich noted token of the woodland war\nWhen Euryclea found, the ablution ceased:\nDown dropp\u2019d the leg, from her slack hand released;\nThe mingled fluids from the base redound;\nThe vase reclining floats the floor around!\nSmiles dew\u2019d with tears the pleasing strife express\u2019d\nOf grief and joy, alternate in her breast.\nHer fluttering words in melting murmurs died;\nAt length abrupt\u2014\u201cMy son!\u2014my king!\u201d\u2014she cried.\nHis neck with fond embrace infolding fast,\nFull on the queen her raptured eye she cast\nArdent to speak the monarch safe restored:\nBut, studious to conceal her royal lord,\nMinerva fix\u2019d her mind on views remote,\nAnd from the present bliss abstracts her thought.\nHis hand to Euryclea\u2019s mouth applied,\n\u201cArt thou foredoom\u2019d my pest? (the hero cried:)\nThy milky founts my infant lips have drain\u2019d;\nAnd have the Fates thy babbling age ordain\u2019d\nTo violate the life thy youth sustain\u2019d?\nAn exile have I told, with weeping eyes,\nFull twenty annual suns in distant skies;\nAt length return\u2019d, some god inspires thy breast\nTo know thy king, and here I stand confess\u2019d.\nThis heaven-discover\u2019d truth to thee consign\u2019d,\nReserve the treasure of thy inmost mind:\nElse, if the gods my vengeful arm sustain,\nAnd prostrate to my sword the suitor-train;\nWith their lewd mates, thy undistinguish\u2019d age\nShall bleed a victim to vindictive rage.\u201d\n\nThen thus rejoin\u2019d the dame, devoid of fear:\n\u201cWhat words, my son, have passed thy lips severe?\nDeep in my soul the trust shall lodge secured;\nWith ribs of steel, and marble heart, immured.\nWhen Heaven, auspicious to thy right avow\u2019d,\nShall prostrate to thy sword the suitor-crowd,\nThe deeds I\u2019ll blazon of the menial fair;\nThe lewd to death devote, the virtuous spare.\u201d\n\n\u201cThy aid avails me not (the chief replied);\nMy own experience shall their doom decide:\nA witness-judge precludes a long appeal:\nSuffice it then thy monarch to conceal.\u201d\n\nHe said: obsequious, with redoubled pace,\nShe to the fount conveys the exhausted vase:\nThe bath renew\u2019d, she ends the pleasing toil\nWith plenteous unction of ambrosial oil.\nAdjusting to his limbs the tatter\u2019d vest,\nHis former seat received the stranger guest;\nWhom thus with pensive air the queen addressed:\n\n\u201cThough night, dissolving grief in grateful ease,\nYour drooping eyes with soft impression seize;\nAwhile, reluctant to her pleasing force,\nSuspend the restful hour with sweet discourse.\nThe day (ne\u2019er brighten\u2019d with a beam of joy!)\nMy menials, and domestic cares employ;\nAnd, unattended by sincere repose,\nThe night assists my ever-wakeful woes;\nWhen nature\u2019s hush\u2019d beneath her brooding shade,\nMy echoing griefs the starry vault invade.\nAs when the months are clad in flowery green,\nSad Philomel, in bowery shades unseen,\nTo vernal airs attunes her varied strains;\nAnd Itylus sounds warbling o\u2019er the plains;\nYoung Itylus, his parents\u2019 darling joy!\nWhom chance misled the mother to destroy;\nNow doom\u2019d a wakeful bird to wail the beauteous boy.\nSo in nocturnal solitude forlorn,\nA sad variety of woes I mourn!\nMy mind, reflective, in a thorny maze\nDevious from care to care incessant strays.\nNow, wavering doubt succeeds to long despair;\nShall I my virgin nuptial vow revere;\nAnd, joining to my son\u2019s my menial train,\nPartake his counsels, and assist his reign?\nOr, since, mature in manhood, he deplores\nHis dome dishonour\u2019d, and exhausted stores;\nShall I, reluctant! to his will accord;\nAnd from the peers select the noblest lord;\nSo by my choice avow\u2019d, at length decide\nThese wasteful love-debates, a mourning bride!\nA visionary thought I\u2019ll now relate;\nIllustrate, if you know, the shadow\u2019d fate:\n\n\u201cA team of twenty geese (a snow-white train!)\nFed near the limpid lake with golden grain,\nAmuse my pensive hours. The bird of Jove\nFierce from his mountain-eyrie downward drove;\nEach favourite fowl he pounced with deathful sway,\nAnd back triumphant wing\u2019d his airy way.\nMy pitying eyes effused a plenteous stream,\nTo view their death thus imaged in a dream;\nWith tender sympathy to soothe my soul,\nA troop of matrons, fancy-form\u2019d, condole.\nBut whilst with grief and rage my bosom burn\u2019d,\nSudden the tyrant of the skies returned;\nPerch\u2019d on the battlements he thus began\n(In form an eagle, but in voice a man):\n`O queen! no vulgar vision of the sky\nI come, prophetic of approaching joy;\nView in this plumy form thy victor-lord;\nThe geese (a glutton race) by thee deplored,\nPortend the suitors fated to my sword.\u2019\nThis said, the pleasing feather\u2019d omen ceased.\nWhen from the downy bands of sleep released,\nFast by the limpid lake my swan-like train\nI found, insatiate of the golden grain.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe vision self-explain\u2019d (the chief replies)\nSincere reveals the sanction of the skies;\nUlysses speaks his own return decreed;\nAnd by his sword the suitors sure to bleed.\u201d\n\n\u201cHard is the task, and rare,\u201d (the queen rejoin\u2019d,)\nImpending destinies in dreams to find;\nImmured within the silent bower of sleep,\nTwo portals firm the various phantoms keep;\nOf ivory one; whence flit, to mock the brain,\nOf winged lies a light fantastic train;\nThe gate opposed pellucid valves adorn,\nAnd columns fair incased with polish\u2019d horn;\nWhere images of truth for passage wait,\nWith visions manifest of future fate.\nNot to this troop, I fear, that phantom soar\u2019d,\nWhich spoke Ulysses to this realm restored;\nDelusive semblance!-but my remnant life\nHeaven shall determine in a gameful strife;\nWith that famed bow Ulysses taught to bend,\nFor me the rival archers shall contend.\nAs on the listed field he used to place\nSix beams, opposed to six in equal space;\nElanced afar by his unerring art,\nSure through six circlets flew the whizzing dart.\nSo, when the sun restores the purple day,\nTheir strength and skill the suitors shall assay;\nTo him the spousal honour is decreed,\nWho through the rings directs the feather\u2019d reed.\nTorn from these walls (where long the kinder powers\nWith joy and pomp have wing\u2019d my youthful hours!)\nOn this poor breast no dawn of bliss shall beam;\nThe pleasure past supplies a copious theme\nFor many a dreary thought, and many a doleful dream!\u201d\n\n\u201cPropose the sportive lot (the chief replies),\nNor dread to name yourself the bowyer\u2019s prize;\nUlysses will surprise the unfinish\u2019d game,\nAvow\u2019d, and falsify the suitors\u2019 claim.\u201d\n\nTo whom with grace serene the queen rejoin\u2019d:\n\u201cIn all thy speech what pleasing force I find!\nO\u2019er my suspended woe thy words prevail;\nI part reluctant from the pleasing tale,\nBut Heaven, that knows what all terrestrials need,\nRepose to night, and toil to day decreed;\nGrateful vicissitudes! yet me withdrawn,\nWakeful to weep and watch the tardy dawn\nEstablish\u2019d use enjoins; to rest and joy\nEstranged, since dear Ulysses sail\u2019d to Troy!\nMeantime instructed is the menial tribe\nYour couch to fashion as yourself prescribe.\u201d\n\nThus affable, her bower the queen ascends;\nThe sovereign step a beauteous train attends;\nThere imaged to her soul Ulysses rose;\nDown her pale cheek new-streaming sorrow flows;\nTill soft oblivious shade Minerva spread,\nAnd o\u2019er her eyes ambrosial slumber shed.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XX.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nWhile Ulysses lies in the vestibule of the palace, he is witness to the\ndisorders of the women. Minerva comforts him, and casts him asleep. At\nhis waking he desires a favourable sign from Jupiter, which is granted.\nThe feast of Apollo is celebrated by the people, and the suitors\nbanquet in the palace. Telemachus exerts his authority amongst them;\nnotwithstanding which, Ulysses is insulted by Caesippus, and the rest\ncontinue in their excesses. Strange prodigies are seen by Theoclymenus,\nthe augur, who explains them to the destruction of the wooers.\n\n\nAn ample hide devine Ulysses spread.\nAnd form\u2019d of fleecy skins his humble bed\n(The remnants of the spoil the suitor-crowd\nIn festival devour\u2019d, and victims vow\u2019d).\nThen o\u2019er the chief, Eurynome the chaste\nWith duteous care a downy carpet cast:\nWith dire revenge his thoughtful bosom glows,\nAnd, ruminating wrath, he scorns repose.\n\nAs thus pavilion\u2019d in the porch he lay,\nScenes of lewd loves his wakeful eyes survey,\nWhilst to nocturnal joys impure repair,\nWith wanton glee, the prostituted fair.\nHis heart with rage this new dishonour stung,\nWavering his thoughts in dubious balance hung:\nOr instant should he quench the guilty flame\nWith their own blood, and intercept the shame:\nOr to their lust indulge a last embrace,\nAnd let the peers consummate the disgrace\nRound his swoln heart the murmurous fury rolls,\nAs o\u2019er her young the mother-mastiff growls,\nAnd bays the stranger groom: so wrath compress\u2019d,\nRecoiling, mutter\u2019d thunder in his breast.\n\u201cPoor suffering heart! (he cried,) support the pain\nOf wounded honour, and thy rage restrain.\nNot fiercer woes thy fortitude could foil,\nWhen the brave partners of thy ten years\u2019 toil\nDire Polypheme devour\u2019d; I then was freed\nBy patient prudence from the death decreed.\u201d\n\nThus anchor\u2019d safe on reason\u2019s peaceful coast,\nTempests of wrath his soul no longer toss\u2019d;\nRestless his body rolls, to rage resign\u2019d\nAs one who long with pale-eyed famine pined,\nThe savoury cates on glowing embers cast\nIncessant turns, impatient for repast\nUlysses so, from side to side-devolved,\nIn self-debate the suitor\u2019s doom resolved\nWhen in the form of mortal nymph array\u2019d,\nFrom heaven descends the Jove-born martial maid;\nAnd hovering o\u2019er his head in view confess\u2019d,\nThe goddess thus her favourite care address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cO thou, of mortals most inured to woes!\nWhy roll those eyes unfriended of repose?\nBeneath thy palace-roof forget thy care;\nBless\u2019d in thy queen! bless\u2019d in thy blooming heir!\nWhom, to the gods when suppliant fathers bow\nThey name the standard of their dearest vow.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust is thy kind reproach (the chief rejoin\u2019d),\nDeeds full of fate distract my various mind,\nIn contemplation wrapp\u2019d. This hostile crew\nWhat single arm hath prowess to subdue?\nOr if, by Jove\u2019s and thy auxiliar aid,\nThey\u2019re doom\u2019d to bleed; O say, celestial maid!\nWhere shall Ulysses shun, or how sustain\nNations embattled to revenge the slain?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh impotence of faith! (Minerva cries,)\nIf man on frail unknowing man relies,\nDoubt you the gods? Lo, Pallas self descends,\nInspires thy counsels, and thy toils attends.\nIn me affianced, fortify thy breast,\nThough myriads leagued thy rightful claim contest\nMy sure divinity shall bear the shield,\nAnd edge thy sword to reap the glorious field.\nNow, pay the debt to craving nature due,\nHer faded powers with balmy rest renew.\u201d\nShe ceased, ambrosial slumbers seal his eyes;\nHer care dissolves in visionary joys\nThe goddess, pleased, regains her natal skies.\n\nNot so the queen; the downy bands of sleep\nBy grief relax\u2019d she waked again to weep:\nA gloomy pause ensued of dumb despair;\nThen thus her fate invoked, with fervent prayer\n\n\u201cDiana! speed thy deathful ebon dart,\nAnd cure the pangs of this convulsive heart.\nSnatch me, ye whirlwinds! far from human race,\nToss\u2019d through the void illimitable space\nOr if dismounted from the rapid cloud,\nMe with his whelming wave let Ocean shroud!\nSo, Pandarus, thy hopes, three orphan fair,\nWere doom\u2019d to wander through the devious air;\nThyself untimely, and thy consort died,\nBut four celestials both your cares supplied.\nVenus in tender delicacy rears\nWith honey, milk, and wine their infant years;\nImperial Juno to their youth assigned\nA form majestic, and sagacious mind;\nWith shapely growth Diana graced their bloom;\nAnd Pallas taught the texture of the loom.\nBut whilst, to learn their lots in nuptial love,\nBright Cytherea sought the bower of Jove\n(The God supreme, to whose eternal eye\nThe registers of fate expanded lie);\nWing\u2019d Harpies snatch the unguarded charge away,\nAnd to the Furies bore a grateful prey.\nBe such my lot! Or thou, Diana, speed\nThy shaft, and send me joyful to the dead;\nTo seek my lord among the warrior train,\nEre second vows my bridal faith profane.\nWhen woes the waking sense alone assail,\nWhilst Night extends her soft oblivious veil,\nOf other wretches\u2019 care the torture ends;\nNo truce the warfare of my heart suspends!\nThe night renews the day distracting theme,\nAnd airy terrors sable every dream.\nThe last alone a kind illusion wrought,\nAnd to my bed my loved Ulysses brought,\nIn manly bloom, and each majestic grace,\nAs when for Troy he left my fond embrace;\nSuch raptures in my beating bosom rise,\nI deem it sure a vision of the skies.\u201d\n\nThus, whilst Aurora mounts her purple throne,\nIn audible laments she breathes her moan;\nThe sounds assault Ulysses\u2019 wakeful ear;\nMisjudging of the cause, a sudden fear\nOf his arrival known, the chief alarms;\nHe thinks the queen is rushing to his arms.\nUpspringing from his couch, with active haste\nThe fleece and carpet in the dome he placed\n(The hide, without, imbibed the morning air);\nAnd thus the gods invoked with ardent prayer:\n\n\u201cJove, and eternal thrones! with heaven to friend,\nIf the long series of my woes shall end;\nOf human race now rising from repose,\nLet one a blissful omen here disclose;\nAnd, to confirm my faith, propitious Jove!\nVouchsafe the sanction of a sign above.\u201d\n\nWhilst lowly thus the chief adoring bows,\nThe pitying god his guardian aid avows.\nLoud from a sapphire sky his thunder sounds;\nWith springing hope the hero\u2019s heart rebounds.\nSoon, with consummate joy to crown his prayer,\nAn omen\u2019d voice invades his ravish\u2019d ear.\nBeneath a pile that close the dome adjoin\u2019d,\nTwelve female slaves the gift of Ceres grind;\nTask\u2019d for the royal board to bolt the bran\nFrom the pure flour (the growth and strength of man)\nDischarging to the day the labour due,\nNow early to repose the rest withdrew;\nOne maid unequal to the task assign\u2019d,\nStill turn\u2019d the toilsome mill with anxious mind;\nAnd thus in bitterness of soul divined:\n\n\u201cFather of gods and men, whose thunders roll\nO\u2019er the cerulean vault, and shake the pole:\nWhoe\u2019er from Heaven has gain\u2019d this rare ostent\n(Of granted vows a certain signal sent),\nIn this blest moment of accepted prayer,\nPiteous, regard a wretch consumed with care!\nInstant, O Jove! confound the suitor-train,\nFor whom o\u2019ertoil\u2019d I grind the golden grain:\nFar from this dome the lewd devourers cast,\nAnd be this festival decreed their last!\u201d\n\nBig with their doom denounced in earth and sky,\nUlysses\u2019 heart dilates with secret joy.\nMeantime the menial train with unctious wood\nHeap\u2019d high the genial hearth, Vulcanian food:\nWhen, early dress\u2019d, advanced the royal heir;\nWith manly grasp he waved a martial spear;\nA radiant sabre graced his purple zone,\nAnd on his foot the golden sandal shone.\nHis steps impetuous to the portal press\u2019d;\nAnd Euryclea thus he there address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cSay thou to whom my youth its nurture owes,\nWas care for due refection and repose\nBestow\u2019d the stranger-guest? Or waits he grieved,\nHis age not honour\u2019d, nor his wants relieved?\nPromiscuous grace on all the queen confers\n(In woes bewilder\u2019d, oft the wisest errs).\nThe wordy vagrant to the dole aspires,\nAnd modest worth with noble scorn retires.\u201d\n\nShe thus: \u201cO cease that ever-honour\u2019d name\nTo blemish now: it ill deserves your blame,\nA bowl of generous wine sufficed the guest;\nIn vain the queen the night refection press\u2019d;\nNor would he court repose in downy state,\nUnbless\u2019d, abandon\u2019d to the rage of Fate!\nA hide beneath the portico was spread,\nAnd fleecy skins composed an humble bed;\nA downy carpet cast with duteous care,\nSecured him from the keen nocturnal air.\u201d\n\nHis cornel javelin poised with regal port,\nTo the sage Greeks convened in Themis\u2019 court,\nForth-issuing from the dome the prince repair\u2019d;\nTwo dogs of chase, a lion-hearted guard,\nBehind him sourly stalked. Without delay\nThe dame divides the labour of the day;\nThus urging to the toil the menial train;\n\n\u201cWhat marks of luxury the marble stain\nIts wonted lustre let the floor regain;\nThe seats with purple clothe in order due;\nAnd let the abstersive sponge the board renew;\nLet some refresh the vase\u2019s sullied mould;\nSome bid the goblets boast their native gold;\nSome to the spring, with each a jar, repair,\nAnd copious waters pure for bathing bear;\nDispatch! for soon the suitors will essay\nThe lunar feast-rites to the god of day.\u201d\n\nShe said: with duteous haste a bevy fair\nOf twenty virgins to the spring repair;\nWith varied toils the rest adorn the dome.\nMagnificent, and blithe, the suitors come.\nSome wield the sounding axe; the dodder\u2019d oaks\nDivide, obedient to the forceful strokes.\nSoon from the fount, with each a brimming urn\n(Eumaeus in their train), the maids return.\nThree porkers for the feast, all brawny-chined,\nHe brought; the choicest of the tusky-kind;\nIn lodgments first secure his care he viewed,\nThen to the king this friendly speech renew\u2019d:\n\u201cNow say sincere, my guest! the suitor-train\nStill treat thy worth with lordly dull disdain;\nOr speaks their deed a bounteous mind humane?\u201d\n\n\u201cSome pitying god (Ulysses sad replied)\nWith vollied vengeance blast their towering pride!\nNo conscious blush, no sense of right, restrains\nThe tides of lust that swell the boiling veins;\nFrom vice to vice their appetites are toss\u2019d,\nAll cheaply sated at another\u2019s cost!\u201d\n\nWhile thus the chief his woes indignant told,\nMelanthius, master of the bearded fold,\nThe goodliest goats of all the royal herd\nSpontaneous to the suitors\u2019 feast preferr\u2019d;\nTwo grooms assistant bore the victims bound;\nWith quavering cries the vaulted roofs resound;\nAnd to the chief austere aloud began\nThe wretch unfriendly to the race of man:\n\n\u201cHere vagrant, still? offensive to my lords!\nBlows have more energy than airy words;\nThese arguments I\u2019ll use: nor conscious shame,\nNor threats, thy bold intrusion will reclaim.\nOn this high feast the meanest vulgar boast\nA plenteous board! Hence! seek another host!\u201d\n\nRejoinder to the churl the king disdain\u2019d,\nBut shook his head, and rising wrath restrain\u2019d.\n\nFrom Cephalenia \u2019cross the surgy main\nPhilaetius late arrived, a faithful swain.\nA steer ungrateful to the bull\u2019s embrace.\nAnd goats he brought, the pride of all their race;\nImported in a shallop not his own;\nThe dome re-echoed to the mingl\u2019d moan.\nStraight to the guardian of the bristly kind\nHe thus began, benevolent of mind:\n\n\u201cWhat guest is he, of such majestic air?\nHis lineage and paternal clime declare:\nDim through the eclipse of fate, the rays divine\nOf sovereign state with faded splendour shine.\nIf monarchs by the gods are plunged in woe,\nTo what abyss are we foredoom\u2019d to go!\u201d\nThen affable he thus the chief address\u2019d,\nWhilst with pathetic warmth his hand he press\u2019d:\n\n\u201cStranger, may fate a milder aspect show,\nAnd spin thy future with a whiter clue!\nO Jove! for ever deaf to human cries;\nThe tyrant, not the father of the skies!\nUnpiteous of the race thy will began!\nThe fool of fate, thy manufacture, man,\nWith penury, contempt, repulse, and care,\nThe galling load of life is doom\u2019d to bear.\nUlysses from his state a wanderer still,\nUpbraids thy power, thy wisdom, or thy will!\nO monarch ever dear!-O man of woe!\nFresh flow my tears, and shall for ever flow!\nLike thee, poor stranger guest, denied his home,\nLike thee: in rags obscene decreed to roam!\nOr, haply perish\u2019d on some distant coast,\nIn stygian gloom he glides, a pensive ghost!\nOh, grateful for the good his bounty gave,\nI\u2019ll grieve, till sorrow sink me to the grave!\nHis kind protecting hand my youth preferr\u2019d,\nThe regent of his Cephalenian herd;\nWith vast increase beneath my care it spreads:\nA stately breed! and blackens far the meads.\nConstrain\u2019d, the choicest beeves I thence import,\nTo cram these cormorants that crowd his court:\nWho in partition seek his realm to share;\nNor human right nor wrath divine revere,\nSince here resolved oppressive these reside,\nContending doubts my anxious heart divide:\nNow to some foreign clime inclined to fly,\nAnd with the royal herd protection buy;\nThen, happier thoughts return the nodding scale,\nLight mounts despair, alternate hopes prevail:\nIn opening prospects of ideal joy,\nMy king returns; the proud usurpers die.\u201d\n\nTo whom the chief: \u201cIn thy capacious mind\nSince daring zeal with cool debate is join\u2019d,\nAttend a deed already ripe in fate:\nAttest, O Jove! the truth I now relate!\nThis sacred truth attest, each genial power,\nWho bless the board, and guard this friendly bower!\nBefore thou quit the dome (nor long delay)\nThy wish produced in act, with pleased survey,\nThy wondering eyes shall view: his rightful reign\nBy arms avow\u2019d Ulysses shall regain,\nAnd to the shades devote the suitor-train.\u201d\n\n\u201cO Jove supreme! (the raptured swain replies,)\nWith deeds consummate soon the promised joys!\nThese aged nerves, with new-born vigour strung,\nIn that blest cause should emulate the young.\u201d\nAssents Eumaeus to the prayer address\u2019d;\nAnd equal ardours fire his loyal breast.\n\nMeantime the suitors urge the prince\u2019s fate,\nAnd deathful arts employ the dire debate:\nWhen in his airy tour, the bird of Jove\nTruss\u2019d with his sinewy pounce a trembling dove;\nSinister to their hope! This omen eyed\nAmphinomus, who thus presaging cried:\n\n\u201cThe gods from force and fraud the prince defend;\nO peers! the sanguinary scheme suspend:\nYour future thought let sable fate employ;\nAnd give the present hour to genial joy.\u201d\n\nFrom council straight the assenting peerage ceased,\nAnd in the dome prepared the genial feast.\nDisrobed, their vests apart in order lay,\nThen all with speed succinct the victims slay:\nWith sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled,\nAnd the proud steer was on the marble spread.\nWith fire prepared, they deal the morsels round,\nWine, rosy-bright, the brimming goblets crown\u2019d,\nBy sage Eumaeus borne; the purple tide\nMelanthius from an ample jar supplied:\nHigh canisters of bread Philaetius placed;\nAnd eager all devour the rich repast.\nDisposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat;\nA trivet table, and ignobler seat,\nThe prince appoints; but to his sire assigns\nThe tasteful inwards, and nectareous wines.\n\u201cPartake, my guest (he cried), without control\nThe social feast, and drain the cheering bowl:\nDread not the railer\u2019s laugh, nor ruffian\u2019s rage;\nNo vulgar roof protects thy honour\u2019d age;\nThis dome a refuge to thy wrongs shall be,\nFrom my great sire too soon devolved to me!\nYour violence and scorn, ye suitors, cease,\nLest arms avenge the violated peace.\u201d\n\nAwed by the prince, so haughty, brave, and young,\nRage gnaw\u2019d the lip, amazement chain\u2019d the tongue.\n\u201cBe patient, peers! (at length Antinous cries,)\nThe threats of vain imperious youth despise:\nWould Jove permit the meditated blow,\nThat stream of eloquence should cease to flow.\u201d\n\nWithout reply vouchsafed, Antinous ceased:\nMeanwhile the pomp of festival increased:\nBy heralds rank\u2019d; in marshall\u2019d order move\nThe city tribes, to pleased Apollo\u2019s grove:\nBeneath the verdure of which awful shade,\nThe lunar hecatomb they grateful laid;\nPartook the sacred feast, and ritual honours paid.\nBut the rich banquet, in the dome prepared\n(An humble sideboard set) Ulysses shared.\nObservant of the prince\u2019s high behest,\nHis menial train attend the stranger-guest;\nWhom Pallas with unpardoning fury fired,\nBy lordly pride and keen reproach inspired.\nA Samian peer, more studious than the rest\nOf vice, who teem\u2019d with many a dead-born jest;\nAnd urged, for title to a consort queen,\nUnnumber\u2019d acres arable and green\n(Ctesippus named); this lord Ulysses eyed,\nAnd thus burst out the imposthumate with pride:\n\n\u201cThe sentence I propose, ye peers, attend:\nSince due regard must wait the prince\u2019s friend,\nLet each a token of esteem bestow:\nThis gift acquits the dear respect I owe;\nWith which he nobly may discharge his seat,\nAnd pay the menials for a master\u2019s treat.\u201d\n\nHe said: and of the steer before him placed,\nThat sinewy fragment at Ulysses cast,\nWhere to the pastern-bone, by nerves combined,\nThe well-horn\u2019d foot indissolubly join\u2019d;\nWhich whizzing high, the wall unseemly sign\u2019d.\nThe chief indignant grins a ghastly smile;\nRevenge and scorn within his bosom boil:\nWhen thus the prince with pious rage inflamed:\n\u201cHad not the inglorious wound thy malice aim\u2019d\nFall\u2019n guiltless of the mark, my certain spear\nHad made thee buy the brutal triumph dear:\nNor should thy sire a queen his daughter boast;\nThe suitor, now, had vanish\u2019d in a ghost:\nNo more, ye lewd compeers, with lawless power\nInvade my dome, my herds and flocks devour:\nFor genuine worth, of age mature to know,\nMy grape shall redden, and my harvest grow\nOr, if each other\u2019s wrongs ye still support,\nWith rapes and riot to profane my court;\nWhat single arm with numbers can contend?\nOn me let all your lifted swords descend,\nAnd with my life such vile dishonours end.\u201d\n\nA long cessation of discourse ensued,\nBy gentler Agelaus thus renew\u2019d:\n\n\u201cA just reproof, ye peers! your rage restrain\nFrom the protected guest, and menial train:\nAnd, prince! to stop the source of future ill,\nAssent yourself, and gain the royal will.\nWhilst hope prevail\u2019d to see your sire restored,\nOf right the queen refused a second lord:\nBut who so vain of faith, so blind to fate,\nTo think he still survives to claim the state?\nNow press the sovereign dame with warm desire\nTo wed, as wealth or worth her choice inspire:\nThe lord selected to the nuptial joys\nFar hence will lead the long-contested prize:\nWhilst in paternal pomp with plenty bless\u2019d,\nYou reign, of this imperial dome possess\u2019d.\u201d\n\nSage and serene Telemachus replies:\n\u201cBy him at whose behest the thunder flies,\nAnd by the name on earth I most revere,\nBy great Ulysses and his woes I swear!\n(Who never must review his dear domain;\nEnroll\u2019d, perhaps, in Pluto\u2019s dreary train),\nWhene\u2019er her choice the royal dame avows,\nMy bridal gifts shall load the future spouse:\nBut from this dome my parent queen to chase!\nFrom me, ye gods! avert such dire disgrace.\u201d\n\nBut Pallas clouds with intellectual gloom\nThe suitors\u2019 souls, insensate of their doom!\nA mirthful frenzy seized the fated crowd;\nThe roofs resound with causeless laughter loud;\nFloating in gore, portentous to survey!\nIn each discolour\u2019d vase the viands lay;\nThen down each cheek the tears spontaneous flow\nAnd sudden sighs precede approaching woe.\nIn vision wrapp\u2019d, the Hyperesian seer\nUprose, and thus divined the vengeance near:\n\n\u201cO race to death devote! with Stygian shade\nEach destin\u2019d peer impending fates invade;\nWith tears your wan distorted cheeks are drown\u2019d;\nWith sanguine drops the walls are rubied round:\nThick swarms the spacious hall with howling ghosts,\nTo people Orcus, and the burning coasts!\nNor gives the sun his golden orb to roll,\nBut universal night usurps the pole!\u201d\n\nYet warn\u2019d in vain, with laughter loud elate\nThe peers reproach the sure divine of Fate;\nAnd thus Eurymachus: \u201cThe dotard\u2019s mind\nTo every sense is lost, to reason blind;\nSwift from the dome conduct the slave away;\nLet him in open air behold the day.\u201d\n\n\u201cTax not (the heaven-illumined seer rejoin\u2019d)\nOf rage, or folly, my prophetic mind,\nNo clouds of error dim the ethereal rays,\nHer equal power each faithful sense obeys.\nUnguided hence my trembling steps I bend,\nFar hence, before yon hovering deaths descend;\nLest the ripe harvest of revenge begun,\nI share the doom ye suitors cannot shun.\u201d\n\nThis said, to sage Piraeus sped the seer,\nHis honour\u2019d host, a welcome inmate there.\nO\u2019er the protracted feast the suitors sit,\nAnd aim to wound the prince with pointless wit:\nCries one, with scornful leer and mimic voice,\n\u201cThy charity we praise, but not thy choice;\nWhy such profusion of indulgence shown\nTo this poor, timorous, toil-detesting drone?\nThat others feeds on planetary schemes,\nAnd pays his host with hideous noon-day dreams.\nBut, prince! for once at least believe a friend;\nTo some Sicilian mart these courtiers send,\nWhere, if they yield their freight across the main,\nDear sell the slaves! demand no greater gain.\u201d\n\nThus jovial they; but nought the prince replies;\nFull on his sire he roll\u2019d his ardent eyes:\nImpatient straight to flesh his virgin-sword;\nFrom the wise chief he waits the deathful word.\nNigh in her bright alcove, the pensive queen\nTo see the circle sate, of all unseen.\nSated at length they rise, and bid prepare\nAn eve-repast, with equal cost and care:\nBut vengeful Pallas, with preventing speed,\nA feast proportion\u2019d to their crimes decreed;\nA feast of death, the feasters doom\u2019d to bleed!\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XXI.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE BENDING OF ULYSSES\u2019 BOW.\n\n\nPenelope, to put an end to the solicitation of the suitors, proposes to\nmarry the person who shall first bend the bow of Ulysses, and shoot\nthrough the ringlets. After their attempts have proved ineffectual,\nUlysses, taking Eumaeus and Philaetius apart, discovers himself to\nthem; then returning, desires leave to try his strength at the bow,\nwhich, though refused with indignation by the suitors, Penelope and\nTelemachus cause it to be delivered to his hands. He bends it\nimmediately, and shoots through all the rings. Jupiter at the same\ninstant thunders from heaven; Ulysses accepts the omen, and gives a\nsign to Telemachus, who stands ready armed at his side.\n\n\nAnd Pallas now, to raise the rivals\u2019 fires,\nWith her own art Penelope inspires\nWho now can bend Ulysses\u2019 bow, and wing\nThe well-aim\u2019d arrow through the distant ring,\nShall end the strife, and win the imperial dame:\nBut discord and black death await the game!\n\nThe prudent queen the lofty stair ascends:\nAt distance due a virgin-train attends;\nA brazen key she held, the handle turn\u2019d,\nWith steel and polish\u2019d elephant adorn\u2019d:\nSwift to the inmost room she bent her way,\nWhere, safe reposed, the royal treasures lay:\nThere shone high heap\u2019d the labour\u2019d brass and ore,\nAnd there the bow which great Ulysses bore;\nAnd there the quiver, where now guiltless slept\nThose winged deaths that many a matron wept.\n\nThis gift, long since when Sparta\u2019s shore he trod,\nOn young Ulysses Iphitus bestowed:\nBeneath Orsilochus\u2019 roof they met;\nOne loss was private, one a public debt;\nMessena\u2019s state from Ithaca detains\nThree hundred sheep, and all the shepherd swains;\nAnd to the youthful prince to urge the laws,\nThe king and elders trust their common cause.\nBut Iphitus, employed on other cares,\nSearch\u2019d the wide country for his wandering mares,\nAnd mules, the strongest of the labouring kind;\nHapless to search; more hapless still to find!\nFor journeying on to Hercules, at length\nThat lawless wretch, that man of brutal strength,\nDeaf to Heaven\u2019s voice, the social rites transgress\u2019d;\nAnd for the beauteous mares destroy\u2019d his guest.\nHe gave the bow; and on Ulysses\u2019 part\nReceived a pointed sword, and missile dart:\nOf luckless friendship on a foreign shore\nTheir first, last pledges! for they met no more.\nThe bow, bequeath\u2019d by this unhappy hand,\nUlysses bore not from his native land;\nNor in the front of battle taught to bend,\nBut kept in dear memorial of his friend.\n\nNow gently winding up the fair ascent,\nBy many an easy step the matron went;\nThen o\u2019er the pavement glides with grace divine\n(With polish\u2019d oak the level pavements shine);\nThe folding gates a dazzling light display\u2019d,\nWith pomp of various architrave o\u2019erlaid.\nThe bolt, obedient to the silken string,\nForsakes the staple as she pulls the ring;\nThe wards respondent to the key turn round;\nThe bars fall back; the flying valves resound;\nLoud as a bull makes hill and valley ring,\nSo roar\u2019d the lock when it released the spring.\nShe moves majestic through the wealthy room,\nWhere treasured garments cast a rich perfume;\nThere from the column where aloft it hung,\nReach\u2019d in its splendid case, the bow unstrung;\nAcross her knees she laid the well-known bow,\nAnd pensive sate, and tears began to flow.\nTo full satiety of grief she mourns,\nThen silent to the joyous hall returns,\nTo the proud suitors bears in pensive state\nThe unbended bow, and arrows winged with fate.\n\nBehind, her train the polish\u2019d coffer brings,\nWhich held the alternate brass and silver rings.\nFull in the portal the chaste queen appears,\nAnd with her veil conceals the coming tears:\nOn either side awaits a virgin fair;\nWhile thus the matron, with majestic air:\n\n\u201cSay you, when these forbidden walls inclose,\nFor whom my victims bleed, my vintage flows:\nIf these neglected, faded charms can move?\nOr is it but a vain pretence, you love?\nIf I the prize, if me you seek to wife,\nHear the conditions, and commence the strife.\nWho first Ulysses\u2019 wondrous bow shall bend,\nAnd through twelve ringlets the fleet arrow send;\nHim will I follow, and forsake my home,\nFor him forsake this loved, this wealthy dome,\nLong, long the scene of all my past delight,\nAnd still to last, the vision of my night!\u201d\n\nGraceful she said, and bade Eumaeus show\nThe rival peers the ringlets and the bow.\nFrom his full eyes the tears unbidden spring,\nTouch\u2019d at the dear memorials of his king.\nPhilaetius too relents, but secret shed\nThe tender drops. Antinous saw, and said:\n\n\u201cHence to your fields, ye rustics! hence away,\nNor stain with grief the pleasures of the day;\nNor to the royal heart recall in vain\nThe sad remembrance of a perish\u2019d man.\nEnough her precious tears already flow\u2014\nOr share the feast with due respect; or go\nTo weep abroad, and leave to us the bow,\nNo vulgar task! Ill suits this courtly crew\nThat stubborn horn which brave Ulysses drew.\nI well remember (for I gazed him o\u2019er\nWhile yet a child), what majesty he bore!\nAnd still (all infant as I was) retain\nThe port, the strength, the grandeur of the man.\u201d\n\nHe said, but in his soul fond joys arise,\nAnd his proud hopes already win the prize.\nTo speed the flying shaft through every ring,\nWretch! is not thine: the arrows of the king\nShall end those hopes, and fate is on the wing!\n\nThen thus Telemachus: \u201cSome god I find\nWith pleasing frenzy has possess\u2019d my mind;\nWhen a loved mother threatens to depart,\nWhy with this ill-timed gladness leaps my heart?\nCome then, ye suitors! and dispute a prize\nRicher than all the Achaian state supplies,\nThan all proud Argos, or Mycaena knows,\nThan all our isles or continents inclose;\nA woman matchless, and almost divine,\nFit for the praise of every tongue but mine.\nNo more excuses then, no more delay;\nHaste to the trial\u2014Lo! I lead the way.\n\n\u201cI too may try, and if this arm can wing\nThe feather\u2019d arrow through the destined ring,\nThen if no happier night the conquest boast,\nI shall not sorrow for a mother lost;\nBut, bless\u2019d in her, possess those arms alone,\nHeir of my father\u2019s strength, as well as throne.\u201d\n\nHe spoke; then rising, his broad sword unbound,\nAnd cast his purple garment on the ground.\nA trench he open\u2019d: in a line he placed.\nThe level axes, and the points made fast\n(His perfect skill the wondering gazers eyed,\nThe game as yet unseen, as yet untried).\nThen, with a manly pace, he took his stand:\nAnd grasp\u2019d the bow, and twang\u2019d it in his hand.\nThree times, with beating heart, he made essay:\nThree times, unequal to the task, gave way;\nA modest boldness on his cheek appear\u2019d:\nAnd thrice he hoped, and thrice again he fear\u2019d.\nThe fourth had drawn it. The great sire with joy\nBeheld, but with a sign forbade the boy.\nHis ardour straight the obedient prince suppress\u2019d,\nAnd, artful, thus the suitor-train address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cO lay the cause on youth yet immature!\n(For heaven forbid such weakness should endure!)\nHow shall this arm, unequal to the bow,\nRetort an insult, or repel a foe?\nBut you! whom Heaven with better nerves has bless\u2019d,\nAccept the trial, and the prize contest.\u201d\n\nHe cast the bow before him, and apart\nAgainst the polish\u2019d quiver propp\u2019d the dart.\nResuming then his seat, Eupithes\u2019 son,\nThe bold Antinous, to the rest begun:\n\u201cFrom where the goblet first begins to flow,\nFrom right to left in order take the bow;\nAnd prove your several strengths.\u201d The princes heard\nAnd first Leiodes, blameless priest, appear\u2019d:\nThe eldest born of \u0152nops\u2019 noble race,\nWho next the goblet held his holy place:\nHe, only he, of all the suitor throng,\nTheir deeds detested, and abjured the wrong.\nWith tender hands the stubborn horn he strains,\nThe stubborn horn resisted all his pains!\nAlready in despair he gives it o\u2019er:\n\u201cTake it who will (he cries), I strive no more,\nWhat numerous deaths attend this fatal bow!\nWhat souls and spirits shall it send below!\nBetter, indeed, to die, and fairly give\nNature her debt, than disappointed live,\nWith each new sun to some new hope a prey,\nYet still to-morrow falser than to-day.\nHow long in vain Penelope we sought!\nThis bow shall ease us of that idle thought,\nAnd send us with some humbler wife to live,\nWhom gold shall gain, or destiny shall give.\u201d\n\nThus speaking, on the floor the bow he placed\n(With rich inlay the various floor was graced):\nAt distance far the feather\u2019d shaft he throws,\nAnd to the seat returns from whence he rose.\n\nTo him Antinous thus with fury said:\n\u201cWhat words ill-omen\u2019d from thy lips have fled?\nThy coward-function ever is in fear!\nThose arms are dreadful which thou canst not bear,\nWhy should this bow be fatal to the brave?\nBecause the priest is born a peaceful slave.\nMark then what others can.\u201d He ended there,\nAnd bade Melanthius a vast pile prepare;\nHe gives it instant flame, then fast beside\nSpreads o\u2019er an ample board a bullock\u2019s hide.\nWith melted lard they soak the weapon o\u2019er,\nChafe every knot, and supple every pore.\nVain all their art, and all their strength as vain;\nThe bow inflexible resists their pain.\nThe force of great Eurymachus alone\nAnd bold Antinous, yet untired, unknown:\nThose only now remain\u2019d; but those confess\u2019d\nOf all the train the mightiest and the best.\n\nThen from the hall, and from the noisy crew,\nThe masters of the herd and flock withdrew.\nThe king observes them, he the hall forsakes,\nAnd, past the limits of the court, o\u2019ertakes.\nThen thus with accent mild Ulysses spoke:\n\u201cYe faithful guardians of the herd and flock!\nShall I the secret of my breast conceal,\nOr (as my soul now dictates) shall I tell?\nSay, should some favouring god restore again\nThe lost Ulysses to his native reign,\nHow beat your hearts? what aid would you afford\nTo the proud suitors, or your ancient lord?\u201d\n\nPhilaetius thus: \u201cO were thy word not vain!\nWould mighty Jove restore that man again!\nThese aged sinews, with new vigour strung,\nIn his blest cause should emulate the young.\u201d\nWith equal vows Eumaeus too implored\nEach power above, with wishes for his lord.\n\nHe saw their secret souls, and thus began:\n\u201cThose vows the gods accord; behold the man!\nYour own Ulysses! twice ten years detain\u2019d\nBy woes and wanderings from this hapless land:\nAt length he comes; but comes despised, unknown,\nAnd finding faithful you, and you alone.\nAll else have cast him from their very thought,\nE\u2019en in their wishes and their prayers forgot!\nHear then, my friends: If Jove this arm succeed,\nAnd give yon impious revellers to bleed,\nMy care shall be to bless your future lives\nWith large possessions and with faithful wives;\nFast by my palace shall your domes ascend,\nAnd each on young Telemachus attend,\nAnd each be call\u2019d his brother and my friend.\nTo give you firmer faith, now trust your eye;\nLo! the broad scar indented on my thigh,\nWhen with Autolycus\u2019 sons, of yore,\nOn Parnass\u2019 top I chased the tusky boar.\u201d\nHis ragged vest then drawn aside disclosed\nThe sign conspicuous, and the scar exposed:\nEager they view\u2019d, with joy they stood amazed\nWith tearful eyes o\u2019er all their master gazed:\nAround his neck their longing arms they cast,\nHis head, his shoulders, and his knees embraced;\nTears followed tears; no word was in their power;\nIn solemn silence fell the kindly shower.\nThe king too weeps, the king too grasps their hands;\nAnd moveless, as a marble fountain, stands.\n\nThus had their joy wept down the setting sun,\nBut first the wise man ceased, and thus begun:\n\u201cEnough\u2014on other cares your thought employ,\nFor danger waits on all untimely joy.\nFull many foes and fierce, observe us near;\nSome may betray, and yonder walls may hear.\nRe-enter then, not all at once, but stay\nSome moments you, and let me lead the way.\nTo me, neglected as I am I know\nThe haughty suitors will deny the bow;\nBut thou, Eumaeus, as \u2019tis borne away,\nThy master\u2019s weapon to his hand convey.\nAt every portal let some matron wait,\nAnd each lock fast the well-compacted gate:\nClose let them keep, whate\u2019er invades their ear;\nThough arms, or shouts, or dying groans they hear.\nTo thy strict charge, Philaetius, we consign\nThe court\u2019s main gate: to guard that pass be thine.\u201d\n\nThis said, he first return\u2019d; the faithful swains\nAt distance follow, as their king ordains.\nBefore the flame Eurymachus now stands,\nAnd turns the bow, and chafes it with his hands\nStill the tough bow unmoved. The lofty man\nSigh\u2019d from his mighty soul, and thus began:\n\n\u201cI mourn the common cause: for, oh, my friends,\nOn me, on all, what grief, what shame attends!\nNot the lost nuptials can affect me more\n(For Greece has beauteous dames on every shore),\nBut baffled thus! confess\u2019d so far below\nUlysses\u2019 strength, as not to bend his bow!\nHow shall all ages our attempt deride!\nOur weakness scorn!\u201d Antinous thus replied:\n\n\u201cNot so, Eurymachus: that no man draws\nThe wondrous bow, attend another cause.\nSacred to Ph\u0153bus is the solemn day,\nWhich thoughtless we in games would waste away:\nTill the next dawn this ill-timed strife forego,\nAnd here leave fixed the ringlets in a row.\nNow bid the sewer approach, and let us join\nIn due libations, and in rites divine,\nSo end our night: before the day shall spring,\nThe choicest offerings let Melanthius bring:\nLet then to Ph\u0153bus\u2019 name the fatted thighs\nFeed the rich smokes high curling to the skies.\nSo shall the patron of these arts bestow\n(For his the gift) the skill to bend the bow.\u201d\n\nThey heard well pleased: the ready heralds bring\nThe cleansing waters from the limpid spring:\nThe goblet high with rosy wine they crown\u2019d,\nIn order circling to the peers around.\nThat rite complete, uprose the thoughtful man,\nAnd thus his meditated scheme began:\n\n\u201cIf what I ask your noble minds approve,\nYe peers and rivals in the royal love!\nChief, if it hurt not great Antinous\u2019 ear\n(Whose sage decision I with wonder hear),\nAnd if Eurymachus the motion please:\nGive Heaven this day and rest the bow in peace.\nTo-morrow let your arms dispute the prize,\nAnd take it he, the favour\u2019d of the skies!\nBut, since till then this trial you delay,\nTrust it one moment to my hands to-day:\nFain would I prove, before your judging eyes,\nWhat once I was, whom wretched you despise:\nIf yet this arm its ancient force retain;\nOr if my woes (a long-continued train)\nAnd wants and insults, make me less than man.\u201d\n\nRage flash\u2019d in lightning from the suitors\u2019 eyes,\nYet mixed with terror at the bold emprise.\nAntinous then: \u201cO miserable guest!\nIs common sense quite banish\u2019d from thy breast?\nSufficed it not, within the palace placed,\nTo sit distinguish\u2019d, with our presence graced,\nAdmitted here with princes to confer,\nA man unknown, a needy wanderer?\nTo copious wine this insolence we owe,\nAnd much thy betters wine can overthrow:\nThe great Eurytion, when this frenzy stung,\nPirithous\u2019 roofs with frantic riot rung;\nBoundless the Centaur raged; till one and all\nThe heroes rose, and dragg\u2019d him from the hall;\nHis nose they shorten\u2019d, and his ears they slit,\nAnd sent him sober\u2019d home, with better wit.\nHence with long war the double race was cursed,\nFatal to all, but to the aggressor first.\nSuch fate I prophesy our guest attends,\nIf here this interdicted bow he bends:\nNor shall these walls such insolence contain:\nThe first fair wind transports him o\u2019er the main,\nWhere Echetus to death the guilty brings\n(The worst of mortals, e\u2019en the worst of kings).\nBetter than that, if thou approve our cheer;\nCease the mad strife and share our bounty here.\u201d\n\nTo this the queen her just dislike express\u2019d:\n\n\u201c\u2018Tis impious, prince, to harm the stranger-guest,\nBase to insult who bears a suppliant\u2019s name,\nAnd some respect Telemachus may claim.\nWhat if the immortals on the man bestow\nSufficient strength to draw the mighty bow?\nShall I, a queen, by rival chiefs adored,\nAccept a wandering stranger for my lord?\nA hope so idle never touch\u2019d his brain:\nThen ease your bosoms of a fear so vain.\nFar be he banish\u2019d from this stately scene\nWho wrongs his princess with a thought so mean.\u201d\n\n\u201cO fair! and wisest of so fair a kind!\n(Respectful thus Eurymachus rejoin\u2019d,)\nMoved by no weak surmise, but sense of shame,\nWe dread the all-arraigning voice of Fame:\nWe dread the censure of the meanest slave,\nThe weakest woman: all can wrong the brave.\n\u2018Behold what wretches to the bed pretend\nOf that brave chief whose bow they could not bend!\nIn came a beggar of the strolling crew,\nAnd did what all those princes could not do.\u2019\nThus will the common voice our deed defame,\nAnd thus posterity upbraid our name.\u201d\n\nTo whom the queen: \u201cIf fame engage your views,\nForbear those acts which infamy pursues;\nWrong and oppression no renown can raise;\nKnow, friend! that virtue is the path to praise.\nThe stature of our guest, his port, his face,\nSpeak him descended from no vulgar race.\nTo him the bow, as he desires, convey;\nAnd to his hand if Ph\u0153bus give the day,\nHence, to reward his merit, be shall bear\nA two-edged falchion and a shining spear,\nEmbroider\u2019d sandals, a rich cloak and vest,\nA safe conveyance to his port of rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cO royal mother! ever-honour\u2019d name!\nPermit me (cries Telemachus) to claim\nA son\u2019s just right. No Grecian prince but I\nHas power this bow to grant or to deny.\nOf all that Ithaca\u2019s rough hills contain,\nAnd all wide Elis\u2019 courser-breeding plain,\nTo me alone my father\u2019s arms descend;\nAnd mine alone they are, to give or lend.\nRetire, O queen! thy household task resume,\nTend, with thy maids, the labours of thy loom;\nThe bow, the darts, and arms of chivalry,\nThese cares to man belong, and most to me.\u201d\n\nMature beyond his years, the queen admired\nHis sage reply, and with her train retired;\nThere in her chamber as she sate apart,\nRevolved his words, and placed them in her heart.\nOn her Ulysses then she fix\u2019d her soul;\nDown her fair cheek the tears abundant roll,\nTill gentle Pallas, piteous of her cries,\nIn slumber closed her silver-streaming eyes.\n\nNow through the press the bow Eumaeus bore,\nAnd all was riot, noise, and wild uproar.\n\u201cHold! lawless rustic! whither wilt thou go?\nTo whom, insensate, dost thou bear the bow?\nExiled for this to some sequester\u2019d den,\nFar from the sweet society of men,\nTo thy own dogs a prey thou shalt be made;\nIf Heaven and Ph\u0153bus lend the suitors aid.\u201d\nThus they. Aghast he laid the weapon down,\nBut bold Telemachus thus urged him on:\n\u201cProceed, false slave, and slight their empty words:\nWhat! hopes the fool to please so many lords?\nYoung as I am, thy prince\u2019s vengeful hand\nStretch\u2019d forth in wrath shall drive thee from the land.\nOh! could the vigour of this arm as well\nThe oppressive suitors from my walls expel!\nThen what a shoal of lawless men should go\nTo fill with tumult the dark courts below!\u201d\n\nThe suitors with a scornful smile survey\nThe youth, indulging in the genial day.\nEumaeus, thus encouraged, hastes to bring\nThe strifeful bow and gives it to the king.\nOld Euryclea calling then aside,\n\u201cHear what Telemachus enjoins (he cried):\nAt every portal let some matron wait,\nAnd each lock fast the well-compacted gate;\nAnd if unusual sounds invade their ear,\nIf arms, or shouts, or dying groans they hear,\nLet none to call or issue forth presume,\nBut close attend the labours of the loom.\u201d\n\nHer prompt obedience on his order waits;\nClosed in an instant were the palace gates.\nIn the same moment forth Philaetius flies,\nSecures the court, and with a cable ties\nThe utmost gate (the cable strongly wrought\nOf Byblos\u2019 reed, a ship from Egypt brought);\nThen unperceived and silent at the board\nHis seat he takes, his eyes upon his lord.\n\nAnd now his well-known bow the master bore,\nTurn\u2019d on all sides, and view\u2019d it o\u2019er and o\u2019er;\nLest time or worms had done the weapon wrong,\nIts owner absent, and untried so long.\nWhile some deriding\u2014\u201cHow he turns the bow!\nSome other like it sure the man must know,\nOr else would copy; or in bows he deals;\nPerhaps he makes them, or perhaps he steals.\u201d\n\u201cHeaven to this wretch (another cried) be kind!\nAnd bless, in all to which he stands inclined.\nWith such good fortune as he now shall find.\u201d\n\nHeedless he heard them: but disdain\u2019d reply;\nThe bow perusing with exactest eye.\nThen, as some heavenly minstrel, taught to sing\nHigh notes responsive to the trembling string,\nTo some new strain when he adapts the lyre,\nOr the dumb lute refits with vocal wire,\nRelaxes, strains, and draws them to and fro;\nSo the great master drew the mighty bow,\nAnd drew with ease. One hand aloft display\u2019d\nThe bending horns, and one the string essay\u2019d.\nFrom his essaying hand the string, let fly,\nTwang\u2019d short and sharp like the shrill swallow\u2019s cry.\nA general horror ran through all the race,\nSunk was each heart, and pale was every face,\nSigns from above ensued: the unfolding sky\nIn lightning burst; Jove thunder\u2019d from on high.\nFired at the call of heaven\u2019s almighty Lord,\nHe snatch\u2019d the shaft that glitter\u2019d on the board\n(Fast by, the rest lay sleeping in the sheath,\nBut soon to fly the messengers of death).\n\nNow sitting as he was, the cord he drew,\nThrough every ringlet levelling his view:\nThen notch\u2019d the shaft, released, and gave it wing;\nThe whizzing arrow vanished from the string,\nSung on direct, and threaded every ring.\nThe solid gate its fury scarcely bounds;\nPierced through and through the solid gate resounds,\nThen to the prince: \u201cNor have I wrought thee shame;\nNor err\u2019d this hand unfaithful to its aim;\nNor prov\u2019d the toil too hard; nor have I lost\nThat ancient vigour, once my pride and boast.\nIll I deserved these haughty peers\u2019 disdain;\nNow let them comfort their dejected train,\nIn sweet repast their present hour employ,\nNor wait till evening for the genial joy:\nThen to the lute\u2019s soft voice prolong the night;\nMusic, the banquet\u2019s most refined delight.\u201d\n\nHe said, then gave a nod; and at the word\nTelemachus girds on his shining sword.\nFast by his father\u2019s side he takes his stand:\nThe beamy javelin lightens in his hand.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XXII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\nTHE DEATH OF THE SUITORS.\n\n\nUlysses begins the slaughter of the suitors by the death of Antinous.\nHe declares himself, and lets fly his arrows at the rest. Telemachus\nassists and brings arms for his father, himself, Eumaeus, and\nPhilaetius. Melanthius does the same for the wooers. Minerva encourages\nUlysses in the shape of Mentor. The suitors are all slain, only Medon\nand Phemius are spared. Melanthius and the unfaithful servants are\nexecuted. The rest acknowledge their master with all demonstrations of\njoy.\n\n\nThen fierce the hero o\u2019er the threshold strode;\nStripp\u2019d of his rags, he blazed out like a god.\nFull in their face the lifted bow he bore,\nAnd quiver\u2019d deaths, a formidable store;\nBefore his feet the rattling shower he threw,\nAnd thus, terrific, to the suitor-crew:\n\n\u201cOne venturous game this hand hath won to-day,\nAnother, princes! yet remains to play;\nAnother mark our arrow must attain.\nPh\u0153bus, assist! nor be the labour vain.\u201d\nSwift as the word the parting arrow sings,\nAnd bears thy fate, Antinous, on its wings:\nWretch that he was, of unprophetic soul!\nHigh in his hands he rear\u2019d the golden bowl!\nE\u2019en then to drain it lengthen\u2019d out his breath;\nChanged to the deep, the bitter draught of death:\nFor fate who fear\u2019d amidst a feastful band?\nAnd fate to numbers, by a single hand?\nFull through his throat Ulysses\u2019 weapon pass\u2019d,\nAnd pierced his neck. He falls, and breathes his last.\nThe tumbling goblet the wide floor o\u2019erflows,\nA stream of gore burst spouting from his nose;\nGrim in convulsive agonies be sprawls:\nBefore him spurn\u2019d the loaded table falls,\nAnd spreads the pavement with a mingled flood\nOf floating meats, and wine, and human blood.\nAmazed, confounded, as they saw him fall,\nUp rose the throngs tumultuous round the hall:\nO\u2019er all the dome they cast a haggard eye,\nEach look\u2019d for arms\u2014in vain; no arms were nigh:\n\u201cAim\u2019st thou at princes? (all amazed they said;)\nThy last of games unhappy hast thou play\u2019d;\nThy erring shaft has made our bravest bleed,\nAnd death, unlucky guest, attends thy deed.\nVultures shall tear thee.\u201d Thus incensed they spoke,\nWhile each to chance ascribed the wondrous stroke:\nBlind as they were: for death e\u2019en now invades\nHis destined prey, and wraps them all in shades.\nThen, grimly frowning, with a dreadful look,\nThat wither\u2019d all their hearts, Ulysses spoke:\n\n\u201cDogs, ye have had your day! ye fear\u2019d no more\nUlysses vengeful from the Trojan shore;\nWhile, to your lust and spoil a guardless prey,\nOur house, our wealth, our helpless handmaids lay:\nNot so content, with bolder frenzy fired,\nE\u2019en to our bed presumptuous you aspired:\nLaws or divine or human fail\u2019d to move,\nOr shame of men, or dread of gods above;\nHeedless alike of infamy or praise,\nOr Fame\u2019s eternal voice in future days;\nThe hour of vengeance, wretches, now is come;\nImpending fate is yours, and instant doom.\u201d\n\nThus dreadful he. Confused the suitors stood,\nFrom their pale cheeks recedes the flying blood:\nTrembling they sought their guilty heads to hide.\nAlone the bold Eurymachus replied:\n\n\u201cIf, as thy words import (he thus began),\nUlysses lives, and thou the mighty man,\nGreat are thy wrongs, and much hast thou sustain\u2019d\nIn thy spoil\u2019d palace, and exhausted land;\nThe cause and author of those guilty deeds,\nLo! at thy feet unjust Antinous bleeds\nNot love, but wild ambition was his guide;\nTo slay thy son, thy kingdom to divide,\nThese were his aims; but juster Jove denied.\nSince cold in death the offender lies, oh spare\nThy suppliant people, and receive their prayer!\nBrass, gold, and treasures, shall the spoil defray,\nTwo hundred oxen every prince shall pay:\nThe waste of years refunded in a day.\nTill then thy wrath is just.\u201d Ulysses burn\u2019d\nWith high disdain, and sternly thus return\u2019d:\n\n\u201cAll, all the treasure that enrich\u2019d our throne\nBefore your rapines, join\u2019d with all your own,\nIf offer\u2019d, vainly should for mercy call;\n\u2019Tis you that offer, and I scorn them all;\nYour blood is my demand, your lives the prize,\nTill pale as yonder wretch each suitor lies.\nHence with those coward terms; or fight or fly;\nThis choice is left you, to resist or die:\nAnd die I trust ye shall.\u201d He sternly spoke:\nWith guilty fears the pale assembly shook.\nAlone Eurymachus exhorts the train:\n\u201cYon archer, comrades, will not shoot in vain;\nBut from the threshold shall his darts be sped,\n(Whoe\u2019er he be), till every prince lie dead?\nBe mindful of yourselves, draw forth your swords,\nAnd to his shafts obtend these ample boards\n(So need compels). Then, all united, strive\nThe bold invader from his post to drive:\nThe city roused shall to our rescue haste,\nAnd this mad archer soon have shot his last.\u201d\n\nSwift as he spoke, he drew his traitor sword,\nAnd like a lion rush\u2019d against his lord:\nThe wary chief the rushing foe repress\u2019d,\nWho met the point and forced it in his breast:\nHis falling hand deserts the lifted sword,\nAnd prone he falls extended o\u2019er the board!\nBefore him wide, in mix\u2019d effusion roll\nThe untasted viands, and the jovial bowl.\nFull through his liver pass\u2019d the mortal wound,\nWith dying rage his forehead beats the ground;\nHe spurn\u2019d the seat with fury as he fell,\nAnd the fierce soul to darkness dived, and hell.\nNext bold Amphinomus his arm extends\nTo force the pass; the godlike man defends.\nThy spear, Telemachus, prevents the attack,\nThe brazen weapon driving through his back.\nThence through his breast its bloody passage tore;\nFlat falls he thundering on the marble floor,\nAnd his crush\u2019d forehead marks the stone with gore.\nHe left his javelin in the dead, for fear\nThe long encumbrance of the weighty spear\nTo the fierce foe advantage might afford,\nTo rush between and use the shorten\u2019d sword.\nWith speedy ardour to his sire he flies,\nAnd, \u201cArm, great father! arm (in haste he cries).\nLo, hence I run for other arms to wield,\nFor missive javelins, and for helm and shield;\nFast by our side let either faithful swain\nIn arms attend us, and their part sustain.\u201d\n\n\u201cHaste, and return (Ulysses made reply)\nWhile yet the auxiliar shafts this hand supply;\nLest thus alone, encounter\u2019d by an host,\nDriven from the gate, the important past be lost.\u201d\n\nWith speed Telemachus obeys, and flies\nWhere piled in heaps the royal armour lies;\nFour brazen helmets, eight refulgent spears,\nAnd four broad bucklers to his sire he bears:\nAt once in brazen panoply they shone.\nAt once each servant braced his armour on;\nAround their king a faithful guard they stand.\nWhile yet each shaft flew deathful from his hand:\nChief after chief expired at every wound,\nAnd swell\u2019d the bleeding mountain on the ground.\nSoon as his store of flying fates was spent.\nAgainst the wall he set the bow unbent;\nAnd now his shoulders bear the massy shield,\nAnd now his hands two beamy javelins wield:\nHe frowns beneath his nodding plume, that play\u2019d\nO\u2019er the high crest, and cast a dreadful shade.\n\nThere stood a window near, whence looking down\nFrom o\u2019er the porch appear\u2019d the subject town.\nA double strength of valves secured the place,\nA high and narrow, but the only pass:\nThe cautious king, with all-preventing care,\nTo guard that outlet, placed Eumaeus there;\nWhen Agelaus thus: \u201cHas none the sense\nTo mount yon window, and alarm from thence\nThe neighbour-town? the town shall force the door,\nAnd this bold archer soon shall shoot no more.\u201d\nMelanthius then: \u201cThat outlet to the gate\nSo near adjoins, that one may guard the strait.\nBut other methods of defence remain;\nMyself with arms can furnish all the train;\nStores from the royal magazine I bring,\nAnd their own darts shall pierce the prince and king.\u201d\n\nHe said; and mounting up the lofty stairs,\nTwelve shields, twelve lances, and twelve helmets bears:\nAll arm, and sudden round the hall appears\nA blaze of bucklers, and a wood of spears.\n\nThe hero stands oppress\u2019d with mighty woe,\nOn every side he sees the labour grow;\n\u201cOh cursed event! and oh unlook\u2019d for aid!\nMelanthius or the women have betray\u2019d\u2014\nOh my dear son!\u201d\u2014The father with a sigh\nThen ceased; the filial virtue made reply;\n\n\u201cFalsehood is folly, and \u2019tis just to own\nThe fault committed: this was mine alone;\nMy haste neglected yonder door to bar,\nAnd hence the villain has supplied their war.\nRun, good Eumaeus, then, and (what before\nI thoughtless err\u2019d in) well secure that door:\nLearn, if by female fraud this deed were done,\nOr (as my thought misgives) by Dolius\u2019 son.\u201d\n\nWhile yet they spoke, in quest of arms again\nTo the high chamber stole the faithless swain,\nNot unobserved. Eumaeus watchful eyed,\nAnd thus address\u2019d Ulysses near his side:\n\n\u201cThe miscreant we suspected takes that way;\nHim, if this arm be powerful, shall I slay?\nOr drive him hither, to receive the meed\nFrom thy own hand, of this detested deed?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so (replied Ulysses); leave him there,\nFor us sufficient is another care;\nWithin the structure of this palace wall\nTo keep enclosed his masters till they fall.\nGo you, and seize the felon; backward bind\nHis arms and legs, and fix a plank behind:\nOn this his body by strong cords extend,\nAnd on a column near the roof suspend:\nSo studied tortures his vile days shall end.\u201d\n\nThe ready swains obey\u2019d with joyful haste,\nBehind the felon unperceived they pass\u2019d,\nAs round the room in quest of arms he goes\n(The half-shut door conceal\u2019d his lurking foes):\nOne hand sustain\u2019d a helm, and one the shield\nWhich old Laertes wont in youth to wield,\nCover\u2019d with dust, with dryness chapp\u2019d and worn,\nThe brass corroded, and the leather torn.\nThus laden, o\u2019er the threshold as he stepp\u2019d,\nFierce on the villain from each side they leap\u2019d,\nBack by the hair the trembling dastard drew,\nAnd down reluctant on the pavement threw.\nActive and pleased the zealous swains fulfil\nAt every point their master\u2019s rigid will;\nFirst, fast behind, his hands and feet they bound,\nThen straighten\u2019d cords involved his body round;\nSo drawn aloft, athwart the column tied,\nThe howling felon swung from side to side.\n\nEumaeus scoffing then with keen disdain:\n\u201cThere pass thy pleasing night, O gentle swain!\nOn that soft pillow, from that envied height,\nFirst may\u2019st thou see the springing dawn of light;\nSo timely rise, when morning streaks the east,\nTo drive thy victims to the suitors\u2019 feast.\u201d\n\nThis said, they, left him, tortured as he lay,\nSecured the door, and hasty strode away:\nEach, breathing death, resumed his dangerous post\nNear great Ulysses; four against an host,\nWhen lo! descending to her hero\u2019s aid,\nJove\u2019s daughter, Pallas, War\u2019s triumphant maid:\nIn Mentor\u2019s friendly form she join\u2019d his side:\nUlysses saw, and thus with transport cried:\n\n\u201cCome, ever welcome, and thy succour lend;\nO every sacred name in one, my friend!\nEarly we loved, and long our loves have grown;\nWhate\u2019er through life\u2019s whole series I have done,\nOr good, or grateful, now to mind recall,\nAnd, aiding this one hour, repay it all.\u201d\n\nThus he; but pleasing hopes his bosom warm\nOf Pallas latent in the friendly form.\nThe adverse host the phantom-warrior eyed,\nAnd first, loud-threatening, Agelaus cried:\n\n\u201cMentor, beware, nor let that tongue persuade\nThy frantic arm to lend Ulysses aid;\nOur force successful shall our threat make good,\nAnd with the sire and son commix thy blood.\nWhat hopest thou here? Thee first the sword shall slay,\nThen lop thy whole posterity away;\nFar hence thy banish\u2019d consort shall we send;\nWith his thy forfeit lands and treasures blend;\nThus, and thus only, shalt thou join thy friend.\u201d\n\nHis barbarous insult even the goddess fires,\nWho thus the warrior to revenge inspires:\n\n\u201cArt thou Ulysses? where then shall we find\nThe patient body and the constant mind?\nThat courage, once the Trojans\u2019 daily dread,\nKnown nine long years, and felt by heroes dead?\nAnd where that conduct, which revenged the lust\nOf Priam\u2019s race, and laid proud Troy in dust?\nIf this, when Helen was the cause, were done;\nWhat for thy country now, thy queen, thy son?\nRise then in combat, at my side attend;\nObserve what vigour gratitude can lend,\nAnd foes how weak, opposed against a friend!\u201d\n\nShe spoke; but willing longer to survey\nThe sire and son\u2019s great acts withheld the day!\nBy farther toils decreed the brave to try,\nAnd level poised the wings of victory;\nThen with a change of form eludes their sight,\nPerch\u2019d like a swallow on a rafter\u2019s height,\nAnd unperceived enjoys the rising fight.\n\nDamastor\u2019s son, bold Agelaus, leads,\nThe guilty war, Eurynomus succeeds;\nWith these, Pisander, great Polyctor\u2019s son,\nSage Polybus, and stern Amphimedon,\nWith Demoptolemus: these six survive:\nThe best of all the shafts had left alive.\nAmidst the carnage, desperate as they stand,\nThus Agelaus roused the lagging band:\n\n\u201cThe hour has come, when yon fierce man no more\nWith bleeding princes shall bestrew the floor;\nLo! Mentor leaves him with an empty boast;\nThe four remain, but four against an host.\nLet each at once discharge the deadly dart,\nOne sure of six shall reach Ulysses\u2019 heart:\nThe rest must perish, their great leader slain:\nThus shall one stroke the glory lost regain.\u201d\n\nThen all at once their mingled lances threw,\nAnd thirsty all of one man\u2019s blood they flew;\nIn vain! Minerva turned them with her breath,\nAnd scattered short, or wide, the points of death!\nWith deaden\u2019d sound one on the threshold falls,\nOne strikes the gate, one rings against the walls:\nThe storm passed innocent. The godlike man\nNow loftier trod, and dreadful thus began:\n\u201c\u2018Tis now (brave friends) our turn, at once to throw,\n(So speed them Heaven) our javelins at the foe.\nThat impious race to all their past misdeeds\nWould add our blood, injustice still proceeds.\u201d\n\nHe spoke: at once their fiery lances flew:\nGreat Demoptolemus Ulysses slew;\nEuryades received the prince\u2019s dart;\nThe goatherd\u2019s quiver\u2019d in Pisander\u2019s heart;\nFierce Elatus by thine, Eumaeus, falls;\nTheir fall in thunder echoes round the walls.\nThe rest retreat: the victors now advance,\nEach from the dead resumes his bloody lance.\nAgain the foe discharge the steely shower;\nAgain made frustrate by the virgin-power.\nSome, turn\u2019d by Pallas, on the threshold fall,\nSome wound the gate, some ring against the wall;\nSome weak, or ponderous with the brazen head,\nDrop harmless on the pavement, sounding dead.\n\nThen bold Amphimedon his javelin cast:\nThy hand, Telemachus, it lightly razed:\nAnd from Ctesippus\u2019 arm the spear elanced:\nOn good Eumaeus\u2019 shield and shoulder glanced;\nNot lessened of their force (so light the wound)\nEach sung along and dropped upon the ground.\nFate doom\u2019d thee next, Eurydamus, to bear,\nThy death ennobled by Ulysses\u2019 spear.\nBy the bold son Amphimedon was slain,\nAnd Polybus renown\u2019d, the faithful swain.\nPierced through the breast the rude Ctesippus bled,\nAnd thus Philaetius gloried o\u2019er the dead:\n\n\u201cThere end thy pompous vaunts and high disdain;\nO sharp in scandal, voluble and vain!\nHow weak is mortal pride! To Heaven alone\nThe event of actions and our fates are known:\nScoffer, behold what gratitude we bear:\nThe victim\u2019s heel is answered with this spear.\u201d\n\nUlysses brandish\u2019d high his vengeful steel,\nAnd Damastorides that instant fell:\nFast by Leocritus expiring lay,\nThe prince\u2019s javelin tore its bloody way\nThrough all his bowels: down he tumbled prone,\nHis batter\u2019d front and brains besmear the stone.\n\nNow Pallas shines confess\u2019d; aloft she spreads\nThe arm of vengeance o\u2019er their guilty heads:\nThe dreadful aegis blazes in their eye:\nAmazed they see, they tremble, and they fly:\nConfused, distracted, through the rooms they fling:\nLike oxen madden\u2019d by the breeze\u2019s sting,\nWhen sultry days, and long, succeed the gentle spring,\nNot half so keen fierce vultures of the chase\nStoop from the mountains on the feather\u2019d race,\nWhen, the wide field extended snares beset,\nWith conscious dread they shun the quivering net:\nNo help, no flight; but wounded every way,\nHeadlong they drop; the fowlers seize their prey.\nOn all sides thus they double wound on wound,\nIn prostrate heaps the wretches beat the ground,\nUnmanly shrieks precede each dying groan,\nAnd a red deluge floats the reeking stone.\n\nLeiodes first before the victor falls:\nThe wretched augur thus for mercy calls:\n\u201cOh gracious hear, nor let thy suppliant bleed;\nStill undishonoured, or by word or deed,\nThy house, for me remains; by me repress\u2019d\nFull oft was check\u2019d the injustice of the rest:\nAverse they heard me when I counselled well,\nTheir hearts were harden\u2019d, and they justly fell.\nO spare an augur\u2019s consecrated head,\nNor add the blameless to the guilty dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cPriest as thou art! for that detested band\nThy lying prophecies deceived the land;\nAgainst Ulysses have thy vows been made,\nFor them thy daily orisons were paid:\nYet more, e\u2019en to our bed thy pride aspires:\nOne common crime one common fate requires.\u201d\n\nThus speaking, from the ground the sword he took\nWhich Agelaus\u2019 dying hand forsook:\nFull through his neck the weighty falchion sped;\nAlong the pavement roll\u2019d the muttering head.\n\nPhemius alone the hand of vengeance spared,\nPhemius the sweet, the heaven-instructed bard.\nBeside the gate the reverend minstrel stands;\nThe lyre now silent trembling in his hands;\nDubious to supplicate the chief, or fly\nTo Jove\u2019s inviolable altar nigh,\nWhere oft Laertes holy vows had paid,\nAnd oft Ulysses smoking victims laid.\nHis honour\u2019d harp with care he first set down,\nBetween the laver and the silver throne;\nThen prostrate stretch\u2019d before the dreadful man,\nPersuasive thus, with accent soft began:\n\n\u201cO king! to mercy be thy soul inclined,\nAnd spare the poet\u2019s ever-gentle kind.\nA deed like this thy future fame would wrong,\nFor dear to gods and men is sacred song.\nSelf-taught I sing; by Heaven, and Heaven alone,\nThe genuine seeds of poesy are sown:\nAnd (what the gods bestow) the lofty lay\nTo gods alone and godlike worth we pay.\nSave then the poet, and thyself reward!\n\u2019Tis thine to merit, mine is to record.\nThat here I sung, was force, and not desire;\nThis hand reluctant touch\u2019d the warbling wire;\nAnd let thy son attest, nor sordid pay,\nNor servile flattery, stain\u2019d the moral lay.\u201d\n\nThe moving words Telemachus attends,\nHis sire approaches, and the bard defends.\n\u201cO mix not, father, with those impious dead\nThe man divine! forbear that sacred head;\nMedon, the herald, too, our arms may spare,\nMedon, who made my infancy his care;\nIf yet he breathes, permit thy son to give\nThus much to gratitude, and bid him live.\u201d\n\nBeneath a table, trembling with dismay,\nCouch\u2019d close to earth, unhappy Medon lay,\nWrapp\u2019d in a new-slain ox\u2019s ample hide;\nSwift at the word he cast his screen aside,\nSprung to the prince, embraced his knee with tears,\nAnd thus with grateful voice address\u2019d his ears\n\n\u201cO prince! O friend! lo, here thy Medon stands\nAh stop the hero\u2019s unresisted hands,\nIncensed too justly by that impious brood,\nWhose guilty glories now are set in blood.\u201d\nTo whom Ulysses with a pleasing eye:\n\n\u201cBe bold, on friendship and my son rely;\nLive, an example for the world to read,\nHow much more safe the good than evil deed:\nThou, with the heaven-taught bard, in peace resort\nFrom blood and carnage to yon open court:\nMe other work requires.\u201d With timorous awe\nFrom the dire scene the exempted two withdraw,\nScarce sure of life, look round, and trembling move\nTo the bright altars of Protector Jove.\n\nMeanwhile Ulysses search\u2019d the dome, to find\nIf yet there live of all the offending kind.\nNot one! complete the bloody tale he found,\nAll steep\u2019d in blood, all gasping on the ground.\nSo, when by hollow shores the fisher-train\nSweep with their arching nets the roaring main,\nAnd scarce the meshy toils the copious draught contain,\nAll naked of their element, and bare,\nThe fishes pant, and gasp in thinner air;\nWide o\u2019er the sands are spread the stiffening prey,\nTill the warm sun exhales their soul away.\n\nAnd now the king commands his son to call\nOld Euryclea to the deathful hall:\nThe son observant not a moment stays;\nThe aged governess with speed obeys;\nThe sounding portals instant they display;\nThe matron moves, the prince directs the way.\nOn heaps of death the stern Ulysses stood,\nAll black with dust, and cover\u2019d thick with blood.\nSo the grim lion from the slaughter comes,\nDreadful he glares, and terribly he foams,\nHis breast with marks of carnage painted o\u2019er,\nHis jaws all dropping with the bull\u2019s black gore.\n\nSoon as her eyes the welcome object met,\nThe guilty fall\u2019n, the mighty deed complete;\nA scream of joy her feeble voice essay\u2019d;\nThe hero check\u2019d her, and composedly said.\n\n\u201cWoman, experienced as thou art, control\nIndecent joy, and feast thy secret soul.\nTo insult the dead is cruel and unjust;\nFate and their crime have sunk them to the dust.\nNor heeded these the censure of mankind,\nThe good and bad were equal in their mind\nJustly the price of worthlessness they paid,\nAnd each now wails an unlamented shade.\nBut thou sincere! O Euryclea, say,\nWhat maids dishonour us, and what obey?\u201d\n\nThen she: \u201cIn these thy kingly walls remain\n(My son) full fifty of the handmaid train,\nTaught by my care to cull the fleece or weave,\nAnd servitude with pleasing tasks deceive;\nOf these, twice six pursue their wicked way,\nNor me, nor chaste Penelope obey;\nNor fits it that Telemachus command\n(Young as he is) his mother\u2019s female band.\nHence to the upper chambers let me fly\nWhere slumbers soft now close the royal eye;\nThere wake her with the news\u201d\u2014the matron cried.\n\u201cNot so (Ulysses, more sedate, replied),\nBring first the crew who wrought these guilty deeds.\u201d\nIn haste the matron parts: the king proceeds;\n\u201cNow to dispose the dead, the care remains\nTo you, my son, and you, my faithfull swains;\nThe offending females to that task we doom,\nTo wash, to scent, and purify the room;\nThese (every table cleansed, and every throne,\nAnd all the melancholy labour done)\nDrive to yon court, without the palace wall,\nThere the revenging sword shall smite them all;\nSo with the suitors let them mix in dust,\nStretch\u2019d in a long oblivion of their lust.\u201d\nHe said: the lamentable train appear,\nEach vents a groan, and drops a tender tear;\nEach heaved her mournful burden, and beneath\nThe porch deposed the ghastly heap of death.\nThe chief severe, compelling each to move,\nUrged the dire task imperious from above;\nWith thirsty sponge they rub the tables o\u2019er\n(The swains unite their toil); the walls, the floor,\nWash\u2019d with the effusive wave, are purged of gore.\nOnce more the palace set in fair array,\nTo the base court the females take their way;\nThere compass\u2019d close between the dome and wall\n(Their life\u2019s last scene) they trembling wait their fall.\n\nThen thus the prince: \u201cTo these shall we afford\nA fate so pure as by the martial sword?\nTo these, the nightly prostitutes to shame,\nAnd base revilers of our house and name?\u201d\n\nThus speaking, on the circling wall he strung\nA ship\u2019s tough cable from a column hung;\nNear the high top he strain\u2019d it strongly round,\nWhence no contending foot could reach the ground.\nTheir heads above connected in a row,\nThey beat the air with quivering feet below:\nThus on some tree hung struggling in the snare,\nThe doves or thrushes flap their wings in air.\nSoon fled the soul impure, and left behind\nThe empty corse to waver with the wind.\n\nThen forth they led Melanthius, and began\nTheir bloody work; they lopp\u2019d away the man,\nMorsel for dogs! then trimm\u2019d with brazen shears\nThe wretch, and shorten\u2019d of his nose and ears;\nHis hands and feet last felt the cruel steel:\nHe roar\u2019d, and torments gave his soul to hell.\nThey wash, and to Ulysses take their way:\nSo ends the bloody business of the day.\n\nTo Euryclea then address\u2019d the king:\n\u201cBring hither fire, and hither sulphur bring,\nTo purge the palace: then the queen attend,\nAnd let her with her matron-train descend;\nThe matron-train, with all the virgin-band,\nAssemble here, to learn their lord\u2019s command.\u201d\n\nThen Euryclea: \u201cJoyful I obey,\nBut cast those mean dishonest rags away;\nPermit me first the royal robes to bring:\nIll suits this garb the shoulders of a king.\u201d\n\u201cBring sulphur straight, and fire\u201d (the monarch cries).\nShe hears, and at the word obedient flies.\nWith fire and sulphur, cure of noxious fumes,\nHe purged the walls, and blood-polluted rooms.\nAgain the matron springs with eager pace,\nAnd spreads her lord\u2019s return from place to place.\nThey hear, rush forth, and instant round him stand,\nA gazing throng, a torch in every hand.\nThey saw, they knew him, and with fond embrace\nEach humbly kiss\u2019d his knee, or hand, or face;\nHe knows them all, in all such truth appears,\nE\u2019en he indulges the sweet joy of tears.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XXIII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nEuryclea awakens Penelope with the news of Ulysses\u2019 return, and the\ndeath of the suitors. Penelope scarcely credits her; but supposes some\ngod has punished them, and descends from her department in doubt. At\nthe first interview of Ulysses and Penelope, she is quite unsatisfied.\nMinerva restores him to the beauty of his youth; but the queen\ncontinues incredulous, till by some circumstances she is convinced, and\nfalls into all the transports of passion and tenderness. They recount\nto each other all that has passed during their long separation. The\nnext morning Ulysses, arming himself and his friends, goes from the\ncity to visit his father.\n\n\nThen to the queen, as in repose she lay,\nThe nurse with eager rapture speeds her way:\nThe transports of her faithful heart supply\nA sudden youth, and give her wings to fly.\n\n\u201cAnd sleeps my child? (the reverend matron cries)\nUlysses lives! arise, my child, arise!\nAt length appears the long-expected hour!\nUlysses comes! the suitors are no more!\nNo more they view the golden light of day!\nArise, and bless thee with the glad survey?\u201d\n\nTouch\u2019d at her words, the mournful queen rejoin\u2019d:\n\u201cAh! whither wanders thy distemper\u2019d mind?\nThe righteous powers, who tread the starry skies,\nThe weak enlighten, and confound the wise,\nAnd human thought, with unresisted sway,\nDepress or raise, enlarge or take away:\nTruth, by their high decree, thy voice forsakes,\nAnd folly with the tongue of wisdom speaks.\nUnkind, the fond illusion to impose!\nWas it to flatter or deride my woes?\nNever did I sleep so sweet enjoy,\nSince my dear lord left Ithaca for Troy.\nWhy must I wake to grieve, and curse thy shore,\nO Troy?\u2014may never tongue pronounce thee more!\nBegone! another might have felt our rage,\nBut age is sacred, and we spare thy age.\u201d\n\nTo whom with warmth: \u201cMy soul a lie disdains;\nUlysses lives, thy own Ulysses reigns:\nThat stranger, patient of the suitors\u2019 wrongs,\nAnd the rude license of ungovern\u2019d tongues!\nHe, he is thine! Thy son his latent guest\nLong knew, but lock\u2019d the secret in his breast:\nWith well concerted art to end his woes,\nAnd burst at once in vengeance on the foes.\u201d\n\nWhile yet she spoke, the queen in transport sprung\nSwift from the couch, and round the matron hung;\nFast from her eye descends the rolling tear:\n\u201cSay, once more say, is my Ulysses here?\nHow could that numerous and outrageous band\nBy one be slain, though by a hero\u2019s hand?\u201d\n\n\u201cI saw it not (she cries), but heard alone,\nWhen death was busy, a loud dying groan;\nThe damsel-train turn\u2019d pale at every wound,\nImmured we sate, and catch\u2019d each passing sound;\nWhen death had seized her prey, thy son attends,\nAnd at his nod the damsel-train descends;\nThere terrible in arms Ulysses stood,\nAnd the dead suitors almost swam in blood:\nThy heart had leap\u2019d the hero to survey,\nStern as the surly lion o\u2019er his prey,\nGlorious in gore, now with sulphereous fire\nThe dome he purges, now the flame aspires;\nHeap\u2019d lie the dead without the palace walls\u2014\nHaste, daughter, haste, thy own Ulysses calls!\nThy every wish the bounteous gods bestow;\nEnjoy the present good, and former woe.\nUlysses lives, his vanquish\u2019d foes to see;\nHe lives to thy Telemachus and thee!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, no! (with sighs Penelope rejoin\u2019d,)\nExcess of joy disturbs thy wandering mind;\nHow blest this happy hour, should he appear,\nDear to us all, to me supremely dear;\nAh, no! some god the suitors death decreed,\nSome god descends, and by his hand they bleed;\nBlind! to contemn the stranger\u2019s righteous cause,\nAnd violate all hospitable laws!\nThe good they hated, and the powers defied!\nBut heaven is just, and by a god they died.\nFor never must Ulysses view this shore;\nNever! the loved Ulysses is no more!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat words (the matron cries) have reach\u2019d my ears?\nDoubt we his presence, when he now appears!\nThen hear conviction: Ere the fatal day\nThat forced Ulysses o\u2019er the watery way,\nA boar, fierce rushing in the sylvan war,\nPlough\u2019d half his thigh; I saw, I saw the scar,\nAnd wild with transport had reveal\u2019d the wound;\nBut ere I spoke, he rose, and check\u2019d the sound.\nThen, daughter, haste away! and if a lie\nFlow from this tongue, then let thy servant die!\u201d\nTo whom with dubious joy the queen replies:\n\u201cWise is thy soul, but errors seize the wise;\nThe works of gods what mortal can survey?\nWho knows their motives, who shall trace their way?\nBut learn we instant how the suitors trod\nThe paths of death, by man, or by a god.\u201d\nThus speaks the queen, and no reply attends,\nBut with alternate joy and fear descends;\nAt every step debates her lord to prove;\nOr, rushing to his arms, confess her love!\nThen gliding through the marble valves, in state\nOpposed, before the shining sire she sate.\nThe monarch, by a column high enthroned,\nHis eye withdrew, and fix\u2019d it on the ground;\nCurious to hear his queen the silence break:\nAmazed she sate, and impotent to speak;\nO\u2019er all the man her eyes she rolls in vain,\nNow hopes, now fears, now knows, then doubts again.\nAt length Telemachus: \u201cOh, who can find\nA woman like Penelope unkind?\nWhy thus in silence? why with winning charms\nThus slow to fly with rapture to his arms?\nStubborn the breast that with no transport glows,\nWhen twice ten years are pass\u2019d of mighty woes;\nTo softness lost, to spousal love unknown,\nThe gods have formed that rigid heart of stone!\u201d\n\u201cO my Telemachus! (the queen rejoin\u2019d,)\nDistracting fears confound my labouring mind;\nPowerless to speak. I scarce uplift my eyes,\nNor dare to question; doubts on doubts arise.\nOh deign he, if Ulysses, to remove\nThese boding thoughts, and what he is, to prove!\u201d\nPleased with her virtuous fears, the king replies:\n\u201cIndulge, my son, the cautions of the wise;\nTime shall the truth to sure remembrance bring:\nThis garb of poverty belies the king:\nNo more. This day our deepest care requires,\nCautious to act what thought mature inspires.\nIf one man\u2019s blood, though mean, distain our hands,\nThe homicide retreats to foreign lands;\nBy us, in heaps the illustrious peerage falls,\nThe important deed our whole attention calls.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe that thy care (Telemachus replies)\nThe world conspires to speak Ulysses wise;\nFor wisdom all is thine! lo, I obey,\nAnd dauntless follow where you led the way;\nNor shalt thou in the day of danger find\nThy coward son degenerate lag behind.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen instant to the bath (the monarch cries),\nBid the gay youth and sprightly virgins rise,\nThence all descend in pomp and proud array,\nAnd bid the dome resound the mirthful lay;\nWhile the sweet lyrist airs of rapture sings,\nAnd forms the dance responsive to the strings,\nThat hence the eluded passengers may say,\n\u2018Lo! the queen weds! we hear the spousal lay!\u2019\nThe suitor\u2019s death, unknown, till we remove\nFar from the court, and act inspired by Jove.\u201d\n\nThus spoke the king: the observant train obey,\nAt once they bathe, and dress in proud array:\nThe lyrist strikes the string; gay youths advance,\nAnd fair-zoned damsels form the sprightly dance.\nThe voice, attuned to instrumental sounds,\nAscends the roof, the vaulted roof rebounds;\nNot unobserved: the Greeks eluded say,\n\u201cLo! the queen weds, we hear the spousal lay!\nInconstant! to admit the bridal hour.\u201d\nThus they\u2014but nobly chaste she weds no more.\n\nMeanwhile the wearied king the bath ascends;\nWith faithful cares Eurynome attends,\nO\u2019er every limb a shower of fragrance sheds;\nThen, dress\u2019d in pomp, magnificent he treads.\nThe warrior-goddess gives his frame to shine\nWith majesty enlarged, and grace divine.\nBack from his brows in wavy ringlets fly\nHis thick large locks of hyacinthine dye.\nAs by some artist to whom Vulcan gives\nHis heavenly skill, a breathing image lives;\nBy Pallas taught, he frames the wondrous mould,\nAnd the pale silver glows with fusile gold:\nSo Pallas his heroic form improves\nWith bloom divine, and like a god he moves!\nMore high he treads, and issuing forth in state,\nRadiant before his gazing consort sate.\n\u201cAnd, O my queen! (he cries) what power above\nHas steel\u2019d that heart, averse to spousal love?\nCanst thou, Penelope, when heaven restores\nThy lost Ulysses to his native shores,\nCanst thou, O cruel! unconcern\u2019d survey\nThy lost Ulysses, on this signal day?\nHaste, Euryclea, and despatchful spread\nFor me, and me alone, the imperial bed,\nMy weary nature craves the balm of rest.\nBut Heaven with adamant has arm\u2019d her breast.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh no! (she cries) a tender heart I bear,\nA foe to pride: no adamant is there;\nAnd now, e\u2019en now it melts! for sure I see\nOnce more Ulysses my beloved in thee!\nFix\u2019d in my soul, as when he sailed to Troy,\nHis image dwells: then haste the bed of joy,\nHaste, from the bridal bower the bed translate,\nFram\u2019d by his hand, and be it dress\u2019d in state!\u201d\n\nThus speaks the queen, still dubious, with disguise\nTouch\u2019d at her words, the king with warmth replies\n\u201cAlas for this! what mortal strength can move\nThe enormous burden, who but Heaven above?\nIt mocks the weak attempts of human hands!\nBut the whole earth must move if Heaven commands\nThen hear sure evidence, while we display\nWords seal\u2019d with sacred truth and truth obey:\nThis hand the wonder framed; an olive spread\nFull in the court its ever verdant head.\nVast as some mighty column\u2019s bulk, on high\nThe huge trunk rose, and heaved into the sky;\nAround the tree I raised a nuptial bower,\nAnd roof\u2019d defensive of the storm and shower;\nThe spacious valve, with art inwrought conjoins;\nAnd the fair dome with polished marble shines.\nI lopp\u2019d the branchy head: aloft in twain\nSever\u2019d the bole, and smoothed the shining grain;\nThen posts, capacious of the frame, I raise,\nAnd bore it, regular, from space to space:\nAthwart the frame, at equal distance lie\nThongs of tough hides, that boast a purple dye;\nThen polishing the whole, the finished mould\nWith silver shone, with elephant, and gold.\nBut if o\u2019erturn\u2019d by rude, ungovern\u2019d hands,\nOr still inviolate the olive stands,\n\u2019Tis thine, O queen, to say, and now impart,\nIf fears remain, or doubts distract thy heart.\u201d\n\nWhile yet he speaks, her powers of life decay;\nShe sickens, trembles, falls, and faints away.\nAt length recovering, to his arms she flew,\nAnd strain\u2019d him close, as to his breast she grew.\nThe tears pour\u2019d down amain, and \u201cO (she cries)\nLet not against thy spouse thine anger rise!\nO versed in every turn of human art,\nForgive the weakness of a woman\u2019s heart!\nThe righteous powers, that mortal lot dispose,\nDecree us to sustain a length of woes.\nAnd from the flower of life the bliss deny\nTo bloom together, fade away, and die.\nO let me, let me not thine anger move,\nThat I forbore, thus, thus to speak my love:\nThus in fond kisses, while the transport warms\nPour out my soul and die within thine arms!\nI dreaded fraud! Men, faithless men, betray\nOur easy faith, and make our sex their prey:\nAgainst the fondness of my heart I strove:\n\u2019Twas caution, O my lord! not want of love.\nLike me had Helen fear\u2019d, with wanton charms\nEre the fair mischief set two worlds in arms;\nEre Greece rose dreadful in the avenging day;\nThus had she fear\u2019d, she had not gone astray.\nBut Heaven, averse to Greece, in wrath decreed\nThat she should wander, and that Greece should bleed:\nBlind to the ills that from injustice flow,\nShe colour\u2019d all our wretched lives with woe.\nBut why these sorrows when my lord arrives?\nI yield, I yield! my own Ulysses lives!\nThe secrets of the bridal bed are known\nTo thee, to me, to Actoris alone\n(My father\u2019s present in the spousal hour,\nThe sole attendant on our genial bower).\nSince what no eye hath seen thy tongue reveal\u2019d,\nHard and distrustful as I am, I yield.\u201d\n\nTouch\u2019d to the soul, the king with rapture hears,\nHangs round her neck, and speaks his joy in tears.\nAs to the shipwreck\u2019d mariner, the shores\nDelightful rise, when angry Neptune roars:\nThen, when the surge in thunder mounts the sky,\nAnd gulf\u2019d in crowds at once the sailors die;\nIf one, more happy, while the tempest raves,\nOutlives the tumult of conflicting waves,\nAll pale, with ooze deform\u2019d, he views the strand,\nAnd plunging forth with transport grasps the land:\nThe ravish\u2019d queen with equal rapture glows,\nClasps her loved lord, and to his bosom grows.\nNor had they ended till the morning ray,\nBut Pallas backward held the rising day,\nThe wheels of night retarding, to detain\nThe gay Aurora in the wavy main;\nWhose flaming steeds, emerging through the night,\nBeam o\u2019er the eastern hills with streaming light.\n\nAt length Ulysses with a sigh replies:\n\u201cYet Fate, yet cruel Fate repose denies;\nA labour long, and hard, remains behind;\nBy heaven above, by hell beneath enjoin\u2019d:\nFor to Tiresias through the eternal gates\nOf hell I trode, to learn my future fates.\nBut end we here\u2014the night demands repose,\nBe deck\u2019d the couch! and peace awhile, my woes!\u201d\n\nTo whom the queen: \u201cThy word we shall obey,\nAnd deck the couch; far hence be woes away:\nSince the just gods, who tread the starry plains,\nRestore thee safe, since my Ulysses reigns.\nBut what those perils heaven decrees, impart;\nKnowledge may grieve, but fear distracts the heart.\u201d\n\nTo this the king: \u201cAh, why must I disclose\nA dreadful story of approaching woes?\nWhy in this hour of transport wound thy ears,\nWhen thou must learn what I must speak with tears?\nHeaven, by the Theban ghost, thy spouse decrees,\nTorn from thy arms, to sail a length of seas;\nFrom realm to realm, a nation to explore\nWho ne\u2019er knew salt, or heard the billows roar,\nNor saw gay vessel storm the surgy plain,\nA painted wonder, flying on the main:\nAn oar my hand must bear; a shepherd eyes\nThe unknown instrument with strange surprise,\nAnd calls a corn-van; this upon the plain\nI fix, and hail the monarch of the main;\nThen bathe his altars with the mingled gore\nOf victims vow\u2019d, a ram, a bull, a boar;\nThence swift re-sailing to my native shores,\nDue victims slay to all the ethereal powers.\nThen Heaven decrees, in peace to end my days\nAnd steal myself from life by slow decays!\nUnknown to pain, in age resign my breath,\nWhen late stern Neptune points the shaft of death;\nTo the dark grave retiring as to rest;\nMy people blessing, by my people bless\u2019d.\nSuch future scenes the all-righteous powers display\nBy their dread seer, and such my future day.\u201d\n\nTo whom thus firm of soul: \u201cIf ripe for death,\nAnd full of days, thou gently yield thy breath;\nWhile Heaven a kind release from ills foreshows,\nTriumph, thou happy victor of thy woes?\u201d\n\nBut Euryclea, with dispatchful care,\nAnd sage Eurynome, the couch prepare;\nInstant they bid the blazing torch display\nAround the dome and artificial day;\nThen to repose her steps the matron bends,\nAnd to the queen Eurynome descends;\nA torch she bears, to light with guiding fires\nThe royal pair; she guides them, and retires\nThe instant his fair spouse Ulysses led\nTo the chaste love-rites of the nuptial bed.\n\nAnd now the blooming youths and sprightly fair\nCease the gay dance, and to their rest repair;\nBut in discourse the king and consort lay,\nWhile the soft hours stole unperceived away;\nIntent he hears Penelope disclose\nA mournful story of domestic woes,\nHis servants\u2019 insults, his invaded bed,\nHow his whole flocks and herds exhausted bled,\nHis generous wines dishonour\u2019d shed in vain,\nAnd the wild riots of the suitor-train.\nThe king alternate a dire tale relates,\nOf wars, of triumphs, and disastrous fates;\nAll he unfolds; his listening spouse turns pale\nWith pleasing horror at the dreadful tale;\nSleepless devours each word; and hears how slain\nCicons on Cicons swell the ensanguined plain;\nHow to the land of Lote unbless\u2019d he sails;\nAnd images the rills and flowery vales!\nHow dash\u2019d like dogs, his friends the Cyclops tore\n(Not unrevenged), and quaff\u2019d the spouting gore;\nHow the loud storms in prison bound, he sails\nFrom friendly Aeolus with prosperous gales:\nYet fate withstands! a sudden tempest roars,\nAnd whirls him groaning from his native shores:\nHow on the barbarous Laestrigonian coast,\nBy savage hands his fleet and friends lie lost;\nHow scarce himself survived: he paints the bower,\nThe spells of Circe, and her magic power;\nHis dreadful journey to the realms beneath,\nTo seek Tiresias in the vales of death;\nHow in the doleful mansions lie survey\u2019d\nHis royal mother, pale Anticlea\u2019s shade;\nAnd friends in battle slain, heroic ghosts!\nThen how, unharm\u2019d, he pass\u2019d the Syren-coasts,\nThe justling rocks where fierce Charybdis raves,\nAnd howling Scylla whirls her thunderous waves,\nThe cave of death! How his companions slay\nThe oxen sacred to the god of day.\nTill Jove in wrath the rattling tempest guides,\nAnd whelms the offenders in the roaring tides:\nHow struggling through the surge he reach\u2019d the shores\nOf fair Ogygia and Calypso\u2019s bowers;\nWhere the gay blooming nymph constrain\u2019d his stay,\nWith sweet, reluctant, amorous delay;\nAnd promised, vainly promised, to bestow\nImmortal life, exempt from age and woe:\nHow saved from storms Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s coast he trod,\nBy great Alcinous honour\u2019d as a god,\nWho gave him last his country to behold,\nWith change of raiment, brass, and heaps of gold\n\nHe ended, sinking into sleep, and shares\nA sweet forgetfulness of all his cares.\n\nSoon as soft slumber eased the toils of day,\nMinerva rushes through the a\u00ebrial way,\nAnd bids Aurora with her golden wheels\nFlame from the ocean o\u2019er the eastern hills;\nUprose Ulysses from the genial bed,\nAnd thus with thought mature the monarch said:\n\n\u201cMy queen, my consort! through a length of years\nWe drank the cup of sorrow mix\u2019d with tears;\nThou, for thy lord; while me the immortal powers\nDetain\u2019d reluctant from my native shores.\nNow, bless\u2019d again by Heaven, the queen display,\nAnd rule our palace with an equal sway.\nBe it my care, by loans, or martial toils,\nTo throng my empty folds with gifts or spoils.\nBut now I haste to bless Laertes\u2019 eyes\nWith sight of his Ulysses ere he dies;\nThe good old man, to wasting woes a prey,\nWeeps a sad life in solitude away.\nBut hear, though wise! This morning shall unfold\nThe deathful scene, on heroes heroes roll\u2019d.\nThou with thy maids within the palace stay,\nFrom all the scene of tumult far away!\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and sheathed in arms incessant flies\nTo wake his son, and bid his friends arise.\n\u201cTo arms!\u201d aloud he cries; his friends obey,\nWith glittering arms their manly limbs array,\nAnd pass the city gate; Ulysses leads the way.\nNow flames the rosy dawn, but Pallas shrouds\nThe latent warriors in a veil of clouds.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XXIV.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nThe souls of the suitors are conducted by Mercury to the infernal\nshades. Ulysses in the country goes to the retirement of his father,\nLaertes; he finds him busied in his garden all alone; the manner of his\ndiscovery to him is beautifully described. They return together to his\nlodge, and the king is acknowledged by Dolius and the servants. The\nIthacensians, led by Eupithes, the father of Antinous, rise against\nUlysses, who gives them battle in which Eupithes is killed by Laertes:\nand the goddess Pallas makes a lasting peace between Ulysses and his\nsubjects, which concludes the Odyssey.\n\n\nCyllenius now to Pluto\u2019s dreary reign\nConveys the dead, a lamentable train!\nThe golden wand, that causes sleep to fly,\nOr in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye,\nThat drives the ghosts to realms of night or day,\nPoints out the long uncomfortable way.\nTrembling the spectres glide, and plaintive vent\nThin, hollow screams, along the deep descent.\nAs in the cavern of some rifted den,\nWhere flock nocturnal bats, and birds obscene;\nCluster\u2019d they hang, till at some sudden shock\nThey move, and murmurs run through all the rock!\nSo cowering fled the sable heaps of ghosts,\nAnd such a scream fill\u2019d all the dismal coasts.\nAnd now they reach\u2019d the earth\u2019s remotest ends,\nAnd now the gates where evening Sol descends,\nAnd Leucas\u2019 rock, and Ocean\u2019s utmost streams,\nAnd now pervade the dusky land of dreams,\nAnd rest at last, where souls unbodied dwell\nIn ever-flowing meads of asphodel.\nThe empty forms of men inhabit there,\nImpassive semblance, images of air!\nNaught else are all that shined on earth before:\nAjax and great Achilles are no more!\nYet still a master ghost, the rest he awed,\nThe rest adored him, towering as he trod;\nStill at his side is Nestor\u2019s son survey\u2019d,\nAnd loved Patroclus still attends his shade.\n\nNew as they were to that infernal shore,\nThe suitors stopp\u2019d, and gazed the hero o\u2019er.\nWhen, moving slow, the regal form they view\u2019d\nOf great Atrides: him in pomp pursued\nAnd solemn sadness through the gloom of hell,\nThe train of those who by AEgysthus fell:\n\n\u201cO mighty chief! (Pelides thus began)\nHonour\u2019d by Jove above the lot of man!\nKing of a hundred kings! to whom resign\u2019d\nThe strongest, bravest, greatest of mankind\nComest thou the first, to view this dreary state?\nAnd was the noblest, the first mark of Fate,\nCondemn\u2019d to pay the great arrear so soon,\nThe lot, which all lament, and none can shun!\nOh! better hadst thou sunk in Trojan ground,\nWith all thy full-blown honours cover\u2019d round;\nThen grateful Greece with streaming eyes might raise\nHistoric marbles to record thy praise:\nThy praise eternal on the faithful stone\nHad with transmissive glories graced thy son.\nBut heavier fates were destined to attend:\nWhat man is happy, till he knows his end?\u201d\n\n\u201cO son of Peleus! greater than mankind!\n(Thus Agamemnon\u2019s kingly shade rejoin\u2019d)\nThrice happy thou, to press the martial plain\n\u2019Midst heaps of heroes in thy quarrel slain:\nIn clouds of smoke raised by the noble fray,\nGreat and terrific e\u2019en in death you lay,\nAnd deluges of blood flow\u2019d round you every way.\nNor ceased the strife till Jove himself opposed,\nAnd all in Tempests the dire evening closed.\nThen to the fleet we bore thy honour\u2019d load,\nAnd decent on the funeral bed bestow\u2019d;\nThen unguents sweet and tepid streams we shed;\nTears flow\u2019d from every eye, and o\u2019er the dead\nEach clipp\u2019d the curling honours of his head.\nStruck at the news, thy azure mother came,\nThe sea-green sisters waited on the dame:\nA voice of loud lament through all the main\nWas heard; and terror seized the Grecian train:\nBack to their ships the frighted host had fled;\nBut Nestor spoke, they listen\u2019d and obey\u2019d\n(From old experience Nestor\u2019s counsel springs,\nAnd long vicissitudes of human things):\n\u2018Forbear your flight: fair Thetis from the main\nTo mourn Achilles leads her azure train.\u2019\nAround thee stand the daughters of the deep,\nRobe thee in heavenly vests, and round thee weep:\nRound thee, the Muses, with alternate strain,\nIn ever-consecrating verse, complain.\nEach warlike Greek the moving music hears,\nAnd iron-hearted heroes melt in tears.\nTill seventeen nights and seventeen days return\u2019d\nAll that was mortal or immortal mourn\u2019d,\nTo flames we gave thee, the succeeding day,\nAnd fatted sheep and sable oxen slay;\nWith oils and honey blazed the augmented fires,\nAnd, like a god adorn\u2019d, thy earthly part expires.\nUnnumber\u2019d warriors round the burning pile\nUrge the fleet coursers or the racer\u2019s toil;\nThick clouds of dust o\u2019er all the circle rise,\nAnd the mix\u2019d clamour thunders in the skies.\nSoon as absorb\u2019d in all-embracing flame\nSunk what was mortal of thy mighty name,\nWe then collect thy snowy bones, and place\nWith wines and unguents in a golden vase\n(The vase to Thetis Bacchus gave of old,\nAnd Vulcan\u2019s art enrich\u2019d the sculptured gold).\nThere, we thy relics, great Achilles! blend\nWith dear Patroclus, thy departed friend:\nIn the same urn a separate space contains\nThy next beloved, Antilochus\u2019 remains.\nNow all the sons of warlike Greece surround\nThy destined tomb and cast a mighty mound;\nHigh on the shore the growing hill we raise,\nThat wide the extended Hellespont surveys;\nWhere all, from age to age, who pass the coast,\nMay point Achilles\u2019 tomb, and hail the mighty ghost.\nThetis herself to all our peers proclaims\nHeroic prizes and exequial games;\nThe gods assented; and around thee lay\nRich spoils and gifts that blazed against the day.\nOft have I seen with solemn funeral games\nHeroes and kings committed to the flames;\nBut strength of youth, or valour of the brave,\nWith nobler contest ne\u2019er renown\u2019d a grave.\nSuch were the games by azure Thetis given,\nAnd such thy honours, O beloved of Heaven!\nDear to mankind thy fame survives, nor fades\nIts bloom eternal in the Stygian shades.\nBut what to me avail my honours gone,\nSuccessful toils, and battles bravely won?\nDoom\u2019d by stern Jove at home to end my life,\nBy cursed \u00c6gysthus, and a faithless wife!\u201d\nThus they: while Hermes o\u2019er the dreary plain\nLed the sad numbers by Ulysses slain.\nOn each majestic form they cast a view,\nAnd timorous pass\u2019d, and awfully withdrew.\nBut Agamemnon, through the gloomy shade,\nHis ancient host Amphimedon survey\u2019d:\n\u201cSon of Melanthius! (he began) O say!\nWhat cause compell\u2019d so many, and so gay,\nTo tread the downward, melancholy way?\nSay, could one city yield a troop so fair?\nWere all these partners of one native air?\nOr did the rage of stormy Neptune sweep\nYour lives at once, and whelm beneath the deep?\nDid nightly thieves, or pirates\u2019 cruel bands,\nDrench with your blood your pillaged country\u2019s sands?\nOr well-defending some beleaguer\u2019d wall,\nSay,\u2014for the public did ye greatly fall?\nInform thy guest: for such I was of yore\nWhen our triumphant navies touch\u2019d your shore;\nForced a long month the wintry seas to bear,\nTo move the great Ulysses to the war.\u201d\n\n\u201cO king of men! I faithful shall relate\n(Replied Amphimedon) our hapless fate.\nUlysses absent, our ambitious aim\nWith rival loves pursued his royal dame;\nHer coy reserve, and prudence mix\u2019d with pride,\nOur common suit nor granted, nor denied;\nBut close with inward hate our deaths design\u2019d;\nVersed in all arts of wily womankind.\nHer hand, laborious, in delusion spread\nA spacious loom, and mix\u2019d the various thread.\n\u2018Ye peers (she cried) who press to gain my heart,\nWhere dead Ulysses claims no more a part,\nYet a short space your rival suit suspend,\nTill this funereal web my labours end:\nCease, till to good Laertes I bequeath\nA task of grief, his ornaments of death:\nLest when the Fates his royal ashes claim,\nThe Grecian matrons taint my spotless fame;\nShould he, long honour\u2019d with supreme command,\nWant the last duties of a daughter\u2019s hand.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe fiction pleased, our generous train complies,\nNor fraud mistrusts in virtue\u2019s fair disguise.\nThe work she plied, but studious of delay,\nEach following night reversed the toils of day.\nUnheard, unseen, three years her arts prevail;\nThe fourth, her maid reveal\u2019d the amazing tale,\nAnd show\u2019d as unperceived we took our stand,\nThe backward labours of her faithless hand.\nForced she completes it; and before us lay\nThe mingled web, whose gold and silver ray\nDisplay\u2019d the radiance of the night and day.\n\n\u201cJust as she finished her illustrious toil,\nIll fortune led Ulysses to our isle.\nFar in a lonely nook, beside the sea,\nAt an old swineherd\u2019s rural lodge he lay:\nThither his son from sandy Pyle repairs,\nAnd speedy lands, and secretly confers.\nThey plan our future ruin, and resort\nConfederate to the city and the court.\nFirst came the son; the father next succeeds,\nClad like a beggar, whom Eumaeus leads;\nPropp\u2019d on a staff, deform\u2019d with age and care,\nAnd hung with rags that flutter\u2019d in the air.\nWho could Ulysses in that form behold?\nScorn\u2019d by the young, forgotten by the old,\nIll-used by all! to every wrong resigned,\nPatient he suffered with a constant mind.\nBut when, arising in his wrath to obey\nThe will of Jove, he gave the vengeance way:\nThe scattered arms that hung around the dome\nCareful he treasured in a private room;\nThen to her suitors bade his queen propose\nThe archer\u2019s strife, the source of future woes,\nAnd omen of our death! In vain we drew\nThe twanging string, and tried the stubborn yew:\nTo none it yields but great Ulysses\u2019 hands;\nIn vain we threat; Telemachus commands:\nThe bow he snatch\u2019d, and in an instant bent;\nThrough every ring the victor arrow went.\nFierce on the threshold then in arms he stood;\nPoured forth the darts that thirsted for our blood,\nAnd frown\u2019d before us, dreadful as a god!\nFirst bleeds Antinous: thick the shafts resound,\nAnd heaps on heaps the wretches strew the ground;\nThis way, and that, we turn, we fly, we fall;\nSome god assisted, and unmann\u2019d us all;\nIgnoble cries precede the dying groans;\nAnd battered brains and blood besmear the stones.\n\n\u201cThus, great Atrides, thus Ulysses drove\nThe shades thou seest from yon fair realms above;\nOur mangled bodies now deformed with gore,\nCold and neglected, spread the marble floor.\nNo friend to bathe our wounds, or tears to shed\nO\u2019er the pale corse! the honours of the dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh bless\u2019d Ulysses! (thus the king express\u2019d\nHis sudden rapture) in thy consort bless\u2019d!\nNot more thy wisdom than her virtue shined;\nNot more thy patience than her constant mind.\nIcarius\u2019 daughter, glory of the past,\nAnd model to the future age, shall last:\nThe gods, to honour her fair fame, shall rise\n(Their great reward) a poet in her praise.\nNot such, O Tyndarus! thy daughter\u2019s deed,\nBy whose dire hand her king and husband bled;\nHer shall the Muse to infamy prolong,\nExample dread, and theme of tragic song!\nThe general sex shall suffer in her shame,\nAnd e\u2019en the best that bears a woman\u2019s name.\u201d\n\nThus in the regions of eternal shade\nConferr\u2019d the mournful phantoms of the dead;\nWhile from the town, Ulysses and his band\nPass\u2019d to Laertes\u2019 cultivated land.\nThe ground himself had purchased with his pain,\nAnd labour made the rugged soil a plain,\nThere stood his mansion of the rural sort,\nWith useful buildings round the lowly court;\nWhere the few servants that divide his care\nTook their laborious rest, and homely fare;\nAnd one Sicilian matron, old and sage,\nWith constant duty tends his drooping age.\n\nHere now arriving, to his rustic band\nAnd martial son, Ulysses gave command:\n\u201cEnter the house, and of the bristly swine\nSelect the largest to the powers divine.\nAlone, and unattended, let me try\nIf yet I share the old man\u2019s memory:\nIf those dim eyes can yet Ulysses know\n(Their light and dearest object long ago),\nNow changed with time, with absence and with woe.\u201d\nThen to his train he gives his spear and shield;\nThe house they enter; and he seeks the field,\nThrough rows of shade, with various fruitage crown\u2019d,\nAnd labour\u2019d scenes of richest verdure round.\nNor aged Dolius; nor his sons, were there,\nNor servants, absent on another care;\nTo search the woods for sets of flowery thorn,\nTheir orchard bounds to strengthen and adorn.\n\nBut all alone the hoary king he found;\nHis habit course, but warmly wrapp\u2019d around;\nHis head, that bow\u2019d with many a pensive care,\nFenced with a double cap of goatskin hair:\nHis buskins old, in former service torn,\nBut swell repair\u2019d; and gloves against the thorn.\nIn this array the kingly gardener stood,\nAnd clear\u2019d a plant, encumber\u2019d with its wood.\n\nBeneath a neighbouring tree, the chief divine\nGazed o\u2019er his sire, retracing every line,\nThe ruins of himself, now worn away\nWith age, yet still majestic in decay!\nSudden his eyes released their watery store;\nThe much-enduring man could bear no more.\nDoubtful he stood, if instant to embrace\nHis aged limbs, to kiss his reverend face,\nWith eager transport to disclose the whole,\nAnd pour at once the torrent of his soul.\u2014\nNot so: his judgment takes the winding way\nOf question distant, and of soft essay;\nMore gentle methods on weak age employs:\nAnd moves the sorrows to enhance the joys.\nThen, to his sire with beating heart he moves,\nAnd with a tender pleasantry reproves;\nWho digging round the plant still hangs his bead,\nNor aught remits the work, while thus he said:\n\n\u201cGreat is thy skill, O father! great thy toil,\nThy careful hand is stamp\u2019d on all the soil,\nThy squadron\u2019d vineyards well thy art declare,\nThe olive green, blue fig, and pendent pear;\nAnd not one empty spot escapes thy care.\nOn every plant and tree thy cares are shown,\nNothing neglected, but thyself alone.\nForgive me, father, if this fault I blame;\nAge so advanced, may some indulgence claim.\nNot for thy sloth, I deem thy lord unkind:\nNor speaks thy form a mean or servile mind;\nI read a monarch in that princely air,\nThe same thy aspect, if the same thy care;\nSoft sleep, fair garments, and the joys of wine,\nThese are the rights of age, and should be thine.\nWho then thy master, say? and whose the land\nSo dress\u2019d and managed by thy skilful hand?\nBut chief, oh tell me! (what I question most)\nIs this the far-famed Ithacensian coast?\nFor so reported the first man I view\u2019d\n(Some surly islander, of manners rude),\nNor farther conference vouchsafed to stay;\nHeedless he whistled, and pursued his way.\nBut thou whom years have taught to understand,\nHumanely hear, and answer my demand:\nA friend I seek, a wise one and a brave:\nSay, lives he yet, or moulders in the grave?\nTime was (my fortunes then were at the best)\nWhen at my house I lodged this foreign guest;\nHe said, from Ithaca\u2019s fair isle he came,\nAnd old Laertes was his father\u2019s name.\nTo him, whatever to a guest is owed\nI paid, and hospitable gifts bestow\u2019d:\nTo him seven talents of pure ore I told,\nTwelve cloaks, twelve vests, twelve tunics stiff with gold:\nA bowl, that rich with polish\u2019d silver flames,\nAnd skill\u2019d in female works, four lovely dames.\u201d\n\nAt this the father, with a father\u2019s fears\n(His venerable eyes bedimm\u2019d with tears):\n\u201cThis is the land; but ah! thy gifts are lost,\nFor godless men, and rude possess the coast:\nSunk is the glory of this once-famed shore!\nThy ancient friend, O stranger, is no more!\nFull recompense thy bounty else had borne:\nFor every good man yields a just return:\nSo civil rights demand; and who begins\nThe track of friendship, not pursuing, sins.\nBut tell me, stranger, be the truth confess\u2019d,\nWhat years have circled since thou saw\u2019st that guest?\nThat hapless guest, alas! for ever gone!\nWretch that he was! and that I am! my son!\nIf ever man to misery was born,\n\u2019Twas his to suffer, and \u2019tis mine to mourn!\nFar from his friends, and from his native reign,\nHe lies a prey to monsters of the main;\nOr savage beasts his mangled relics tear,\nOr screaming vultures scatter through the air:\nNor could his mother funeral unguents shed;\nNor wail\u2019d his father o\u2019er the untimely dead:\nNor his sad consort, on the mournful bier,\nSeal\u2019d his cold eyes, or dropp\u2019d a tender tear!\n\n\u201cBut, tell me who thou art? and what thy race?\nThy town, thy parents, and thy native place?\nOr, if a merchant in pursuit of gain,\nWhat port received thy vessel from the main?\nOr comest thou single, or attend thy train?\u201d\n\nThen thus the son: \u201cFrom Alybas I came,\nMy palace there; Eperitus my name\nNot vulgar born: from Aphidas, the king\nOf Polyphemon\u2019s royal line, I spring.\nSome adverse demon from Sicania bore\nOur wandering course, and drove us on your shore;\nFar from the town, an unfrequented bay\nRelieved our wearied vessel from the sea.\nFive years have circled since these eyes pursued\nUlysses parting through the sable flood:\nProsperous he sail\u2019d, with dexter auguries,\nAnd all the wing\u2019d good omens of the skies.\nWell hoped we then to meet on this fair shore,\nWhom Heaven, alas! decreed to meet no more.\u201d\n\nQuick through the father\u2019s heart these accents ran;\nGrief seized at once, and wrapp\u2019d up all the man:\nDeep from his soul he sigh\u2019d, and sorrowing spread\nA cloud of ashes on his hoary head.\nTrembling with agonies of strong delight\nStood the great son, heart-wounded with the sight:\nHe ran, he seized him with a strict embrace,\nWith thousand kisses wander\u2019d o\u2019er his face:\n\u201cI, I am he; O father, rise! behold\nThy son, with twenty winters now grown old;\nThy son, so long desired, so long detain\u2019d,\nRestored, and breathing in his native land:\nThese floods of sorrow, O my sire, restrain!\nThe vengeance is complete; the suitor train,\nStretch\u2019d in our palace, by these hands lie slain.\u201d\n\nAmazed, Laertes: \u201cGive some certain sign\n(If such thou art) to manifest thee mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cLo here the wound (he cries) received of yore,\nThe scar indented by the tusky boar,\nWhen, by thyself, and by Anticlea sent,\nTo old Autolycus\u2019 realms I went.\nYet by another sign thy offspring know;\nThe several trees you gave me long ago,\nWhile yet a child, these fields I loved to trace,\nAnd trod thy footsteps with unequal pace;\nTo every plant in order as we came,\nWell-pleased, you told its nature and its name,\nWhate\u2019er my childish fancy ask\u2019d, bestow\u2019d:\nTwelve pear-trees, bowing with their pendent load,\nAnd ten, that red with blushing apples glow\u2019d;\nFull fifty purple figs; and many a row\nOf various vines that then began to blow,\nA future vintage! when the Hours produce\nTheir latent buds, and Sol exalts the juice.\u201d\n\nSmit with the signs which all his doubts explain,\nHis heart within him melts; his knees sustain\nTheir feeble weight no more: his arms alone\nSupport him, round the loved Ulysses thrown;\nHe faints, he sinks, with mighty joys oppress\u2019d:\nUlysses clasps him to his eager breast.\nSoon as returning life regains its seat,\nAnd his breath lengthens, and his pulses beat:\n\u201cYes, I believe (he cries) almighty Jove!\nHeaven rules us yet, and gods there are above.\n\u2019Tis so\u2014the suitors for their wrongs have paid\u2014\nBut what shall guard us, if the town invade?\nIf, while the news through every city flies,\nAll Ithaca and Cephalenia rise?\u201d\nTo this Ulysses: \u201cAs the gods shall please\nBe all the rest: and set thy soul at ease.\nHaste to the cottage by this orchard\u2019s side,\nAnd take the banquet which our cares provide;\nThere wait thy faithful band of rural friends,\nAnd there the young Telemachus attends.\u201d\n\nThus, having said, they traced the garden o\u2019er\nAnd stooping entered at the lowly door.\nThe swains and young Telemachus they found.\nThe victim portion\u2019d and the goblet crown\u2019d.\nThe hoary king, his old Sicilian maid\nPerfum\u2019d and wash\u2019d, and gorgeously arrayed.\nPallas attending gives his frame to shine\nWith awful port, and majesty divine;\nHis gazing son admires the godlike grace,\nAnd air celestial dawning o\u2019er his face.\n\u201cWhat god (he cried) my father\u2019s form improves!\nHow high he treads and how enlarged he moves!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! would to all the deathless powers on high,\nPallas and Jove, and him who gilds the sky!\n(Replied the king elated with his praise)\nMy strength were still, as once in better days:\nWhen the bold Cephalens the leaguer form\u2019d.\nAnd proud Nericus trembled as I storm\u2019d.\nSuch were I now, not absent from your deed\nWhen the last sun beheld the suitors bleed,\nThis arm had aided yours, this hand bestrown\nOur shores with death, and push\u2019d the slaughter on;\nNor had the sire been separate from the son.\u201d\n\nThey communed thus; while homeward bent their way\nThe swains, fatigued with labours of the day:\nDolius, the first, the venerable man;\nAnd next his sons, a long succeeding train.\nFor due refection to the bower they came,\nCall\u2019d by the careful old Sicilian dame,\nWho nursed the children, and now tends the sire,\nThey see their lord, they gaze, and they admire.\nOn chairs and beds in order seated round,\nThey share the gladsome board; the roofs resound,\nWhile thus Ulysses to his ancient friend:\n\u201cForbear your wonder, and the feast attend:\nThe rites have waited long.\u201d The chief commands\nTheir love in vain; old Dolius spreads his hands,\nSprings to his master with a warm embrace,\nAnd fastens kisses on his hands and face;\nThen thus broke out: \u201cO long, O daily mourn\u2019d!\nBeyond our hopes, and to our wish return\u2019d!\nConducted sure by Heaven! for Heaven alone\nCould work this wonder: welcome to thy own!\nAnd joys and happiness attend thy throne!\nWho knows thy bless\u2019d, thy wish\u2019d return? oh say,\nTo the chaste queen shall we the news convey?\nOr hears she, and with blessings loads the day?\u201d\n\n\u201cDismiss that care, for to the royal bride\nAlready is it known\u201d (the king replied,\nAnd straight resumed his seat); while round him bows\nEach faithful youth, and breathes out ardent vows:\nThen all beneath their father take their place,\nRank\u2019d by their ages, and the banquet grace.\n\nNow flying Fame the swift report had spread\nThrough all the city, of the suitors dead,\nIn throngs they rise, and to the palace crowd;\nTheir sighs were many and the tumult loud.\nWeeping they bear the mangled heaps of slain;\nInhume the natives in their native plain,\nThe rest in ships are wafted o\u2019er the main.\nThen sad in council all the seniors sate,\nFrequent and full, assembled to debate:\nAmid the circle first Eupithes rose,\nBig was his eye with tears, his heart with woes:\nThe bold Antinous was his age\u2019s pride,\nThe first who by Ulysses\u2019 arrow died.\nDown his wan cheek the trickling torrent ran,\nAs mixing words with sighs he thus began:\n\n\u201cGreat deeds, O friends! this wondrous man has wrought,\nAnd mighty blessings to his country brought!\nWith ships he parted, and a numerous train,\nThose, and their ships, he buried in the main.\nNow he returns, and first essays his hand\nIn the best blood of all his native land.\nHaste, then, and ere to neighbouring Pyle he flies,\nOr sacred Elis, to procure supplies;\nArise (or ye for ever fall), arise!\nShame to this age, and all that shall succeed!\nIf unrevenged your sons and brothers bleed.\nProve that we live, by vengeance on his head,\nOr sink at once forgotten with the dead.\u201d\nHere ceased he, but indignant tears let fall\nSpoke when he ceased: dumb sorrow touch\u2019d them all.\nWhen from the palace to the wondering throng\nSage Medon came, and Phemius came along\n(Restless and early sleep\u2019s soft bands they broke);\nAnd Medon first the assembled chiefs bespoke;\n\n\u201cHear me, ye peers and elders of the land,\nWho deem this act the work of mortal hand;\nAs o\u2019er the heaps of death Ulysses strode,\nThese eyes, these eyes beheld a present god,\nWho now before him, now beside him stood,\nFought as he fought, and mark\u2019d his way with blood:\nIn vain old Mentor\u2019s form the god belied;\n\u2019Twas Heaven that struck, and Heaven was on his side.\u201d\n\nA sudden horror all the assembly shook,\nWhen slowly rising, Halitherses spoke\n(Reverend and wise, whose comprehensive view\nAt once the present and the future knew):\n\u201cMe too, ye fathers, hear! from you proceed\nThe ills ye mourn; your own the guilty deed.\nYe gave your sons, your lawless sons, the rein\n(Oft warn\u2019d by Mentor and myself in vain);\nAn absent hero\u2019s bed they sought to soil,\nAn absent hero\u2019s wealth they made their spoil;\nImmoderate riot, and intemperate lust!\nThe offence was great, the punishment was just.\nWeigh then my counsels in an equal scale,\nNor rush to ruin. Justice will prevail.\u201d\n\nHis moderate words some better minds persuade:\nThey part, and join him: but the number stay\u2019d.\nThey storm, they shout, with hasty frenzy fired,\nAnd second all Eupithes\u2019 rage inspired.\nThey case their limbs in brass; to arms they run;\nThe broad effulgence blazes in the sun.\nBefore the city, and in ample plain,\nThey meet: Eupithes heads the frantic train.\nFierce for his son, he breathes his threats in air;\nFate bears them not, and Death attends him there.\n\nThis pass\u2019d on earth, while in the realms above\nMinerva thus to cloud-compelling Jove!\n\u201cMay I presume to search thy secret soul?\nO Power Supreme, O Ruler of the whole!\nSay, hast thou doom\u2019d to this divided state\nOr peaceful amity or stern debate?\nDeclare thy purpose, for thy will is fate.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs not thy thought my own? (the god replies\nWho rolls the thunder o\u2019er the vaulted skies;)\nHath not long since thy knowing soul decreed\nThe chief\u2019s return should make the guilty bleed.\n\u2019Tis done, and at thy will the Fates succeed.\nYet hear the issue: Since Ulysses\u2019 hand\nHas slain the suitors, Heaven shall bless the land.\nNone now the kindred of the unjust shall own;\nForgot the slaughter\u2019d brother and the son:\nEach future day increase of wealth shall bring,\nAnd o\u2019er the past Oblivion stretch her wing.\nLong shall Ulysses in his empire rest,\nHis people blessing, by his people bless\u2019d.\nLet all be peace.\u201d\u2014He said, and gave the nod\nThat binds the Fates; the sanction of the god\nAnd prompt to execute the eternal will,\nDescended Pallas from the Olympian hill.\n\nNow sat Ulysses at the rural feast\nThe rage of hunger and of thirst repress\u2019d:\nTo watch the foe a trusty spy he sent:\nA son of Dolius on the message went,\nStood in the way, and at a glance beheld\nThe foe approach, embattled on the field.\nWith backward step he hastens to the bower,\nAnd tells the news. They arm with all their power.\nFour friends alone Ulysses\u2019 cause embrace,\nAnd six were all the sons of Dolius\u2019 race:\nOld Dolius too his rusted arms put on;\nAnd, still more old, in arms Laertes shone.\nTrembling with warmth, the hoary heroes stand,\nAnd brazen panoply invests the band.\nThe opening gates at once their war display:\nFierce they rush forth: Ulysses leads the way.\nThat moment joins them with celestial aid,\nIn Mentor\u2019s form, the Jove-descended maid:\nThe suffering hero felt his patient breast\nSwell with new joy, and thus his son address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cBehold, Telemachus! (nor fear the sight,)\nThe brave embattled, the grim front of fight!\nThe valiant with the valiant must contend.\nShame not the line whence glorious you descend.\nWide o\u2019er the world their martial fame was spread;\nRegard thyself, the living and the dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cThy eyes, great father! on this battle cast,\nShall learn from me Penelope was chaste.\u201d\n\nSo spoke Telemachus: the gallant boy\nGood old Laertes heard with panting joy.\n\u201cAnd bless\u2019d! thrice bless\u2019d this happy day! (he cries,)\nThe day that shows me, ere I close my eyes,\nA son and grandson of the Arcesian name\nStrive for fair virtue, and contest for fame!\u201d\n\nThen thus Minerva in Laertes\u2019 ear:\n\u201cSon of Arcesius, reverend warrior, hear!\nJove and Jove\u2019s daughter first implore in prayer,\nThen, whirling high, discharge thy lance in air.\u201d\nShe said, infusing courage with the word.\nJove and Jove\u2019s daughter then the chief implored,\nAnd, whirling high, dismiss\u2019d the lance in air.\nFull at Eupithes drove the deathful spear:\nThe brass-cheek\u2019d helmet opens to the wound;\nHe falls, earth thunders, and his arms resound.\nBefore the father and the conquering son\nHeaps rush on heaps, they fight, they drop, they run\nNow by the sword, and now the javelin, fall\nThe rebel race, and death had swallow\u2019d all;\nBut from on high the blue-eyed virgin cried;\nHer awful voice detain\u2019d the headlong tide:\n\u201cForbear, ye nations, your mad hands forbear\nFrom mutual slaughter; Peace descends to spare.\u201d\nFear shook the nations: at the voice divine\nThey drop their javelins, and their rage resign.\nAll scatter\u2019d round their glittering weapons lie;\nSome fall to earth, and some confusedly fly.\nWith dreadful shouts Ulysses pour\u2019d along,\nSwift as an eagle, as an eagle strong.\nBut Jove\u2019s red arm the burning thunder aims:\nBefore Minerva shot the livid flames;\nBlazing they fell, and at her feet expired;\nThen stopped the goddess, trembled and retired.\n\n\u201cDescended from the gods! Ulysses, cease;\nOffend not Jove: obey, and give the peace.\u201d\n\nSo Pallas spoke: the mandate from above\nThe king obey\u2019d. The virgin-seed of Jove,\nIn Mentor\u2019s form, confirm\u2019d the full accord,\nAnd willing nations knew their lawful lord.","title":"The Odyssey","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":121278}