{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_48895/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_48895","id":"gutenberg_48895","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48895","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Epic poetry, Greek -- Translations into English","Odysseus, King of Ithaca (Mythological character) -- Poetry"],"text":"The Odysseys of Homer\n\nby Homer\n\nTranslated according to the Greek\nby George Chapman\n\nLondon: Published by\n\nGeorge Newnes Limited\n\nSouthhampton Street Strand W.C.\n\nNew York: Published by\nCharles Scribner\u2019s Sons\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n CHAPMAN\u2019S INTRODUCTION.\n CERTAIN ANCIENT GREEK EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED.\n THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE SECOND BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE THIRD BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE SIXTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE SEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE EIGHTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE TENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE SIXTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE SEVENTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE NINETEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE TWENTIETH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE TWENTY-FIRST BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE TWENTY-THIRD BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE TWENTY-FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n THE BATRACHOMYOMACHIA\n HYMNS\n A Hymn to Apollo\n A Hymn to Hermes\n A Hymn to Venus (First Hymn)\n A Hymn to Venus (Second Hymn)\n A Hymn to Bacchus, or the Pirates\n A Hymn to Mars\n A Hymn to Diana\n A Hymn to Venus (Third Hymn)\n A Hymn to Pallas\n A Hymn to Juno\n A Hymn to Ceres\n A Hymn to the Mother of the Gods\n A Hymn to Lion-Hearted Hercules\n A Hymn to \u00c6sculapius\n A Hymn to Castor and Pollux\n A Hymn to Mercury\n A Hymn to Pan\n A Hymn to Vulcan\n A Hymn to Ph\u0153bus\n A Hymn to Neptune\n A Hymn to Jove\n A Hymn to Vesta\n A Hymn to the Muses and Apollo\n A Hymn to Bacchus\n A Hymn to Diana\n A Hymn to Pallas\n A Hymn to Vesta and Mercury\n A Hymn to Earth, the Mother of All\n A Hymn to the Sun\n A Hymn to the Moon\n A Hymn to Castor and Pollux\n A Hymn to Men of Hospitality\n EPIGRAMS AND OTHER POEMS\n To Cuma\n In his Return to Cuma\n Upon the Sepulchre of Midus\n Cuma, refusing to eternize their State, etc.\n An Essay of his begun Iliads\n To Thestor\u2019s Son inquisitive about the Causes of Things\n To Neptune\n To the City of Erythr\u00e6a\n To Mariners\n The Pine\n To Glaucus\n Against the Samian Ministress or Nun\n Written on the Council Chamber\n The Furnace called in to sing by Potters\n Eiresione, or the Olive Branch\n To certain Fisher-Boys pleasing him with Riddles\n _The Translator\u2019s Epilogue_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPMAN\u2019S INTRODUCTION.\n\nTO THE MOST WORTHILY HONOURED,\nMY SINGULAR GOOD LORD, ROBERT,\nEARL OF SOMERSET,\nLORD CHAMBERLAIN, ETC.\n\nI have adventured, right noble Earl, out of my utmost and ever-vowed\nservice to your virtues, to entitle their merits to the patronage of\nHomer\u2019s English life, whose wished natural life the great Macedon would\nhave protected as the spirit of his empire,\n\nThat he to his unmeasur\u2019d mighty acts\nMight add a fame as vast; and their extracts,\nIn fires as bright and endless as the stars,\nHis breast might breathe and thunder out his wars.\nBut that great monarch\u2019s love of fame and praise\nReceives an envious cloud in our foul days;\nFor since our great ones ceased themselves to do,\nDeeds worth their praise, they hold it folly too\nTo feed their praise in others. But what can,\nOf all the gifts that are, be giv\u2019n to man\nMore precious than Eternity and Glory,\nSinging their praises in unsilenc\u2019d story?\nWhich no black day, no nation, nor no age,\nNo change of time or fortune, force nor rage,\nShall ever rase? All which the monarch knew,\nWhere Homer liv\u2019d entitled, would ensue:\n_Cuius de gurgite vivo\nCombibit arcanos vatum omnis turba furores, etc._\nFrom whose deep fount of life the thirsty rout\nOf Thespian prophets have lien sucking out\nTheir sacred rages. And as th\u2019 influent stone\nOf Father Jove\u2019s great and laborious son\nLifts high the heavy iron, and far implies\nThe wide orbs that the needle rectifies,\nIn virtuous guide of ev\u2019ry sea-driv\u2019n course,\nTo all aspiring his one boundless force;\nSo from one Homer all the holy fire\nThat ever did the hidden heat inspire\nIn each true Muse came clearly sparkling down,\nAnd must for him compose one flaming crown.\nHe, at Jove\u2019s table set, fills out to us\nCups that repair age sad and ruinous,\nAnd gives it built of an eternal stand\nWith his all-sinewy Odyss\u00e6an hand,\nShifts time and fate, puts death in life\u2019s free state,\nAnd life doth into ages propagate.\nHe doth in men the Gods\u2019 affects inflame,\nHis fuel Virtue blown by Praise and Fame;\nAnd, with the high soul\u2019s first impression driv\u2019n,\nBreaks through rude chaos, earth, the seas, and heav\u2019n.\nThe nerves of all things hid in nature lie\nNaked before him; all their harmony\nTun\u2019d to his accents, that in beasts breathe minds.\nWhat fowls, what floods, what earth, what air, what winds,\nWhat fires ethereal, what the Gods conclude\nIn all their counsels, his Muse makes indued\nWith varied voices that ev\u2019n rocks have mov\u2019d.\nAnd yet for all this, naked Virtue lov\u2019d,\nHonours without her he as abject prizes,\nAnd foolish Fame, deriv\u2019d from thence, despises.\nWhen from the vulgar taking glorious bound\nUp to the mountain where the Muse is crown\u2019d,\nHe sits and laughs to see the jaded rabble\nToil to his hard heights, t\u2019 all access unable, etc.\n\nAnd that your Lordship may in his face take view of his mind, the first\nwords of his Iliads is _\u03bc\u03b7\u0311\u03bd\u03b9\u03bd, wrath_; the first word of his Odysseys,\n_\u1f04\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u03b1 man:_ contracting in either word his each work\u2019s proposition. In\none _predominant perturbation;_ in the other _over-ruling wisdom._ In\none the body\u2019s fervour and fashion of outward fortitude to all possible\nheight of heroical action; in the other the mind\u2019s inward, constant,\nand unconquered empire, unbroken, unaltered, with any most insolent,\nand tyrannous infliction. To many most sovereign praises is this poem\nentitled; but to that grace, in chief, which sets on the crown both of\npoets and orators; _\u03c4\u1f78 \u03c4\u1f70 \u03bc\u03b9\u03ba\u03c1\u1f70 \u03bc\u03b5\u03b3\u03ac\u03bb\u03c9\u03c2, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f70 \u03ba\u03bf\u03b9\u03bd\u1f70 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\u03af\u03bd\u03c9\u03c2:_\nthat is, _Parva magn\u00e8 dicere; pervulgata nov\u00e8; jejuna plen\u00e8.\u2014To speak\nthings little greatly; things common rarely; things barren and empty\nfruitfully and fully._ The return of a man into his country is his\nwhole scope and object; which in itself, your Lordship may well say, is\njejune and fruitless enough, affording nothing feastful, nothing\nmagnificent. And yet even this doth the divine inspiration render vast,\nillustrious, and of miraculous composure. And for this, my Lord, is\nthis poem preferred to his lliads; for therein much magnificence, both\nof person and action, gives great aid to his industry; but in this are\nthese helps exceeding sparing, or nothing; and yet is the structure so\nelaborate and pompous that the poor plain ground-work, considered\ntogether, may seem the naturally rich womb to it, and produce it\nneedfully. Much wondered at, therefore, is the censure of Dionysius\nLonginus, (a man otherwise affirmed grave and of elegant judgment,)\ncomparing Homer in his Iliads to the Sun rising, in his Odysseys to his\ndescent or setting, or to the ocean robbed of his \u00e6sture, many\ntributary floods and rivers of excellent ornament withheld from their\nobservance. When this his work so far exceeds the ocean, with all his\ncourt and concourse, that all his sea is only a serviceable stream to\nit. Nor can it be compared to any one power to be named in nature,\nbeing an entirely well-sorted and digested confluence of all; where the\nmost solid and grave is made as nimble and fluent as the most airy and\nfiery, the nimble and fluent as firm and well-bounded as the most grave\nand solid. And, taking all together, of so tender impression, and of\nsuch command to the voice of the Muse, that they knock heaven with her\nbreath, and discover their foundations as low as hell. Nor is this\nall-comprising Poesy fantastic or mere fictive; but the most material\nand doctrinal illations of truth, both for all manly information of\nmanners in the young, all prescription of justice, and even Christian\npiety, in the most grave and high governed. To illustrate both which,\nin both kinds, with all heightof expression, the Poet creates both a\nbody and a soul in them. Wherein, if the body (being the letter or\nhistory) seems fictive, and beyond possibility to bring into act, the\nsense then and allegory, which is the soul, is to be sought, which\nintends a more eminent expressure of Virtue for her loveliness, and of\nVice for her ugliness, in their several effects; going beyond the life\nthan any art within life can possibly delineate. Why then is fiction to\nthis end so hateful to our true ignorants? Or why should a poor\nchronicler of a Lord Mayor\u2019s naked truth (that peradventure will last\nhis year) include more worth with our modern wizards than Homer for his\nnaked Ulysses clad in eternal fiction? But this proser Dionysius, and\nthe rest of these grave and reputatively learned\u2014that dare undertake\nfor their gravities the headstrong censure of all things, and challenge\nthe understanding of these toys in their childhoods; when even these\nchildish vanities retain deep and most necessary learning enough in\nthem to make them children in their ages, and teach them while they\nlive\u2014are not in these absolute divine infusions allowed either voice or\nrelish: for, _Qui Poeticas ad fores accedit, etc._ (says the divine\nphilosopher) he that knocks at the gates of the Muses, _sine Musarum\nfurore,_ is neither to be admitted entry, nor a touch at their\nthresholds; his opinion of entry ridiculous, and his presumption\nimpious. Nor must Poets themselves (might I a little insist on these\ncontempts, not tempting too far your Lordship\u2019s Ulyssean patience)\npresume to these doors without the truly genuine and peculiar\ninduction. There being in Poesy a twofold rapture,\u2014or alienation of\nsoul, as the abovesaid teacher terms it,\u2014one _insania,_ a disease of\nthe mind, and a mere madness, by which the infected is thrust beneath\nall the degrees of humanity: _et ex homine, brutum quodammod\u00f2\nredditur:_\u2014(for which poor Poesy, in this diseased and impostorous age,\nis so barbarously vilified;)\u2014the other is, _divinus furor,_ by which\nthe sound and divinely healthful _supr\u00e0 hominis naturam erigitur, et in\nDeum transit._ One a perfection directly infused from God; the other an\ninfection obliquely and degenerately proceeding from man. Of the divine\nfury, my Lord, your Homer hath ever been both first and last instance;\nbeing pronounced absolutely, _\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03ce\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u03b8\u03b5\u03b9\u03cc\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\n\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03b7\u03c4\u03ae\u03bd,_ \u201cthe most wise and most divine poet.\u201d Against whom whosoever\nshall open his profane mouth may worthily receive answer with this of\nhis divine defender\u2014Empedocles, Heraclitus, Protagoras, Epicharmus,\netc., being of Homer\u2019s part\u2014_\u03c4\u03af\u03c2 \u03bf\u03bf\u0352\u03bd,_ etc.; who against such an army,\nand the general Homer, dares attempt the assault, but he must be\nreputed ridiculous? And yet against this host, and this invincible\ncommander, shall we have every _besogne_ and fool a leader. The common\nherd, I assure myself, ready to receive it on their horns. Their\ninfected leaders,\n\nSuch men as sideling ride the ambling Muse,\nWhose saddle is as frequent as the stews.\nWhose raptures are in ev\u2019ry pageant seen,\nIn ev\u2019ry wassail-rhyme and dancing-green;\nWhen he that writes by any beam of truth\nMust dive as deep as he, past shallow youth.\nTruth dwells in gulfs, whose deeps hide shades so rich\nThat Night sits muffled there in clouds of pitch,\nMore dark than Nature made her, and requires,\nTo clear her tough mists, heav\u2019n\u2019s great fire of fires,\nTo whom the sun itself is but a beam.\nFor sick souls then\u2014but rapt in foolish dream\u2014\nTo wrastle with these heav\u2019n-strong mysteries,\nWhat madness is it? when their light serves eyes\nThat are not worldly in their least aspect,\nBut truly pure, and aim at heav\u2019n direct.\nYet these none like but what the brazen head\nBlatters abroad, no sooner born but dead.\n\nHolding, then, in eternal contempt, my Lord, those short-lived bubbles,\neternize your virtue and judgment with the Grecian monarch; esteeming,\nnot as the least of your new-year\u2019s presents,\n\nHomer, three thousand years dead, now reviv\u2019d,\nEv\u2019n from that dull death that in life he liv\u2019d;\nWhen none conceited him, none understood\nThat so much life in so much death as blood\nConveys about it could mix. But when death\nDrunk up the bloody mist that human breath\nPour\u2019d round about him\u2014poverty and spite.\nThick\u2019ning the hapless vapour\u2014then truth\u2019s light\nGlimmer\u2019d about his poem; the pinch\u2019d soul\n(Amidst the mysteries it did enrol)\nBrake pow\u2019rfully abroad. And as we see\nThe sun all-hid in clouds, at length got free,\nThrough some forc\u2019d covert, over all the ways,\nNear and beneath him, shoots his vented rays\nFar off, and sticks them in some little glade,\nAll woods, fields, rivers, left besides in shade;\nSo your Apollo, from that world of light\nClos\u2019d in his poem\u2019s body, shot to sight\nSome few forc\u2019d beams, which near him were not seen,\n(As in his life or country) Fate and spleen\nClouding their radiance; which when Death had clear\u2019d,\nTo far-off regions his free beams appear\u2019d;\nIn which all stood and wonder\u2019d, striving which\nHis birth and rapture should in right enrich.\nTwelve labours of your Thespian Hercules\nI now present your Lordship; do but please\nTo lend life means till th\u2019 other twelve receive\nEqual achievement; and let Death then reave\nMy life now lost in our patrician loves,\nThat knock heads with the herd; in whom there moves\nOne blood, one soul, both drown\u2019d in one set height\nOf stupid envy and mere popular spite.\nWhose loves with no good did my least vein fill;\nAnd from their hates I fear as little ill.\nTheir bounties nourish not when most they feed,\nBut, where there is no merit or no need,\nRain into rivers still, and are such show\u2019rs\nAs bubbles spring and overflow the flow\u2019rs.\nTheir worse parts and worst men their best suborns,\nLike winter cows whose milk runs to their horns.\nAnd as litigious clients\u2019 books of law\nCost infinitely; taste of all the awe\nBench\u2019d in our kingdom\u2019s policy, piety, state;\nEarn all their deep explorings; satiate\nAll sorts there thrust together by the heart\nWith thirst of wisdom spent on either part;\nHorrid examples made of Life and Death\nFrom their fine stuff wov\u2019n; yet when once the breath\nOf sentence leaves them, all their worth is drawn\nAs dry as dust, and wears like cobweb lawn:\nSo these men set a price upon their worth,\nThat no man gives but those that trot it forth\nThough Need\u2019s foul ways, feed Humours with all cost\nThough Judgment sterves in them; rout, State engrost\n(At all tobacco-benches, solemn tables,\nWhere all that cross their envies are their fables)\nIn their rank faction; shame and death approv\u2019d\nFit penance for their opposites; none lov\u2019d\nBut those that rub them; not a reason heard\nThat doth not soothe and glorify their preferr\u2019d\nBitter opinions. When, would Truth resume\nThe cause to his hands, all would fly in fume\nBefore his sentence; since the innocent mind\nJust God makes good, to Whom their worst is wind.\nFor, that I freely all my thoughts express,\nMy conscience is my thousand witnesses;\nAnd to this stay my constant comforts vow,\n_You for the world I have, or God for you._\n\n\n\n\nCERTAIN ANCIENT GREEK EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED\n\nAll stars are drunk-up by the fiery sun,\nAnd in so much a flame lies shrunk the moon.\nHomer\u2019s all-liv\u2019d name all names leaves in death,\nWhose splendour only Muses\u2019 bosoms breathe.\n\nANOTHER\n\nHeav\u2019n\u2019s fires shall first fall darken\u2019d from his sphere,\nGrave Night the light weed of the Day shall wear,\nFresh streams shall chase the sea, tough ploughs shall tear\nHer fishy bottoms, men in long date dead\nShall rise and live, before Oblivion shed\nThose still-green leaves that crown great Homer\u2019s head.\n\nANOTHER\n\nThe great M\u00e6onides doth only write,\nAnd to him dictates the great God of Light.\n\nANOTHER\n\nSev\u2019n kingdoms strove in which should swell the womb\nThat bore great Homer, whom Fame freed from tomb;\nArgos, Chios, Pylos, Smyrna, Colophone,\nThe learn\u2019d Athenian, and Ulyssean throne.\n\nANOTHER\n\nArt thou of Chios? No. Of Salamine?\nAs little. Was the Smyrnean country thine?\nNor so. Which then? Was Cuma\u2019s? Colophone?\nNor one nor other. Art thou, then, of none\nThat fame proclaims thee? None. Thy reason call.\nIf I confess of one I anger all.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nThe Gods in council sit, to call\nUlysses from Calypso\u2019s thrall,\nAnd order their high pleasures thus:\nGrey Pallas to Telemachus\n(In Ithaca) her way addrest;\nAnd did her heav\u2019nly limbs invest\nIn Mentas\u2019 likeness, that did reign\nKing of the Taphians, in the main\nWhose rough waves near Leucadia run.\nAdvising wise Ulysses\u2019 son\nTo seek his father, and address\nHis course to young Tantalides,\nThat govern\u2019d Sparta. Thus much said,\nShe shew\u2019d she was Heav\u2019n\u2019s martial Maid,\nAnd vanish\u2019d from him. Next to this,\nThe Banquet of the Wooers is.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u1f0a\u03bb\u03c6\u03b1._\nThe Deities sit;\nThe Man retired;\nTh\u2019 Ulyssean wit\nBy Pallas fired.\n\nThe man, O Muse, inform, that many a way[1]\nWound with his wisdom to his wished stay;\nThat wander\u2019d wondrous far, when he the town\nOf sacred Troy had sack\u2019d and shiver\u2019d down;\nThe cities of a world of nations,\nWith all their manners, minds, and fashions,\nHe saw and knew; at sea felt many woes,\nMuch care sustain\u2019d, to save from overthrows\nHimself and friends in their retreat for home;\nBut so their fates he could not overcome,\nThough much he thirsted it. O men unwise,\nThey perish\u2019d by their own impieties!\nThat in their hunger\u2019s rapine would not shun\nThe oxen of the lofty-going Sun,\nWho therefore from their eyes the day bereft\nOf safe return. These acts, in some part left,\nTell us, as others, deified Seed of Jove.\nNow all the rest that austere death outstrove\nAt Troy\u2019s long siege at home safe anchor\u2019d are,\nFree from the malice both of sea and war;\nOnly Ulysses is denied access\nTo wife and home. The grace of Goddesses,\nThe rev\u2019rend nymph Calypso, did detain\nHim in her caves, past all the race of men\nEnflam\u2019d to make him her lov\u2019d lord and spouse.\nAnd when the Gods had destin\u2019d that his house,\nWhich Ithaca on her rough bosom bears,\n(The point of time wrought out by ambient years)\nShould be his haven, Contention still extends\nHer envy to him, ev\u2019n amongst his friends.\nAll Gods took pity on him; only he,\nThat girds earth in the cincture of the sea,\nDivine Ulysses ever did envy,\nAnd made the fix\u2019d port of his birth to fly.\nBut he himself solemniz\u2019d a retreat\nTo th\u2019 \u00c6thiops, far dissunder\u2019d in their seat,\n(In two parts parted, at the sun\u2019s descent,\nAnd underneath his golden orient,\nThe first and last of men) t\u2019 enjoy their feast\nOf bulls and lambs, in hecatombs addrest;[2]\nAt which he sat, giv\u2019n over to delight.\nThe other Gods in heav\u2019n\u2019s supremest height\nWere all in council met; to whom began\nThe mighty Father both of God and man\nDiscourse, inducing matter that inclin\u2019d\nTo wise Ulysses, calling to his mind\nFaultful \u00c6gisthus, who to death was done[3]\nBy young Orestes, Agamemnon\u2019s son.\nHis memory to the Immortals then\nMov\u2019d Jove thus deeply: \u201cO how falsely men\nAccuse us Gods as authors of their ill!\nWhen, by the bane their own bad lives instill,\nThey suffer all the mis\u2019ries of their states,\nPast our inflictions, and beyond their fates.\nAs now \u00c6gisthus, past his fate, did wed\nThe wife of Agamemnon, and (in dread\nTo suffer death himself) to shun his ill,\nIncurr\u2019d it by the loose bent of his will,\nIn slaughtering Atrides in retreat.\nWhich we foretold him would so hardly set\nTo his murd\u2019rous purpose, sending Mercury\nThat slaughter\u2019d Argus, our consid\u2019rate spy,\nTo give him this charge: \u2018Do not wed his wife,\nNor murder him; for thou shalt buy his life\nWith ransom of thine own, impos\u2019d on thee\nBy his Orestes, when in him shall be\nAtrides\u2019-self renew\u2019d, and but the prime\nOf youth\u2019s spring put abroad, in thirst to climb\nHis haughty father\u2019s throne by his high acts.\u2019\nThese words of Hermes wrought not into facts\n\u00c6gisthus\u2019 powers; good counsel he despis\u2019d,\nAnd to that good his ill is sacrific\u2019d.\u201d\nPallas, whose eyes did sparkle like the skies,\nAnswer\u2019d: \u201cO Sire! Supreme of Deities,\n\u00c6gisthus pass\u2019d his fate, and had desert\nTo warrant our infliction; and convert\nMay all the pains such impious men inflict\nOn innocent suff\u2019rers to revenge as strict,\nTheir own hearts eating. But, that Ithacus,\nThus never meriting, should suffer thus,\nI deeply suffer. His more pious mind\nDivides him from these fortunes. Though unkind\nIs piety to him, giving him a fate\nMore suff\u2019ring than the most unfortunate,\nSo long kept friendless in a sea-girt soil,\nWhere the sea\u2019s navel is a sylvan isle,\nIn which the Goddess dwells that doth derive\nHer birth from Atlas, who of all alive\nThe motion and the fashion doth command\nWith his wise mind, whose forces understand[4]\nThe inmost deeps and gulfs of all the seas,\nWho (for his skill of things superior) stays\nThe two steep columns that prop earth and heav\u2019n.\nHis daughter \u2018tis, who holds this homeless-driv\u2019n[5]\nStill mourning with her; evermore profuse\nOf soft and winning speeches, that abuse\nAnd make so languishingly, and possest[6]\nWith so remiss a mind her loved guest,\nManage the action of his way for home.\nWhere he, though in affection overcome,\nIn judgment yet more longs to show his hopes\nHis country\u2019s smoke leap from her chimney tops,\nAnd death asks in her arms. Yet never shall\nThy lov\u2019d heart be converted on his thrall,\nAustere Olympius. Did not ever he,\nIn ample Troy, thy altars gratify,\nAnd Grecians\u2019 fleet make in thy off\u2019rings swim?\nJove, why still then burns thy wrath to him?\u201d\nThe Cloud-assembler answer\u2019d: \u201cWhat words fly,\nBold daughter, from thy pale of ivory?[7]\nAs if I ever could cast from my care\nDivine Ulysses, who exceeds so far\nAll men in wisdom, and so oft hath giv\u2019n\nTo all th\u2019 Immortals thron\u2019d in ample heav\u2019n\nSo great and sacred gifts? But his decrees,\nThat holds the earth in with his nimble knees,\nStand to Ulysses\u2019 longings so extreme,\nFor taking from the God-foe Polypheme\nHis only eye; a Cyclop, that excell\u2019d\nAll other Cyclops, with whose burden swell\u2019d\nThe nymph Thoosa, the divine increase\nOf Phorcys\u2019 seed, a great God of the seas.\nShe mix\u2019d with Neptune in his hollow caves,\nAnd bore this Cyclop to that God of waves.\nFor whose lost eye, th\u2019 Earth-shaker did not kill\nErring Ulysses, but reserves him still\nIn life for more death. But use we our pow\u2019rs,\nAnd round about us cast these cares of ours,\nAll to discover how we may prefer\nHis wish\u2019d retreat, and Neptune make forbear\nHis stern eye to him, since no one God can,\nIn spite of all, prevail, but \u2019gainst a man.\u201d\nTo this, this answer made the grey-eyed Maid:\n\u201cSupreme of rulers, since so well apaid\nThe bless\u00e9d Gods are all then, now, in thee,\nTo limit wise Ulysses\u2019 misery,\nAnd that you speak as you referr\u2019d to me\nPrescription for the means, in this sort be\nTheir sacred order: Let us now address\nWith utmost speed our swift Argicides,\nTo tell the nymph that bears the golden tress\nIn th\u2019 isle Ogygia, that \u2019tis our will\nShe should not stay our lov\u2019d Ulysses still,\nBut suffer his return; and then will I\nTo Ithaca, to make his son apply\nHis sire\u2019s inquest the more; infusing force\nInto his soul, to summon the concourse\nOf curl\u2019d-head Greeks to council, and deter\nEach wooer, that hath been the slaughterer\nOf his fat sheep and crooked-headed beeves.\nFrom more wrong to his mother, and their leaves\nTake in such terms as fit deserts so great.\nTo Sparta then, and Pylos, where doth beat\nBright Amathus, the flood, and epithet\nTo all that kingdom, my advice shall send\nThe spirit-advanc\u2019d Prince, to the pious end\nOf seeking his lost father, if he may\nReceive report from Fame where rests his stay;\nAnd make, besides, his own successive worth\nKnown to the world, and set in action forth.\u201d\nThis said, her wing\u2019d shoes to her feet she tied,\nForm\u2019d all of gold, and all eternified,\nThat on the round earth or the sea sustain\u2019d\nHer ravish\u2019d substance swift as gusts of wind.\nThen took she her strong lance with steel made keen,\nGreat, massy, active, that whole hosts of men,\nThough all hero\u00ebs, conquers, if her ire\nTheir wrongs inflame, back\u2019d by so great a Sire.\nDown from Olympus\u2019 tops she headlong div\u2019d,\nAnd swift as thought in Ithaca arriv\u2019d,\nClose at Ulysses\u2019 gates; in whose first court\nShe made her stand, and, for her breast\u2019s support,\nLean\u2019d on her iron lance; her form imprest\nWith Mentas\u2019 likeness, come as being a guest.\nThere found she those proud wooers, that were then\nSet on those ox-hides that themselves had slain,\nBefore the gates, and all at dice were playing.\nTo them the heralds, and the rest obeying,\nFill\u2019d wine and water; some, still as they play\u2019d,\nAnd some, for solemn supper\u2019s state, purvey\u2019d,\nWith porous sponges cleansing tables, serv\u2019d\nWith much rich feast; of which to all they kerv\u2019d.\nGod-like Telemachus amongst them sat,\nGriev\u2019d much in mind; and in his heart begat\nAll representment of his absent sire,\nHow, come from far-off parts, his spirits would fire\nWith those proud wooers\u2019 sight, with slaughter parting\nTheir bold concourse, and to himself converting\nThe honours they usurp\u2019d, his own commanding.\nIn this discourse, he first saw Pallas standing,\nUnbidden entry; up rose, and addrest\nHis pace right to her, angry that a guest\nShould stand so long at gate; and, coming near,\nHer right hand took, took in his own her spear,\nAnd thus saluted: \u201cGrace to your repair,\nFair guest, your welcome shall be likewise fair.\nEnter, and, cheer\u2019d with feast, disclose th\u2019 intent\nThat caus\u2019d your coming.\u201d This said, first he went,\nAnd Pallas follow\u2019d. To a room they came,\nSteep, and of state; the jav\u2019lin of the Dame\nHe set against a pillar vast and high,\nAmidst a large and bright-kept armory,\nWhich was, besides, with woods of lances grac\u2019d\nOf his grave father\u2019s. In a throne he plac\u2019d\nThe man-turn\u2019d Goddess, under which was spread\nA carpet, rich and of deviceful thread;\nA footstool staying her feet; and by her chair\nAnother seat (all garnish\u2019d wondrous fair,\nTo rest or sleep on in the day) he set,\nFar from the prease of wooers, lest at meat\nThe noise they still made might offend his guest,\nDisturbing him at banquet or at rest,\nEv\u2019n to his combat with that pride of theirs,\nThat kept no noble form in their affairs.\nAnd these he set far from them, much the rather\nTo question freely of his absent father.\nA table fairly-polish\u2019d then was spread,\nOn which a rev\u2019rend officer set bread,\nAnd other servitors all sorts of meat\n(Salads, and flesh, such as their haste could get)\nServ\u2019d with observance in. And then the sewer\nPour\u2019d water from a great and golden ewer,\nThat from their hands t\u2019 a silver caldron ran.\nBoth wash\u2019d, and seated close, the voiceful man\nFetch\u2019d cups of gold, and set by them, and round\nThose cups with wine with all endeavour crown\u2019d.\nThen rush\u2019d in the rude wooers, themselves plac\u2019d;\nThe heralds water gave; the maids in haste\nServ\u2019d bread from baskets. When, of all prepar\u2019d\nAnd set before them, the bold wooers shar\u2019d,\nTheir pages plying their cups past the rest.\nBut lusty wooers must do more than feast;\nFor now, their hungers and their thirsts allay\u2019d,\nThey call\u2019d for songs and dances; those, they said,\nWere th\u2019 ornaments of feast. The herald straight\nA harp, carv\u2019d full of artificial sleight,\nThrust into Phemius\u2019, a learn\u2019d singer\u2019s, hand,\nWho, till he much was urg\u2019d, on terms did stand,\nBut, after, play\u2019d and sung with all his art.\nTelemachus to Pallas then (apart,\nHis ear inclining close, that none might hear)\nIn this sort said: \u201cMy guest, exceeding dear,\nWill you not sit incens\u2019d with what I say?\nThese are the cares these men take; feast and play.\nWhich eas\u2019ly they may use, because they eat,\nFree and unpunish\u2019d, of another\u2019s meat;\nAnd of a man\u2019s, whose white bones wasting lie\nIn some far region; with th\u2019 incessancy\nOf show\u2019rs pour\u2019d down upon them, lying ashore,\nOr in the seas wash\u2019d nak\u2019d. Who, if he wore\nThose bones with flesh and life and industry,\nAnd these might here in Ithaca set eye\nOn him return\u2019d, they all would wish to be\nEither past other in celerity\nOf feet and knees, and not contend t\u2019 exceed\nIn golden garments. But his virtues feed\nThe fate of ill death; nor is left to me\nThe least hope of his life\u2019s recovery,\nNo, not if any of the mortal race\nShould tell me his return; the cheerful face\nOf his return\u2019d day never will appear.\nBut tell me, and let Truth your witness bear,\nWho, and from whence you are? What city\u2019s birth?\nWhat parents? In what vessel set you forth?\nAnd with what mariners arriv\u2019d you here?\nI cannot think you a foot passenger.\nRecount then to me all, to teach me well\nFit usage for your worth. And if it fell\nIn chance now first that you thus see us here,\nOr that in former passages you were\nMy father\u2019s guest? For many men have been\nGuests to my father. Studious of men\nHis sociable nature ever was.\u201d\nOn him again the grey-eyed Maid did pass\nThis kind reply: \u201cI\u2019ll answer passing true\nAll thou hast ask\u2019d: My birth his honour drew\nFrom wise Anchialus. The name I bear\nIs Mentas, the commanding islander\nOf all the Taphians studious in the art\nOf navigation; having touch\u2019d this part\nWith ship and men, of purpose to maintain\nCourse through the dark seas t\u2019 other-languag\u2019d men;\nAnd Temesis sustains the city\u2019s name\nFor which my ship is bound, made known by fame\nFor rich in brass, which my occasions need,\nAnd therefore bring I shining steel in stead,\nWhich their use wants, yet makes my vessel\u2019s freight,\nThat near a plough\u2019d field rides at anchor\u2019s weight,\nApart this city, in the harbour call\u2019d\nRhethrus, whose waves with Neius\u2019 woods are wall\u2019d.\nThy sire and I were ever mutual guests,\nAt either\u2019s house still interchanging feasts.\nI glory in it. Ask, when thou shalt see\nLaertes, th\u2019 old hero\u00eb, these of me,\nFrom the beginning. He, men say, no more\nVisits the city, but will needs deplore\nHis son\u2019s believ\u2019d loss in a private field;\nOne old maid only at his hands to yield\nFood to his life, as oft as labour makes\nHis old limbs faint; which, though he creeps, he takes\nAlong a fruitful plain, set all with vines,\nWhich husbandman-like, though a king, he proins.\nBut now I come to be thy father\u2019s guest;\nI hear he wanders, while these wooers feast.\nAnd (as th\u2019 Immortals prompt me at this hour)\nI\u2019ll tell thee, out of a prophetic pow\u2019r,\n(Not as profess\u2019d a prophet, nor clear seen\nAt all times what shall after chance to men)\nWhat I conceive, for this time, will be true:\nThe Gods\u2019 inflictions keep your sire from you.\nDivine Ulysses, yet, abides not dead\nAbove earth, nor beneath, nor buried\nIn any seas, as you did late conceive,\nBut, with the broad sea sieg\u2019d, is kept alive\nWithin an isle by rude and upland men,\nThat in his spite his passage home detain.\nYet long it shall not be before he tread\nHis country\u2019s dear earth, though solicited,\nAnd held from his return, with iron chains;\nFor he hath wit to forge a world of trains,\nAnd will, of all, be sure to make good one\nFor his return, so much relied upon.\nBut tell me, and be true: Art thou indeed\nSo much a son, as to be said the seed[8]\nOf Ithacus himself? Exceeding much\nThy forehead and fair eyes at his form touch;\nFor oftentimes we met, as you and I\nMeet at this hour, before he did apply\nHis pow\u2019rs for Troy, when other Grecian states\nIn hollow ships were his associates.\nBut, since that time, mine eyes could never see\nRenown\u2019d Ulysses, nor met his with me.\u201d\nThe wise Telemachus again replied:\n\u201cYou shall with all I know be satisfied.\nMy mother certain says I am his son;\nI know not; nor was ever simply known\nBy any child the sure truth of his sire.\nBut would my veins had took in living fire\nFrom some man happy, rather than one wise,\nWhom age might see seis\u2019d of what youth made prise.\nBut he whoever of the mortal race\nIs most unblest, he holds my father\u2019s place.\nThis, since you ask, I answer.\u201d She, again:\n\u201cThe Gods sure did not make the future strain\nBoth of thy race and days obscure to thee,\nSince thou wert born so of Penelope.\nThe style may by thy after acts be won,\nOf so great sire the high undoubted son.\nSay truth in this then: What\u2019s this feasting here?\nWhat all this rout? Is all this nuptial cheer?\nOr else some friendly banquet made by thee?\nFor here no shots are, where all sharers be.\nPast measure contumeliously this crew\nFare through thy house; which should th\u2019 ingenuous view\nOf any good or wise man come and find,\n(Impiety seeing play\u2019d in ev\u2019ry kind)\nHe could not but through ev\u2019ry vein be mov\u2019d.\u201d\nAgain Telemachus: \u201cMy guest much lov\u2019d.\nSince you demand and sift these sights so far,\nI grant \u2019twere fit a house so regular,\nRich, and so faultless once in government,\nShould still at all parts the same form present\nThat gave it glory while her lord was here.\nBut now the Gods, that us displeasure bear,\nHave otherwise appointed, and disgrace\nMy father most of all the mortal race.\nFor whom I could not mourn so were he dead,\nAmongst his fellow-captains slaughter\u00e9d\nBy common enemies, or in the hands\nOf his kind friends had ended his commands,\nAfter he had egregiously bestow\u2019d\nHis pow\u2019r and order in a war so vow\u2019d,\nAnd to his tomb all Greeks their grace had done,\nThat to all ages he might leave his son\nImmortal honour; but now Harpies have\nDigg\u2019d in their gorges his abhorr\u00e9d grave.\nObscure, inglorious, death hath made his end,\nAnd me, for glories, to all griefs contend.\nNor shall I any more mourn him alone,\nThe Gods have giv\u2019n me other cause of moan.\nFor look how many optimates remain\nIn Samos, or the shores Dulichian,\nShady Zacynthus, or how many bear\nRule in the rough brows of this island here;\nSo many now my mother and this house\nAt all parts make defam\u2019d and ruinous;\nAnd she her hateful nuptials nor denies,\nNor will despatch their importunities,\nThough she beholds them spoil still as they feast\nAll my free house yields, and the little rest\nOf my dead sire in me perhaps intend\nTo bring ere long to some untimely end.\u201d\nThis Pallas sigh\u2019d and answer\u2019d: \u201cO,\u201d said she,\n\u201cAbsent Ulysses is much miss\u2019d by thee,\nThat on these shameless suitors he might lay\nHis wreakful hands. Should he now come, and stay\nIn thy court\u2019s first gates, arm\u2019d with helm and shield,\nAnd two such darts as I have seen him wield,\nWhen first I saw him in our Taphian court,\nFeasting, and doing his desert\u2019s disport;\nWhen from Ephyrus he return\u2019d by us\nFrom Ilus, son to Centaur Mermerus,\nTo whom he travell\u2019d through the wat\u2019ry dreads,\nFor bane to poison his sharp arrows\u2019 heads,\nThat death, but touch\u2019d, caus\u2019d; which he would not give,\nBecause he fear\u2019d the Gods that ever live\nWould plague such death with death; and yet their fear\nWas to my father\u2019s bosom not so dear\nAs was thy father\u2019s love; (for what he sought\nMy loving father found him to a thought.)\nIf such as then Ulysses might but meet\nWith these proud wooers, all were at his feet\nBut instant dead men, and their nuptialls\nWould prove as bitter as their dying galls.\nBut these things in the Gods\u2019 knees are repos\u2019d,\nIf his return shall see with wreak inclos\u2019d,\nThese in his house, or he return no more;\nAnd therefore I advise thee to explore\nAll ways thyself, to set these wooers gone;\nTo which end give me fit attenti\u00f3n:\nTo-morrow into solemn council call\nThe Greek hero\u00ebs, and declare to all\n(The Gods being witness) what thy pleasure is.\nCommand to towns of their nativity\nThese frontless wooers. If thy mother\u2019s mind\nStands to her second nuptials so inclin\u2019d,\nReturn she to her royal father\u2019s tow\u2019rs,\nWhere th\u2019 one of these may wed her, and her dow\u2019rs\nMake rich, and such as may consort with grace\nSo dear a daughter of so great a race\nAnd thee I warn as well (if thou as well\nWilt hear and follow) take thy best-built sail,\nWith twenty oars mann\u2019d, and haste t\u2019 inquire\nWhere the abode is of thy absent sire,\nIf any can inform thee, or thine ear\nFrom Jove the fame of his retreat may hear,\nFor chiefly Jove gives all that honours men.\nTo Pylos first be thy addression then,\nTo god-like Nestor; thence to Sparta haste,\nTo gold-lock\u2019d Menelaus, who was last\nOf all the brass-arm\u2019d Greeks that sail\u2019d from Troy;\nAnd try from both these, if thou canst enjoy\nNews of thy sire\u2019s return\u2019d life anywhere,\nThough sad thou suffer\u2019st in his search a year.\nIf of his death thou hear\u2019st, return thou home,\nAnd to his memory erect a tomb,\nPerforming parent-rites, of feast and game,\nPompous, and such as best may fit his fame;\nAnd then thy mother a fit husband give.\nThese past, consider how thou mayst deprive\nOf worthless life these wooers in thy house,\nBy open force, or projects enginous.\nThings childish fit not thee; th\u2019 art so no more.\nHast thou not heard, how all men did adore\nDivine Orestes, after he had slain\n\u00c6gisthus murd\u2019ring by a treach\u2019rous train\nHis famous father? Be then, my most lov\u2019d,\nValiant and manly, ev\u2019ry way approv\u2019d\nAs great as he. I see thy person fit,\nNoble thy mind, and excellent thy wit,\nAll giv\u2019n thee so to use and manage here\nThat ev\u2019n past death they may their memories bear.\nIn meantime I\u2019ll descend to ship and men,\nThat much expect me. Be observant then\nOf my advice, and careful to maintain\nIn equal acts thy royal father\u2019s reign.\u201d\nTelemachus replied: \u201cYou ope, fair guest,\nA friend\u2019s heart in your speech, as well exprest\nAs might a father serve t\u2019 inform his son;\nAll which sure place have in my memory won.\nAbide yet, though your voyage calls away,\nThat, having bath\u2019d, and dignified your stay\nWith some more honour, you may yet beside\nDelight your mind by being gratified\nWith some rich present taken in your way,\nThat, as a jewel, your respect may lay\nUp in your treasury, bestow\u2019d by me,\nAs free friends use to guests of such degree.\u201d\n\u201cDetain me not,\u201d said she, \u201cso much inclin\u2019d\nTo haste my voyage. What thy loved mind\nCommands to give, at my return this way,\nBestow on me, that I directly may\nConvey it home; which more of price to me\nThe more it asks my recompense to thee.\u201d\nThis said, away grey-eyed Minerva flew,\nLike to a mounting lark; and did endue\nHis mind with strength and boldness, and much more\nMade him his father long for than before;\nAnd weighing better who his guest might be,\nHe stood amaz\u2019d, and thought a Deity\nWas there descended; to whose will he fram\u2019d\nHis pow\u2019rs at all parts, and went so inflam\u2019d\nAmongst the wooers, who were silent set,\nTo hear a poet sing the sad retreat\nThe Greeks perform\u2019d from Troy; which was from thence\nProclaim\u2019d by Pallas, pain of her offence.\nWhen which divine song was perceiv\u2019d to bear\nThat mournful subject by the list\u2019ning ear\nOf wise Penelope, Icarius\u2019 seed,\nWho from an upper room had giv\u2019n it heed,\nDown she descended by a winding stair,\nNot solely, but the state in her repair\nTwo maids of honour made. And when this queen\nOf women stoop\u2019d so low, she might be seen\nBy all her wooers. In the door, aloof,\nEnt\u2019ring the hall grac\u2019d with a goodly roof,\nShe stood, in shade of graceful veils, implied\nAbout her beauties; on her either side,\nHer honour\u2019d women. When, to tears mov\u2019d, thus\nShe chid the sacred singer: \u201cPhemi\u00fcs,\nYou know a number more of these great deeds\nOf Gods and men, that are the sacred seeds,\nAnd proper subjects, of a poet\u2019s song,\nAnd those due pleasures that to men belong,\nBesides these facts that furnish Troy\u2019s retreat,\nSing one of those to these, that round your seat\nThey may with silence sit, and taste their wine;\nBut cease this song, that through these ears of mine\nConveys deserv\u2019d occasion to my heart\nOf endless sorrows, of which the desert\nIn me unmeasur\u2019d is past all these men,\nSo endless is the memory I retain,\nAnd so desertful is that memory,\nOf such a man as hath a dignity\nSo broad it spreads itself through all the pride\nOf Greece and Argos.\u201d To the queen replied\nInspir\u2019d Telemachus: \u201cWhy thus envies\nMy mother him that fits societies[9]\nWith so much harmony, to let him please\nHis own mind in his will to honour these?\nFor these ingenious and first sort of men,[10]\nThat do immediately from Jove retain\nTheir singing raptures, are by Jove as well\nInspir\u2019d with choice of what their songs impell,\nJove\u2019s will is free in it, and therefore theirs.\nNor is this man to blame, that the repairs\nThe Greeks make homeward sings; for his fresh muse\nMen still most celebrate that sings most news.\nAnd therefore in his note your ears employ:\nFor not Ulysses only lost in Troy\nThe day of his return, but numbers more\nThe deadly ruins of his fortunes bore.\nGo you then in, and take your work in hand,\nYour web, and distaff; and your maids command\nTo ply their fit work. Words to men are due,\nAnd those reproving counsels you pursue,\nAnd most to me of all men, since I bear\nThe rule of all things that are manag\u2019d here.\u201d\nShe went amaz\u2019d away, and in her heart\nLaid up the wisdom Pallas did impart\nTo her lov\u2019d son so lately, turn\u2019d again\nUp to her chamber, and no more would reign\nIn manly counsels. To her women she\nApplied her sway; and to the wooers he\nBegan new orders, other spirits bewray\u2019d\nThan those in spite of which the wooers sway\u2019d.\nAnd (whiles his mother\u2019s tears still wash\u2019d her eyes,\nTill grey Minerva did those tears surprise\nWith timely sleep, and that her wooers did rouse\nRude tumult up through all the shady house,\nDispos\u2019d to sleep because their widow was)\nTelemachus this new-giv\u2019n spirit did pass\nOn their old insolence: \u201cHo! you that are,\nMy mother\u2019s wooers! much too high ye bear\nYour petulant spirits; sit; and, while ye may\nEnjoy me in your banquets, see ye lay\nThese loud notes down, nor do this man the wrong,\nBecause my mother hath disliked his song,\nTo grace her interruption. \u2019Tis a thing\nHonest, and honour\u2019d too, to hear one sing\nNumbers so like the Gods in elegance,\nAs this man flows in. By the morn\u2019s first light,[11]\nI\u2019ll call ye all before me in a Court,\nThat I may clearly banish your resort,\nWith all your rudeness, from these roofs of mine.\nAway; and elsewhere in your feasts combine.\nConsume your own goods, and make mutual feast\nAt either\u2019s house. Or if ye still hold best,\nAnd for your humours\u2019 more suffic\u00e9d fill,\nTo feed, to spoil, because unpunish\u2019d still,\nOn other findings, spoil; but here I call\nTh\u2019 Eternal Gods to witness, if it fall\nIn my wish\u2019d reach once to be dealing wreaks,\nBy Jove\u2019s high bounty, these your present checks\nTo what I give in charge shall add more reins\nTo my revenge hereafter; and the pains\nYe then must suffer shall pass all your pride\nEver to see redress\u2019d, or qualified.\u201d\nAt this all bit their lips, and did admire\nHis words sent from him with such phrase and fire;\nWhich so much mov\u2019d them that Antinous,\nEupitheus\u2019 son, cried out: \u201cTelemachus!\nThe Gods, I think, have rapt thee to this height\nOf elocution, and this great conceit\nOf self-ability. We all may pray,\nThat Jove invest not in this kingdom\u2019s sway\nThy forward forces, which I see put forth\nA hot ambition in thee for thy birth.\u201d\n\u201cBe not offended,\u201d he replied, \u201cif I[12]\nShall say, I would assume this empery,\nIf Jove gave leave. You are not he that sings:\n_The rule of kingdoms is the worst of things._\nNor is it ill, at all, to sway a throne;\nA man may quickly gain possession\nOf mighty riches, make a wondrous prize\nSet of his virtues; but the dignities\nThat deck a king, there are enough beside\nIn this circumfluous isle that want no pride\nTo think them worthy of, as young as I,\nAnd old as you are. An ascent so high\nMy thoughts affect not. Dead is he that held\nDesert of virtue to have so excell\u2019d.\nBut of these turrets I will take on me\nTo be the absolute king, and reign as free,\nAs did my father, over all his hand\nLeft here in this house slaves to my command.\u201d\nEurymachus, the son of Polybus,\nTo this made this reply: \u201cTelemachus!\nThe girlond of this kingdom let the knees\nOf Deity run for; but the faculties\nThis house is seis\u2019d of, and the turrets here,\nThou shalt be lord of, nor shall any bear\nThe least part off of all thou dost possess,\nAs long as this land is no wilderness.\nNor rul\u2019d by out-laws. But give these their pass,\nAnd tell me, best of princes, who he was\nThat guested here so late? From whence? And what\nIn any region boasted he his state?\nHis race? His country? Brought he any news\nOf thy returning father? Or for dues\nOf moneys to him made he fit repair?\nHow suddenly he rush\u2019d into the air,\nNor would sustain to stay and make him known!\nHis port show\u2019d no debauch\u2019d companion.\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cThe return of my lov\u2019d sire\nIs past all hope; and should rude Fame inspire\nFrom any place a flatt\u2019ring messenger\nWith news of his survival, he should bear\nNo least belief off from my desp\u2019rate love.\nWhich if a sacred prophet should approve,\nCall\u2019d by my mother for her care\u2019s unrest,\nIt should not move me. For my late fair guest,\nHe was of old my father\u2019s, touching here\nFrom sea-girt Taphos; and for name doth bear\nMentas, the son of wise Anchialus;\nAnd governs all the Taphians studious\nOf navigation.\u201d This he said, but knew\nIt was a Goddess. These again withdrew\nTo dances and attraction of the song;\nAnd while their pleasures did the time prolong,\nThe sable Even descended, and did steep\nThe lids of all men in desire of sleep.\nTelemachus, into a room built high,\nOf his illustrious court, and to the eye\nOf circular prospect, to his bed ascended,\nAnd in his mind much weighty thought contended\nBefore him Euryclea (that well knew\nAll the observance of a handmaid\u2019s due,\nDaughter to Opis Pisenorides)\nBore two bright torches; who did so much please\nLa\u00ebrtes in her prime, that, for the price\nOf twenty oxen, he made merchandise\nOf her rare beauties; and love\u2019s equal flame,\nTo her he felt, as to his nuptial dame,\nYet never durst he mix with her in bed,\nSo much the anger of his wife he fled.\nShe, now grown old, to young Telemachus\nTwo torches bore, and was obsequious\nPast all his other maids, and did apply\nHer service to him from his infancy.\nHis well-built chamber reach\u2019d, she op\u2019d the door,\nHe on his bed sat, the soft weeds he wore\nPut off, and to the diligent old maid\nGave all; who fitly all in thick folds laid,\nAnd hung them on a beam-pin near the bed,\nThat round about was rich embroidered.\nThen made she haste forth from him, and did bring\nThe door together with a silver ring,\nAnd by a string a bar to it did pull.\nHe, laid, and cover\u2019d well with curled wool\nWov\u2019n in silk quilts, all night employ\u2019d his mind\nAbout the task that Pallas had design\u2019d.\n\n FINIS LIBRI PRIMI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] The information or fashion of an absolute man; and necessary (or\n fatal) passage through many afflictions (according with the most\n Sacred Letter) to his natural haven and country, is the whole argument\n and scope of this inimitable and miraculous poem. And therefore is the\n epithet _\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u1f50\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd_ given him in the first verse: _\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u1f50\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2_\n signifying, _Homo cujus ingenium velut per multas et varias vias\n vertitur in verum._\n\n [2] These notes following I am forced to insert (since the words they\n contain differ from all other translations) lest I be thought to err\n out of that ignorance that may perhaps possess my depraver.\n\n [3] _\u2018\u0391\u03bc\u1f51\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2_ translated in this place _inculpabilis,_ and made the\n epithet of \u00c6gisthus, is from the true sense of the word, as it is here\n to be understood; which is quite contrary. As _\u1f70\u03bd\u03c4\u03af\u03b8\u03b5\u03bf\u03c2_ is to be\n expounded in some place _Divinus,_ or _Deo similis,_ but in another\n (soon after) _contrarius Deo._ The person to whom the epithet is given\n giving reason to distinguish it. And so _\u1f40\u03bb\u03bf\u1f41\u03c6\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd,_ an epithet given\n to Atlas, instantly following, in one place signifies _mente\n perniciosus,_ in the next, _qui universa mente gerit._\n\n [4] In this place is Atlas given the epithet _\u1f40\u03bb\u03bf\u1f41\u03c6\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd,_ which\n signifies _qui universa mente agitat,_ here given him for the power\n the stars have in all things. Yet this receives other interpretation\n in other places, as abovesaid.\n\n [5] _\u0394\u1f50\u03c3\u03c4\u03b7\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2_ is here turned by others, _infelix,_ in the general\n collection; when it hath here a particular exposition, applied to\n express Ulysses\u2019 desert errors, _\u2018\u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u1f01 \u03c4\u1f41 \u03c3\u03c4\u1f23\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9, ut sit, qui vix\n locum invenire potest ubi consistat._\n\n [6] This is thus translated, the rather to express and approve the\n allegory driven through the whole Odysseys. Deciphering the intangling\n of the wisest in his affections; and the torments that breed in every\n pious mind; to be thereby hindered to arrive so directly as he\n desires, at the proper and only true natural country of every worthy\n man, whose haven is heaven and the next life, to which, this life is\n but a sea in continual \u00e6sture and vexation. The words occasioning all\n this are _\u03bc\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u1f33\u03c2 \u03bb\u1f40\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2: \u03bc\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u1f40\u03c2_ signifying, _qui languide, et\n animo remisso rem aliquam gerit;_ which being the effect of Calypso\u2019s\n sweet words in Ulysses, is here applied passively to his own\n sufferance of their operation.\n\n [7] _\u1fde\u0395\u03c1\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f40\u03b4\u1f40\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd,_ viz. _vallum_ or _clanstrum dentium,_ which, for\n the better sound in our language, is here turned, Pale of Ivory. The\n teeth being that rampire, or pale, given us by nature in that part for\n restraint and compression of our speech, till the imagination,\n appetite, and soul (that ought to rule in their examination, before\n their delivery) have given worthy pass to them. The most grave and\n divine poet, teaching therein, that not so much for the necessary\n chewing of our sustenance our teeth are given us, as for their stay of\n our words, lest we utter them rashly.\n\n [8] _\u03a4\u1f40\u03c3\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b1\u00ee\u03c2, Tantus filius._ Pallas thus enforcing her question to\n stir up the son the more to the father\u2019s worthiness.\n\n [9] _\u2019\u0395\u03c1\u1f30\u03b7\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f00\u03bf\u03b9\u03b4\u1f40\u03c2. Cantor, cujus tam apta est societas hominibus._\n\n [10] _\u2019\u0391\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u1f00\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f00\u03bb\u03c6\u03b7\u03c3\u03c4\u1f94\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd. \u2019\u0391\u03bb\u03c6\u03b7\u03c3\u03c4\u1f94\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd_ is an epithet proper to poets\n for their first finding out of arts and documents tending to elocution\n and government inspired only by Jove, and are here called the first of\n men, since first they gave rules to manly life, and have their\n information immediately from Jove (as Plato in Ione witnesseth); the\n word deduced from _\u1f05\u03bb\u03c6\u03b1,_ which is taken for him _qui primas teneat\n aliqu\u00e2 in re,_ and will _\u1f00\u03bb\u03c6\u03b7\u03c3\u03c4\u1fc3\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd_ then be sufficiently expressed\n with _ingeniosis,_ than which no exposition goes further.\n\n [11] _\u2019\u0397\u03c9\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd, prima luce._\n\n [12] Upon this answer of Telemachus, because it hath so sudden a\n change and is so far let down from his late height of heat, altering\n and tempering so commandingly his affections I thought not amiss to\n insert here Spondanus\u2019 further annotations, which is this: _Prudenter\n Telemachus joco furorem Antinoi ac asperitatem emolliit. Nam ita\n dictum illius interpretatur, ut existimetur censere jocos\u00e8 ilia etiam\n ab Antinoo adversum se pronunciata. Et primum ironic\u00e8 se Regem esse\n exoptat propter commoda qu\u00e6 Reges solent comitari. Ne tamen invidiam\n in se ambitionis concitet, testatur se regnum, Ithac\u00e6 non ambire,\n mortuo Ulysse, cum id alii possidere queant se longe pr\u00e6stantiores ac\n digniores: hoc unum ait se moliri, ut propriarum \u00e6dium et bonorum\n solus sit dominus, iis exclusis, ac ejectis, qui vi illa occupare ac\n disperdere conantur._\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nTelemachus to court doth call\nThe Wooers, and commands them all\nTo leave his house; and taking then\nFrom wise Minerva ship and men,\nAnd all things fit for him beside,\nThat Euryclea could provide\nFor sea-rites till he found his sire,\nHe hoists sail; when Heav\u2019n stoops his fire.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03b2\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1._\nThe old Maid\u2019s store\nThe voyage cheers.\nThe ship leaves shore,\nMinerva steers.\n\nNow when with rosy fingers, th\u2019 early born\nAnd thrown through all the air, appear\u2019d the Morn,\nUlysses\u2019 lov\u2019d son from his bed appear\u2019d,\nHis weeds put on, and did about him gird\nHis sword that thwart his shoulders hung, and tied\nTo his fair feet fair shoes, and all parts plied\nFor speedy readiness: who, when he trod\nThe open earth, to men show\u2019d like a God.\nThe heralds then he straight charg\u2019d to consort\nThe curl\u2019d-head Greeks, with loud calls, to a Court.\nThey summon\u2019d; th\u2019 other came in utmost haste.\nWho all assembled, and in one heap plac\u2019d\nHe likewise came to council, and did bear\nIn his fair hand his iron-headed spear.\nNor came alone, nor with men-troops prepar\u2019d,\nBut two fleet dogs made both his train and guard.\nPallas supplied with her high wisdom\u2019s grace,\nThat all men\u2019s wants supplies, State\u2019s painted face.\nHis ent\u2019ring presence all men did admire;\nWho took seat in the high throne of his sire,\nTo which the grave peers gave him rev\u2019rend way.\nAmongst whom, an Egyptian hero\u00eb\n(Crook\u00e9d with age, and full of skill) begun\nThe speech to all; who had a loved son\nThat with divine Ulysses did ascend\nHis hollow fleet to Troy; to serve which end,\nHe kept fair horse, and was a man-at-arms,\nAnd in the cruel Cyclop\u2019s stern alarms\nHis life lost by him in his hollow cave,\nWhose entrails open\u2019d his abhorr\u00e9d grave,\nAnd made of him, of all Ulysses\u2019 train,\nHis latest supper, being latest slain;\nHis name was Antiphus, And this old man,\nThis crook\u00e9d-grown, this wise Egyptian,\nHad three sons more; of which one riotous\nA wooer was, and call\u2019d Eurynomus;\nThe other two took both his own wish\u2019d course.\nYet both the best fates weigh\u2019d not down the worse,\nBut left the old man mindful still of moan;\nWho, weeping, thus bespake the Session:\n\u201cHear, Ithacensians, all I fitly say:\nSince our divine Ulysses\u2019 parting day\nNever was council call\u2019d, nor session,\nAnd now by whom is this thus undergone?\nWhom did necessity so much compell,\nOf young or old? Hath anyone heard tell\nOf any coming army, that he thus now\nMay openly take boldness to avow,\nFirst having heard it? Or will any here\nSome motion for the public good prefer?\nSome worth of note there is in this command;\nAnd, methinks, it must be some good man\u2019s hand\nThat\u2019s put to it, that either hath direct\nMeans to assist, or, for his good affect,\nHopes to be happy in the proof he makes;\nAnd that Jove grant, whate\u2019er he undertakes.\u201d\nTelemachus (rejoicing much to hear\nThe good hope and opinion men did bear\nOf his young actions) no longer sat,\nBut long\u2019d t\u2019 approve what this man pointed at,\nAnd make his first proof in a cause so good;\nAnd in the council\u2019s chief place up he stood;\nWhen straight Pisenor (herald to his sire,\nAnd learn\u2019d in counsels) felt his heart on fire\nTo hear him speak, and put into his hand\nThe sceptre that his father did command;\nThen, to the old Egyptian turn\u2019d, he spoke:\n\u201cFather, not far he is that undertook\nTo call this Council; whom you soon shall know.\nMyself, whose wrongs my griefs will make me show,\nAm he that author\u2019d this assembly here.\nNor have I heard of any army near,\nOf which, being first told, I might iterate,\nNor for the public good can aught relate,\nOnly mine own affairs all this procure,\nThat in my house a double ill endure;\nOne, having lost a father so renown\u2019d,\nWhose kind rule once with\u2019 your command was crown\u2019d;\nThe other is, what much more doth augment\nHis weighty loss, the ruin imminent\nOf all my house by it, my goods all spent.\nAnd of all this the wooers, that are sons\nTo our chief peers, are the confusi\u00f3ns,\nImportuning my mother\u2019s marri\u00e1ge\nAgainst her will; nor dares their blood\u2019s bold rage\nGo to Icarius\u2019, her father\u2019s, court,\nThat, his will ask\u2019d in kind and comely sort,\nHe may endow his daughter with a dow\u2019r,\nAnd, she consenting, at his pleasure\u2019s pow\u2019r\nDispose her to a man, that, thus behav\u2019d,\nMay have fit grace, and see her honour sav\u2019d.\nBut these, in none but my house, all their lives\nResolve to spend; slaught\u2019ring my sheep and beeves,\nAnd with my fattest goats lay feast on feast,\nMy gen\u2019rous wine consuming as they list.\nA world of things they spoil, here wanting one,\nThat, like Ulysses, quickly could set gone\nThese peace-plagues from his house, that spoil like war;\nWhom my pow\u2019rs are unfit to urge so far,\nMyself immartial. But, had I the pow\u2019r,\nMy will should serve me to exempt this hour\nFrom out my life-time. For, past patience,\nBase deeds are done here, that exceed defence\nOf any honour. Falling is my house,\nWhich you should shame to see so ruinous.\nRev\u2019rence the censures that all good men give,\nThat dwell about you; and for fear to live\nExpos\u2019d to heav\u2019n\u2019s wrath (that doth ever pay\nPains for joys forfeit) even by Jove I pray,\nOr Themis, both which pow\u2019rs have to restrain,\nOr gather, councils, that ye will abstain\nFrom further spoil, and let me only waste\nIn that most wretched grief I have embrac\u2019d\nFor my lost father. And though I am free\nFrom meriting your outrage, yet, if he,\nGood man, hath ever with a hostile heart\nDone ill to any Greek, on me convert\nYour like hostility, and vengeance take\nOf his ill on my life, and all these make\nJoin in that justice; but, to see abus\u2019d\nThose goods that do none ill but being ill-us\u2019d,\nExceeds all right. Yet better \u2019tis for me,\nMy whole possessions and my rents to see\nConsum\u2019d by you, than lose my life and all;\nFor on your rapine a revenge may fall,\nWhile I live; and so long I may complain\nAbout the city, till my goods again,\nOft ask\u2019d, may be with all amends repaid.\nBut in the mean space your misrule hath laid\nGriefs on my bosom, that can only speak,\nAnd are denied the instant pow\u2019r of wreak.\u201d\nThis said, his sceptre \u2019gainst the ground he threw,\nAnd tears still\u2019d from him; which mov\u2019d all the crew,\nThe court struck silent, not a man did dare\nTo give a word that might offend his ear.\nAntinous only in this sort replied:\n\u201cHigh spoken, and of spirit unpacified,\nHow have you sham\u2019d us in this speech of yours!\nWill you brand us for an offence not ours?\nYour mother, first in craft, is first in cause.\nThree years are past, and near the fourth now draws,\nSince first she mock\u2019d the peers Achaian.\nAll she made hope, and promis\u2019d ev\u2019ry man,\nSent for us ever, left love\u2019s show in nought,\nBut in her heart conceal\u2019d another thought.\nBesides, as curious in her craft, her loom\nShe with a web charg\u2019d, hard to overcome,\nAnd thus bespake us: \u2018Youths, that seek my bed,\nSince my divine spouse rests amongst the dead,\nHold on your suits but till I end, at most,\nThis funeral weed, lest what is done be lost.\nBesides, I purpose, that when th\u2019 austere fate\nOf bitter death shall take into his state\nLaertes the hero\u00eb, it shall deck\nHis royal corse, since I should suffer check\nIn ill report of ev\u2019ry common dame,\nIf one so rich should show in death his shame.\u2019\nThis speech she us\u2019d; and this did soon persuade\nOur gentle minds. But this a work she made\nSo hugely long, undoing still in night,\nBy torches, all she did by day\u2019s broad light,\nThat three years her deceit div\u2019d past our view,\nAnd made us think that all she feign\u2019d was true.\nBut when the fourth year came, and those sly hours\nThat still surprise at length dames\u2019 craftiest powers,\nOne of her women, that knew all, disclos\u2019d\nThe secret to us, that she still unloos\u2019d\nHer whole day\u2019s fair affair in depth of night.\nAnd then no further she could force her sleight,\nBut, of necessity, her work gave end.\nAnd thus, by me, doth ev\u2019ry other friend,\nProfessing love to her, reply to thee;\nThat ev\u2019n thyself, and all Greeks else, may see,\nThat we offend not in our stay, but she.\nTo free thy house then, send her to her sire,\nCommanding that her choice be left entire\nTo his election, and one settled will.\nNor let her vex with her illusions still\nHer friends that woo her, standing on her wit,\nBecause wise Pallas hath giv\u2019n wills to it\nSo full of art, and made her understand\nAll works in fair skill of a lady\u2019s hand.\nBut (for her working mind) we read of none\nOf all the old world, in which Greece hath shown\nHer rarest pieces, that could equal her:\nTyro, Alcmena, and Mycena were\nTo hold comparison in no degree,\nFor solid brain, with wise Penelope.\nAnd yet, in her delays of us, she shows\nNo prophet\u2019s skill with all the wit she owes;\nFor all this time thy goods and victuals go\nTo utter ruin; and shall ever so,\nWhile thus the Gods her glorious mind dispose.\nGlory herself may gain, but thou shalt lose\nThy longings ev\u2019n for necessary food,\nFor we will never go where lies our good,\nNor any other where, till this delay\nShe puts on all she quits with th\u2019 endless stay\nOf some one of us, that to all the rest\nMay give free farewell with his nuptial feast.\u201d\nThe wise young prince replied: \u201cAntinous!\nI may by no means turn out of my house\nHer that hath brought me forth and nourish\u2019d me.\nBesides, if quick or dead my father be\nIn any region, yet abides in doubt;\nAnd \u2019twill go hard, my means being so run out,\nTo tender to Icarius again,\nIf he again my mother must maintain\nIn her retreat, the dow\u2019r she brought with her.\nAnd then a double ill it will confer,\nBoth from my father and from God on me,\nWhen, thrust out of her house, on her bent knee,\nMy mother shall the horrid Furies raise\nWith imprecations, and all men dispraise\nMy part in her exposure. Never then\nWill I perform this counsel. If your spleen\nSwell at my courses, once more I command\nYour absence from my house; some other\u2019s hand\nCharge with your banquets; on your own goods eat,\nAnd either other mutually in treat,\nAt either of your houses, with your feast.\nBut if ye still esteem more sweet and best\nAnother\u2019s spoil, so you still wreakless live,\nGnaw, vermin-like, things sacred, no laws give[1]\nTo your devouring; it remains that I\nInvoke each Ever-living Deity,\nAnd vow, if Jove shall deign in any date\nPow\u2019r of like pains for pleasure so past rate,\nFrom thenceforth look, where ye have revell\u2019d so\nUnwreak\u2019d, your ruins all shall undergo.\u201d\nThus spake Telemachus; t\u2019 assure whose threat,\nFar-seeing Jove upon their pinions set\nTwo eagles from the high brows of a hill,\nThat, mounted on the Winds, together still\nTheir strokes extended; but arriving now\nAmidst the Council, over ev\u2019ry brow\nShook their thick wings and, threat\u2019ning death\u2019s cold fears,\nTheir necks and cheeks tore with their eager seres;\nThen, on the court\u2019s right hand away they flew,\nAbove both court and city. With whose view,\nAnd study what events they might foretell\nThe Council into admiration fell.\nThe old hero\u00eb, Halitherses, then,\nThe son of Nestor, that of all old men,\nHis peers in that court, only could foresee\nBy flight of fowls man\u2019s fixed destiny,\n\u2019Twixt them and their amaze, this interpos\u2019d:\n\u201cHear, Ithacensians, all your doubts disclos\u2019d.\nThe Wooers most are touch\u2019d in this ostent,\nTo whom are dangers great and imminent;\nFor now not long more shall Ulysses bear\nLack of his most lov\u2019d, but fills some place near,\nAddressing to these Wooers fate and death.\nAnd many more this mischief menaceth\nOf us inhabiting this famous isle.\nLet us consult yet, in this long forewhile,\nHow to ourselves we may prevent this ill.\nLet these men rest secure, and revel still;\nThough they might find it safer, if with us\nThey would in time prevent what threats them thus;\nSince not without sure trial I foretell\nThese coming storms, but know their issue well.\nFor to Ulysses all things have event,\nAs I foretold him, when for Ilion went\nThe whole Greek fleet together, and with them\nTh\u2019 abundant-in-all-counsels took the stream.\nI told him, that, when much ill he had past,\nAnd all his men were lost, he should at last,\nThe twentieth year, turn home, to all unknown;\nAll which effects are to perfection grown.\u201d\nEurymachus, the son of Polybus,\nOppos\u2019d this man\u2019s presage, and answer\u2019d thus:\n\u201cHence, great in years, go, prophesy at home,\nThy children teach to shun their ills to come.\nIn these superior far to thee am I.\nA world of fowls beneath the sun-beams fly\nThat are not fit t\u2019 inform a prophecy.\nBesides, Ulysses perish\u2019d long ago;\nAnd would thy fates to thee had destin\u2019d so,\nSince so thy so much prophecy had spar\u2019d\nThy wronging of our rights, which, for reward\nExpected home with thee, hath summon\u2019d us\nWithin the anger of Telemachus.\nBut this I will presage, which shall be true:\nIf any spark of anger chance t\u2019 ensue\nThy much old art in these deep auguries,\nIn this young man incens\u00e9d by thy lies,\nEv\u2019n to himself his anger shall confer\nThe greater anguish, and thine own ends err\nFrom all their objects; and, besides, thine age\nShall feel a pain, to make thee curse presage\nWith worthy cause, for it shall touch thee near.\nBut I will soon give end to all our fear,\nPreventing whatsoever chance can fall,\nIn my suit to the young prince for us all,\nTo send his mother to her father\u2019s house,\nThat he may sort her out a worthy spouse,\nAnd such a dow\u2019r bestow, as may befit\nOne lov\u2019d, to leave her friends and follow it.\nBefore which course be, I believe that none\nOf all the Greeks will cease th\u2019 ambiti\u00f3n\nOf such a match. For, chance what can to us,\nWe no man fear, no not Telemachus,\nThough ne\u2019er so greatly spoken. Nor care we\nFor any threats of austere prophecy,\nWhich thou, old dotard, vaunt\u2019st of so in vain.\nAnd thus shalt thou in much more hate remain;\nFor still the Gods shall bear their ill expense,\nNor ever be dispos\u2019d by competence,\nTill with her nuptials she dismiss our suits,\nOur whole lives\u2019 days shall sow hopes for such fruits.\nHer virtues we contend to, nor will go\nTo any other, be she never so\nWorthy of us, and all the worth we owe.\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d him: \u201cEurymachus, and all\nYe gen\u2019rous Wooers, now, in general,\nI see your brave resolves, and will no more\nMake speech of these points, and, much less, implore.\nIt is enough, that all the Grecians here,\nAnd all the Gods besides, just witness bear,\nWhat friendly premonitions have been spent\nOn your forbearance, and their vain event.\nYet, with my other friends, let love prevail\nTo fit me with a vessel free of sail,\nAnd twenty men, that may divide to me\nMy ready passage through the yielding sea\nFor Sparta, and Amathoan Pylos\u2019 shore,\nI now am bound, in purpose to explore\nMy long-lack\u2019d father, and to try if fame\nOr Jove, most author of man\u2019s honour\u2019d name,\nWith his return and life may glad mine ear,\nThough toil\u2019d in that proof I sustain a year.\nIf dead I hear him, nor of more state, here\nRetir\u2019d to my lov\u2019d country, I will rear\nA sepulchre to him, and celebrate\nSuch royal parent-rites, as fits his state;\nAnd then my mother to a spouse dispose.\u201d\nThis said, he sat; and to the rest arose\nMentor, that was Ulysses\u2019 chosen friend,\nTo whom, when he set forth, he did commend\nHis c\u00f3mplete family, and whom he will\u2019d\nTo see the mind of his old sire fulfill\u2019d,\nAll things conserving safe, till his retreat.\nWho, tender of his charge, and seeing so set\nIn slight care of their king his subjects there,\nSuff\u2019ring his son so much contempt to bear,\nThus gravely, and with zeal, to him began:\n\u201cNo more let any sceptre-bearing man,\nBenevolent, or mild, or human be,\nNor in his mind form acts of piety,\nBut ever feed on blood, and facts unjust\nCommit, ev\u2019n to the full swing of his lust,\nSince of divine Ulysses no man now,\nOf all his subjects, any thought doth show.\nAll whom he govern\u2019d, and became to them,\nRather than one that wore a diadem,\nA most indulgent father. But, for all\nThat can touch me, within no envy fall\nThese insolent Wooers, that in violent kind\nCommit things foul by th\u2019 ill wit of the mind,\nAnd with the hazard of their heads devour\nUlysses\u2019 house, since his returning hour\nThey hold past hope. But it affects me much,\nYe dull plebeians, that all this doth touch\nYour free states nothing; who, struck dumb, afford\nThese Wooers not so much wreak as a word,\nThough few, and you with only number might\nExtinguish to them the profaned light.\u201d\nEvenor\u2019s son, Leocritus, replied:\n\u201cMentor! the railer, made a fool with pride,\nWhat language giv\u2019st thou that would quiet us\nWith putting us in storm, exciting thus\nThe rout against us? Who, though more than we,\nShould find it is no easy victory\nTo drive men, habited in feast, from feasts,\nNo not if Ithacus himself such guests\nShould come and find so furnishing his Court,\nAnd hope to force them from so sweet a fort.\nHis wife should little joy in his arrive,\nThough much she wants him; for, where she alive\nWould her\u2019s enjoy, there death should claim his rights.\n_He must be conquer\u2019d that with many fights._\nThou speak\u2019st unfit things. To their labours then\nDisperse these people; and let these two men,\nMentor and Halitherses, that so boast\nFrom the beginning to have govern\u2019d most\nIn friendship of the father, to the son\nConfirm the course he now affects to run.\nBut my mind says, that, if he would but use\nA little patience, he should here hear news\nOf all things that his wish would understand,\nBut no good hope for of the course in hand.\u201d\nThis said, the Council rose; when ev\u2019ry peer\nAnd all the people in dispersion were\nTo houses of their own; the Wooers yet\nMade to Ulysses\u2019 house their old retreat.\nTelemachus, apart from all the prease,\nPrepar\u2019d to shore, and, in the aged seas\nHis fair hands wash\u2019d, did thus to Pallas pray:\n\u201cHear me, O Goddess, that but yesterday\nDidst deign access to me at home, and lay\nGrave charge on me to take ship, and inquire\nAlong the dark seas for mine absent sire!\nWhich all the Greeks oppose; amongst whom most\nThose that are proud still at another\u2019s cost,\nPast measure, and the civil rights of men,\nMy mother\u2019s Wooers, my repulse maintain.\u201d\nThus spake he praying; when close to him came\nPallas, resembling Mentor both in frame\nOf voice and person, and advis\u2019d him thus:\n\u201cThose Wooers well might know, Telemachus,\nThou wilt not ever weak and childish be,\nIf to thee be instill\u2019d the faculty\nOf mind and body that thy father grac\u2019d;\nAnd if, like him, there be in thee enchac\u2019d\nVirtue to give words works, and works their end.\nThis voyage, that to them thou didst commend,\nShall not so quickly, as they idly ween,\nBe vain, or giv\u2019n up, for their opposite spleen.\nBut, if Ulysses nor Penelope\nWere thy true parents, I then hope in thee\nOf no more urging thy attempt in hand;\nFor few, that rightly bred on both sides stand,\nAre like their parents, many that are worse,\nAnd most few better. Those then that the nurse\nOr mother call true-born yet are not so,\nLike worthy sires much less are like to grow.\nBut thou show\u2019st now that in thee fades not quite\nThy father\u2019s wisdom; and that future light\nShall therefore show thee far from being unwise,\nOr touch\u2019d with stain of bastard cowardice.\nHope therefore says, that thou wilt to the end\nPursue the brave act thou didst erst intend.\nBut for the foolish Wooers, they bewray\nThey neither counsel have nor soul, since they\nAre neither wise nor just, and so must needs\nRest ignorant how black above their heads\nFate hovers holding Death, that one sole day\nWill make enough to make them all away.\nFor thee, the way thou wishest shall no more\nFly thee a step; I, that have been before\nThy father\u2019s friend, thine likewise now will be,\nProvide thy ship myself, and follow thee.\nGo thou then home, and sooth each Wooer\u2019s vein,\nBut under hand fit all things for the main;\nWine in as strong and sweet casks as you can,\nAnd meal, the very marrow of a man,\nWhich put in good sure leather sacks, and see\nThat with sweet food sweet vessels still agree.\nI from the people straight will press for you\nFree voluntaries; and, for ships, enow\nSea-circled Ithaca contains, both new\nAnd old-built; all which I\u2019ll exactly view,\nAnd choose what one soever most doth please;\nWhich rigg\u2019d, we\u2019ll straight launch, and assay the seas.\u201d\nThis spake Jove\u2019s daughter, Pallas; whose voice heard,\nNo more Telemachus her charge deferr\u2019d,\nBut hasted home, and, sad at heart, did see\nAmidst his hall th\u2019 insulting Wooers flea\nGoats, and roast swine. \u2019Mongst whom, Antinous\nCareless, discov\u2019ring in Telemachus\nHis grudge to see them, laugh\u2019d, met, took his hand,\nAnd said: \u201cHigh-spoken, with the mind so mann\u2019d!\nCome, do as we do, put not up your spirits\nWith these low trifles, nor our loving merits\nIn gall of any hateful purpose steep,\nBut eat egregiously, and drink as deep.\nThe things thou think\u2019st on, all at full shall be\nBy th\u2019 Achives thought on, and perform\u2019d to thee;\nShip, and choice oars, that in a trice will land\nThy hasty fleet on heav\u2019nly Pylos\u2019 sand,\nAnd at the fame of thy illustrious sire.\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cMen, whom pride did so inspire,\nAre not fit consorts for an humble guest;\nNor are constrain\u2019d men merry at their feast.\nIs \u2019t not enough, that all this time ye have\nOp\u2019d in your entrails my chief goods a grave,\nAnd, while I was a child, made me partake?\nMy now more growth more grown my mind doth make,\nAnd, hearing speak more judging men than you,\nPerceive how much I was misgovern\u2019d now.\nI now will try if I can bring ye home\nAn ill Fate to consort you; if it come\nFrom Pylos, or amongst the people here.\nBut thither I resolve, and know that there\nI shall not touch in vain. Nor will I stay,\nThough in a merchant\u2019s ship I steer my way;\nWhich shows in your sights best; since me ye know\nIncapable of ship, or men to row.\u201d\nThis said, his hand he coyly snatch\u2019d away\nFrom forth Antinous\u2019 hand. The rest the day\nSpent through the house with banquets; some with jests,\nAnd some with railings, dignifying their feasts.\nTo whom a jest-proud youth the wit began:\n\u201cTelemachus will kill us ev\u2019ry man.\nFrom Sparta, to the very Pylian sand,\nHe will raise aids to his impetuous hand.\nO he affects it strangely! Or he means\nTo search Ephyra\u2019s fat shores, and from thence\nBring deathful poisons, which amongst our bowls\nWill make a general shipwrack of our souls.\u201d\nAnother said: \u201cAlas, who knows but he\nOnce gone, and erring like his sire at sea,\nMay perish like him, far from aid of friends,\nAnd so he makes us work? For all the ends\nLeft of his goods here we shall share, the house\nLeft to his mother and her chosen spouse.\u201d\nThus they; while he a room ascended, high\nAnd large, built by his father, where did lie\nGold and brass heap\u2019d up, and in coffers were\nRich robes, great store of odorous oils, and there\nStood tuns of sweet old wines along the wall,\nNeat and divine drink, kept to cheer with all\nUlysses\u2019 old heart, if he turn\u2019d again\nFrom labours fatal to him to sustain.\nThe doors of plank were, their close exquisite,\nKept with a double key, and day and night\nA woman lock\u2019d within; and that was she\nWho all trust had for her sufficiency,\nOld Euryclea, one of Opis\u2019 race,\nSon to Pisenor, and in passing grace\nWith grey Minerva; her the prince did call,\nAnd said: \u201cNurse! Draw me the most sweet of all\nThe wine thou keep\u2019st; next that which for my sire\nThy care reserves, in hope he shall retire.\nTwelve vessels fill me forth, and stop them well.\nThen into well-sew\u2019d sacks of fine ground meal\nPour twenty measures. Nor, to anyone\nBut thee thyself, let this design be known.\nAll this see got together; I it all\nIn night will fetch off, when my mother shall\nAscend her high room, and for sleep prepare.\nSparta and Pylos I must see, in care\nTo find my father.\u201d Out Euryclea cried,\nAnd ask\u2019d with tears: \u201cWhy is your mind applied.\nDear son, to this course? Whither will you go?\nSo far off leave us, and belov\u00e9d so,\nSo only? And the sole hope of your race?\nRoyal Ulysses, far from the embrace\nOf his kind country, in a land unknown\nIs dead; and, you from your lov\u2019d country gone,\nThe Wooers will with some deceit assay\nTo your destruction, making then their prey\nOf all your goods. Where, in your own y\u2019are strong,\nMake sure abode. It fits not you so young\nTo suffer so much by the aged seas,\nAnd err in such a wayless wilderness.\u201d\n\u201cBe cheer\u2019d, lov\u2019d nurse,\u201d said he, \u201cfor, not without\nThe will of God, go my attempts about.\nSwear therefore, not to wound my mother\u2019s ears\nWith word of this, before from heav\u2019n appears\nTh\u2019 elev\u2019nth or twelfth light, or herself shall please\nTo ask of me, or hears me put to seas,\nLest her fair body with her woe be wore.\u201d\nTo this the great oath of the Gods she swore;\nWhich having sworn, and of it every due\nPerform\u2019d to full, to vessels wine she drew,\nAnd into well-sew\u2019d sacks pour\u2019d foody meal.\nIn mean time he, with cunning to conceal\nAll thought of this from others, himself bore\nIn broad house, with the Wooers, as before.\nThen grey-eyed Pallas other thoughts did own,\nAnd like Telemachus trod through the town,\nCommanding all his men in th\u2019 even to be\nAboard his ship. Again then question\u2019d she\nNo\u00ebnon, fam\u2019d for aged Phronius\u2019 son,\nAbout his ship; who all things to be done\nAssur\u2019d her freely should. The sun then set,\nAnd sable shadows slid through ev\u2019ry street,\nWhen forth they launch\u2019d, and soon aboard did bring\nAll arms, and choice of ev\u2019ry needful thing\nThat fits a well-rigg\u2019d ship. The Goddess then\nStood in the port\u2019s extreme part, where her men,\nNobly appointed, thick about her came,\nWhose ev\u2019ry breast she did with spirit enflame.\nYet still fresh projects laid the grey-eyed Dame.\nStraight to the house she hasted, and sweet sleep\nPour\u2019d on each Wooer; which so laid in steep\nTheir drowsy temples, that each brow did nod,\nAs all were drinking, and each hand his load,\nThe cup, let fall. All start up, and to bed,\nNor more would watch, when sleep so surfeited\nTheir leaden eye-lids. Then did Pallas call\nTelemachus, in body, voice, and all,\nResembling Mentor, from his native nest,\nAnd said, that all his arm\u2019d men were addrest\nTo use their oars, and all expected now\nHe should the spirit of a soldier show.\n\u201cCome then,\u201d said she, \u201cno more let us defer\nOur honour\u2019d action.\u201d Then she took on her\nA ravish\u2019d spirit, and led as she did leap;\nAnd he her most haste took out step by step.\nArrived at sea and ship, they found ashore\nThe soldiers that their fashion\u2019d-long hair wore;\nTo whom the prince said: \u201cCome, my friends, let\u2019s bring\nOur voyage\u2019s provision; ev\u2019ry thing\nIs heap\u2019d together in our court; and none,\nNo not my mother, nor her maids, but one\nKnows our intention.\u201d This express\u2019d, he led,\nThe soldiers close together followed;\nAnd all together brought aboard their store.\nAboard the prince went; Pallas still before\nSat at the stern, he close to her, the men\nUp hasted after. He and Pallas then\nPut from the shore. His soldiers then he bad\nSee all their arms fit; which they heard, and had.\nA beechen mast, then, in the hollow base\nThey put, and hoisted, fix\u2019d it in its place\nWith cables; and with well-wreath\u2019d halsers hoise\nTheir white sails, which grey Pallas now employs\nWith full and fore-gales through the dark deep main.\nThe purple waves, so swift cut, roar\u2019d again\nAgainst the ship sides, that now ran and plow\u2019d\nThe rugged seas up. Then the men bestow\u2019d\nTheir arms about the ship, and sacrifice\nWith crown\u2019d wine-cups to th\u2019 endless Deities\nThey offer\u2019d up. Of all yet thron\u2019d above,\nThey most observ\u2019d the grey-eyed seed of Jove;\nWho, from the evening till the morning rose,\nAnd all day long their voyage did dispose.\n\n FINIS LIBRI SECUNDI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] The word is _\u03ba\u03b5\u1f30\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03b5, \u03ba\u03b5\u1f30\u03c1\u03c9_ signifying _insatiabili, qudd\u00e2m\n edacitate voro._\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nTelemachus, and Heav\u2019n\u2019s wise Dame\nThat never husband had, now came\nTo Nestor; who his either guest\nReceiv\u2019d at the religious feast\nHe made to Neptune, on his shore;\nAnd there told what was done before\nThe Trojan turrets, and the state\nOf all the Greeks since Ilion\u2019s fate.\nThis book these three of greatest place\nDoth serve with many a varied grace.\nWhich past, Minerva takes her leave.\nWhose state when Nestor doth perceive,\nWith sacrifice he makes it known,\nWhere many a pleasing rite is shown.\nWhich done, Telemachus hath gain\u2019d\nA chariot of him; who ordain\u2019d\nPisistratus, his son, his guide\nTo Sparta; and when starry eyed\nThe ample heav\u2019n began to be,\nAll house-rites to afford them free,\nIn Pheris, Diocles did please,\nHis surname Ortilochides.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u0393\u1f00\u03bc\u03bc\u03b1._\nUlysses\u2019 son\nWith Nestor lies,\nTo Sparta gone;\nThence Pallas flies.\n\nThe sun now left the great and goodly lake,\nAnd to the firm heav\u2019n bright ascent did make,\nTo shine as well upon the mortal birth,\nInhabiting the plow\u2019d life-giving earth,\nAs on the ever-treaders upon death.\nAnd now to Pylos, that so garnisheth\nHerself with buildings, old Neleus\u2019 town,\nThe prince and Goddess come had strange sights shown,\nFor, on the marine shore, the people there\nTo Neptune, that the azure locks doth wear,\nBeeves that were wholly black gave holy flame.\nNine seats of state they made to his high name;\nAnd ev\u2019ry seat set with five hundred men,\nAnd each five hundred was to furnish then\nWith nine black oxen ev\u2019ry sacred seat.\nThese of the entrails only pleas\u2019d to eat,\nAnd to the God enflam\u2019d the fleshy thighs.\nBy this time Pallas with the sparkling eyes,\nAnd he she led, within the haven bore,\nStruck sail, cast anchor, and trod both the shore,\nShe first, he after. Then said Pallas: \u201cNow\nNo more befits thee the least bashful brow;\nT\u2019 embolden which this act is put on thee,\nTo seek thy father both at shore and sea,\nAnd learn in what clime he abides so close,\nOr in the pow\u2019r of what Fate doth repose.\nCome then, go right to Nestor; let us see,\nIf in his bosom any counsel be,\nThat may inform us. Pray him not to trace\nThe common courtship, and to speak in grace\nOf the demander, but to tell the truth;\nWhich will delight him, and commend thy youth\nFor such prevention; for he loves no lies,\nNor will report them, being truly wise.\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cMentor! how, alas! shall I\nPresent myself? How greet his gravity?\nMy youth by no means that ripe form affords,\nThat can digest my mind\u2019s instinct in words\nWise, and beseeming th\u2019 ears of one so sage.\nYouth of most hope blush to use words with age.\u201d\nShe said: \u201cThy mind will some conceit impress,\nAnd something God will prompt thy towardness;\nFor, I suppose, thy birth, and breeding too,\nWere not in spite of what the Gods could do.\u201d\nThis said, she swiftly went before, and he\nHer steps made guides, and follow\u2019d instantly.\nWhen soon they reach\u2019d the Pylian throngs and seats,\nWhere Nestor with his sons sat; and the meats,\nThat for the feast serv\u2019d, round about them were\nAdherents dressing, all their sacred cheer,\nBeing roast and boil\u2019d meats. When the Pylians saw\nThese strangers come, in thrust did all men draw\nAbout their entry, took their hands, and pray\u2019d\nThey both would sit; their entry first assay\u2019d\nBy Nestor\u2019s son, Pisistratus. In grace\nOf whose repair, he gave them honour\u2019d place\nBetwixt his sire and brother Thrasymed,\nWho sat at feast on soft fells that were spread\nAlong the sea sands, kerv\u2019d, and reach\u2019d to them\nParts of the inwards, and did make a stream\nOf spritely wine into a golden bowl;\nWhich to Minerva with a gentle soul\nHe gave, and thus spake: \u201cEre you eat, fair guest,\nInvoke the Seas\u2019 King, of whose sacred feast\nYour travel hither makes ye partners now;\nWhen, sacrificing as becomes, bestow\nThis bowl of sweet wine on your friend, that he\nMay likewise use these rites of piety;\nFor I suppose his youth doth prayers use,\nSince all men need the Gods. But you I choose\nFirst in this cup\u2019s disposure, since his years\nSeem short of yours, who more like me appears.\u201d\nThus gave he her the cup of pleasant wine;\nAnd since a wise and just man did design\nThe golden bowl first to her free receit,\nEv\u2019n to the Goddess it did add delight,\nWho thus invok\u2019d: \u201cHear thou, whose vast embrace\nEnspheres the whole earth, nor disdain thy grace\nTo us that ask it in performing this:\nTo Nestor first, and these fair sons of his,\nVouchsafe all honour; and, next them, bestow\nOn all these Pylians, that have offer\u2019d now\nThis most renowned hecatomb to thee,\nRemuneration fit for them, and free;\nAnd lastly deign Telemachus and me,\nThe work perform\u2019d for whose effect we came,\nOur safe return, both with our ship and fame.\u201d\nThus pray\u2019d she; and herself herself obey\u2019d,\nIn th\u2019 end performing all for which she pray\u2019d.\nAnd now, to pray, and do as she had done,\nShe gave the fair round bowl t\u2019 Ulysses\u2019 son.\nThe meat then dress\u2019d, and drawn, and serv\u2019d t\u2019 each guest,\nThey celebrated a most sumptuous feast.\nWhen appetite to wine and food allay\u2019d,\nHorse-taming Nestor then began, and said:\n\u201cNow life\u2019s desire is serv\u2019d, as far as fare,\nTime fits me to enquire what guests these are.\nFair guests, what are ye? And for what coast tries\nYour ship the moist deeps? For fit merchandise?\nOr rudely coast ye, like our men of prise,\nThe rough seas tempting, desperately erring,\nThe ill of others in their good conferring?\u201d\nThe wise prince now his boldness did begin,\nFor Pallas\u2019 self had harden\u2019d him within,\nBy this device of travel to explore\nHis absent father; which two girlonds wore;\nHis good by manage of his spirits; and then\nTo gain him high grace in th\u2019 accounts of men.\n\u201cO Nestor! still in whom Nel\u00ebus lives!\nAnd all the glory of the Greeks survives,\nYou ask from whence we are, and I relate:\nFrom Ithaca (whose seat is situate\nWhere Neius, the renown\u00e9d mountain, rears\nHis haughty forehead, and the honour bears\nTo be our sea-mark) we assay\u2019d the waves.\nThe business, I must tell, our own good craves,\nAnd not the public. I am come t\u2019 enquire,\nIf, in the fame that best men doth inspire\nOf my most-suff\u2019ring father, I may hear\nSome truth of his estate now, who did bear\nThe name, being join\u2019d in fight with you alone,\nTo even with earth the height of Ilion.\nOf all men else, that any name did bear,\nAnd fought for Troy, the sev\u2019ral ends we hear;\nBut his death Jove keeps from the world unknown,\nThe certain fame thereof being told by none;\nIf on the continent by enemies slain,\nOr with the waves eat of the ravenous main.\nFor his love \u2019tis that to your knees I sue,\nThat you would please, out of your own clear view,\nT\u2019 assure his sad end; or say, if your ear\nHath heard of the unhappy wanderer,\nTo too much sorrow whom his mother bore.\nYou then by all your bounties I implore,\n(If ever to you deed or word hath stood,\nBy my good father promis\u2019d, render\u2019d good\nAmongst the Trojans, where ye both have tried\nThe Grecian suff\u2019rance) that in nought applied\nTo my respect or pity you will glose,\nBut uncloth\u2019d truth to my desires disclose.\u201d\n\u201cO my much-lov\u2019d,\u201d said he, \u201csince you renew\nRemembrance of the miseries that grew\nUpon our still-in-strength-opposing Greece\nAmongst Troy\u2019s people, I must touch a piece\nOf all our woes there, either in the men\nAchilles brought by sea and led to gain\nAbout the country, or in us that fought\nAbout the city, where to death were brought\nAll our chief men, as many as were there.\nThere Mars-like Ajax lies; Achilles there;\nThere the in-counsel-like-the-Gods, his friend;\nThere my dear son Antilochus took end,\nPast measure swift of foot, and staid in fight.\nA number more that ills felt infinite;\nOf which to reckon all, what mortal man,\nIf five or six years you should stay here, can\nServe such enquiry? You would back again,\nAffected with unsufferable pain,\nBefore you heard it. Nine years sieg\u2019d we them,\nWith all the depth and sleight of stratagem\nThat could be thought. Ill knit to ill past end.\nYet still they toil\u2019d us; nor would yet Jove send\nRest to our labours, nor will scarcely yet.\nBut no man liv\u2019d, that would in public set\nHis wisdom by Ulysses\u2019 policy,\nAs thought his equal; so excessively\nHe stood superior all ways. If you be\nHis son indeed, mine eyes ev\u2019n ravish me\nTo admiration. And in all consent\nYour speech puts on his speech\u2019s ornament.\nNor would one say, that one so young could use,\nUnless his son, a rhetoric so profuse.\nAnd while we liv\u2019d together, he and I\nNever in speech maintain\u2019d diversity;\nNor sat in council but, by one soul led,\nWith spirit and prudent counsel furnish\u00e9d\nThe Greeks at all hours, that, with fairest course,\nWhat best became them, they might put in force.\nBut when Troy\u2019s\u2019 high tow\u2019rs we had levell\u2019d thus,\nWe put to sea, and God divided us.\nAnd then did Jove our sad retreat devise;\nFor all the Greeks were neither just nor wise,\nAnd therefore many felt so sharp a fate,\nSent from Minerva\u2019s most pernicious hate;\nWhose mighty Father can do fearful things.\nBy whose help she betwixt the brother kings\nLet fall contention; who in council met\nIn vain, and timeless, when the sun was set,\nAnd all the Greeks call\u2019d, that came charg\u2019d with wine.\nYet then the kings would utter their design,\nAnd why they summon\u2019d. Menelaus, he\nPut all in mind of home, and cried, To sea.\nBut Agamemnon stood on contraries,\nWhose will was, they should stay and sacrifice\nWhole hecatombs to Pallas, to forego\nHer high wrath to them. Fool! that did not know\nShe would not so be won; for not with ease\nTh\u2019 Eternal Gods are turn\u2019d from what they please.\nSo they, divided, on foul language stood.\nThe Greeks in huge rout rose, their wine-heat blood\nTwo ways affecting. And, that night\u2019s sleep too,\nWe turn\u2019d to studying either other\u2019s woe;\nWhen Jove besides made ready woes enow.\nMorn came, we launch\u2019d, and in our ships did stow\nOur goods, and fair-girt women. Half our men\nThe people\u2019s guide, Atrides, did contain,\nAnd half, being now aboard, put forth to sea.\nA most free gale gave all ships prosp\u2019rous way.\nGod settled then the huge whale-bearing lake,\nAnd Tenedos we reach\u2019d; where, for time\u2019s sake,\nWe did divine rites to the Gods. But Jove,\nInexorable still, bore yet no love\nTo our return, but did again excite\nA second sad contention, that turn\u2019d quite\nA great part of us back to sea again;\nWhich were th\u2019 abundant-in-all-counsels man,\nYour matchless father, who, to gratify\nThe great Atrides, back to him did fly.\nBut I fled all, with all that follow\u2019d me,\nBecause I knew God studied misery,\nTo hurl amongst us. With me likewise fled\nMartial Tydides. I the men he led\nGat to go with him. Winds our fleet did bring\nTo Lesbos, where the yellow-headed king,\nThough late, yet found us, as we put to choice\nA tedious voyage; if we sail should hoise\nAbove rough Chius, left on our left hand,\nTo th\u2019 isle of Psyria, or that rugged land\nSail under, and for windy Mimas steer.\nWe ask\u2019d of God that some ostent might clear\nOur cloudy business, who gave us sign,\nAnd charge, that all should, in a middle line,\nThe sea cut for Eub\u0153a, that with speed\nOur long-sustain\u2019d infortune might be freed.\nThen did a whistling wind begin to rise,\nAnd swiftly flew we through the fishy skies,\nTill to Ger\u00e6stus we in night were brought;\nWhere, through the broad sea since we safe had wrought,\nAt Neptune\u2019s altars many solid thighs\nOf slaughter\u2019d bulls we burn\u2019d for sacrifice.\nThe fourth day came, when Tydeus\u2019 son did greet\nThe haven of Argos with his c\u00f3mplete fleet.\nBut I for Pylos straight steer\u2019d on my course;\nNor ever left the wind his foreright force,\nSince God fore-sent it first. And thus I came,\nDear son, to Pylos, uninform\u2019d by fame,\nNor know one sav\u2019d by Fate, or overcome.\nWhom I have heard of since, set here at home,\nAs fits, thou shalt be taught, nought left unshown.\nThe expert spear-men, ev\u2019ry Myrmidon,\nLed by the brave heir of the mighty-soul\u2019d\nUnpeer\u2019d Achilles, safe of home got hold;\nSafe Philoctetes, P\u0153an\u2019s famous seed;\nAnd safe Idomen\u00e6us his men led\nTo his home, Crete, who fled the arm\u00e9d field,\nOf whom yet none the sea from him withheld.\nAtrides, you have both heard, though ye be\nHis far-off dwellers, what an end had he,\nDone by \u00c6gisthus to a bitter death;\nWho miserably paid for forc\u00e9d breath,\nAtrides leaving a good son, that dyed,\nIn blood of that deceitful parricide,\nHis wreakful sword. And thou my friend, as he\nFor this hath his fame, the like spirit in thee\nAssume at all parts. Fair and great, I see,\nThou art in all hope, make it good to th\u2019 end,\nThat after-times as much may thee commend.\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cO thou greatest grace of Greece,\nOrestes made that wreak his master-piece,\nAnd him the Greeks will give a master-praise,\nVerse finding him to last all after-days.\nAnd would to God the Gods would favour me\nWith his performance, that my injury,\nDone by my mother\u2019s Wooers, being so foul,\nI might revenge upon their ev\u2019ry soul;\nWho, pressing me with contumelies, dare\nSuch things as past the pow\u2019r of utt\u2019rance are.\nBut Heav\u2019n\u2019s great Pow\u2019rs have grac\u2019d my destiny\nWith no such honour. Both my sire and I\nAre born to suffer everlastingly.\u201d\n\u201cBecause you name those Wooers, friend,\u201d said he,\n\u201cReport says, many such, in spite of thee,\nWooing thy mother, in thy house commit\nThe ills thou nam\u2019st. But say: Proceedeth it\nFrom will in thee to bear so foul a foil?\nOr from thy subjects\u2019 hate, that wish thy spoil,\nAnd will not aid thee, since their spirits rely,\nAgainst thy rule, on some grave augury?\nWhat know they, but at length thy father may\nCome, and with violence their violence pay;\nOr he alone, or all the Greeks with him?\nBut if Minerva now did so esteem\nThee, as thy father in times past; whom, past\nAll measure, she with glorious favours grac\u2019t\nAmongst the Trojans, where we suffer\u2019d so;\n(O! I did never see, in such clear show,\nThe Gods so grace a man, as she to him,\nTo all our eyes, appear\u2019d in all her trim)\nIf so, I say, she would be pleas\u2019d to love,\nAnd that her mind\u2019s care thou so much couldst move,\nAs did thy father, ev\u2019ry man of these\nWould lose in death their seeking marriages.\u201d\n\u201cO father,\u201d answer\u2019d he, \u201cyou make amaze\nSeize me throughout. Beyond the height of phrase\nYou raise expression; but \u2019twill never be,\nThat I shall move in any Deity\nSo blest an honour. Not by any means,\nIf Hope should prompt me, or blind Confidence,\n(The Gods of Fools) or ev\u2019ry Deity\nShould will it; for \u2019tis past my destiny.\u201d\nThe burning-eyed Dame answer\u2019d: \u201cWhat a speech\nHath past the teeth-guard Nature gave to teach\nFit question of thy words before they fly!\nGod easily can[1] (when to mortal eye\nHe\u2019s furthest off) a mortal satisfy;\nAnd does the more still. For thy car\u2019d-for sire,\nI rather wish, that I might home retire,\nAfter my suff\u2019rance of a world of woes,\nFar off, and then my glad eyes might disclose\nThe day of my return, then straight retire,\nAnd perish standing by my household fire;\nAs Agamemnon did, that lost his life\nBy false \u00c6gisthus, and his falser wife.\nFor Death to come at length, \u2019tis due to all;\nNor can the Gods themselves, when Fate shall call\nTheir most-lov\u2019d man, extend his vital breath\nBeyond the fix\u2019d bounds of abhorr\u00e9d Death.\u201d\n\u201cMentor!\u201d said he, \u201clet\u2019s dwell no more on this,\nAlthough in us the sorrow pious is.\nNo such return, as we wish, Fates bequeath\nMy erring father; whom a present death\nThe Deathless have decreed. I\u2019ll now use speech\nThat tends to other purpose; and beseech\nInstruction of grave Nestor, since he flows\nPast shore in all experience, and knows\nThe sleights and wisdoms, and whose heights aspire\nOthers, as well as my commended sire,\nWhom Fame reports to have commanded three\nAges of men, and doth in sight to me\nShow like th\u2019 Immortals. Nestor! the renown\nOf old Neleius, make the clear truth known,\nHow the most-great-in-empire, Atreus\u2019 son,\nSustain\u2019d the act of his destruction,\nWhere then was Menelaus? How was it\nThat false \u00c6gisthus, being so far unfit\nA match for him, could his death so enforce?\nWas he not then in Argos? or his course\nWith men so left, to let a coward breathe\nSpirit enough to dare his brother\u2019s death?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell thee truth in all, fair son,\u201d said he:\n\u201cRight well was this event conceiv\u2019d by thee.\nIf Menelaus in his brother\u2019s house\nHad found the idle liver with his spouse,\nArriv\u2019d from Troy, he had not liv\u2019d, nor dead\nHad the digg\u2019d heap pour\u2019d on his lustful head,\nBut fowls and dogs had torn him in the fields,\nFar off of Argos; not a dame it yields\nHad giv\u2019n him any tear, so foul his fact\nShow\u2019d ev\u2019n to women. Us Troy\u2019s wars had rack\u2019d\nTo ev\u2019ry sinew\u2019s sufferance, while he\nIn Argos\u2019 uplands liv\u2019d, from those works free,\nAnd Agamemnon\u2019s wife with force of word\nFlatter\u2019d and soften\u2019d, who, at first, abhorr\u2019d\nA fact so infamous. The heav\u2019nly dame\nA good mind had, but was in blood to blame.\nThere was a poet, to whose care the king\nHis queen committed, and in ev\u2019ry thing,\nWhen he from Troy went, charg\u2019d him to apply\nHimself in all guard to her dignity.\nBut when strong Fate so wrapt-in her effects,\nThat she resolv\u2019d to leave her fit respects,\nInto a desert isle her guardian led,\nThere left, the rapine of the vultures fed.\nThen brought he willing home his will\u2019s won prize,\nOn sacred altars offer\u2019d many thighs,\nHung in the God\u2019s fanes many ornaments,\nGarments and gold, that he the vast events\nOf such a labour to his wish had brought,\nAs neither fell into his hope nor thought.\nAt last, from Troy sail\u2019d Sparta\u2019s king and I,\nBoth holding her untouch\u2019d. And, that his eye\nMight see no worse of her, when both were blown\nTo sacred Sunium, of Minerva\u2019s town\nThe goodly promontory, with his shafts severe\nAugur Apollo slew him that did steer\nAtrides\u2019 ship, as he the stern did guide,\nAnd she the full speed of her sail applied.\nHe was a man that nati\u00f3ns of men\nExcell\u2019d in safe guide of a vessel, when\nA tempest rush\u2019d in on the ruffled seas;\nHis name was Phrontis Onetorides.\nAnd thus was Menelaus held from home,\nWhose way he thirsted so to overcome,\nTo give his friend the earth, being his pursuit,\nAnd all his exequies to execute.\nBut sailing still the wine-hued seas,[2] to reach\nSome shore for fit performance, he did fetch\nThe steep mount of the Malians, and there,\nWith open voice, offended Jupiter\nProclaim\u2019d the voyage his repugnant mind,\nAnd pour\u2019d the puffs out of a shrieking wind,\nThat nourish\u2019d billows heighten\u2019d like to hills;\nAnd with the fleet\u2019s division fulfills\nHis hate proclaim\u2019d; upon a part of Crete\nCasting the navy, where the sea-waves meet\nRough Jardanus, and where the Cydons live.\nThere is a rock, on which the sea doth drive,\nBare, and all broken, on the confines set\nOf Gortys, that the dark seas likewise fret;\nAnd hither sent the South a horrid drift\nOf waves against the top, that was the left\nOf that torn cliff as far as Ph\u00e6stus\u2019 strand.\nA little stone the great sea\u2019s rage did stand.\nThe men here driv\u2019n \u2018scap\u2019d hard the ship\u2019s sore shocks,\nThe ships themselves being wrack\u2019d against the rocks,\nSave only five, that blue fore-castles bore,\nWhich wind and water cast on Egypt\u2019s shore.\nWhen he (there victling well, and store of gold\nAboard his ships brought) his wild way did hold,\nAnd t\u2019 other languag\u2019d men was forc\u2019d to roam.\nMean space \u00c6gisthus made sad work at home,\nAnd slew his brother, forcing to his sway\nAtrides\u2019 subjects, and did sev\u2019n years lay\nHis yoke upon the rich Mycenian state.\nBut in the eighth, to his affrighting fate,\nDivine Orestes home from Athens came,\nAnd what his royal father felt, the same\nHe made the false \u00c6gisthus groan beneath.\n_Death evermore is the reward of death._\nThus having slain him, a sepulchral feast\nHe made the Argives for his lustful guest,\nAnd for his mother whom he did detest.\nThe self-same day upon him stole the king\nGood-at-a-martial-shout, and goods did bring,\nAs many as his freighted fleet could bear.\nBut thou, my son, too long by no means err,\nThy goods left free for many a spoilful guest,\nLest they consume some, and divide the rest,\nAnd thou, perhaps, besides, thy voyage lose.\nTo Menelaus yet thy course dispose\nI wish and charge thee; who but late arriv\u2019d\nFrom such a shore and men, as to have liv\u2019d\nIn a return from them he never thought,\nAnd whom black whirlwinds violently brought\nWithin a sea so vast, that in a year\nNot any fowl could pass it anywhere,\nSo huge and horrid was it. But go thou\nWith ship and men (or, if thou pleasest now\nTo pass by land, there shall be brought for thee\nBoth horse and chariot, and thy guides shall be\nMy sons themselves) to Sparta the divine,\nAnd to the king whose locks like amber shine.\nIntreat the truth of him, nor loves he lies,\nWisdom in truth is, and he\u2019s passing wise.\u201d\nThis said, the Sun went down, and up rose Night,\nWhen Pallas spake: \u201cO father, all good right\nBear thy directions. But divide we now\nThe sacrifices\u2019 tongues, mix wines, and vow\nTo Neptune, and the other Ever-Blest,\nThat, having sacrific\u2019d, we may to rest.\nThe fit hour runs now, light dives out of date,\nAt sacred feasts we must not sit too late.\u201d\nShe said; they heard; the heralds water gave;\nThe youths crown\u2019d cups with wine, and let all have\nTheir equal shares, beginning from the cup\nTheir parting banquet. All the tongues cut up,\nThe fire they gave them, sacrific\u2019d, and rose,\nWine, and divine rites us\u2019d, to each dispose;\nMinerva and Telemachus desir\u2019d\nThey might to ship be, with his leave, retir\u2019d.\nHe, mov\u2019d with that, provok\u2019d thus their abodes:\n\u201cNow Jove forbid, and all the long-liv\u2019d Gods,\nYour leaving me, to sleep aboard a ship;\nAs I had drunk of poor Penia\u2019s whip,\nEven to my nakedness, and had nor sheet\nNor cov\u2019ring in my house; that warm nor sweet\nA guest, nor I myself, had means to sleep;\nWhere I, both weeds and wealthy cov\u2019rings keep\nFor all my guests. Nor shall Fame ever say,\nThe dear son of the man Ulysses lay\nAll night a-ship-board here while my days shine,\nOr in my court whiles any son of mine\nEnjoys survival, who shall guests receive,\nWhomever my house hath a nook to leave.\u201d\n\u201cMy much-lov\u2019d father,\u201d said Minerva, \u201cwell\nAll this becomes thee. But persuade to dwell\nThis night with thee thy son Telemachus,\nFor more convenient is the course for us,\nThat he may follow to thy house and rest,\nAnd I may board our black-sail, that addrest\nAt all parts I may make our men, and cheer\nAll with my presence, since of all men there\nI boast myself the senior, th\u2019 others are\nYouths, that attend in free and friendly care\nGreat-soul\u2019d Telemachus, and are his peers\nIn fresh similitude of form and years.\nFor their confirmance, I will therefore now\nSleep in our black bark. But, when light shall show\nHer silver forehead, I intend my way\nAmongst the Caucons, men that are to pay\nA debt to me, nor small, nor new. For this,\nTake you him home; whom in the morn dismiss,\nWith chariot and your sons, and give him horse\nAblest in strength, and of the speediest course\u201d\nThis said, away she flew, form\u2019d like the fowl\nMen call the ossifrage; when ev\u2019ry soul\nAmaze invaded; even th\u2019 old man admir\u2019d,\nThe youth\u2019s hand took, and said: \u201cO most desir\u2019d,\nMy hope says thy proof will no coward show,\nNor one unskill\u2019d in war, when Deities now\nSo young attend thee, and become thy guides;\nNor any of the heav\u2019n-hous\u2019d States besides,\nBut Tritogenia\u2019s self, the Seed of Jove,\nThe great-in-prey, that did in honour move\nSo much about thy father, amongst all\nThe Grecian army. Fairest queen, let fall\nOn me like favours! Give me good renown!\nWhich, as on me, on my lov\u2019d wife let down,\nAnd all my children. I will burn to thee\nAn ox right bred, broad-headed, and yoke-free,\nTo no man\u2019s hand yet humbled. Him will I,\nHis horns in gold hid, give thy Deity.\u201d\nThus pray\u2019d he, and she heard; and home he led\nHis sons, and all his heaps of kindered.\nWho ent\u2019ring his court royal, ev\u2019ry one\nHe marshall\u2019d in his sev\u2019ral seat and throne;\nAnd ev\u2019ry one, so kindly come, he gave\nHis sweet-wine cup; which none was let to have\nBefore his \u2018leventh year landed him from Troy;\nWhich now the butleress had leave t\u2019 employ,\nWho therefore pierc\u2019d it, and did give it vent.\nOf this the old duke did a cup present\nTo ev\u2019ry guest; made his Maid many a pray\u2019r\nThat wears the shield fring\u2019d with his nurse\u2019s hair,\nAnd gave her sacrifice. With this rich wine\nAnd food suffic\u2019d, sleep all eyes did decline,\nAnd all for home went; but his court alone\nTelemachus, divine Ulysses\u2019 son,\nMust make his lodging, or not please his heart.\nA bed, all chequer\u2019d with elaborate art,\nWithin a portico that rung like brass,\nHe brought his guest to; and his bedfere was\nPisistratus, the martial guide of men,\nThat liv\u2019d, of all his sons, unwed till then.\nHimself lay in a by-room, far above,\nHis bed made by his barren wife, his love.\nThe rosy-finger\u2019d Morn no sooner shone,\nBut up he rose, took air, and sat upon\nA seat of white and goodly polish\u2019d stone,\nThat such a gloss as richest ointments wore,\nBefore his high gates; where the counsellor\nThat match\u2019d the Gods (his father) us\u2019d to sit,\nWho now, by fate forc\u2019d, stoop\u2019d as low as it.\nAnd here sat Nestor, holding in his hand\nA sceptre; and about him round did stand,\nAs early up, his sons\u2019 troop; Perseus,\nThe god-like Thrasymed, and Aretus,\nEchephron, Stratius, and sixth and last\nPisistratus, and by him (half embrac\u2019d\nStill as they came) divine Telemachus;\nTo these spake Nestor, old Gerenius:\n\u201cHaste, lov\u00e9d sons, and do me a desire,\nThat, first of all the Gods, I may aspire\nTo Pallas\u2019 favour, who vouchsaf\u2019d to me\nAt Neptune\u2019s feast her sight so openly.\nLet one to field go, and an ox with speed\nCause hither brought, which let the herdsman lead;\nAnother to my dear guest\u2019s vessel go,\nAnd all his soldiers bring, save only two;\nA third the smith that works in gold command\n(Laertius) to attend, and lend his hand,\nTo plate the both horns round about with gold;\nThe rest remain here close. But first, see told\nThe maids within, that they prepare a feast,\nSet seats through all the court, see straight addrest\nThe purest water, and get fuel fell\u2019d.\u201d\nThis said, not one but in the service held\nOfficious hand. The ox came led from field;\nThe soldiers troop\u2019d from ship; the smith he came,\nAnd those tools brought that serv\u2019d the actual frame\nHis art conceiv\u2019d, brought anvil, hammers brought,\nFair tongs, and all, with which the gold was wrought.\nMinerva likewise came, to set the crown\nOn that kind sacrifice, and make \u2019t her own.\nThen th\u2019 old knight Nestor gave the smith the gold,\nWith which he straight did both the horns infold,\nAnd trimm\u2019d the off\u2019ring so, the Goddess joy\u2019d.\nAbout which thus were Nestor\u2019s sons employ\u2019d:\nDivine Echephron, and fair Stratius,\nHeld both the horns. The water odorous,\nIn which they wash\u2019d, what to the rites was vow\u2019d,\nAretus, in a caldron all bestrow\u2019d\nWith herbs and flowers, serv\u2019d in from th\u2019 holy room\nWhere all were drest, and whence the rites must come.\nAnd after him a hallow\u2019d virgin came,\nThat brought the barley-cake, and blew the flame.\nThe axe, with which the ox should both be fell\u2019d\nAnd cut forth, Thrasymed stood by and held.\nPerseus the vessel held that should retain\nThe purple liquor of the off\u2019ring slain.\nThen wash\u2019d the pious father, then the cake\n(Of barley, salt, and oil, made) took, and brake,\nAsk\u2019d many a boon of Pallas, and the state\nOf all the off\u2019ring did initiate,\nIn three parts cutting off the hair, and cast\nAmidst the flame. All th\u2019 invocation past,\nAnd all the cake broke, manly Thrasymed\nStood near, and sure, and such a blow he laid\nAloft the off\u2019ring, that to earth he sunk,\nHis neck-nerves sunder\u2019d, and his spirits shrunk.\nOut shriek\u2019d the daughters, daughter-in-laws, and wife\nOf three-ag\u2019d Nestor, who had eldest life\nOf Clymen\u2019s daughters, chaste Eurydice.\nThe ox on broad earth then laid laterally\nThey held, while duke Pisistratus the throat\nDissolv\u2019d, and set the sable blood afloat,\nAnd then the life the bones left. Instantly\nThey cut him up; apart flew either thigh,\nThat with the fat they dubb\u2019d, with art alone,\nThe throat-brisk, and the sweet-bread pricking on.\nThen Nestor broil\u2019d them on the coal-turn\u2019d wood,\nPour\u2019d black wine on; and by him young men stood,\nThat spits fine-pointed held, on which, when burn\u2019d\nThe solid thighs were, they transfix\u2019d, and turn\u2019d\nThe inwards, cut in cantles; which, the meat\nVow\u2019d to the Gods consum\u2019d, they roast and eat.\nIn mean space, Polycast\u00e9 (call\u2019d the fair,\nNestor\u2019s young\u2019st daughter) bath\u2019d Ulysses\u2019 heir;\nWhom having cleans\u2019d, and with rich balms bespread,\nShe cast a white shirt quickly o\u2019er his head,\nAnd then his weeds put on; when forth he went,\nAnd did the person of a God present,\nCame, and by Nestor took his honour\u2019d seat,\nThis pastor of the people. Then, the meat\nOf all the spare parts roasted, off they drew,\nSat, and fell to. But soon the temp\u2019rate few\nRose, and in golden bowls fill\u2019d others wine.\nTill, when the rest felt thirst of feast decline,\nNestor his sons bad fetch his high-man\u2019d horse,\nAnd them in chariot join, to run the course\nThe prince resolv\u2019d. Obey\u2019d, as soon as heard,\nWas Nestor by his sons, who straight prepar\u2019d\nBoth horse and chariot. She that kept the store,\nBoth bread and wine, and all such viands more,\nAs should the feast of Jove-fed kings compose,\nPurvey\u2019d the voyage. To the rich coach rose\nUlysses\u2019 son, and close to him ascended\nThe duke Pisistratus, the reins intended,\nAnd scourg\u2019d, to force to field, who freely flew;\nAnd left the town that far her splendour threw,\nBoth holding yoke, and shook it all the day.\nBut now the sun set, dark\u2019ning ev\u2019ry way,\nWhen they to Pheris came; and in the house\nOf Diocles (the son t\u2019 Orsilochus,\nWhom flood Alph\u00ebus got) slept all that night;\nWho gave them each due hospitable rite.\nBut when the rosy-finger\u2019d Morn arose,\nThey went to coach, and did their horse inclose,\nDrave forth the fore-court, and the porch that yields\nEach breath a sound, and to the fruitful fields\nRode scourging still their willing flying steeds,\nWho strenuously perform\u2019d their wonted speeds.\nTheir journey ending just when sun went down,\nAnd shadows all ways through the earth were thrown.\n\n FINIS LIBRI TERTII HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] _Volente Deo, nihil est difficile._\n\n [2] _\u039f\u1f32\u03bd\u03bf\u03c0\u03b1 \u03c0\u1f40\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd: \u03bf\u1f32\u03bd\u03bf\u03c8 cujus facies vinum repr\u00e6sentat._\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nReceiv\u2019d now in the Spartan court,\nTelemachus prefers report\nTo Menelaus of the throng\nOf Wooers with him, and their wrong.\nAtrides tells the Greeks\u2019 retreat,\nAnd doth a prophecy repeat\nThat Proteus made, by which he knew\nHis brother\u2019s death; and then doth show\nHow with Calypso liv\u2019d the sire\nOf his young guest. The Wooers conspire\nTheir prince\u2019s death. Whose treach\u2019ry known,\nPenelope in tears doth drown.\nWhom Pallas by a dream doth cheer,\nAnd in similitude appear\nOf fair Iphthima, known to be\nThe sister of Penelope.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u0394\u1f10\u03bb\u03c4\u03b1._\nHere of the sire\nThe son doth hear.\nThe Wooers conspire.\nThe Mother\u2019s fear.\n\nIn Laced\u00e6mon now, the nurse of whales,[1]\nThese two arriv\u2019d, and found at festivals,\nWith mighty concourse, the renown\u00e9d king,\nHis son and daughter jointly marrying.\nAlector\u2019s daughter he did give his son,\nStrong Megapenthes, who his life begun\nBy Menelaus\u2019 bondmaid; whom he knew\nIn years when Helen could no more renew\nIn issue like divine Hermione,\nWho held in all fair form as high degree\nAs golden Venus. Her he married now\nTo great Achilles\u2019 son, who was by vow\nBetroth\u2019d to her at Troy, And thus the Gods\nTo constant loves give nuptial periods.\nWhose state here past, the Myrmidons\u2019 rich town\n(Of which she shar\u2019d in the imperial crown)\nWith horse and chariots he resign\u2019d her to.\nMean space, the high huge house with feast did flow\nOf friends and neighbours, joying with the king.\nAmongst whom did a heav\u2019nly poet sing,\nAnd touch his harp. Amongst whom likewise danc\u2019d\nTwo, who in that dumb motion advanc\u2019d,\nWould prompt the singer what to sing and play.[2]\nAll this time in the utter court did stay,\nWith horse and chariot, Telemachus,\nAnd Nestor\u2019s noble son Pisistratus.\nWhom Eteoneus, coming forth, descried,\nAnd, being a servant to the king, most tried\nIn care and his respect, he ran and cried:\n\u201cGuests, Jove-kept Menelaus, two such men\nAs are for form of high Saturnius\u2019 strain.\nInform your pleasure, if we shall unclose\nTheir horse from coach, or say they must dispose\nTheir way to some such house, as may embrace\nTheir known arrival with more welcome grace?\u201d\n\nHe, angry, answer\u2019d: \u201cThou didst never show\nThyself a fool, Boethides, till now;\nBut now, as if turn\u2019d child, a childish speech\nVents thy vain spirits. We ourselves now reach\nOur home by much spent hospitality\nOf other men; nor know if Jove will try\nWith other after-wants our state again;\nAnd therefore from our feast no more detain\nThose welcome guests, but take their steeds from coach,\nAnd with attendance guide in their approach.\u201d\n\nThis said, he rush\u2019d abroad, and call\u2019d some more\nTried in such service, that together bore\nUp to the guests, and took their steeds that swet\nBeneath their yokes from coach; at mangers set,\nWheat and white barley gave them mix\u2019d; and plac\u2019d\nTheir chariot by a wall so clear, it cast\nA light quite through it. And then they led\nTheir guests to the divine house; which so fed\nTheir eyes at all parts with illustrious sights,\nThat admiration seiz\u2019d them. Like the lights\nThe sun and moon gave, all the palace threw\nA lustre through it. Satiate with whose view,\nDown to the king\u2019s most bright-kept baths they went,\nWhere handmaids did their services present,\nBath\u2019d, balm\u2019d them, shirts and well-napt weeds put on,\nAnd by Atrides\u2019 side set each his throne.\nThen did the handmaid-royal water bring,\nAnd to a laver, rich and glittering,\nOf massy gold, pour\u2019d; which she plac\u2019d upon\nA silver caldron, into which might run\nThe water as they wash\u2019d. Then set she near\nA polish\u2019d table, on which all the cheer\nThe present could afford a rev\u2019rend dame,\nThat kept the larder, set. A cook then came,\nAnd divers dishes, borne thence, serv\u2019d again;\nFurnish\u2019d the board with bowls of gold. And then,\nHis right hand giv\u2019n the guests, Atrides said:\n\u201cEat, and be cheerful. Appetite allay\u2019d,\nI long to ask, of what stock ye descend;\nFor not from parents whose race nameless end\nWe must derive your offspring. Men obscure\nCould get none such as you. The portraiture\nOf Jove-sustain\u2019d and sceptre-bearing kings\nYour either person in his presence brings.\u201d\nAn ox\u2019s fat chine then they up did lift,\nAnd set before the guests; which was a gift,\nSent as an honour to the king\u2019s own taste.\nThey saw yet \u2019twas but to be eaten plac\u2019d,\nAnd fell to it. But food and wine\u2019s care past,\nTelemachus thus prompted Nestor\u2019s son,\n(His ear close laying, to be heard of none):[3]\n\n\u201cConsider, thou whom most of my mind esteems,\nThe brass-work here, how rich it is in beams,\nAnd how, besides, it makes the whole house sound;\nWhat gold, and amber, silver, ivory, round\nIs wrought about it. Out of doubt, the hall\nOf Jupiter Olympius hath of all\nThis state the like. How many infinites\nTake up to admiration all men\u2019s sights!\u201d\n\nAtrides over-heard, and said: \u201cLov\u2019d son,\nNo mortal must affect contenti\u00f3n\nWith Jove, whose dwellings are of endless date.\nPerhaps of men some one may emulate,\nOr none, my house, or me; for I am one\nThat many a grave extreme have undergone,\nMuch error felt by sea, and till th\u2019 eighth year,\nHad never stay, but wander\u2019d far and near,\nCyprus, Ph\u0153nicia, and Sidonia,\nAnd fetch\u2019d the far-off \u00c6thiopia,\nReach\u2019d the Erembi of Arabia,\nAnd Lybia, where with horns ewes yean their lambs,\nWhich ev\u2019ry full year ewes are three times dams,\nWhere neither king, nor shepherd, want comes near\nOf cheese, or flesh, or sweet milk; all the year\nThey ever milk their ewes. And here while I\nErr\u2019d, gath\u2019ring means to live, one, murd\u2019rously,\nUnwares, unseen, bereft my brother\u2019s life,\nChiefly betray\u2019d by his abhorr\u00e9d wife.\nSo hold I, not enjoying, what you see.\nAnd of your fathers, if they living be,\nYou must have heard this, since my suff\u2019rings were\nSo great and famous; from this palace here\n(So rarely-well-built, furnish\u00e9d so well,\nAnd substanc\u00e9d with such a precious deal\nOf well-got treasure) banish\u2019d by the doom\nOf Fate, and erring as I had no home.\nAnd now I have, and use it, not to take\nTh\u2019 entire delight it offers, but to make\nContinual wishes, that a triple part\nOf all it holds were wanting, so my heart\nWere eas\u2019d of sorrows, taken for their deaths\nThat fell at Troy, by their reviv\u00e9d breaths.\nAnd thus sit I here weeping, mourning still\nEach least man lost; and sometimes make mine ill,\nIn paying just tears for their loss, my joy.\nSometimes I breathe my woes, for in annoy\nThe pleasure soon admits satiety.\nBut all these men\u2019s wants wet not so mine eye,\nThough much they move me, as one sole man\u2019s miss,\nFor which my sleep and meat ev\u2019n loathsome is\nIn his renew\u2019d thought, since no Greek hath won\nGrace for such labours as La\u00ebrtes\u2019 son\nHath wrought and suffer\u2019d, to himself nought else\nBut future sorrows forging, to me hells\nFor his long absence, since I cannot know\nIf life or death detain him; since such woe\nFor his love, old La\u00ebrtes, his wise wife,\nAnd poor young son sustains, whom new with life\nHe left as sireless.\u201d This speech grief to tears\n(Pour\u2019d from the son\u2019s lids on the earth) his ears,\nTold of the father, did excite; who kept\nHis cheeks dry with his red weed as he wept,\nHis both hands us\u2019d therein. Atrides then\nBegan to know him, and did strife retain,\nIf he should let himself confess his sire,\nOr with all fitting circumstance enquire.\n\nWhile this his thoughts disputed, forth did shine,\nLike to the golden distaff-deck\u2019d Divine,\nFrom her bed\u2019s high and odoriferous room,\nHelen. To whom, of an elaborate loom,\nAdresta set a chair; Alcippe brought\nA piece of tapestry of fine wool wrought;\nPhylo a silver cabinet conferr\u2019d,\nGiv\u2019n by Alcandra, nuptially endear\u2019d\nTo lord Polybius, whose abode in Thebes\nTh\u2019 \u00c6gyptian city was, where wealth in heaps\nHis famous house held, out of which did go,\nIn gift t\u2019 Atrides, silver bath-tubs two,\nTwo tripods, and of fine gold talents ten.\nHis wife did likewise send to Helen then\nFair gifts, a distaff that of gold was wrought,\nAnd that rich cabinet that Phylo brought,\nRound, and with gold ribb\u2019d, now of fine thread full;\nOn which extended (crown\u2018d with finest wool,\nOf violet gloss) the golden distaff-lay.\n\nShe took her state-chair, and a foot-stool\u2019s stay\nHad for her feet; and of her husband thus\nAsk\u2019d to know all things: \u201cIs it known to us,\nKing Menelaus, whom these men commend\nThemselves for, that our court now takes to friend?\nI must affirm, be I deceiv\u2019d or no,\nI never yet saw man nor woman so\nLike one another, as this man is like\nUlysses\u2019 son. With admiration strike\nHis looks my thoughts, that they should carry now\nPow\u2019r to persuade me thus, who did but know,\nWhen newly he was born, the form they bore.\nBut \u2019tis his father\u2019s grace, whom more and more\nHis grace resembles, that makes me retain\nThought that he now is like Telemachus, then\nLeft by his sire, when Greece did undertake\nTroy\u2019s bold war for my impudency\u2019s sake.\u201d\n\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cNow wife, what you think I know,\nThe true cast of his father\u2019s eye doth show\nIn his eyes\u2019 order. Both his head and hair,\nHis hands and feet, his very father\u2019s are.\nOf whom, so well remember\u2019d, I should now\nAcknowledge for me his continual flow\nOf cares and perils, yet still patient.\nBut I should too much move him, that doth vent\nSuch bitter tears for that which hath been spoke,\nWhich, shunning soft show, see how he would cloak,\nAnd with his purple weed his weepings hide.\u201d\n\nThen Nestor\u2019s son, Pisistratus, replied:\n\u201cGreat pastor of the people, kept of God!\nHe is Ulysses\u2019 son, but his abode\nNot made before here, and he modest too,\nHe holds it an indignity to do\nA deed so vain, to use the boast of words,\nWhere your words are on wing; whose voice affords\nDelight to us as if a God did break\nThe air amongst us, and vouchsafe to speak.\nBut me my father, old duke Nestor, sent\nTo be his consort hither; his content\nNot to be heighten\u2019d so as with your sight,\nIn hope that therewith words and actions might\nInform his comforts from you, since he is\nExtremely griev\u2019d and injur\u2019d by the miss\nOf his great father; suff\u2019ring ev\u2019n at home,\nAnd few friends found to help him overcome\nHis too weak suff\u2019rance, now his sire is gone;\nAmongst the people, not afforded one\nTo check the miseries that mate him thus.\nAnd this the state is of Telemachus.\u201d\n\n\u201cO Gods,\u201d said he, \u201chow certain, now, I see\nMy house enjoys that friend\u2019s son, that for me\nHath undergone so many willing fights!\nWhom I resolv\u2019d, past all the Grecian knights,\nTo hold in love, if our return by seas\nThe far-off Thunderer did ever please\nTo grant our wishes. And to his respect\nA palace and a city to erect,\nMy vow had bound me; whither bringing then\nHis riches, and his son, and all his men,\nFrom barren Ithaca, (some one sole town\nInhabited about him batter\u2019d down)\nAll should in Argos live. And there would I\nEase him of rule, and take the empery\nOf all on me. And often here would we,\nDelighting, loving either\u2019s company,\nMeet and converse; whom nothing should divide,\nTill death\u2019s black veil did each all over hide.\nBut this perhaps hath been a mean to take\nEv\u2019n God himself with envy; who did make\nUlysses therefore only the unblest,\nThat should not reach his loved country\u2019s rest.\u201d\n\nThese woes made ev\u2019ry one with woe in love;\nEv\u2019n Argive Helen wept, the Seed of Jove;\nUlysses\u2019 son wept; Atreus\u2019 son did weep;\nAnd Nestor\u2019s son his eyes in tears did steep,\nBut his tears fell not from the present cloud\nThat from Ulysses was exhal\u2019d, but flow\u2019d\nFrom brave Antilochus\u2019 remember\u2019d due,\nWhom the renown\u2019d Son of the Morning slew,\nWhich yet he thus excus\u2019d: \u201cO Atreus\u2019 son!\nOld Nestor says, there lives not such a one\nAmongst all mortals as Atrides is\nFor deathless wisdom. \u2019Tis a praise of his,\nStill giv\u2019n in your remembrance, when at home\nOur speech concerns you. Since then overcome\nYou please to be with sorrow, ev\u2019n to tears,\nThat are in wisdom so exempt from peers,\nVouchsafe the like effect in me excuse,\nIf it be lawful, I affect no use\nOf tears thus after meals; at least, at night;\nBut when the morn brings forth, with tears, her light,\nIt shall not then impair me to bestow\nMy tears on any worthy\u2019s overthrow.\nIt is the only rite that wretched men\nCan do dead friends, to cut hair, and complain.\nBut Death my brother took, whom none could call\nThe Grecian coward, you best knew of all.\nI was not there, nor saw, but men report\nAntilochus excell\u2019d the common sort\nFor footmanship, or for the chariot race,\nOr in the fight for hardy hold of place.\u201d\n\n\u201cO friend,\u201d said he, \u201csince thou hast spoken so,\nAt all parts as one wise should say and do,\nAnd like one far beyond thyself in years,\nThy words shall bounds be to our former tears.\nO he is questionless a right-born son,\nThat of his father hath not only won\nThe person but the wisdom; and that sire\nComplete himself that hath a son entire,\nJove did not only his full fate adorn,\nWhen he was wedded, but when he was born.\nAs now Saturnius, through his life\u2019s whole date,\nHath Nestor\u2019s bliss rais\u2019d to as steep a state,\nBoth in his age to keep in peace his house,\nAnd to have children wise and valorous.\nBut let us not forget our rear feast thus.\nLet some give water here. Telemachus!\nThe morning shall yield time to you and me\nTo do what fits, and reason mutually.\u201d\n\nThis said, the careful servant of the king,\nAsphalion, pour\u2019d on th\u2019 issue of the spring;\nAnd all to ready feast set ready hand.\nBut Helen now on new device did stand,\nInfusing straight a medicine to their wine,\nThat, drowning care and angers; did decline\nAll thought of ill. Who drunk her cup could shed\nAll that day not a tear, no not if dead\nThat day his father or his mother were,\nNot if his brother, child, or chiefest dear,\nHe should see murder\u2019d then before his face.\nSuch useful medicines, only borne in grace\nOf what was good, would Helen ever have.\nAnd this juice to her Polydamna gave\nThe wife of Thoon, an \u00c6gyptian born,\nWhose rich earth herbs of medicine do adorn\nIn great abundance. Many healthful are,\nAnd many baneful. Ev\u2019ry man is there\nA good physician out of Nature\u2019s grace,\nFor all the nation sprung of P\u00e6on\u2019s race.\n\nWhen Helen then her medicine had infus\u2019d,\nShe bad pour wine to it, and this speech us\u2019d:\n\n\u201cAtrides, and these good men\u2019s sons, great Jove\nMakes good and ill one after other move,\nIn all things earthly; for he can do all.\nThe woes past, therefore, he so late let fall,\nThe comforts he affords us let us take;\nFeast, and, with fit discourses, merry make.\nNor will I other use. As then our blood\nGriev\u2019d for Ulysses, since he was so good,\nSince he was good, let us delight to hear\nHow good he was, and what his suff\u2019rings were;\nThough ev\u2019ry fight, and ev\u2019ry suff\u2019ring deed,\nPatient Ulysses underwent, exceed\nMy woman\u2019s pow\u2019r to number, or to name.\nBut what he did, and suffer\u2019d, when he came\nAmongst the Trojans, where ye Grecians all\nTook part with suff\u2019rance, I in part can call\nTo your kind memories. How with ghastly wounds\nHimself he mangled, and the Trojan bounds,\nThrust thick with enemies, adventur\u2019d on,\nHis royal shoulders having cast upon\nBase abject weeds, and enter\u2019d like a slave.\nThen, beggar-like, he did of all men crave,\nAnd such a wretch was, as the whole Greek fleet\nBrought not besides. And thus through ev\u2019ry street\nHe crept discov\u2019ring, of no one man known.\nAnd yet through all this diff\u2019rence, I alone\nSmoked his true person, talk\u2019d with him; but he\nFled me with wiles still. Nor could we agree,\nTill I disclaim\u2019d him quite; and so (as mov\u2019d\nWith womanly remorse of one that prov\u2019d\nSo wretched an estate, whate\u2019er he were)\nWon him to take my house. And yet ev\u2019n there,\nTill freely I, to make him doubtless, swore\nA pow\u2019rful oath, to let him reach the shore\nOf ships and tents before Troy understood,\nI could not force on him his proper good.\nBut then I bath\u2019d and sooth\u2019d him, and he then\nConfess\u2019d, and told me all; and, having slain\nA number of the Trojan guards, retir\u2019d,\nAnd reach\u2019d the fleet, for sleight and force admir\u2019d.\nTheir husbands\u2019 deaths by him the Trojan wives\nShriek\u2019d for; but I made triumphs for their lives,\nFor then my heart conceiv\u2019d, that once again\nI should reach home; and yet did still retain\nWoe for the slaughters Venus made for me,\nWhen both my husband, my Hermione,\nAnd bridal room, she robb\u2019d of so much right,\nAnd drew me from my country with her sleight,\nThough nothing under heaven I here did need,\nThat could my fancy or my beauty feed.\u201d\n\nHer husband said: \u201cWife! what you please to tell\nIs true at all parts, and becomes you well;\nAnd I myself, that now may say have seen\nThe minds and manners of a world of men,\nAnd great heroes, measuring many a ground,\nHave never, by these eyes that light me, found\nOne with a bosom so to be belov\u2019d,\nAs that in which th\u2019 accomplish\u2019d spirit mov\u2019d\nOf patient Ulysses. What, brave man,\nHe both did act, and suffer, when he wan\nThe town of Ilion, in the brave-built horse,\nWhen all we chief states of the Grecian force\nWere hous\u2019d together, bringing death and Fate\nAmongst the Trojans, you, wife, may relate;\nFor you, at last, came to us; God, that would\nThe Trojans\u2019 glory give, gave charge you should\nApproach the engine; and Deiphobus,\nThe god-like, follow\u2019d. Thrice ye circled us\nWith full survey of it; and often tried\nThe hollow crafts that in it were implied.[4]\nWhen all the voices of their wives in it\nYou took on you with voice so like and fit,\nAnd ev\u2019ry man by name so visited,\nThat I, Ulysses, the king Diomed,\n(Set in the midst, and hearing how you call\u2019d)\nTydides, and myself (as half appall\u2019d\nWith your remorseful plaints) would passing fain\nHave broke our silence, rather than again\nEndure, respectless, their so moving cries.\nBut Ithacus our strongest phantasies\nContain\u2019d within us from the slenderest noise,\nAnd ev\u2019ry man there sat without a voice.\nAnticlus only would have answer\u2019d thee,\nBut his speech Ithacus incessantly\nWith strong hand held in, till, Minerva\u2019s call\nCharging thee off, Ulysses sav\u2019d us all.\u201d\n\nTelemachus replied: \u201cMuch greater is\nMy grief, for hearing this high praise of his.\nFor all this doth not his sad death divert,\nNor can, though in him swell\u2019d an iron heart.\nPrepare, and lead then, if you please, to rest:\nSleep, that we hear not, will content us best.\u201d\nThen Argive Helen made her handmaid go,\nAnd put fair bedding in the portico,\nLay purple blankets on, rugs warm and soft,\nAnd cast an arras coverlet aloft.\n\nThey torches took, made haste, and made the bed;\nWhen both the guests were to their lodgings led\nWithin a portico without the house.\nAtrides, and his large-train-wearing spouse,\nThe excellent of women, for the way,\nIn a retir\u2019d receit, together lay.\nThe Morn arose; the king rose, and put on\nHis royal weeds, his sharp sword hung upon\nHis ample shoulders, forth his chamber went,\nAnd did the person of a God present.\n\nTelemachus accosts him, who begun\nSpeech of his journey\u2019s proposition:\n\n\u201cAnd what, my young Ulyssean hero\u00eb,\nProvok\u2019d thee on the broad back of the sea,\nTo visit Laced\u00e6mon the divine?\nSpeak truth, some public [good] or only thine?\u201d\n\n\u201cI come,\u201d said he, \u201cto hear, if any fame\nBreath\u2019d of my father to thy notice came.\nMy house is sack\u2019d, my fat works of the field\nAre all destroy\u2019d; my house doth nothing yield\nBut enemies, that kill my harmless sheep,\nAnd sinewy oxen, nor will ever keep\nTheir steels without them. And these men are they\nThat woo my mother, most inhumanly\nCommitting injury on injury.\nTo thy knees therefore I am come, t\u2019 attend\nRelation of the sad and wretched end\nMy erring father felt, if witness\u2019d by\nYour own eyes, or the certain news that fly\nFrom others\u2019 knowledges. For, more than is\nThe usual heap of human miseries,\nHis mother bore him to. Vouchsafe me then,\nWithout all ruth of what I can sustain,\nThe plain and simple truth of all you know.\nLet me beseech so much, if ever vow\nWas made, and put in good effect to you,\nAt Troy, where suff\u2019rance bred you so much smart,\nUpon my father good Ulysses\u2019 part,\nAnd quit it now to me (himself in youth)\nUnfolding only the unclos\u00e9d truth.\u201d\n\nHe, deeply sighing, answer\u2019d him: \u201cO shame,\nThat such poor vassals should affect the fame\nTo share the joys of such a worthy\u2019s bed!\nAs when a hind, her calves late farrow\u00e9d,\nTo give suck, enters the bold lion\u2019s den,\nHe roots of hills and herby vallies then\nFor food (there feeding) hunting; but at length\nReturning to his cavern, gives his strength\nThe lives of both the mother and her brood\nIn deaths indecent; so the Wooers\u2019 blood\nMust pay Ulysses\u2019 pow\u2019rs as sharp an end.\nO would to Jove, Apollo, and thy friend\nThe wise Minerva, that thy father were\nAs once he was, when he his spirits did rear\nAgainst Philomelides, in a fight\nPerform\u2019d in well-built Lesbos, where, down-right\nHe strook the earth with him, and gat a shout\nOf all the Grecians! O, if now full out\nHe were as then, and with the Wooers coped,\nShort-liv\u2019d they all were, and their nuptials hoped\nWould prove as desp\u2019rate. But, for thy demand\nEnforc\u2019d with pray\u2019rs, I\u2019ll let thee understand\nThe truth directly, nor decline a thought,\nMuch less deceive, or sooth thy search in ought;\nBut what the old and still-true-spoken God,\nThat from the sea breathes oracles abroad,\nDisclos\u2019d to me, to thee I\u2019ll all impart,\nNor hide one word from thy sollicitous heart.\n\nI was in \u00c6gypt, where a mighty time\nThe Gods detain\u2019d me, though my natural clime\nI never so desir\u2019d, because their homes\nI did not greet with perfect hecatombs.\nFor they will put men evermore in mind,\nHow much their masterly commandments bind.\n\nThere is, besides, a certain island, call\u2019d\nPharos, that with the high-wav\u2019d sea is wall\u2019d,\nJust against \u00c6gypt, and so much remote,\nAs in a whole day, with a fore-gale smote,\nA hollow ship can sail. And this isle bears\nA port most portly, where sea-passengers\nPut in still for fresh water, and away\nTo sea again. Yet here the Gods did stay\nMy fleet full twenty days; the winds, that are\nMasters at sea, no prosp\u2019rous puff would spare\nTo put us off; and all my victuals here\nHad quite corrupted, as my men\u2019s minds were,\nHad not a certain Goddess giv\u2019n regard,\nAnd pitied me in an estate so hard;\nAnd \u2019twas Idothea, honour\u2019d Proteus\u2019 seed,\nThat old sea-farer. Her mind I make bleed\nWith my compassion, when (walk\u2019d all alone,\nFrom all my soldiers, that were ever gone\nAbout the isle on fishing with hooks bent;\nHunger their bellies on her errand sent)\nShe came close to me, spake, and thus began:\n\n\u2018Of all men thou art the most foolish man!\nOr slack in business, or stay\u2019st here of choice,\nAnd dost in all thy suff\u2019rances rejoice,\nThat thus long liv\u2019st detain\u2019d here, and no end\nCanst give thy tarriance? Thou dost much offend\nThe minds of all thy fellows.\u2019 I replied:\n\n\u2018Whoever thou art of the Deified,\nI must affirm, that no way with my will\nI make abode here; but, it seems, some ill\nThe Gods, inhabiting broad heav\u2019n, sustain\nAgainst my getting off. Inform me then,\nFor Godheads all things know, what God is he\nThat stays my passage from the fishy sea?\u2019\n\n\u2018Stranger,\u2019 said she, \u2018I\u2019ll tell thee true: There lives\nAn old sea-farer in these seas, that gives\nA true solution of all secrets here,\nWho deathless Proteus is, th\u2019 \u00c6gyptian peer,\nWho can the deeps of all the seas exquire,\nWho Neptune\u2019s priest is, and, they say, the sire\nThat did beget me. Him, if any way\nThou couldst inveigle, he would clear display\nThy course from hence, and how far off doth lie\nThy voyage\u2019s whole scope through Neptune\u2019s sky.\nInforming thee, O God-preserv\u2019d, beside,\nIf thy desires would so be satisfied,\nWhatever good or ill hath got event,\nIn all the time thy long and hard course spent,\nSince thy departure from thy house.\u2019 This said;\nAgain I answer\u2019d: \u2018Make the sleights display\u2019d\nThy father useth, lest his foresight see,\nOr his foreknowledge taking note of me,\nHe flies the fixt place of his us\u2019d abode.\n\u2019Tis hard for man to countermine with God.\u2019\n\nShe straight replied: \u2018I\u2019ll utter truth in all:\nWhen heav\u2019n\u2019s supremest height the sun doth skall,\nThe old Sea-tell-truth leaves the deeps, and hides\nAmidst a black storm, when the West Wind chides,\nIn caves still sleeping. Round about him sleep\n(With short feet swimming forth the foamy deep)\nThe sea-calves, lovely Halosydnes call\u2019d,\nFrom whom a noisome odour is exhal\u2019d,\nGot from the whirl-pools, on whose earth they lie.\nHere, when the morn illustrates all the sky,\nI\u2019ll guide, and seat thee in the fittest place\nFor the performance thou hast now in chace.\nIn mean time, reach thy fleet, and choose out three\nOf best exploit, to go as aids to thee.\n\nBut now I\u2019ll show thee all the old God\u2019s sleights:\nHe first will number, and take all the sights\nOf those his guard, that on the shore arrives.\nWhen having view\u2019d, and told them forth by fives,\nHe takes place in their midst, and there doth sleep,\nLike to a shepherd midst his flock of sheep.\nIn his first sleep, call up your hardiest cheer,\nVigour and violence, and hold him there,\nIn spite of all his strivings to be gone.\nHe then will turn himself to ev\u2019ry one\nOf all things that in earth creep and respire,\nIn water swim, or shine in heav\u2019nly fire.\nYet still hold you him firm, and much the more\nPress him from passing. But when, as before,\nWhen sleep first bound his pow\u2019rs, his form ye see,\nThen cease your force, and th\u2019 old hero\u00eb free,\nAnd then demand, which heav\u2019n-born it may be\nThat so afflicts you, hind\u2019ring your retreat,\nAnd free sea-passage to your native seat.\u2019\n\nThis said, she div\u2019d into the wavy seas,\nAnd I my course did to my ships address,\nThat on the sands stuck; where arriv\u2019d, we made\nOur supper ready. Then th\u2019 ambrosian shade\nOf night fell on us, and to sleep we fell.\nRosy Aurora rose; we rose as well,\nAnd three of them on whom I most relied,\nFor firm at ev\u2019ry force, I choos\u2019d, and hied\nStraight to the many-river-serv\u00e9d seas;\nAnd all assistance ask\u2019d the Deities.\n\nMean time Idothea the sea\u2019s broad breast\nEmbrac\u2019d, and brought for me, and all my rest,\nFour of the sea-calves\u2019 skins but newly flay\u2019d,\nTo work a wile which she had fashion\u00e9d\nUpon her father. Then, within the sand\nA covert digging, when these calves should land,\nShe sat expecting. We came close to her;\nShe plac\u2019d us orderly, and made us wear\nEach one his calf\u2019s skin. But we then must pass\nA huge exploit. The sea-calves\u2019 savour was\nSo passing sour, they still being bred at seas,\nIt much afflicted us; for who can please\nTo lie by one of these same sea-bred whales?\nBut she preserves us, and to memory calls\nA rare commodity; she fetch\u2019d to us\nAmbrosia, that an air most odorous\nBears still about it, which she \u2018nointed round\nOur either nosthrils, and in it quite drown\u2019d\nThe nasty whale-smell. Then the great event\nThe whole morn\u2019s date, with spirits patient,\nWe lay expecting. When bright noon did flame,\nForth from the sea in shoals the sea-calves came,\nAnd orderly, at last lay down and slept\nAlong the sands. And then th\u2019 old Sea-God crept\nFrom forth the deeps, and found his fat calves there,\nSurvey\u2019d, and number\u2019d, and came never near\nThe craft we us\u2019d, but told us five for calves.\nHis temples then dis-eas\u2019d with sleep he salves;\nAnd in rush\u2019d we, with an abhorr\u00e9d cry,\nCast all our hands about him manfully;\nAnd then th\u2019 old Forger all his forms began:\nFirst was a lion with a mighty mane,\nThen next a dragon, a pied panther then,\nA vast boar next, and suddenly did strain\nAll into water. Last he was a tree,\nCurl\u2019d all at top, and shot up to the sky.\n\nWe, with resolv\u2019d hearts, held him firmly still,\nWhen th\u2019 old one (held too strait for all his skill\nTo extricate) gave words, and question\u2019d me:\n\n\u2018Which of the Gods, O Atreus\u2019 son,\u2019 said he,\n\u2018Advis\u2019d and taught thy fortitude this sleight,\nTo take and hold me thus in my despite?\u2019\n\u2018What asks thy wish now?\u2019 I replied. \u2018Thou know\u2019st.\nWhy dost thou ask? What wiles are these thou show\u2019st?\nI have within this isle been held for wind\nA wondrous time, and can by no means find\nAn end to my retention. It hath spent\nThe very heart in me. Give thou then vent\nTo doubts thus bound in me, ye Gods know all,\nWhich of the Godheads doth so foully fall\nOn my addression home, to stay me here,\nAvert me from my way, the fishy clear\nBarr\u2019d to my passage?\u2019 He replied: \u2018Of force,\nIf to thy home thou wishest free recourse,\nTo Jove, and all the other Deities,\nThou must exhibit solemn sacrifice;\nAnd then the black sea for thee shall be clear,\nTill thy lov\u2019d country\u2019s settled reach. But where\nAsk these rites thy performance? \u2019Tis a fate\nTo thee and thy affairs appropriate,\nThat thou shalt never see thy friends, nor tread\nThy country\u2019s earth, nor see inhabited\nThy so magnificent house, till thou make good\nThy voyage back to the \u00c6gyptian flood,\nWhose waters fell from Jove, and there hast giv\u2019n\nTo Jove, and all Gods housed in ample heav\u2019n,\nDevoted hecatombs, and then free ways\nShall open to thee, clear\u2019d of all delays.\u2019\nThis told he; and, methought, he brake my heart,\nIn such a long and hard course to divert\nMy hope for home, and charge my back retreat\nAs far as \u00c6gypt. I made answer yet:\n\u2018Father, thy charge I\u2019ll perfect; but before\nResolve me truly, if their natural shore\nAll those Greeks, and their ships, do safe enjoy,\nThat Nestor and myself left, when from Troy\nWe first rais\u2019d sail? Or whether any died\nAt sea a death unwish\u2019d? Or, satisfied,\nWhen war was past, by friends embrac\u2019d, in peace\nResign\u2019d their spirits? He made answer: \u2018Cease\nTo ask so far. It fits thee not to be\nSo cunning in thine own calamity.\nNor seek to learn what learn\u2019d thou shouldst forget.\nMen\u2019s knowledges have proper limits set,\nAnd should not prease into the mind of God.\nBut \u2019twill not long be, as my thoughts abode,\nBefore thou buy this curious skill with tears.\nMany of those, whose states so tempt thine ears,\nAre stoop\u2019d by death, and many left alive,\nOne chief of which in strong hold doth survive,\nAmidst the broad sea. Two, in their retreat,\nAre done to death. I list not to repeat\nWho fell at Troy, thyself was there in fight,\nBut in return swift Ajax lost the light,\nIn his long-oar\u2019d ship. Neptune, yet, awhile\nSaft him unwrack\u2019d, to the Gyr\u00e6an isle,\nA mighty-rock removing from his way.\nAnd surely he had \u2018scap\u2019d the fatal day,\nIn spite of Pallas, if to that foul deed\nHe in her fane did, (when he ravish\u00e9d\nThe Trojan prophetess) he had not here\nAdjoin\u2019d an impious boast, that he would bear,\nDespite the Gods, his ship safe through the waves\nThen rais\u2019d against him. These his impious braves\nWhen Neptune heard, in his strong hand he took\nHis massy trident, and so soundly strook\nThe rock Gyr\u00e6an, that in two it cleft;\nOf which one fragment on the land he left,\nThe other fell into the troubled seas;\nAt which first rush\u2019d Ajax O\u00efliades,\nAnd split his ship, and then himself afloat\nSwum on the rough waves of the world\u2019s vast mote,\nTill having drunk a salt cup for his sin,\nThere perish\u2019d he. Thy brother yet did win\nThe wreath from death, while in the waves they strove,\nAfflicted by the rev\u2019rend wife of Jove.\nBut when the steep mount of the Malian shore\nHe seem\u2019d to reach, a most tempestuous blore,\nFar to the fishy world that sighs so sore,\nStraight ravish\u2019d him again as far away,\nAs to th\u2019 extreme bounds where the Agrians stay,\nWhere first Thyestes dwelt, but then his son\n\u00c6gisthus Thyestiades liv\u2019d. This done,\nWhen his return untouch\u2019d appear\u2019d again,\nBack turn\u2019d the Gods the wind, and set him then\nHard by his house. Then, full of joy, he left\nHis ship, and close t\u2019 his country earth he cleft,\nKiss\u2019d it, and wept for joy, pour\u2019d tear on tear,\nTo set so wishedly his footing there.\nBut see, a sentinel that all the year\nCrafty \u00c6gisthus in a watchtow\u2019r set\nTo spy his landing, for reward as great\nAs two gold talents, all his pow\u2019rs did call\nTo strict remembrance of his charge, and all\nDischarg\u2019d at first sight, which at first he cast\nOn Agamemnon, and with all his haste\nInform\u2019d \u00c6gisthus. He an instant train\nLaid for his slaughter: Twenty chosen men\nOf his plebeians he in ambush laid;\nHis other men he charg\u2019d to see purvey\u2019d\nA feast; and forth, with horse and chariots grac\u2019d,\nHe rode t\u2019 invite him, but in heart embrac\u2019d\nHorrible welcomes, and to death did bring,\nWith treach\u2019rous slaughter, the unwary king,\nReceiv\u2019d him at a feast, and, like an ox\nSlain at his manger, gave him bits and knocks.\nNo one left of Atrides\u2019 train, nor one\nSav\u2019d to \u00c6gisthus, but himself alone,\nAll strew\u2019d together there the bloody court.\u2019\nThis said, my soul he sunk with his report,\nFlat on the sands I fell, tears spent their store,\nI light abhorr\u2019d, my heart would live no more.\nWhen dry of tears, and tir\u2019d of tumbling there,\nTh\u2019 old Tell-truth thus my daunted spirits did cheer:\n\u2018No more spend tears nor time, O Atreus\u2019 son,\nWith ceaseless weeping never wish was won,\nUse uttermost assay to reach thy home,\nAnd all unwares upon the murderer come,\nFor torture, taking him thyself alive;\nOr let Orestes, that should far out-strive\nThee in fit vengeance, quickly quit the light\nOf such a dark soul, and do thou the rite\nOf burial to him with a funeral feast.\u2019\n\nWith these last words I fortified my breast,\nIn which again a gen\u2019rous spring began\nOf fitting comfort, as I was a man;\nBut, as a brother, I must ever mourn.\nYet forth I went, and told him the return\nOf these I knew; but he had nam\u2019d a third,\nHeld on the broad sea, still with life inspir\u2019d,\nWhom I besought to know, though likewise dead,\nAnd I must mourn alike. He answer\u00e9d:\n\u2018He is Laertes\u2019 son; whom I beheld\nIn nymph Calypso\u2019s palace, who compell\u2019d\nHis stay with her, and, since he could not see\nHis country earth, he mourn\u2019d incessantly.\nFor he had neither ship instruct with oars,\nNor men to fetch him from those stranger shores.\nWhere leave we him, and to thy self descend,\nWhom not in Argos Fate nor Death shall end,\nBut the immortal ends of all the earth,\nSo rul\u2019d by them that order death by birth,\nThe fields Elysian, Fate to thee will give;\nWhere Rhadamanthus rules, and where men live\nA never-troubled life, where snow, nor show\u2019rs,\nNor irksome Winter spends his fruitless pow\u2019rs,\nBut from the ocean Zephyr still resumes\nA constant breath, that all the fields perfumes.\nWhich, since thou marriedst Helen, are thy hire,\nAnd Jove himself is by her side thy sire.\u2019\nThis said; he div\u2019d the deepsome wat\u2019ry heaps;\nI and my tried men took us to our ships,\nAnd worlds of thoughts I varied with my steps.\nArriv\u2019d and shipp\u2019d, the silent solemn night\nAnd sleep bereft us of our visual light.\nAt morn, masts, sails, rear\u2019d, we sat, left the shores,\nAnd beat the foamy ocean with our oars.\nAgain then we the Jove-fall\u2019n flood did fetch,\nAs far as \u00c6gypt; where we did beseech\nThe Gods with hecatombs; whose angers ceast,\nI tomb\u2019d my brother that I might be blest.\nAll rites perform\u2019d, all haste I made for home,\nAnd all the prosp\u2019rous winds about were come,\nI had the passport now of ev\u2019ry God,\nAnd here clos\u2019d all these labours\u2019 period.\nHere stay then till th\u2019 eleventh or twelfth day\u2019s light,\nAnd I\u2019ll dismiss thee well, gifts exquisite\nPreparing for thee, chariot, horses three,\nA cup of curious frame to serve for thee\nTo serve th\u2019 immortal Gods with sacrifice,\nMindful of me while all suns light thy skies.\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cStay me not too long time here,\nThough I could sit attending all the year.\nNor should my house, nor parents, with desire,\nTake my affections from you, so on fire\nWith love to hear you are my thoughts; but so\nMy Pylian friends I shall afflict with woe\nWho mourn ev\u2019n this stay. Whatsoever be\nThe gifts your grace is to bestow on me,\nVouchsafe them such as I may bear and save\nFor your sake ever. Horse, I list not have,\nTo keep in Ithaca, but leave them here,\nTo your soil\u2019s dainties, where the broad fields bear\nSweet cypers grass, where men-fed lote doth flow,\nWhere wheat-like spelt, and wheat itself, doth grow,\nWhere barley, white, and spreading like a tree;\nBut Ithaca hath neither ground to be,\nFor any length it comprehends, a race\nTo try a horse\u2019s speed, nor any place\nTo make him fat in; fitter far to feed\nA cliff-bred goat, than raise or please a steed.\nOf all isles, Ithaca doth least provide\nOr meads to feed a horse, or ways to ride.\u201d\nHe, smiling, said: \u201cOf good blood art thou, son.\nWhat speech, so young! What observati\u00f3n\nHast thou made of the world! I well am pleas\u2019d\nTo change my gifts to thee, as being confess\u2019d\nUnfit indeed, my store is such I may.\nOf all my house-gifts then, that up I lay\nFor treasure there, I will bestow on thee\nThe fairest, and of greatest price to me.\nI will bestow on thee a rich carv\u2019d cup,\nOf silver all, but all the brims wrought up\nWith finest gold; it was the only thing\nThat the heroical Sidonian king\nPresented to me, when we were to part\nAt his receipt of me, and \u2019twas the art\nOf that great Artist that of heav\u2019n is free;\nAnd yet ev\u2019n this will I bestow on thee.\u201d\nThis speech thus ended, guests came, and did bring\nMuttons, for presents, to the God-like king,\nAnd spirit-prompting wine, that strenuous makes.\nTheir riband-wreathed wives brought fruit and cakes.\nThus in this house did these their feast apply;\nAnd in Ulysses\u2019 house activity\nThe Wooers practis\u2019d; tossing of the spear,\nThe stone, and hurling; thus delighted, where\nThey exercis\u2019d such insolence before,\nEv\u2019n in the court that wealthy pavements wore\nAntinous did still their strifes decide,\nAnd he that was in person deified\nEurymachus; both ring-leaders of all,\nFor in their virtues they were principal.\nThese by No\u00ebmon, son to Phronius,\nWere sided now, who made the question thus:\n\u201cAntinous! Does any friend here know,\nWhen this Telemachus returns, or no,\nFrom sandy Pylos? He made bold to take\nMy ship with him; of which, I now should make\nFit use myself, and sail in her as far\nAs spacious Elis, where of mine there are\nTwelve delicate mares, and under their sides go\nLaborious mules, that yet did never know\nThe yoke, nor labour; some of which should bear\nThe taming now, if I could fetch them there.\u201d\nThis speech the rest admir\u2019d, nor dream\u2019d that he\nNele\u00efan Pylos ever thought to see,\nBut was at field about his flocks\u2019 survey,\nOr thought his herdsmen held him so away.\nEupitheus son, Antinous, then replied:\n\u201cWhen went he, or with what train dignified?\nOf his selected Ithacensian youth?\nPrest men, or bond men, were they? Tell the truth.\nCould he effect this? Let me truly know.\nTo gain thy vessel did he violence show,\nAnd us\u2019d her \u2019gainst thy will? or had her free,\nWhen fitting question he had made with thee?\u201d\nNo\u00ebmon answer\u2019d: \u201cI did freely give\nMy vessel to him. Who deserves to live\nThat would do other, when such men as he\nDid in distress ask? He should churlish be\nThat would deny him. Of our youth the best\nAmongst the people, to the interest\nHis charge did challenge in them, giving way,\nWith all the tribute all their pow\u2019rs could pay.\nTheir captain, as he took the ship, I knew,\nWho Mentor was, or God. A Deity\u2019s shew\nMask\u2019d in his likeness. But, to think \u2019twas he,\nI much admire, for I did clearly see,\nBut yester-morning, God-like Mentor here;\nYet th\u2019 other ev\u2019ning he took shipping there,\nAnd went for Pylos.\u201d Thus went he for home,\nAnd left the rest with envy overcome;\nWho sat, and pastime left. Eupitheus son,\nSad, and with rage his entrails overrun,\nHis eyes like flames, thus interpos\u2019d his speech:\n\u201cStrange thing! An action of how proud a reach\nIs here committed by Telemachus!\nA boy, a child, and we, a sort of us,\nVow\u2019d \u2019gainst his voyage, yet admit it thus!\nWith ship and choice youth of our people too!\nBut let him on, and all his mischief do,\nJove shall convert upon himself his pow\u2019rs,\nBefore their ill presum\u2019d he brings on ours.\nProvide me then a ship, and twenty men\nTo give her manage, that, against again\nHe turns for home, on th\u2019 Ithacensian seas,\nOr cliffy Samian, I may interprease,\nWay-lay, and take him, and make all his craft\nSail with his ruin for his father saft.\u201d\nThis all applauded, and gave charge to do,\nRose, and to greet Ulysses\u2019 house did go.\nBut long time past not, ere Penelope\nHad notice of their far-fetch\u2019d treachery.\nMedon the herald told her, who had heard\nWithout the hall how they within conferr\u2019d,\nAnd hasted straight to tell it to the queen,\nWho, from the entry having Medon seen,\nPrevents him thus: \u201cNow herald, what affair\nIntend the famous Wooers, in your repair?\nTo tell Ulysses\u2019 maids that they must cease\nFrom doing our work, and their banquets dress?\nI would to heav\u2019n, that, leaving wooing me,\nNor ever troubling other company,\nHere might the last feast be, and most extreme,\nThat ever any shall address for them.\nThey never meet but to consent in spoil,\nAnd reap the free fruits of another\u2019s toil.\nO did they never, when they children were,\nWhat to their fathers was Ulysses, hear?\nWho never did \u2019gainst anyone proceed\nWith unjust usage, or in word or deed?\n\u2019Tis yet with other kings another right,\nOne to pursue with love, another spite;\nHe still yet just, nor would, though might, devour,\nNor to the worst did ever taste of pow\u2019r.\nBut their unrul\u2019d acts show their minds\u2019 estate.\nGood turns receiv\u2019d once, thanks grow out of date.\u201d\nMedon, the learn\u2019d in wisdom, answer\u2019d her:\n\u201cI wish, O queen, that their ingratitudes were\nTheir worst ill towards you; but worse by far,\nAnd much more deadly, their endeavours are,\nWhich Jove will fail them in. Telemachus\nTheir purpose is, as he returns to us,\nTo give their sharp steels in a cruel death;\nWho now is gone to learn, if fame can breathe\nNews of his sire, and will the Pylian shore,\nAnd sacred Sparta, in his search explore.\u201d\nThis news dissolv\u2019d to her both knees and heart,\nLong silence held her ere one word would part,\nHer eyes stood full of tears, her small soft voice\nAll late use lost; that yet at last had choice\nOf wonted words, which briefly thus she us\u2019d:\n\u201cWhy left my son his mother? Why refus\u2019d\nHis wit the solid shore, to try the seas,\nAnd put in ships the trust of his distress,\nThat are at sea to men unbridled horse,\nAnd run, past rule, their far-engag\u00e9d course,\nAmidst a moisture past all mean unstaid?\nNo need compell\u2019d this. Did he it, afraid\nTo live and leave posterity his name?\u201d\n\u201cI know not,\u201d he replied, \u201cif th\u2019 humour came\nFrom current of his own instinct, or flow\u2019d\nFrom others\u2019 instigations; but he vow\u2019d\nAttempt to Pylos, or to see descried\nHis sire\u2019s return, or know what death he died.\u201d\nThis said, he took him to Ulysses\u2019 house\nAfter the Wooers; the Ulyssean spouse,\nRun through with woes, let Torture seize her mind,\nNor in her choice of state chairs stood inclin\u2019d\nTo take her seat, but th\u2019 abject threshold chose\nOf her fair chamber for her loath\u2019d repose,\nAnd mourn\u2019d most wretch-like. Round about her fell\nHer handmaids, join\u2019d in a continuate yell.\nFrom ev\u2019ry corner of the palace, all\nOf all degrees tun\u2019d to her comfort\u2019s fall\nTheir own dejections; to whom her complaint\nShe thus enforc\u2019d: \u201cThe Gods, beyond constraint\nOf any measure, urge these tears on me;\nNor was there ever dame of my degree\nSo past degree griev\u2019d. First, a lord so good,\nThat had such hardy spirits in his blood,\nThat all the virtues was adorn\u2019d withall,\nThat all the Greeks did their superior call,\nTo part with thus, and lose! And now a son,\nSo worthily belov\u2019d, a course to run\nBeyond my knowledge; whom rude tempests have\nMade far from home his most inglorious grave!\nUnhappy wenches, that no one of all\n(Though in the reach of ev\u2019ry one must fall\nHis taking ship) sustain\u2019d the careful mind,\nTo call me from my bed, who this design\u2019d\nAnd most vow\u2019d course in him had either stay\u2019d,\nHow much soever hasted, or dead laid\nHe should have left me. Many a man I have,\nThat would have call\u2019d old Dolius my slave,\n(That keeps my orchard, whom my father gave\nAt my departure) to have run, and told\nLaertes this; to try if he could hold\nFrom running through the people, and from tears,\nIn telling them of these vow\u2019d murderers;\nThat both divine Ulysses\u2019 hope, and his,\nResolv\u2019d to end in their conspiracies.\u201d\nHis nurse then, Euryclea, made reply:\n\u201cDear sov\u2019reign, let me with your own hands die,\nOr cast me off here, I\u2019ll not keep from thee\nOne word of what I know. He trusted me\nWith all his purpose, and I gave him all\nThe bread and wine for which he pleas\u2019d to call.\nBut then a mighty oath he made me swear,\nNot to report it to your royal ear\nBefore the twelfth day either should appear,\nOr you should ask me when you heard him gone.\nImpair not then your beauties with your moan,\nBut wash, and put untear-stain\u2019d garments on,\nAscend your chamber with your ladies here,\nAnd pray the seed of goat-nurs\u2019d Jupiter,\nDivine Athenia, to preserve your son,\nAnd she will save him from confusi\u00f3n,\nTh\u2019 old king, to whom your hopes stand so inclin\u2019d\nFor his grave counsels, you perhaps may find\nUnfit affected, for his age\u2019s sake.\nBut heav\u2019n-kings wax not old, and therefore make\nFit pray\u2019rs to them; for my thoughts never will\nBelieve the heav\u2019nly Pow\u2019rs conceit so ill\nThe seed of righteous Arcesiades,\nTo end it utterly, but still will please\nIn some place evermore some one of them\nTo save, and deck him with a diadem,\nGive him possession of erected tow\u2019rs,\nAnd far-stretch\u2019d fields, crown\u2019d all of fruits and flowr\u2019s.\u201d\nThis eas\u2019d her heart, and dried her humorous eyes,\nWhen having wash\u2019d, and weeds of sacrifice\nPure, and unstain\u2019d with her distrustful tears,\nPut on, with all her women-ministers\nUp to a chamber of most height she rose,\nAnd cakes of salt and barley did impose\nWithin a wicker basket; all which broke\nIn decent order, thus she did invoke:\n\u201cGreat Virgin of the goat-preserv\u00e9d God,\nIf ever the inhabited abode\nOf wise Ulysses held the fatted thighs\nOf sheep and oxen, made thy sacrifice\nBy his devotion, hear me, nor forget\nHis pious services, but safe see set\nHis dear son on these shores, and banish hence\nThese Wooers past all mean in insolence.\u201d\nThis said, she shriek\u2019d, and Pallas heard her pray\u2019r.\nThe Wooers broke with tumult all the air\nAbout the shady house; and one of them,\nWhose pride his youth had made the more extreme,\nSaid: \u201cNow the many-wooer-honour\u2019d queen\nWill surely satiate her delayful spleen,\nAnd one of us in instant nuptials take.\nPoor dame, she dreams not, what design we make\nUpon the life and slaughter of her son.\u201d\nSo said he; but so said was not so done;\nWhose arrogant spirit in a vaunt so vain\nAntinous chid, and said: \u201cFor shame, contain\nThese braving speeches. Who can tell who hears?\nAre we not now in reach of others\u2019 ears?\nIf our intentions please us, let us call\nOur spirits up to them, and let speeches fall.\nBy watchful danger men must silent go.\nWhat we resolve on, let\u2019s not say, but do.\u201d\nThis said, he choos\u2019d out twenty men, that bore\nBest reckoning with him, and to ship and shore\nAll hasted, reach\u2019d the ship, launch\u2019d, rais\u2019d the mast,\nPut sails in, and with leather loops made fast\nThe oars; sails hoisted, arms their men did bring,\nAll giving speed and form to ev\u2019rything.\nThen to the high deeps their rigg\u2019d vessel driven,\nThey supp\u2019d, expecting the approaching even.\nMean space, Penelope her chamber kept\nAnd bed, and neither eat, nor drank, nor slept,\nHer strong thoughts wrought so on her blameless son,\nStill in contention, if he should be done\nTo death, or \u2018scape the impious Wooers\u2019 design.\nLook how a lion, whom men-troops combine\nTo hunt, and close him in a crafty ring,\nMuch varied thought conceives, and fear doth sting\nFor urgent danger; so far\u2019d she, till sleep\nAll juncture of her joints and nerves did steep\nIn his dissolving humour. When, at rest,\nPallas her favours varied, when addrest\nAn idol, that Iphthima did present\nIn structure of her ev\u2019ry lineament,[5]\nGreat-soul\u2019d Icarius\u2019 daughter, whom for spouse\nEumelus took, that kept in Pheris\u2019 house.\nThis to divine Ulysses\u2019 house she sent,\nTo try her best mean how she might content\nMournful Penelope, and make relent\nThe strict addiction in her to deplore.\nThis idol, like a worm, that less or more[6]\nContracts or strains her, did itself convey,\nBeyond the wards or windings of the key,\nInto the chamber, and, above her head\nHer seat assuming, thus she comforted\nDistress\u2019d Penelope: \u201cDoth sleep thus seize\nThy pow\u2019rs, affected with so much dis-ease?\nThe Gods, that nothing troubles, will not see\nThy tears nor griefs, in any least degree,\nSustain\u2019d with cause, for they will guard thy son\nSafe to his wish\u2019d and native mansi\u00f3n.\nSince he is no offender of their states,\nAnd they to such are firmer than their fates.\u201d\nThe wise Penelope receiv\u2019d her thus,\nBound with a slumber most delicious,\nAnd in the port of dreams: \u201cO sister, why\nRepair you hither, since so far off lie\nYour house and household? You were never here\nBefore this hour, and would you now give cheer\nTo my so many woes and miseries,\nAffecting fitly all the faculties\nMy soul and mind hold, having lost before\nA husband, that of all the virtues bore\nThe palm amongst the Greeks, and whose renown\nSo ample was that Fame the sound hath blown\nThrough Greece and Argos to her very heart?\nAnd now again, a son, that did convert\nMy whole pow\u2019rs to his love, by ship is gone;\nA tender plant, that yet was never grown\nTo labour\u2019s taste, nor the commerce of men;\nFor whom more than my husband I complain,\nAnd lest he should at any suff\u2019rance touch\n(Or in the sea, or by the men so much\nEstrang\u2019d to him that must his consorts be)\nFear and chill tremblings shake each joint of me.\nBesides, his danger sets on foes profess\u2019d\nTo way-lay his return, that have address\u2019d\nPlots for his death.\u201d The scarce-discern\u00e9d Dream,\nSaid: \u201cBe of comfort, nor fears so extreme\nLet thus dismay thee; thou hast such a mate\nAttending thee, as some at any rate\nWould wish to purchase, for her pow\u2019r is great;\nMinerva pities thy delights\u2019 defeat,\nWhose grace hath sent me to foretell thee these.\u201d\n\u201cIf thou,\u201d said she, \u201cbe of the Goddesses,\nAnd heardst her tell thee these, thou mayst as well\nFrom her tell all things else. Deign then to tell,\nIf yet the man to all misfortunes born,\nMy husband, lives, and sees the sun adorn\nThe darksome earth, or hides his wretched head\nIn Pluto\u2019s house, and lives amongst the dead?\u201d\n\u201cI will not,\u201d she replied, \u201cmy breath exhale\nIn one continued and perpetual tale,\nLives he or dies he. \u2019Tis a filthy use,\nTo be in vain and idle speech profuse.\u201d\nThis said, she, through the key-hole of the door,\nVanish\u2019d again into the open blore.\nIcarius\u2019 daughter started from her sleep,\nAnd Joy\u2019s fresh humour her lov\u2019d breast did steep,\nWhen now so clear, in that first watch of night,\nShe saw the seen Dream vanish from her sight.\nThe Wooers\u2019 ship the sea\u2019s moist waves did ply,\nAnd thought the prince a haughty death should die.\nThere lies a certain island in the sea,\nTwixt rocky Samos and rough Ithaca,\nThat cliffy is itself, and nothing great,\nYet holds convenient havens that two ways let\nShips in and out, call\u2019d Asteris; and there\nThe Wooers hop\u2019d to make their massacre.\n\n FINIS LIBRI QUARTI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] _\u0391\u03b1\u03ba\u03b5\u03b4\u03b1\u1f30\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 \u03ba\u03b7\u03c4\u1f60\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd_ which is expounded _Spartam amplam,_ or\n _\u03c0\u03b5\u03b3\u1f00\u03bb\u03b7\u03bd magnam;_ where _\u03ba\u03b7\u03c4\u1f60\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd_ signifies properly _plurima cete\n nutrientem._\n\n [2] _\u039c\u03bf\u03bb\u03c0\u03b7\u03c2 \u1f10 \u1f04\u03c1\u03c7\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2 Cantum auspicantes:_ of which place, the\n critics affirm that _saltatores motu suo indicant cantori quo genere\n cantus saltaturi forent._ The rapture of Eteoneus at sight of\n Telemachus and Pisistratus.\n\n [3] Telemachus to Pisistratus, in observation of the house, not so\n much that he heartily admired it, as to please Menelaus, who he knew\n heard, though he seemed desirous he should not hear.\n\n [4] Helen counterfeited the wives\u2019 voices of those kings of Greece\n that were in the wooden horse, and calls their husbands.\n\n [5] _\u0394\u1f10\u03bc\u03b1\u03c2, membrorum structura._\n\n [6] _\u03a0\u03b1\u03c1\u1f01 \u03ba\u03bb\u03b7\u00ee\u03b4\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f31\u03bc\u1f00\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1. \u0399\u03bc\u1f00\u03c2, affectus curculionis significat quod\n longior et gracilior evaserit._\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nA second Court on Jove attends;\nWho Hermes to Calypso sends,\nCommanding her to clear the ways\nUlysses sought; and she obeys.\nWhen Neptune saw Ulysses free,\nAnd so in safety plough the sea,\nEnrag\u2019d, he ruffles up the waves,\nAnd splits his ship. Leucothea saves\nHis person yet, as being a Dame\nWhose Godhead govern\u2019d in the frame\nOf those seas\u2019 tempers. But the mean,\nBy which she curbs dread Neptune\u2019s spleen,\nIs made a jewel, which she takes\nFrom off her head, and that she makes\nUlysses on his bosom wear,\nAbout his neck, she ties it there,\nAnd, when he is with waves beset,\nBids wear it as an amulet,\nCommanding him, that not before\nHe touch\u2019d upon Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s shore,\nHe should not part with it, but then\nReturn it to the sea again,\nAnd cast it from him. He performs;\nYet, after this, bides bitter storms,\nAnd in the rocks sees death engrav\u2019d,\nBut on Ph\u00e6acia\u2019s shore is sav\u2019d.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\nE.\nUlysses builds\nA ship; and gains\nThe glassy fields;\nPays Neptune pains.\n\nAurora rose from high-born Tithon\u2019s bed,\nThat men and Gods might be illustrated,\nAnd then the Deities sat. Imperial Jove,\nThat makes the horrid murmur beat above,\nTook place past all, whose height for ever springs,\nAnd from whom flowers th\u2019 eternal pow\u2019r of things.\nThen Pallas, mindful of Ulysses, told\nThe many cares that in Calypso\u2019s hold\nHe still sustain\u2019d, when he had felt before\nSo much affliction, and such dangers more.\n\u201cO Father,\u201d said she, \u201cand ye Ever-blest,\nGive never king hereafter interest\nIn any aid of yours, by serving you,\nBy being gentle, human, just, but grow\nRude, and for ever scornful of your rights,\nAll justice ord\u2019ring by their appetites,\nSince he, that rul\u2019d as it in right behov\u2019d,\nThat all his subjects as his children lov\u2019d,\nFinds you so thoughtless of him and his birth.\nThus men begin to say, ye rule in earth,\nAnd grudge at what ye let him undergo,\nWho yet the least part of his suff\u2019rance know:\nThrall\u2019d in an island, shipwrack\u2019d in his tears,\nAnd, in the fancies that Calypso bears,\nBound from his birthright, all his shipping gone,\nAnd of his soldiers not retaining one.\nAnd now his most-lov\u2019d son\u2019s life doth inflame\nTheir slaught\u2019rous envies; since his father\u2019s fame\nHe puts in pursuit, and is gone as far\nAs sacred Pylos, and the singular\nDame-breeding Sparta.\u201d This, with this reply,\nThe Cloud-assembler answer\u2019d: \u201cWhat words fly\nThine own remembrance, daughter? Hast not thou\nThe counsel giv\u2019n thyself, that told thee how\nUlysses shall with his return address\nHis Wooers wrong? And, for the safe access\nHis son shall make to his innative port,\nDo thou direct it, in as curious sort\nAs thy wit serves thee; it obeys thy pow\u2019rs;\nAnd in their ship return the speedless Wooers.\u201d\nThen turn\u2019d he to his issue Mercury,\nAnd said: \u201cThou hast made good our ambassy\nTo th\u2019 other Statists, to the Nymph then now,\nOn whose fair head a tuft of gold doth grow,\nBear our true-spoken counsel, for retreat\nOf patient Ulysses; who shall get\nNo aid from us, nor any mortal man,\nBut in a patch\u2019d-up skiff (built as he can,[1]\nAnd suff\u2019ring woes enough) the twentieth day\nAt fruitful Scheria let him breathe his way,\nWith the Ph\u00e6acians, that half Deities live,\nWho like a God will honour him, and give\nHis wisdom clothes, and ship, and brass, and gold,\nMore than for gain of Troy he ever told;\nWhere, at the whole division of the prey,\nIf he a saver were, or got away\nWithout a wound, if he should grudge, \u2019twas well.\nBut th\u2019 end shall crown all; therefore Fate will deal\nSo well with him, to let him land, and see\nHis native earth, friends, house, and family.\u201d\nThus charg\u2019d he; nor Argicides denied,\nBut to his feet his fair wing\u2019d shoes he tied,\nAmbrosian, golden, that in his command\nPut either sea, or the unmeasur\u2019d land,\nWith pace as speedy as a puft of wind.\nThen up his rod went, with which he declin\u2019d\nThe eyes of any waker, when he pleas\u2019d,\nAnd any sleeper, when he wish\u2019d, diseas\u2019d.\nThis took; he stoop\u2019d Pieria, and thence\nGlid through the air, and Neptune\u2019s confluence\nKiss\u2019d as he flew, and check\u2019d the waves as light\nAs any sea-mew in her fishing flight,\nHer thick wings sousing in the savory seas.\nLike her, he pass\u2019d a world of wilderness;\nBut when the far-off isle he touch\u2019d, he went\nUp from the blue sea to the continent,\nAnd reach\u2019d the ample cavern of the Queen,\nWhom he within found, without seldom seen.\nA sun-like fire upon the hearth did flame,\nThe matter precious, and divine the frame,\nOf cedar cleft and incense was the pile,\nThat breath\u2019d an odour round about the isle.\nHerself was seated in an inner room,\nWhom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loom,\nAbout a curious web, whose yarn she threw\nIn with a golden shittle. A grove grew\nIn endless spring about her cavern round,\nWith odorous cypress, pines, and poplars, crown\u2019d,\nWhere hawks, sea-owls, and long-tongued bittours bred,\nAnd other birds their shady pinions spread;\nAll fowls maritimal; none roosted there,\nBut those whose labours in the waters were.\nA vine did all the hollow cave embrace,\nStill green, yet still ripe bunches gave it grace.\nFour fountains, one against another, pour\u2019d\nTheir silver streams; and meadows all enflower\u2019d\nWith sweet balm-gentle, and blue-violets hid,\nThat deck\u2019d the soft breasts of each fragrant mead.\nShould anyone, though he immortal were,\nArrive and see the sacred objects there,\nHe would admire them, and be over-joy\u2019d;\nAnd so stood Hermes\u2019 ravish\u2019d pow\u2019rs employ\u2019d,\nBut having all admir\u2019d, he enter\u2019d on\nThe ample cave, nor could be seen unknown\nOf great Calypso (for all Deities are\nPrompt in each other\u2019s knowledge, though so far\nSever\u2019d in dwellings) but he could not see\nUlysses there within; without was he,\nSet sad ashore, where \u2019twas his use to view\nTh\u2019 unquiet sea, sigh\u2019d, wept, and empty drew\nHis heart of comfort. Plac\u2019d here in her throne,\nThat beams cast up to admirati\u00f3n,\nDivine Calypso question\u2019d Hermes thus:\n\u201cFor what cause, dear, and much-esteem\u2019d by us,\nThou golden-rod-adorned Mercury,\nArriv\u2019st thou here? Thou hast not us\u2019d t\u2019 apply\nThy passage this way. Say, whatever be\nThy heart\u2019s desire, my mind commands it thee,\nIf in my means it lie, or pow\u2019r of fact.\nBut first, what hospitable rites exact,\nCome yet more near, and take.\u201d This said, she set\nA table forth, and furnish\u2019d it with meat,\nSuch as the Gods taste; and serv\u2019d in with it\nVermilion nectar. When with banquet fit\nHe had confirm\u2019d his spirits, he thus exprest\nHis cause of coming: \u201cThou hast made request,\nGoddess of Goddesses, to understand\nMy cause of touch here; which thou shalt command,\nAnd know with truth: Jove caus\u2019d my course to thee\nAgainst my will, for who would willingly\nLackey along so vast a lake of brine,\nNear to no city that the Pow\u2019rs divine\nReceives with solemn rites and hecatombs?\nBut Jove\u2019s will ever all law overcomes,\nNo other God can cross or make it void;\nAnd he affirms, that one the most annoy\u2019d\nWith woes and toils of all those men that fought\nFor Priam\u2019s city, and to end hath brought\nNine years in the contention, is with thee.\nFor in the tenth year, when roy victory\nWas won to give the Greeks the spoil of Troy,\nReturn they did profess, but not enjoy,\nSince Pallas they incens\u2019d, and she the waves\nBy all the winds\u2019 pow\u2019r, that blew ope their graves.\nAnd there they rested. Only this poor one\nThis coast both winds and waves have cast upon;\nWhom now forthwith he wills thee to dismiss,\nAffirming that th\u2019 unalter\u2019d Destinies\nNot only have decreed he shall not die\nApart his friends, but of necessity\nEnjoy their sights before those fatal hours,\nHis country earth reach, and erected tow\u2019rs.\u201d\nThis struck a love-check\u2019d horror through her pow\u2019rs,\nWhen, naming him, she this reply did give:\n\u201cInsatiate are ye Gods, past all that live,\nIn all things you affect; which still converts\nYour pow\u2019rs to envies. It afflicts your hearts,\nThat any Goddess should, as you obtain\nThe use of earthly dames, enjoy the men,\nAnd most in open marriage. So ye far\u2019d,\nWhen the delicious-finger\u2019d Morning shar\u2019d\nOrion\u2019s bed; you easy-living States\nCould never satisfy your emulous hates,\nTill in Ortygia the precise-liv\u2019d Dame,\nGold-thron\u2019d Diana, on him rudely came,\nAnd with her swift shafts slew him. And such pains,\nWhen rich-hair\u2019d Ceres pleas\u2019d to give the reins\nTo her affections, and the grace did yield\nOf love and bed, amidst a three-cropp\u2019d field,\nTo her Iasion, he paid angry Jove,\nWho lost no long time notice of their love,\nBut with a glowing lightning was his death.\nAnd now your envies labour underneath\nA mortal\u2019s choice of mine; whose life I took\nTo lib\u2019ral safety, when his ship Jove strook,\nWith red-hot flashes, piece-meal in the seas,\nAnd all his friends and soldiers succourless\nPerish\u2019d but he. Him, cast upon this coast\nWith blasts and billows, I, in life giv\u2019n lost,\nPreserv\u2019d alone, lov\u2019d, nourish\u2019d, and did vow\nTo make him deathless, and yet never grow\nCrooked, or worn with age, his whole life long.\nBut since no reason may be made so strong\nTo strive with Jove\u2019s will, or to make it vain,\nNo not if all the other Gods should strain\nTheir pow\u2019rs against it, let his will be law,\nSo he afford him fit means to withdraw,\nAs he commands him, to the raging main.\nBut means from me he never shall obtain,\nFor my means yield nor men, nor ship, nor oars,\nTo set him off from my so envied shores.\nBut if my counsel and good will can aid\nHis safe pass home, my best shall be assay\u2019d.\u201d\n\u201cVouchsafe it so,\u201d said heav\u2019n\u2019s ambassador,\n\u201cAnd deign it quickly. By all means abhor\nT\u2019 incense Jove\u2019s wrath against thee, that with grace\nHe may hereafter all thy wish embrace.\u201d\nThus took the Argus-killing God his wings.\nAnd since the rev\u2019rend Nymph these awful things\nReceiv\u2019d from Jove, she to Ulysses went;\nWhom she ashore found, drown\u2019d in discontent,\nHis eyes kept never dry he did so mourn,\nAnd waste his dear age for his wish\u2019d return;\nWhich still without the cave he us\u2019d to do,\nBecause he could not please the Goddess so,\nAt night yet, forc\u2019d, together took their rest,\nThe willing Goddess and th\u2019 unwilling Guest;\nBut he all day in rocks, and on the shore,\nThe vex\u2019d sea view\u2019d, and did his fate deplore.\nHim, now, the Goddess coming near bespake:\n\u201cUnhappy man, no more discomfort take\nFor my constraint of thee, nor waste thine age,\nI now will passing freely disengage\nThy irksome stay here. Come then, fell thee wood,\nAnd build a ship, to save thee from the flood.\nI\u2019ll furnish thee with fresh wave, bread, and wine\nRuddy and sweet, that will the piner pine,[2]\nPut garments on thee, give the winds foreright,\nThat ev\u2019ry way thy home-bent appetite\nMay safe attain to it; if so it please\nAt all parts all the heav\u2019n-hous\u2019d Deities,\nThat more in pow\u2019r are, more in skill, than I,\nAnd more can judge what fits humanity.\u201d\nHe stood amaz\u2019d at this strange change in her,\nAnd said: \u201cO Goddess! Thy intents prefer\nSome other project than my parting hence,\nCommanding things of too high consequence\nFor my performance, that myself should build\nA ship of pow\u2019r, my home-assays to shield\nAgainst the great sea of such dread to pass;\nWhich not the best-built ship that ever was\nWill pass exulting, when such winds, as Jove\nCan thunder up, their trims and tacklings prove.\nBut could I build one, I would ne\u2019er aboard,\nThy will oppos\u2019d, nor, won, without thy word,\nGiv\u2019n in the great oath of the Gods to me,\nNot to beguile me in the least degree.\u201d\nThe Goddess smil\u2019d, held hard his hand, and said:\n\u201cO y\u2019 are a shrewd one, and so habited\nIn taking heed thou know\u2019st not what it is\nTo be unwary, nor use words amiss.\nHow hast thou charm\u2019d me, were I ne\u2019er so sly!\nLet earth know then, and heav\u2019n, so broad, so high,\nAnd th\u2019 under-sunk waves of th\u2019 infernal stream,\n(Which is an oath, as terribly supreme,\nAs any God swears) that I had no thought\nBut stood with what I spake, nor would have wrought,\nNor counsell\u2019d, any act against thy good;\nBut ever diligently weigh\u2019d, and stood\nOn those points in persuading thee, that I\nWould use myself in such extremity.\nFor my mind simple is, and innocent,\nNot giv\u2019n by cruel sleights to circumvent,\nNor bear I in my breast a heart of steel,\nBut with the suff\u2019rer willing suff\u2019rance feel.\u201d\nThis said, the Grace of Goddesses led home,\nHe trac\u2019d her steps; and, to the cavern come,\nIn that rich throne, whence Mercury arose,\nHe sat. The Nymph herself did then appose,\nFor food and bev\u2019rage, to him all best meat\nAnd drink, that mortals use to taste and eat.\nThen sat she opposite, and for her feast\nWas nectar and ambrosia addrest\nBy handmaids to her. Both, what was prepar\u2019d,\nDid freely fall to. Having fitly far\u2019d,\nThe Nymph Calypso this discourse began:\n\u201cJove-bred Ulysses! Many-witted man!\nStill is thy home so wish\u2019d? So soon, away?\nBe still of cheer, for all the worst I say.\nBut, if thy soul knew what a sum of woes,\nFor thee to cast up, thy stern Fates impose,\nEre to thy country earth thy hopes attain,\nUndoubtedly thy choice would here remain,\nKeep house with me, and be a liver ever.\nWhich, methinks, should thy house and thee dissever,\nThough for thy wife there thou art set on fire,\nAnd all thy days are spent in her desire;\nAnd though it be no boast in me to say\nIn form and mind I match her ev\u2019ry way.\nNor can it fit a mortal dame\u2019s compare,\nT\u2019 affect those terms with us that deathless are.\u201d\nThe great-in-counsels made her this reply:\n\u201cRenown\u2019d, and to be rev\u2019renc\u2019d, Deity!\nLet it not move thee, that so much I vow\nMy comforts to my wife; though well I know\nAll cause myself why wise Penelope\nIn wit is far inferior to thee,\nIn feature, stature, all the parts of show,\nShe being a mortal, an immortal thou,\nOld ever growing, and yet never old.\nYet her desire shall all my days see told,\nAdding the sight of my returning day,\nAnd natural home. If any God shall lay\nHis hand upon me as I pass the seas,\nI\u2019ll bear the worst of what his hand shall please,\nAs having giv\u2019n me such a mind as shall\nThe more still rise the more his hand lets fall.\nIn wars and waves my suff\u2019rings were not small.\nI now have suffer\u2019d much, as much before,\nHereafter let as much result, and more.\u201d\nThis said, the sun set, and earth shadows gave;\nWhen these two (in an in-room of the cave,\nLeft to themselves) left love no rites undone.\nThe early Morn up, up he rose, put on\nHis in and out weed. She herself enchaces\nAmidst a white robe, full of all the Graces,\nAmple, and pleated thick like fishy scales;\nA golden girdle then her waist impales;\nHer head a veil decks; and abroad they come.\nAnd now began Ulysses to go home.\nA great axe first she gave, that two ways cut,\nIn which a fair well-polish\u2019d helm was put,\nThat from an olive bough receiv\u2019d his frame.\nA plainer then. Then led she, till they came\nTo lofty woods that did the isle confine.\nThe fir-tree, poplar, and heav\u2019n-scaling pine,\nHad there their offspring. Of which, those that were\nOf driest matter, and grew longest there,\nHe choos\u2019d for lighter sail. This place thus shown,\nThe Nymph turn\u2019d home. He fell to felling down,\nAnd twenty trees he stoop\u2019d in little space,\nPlain\u2019d, used his plumb, did all with artful grace.\nIn mean time did Calypso wimbles bring.\nHe bor\u2019d, clos\u2019d, nail\u2019d, and order\u2019d ev\u2019ry thing,\nAnd look how much a ship-wright will allow\nA ship of burden (one that best doth know\nWhat fits his art) so large a keel he cast,\nWrought up her decks, and hatches, side-boards, mast,\nWith willow watlings arm\u2019d her to resist\nThe billows\u2019 outrage, added all she miss\u2019d,\nSail-yards, and stern for guide. The Nymph then brought\nLinen for sails, which with dispatch he wrought,\nGables, and halsters, tacklings. All the frame\nIn four days\u2019 space to full perfection came.[3]\nThe fifth day, they dismiss\u2019d him from the shore,\nWeeds neat, and odorous, gave him, victuals store,\nWine, strong waters, and a prosp\u2019rous wind,\nTo which, Ulysses, fit-to-be-divin\u2019d,\nHis sails expos\u2019d, and hois\u00e9d. Off he gat;\nAnd cheerful was he. At the stern he sat,\nAnd steer\u2019d right artfully. Nor sleep could seize\nHis eye-lids. He beheld the Pleiades;\nThe Bear, surnam\u2019d the Wain, that round doth move\nAbout Orion, and keeps still above\nThe billowy ocean; the slow-setting star\nBootes call\u2019d, by some the Waggoner.\nCalypso warn\u2019d him he his course should steer\nStill to his left hand. Seventeen days did clear\nThe cloudy night\u2019s command in his moist way,\nAnd by the eighteenth light he might display\nThe shady hills of the Ph\u00e6acian shore,\nFor which, as to his next abode, he bore.\nThe country did a pretty figure yield,\nAnd look\u2019d from off the dark seas like a shield.\nImperious Neptune, making his retreat\nFrom th\u2019 \u00c6thiopian earth, and taking seat\nUpon the mountains of the Solymi,\nFrom thence, far off discov\u2019ring, did descry\nUlysses his fields ploughing. All on fire\nThe sight straight set his heart, and made desire\nOf wreak run over, it did boil so high.\nWhen, his head nodding; \u201cO impiety,\u201d\nHe cried out, \u201cnow the Gods\u2019 inconstancy\nIs most apparent, alt\u2019ring their designs\nSince I the \u00c6thiops saw, and here confines\nTo this Ulysses\u2019 fate his misery.\nThe great mark, on which all his hopes rely,\nLies in Ph\u00e6acia. But I hope he shall\nFeel woe at height, ere that dead calm befall.\u201d\nThis said; he, begging, gather\u2019d clouds from land,[4]\nFrighted the seas up, snatch\u2019d into his hand\nHis horrid trident, and aloft did toss,\nOf all the winds, all storms he could engross,\nAll earth took into sea with clouds, grim Night\nFell tumbling headlong from the cope of light,\nThe East and South winds justled in the air,\nThe violent Zephyr, and North making-fair,\nRoll\u2019d up the waves before them. And then bent\nUlysses\u2019 knees, then all his spirit was spent.\nIn which despair, he thus spake: \u201cWoe is me!\nWhat was I born to, man of misery!\nFear tells me now, that, all the Goddess said,\nTruth\u2019s self will author, that Fate would be paid\nGrief\u2019s whole sum due from me, at sea, before\nI reach\u2019d the dear touch of my country\u2019s shore.\nWith what clouds Jove heav\u2019n\u2019s heighten\u2019d forehead binds!\nHow tyrannize the wraths of all the winds!\nHow all the tops he bottoms with the deeps,\nAnd in the bottoms all the tops he steeps!\nThus dreadful is the presence of our death.\nThrice four times blest were they that sunk beneath\nTheir fates at Troy, and did to nought contend\nBut to renown Atrides with their end!\nI would to God, my hour of death and fate\nThat day had held the\u2019 pow\u2019r to terminate,\nWhen show\u2019rs of darts my life bore undepress\u2019d\nAbout divine \u00c6acides deceas\u2019d!\nThen had I been allotted to have died,\nBy all the Greeks with fun\u2019rals glorified,\n(Whence death, encouraging good life, had grown)\nWhere now I die, by no man mourn\u2019d nor known.\u201d\nThis spoke, a huge wave took him by the head,\nAnd hurl\u2019d him o\u2019er board; ship and all it laid\nInverted quite amidst the waves, but he\nFar off from her sprawl\u2019d, strow\u2019d about the sea,\nHis stern still holding broken off, his mast\nBurst in the midst, so horrible a blast\nOf mix\u2019d winds struck it. Sails and sail-yards fell\nAmongst the billows; and himself did dwell\nA long time under water, nor could get\nIn haste his head out, wave with wave so met\nIn his depression; and his garments too,\nGiv\u2019n by Calypso, gave him much to do,\nHind\u2019ring his swimming; yet he left not so\nHis drench\u00e9d vessel, for the overthrow\nOf her nor him, but gat at length again,\nWrastling with Neptune, hold of her; and then\nSat in her bulk, insulting over death,\nWhich, with the salt stream prest to stop his breath,\nHe \u2019scap\u2019d, and gave the sea again to give\nTo other men. His ship so striv\u2019d to live,\nFloating at random, cuff\u2019d from wave to wave.\nAs you have seen the North wind when he drave\nIn autumn heaps of thorn-fed grasshoppers\nHither and thither, one heap this way bears,\nAnother that, and makes them often meet\nin his confus\u2019d gales; so Ulysses\u2019 fleet\nThe winds hurl\u2019d up and down; now Boreas\nToss\u2019d it to Notus, Notus gave it pass\nTo Eurus, Eurus Zephyr made pursue\nThe horrid tennis. This sport call\u2019d the view\nOf Cadmus\u2019 daughter, with the narrow heel,\nIno Leucothea, that first did feel\nA mortal dame\u2019s desires, and had a tongue,\nBut now had th\u2019 honour to be nam\u2019d among\nThe marine Godheads. She with pity saw\nUlysses justled thus from flaw to flaw,\nAnd, like a cormorant in form and flight,\nRose from a whirl-pool, on the ship did light,\nAnd thus bespake him: \u201cWhy is Neptune thus\nIn thy pursuit extremely furious,\nOppressing thee with such a world of ill,\nEv\u2019n to thy death? He must not serve his will,\nThough \u2019tis his study. Let me then advise\nAs my thoughts serve; thou shalt not be unwise\nTo leave thy weeds and ship to the commands\nOf these rude winds, and work out with thy hands\nPass to Ph\u00e6acia, where thy austere Fate\nIs to pursue thee with no more such hate.\nTake here this tablet, with this riband strung,\nAnd see it still about thy bosom hung;\nBy whose eternal virtue never fear\nTo suffer thus again, nor perish here.\nBut when thou touchest with thy hand the shore,\nThen take it from thy neck, nor wear it more,\nBut cast it far off from the continent,\nAnd then thy person far ashore present.\nThus gave she him the tablet; and again,\nTurn\u2019d to a cormorant, div\u2019d, past sight, the main.\nPatient Ulysses sigh\u2019d at this, and stuck\nIn the conceit of such fair-spoken luck,\nAnd said: \u201cAlas! I must suspect ev\u2019n this,\nLest any other of the Deities\nAdd sleight to Neptune\u2019s force, to counsel me\nTo leave my vessel, and so far off see\nThe shore I aim at. Not with thoughts too clear\nWill I obey her, but to me appear\nThese counsels best: As long as I perceive\nMy ship not quite dissolv\u2019d, I will not leave\nThe help she may afford me, but abide,\nAnd suffer all woes till the worst be tried.\nWhen she is split, I\u2019ll swim. No miracle can,\nPast near and clear means, move a knowing man.\u201d\nWhile this discourse employ\u2019d him, Neptune rais\u2019d\nA huge, a high, and horrid sea, that seiz\u2019d\nHim and his ship, and toss\u2019d them through the lake.\nAs when the violent winds together take\nHeaps of dry chaff, and hurl them ev\u2019ry way;\nSo his long wood-stack Neptune strook astray\nThen did Ulysses mount on rib, perforce,\nLike to a rider of a running horse,\nTo stay himself a time, while he might shift\nHis drenched weeds, that were Calypso\u2019s gift.\nWhen putting straight Leucothea\u2019s amulet\nAbout his neck, he all his forces set\nTo swim, and cast him prostrate to the seas.\nWhen pow\u2019rful Neptune saw the ruthless prease\nOf perils siege him thus, he mov\u2019d his head,\nAnd this betwixt him and his heart he said:\n\u201cSo, now feel ills enow, and struggle so,\nTill to your Jove-lov\u2019d islanders you row.\nBut my mind says, you will not so avoid\nThis last task too, but be with suff\u2019rance cloy\u2019d.\u201d\nThis said, his rich-man\u2019d horse he mov\u2019d, and reach\u2019d\nHis house at \u00c6gas. But Minerva fetch\u2019d\nThe winds from sea, and all their ways but one\nBarr\u2019d to their passage; the bleak North alone\nShe set to blow, the rest she charg\u2019d to keep\nTheir rages in, and bind themselves in sleep.\nBut Boreas still flew high to break the seas,\nTill Jove-bred Ithacus the more with ease\nThe navigation-skill\u2019d Ph\u00e6acian states\nMight make his refuge, Death and angry Fates\nAt length escaping. Two nights, yet, and days\nHe spent in wrastling with the sable seas;\nIn which space, often did his heart propose\nDeath to his eyes. But when Aurora rose,\nAnd threw the third light from her orient hair,\nThe winds grew calm, and clear was all the air,\nNot one breath stirring. Then he might descry,\nRais\u2019d by the high seas, clear, and land was nigh.\nAnd then, look how to good sons that esteem\nTheir father\u2019s life dear, (after pains extreme,\nFelt in some sickness, that hath held him long\nDown to his bed, and with affections strong\nWasted his body, made his life his load,\nAs being inflicted by some angry God)\nWhen on their pray\u2019rs they see descend at length\nHealth from the heav\u2019ns, clad all in spirit and strength,\nThe sight is precious; so, since here should end\nUlysses\u2019 toils, which therein should extend\nHealth to his country, held to him his sire\nAnd on which long for him disease did tire,\nAnd then, besides, for his own sake to see\nThe shores, the woods so near, such joy had he,\nAs those good sons for their recover\u2019d sire.\nThen labour\u2019d feet and all parts to aspire\nTo that wish\u2019d continent; which when as near\nHe came, as Clamour might inform an ear,\nHe heard a sound beat from the sea-bred rocks,\nAgainst which gave a huge sea horrid shocks,\nThat belch\u2019d upon the firm land weeds and foam,\nWith which were all things hid there, where no room\nOf fit capacity was for any port,\nNor from the sea for any man\u2019s resort,\nThe shores, the rocks, the cliff\u2019s, so prominent were.\n\u201cO,\u201d said Ulysses then, \u201cnow Jupiter\nHath giv\u2019n me sight of an unhop\u2019d for shore,\nThough I have wrought these seas so long, so sore.\nOf rest yet no place shows the slend\u2019rest prints,\nThe rugged shore so bristled is with flints,\nAgainst which ev\u2019ry way the waves so flock,\nAnd all the shore shows as one eminent rock,\nSo near which \u2019tis so deep, that not a sand\nIs there for any tired foot to stand,\nNor fly his death-fast-following miseries,\nLest, if he land, upon him foreright flies\nA churlish wave, to crush him \u2019gainst a cliff,\nWorse than vain rend\u2019ring all his landing strife.\nAnd should I swim to seek a hav\u2019n elsewhere,\nOr land less way-beat, I may justly fear\nI shall be taken with a gale again,\nAnd cast a huge way off into the main;\nAnd there the great Earth-shaker (having seen\nMy so near landing, and again his spleen\nForcing me to him) will some whale send out,\n(Of which a horrid number here about\nHis Amphitrite breeds) to swallow me.\nI well have prov\u2019d, with what malignity\nHe treads my steps.\u201d While this discourse he held,\nA curs\u2019d surge \u2019gainst a cutting rock impell\u2019d\nHis naked body, which it gash\u2019d and tore,\nAnd had his bones broke, if but one sea more\nHad cast him on it. But She prompted him,\nThat never fail\u2019d, and bade him no more swim\nStill off and on, but boldly force the shore,\nAnd hug the rock that him so rudely tore;\nWhich he with both hands sigh\u2019d and clasp\u2019d, till past\nThe billow\u2019s rage was; when \u2019scap\u2019d, back so fast\nThe rock repuls\u2019d it, that it reft his hold,\nSucking him from it, and far back he roll\u2019d\nAnd as the polypus that (forc\u2019d from home\nAmidst the soft sea, and near rough land come\nFor shelter \u2019gainst the storms that beat on her\nAt open sea, as she abroad doth err)\nA deal of gravel, and sharp little stones,\nNeedfully gathers in her hollow bones;\nSo he forc\u2019d hither by the sharper ill,\nShunning the smoother, where he best hop\u2019d, still\nThe worst succeeded; for the cruel friend,\nTo which he cling\u2019d for succour, off did rend\nFrom his broad hands the soaken flesh so sore\nThat off he fell, and could sustain no more.\nQuite under water fell he; and, past fate,\nHapless Ulysses there had lost the state\nHe held in life, if, still the grey-eyed Maid\nHis wisdom prompting, he had not assay\u2019d\nAnother course, and ceas\u2019d t\u2019 attempt that shore,\nSwimming, and casting round his eye t\u2019 explore\nSome other shelter. Then the mouth he found\nOf fair Callicoe\u2019s flood, whose shores were crown\u2019d\nWith most apt succours: rocks so smooth they seem\u2019d\nPolish\u2019d of purpose; land that quite redeem\u2019d\nWith breathless coverts th\u2019 others\u2019 blasted shores.\nThe flood he knew, and thus in heart implores:\n\u201cKing of this river, hear! Whatever name\nMakes thee invok\u2019d, to thee I humbly frame\nMy flight from Neptune\u2019s furies. Rev\u2019rend is\nTo all the ever-living Deities\nWhat erring man soever seeks their aid.\nTo thy both flood and knees a man dismay\u2019d\nWith varied suff\u2019rance sues. Yield then some rest\nTo him that is thy suppliant profest.\u201d\nThis, though but spoke in thought, the Godhead heard,\nHer current straight stay\u2019d, and her thick waves clear\u2019d\nBefore him, smooth\u2019d her waters, and, just where\nHe pray\u2019d half-drown\u2019d, entirely sav\u2019d him there.\nThen forth he came, his both knees falt\u2019ring, both\nHis strong hands hanging down, and all with froth\nHis cheeks and nosthrils flowing, voice and breath\nSpent to all use, and down he sunk to death.\nThe sea had soak\u2019d his heart through; all his veins\nHis toils had rack\u2019d t\u2019 a labouring woman\u2019s pains.[5]\nDead weary was he. But when breath did find\nA pass reciprocal, and in his mind\nHis spirit was recollected, up he rose,\nAnd from his neck did th\u2019 amulet unloose,\nThat Ino gave him; which he hurl\u2019d from him\nTo sea. It sounding fell, and back did swim\nWith th\u2019 ebbing waters, till it straight arriv\u2019d\nWhere Ino\u2019s fair hand it again receiv\u2019d.\nThen kiss\u2019d he th\u2019 humble earth; and on he goes,\nTill bulrushes show\u2019d place for his repose,\nWhere laid, he sigh\u2019d, and thus said to his soul:\n\u201cO me, what strange perplexities control\nThe whole skill of thy pow\u2019rs in this event!\nWhat feel I? If till care-nurse night be spent\nI watch amidst the flood, the sea\u2019s chill breath,\nAnd vegetant dews, I fear will be my death,\nSo low brought with my labours. Towards day\nA passing sharp air ever breathes at sea.\nIf I the pitch of this next mountain scale,\nAnd shady wood, and in some thicket fall\nInto the hands of Sleep, though there the cold\nMay well be check\u2019d, and healthful slumbers hold\nHer sweet hand on my pow\u2019rs, all care allay\u2019d,\nYet there will beasts devour me. Best appaid\nDoth that course make me yet; for there, some strife,\nStrength, and my spirit, may make me make for life;\nWhich, though impair\u2019d, may yet be fresh applied,\nWhere peril possible of escape is tried.\nBut he that fights with heav\u2019n, or with the sea,\nTo indiscretion adds impiety.\u201d\nThus to the woods he hasted; which he found\nNot far from sea, but on far-seeing ground,\nWhere two twin underwoods he enter\u2019d on,\nWith olive-trees and oil-trees overgrown;\nThrough which the moist force of the loud-voic\u2019d wind\nDid never beat, nor ever Ph\u0153bus shin\u2019d,\nNor show\u2019r beat through, they grew so one in one,\nAnd had, by turns, their pow\u2019r t\u2019 exclude the sun.\nHere enter\u2019d our Ulysses; and a bed\nOf leaves huge, and of huge abundance, spread\nWith all his speed. Large he made it, for there\nFor two or three men ample cov\u2019rings were,\nSuch as might shield them from the winter\u2019s worst,\nThough steel it breathed, and blew as it would burst.[6]\nPatient Ulysses joy\u2019d, that ever day\nShow\u2019d such a shelter. In the midst he lay,\nStore of leaves heaping high on ev\u2019ry side.\nAnd as in some out-field a man doth hide\nA kindled brand, to keep the seed of fire,\nNo neighbour dwelling near, and his desire\nServ\u2019d with self store, he else would ask of none,\nBut of his fore-spent sparks rakes th\u2019 ashes on;\nSo this out-place Ulysses thus receives,\nAnd thus nak\u2019d virtue\u2019s seed lies hid in leaves.\nYet Pallas made him sleep as soon as men\nWhom delicacies all their flatt\u2019ries deign,\nAnd all that all his labours could comprise\nQuickly concluded in his closed eyes.\n\n FINIS LIBRI QUINTI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] _\u1fbd\u0395\u03c0\u1f31 \u03c3\u03c7\u03b5\u03b4\u1f30\u03b7\u03c2 \u03c0\u03bf\u03b3\u03c5\u03b4\u1f10\u03c3\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd, in rate multis vinculis ligatus._\n\n [2] The piner\u2014Hunger.\n\n [3] This four day days\u2019 work (you will say) is too much for one man:\n and Pliny affirms, that Hiero (a king of Sicily) in five-and forty\n days built two hundred and twenty ships, rigged them, and put to sea\n with them.\n\n [4] _\u03a3\u03c5\u03bd\u03b1\u03b3\u03b5\u1f30\u03c1\u03c9\u2014Mendicando colligo._\n\n [5] _\u1f6c\u03b9\u03b4\u03b5\u03b5_ of _\u1f60\u03b4\u1f30\u03bd\u03c9 \u1f01 partu doleo._\n\n [6] A metaphorical hyperbole, expressing the winter\u2019s extremity of\n sharpness.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIXTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nMinerva in a vision stands\nBefore Nausicaa: and commands\nShe to the flood her weeds should bear;\nFor now her nuptial day was near.\nNausicaa her charge obeys,\nAnd then with other virgins plays.\nTheir sports make wak\u2019d Ulysses rise;\nWalk to them, and beseech supplies\nOf food and clothes. His naked sight\nPuts th\u2019 other maids, afraid, to flight;\nNausicaa only boldly stays,\nAnd gladly his desire obeys.\nHe, furnish\u2019d with her favour\u2019s shown,\nAttends her and the rest to town.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u0396\u03b7\u0311\u03c4\u03b1._\nHere olive leaves\nT\u2019 hide shame began,\nThe maid receives\nThe naked man.\n\nThe much-sustaining, patient, heav\u2019nly man,\nWhom Toil and Sleep had worn so weak and wan,[1]\nThus won his rest. In mean space Pallas went\nTo the Ph\u00e6acian city, and descent\nThat first did broad Hyperia\u2019s lands divide,\nNear the vast Cyclops, men of monstrous pride,\nThat prey\u2019d on those Hyperians, since they were\nOf greater pow\u2019r; and therefore longer there\nDivine Nausithous dwelt not, but arose,\nAnd did for Scheria all his pow\u2019rs dispose;\nFar from ingenious art-inventing men\nBut there did he erect a city then,\nFirst drew a wall round, then he houses builds,\nAnd then a temple to the Gods, the fields\nLastly dividing. But he, stoop\u2019d by Fate,\nDiv\u2019d to th\u2019 infernals; and Alcinous sate\nIn his command, a man the Gods did teach\nCommanding counsels. His house held the reach\nOf grey Minerva\u2019s project, to provide\nThat great-soul\u2019d Ithacus might be supplied\nWith all things fitting his return. She went\nUp to the chamber, where the fair descent\nOf great Alcinous slept; a maid, whose parts\nIn wit and beauty wore divine deserts.\nWell-deck\u2019d her chamber was; of which the door\nDid seem to lighten, such a gloss it bore\nBetwixt the posts, and now flew ope to find\nThe Goddess entry. Like a puft of wind\nShe reach\u2019d the virgin bed; neat which there lay\nTwo maids, to whom the Graces did convey\nFigure and manners. But above the head\nOf bright Nausicaa did Pallas tread\nThe subtle air, and put the person on\nOf Dymas\u2019 daughter, from comparison\nExempt in business naval. Like his seed\nMinerva look\u2019d now; whom one year did breed[2]\nWith bright Nausicaa, and who had gain\u2019d\nGrace in her love, yet on her thus complain\u2019d:\n\u201cNausicaa! Why bred thy mother one\nSo negligent in rites so stood upon\nBy other virgins? Thy fair garments lie\nNeglected by thee, yet thy nuptials nigh;\nWhen rich in all attire both thou shouldst be,\nAnd garments give to others honouring thee,\nThat lead thee to the temple. Thy good name\nGrows amongst men for these things; they inflame\nFather and rev\u2019rend mother with delight.\nCome, when the Day takes any wink from Night,\nLet\u2019s to the river, and repurify\nThy wedding garments. My society\nShall freely serve thee for thy speedier aid,\nBecause thou shalt no mote stand on the maid.\nThe best of all Ph\u00e6acia woo thy grace,\nWhere thou wert bred, and ow\u2019st thyself a race.\nUp, and stir up to thee thy honour\u2019d sire,\nTo give thee mules and coach, thee and thy tire,\nVeils, girdles, mantles, early to the flood\nTo bear in state. It suits thy high-born blood,\nAnd far more fits thee, than to foot so far,\nFor far from town thou know\u2019st the bath-founts are.\u201d\nThis said, away blue-eyed Minerva went\nUp to Olympus, the firm continent\nThat bears in endless being the Deified kind,\nThat\u2019s neither sous\u2019d with show\u2019rs, nor shook with wind,\nNor chill\u2019d with snow, but where Serenity flies\nExempt from clouds, and ever-beamy skies\nCircle the glitt\u2019ring hill, and all their days\nGive the delights of bless\u00e9d Deity praise.\nAnd hither Pallas flew, and left the maid,\nWhen she had all that might excite her said.\nStraight rose the lovely Morn, that up did raise\nFair-veil\u2019d Nausicaa, whose dream her praise\nTo admiration took; who no time spent\nTo give the rapture of her vision vent\nTo her lov\u2019d parents, whom she found within.\nHer mother set at fire, who had to spin\nA rock, whose tincture with sea-purple shin\u2019d;\nHer maids about her. But she chanc\u2019d to find\nHer father going abroad, to council call\u2019d\nBy his grave Senate. And to him exhal\u2019d\nHer smother\u2019d bosom was: \u201cLov\u2019d sire,\u201d said she,[3]\n\u201cWill you not now command a coach for me,\nStately and c\u00f3mplete, fit for me to bear\nTo wash at flood the weeds I cannot wear\nBefore repurified? Yourself it fits\nTo wear fair weeds, as ev\u2019ry man that sits\nIn place of council. And five sons you have,\nTwo wed, three bachelors, that must be brave\nIn ev\u2019ry day\u2019s shift, that they may go dance;\nFor these three last with these things must advance\nTheir states in marriage, and who else but I,\nTheir sister, should their dancing rites supply?\u201d\nThis gen\u2019ral cause she show\u2019d, and would not name\nHer mind of nuptials to her sire, for shame.\nHe understood her yet, and thus replied:\n\u201cDaughter! nor these, nor any grace beside,\nI either will deny thee, or defer,\nMules, nor a coach, of state and circular,\nFitting at all parts. Go, my servants shall\nServes thy desires, and thy command in all.\u201d\nThe servants then commanded soon obey\u2019d,\nFetch\u2019d coach, and mules join\u2019d in it. Then the Maid\nBrought from the chamber her rich weeds, and laid\nAll up in coach; in which her mother plac\u2019d\nA maund of victuals, varied well in taste,\nAnd other junkets. Wine she likewise fill\u2019d\nWithin a goat-skin bottle, and distill\u2019d\nSweet and moist oil into a golden cruse,\nBoth for her daughter\u2019s, and her handmaid\u2019s, use,\nTo soften their bright bodies, when they rose\nCleans\u2019d from their cold baths. Up to coach then goes\nTh\u2019 observ\u00e9d Maid, takes both the scourge and reins,\nAnd to her side her handmaid straight attains.\nNor these alone, but other virgins, grac\u2019d\nThe nuptial chariot. The whole bevy plac\u2019d,\nNausicaa scourg\u2019d to make the coach-mules run,\nThat neigh\u2019d, and pac\u2019d their usual speed, and soon\nBoth maids and weeds brought to the river-side,\nWhere baths for all the year their use supplied,\nWhose waters were so pure they would not stain,\nBut still ran fair forth, and did more remain\nApt to purge stains, for that purg\u2019d stain within,\nWhich by the water\u2019s pure store was not seen.\nThese, here arriv\u2019d, the mules uncoach\u2019d, and drave\nUp to the gulfy river\u2019s shore, that gave\nSweet grass to them. The maids from coach then took\nTheir clothes, and steep\u2019d them in the sable brook:\nThen put them into springs, and trod them clean\nWith cleanly feet; adventuring wagers then\nWho should have soonest and most cleanly done.\nWhen having thoroughly cleans\u2019d, they spread them on\nThe flood\u2019s shore, all in order. And then, where\nThe waves the pebbles wash\u2019d, and ground was clear,\nThey bath\u2019d themselves, and all with glitt\u2019ring oil\nSmooth\u2019d their white skins; refreshing then their toil\nWith pleasant dinner, by the river-side;\nYet still watch\u2019d when the sun their clothes had dried.\nTill which time, having din\u2019d, Nausicaa\nWith other virgins did at stool-ball play,\nTheir shoulder-reaching head-tires laying by.\nNausicaa, with the wrists of ivory,\nThe liking stroke struck, singing first a song,\nAs custom order\u2019d, and amidst the throng\nMade such a show, and so past all was seen,\nAs when the chaste-born, arrow-loving, Queen,\nAlong the mountains gliding, either over\nSpartan Taygetus, whose tops far discover,\nOr Eurymanthus, in the wild boar\u2019s chace,\nOr swift-hov\u2019d hart, and with her Jove\u2019s fair race,\nThe field Nymphs, sporting; amongst whom, to see\nHow far Diana had priority,\nThough all were fair, for fairness yet of all,\nAs both by head and forehead being more tall,\nLatona triumph\u2019d, since the dullest sight\nMight eas\u2019ly judge whom her pains brought to light;\nNausicaa so, whom never husband tam\u2019d,\nAbove them all in all the beauties flam\u2019d.\nBut when they now made homewards, and array\u2019d,\nOrd\u2019ring their weeds disorder\u2019d as they play\u2019d,\nMules and coach ready, then Minerva thought\nWhat means to wake Ulysses might be wrought,\nThat he might see this lovely-sighted maid,\nWhom she intended should become his aid,\nBring him to town, and his return advance.\nHer mean was this, though thought a stool-ball chance:[4]\nThe queen now, for the upstroke, struck the ball\nQuite wide off th\u2019 other maids, and made it fall\nAmidst the whirlpools. At which out shriek\u2019d all,\nAnd with the shriek did wise Ulysses wake;\nWho, sitting up, was doubtful who should make\nThat sudden outcry, and in mind thus striv\u2019d:\n\u201cOn what a people am I now arriv\u2019d?\nAt civil hospitable men, that fear\nThe Gods? Or dwell injurious mortals here?\nUnjust, and churlish? Like the female cry\nOf youth it sounds. What are they? Nymphs bred high\nOn tops of hills, or in the founts of floods,\nIn herby marshes, or in leafy woods?\nOr are they high-spoke men I now am near?\nI\u2019ll prove, and see.\u201d With this, the wary peer\nCrept forth the thicket, and an olive bough\nBroke with his broad hand, which he did bestow\nIn covert of his nakedness, and then\nPut hasty head out. Look how from his den\nA mountain lion looks, that, all embrued\nWith drops of trees, and weather-beaten-hued,\nBold of his strength, goes on, and in his eye\nA burning furnace glows, all bent to prey\nOn sheep, or oxen, or the upland hart,\nHis belly charging him, and he must part\nStakes with the herdsman in his beasts\u2019 attempt,\nEv\u2019n where from rape their strengths are most exempt;\nSo wet, so weather-beat, so stung with need,\nEv\u2019n to the home-fields of the country\u2019s breed\nUlysses was to force forth his access,\nThough merely naked; and his sight did press\nThe eyes of soft-hair\u2019d virgins. Horrid was\nHis rough appearance to them; the hard pass\nHe had at sea stuck by him. All in flight\nThe virgins scatter\u2019d, frighted with this sight,\nAbout the prominent windings of the flood.\nAll but Nausicaa fled; but she fast stood,\nPallas had put a boldness in her breast,\nAnd in her fair limbs tender fear comprest.\nAnd still she stood him, as resolv\u2019d to know\nWhat man he was, or out of what should grow\nHis strange repair to them. And here was he\nPut to his wisdom; if her virgin knee\nHe should be bold, but kneeling, to embrace,\nOr keep aloof, and try with words of grace,\nIn humblest suppliance, if he might obtain\nSome cover for his nakedness, and gain\nHer grace to show and guide him to the town.\nThe last he best thought, to be worth his own,\nIn weighing both well; to keep still aloof,\nAnd give with soft words his desires their proof,\nLest, pressing so near as to touch her knee,\nHe might incense her maiden modesty.\nThis fair and fil\u2019d speech then shew\u2019d this was he:\n\u201cLet me beseech, O queen, this truth of thee,\nAre you of mortal, or the defied, race?\nIf of the Gods, that th\u2019 ample heav\u2019ns embrace,\nI can resemble you to none above\nSo near as to the chaste-born birth of Jove,\nThe beamy Cynthia. Her you full present,\nIn grace of ev\u2019ry God-like lineament,\nHer goodly magnitude, and all th\u2019 address\nYou promise of her very perfectness.\nIf sprung of humans, that inhabit earth,\nThrice blest are both the authors of your birth,\nThrice blest your brothers, that in your deserts\nMust, ev\u2019n to rapture, bear delighted hearts,\nTo see, so like the first trim of a tree,\nYour form adorn a dance. But most blest he,\nOf all that breathe, that hath the gift t\u2019 engage\nYour bright neck in the yoke of marriage,\nAnd deck his house with your commanding merit\nI have not seen a man of so much spirit,\nNor man, nor woman, I did ever see,\nAt all parts equal to the parts in thee.\nT\u2019 enjoy your sight, doth admiration seize\nMy eyes, and apprehensive faculties.\nLately in Delos (with a charge of men\nArriv\u2019d, that render\u2019d me most wretched then,\nNow making me thus naked) I beheld\nThe burthen of a palm, whose issue swell\u2019d\nAbout Apollo\u2019s fane, and that put on\nA grace like thee; for Earth had never none\nOf all her sylvan issue so adorn\u2019d.\nInto amaze my very soul was turn\u2019d,\nTo give it observation; as now thee\nTo view, O virgin, a stupidity\nPast admiration strikes me, join\u2019d with fear\nTo do a suppliant\u2019s due, and press so near,\nAs to embrace thy knees. Nor is it strange,\nFor one of fresh and firmest spirit would change\nT\u2019 embrace so bright an object. But, for me,\nA cruel habit of calamity\nPrepar\u2019d the strong impression thou hast made;\nFor this last day did fly night\u2019s twentieth shade\nSince I, at length, escap\u2019d the sable seas;\nWhen in the mean time th\u2019 unrelenting prease\nOf waves and stern storms toss\u2019d me up and down,\nFrom th\u2019 isle Ogygia. And now God hath thrown\nMy wrack on this shore, that perhaps I may\nMy mis\u2019ries vary here; for yet their stay,\nI fear, Heav\u2019n hath not order\u2019d, though, before\nThese late afflictions, it hath lent me store.\nO queen, deign pity then, since first to you\nMy fate importunes my distress to vow.\nNo other dame, nor man, that this Earth own,\nAnd neighbour city, I have seen or known.\nThe town then show me; give my nakedness\nSome shroud to shelter it, if to these seas\nLinen or woollen you have brought to cleanse.\nGod give you, in requital, all th\u2019 amends\nYour heart can wish, a husband, family,\nAnd good agreement. Nought beneath the sky\nMore sweet, more worthy is, than firm consent\nOf man and wife in household government.\nIt joys their wishers-well, their enemies wounds,\nBut to themselves the special good redounds.\u201d\nShe answer\u2019d: \u201cStranger! I discern in thee\nNor sloth, nor folly, reigns; and yet I see\nTh\u2019 art poor and wretched. In which I conclude,\nThat industry nor wisdom make endued\nMen with those gifts that make them best to th\u2019 eye;\nJove only orders man\u2019s felicity.\nTo good and bad his pleasure fashions still\nThe whole proportion of their good and ill.\nAnd he, perhaps, hath form\u2019d this plight in thee,\nOf which thou must be patient, as he free.\nBut after all thy wand\u2019rings, since thy way,\nBoth to our earth, and near our city, lay,\nAs being expos\u2019d to our cares to relieve,\nWeeds, and what else a human hand should give\nTo one so suppliant and tam\u2019d with woe,\nThou shalt not want. Our city I will show,\nAnd tell our people\u2019s name: This neighbour town,\nAnd all this kingdom, the Ph\u00e6acians own.\nAnd (since thou seem\u2019dst so fain to know my birth,\nAnd mad\u2019st a question, if of heav\u2019n or earth.)\nThis earth hath bred me; and my father\u2019s name\nAlcinous is, that in the pow\u2019r and frame\nOf this isle\u2019s rule is supereminent.\u201d\nThus, passing him, she to the virgins went,\nAnd said: \u201cGive stay both to your feet and fright.\nWhy thus disperse ye for a man\u2019s mere sight?\nEsteem you him a Cyclop, that long since\nMade use to prey upon our citizens?\nThis man no moist man is, (nor wat\u2019rish thing,[5]\nThat\u2019s ever flitting, ever ravishing\nAll it can compass; and, like it, doth range\nIn rape of women, never stay\u2019d in change).\nThis man is truly manly, wise, and stay\u2019d,[6]\nIn soul more rich the more to sense decay\u2019d,\nWho nor will do, nor suffer to be done,\nActs lewd and abject; nor can such a one\nGreet the Ph\u00e6acians with a mind env\u00edous,\nDear to the Gods they are, and he is pious,\nBesides, divided from the world we are,\nThe out-part of it, billows circular\nThe sea revolving round about our shore;\nNor is there any man that enters more\nThan our own countrymen, with what is brought\nFrom other countries. This man, minding nought\nBut his relief, a poor unhappy wretch,\nWrack\u2019d here, and hath no other land to fetch,\nHim now we must provide for. From Jove come[7]\nAll strangers, and the needy of a home,\nWho any gift, though ne\u2019er so small it be,\nEsteem as great, and take it gratefully.\nAnd therefore, virgins, give the stranger food,\nAnd wine; and see ye bathe him in the flood,\nNear to some shore to shelter most inclin\u2019d.\n_To cold-bath-bathers hurtful is the wind,_\nNot only rugged making th\u2019 outward skin,\nBut by his thin pow\u2019rs pierceth parts within.\u2019\nThis said, their flight in a return they set,\nAnd did Ulysses with all grace entreat,\nShow\u2019d him a shore, wind-proof, and full of shade,\nBy him a shirt and utter mantle laid,\nA golden jug of liquid oil did add,\nBad wash, and all things as Nausicaa bad.\nDivine Ulysses would not use their aid;\nBut thus bespake them: \u201cEv\u2019ry lovely maid,\nLet me entreat to stand a little by,[8]\nThat I, alone, the fresh flood may apply\nTo cleanse my bosom of the sea-wrought brine,\nAnd then use oil, which long time did not shine\nOn my poor shoulders. I\u2019ll not wash in sight\nOf fair-hair\u2019d maidens. I should blush outright,\nTo bathe all-bare by such a virgin light.\u201d\nThey mov\u2019d, and mus\u2019d a man had so much grace,\nAnd told their mistress what a man he was.\nHe cleans\u2019d his broad soil\u2019d shoulders, back, and head\nYet never tam\u2019d, but now had foam and weed\nKnit in the fair curls. Which dissolv\u2019d, and he\nSlick\u2019d all with sweet oil, the sweet charity\nThe untouch\u2019d virgin show\u2019d in his attire\nHe cloth\u2019d him with. Then Pallas put a fire,\nMore than before, into his sparkling eyes,\nHis late soil set off with his soon fresh guise.\nHis locks, cleans\u2019d, curl\u2019d the more, and match\u2019d, in pow\u2019r\nTo please an eye, the hyacinthian flow\u2019r.\nAnd as a workman, that can well combine\nSilver and gold, and make both strive to shine,\nAs being by Vulcan, and Minerva too,\nTaught how far either may be urg\u2019d to go\nIn strife of eminence, when work sets forth\nA worthy soul to bodies of such worth,\nNo thought reproving th\u2019 act, in any place,\nNor Art no debt to Nature\u2019s liveliest grace;\nSo Pallas wrought in him a grace as great\nFrom head to shoulders, and ashore did seat\nHis goodly presence. To which such a guise\nHe show\u2019d in going, that it ravish\u2019d eyes.\nAll which continued, as he sat apart,\nNausicaa\u2019s eye struck wonder through her heart,\nWho thus bespake her consorts: \u201cHear me, you\nFair-wristed virgins! This rare man, I know,\nTreads not our country-earth, against the will\nOf some God thron\u00e9d on th\u2019 Olympian hill.\nHe show\u2019d to me, till now, not worth the note,\nBut now he looks as he had godhead got.\nI would to heav\u2019n my husband were no worse,\nAnd would be call\u2019d no better, but the course\nOf other husbands pleas\u2019d to dwell out here.\nObserve and serve him with our utmost cheer.\u201d\nShe said, they heard and did. He drunk and eat\nLike to a harpy, having touch\u2019d no meat\nA long before time. But Nausicaa now\nThought of the more grace she did lately vow,\nHad horse to chariot join\u2019d, and up she rose,\nUp cheer\u2019d her guest, and said: \u201cGuest, now dispose\nYourself for town, that I may let you see\nMy father\u2019s court, where all the peers will be\nOf our Ph\u00e6acian state. At all parts, then,\nObserve to whom and what place y\u2019 are t\u2019 attain;\nThough I need usher you with no advice,\nSince I suppose you absolutely wise.\nWhile we the fields pass, and men\u2019s labours there,\nSo long, in these maids\u2019 guides, directly bear\nUpon my chariot (I must go before\nFor cause that after comes, to which this more\nBe my induction) you shall then soon end\nYour way to town, whose tow\u2019rs you see ascend[9]\nTo such a steepness. On whose either side\nA fair port stands, to which is nothing wide\nAn ent\u2019rer\u2019s passage; on whose both hands ride\nShips in fair harbours; which once past, you win\nThe goodly market-place (that circles in\nA fane to Neptune, built of curious stone,\nAnd passing ample) where muniti\u00f3n,\nGables, and masts, men make, and polish\u2019d oars;\nFor the Ph\u00e6acians are not conquerors\nBy bows nor quivers; oars, masts, ships they are\nWith which they plough the sea, and wage their war.\nAnd now the cause comes why I lead the way,\nNot taking you to coach: The men, that sway\nIn work of those tools that so fit our state,\nAre rude mechanicals, that rare and late\nWork in the market-place; and those are they\nWhose bitter tongues I shun, who straight would say\n(For these vile vulgars are extremely proud,\nAnd foully-languag\u2019d) \u2018What is he, allow\u2019d\nTo coach it with Nausicaa, so large set,\nAnd fairly fashion\u2019d? Where were these two met?\nHe shall be sure her husband. She hath been\nGadding in some place, and, of foreign men\nFitting her fancy, kindly brought him home\nIn her own ship. He must, of force, be come\nFrom some far region; we have no such man.\nIt may be, praying hard, when her heart ran\nOn some wish\u2019d husband, out of heav\u2019n some God\nDropp\u2019d in her lap; and there lies she at road\nHer c\u00f3mplete life time. But, in sooth, if she,\nRanging abroad, a husband, such as he\nWhom now we saw, laid hand on, she was wise,\nFor none of all our nobles are of prize\nEnough for her; he must beyond sea come,\nThat wins her high mind, and will have her home.\nOf our peers many have importun\u2019d her,\nYet she will none.\u2019 Thus these folks will confer\nBehind my back; or, meeting, to my face\nThe foul-mouth rout dare put home this disgrace;\nAnd this would be reproaches to my fame,\nFor, ev\u2019n myself just anger would inflame,\nIf any other virgin I should see,\nHer parents living, keep the company\nOf any man to any end of love,\nTill open nuptials should her act approve.\nAnd therefore hear me, guest, and take such way,\nThat you yourself may compass, in your stay,\nYour quick deduction by my father\u2019s grace,\nAnd means to reach the root of all your race.\nWe shall, not far out of our way to town,\nA never-fell\u2019d grove find, that poplars crown,\nTo Pallas sacred, where a fountain flows,\nAnd round about the grove a meadow grows,\nIn which my father holds a manor-house,\nDeck\u2019d all with orchards, green, and odorous,\nAs far from town as one may hear a shout.\nThere stay, and rest your foot-pains, till full out\nWe reach the city; where, when you may guess\nWe are arriv\u2019d, and enter our access\nWithin my father\u2019s court, then put you on\nFor our Ph\u00e6acian state, where, to be shown\nMy father\u2019s house, desire. Each infant there\nCan bring you to it; and yourself will clear\nDistinguish it from others, for no shows\nThe city-buildings make compar\u2019d with those\nThat king Alcinous\u2019 seat doth celebrate.\nIn whose roofs, and the court (where men of state,\nAnd suitors sit and stay) when you shall hide,\nStraight pass it, ent\u2019ring further, where abide\nMy mother, with her withdrawn housewif\u2019ries,\nWho still sits in the fire-shine, and applies\nHer rock, all-purple, and of pompous show,\nHer chair plac\u2019d \u2019gainst a pillar, all-a-row\nHer maids behind her set; and to her here\nMy father\u2019s dining-throne looks, seated where\nHe pours his choice of wine in, like a God.\nThis view once past, for th\u2019 end of your abode,\nAddress suit to my mother, that her mean\nMay make the day of your redition seen,\nAnd you may frolic straight, though far away\nYou are in distance from your wish\u00e9d stay.\nFor, if she once be won to wish you well,\nYour hope may instantly your passport seal,\nAnd thenceforth sure abide to see your friends,\nFair house, and all to which your heart contends.\u201d\nThis said, she us\u2019d her shining scourge, and lash\u2019d\nHer mules, that soon the shore left where she wash\u2019d,\nAnd, knowing well the way, their pace was fleet,\nAnd thick they gather\u2019d up their nimble feet.\nWhich yet she temper\u2019d so, and us\u2019d her scourge[10]\nWith so much skill, as not to over-urge\nThe foot behind, and make them straggle so\nFrom close society. Firm together go\nUlysses and her maids. And now the sun\nSunk to the waters, when they all had won\nThe never-fell\u2019d, and sound-exciting, wood,\nSacred to Pallas; where the god-like good\nUlysses rested, and to Pallas pray\u2019d:\n\u201cHear me, of goat-kept Jove th\u2019 unconquer\u2019d Maid![11]\nNow throughly hear me, since, in all the time\nOf all my wrack, my pray\u2019rs could never climb\nThy far-off ears; when noiseful Neptune toss\u2019d\nUpon his wat\u2019ry bristles my emboss\u2019d\nAnd rock-torn body. Hear yet now, and deign\nI may of the Ph\u00e6acian state obtain\nPity, and grace.\u201d Thus pray\u2019d he, and she heard,\nBy no means yet, expos\u2019d to sight, appear\u2019d,\nFor fear t\u2019 offend her uncle, the supreme\nOf all the Sea-Gods, whose wrath still extreme\nStood to Ulysses; and would never cease,\nTill with his country shore he crown\u2019d his peace.\n\n FINIS LIBRI SEXTI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] _\u03d2\u03c0\u03bd\u1ff3 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f31 \u03ba\u03b1\u03bc\u1f00\u03c4\u1ff3 \u1f01\u03c1\u03b7\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2. Sonno et labore afflictus._ Sleep\n (_\u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03c7\u03c1\u03b7\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u03c9\u0311\u03c2_) for the want of sleep.\n\n [2] Intending Dymas\u2019 daughter.\n\n [3] This familiar and near wanton carriage of Nausicaa to her father,\n joined with that virgin modesty expressed in her after, is much\n praised by the gravest of Homer\u2019s expositors; with her father\u2019s loving\n allowance of it, knowing her shamefastness and judgment would not let\n her exceed at any part. Which note is here inserted, not as if this\n were more worthy the observation than other every-where strewed\n flowers of precept, but because this more generally pleasing subject\n may perhaps find more fitness for the stay of most readers.\n\n [4] The piety and wisdom of the Poet was such, that (agreeing with the\n Sacred Letter) not the least of things he makes come to pass _sine\n Numinis providenti\u00e2._ As Spondanus well notes of him.\n\n [5] _\u0394\u03b9\u03b5\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2 \u03b2\u03c1\u03bf\u03c4\u03cc\u03c2. Cui vitalis vel sensualis humiditas inest. \u03b2\u03c1\u03bf\u03c4\u1f78\u03c2\n \u1f70 \u1fe5\u03ad\u03c9, ut dicatur quasi \u1fe5\u03bf\u03c4\u1f78\u03c2,_ i.e. _\u1f41 \u1f10\u03bd \u1fe5\u03bf\u1f93 \u1f62\u03bd, quod nihil sit\n magis fluxum quam homo._\n\n [6] _\u0391\u03bd\u03ae\u03c1 virili animo pr\u00e6ditus, fortis, magnanimus._ Nor are those\n affirmed to be men, _qui servile quidpiam et abjectum faciunt, vel,\n facere sustinent_: according to this of Herodotus in Polym. _\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u1f76\n \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u1f04\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9 \u03b5\u03b9\u0352\u03b5\u03bd, \u1f40\u03bb\u03af\u03b3\u03bf\u03b9 \u03b4\u1f72 \u1f04\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u03b5\u03c2._ Many men\u2019s forms sustain, but\n few are men.\n\n [7] According to another translator: _\u201cAb Jove nam supplex pauper\n procedit et hospes, Res brevis, at chara est, magni quoque munaris\n instar.\u201d_ Which I cite to show his good when he keeps him to the\n original, and near in any degree expounds it.\n\n [8] He taught their youths modesty by his aged judgment. As receiving\n the custom of maids then used to that entertainment of men,\n notwithstanding the modesty of that age, could not be corrupted\n inwardly for those outward kind observations of guests and strangers,\n and was therefore privileged. It is easy to avoid show; and those,\n that most curiously avoid the outward construction, are ever most\n tainted with the inward corruption.\n\n [9] The city\u2019s description so far forth as may in part induce her\n promised reason why she took not Ulysses to coach with her.\n\n [10] Not without some little note of our omnisufficient Homer\u2019s\n general touch of the least fitness lying in his way, may this courtly\n discretion he describes in Nausicaa be observed, if you please.\n\n [11] More of our Poet\u2019s curious and sweet piety.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nNausicaa arrives at town;\nAnd then Ulysses. He makes known\nHis suit to Arete: who view\nTakes of his vesture, which she knew,\nAnd asks him from whose hands it came.\nHe tells, with all the hapless frame\nOf his affairs in all the while\nSince he forsook Calypso\u2019s isle.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u0397\u03c4\u03b1._\nThe honour\u2019d minds,\nAnd welcome things,\nUlysses finds\nIn Scheria\u2019s kings.\n\nThus pray\u2019d the wise and God-observing man.\nThe Maid, by free force of her palfreys, wan\nAccess to town, and the renown\u00e9d court\nReach\u2019d of her father; where, within the port,\nShe stay\u2019d her coach, and round about her came\nHer brothers, made as of immortal frame,\nWho yet disdain\u2019d not, for her love, mean deeds,\nBut took from coach her mules, brought in her weeds.[1]\nAnd she ascends her chamber; where purvey\u2019d\nA quick fire was by her old chamber-maid,\nEurymedusa, th\u2019 Aper\u00e6an born,\nAnd brought by sea from Apera t\u2019 adorn\nThe court of great Alcinous, because\nHe gave to all the blest Ph\u00e6acians laws,\nAnd, like a heav\u2019n-born pow\u2019r in speech, acquir\u2019d\nThe people\u2019s ears. To one then so admir\u2019d,\nEurymedusa was esteem\u2019d no worse\nThan worth the gift; yet now, grown old, was nurse\nTo ivory-arm\u2019d Nausicaa, gave heat\nTo all her fires, and dress\u2019d her privy meat.\nThen rose Ulysses, and made way to town;\nWhich ere he reach\u2019d, a mighty mist was thrown\nBy Pallas round about him, in her care,\nLest, in the sway of envies popular,\nSome proud Ph\u00e6acian might foul language pass,\nJustle him up, and ask him what he was.\nEnt\u2019ring the lovely town yet, through the cloud\nPallas appear\u2019d, and like a young wench show\u2019d\nBearing a pitcher, stood before him so\nAs if objected purposely to know\nWhat there he needed; whom he question\u2019d thus:\n\u201cKnow you not, daughter, where Alcinous,\nThat rules this town, dwells? I, a poor distrest\nMere stranger here, know none I may request\nTo make this court known to me.\u201d She replied:\n\u201cStrange father, I will see you satisfied\nIn that request. My father dwells just by\nThe house you seek for; but go silently,\nNor ask, nor speak to any other, I\nShall be enough to show your way. The men\nThat here inhabit do not entertain\nWith ready kindness strangers, of what worth\nOr state soever, nor have taken forth\nLessons of civil usage or respect\nTo men beyond them. They, upon their pow\u2019rs\nOf swift ships building, top the wat\u2019ry tow\u2019rs,\nAnd Jove hath giv\u2019n them ships, for sail so wrought,\nThey cut a feather, and command a thought.\u201d[2]\nThis said, she usher\u2019d him, and after he\nTrod in the swift steps of the Deity.\nThe free-sail\u2019d seamen could not get a sight\nOf our Ulysses yet, though he forthright\nBoth by their houses and their persons past,\nPallas about him such a darkness cast\nBy her divine pow\u2019r, and her rev\u2019rend care,\nShe would not give the town-born cause to stare.\nHe wonder\u2019d, as he past, to see the ports;\nThe shipping in them; and for all resorts\nThe goodly market-steads; and aisles beside\nFor the hero\u00ebs; walls so large and wide;\nRampires so high, and of such strength withall,\nIt would with wonder any eye appall.\nAt last they reach\u2019d the court, and Pallas said:\n\u201cNow, honour\u2019d stranger, I will see obey\u2019d\nYour will, to show our ruler\u2019s house; \u2019tis here;\nWhere you shall find kings celebrating cheer.\nEnter amongst them, nor admit a fear.\n_More bold a man is, he prevails the more,\nThough man nor place lie ever saw before._\nYou first shall find the queen in court, whose name\nIs Arete, of parents born the same\nThat was the king her spouse; their pedigree[3]\nI can report. The great Earth-shaker, he\nOf Perib\u0153a (that her sex out-shone,\nAnd youngest daughter was t\u2019 Eurymedon,\nWho of th\u2019 unmeasur\u2019d-minded giants sway\u2019d\nTh\u2019 imperial sceptre, and the pride allay\u2019d\nOf men so impious with cold death, and died\nHimself soon after) got the magnified\nIn mind, Nausithous; whom the kingdom\u2019s state\nFirst held in supreme rule. Nausithous gat\nRhexenor, and Alcinous, now king.\nRhexenor (whose seed did no male fruit spring,\nAnd whom the silver-bow-grac\u2019d Ph\u0153bus slew\nYoung in the court) his shed blood did renew\nIn only Arete, who now is spouse\nTo him that rules the kingdom in this house,\nAnd is her uncle king Alcinous,\nWho honours her past equal. She may boast\nMore honour of him than the honour\u2019d most[4]\nOf any wife in earth can of her lord,\nHow many more soever realms afford,\nThat keep house under husbands. Yet no more\nHer husband honours her, than her blest store\nOf gracious children. All the city cast\nEyes on her as a Goddess, and give taste\nOf their affections to her in their pray\u2019rs,\nStill as she decks the street; for, all affairs\nWrapt in contention, she dissolves to men.\nWhom she affects, she wants no mind to deign\nGoodness enough. If her heart stand inclin\u2019d\nTo your dispatch, hope all you wish to find,\nYour friends, your longing family, and all\nThat can within your most affections fall.\u201d\nThis said, away the grey-eyed Goddess flew\nAlong th\u2019 untam\u2019d sea, left the lovely hue\nScheria presented, out-flew Marathon,\nAnd ample-streeted Athens lighted on;\nWhere to the house, that casts so thick a shade,[5]\nOf Erechthe\u00fcs she ingression made.\nUlysses to the lofty-builded court\nOf king Alcinous made bold resort;\nYet in his heart cast many a thought, before\nThe brazen pavement of the rich court bore\nHis enter\u2019d person. Like heav\u2019n\u2019s two main lights\nThe rooms illustrated both days and nights.\nOn ev\u2019ry side stood firm a wall of brass,\nEv\u2019n from the threshold to the inmost pass,\nWhich bore a roof up that all-sapphire was.\nThe brazen thresholds both sides did enfold\nSilver pilasters, hung with gates of gold;\nWhose portal was of silver; over which\nA golden cornice did the front enrich.\nOn each side, dogs, of gold and silver fram\u2019d,\nThe house\u2019s guard stood: which the Deity lam\u2019d\nWith knowing inwards had inspir\u2019d, and made\nThat death nor age should their estates invade.\nAlong the wall stood ev\u2019ry way a throne,\nFrom th\u2019 entry to the lobby, ev\u2019ry one\nCast over with a rich-wrought cloth of state.\nBeneath which the Ph\u00e6acian princes sate\nAt wine and food, and feasted all the year.\nYouths forg\u2019d of gold, at ev\u2019ry table there,\nStood holding flaming torches, that, in night,\nGave through the house each honour\u2019d guest his light\nAnd, to encounter feast with housewif\u2019ry,\nIn one room fifty women did apply\nTheir sev\u2019ral tasks. Some apple-colour\u2019d corn\nGround in fair querns, and some did spindles turn,\nSome work in looms; no hand least rest receives,\nBut all had motion apt as aspen leaves.\nAnd from the weeds they wove, so fast they laid,\nAnd so thick thrust together thread by thread,\nThat th\u2019 oil, of which the wool had drunk his fill,\nDid with his moisture in light dews distill.\nAs much as the Ph\u00e6acian men excell\u2019d\nAll other countrymen in art to build\nA swift-sail\u2019d ship; so much the women there\nFor work of webs, past other women were.\nPast mean, by Pallas\u2019 means, they understood\nThe grace of good works; and had wits as good.\nWithout the hall, and close upon the gate,\nA goodly orchard-ground was situate,\nOf near ten acres; about which was led\nA lofty quickset. In it flourished\nHigh and broad fruit trees, that pomegranates bore,\nSweet figs, pears, olives; and a number more\nMost useful plants did there produce their store,\nWhose fruits the hardest winter could not kill,\nNor hottest summer wither. There was still\nFruit in his proper season all the year.\nSweet Zephyr breath\u2019d upon them blasts that were\nOf varied tempers. These he made to bear\nRipe fruits, these blossoms. Pear grew after pear,\nApple succeeded apple, grape the grape,\nFig after fig came; time made never rape\nOf any dainty there. A spritely vine\nSpread here his root, whose fruit a hot sunshine\nMade ripe betimes; here grew another green.\nHere some were gath\u2019ring, here some pressing, seen.\nA large-allotted sev\u2019ral each fruit had;\nAnd all th\u2019 adorn\u2019d grounds their appearance made\nIn flow\u2019r and fruit, at which the king did aim\nTo the precisest order he could claim.\nTwo fountains grac\u2019d the garden; of which, one\nPour\u2019d out a winding stream that over-run\nThe grounds for their use chiefly, th\u2019 other went\nClose by the lofty palace gate, and lent\nThe city his sweet benefit. And thus\nThe Gods the court deck\u2019d of Alcinous.\nPatient Ulysses stood a while at gaze,\nBut, having all observ\u2019d, made instant pace\nInto the court; where all the peers he found,\nAnd captains of Ph\u00e6acia, with cups-crown\u2019d\nOff\u2019ring to sharp-eyed Hermes, to whom last\nThey us\u2019d to sacrifice, when sleep had cast\nHis inclination through their thoughts. But these\nUlysses pass\u2019d, and forth went; nor their eyes\nTook note of him, for Pallas stopp\u2019d the light\nWith mists about him, that, unstay\u2019d, he might\nFirst to Alcinous, and Arete,\nPresent his person; and, of both them, she,\nBy Pallas\u2019 counsel, was to have the grace\nOf foremost greeting. Therefore his embrace\nHe cast about her knee. And then off flew\nThe heav\u2019nly air that hid him. When his view\nWith silence and with admiration strook\nThe court quite through; but thus he silence broke:\n\u201cDivine Rhexenor\u2019s offspring, Arete,\nTo thy most honour\u2019d husband, and to thee,\nA man whom many labours have distrest\nIs come for comfort, and to ev\u2019ry guest.\nTo all whom heav\u2019n vouchsafe delightsome lives,\nAnd after to your issue that survives\nA good resignment of the goods ye leave,\nWith all the honour that yourselves receive\nAmongst your people. Only this of me\nIs the ambition; that I may but see\n(By your vouchsaf\u2019d means, and betimes vouchsaf\u2019d)\nMy country-earth; since I have long been left\nTo labours, and to errors, barr\u2019d from end,\nAnd far from benefit of any friend,\u201d\nHe said no more, but left them dumb with that,\nWent to the hearth, and in the ashes sat,\nAside the fire. At last their silence brake,\nAnd Echin\u00ebus, th\u2019 old hero\u00eb, spake;\nA man that all Ph\u00e6acians pass\u2019d in years,\nAnd in persuasive eloquence all the peers,\nKnew much, and us\u2019d it well; and thus spake he:\n\u201cAlcinous! It shews not decently,\nNor doth your honour what you see admit,\nThat this your guest should thus abjectly sit,\nHis chair the earth, the hearth his cushion,\nAshes as if appos\u2019d for food. A throne,\nAdorn\u2019d with due rites, stands you more in hand\nTo see his person plac\u2019d in, and command\nThat instantly your heralds fill-in wine,\nThat to the God that doth in lightnings shine\nWe may do sacrifice; for he is there,\nWhere these his rev\u2019rend suppliants appear.\nLet what you have within be brought abroad,\nTo sup the stranger. All these would have show\u2019d\nThis fit respect to him, but that they stay\nFor your precedence, that should grace the way.\u201d\nWhen this had added to the well-inclin\u2019d\nAnd sacred order of Alcinous\u2019 mind,\nThen of the great-in-wit the hand he seis\u2019d,\nAnd from the ashes his fair person rais\u2019d,\nAdvanc\u2019d him to a well-adorn\u00e9d throne,\nAnd from his seat rais\u2019d his most lov\u00e9d son,\nLaodamas, that next himself was set,\nTo give him place. The handmaid then did get\nAn ewer of gold, with water fill\u2019d, which plac\u2019d\nUpon a caldron, all with silver grac\u2019d,\nShe pour\u2019d out on their hands. And then was spread\nA table, which the butler set with bread,\nAs others serv\u2019d with other food the board,\nIn all the choice the present could afford.\nUlysses meat and wine took; and then thus\nThe king the herald call\u2019d: \u201cPontonous!\nServe wine through all the house, that all may pay\nRites to the Lightner, who is still in way\nWith humble suppliants, and them pursues\nWith all benign and hospitable dues.\u201d\nPontonous gave act to all he will\u2019d,\nAnd honey-sweetness-giving-minds wine fill\u2019d,[6]\nDisposing it in cups for all to drink.\nAll having drunk what either\u2019s heart could think\nFit for due sacrifice, Alcinous said:\n\u201cHear me, ye dukes that the Ph\u00e6acians lead,\nAnd you our counsellors, that I may now\nDischarge the charge my mind suggests to you,\nFor this our guest: Feast past, and this night\u2019s sleep,\nNext morn, our senate summon\u2019d, we will keep\nJusts, sacred to the Gods, and this our guest\nReceive in solemn court with fitting feast;\nThen think of his return, that, under hand\nOf our deduction, his natural land\n(Without more toil or care, and with delight,\nAnd that soon giv\u2019n him, how far-hence dissite\nSoever it can be) he may ascend;\nAnd in the mean time without wrong attend,\nOr other want, fit means to that ascent.[7]\nWhat, after, austere Fates shall make th\u2019 event\nOf his life\u2019s thread, now spinning, and began\nWhen his pain\u2019d mother freed his root of man,\nHe must endure in all kinds. If some God\nPerhaps abides with us in his abode,\nAnd other things will think upon than we,\nThe Gods\u2019 wills stand, who ever yet were free\nOf their appearance to us, when to them\nWe offer\u2019d hecatombs of fit esteem,\nAnd would at feast sit with us, ev\u2019n where we\nOrder\u2019d our session. They would likewise be\nEncount\u2019rers of us, when in way alone\nAbout his fit affairs went any one.\nNor let them cloak themselves in any care\nTo do us comfort, we as near them are,\nAs are the Cyclops, or the impious race[8]\nOf earthy giants, that would heav\u2019n outface.\u201d\nUlysses answer\u2019d: \u201cLet some other doubt\nEmploy your thoughts than what your words give out,\nWhich intimate a kind of doubt that I\nShould shadow in this shape a Deity.\nI bear no such least semblance, or in wit,\nVirtue, or person. What may well befit\nOne of those mortals, whom you chiefly know\nBears up and down the burthen of the woe\nAppropriate to poor man, give that to me;\nOf whose moans I sit in the most degree,\nAnd might say more, sustaining griefs that all\nThe Gods consent to; no one \u2019twixt their fall\nAnd my unpitied shoulders letting down\nThe least diversion. Be the grace then shown,\nTo let me taste your free-giv\u2019n food in peace.\n_Through greatest grief the belly must have ease;\nWorse than an envious belly nothing is._\nIt will command his strict necessities,\nOf men most griev\u2019d in body or in mind,\nThat are in health, and will not give their kind\nA desp\u2019rate wound. When most with cause I grieve,\nIt bids me still, Eat, man, and drink, and live;\nAnd this makes all forgot. Whatever ill\nI ever bear, it ever bids me fill.\nBut this ease is but forc\u2019d, and will not last,\nTill what the mind likes be as well embrac\u2019d;\nAnd therefore let me wish you would partake\nIn your late purpose; when the morn shall make\nHer next appearance, deign me but the grace,\nUnhappy man, that I may once embrace\nMy country-earth. Though I be still thrust at\nBy ancient ills, yet make me but see that.\nAnd then let life go, when withal I see\nMy high-roof\u2019d large house, lands, and family.\u201d\nThis all approv\u2019d; and each will\u2019d ev\u2019ry one,\nSince he hath said so fairly, set him gone.\nFeast past and sacrifice, to sleep all vow\nTheir eyes at either\u2019s house. Ulysses now\nWas left here with Alcinous, and his Queen,\nThe all-lov\u2019d Arete. The handmaids then\nThe vessel of the banquet took away.\nWhen Arete set eye on his array;\nKnew both his out and under weed, which she\nMade with her maids; and mus\u2019d by what means he\nObtain\u2019d their wearing; which she made request\nTo know, and wings gave to these speeches: \u201cGuest!\nFirst let me ask, what, and from whence you are?\nAnd then, who grac\u2019d you with the weeds you wear?\nSaid you not lately, you had err\u2019d at seas,\nAnd thence arriv\u2019d here?\u201d Laertiades\nTo this thus answer\u2019d: \u201c\u2019Tis a pain, O Queen,\nStill to be op\u2019ning wounds wrought deep, and green,\nOf which the Gods have open\u2019d store in me;\nYet your will must be serv\u2019d. Far hence, at sea,\nThere lies an isle, that bears Ogygia\u2019s name,\nWhere Atlas\u2019 daughter, the ingenious dame,\nFair-hair\u2019d Calypso lives; a Goddess grave,\nAnd with whom men nor Gods society have;\nYet I, past man unhappy, liv\u2019d alone,\nBy Heav\u2019n\u2019s wrath forc\u2019d, her house-companion.\nFor Jove had with a fervent lightning cleft\nMy ship in twain, and far at black sea left\nMe and my soldiers; all whose lives I lost.\nI in mine arms the keel took, and was tost\nNine days together up from wave to wave.\nThe tenth grim night, the angry Deities drave\nMe and my wrack on th\u2019 isle, in which doth dwell\nDreadful Calypso; who exactly well\nReceiv\u2019d and nourish\u2019d me, and promise made\nTo make me deathless, nor should age invade\nMy pow\u2019rs with his deserts through all my days.\nAll mov\u2019d not me, and therefore, on her stays,\nSev\u2019n years she made me lie; and there spent I\nThe long time, steeping in the misery\nOf ceaseless tears the garments I did wear,\nFrom her fair hand. The eighth revolv\u00e9d year\n(Or by her chang\u2019d mind, or by charge of Jove)\nShe gave provok\u2019d way to my wish\u2019d remove,\nAnd in a many-jointed ship, with wine\nDainty in savour, bread, and weeds divine,\nSign\u2019d, with a harmless and sweet wind, my pass.\nThen sev\u2019nteen days at sea I homeward was,\nAnd by the eighteenth the dark hills appear\u2019d\nThat your earth thrusts up. Much my heart was cheer\u2019d,\nUnhappy man, for that was but a beam,\nTo show I yet had agonies extreme\nTo put in suff\u2019rance, which th\u2019 Earth-shaker sent,\nCrossing my way with tempests violent,\nUnmeasur\u2019d seas up-lifting, nor would give\nThe billows leave to let my vessel live\nThe least time quiet, that ev\u2019n sigh\u2019d to bear\nTheir bitter outrage, which, at last, did tear\nHer sides in pieces, set on by the winds.\nI yet through-swum the waves that your shore binds,\nTill wind and water threw me up to it;\nWhen, coming forth, a ruthless billow smit\nAgainst huge rocks, and an accessless shore,\nMy mangl\u2019d body. Back again I bore,\nAnd swum till I was fall\u2019n upon a flood,\nWhose shores, methought, on good advantage stood\nFor my receipt, rock-free, and fenc\u2019d from wind;\nAnd this I put for, gath\u2019ring up my mind.\nThen the divine night came, and treading earth,\nClose by the flood that had from Jove her birth,\nWithin a thicket I repos\u2019d; when round\nI ruffled up fall\u2019n leaves in heap; and found,\nLet fall from heav\u2019n, a sleep interminate.\nAnd here my heart, long time excruciate,\nAmongst the leaves I rested all that night,\nEv\u2019n till the morning and meridian light.\nThe sun declining then, delightsome sleep\nNo longer laid my temples in his steep,\nBut forth I went, and on the shore might see\nYour daughter\u2019s maids play. Like a Deity\nShe shin\u2019d above them; and I pray\u2019d to her,\nAnd she in disposition did prefer\nNoblesse, and wisdom, no more low than might\nBecome the goodness of a Goddess\u2019 height.\nNor would you therefore hope, suppos\u2019d distrest\nAs I was then, and old, to find the least\nOf any grace from her, being younger far.\n_With young folks Wisdom makes her commerce rare._\nYet she in all abundance did bestow\nBoth wine, that makes the blood in humans grow,[9]\nAnd food, and bath\u2019d me in the flood, and gave\nThe weeds to me which now ye see me have.\nThis through my griefs I tell you, and \u2019tis true.\u201d\nAlcinous answer\u2019d: \u201cGuest! my daughter knew\nLeast of what most you give her; nor became\nThe course she took, to let with ev\u2019ry dame\nYour person lackey; nor hath with them brought\nYourself home too; which first you had besought.\u201d\n\u201cO blame her not,\u201d said he, \u201cheroical lord,\nNor let me hear against her worth a word.\nShe faultless is, and wish\u2019d I would have gone\nWith all her women home, but I alone\nWould venture my receipt here, having fear\nAnd rev\u2019rend awe of accidents that were\nOf likely issue; both your wrath to move,\nAnd to inflame the common people\u2019s love\nOf speaking ill, to which they soon give place.\n_We men are all a most suspicious race.\u201d_\n\u201cMy guest,\u201d said he, \u201cI use not to be stirr\u2019d\nTo wrath too rashly; and where are preferr\u2019d\nTo men\u2019s conceits things that may both ways fail,\nThe noblest ever should the most prevail.\nWould Jove our Father, Pallas, and the Sun,\nThat, were you still as now, and could but run\nOne fate with me, you would my daughter wed,\nAnd be my son-in-law, still vow\u2019d to lead\nYour rest of life here! I a house would give,\nAnd household goods, so freely you would live,\nConfin\u2019d with us. But \u2019gainst your will shall none\nContain you here, since that were violence done\nTo Jove our Father. For your passage home,\nThat you may well know we can overcome\nSo great a voyage, thus it shall succeed:\nTo-morrow shall our men take all their heed,\nWhile you securely sleep, to see the seas\nIn calmest temper, and, if that will please,\nShow you your country and your house ere night,\nThough far beyond Eub\u0153a be that sight.\nAnd this Eub\u0153a, as our subjects say\nThat have been there and seen, is far away,\nFarthest from us of all the parts they know;\nAnd made the trial when they help\u2019d to row\nThe gold-lock\u2019d Rhadamanth, to give him view\nOf earth-born Tityus; whom their speeds did show\nIn that far-off Eub\u0153a, the same day\nThey set from hence; and home made good their way\nWith ease again, and him they did convey.\nWhich I report to you, to let you see\nHow swift my ships are, and how matchlessly\nMy young Ph\u00e6acians with their oars prevail,\nTo beat the sea through, and assist a sail.\u201d\nThis cheer\u2019d Ulysses, who in private pray\u2019d:\n\u201cI would to Jove our Father, what he said,\nHe could perform at all parts; he should then\nBe glorified for ever, and I gain\nMy natural country.\u201d This discourse they had;\nWhen fair-arm\u2019d Arete her handmaids bad\nA bed make in the portico, and ply\nWith clothes, the cov\u2019ring tapestry,\nThe blankets purple; well-napp\u2019d waistcoats too,\nTo wear for more warmth. What these had to do,\nThey torches took and did. The bed purvey\u2019d,\nThey mov\u2019d Ulysses for his rest, and said:\n\u201cCome guest, your bed is fit, now frame to rest.\u201d\nMotion of sleep was gracious to their guest;\nWhich now he took profoundly, being laid\nWithin a loop-hole tow\u2019r, where was convey\u2019d\nThe sounding portico. The King took rest\nIn a retir\u2019d part of the house; where drest\nThe Queen her self a bed, and trundlebed,\nAnd by her lord repos\u2019d her rev\u2019rend head.\n\n FINIS LIBRI SEPTIMI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] _Hac fuit illius s\u00e6culi simplicitas: nam vel fraternus quoque amor\n tantus fuit, ut libenter hanc redeunti charissim\u00e6 sorori operam\n pr\u00e6stiterint. Spond._\n\n [2] _\u039d\u03ad\u03b5\u03c2 \u03ce\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9\u0311\u03b1\u03b9 \u1f61\u03c3\u03b5\u1f76 \u03c0\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u1f78\u03bd \u1f20\u1f72 \u03bd\u03cc\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1, naves veloces veluti penna,\n atque cogitatio._\n\n [3] For the more perspicuity of this pedigree, I have here set down\n the diagram, as Spondanus hath it. Neptune begat Nausithous of\n Perib\u0153a. By Nausithous, Rhexenor, Alcinous, were begot. By Rhexenor,\n Arete, the wife of her uncle Alcinous.\n\n [4] The honour of Arete (or virtue) alleg.\n\n [5] Casts so thick a shade\u2014_\u03c0\u03c5\u03ba\u03b9\u03bd\u03cc\u03c2 spissus._\n\n [6] The word that bears this long epithet is translated only _dulce:_\n which signifies more, _\u039c\u03b5\u03bb\u03af\u03d5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 \u03bf\u03b9\u0352\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03ba\u03af\u03c1\u03bd\u03b1 Vinum quod melle\u00e2\n dulcedine animum perfundit, et oblectat._\n\n [7] Ascent to his country\u2019s shore.\n\n [8] Eustathius will have this comparison of the Ph\u00e6acians with the\n Giants and Cyclops to proceed out of the inveterate virulency of\n Antinous to the Cyclops; who were cause (as is before said) of their\n remove from their country; and with great endeavour labours the\n approbation of it; but (under his peace) from the purpose: for the\n sense of the Poet is clear, that the Cyclops and Giants being in part\n the issue of the Gods, and yet afterward their defiers, (as Polyp.\n hereafter dares profess) Antinous (out of bold and manly reason, even\n to the face of one that might have been a God, for the past manly\n appearance he made there) would tell him, and the rest in him, that if\n they graced those Cyclops with their open appearance, that, though\n descended from them, durst yet deny them, they might much more do them\n the honour of their open presence that adored them.\n\n [9] _\u0391\u1f34\u03b8\u03bf\u03c8 \u03bf\u03b9\u0352\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, Vinum calefaciendi vim habens._\n\n\n\n\nTHE EIGHTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nThe Peers of the Ph\u00e6acian State\nA Council call, to consolate\nUlysses with all means for home.\nThe Council to a banquet come,\nInvited by the King. Which done,\nAssays for hurling of the stone\nThe youths make with the stranger-king.\nDemodocus, at feast, doth sing\nTh\u2019 adult\u2019ry of the God of Arms\nWith Her that rules in amorous charms;\nAnd after sings the entercourse\nOf acts about th\u2019 Ep\u00e6an horse.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u0398\u03b7\u0311\u03c4\u03b1._\nThe council\u2019s frame\nAt fleet applied.\nIn strifes of game\nUlysses tried.\n\nNow when the rosy-finger\u2019d Morn arose,\nThe sacred pow\u2019r Alcinous did dispose\nDid likewise rise; and, like him, left his ease\nThe city-razer Laertiades.\nThe Council at the navy was design\u2019d;\nTo which Alcinous, with the sacred mind,\nCame first of all. On polish\u2019d stones they sate,\nNear to the navy. To increase the state,\nMinerva took the herald\u2019s form on her,\nThat serv\u2019d Alcinous, studious to prefer\nUlysses\u2019 suit for home. About the town\nShe made quick way, and fill\u2019d with the renown\nOf that design the ears of ev\u2019ry man,\nProclaiming thus: \u201cPeers Ph\u00e6acensian!\nAnd Men of Council, all haste to the court,\nTo hear the stranger that made late resort\nTo King Alcinous, long time lost at sea,\nAnd is in person like a Deity.\u201d\nThis all their pow\u2019rs set up, and spirit instill\u2019d,\nAnd straight the court and seats with men were fill\u2019d.\nThe whole state wonder\u2019d at Laertes\u2019 son,\nWhen they beheld him. Pallas put him on\nA supernatural and heav\u2019nly dress,\nEnlarg\u2019d him with a height, and goodliness\nIn breast and shoulders, that he might appear\nGracious, and grave, and reverend, and bear\nA perfect hand on his performance there\nIn all the trials they resolv\u2019d t\u2019 impose.\nAll met, and gather\u2019d in attention close,\nAlcinous thus bespake them: \u201cDukes, and lords,\nHear me digest my hearty thoughts in words.\nThis stranger here, whose travels found my court,\nI know not, nor can tell if his resort\nFrom East or West comes; but his suit is this:\nThat to his country-earth we would dismiss\nHis hither-forc\u00e9d person, and doth bear\nThe mind to pass it under ev\u2019ry peer;\nWhom I prepare, and stir up, making known\nMy free desire of his deducti\u00f3n.\nNor shall there ever any other man\nThat tries the goodness Ph\u00e6acensian\nIn me, and my court\u2019s entertainment, stay,\nMourning for passage, under least delay.\nCome then, a ship into the sacred seas,\nNew-built, now launch we; and from out our prease\nChoose two-and-fifty youths, of all, the best\nTo use an oar. All which see straight imprest,\nAnd in their oar-bound seats. Let others hie\nHome to our court, commanding instantly\nThe solemn preparation of a feast,\nIn which provision may for any guest\nBe made at my charge. Charge of these low things\nI give our youth. You, sceptre-bearing kings,\nConsort me home, and help with grace to use\nThis guest of ours; no one man shall refuse.\nSome other of you haste, and call to us\nThe sacred singer, grave Demodocus,\nTo whom hath God giv\u2019n song that can excite\nThe heart of whom he listeth with delight.\u201d\nThis said, he led. The sceptre-bearers lent\nTheir free attendance; and with all speed went\nThe herald for the sacred man-in-song.\nYouths two-and-fifty, chosen from the throng,\nWent, as was will\u2019d, to the untam\u2019d sea\u2019s shore;\nWhere come, they launch\u2019d the ship, the mast it bore\nAdvanc\u2019d, sails hois\u00e9d, ev\u2019ry seat his oar\nGave with a leather thong. The deep moist then\nThey further reach\u2019d. The dry streets flow\u2019d with men,\nThat troop\u2019d up to the king\u2019s capacious court,\nWhose porticos were chok\u2019d with the resort,\nWhose walls were hung with men, young, old, thrust there\nIn mighty concourse; for whose promis\u2019d cheer\nAlcinous slew twelve sheep, eight white-tooth\u2019d swine,\nTwo crook-haunch\u2019d beeves; which flay\u2019d and dress\u2019d, divine\nThe show was of so many a jocund guest,\nAll set together at so set a feast.\nTo whose accomplish\u2019d state the herald then\nThe lovely singer led; who past all mean\nThe Muse affected, gave him good, and ill,\nHis eyes put out, but put in soul at will.\nHis place was giv\u2019n him in a chair all grac\u2019d\nWith silver studs, and \u2019gainst a pillar plac\u2019d:\nWhere, as the centre to the state, he rests,\nAnd round about the circle of the guests.\nThe herald on a pin above his head\nHis soundful harp hung, to whose height he led\nHis hand for taking of it down at will,\nA board set by with food, and forth did fill\nA bowl of wine, to drink at his desire.\nThe rest then fell to feast, and, when the fire\nOf appetite was quench\u2019d, the Muse inflam\u2019d\nThe sacred singer. Of men highliest fam\u2019d\nHe sung the glories, and a poem penn\u2019d,\nThat in applause did ample heav\u2019n ascend.\nWhose subject was, the stern Contenti\u00f3n\nBetwixt Ulysses and great Thetis\u2019 son,\nAs, at a banquet sacred to the Gods,\nIn dreadful language they express\u2019d their odds.\nWhen Agamemnon sat rejoic\u2019d in soul\nTo hear the Greek peers jar in terms so foul;\nFor augur Ph\u0153bus in presage had told\nThe King of men (desirous to unfold\nThe war\u2019s perplex\u2019d end, and being therefore gone\nIn heav\u2019nly Pythia to the porch of stone,)\nThat then the end of all griefs should begin\n\u2019Twixt Greece and Troy, when Greece (with strife to win\nThat wish\u2019d conclusion) in her kings should jar,\nAnd plead, if force or wit must end the war.\nThis brave Contention did the poet sing,\nExpressing so the spleen of either king,\nThat his large purple weed Ulysses held\nBefore his face and eyes, since thence distill\u2019d\nTears uncontain\u2019d; which he obscur\u2019d, in fear\nTo let th\u2019 observing presence note a tear.\nBut, when his sacred song the mere divine\nHad giv\u2019n an end, a goblet crown\u2019d with wine\nUlysses, drying his wet eyes, did seize,[1]\nAnd sacrific\u2019d to those Gods that would please\nT\u2019 inspire the poet with a song so fit\nTo do him honour, and renown his wit.\nHis tears then stay\u2019d. But when again began,\nBy all the kings\u2019 desires, the moving man,\nAgain Ulysses could not choose but yield\nTo that soft passion, which again, withheld,\nHe kept so cunningly from sight, that none,\nExcept Alcinous himself alone,\nDiscern\u2019d him mov\u2019d so much. But he sat next,\nAnd heard him deeply sigh; which his pretext\nCould not keep hid from him. Yet he conceal\u2019d\nHis utt\u2019rance of it, and would have it held\nFrom all the rest, brake off the song, and this\nSaid to those oar-affecting peers of his:\n\u201cPrinces, and peers! We now are satiate\nWith sacred song that fits a feast of state,\nWith wine and food. Now then to field, and try\nIn all kinds our approv\u2019d activity,\nThat this our guest may give his friends to know,\nIn his return, that we as little owe\nTo fights and wrastlings, leaping, speed-of race,\nAs these our court-rites; and commend our grace\nIn all to all superior.\u201d Forth he led,\nThe peers and people troop\u2019d up to their head.\nNor must Demodocus be left within;\nWhose harp the herald hung upon the pin,\nHis hand in his took, and abroad he brought\nThe heav\u2019nly poet, out the same way wrought\nThat did the princes, and what they would see\nWith admiration, with his company\nThey wish\u2019d to honour. To the place of game\nThese throng\u2019d; and after routs of other came,\nOf all sort, infinite. Of youths that strove,\nMany and strong rose to their trial\u2019s love.\nUp rose Acroneus, and Ocyalus,\nElatreus, Prymneus, and Anchialus,[2]\nNauteus, Eretmeus, Thoen, Prore\u00fcs,\nPont\u00ebus, and the strong Amphialus\nSon to Tectonides Polyne\u00fcs.\nUp rose to these the great Euryalus,\nIn action like the Homicide of War.\nNaubolides, that was for person far\nPast all the rest, but one he could not pass,\nNor any thought improve, Laodamas.\nUp Anabesin\u00ebus then arose;\nAnd three sons of the Sceptre-state, and those\nWere Halius, the fore-prais\u2019d Laodamas,\nAnd Clyton\u00ebus like a God in grace.\nThese first the foot-game tried, and from the lists\nTook start together. Up the dust in mists\nThey hurl\u2019d about, as in their speed they flew;\nBut Clyton\u00ebus first of all the crew\nA stitch\u2019s length in any fallow field\nMade good his pace; when, where the judges yield\nThe prize and praise, his glorious speed arriv\u2019d.\nNext, for the boist\u2019rous wrastling game they striv\u2019d;\nAt which Euryalus the rest outshone.\nAt leap Amphialus, At the hollow stone\nElatre\u00fcs excell\u2019d. At buffets, last,\nLaodamas, the king\u2019s fair son, surpast.\nWhen all had striv\u2019d in these assays their fill,\nLaodamas said: \u201cCome friends, let\u2019s prove what skill\nThis stranger hath attain\u2019d to in our sport.\nMethinks, he must be of the active sort,\nHis calves, thighs, hands, and well-knit shoulders show\nThat Nature disposition did bestow\nTo fit with fact their form. Nor wants he prime.\nBut sour affliction, made a mate with time,\nMakes time the more seen. Nor imagine I,\nA worse thing to enforce debility\nThan is the sea, though nature ne\u2019er so strong\nKnits one together.\u201d \u201cNor conceive you wrong,\u201d\nReplied Euryalus, \u201cbut prove his blood\nWith what you question.\u201d In the midst then stood\nRenown\u2019d Laodamas, and prov\u2019d him thus:\n\u201cCome, stranger-father, and assay with us\nYour pow\u2019rs in these contentions. If your show\nBe answer\u2019d with your worth, \u2019tis fit that you\nShould know these conflicts. Nor doth glory stand\nOn any worth more, in a man\u2019s command,\nThan to be strenuous both of foot and hand.\nCome then, make proof with us, discharge your mind\nOf discontentments; for not far behind\nComes your deduction, ship is ready now,[3]\nAnd men, and all things.\u201d \u201cWhy,\u201d said he, \u201cdost thou\nMock me, Laodamas, and these strifes bind\nMy pow\u2019rs to answer? I am more inclin\u2019d\nTo cares than conflict. Much sustain\u2019d I have,\nAnd still am suff\u2019ring. I come here to crave,\nIn your assemblies, means to be dismist,\nAnd pray both kings and subjects to assist.\u201d\nEuryalus an open brawl began,\nAnd said: \u201cI take you, sir, for no such man\nAs fits these honour\u2019d strifes. A number more\nStrange men there are that I would choose before.\nTo one that loves to lie aship-board much,\nOr is the prince of sailors; or to such\nAs traffic far and near, and nothing mind\nBut freight, and passage, and a foreright wind;\nOr to a victualler of a ship; or men\nThat set up all their pow\u2019rs for rampant gain;\nI can compare, or hold you like to be:\nBut, for a wrastler, or of quality\nFit for contentions noble, you abhor\nFrom worth of any such competitor.\u201d\nUlysses, frowning, answer\u2019d: \u201cStranger, far\nThy words are from the fashions regular\nOf kind, or honour. Thou art in thy guise\nLike to a man that authors injuries.[4]\nI see, the Gods to all men give not all\nManly addiction, wisdom, words that fall,\nLike dice, upon the square still. Some man takes\nIll form from parents, but God often makes\nThat fault of form up with observ\u2019d repair\nOf pleasing speech, that makes him held for fair,\nThat makes him speak securely, makes him shine\nIn an assembly with a grace divine.\nMen take delight to see how ev\u2019nly lie\nHis words asteep in honey modesty.\nAnother, then, hath fashion like a God,\nBut in his language he is foul and broad.\nAnd such art thou. A person fair is giv\u2019n,\nBut nothing else is in thee sent from heav\u2019n;\nFor in thee lurks a base and earthy soul,\nAnd t\u2019 hast compell\u2019d me, with a speech most foul,\nTo be thus bitter. I am not unseen\nIn these fair strifes, as thy words overween,\nBut in the first rank of the best I stand;\nAt least I did, when youth and strength of hand\nMade me thus confident, but now am worn\nWith woes and labours, as a human born\nTo bear all anguish. Suffer\u2019d much I have.\nThe war of men, and the inhuman wave,\nHave I driv\u2019n through at all parts. But with all\nMy waste in suff\u2019rance, what yet may fall\nIn my performance, at these strifes I\u2019ll try.\nThy speech hath mov\u2019d, and made my wrath run high.\u201d\nThis said, with robe and all, he grasp\u2019d a stone,\nA little graver than was ever thrown\nBy these Ph\u00e6acians in their wrastling rout,\nMore firm, more massy; which, turn\u2019d round about,\nHe hurried from him with a hand so strong\nIt sung, and flew, and over all the throng,\nThat at the others\u2019 marks stood, quite it went;\nYet down fell all beneath it, fearing spent\nThe force that drave it flying from his hand,\nAs it a dart were, or a walking wand;\nAnd far past all the marks of all the rest\nHis wing stole way; when Pallas straight imprest\nA mark at fall of it, resembling then\nOne of the navy-giv\u2019n Ph\u00e6acian men,\nAnd thus advanc\u2019d Ulysses: \u201cOne, though blind,\nO stranger, groping, may thy stone\u2019s fall find,\nFor not amidst the rout of marks it fell,\nBut far before all. Of thy worth think well,\nAnd stand in all strifes. No Ph\u00e6acian here\nThis bound can either better or come near.\u201d\nUlysses joy\u2019d to hear that one man yet\nUs\u2019d him benignly, and would truth abet\nIn those contentions; and then thus smooth\nHe took his speech down: \u201cReach me that now, youth,\nYou shall, and straight I think, have one such more,\nAnd one beyond it too. And now, whose core\nStands sound and great within him, since ye have\nThus put my spleen up, come again and brave\nThe guest ye tempted, with such gross disgrace,\nAt wrastling, buffets, whirlbat, speed o\u2019 race;\nAt all, or either, I except at none,\nBut urge the whole state of you; only one,\nI will not challenge in my forced boast,\nAnd that\u2019s Laodamas, for he\u2019s mine host.[5]\nAnd who will fight, or wrangle, with his friend?\nUnwise he is, and base, that will contend\nWith him that feeds him in a foreign place;\nAnd takes all edge off from his own sought grace.\nNone else except I here, nor none despise,\nBut wish to know, and prove his faculties,\nThat dares appear now. No strife ye can name\nAm I unskill\u2019d in; reckon any game\nOf all that are, as many as there are\nIn use with men. For archery I dare\nAffirm myself not mean. Of all a troop\nI\u2019ll make the first foe with mine arrow stoop,\nThough with me ne\u2019er so many fellows bend\nTheir bows at mark\u2019d men, and affect their end.\nOnly was Philoctetes with his bow\nStill my superior, when we Greeks would show\nOur archery against our foes of Troy.\nBut all, that now by bread frail life enjoy,\nI far hold my inferiors. Men of old,\nNone now alive shall witness me so bold,\nTo vaunt equality with, such men as these,\n\u0152chali\u00e1n Eurytus, Hercules,\nWho with their bows durst with the Gods contend;\nAnd therefore caught Eurytus soon his end,\nNor died at home, in age, a rev\u2019rend man.\nBut by the great incens\u00e9d Delphian\nWas shot to death, for daring competence\nWith him in all an archer\u2019s excellence.\nA spear I\u2019ll hurl as far as any man\nShall shoot a shaft. How at a race I can\nBestir my feet, I only yield to fear,\nAnd doubt to meet with my superior here.\nSo many seas so too much have misus\u2019d\nMy limbs for race, and therefore have diffus\u2019d\nA dissolution through my lov\u00e9d knees.\u201d\nThis said, he still\u2019d all talking properties.\nAlcinous only answer\u2019d: \u201cO my guest,\nIn good part take we what you have been prest\nWith speech to answer. You would make appear\nYour virtues therefore, that will still shine where\nYour only look is. Yet must this man give\nYour worth ill language; when, he does not live\nIn sort of mortals (whencesoe\u2019er he springs,\nThat judgment hath to speak becoming things)\nThat will deprave your virtues. Note then now\nMy speech, and what my love presents to you,\nThat you may tell hero\u00ebs, when you come\nTo banquet with your wife and birth at home,\n(Mindful of our worth) what deservings Jove\nHath put on our parts likewise, in remove\nFrom sire to son, as an inherent grace\nKind, and perpetual. We must needs give place\nTo other countrymen, and freely yield\nWe are not blameless in our fights of field,\nBuffets, nor wrastlings; but in speed of feet,\nAnd all the equipage that fits a fleet,\nWe boast us best; for table ever spread\nWith neighbour feasts, for garments varied,\nFor poesy, music, dancing, baths, and beds.\nAnd now, Ph\u00e6acians, you that bear your heads\nAnd feet with best grace in enamouring dance,\nEnflame our guest here, that he may advance\nOur worth past all the world\u2019s to his home-friends,\nAs well for the unmatch\u2019d grace that commends.\nYour skill in footing of a dance, as theirs\nThat fly a race best. And so, all affairs,\nAt which we boast us best, he best may try,\nAs sea-race, land-race, dance, and poesy.\nSome one with instant speed to court retire,\nAnd fetch Demodocus\u2019s soundful lyre.\u201d\nThis said the God-grac\u2019d king; and quick resort\nPontonous made for that fair harp to court.\nNine of the lot-choos\u2019d public rulers rose,\nThat all in those contentions did dispose,\nCommanding a most smooth ground, and a wide,\nAnd all the people in fair game aside.\nThen with the rich harp came Pontonous,\nAnd in the midst took place Demodocus.\nAbout him then stood forth the choice young men,[6]\nThat on man\u2019s first youth made fresh entry then,\nHad art to make their natural motion sweet,\nAnd shook a most divine dance from their feet,\nThat twinkled star-like, mov\u2019d as swift, and fine,\nAnd beat the air so thin, they made it shine.\nUlysses wonder\u2019d at it, but amaz\u2019d\nHe stood in mind to hear the dance so phras\u2019d.\nFor, as they danc\u2019d, Demodocus did sing,\nThe bright-crown\u2019d Venus\u2019 love with Battle\u2019s King;\nAs first they closely mix\u2019d in th\u2019 house of fire.\nWhat worlds of gifts won her to his desire,\nWho then the night-and-day-bed did defile\nOf good king Vulcan. But in little while\nThe Sun their mixture saw, and came and told.\nThe bitter news did by his ears take hold\nOf Vulcan\u2019s heart. Then to his forge he went,\nAnd in his shrewd mind deep stuff did invent.\nHis mighty anvil in the stock he put,\nAnd forg\u2019d a net that none could loose or cut,\nThat when it had them it might hold them fast.\nWhich having finish\u2019d, he made utmost haste\nUp to the dear room where his wife he woo\u2019d,\nAnd, madly wrath with Mars, he all bestrow\u2019d\nThe bed, and bed-posts, all the beam above\nThat cross\u2019d the chamber; and a circle strove\nOf his device to wrap in all the room.\nAnd \u2019twas as pure, as of a spider\u2019s loom\nThe woof before \u2019tis wov\u2019n. No man nor God\nCould set his eye on it, a sleight so odd\nHis art show\u2019d in it. All his craft bespent\nAbout the bed, he feign\u2019d as if he went\nTo well-built Lemnos, his most lov\u00e9d town\nOf all towns earthly; nor left this unknown\nTo golden-bridle-using Mars, who kept\nNo blind watch over him, but, seeing stept\nHis rival so aside, he hasted home\nWith fair-wreath\u2019d Venus\u2019 love stung, who was come\nNew from the court of her most mighty Sire.\nMars enter\u2019d, wrung her hand, and the retire\nHer husband made to Lemnos told, and said;\n\u201cNow, love, is Vulcan gone, let us to bed,\nHe\u2019s for the barbarous Sintians.\u201d Well appay\u2019d\nWas Venus with it; and afresh assay\u2019d\nTheir old encounter. Down they went; and straight\nAbout them cling\u2019d the artificial sleight\nOf most wise Vulcan; and were so ensnar\u2019d,\nThat neither they could stir their course prepar\u2019d\nIn any limb about them, nor arise.\nAnd then they knew, they would no more disguise\nTheir close conveyance, but lay, forc\u2019d, stone-still.\nBack rush\u2019d the both-foot-cook\u2019d, but straight in skill,\nFrom his near scout-hole turn\u2019d, nor ever went\nTo any Lemnos, but the sure event\nLeft Ph\u0153bus to discover, who told all.\nThen home hopp\u2019d Vulcan, full of grief and gall,\nStood in the portal, and cried out so high,\nThat all the Gods heard; \u201cFather of the sky,\nAnd ev\u2019ry other deathless God,\u201d said he,\n\u201cCome all, and a ridiculous object see,\nAnd yet not sufferable neither. Come,\nAnd witness how, when still I step from home,\nLame that I am, Jove\u2019s daughter doth profess\nTo do me all the shameful offices,\nIndignities, despites, that can be thought;\nAnd loves this all-things-making-come-to-nought,\nSince he is fair forsooth, foot-sound, and I\nTook in my brain a little, legg\u2019d awry.\nAnd no fault mine, but all my parent\u2019s fault,\nWho should not get, if mock me, with my halt.\nBut see how fast they sleep, while I, in moan,\nAm only made an idle looker on.\nOne bed their turn serves, and it must be mine;\nI think yet, I have made their self-loves shine.\nThey shall no more wrong me, and none perceive;\nNor will they sleep together, I believe,\nWith too hot haste again. Thus both shall lie\nIn craft, and force, till the extremity\nOf all the dow\u2019r I gave her sire (to gain\nA dogg\u00e9d set-fac\u2019d girl, that will not stain\nHer face with blushing, though she shame her head)\nHe pays me back. She\u2019s fair, but was no maid.\u201d\nWhile this long speech was making, all were come\nTo Vulcan\u2019s wholly-brazen-founded home,\nEarth-shaking Neptune, useful Mercury,\nAnd far-shot Ph\u0153bus. No She-Deity,\nFor shame, would show there. All the give-good Gods\nStood in the portal, and past periods\nGave length to laughters, all rejoic\u2019d to see\nThat which they said, that no impiety\nFinds good success at th\u2019 end. \u201cAnd now,\u201d said one,\n\u201cThe slow outgoes the swift. Lame Vulcan, known\nTo be the slowest of the Gods, outgoes\nMars the most swift. And this is that which grows\nTo greatest justice: that adult\u2019ry\u2019s sport,\nObtain\u2019d by craft, by craft of other sort\n(And lame craft too) is plagued, which grieves the more,\nThat sound limbs turning lame the lame restore.\u201d[7]\nThis speech amongst themselves they entertain\u2019d,\nWhen Ph\u0153bus thus ask\u2019d Hermes: \u201cThus enchain\u2019d\nWouldst thou be, Hermes, to be thus disclos\u2019d?\nThough with thee golden Venus were repos\u2019d?\u201d\nHe soon gave that an answer: \u201cO,\u201d said he,\n\u201cThou king of archers, would \u2019twere thus with me!\nThough thrice so much shame; nay, though infinite\nWere pour\u2019d about me, and that ev\u2019ry light,\nIn great heav\u2019n shining, witness\u2019d all my harms,\nSo golden Venus slumber\u2019d in mine arms.\u201d\nThe Gods again laugh\u2019d; even the Watery State\nWrung out a laughter, but propitiate\nWas still for Mars, and pray\u2019d the God of Fire\nHe would dissolve him, off\u2019ring the desire\nHe made to Jove to pay himself, and said,\nAll due debts should be by the Gods repaid.\n\u201cPay me, no words,\u201d said he, \u201cwhere deeds lend pain,\nWretched the words are giv\u2019n for wretched men.\nHow shall I bind you in th\u2019 Immortals\u2019 sight,\nIf Mars be once loos\u2019d, nor will pay his right?\u201d[8]\n\u201cVulcan,\u201d said he, \u201cif Mars should fly, nor see\nThy right repaid, it should be paid by me.\u201d\n\u201cYour word, so giv\u2019n, I must accept,\u201d said he.\nWhich said, he loos\u2019d them. Mars then rush\u2019d from sky,\nAnd stoop\u2019d cold Thrace. The laughing Deity\nFor Cyprus was, and took her Paphian state,\nWhere she a grove, ne\u2019er cut, had consecrate,\nAll with Arabian odours fum\u2019d, and hath\nAn altar there, at which the Graces bathe,\nAnd with immortal balms besmooth, her skin,\nFit for the bliss Immortals solace in;\nDeck\u2019d her in to-be-studi\u00e9d attire,\nAnd apt to set beholders\u2019 hearts on fire.\nThis sung the sacred muse, whose notes and words\nThe dancers\u2019 feet kept as his hands his chords.\nUlysses much was pleas\u2019d, and all the crew.\nThis would the king have varied with a new\nAnd pleasing measure, and perform\u00e9d by\nTwo, with whom none would strive in dancery;\nAnd those his sons were, that must therefore dance\nAlone, and only to the harp advance,\nWithout the words. And this sweet couple was\nYoung Halius, and divine Laodamas;\nWho danc\u2019d a ball-dance. Then the rich-wrought ball,\nThat Polybus had made, of purple all,\nThey took to hand. One threw it to the sky,\nAnd then danc\u2019d back; the other, capering high,\nWould surely catch it ere his foot touch\u2019d ground,\nAnd up again advanc\u2019d it, and so found\nThe other cause of dance; and then did he\nDance lofty tricks, till next it came to be\nHis turn to catch, and serve the other still.\nWhen they had kept it up to either\u2019s will,\nThey then danc\u2019d ground tricks, oft mix\u2019d hand in hand,\nAnd did so gracefully their change command,\nThat all the other youth that stood at pause,\nWith deaf\u2019ning shouts, gave them the great applause.\nThen said Ulysses: \u201cO, past all men here\nClear, not in pow\u2019r, but in desert as clear,\nYou said your dancers did the world surpass,\nAnd they perform it clear, and to amaze.\u201d\nThis won Alcinous\u2019 heart, and equal prize\nHe gave Ulysses, saying: \u201cMatchless wise,\nPrinces and rulers, I perceive our guest,\nAnd therefore let our hospitable best\nIn fitting gifts be giv\u2019n him: Twelve chief kings\nThere are that order all the glorious things\nOf this our kingdom; and, the thirteenth, I\nExist, as crown to all. Let instantly\nBe thirteen garments giv\u2019n him, and of gold\nPrecious, and fine, a talent. While we hold\nThis our assembly, be all fetch\u2019d, and giv\u2019n,\nThat to our feast prepar\u2019d, as to his heav\u2019n,\nOur guest may enter. And, that nothing be\nLeft unperform\u2019d that fits his dignity,\nEuryalus shall here conciliate\nHimself with words and gifts, since past our rate\nHe gave bad language.\u201d This did all commend\nAnd give in charge; and ev\u2019ry king did send\nHis herald for his gift. Euryalus,\nAnsw\u2019ring for his part, said: \u201cAlcinous!\nOur chief of all, since you command, I will\nTo this our guest by all means reconcile,\nAnd give him this entirely-metall\u2019d sword,\nThe handle massy silver, and the board,\nThat gives it cover, all of ivory,\nNew, and in all kinds worth his quality.\u201d\nThis put he straight into his hand, and said:\n\u201cFrolic, O guest and father; if words fled\nHave been offensive, let swift whirlwinds take\nAnd ravish them from thought. May all Gods make\nThy wife\u2019s sight good to thee, in quick retreat\nTo all thy friends, and best-lov\u2019d breeding seat,\nTheir long miss quitting with the greater joy;\nIn whose sweet vanish all thy worst annoy.\u201d\n\u201cAnd frolic thou to all height, friend,\u201d said he,\n\u201cWhich heav\u2019n confirm with wish\u2019d felicity;\nNor ever give again desire to thee\nOf this sword\u2019s use, which with affects so free,\nIn my reclaim, thou hast bestow\u2019d on me.\u201d\nThis said, athwart his shoulders he put on\nThe right fair sword; and then did set the sun.\nWhen all the gifts were brought, which back again\n(With king Alcinous in all the train)\nWere by the honour\u2019d heralds borne to court;\nWhich his fair sons took, and from the resort\nLaid by their rev\u2019rend mother. Each his throne\nOf all the peers (which yet were overshone\nIn king Alcinous\u2019 command) ascended;\nWhom he to pass as much in gifts contended,\nAnd to his queen said: \u201cWife! See brought me here\nThe fairest cabinet I have, and there\nImpose a well-cleans\u2019d in, and utter, weed.\nA caldron heat with water, that with speed\nOur guest well-bath\u2019d, and all his gifts made sure,\nIt may a joyful appetite procure\nTo his succeeding feast, and make him hear\nThe poet\u2019s hymn with the securer ear.\nTo all which I will add my bowl of gold,\nIn all frame curious, to make him hold\nMy memory always dear, and sacrifice\nWith it at home to all the Deities.\u201d\nThen Arete her maids charg\u2019d to set on\nA well-siz\u2019d caldron quickly. Which was done,\nClear water pour\u2019d in, flame made so entire,\nIt gilt the brass, and made the water fire.\nIn mean space, from her chamber brought the queen\nA wealthy cabinet, where, pure and clean,\nShe put the garments, and the gold bestow\u2019d\nBy that free state, and then the other vow\u2019d\nBy her Alcinous, and said: \u201cNow, guest,\nMake close and fast your gifts, lest, when you rest\nAship-board sweetly, in your way you meet\nSome loss, that less may make your next sleep sweet.\u201d\nThis when Ulysses heard, all sure he made\nEnclos\u2019d and bound safe; for the saving trade\nThe rev\u2019rend-for-her-wisdom, Circe, had\nIn foreyears taught him. Then the handmaid bad\nHis worth to bathing; which rejoic\u2019d his heart,\nFor, since he did with his Calypso part,\nHe had no hot baths; none had favour\u2019d him,\nNor been so tender of his kingly limb.\nBut all the time he spent in her abode,\nHe liv\u2019d respected as he were a God.\nCleans\u2019d then and balm\u2019d, fair shirt and robe put on,\nFresh come from bath, and to the feasters gone,\nNausicaa, that from the Gods\u2019 hands took\nThe sov\u2019reign beauty of her blessed look,\nStood by a well-carv\u2019d column of the room,\nAnd through her eye her heart was overcome\nWith admiration of the port imprest\nIn his asp\u00e9ct, and said: \u201cGod save you, guest!\nBe cheerful, as in all the future state\nYour home will show you in your better fate.\nBut yet, ev\u2019n then, let this remember\u2019d be,\nYour life\u2019s price I lent, and you owe it me.\u201d\nThe varied-in-all-counsels gave reply:\n\u201cNausicaa! Flow\u2019r of all this empery!\nSo Juno\u2019s husband, that the strife for noise\nMakes in the clouds, bless me with strife of joys,\nIn the desir\u2019d day that my house shall show,\nAs I, as I to a Goddess there shall vow,\nTo thy fair hand that did my being give,\nWhich I\u2019ll acknowledge ev\u2019ry hour I live.\u201d\nThis said, Alcinous plac\u2019d him by his side.\nThen took they feast, and did in parts divide\nThe sev\u2019ral dishes, fill\u2019d out wine, and then\nThe striv\u2019d-for-for-his-worth of worthy men,[9]\nAnd rev\u2019renc\u2019d-of-the-state, Demodocus\nWas brought in by the good Pontonous.\nIn midst of all the guests they gave him place,\nAgainst a lofty pillar, when this grace\nThe grac\u2019d-with-wisdom did him: From the chine,\nThat stood before him, of a white-tooth\u2019d swine,\nBeing far the daintiest joint, mix\u2019d through with fat,\nHe carv\u2019d to him, and sent it where he sat\nBy his old friend the herald, willing thus:\n\u201cHerald, reach this to grave Demodocus,\nSay, I salute him, and his worth embrace.\nPoets deserve, past all the human race,\nRev\u2019rend respect and honour, since the queen\nOf knowledge, and the supreme worth in men,\nThe Muse, informs them, and loves all their race.\u201d\nThis reach\u2019d the herald to him, who the grace\nReceiv\u2019d encourag\u2019d; which, when feast was spent,\nUlysses amplified to this ascent:\n\u201cDemodocus! I must prefer you far,\nPast all your sort, if, or the Muse of war,\nJove\u2019s daughter, prompts you, that the Greeks respects,\nOr if the Sun, that those of Troy affects.\nFor I have heard you, since my coming, sing\nThe fate of Greece to an admir\u00e9d string.\nHow much our suff\u2019rance was, how much we wrought,\nHow much the actions rose-to when we fought.\nSo lively forming, as you had been there,\nOr to some free relater lent your ear.\nForth then, and sing the wooden horse\u2019s frame,\nBuilt by Ep\u00ebus, by the martial Dame\nTaught the whole fabric; which, by force of sleight,\nUlysses brought into the city\u2019s height,\nWhen he had stuff\u2019d it with as many men\nAs levell\u2019d lofty Ilion with the plain.\nWith all which if you can as well enchant,\nAs with expression quick and elegant\nYou sung the rest, I will pronounce you clear\nInspir\u2019d by God, past all that ever were.\u201d\nThis said, ev\u2019n stirr\u2019d by God up, he began,\nAnd to his song fell, past the forms of man,\nBeginning where the Greeks aship-board went,\nAnd ev\u2019ry chief had set on fire his tent,\nWhen th\u2019 other kings, in great Ulysses\u2019 guide,\nIn Troy\u2019s vast market place the horse did hide,\nFrom whence the Trojans up to Ilion drew\nThe dreadful engine. Where sat all arew\nTheir kings about it; many counsels giv\u2019n\nHow to dispose it. In three ways were driv\u2019n\nTheir whole distractions. First, if they should feel\nThe hollow wood\u2019s heart, search\u2019d with piercing steel;\nOr from the battlements drawn higher yet\nDeject it headlong; or that counterfeit\nSo vast and novel set on sacred fire,\nVow\u2019d to appease each anger\u2019d Godhead\u2019s ire.\nOn which opinion, they, thereafter, saw,\nThey then should have resolv\u2019d; th\u2019 unalter\u2019d law\nOf fate presaging, that Troy then should end,\nWhen th\u2019 hostile horse she should receive to friend,\nFor therein should the Grecian kings lie hid,\nTo bring the fate and death they after did.\nHe sung, besides, the Greeks\u2019 erupti\u00f3n\nFrom those their hollow crafts, and horse foregone;\nAnd how they made depopulation tread\nBeneath her feet so high a city\u2019s head.\nIn which affair, he sung in other place,\nThat of that ambush some man else did race\nThe Ilion tow\u2019rs than Laertiades;\nBut here he sung, that he alone did seize,[10]\nWith Menelaus, the ascended roof\nOf prince Deiphobus, and Mars-like proof\nMade of his valour, a most dreadful fight\nDaring against him; and there vanquish\u2019d quite,\nIn little time, by great Minerva\u2019s aid,\nAll Ilion\u2019s remnant, and Troy level laid.\nThis the divine expressor did so give\nBoth act and passion, that he made it live,\nAnd to Ulysses\u2019 facts did breathe a fire\nSo deadly quick\u2019ning, that it did inspire[11]\nOld death with life, and render\u2019d life so sweet,\nAnd passionate, that all there felt it fleet;\nWhich made him pity his own cruelty,\nAnd put into that ruth so pure an eye\nOf human frailty, that to see a man\nCould so revive from death, yet no way can\nDefend from death, his own quick pow\u2019rs it made\nFeel there death\u2019s horrors, and he felt life fade,\nIn tears his feeling brain swet; for, in things[12]\nThat move past utt\u2019rance, tears ope all their springs.\nNor are there in the pow\u2019rs that all life bears\nMore true interpreters of all than tears.\nAnd as a lady mourns her sole-lov\u2019d lord,\nThat fall\u2019n before his city by the sword,\nFighting to rescue from a cruel fate\nHis town and children, and in dead estate\nYet panting seeing him, wraps him in her arms,\nWeeps, shrieks, and pours her health into his arms,\nLies on him, striving to become his shield\nFrom foes that still assail him, spears impell\u2019d\nThrough back and shoulders, by whose points embrued,\nThey raise and lead him into servitude,\nLabour, and languor; for all which the dame\nEats down her cheeks with tears, and feeds life\u2019s flame\nWith miserable suff\u2019rance; so this king\nOf tear-swet anguish op\u2019d a boundless spring;\nNor yet was seen to any one man there\nBut king Alcinous, who sat so near\nHe could not \u2018scape him, sighs, so chok\u2019d, so brake\nFrom all his tempers; which the king did take\nBoth note and grave respect of, and thus spake:\n\u201cHear me, Ph\u00e6acian councillors and peers,\nAnd cease Demodocus; perhaps all ears\nAre not delighted with his song, for, ever\nSince the divine Muse sung, our guest hath never\nContain\u2019d from secret mournings. It may fall,\nThat something sung he hath been grieved with all,\nAs touching his particular. Forbear,\nThat feast may jointly comfort all hearts here,\nAnd we may cheer our guest up; \u2019tis our best\nIn all due honour. For our rev\u2019rend guest\nIs all our celebration, gifts, and all,\nHis love hath added to our festival.\nA guest, and suppliant too, we should esteem\nDear as our brother, one that doth but dream\nHe hath a soul, or touch but at a mind\nDeathless and manly, should stand so inclin\u2019d.\nNor cloak you longer with your curious wit,\nLov\u2019d guest, what ever we shall ask of it.\nIt now stands on your honest state to tell,\nAnd therefore give your name, nor more conceal\nWhat of your parents, and the town that bears\nName of your native, or of foreigners\nThat near us border, you are call\u2019d in fame.\nThere\u2019s no man living walks without a name,\nNoble nor base, but had one from his birth\nImpos\u2019d as fit as to be borne. What earth,\nPeople, and city, own you, give to know.\nTell but our ships all, that your way must show.\nFor our ships know th\u2019 expressed minds of men,\nAnd will so most intentively retain\nTheir scopes appointed, that they never err,\nAnd yet use never any man to steer,\nNor any rudders have, as others need.\nThey know men\u2019s thoughts, and whither tends their speed,\nAnd there will set them; for you cannot name[13]\nA city to them, nor fat soil, that Fame\nHath any notice giv\u2019n, but well they know,\nAnd they will fly to them, though they ebb and flow\nIn blackest clouds and nights; and never bear\nOf any wrack or rock the slend\u2019rest fear.\nBut this I heard my sire Nausithous say.\nLong since, that Neptune, seeing us convey\nSo safely passengers of all degrees,\nWas angry with us; and upon our seas\nA well-built ship we had, near harbour come\nFrom safe deduction of some stranger home,\nMade in his flitting billows stick stone still;\nAnd dimm\u2019d our city, like a mighty hill\nWith shade cast round about it. This report,\nThe old king made;[14] in which miraculous sort,\nIf God had done such things, or left undone,\nAt his good pleasure be it. But now, on,\nAnd truth relate us, both whence you err\u2019d,\nAnd to what clime of men would be transferr\u2019d,\nWith all their fair towns, be they as they are,\nIf rude, unjust, and all irregular,\nOr hospitable, bearing minds that please\nThe mighty Deity. Which one of these\nYou would be set at, say, and you are there.\nAnd therefore what afflicts you? Why, to hear\nThe fate of Greece and Ilion, mourn you so?\nThe Gods have done it; as to all they do\nDestine destruction, that from thence may rise\nA poem to instruct posterities.\nFell any kinsman before Ilion?\nSome worthy sire-in-law, or like-near son,\nWhom next our own blood and self-race we love?\nOr any friend perhaps, in whom did move\nA knowing soul, and no unpleasing thing?\nSince such a good one is no underling\nTo any brother; for, what fits true friends,\nTrue wisdom is, that blood and birth transcends.\u201d\n\n FINIS LIBRI OCTAVI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] The continued piety of Ulysses through all places, times, and\n occasions.\n\n [2] Since the Ph\u00e6acians were not only dwellers by sea, but studious\n also of sea qualities, their names seem to usurp their faculties\n therein. All consisting of sea-faring signification, except Laodamas,\n As Acroneus, _summa seu extrema navis pars._ Ocyalus, _velox in mari._\n Elatreus, or _\u1fbd\u0395\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u1f74\u03c1, \u1f10\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u03b7\u0311\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, Remex, etc._\n\n [3] The word is _\u03c0\u03bf\u03bc\u03c0\u03ae,_ signifying _deductio, qu\u00e2 trausvehendum\n curamus eum qui nobiscum aliquando est versatus._\n\n [4] _\u1fbd\u0391\u03c4\u03ac\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 damnorum magnorum auctor._\n\n [5] He names Laodamas only for all the other brothers; since in his\n exception, the others\u2019 envies were curbed: for brothers either are or\n should be of one acceptation in all fit things, And Laodamas, he calls\n his host, being eldest son to Alcinous: the heir being ever the young\n master; nor might he conveniently prefer Alcinous in his exception,\n since he stood not in competition at these contentions.\n\n [6] _\u039c\u03b1\u03c1\u03bc\u03b1\u03c1\u03c5\u03b3\u1f70\u03c2 \u03c0\u03bf\u03b4\u03c9\u0311\u03bd. \u039c\u03b1\u03c1\u03bc\u03b1\u03c1\u03c5\u03b3\u1f74_ signifies _splendor vibrans_; a\n twincked splendor; _\u03bc\u03b1\u03c1\u03bc\u03b1\u03c1\u03cd\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, vibrare veluti radios solares._\n\n [7] Intending the sound of foot, when they outgo the soundest.\n\n [8] This is _\u03c4\u1f78 \u03c4\u1f70 \u03bc\u03b9\u03ba\u03c1\u1f70 \u03bc\u03b5\u03b3\u03ac\u03bb\u03c9\u03c2, etc. Parva magn\u00e8 dicere;_ grave\n sentence out of lightest vapour.\n\n [9] _\u2019\u0395\u03c1\u03af\u03b7\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u1f00\u03bf\u03b9\u03b4\u1f78\u03bd, Poetam cujus hominibus digna est societas._\n\n [10] As by the divine fury directly inspired so, for Ulysses\u2019 glory.\n\n [11] In that the slaughters he made were expressed so lively.\n\n [12] _\u03a4\u03ae\u03ba\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf \u1fbd\u039f\u03b4\u03c5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03cd\u03c2. \u03a4\u03ae\u03ba\u03c9,_ metaph. signifying _consumo, tabesco._\n\n [13] This _\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03af\u03b1_ or _affirmation of miracles,_ how impossible\n soever in these times assured, yet in those ages they were neither\n absurd nor strange. Those inanimate things having (it seemed) certain\n Genii, in whose powers they supposed their ships\u2019 faculties. As others\n have affirmed oaks to have sense of hearing; and so the ship of Argos\n was said to have a mast made of Dodonean oak, that was vocal, and\n could speak.\n\n [14] Intending his father Nausithous.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nUlysses here is first made known;\nWho tells the stern contention\nHis pow\u2019rs did \u2019gainst the Cicons try;\nAnd thence to the Lotophagi\nExtends his conquest; and from them\nAssays the Cyclop Polypheme,\nAnd, by the crafts his wits apply,\nHe puts him out his only eye.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u1fbf\u0399\u03c9\u0311\u03c4\u03b1._\nThe strangely fed\nLotophagi.\nThe Cicons fled.\nThe Cyclop\u2019s eye.\n\nUlysses thus resolv\u2019d the king\u2019s demands:\n\u201cAlcinous, in whom this empire stands,\nYou should not of so natural right disherit\nYour princely feast, as take from it the spirit.\nTo hear a poet, that in accent brings\nThe Gods\u2019 breasts down, and breathes them as he sings,\nIs sweet, and sacred; nor can I conceive,\nIn any common-weal, what more doth give\nNote of the just and blessed empery,\nThan to see comfort universally\nCheer up the people, when in ev\u2019ry roof\nShe gives observers a most human proof\nOf men\u2019s contents. To see a neighbour\u2019s feast\nAdorn it through; and thereat hear the breast\nOf the divine Muse; men in order set;\nA wine-page waiting; tables crown\u2019d with meat,\nSet close to guests that are to use it skill\u2019d;\nThe cup-boards furnish\u2019d, and the cups still fill\u2019d;\nThis shows, to my mind, most humanely fair.\nNor should you, for me, still the heav\u2019nly air,\nThat stirr\u2019d my soul so; for I love such tears\nAs fall from fit notes, beaten through mine ears\nWith repetitions of what heav\u2019n hath done,\nAnd break from hearty apprehensi\u00f3n\nOf God and goodness, though they show my ill.\nAnd therefore doth my mind excite me still,\nTo tell my bleeding moan; but much more now,\nTo serve your pleasure, that to over-flow\nMy tears with such cause may by sighs be driv\u2019n,\nThough ne\u2019er so much plagued I may seem by heav\u2019n.\nAnd now my name; which way shall lead to all\nMy mis\u2019ries after, that their sounds may fall\nThrough your ears also, and show (having fled\nSo much affliction) first, who rests his head\nIn your embraces, when, so far from home,\nI knew not where t\u2019 obtain it resting room.\nI am Ulysses Laertiades,\nThe fear of all the world for policies,\nFor which my facts as high as heav\u2019n resound.\nI dwell in Ithaca, earth\u2019s most renown\u2019d,\nAll over-shadow\u2019d with the shake-leaf hill,[1]\nTree-fam\u2019d Neritus; whose near confines fill\nIslands a number, well-inhabited,\nThat under my observance taste their bread;\nDulichius, Samos, and the full-of-food[2]\nZacynthus, likewise grac\u2019d with store of wood.\nBut Ithaca, though in the seas it lie,\nYet lies she so aloft she casts her eye\nQuite over all the neighbour continent;\nFar northward situate, and, being lent\nBut little favour of the morn and sun,\nWith barren rocks and cliffs is over-run;\nAnd yet of hardy youths a nurse of name;\nNor could I see a soil, where\u2019er I came,\nMore sweet and wishful. Yet, from hence was I\nWithheld with horror by the Deity,\nDivine Calypso, in her cavy house,\nEnflam\u2019d to make me her sole lord and spouse.\nCirce \u00c6\u00e6a too, that knowing dame,\nWhose veins the like affections did enflame,\nDetain\u2019d me likewise. But to neither\u2019s love\nCould I be tempted; which doth well approve,\nNothing so sweet is as our country\u2019s earth,[3]\nAnd joy of those from whom we claim our birth.\nThough roofs far richer we far off possess,\nYet, from our native, all our more is less.\nTo which as I contended, I will tell\nThe much-distress-conferring facts that fell\nBy Jove\u2019s divine prevention, since I set\nFrom ruin\u2019d Troy my first foot in retreat.\nFrom Ilion ill winds cast me on the coast\nThe Cicons hold, where I employ\u2019d mine host\nFor Ismarus, a city built just by\nMy place of landing; of which victory\nMade me expugner. I depeopled it,\nSlew all the men, and did their wives remit,\nWith much spoil taken; which we did divide,\nThat none might need his part. I then applied\nAll speed for flight; but my command therein,\nFools that they were, could no observance win\nOf many soldiers, who, with spoil fed high,\nWould yet fill higher, and excessively\nFell to their wine, gave slaughter on the shore\nClov\u2019n-footed beeves and sheep in mighty store.\nIn mean space, Cicons did to Cicons cry,\nWhen, of their nearest dwellers, instantly\nMany and better soldiers made strong head,\nThat held the continent, and manag\u00e9d\nTheir horse with high skill, on which they would fight,\nWhen fittest cause serv\u2019d, and again alight,\nWith soon seen vantage, and on foot contend.\nTheir concourse swift was, and had never end;\nAs thick and sudden \u2019twas, as flow\u2019rs and leaves\nDark spring discovers, when she light receives.[4]\nAnd then began the bitter Fate of Jove\nTo alter us unhappy, which ev\u2019n strove\nTo give us suff\u2019rance. At our fleet we made\nEnforc\u00e9d stand; and there did they invade\nOur thrust-up forces; darts encounter\u2019d darts,\nWith blows on both sides; either making parts\nGood upon either, while the morning shone,\nAnd sacred day her bright increase held on,\nThough much out-match\u2019d in number; but as soon\nAs Ph\u0153bus westward fell, the Cicons won\nMuch hand of us; six proved soldiers fell,\nOf ev\u2019ry ship, the rest they did compel!\nTo seek of Flight escape from Death and Fate.\n\nThence sad in heart we sail\u2019d; and yet our state\nWas something cheer\u2019d, that (being o\u2019er-match\u2019d so much\nIn violent number) our retreat was such\nAs sav\u2019d so many. Our dear loss the less,\nThat they surviv\u2019d, so like for like success.\nYet left we not the coast, before we call\u2019d\nHome to our country-earth the souls exhal\u2019d\nOf all the friends the Cicons overcame.\nThrice call\u2019d we on them by their sev\u2019ral name,[5]\nAnd then took leave. Then from the angry North\nCloud-gath\u2019ring Jove a dreadful storm call\u2019d forth\nAgainst our navy, cover\u2019d shore and all\nWith gloomy vapours. Night did headlong fall\nFrom frowning heav\u2019n. And then hurl\u2019d here and there\nWas all our navy; the rude winds did tear\nIn three, in four parts, all their sails; and down\nDriv\u2019n under hatches were we, prest to drown.\nUp rush\u2019d we yet again, and with tough hand\n(Two days, two nights, entoil\u2019d) we gat near land,\nLabours and sorrows eating up our minds.\nThe third clear day yet, to more friendly winds\nWe masts advanc\u2019d, we white sails spread, and sate.\nForewinds and guides again did iterate\nOur ease and home-hopes; which we clear had reach\u2019d,\nHad not, by chance, a sudden north-wind fetch\u2019d,\nWith an extreme sea, quite about again\nOur whole endeavours, and our course constrain\nTo giddy round, and with our bow\u2019d sails greet\nDreadful Maleia, calling back our fleet\nAs far forth as Cythera. Nine days more\nAdverse winds toss\u2019d me; and the tenth, the shore,\nWhere dwelt the blossom-fed Lotophagi,\nI fetch\u2019d, fresh water took in, instantly\nFell to our food aship-board, and then sent\nTwo of my choice men to the continent\n(Adding a third, a herald) to discover\nWhat sort of people were the rulers over\nThe land next to us. Where, the first they met,\nWere the Lotophagi, that made them eat\nTheir country-diet, and no ill intent\nHid in their hearts to them; and yet th\u2019 event\nTo ill converted it, for having eat\nTheir dainty viands, they did quite forget\n(As all men else that did but taste their feast)\nBoth countrymen and country, nor addrest\nAny return t\u2019 inform what sort of men\nMade fix\u2019d abode there, but would needs maintain\nAbode themselves there, and eat that food ever.\nI made out after, and was feign to sever\nTh\u2019 enchanted knot by forcing their retreat;\nThat striv\u2019d, and wept, and would not leave their meat\nFor heav\u2019n itself. But, dragging them to fleet,\nI wrapt in sure bands both their hands and feet,\nAnd cast them under hatches, and away\nCommanded all the rest without least stay,\nLest they should taste the lote too, and forget\nWith such strange raptures their despis\u2019d retreat.\nAll then aboard, we beat the sea with oars,\nAnd still with sad hearts sail\u2019d by out-way shores,\nTill th\u2019 out-law\u2019d Cyclops\u2019 land we fetch\u2019d; a race\nOf proud-liv\u2019d loiterers, that never sow,\nNor put a plant in earth, nor use a plow,\nBut trust in God for all things; and their earth,\nUnsown, unplow\u2019d, gives ev\u2019ry offspring birth\nThat other lands have; wheat, and barley, vines\nThat bear in goodly grapes delicious wines;\nAnd Jove sends show\u2019rs for all. No councils there,\nNor councillors, nor laws; but all men bear\nTheir heads aloft on mountains, and those steep,\nAnd on their tops too; and their houses keep\nIn vaulty caves, their households govern\u2019d all\nBy each man\u2019s law, impos\u2019d in several,\nNor wife, nor child awed, but as he thinks good,\nNone for another caring. But there stood\nAnother little isle, well stor\u2019d with wood,\nBetwixt this and the entry; neither nigh\nThe Cyclops\u2019 isle, nor yet far off doth lie,\nMen\u2019s want it suffer\u2019d, but the men\u2019s supplies\nThe goats made with their inarticulate cries.\nGoats beyond number this small island breeds,\nSo tame, that no access disturbs their feeds,\nNo hunters, that the tops of mountains scale,\nAnd rub through woods with toil, seek them at all.\nNor is the soil with flocks fed down, not plow\u2019d,\nNor ever in it any seed was sow\u2019d.\nNor place the neighbour Cyclops their delights\nIn brave vermilion-prow-deck\u2019d ships; nor wrights\nUseful, and skilful in such works as need\nPerfection to those traffics that exceed\nTheir natural confines, to fly out and see\nCities of men, and take in mutually\nThe prease of others; to themselves they live,\nAnd to their island that enough would give\nA good inhabitant; and time of year\nObserve to all things art could order there.\nThere, close upon the sea, sweet meadows spring;\nThat yet of fresh streams want no watering\nTo their soft burthens, but of special yield.\nYour vines would be there; and your common field\nBut gentle work make for your plow, yet bear\nA lofty harvest when you came to shear;\nFor passing fat the soil is. In it lies\nA harbour so opp\u00f3rtune, that no ties,\nHalsers, or gables need, nor anchors cast.\nWhom storms put in there are with stay embrac\u2019d,[6]\nOr to their full wills safe, or winds aspire\nTo pilots\u2019 uses their more quick desire.\nAt entry of the haven, a silver ford\nIs from a rock-impressing fountain pour\u2019d,\nAll set with sable poplars. And this port\nWere we arriv\u2019d at, by the sweet resort\nOf some God guiding us, for \u2019twas a night\nSo ghastly dark all port was past our sight,\nClouds hid our ships, and would not let the moon\nAfford a beam to us, the whole isle won\nBy not an eye of ours. None thought the blore,\nThat then was up, shov\u2019d waves\u2019 against the shore,\nThat then to an unmeasur\u2019d height put on;\nWe still at sea esteem\u2019d us, till alone\nOur fleet put in itself. And then were strook\nOur gather\u2019d sails; our rest ashore we took,\nAnd day expected. When the morn gave fire,\nWe rose, and walk\u2019d, and did the isle admire;\nThe Nymphs, Jove\u2019s daughters, putting up a herd\nOf mountain goats to us, to render cheer\u2019d\nMy fellow soldiers. To our fleet we flew,\nOur crooked bows took, long-pil\u2019d darts, and drew\nOurselves in three parts out; when, by the grace\nThat God vouchsaf\u2019d, we made a gainful chace.\nTwelve ships we had, and ev\u2019ry ship had nine\nFat goats allotted [it], ten only mine.\nThus all that day, ev\u2019n till the sun was set,\nWe sat and feasted, pleasant wine and meat\nPlenteously taking; for we had not spent\nOur ruddy wine aship-board, supplement\nOf large sort each man to his vessel drew,\nWhen we the sacred city overthrew\nThat held the Cicons. Now then saw we near\nThe Cyclops\u2019 late-prais\u2019d island, and might hear\nThe murmur of their sheep and goats, and see\nTheir smokes ascend. The sun then set, and we,\nWhen night succeeded, took our rest ashore.\nAnd when the world the morning\u2019s favour wore,\nI call\u2019d my friends to council, charging them\nTo make stay there, while I took ship and stream,\nWith some associates, and explor\u2019d what men\nThe neighbour isle held; if of rude disdain,\nChurlish and tyrannous, or minds bewray\u2019d\nPious and hospitable. Thus much said,\nI boarded, and commanded to ascend\nMy friends and soldiers, to put off, and lend\nWay to our ship. They boarded, sat, and beat\nThe old sea forth, till we might see the seat\nThe greatest Cyclop held for his abode,\nWhich was a deep cave, near the common road\nOf ships that touch\u2019d there, thick with laurels spread,\nWhere many sheep and goats lay shadow\u00e9d;\nAnd, near to this, a hall of torn-up stone,\nHigh built with pines, that heav\u2019n and earth attone,\nAnd lofty-fronted oaks; in which kept house\nA man in shape immane, and monsterous,\nFed all his flocks alone, nor would afford\nCommerce with men, but had a wit abhorr\u2019d,\nHis mind his body answ\u2019ring. Nor was he\nLike any man that food could possibly\nEnhance so hugely, but, beheld alone,\nShow\u2019d like a steep hill\u2019s top, all overgrown\nWith trees and brambles; little thought had I\nOf such vast objects. When, arriv\u2019d so nigh,\nSome of my lov\u2019d friends I made stay aboard,\nTo guard my ship; and twelve with me I shor\u2019d,\nThe choice of all. I took besides along\nA goat-skin flagon of wine, black and strong,\nThat Maro did present, Evantheus\u2019 son,\nAnd priest to Ph\u0153bus, who had mansi\u00f3n\nIn Thracian Ismarus (the town I took).\nHe gave it me, since I (with rev\u2019rence strook\nOf his grave place, his wife and children\u2019s good)\nFreed all of violence. Amidst a wood,\nSacred to Ph\u0153bus, stood his house; from whence\nHe fetch\u2019d me gifts of varied excellence;\nSev\u2019n talents of fine gold; a bowl all fram\u2019d\nOf massy silver; but his gift most fam\u2019d\nWas twelve great vessels, fill\u2019d with such rich wine\nAs was incorruptible and divine.\nHe kept it as his jewel, which none knew\nBut he himself, his wife, and he that drew.\nIt was so strong that never any fill\u2019d\nA cup, where that was but by drops instill\u2019d,\nAnd drunk it off, but \u2019twas before allay\u2019d\nWith twenty parts in water; yet so sway\u2019d\nThe spirit of that little, that the whole\nA sacred odour breath\u2019d about the bowl.\nHad you the odour smelt and scent it cast,\nIt would have vex\u2019d you to forbear the taste.\nBut then, the taste gain\u2019d too, the spirit it wrought\nTo dare things high set-up-an-end my thought.\nOf this a huge great flagon full I bore,\nAnd, in a good large knapsack, victuals store;\nAnd long\u2019d to see this heap of fortitude,\nThat so illit\u2019rate was and upland rude\nThat laws divine nor human he had learn\u2019d.\nWith speed we reach\u2019d the cavern; nor discern\u2019d\nHis presence there, his flocks he fed at field.\nEnt\u2019ring his den, each thing beheld did yield\nOur admiration; shelves with cheeses heap\u2019d;\nSheds stuff\u2019d with lambs and goats, distinctly kept,\nDistinct the biggest, the more mean distinct,\nDistinct the youngest. And in their precinct,\nProper and placeful, stood the troughs and pails,\nIn which he milk\u2019d; and what was giv\u2019n at meals,\nSet up a creaming; in the ev\u2019ning still\nAll scouring bright as dew upon the hill.\n\nThen were my fellows instant to convey\nKids, cheeses, lambs, aship-board, and away\nSail the salt billow. I thought best not so,\nBut better otherwise; and first would know,\nWhat guest-gifts he would spare me. Little knew\nMy friends on whom they would have prey\u2019d. His view\nProv\u2019d after, that his inwards were too rough\nFor such bold usage. We were bold enough\nIn what I suffer\u2019d; which was there to stay,\nMake fire and feed there, though bear none away.\nThere sat we, till we saw him feeding come,\nAnd on his neck a burthen lugging home,\nMost highly huge, of sere-wood, which the pile\nThat fed his fire supplied all supper-while.\nDown by his den he threw it, and up rose\nA tumult with the fall. Afraid, we close\nWithdrew ourselves, while he into a cave\nOf huge receipt his high-fed cattle drave,\nAll that he milk\u2019d; the males he left without\nHis lofty roofs, that all bestrow\u2019d about\nWith rams and buck-goats were. And then a rock\nHe lift aloft, that damm\u2019d up to his flock\nThe door they enter\u2019d; \u2019twas so hard to wield,\nThat two-and-twenty waggons, all four-wheel\u2019d,\n(Could they be loaded, and have teams that were\nProportion\u2019d to them) could not stir it there.\nThus making sure, he kneel\u2019d and milk\u2019d his ewes,\nAnd braying goats, with all a milker\u2019s dues;\nThen let in all their young. Then quick did dress\nHis half milk up for cheese, and in a press\nOf wicker press\u2019d it; put in bowls the rest,\nTo drink and eat, and serve his supping feast.\nAll works dispatch\u2019d thus, he began his fire;\nWhich blown, he saw us, and did thus inquire:\n\u1ffeHo! guests! What are ye? Whence sail ye these seas?\nTraffic, or rove ye, and like thieves oppress\nPoor strange adventurers, exposing so\nYour souls to danger, and your lives to woe?\u2019\nThis utter\u2019d he, when fear from our hearts took\nThe very life, to be so thunder-strook\nWith such a voice, and such a monster see;\nBut thus I answer\u2019d: \u2018Erring Grecians, we\nFrom Troy were turning homewards, but by force\nOf adverse winds, in far diverted course,\nSuch unknown ways took, and on rude seas toss\u2019d,\nAs Jove decreed, are cast upon this coast,\nOf Agamemnon, famous Atreus\u2019 son,\nWe boast ourselves the soldiers; who hath won[7]\nRenown that reacheth heav\u2019n, to overthrow\nSo great a city, and to ruin so\nSo many nations. Yet at thy knees lie\nOur prostrate bosoms, forc\u2019d with pray\u2019rs to try\nIf any hospitable right, or boon\nOf other nature, such as have been won\nBy laws of other houses, thou wilt give.\nRev\u2019rence the Gods, thou great\u2019st of all that live.\nWe suppliants are; and hospitable Jove\nPours wreak on all whom pray\u2019rs want pow\u2019r to move,\nAnd with their plagues together will provide\nThat humble guests shall have their wants supplied.\u2019\nHe cruelly answer\u2019d: \u2018O thou fool,\u2019 said he,\nTo come so far, and to importune me\nWith any God\u2019s fear, or observ\u00e9d love!\nWe Cyclops care not for your goat-fed Jove,\nNor other Bless\u2019d ones; we are better far.\nTo Jove himself dare I bid open war,\nTo thee, and all thy fellows, if I please.\nBut tell me, where\u2019s the ship, that by the seas\nHath brought thee hither? If far off, or near,\nInform me quickly.\u2019 These his temptings were;\nBut I too much knew not to know his mind,\nAnd craft with craft paid, telling him the wind\n(Thrust up from sea by Him that shakes the shore)\nHad dash\u2019d our ships against his rocks, and tore\nHer ribs in pieces close upon his coast,\nAnd we from high wrack sav\u2019d, the rest were lost.\nHe answer\u2019d nothing, but rush\u2019d in, and took\nTwo of my fellows up from earth, and strook\nTheir brains against it. Like two whelps they flew\nAbout his shoulders, and did all embrue\nThe blushing earth. No mountain lion tore\nTwo lambs so sternly, lapp\u2019d up all their gore\nGush\u2019d from their torn-up bodies, limb by limb\n(Trembling with life yet) ravish\u2019d into him.\nBoth flesh and marrow-stuff\u00e9d bones he eat,\nAnd ev\u2019n th\u2019 uncleans\u00e9d entrails made his meat.\nWe, weeping, cast our hands to heav\u2019n, to view\nA sight so horrid. Desperation flew,\nWith all our after lives, to instant death,\nIn our believ\u2019d destruction. But when breath\nThe fury of his appetite had got,\nBecause the gulf his belly reach\u2019d his throat,\nMan\u2019s flesh, and goat\u2019s milk, laying lay\u2019r on lay\u2019r,\nTill near chok\u2019d up was all the pass for air,\nAlong his den, among\u2019st his cattle, down\nHe rush\u2019d, and streak\u2019d him. When my mind was grown\nDesp\u2019rate to step in, draw my sword, and part\nHis bosom where the strings about the heart\nCircle the liver, and add strength of hand.\nBut that rash thought, more stay\u2019d, did countermand,\nFor there we all had perish\u2019d, since it past\nOur pow\u2019rs to lift aside a log so vast,\nAs barr\u2019d all outscape; and so sigh\u2019d away\nThe thought all night, expecting active day.\nWhich come, he first of all his fire enflames,\nThen milks his goats and ewes, then to their dams\nLets in their young, and, wondrous orderly,\nWith manly haste dispatch\u2019d his housewif\u2019ry.\nThen to his breakfast, to which other two\nOf my poor friends went; which eat, out then go\nHis herds and fat flocks, lightly putting by\nThe churlish bar, and clos\u2019d it instantly;\nFor both those works with ease as much he did,\nAs you would ope and shut your quiver lid.\nWith storms of whistlings then his flock he drave\nUp to the mountains; and occasion gave\nFor me to use my wits, which to their height\nI striv\u2019d to screw up, that a vengeance might\nBy some means fall from thence, and Pallas now\nAfford a full ear to my neediest vow.\nThis then my thoughts preferr\u2019d: A huge club lay\nClose by his milk-house, which was now in way\nTo dry and season, being an olive-tree\nWhich late he fell\u2019d, and, being green, must be\nMade lighter for his manage. \u2019Twas so vast,\nThat we resembled it to some fit mast,\nTo serve a ship of burthen that was driv\u2019n\nWith twenty oars, and had a bigness giv\u2019n\nTo bear a huge sea. Full so thick, so tall,\nWe judg\u2019d this club; which I, in part, hew\u2019d small,\nAnd cut a fathom off. The piece I gave\nAmongst my soldiers, to take down, and shave;\nWhich done, I sharpen\u2019d it at top, and then,\nHarden\u2019d in fire, I hid it in the den\nWithin a nasty dunghill reeking there,\nThick, and so moist it issued ev\u2019rywhere.\nThen made I lots cast by my friends to try\nWhose fortune serv\u2019d to dare the bor\u2019d-out eye\nOf that man-eater; and the lot did fall\nOn four I wish\u2019d to make my aid of all,\nAnd I the fifth made, chosen like the rest.\nThen came the even, and he came from the feast\nOf his fat cattle, drave in all; nor kept\nOne male abroad; if, or his memory slept\nBy Gods\u2019 direct will, or of purpose was\nHis driving in of all then, doth surpass\nMy comprehension. But he clos\u2019d again\nThe mighty bar, milk\u2019d, and did still maintain\nAll other observation as before.\nHis work all done, two of my soldiers more\nAt once he snatch\u2019d up, and to supper went.\nThen dar\u2019d I words to him, and did present\nA bowl of wine, with these words: \u2018Cyclop! take\nA bowl of wine, from my hand, that may make\nWay for the man\u2019s flesh thou hast eat, and show\nWhat drink our ship held; which in sacred vow\nI offer to thee to take ruth on me\nIn my dismission home. Thy rages be\nNow no more sufferable. How shall men,\nMad and inhuman that thou art, again\nGreet thy abode, and get thy actions grace,\nIf thus thou ragest, and eat\u2019st up their race.\u2019\nHe took, and drunk, and vehemently joy\u2019d\nTo taste the sweet cup; and again employ\u2019d\nMy flagon\u2019s pow\u2019rs, entreating more, and said:\n\u1ffeGood guest, again afford my taste thy aid,\nAnd let me know thy name, and quickly now,\nThat in thy recompense I may bestow\nA hospitable gift on thy desert,\nAnd such a one as shall rejoice thy heart.\nFor to the Cyclops too the gentle earth\nBears gen\u2019rous wine, and Jove augments her birth,\nIn store of such, with show\u2019rs; but this rich wine\nFell from the river, that is mere divine,\nOf nectar and ambrosia.\u2019 This again\nI gave him, and again; nor could the fool abstain,\nBut drunk as often. When the noble juice\nHad wrought upon his spirit, I then gave use\nTo fairer language, saying: \u2018Cyclop! now,\nAs thou demand\u2019st, I\u2019ll tell my name, do thou\nMake good thy hospitable gift to me.\nMy name is No-Man; No-Man each degree\nOf friends, as well as parents, call my name.\u2019\nHe answer\u2019d, as his cruel soul became:\n\u2018No-Man! I\u2019ll eat thee last of all thy friends;\nAnd this is that in which so much amends\nI vow\u2019d to thy deservings, thus shall be\nMy hospitable gift made good to thee.\u2019\nThis said, he upwards fell, but then bent round\nHis fleshy neck; and Sleep, with all crowns crown\u2019d,\nSubdued the savage. From his throat brake out\nMy wine, with man\u2019s-flesh gobbets, like a spout,\nWhen, loaded with his cups, he lay and snor\u2019d;\nAnd then took I the club\u2019s end up, and gor\u2019d\nThe burning coal-heap, that the point might heat;\nConfirm\u2019d my fellow\u2019s minds, lest Fear should let\nTheir vow\u2019d assay, and make them fly my aid.\nStraight was the olive-lever, I had laid\nAmidst the huge fire to get hard\u2019ning, hot,\nAnd glow\u2019d extremely, though \u2019twas green; which got\nFrom forth the cinders, close about me stood\nMy hardy friends; but that which did the good\nWas God\u2019s good inspirati\u00f3n, that gave\nA spirit beyond the spirit they us\u2019d to have;\nWho took the olive spar, made keen before,\nAnd plung\u2019d it in his eye, and up I bore,\nBent to the top close, and help\u2019d pour it in,\nWith all my forces. And as you have seen\nA ship-wright bore a naval beam, he oft\nThrusts at the auger\u2019s froofe, works still aloft,\nAnd at the shank help others, with a cord\nWound round about to make it sooner bor\u2019d,\nAll plying the round still; so into his eye\nThe fiery stake we labour\u2019d to imply.\nOut gush\u2019d the blood that scalded, his eye-ball\nThrust out a flaming vapour, that scorch\u2019d all\nHis brows and eye-lids, his eye-strings did crack,\nAs in the sharp and burning rafter brake.\nAnd as a smith, to harden any tool,\nBroad axe, or mattock, in his trough doth cool\nThe red-hot substance, that so fervent is\nIt makes the cold wave straight to seethe and hiss;\nSo sod and hiss\u2019d his eye about the stake.\nHe roar\u2019d withal, and all his cavern brake\nIn claps like thunder. We did frighted fly,\nDispers\u2019d in corners. He from forth his eye\nThe fixed stake pluck\u2019d; after which the blood\nFlow\u2019d freshly forth; and, mad, he hurl\u2019d the wood\nAbout his hovel. Out he then did cry\nFor other Cyclops, that in caverns by\nUpon a windy promontory dwell\u2019d;\nWho, hearing how impetuously he yell\u2019d,\nRush\u2019d ev\u2019ry way about him, and inquir\u2019d,\nWhat ill afflicted him, that he exspir\u2019d\nSuch horrid clamours, and in sacred Night\nTo break their sleeps so? Ask\u2019d him, if his fright\nCame from some mortal that his flocks had driv\u2019n?\nOr if by craft, or might, his death were giv\u2019n?\nHe answer\u2019d from his den: \u2018By craft, nor might,\nNo-Man hath giv\u2019n me death.\u2019 They then said right,\n\u2018If no man hurt thee, and thyself alone,\nThat which is done to thee by Jove is done;\nAnd what great Jove inflicts no man can fly.\nPray to thy Father yet, a Deity,\nAnd prove, from him if thou canst help acquire.\u2019\nThus spake they, leaving him; when all-on-fire\nMy heart with joy was, that so well my wit\nAnd name deceiv\u2019d him; whom now pain did split,\nAnd groaning up and down he groping tried\nTo find the stone, which found, he put aside;\nBut in the door sat, feeling if he could\n(As his sheep issued) on some man lay hold;\nEsteeming me a fool, that could devise\nNo stratagem to \u2018scape his gross surprise.\nBut I, contending what I could invent\nMy friends and me from death so eminent\nTo get deliver\u2019d, all my wiles I wove\n(Life being the subject) and did this approve:\nFat fleecy rams, most fair, and great, lay there,\nThat did a burden like a violet bear.[8]\nThese, while this learn\u2019d-in-villainy did sleep,\nI yok\u2019d with osiers cut there, sheep to sheep,\nThree in a rank, and still the mid sheep bore\nA man about his belly, the two more\nMarch\u2019d on his each side for defence. I then,\nChoosing myself the fairest of the den,\nHis fleecy belly under-crept, embrac\u2019d\nHis back, and in his rich wool wrapt me fast\nWith both my hands, arm\u2019d with as fast a mind.\nAnd thus each man hung, till the morning shin\u2019d;\nWhich come, he knew the hour, and let abroad\nHis male-flocks first, the females unmilk\u2019d stood\nBleating and braying, their full bags so sore\nWith being unemptied, but their shepherd more\nWith being unsighted; which was cause his mind\nWent not a milking. He, to wreak inclin\u2019d,\nThe backs felt, as they pass\u2019d, of those male dams,\nGross fool! believing, we would ride his rams!\nNor ever knew that any of them bore\nUpon his belly any man before.\nThe last ram came to pass him, with his wool\nAnd me together loaded to the full,\nFor there did I hang; and that ram he stay\u2019d,\nAnd me withal had in his hands, my head\nTroubled the while, not causelessly, nor least.\nThis ram he grop\u2019d, and talk\u2019d to: \u2018Lazy beast!\nWhy last art thou now? Thou hast never us\u2019d\nTo lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruis\u2019d\nThe tender blossom of a flow\u2019r, and held\nState in thy steps, both to the flood and field,\nFirst still at fold at even, now last remain?\nDost thou not wish I had mine eye again,\nWhich that abhorr\u2019d man No-Man did put out,\nAssisted by his execrable rout,\nWhen he had wrought me down with wine? But he\nMust not escape my wreak so cunningly.\nI would to heav\u2019n thou knew\u2019st, and could but speak,\nTo tell me where he lurks now! I would break\nHis brain about my cave, strew\u2019d here and there,\nTo ease my heart of those foul ills, that were\nTh\u2019 inflictions of a man I priz\u2019d at nought.\u2019\nThus let he him abroad; when I, once brought\nA little from his hold, myself first los\u2019d,\nAnd next my friends. Then drave we, and dispos\u2019d,\nHis straight-legg\u2019d fat fleece-bearers over land,\nEv\u2019n till they all were in my ship\u2019s command;\nAnd to our lov\u2019d friends show\u2019d our pray\u2019d-for sight,\nEscap\u2019d from death. But, for our loss, outright\nThey brake in tears; which with a look I stay\u2019d,\nAnd bade them take our boot in. They obey\u2019d,\nAnd up we all went, sat, and us\u2019d our oars.\nBut having left as far the savage shores\nAs one might hear a voice, we then might see\nThe Cyclop at the haven; when instantly\nI stay\u2019d our oars, and this insultance us\u2019d:\n\u1ffeCyclop! thou shouldst not have so much abus\u2019d\nThy monstrous forces, to oppose their least\nAgainst a man immartial, and a guest,\nAnd eat his fellows. Thou mightst know there were\nSome ills behind, rude swain, for thee to bear,\nThat fear\u2019d not to devour thy guests, and break\nAll laws of humans. Jove sends therefore wreak,\nAnd all the Gods, by me.\u2019 This blew the more\nHis burning fury; when the top he tore\nFrom off a huge rock, and so right a throw\nMade at our ship, that just before the prow\nIt overflew and fell, miss\u2019d mast and all\nExceeding little; but about the fall\nSo fierce a wave it rais\u2019d, that back it bore\nOur ship so far, it almost touch\u2019d the shore.\nA bead-hook then, a far-extended one,\nI snatch\u2019d up, thrust hard, and so set us gone\nSome little way; and straight commanded all\nTo help me with their oars, on pain to fall\nAgain on our confusion. But a sign\nI with my head made, and their oars were mine\nIn all performance. When we off were set,\n(Then first, twice further) my heart was so great,\nIt would again provoke him, but my men\nOn all sides rush\u2019d about me, to contain,\nAnd said: \u2018Unhappy! why will you provoke\nA man so rude, that with so dead a stroke,\nGiv\u2019n with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back\nOur ship so far, and near hand forc\u2019d our wrack?\nShould he again but hear your voice resound,\nAnd any word reach, thereby would be found\nHis dart\u2019s direction, which would, in his fall,\nCrush piece-meal us, quite split our ship and all;\nSo much dart wields the monster.\u2019 Thus urg\u2019d they\nImpossible things, in fear; but I gave way\nTo that wrath which so long I held deprest,\nBy great necessity conquer\u2019d, in my breast:\n\u2018Cyclop! if any ask thee, who impos\u2019d[9]\nTh\u2019 unsightly blemish that thine eye enclos\u2019d,\nSay that Ulysses, old Laertes\u2019 son,\nWhose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won\nSurname of City-razer, bor\u2019d it out.\u2019\nAt this, he bray\u2019d so loud, that round about\nHe drave affrighted echoes through the air,\nAnd said: \u2018O beast! I was premonish\u2019d fair,\nBy aged prophecy, in one that was\nA great and good man, this should come to pass;\nAnd how \u2019tis prov\u2019d now! Augur Telemus,\nSurnam\u2019d Eurymides (that spent with us\nHis age in augury, and did exceed\nIn all presage of truth) said all this deed\nShould this event take, author\u2019d by the hand\nOf one Ulysses, who I thought was mann\u2019d\nWith great and goodly personage, and bore\nA virtue answerable; and this shore\nShould shake with weight of such a conqueror;\nWhen now a weakling came, a dwarfy thing,\nA thing of nothing; who yet wit did bring,\nThat brought supply to all, and with his wine\nPut out the flame where all my light did shine.\nCome, land again, Ulysses! that my hand\nMay guest-rites give thee, and the great command,\nThat Neptune hath at sea, I may convert\nTo the deduction where abides thy heart,\nWith my solicitings, whose son I am,\nAnd whose fame boasts to bear my father\u2019s name.\nNor think my hurt offends me, for my sire\nCan soon repose in it the visual fire,\nAt his free pleasure; which no pow\u2019r beside\nCan boast, of men, or of the Deified.\u2019\nI answer\u2019d: \u2018Would to God! I could compell\nBoth life and soul from thee, and send to hell\nThose spoils of nature! Hardly Neptune then\nCould cure thy hurt, and give thee all again.\u2019\nThen flew fierce vows to Neptune, both his hands\nTo star-born heav\u2019n cast: \u2018O thou that all lands\nGird\u2019st in thy ambient circle, and in air\nShak\u2019st the curl\u2019d tresses of thy sapphire hair,\nIf I be thine, or thou mayst justly vaunt\nThou art my father, hear me now, and grant\nThat this Ulysses, old Laertes\u2019 son,\nThat dwells in Ithaca, and name hath won\nOf City-ruiner, may never reach\nHis natural region. Or if to fetch\nThat, and the sight of his fair roofs and friends,\nBe fatal to him, let him that amends\nFor all his miseries, long time and ill,\nSmart for, and fail of; nor that fate fulfill,\nTill all his soldiers quite are cast away\nIn others\u2019 ships. And when, at last, the day\nOf his sole-landing shall his dwelling show,\nLet Detriment prepare him wrongs enow.\u2019\nThus pray\u2019d he Neptune; who, his sire, appear\u2019d,\nAnd all his pray\u2019r to ev\u2019ry syllable heard.\nBut then a rock, in size more amplified\nThan first, he ravish\u2019d to him, and implied\nA dismal strength in it, when, wheel\u2019d about,\nHe sent it after us; nor flew it out\nFrom any blind aim, for a little pass\nBeyond our fore-deck from the fall there was,\nWith which the sea our ship gave back upon,\nAnd shrunk up into billows from the stone,\nOur ship again repelling near as near\nThe shore as first. But then our rowers were,\nBeing warn\u2019d, more arm\u2019d, and stronglier stemm\u2019d the flood\nThat bore back on us, till our ship made good\nThe other island, where our whole fleet lay,\nIn which our friends lay mourning for our stay,\nAnd ev\u2019ry minute look\u2019d when we should land.\nWhere, now arriv\u2019d, we drew up to the sand,\nThe Cyclops\u2019 sheep dividing, that none there\nOf all our privates might be wrung, and bear\nToo much on pow\u2019r. The ram yet was alone\nBy all my friends made all my portion\nAbove all others; and I made him then\nA sacrifice for me and all my men[10]\nTo cloud-compelling Jove that all commands,\nTo whom I burn\u2019d the thighs; but my sad hands\nReceiv\u2019d no grace from him, who studied how\nTo offer men and fleet to overthrow.\n\nAll day, till sun-set, yet, we sat and eat,\nAnd lib\u2019ral store took in of wine and meat.\nThe sun then down, and place resign\u2019d to shade,\nWe slept. Morn came, my men I rais\u2019d, and made\nAll go aboard, weigh anchor, and away.\nThey boarded, sat, and beat the aged sea;\nAnd forth we made sail, sad for loss before,\nAny yet had comfort since we lost no more.\u201d\n\n FINIS LIBRI NONI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] _\u0395\u1f30\u03bd\u03bf\u03c3\u03af\u03d5\u03c5\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd, quatientem seu agitantem frondes._\n\n [2] _Qu\u00e6dam quibus corpus alitur et vita sustentatur \u1f55\u03bb\u03b7 appellantur._\n\n [3] _Amor patri\u0153._\n\n [4] After night, in the first of the morning.\n\n [5] The ancient custom of calling home the dead.\n\n [6] The description of all these countries have admirable allegories\n besides their artly and pleasing relation.\n\n [7] This his relation of Agamemnon, and his glory and theirs for\n Troy\u2019s sack, with the piety of suppliants\u2019 receipt, to him that was so\n barbarous and impious, must be intended spoken by Ulysses, with\n supposition that his hearers would note, still as he spake, how vain\n they would show to the Cyclops; who respected little Agamemnon, or\n their valiant exploit against Troy, or the Gods themselves. For\n otherwise, the serious observation of the words (though good and\n grave, if spoken to another) want their intentional sharpness and\n life.\n\n [8] Wool of a violet colour.\n\n [9] Ulysses\u2019 continued insolence, no more to repeat what he said to\n the Cyclop, than to let his hearers know epithets, and estimation in\n the world.\n\n [10] No occasion let pass to Ulysses\u2019 piety in our Poet\u2019s singular wit\n and wisdom.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nUlysses now relates to us\nThe grace he had with \u00c6olus,\nGreat Guardian of the hollow Winds;\nWhich in a leather bag he binds,\nAnd gives Ulysses; all but one,\nWhich Zephyr was, who fill\u2019d alone\nUlysses\u2019 sails. The bag once seen,\nWhile he slept, by Ulysses\u2019 men,\nThey thinking it did gold enclose,\nTo find it, all the winds did loose,\nWho back flew to their Guard again.\nForth sail\u2019d he; and did next attain\nTo where the L\u00e6strygonians dwell.\nWhere he eleven ships lost, and fell\nOn the \u00c6\u00e6an coast, whose shore\nHe sends Eurylochus t\u2019 explore,\nDividing with him half his men.\nWho go, and turn no more again,\nAll, save Eurylochus, to swine\nBy Circe turn\u2019d. Their stays incline\nUlysses to their search; who got\nOf Mercury an antidote,\nWhich moly was, \u2019gainst Circe\u2019s charms,\nAnd so avoids his soldiers\u2019 harms.\nA year with Circe all remain,\nAnd then their native forms regain.\nOn utter shores a time they dwell,\nWhile Ithacus descends to hell.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u039a\u03ac\u03c0\u03c0\u03b1._\nGreat \u00c6olus,\nAnd Circe, friends\nFinds Ithacus;\nAnd hell descends.\n\n\u201cTo the \u00c6olian island we attain\u2019d,\nThat swum about still on the sea, where reign\u2019d\nThe God-lov\u2019d \u00c6olus Hippotades.\nA wall of steel it had; and in the seas\nA wave-beat-smooth rock mov\u2019d about the wall.\nTwelve children in his house imperial\nWere born to him; of which six daughters were,\nAnd six were sons, that youth\u2019s sweet flow\u2019r did bear.\nHis daughters to his sons he gave as wives;\nWho spent in feastful comforts all their lives,\nClose seated by their sire and his grave spouse.\nPast number were the dishes that the house\nMade ever savour; and still full the hall\nAs long as day shin\u2019d; in the night-time, all\nSlept with their chaste wives, each his fair carv\u2019d bed\nMost richly furnish\u2019d; and this life they led.\nWe reach\u2019d the city and fair roofs of these,\nWhere, a whole month\u2019s time, all things that might please\nThe king vouchsaf\u2019d us; of great Troy inquir\u2019d,\nThe Grecian fleet, and how the Greeks retir\u2019d.\nTo all which I gave answer as behov\u2019d.\nThe fit time come when I dismission mov\u2019d,\nHe nothing would deny me, but addrest\nMy pass with such a bounty, as might best\nTeach me contentment; for he did enfold\nWithin an ox-hide, flay\u2019d at nine years old,\nAll th\u2019 airy blasts that were of stormy kinds.\nSaturnius made him Steward of his Winds,\nAnd gave him pow\u2019r to raise and to assuage.\nAnd these he gave me, curb\u2019d thus of their rage,\nWhich in a glitt\u2019ring silver band I bound,\nAnd hung-up in my ship, enclos\u2019d so round\nThat no egression any breath could find;\nOnly he left abroad the Western Wind,\nTo speed our ships, and us with blasts secure.\nBut our securities made all unsure;\nNor could he consummate our course alone,\nWhen all the rest had got egressi\u00f3n;\nWhich thus succeeded: Nine whole days and nights\nWe sail\u2019d in safety; and the tenth, the lights\nBorne on our country-earth we might descry,\nSo near we drew; and yet ev\u2019n then fell I,\nBeing overwatch\u2019d, into a fatal sleep,\nFor I would suffer no man else to keep\nThe foot that rul\u2019d my vessel\u2019s course, to lead[1]\nThe faster home. My friends then Envy fed\nAbout the bag I hung-up, and suppos\u2019d\nThat gold and silver I had there enclos\u2019d,\nAs gift from \u00c6olus, and said: \u2018O heav\u2019n!\nWhat grace and grave price is by all men giv\u2019n\nTo our commander! Whatsoever coast\nOr town he comes to, how much he engrost\nOf fair and precious prey, and brought from Troy!\nWe the same voyage went, and yet enjoy\nIn our return these empty hands for all.\nThis bag, now, \u00c6olus was so liberal\nTo make a guest-gift to him; let us try\nOf what consists the fair-bound treasury,\nAnd how much gold and silver it contains.\u2019\n_Ill counsel present approbation gains._\nThey op\u2019d the bag, and out the vapours brake,\nWhen instant tempest did our vessel take,\nThat bore us back to sea, to mourn anew\nOur absent country. Up amaz\u2019d I flew,\nAnd desp\u2019rate things discours\u2019d; if I should cast\nMyself to ruin in the seas, or taste\nAmongst the living more moan, and sustain?\nSilent, I did so, and lay hid again\nBeneath the hatches, while an ill wind took\nMy ships back to \u00c6olia, my men strook\nWith woe enough. We pump\u2019d and landed then,\nTook food, for all this; and of all my men\nI took a herald to me, and away\nWent to the court of \u00c6olus, where they\nWere feasting still; he, wife, and children, set\nTogether close. We would not at their meat\nThrust in; but humbly on the threshold sat.\nHe then, amaz\u2019d, my presence wonder\u2019d at,\nAnd call\u2019d to me: \u2018Ulysses! How thus back\nArt thou arriv\u2019d here? What foul spirit brake\nInto thy bosom, to retire thee thus?\nWe thought we had deduction curious\nGiv\u2019n thee before, to reach thy shore and home;\nDid it not like thee?\u2019 I, ev\u2019n overcome\nWith worthy sorrow, answer\u2019d: \u2018My ill men\nHave done me mischief, and to them hath been\nMy sleep th\u2019 unhappy motive; but do you,\nDearest of friends, deign succour to my vow.\nYour pow\u2019rs command it.\u2019 Thus endeavour\u2019d I\nWith soft speech to repair my misery.\nThe rest with ruth sat dumb. But thus spake he:\n\u2018Avaunt, and quickly quit my land of thee,\nThou worst of all that breathe. It fits not me\nTo convoy, and take-in, whom Heav\u2019ns expose.\nAway, and with thee go the worst of woes,\nThat seek\u2019st my friendship, and the Gods thy foes.\u2019\nThus he dismiss\u2019d me sighing. Forth we sail\u2019d,\nAt heart afflicted. And now wholly fail\u2019d\nThe minds my men sustain\u2019d, so spent they were\nWith toiling at their oars, and worse did bear\nTheir growing labours; and they caus\u2019d their grought\nBy self-will\u2019d follies; nor now ever thought\nTo see their country more. Six nights and days\nWe sail\u2019d; the seventh we saw fair Lamos raise\nHer lofty tow\u2019rs, the L\u00e6strygonian state\nThat bears her ports so far disterminate;\nWhere shepherd shepherd calls out, he at home[2]\nIs call\u2019d out by the other that doth come\nFrom charge abroad, and then goes he to sleep,\nThe other issuing; he whose turn doth keep\nThe night observance hath his double hire,\nSince day and night in equal length expire\nAbout that region, and the night\u2019s watch weigh\u2019d\nAt twice the day\u2019s ward, since the charge that\u2019s laid\nUpon the night\u2019s-man (besides breach of sleep)\nExceeds the days-man\u2019s; for one oxen keep,\nThe other sheep. But when the haven we found,\n(Exceeding famous, and environ\u2019d round\nWith one continuate rock, which so much bent\nThat both ends almost met, so prominent\nThey were, and made the haven\u2019s mouth passing strait)\nOur whole fleet in we got; in whose receit\nOur ships lay anchor\u2019d close. Nor needed we\nFear harm on any stays, Tranquillity[3]\nSo purely sat there, that waves great nor small\nDid ever rise to any height at all.\nAnd yet would I no entry make, but stay\u2019d\nAlone without the haven, and thence survey\u2019d,\nFrom out a lofty watch-tow\u2019r raised there,\nThe country round about; nor anywhere\nThe work of man or beast appear\u2019d to me,\nOnly a smoke from earth break I might see.\nI then made choice of two, and added more,\nA herald for associate, to explore\nWhat sort of men liv\u2019d there. They went, and saw\nA beaten way, through which carts us\u2019d to draw\nWood from the high hills to the town, and met\nA maid without the port, about to get\nSome near spring-water. She the daughter was\nOf mighty L\u00e6strygonian Antiphas,\nAnd to the clear spring call\u2019d Artacia went,\nTo which the whole town for their water sent.\nTo her they came, and ask\u2019d who govern\u2019d there,\nAnd what the people whom he order\u2019d were?\nShe answer\u2019d not, but led them through the port,\nAs making haste to show her father\u2019s court.\nWhere enter\u2019d, they beheld, to their affright,\nA woman like a mountain-top in height,\nWho rush\u2019d abroad, and from the council-place\nCall\u2019d home her horrid husband Antiphas,[4]\nWho, deadly-minded, straight he snatch\u2019d up one,\nAnd fell to supper. Both the rest were gone;\nAnd to the fleet came. Antiphas a cry\nDrave through the city; which heard, instantly\nThis way and that innumerable sorts,\nNot men, but giants, issued through the ports,\nAnd mighty flints from rocks tore, which they threw\nAmongst our ships; through which an ill noise flew\nOf shiver\u2019d ships, and life-expiring men,\nThat were, like fishes, by the monsters slain,\nAnd borne to sad feast. While they slaughter\u2019d these,\nThat were engag\u2019d in all th\u2019 advantages\nThe close-mouth\u2019d and most dead-calm haven could give,\nI, that without lay, made some means to live,\nMy sword drew, cut my gables, and to oars\nSet all my men; and, from the plagues those shores\nLet fly amongst us, we made haste to fly,\nMy men close working as men loth to die.\nMy ship flew freely off; but theirs that lay\nOn heaps in harbours could enforce no way\nThrough these stern fates that had engag\u2019d them there.\nForth our sad remnant sail\u2019d, yet still retain\u2019d\nThe joys of men, that our poor few remain\u2019d.\nThen to the isle \u00c6\u00e6a we attain\u2019d,\nWhere fair-hair\u2019d, dreadful, eloquent Circe reign\u2019d,\n\u00c6\u00e6ta\u2019s sister both by dame and sire,\nBoth daughters to Heav\u2019n\u2019s man-enlight\u2019ning Fire,\nAnd Perse, whom Oceanus begat,\nThe ship-fit port here soon we landed at,\nSome God directing us. Two days, two nights,\nWe lay here pining in the fatal spights\nOf toil and sorrow; but the next third day\nWhen fair Aurora had inform\u2019d, quick way\nI made out of my ship, my sword and lance\nTook for my surer guide, and made advance\nUp to a prospect; I assay to see\nThe works of men, or hear mortality\nExspire a voice. When I had climb\u2019d a height,\nRough and right hardly accessible, I might\nBehold from Circe\u2019s house, that in a grove\nSet thick with trees stood, a bright vapour move,\nI then grew curious in my thought to try[5]\nSome fit inquiry, when so spritely fly\nI saw the yellow smoke; but my discourse[6]\nA first retiring to my ship gave force,\nTo give my men their dinner, and to send\n(Before th\u2019 adventure of myself) some friend.\nBeing near my ship, of one so desolate\nSome God had pity, and would recreate\nMy woes a little, putting up to me\nA great and high-palm\u2019d hart, that (fatally,\nJust in my way itself to taste a flood)\nWas then descending; the sun heat had sure\nImportun\u2019d him, besides the temperature\nHis natural heat gave. Howsoever, I\nMade up to him, and let my jav\u2019lin fly,\nThat struck him through the mid-part of his chine,\nAnd made him, braying, to the dust confine\nHis flying forces. Forth his spirit flew;\nWhen I stept in, and from the death\u2019s wound drew\nMy shrewdly-bitten lance; there let him lie\nTill I, of cut-up osiers, did imply\nA withe a fathom long, with which his feet\nI made together in a sure league meet,\nStoop\u2019d under him, and to my neck I heav\u2019d\nThe mighty burden, of which I receiv\u2019d\nA good part on my lance, for else I could\nBy no means with one hand alone uphold\n(Join\u2019d with one shoulder) such a deathful load.\nAnd so, to both my shoulders, both hands stood\nNeedful assistants; for it was a deer\nGoodly-well-grown. When (coming something near\nWhere rode my ships) I cast it down, and rear\u2019d\nMy friends with kind words; whom by name I cheer\u2019d,\nIn note particular, and said: \u2018See, friends,\nWe will not yet to Pluto\u2019s house; our ends\nShall not be hasten\u2019d, though we be declin\u2019d\nIn cause of comfort, till the day design\u2019d\nBy Fate\u2019s fix\u2019d finger. Come, as long as food\nOr wine lasts in our ship, let\u2019s spirit our blood,\nAnd quit our care and hunger both in one.\u2019\nThis said, they frolick\u2019d, came, and look\u2019d upon\nWith admiration the huge-bodied beast;\nAnd when their first-serv\u2019d eyes had done their feast,\nThey wash\u2019d, and made a to-be-striv\u2019d-for meal[7]\nIn point of honour. On which all did dwell\nThe whole day long. And, to our venison\u2019s store,\nWe added wine till we could wish no more.\nSun set, and darkness up, we slept, till light\nPut darkness down; and then did I excite\nMy friends to counsel, utt\u2019ring this: \u2018Now, friends,[8]\nAfford unpassionate ear; though ill Fate lends\nSo good cause to your passion, no man knows\nThe reason whence and how the darkness grows;\nThe reason how the morn is thus begun;\nThe reason how the man-enlight\u2019ning sun\nDives under earth; the reason how again\nHe rears his golden head. Those counsels, then,\nThat pass our comprehension, we must leave\nTo him that knows their causes; and receive\nDirection from him in our acts, as far\nAs he shall please to make them regular,\nAnd stoop them to our reason. In our state\nWhat then behoves us? Can we estimate,\nWith all our counsels, where we are? Or know\n(Without instruction, past our own skills) how,\nPut off from hence, to steer our course the more?\nI think we cannot. We must then explore\nThese parts for information; in which way\nWe thus far are: Last morn I might display\n(From off a high-rais\u2019d cliff) an island lie\nGirt with th\u2019 unmeasur\u2019d sea, and is so nigh\nThat in the midst I saw the smoke arise\nThrough tufts of trees. This rests then to advise,\nWho shall explore this?\u2019 This struck dead their hearts,\nRememb\u2019ring the most execrable parts\nThat L\u00e6strygonian Antiphas had play\u2019d,\nAnd that foul Cyclop that their fellows bray\u2019d\nBetwixt his jaws; which mov\u2019d them so, they cried.\nBut idle tears had never wants supplied.\nI in two parts divided all, and gave\nTo either part his captain. I must have\nThe charge of one; and one of God-like look,\nEurylochus, the other. Lots we shook,\nPut in a casque together, which of us\nShould lead th\u2019 attempt; and \u2019twas Eurylochus.\nHe freely went, with two-and-twenty more;\nAll which took leave with tears; and our eyes wore\nThe same wet badge of weak humanity.\nThese in a dale did Circe\u2019s house descry,\nOf bright stone built, in a conspicuous way.\nBefore her gates hill-wolves, and lions, lay;\nWhich with her virtuous drugs so tame she made,\nThat wolf nor lion would one man invade\nWith any violence, but all arose,\nTheir huge long tails wagg\u2019d, and in fawns would close,\nAs loving dogs, when masters bring them home\nRelics of feast, in all observance come,\nAnd soothe their entries with their fawns and bounds,\nAll guests still bringing some scraps for their hounds;\nSo, on these men, the wolves and lions ramp\u2019d,\nTheir horrid paws set up. Their spirits were damp\u2019d\nTo see such monstrous kindness, stay\u2019d at gate,\nAnd heard within the Goddess elevate\nA voice divine, as at her web she wrought,\nSubtle, and glorious, and past earthly thought,\nAs all the housewif\u2019ries of Deities are.\nTo hear a voice so ravishingly rare,\nPolit\u00e9s (one exceeding dear to me,\nA prince of men, and of no mean degree\nIn knowing virtue, in all acts whose mind[9]\nDiscreet cares all ways us\u2019d to turn, and wind)\nWas yet surpris\u2019d with it, and said: \u2018O friends,\nSome one abides within here, that commends\nThe place to us, and breathes a voice divine,\nAs she some web wrought, or her spindle\u2019s twine\nShe cherish\u2019d with her song; the pavement rings\nWith imitation of the tunes she sings.\nSome woman, or some Goddess, \u2019tis. Assay\nTo see with knocking.\u2019 Thus said he, and they\nBoth knock\u2019d, and call\u2019d; and straight her shining gates\nShe open\u2019d, issuing, bade them in to cates.\nLed, and unwise, they follow\u2019d; all but one,\nWhich was Eurylochus, who stood alone\nWithout the gates, suspicious of a sleight.\nThey enter\u2019d, she made sit; and her deceit\nShe cloak\u2019d with thrones, and goodly chairs of state;\nSet herby honey, and the delicate\nWine brought from Smynra, to them; meal and cheese;\nBut harmful venoms she commix\u2019d with these,\nThat made their country vanish from their thought.\nWhich eat, she touch\u2019d them with a rod that wrought\nTheir transformation far past human wonts;\nSwine\u2019s snouts, swine\u2019s bodies, took they, bristles, grunts,\nBut still retain\u2019d the souls they had before,\nWhich made them mourn their bodies\u2019 change the more.\nShe shut them straight in styes, and gave them meat,\nOak-mast, and beech, and cornel-fruit, they eat,\nGrov\u2019lling like swine on earth, in foulest sort.\nEurylochus straight hasted the report\nOf this his fellows\u2019 most remorseful fate,\nCame to the ships, but so excruciate\nWas with his woe, he could not speak a word,\nHis eyes stood full of tears, which show\u2019d how stor\u2019d\nHis mind with moan remain\u2019d. We all admir\u2019d,\nAsk\u2019d what had chanc\u2019d him, earnestly desir\u2019d\nHe would resolve us. At the last, our eyes\nEnflam\u2019d in him his fellows\u2019 memories,[10]\nAnd out his grief burst thus: \u2018You will\u2019d; we went\nThrough those thick woods you saw; when a descent\nShow\u2019d us a fair house, in a lightsome ground,\nWhere, at some work, we heard a heav\u2019nly sound\nBreath\u2019d from a Goddess\u2019, or a woman\u2019s, breast.\nThey knock\u2019d, she op\u2019d her bright gates; each her guest\nHer fair invitement made; nor would they stay,\nFools that they were, when she once led the way.\nI enter\u2019d not, suspecting some deceit.\nWhen all together vanish\u2019d, nor the sight\nOf anyone (though long I look\u2019d) mine eye\nCould any way discover.\u2019 Instantly,\nMy sword and bow reach\u2019d, I bad show the place,\nWhen down he fell, did both my knees embrace,\nAnd pray\u2019d with tears thus: \u2018O thou kept of God,\nDo not thyself lose, nor to that abode\nLead others rashly; both thyself, and all\nThou ventur\u2019st thither, I know well, must fall\nIn one sure ruin. With these few then fly;\nWe yet may shun the others\u2019 destiny.\u2019\nI answer\u2019d him: \u2018Eurylochus! Stay thou,\nAnd keep the ship then, eat and drink; I now\nWill undertake th\u2019 adventure; there is cause\nIn great Necessity\u2019s unalter\u2019d laws.\u2019\nThis said, I left both ship and seas, and on\nAlong the sacred valleys all alone\nWent in discov\u2019ry, till at last I came\nWhere of the main-med\u2019cine-making Dame\nI saw the great house; where encounter\u2019d me\nThe golden-rod-sustaining Mercury,\nEv\u2019n ent\u2019ring Circe\u2019s doors. He met me in\nA young man\u2019s likeness, of the first-flow\u2019r\u2019d chin,\nWhose form hath all the grace of one so young.\nHe first call\u2019d to me, then my hand he wrung,\nAnd said: \u2018Thou no-place-finding-for-repose,\nWhither, alone, by these hill-confines, goes\nThy erring foot? Th\u2019 art ent\u2019ring Circe\u2019s house,\nWhere, by her med\u2019cines, black, and sorcerous,\nThy soldiers all are shut in well-arm\u2019d styes,\nAnd turn\u2019d to swine. Art thou arriv\u2019d with prize\nFit for their ransoms? Thou com\u2019st out no more,\nIf once thou ent\u2019rest, like thy men before\nMade to remain here. But I\u2019ll guard thee free,\nAnd save thee in her spite. Receive of me\nThis fair and good receipt; with which once arm\u2019d,\nEnter her roofs, for th\u2019 art to all proof charm\u2019d\nAgainst the ill day. I will tell thee all\nHer baneful counsel: With a festival\nShe\u2019ll first receive thee, but will spice thy bread\nWith flow\u2019ry poisons; yet unalter\u00e9d\nShall thy firm form be, for this remedy\nStands most approv\u2019d \u2019gainst all her sorcery,\nWhich thus particularly shun: When she\nShall with her long rod strike thee, instantly\nDraw from thy thigh thy sword, and fly on her\nAs to her slaughter. She, surpris\u2019d with fear\nAnd love, at first, will bid thee to her bed.\nNor say the Goddess nay, that welcom\u00e9d\nThou may\u2019st with all respect be, and procure\nThy fellows\u2019 freedoms. But before, make sure\nHer favours to thee; and the great oath take\nWith which the bless\u00e9d Gods assurance make\nOf all they promise; that no prejudice\n(By stripping thee of form, and faculties)\nShe may so much as once attempt on thee.\u2019\nThis said, he gave his antidote to me,\nWhich from the earth he pluck\u2019d, and told me all\nThe virtue of it, with what Deities call\nThe name it bears; and Moly[11] they impose\nFor name to it. The root is hard to loose\nFrom hold of earth by mortals; but God\u2019s pow\u2019r\nCan all things do. \u2019Tis black, but bears a flow\u2019r\nAs white as milk. And thus flew Mercury\nUp to immense Olympus, gliding by\nThe sylvan island. I made back my way\nTo Circe\u2019s house, my mind of my assay\nMuch thought revolving. At her gates I stay\u2019d\nAnd call\u2019d; she heard, and her bright doors display\u2019d,\nInvited, led; I follow\u2019d in, but trac\u2019d\nWith some distraction. In a throne she plac\u2019d\nMy welcome person; of a curious frame\n\u2019Twas, and so bright I sat as in a flame;\nA foot-stool added. In a golden bowl\nShe then suborn\u2019d a potion, in her soul\nDeform\u2019d things thinking; for amidst the wine\nShe mix\u2019d her man-transforming medicine;\nWhich when she saw I had devour\u2019d, she then\nNo more observ\u2019d me with her soothing vein,\nBut struck me with her rod, and to her stye\nBad, out, away, and with thy fellows lie.\nI drew my sword, and charg\u2019d her, as I meant\nTo take her life. When out she cried, and bent\nBeneath my sword her knees, embracing mine,\nAnd, full of tears, said: \u2018Who? Of what high line\nArt thou the issue? Whence? What shores sustain\nThy native city? I amaz\u2019d remain\nThat, drinking these my venoms, th\u2019 art not turn\u2019d.\nNever drunk any this cup but be mourn\u2019d\nIn other likeness, if it once had pass\u2019d\nThe ivory bounders of his tongue and taste.\nAll but thyself are brutishly declin\u2019d.\nThy breast holds firm yet, and unchang\u2019d thy mind.\nThou canst be therefore none else but the man\nOf many virtues, Ithacensian,\nDeep-soul\u2019d, Ulysses, who; I oft was told,\nBy that sly God that bears the rod of gold,\nWas to arrive here in retreat from Troy.\nSheathe then thy sword, and let my bed enjoy\nSo much a man, that when the bed we prove,\nWe may believe in one another\u2019s love.\u2019\nI then: \u2018O Circe, why entreat\u2019st thou me\nTo mix in any human league with thee,\nWhen thou my friends hast beasts turn\u2019d; and thy bed\nTender\u2019st to me, that I might likewise lead\nA beast\u2019s life with thee, soften\u2019d, naked stripp\u2019d,\nThat in my blood thy banes may more be steep\u2019d?\nI never will ascend thy bed, before,\nI may affirm, that in heav\u2019n\u2019s sight you swore\nThe great oath of the Gods, that all attempt\nTo do me ill is from your thoughts exempt.\u2019\nI said, she swore, when, all the oath-rites said,\nI then ascended her adorn\u00e9d bed,\nBut thus prepar\u2019d: Four handmaids served her there,\nThat daughters to her silver fountains were,\nTo her bright-sea-observing sacred floods,\nAnd to her uncut consecrated woods.\nOne deck\u2019d the throne-tops with rich cloths of state,\nAnd did with silks the foot-pace consecrate.\nAnother silver tables set before\nThe pompous throne, and golden dishes\u2019 store\nServ\u2019d in with sev\u2019ral feast. A third fill\u2019d wine.\nThe fourth brought water, and made fuel shine\nIn ruddy fires beneath a womb of brass.\nWhich heat, I bath\u2019d; and od\u2019rous water was\nDisperpled lightly on my head and neck,\nThat might my late heart-hurting sorrows check\nWith the refreshing sweetness; and, for that,\nMen sometimes may be something delicate.\nBath\u2019d, and adorn\u2019d, she led me to a throne\nOf massy silver, and of fashi\u00f3n\nExceeding curious. A fair foot-stool set,\nWater appos\u2019d, and ev\u2019ry sort of meat\nSet on th\u2019 elaborately-polish\u2019d board,\nShe wish\u2019d my taste employ\u2019d; but not a word\nWould my ears taste of taste; my mind had food\nThat must digest; eye-meat would do me good.\nCirce (observing that I put no hand\nTo any banquet, having countermand\nFrom weightier cares the light cates could excuse)\nBowing her near me, these wing\u2019d words did use;\n\u2018Why sits Ulysses like one dumb, his mind\nLess\u2019ning with languors? Nor to food inclin\u2019d,\nNor wine? Whence comes it? Out of any fear\nOf more illusion? You must needs forbear\nThat wrongful doubt, since you have heard me swear.\u2019\n\u2018O Circe!\u2019 I replied, \u2018what man is he,\nAw\u2019d with the rights of true humanity,\nThat dares taste food or wine, before he sees\nHis friends redeem\u2019d from their deformities?\nIf you be gentle, and indeed incline\nTo let me taste the comfort of your wine,\nDissolve the charms that their forc\u2019d forms enchain,\nAnd show me here my honour\u2019d friends like men.\u2019\nThis said, she left her throne, and took her rod,\nWent to her stye, and let my men abroad,\nLike swine of nine years old. They opposite stood,\nObserv\u2019d their brutish form, and look\u2019d for food;\nWhen, with another med\u2019cine, ev\u2019ry one\nAll over smear\u2019d, their bristles all were gone,\nProduc\u2019d by malice of the other bane,\nAnd ev\u2019ry one, afresh, look\u2019d up a man,\nBoth younger than they were, of stature more,\nAnd all their forms much goodlier than before.\nAll knew me, cling\u2019d about me, and a cry\nOf pleasing mourning flew about so high\nThe horrid roof resounded; and the queen\nHerself was mov\u2019d to see our kind so keen,\nWho bad me now bring ship and men ashore,\nOur arms, and goods in caves hid, and restore\nMyself to her, with all my other men.\nI granted, went, and op\u2019d the weeping vein\nIn all my men; whose violent joy to see\nMy safe return was passing kindly free\nOf friendly tears, and miserably wept.\nYou have not seen young heifers (highly kept,\nFill\u2019d full of daisies at the field, and driv\u2019n\nHome to their hovels, all so spritely giv\u2019n\nThat no room can contain them, but about\nBace by the dams, and let their spirits out\nIn ceaseless bleating) of more jocund plight\nThan my kind friends, ev\u2019n crying out with sight\nOf my return so doubted; circled me\nWith all their welcomes, and as cheerfully\nDispos\u2019d their rapt minds, as if there they saw\nTheir natural country, cliffy Ithaca,\nAnd ev\u2019n the roofs where they were bred and born,\nAnd vow\u2019d as much, with tears; \u2018O your return\nAs much delights us as in you had come\nOur country to us, and our natural home.\nBut what unhappy fate hath reft our friends?\u2019\nI gave unlook\u2019d-for answer, that amends\nMade for their mourning, bad them first of all\nOur ship ashore draw, then in caverns stall\nOur foody cattle, hide our mutual prize,\n\u1ffeAnd then,\u1fbf said I, \u1ffeattend me, that your eyes,\nIn Circe\u2019s sacred house, may see each friend\nEating and drinking banquets out of end.\u1fbf\nThey soon obey\u2019d; all but Eurylochus,\nWho needs would stay them all, and counsell\u2019d thus:\n\u1ffeO wretches! whither will ye? Why are you\nFond of your mischiefs, and such gladness show\nFor Circe\u2019s house, that will transform ye all\nTo swine, or wolves, or lions? Never shall\nOur heads get out, if once within we be,\nBut stay compell\u2019d by strong necessity.\nSo wrought the Cyclop, when t\u2019 his cave our friends\nThis bold one led on, and brought all their ends\nBy his one indiscretion.\u1fbf I for this\nThought with my sword (that desp\u2019rate head of his\nHewn from his neck) to gash upon the ground\nHis mangled body, though my blood was bound\nIn near alliance to him. But the rest\nWith humble suit contain\u2019d me, and request,\nThat I would leave him with my ship alone,\nAnd to the sacred palace lead them on.\nI led them; nor Eurylochus would stay\nFrom their attendance on me, our late fray\nStruck to his heart so. But mean time, my men,\nIn Circe\u2019s house, were all, in sev\u2019ral bain,\nStudiously sweeten\u2019d, smug\u2019d with oil, and deck\u2019d\nWith in and out weeds, and a feast secret\nServ\u2019d in before them; at which close we found\nThey all were set, cheer\u2019d, and carousing round,\nWhen mutual sight had, and all thought on, then\nFeast was forgotten, and the moan again[12]\nAbout the house flew, driv\u2019n with wings of joy.\nBut then spake Circe: \u2018Now, no more annoy,\nI know myself what woes by sea, and shore,\nAnd men unjust have plagued enough before\nYour injur\u2019d virtues. Here then feast as long,\nAnd be as cheerful, till ye grow as strong\nAs when ye first forsook your country-earth.\nYe now fare all like exiles; not a mirth,\nFlash\u2019d in amongst ye, but is quench\u2019d again\nWith still-renew\u2019d tears, though the beaten vein\nOf your distresses should, me think, be now\nBenumb with suff\u2019rance.\u2019 We did well allow\nHer kind persuasions, and the whole year stay\u2019d\nIn varied feast with her. When, now array\u2019d\nThe world was with the spring, and orby hours\nHad gone the round again through herbs and flow\u2019rs,\nThe months absolv\u2019d in order, till the days\nHad run their full race in Apollo\u2019s rays;\nMy friends remember\u2019d me of home, and said;\nIf ever fate would sign my pass, delay\u2019d\nIt should be now no more. I heard them well,\nYet that day spent in feast, till darkness fell,\nAnd sleep his virtues through our vapours shed.\nWhen I ascended sacred Circe\u2019s bed,\nImplor\u2019d my pass, and her perform\u00e9d vow\nWhich now my soul urg\u2019d, and my soldiers now\nAfflicted me with tears to get them gone.\nAll these I told her, and she answer\u2019d these:\n\u201cMuch-skill\u2019d Ulysses Laertiades!\nRemain no more against your wills with me,\nBut take your free way; only this must be\nPerform\u2019d before you steer your course for home:\nYou must the way to Pluto overcome,\nAnd stern Persephon\u00e9, to form your pass,\nBy th\u2019 aged Theban soul Tiresias,\nThe dark-brow\u2019d prophet, whose soul yet can see\nClearly, and firmly; grave Persephon\u00e9,\nEv\u2019n dead, gave him a mind, that he alone\nMight sing truth\u2019s solid wisdom, and not one\nProve more than shade in his comparison.\u1fbf\nThis broke my heart; I sunk into my bed,\nMourn\u2019d, and would never more be comforted\nWith light, nor life. But having now exprest\nMy pains enough to her in my unrest,\nThat so I might prepare her ruth, and get\nAll I held fit for an affair so great,\nI said: \u2018O Circe, who shall steer my course\nTo Pluto\u2019s kingdom? Never ship had force\nTo make that voyage.\u2019 The divine-in-voice\nSaid; \u2018Seek no guide, raise you your mast, and hoise\nYour ship\u2019s white sails, and then sit yon at peace,\nThe fresh North Spirit shall waft ye through the Seas.\nBut, having past the ocean, you shall see\nA little shore, that to Persephon\u00e9\nPuts up a consecrated wood, where grows\nTall firs, and sallows that their fruits soon lose.\nCast anchor in the gulfs, and go alone\nTo Pluto\u2019s dark house, where, to Acheron\nCocytus runs, and Pyriphlegethon,\nCocytus born of Styx, and where a rock\nOf both the met floods bears the roaring shock.\nThe dark hero\u00eb, great Tiresias,\nNow coming near, to gain propitious pass,\nDig of a cubit ev\u2019ry way a pit,\nAnd pour to all that are deceas\u2019d in it\nA solemn sacrifice. For which, first take\nHoney and wine, and their commixtion make;\nThen sweet wine neat; and thirdly water pour;\nAnd lastly add to these the whitest flour.\nThen vow to all the weak necks of the dead\nOff\u2019rings a number; and, when thou shalt tread\nThe Ithacensian shore, to sacrifice\nA heifer never-tam\u2019d, and most of prize,\nA pile of all thy most esteem\u00e9d goods\nEnflaming to the dear streams of their bloods;\nAnd, in secret rites, to Tiresias vow\nA ram coal-black at all parts, that doth flow\nWith fat and fleece, and all thy flocks doth lead.\nWhen the all-calling nation of the dead[13]\nThou thus hast pray\u2019d to, offer on the place\nA ram and ewe all black being turn\u2019d in face\nTo dreadful Erebus, thyself aside\nThe flood\u2019s shore walking. And then, gratified\nWith flocks of souls of men and dames deceas\u2019d\nShall all thy pious rites be. Straight address\u2019d\nSee then the off\u2019ring that thy fellows slew,\nFlay\u2019d, and impos\u2019d in fire; and all thy crew\nPray to the state of either Deity,\nGrave Pluto, and severe Persephon\u00e9.\nThen draw thy sword, stand firm, nor suffer one\nOf all the faint shades of the dead and gone\nT\u2019 approach the blood, till thou hast heard their king,\nThe wise Tiresias; who thy offering\nWill instantly do honour, thy home-ways,\nAnd all the measure of them by the seas,\nAmply unfolding.\u2019 This the Goddess told;\nAnd then the Morning in her throne of gold\nSurvey\u2019d the vast world; by whose orient light\nThe Nymph adorn\u2019d me with attires as bright,\nHer own hands putting on both shirt and weed,\nRobes fine, and curious, and upon my head\nAn ornament that glitter\u2019d like a flame,\nGirt me in gold; and forth betimes I came\nAmongst my soldiers, rous\u2019d them all from sleep,\nAnd bad them now no more observance keep\nOf ease, and feast, but straight a-shipboard fall,\nFor now the Goddess had inform\u2019d me all.\nTheir noble spirits agreed; nor yet so clear\nCould I bring all off, but Elpenor there\nHis heedless life left. He was youngest man\nOf all my company, and one that wan\nLeast fame for arms, as little for his brain;\nWho (too much steep\u2019d in wine, and so made fain\nTo get refreshing by the cool of sleep,\nApart his fellows, plung\u2019d in vapours deep,\nAnd they as high in tumult of their way)\nSuddenly wak\u2019d and (quite out of the stay\nA sober mind had giv\u2019n him) would descend\nA huge long ladder, forward, and an end\nFell from the very roof, full pitching on\nThe dearest joint his head was plac\u2019d upon,\nWhich, quite dissolv\u2019d, let loose his soul to hell.\nI to the rest, and Circe\u2019s means did tell\nOf our return, as crossing clean the hope\nI gave them first, and said: \u2018You think the scope\nOf our endeavours now is straight for home;\nNo; Circe otherwise design\u2019d, whose doom\nEnjoin\u2019d us first to greet the dreadful house\nOf austere Pluto and his glorious spouse,\nTo take the counsel of Tiresias,\nThe rev\u2019rend Theban, to direct our pass.\u2019\nThis brake their hearts, and grief made tear their hair.\nBut grief was never good at great affair;\nIt would have way yet. We went woful on\nTo ship and shore, where was arriv\u2019d as soon\nCirce unseen, a black ewe and a ram\nBinding for sacrifice, and, as she came,\nVanish\u2019d again unwitness\u2019d by our eyes;\nWhich griev\u2019d not us, nor check\u2019d our sacrifice,\nFor who would see God, loth to let us see,\nThis way or that bent; still his ways are free.\n\n FINIS DECIMI LIBRI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] _\u03a0\u03cc\u03b4\u03b1 \u03bd\u03b7\u1f78\u03c2_\u2014He calls the stern the foot of the ship.\n\n [2] This place suffers different construction in all the Commentors:\n in which all err from the mind of the Poet, as in a hundred other\n places (which yet I want time to approve) especially about _\u1f10\u03b3\u03b3\u1f7a\u03c2 \u03b3\u1f70\u03c1\n \u03bd\u03c5\u03ba\u03c4\u03cc\u03c2,_ etc. _Prope enim noetis et diei sunt vi\u0153_ (or _similiter,_\n which _\u1f10\u03b3\u03b3\u1f7a\u03c2_ signifies) which they will have to be understood, that\n the days in that region are long, and the nights short; where Homer\n intends, that the equinoctial is there; for how else is the course of\n day and night near or equal? But therefore the night\u2019s-man hath his\n double hire, being as long about his charge as the other; and the\n night being more dangerous, etc. And if the day were so long, why\n should the night\u2019s-man be preferred in wages?\n\n [3] For being cast on the stays, as ships are by weather.\n\n [4] Antiphas was king there.\n\n [5] _\u039c\u03b5\u03c1\u03bc\u03b1\u03af\u03c1\u03c9, curios\u00e8 cogito._\n\n [6] _\u0391\u1f34\u03b8\u03bf\u03c0\u03b1 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c0\u03bd\u03cc\u03bd. \u0391\u03b9\u0352\u03b8\u03bf\u03c8_ signifying _rutilus,_ by reason or the\n fire mixed with it. _Fumus qui fit dut aliquid accenditur._\n\n [7] _\u1fbf\u0395\u03c1\u03b9\u03ba\u03cd\u03b4\u03b5\u03b1 \u03b4\u03b1\u03b9\u0311\u03c4\u03b1._\n\n [8] The whole end of this counsel was to persuade his soldiers to\n explore those parts, which he knew would prove a most unpleasing\n motion to them: for their fellows\u2019 terrible entertainment with\n Antiphas, and Polyph. and therefore he prepares the little he hath to\n say with this long circumstance; implying a necessity of that service,\n and necessary resolution to add the trial of the event to their other\n adventures.\n\n [9] _\u039a\u03b5\u03b4\u03bd\u1f78\u03c2, cujus animus curas prudentes versat._\n\n [10] Seeing them, he thought of his fellows.\n\n [11] The herb Moly, which, with Ulysses\u2019 whole narration, hath in\n chief an allegorical exposition. Notwithstanding I say with our\n Spondanus, _Credo in hoc vasto mundi ambitu extare res innumeras\n mirand\u00e6 facultatis: adeo, ut ne quidem ista qu\u00e6 ad transformanda\n corpora pertinet, jure \u00e8 mundo eximi possit, etc._\n\n [12] _\u03a6\u03c1\u03ac\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03cc \u03c4\u03b5 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1. Commemorabantque omnia._ Intending all their\n miseries, escapes, and meetings.\n\n [13] _\u039a\u03bb\u03c5\u03c4\u1f70 \u1f15\u03b8\u03bd\u03b5\u03b1 \u03bd\u03b5\u03ba\u03c1\u03c9\u0311\u03bd._ Which is expounded _Inclyta examina\n mortuorum:_ but _\u03ba\u03bb\u03c5\u03c4\u1f78\u03c2_ is the epithet of Pluto; and by analogy\n belongs to the dead, _quod ad se omnes advocat._\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nUlysees\u2019 way to Hell appears;\nWhere he the grave Tiresias hears;\nEnquires his own and others\u2019 fates;\nHis mother sees, and th\u2019 after states\nIn which were held by sad decease\nHero\u00ebs, and Heroesses,\nA number, that at Troy wag\u2019d war;\nAs Ajax that was still at jar\nWith Ithacus, for th\u2019 arms he lost;\nAnd with the great Achilles\u2019 ghost.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u039b\u03ac\u03bd\u03b2\u03b4\u03b1._\nUlysses here\nInvokes the dead,\nThe lives appear\nHereafter led.\n\n\u201cArriv\u2019d now at our ship, we launch\u2019d, and set\nOur mast up, put forth sail, and in did get\nOur late-got cattle. Up our sails, we went,\nMy wayward fellows mourning now th\u2019 event.[1]\nA good companion yet, a foreright wind,\nCirce (the excellent utt\u2019rer of her mind)\nSupplied our murmuring consorts with, that was\nBoth speed and guide to our adventurous pass.\nAll day our sails stood to the winds, and made\nOur voyage prosp\u2019rous. Sun then set, and shade\nAll ways obscuring, on the bounds we fell\nOf deep Oceanus, where people dwell\nWhom a perpetual cloud obscures outright,\nTo whom the cheerful sun lends never light,\nNor when he mounts the star-sustaining heaven,\nNor when he stoops earth, and sets up the even,\nBut night holds fix\u2019d wings, feather\u2019d all with banes,\nAbove those most unblest Cimmerians.\nHere drew we up our ship, our sheep withdrew,\nAnd walk\u2019d the shore till we attain\u2019d the view,\nOf that sad region Circe had foreshow\u2019d;\nAnd then the sacred off\u2019rings to be vow\u2019d\nEurylochus and Persimedes bore.\nWhen I my sword drew, and earth\u2019s womb did gore\nTill I a pit digg\u2019d of a cubit round,\nWhich with the liquid sacrifice we crown\u2019d,\nFirst honey mix\u2019d with wine, then sweet wine neat,\nThen water pour\u2019d in, last the flour of wheat.\nMuch I importun\u2019d then the weak-neck\u2019d dead,\nAnd vow\u2019d, when I the barren soil should tread\nOf clifty Ithaca, amidst my hall\nTo kill a heifer, my clear best of all,\nAnd give in off\u2019ring, on a pile compos\u2019d\nOf all the choice goods my whole house enclos\u2019d.\nAnd to Tiresias himself, alone,\nA sheep coal-black, and the selectest one\nOf all my flocks. When to the Pow\u2019rs beneath,\nThe sacred nation that survive with death,\nMy pray\u2019rs and vows had done devotions fit,\nI took the off\u2019rings, and upon the pit\nBereft their lives. Out gush\u2019d the sable blood,\nAnd round about me fled out of the flood\nThe souls of the deceas\u2019d. There cluster\u2019d then\nYouths, and their wives, much-suff\u2019ring aged men,\nSoft tender virgins that but new came there\nBy timeless death, and green their sorrows were.\nThere men-at-arms, with armours all embrew\u2019d,\nWounded with lances, and with faulchions hew\u2019d,\nIn numbers, up and down the ditch, did stalk,\nAnd threw unmeasur\u2019d cries about their walk,\nSo horrid that a bloodless fear surpris\u2019d\nMy daunted spirits. Straight then I advis\u2019d\nMy friends to flay the slaughter\u2019d sacrifice,\nPut them in fire, and to the Deities,\nStern Pluto and Persephon\u00e9, apply\nExciteful pray\u2019rs. Then drew I from my thigh\nMy well-edg\u2019d sword, stept in, and firmly stood\nBetwixt the prease of shadows and the blood,\nAnd would not suffer anyone to dip\nWithin our off\u2019ring his unsolid lip,\nBefore Tiresias that did all controul.\nThe first that press\u2019d in was Elpenor\u2019s soul,\nHis body in the broad-way\u2019d earth as yet\nUnmourn\u2019d, unburied by us, since we swet\nWith other urgent labours. Yet his smart\nI wept to see, and rued it from my heart,\nEnquiring how he could before me be\nThat came by ship? He, mourning, answer\u2019d me:\n\u2018In Circe\u2019s house, the spite some spirit did bear,\nAnd the unspeakable good liquor there,\nHath been my bane; for, being to descend\nA ladder much in height, I did not tend\nMy way well down, but forwards made a proof\nTo tread the rounds, and from the very roof\nFell on my neck, and brake it; and this made\nMy soul thus visit this infernal shade.\nAnd here, by them that next thyself are dear,\nThy wife, and father, that a little one\nGave food to thee, and by thy only son\nAt home behind thee left, Telemachus,\nDo not depart by stealth, and leave me thus,\nUnmourn\u2019d, unburied, lest neglected I\nBring on thyself th\u2019 incens\u00e9d Deity.\nI know that, sail\u2019d from hence, thy ship must touch\nOn th\u2019 isle \u00c6\u00e6a; where vouchsafe thus much,\nGood king, that, landed, thou wilt instantly\nBestow on me thy royal memory\nTo this grace, that my body, arms and all,\nMay rest consum\u2019d in fiery funeral;\nAnd on the foamy shore a sepulchre\nErect to me, that after-times may hear\nOf one so hapless. Let me these implore\nAnd fix upon my sepulchre the oar[2]\nWith which alive I shook the aged seas,\nAnd had of friends the dear societies.\u2019\nI told the wretched soul I would fulfill\nAnd execute to th\u2019 utmost point his will;\nAnd, all the time we sadly talk\u2019d, I still\nMy sword above the blood held, when aside\nThe idol of my friend still amplified\nHis plaint, as up and down the shades he err\u2019d.\nThen my deceas\u00e9d mother\u2019s soul appear\u2019d,\nFair daughter of Autolycus the great,\nGrave Anticlea, whom, when forth I set\nFor sacred Ilion, I had left alive.\nHer sight much mov\u2019d me, and to tears did drive\nMy note of her decease; and yet not she\n(Though in my ruth she held the high\u2019st degree)\nWould I admit to touch the sacred blood,\nTill from Tiresias I had understood\nWhat Circe told me. At the length did land\nTheban Tiresias\u2019 soul, and in his hand\nSustain\u2019d a golden sceptre, knew me well,\nAnd said: \u2018O man unhappy, why to hell\nAdmitt\u2019st thou dark arrival, and the light\nThe sun gives leav\u2019st, to have the horrid sight\nOf this black region, and the shadows here?\nNow sheathe thy sharp sword, and the pit forbear,\nThat I the blood may taste, and then relate\nThe truth of those acts that affect thy fate.\u2019\nI sheath\u2019d my sword, and left the pit, till he,\nThe black blood tasting, thus instructed me:\n\u2018Renown\u2019d Ulysses! All unask\u2019d I know\nThat all the cause of thy arrival now\nIs to enquire thy wish\u2019d retreat for home;\nWhich hardly God will let thee overcome,\nSince Neptune still will his opposure try,\nWith all his laid-up anger, for the eye\nHis lov\u2019d son lost to thee. And yet through all\nThy suff\u2019ring course (which must be capital)\nIf both thine own affections, and thy friends,\nThou wilt contain, when thy access ascends\nThe three-fork\u2019d island, having \u2018scap\u2019d the seas,\nWhere ye shall find fed on the flow\u2019ry leas\nFat flocks, and oxen, which the Sun doth own,\nTo whom are all things as well heard as shown,\nAnd never dare one head of those to slay,\nBut hold unharmful on your wish\u00e9d way,\nThough through enough affliction, yet secure\nYour Fates shall land ye; but presage says sure,\nIf once ye spoil them, spoil to all thy friends,\nSpoil to thy fleet, and if the justice ends\nShort of thyself, it shall be long before,\nAnd that length forc\u2019d out with inflictions store,\nWhen, losing all thy fellows, in a sail\nOf foreign built (when most thy Fates prevail\nIn thy deliv\u2019rance) thus th\u2019 event shall sort:\nThou shalt find shipwrack raging in thy port,\nProud men thy goods consuming, and thy wife\nUrging with gifts, give charge upon thy life.\nBut all these wrongs revenge shall end to thee,\nAnd force, or cunning, set with slaughter free\nThe house of all thy spoilers. Yet again\nThou shalt a voyage make, and come to men\nThat know no sea, nor ships, nor oars that are\nWings to a ship, nor mix with any fare[3]\nSalt\u2019s savoury vapour. Where thou first shalt land,\nThis clear-giv\u2019n sign shall let thee understand,\nThat there those men remain: Assume ashore\nUp to thy royal shoulder a ship oar,\nWith which, when thou shalt meet one on the way\nThat will in country admiration say\nWhat dost thou with that wan upon thy neck?\nThere fix that wan thy oar, and that shore deck\nWith sacred rites to Neptune; slaughter there\nA ram, a bull, and (who for strength doth bear\nThe name of husband to a herd) a boar.\nAnd, coming home, upon thy natural shore,\nGive pious hecatombs to all the Gods,\nDegrees observ\u2019d. And then the periods\nOf all thy labours in the peace shall end\nOf easy death; which shall the less extend\nHis passion to thee, that thy foe, the Sea,\nShall not enforce it, but Death\u2019s victory\nShall chance in only-earnest-pray-vow\u2019d age,[4]\nObtain\u2019d at home, quite emptied of his rage,\nThy subjects round about thee, rich and blest.\nAnd here hath Truth summ\u2019d up thy vital rest.\u2019\nI answer\u2019d him: \u2018We will suppose all these\nDecreed in Deity; let it likewise please\nTiresias to resolve me, why so near\nThe blood and me my mother\u2019s soul doth bear,\nAnd yet nor word, nor look, vouchsafe her son?\nDoth she not know me?\u2019 \u2018No,\u2019 said he, \u2018nor none\nOf all these spirits, but myself alone,\nKnows anything till he shall taste the blood.\nBut whomsoever you shall do that good,\nHe will the truth of all you wish unfold;\nWho you envy it to will all withhold.\u2019\nThus said the kingly soul, and made retreat\nAmidst the inner parts of Pluto\u2019s seat,\nWhen he had spoke thus by divine instinct.\nStill I stood firm, till to the blood\u2019s precinct\nMy mother came, and drunk; and then she knew\nI was her son, had passion to renew\nHer natural plaints, which thus she did pursue:\n\u2018How is it, O my son, that you alive\nThis deadly-darksome region underdive?\n\u2019Twixt which, and earth, so many mighty seas,\nAnd horrid currents, interpose their prease,\nOceanus in chief? Which none (unless\nMore help\u2019d than you) on foot now can transgress.\nA well-built ship he needs that ventures there.\nCom\u2019st thou from Troy but now, enforc\u2019d to err\nAll this time with thy soldiers? Nor hast seen,\nEre this long day, thy country, and thy queen?\u2019\nI answer\u2019d: \u2018That a necessary end\nTo this infernal state made me contend;\nThat from the wise Tiresias\u2019 Theban soul\nI might an oracle involv\u2019d unroll;\nFor I came nothing near Achaia yet,\nNor on our lov\u2019d earth happy foot had set,\nBut, mishaps suff\u2019ring, err\u2019d from coast to coast,\nEver since first the mighty Grecian host\nDivine Atrides led to Ilion,\nAnd I his follower, to set war upon\nThe rapeful Trojans; and so pray\u2019d she would\nThe fate of that ungentle death unfold,\nThat forc\u2019d her thither; if some long disease,\nOr that the spleen of her-that-arrows-please,\nDiana, envious of most eminent dames,\nHad made her th\u2019 object of her deadly aims?\nMy father\u2019s state and sons I sought, if they\nKept still my goods? Or they became the prey\nOf any other, holding me no more\nIn pow\u2019r of safe return? Or if my store\nMy wife had kept together with her son?\nIf she her first mind held, or had been won\nBy some chief Grecian from my love and bed?\u2019\nAll this she answer\u2019d: \u2018That affliction fed\nOn her blood still at home, and that to grief\nShe all the days and darkness of her life\nIn tears had consecrate. That none possest\nMy famous kingdom\u2019s throne, but th\u2019 interest\nMy son had in it still he held in peace,\nA court kept like a prince, and his increase\nSpent in his subjects\u2019 good, administ\u2019ring laws\nWith justice, and the general applause\nA king should merit, and all call\u2019d him king.\nMy father kept the upland, labouring,\nAnd shunn\u2019d the city, us\u2019d no sumptuous beds,\nWonder\u2019d-at furnitures, nor wealthy weeds,\nBut in the winter strew\u2019d about the fire\nLay with his slaves in ashes, his attire\nLike to a beggar\u2019s; when the summer came,\nAnd autumn all fruits ripen\u2019d with his flame,\nWhere grape-charg\u2019d vines made shadows most abound,\nHis couch with fall\u2019n leaves made upon the ground,\nAnd here lay he, his sorrow\u2019s fruitful state\nIncreasing as he faded for my fate;\nAnd now the part of age that irksome is\nLay sadly on him. And that life of his\nShe led, and perish\u2019d in; not slaughter\u2019d by\nThe Dame that darts lov\u2019d, and her archery;\nNor by disease invaded, vast and foul,\nThat wastes the body, and sends out the soul\nWith shame and horror; only in her moan,\nFor me and my life, she consum\u2019d her own.\u2019\nShe thus, when I had great desire to prove\nMy arms the circle where her soul did move.\nThrice prov\u2019d I, thrice she vanish\u2019d like a sleep,\nOr fleeting shadow, which struck much more deep\nThe wounds my woes made, and made ask her why\nShe would my love to her embraces fly,\nAnd not vouchsafe that ev\u2019n in hell we might\nPay pious Nature her unalter\u2019d right,\nAnd give Vexation here her cruel fill?\nShould not the Queen here, to augment the ill\nOf ev\u2019ry suff\u2019rance, which her office is,\nEnforce thy idol to afford me this?\n\u2018O son,\u2019 she answer\u2019d, \u2018of the race of men\nThe most unhappy, our most equal Queen\nWill mock no solid arms with empty shade,\nNor suffer empty shades again t\u2019 invade\nFlesh, bones, and nerves; nor will defraud the fire\nOf his last dues, that, soon as spirits expire\nAnd leave the white bone, are his native right,\nWhen, like a dream, the soul assumes her flight.\nThe light then of the living with most haste,\nO son, contend to. This thy little taste\nOf this state is enough; and all this life\nWill make a tale fit to be told thy wife.\u2019\nThis speech we had; when now repair\u2019d to me\nMore female spirits, by Persephon\u00e9\nDriv\u2019n on before her. All th\u2019 hero\u00ebs\u2019 wives,\nAnd daughters, that led there their second lives,\nAbout the black blood throng\u2019d. Of whom yet more\nMy mind impell\u2019d me to inquire, before\nI let them all together taste the gore,\nFor then would all have been dispers\u2019d, and gone\nThick as they came. I, therefore, one by one\nLet taste the pit, my sword drawn from my thigh,\nAnd stand betwixt them made, when, sev\u2019rally,\nAll told their stocks. The first, that quench\u2019d her fire,\nWas Tyro, issued of a noble sire.\nShe said she sprung from pure Salmoneus\u2019 bed,\nAnd Cretheus, son of \u00c6olus, did wed;\nYet the divine flood Enip\u00ebus lov\u2019d,\nWho much the most fair stream of all floods mov\u2019d.\nNear whose streams Tyro walking, Neptune came,\nLike Enip\u00ebus, and enjoy\u2019d the dame.\nLike to a hill, the blue and snaky flood\nAbove th\u2019 immortal and the mortal stood,\nAnd hid them both, as both together lay,\nJust where his current falls into the sea.\nHer virgin waist dissolv\u2019d, she slumber\u2019d then;\nBut when the God had done the work of men,\nHer fair hand gently wringing, thus he said:\n\u2018Woman! rejoice in our combin\u00e9d bed,\nFor when the year hath run his circle round\n(Because the Gods\u2019 loves must in fruit abound)\nMy love shall make, to cheer thy teeming moans,\nThy one dear burden bear two famous sons;\nLove well, and bring them up. Go home, and see\nThat, though of more joy yet I shall be free,\nThou dost not tell, to glorify thy birth;\nThy love is Neptune, shaker of the earth.\u2019\nThis said, he plung\u2019d into the sea; and she,\nBegot with child by him, the light let see\nGreat Pelias, and Neleus, that became\nIn Jove\u2019s great ministry of mighty fame.\nPelias in broad Iolcus held his throne,\nWealthy in cattle; th\u2019 other royal son\nRul\u2019d sandy Pylos. To these issue more\nThis queen of women to her husband bore,\n\u00c6son, and Pheres, and Amythaon\nThat for his fight on horseback stoop\u2019d to none.\nNext her, I saw admir\u2019d Antiope,\nAsopus\u2019 daughter, who (as much as she\nBoasted attraction of great Neptune\u2019s love)\nBoasted to slumber in the arms of Jove,\nAnd two sons likewise at one burden bore\nTo that her all-controlling paramour,\nAmphion, and fair Zethus; that first laid\nGreat Thebes\u2019 foundations, and strong walls convey\u2019d\nAbout her turrets, that seven ports enclos\u2019d,\nFor though the Thebans much in strength repos\u2019d,\nYet had not they the strength to hold their own,\nWithout the added aids of wood and stone.\nAlcmena next I saw, that famous wife\nWas to Amphitryo, and honour\u2019d life\nGave to the lion-hearted Hercules,\nThat was of Jove\u2019s embrace the great increase.\nI saw, besides, proud Creon\u2019s daughter there,\nBright Megara, that nuptial yoke did wear\nWith Jove\u2019s great son, who never field did try\nBut bore to him the flow\u2019r of victory.\nThe mother then of \u0152dipus I saw,\nFair Epicasta, that, beyond all law,\nHer own son married, ignorant of kind.\nAnd he, as darkly taken in his mind,\nHis mother wedded, and his father slew.\nWhose blind act Heav\u2019n expos\u2019d at length to view,\nAnd he in all-lov\u2019d Thebes the supreme state\nWith much moan manag\u2019d, for the heavy fate\nThe Gods laid on him. She made violent flight\nTo Pluto\u2019s dark house from the loath\u00e9d light,\nBeneath a steep beam strangled with a cord,\nAnd left her son, in life, pains as abhorr\u2019d\nAs all the Furies pour\u2019d on her in hell.\nThen saw I Chloris, that did so excell\nIn answering beauties, that each part had all.\nGreat Neleus married her, when gifts not small\nHad won her favour, term\u2019d by name of dow\u2019r.\nShe was of all Amphion\u2019s seed the flow\u2019r;\nAmphion, call\u2019d Iasides, that then\nRul\u2019d strongly Myni\u00e6an Orchomen,\nAnd now his daughter rul\u2019d the Pylian throne,\nBecause her beauty\u2019s empire overshone.\nShe brought her wife-awed husband, Nele\u00fas,\nNestor much honour\u2019d, Periclymenus,\nAnd Chromius, sons with sov\u2019reign virtues grac\u2019d;\nBut after brought a daughter that surpass\u2019d,\nRare-beautied Pero, so for form exact\nThat Nature to a miracle was rack\u2019d\nIn her perfections, blaz\u2019d with th\u2019 eyes of men;\nThat made of all the country\u2019s hearts a chain,\nAnd drew them suitors to her. Which her sire\nTook vantage of, and, since he did aspire\nTo nothing more than to the broad-brow\u2019d herd\nOf oxen, which the common fame so rear\u2019d,\nOwn\u2019d by Iphiclus, not a man should be\nHis Pero\u2019s husband, that from Phylace\nThose never-yet-driv\u2019n oxen could not drive.\nYet these a strong hope held him to achieve,\nBecause a prophet, that had never err\u2019d,\nHad said, that only he should be preferr\u2019d\nTo their possession. But the equal fate\nOf God withstood his stealth; inextricate\nImprisoning bands, and sturdy churlish swains\nThat were the herdsmen, who withheld with chains\nThe stealth-attempter; which was only he\nThat durst abet the act with prophecy,\nNone else would undertake it, and he must;\nThe king would needs a prophet should be just.\nBut when some days and months expired were,\nAnd all the hours had brought about the year,\nThe prophet did so satisfy the king\n(Iphiclus, all his cunning questioning)\nThat he enfranchis\u2019d him; and, all worst done,\nJove\u2019s counsel made th\u2019 all-safe conclusi\u00f3n.\nThen saw I Leda, link\u2019d in nuptial chain\nWith Tyndarus, to whom she did sustain\nSons much renown\u2019d for wisdom; Castor one,\nThat pass\u2019d for use of horse comparison;\nAnd Pollux, that excell\u2019d in whirlbat fight;\nBoth these the fruitful earth bore, while the light\nOf life inspir\u2019d them; after which, they found\nSuch grace with Jove, that both liv\u2019d under ground,\nBy change of days; life still did one sustain,\nWhile th\u2019 other died; the dead then liv\u2019d again,\nThe living dying; both of one self date\nTheir lives and deaths made by the Gods and Fate.\nIphimedia after Leda came,\nThat did derive from Neptune too the name\nOf father to two admirable sons.\nLife yet made short their admirati\u00f3ns,\nWho God-oppos\u00e9d Otus had to name,\nAnd Ephialtes far in sound of fame.\nThe prodigal earth so fed them, that they grew\nTo most huge stature, and had fairest hue\nOf all men, but Orion, under heav\u2019n.\nAt nine years old nine cubits they were driv\u2019n\nAbroad in breadth, and sprung nine fathoms high.\nThey threaten\u2019d to give battle to the sky,\nAnd all th\u2019 Immortals. They were setting on\nOssa upon Olympus, and upon\nSteep Ossa leavy Pelius, that ev\u2019n\nThey might a highway make with lofty heav\u2019n;\nAnd had perhaps perform\u2019d it, had they liv\u2019d\nTill they were striplings; but Jove\u2019s son depriv\u2019d\nTheir limbs of life, before th\u2019 age that begins\nThe flow\u2019r of youth, and should adorn their chins.\nPh\u00e6dra and Procris, with wise Minos\u2019 flame,\nBright Ariadne, to the off\u2019ring came.\nWhom whilome Theseus made his prise from Crete,\nThat Athens\u2019 sacred soil might kiss her feet,\nBut never could obtain her virgin flow\u2019r,\nTill, in the sea-girt Dia, Dian\u2019s pow\u2019r\nDetain\u2019d his homeward haste, where (in her fane,\nBy Bacchus witness\u2019d) was the fatal wane\nOf her prime glory, M\u00e6ra, Clymene,\nI witness\u2019d there; and loath\u2019d Eriphyle,\nThat honour\u2019d gold more than she lov\u2019d her spouse.[5]\nBut, all th\u2019 heroesses in Pluto\u2019s house\nThat then encounter\u2019d me, exceeds my might\nTo name or number, and ambrosian night\nWould quite be spent, when now the formal hours\nPresent to sleep our all dispos\u00e9d pow\u2019rs,\nIf at my ship, or here. My home-made vow\nI leave for fit grace to the Gods and you.\u201d\nThis said; the silence his discourse had made\nWith pleasure held still through the house\u2019s shade,\nWhen white-arm\u2019d Aret\u00e9 this speech began:\n\u201cPh\u00e6acians! How appears to you this man,\nSo goodly person\u2019d, and so match\u2019d with mind?\nMy guest he is, but all you stand combin\u2019d\nIn the renown he doth us. Do not then\nWith careless haste dismiss him, nor the main\nOf his dispatch to one so needy maim,\nThe Gods\u2019 free bounty gives us all just claim\nTo goods enow.\u201d This speech, the oldest man\nOf any other Ph\u00e6acensian,\nThe grave hero\u00eb, Echin\u00ebus, gave\nAll approbation, saying: \u201cFriends! ye have\nThe motion of the wise queen in such words\nAs have not miss\u2019d the mark, with which accords\nMy clear opinion. But Alcinous,\nIn word and work, must be our rule.\u201d He thus;\nAnd then Alcinous said: \u201cThis then must stand,\nIf while I live I rule in the command\nOf this well-skill\u2019d-in-navigation state:\nEndure then, guest, though most importunate\nBe your affects for home. A little stay\nIf your expectance bear, perhaps it may\nOur gifts make more complete. The cares of all\nYour due deduction asks; but principal\nI am therein the ruler.\u201d He replied:\n\u201cAlcinous, the most duly glorified\nWith rule of all of all men, if you lay\nCommandment on me of a whole year\u2019s stay,\nSo all the while your preparations rise,\nAs well in gifts as time,[6] ye can devise\nNo better wish for me; for I shall come\nMuch fuller-handed, and more honoured, home,\nAnd dearer to my people, in whose loves\nThe richer evermore the better proves.\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cThere is argued in your sight\nA worth that works not men for benefit,\nLike prollers or impostors; of which crew,\nThe gentle black earth feeds not up a few,\nHere and there wand\u2019rers, blanching tales and lies,\nOf neither praise, nor use. You move our eyes\nWith form, our minds with matter, and our ears\nWith elegant oration, such as bears\nA music in the order\u2019d history\nIt lays before us. Not Demodocus\nWith sweeter strains hath us\u2019d to sing to us\nAll the Greek sorrows, wept out in your own.\nBut say: Of all your worthy friends, were none\nObjected to your eyes that consorts were\nTo Ilion with you, and serv\u2019d destiny there?\nThis night is passing long, unmeasur\u2019d, none\nOf all my household would to bed yet; on,\nRelate these wondrous things. Were I with you,\nIf you would tell me but your woes, as now,\nTill the divine Aurora show\u2019d her head,\nI should in no night relish thought of bed.\u201d\n\u201cMost eminent king,\u201d said he, \u201ctimes all must keep,\nThere\u2019s time to speak much, time as much to sleep.\nBut would you hear still, I will tell you still,\nAnd utter more, more miserable ill\nOf friends than yet, that scap\u2019d the dismal wars,\nAnd perish\u2019d homewards, and in household jars\nWag\u2019d by a wicked woman. The chaste Queen\nNo sooner made these lady ghosts unseen,\nHere and there flitting, but mine eyesight won\nThe soul of Agamemnon, Atreus\u2019 son,\nSad, and about him all his train of friends,\nThat in \u00c6gisthus\u2019 house endur\u2019d their ends\nWith his stern fortune. Having drunk the blood,\nHe knew me instantly, and forth a flood\nOf springing tears gush\u2019d; out he thrust his hands,\nWith will t\u2019 embrace me, but their old commands\nFlow\u2019d not about him, nor their weakest part.\nI wept to see, and moan\u2019d him from my heart,\nAnd ask\u2019d: \u2018O Agamemnon! King of men!\nWhat sort of cruel death hath render\u2019d slain\nThy royal person? Neptune in thy fleet\nHeav\u2019n and his hellish billows making meet,\nRousing the winds? Or have thy men by land\nDone thee this ill, for using thy command,\nPast their consents, in diminution\nOf those full shares their worths by lot had won\nOf sheep or oxen? Or of any town,\nIn covetous strife, to make their rights thine own\nIn men or women prisoners?\u2019 He replied:\n\u2018By none of these in any right I died,\nBut by \u00c6gisthus and my murd\u2019rous wife\n(Bid to a banquet at his house) my life\nHath thus been reft me, to my slaughter led\nLike to an ox pretended to be fed.\nSo miserably fell I, and with me\nMy friends lay massacred, as when you see\nAt any rich man\u2019s nuptials, shot, or feast,\nAbout his kitchen white-tooth\u2019d swine lie drest.\nThe slaughters of a world of men thine eyes,\nBoth private, and in prease of enemies,\nHave personally witness\u2019d; but this one\nWould all thy parts have broken into moan,\nTo see how strew\u2019d about our cups and cates,\nAs tables set with feast, so we with fates,\nAll gash\u2019d and slain lay, all the floor embrued\nWith blood and brain. But that which most I rued,\nFlew from the heavy voice that Priam\u2019s seed,\nCassandra, breath\u2019d, whom, she that wit doth feed\nWith baneful crafts, false Clytemnestra, slew,\nClose sitting by me; up my hands I threw\nFrom earth to heav\u2019n, and tumbling on my sword\nGave wretched life up; when the most abhorr\u2019d,\nBy all her sex\u2019s shame, forsook the room,\nNor deign\u2019d, though then so near this heavy home,\nTo shut my lips, or close my broken eyes.\nNothing so heap\u2019d is with impieties,\nAs such a woman that would kill her spouse\nThat married her a maid. When to my house\nI brought her, hoping of her love in heart,\nTo children, maids, and slaves. But she (in th\u2019 art\nOf only mischief hearty) not alone\nCast on herself this foul aspersi\u00f3n,\nBut loving dames, hereafter, to their lords\nWill bear, for good deeds, her bad thoughts and words.\u2019\n\u2018Alas,\u2019 said I, \u2018that Jove should hate the lives\nOf Atreus\u2019 seed so highly for their wives!\nFor Menelaus\u2019 wife a number fell,\nFor dang\u2019rous absence thine sent thee to hell.\u2019\n\u2018For this,\u2019 he answer\u2019d, \u2018be not thou more kind\nThan wise to thy wife. Never all thy mind\nLet words express to her. Of all she knows,\nCurbs for the worst still, in thyself repose.\nBut thou by thy wife\u2019s wiles shalt lose no blood,\nExceeding wise she is, and wise in good.\nIcarius\u2019 daughter, chaste Penelope,\nWe left a young bride, when for battle we\nForsook the nuptial peace, and at her breast\nHer first child sucking, who, by this hour, blest,\nSits in the number of surviving men.\nAnd his bliss she hath, that she can contain,\nAnd her bliss thou hast, that she is so wise.\nFor, by her wisdom, thy return\u00e9d eyes\nShall see thy son, and he shall greet his sire\nWith fitting welcomes; when in my retire,\nMy wife denies mine eyes my son\u2019s dear sight,\nAnd, as from me, will take from him the light,\nBefore she adds one just delight to life,\nOr her false wit one truth that fits a wife.\nFor her sake therefore let my harms advise,\nThat though thy wife be ne\u2019er so chaste and wise,\nYet come not home to her in open view,[7]\nWith any ship or any personal show,\nBut take close shore disguis\u2019d, nor let her know,\nFor \u2019tis no world to trust a woman now.\nBut what says Fame? Doth my son yet survive,\nIn Orchomen, or Pylos? Or doth live\nIn Sparta with his uncle? Yet I see\nDivine Orestes is not here with me.\u2019\nI answer\u2019d, asking: \u2018Why doth Atreus\u2019 son\nEnquire of me, who yet arriv\u2019d where none\nCould give to these news any certain wings?\nAnd \u2019tis absurd to tell uncertain things.\u2019\nSuch sad speech past us; and as thus we stood,\nWith kind tears rend\u2019ring unkind fortunes good,\nAchilles\u2019 and Patroclus\u2019 soul appear\u2019d,\nAnd his soul, of whom never ill was heard,\nThe good Antilochus, and the soul of him\nThat all the Greeks past both for force and limb,\nExcepting the unmatch\u2019d \u00c6acides,\nIllustrious Ajax. But the first of these\nThat saw, acknowledg\u2019d, and saluted me,\nWas Thetis\u2019 conqu\u2019ring son, who (heavily\nHis state here taking) said: \u2018Unworthy breath!\nWhat act yet mightier imagineth\nThy vent\u2019rous spirit? How dost thou descend\nThese under-regions, where the dead man\u2019s end\nIs to be look\u2019d on, and his foolish shade?\u2019\nI answer\u2019d him: \u2018I was induc\u2019d t\u2019 invade\nThese under-parts, most excellent of Greece,\nTo visit wise Tiresias, for advice\nOf virtue to direct my voyage home\nTo rugged Ithaca; since I could come\nTo note in no place, where Achaia stood,\nAnd so liv\u2019d ever, tortur\u2019d with the blood\nIn man\u2019s vain veins. Thou, therefore, Thetis\u2019 son,\nHast equall\u2019d all, that ever yet have won\nThe bliss the earth yields, or hereafter shall.\nIn life thy eminence was ador\u2019d of all,\nEv\u2019n with the Gods; and now, ev\u2019n dead, I see\nThy virtues propagate thy empery\nTo a renew\u2019d life of command beneath;\nSo great Achilles triumphs over death.\u2019\nThis comfort of him this encounter found;\n\u2018Urge not my death to me, nor rub that wound,\nI rather wish to live in earth a swain,\nOr serve a swain for hire, that scarce can gain\nBread to sustain him, than, that life once gone,\nOf all the dead sway the imperial throne.\nBut say, and of my son some comfort yield,\nIf he goes on in first fights of the field,\nOr lurks for safety in the obscure rear?\nOr of my father if thy royal ear\nHath been advertis\u2019d, that the Phthian throne\nHe still commands, as greatest Myrmidon?\nOr that the Phthian and Thessalian rage\n(Now feet and hands are in the hold of age)\nDespise his empire? Under those bright rays,\nIn which heav\u2019n\u2019s fervour hurls about the days.\nMust I no more shine his revenger now,\nSuch as of old the Ilion overthrow\nWitness\u2019d my anger, th\u2019 universal host\nSending before me to this shady coast,\nIn fight for Grecia. Could I now resort,\n(But for some small time) to my father\u2019s court,\nIn spirit and pow\u2019r as then, those men should find\nMy hands inaccessible, and of fire my mind,\nThat durst with all the numbers they are strong\nUnseat his honour, and suborn his wrong.\u2019\nThis pitch still flew his spirit, though so low,\nAnd this I answer\u2019d thus: \u2018I do not know\nOf blameless Peleus any least report,\nBut of your son, in all the utmost sort,\nI can inform your care with truth, and thus:\nFrom Scyros princely Neoptolemus\nBy fleet I convey\u2019d to the Greeks, where he\nWas chief, at both parts, when our gravity\nRetir\u2019d to council, and our youth to fight.\nIn council still so fiery was Conceit\nIn his quick apprehension of a cause,\nThat first he ever spake, nor pass\u2019d the laws\nOf any great stay, in his greatest haste.\nNone would contend with him, that counsell\u2019d last,\nUnless illustrious Nestor, he and I\nWould sometimes put a friendly contrary\nOn his opinion. In our fights, the prease\nOf great or common, he would never cease,\nBut far before fight ever. No man there,\nFor force, he forc\u00e9d. He was slaughterer\nOf many a brave man in most dreadful fight.\nBut one and other whom he reft of light,\nIn Grecian succour, I can neither name,\nNor give in number. The particular fame\nOf one man\u2019s slaughter yet I must not pass;\nEurypylus Telephides he was,\nThat fell beneath him, and with him the falls\nOf such huge men went, that they show\u2019d like whales[8]\nRampir\u2019d about him. Neoptolemus\nSet him so sharply, for the sumptuous\nFavours of mistresses he saw him wear;\nFor past all doubt his beauties had no peer\nOf all that mine eyes noted, next to one,\nAnd that was Memnon, Tithon\u2019s Sun-like son.\nThus far, for fight in public, may a taste\nGive of his eminence. How far surpast\nHis spirit in private, where he was not seen,\nNor glory could be said to praise his spleen,\nThis close note I excerpted. When we sat\nHid in Ep\u00ebus\u2019 horse, no optimate\nOf all the Greeks there had the charge to ope\nAnd shut the stratagem but I.[9] My scope\nTo note then each man\u2019s spirit in a strait\nOf so much danger, much the better might\nBe hit by me, than others, as, provok\u2019d,\nI shifted place still, when, in some I smok\u2019d\nBoth privy tremblings, and close vent of tears,\nIn him yet not a soft conceit of theirs\nCould all my search see, either his wet eyes\nPly\u2019d still with wipings, or the goodly guise,\nHis person all ways put forth, in least part,\nBy any tremblings, show\u2019d his touch\u2019d-at heart.\nBut ever he was urging me to make\nWay to their sally, by his sign to shake\nHis sword hid in his scabbard, or his lance\nLoaded with iron, at me. No good chance\nHis thoughts to Troy intended. In th\u2019 event,\nHigh Troy depopulate, he made ascent\nTo his fair ship, with prise and treasure store,\nSafe, and no touch away with him he bore\nOf far-off-hurl\u2019d lance, or of close-fought sword,\nWhose wounds for favours war doth oft afford,\nWhich he (though sought) miss\u2019d in war\u2019s closest wage.\n_In close fights Mars doth never fight, but rage.\u2019_\nThis made the soul of swift Achilles tread\nA march of glory through the herby mead,\nFor joy to hear me so renown his son;\nAnd vanish\u2019d stalking. But with passi\u00f3n\nStood th\u2019 other souls struck, and each told his bane.\nOnly the spirit Telamonian[10]\nKept far off, angry for the victory\nI won from him at fleet; though arbitry\nOf all a court of war pronounc\u2019d it mine,\nAnd Pallas\u2019 self. Our prise were th\u2019 arms divine\nOf great \u00c6acides, proposd t\u2019 our fames\nBy his bright Mother, at his funeral games.\nI wish to heav\u2019n I ought not to have won;\nSince for those arms so high a head so soon\nThe base earth cover\u2019d, Ajax, that of all\nThe host of Greece had person capital,\nAnd acts as eminent, excepting his\nWhose arms those were, in whom was nought amiss.\nI tried the great soul with soft words, and said:\n\u2018Ajax! Great son of Telamon, array\u2019d\nIn all our glories! What! not dead resign\nThy wrath for those curst arms? The Pow\u2019rs divine\nIn them forg\u2019d all our banes, in thine own one,\nIn thy grave fall our tower was overthrown.\nWe mourn, for ever maim\u2019d, for thee as much\nAs for Achilles; nor thy wrong doth touch,\nIn sentence, any but Saturnius\u2019 doom;\nIn whose hate was the host of Greece become\nA very horror; who express\u2019d it well\nIn signing thy fate with this timeless hell.\nApproach then, king of all the Grecian merit,\nRepress thy great mind and thy flamy spirit,\nAnd give the words I give thee worthy ear.\u2019\nAll this no word drew from him, but less near\nThe stern soul kept; to other souls he fled,\nAnd glid along the river of the dead.\nThough anger mov\u2019d him, yet he might have spoke,\nSince I to him. But my desires were strook\nWith sight of other souls. And then I saw\nMinos, that minister\u2019d to Death a law,\nAnd Jove\u2019s bright son was. He was set, and sway\u2019d\nA golden sceptre; and to him did plead\nA sort of others, set about his throne,\nIn Pluto\u2019s wide-door\u2019d house; when straight came on\nMighty Orion, who was hunting there\nThe herds of those beasts he had slaughter\u2019d here\nIn desert hills on earth. A club he bore,\nEntirely steel, whose virtues never wore.\nTityus I saw, to whom the glorious earth\nOpen\u2019d her womb, and gave unhappy birth.\nUpwards, and flat upon the pavement, lay\nHis ample limbs, that spread in their display\nNine acres\u2019 compass. On his bosom sat\nTwo vultures, digging, through his caul of fat,\nInto his liver with their crook\u00e9d beaks;\nAnd each by turns the concrete entrail breaks\n(As smiths their steel beat) set on either side.\nNor doth he ever labour to divide\nHis liver and their beaks, nor with his hand\nOffer them off, but suffers by command\nOf th\u2019 angry Thund\u2019rer, off\u2019ring to enforce\nHis love Latona, in the close recourse\nShe us\u2019d to Pytho through the dancing land,\nSmooth Panop\u00ebus. I saw likewise stand,\nUp to the chin, amidst a liquid lake,\nTormented Tantalus, yet could not slake\nHis burning thirst. Oft as his scornful cup\nTh\u2019 old man would taste, so oft \u2019twas swallow\u2019d up,\nAnd all the black earth to his feet descried,\nDivine pow\u2019r (plaguing him) the lake still dried.\nAbout his head, on high trees, clust\u2019ring, hung\nPears, apples, granates, olives ever-young,\nDelicious figs, and many fruit-trees more\nOf other burden; whose alluring store\nWhen th\u2019 old soul striv\u2019d to pluck, the winds from sight,\nIn gloomy vapours, made them vanish quite.\nThere saw I Sisyphus in infinite moan,\nWith both hands heaving up a massy stone,\nAnd on his tip-toes racking all his height,\nTo wrest up to a mountain-top his freight;\nWhen prest to rest it there, his nerves quite spent,\nDown rush\u2019d the deadly quarry, the event\nOf all his torture new to raise again;\nTo which straight set his never-rested pain.\nThe sweat came gushing out from ev\u2019ry pore\nAnd on his head a standing mist he wore,\nReeking from thence, as if a cloud of dust\nWere rais\u2019d about it. Down with these was thrust\nThe idol of the force of Hercules,\nBut his firm self did no such fate oppress,\nHe feasting lives amongst th\u2019 Immortal States,\nWhite-ankled Hebe and himself made mates\nIn heav\u2019nly nuptials. Hebe, Jove\u2019s dear race,\nAnd Juno\u2019s whom the golden sandals grace.\nAbout him flew the clamours of the dead\nLike fowls, and still stoop\u2019d cuffing at his head.\nHe with his bow, like Night, stalk\u2019d up and down,\nHis shaft still nock\u2019d, and hurling round his frown\nAt those vex\u2019d hov\u2019rers, aiming at them still,\nAnd still, as shooting out, desire to still.\nA horrid bawdrick wore he thwart his breast,\nThe thong all-gold, in which were forms imprest,\nWhere art and miracle drew equal breaths,\nIn bears, boars, lions, battles, combats, deaths,\nWho wrought that work did never such before,\nNor so divinely will do ever more.\nSoon as he saw, he knew me, and gave speech:\n\u2018Son of Laertes, high in wisdom\u2019s reach,\nAnd yet unhappy wretch, for in this heart,\nOf all exploits achiev\u2019d by thy desert,\nThy worth but works out some sinister fate,\nAs I in earth did. I was generate\nBy Jove himself, and yet past mean opprest\nBy one my far inferior, whose proud hest\nImpos\u2019d abhorr\u00e9d labours on my hand.\nOf all which one was, to descend this strand,\nAnd hale the dog from thence. He could not think\nAn act that danger could make deeper sink.\nAnd yet this depth I drew, and fetch\u2019d as high,\nAs this was low, the dog. The Deity\nOf sleight and wisdom, as of downright pow\u2019r,\nBoth stoop\u2019d, and rais\u2019d, and made me conqueror.\u2019\nThis said, he made descent again as low\nAs Pluto\u2019s court; when I stood firm, for show\nOf more hero\u00ebs of the times before,\nAnd might perhaps have seen my wish of more,\n(As Theseus and Pirithous, deriv\u2019d\nFrom roots of Deity) but before th\u2019 achiev\u2019d\nRare sight of these, the rank-soul\u2019d multitude\nIn infinite flocks rose, venting sounds so rude,\nThat pale Fear took me, lest the Gorgon\u2019s head\nRush\u2019d in amongst them, thrust up, in my dread,\nBy grim Persephon\u00e9. I therefore sent\nMy men before to ship, and after went.\nWhere, boarded, set, and launch\u2019d, the ocean wave\nOur oars and forewinds speedy passage gave.\n\n FINIS LIBRI UNDECIMI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n [1] They mourned the event before they knew it.\n\n [2] _Misenus apud Virgilium, ingenti mole, etc._\n\n [3] Men that never eat salt with their food.\n\n [4] _\u0393\u03ae\u03c0\u1fb3 \u1f51\u03c0\u1f78 \u03bb\u03b9\u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u1ff3\u0311._ Which all translate _senectute sub molli._ The\n epithet _\u03bb\u03b9\u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u1ff3\u0311;_ not of _\u03bb\u03b9\u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2,_ viz, _pinguis,_ or _\u03bb\u03b9\u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03c9\u0311\u03c2,\n pinguiter,_ but _\u03bb\u03b9\u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03c9\u0311\u03c2_ signifying _flagitanter orando._ To which\n pious age is ever altogether addicted.\n\n [5] Amphiaraus was her husband, whom she betrayed to his ruin at\n Thebes, for gold taken of Adrastus her brother.\n\n [6] _Venust\u00e8 et sals\u00e8 dictum._\n\n [7] This advice he followed at his coming home.\n\n [8] This place (and a number more) is most miserably mistaken by all\n translators and commentors.\n\n [9] The horse abovesaid.\n\n [10] Ajax the son of Telamon.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nHe shows from Hell his safe retreat\nTo th\u2019 isle \u00c6\u00e6a, Circe\u2019s seat;\nAnd how he \u2019scap\u2019d the Sirens\u2019 calls,\nWith th\u2019 erring rocks, and waters\u2019 falls,\nThat Scylla and Charybdis break;\nThe Sun\u2019 s stol\u2019 n herds; and his sad wreak\nBoth of Ulysses\u2019 ship and men,\nHis own head \u2019scaping scarce the pain.\n\nANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u039c\u03c5\u0311_\nThe rocks that err\u2019d,\nThe Sirens\u2019 call.\nThe Sun\u2019s stol\u2019n herd.\nThe soldiers\u2019 fall.\n\n\u201cOur ship now past the straits of th\u2019 ocean flood,\nShe plow\u2019d the broad sea\u2019s billows, and made good\nThe isle \u00c6\u00e6a, where the palace stands\nOf th\u2019 early riser with the rosy hands,\nActive Aurora, where she loves to dance,\nAnd where the Sun doth his prime beams advance.\nWhen here arriv\u2019d, we drew her up to land,\nAnd trod ourselves the re-saluted sand,\nFound on the shore fit resting for the night,\nSlept, and expected the celestial light.\nSoon as the white-and-red-mix\u2019d finger\u2019d Dame\nHad gilt the mountains with her saffron flame,\nI sent my men to Circe\u2019s house before,\nTo fetch deceas\u2019d Elpenor to the shore.\nStraight swell\u2019d the high banks with fell\u2019d heaps of trees,\nAnd, full of tears, we did due exsequies\nTo our dead friend. Whose corse consum\u2019d with fire,\nAnd honour\u2019d arms, whose sepulchre entire,\nAnd over that a column rais\u2019d, his oar,\nCuriously carv\u2019d, to his desire before,\nUpon the top of all his tomb we fix\u2019d.\nOf all rites fit his funeral pile was mix\u2019d.\nNor was our safe ascent from Hell conceal\u2019d\nFrom Circe\u2019s knowledge; nor so soon reveal\u2019d\nBut she was with us, with her bread and food,\nAnd ruddy wine, brought by her sacred brood\nOf woods and fountains. In the midst she stood,\nAnd thus saluted us; \u2018Unhappy men,\nThat have, inform\u2019d with all your senses, been\nIn Pluto\u2019s dismal mansion! You shall die\nTwice now, where others, that Mortality\nIn her fair arms holds, shall but once decease.\nBut eat and drink out all conceit of these,\nAnd this day dedicate to food and wine,\nThe following night to sleep. When next shall shine\nThe cheerful morning, you shall prove the seas.\nYour way, and ev\u2019ry act ye must address,\nMy knowledge of their order shall design,\nLest with your own bad counsels ye incline\nEvents as bad against ye, and sustain,\nBy sea and shore, the woful ends that reign\nIn wilful actions.\u2019 Thus did she advise\nAnd, for the time, our fortunes were so wise\nTo follow wise directions. All that day\nWe sat and feasted. When his lower way\nThe Sun had entered, and the Even the high,\nMy friends slept on their gables; she and I\n(Led by her fair hand to place apart,\nBy her well-sorted) did to sleep convert\nOur timid pow\u2019rs; when all things Fate let fall\nIn our affair she ask\u2019d; I told her all.\nTo which she answer\u2019d: \u2018These things thus took end.\nAnd now to those that I inform attend,\nWhich you rememb\u2019ring, God himself shall be\nThe bless\u00e9d author of your memory.\nFirst to the Sirens ye shall come, that taint\nThe minds of all men whom they can acquaint\nWith their attractions. Whosoever shall,\nFor want of knowledge mov\u2019d, but hear the call\nOf any Siren, he will so despise\nBoth wife and children, for their sorceries,\nThat never home turns his affection\u2019s stream,\nNor they take joy in him, nor he in them.\nThe Sirens will so soften with their song\n(Shrill, and in sensual appetite so strong)\nHis loose affections, that he gives them head.\nAnd then observe: They sit amidst a mead,\nAnd round about it runs a hedge or wall\nOf dead men\u2019s bones, their wither\u2019d skins and all\nHung all along upon it; and these men\nWere such as they had fawn\u2019d into their fen,\nAnd then their skins hung on their hedge of bones.\nSail by them therefore, thy companions\nBeforehand causing to stop ev\u2019ry ear\nWith sweet soft wax, so close that none may hear\nA note of all their charmings. Yet may you,\nIf you affect it, open ear allow\nTo try their motion; but presume not so\nTo trust your judgment, when your senses go\nSo loose about you, but give strait command\nTo all your men, to bind you foot and hand\nSure to the mast, that you may safe approve\nHow strong in instigation to their love\nTheir rapting tunes are. If so much they move,\nThat, spite of all your reason, your will stands\nTo be enfranchis\u2019d both of feet and hands,\nCharge all your men before to slight your charge,\nAnd rest so far from fearing to enlarge\nThat much more sure they bind you. When your friends\nHave outsail\u2019d these, the danger that transcends\nRests not in any counsel to prevent,\nUnless your own mind finds the tract and bent\nOf that way that avoids it. I can say\nThat in your course there lies a twofold way,\nThe right of which your own, taught, present wit,\nAnd grace divine, must prompt. In gen\u2019ral yet\nLet this inform you: Near these Sirens\u2019 shore\nMove two steep rocks, at whose feet lie and roar\nThe black sea\u2019s cruel billows; the bless\u2019d Gods\nCall them the Rovers. Their abhorr\u2019d abodes\nNo bird can pass; no not the doves, whose fear[1]\nSire Jove so loves that they are said to bear\nAmbrosia to him, can their ravine \u2019scape,\nBut one of them falls ever to the rape\nOf those sly rocks; yet Jove another still\nAdds to the rest, that so may ever fill\nThe sacred number. Never ship could shun\nThe nimble peril wing\u2019d there, but did run\nWith all her bulk, and bodies of her men,\nTo utter ruin. For the seas retain\nNot only their outrageous \u00e6sture there,\nBut fierce assistants of particular fear,\nAnd supernatural mischief, they exspire,\nAnd those are whirlwinds of devouring fire\nWhisking about still. Th\u2019 Argive ship alone,\nWhich bore the care of all men, got her gone,[2]\nCome from Areta. Yet perhaps ev\u2019n she\nHad wrack\u2019d at those rocks, if the Deity,\nThat lies by Jove\u2019s side, had not lent her hand\nTo their transmission; since the man, that mann\u2019d\nIn chief that voyage, she in chief did love.\nOf these two spiteful rocks, the one doth shove\nAgainst the height of heav\u2019n her pointed brow.\nA black cloud binds it round, and never show\nLends to the sharp point; not the clear blue sky\nLets ever view it, not the summer\u2019s eye,\nNor fervent autumn\u2019s. None that death could end\nCould ever scale it, or, if up, descend,\nThough twenty hands and feet he had for hold,\nA polish\u2019d ice-like glibness doth enfold\nThe rock so round, whose midst a gloomy cell\nShrouds so far westward that it sees to hell.\nFrom this keep you as far, as from his bow\nAn able young man can his shaft bestow.\nFor here the whuling Scylla shrouds her face,[3]\nThat breathes a voice at all parts no more base\nThan are a newly-kitten\u2019d kitling\u2019s cries,\nHerself a monster yet of boundless size,\nWhose sight would nothing please a mortal\u2019s eyes,\nNo nor the eyes of any God, if he\n(Whom nought should fright) fell foul on her, and she\nHer full shape show\u2019d. Twelve foul feet bear about\nHer ugly bulk. Six huge long necks look out\nOf her rank shoulders; ev\u2019ry neck doth let\nA ghastly head out; ev\u2019ry head three set,\nThick thrust together, of abhorr\u00e9d teeth,\nAnd ev\u2019ry tooth stuck with a sable death.\nShe lurks in midst of all her den, and streaks\nFrom out a ghastly whirlpool all her necks;\nWhere, gloting round her rock, to fish she falls;\nAnd up rush dolphins, dogfish; somewhiles whales\nIf got within her when her rapine feeds;\nFor ever-groaning Amphitrite breeds\nAbout her whirlpool an unmeasur\u2019d store.\nNo sea-man ever boasted touch of shore\nThat there touch\u2019d with his ship, but still she fed\nOf him and his; a man for ev\u2019ry head\nSpoiling his ship of. You shall then descry\nThe other humbler rock, that moves so nigh\nYour dart may mete the distance. It receives\nA huge wild fig-tree, curl\u2019d with ample leaves,\nBeneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits,\nSupping the black deeps. Thrice a day her pits\nShe drinking all dry, and thrice a day again\nAll up she belches, baneful to sustain.\nWhen she is drinking, dare not near her draught,\nFor not the force of Neptune, if once caught,\nCan force your freedom. Therefore, in your strife\nTo \u2019scape Charybdis, labour all for life\nTo row near Scylla, for she will but have\nFor her six heads six men; and better save\nThe rest, than all make off\u2019rings to the wave.\u2019\nThis need she told me of my loss, when I\nDesir\u2019d to know, if that Necessity,\nWhen I had \u2019scap\u2019d Charybdis\u2019 outrages,\nMy pow\u2019rs might not revenge, though not redress?\nShe answer\u2019d: \u2018O unhappy! art thou yet\nEnflam\u2019d with war, and thirst to drink thy sweat?\nNot to the Gods give up both arms and will?\nShe deathless is, and that immortal ill\nGrave, harsh, outrageous, not to be subdued,\nThat men must suffer till they be renew\u2019d.\nNor lives there any virtue that can fly\nThe vicious outrage of their cruelty.\nShouldst thou put arms on, and approach the rock,\nI fear six more must expiate the shock.\nSix heads six men ask still. Hoise sail, and fly,\nAnd, in thy flight, aloud on Cratis cry\n(Great Scylla\u2019s mother, who expos\u2019d to light\nThe bane of men) and she will do such right\nTo thy observance, that she down will tread\nHer daughter\u2019s rage, nor let her show a head.\nFrom thenceforth then, for ever past her care,\nThou shalt ascend the isle triangular,\nWhere many oxen of the Sun are fed,\nAnd fatted flocks. Of oxen fifty head\nIn ev\u2019ry herd feed, and their herds are seven;\nAnd of his fat flocks is their number even.\nIncrease they yield not, for they never die.\nThere ev\u2019ry shepherdess a Deity.\nFair Pha\u00ebthusa, and Lampeti\u00e9,\nThe lovely Nymphs are that their guardians be,\nWho to the daylight\u2019s lofty-going Flame\nHad gracious birthright from the heav\u2019nly Dame,\nStill young Ne\u00e6ra; who (brought forth and bred)\nFar off dismiss\u2019d them, to see duly fed\nTheir father\u2019s herds and flocks in Sicily.\nThese herds and flocks if to the Deity\nYe leave, as sacred things, untouch\u2019d, and on\nGo with all fit care of your home, alone,\n(Though through some suff\u2019rance) you yet safe shall land\nIn wish\u00e9d Ithaca. But if impious hand\nYou lay on those herds to their hurts, I then\nPresage sure ruin to thy ship and men.\nIf thou escap\u2019st thyself, extending home\nThy long\u2019d-for landing, thou shalt loaded come\nWith store of losses, most exceeding late,\nAnd not consorted with a sav\u00e9d mate.\u2019\nThis said, the golden-thron\u2019d Aurora rose,\nShe her way went, and I did mine dispose\nUp to my ship, weigh\u2019d anchor, and away.\nWhen rev\u2019rend Circe help\u2019d us to convey\nOur vessel safe, by making well inclin\u2019d\nA seaman\u2019s true companion, a forewind,\nWith which she fill\u2019d our sails; when, fitting all\nOur arms close by us, I did sadly fall\nTo grave relation what concern\u2019d in fate\nMy friends to know, and told them that the state\nOf our affairs\u2019 success, which Circe had\nPresag\u2019d to me alone, must yet be made\nTo one nor only two known, but to all;\nThat, since their lives and deaths were left to fall\nIn their elections, they might life elect,\nAnd give what would preserve it fit effect.\nI first inform\u2019d them, that we were to fly\nThe heav\u2019nly-singing Sirens\u2019 harmony,\nAnd flow\u2019r-adorned meadow; and that I\nHad charge to hear their song, but fetter\u2019d fast\nIn bands, unfavour\u2019d, to th\u2019 erected mast,\nFrom whence, if I should pray, or use command,\nTo be enlarg\u2019d, they should with much more band\nContain my strugglings. This I simply told\nTo each particular, nor would withhold\nWhat most enjoin\u2019d mine own affection\u2019s stay,\nThat theirs the rather might be taught t\u2019 obey.\nIn mean time flew our ships, and straight we fetch\u2019d\nThe Siren\u2019s isle; a spleenless wind so stretch\u2019d\nHer wings to waft us, and so urg\u2019d our keel.\nBut having reach\u2019d this isle, we could not feel\nThe least gasp of it, it was stricken dead,\nAnd all the sea in prostrate slumber spread,\nThe Sirens\u2019 devil charm\u2019d all. Up then flew\nMy friends to work, struck sail, together drew,\nAnd under hatches stow\u2019d them, sat, and plied\nThe polish\u2019d oars, and did in curls divide\nThe white-head waters. My part then came on:\nA mighty waxen cake I set upon,\nChopp\u2019d it in fragments with my sword, and wrought\nWith strong hand ev\u2019ry piece, till all were soft.\nThe great pow\u2019r of the sun, in such a beam\nAs then flew burning from his diadem,\nTo liquefaction help\u2019d us. Orderly\nI stopp\u2019d their ears; and they as fair did ply\nMy feet and hands with cords, and to the mast\nWith other halsers made me soundly fast.\nThen took they seat, and forth our passage strook,\nThe foamy sea beneath their labour shook.\nRow\u2019d on, in reach of an erected voice,\nThe Sirens soon took note, without our noise,\nTun\u2019d those sweet accents that made charms so strong,\nAnd these learn\u2019d numbers made the Sirens\u2019 song:\n_\u2018Come here, thou worthy of a world of praise,\nThat dost so high the Grecian glory raise,\nUlysses! stay thy ship, and that song hear\nThat none pass\u2019d ever but it bent his ear,\nBut left him ravish\u2019d, and instructed more\nBy us, than any ever heard before.\nFor we know all things whatsoever were\nIn wide Troy labour\u2019d; whatsoever there\nThe Grecians and the Trojans both sustain\u2019d\nBy those high issues that the Gods ordain\u2019d.\nAnd whatsoever all the earth can show\nT\u2019 inform a knowledge of desert, we know.\u2019_\nThis they gave accent in the sweetest strain\nThat ever open\u2019d an enamour\u2019d vein.\nWhen my constrain\u2019d heart needs would have mine ear\nYet more delighted, force way forth, and hear.\nTo which end I commanded with all sign\nStern looks could make (for not a joint of mine\nHad pow\u2019r to stir) my friends to rise, and give\nMy limbs free way. They freely striv\u2019d to drive\nTheir ship still on. When, far from will to loose,\nEurylochus and Perimedes rose\nTo wrap me surer, and oppress\u2019d me more\nWith many a halser than had use before.\nWhen, rowing on without the reach of sound,\nMy friends unstopp\u2019d their ears, and me unbound,\nAnd that isle quite we quitted. But again\nFresh fears employ\u2019d us. I beheld a main\nOf mighty billows, and a smoke ascend,\nA horrid murmur hearing. Ev\u2019ry friend\nAstonish\u2019d sat; from ev\u2019ry hand his Oar\nFell quite forsaken; with the dismal roar\nWere all things there made echoes; stone-still stood\nOur ship itself, because the ghastly flood\nTook all men\u2019s motions from her in their own.\nI through the ship went, labouring up and down\nMy friends\u2019 recover\u2019d spirits. One by one\nI gave good words, and said: That well were known\nThese ills to them before, I told them all,\nAnd that these could not prove more capital\nThan those the Cyclops block\u2019d us up in, yet\nMy virtue, wit, and heav\u2019n-help\u2019d counsels set\nTheir freedoms open. I could not believe\nBut they remember\u2019d it, and wish\u2019d them give\nMy equal care and means now equal trust.\nThe strength they had for stirring up they must\nRouse and extend, to try if Jove had laid\nHis pow\u2019rs in theirs up, and would add his aid\nTo \u2019scape ev\u2019n that death. In particular then,\nI told our pilot, that past other men\nHe most must bear firm spirits, since he sway\u2019d\nThe continent that all our spirits convey\u2019d,\nIn his whole guide of her. He saw there boil\nThe fiery whirlpools that to all our spoil\nInclos\u2019d a rock, without which he must steer,\nOr all our ruins stood concluded there.\nAll heard me and obey\u2019d, and little knew\nThat, shunning that rock, six of them should rue\nThe wrack another hid. For I conceal\u2019d\nThe heavy wounds, that never would be heal\u2019d,\nTo be by Scylla open\u2019d; for their fear\nWould then have robb\u2019d all of all care to steer,\nOr stir an oar, and made them hide beneath,\nWhen they and all had died an idle death.\nBut then ev\u2019n I forgot to shun the harm\nCirce forewarn\u2019d; who will\u2019d I should not arm,\nNor show myself to Scylla, lest in vain\nI ventur\u2019d life. Yet could not I contain,\nBut arm\u2019d at all parts, and two lances took,\nUp to the foredeck went, and thence did look\nThat rocky Scylla would have first appear\u2019d\nAnd taken my life with the friends I fear\u2019d.\nFrom thence yet no place could afford her sight,\nThough through the dark rock mine eye threw her light,\nAnd ransack\u2019d all ways. I then took a strait\nThat gave myself, and some few more, receit\n\u2019Twixt Scylla and Charybdis; whence we saw\nHow horridly Charybdis\u2019 throat did draw\nThe brackish sea up, which when all aboard\nShe spit again out, never caldron sod\nWith so much fervour, fed with all the store\nThat could enrage it; all the rock did roar\nWith troubled waters; round about the tops\nOf all the steep crags flew the foamy drops.\nBut when her draught the sea and earth dissunder\u2019d,\nThe troubled bottoms turn\u2019d up, and she thunder\u2019d,\nFar under shore the swart sands naked lay.\nWhose whole stern sight the startled blood did fray\nFrom all our faces. And while we on her\nOur eyes bestow\u2019d thus to our ruin\u2019s fear,\nSix friends had Scylla snatch\u2019d out of our keel,\nIn whom most loss did force and virtue feel.\nWhen looking to my ship, and lending eye\nTo see my friends\u2019 estates, their heels turn\u2019d high,\nAnd hands cast up, I might discern, and hear\nTheir calls to me for help, when now they were\nTo try me in their last extremities.\nAnd as an angler med\u2019cine for surprise\nOf little fish sits pouring from the rocks,\nFrom out the crook\u2019d horn of a fold-bred ox,\nAnd then with his long angle hoists them high\nUp to the air, then slightly hurls them by,\nWhen helpless sprawling on the land they lie;\nSo eas\u2019ly Scylla to her rock had rapt\nMy woeful friends, and so unhelp\u2019d entrapt\nStruggling they lay beneath her violent rape,\nWho in their tortures, desp\u2019rate of escape,\nShriek\u2019d as she tore, and up their hands to me\nStill threw for sweet life. I did never see,\nIn all my suff\u2019rance ransacking the seas,\nA spectacle so full of miseries.\nThus having fled these rocks (these cruel dames\nScylla, Charybdis) where the King of flames\nHath off\u2019rings burn\u2019d to him, our ship put in\nThe island that from all the earth doth win\nThe epithet _Faultless,_ where the broad-of-head\nAnd famous oxen for the Sun are fed,\nWith many fat flocks of that high-gone God.\nSet in my ship, mine ear reach\u2019d where we rode\nThe bellowing of oxen, and the bleat\nOf fleecy sheep, that in my memory\u2019s seat\nPut up the forms that late had been imprest\nBy dread \u00c6\u00e6n Circe, and the best\nOf souls and prophets, the blind Theban seer,\nThe wise Tiresias, who was grave decreer\nOf my return\u2019s whole means; of which this one\nIn chief he urg\u2019d\u2014that I should always shun\nThe island of the man-delighting Sun.\nWhen, sad at heart for our late loss, I pray\u2019d\nMy friends to hear fit counsel (though dismay\u2019d\nWith all ill fortunes) which was giv\u2019n to me\nBy Circe\u2019s and Tiresias\u2019 prophecy,\u2014\nThat I should fly the isle where was ador\u2019d\nThe Comfort of the world, for ills abhorr\u2019d\nWere ambush\u2019d for us there; and therefore will\u2019d\nThey should put off and leave the isle. This kill\u2019d\nTheir tender spirits; when Eurylochus\nA speech that vex\u2019d me utter\u2019d, answ\u2019ring thus:\n\u2018Cruel Ulysses! Since thy nerves abound\nIn strength, the more spent, and no toils confound\nThy able limbs, as all beat out of steel,\nThou ablest us too, as unapt to feel\nThe teeth of Labour, and the spoil of Sleep,\nAnd therefore still wet waste us in the deep,\nNor let us land to eat, but madly now\nIn night put forth, and leave firm land to strew\nThe sea with errors. All the rabid flight\nOf winds that ruin ships are bred in night.\nWho is it that can keep off cruel Death,\nIf suddenly should rush out th\u2019 angry breath\nOf Notus, or the eager-spirited West,\nThat cuff ships dead, and do the Gods their best?\nServe black Night still with shore, meat, sleep, and ease,\nAnd offer to the Morning for the seas.\u2019\nThis all the rest approv\u2019d, and then knew I\nThat past all doubt the Devil did apply\nHis slaught\u2019rous works. Nor would they be withheld;\nI was but one, nor yielded but compell\u2019d.\nBut all that might contain them I assay\u2019d,\nA sacred oath on all their pow\u2019rs I laid,\nThat if with herds or any richest-flocks\nWe chanc\u2019d t\u2019 encounter, neither sheep nor ox\nWe once should touch, nor (for that constant ill\nThat follows folly) scorn advice and kill,\nBut quiet sit us down and take such food\nAs the immortal Circe had bestow\u2019d.\nThey swore all this in all severest sort;\nAnd then we anchor\u2019d in the winding port\nNear a fresh river, where the long\u2019d-for shore\nThey all flew out to, took in victuals store,\nAnd, being full, thought of their friends, and wept\nTheir loss by Scylla, weeping till they slept.\nIn night\u2019s third part, when stars began to stoop,\nThe Cloud-assembler put a tempest up.\nA boist\u2019rous spirit he gave it, drave out all\nHis flocks of clouds, and let such darkness fall\nThat Earth and Seas, for fear, to hide were driv\u2019n,\nFor with his clouds he thrust out Night from heav\u2019n.\nAt morn we drew our ships into a cave,\nIn which the Nymphs that Ph\u0153bus\u2019 cattle drave\nFair dancing-rooms had, and their seats of state.\nI urg\u2019d my friends then, that, to shun their fate,\nThey would observe their oath, and take the food\nOur ship afforded, nor attempt the blood\nOf those fair herds and flocks, because they were\nThe dreadful God\u2019s that all could see and hear.\nThey stood observant, and in that good mind\nHad we been gone; but so adverse the wind\nStood to our passage, that we could not go.\nFor one whole month perpetually did blow\nImpetuous Notus, not a breath\u2019s repair\nBut his and Eurus\u2019 rul\u2019d in all the air.\nAs long yet as their ruddy wine and bread\nStood out amongst them, so long not a head\nOf all those oxen fell in any strife\nAmongst those students for the gut and life;\nBut when their victuals fail\u2019d they fell to prey,\nNecessity compell\u2019d them then to stray\nIn rape of fish and fowl; whatever came\nIn reach of hand or hook, the belly\u2019s flame\nAfflicted to it. I then fell to pray\u2019r,\nAnd (making to a close retreat repair,\nFree from both friends and winds) I wash\u2019d my hands,\nAnd all the Gods besought, that held commands\nIn liberal heav\u2019n, to yield some mean to stay\nTheir desp\u2019rate hunger, and set up the way\nOf our return restrain\u2019d. The Gods, instead\nOf giving what I pray\u2019d for\u2014pow\u2019r of deed\u2014\nA deedless sleep did on my lids distill,\nFor mean to work upon my friends their fill.\nFor whiles I slept, there wak\u2019d no mean to curb\nTheir headstrong wants; which he that did disturb\nMy rule in chief at all times, and was chief\nTo all the rest in counsel to their grief,\nKnew well, and of my present absence took\nHis fit advantage, and their iron strook\nAt highest heat. For, feeling their desire\nIn his own entrails, to allay the fire\nThat Famine blew in them, he thus gave way\nTo that affection: \u2018Hear what I shall say,\nThough words will staunch no hunger, ev\u2019ry death\nTo us poor wretches that draw temporal breath\nYou know is hateful; but, all know, to die\nThe death of Famine is a misery\nPast all death loathsome. Let us, therefore, take\nThe chief of this fair herd, and off\u2019rings make\nTo all the Deathless that in broad heav\u2019n live,\nAnd in particular vow, if we arrive\nIn natural Ithaca, to straight erect\nA temple to the Haughty-in-aspect,\nRich and magnificent, and all within\nDeck it with relics many and divine.\nIf yet he stands incens\u2019d, since we have slain\nHis high-brow\u2019d herd, and, therefore, will sustain\nDesire to wrack our ship, he is but one,\nAnd all the other Gods that we atone\nWith our divine rites will their suffrage give\nTo our design\u2019d return, and let us live.\nIf not, and all take part, I rather crave\nTo serve with one sole death the yawning wave,\nThan in a desert island lie and sterve,\nAnd with one pin\u2019d life many deaths observe.\u2019\nAll cried \u2018He counsels nobly,\u2019 and all speed\nMade to their resolute driving; for the feed\nOf those coal-black, fair, broad-brow\u2019d, sun-lov\u2019d beeves\nHad place close by our ships. They took the lives\nOf sence, most eminent; about their fall\nStood round, and to the States Celestial\nMade solemn vows; but other rites their ship\nCould not afford them, they did, therefore, strip\nThe curl\u2019d-head oak of fresh young leaves, to make\nSupply of service for their barley-cake.\nAnd on the sacredly-enflam\u2019d, for wine,\nPour\u2019d purest water, all the parts divine\nSpitting and roasting; all the rites beside\nOrderly using. Then did light divide\nMy low and upper lids; when, my repair\nMade near my ship, I met the delicate air\nTheir roast exhal\u2019d; out instantly I cried,\nAnd said: \u2018O Jove, and all ye Deified,\nYe have oppress\u2019d me with a cruel sleep,\nWhile ye conferr\u2019d on me a loss as deep\nAs Death descends to. To themselves alone\nMy rude men left ungovern\u2019d, they have done\nA deed so impious, I stand well assur\u2019d,\nThat you will not forgive though ye procur\u2019d.\u2019\nThen flew Lampeti\u00e9 with the ample robe\nUp to her father with the golden globe,\nAmbassadress t\u2019 inform him that my men\nHad slain his oxen. Heart-incensed then,\nHe cried: \u2018Revenge me, Father, and the rest\nBoth ever-living and for ever blest!\nUlysses\u2019 impious men have drawn the blood\nOf those my oxen that it did me good\nTo look on, walking all my starry round,\nAnd when I trod earth all with meadows crown\u2019d.\nWithout your full amends I\u2019ll leave heav\u2019n quite,\nDis and the dead adorning with my light.\u2019\nThe Cloud-herd answer\u2019d: \u2018Son! Thou shalt be ours,\nAnd light those mortals in that mine of flow\u2019rs!\nMy red-hot flash shall graze but on their ship,\nAnd eat it, burning, in the boiling deep.\u2019\nThis by Calypso I was told, and she\nInform\u2019d it from the verger Mercury.\nCome to our ship, I chid and told by name\nEach man how impiously he was to blame.\nBut chiding got no peace, and beeves were slain!\nWhen straight the Gods forewent their following pain\nWith dire ostents. The hides the flesh had lost\nCrept all before them. As the flesh did roast,\nIt bellow\u2019d like the ox itself alive.\nAnd yet my soldiers did their dead beeves drive\nThrough all these prodigies in daily feasts.\nSix days they banqueted and slew fresh beasts;\nAnd when the sev\u2019nth day Jove reduc\u2019d the wind\nThat all the month rag\u2019d, and so in did bind\nOur ship and us, was turn\u2019d and calm\u2019d, and we\nLaunch\u2019d, put up masts, sails hoised, and to sea.\nThe island left so far that land nowhere\nBut only sea and sky had pow\u2019r t\u2019 appear,\nJove fix\u2019d a cloud above our ship, so black\nThat all the sea it darken\u2019d. Yet from wrack\nShe ran a good free time, till from the West\nCame Zephyr ruffling forth, and put his breast\nOut in a singing tempest, so most vast\nIt burst the gables that made sure our mast.\nOur masts came tumbling down, our cattle down\nRush\u2019d to the pump, and by our pilot\u2019s crown\nThe main-mast pass\u2019d his fall, pash\u2019d all his skull,\nAnd all this wrack but one flaw made at full.\nOff from the stern the sternsman diving fell,\nAnd from his sinews flew his soul to hell.\nTogether all this time Jove\u2019s thunder chid,\nAnd through and through the ship his lightning glid,\nTill it embrac\u2019d her round; her bulk was fill\u2019d\nWith nasty sulphur, and her men were kill\u2019d,\nTumbled to sea, like sea-mews swum about,\nAnd there the date of their return was out.\nI toss\u2019d from side to side still, till all-broke\nHer ribs were with the storm, and she did choke\nWith let-in surges; for the mast torn down\nTore her up piecemeal, and for me to drown\nLeft little undissolv\u2019d. But to the mast\nThere was a leather thong left, which I cast\nAbout it and the keel, and so sat tost\nWith baneful weather, till the West had lost\nHis stormy tyranny. And then arose\nThe South, that bred me more abhorr\u00e9d woes;\nFor back again his blasts expell\u2019d me quite\nOn ravenous Charybdis. All that night\nI totter\u2019d up and down, till Light and I\nAt Scylla\u2019s rock encounter\u2019d, and the nigh\nDreadful Charybdis. As I drave on these,\nI saw Charybdis supping up the seas,\nAnd had gone up together, if the tree\nThat bore the wild figs had not rescued me;\nTo which I leap\u2019d, and left my keel, and high\nChamb\u2019ring upon it did as close imply\nMy breast about it as a reremouse could;\nYet might my feet on no stub fasten hold\nTo ease my hands, the roots were crept so low\nBeneath the earth, and so aloft did grow\nThe far-spread arms that, though good height I gat,\nI could not reach them. To the main bole flat\nI, therefore, still must cling; till up again\nShe belch\u2019d my mast, and after that amain\nMy keel came tumbling. So at length it chanc\u2019d\nTo me, as to a judge that long advanc\u2019d\nTo judge a sort of hot young fellows\u2019 jars,\nAt length time frees him from their civil wars,\nWhen glad he riseth and to dinner goes;\nSo time, at length, releas\u2019d with joys my woes,\nAnd from Charybdis\u2019 mouth appear\u2019d my keel.\nTo which, my hand now loos\u2019d and now my heel,\nI altogether with a huge noise dropp\u2019d,\nJust in her midst fell, where the mast was propp\u2019d,\nAnd there row\u2019d off with owers of my hands.\nGod and man\u2019s Father would not from her sands\nLet Scylla see me, for I then had died\nThat bitter death that my poor friends supplied.\nNine days at sea I hover\u2019d; the tenth night\nIn th\u2019 isle Ogygia, where, about the bright\nAnd right renown\u2019d Calypso, I was cast\nBy pow\u2019r of Deity; where I lived embrac\u2019d\nWith love and feasts. But why should I relate\nThose kind occurrents? I should iterate\nWhat I in part to your chaste queen and you\nSo late imparted. And, for me to grow\nA talker-over of my tale again,\nWere past my free contentment to sustain.\u201d\n\n FINIS DUODECIMI LIBRI HOM. ODYSS.\n\n_Opus novem dierum._\n\n_\u03a3\u1f7a\u03bd \u0398\u03b5\u1fb3._\n\n [1] _\u03a0\u03ad\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03c1\u03ae\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd\u03b5\u03c2. Columb\u00e6 timid\u00e6._ What these doves were, and the\n whole mind of this place, the great Macedon asking Chiron\n Amphipolites, he answered: They were the Pleiades or seven Stars. One\n of which (besides his proper imperfection of being _\u1f00\u03bc\u03c5\u03b4\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2,_ i.e.\n _adeo exilis, vel subobscurus, ut vix appareat_) is utterly obscured\n or let by these rocks. Why then, or how, Jove still supplied the lost\n one, that the number might be full, Athen\u00e6us falls to it, and helps\n the other out, interpreting it to be affirmed of their perpetual\n septenary number, though there appeared but six. But how lame and\n loathsome these prosers show in their affected expositions of the\n poetical mind, this and an hundred others, spent in mere presumptuous\n guess at this inaccessible Poet, I hope will make plain enough to the\n most envious of any thing done, besides their own set censures and\n most arrogant over-weenings. In the 23 of the lliads (being _\u03c8_) at\n the games celebrated at Patroclus\u2019 funerals, they tied to the top of a\n mast _\u03c0\u03ad\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd \u03c4\u03c1\u03ae\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd\u03b1, timidam columbam,_ to shoot at for a game, so\n that (by these great men\u2019s abovesaid expositions) they shot at the\n Pleiades.\n\n [2] _\u039d\u03b7\u03c5\u0311\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b1\u0311\u03c3\u03b9 \u03bc\u03ad\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b1,_ etc. _Navis omnibus cur\u00e6: the ship that\n held the care of all men, or of all things:_ which our critics will\n needs restrain, _omnibus heroibus, Poetis omnibus, vel Historicis,_\n when the care of all men\u2019s preservation is affirmed to be the freight\n of it; as if poets and historians comprehended all things, when I\n scarce know any that makes them any part of their care. But this\n likewise is garbage good enough for the monster. Nor will I tempt our\n spiced consciences with expressing the divine mind it includes. Being\n afraid to affirm any good of poor poesy, since no man gets any goods\n by it. And notwithstanding many of our bird-eyed starters at\n profanation are for nothing so afraid of it; as that lest their galled\n consciences (scarce believing the most real truth, in approbation of\n their lives) should be rubbed with the confirmation of it, even in\n these contemned vanities (as their impieties please to call them)\n which by much more learned and pious than themselves have ever been\n called the raptures of divine inspiration, by which, _Homo supra\n humanam naturam erigitur, et in Deum transit._\u2014Plat.\n\n [3] _\u0394\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u1f78\u03bd \u03bb\u03b5\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u03c5\u03b9\u0311\u03b1,_ etc. _Graviter vociferans;_ as all most\n untruly translate it. As they do in the next verse these words\n _\u03c3\u03ba\u03cd\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bd\u03b5\u03bf\u03b3\u03b9\u03bb\u03b7\u0311\u03c2 catuli leonis,_ no lion being here dreamed of, nor\n any vociferation. _\u0394\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u1f78\u03bd \u03bb\u03b5\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u03c5\u03b9\u0311\u03b1_ signifying _indignam,\n dissimilem,_ or _horribilem vocem edens:_ but in what kind\n _horribilem?_ Not for the gravity or greatness of her voice, but for\n the unworthy or disproportionable small whuling of it; she being in\n the vast frame of her body, as the very words _\u03c0\u03ad\u03bb\u03c9\u03c1 \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u1f78\u03bd_ signify,\n _monstrum ingens;_ whose disproportion and deformity is too poetically\n (and therein elegantly) ordered for fat and flat prosers to\n comprehend. Nor could they make the Poet\u2019s words serve their\n comprehension; and therefore they add of their own, _\u03bb\u03ac\u03c3\u03ba\u03c9,_ from\n whence _\u03bb\u03b5\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u03c5\u03b9\u0311\u03b1_ is derived, signifying _crepo,_ or _stridul\u00ea\n clamo._ And _\u03c3\u03ba\u03cd\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bd\u03b5\u03bf\u03b3\u03b9\u03bb\u03b7\u0311\u03c2_ is to be expounded, _catuli nuper_ or\n _recens nati,_ not _leonis._ But thus they botch and abuse the\n incomparable expressor, because they knew not how otherwise to be\n monstrous enough themselves to help out the monster. Imagining so huge\n a great body must needs have a voice as huge; and then would not our\n Homer have likened it to a lion\u2019s whelp\u2019s voice, but to the lion\u2019s\n own; and all had been much too little to make a voice answerable to\n her hugeness. And therefore found our inimitable master a new way to\n express her monstrous disproportion; performing it so, as there can be\n _nihil supr\u00e2._ And I would fain learn of my learned detractor, that\n will needs have me only translate out of the Latin, what Latin\n translation tells me this? Or what Grecian hath ever found this and a\n hundred other such? Which may be some poor instance, or proof, of my\n Grecian faculty, as far as old Homer goes in his two simple Poems, but\n not a syllable further will my silly spirit presume.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nUlysses (shipp\u2019d, but in the even,\nWith all the presents he was given,\nAnd sleeping then) is set next morn\nIn full scope of his wish\u2019d return,\nAnd treads unknown his country-shore,\nWhose search so many winters wore.\nThe ship (returning, and arriv\u2019d\nAgainst the city) is depriv\u2019d\nOf form, and, all her motion gone,\nTransform\u2019d by Neptune to a stone.\nUlysses (let to know the strand\nWhere the Ph\u00e6acians made him land)\nConsults with Pallas, for the life\nOf ev\u2019ry wooer of his wife.\nHis gifts she hides within a cave,\nAnd him into a man more grave,\nAll hid in wrinkles, crook\u00e9d, gray,\nTransform\u2019d; who so goes on his way.\n\nANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u039d\u03c5\u0311._\nPh\u00e6acia\nUlysses leaves;\nWhom Ithaca,\nUnwares, receives.\n\nHe said; and silence all their tongues contain\u2019d,\nIn admiration, when with pleasure chain\u2019d\nTheir ears had long been to him. At last brake\nAlcinous silence, and in this sort spake\nTo th\u2019 Ithacensian, Laertes\u2019 son:\n\u201cO Ithacus! However over-run\nWith former suff\u2019rings in your way for home,\nSince \u2019twas, at last, your happy fate to come\nTo my high-roof\u2019d and brass-foundation\u2019d house,\nI hope, such speed and pass auspicious\nOur loves shall yield you, that you shall no more\nWander, nor suffer, homewards, as before.\nYou then, whoever that are ever grac\u2019d\nWith all choice of authoriz\u2019d pow\u2019r to taste\nSuch wine with me as warms the sacred rage,\nAnd is an honorary giv\u2019n to age,[1]\nWith which ye likewise hear divinely sing,\nIn honour\u2019s praise, the poet of the king,\nI move, by way of my command, to this:\nThat where in an elaborate chest there lies\nA present for our guest, attires of price,\nAnd gold engrav\u2019n with infinite device,\nI wish that each of us should add beside\nA tripod, and a caldron, amplified\nWith size, and metal of most rate, and great;\nFor we, in council of taxation met,\nWill from our subjects gain their worth again;\nSince \u2019tis unequal one man should sustain\nA charge so weighty, being the grace of all,\nWhich borne by many is a weight but small.\u201d\nThus spake Alcinous, and pleas\u2019d the rest;\nWhen each man clos\u2019d with home and sleep his feast.\nBut when the colour-giving light arose,\nAll to the ship did all their speeds dispose,[2]\nAnd wealth, that honest men makes, brought with them.[3]\nAll which ev\u2019n he that wore the diadem\nStow\u2019d in the ship himself, beneath the seats\nThe rowers sat in, stooping, lest their lets\nIn any of their labours he might prove.\nThen home he turn\u2019d, and after him did move\nThe whole assembly to expected feast.\nAmong whom he a sacrifice addrest,\nAnd slew an ox, to weather-wielding Jove,\nBeneath whose empire all things are, and move.\nThe thighs then roasting, they made glorious cheer\nDelighted highly; and amongst them there\nThe honour\u2019d-of-the-people us\u2019d his voice,\nDivine Demodocus. Yet, through this choice\nOf cheer and music, had Ulysses still\nAn eye directed to the Eastern hill,\nTo see Him rising that illustrates all;\nFor now into his mind a fire did fall\nOf thirst for home. And as in hungry vow\nTo needful food a man at fix\u00e9d plow\n(To whom the black ox all day long hath turn\u2019d\nThe stubborn fallows up, his stomach burn\u2019d\nWith empty heat and appetite to food,\nHis knees afflicted with his spirit-spent blood)\nAt length the long-expected sunset sees,\nThat he may sit to food, and rest his knees;\nSo to Ulysses set the friendly light\nThe sun afforded, with as wish\u2019d a sight.\nWho straight bespake that oar-affecting State,\nBut did in chief his speech appropriate\nTo him by name, that with their rule was crown\u2019d.\n\u201cAlcinous, of all men most renown\u2019d,\nDismiss me with as safe pass as you vow\n(Your off\u2019ring past) and may the Gods to you\nIn all contentment use as full a hand;\nFor now my landing here and stay shall stand\nIn all perfection with my heart\u2019s desire,\nBoth my so safe deduction to aspire,\nAnd loving gifts; which may the Gods to me\nAs blest in use make as your acts are free,\nEv\u2019n to the finding firm in love, and life,\nWith all desir\u2019d event, my friends, and wife.\nWhen, as myself shall live delighted there,\nMay you with your wives rest as happy here,\nYour sons and daughters, in particular state,\nWith ev\u2019ry virtue render\u2019d consummate;\nAnd, in your gen\u2019ral empire, may ill never\nApproach your land, but good your good quit ever.\u201d\nThis all applauded, and all jointly cried:\n\u201cDismiss the stranger! He hath dignified\nWith fit speech his dismission.\u201d Then the king\nThus charg\u2019d the herald: \u201cFill for offering\nA bowl of wine; which through the whole large house\nDispose to all men, that, propitious\nOur father Jove made with our pray\u2019rs, we may\nGive home our guest in full and wish\u00e9d way.\u201d\nThis said, Pontonous commix\u2019d a bowl\nOf such sweet wine as did delight the soul.\nWhich making sacred to the blessed Gods,\nThat hold in broad heav\u2019n their supreme abodes,\nGod-like Ulysses from his chair arose,\nAnd in the hands of th\u2019 empress did impose\nThe all-round cup; to whom, fair spoke, he said:\n\u201cRejoice, O queen, and be your joys repaid\nBy heav\u2019n, for me, till age and death succeed;\nBoth which inflict their most unwelcome need\nOn men and dames alike. And, first, for me,\nI must from hence, to both: Live you here free,\nAnd ever may all living blessings spring,\nYour joy in children, subjects, and your king.\u201d\nThis said, divine Ulysses took his way;\nBefore whom the unalterable sway\nOf king Alcinous\u2019 virtue did command\nA herald\u2019s fit attendance to the strand,\nAnd ship appointed. With him likewise went\nHandmaids, by Arete\u2019s injunction sent.\nOne bore an out and in-weed, fair and sweet,\nThe other an embroider\u2019d cabinet,\nThe third had bread to bear, and ruddy wine;\nAll which, at sea and ship arriv\u2019d, resign\nTheir freight conferr\u2019d. With fair attendants then,\nThe sheets and bedding of the man of men,\nWithin a cabin of the hollow keel,\nSpread, and made soft, that sleep might sweetly seel\nHis restful eyes, he enter\u2019d, and his bed\nIn silence took. The rowers order\u00e9d\nThemselves in sev\u2019ral seats, and then set gone\nThe ship, the gable from the hollow stone\nDissolv\u2019d and weigh\u2019d-up, all, together, close\nThen beat the sea. His lids in sweet repose\nSleep bound so fast, it scarce gave way to breath\nInexcitable, most dear, next of all to death.\nAnd as amids a fair field four brave horse\nBefore a chariot stung into their course\nWith fervent lashes of the smarting scourge,\nThat all their fire blows high, and makes them urge\nTo utmost speed the measure of their ground;\nSo bore the ship aloft her fiery bound;\nAbout whom rush\u2019d the billows black and vast,\nIn which the sea-roars burst. As firm as fast\nShe ply\u2019d her course yet; nor her wing\u00e9d speed\nThe falcon-gentle could for pace exceed;\nSo cut she through the waves, and bore a man\nEven with the Gods in counsels, that began\nAnd spent his former life in all misease,\nBattles of men, and rude waves of the seas,\nYet now securely slept, forgetting all.\nAnd when heav\u2019n\u2019s brightest star, that first doth call\nThe early morning out, advanc\u2019d her head,\nThen near to Ithaca the billow-bred\nPhr\u00e6cian ship approach\u2019d. There is a port,\nThat th\u2019 aged sea-God Phorcys makes his fort,\nWhose earth the Ithacensian people own,\nIn which two rocks inaccessible are grown\nFar forth into the sea, whose each strength binds\nThe boist\u2019rous waves in from the high-flown winds\nOn both the out-parts so, that all within\nThe well-built ships, that once their harbour win\nIn his calm bosom, without anchor rest,\nSafe, and unstirr\u2019d. From forth the haven\u2019s high crest\nBranch the well-brawn\u2019d arms of an olive-tree;\nBeneath which runs a cave from all sun free,\nCool, and delightsome, sacred to th\u2019 access\nOf Nymphs whose surnames are the Naiad\u00e9s;\nIn which flew humming bees, in which lay thrown\nStone cups, stone vessels, shittles all of stone,\nWith which the Nymphs their purple mantles wove,\nIn whose contexture art and wonder strove;\nIn which pure springs perpetually ran;\nTo which two entries were; the one for man,\nOn which the North breath\u2019d; th\u2019 other for the Gods,\nOn which the South; and that bore no abodes\nFor earthy men, but only deathless feet\nHad there free way. This port these men thought meet\nTo land Ulysses, being the first they knew,\nDrew then their ship in, but no further drew\nThan half her bulk reach\u2019d, by such cunning hand\nHer course was manag\u2019d. Then her men took land,\nAnd first brought forth Ulysses, bed, and all\nThat richly furnish\u2019d it, he still in thrall\nOf all-subduing sleep. Upon the sand\nThey set him softly down; and then the strand\nThey strew\u2019d with all the goods he had, bestow\u2019d\nBy the renown\u2019d Ph\u00e6acians, since he show\u2019d\nSo much Minerva. At the olive root\nThey drew them then in heap, most far from foot\nOf any traveller, lest, ere his eyes\nResum\u2019d their charge, they might be others\u2019 prise.\nThese then turn\u2019d home; nor was the sea\u2019s Supreme\nForgetful of his threats, for Polypheme\nBent at divine Ulysses, yet would prove\n(Ere their performance) the decree of Jove.\n\u201cFather! no more the Gods shall honour me,\nSince men despise me, and those men that see\nThe light in lineage of mine own lov\u2019d race.[4]\nI vow\u2019d Ulysses should, before the grace\nOf his return, encounter woes enow\nTo make that purchase dear; yet did not vow\nSimply against it, since thy brow had bent\nTo his reduction, in the fore-consent\nThou hadst vouchsaf\u2019d it; yet, before my mind\nHath full pow\u2019r on him, the Ph\u00e6acians find\nTheir own minds\u2019 satisfaction with his pass,\nSo far from suff\u2019ring what my pleasure was,\nThat ease and softness now is habited\nIn his secure breast, and his careless head\nReturn\u2019d in peace of sleep to Ithaca,\nThe brass and gold of rich Ph\u00e6acia\nRocking his temples, garments richly wov\u2019n,\nAnd worlds of prise, more than was ever strov\u2019n\nFrom all the conflicts he sustain\u2019d at Troy,\nIf safe he should his full share there enjoy.\u201d\nThe Show\u2019r-dissolver answer\u2019d: \u201cWhat a speech\nHath pass\u2019d thy palate, O thou great in reach\nOf wrackful empire! Far the Gods remain\nFrom scorn of thee, for \u2019twere a work of pain\nTo prosecute with ignominies one\nThat sways our ablest and most ancient throne.\nFor men, if any so beneath in pow\u2019r\nNeglect thy high will, now, or any hour\nThat moves hereafter, take revenge to thee,\nSoothe all thy will, and be thy pleasure free.\u201d\n\u201cWhy then,\u201d said he, \u201cthou blacker of the fumes\nThat dim the sun, my licens\u2019d pow\u2019r resumes\nAct from thy speech; but I observe so much\nAnd fear thy pleasure, that, I dare not touch\nAt any inclination of mine own,\nTill thy consenting influence be known.\nBut now this curious-built Ph\u00e6acian ship,\nReturning from her convoy, I will strip\nOf all her fleeting matter, and to stone\nTransform and fix it, just when she hath gone\nHer full time home, and jets before their prease\nIn all her trim, amids the sable seas,\nThat they may cease to convoy strangers still,\nWhen they shall see so like a mighty hill\nTheir glory stick before their city\u2019s grace,\nAnd my hands cast a mask before her face.\u201d[5]\n\u201cO friend,\u201d said Jove, \u201cit shows to me the best\nOf all earth\u2019s objects, that their whole prease, drest\nIn all their wonder, near their town shall stand,\nAnd stare upon a stone, so near the land,\nSo like a ship, and dam up all their lights,\nAs if a mountain interpos\u2019d their sights.\u201d\nWhen Neptune heard this, he for Scheria went,\nWhence the Ph\u00e6acians took their first descent.\nWhich when he reach\u2019d, and, in her swiftest pride,\nThe water-treader by the city\u2019s side\nCame cutting close, close he came swiftly on,\nTook her in violent hand, and to a stone\nTurn\u2019d all her sylvan substance; all below\nFirm\u2019d her with roots, and left her. This strange show\nWhen the Ph\u00e6acians saw, they stupid stood,\nAnd ask\u2019d each other, who amids the flood\nCould fix their ship so in her full speed home,\nAnd quite transparent make her bulk become?\nThus talk\u2019d they; but were far from knowing how\nThese things had issue. Which their king did show,\nAnd said: \u201cO friends, the ancient prophecies\nMy father told to me, to all our eyes\nAre now in proof. He said, the time would come,\nWhen Neptune, for our safe conducting home\nAll sorts of strangers, out of envy fir\u2019d,\nWould meet our fairest ship as she retir\u2019d,\nAnd all the goodly shape and speed we boast\nShould like a mountain stand before us lost\nAmids the moving waters; which we see\nPerform\u2019d in full end to our prophecy.\nHear then my counsel, and obey me then:\nRenounce henceforth our convoy home of men,\nWhoever shall hereafter greet our town;\nAnd to th\u2019 offended Deity\u2019s renown\nTwelve chosen oxen let us sacred make,\nThat he may pity us, and from us take\nThis shady mountain.\u201d They, in fear, obey\u2019d,\nSlew all the beeves, and to the Godhead pray\u2019d,\nThe dukes and princes all ensphering round\nThe sacred altar; while whose tops were crown\u2019d,\nDivine Ulysses, on his country\u2019s breast\nLaid bound in sleep, now rose out of his rest,\nNor (being so long remov\u2019d) the region knew.\nBesides which absence yet, Minerva threw\nA cloud about him, to make strange the more\nHis safe arrival, lest upon his shore\nHe should make known his face, and utter all\nThat might prevent th\u2019 event that was to fall.\nWhich she prepar\u2019d so well, that not his wife,\nPresented to him, should perceive his life,\nNo citizen, no friend, till righteous fate\nUpon the Wooer\u2019s wrongs were consummate.\nThrough which cloud all things show\u2019d now to the king\nOf foreign fashion; the enflow\u2019r\u00e9d spring\nAmongst the trees there, the perpetual waves,\nThe rocks, that did more high their foreheads raise\nTo his wrapt eye than naturally they did,\nAnd all the haven, in which a man seem\u2019d hid\nFrom wind and weather, when storms loudest chid.\nHe therefore, being risen, stood and view\u2019d\nHis country-earth; which, not perceiv\u2019d, he rued,\nAnd, striking with his hurl\u2019d-down hands his thighs,\nHe mourn\u2019d, and said: \u201cO me! Again where lies\nMy desert way? To wrongful men and rude,\nAnd with no laws of human right endued?\nOr are they human, and of holy minds?\nWhat fits my deed with these so many kinds\nOf goods late giv\u2019n? What with myself will floods\nAnd errors do? I would to God, these goods\nHad rested with their owners, and that I\nHad fall\u2019n on kings of more regality,\nTo grace out my return, that lov\u2019d indeed,\nAnd would have giv\u2019n me consorts of fit speed\nTo my distresses\u2019 ending! But, as now\nAll knowledge flies me where I may bestow\nMy labour\u2019d purchase, here they shall not stay,\nLest what I car\u2019d for others make their prey.\nO Gods! I see the great Ph\u00e6acians then\nWere not all just and understanding men,\nThat land me elsewhere than their vaunts pretended,\nAssuring me my country should see ended\nMy miseries told them, yet now eat their vaunts.\nO Jove! Great Guardian of poor suppliants,\nThat others sees, and notes too, shutting in\nAll in thy plagues that most presume on sin,\nRevenge me on them. Let me number now\nThe goods they gave, to give my mind to know\nIf they have stol\u2019n none in their close retreat.\u201d\nThe goodly caldrons then, and tripods, set\nIn sev\u2019ral ranks from out the heap, he told,\nHis rich wrought garments too, and all his gold,\nAnd nothing lack\u2019d; and yet this man did mourn\nThe but suppos\u2019d miss of his home-return,\nAnd creeping to the shore with much complaint;\nMinerva (like a shepherd, young, and quaint,[6]\nAs king sons are, a double mantle cast\nAthwart his shoulders, his fair goers grac\u2019d\nWith fitted shoes, and in his hand a dart)\nAppear\u2019d to him, whose sight rejoic\u2019d his heart,\nTo whom he came, and said: \u201cO friend! Since first\nI meet your sight here, be all good the worst\nThat can join our encounter. Fare you fair,\nNor with adverse mind welcome my repair,\nBut guard these goods of mine, and succour me.\nAs to a God I offer pray\u2019rs to thee,\nAnd low access make to thy lov\u00e9d knee.\nSay truth, that I may know, what country then,\nWhat common people live here, and what men?\nSome famous isle is this? Or gives it vent,\nBeing near the sea, to some rich continent?\u201d\nShe answer\u2019d: \u201cStranger, whatsoe\u2019er you are,\nY\u2019are either foolish, or come passing far,\nThat know not this isle, and make that doubt trouble,\nFor \u2019tis not so exceedingly ignoble,\nBut passing many know it; and so many,\nThat of all nations there abides not any,\nFrom where the morning rises and the sun,\nTo where the even and night their courses run,\nBut know this country. Rocky \u2019tis, and rough,\nAnd so for use of horse unapt enough,\nYet with sad barrenness not much infested,[7]\nSince clouds are here in frequent rains digested,\nAnd flow\u2019ry dews. The compass is not great,\nThe little yet well-fill\u2019d with wine and wheat.\nIt feeds a goat and ox well, being still\nWater\u2019d with floods, that ever over-fill\nWith heav\u2019n\u2019s continual show\u2019rs; and wooded so,\nIt makes a spring of all the kinds that grow.\nAnd therefore, Stranger, the extended name\nOf this dominion makes access by fame\nFrom this extreme part of Achaia\nAs far as Ilion, and \u2019tis Ithaca.\u201d\nThis joy\u2019d him much, that so unknown a land\nTurn\u2019d to his country. Yet so wise a hand\nHe carried, ev\u2019n of this joy, flown so high,\nThat other end he put to his reply\nThan straight to show that joy, and lay abroad\nHis life to strangers. Therefore he bestow\u2019d\nA veil on truth; for evermore did wind\nAbout his bosom a most crafty mind,\nWhich thus his words show\u2019d: \u201cI have far at sea,\nIn spacious Crete, heard speak of Ithaca,\nOf which myself, it seems, now reach the shore,\nWith these my fortunes; whose whole value more\nI left in Crete amongst my children there,\nFrom whence I fly for being the slaughterer\nOf royal Idomen\u2019s most-lov\u00e9d son,\nSwift-foot Orsilochus, that could out-run\nProfess\u2019d men for the race. Yet him I slew,\nBecause he would deprive me of my due\nIn Trojan prise; for which I suffer\u2019d so\n(The rude waves piercing) the redoubled woe\nOf mind and body in the wars of men.\nNor did I gratify his father then\nWith any service, but, as well as he\nSway\u2019d in command of other soldiery,\nSo, with a friend withdrawn, we waylaid him,\nWhen gloomy night the cope of heav\u2019n did dim,\nAnd no man knew; but, we lodg\u2019d close, he came,\nAnd I put out to him his vital flame.\nWhose slaughter having author\u2019d with my sword,\nI instant flight made, and straight fell aboard\nA ship of the renown\u2019d Ph\u0153nician state;\nWhen pray\u2019r, and pay at a sufficient rate,\nObtain\u2019d my pass of men in her command;\nWhom I enjoin\u2019d to set me on the land\nOf Pylos, or of Elis the divine,\nWhere the Epe\u00efans in great empire shine.\nBut force of weather check\u2019d that course to them,\nThough (loth to fail me) to their most extreme\nThey spent their willing pow\u2019rs. But, forc\u2019d from thence,\nWe err\u2019d, and put in here, with much expence\nOf care and labour; and in dead of night,\nWhen no man there serv\u2019d any appetite\nSo much as with the memory of food,\nThough our estates exceeding needy stood.\nBut, going ashore, we lay; when gentle sleep\nMy weary pow\u2019rs invaded, and from ship\nThey fetching these my riches, with just hand\nAbout me laid them, while upon the sand\nSleep bound my senses; and for Sidon they\n(Put off from hence) made sail, while here I lay,\nLeft sad alone.\u201d The Goddess laugh\u2019d, and took\nHis hand in hers, and with another look\n(Assuming then the likeness of a dame,\nLovely and goodly, expert in the frame\nOf virtuous housewif\u2019ries) she answer\u2019d thus:\n\u201cHe should be passing-sly, and covetous\nOf stealth, in men\u2019s deceits, that coted thee[8]\nIn any craft, though any God should be\nAmbitious to exceed in subtilty.\nThou still-wit-varying wretch! Insatiate[9]\nIn over-reaches! Not secure thy state\nWithout these wiles, though on thy native shore\nThou sett\u2019st safe footing, but upon thy store\nOf false words still spend, that ev\u2019n from thy birth\nHave been thy best friends? Come, our either worth\nIs known to either. Thou of men art far,\nFor words and counsels, the most singular,\nBut I above the Gods in both may boast\nMy still-tried faculties. Yet thou hast lost\nThe knowledge ev\u2019n of me, the Seed of Jove,\nPallas Athenia, that have still out-strove\nIn all thy labours their extremes, and stood\nThy sure guard ever, making all thy good\nKnown to the good Ph\u00e6acians, and receiv\u2019d.\nAnd now again I greet thee, to see weav\u2019d\nFresh counsels for thee, and will take on me\nThe close reserving of these goods for thee,\nWhich the renown\u2019d Ph\u00e6acian states bestow\u2019d\nAt thy deduction homewards, only mov\u2019d\nWith my both spirit and counsel. All which grace\nI now will amplify, and tell what case\nThy household stands in, utt\u2019ring all those pains\nThat of mere need yet still must wrack thy veins.\nDo thou then freely bear, nor one word give\nTo man nor dame to show thou yet dost live,\nBut silent suffer over all again\nThy sorrows past, and bear the wrongs of men.\u201d\n\u201cGoddess,\u201d said he, \u201cunjust men, and unwise,\nThat author injuries and vanities,\nBy vanities and wrongs should rather be\nBound to this ill-abearing destiny,\nThan just and wise men. What delight hath heav\u2019n,\nThat lives unhurt itself, to suffer giv\u2019n\nUp to all domage those poor few that strive\nTo imitate it, and like the Deities live?\nBut where you wonder that I know you not\nThrough all your changes, that skill is not got\nBy sleight or art, since thy most hard-hit face\nIs still distinguish\u2019d by thy free-giv\u2019n grace;\nAnd therefore, truly to acknowledge thee\nIn thy encounters, is a mastery\nIn men most-knowing; for to all men thou\nTak\u2019st sev\u2019ral likeness. All men think they know\nThee in their wits; but, since thy seeming view\nAppears to all, and yet thy truth to few,\nThrough all thy changes to discern thee right\nAsks chief love to thee, and inspir\u00e9d light.\nBut this I surely know, that, some years past,\nI have been often with thy presence grac\u2019d,\nAll time the sons of Greece wag\u2019d war at Troy;\nBut when Fate\u2019s full hour let our swords enjoy\nOur vows in sack of Priam\u2019s lofty town,\nOur ships all boarded, and when God had blown\nOur fleet in sunder, I could never see\nThe Seed of Jove, nor once distinguish thee\nBoarding my ship, to take one woe from me.\nBut only in my proper spirit involv\u2019d,\nErr\u2019d here and there, quite slain, till heav\u2019n dissolv\u2019d\nMe, and my ill; which chanc\u2019d not, till thy grace\nBy open speech confirm\u2019d me, in a place\nFruitful of people, where, in person, thou\nDidst give me guide, and all their city show;\nAnd that was the renown\u2019d Ph\u00e6acian earth.\nNow then, ev\u2019n by the Author of thy birth,\nVouchsafe my doubt the truth (for far it flies\nMy thoughts that thus should fall into mine eyes\nConspicuous Ithaca, but fear I touch\nAt some far shore, and that thy wit is such\nThou dost delude me) is it sure the same\nMost honour\u2019d earth that bears my country\u2019s name?\u201d\n\u201cI see,\u201d said she, \u201cthou wilt be ever thus\nIn ev\u2019ry worldly good incredulous,\nAnd therefore have no more the pow\u2019r to see\nFrail life more plagued with infelicity\nIn one so eloquent, ingenious, wise.\nAnother man, that so long miseries\nHad kept from his lov\u2019d home, and thus return\u2019d\nTo see his house, wife, children, would have burn\u2019d\nIn headlong lust to visit. Yet t\u2019 inquire\nWhat states they hold, affects not thy desire,\nTill thou hast tried if in thy wife there be\nA sorrow wasting days and nights for thee\nIn loving tears, that then the sight may prove\nA full reward for either\u2019s mutual love.\nBut I would never credit in you both\nLeast cause of sorrow, but well knew the troth\nOf this thine own return, though all thy friends,\nI knew as well, should make returnless ends;\nYet would not cross mine uncle Neptune so\nTo stand their safeguard, since so high did go\nHis wrath for thy extinction of the eye\nOf his lov\u2019d son. Come then, I\u2019ll show thee why\nI call this isle thy Ithaca, to ground\nThy credit on my words: This haven is own\u2019d\nBy th\u2019 ag\u00e9d sea-god Phorcys, in whose brow\nThis is the olive with the ample bough,\nAnd here, close by, the pleasant-shaded cave\nThat to the Fount-Nymphs th\u2019 Ithacensians gave,\nAs sacred to their pleasures. Here doth run\nThe large and cover\u2019d den, where thou hast done\nHundreds of off\u2019rings to the Naiades,\nHere Mount Neritus shakes his curl\u00e9d tress\nOf shady woods.\u201d This said, she clear\u2019d the cloud\nThat first deceiv\u2019d his eyes; and all things show\u2019d\nHis country to him. Glad he stood with sight\nOf his lov\u2019d soil, and kiss\u2019d it with delight;\nAnd instantly to all the Nymphs he paid\n(With hands held up to heav\u2019n) these vows, and said:\n\u201cYe Nymphs the Naiades, great Seed of Jove,\nI had conceit that never more should move\nYour sight in these spheres of my erring eyes,\nAnd therefore, in the fuller sacrifice\nOf my heart\u2019s gratitude, rejoice, till more\nI pay your names in off\u2019rings as before;\nWhich here I vow, if Jove\u2019s benign descent,\nThe mighty Pillager, with life convent\nMy person home, and to my sav\u2019d decease\nOf my lov\u2019d son\u2019s sight add the sweet increase.\u201d\n\u201cBe confident,\u201d said Pallas, \u201cnor oppress\nThy spirits with care of these performances,\nBut these thy fortunes let us straight repose\nIn this divine cave\u2019s bosom, that may close\nReserve their value; and we then may see\nHow best to order other acts to thee.\u201d\nThus enter\u2019d she the light-excluding cave,\nAnd through it sought some inmost nook to save\nThe gold, the great brass, and robes richly-wrought,\nGiv\u2019n to Ulysses. All which in he brought,\nLaid down in heap; and she impos\u2019d a stone\nClose to the cavern\u2019s mouth. Then sat they on\nThe sacred olive\u2019s root, consulting how\nTo act th\u2019 insulting Wooers\u2019 overthrow;\nWhen Pallas said: \u201cExamine now the means\nThat best may lay hands on the impudence\nOf those proud Wooers, that have now three years\nThy roof\u2019s rule sway\u2019d, and been bold offerers\nOf suit and gifts to thy renown\u00e9d wife,\nWho for thy absence all her desolate life\nDissolves in tears till thy desir\u2019d return;\nYet all her Wooers, while she thus doth mourn,\nShe holds in hope, and ev\u2019ry one affords\n(In fore-sent message) promise; but her words\nBear other utt\u2019rance than her heart approves.\u201d\n\u201cO Gods,\u201d said Ithacus, \u201cit now behoves\nMy fate to end me in the ill decease\nThat Agamemnon underwent, unless\nYou tell me, and in time; their close intents.\nAdvise then means to the reveng\u2019d events\nWe both resolve on. Be thyself so kind\nTo stand close to me, and but such a mind\nBreathe in my bosom, as when th\u2019 Ilion tow\u2019rs\nWe tore in cinders. O if equal pow\u2019rs\nThou wouldst enflame amidst my nerves as then,\nI could encounter with three hundred men,\nThy only self, great Goddess, had to friend,\nIn those brave ardors thou wert wont t\u2019 extend!\u201d\n\u201cI will be strongly with thee,\u201d answer\u2019d she,\n\u201cNor must thou fail, but do thy part with me.\nWhen both whose pow\u2019rs combine, I hope the bloods\nAnd brains of some of these that waste thy goods\nShall strew thy goodly pavements. Join we then:\nI first will render thee unknown to men,\nAnd on thy solid lineaments make dry\nThy now smooth skin; thy bright-brown curls imply\nIn hoary mattings; thy broad shoulders clothe\nIn such a cloak as ev\u2019ry eye shall lothe;\nThy bright eyes blear and wrinkle; and so change\nThy form at all parts, that thou shalt be strange\nTo all the Wooers, thy young son, and wife.\nBut to thy herdsman first present thy life,\nThat guards thy swine, and wisheth well to thee,\nThat loves thy son and wife Penelop\u00e9.\nThy search shall find him set aside his herd,\nThat are with taste-delighting acorns rear\u2019d,\nAnd drink the dark-deep water of the spring,\nBright Arethusa, the most nourishing\nRaiser of herds. There stay, and, taking seat\nAside thy herdsman, of the whole state treat\nOf home-occurrents, while I make access\nTo fair-dame-breeding Sparta for regress\nOf lov\u2019d Telemachus, who went in quest\nOf thy lov\u2019d fame, and liv\u2019d the welcome guest\nOf Menelaus.\u201d The much-knower said:\n\u201cWhy wouldst not thou, in whose grave breast is bred\nThe art to order all acts, tell in this\nHis error to him? Let those years of his\nAmids the rude seas wander, and sustain\nThe woes there raging, while unworthy men\nDevour his fortunes?\u201d \u201cLet not care extend\nThy heart for him,\u201d said she, \u201cmyself did send\nHis person in thy search; to set his worth,\nBy good fame blown, to such a distance forth.\nNor suffers he in any least degree\nThe grief you fear, but all variety\nThat Plenty can yield in her quiet\u2019st fare,\nIn Menelaus\u2019 court, doth sit and share.\nIn whose return from home, the Wooers yet\nLay bloody ambush, and a ship have set\nTo sea, to intercept his life before\nHe touch again his birth\u2019s attempted shore.\nAll which, my thoughts say, they shall never do,\nBut rather, that the earth shall overgo\nSome one at least of these love-making men,\nBy which thy goods so much impair sustain.\u201d\nThus using certain secret words to him,\nShe touch\u2019d him with her rod; and ev\u2019ry limb\nWas hid all-over with a wither\u2019d skin;\nHis bright eyes blear\u2019d; his brow-curls white and thin;\nAnd all things did an ag\u00e9d man present.\nThen, for his own weeds, shirt and coat, all-rent,\nTann\u2019d, and all-sooti\u00e9d with noisome smoke,\nShe put him on; and, over all, a cloke\nMade of a stag\u2019s huge hide, of which was worn\nThe hair quite off; a scrip, all-patch\u2019d and torn,\nHung by a cord, oft broke and knit again;\nAnd with a staff did his old limbs sustain.\nThus having both consulted of th\u2019 event,\nThey parted both; and forth to Sparta went\nThe gray-eyed Goddess, to see all things done\nThat appertain\u2019d to wise Ulysses\u2019 son.\n\n THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n [1] _\u0393\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03cd\u03c3\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bf\u03b9\u0352\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, quod pro honorario senibus datur._ And because\n the word so Englished hath no other to express it, sounding well, and\n helping our language, it is here used.\n\n [2] Intending in chief the senators, with every man\u2019s addition of\n gift.\n\n [3] _\u0395\u1f50\u03ae\u03bd\u03bf\u03c1\u03b1 \u03c7\u03b1\u03bb\u03ba\u1f78\u03bd, bene honestos faciens \u00e6s._\n\n [4] The Ph\u00e6acians were descended originally from Neptune.\n\n [5] _\u0391\u03bc\u03d5\u03b9\u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03cd\u03c0\u03c4\u03c9, superinjicio aliquid tanquam tegmen seu\n operimentum._\n\n [6] Minerva like a shepherd (such as kings\u2019 sons used at those times\n to be) appears to Ulysses.\n\n [7] _\u039b\u03c5\u03c0\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2, velut tristis, jejunaque natur\u00e2._\n\n [8] _\u0395\u03c0\u03af\u03ba\u03bb\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2, furandi avidus._\n\n [9] _\u03a3\u03c7\u03ad\u03c4\u03bb\u03b9\u03b5, \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03bb\u03bf\u03bc\u03b7\u0311\u03c4\u03b1, varia et multiplicia habens consilia._\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nUlysses meets amids the field\nHis swain Eum\u00e6us: who doth yield\nKind guest-rites to him, and relate\nOccurrents of his wrong\u2019d estate.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u039e\u03b9\u0311._\nUlysses fains\nFor his true good:\nHis pious swain\u2019s\nFaith understood.\n\nBut he the rough way took from forth the port,\nThrough woods and hill-tops, seeking the resort\nWhere Pallas said divine Eum\u00e6us liv\u2019d;\nWho of the fortunes, that were first achiev\u2019d\nBy God-like Ithacus in household rights,\nHad more true care than all his prosylites.[1]\nHe found him sitting in his cottage door,\nWhere he had rais\u2019d to ev\u2019ry airy blore\nA front of great height, and in such a place\nThat round ye might behold, of circular grace\nA walk so wound about it; which the swain\n(In absence of his far-gone sovereign)\nHad built himself, without his queen\u2019s supply,\nOr old Laertes\u2019, to see safely lie\nHis hous\u00e9d herd. The inner part he wrought\nOf stones, that thither his own labours brought,\nWhich with an hedge of thorn he fenc\u2019d about,\nAnd compass\u2019d all the hedge with pales cleft out\nOf sable oak, that here and there he fix\u2019d\nFrequent and thick. Within his yard he mix\u2019d\nTwelve styes to lodge his herd; and ev\u2019ry stye\nHad room and use for fifty swine to lie;\nBut those were females all. The male swine slept\nWithout doors ever; nor was their herd kept\nFair like the females, since they suffer\u2019d still\nGreat diminution, he being forc\u2019d to kill\nAnd send the fattest to the dainty feasts\nAffected by th\u2019 ungodly wooing guests.\nTheir number therefore but three hundred were\nAnd sixty. By them mastiffs, as austere\nAs savage beasts, lay ever, their fierce strain\nBred by the herdsman, a mere prince of men,\nTheir number four. Himself was then applied\nIn cutting forth a fair-hued ox\u2019s hide,\nTo fit his feet with shoes. His servants held\nGuard of his swine: three, here and there, at field,\nThe fourth he sent to city with a sow,\nWhich must of force be offer\u2019d to the vow\nThe Wooers made to all satiety,\nTo serve which still they did those off\u2019rings ply.\nThe fate-born-dogs-to-bark took sudden view[2]\nOf Odyss\u00ebus, and upon him flew\nWith open mouth. He, cunning to appall\nA fierce dog\u2019s fury, from his hand let fall\nHis staff to earth, and sat him careless down.\nAnd yet to him had one foul wrong been shown\nWhere most his right lay, had not instantly\nThe herdsman let his hide fall, and his cry\n(With frequent stones flung at the dogs) repell\u2019d\nThis way and that their eager course they held;\nWhen through the entry past, he thus did mourn:\n\u201cO father! How soon had you near been torn\nBy these rude dogs, whose hurt had branded me\nWith much neglect of you! But Deity\nHath giv\u2019n so many other sighs and cares\nTo my attendant state, that well unwares\nYou might be hurt for me, for here I lie\nGrieving and mourning for the Majesty\nThat, God-like, wonted to be ruling here,\nSince now I fat his swine for others\u2019 cheer,\nWhere he, perhaps, errs hungry up and down,\nIn countries, nations, cities, all unknown;\nIf any where he lives yet, and doth see\nThe sun\u2019s sweet beams. But, father, follow me,\nThat, cheer\u2019d with wine and food, you may disclose\nFrom whence you truly are, and all the woes\nYour age is subject to.\u201d This said, he led\nInto his cottage, and of osiers spread\nA thicken\u2019d hurdle, on whose top he strow\u2019d\nA wild-goat\u2019s shaggy skin, and then bestow\u2019d\nHis own couch on it, that was soft and great.\nUlysses joy\u2019d to see him so entreat\nHis uncouth presence, saying: \u201cJove requite,\nAnd all th\u2019 immortal Gods, with that delight\nThou most desir\u2019st, thy kind receipt of me,\nfriend to human hospitality!\u201d\nEum\u00e6us answer\u2019d: \u201cGuest! If one much worse\nArriv\u2019d here than thyself, it were a curse\nTo my poor means, to let a stranger taste\nContempt for fit food. Poor men, and unplac\u2019d\nIn free seats of their own, are all from Jove\nCommended to our entertaining love.\nBut poor is th\u2019 entertainment I can give,\nYet free and loving. Of such men as live\nThe lives of servants, and are still in fear\nWhere young lords govern, this is all the cheer\nThey can afford a stranger. There was one\nThat us\u2019d to manage this now desert throne,\nTo whom the Gods deny return, that show\u2019d\nHis curious favour to me, and bestow\u2019d\nPossessions on me, a most-wish\u00e9d wife,\nA house, and portion, and a servant\u2019s life,\nFit for the gift a gracious king should give;\nWho still took pains himself, and God made thrive\nHis personal endeavour, and to me\nHis work the more increas\u2019d, in which you see\nI now am conversant. And therefore much\nHis hand had help\u2019d me, had Heav\u2019n\u2019s will been such,\nHe might have here grown old. But he is gone,\nAnd would to God the whole successi\u00f3n\nOf Helen might go with him, since for her\nSo many men died, whose fate did confer\nMy liege to Troy, in Agamemnon\u2019s grace,\nTo spoil her people, and her turrets race!\u201d\nThis said, his coat to him he straight did gird,\nAnd to his styes went that contain\u2019d his herd;\nFrom whence he took out two, slew both, and cut\nBoth fairly up; a fire enflam\u2019d, and put\nTo spit the joints; which roasted well, he set\nWith spit and all to him, that he might eat\nFrom thence his food in all the singeing heat,\nYet dredg\u2019d it first with flour; then fill\u2019d his cup\nWith good sweet wine; sat then, and cheer\u2019d him up\n\u201cEat now, my guest, such lean swine as are meat\nFor us poor swains; the fat the Wooers eat,\nIn whose minds no shame, no remorse, doth move,\nThough well they know the bless\u2019d Gods do not love\nUngodly actions, but respect the right,\nAnd in the works of pious men delight.\nBut these are worse than impious, for those\nThat vow t\u2019 injustice, and profess them foes\nTo other nations, enter on their land,\nAnd Jupiter (to show his punishing hand\nUpon th\u2019 invaded, for their penance then)\nGives favour to their foes, though wicked men,\nTo make their prey on them; who, having freight\nTheir ships with spoil enough, weigh anchor straight,\nAnd each man to his house; (and yet ev\u2019n these,\nDoth pow\u2019rful fear of God\u2019s just vengeance seize\nEv\u2019n for that prize in which they so rejoice)\nBut these men, knowing (having heard the voice\nOf God by some means) that sad death hath reft\nThe ruler here, will never suffer left\nTheir unjust wooing of his wife, nor take\nHer often answer, and their own roofs make\nTheir fit retreats, but (since uncheck\u2019d they may)\nThey therefore will make still his goods their prey,\nWithout all spare or end. There is no day,\nNor night, sent out from God, that ever they\nProfane with one beast\u2019s blood, or only two,\nBut more make spoil of; and the wrongs they do\nIn meat\u2019s excess to wine as well extend,\nWhich as excessively their riots spend,\nYet still leave store, for sure his means were great,\nAnd no hero\u00eb, that hath choicest seat\nUpon the fruitful neighbour-continent,\nOr in this isle itself, so opulent\nWas as Ulysses; no, nor twenty such,\nPut altogether, did possess so much.\nWhose herds and flocks I\u2019ll tell to ev\u2019ry head:\nUpon the continent he daily fed\nTwelve herds of oxen, no less flocks of sheep,\nAs many herds of swine, stalls large and steep,\nAnd equal sorts of goats, which tenants there,\nAnd his own shepherds, kept. Then fed he here\nEleven fair stalls of goats, whose food hath yield\nIn the extreme part of a neighbour-field.\nEach stall his herdsman hath, an honest swain,\nYet ev\u2019ry one must ev\u2019ry day sustain\nThe load of one beast (the most-fat, and best\nOf all the stall-fed) to the Wooers\u2019 feast.\nAnd I, for my part, of the swine I keep\n(With four more herdsmen) ev\u2019ry day help steep\nThe Wooers\u2019 appetites in blood of one,\nThe most select our choice can fall upon.\u201d\nTo this Ulysses gave good ear, and fed,\nAnd drunk his wine, and vex\u2019d, and ravish\u00e9d\nHis food for mere vexation. Seeds of ill\nHis stomach sow\u2019d, to hear his goods go still\nTo glut of Wooers. But his dinner done,\nAnd stomach fed to satisfacti\u00f3n,\nHe drunk a full bowl, all of only wine,\nAnd gave it to the guardian of his swine,\nWho took it, and rejoic\u2019d; to whom he said:\n\u201cO friend, who is it that, so rich, hath paid\nPrice for thy service, whose commended pow\u2019r,\nThou sayst, to grace the Grecian conquerour,\nAt Ilion perish\u2019d? Tell me. It may fall\nI knew some such. The great God knows, and all\nThe other deathless Godheads, if I can,\nFar having travell\u2019d, tell of such a man.\u201d\nEum\u00e6us answer\u2019d: \u201cFather, never one,\nOf all the strangers that have touch\u2019d upon\nThis coast, with his life\u2019s news could ever yet\nOf queen, or lov\u2019d son, any credit get.\nThese travellers, for clothes, or for a meal,\nAt all adventures, any lie will tell.\nNor do they trade for truth. Not any man\nThat saw the people Ithacensian,\nOf all their sort, and had the queen\u2019s supplies,\nDid ever tell her any news, but lies.\nShe graciously receives them yet, inquires\nOf all she can, and all in tears expires.\nIt is th\u2019 accustom\u2019d law, that women keep,\nTheir husbands elsewhere dead, at home to weep.\nBut do thou quickly, father, forge a tale,\nSome coat, or cloak, to keep thee warm withal,\nPerhaps some one may yield thee; but for him,\nVultures and dogs have torn from ev\u2019ry limb\nHis porous skin, and forth his soul is fled,\nHis corse at sea to fishes forfeited,\nOr on the shore lies hid in heaps of sand,\nAnd there hath he his ebb, his native strand\nWith friends\u2019 tears flowing. But to me past all\nWere tears created, for I never shall\nFind so humane a royal master more,\nWhatever sea I seek, whatever shore.\nNay, to my father, or my mother\u2019s love\nShould I return, by whom I breathe and move,\nCould I so much joy offer; nor these eyes\n(Though my desires sustain extremities\nFor their sad absence) would so fain be blest\nWith sight of their lives, in my native nest,\nAs with Ulysses dead; in whose last rest,\nO friend, my soul shall love him. He\u2019s not here\nNor do I name him like a flatterer,\nBut as one thankful for his love and care\nTo me a poor man; in the rich so rare.\nAnd be he past all shores where sun can shine,\nI will invoke him as a soul divine.\u201d\n\u201cO friend,\u201d said he, \u201cto say, and to believe,\nHe cannot live, doth too much licence give\nTo incredulity; for, not to speak\nAt needy randon, but my breath to break\nIn sacred oath, Ulysses shall return.\nAnd when his sight recomforts those that mourn\nIn his own roofs, then give me cloak, and coat,\nAnd garments worthy of a man of note.\nBefore which, though need urg\u2019d me never so,\nI\u2019ll not receive a thread, but naked go.\nNo less I hate him than the gates of hell,\nThat poorness can force an untruth to tell.\nLet Jove then (Heav\u2019n\u2019s chief God) just witness bear,\nAnd this thy hospitable table here,\nTogether with unblam\u2019d Ulysses\u2019 house,\nIn which I find receipt so gracious,\nWhat I affirm\u2019d of him shall all be true.\nThis instant year thine eyes ev\u2019n here shall view\nThy lord Ulysses. Nay, ere this month\u2019s end,\nReturn\u2019d full-home, he shall revenge extend\nTo ev\u2019ry one, whose ever deed hath done\nWrong to his wife and his illustrious son.\u201d\n\u201cO father,\u201d he replied, \u201cI\u2019ll neither give\nThy news reward, nor doth Ulysses live.\nBut come, enough of this, let\u2019s drink and eat,\nAnd never more his memory repeat.\nIt grieves my heart to be remember\u2019d thus\nBy anyone of one so glorious.\nBut stand your oath in your assertion strong,\nAnd let Ulysses come, for whom I long,\nFor whom his wife, for whom his ag\u00e9d sire,\nFor whom his son consumes his god-like fire,\nWhose chance I now must mourn, and ever shall.\nWhom when the Gods had brought to be as tall\nAs any upright plant, and I had said,\nHe would amongst a court of men have sway\u2019d\nIn counsels, and for form have been admir\u2019d\nEv\u2019n with his father, some God misinspir\u2019d,\nOr man took from him his own equal mind,\nAnd pass\u2019d him for the Pylian shore to find\nHis long-lost father. In return from whence,\nThe Wooers\u2019 pride way-lays his innocence,\nThat of divine Arcesius all the race\nMay fade to Ithaca, and not the grace\nOf any name left to it. But leave we\nHis state, however, if surpris\u2019d he be,\nOr if he scape. And may Saturnius\u2019 hand\nProtect him safely to his native land.\nDo thou then, father, show your griefs, and cause\nOf your arrival here; nor break the laws\nThat truth prescribes you, but relate your name,\nAnd of what race you are, your father\u2019s fame,\nAnd native city\u2019s; ship and men unfold,\nThat to this isle convey\u2019d you, since I hold\nYour here arrival was not all by shore,\nNor that your feet your ag\u00e9d person bore.\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d him: \u201cI\u2019ll tell all strictly true,\nIf time, and food, and wine enough, accrue\nWithin your roof to us, that freely we\nMay sit and banquet. Let your business be\nDischarg\u2019d by others; for, when all is done,\nI cannot easily, while the year doth run\nHis circle round, run over all the woes,\nBeneath which, by the course the Gods dispose,\nMy sad age labours. First, I\u2019ll tell you then,\nFrom ample Crete I fetch my native strain;\nMy father wealthy, whose house many a life\nBrought forth and bred besides by his true wife,\nBut me a bond-maid bore, his concubine.\nYet tender\u2019d was I as his lawful line\nBy him of whose race I my life profess.\nCastor his name, surnam\u2019d Hylacides.\nA man, in fore-times, by the Cretan state,\nFor goods, good children, and his fortunate\nSuccess in all acts, of no mean esteem.\nBut death-conferring Fates have banish\u2019d him\nTo Pluto\u2019s kingdom. After whom, his sons\nBy lots divided his possessions,\nAnd gave me passing little; yet bestow\u2019d\nA house on me, to which my virtues woo\u2019d\nA wife from rich men\u2019s roofs; nor was borne low,\nNor last in fight, though all nerves fail me now.\nBut I suppose, that you, by thus much seen,\nKnow by the stubble what the corn hath been.\nFor, past all doubt, affliction past all mean\nHath brought my age on; but, in seasons past,\nBoth Mars and Pallas have with boldness grac\u2019d,\nAnd fortitude, my fortunes, when I chus\u2019d\nChoice men for ambush, prest to have produc\u2019d\nIll to mine enemies; my too vent\u2019rous spirit\nSet never death before mine eyes, for merit,\nBut, far the first advanc\u2019d still, still I strook\nDead with my lance whoever overtook\nMy speed of foot. Such was I then for war.\nBut rustic actions ever fled me far,\nAnd household thrift, which breeds a famous race.\nIn oar-driv\u2019n ships did I my pleasures place,\nIn battles, light darts, arrows. Sad things all,\nAnd into others\u2019 thoughts with horror fall.\nBut what God put into my mind, to me\nI still esteem\u2019d as my felicity.\nAs men of sev\u2019ral metals are address\u2019d,\nSo sev\u2019ral forms are in their souls impress\u2019d.\nBefore the sons of Greece set foot in Troy,\nNine times, in chief, I did command enjoy\nOf men and ships against our foreign foe,\nAnd all I fitly wish\u2019d succeeded so.\nYet, after this, I much exploit achiev\u2019d,\nWhen straight my house in all possessions thriv\u2019d.\nYet, after that, I great and rev\u2019rend grew\nAmongst the Cretans, till the Thund\u2019rer drew\nOur forces out in his foe-Troy decrees;\nA hateful service that dissolv\u2019d the knees\nOf many a soldier. And to this was I,\nAnd famous Idomen, enjoin\u2019d t\u2019 apply\nOur ships and pow\u2019rs, Nor was there to be heard\nOne reason for denial, so preferr\u2019d\nWas the unreasonable people\u2019s rumour.\nNine years we therefore fed the martial humour,\nAnd in the tenth, de-peopling Priam\u2019s town,\nWe sail\u2019d for home. But God had quickly blown\nOur fleet in pieces; and to wretched me\nThe counsellor Jove did much mishap decree,\nFor, only one month, I had leave t\u2019 enjoy\nMy wife and children, and my goods t\u2019 employ.\nBut, after this, my mind for \u00c6gypt stood,\nWhen nine fair ships I rigg\u2019d forth for the flood,\nMann\u2019d them with noble soldiers, all things fit\nFor such a voyage soon were won to it.\nYet six days after stay\u2019d my friends in feast,\nWhile I in banquets to the Gods addrest\nMuch sacred matter for their sacrifice.\nThe seventh, we boarded; and the Northern skies\nLent us a frank and passing prosp\u2019rous gale,\n\u2018Fore which we bore us free and easy sail\nAs we had back\u2019d a full and frolic tide;\nNor felt one ship misfortune for her pride,\nBut safe we sat, our sailors and the wind\nConsenting in our convoy. When heav\u2019n shin\u2019d\nIn sacred radiance of the fifth fair day,\nTo sweetly-water\u2019d Egypt reach\u2019d our way,\nAnd there we anchor\u2019d; where I charg\u2019d my men\nTo stay aboard, and watch. Dismissing then\nSome scouts to get the hill-tops, and discover,\nThey (to their own intemperance giv\u2019n over).\nStraight fell to forage the rich fields, and thence\nEnforce both wives and infants, with th\u2019 expence\nOf both their bloods. When straight the rumour flew\nUp to the city. Which heard, up they drew\nBy day\u2019s First break, and all the field was fill\u2019d\nWith foot and horse, whose arms did all things gild.\nAnd then the lightning-loving Deity cast\nA foul flight on my soldiers; nor stood fast\nOne man of all. About whom mischief stood,\nAnd with his stern steel drew in streams the blood\nThe greater part fed in their dissolute veins;\nThe rest were sav\u2019d, and made enthrall\u00e9d swains\nTo all the basest usages there bred.\nAnd then, ev\u2019n Jove himself supplied my head\nWith saving counsel; though I wish\u2019d to die,\nAnd there in Egypt with their slaughters lie,\nSo much grief seiz\u2019d me, but Jove made me yield,\nDishelm my head, take from my neck my shield,\nHurl from my hand my lance, and to the troop\nOf horse the king led instantly made up,\nEmbrace, and kiss his knees; whom pity won\nTo give me safety, and (to make me shun\nThe people\u2019s outrage, that made in amain,\nAll jointly fir\u2019d with thirst to see me slain)\nHe took me to his chariot, weeping, home,\nHimself with fear of Jove\u2019s wrath overcome,\nWho yielding souls receives, and takes most ill\nAll such as well may save yet love to kill.\nSeven years I sojourn\u2019d here, and treasure gat\nIn good abundance of th\u2019 \u00c6gyptian state,\nFor all would give; but when th\u2019 eighth year began,\nA knowing fellow (that would gnaw a man[3]\nLike to a vermin, with his hellish brain,\nAnd many an honest soul ev\u2019n quick had slain,\nWhose name was Ph\u0153nix) close accosted me,\nAnd with insinuations, such as he\nPractis\u2019d on others, my consent he gain\u2019d\nTo go into Ph\u0153nicia, where remain\u2019d\nHis house, and living. And with him I liv\u2019d\nA c\u00f3mplete year; but when were all arriv\u2019d\nThe months and days, and that the year again\nWas turning round, and ev\u2019ry season\u2019s reign\nRenew\u2019d upon us, we for Libya went,\nWhen, still inventing crafts to circumvent,\nHe made pretext, that I should only go\nAnd help convey his freight; but thought not so,\nFor his intent was to have sold me there,\nAnd made good gain for finding me a year.\nYet him I follow\u2019d, though suspecting this,\nFor, being aboard his ship, I must be his\nOf strong necessity. She ran the flood\n(Driven with a northern gale, right free, and good)\nAmids the full stream, full on Crete. But then\nJove plotted death to him and all his men,\nFor (put off quite from Crete, and so far gone\nThat shore was lost, and we set eye on none,\nBut all show\u2019d heav\u2019n and sea) above our keel\nJove pointed right a cloud as black as hell,\nBeneath which all the sea hid, and from whence\nJove thunder\u2019d as his hand would never thence,\nAnd thick into our ship he threw his flash;[4]\nThat \u2019gainst a rock, or flat, her keel did dash\nWith headlong rapture. Of the sulphur all\nHer bulk did savour; and her men let fall\nAmids the surges, on which all lay tost,\nLike sea-gulls, round about her sides, and lost.\nAnd so God took all home-return from them.\nBut Jove himself, though plung\u2019d in that extreme,\nRecover\u2019d me by thrusting on my hand\nThe ship\u2019s long mast. And, that my life might stand\nA little more up, I embrac\u2019d it round;\nAnd on the rude winds, that did ruins sound,\nNine days we hover\u2019d. In the tenth black night\nA huge sea cast me on Thesprotia\u2019s height,\nWhere the hero\u00eb Phidon, that was chief\nOf all the Thesprots, gave my wrack relief,\nWithout the price of that redempti\u00f3n[5]\nThat Ph\u0153nix fish\u2019d for. Where the king\u2019s lov\u2019d son\nCame to me, took me by the hand, and led\nInto his court my poor life, surfeited\nWith cold and labour; and because my wrack\nChanc\u2019d on his father\u2019s shore, he let not lack\nMy plight or coat, or cloak, or anything\nMight cherish heat in me. And here the king\nSaid, he receiv\u2019d Ulysses as his guest,\nObserv\u2019d him friend-like, and his course addrest\nHome to his country, showing there to me\nUlysses\u2019 goods, a very treasury\nOf brass, and gold, and steel of curious frame.\nAnd to the tenth succession of his name\nHe laid up wealth enough, to serve beside\nIn that king\u2019s house, so hugely amplified\nHis treasure was. But from his court the king\nAffirm\u2019d him shipp\u2019d for the Dodonean spring,\nTo hear, from out the high-hair\u2019d oak of Jove,\nCounsel from him for means to his remove\nTo his lov\u2019d country, whence so many a year\nHe had been absent; if he should appear\nDisguis\u2019d, or manifest; and further swore\nIn his mid court, at sacrifice, before\nThese very eyes, that he had ready there\nBoth ship and soldiers, to attend and bear\nHim to his country. But, before, it chanc\u2019d\nThat a Thesprotian ship was to be launch\u2019d\nFor the much-corn-renown\u2019d Dulichian land,\nIn which the king gave to his men command\nTo take, and bring me under tender hand\nTo king Acastus. But, in ill design\nOf my poor life, did their desires combine,\nSo far forth, as might ever keep me under\nIn fortune\u2019s hands, and tear my state in sunder.\nAnd when the water-treader far away\nHad left the land, then plotted they the day\nOf my long servitude, and took from me\nBoth coat and cloak, and all things that might be\nGrace in my habit, and in place put on\nThese tatter\u2019d rags, which now you see upon\nMy wretched bosom. When heav\u2019n\u2019s light took sea,[6]\nThey fetch\u2019d the field-works of fair Ithaca,\nAnd in the arm\u2019d ship, with a well-wreath\u2019d cord,\nThey straitly bound me, and did all disboard\nTo shore to supper, in contentious rout.\nYet straight the Gods themselves took from about\nMy pressed limbs the bands, with equal ease,\nAnd I, my head in rags wrapp\u2019d, took the seas,\nDescending by the smooth stern, using then\nMy hands for oars, and made from these bad men\nLong way in little time. At last, I fetch\u2019d\nA goodly grove of oaks, whose shore I reach\u2019d,\nAnd cast me prostrate on it. When they knew\nMy thus-made \u2018scape, about the shores they flew,\nBut, soon not finding, held it not their best\nTo seek me further, but return\u2019d to rest\nAboard their vessel. Me the Gods lodg\u2019d close,\nConducting me into the safe repose\nA good man\u2019s stable yielded. And thus Fate\nThis poor hour added to my living date.\u201d\n\u201cO wretch of guests,\u201d said he, \u201cthy tale hath stirr\u2019d\nMy mind to much ruth, both how thou hast err\u2019d,\nAnd suffer\u2019d, hearing in such good parts shown.\nBut, what thy chang\u2019d relation would make known\nAbout Ulysses, I hold neither true,\nNor will believe. And what need\u2019st thou pursue\nA lie so rashly, since he sure is so\nAs I conceive, for which my skill shall go?\nThe safe return my king lacks cannot be,\nHe is so envied of each Deity,\nSo clear, so cruelly. For not in Troy\nThey gave him end, nor let his corpse enjoy\nThe hands of friends (which well they might have done,\nHe manag\u2019d arms to such perfection,\nAnd should have had his sepulchre, and all,\nAnd all the Greeks to grace his funeral,\nAnd this had giv\u2019n a glory to his son\nThrough all times future) but his head is run\nUnseen, unhonour\u2019d, into Harpies\u2019 maws.\nFor my part, I\u2019ll not meddle with the cause,\nI live a separate life amongst my swine,\nCome at no town for any need of mine,\nUnless the circularly-witted queen[7]\n(When any far-come guest is to be seen\nThat brings her news) commands me bring a brawn,\nAbout which (all things being in question drawn,\nThat touch the king) they sit, and some are sad\nFor his long absence, some again are glad\nTo waste his goods unwreak\u2019d, all talking still.\nBut, as for me, I nourish\u2019d little will\nT\u2019 inquire or question of him, since the man\nThat feign\u2019d himself the fled \u00c6tolian,\nFor slaught\u2019ring one, through many regions stray\u2019d,\nIn my stall, as his diversory, stay\u2019d.\nWhere well entreating him, he told me then,\nAmongst the Cretans, with king Idomen,\nHe saw Ulysses at his ship\u2019s repair,\nThat had been brush\u2019d with the enrag\u00e9d air;\nAnd that in summer, or in autumn, sure,\nWith all his brave friends and rich furniture,\nHe would be here; and nothing so, nor so.\nBut thou, an old man, taught with so much woe\nAs thou hast suffer\u2019d, to be season\u2019d true,\nAnd brought by his fate, do not here pursue\nHis gratulations with thy cunning lies,\nThou canst not soak so through my faculties\nFor I did never either honour thee\nOr give thee love, to bring these tales to me,\nBut in my fear of hospitable Jove\nThou didst to this pass my affections move.\u201d\n\u201cYou stand exceeding much incredulous,\u201d\nReplied Ulysses, \u201cto have witness\u2019d thus\nMy word and oath, yet yield no trust at all.\nBut make me now a covenant here, and call\nThe dreadful Gods to witness, that take seat\nIn large Olympus: If your king\u2019s retreat\nProve made, ev\u2019n hither, you shall furnish me\nWith cloak, and coat, and make my passage free\nFor lov\u2019d Dulichius; if, as fits my vow,\nYour king return not, let your servants throw\nMy old limbs headlong from some rock most high,\nThat other poor men may take fear to lie.\u201d\nThe herdsman, that had gifts in him divine,\nReplied: \u201cO guest, how shall this fame of mine\nAnd honest virtue, amongst men, remain\nNow, and hereafter, without worthy stain,\nIf I, that led thee to my hovel here,\nAnd made thee fitting hospitable cheer,\nShould after kill thee, and thy lov\u00e9d mind\nForce from thy bones? Or how should stand inclin\u2019d\nWith any faith my will t\u2019 importune Jove,\nIn any pray\u2019r hereafter for his love?\nCome, now \u2019tis supper\u2019s hour, and instant haste\nMy men will make home, when our sweet repast\nWe\u2019ll taste together.\u201d This discourse they held\nIn mutual kind, when from a neighbour-field\nHis swine and swine-herds came, who in their cotes\nInclos\u2019d their herds for sleep, which mighty throats\nLaid out in ent\u2019ring. Then the God-like swain\nHis men enjoin\u2019d thus: \u201cBring me to be slain\nA chief swine female, for my stranger guest,\nWhen altogether we will take our feast,\nRefreshing now our spirits, that all day take\nPains in our swine\u2019s good, who may therefore make\nFor our pains with them all amends with one,\nSince others eat our labours, and take none.\u201d\nThis said, his sharp steel hew\u2019d down wood, and they\nA passing fat swine hal\u2019d out of the sty,\nOf five years old, which to the fire they put.\nWhen first Eum\u00e6us from the front did cut\nThe sacred hair, and cast it in the fire,\nThen pray\u2019d to heav\u2019n; for still before desire\nWas serv\u2019d with food, in their so rude abodes,\nNot the poor swine-herd would forget the Gods,\nGood souls they bore, how bad soever were\nThe habits that their bodies\u2019 parts did bear.\nWhen all the deathless Deities besought,\nThat wise Ulysses might be safely brought\nHome to his house; then with a log of oak\nLeft lying by, high lifting it, a stroke\nHe gave so deadly it made life expire.\nThen cut the rest her throat, and all in fire\nThey hid and sing\u2019d her, cut her up; and then,\nThe master took the office from the men,\nWho on the altar did the parts impose\nThat serv\u2019d for sacrifice; beginning close\nAbout the belly, thorough which he went.\nAnd (all the chief fat gath\u2019ring) gave it vent\n(Part dredg\u2019d with flour) into the sacred flame;\nThen cut they up the joints, and roasted them,\nDrew all from spit, and serv\u2019d in dishes all.\nThen rose Eum\u00e6us (who was general\nIn skill to guide each act his fit event)\nAnd, all in seven parts cut, the first part went\nTo service of the Nymphs and Mercury,\nTo whose names he did rites of piety\nIn vows particular; and all the rest\nHe shar\u2019d to ev\u2019ry one, but his lov\u2019d guest\nHe grac\u2019d with all the chine, and of that king,\nTo have his heart cheer\u2019d, set up ev\u2019ry string.\nWhich he observing said: \u201cI would to Jove,\nEum\u00e6us, thou liv\u2019dst in his worthy love\nAs great as mine, that giv\u2019st to such a guest\nAs my poor self of all thy goods the best.\u201d\nEum\u00e6us answer\u2019d: \u201cEat, unhappy wretch,\nAnd to what here is at thy pleasure reach.\nThis I have, this thou want\u2019st; thus God will give,\nThus take away, in us, and all that live.\nTo his will\u2019s equal centre all things fall,\nHis mind he must have, for he can do all.\u201d\nThus having eat, and to his wine descended,\nBefore he serv\u2019d his own thirst, he commended\nThe first use of it in fit sacrifice\n(As of his meat) to all the Deities,\nAnd to the city-racer\u2019s hand applied\nThe second cup, whose place was next his side.\nMesauli\u00fas did distribute the meat,\n(To which charge was Eum\u00e6us solely set,\nIn absence of Ulysses, by the queen\nAnd old Laertes) and this man had been\nBought by Eum\u00e6us, with his faculties,\nEmploy\u2019d then in the Taphian merchandise.\nBut now, to food appos\u2019d, and order\u2019d thus,\nAll fell. Desire suffic\u2019d, Mesauli\u00fas\nDid take away. For bed then next they were,\nAll thoroughly satisfied with c\u00f3mplete cheer.\nThe night then came, ill, and no taper shin\u2019d;\nJove rain\u2019d her whole date; th\u2019 ever-wat\u2019ry wind\nZephyr blew loud; and Laertiades\n(Approving kind Eum\u00e6us\u2019 carefulness\nFor his whole good) made far about assay,\nTo get some cast-off cassock (lest he lay\nThat rough night cold) of him, or anyone\nOf those his servants; when he thus begun:\n\u201cHear me, Eum\u00e6us, and my other friends,\nI\u2019ll use a speech that to my glory tends,\nSince I have drunk wine past my usual guise.\n_Strong wine commands the fool and moves the wise,_\nMoves and impels him too to sing and dance,\nAnd break in pleasant laughters, and, perchance,\nPrefer a speech too that were better in.\nBut when my spirits once to speak begin,\nI shall not then dissemble. Would to heav\u2019n,\nI were as young, and had my forces driv\u2019n\nAs close together, as when once our pow\u2019rs\nWe led to ambush under th\u2019 Ilion tow\u2019rs!\nWhere Ithacus and Menelaus were\nThe two commanders, when it pleas\u2019d them there\nTo take myself for third, when to the town\nAnd lofty walls we led, we couch\u2019d close down,\nAll arm\u2019d, amids the osiers and the reeds,\nWhich oftentimes th\u2019 o\u2019er-flowing river feeds.\nThe cold night came, and th\u2019 icy northern gale\nBlew bleak upon us, after which did fall\nA snow so cold, it cut as in it beat\nA frozen water, which was all concrete\nAbout our shields like crystal. All made feign\nAbove our arms to clothe, and clothe again.\nAnd so we made good shift, our shields beside\nClapp\u2019d close upon our clothes, to rest and hide\nFrom all discovery. But I, poor fool,\nLeft my weeds with my men, because so cool\nI thought it could not prove; which thought my pride\nA little strengthen\u2019d, being loth to hide\nA goodly glitt\u2019ring garment I had on;\nAnd so I follow\u2019d with my shield alone,\nAnd that brave weed. But when the night near ended\nHer course on earth, and that the stars descended,\nI jogg\u2019d Ulysses, who lay passing near,\nAnd spake to him, that had a nimble ear,\nAssuring him, that long I could not lie\nAmongst the living, for the fervency\nOf that sharp night would kill me, since as then\nMy evil angel made me with my men\nLeave all weeds but a fine one. But I know\n\u2019Tis vain to talk; here wants all remedy now.\nThis said, he bore that understanding part\nIn his prompt spirit that still show\u2019d his art\nIn fight and counsel, saying (in a word,\nAnd that low whisper\u2019d) peace, lest you afford\nSome Greek note of your softness. No word more,\nBut made as if his stern austerity bore\nMy plight no pity; yet, as still he lay\nHis head reposing on his hand, gave way\nTo this invention: \u2018Hear me friends, a dream\n(That was of some celestial light a beam)\nStood in my sleep before me, prompting me\nWith this fit notice: \u2018We are far,\u2019 said he,\n\u2018From out our fleet. Let one go then, and try\nIf Agamemnon will afford supply\nTo what we now are strong.\u2019 This stirr\u2019d a speed\nIn Thoas to th\u2019 affair; whose purple weed\nHe left for haste; which then I took, and lay\nIn quiet after, till the dawn of day.\nThis shift Ulysses made for one in need,\nAnd would to heav\u2019n, that youth such spirit did feed\nNow in my nerves, and that my joints were knit\nWith such a strength as made me then held fit\nTo lead men with Ulysses! I should then\nSeem worth a weed that fits a herdsman\u2019s men,\nFor two respects, to gain a thankful friend,\nAnd to a good man\u2019s need a good extend.\u201d\n\u201cO father,\u201d said Eum\u00e6us \u201cthou hast shown\nGood cause for us to give thee good renown,\nNot using any word that was not freed\nFrom all least ill. Thou, therefore, shalt not need\nOr coat, or other thing, that aptly may\nBeseem a wretched suppliant for defray\nOf this night\u2019s need. But, when her golden throne\nThe morn ascends, you must resume your own,\nFor here you must not dream of many weeds,\nOr any change at all. We serve our needs\nAs you do yours; one back, one coat. But when\nUlysses\u2019 lov\u00e9d son returns, he then\nShall give you coat and cassock, and bestow\nYour person where your heart and soul is now,\u201d\nThis said, he rose, made near the fire his bed,\nWhich all with goats\u2019 and sheep skins he bespread.\nAll which Ulysses with himself did line,\nWith whom; besides, he chang\u2019d a gaberdine,\nThick lin\u2019d, and soft, which still he made his shift\nWhen he would dress him \u2019gainst the horrid drift\nOf tempest, when deep winter\u2019s season blows.\nNor pleas\u2019d it him to lie there with his sows,\nBut while Ulysses slept there, and close by\nThe other younkers, he abroad would lie,\nAnd therefore arm\u2019d him. Which set cheerful fare\nBefore Ulysses\u2019 heart, to see such care\nOf his goods taken, how far off soever\nHis fate his person and his wealth should sever.\nFirst then, a sharp-edg\u2019d sword he girt about\nHis well-spread shoulders, and (to shelter out\nThe sharp West wind that blew) he put him on\nA thick-lin\u2019d jacket, and yet cast upon\nAll that the large hide of a goat well-fed.\nA lance then took he, with a keen steel head,\nTo be his keep-off both \u2019gainst men and dogs.\nAnd thus went he to rest with his male hogs,\nThat still abroad lay underneath a rock,\nShield to the North wind\u2019s ever-eager shock.\n\n THE END OF THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n [1] _\u03a0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03c5\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2, materi\u00e6 adh\u00e6rens: item, qui rebus mundanis deditus\n est._\n\n [2] _\u2018\u03d2\u03bb\u03b1\u03ba\u03cc\u03bc\u03c9\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, ad latrandum fato quodam natus._\n\n [3] _\u0391\u03bd\u1f74\u03c1 \u1f00\u03c0\u03b1\u03c4\u03ae\u03bb\u03b9\u03b1 \u03b5\u1f30\u03b4\u1f7c\u03c2, \u03c4\u03c1\u03ce\u03ba\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2._\n\n [4] _\u2018\u0395\u03bb\u03b5\u03bb\u03af\u03c7\u03b8\u03b7 qui terram rapido motu concutit._\n\n [5] _\u2018\u0391\u03c0\u03c1\u03b9\u03ac\u03c4\u03b7\u03bd sine emptionis seu redemptionis pretio._\n\n [6] At sunset.\n\n [7] _\u03a0\u03b5\u03c1\u03af\u03d5\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd._\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nMinerva to his native seat.\nExhorts Ulysses\u2019 son\u2019s retreat,\nIn bed, and waking. He receives\nGifts of Atrides, and so leaves\nThe Spartan court. And, going aboard,\nDoth favourable way afford\nTo Theoclymenus, that was\nThe Argive augur, and sought pass,\nFled for a slaughter he had done.\nEum\u00e6us tells Laertes\u2019 son,\nHow he became his father\u2019s man,\nBeing sold by the Ph\u0153nician\nFor some agreed-on faculties,\nFrom forth the Syrian isle made prise.\nTelemachus, arrived at home,\nDoth to Eum\u00e6us\u2019 cottage come.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\nO.\nFrom Sparta\u2019s strand\nMakes safe access\nTo his own land\nUlyssides.\n\nIn Laced\u00e6mon, large, and apt for dances,[1]\nAthenian Pallas her access advances\nUp to the great-in-soul Ulysses\u2019 seed,\nSuggesting his return now fit for deed.\nShe found both him and Nestor\u2019s noble son\nIn bed, in front of that fair mansi\u00f3n,\nNestorides surpris\u2019d with pleasing sleep,\nBut on the watch Ulysses\u2019 son did keep,\nSleep could not enter, cares did so excite\nHis soul, through all the solitary night,\nFor his lov\u2019d father. To him, near, she said:\n\u201cTelemachus! \u2019Tis time that now were stay\u2019d\nThy foreign travels, since thy goods are free\nFor those proud men that all will eat from thee,\nDivide thy whole possessi\u00f3ns, and leave\nThy too-late presence nothing to receive.\nIncite the shrill-voic\u2019d Menelaus then,\nTo send thee to thy native seat again,\nWhile thou mayst yet find in her honour strong\nThy blameless mother, \u2019gainst thy fathers\u2019 wrong.\nFor both the father, and the brothers too,\nOf thy lov\u2019d mother, will not suffer so\nExtended any more her widow\u2019s bed,\nBut make her now her richest wooer wed,\nEurymachus, who chiefly may augment\nHer gifts, and make her jointure eminent.\nAnd therefore haste thee, lest, in thy despite,\nThy house stand empty of thy native right.\nFor well thou know\u2019st what mind a woman bears;\nThe house of him, whoever she endears\nHerself in nuptials to, she sees increas\u2019d,\nThe issue of her first lov\u2019d lord deceas\u2019d\nForgotten quite, and never thought on more.\nIn thy return then, the re-counted store\nThou find\u2019st reserv\u2019d, to thy most trusted maid\nCommit in guard, till Heav\u2019n\u2019s Pow\u2019rs have purvey\u2019d\nA wife, in virtue and in beauty\u2019s grace,\nOf fit sort for thee, to supply her place.\nAnd this note more I\u2019ll give thee, which repose\nIn sure remembrance: The best sort of those\nThat woo thy mother watchful scouts address\nBoth in the straits of th\u2019 Ithacensian seas,\nAnd dusty Samos, with intent t\u2019 invade\nAnd take thy life, ere thy return be made.\nWhich yet I think will fail, and some of them\nThat waste thy fortunes taste of that extreme\nThey plot for thee. But keep off far from shore,\nAnd day and night sail, for a fore-right blore,\nWhoever of th\u2019 Immortals that vow guard\nAnd \u2019scape to thy return, will see prepar\u2019d.\nAs soon as thou arriv\u2019st, dismiss to town\nThy ship and men, and first of all make down\nTo him that keeps thy swine, and doth conceive\nA tender care to see thee well survive.\nThere sleep; and send him to the town, to tell\nThe chaste Penelop\u00e9, that safe and well\nThou liv\u2019st in his charge, and that Pylos\u2019 sands\nThe place contain\u2019d from whence thy person lands.\u201d\nThus she to large Olympus made ascent.\nWhen with his heel a little touch he lent\nTo Nestor\u2019s son, whose sleep\u2019s sweet chains he loos\u2019d,\nBad rise, and see in chariot inclos\u2019d\nTheir one-hoof\u2019d horse, that they might straight be gone.\n\u201cNo such haste,\u201d he replied, \u201cNight holds her throne,\nAnd dims all way to course of chariot.\nThe morn will soon get up. Nor see forgot\nThe gifts with haste, that will, I know, be rich,\nAnd put into our coach with gracious speech\nBy lance-fam\u2019d Menelaus. Not a guest\nShall touch at his house, but shall store his breast\nWith fit mind of an hospitable man,\nTo last as long as any daylight can\nHis eyes recomfort, in such gifts as he\nWill proofs make of his hearty royalty.\u201d\nHe had no sooner said, but up arose\nAurora, that the golden hills repose.\nAnd Menelaus, good-at-martial-cries,\nFrom Helen\u2019s bed rais\u2019d, to his guest applies\nHis first appearance. Whose repair made known\nT\u2019 Ulysses\u2019 lov\u2019d son, on his robe was thrown\nAbout his gracious body, his cloak cast\nAthwart his ample shoulders, and in haste\nAbroad he went, and did the king accost:\n\u201cAtrides, guarded with heav\u2019n\u2019s deified host,\nGrant now remission to my native right,\nMy mind now urging mine own house\u2019s sight.\u201d\n\u201cNor will I stay,\u201d said he, \u201cthy person long,\nSince thy desires to go are grown so strong.\nI should myself be angry to sustain\nThe like detention urg\u2019d by other men.\nWho loves a guest past mean, past mean will hate,\n_The mean in all acts bears the best estate._\nA like ill \u2019tis, to thrust out such a guest\nAs would not go, as to detain the rest.\nWe should a guest love, while he loves to stay,\nAnd, when he likes not, give him loving way.\nYet suffer so, that we may gifts impose\nIn coach to thee; which ere our hands inclose,\nThine eyes shall see, lest else our loves may glose.\nBesides, I\u2019ll cause our women to prepare\nWhat our house yields, and merely so much fare\nAs may suffice for health. Both well will do,\nBoth for our honour and our profit too.\nAnd, serving strength with food, you after may\nAs much earth measure as will match the clay.\nIf you will turn your course from sea, and go\nThrough Greece and Argos (that myself may so\nKeep kind way with thee) I\u2019ll join horse, and guide\nT\u2019 our human cities. Nor ungratified\nWill anyone remit us; some one thing\nWill each present us, that along may bring\nOur pass with love, and prove our virtues blaz\u2019d:\nA caldron, or a tripod, richly-braz\u2019d,\nTwo mules, a bowl of gold, that hath his price\nHeighten\u2019d with emblems of some rare device.\u201d\nThe wise prince answer\u2019d: \u201cI would gladly go\nHome to mine own, and see that govern\u2019d so\nThat I may keep what I for certain hold,\nNot hazard that for only hop\u2019d-for gold.\nI left behind me none so all ways fit\nTo give it guard, as mine own trust with it.\nBesides, in this broad course which you propose,\nMy father seeking I myself may lose.\u201d\nWhen this the shrill-voic\u2019d Menelaus heard,\nHe charg\u2019d his queen and maids to see prepar\u2019d\nBreakfast, of what the whole house held for best.\nTo him rose Eteoneus from his rest,\nWhose dwelling was not far off from the court,\nAnd his attendance his command did sort\nWith kindling fires, and furth\u2019ring all the roast,\nIn act of whose charge heard no time he lost.\nHimself then to an odorous room descended,\nWhom Megapenthe and his queen attended.\nCome to his treasury, a two-ear\u2019d cup\nHe choos\u2019d of all, and made his son bear up\nA silver bowl. The queen then taking stand\nAside her chest, where by her own fair hand\nLay vests of all hues wrought, she took out one\nMost large, most artful, chiefly fair, and shone\nLike to a star, and lay of all the last.\nThen through the house with either\u2019s gift they past;\nWhen to Ulysses\u2019 son Atrides said:\n\u201cTelemachus, since so entirely sway\u2019d\nThy thoughts are with thy vow\u2019d return now tender\u2019d,\nMay Juno\u2019s thund\u2019ring husband see it render\u2019d\nPerfect at all parts, action answ\u2019ring thought.\nOf all the rich gifts, in my treasure sought,\nI give thee here the most in grace and best.\nA bowl but silver, yet the brim\u2019s comprest\nWith gold, whose fabric his desert doth bring\nFrom Vulcan\u2019s hand, presented by the king\nAnd great hero\u00eb of Sidonia\u2019s state,\nWhen at our parting he did consummate\nHis whole house-keeping. This do thou command.\u201d\nThis said, he put the round bowl in his hand,\nAnd then his strong son Megapenthe plac\u2019d\nThe silver cup before him, amply grac\u2019d\nWith work and lustre. Helen (standing by,\nAnd in her hand the robe, her housewifery)\nHis name rememb\u2019ring, said: \u201cAnd I present,\nLov\u2019d son, this gift to thee, the monument\nOf the so-many-lov\u00e9d Helen\u2019s hands,\nWhich, at the knitting of thy nuptial bands,\nPresent thy wife. In mean space, may it lie\nBy thy lov\u2019d mother; but to me apply\nThy pleasure in it, and thus take thy way\nTo thy fair house, and country\u2019s wish\u00e9d stay.\u201d\nThus gave she to his hands the veil, and he\nThe acceptation author\u2019d joyfully.\nWhich in the chariot\u2019s chest Pisistratus\nPlac\u2019d with the rest, and held miraculous.\nThe yellow-headed king then led them all\nTo seats and thrones plac\u2019d in his spacious hall.\nThe hand-maid water brought, and gave it stream\nFrom out a fair and golden ewer to them,\nFrom whose hands to a silver caldron fled\nThe troubled wave. A bright board then she spread,\nOn which another rev\u2019rend dame set bread.\nTo which more servants store of victuals serv\u2019d.\nEteon\u00ebus was the man that kerv\u2019d,\nAnd Megapenthe fill\u2019d them all their wine.\nAll fed and drank, till all felt care decline\nFor those refreshings. Both the guests did go\nTo horse, and coach, and forth the portico\nA little issued, when the yellow King\nBrought wine himself, that, with an offering\nTo all the Gods, they might their journey take.\nHe stood before the Gods, and thus he spake:\n\u201cFarewell young Princes! To grave Nestor\u2019s ear\nThis salutation from my gratitude bear:\nThat I profess, in all our Ilion wars,\nHe stood a careful father to my cares.\u201d\nTo whom the wise Ulyssides replied:\n\u201cWith all our utmost shall be signified,\nJove-kept Atrides, your right royal will;\nAnd would to God, I could as well fulfill\nMine own mind\u2019s gratitude, for your free grace,\nIn telling to Ulysses, in the place\nOf my return, in what accomplish\u2019d kind\nI have obtain\u2019d the office of a friend\nAt your deservings; whose fair end you crown\nWith gifts so many, and of such renown!\u201d\nHis wish, that he might find in his retreat\nHis father safe return\u2019d (to so repeat\nThe king\u2019s love to him) was saluted thus:\nAn eagle rose, and in her seres did truss\nA goose, all-white, and huge, a household one,\nWhich men and women, crying out upon,\nPursued, but she, being near the guests, her flight\nMade on their right hand, and kept still fore-right\nBefore their horses; which observ\u2019d by them,\nThe spirits in all their minds took joys extreme,\nWhich Nestor\u2019s son thus question\u2019d: \u201cJove-kept king,[2]\nYield your grave thoughts, if this ostentful thing\n(This eagle, and this goose) touch us, or you?\u201d\nHe put to study, and not knowing how\nTo give fit answer, Helen took on her\nTh\u2019 ostent\u2019s solution, and did this prefer:\n\u201cHear me, and I will play the prophet\u2019s part,\nAs the Immortals cast it in my heart,\nAnd as, I think, will make the true sense known:\nAs this Jove\u2019s bird, from out the mountains flown,\n(Where was her eyrie, and whence rose her race,)\nTruss\u2019d up this goose, that from the house did graze,\nSo shall Ulysses, coming from the wild\nOf seas and suff\u2019rings, reach, unreconcil\u2019d,\nHis native home, where ev\u2019n this hour he is,\nAnd on those house-fed Wooers those wrongs of his\nWill shortly wreak, with all their miseries.\u201d\n\u201cO,\u201d said Telemachus, \u201cif Saturnian Jove\nTo my desires thy dear presage approve,\nWhen I arrive, I will perform to thee\nMy daily vows, as to a Deity.\u201d\nThis said, he us\u2019d his scourge upon the horse,\nThat through the city freely made their course\nTo field, and all day made that first speed good.\nBut when the sun set, and obscureness stood\nIn each man\u2019s way, they ended their access\nAt Pheras, in the house of Diocles,\nSon to Orsilochus, Alph\u00ebus\u2019 seed,\nWho gave them guest-rites; and sleep\u2019s natural need\nThey that night served there. When Aurora rose,\nThey join\u2019d their horse, took coach, and did dispose\nTheir course for Pylos; whose high city soon\nThey reach\u2019d. Nor would Telemachus be won\nTo Nestor\u2019s house, and therefore order\u2019d thus\nHis speech to Nestor\u2019s son, Pisistratus:\n\u201cHow shall I win thy promise to a grace\nThat I must ask of thee? We both embrace\nThe names of bed-fellows, and in that name\nWill glory as an adjunct of our fame;\nOur fathers\u2019 friendship, our own equal age,\nAnd our joint travel, may the more engage\nOur mutual concord. Do not then assay,\nMy God-lov\u2019d friend, to lead me from my way\nTo my near ship, but take a course direct\nAnd leave me there, lest thy old sire\u2019s respect,\nIn his desire to love me, hinder so\nMy way for home, that have such need to go.\u201d\nThis said, Nestorides held all discourse\nIn his kind soul, how best he might enforce\nBoth promise and performance; which, at last;\nHe vow\u2019d to venture, and directly cast\nHis horse about to fetch the ship and shore.\nWhere come, his friends\u2019 most lovely gifts he bore\nAboard the ship, and in her hind-deck plac\u2019d\nThe veil that Helen\u2019s curious hand had grac\u2019d,\nAnd Menelaus\u2019 gold, and said: \u201cAway,\nNor let thy men, in any least date, stay,\nBut quite put off, ere I get home, and tell\nThe old duke, you are past; for passing well\nI know his mind to so exceed all force\nOf any pray\u2019r, that he will stay your course,\nHimself make hither, all your course call back,\nAnd, when he hath you, have no thought to rack\nHim from his bounty, and to let you part\nWithout a present, but be vex\u2019d at heart\nWith both our pleadings, if we once put move\nThe least repression of his fiery love.\u201d\nThus took he coach, his fair-man\u2019d steeds scourg\u2019d on\nAlong the Pylian city, and anon\nHis father\u2019s court reach\u2019d; while Ulysses\u2019 son\nBade board, and arm; which with a thought was done.\nHis rowers set, and he rich odours firing\nIn his hind-deck, for his secure retiring,\nTo great Athenia, to his ship came flying\nA stranger, and a prophet, as relying\nOn wish\u00e9d passage, having newly slain\nA man at Argos, yet his race\u2019s vein\nFlow\u2019d from Melampus, who in former date\nIn Pylos liv\u2019d, and had a huge estate,\nBut fled his country, and the punishing hand\nOf great-soul\u2019d Neleus, in a foreign land,\nFrom that most famous mortal, having held\nA world of riches, nor could be compell\u2019d\nTo render restitution in a year.\nIn mean space, living as close prisoner\nIn court of Phylacus, and for the sake\nOf Neleus\u2019 daughter mighty cares did take,\nTogether with a grievous languor sent\nFrom grave Erinnys, that did much torment\nHis vex\u00e9d conscience; yet his life\u2019s expence\nHe scap\u2019d, and drave the loud-voiced oxen thence,\nTo breed-sheep Pylos, bringing vengeance thus\nHer foul demerit to great Nele\u00fcs,\nAnd to his brother\u2019s house reduc\u2019d his wife.\nWho yet from Pylos did remove his life\nFor feed-horse Argos, where his fate set down\nA dwelling for him, and in much renown\nMade govern many Argives, where a spouse\nHe took to him, and built a famous house.\nThere had he born to him Antiphates,\nAnd forceful Mantius. To the first of these\nWas great O\u00efcleus born: O\u00efcleus gat\nAmphiaraus, that the popular state\nHad all their health in, whom ev\u2019n from his heart\nJove lov\u2019d, and Ph\u0153bus in the whole desert\nOf friendship held him; yet not bless\u2019d so much\nThat age\u2019s threshold he did ever touch,\nBut lost his life by female bribery.[3]\nYet two sons author\u2019d his posterity,\nAlcm\u00e6on, and renown\u2019d Amphilochus.\nMantius had issue Polyphidius,\nAnd Clytus, but Aurora ravish\u2019d him,\nFor excellence of his admir\u00e9d limb,\nAnd interested him amongst the Gods.\nHis brother knew men\u2019s good and bad abodes\nThe best of all men, after the decease\nOf him that perish\u2019d in unnatural peace\nAt spacious Thebes. Apollo did inspire\nHis knowing soul with a prophetic fire.\nWho, angry with his father, took his way\nTo Hyperesia; where, making stay,\nHe prophesied to all men, and had there\nA son call\u2019d Theoclymenus, who here\nCame to Telemachus, and found aboard\nHimself at sacrifice, whom in a word\nHe thus saluted: \u201cO friend, since I find,\nEv\u2019n here at ship, a sacrificing mind\nInform your actions, by your sacrifice,\nAnd by that worthy choice of Deities\nTo whom you offer, by yourself, and all\nThese men that serve your course maritimal,\nTell one that asks the truth, nor give it glose,\nBoth who, and whence, you are? From what seed rose\nYour royal person? And what city\u2019s tow\u2019rs\nHold habitation to your parents\u2019 pow\u2019rs?\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cStranger! The sure truth is this:\nI am of Ithaca; my father is\n(Or was) Ulysses, but austere death now\nTakes his state from him; whose event to know\nHimself being long away, I set forth thus\nWith ship and soldiers.\u201d Theoclymenus\nAs freely said: \u201cAnd I to thee am fled\nFrom forth my country, for a man struck dead\nBy my unhappy hand, who was with me\nOf one self-tribe, and of his pedigree\nAre many friends and brothers, and the sway\nOf Achive kindred reacheth far away.\nFrom whom, because I fear their spleens suborn\nBlood and black fate against me (being born\nTo be a wand\u2019rer among foreign men)\nMake thy fair ship my rescue, and sustain\nMy life from slaughter. Thy deservings may\nPerform that mercy, and to them I pray.\u201d\n\u201cNor will I bar,\u201d said he, \u201cthy will to make\nMy means and equal ship thy aid, but take\n(With what we have here, in all friendly use)\nThy life from any violence that pursues.\u201d\nThus took he in his lance, and it extended\nAloft the hatches, which himself ascended.\nThe prince took seat at stern, on his right hand\nSet Theoclymenus, and gave command\nTo all his men to arm, and see made fast\nAmidst the hollow keel the beechen mast\nWith able halsers, hoise sail, launch; which soon\nHe saw obey\u2019d. And then his ship did run\nA merry course; blue-eyed Minerva sent\nA fore-right gale, tumultuous, vehement,\nAlong the air, that her way\u2019s utmost yield\nThe ship might make, and plough the brackish field.\nThen set the sun, and night black\u2019d all the ways.\nThe ship, with Jove\u2019s wind wing\u2019d, where th\u2019 Epian sways,\nFetch\u2019d Pheras first, then Elis the divine,\nAnd then for those isles made, that sea-ward shine\nFor form and sharpness like a lance\u2019s head,\nAbout which lay the Wooers ambush\u00e9d;\nOn which he rush\u2019d, to try if he could \u2019scape\nHis plotted death, or serve her treach\u2019rous rape.\nAnd now return we to Eum\u00e6us\u2019 shed,\nWhere, at their food with others marshall\u00e9d,\nUlysses and his noble herdsman sate.\nTo try if whose love\u2019s curious estate\nStood firm to his abode, or felt it fade,\nAnd so would take each best cause to persuade\nHis guest to town, Ulysses thus contends:\n\u201cHear me, Eum\u00e6us, and ye other friends.\nNext morn to town I covet to be gone,\nTo beg some others\u2019 alms, not still charge one.\nAdvise me well then, and as well provide\nI may be fitted with an honest guide,\nFor through the streets, since need will have it so,\nI\u2019ll tread, to try if any will bestow\nA dish of drink on me, or bit of bread,\nTill to Ulysses\u2019 house I may be led;\nAnd there I\u2019ll tell all-wise Penelope news,\nMix with the Wooers\u2019 pride, and, since they use\nTo fare above the full, their hands excite\nTo some small feast from out their infinite:\nFor which, I\u2019ll wait, and play the servingman,\nFairly enough, command the most they can.\nFor I will tell thee, note me well, and hear,\nThat, if the will be of Heav\u2019n\u2019s Messenger,\n(Who to the works of men, of any sort,\nCan grace infuse, and glory) nothing short\nAm I of him, that doth to most aspire\nIn any service, as to build a fire,\nTo cleave sere wood, to roast or boil their meat,\nTo wait at board, mix wine, or know the neat,\nOr any work, in which the poor-call\u2019d worst\nTo serve the rich-call\u2019d best in Fate are forc\u2019d.\u201d\nHe, angry with him, said: \u201cAlas, poor guest,\nWhy did this counsel ever touch thy breast?\nThou seek\u2019st thy utter spoil beyond all doubt,\nIf thou giv\u2019st venture on the Wooers\u2019 rout,\nWhose wrong and force affects the iron heav\u2019n,\nTheir light delights are far from being giv\u2019n\nTo such grave servitors. Youths richly trick\u2019d\nIn coats or cassocks, locks divinely slick\u2019d,\nAnd looks most rapting, ever have the gift\nTo taste their crown\u2019d cups, and full trenchers shift.\nTheir tables ever like their glasses shine,\nLoaded with bread, with varied flesh, and wine.\nAnd thou go thither? Stay, for here do none\nGrudge at thy presence, nor myself, nor one\nOf all I feed. But when Ulysses\u2019 son\nAgain shall greet us, he shall put thee on\nBoth coat and cassock, and thy quick retreat\nSet where thy heart and soul desire thy seat.\u201d\nIndustrious Ulysses gave reply:\n\u201cI still much wish, that Heav\u2019n\u2019s chief Deity\nLov\u2019d thee, as I do, that hast eas\u2019d my mind\nOf woes and wand\u2019rings never yet confin\u2019d.\n_Nought is more wretched in a human race,\nThan country\u2019s want, and shift from place to place._\nBut for the baneful belly men take care\nBeyond good counsel, whosoever are\nIn compass of the wants it undergoes\nBy wand\u2019rings, losses, or dependent woes.\nExcuse me therefore, if I err\u2019d at home;\nWhich since thou wilt make here, as overcome\nWith thy command for stay, I\u2019ll take on me\nCares appertaining to this place, like thee.\nDoes then Ulysses\u2019 sire, and mother, breathe,\nBoth whom he left in th\u2019 age next door to death?\nOr are they breathless, and descended where\nThe dark house is, that never day doth clear?\u201d\n\u201cLaertes lives,\u201d said he, \u201cbut ev\u2019ry hour\nBeseecheth Jove to take from him the pow\u2019r\nThat joins his life and limbs; for with a moan\nThat breeds a marvel he laments his son\nDepriv\u2019d by death, and adds to that another\nOf no less depth for that dead son\u2019s dead mother,\nWhom he a virgin wedded, which the more\nMakes him lament her loss, and doth deplore\nYet more her miss, because her womb the truer\nWas to his brave son, and his slaughter slew her.\nWhich last love to her doth his life engage,\nAnd makes him live an undigested age.\nO! such a death she died as never may\nSeize anyone that here beholds the day,\nThat either is to any man a friend,\nOr can a woman kill in such a kind.\nAs long as she had being, I would be\nA still inquirer (since \u2019twas dear to me,\nThough death to her, to hear his name) when she\nHeard of Ulysses, for I might be bold,\nShe brought me up, and in her love did hold\nMy life, compar\u2019d with long-veil\u2019d Ctimen\u00e9,\nHer youngest issue (in some small degree\nHer daughter yet preferr\u2019d) a brave young dame.\nAnd when of youth the dearly-lov\u00e9d flame\nWas lighted in us, marriage did prefer\nThe maid to Samos; whence was sent for her\nInfinite riches, when the queen bestow\u2019d\nA fair new suit, new shoes, and all, and vow\u2019d\nMe to the field, but passing loth to part,\nAs loving me more than she lov\u2019d her heart.\nAnd these I want now; but their business grows\nUpon me daily, which the Gods impose,\nTo whom I hold all, give account to them,\nFor I see none left to the diadem\nThat may dispose all better. So, I drink\nAnd eat of what is here; and whom I think\nWorthy or rev\u2019rend, I have giv\u2019n to, still,\nThese kinds of guest-rites; for the household ill\n(Which, where the queen is, riots) takes her still\nFrom thought of these things. Nor is it delight\nTo hear, from her plight, of or work or word;\nThe Wooers spoil all. But yet my men will board\nHer sorrows often with discourse of all,\nEating and drinking of the festival\nThat there is kept, and after bring to field\nSuch things as servants make their pleasures yield.\u201d\n\n\u201cO me, Eum\u00e6us,\u201d said Laertes\u2019 son,\n\u201cHast thou then err\u2019d so of a little one,\nLike me, from friends and country? Pray thee say,\nAnd say a truth, doth vast Destruction lay\nHer hand upon the wide-way\u2019d seat of men,[4]\nWhere dwelt thy sire and rev\u2019rend mother then,\nThat thou art spar\u2019d there? Or else, set alone\nIn guard of beeves, or sheep, set th\u2019 enemy on,\nSurpris\u2019d, and shipp\u2019d, transferr\u2019d, and sold thee here?\nHe that bought thee paid well, yet bought not dear.\u201d\n\u201cSince thou enquir\u2019st of that, my guest,\u201d said he,\n\u201cHear and be silent, and, mean space, sit free\nIn use of these cups to thy most delights;\nUnspeakable in length now are the nights.\nThose that affect sleep yet, to sleep have leave,\nThose that affect to hear, their hearers give.\nBut sleep not ere your hour; _much sleep doth grieve._\nWhoever lists to sleep, away to bed,\nTogether with the morning raise his head,\nTogether with his fellows break his fast,\nAnd then his lord\u2019s herd drive to their repast.\nWe two, still in our tabernacle here\nDrinking and eating, will our bosoms cheer\nWith memories and tales of our annoys.\n_Betwixt his sorrows ev\u2019ry human joys,_\nHe most, who most hath felt and furthest err\u2019d.\nAnd now thy will to act shall be preferr\u2019d.\nThere is an isle above Ortygia,\nIf thou hast heard, they call it Syria,\nWhere, once a day, the sun moves backward still.\n\u2019Tis not so great as good, for it doth fill\nThe fields with oxen, fills them still with sheep,\nFills roofs with wine, and makes all corn there cheap.\nNo dearth comes ever there, nor no disease\nThat doth with hate us wretched mortals seize,\nBut when men\u2019s varied nations, dwelling there\nIn any city, enter th\u2019 aged year,\nThe silver-bow-bearer, the Sun, and She\nThat bears as much renown for archery,\nStoop with their painless shafts, and strike them dead,\nAs one would sleep, and never keep the bed.\nIn this isle stand two cities, betwixt whom\nAll things that of the soil\u2019s fertility come\nIn two parts are divided. And both these\nMy father rul\u2019d, Ctesius Ormenides,\nA man like the Immortals. With these states\nThe cross-biting Ph\u0153nicians traffick\u2019d rates\nOf infinite merchandise in ships brought there,\nIn which they then were held exempt from peer.\nThere dwelt within my father\u2019s house a dame,\nBorn a Ph\u0153nician, skilful in the frame\nOf noble housewif\u2019ries, right tall and fair.\nHer the Ph\u0153nician great-wench-net-lay\u2019r[5]\nWith sweet words circumvented, as she was\nWashing her linen. To his amorous pass\nHe brought her first, shor\u2019d from his ship to her;\nTo whom he did his whole life\u2019s love prefer,\nWhich of these breast-exposing dames the hearts\nDeceives, though fashion\u2019d of right honest parts.\nHe ask\u2019d her after, what she was, and whence?\nShe, passing presently, the excellence\nTold of her father\u2019s turrets, and that she\nMight boast herself sprung from the progeny\nOf the rich Sidons, and the daughter was\nOf the much-year-rev\u00e9nued Arybas;\nBut that the Taphian pirates made her prise,\nAs she return\u2019d from her field-housewif\u2019ries,\nTransferr\u2019d her hither, and, at that man\u2019s house\nWhere now she liv\u2019d, for value precious\nSold her to th\u2019 owner. He that stole her love\nBade her again to her birth\u2019s seat remove,\nTo see the fair roofs of her friends again,\nWho still held state, and did the port maintain\nHerself reported. She said: \u2018Be it so,\nSo you, and all that in your ship shall row,\nSwear to return me in all safety hence.\u2019\nAll swore. Th\u2019 oath past, with ev\u2019ry consequence,\nShe bade: \u2018Be silent now, and not a word\nDo you, or any of your friends, afford,\nMeeting me afterward in any way,\nOr at the washing-fount; lest some display\nBe made, and told the old man, and he then\nKeep me strait bound, to you and to your men\nThe utter ruin plotting of your lives.\nKeep in firm thought then ev\u2019ry word that strives\nFor dang\u2019rous utt\u2019rance. Haste your ship\u2019s full freight\nOf what you traffic for, and let me straight\nKnow by some sent friend she hath all in hold,\nAnd with myself I\u2019ll bring thence all the gold\nI can by all means finger; and, beside,\nI\u2019ll do my best to see your freight supplied\nWith some well-weighing burthen of mine own.\nFor I bring-up in house a great man\u2019s son,\nAs crafty as myself, who will with me\nRun ev\u2019ry way along, and I will be\nHis leader, till your ship hath made him sure.\nHe will an infinite great price procure,\nTransfer him to what languag\u2019d men ye may.\u2019\nThis said, she gat her home, and there made stay\nA whole year with us, goods of great avail\nTheir ship enriching. Which now fit for sail,\nThey sent a messenger t\u2019 inform the dame;\nAnd to my father\u2019s house a fellow came,\nFull of Ph\u0153nician craft, that to be sold\nA tablet brought, the body all of gold,\nThe verge all-amber. This had ocular view\nBoth by my honour\u2019d mother and the crew\nOf her house-handmaids, handled, and the price\nBeat, ask\u2019d, and promis\u2019d. And while this device\nLay thus upon the forge, this jeweller\nMade privy signs, by winks and wiles, to her\nThat was his object; which she took, and he,\nHis sign seeing noted, hied to ship. When she,\n(My hand still taking, as she us\u2019d to do\nTo walk abroad with her) convey\u2019d me so\nAbroad with her, and in the portico\nFound cups, with tasted viands, which the guests\nThat us\u2019d to flock about my father\u2019s feasts\nHad left. They gone (some to the council-court,\nSome to hear news amongst the talking sort)\nHer theft three bowls into her lap convey\u2019d,\nAnd forth she went. Nor was my wit so stay\u2019d\nTo stay her, or myself. The sun went down,\nAnd shadows round about the world were flown,\nWhen we came to the haven, in which did ride\nThe swift Ph\u0153nician ship; whose fair broad side\nThey boarded straight, took us up; and all went\nAlong the moist waves. Wind Saturnius sent.\nSix days we day and night sail\u2019d; but when Jove\nPut up the seventh day, She that shafts doth love\nShot dead the woman, who into the pump\nLike to a dop-chick div\u2019d, and gave a thump\nIn her sad settling. Forth they cast her then\nTo serve the fish and sea-calves, no more men;\nBut I was left there with a heavy heart;\nWhen wind and water drave them quit apart\nTheir own course, and on Ithaca they fell,\nAnd there poor me did to Laertes sell.\nAnd thus these eyes the sight of this isle prov\u2019d.\u201d\n\u201cEum\u00e6us,\u201d he replied, \u201cthou much hast mov\u2019d\nThe mind in me with all things thou hast said,\nAnd all the suff\u2019rance on thy bosom laid,\nBut, truly, to thy ill hath Jove join\u2019d good,\nThat one whose veins are serv\u2019d with human blood\nHath bought thy service, that gives competence\nOf food, wine, cloth to thee; and sure th\u2019 expence\nOf thy life\u2019s date here is of good desert,\nWhose labours not to thee alone impart\nSufficient food and housing, but to me;\nWhere I through many a heap\u2019d humanity\nHave hither err\u2019d, where, though, like thee, not sold,\nNor stay\u2019d like thee yet, nor nought needful hold.\u201d\nThis mutual speech they us\u2019d, nor had they slept\nMuch time before the much-near morning leapt\nTo her fair throne. And now struck sail the men\nThat serv\u2019d Telemachus, arriv\u2019d just then\nNear his lov\u2019d shore; where now they stoop\u2019d the mast,\nMade to the port with oars, and anchor cast,\nMade fast the ship, and then ashore they went,\nDress\u2019d supper, fill\u2019d wine; when (their appetites spent)\nTelemachus commanded they should yield\nThe ship to th\u2019 owner, while himself at field\nWould see his shepherds; when light drew to end\nHe would his gifts see, and to town descend,\nAnd in the morning at a feast bestow\nRewards for all their pains. \u201cAnd whither, now,\u201d\nSaid Theoclymenus, \u201cmy lov\u00e9d son,\nShall I address myself? Whose mansi\u00f3n,\nOf all men, in this rough-hewn isle, shall I\nDirect my way to? Or go readily\nTo thy house and thy mother?\u201d He replied:\n\u201cAnother time I\u2019ll see you satisfied\nWith my house-entertainment, but as now\nYou should encounter none that could bestow\nYour fit entreaty, and (which less grace were)\nYou could not see my mother, I not there;\nFor she\u2019s no frequent object, but apart\nKeeps from her Wooers, woo\u2019d with her desert,\nUp in her chamber, at her housewif\u2019ry\nBut I\u2019ll name one to whom you shall apply\nDirect repair, and that\u2019s Eurymachus,\nRenown\u2019d descent to wise Polybius,\nA man whom th\u2019 Ithacensians look on now\nAs on a God, since he of all that woo\nIs far superior man, and likest far\nTo wed my mother, and as circular\nBe in that honour as Ulysses was.\nBut heav\u2019n-hous\u2019d Jove knows the yet hidden pass\nOf her disposure, and on them he may\nA blacker sight bring than her nuptial day.\u201d\nAs this he utter\u2019d, on his right hand flew\nA saker, sacred to the God of view,\nThat in his talons truss\u2019d and plum\u2019d a dove;\nThe feathers round about the ship did rove,\nAnd on Telemachus fell; whom th\u2019 augur then\nTook fast by the hand, withdrew him from his men,\nAnd said: \u201cTelemachus! This hawk is sent\nFrom God; I knew it for a sure ostent\nWhen first I saw it. Be you well assur\u2019d,\nThere will no Wooer be by heav\u2019n endur\u2019d\nTo rule in Ithaca above your race,\nBut your pow\u2019rs ever fill the regal place.\u201d\n\u201cI wish to heav\u2019n,\u201d said he, \u201cthy word might stand,\nThou then shouldst soon acknowledge from my hand\nSuch gifts and friendship, as would make thee, guest,\nMet and saluted as no less than blest.\u201d\nThis said, he call\u2019d Pir\u00e6us, Clytus\u2019 son,\nHis true associate, saying: \u201cThou hast done\n(Of all my followers to the Pylian shore)\nMy will in chief in other things, once more\nBe chiefly good to me; take to thy house\nThis lov\u00e9d stranger, and be studious\nT\u2019 embrace and greet him with thy greatest fare,\nTill I myself come and take off thy care.\u201d\nThe famous-for-his-lance said: \u201cIf your stay\nTake time for life here, this man\u2019s care I\u2019ll lay\nOn my performance, nor what fits a guest\nShall any penury withhold his feast.\u201d\nThus took he ship, bade them board, and away.\nThey boarded, sat, but did their labour stay\nTill he had deck\u2019d his feet, and reached his lance.\nThey to the city; he did straight advance\nUp to his styes, where swine lay for him store,\nBy whose side did his honest swine-herd snore,\nTill his short cares his longest nights had ended,\nAnd nothing worse to both his lords intended.\n\n THE END OF THE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n [1] _\u0395\u1f50\u03c1\u03cd\u03c7\u03bf\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u039b\u03b1\u03ba\u03b5\u03b4\u03b1\u03af\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 in qu\u00e2 ampli ut pulchri chori duci possunt,\n vel ducuntur;_ which the vulgar translations turn therefore, _latam,\n seu amplam._\n\n [2] Nestor\u2019s son to Menelaus, his ironical question continuing still\n Homer\u2019s character of Menelaus.\n\n [3] His wife betrayed him for money.\n\n [4] Supposing him to dwell in a city.\n\n [5] _\u03a0\u03bf\u03bb\u03c5\u03c0\u03b1\u03af\u03c0\u03b1\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2, admodum vafer, Der. ex \u03c0\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03cd\u03c9, pertraho in retia,\n et \u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u0311\u03c2, puella._\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIXTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nThe Prince at field, he sends to town\nEum\u00e6us, to make truly known\nHis safe return. By Pallas\u2019 will,\nTelemachus is giv\u2019n the skill\nTo know his father. Those that lay\nIn ambush, to prevent the way\nOf young Ulyssides for home,\nRetire, with anger overcome.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03a0\u03b9\u0311._\nTo his most dear\nUlysses shows.\nThe wise-son here\nHis father knows.\n\nUlysses and divine Eum\u00e6us rose\nSoon as the morning could her eyes unclose,\nMade fire, brake fast, and to their pasture send\nThe gather\u2019d herds, on whom their swains attend.\nThe self-tire barking dogs all fawn\u2019d upon,\nNor bark\u2019d, at first sight of Ulysses\u2019 son.\nThe whinings of their fawnings yet did greet\nUlysses\u2019 ears, and sounds of certain feet,\nWho thus bespake Eum\u00e6us: \u201cSure some friend,\nOr one well-known, comes, that the mastiffs spend\nTheir mouths no louder. Only some one near\nThey whine, and leap about, whose feet I hear.\u201d\nEach word of this speech was not spent, before\nHis son stood in the entry of the door.\nOut-rush\u2019d amaz\u2019d Eum\u00e6us, and let go\nThe cup to earth, that he had labour\u2019d so,\nCleans\u2019d for the neat wine, did the prince-surprise,\nKiss\u2019d his fair forehead, both his lovely eyes,\nBoth his white hands, and tender tears distill\u2019d.\nThere breath\u2019d no kind-soul\u2019d father that was fill\u2019d\nLess with his son\u2019s embraces, that had liv\u2019d\nTen years in far-off earth, now new retriev\u2019d,\nHis only child too, gotten in his age,\nAnd for whose absence he had felt the rage\nOf griefs upon him, than for this divin\u2019d\nSo-much-for-form was this divine-for-mind;\nWho kiss\u2019d him through, who grew about him kissing,\nAs fresh from death \u2019scap\u2019d. Whom so long time missing,\nHe wept for joy, and said: \u201cThou yet art come,\nSweet light, sweet sun-rise, to thy cloudy home.\nO, never I look\u2019d, when once shipp\u2019d away\nFor Pylos\u2019 shores, to see thy turning day.\nCome, enter, lov\u2019d son, let me feast my heart\nWith thy sweet sight, new-come, so far apart.\nNor, when you liv\u2019d at home, would you walk down\nOften enough here, but stay\u2019d still at town;\nIt pleas\u2019d you then to cast such forehand view\nAbout your house on that most damn\u00e9d crew.\u201d[1]\n\u201cIt shall be so then, friend,\u201d said he, \u201cbut now\nI come to glad mine eyes with thee, and know\nIf still my mother in her house remain,\nOr if some Wooer hath aspir\u2019d to gain\nOf her in nuptials; for Ulysses\u2019 bed,\nBy this, lies all with spiders\u2019s cobwebs spread,\nIn penury of him that should supply it.\u201d\n\u201cShe still,\u201d said he, \u201cholds her most constant quiet,\nAloft thine own house, for the bed\u2019s respect;\nBut, for her lord\u2019s sad loss, sad nights and days\nObscure her beauties, and corrupt their rays.\u201d\nThis said, Eum\u00e6us took his brazen spear,\nAnd in he went; when, being enter\u2019d near\nWithin the stony threshold; from his seat\nHis father rose to him, who would not let\nTh\u2019 old man remove, but drew him back and prest\nWith earnest terms his sitting, saying: \u201cGuest,\nTake here your seat again, we soon shall get\nWithin our own house here some other seat.\nHere\u2019s one will fetch it.\u201d This said, down again\nHis father sat, and to his son his swain\nStrew\u2019d fair green osiers, and impos\u2019d thereon\nA good soft sheepskin, which made him a throne.\nThen he appos\u2019d to them his last-left roast,\nAnd in a wicker basket bread engrost,\nFill\u2019d luscious wine, and then took opposite seat\nTo the divine Ulysses. When, the meat\nSet there before them, all fell-to, and eat.\nWhen they had fed, the prince said: \u201cPray thee say,\nWhence comes this guest? What seaman gave him way\nTo this our isle? I hope these feet of his\nCould walk no water. Who boasts he he is?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell all truly son: From ample Crete\nHe boasts himself, and says, his erring feet\nHave many cities trod, and God was he\nWhose finger wrought in his infirmity.\nBut, to my cottage, the last \u2019scape of his\nWas from a Thesprot\u2019s ship. Whate\u2019er he is,\nI\u2019ll give him you, do what you please; his vaunt\nIs, that he is, at most, a suppliant.\u201d\n\u201cEum\u00e6us,\u201d said the prince, \u201cto tell me this,\nYou have afflicted my weak faculties;\nFor how shall I receive him to my house\nWith any safety, that suspicious\nOf my young forces (should I be assay\u2019d\nWith any sudden violence) may want aid\nTo shield myself? Besides, if I go home,\nMy mother is with two doubts overcome,\nIf she shall stay with me, and take fit care\nFor all such guests as there seek guestive fare,\nHer husband\u2019s bed respecting, and her fame\nAmongst the people; or her blood may frame\nA liking to some Wooer, such as best\nMay bed her in his house, not giving least.\nAnd thus am I unsure of all means free\nTo use a guest there, fit for his degree.\nBut, being thy guest, I\u2019ll be his supply\nFor all weeds, such as mere necessity\nShall more than furnish. Fit him with a sword,\nAnd set him where his heart would have been shor\u2019d;\nOr, if so pleas\u2019d, receive him in thy shed,\nI\u2019ll send thee clothes, I vow, and all the bread\nHis wish would eat, that to thy men and thee\nHe be no burthen. But that I should be\nHis mean to my house; where a company\nOf wrong-professing Wooers wildly live,\nI will in no sort author, lest they give\nFoul use to him, and me as gravely grieve.\nFor what great act can anyone achieve\nAgainst a multitude, although his mind\nRetain a courage of the greatest kind?\nFor all minds have not force in one degree.\u201d\nUlysses answer\u2019d: \u201cO friend, since \u2019tis free\nFor any man to change fit words with thee,\nI\u2019ll freely speak: Methinks, a wolfish pow\u2019r\nMy heart puts on to tear and to devour,\nTo hear your affirmation, that, in spite\nOf what may fall on you, made opposite,\nBeing one of your proportion, birth, and age,\nThese Wooers should in such injustice rage.\nWhat should the cause be? Do you wilfully\nEndure their spoil? Or hath your empery\nBeen such amongst your people, that all gather\nIn troop, and one voice (which ev\u2019n God doth father)\nAnd vow your hate so, that they suffer them?\nOr blame your kinsfolk\u2019s faiths, before th\u2019 extreme\nOf your first stroke hath tried them, whom a man,\nWhen strifes to blows rise, trusts, though battle ran\nIn huge and high waves? Would to heav\u2019n my spirit\nSuch youth breath\u2019d, as the man that must inherit\nYet-never-touch\u2019d Ulysses, or that he,\nBut wand\u2019ring this way, would but come, and see\nWhat my age could achieve (and there is Fate\nFor Hope yet left, that he may recreate\nHis eyes with such an object) this my head\nShould any stranger strike off, if stark dead\nI struck not all, the house in open force\nEnt\u2019ring with challenge! If their great concourse\nDid over-lay me, being a man alone,\n(Which you urge for yourself) be you that one,\nI rather in mine own house wish to die\nOne death for all, than so indecently\nSee evermore deeds worse than death applied,\nGuests wrong\u2019d with vile words and blow-giving pride,\nThe women-servants dragg\u2019d in filthy kind\nAbout the fair house, and in corners blind\nMade serve the rapes of ruffians, food devour\u2019d\nIdly and rudely, wine exhaust, and pour\u2019d\nThrough throats profane; and all about a deed\nThat\u2019s ever wooing, and will never speed.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you, guest, most truly,\u201d said his son,\n\u201cI do not think that all my people run\nOne hateful course against me; nor accuse\nKinsfolks that I in strifes of weight might use;\nBut Jove will have it so, our race alone\n(As if made singular) to one and one\nHis hand confining. Only to the king,\nJove-bred Arcesius, did Laertes spring;\nOnly to old Laertes did descend\nUlysses; only to Ulysses\u2019 end\nAm I the adjunct, whom he left so young,\nThat from me to him never comfort sprung.\nAnd to all these now, for their race, arise\nUp in their house a brood of enemies.\nAs many as in these isles bow men\u2019s knees,\nSamos, Dulichius, and the rich-in-trees\nZacynthus, or in this rough isle\u2019s command,\nSo many suitors for the nuptials stand,\nThat ask my mother, and, mean space, prefer\nTheir lusts to all spoil, that dishonour her.\nNor doth she, though she loaths, deny their suits,\nNor they denials take, though taste their fruits.\nBut all this time the state of all things there\nTheir throats devour, and I must shortly bear\nA part in all. And yet the periods\nOf these designs lie in the knees of Gods.\nOf all loves then, Eum\u00e6us, make quick way\nTo wise Penelop\u00e9, and to her say\nMy safe return from Pylos, and alone,\nReturn thou hither, having made it known.\nNor let, besides my mother, any ear\nPartake thy message, since a number bear\nMy safe return displeasure.\u201d He replied;\n\u201cI know, and comprehend you. You divide\nYour mind with one that understands you well.\nBut, all in one yet, may I not reveal\nTo th\u2019 old hard-fated Arcesiades\nYour safe return? Who, through his whole distress\nFelt for Ulysses, did not yet so grieve,\nBut with his household he had will to live,\nAnd serv\u2019d his appetite with wine and food,\nSurvey\u2019d his husbandry, and did his blood\nSome comforts fitting life; but since you took\nYour ship for Pylos, he would never brook\nOr wine or food, they say, nor cast an eye\nOn any labour, but sits weeping by,\nAnd sighing out his sorrows, ceaseless moans\nWasting his body, turn\u2019d all skin and bones.\u201d\n\u201cMore sad news still,\u201d said he, \u201cyet, mourn he still;\nFor if the rule of all men\u2019s works be will,\nAnd his will his way goes, mine stands inclin\u2019d\nT\u2019 attend the home-turn of my nearer kind.[2]\nDo then what I enjoin; which giv\u2019n effect,\nErr nor to field to him, but turn direct,\nEntreating first my mother, with most speed,\nAnd all the secrecy that now serves need,\nTo send this way their store-house guardian,\nAnd she shall tell all to the aged man.\u201d[3]\nHe took his shoes up, put them on, and went.\nNor was his absence hid from Jove\u2019s descent,\nDivine Minerva, who took straight to view,\nA goodly woman\u2019s shape that all works knew,\nAnd, standing in the entry, did prefer\nHer sight t\u2019 Ulysses; but, though meeting her,\nHis son Telemachus nor saw nor knew.\n_The Gods\u2019 clear presences are known to few._\nYet, with Ulysses, ev\u2019n the dogs did see,\nAnd would not bark, but, whining lovingly,\nFled to the stall\u2019s far side. When she her eyne\nMov\u2019d to Ulysses; he knew her design,\nAnd left the house, pass\u2019d the great sheep-cote\u2019s wall,\nAnd stood before her. She bade utter all\nNow to his son, nor keep the least unlos\u2019d,\nThat, all the Wooers\u2019 deaths being now dispos\u2019d,\nThey might approach the town; affirming; she\nNot long would fail t\u2019 assist to victory.\nThis said, she laid her golden rod on him,\nAnd with his late-worn weeds grac\u2019d ev\u2019ry limb,\nHis body straighten\u2019d, and his youth instill\u2019d,\nHis fresh blood call\u2019d up, ev\u2019ry wrinkle fill\u2019d\nAbout his broken eyes, and on his chin\nThe brown hair spread. When his whole trim wrought in,\nShe issued, and he enter\u2019d to his son,\nWho stood amaz\u2019d, and thought some God had done\nHis house that honour, turn\u2019d away his eyes,\nAnd said; \u201cNow guest, you grace another guise\nThan suits your late show. Other weeds you wear,\nAnd other person. Of the starry sphere\nYou certainly present some deathless God.\nBe pleas\u2019d, that to your here-vouchsaf\u2019d abode\nWe may give sacred rites, and offer gold,\nTo do us favour.\u201d He replied; \u201cI hold\nNo deified state. Why put you thus on me\nA God\u2019s resemblance? I am only he\nThat bears thy father\u2019s name; for whose lov\u2019d sake\nThy youth so grieves, whose absence makes thee take\nSuch wrongs of men.\u201d Thus kiss\u2019d he him, nor could\nForbear those tears that in such mighty hold\nHe held before, still held, still issuing ever;\nAnd now, the shores once broke, the springtide never\nForbore earth from the cheeks he kiss\u2019d. His son,\nBy all these violent arguments not won\nTo credit him his father, did deny\nHis kind assumpt, and said, some Deity\nFeign\u2019d that joy\u2019s cause, to make him grieve the more;\nAffirming, that no man, whoever wore\nThe garment of mortality, could take,\nBy any utmost pow\u2019r his soul could make,\nSuch change into it, since, at so much will,\nNot Jove himself could both remove and fill\nOld age with youth, and youth with age so spoil,\nIn such an instant. \u201cYou wore all the soil\nOf age but now, and were old; and but now\nYou bear that young grace that the Gods indow\nTheir heav\u2019n-born forms withal.\u201d His father said:\n\u201cTelemachus! Admire, nor stand dismay\u2019d,\nBut know thy solid father; since within\nHe answers all parts that adorn his skin.\nThere shall no more Ulyssesses come here.\nI am the man, that now this twentieth year\n(Still under suff\u2019rance of a world of ill)\nMy country-earth recover. \u2019Tis the will\nThe prey-professor Pallas puts in act,\nWho put me thus together, thus distract\nIn aged pieces as ev\u2019n now you saw,\nThis youth now rend\u2019ring. \u2019Tis within the law\nOf her free pow\u2019r. Sometimes to show me poor,\nSometimes again thus amply to restore\nMy youth and ornaments, she still would please.\n_The Gods can raise, and throw men down, with ease.\u201d_\nThis said, he sat; when his Telemachus pour\u2019d\nHimself about him; tears on tears he show\u2019r\u2019d,\nAnd to desire of moan increas\u2019d the cloud.\nBoth wept and howl\u2019d, and laid out shrieks more loud\nThan or the bird-bone-breaking eagle rears,\nOr brood-kind vulture with the crooked seres,\nWhen rustic hands their tender eyries draw,\nBefore they give their wings their full-plum\u2019d law.\nBut miserably pour\u2019d they from beneath\nTheir lids their tears, while both their breasts did breathe\nAs frequent cries; and, to their fervent moan,\nThe light had left the skies, if first the son\nTheir dumb moans had not vented, with demand\nWhat ship it was that gave the natural land\nTo his bless\u2019d feet? He then did likewise lay\nHand on his passion, and gave these words way:\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell thee truth, my son: The men that bear\nMuch fame for shipping, my reducers were\nTo long-wish\u2019d Ithaca, who each man else\nThat greets their shore give pass to where he dwells.\nThe Ph\u00e6acensian peers, in one night\u2019s date,\nWhile I fast slept, fetch\u2019d th\u2019 Ithacensian state,\nGrac\u2019d me with wealthy gifts, brass, store of gold,\nAnd robes fair-wrought; all which have secret hold\nIn caves that by the Gods\u2019 advice I chus\u2019d.\nAnd now Minerva\u2019s admonitions us\u2019d\nFor this retreat, that we might here dispose\nIn close discourse the slaughters of our foes.\nRecount the number of the Wooers then,\nAnd let me know what name they hold with men,\nThat my mind may cast over their estates\nA curious measure, and confer the rates\nOf our two pow\u2019rs and theirs, to try, if we\nAlone may propagate to victory\nOur bold encounters of them all, or prove\nThe kind assistance of some others\u2019 love.\u201d\n\u201cO father,\u201d he replied, \u201cI oft have heard\nYour counsels and your force of hand preferr\u2019d\nTo mighty glory, but your speeches now\nYour vent\u2019rous mind exceeding mighty show.\nEv\u2019n to amaze they move me; for, in right\nOf no fit counsel, should be brought to fight\nTwo men \u2019gainst th\u2019 able faction of a throng.\nNo one two, no one ten, no twice ten, strong\nThese Wooers are, but more by much. For know,\nThat from Dulichius there are fifty-two,\nAll choice young men; and ev\u2019ry one of these\nSix men attend. From Samos cross\u2019d the seas\nTwice-twelve young gallants. From Zacynthus came\nTwice-ten. Of Ithaca, the best of name,\nTwice-six. Of all which all the state they take\nA sacred poet and a herald make.\nTheir delicacies two, of special sort\nIn skill of banquets, serve. And all this port\nIf we shall dare t\u2019 encounter, all-thrust-up\nIn one strong roof, have great care lest the cup,\nYour great mind thirsts, exceeding bitter taste,\nAnd your retreat commend not to your haste\nYour great attempt, but make you say, you buy\nTheir pride\u2019s revenges at a price too high.\nAnd therefore, if you could; \u2019twere well you thought\nOf some assistant. Be your spirit wrought\nIn such a man\u2019s election, as may lend\nHis succours freely, and express a friend.\u201d\nHis father answer\u2019d: \u201cLet me ask of thee;\nHear me, consider, and then answer me.\nThink\u2019st thou, if Pallas and the King of skies\nWe had to friend, would their sufficiencies\nMake strong our part? Or that some other yet\nMy thoughts must work for?\u201d \u201cThese,\u201d said he \u201care set\nAloft the clouds, and are found aids indeed,\nAs pow\u2019rs not only that these men exceed,\nBut bear of all men else the high command,\nAnd hold of Gods an overruling hand.\u201d\n\u201cWell then,\u201d said he, \u201cnot these shall sever long\nTheir force and ours in fights assur\u2019d and strong.\nAnd then \u2019twixt us and them shall Mars prefer\nHis strength, to stand our great distinguisher,\nWhen in mine own roofs I am forc\u2019d to blows.\nBut when the day shall first her fires disclose,\nGo thou for home, and troop up with the Wooers,\nThy will with theirs join\u2019d, pow\u2019r with their rude pow\u2019rs;\nAnd after shall the herdsman guide to town\nMy steps, my person wholly overgrown\nWith all appearance of a poor old swain,\nHeavy, and wretched. If their high disdain\nOf my vile presence make them my desert\nAffect with contumelies, let thy lov\u2019d heart\nBeat in fix\u2019d c\u00f3nfines of thy bosom still,\nAnd see me suffer, patient of their ill.\nAy, though they drag me by the heels about\nMine own free earth, and after hurl me out,\nDo thou still suffer. Nay, though with their darts\nThey beat and bruise me, bear. But these foul parts\nPersuade them to forbear, and by their names\nCall all with kind words; bidding, for their shames,\nTheir pleasures cease. If yet they yield not way,\nThere breaks the first light of their fatal day.\nIn mean space, mark this: When the chiefly-wise\nMinerva prompts me, I\u2019ll inform thine eyes\nWith some giv\u2019n sign, and then all th\u2019 arms that are\nAloft thy roof in some near room prepare\nFor speediest use. If those brave men inquire\nThy end in all, still rake up all thy fire\nIn fair cool words, and say: \u2018I bring them down\nTo scour the smoke off, being so overgrown\nThat one would think all fumes, that ever were\nBreath\u2019d since Ulysses\u2019 loss, reflected here.\nThese are not like the arms he left behind,\nIn way for Troy. Besides, Jove prompts my mind\nIn their remove apart thus with this thought,\nThat, if in height of wine there should be wrought,\nSome harsh contention \u2019twixt you, this apt mean\nTo mutual bloodshed may be taken clean\nFrom out your reach, and all the spoil prevented\nOf present feast, perhaps ev\u2019n then presented\nMy mother\u2019s nuptials to your long kind vows.\n_Steel itself, ready, draws a man to blows.\u2019_\nThus make their thoughts secure; to us alone\nTwo swords, two darts, two shields left: which see done\nWithin our readiest reach, that at our will\nWe may resume, and charge, and all their skill\nPallas and Jove, that all just counsels breathe,\nMay darken with secureness to their death.\nAnd let me charge thee now, as thou art mine,\nAnd as thy veins mine own true blood combine:\nLet, after this, none know Ulysses near,\nNot anyone of all the household there,\nNot here the herdsman, not Laertes be\nMade privy, not herself Penelop\u00e9\nBut only let thyself and me work out\nThe women\u2019s thoughts of all things borne about\nThe Wooers\u2019 hearts; and then thy men approve,\nTo know who honours, who with rev\u2019rence love,\nOur well-weigh\u2019d memories, and who is won\nTo fail thy fit right, though my only son.\u201d\n\u201cYou teach,\u201d said he, \u201cso punctually now,\nAs I knew nothing, nor were sprung from you.\nI hope, hereafter, you shall better know\nWhat soul I bear, and that it doth not let\nThe least loose motion pass his natural seat.\nBut this course you propose will prove, I fear,\nSmall profit to us; and could wish your care\nWould weigh it better as too far about.\nFor time will ask much, to the sifting out\nOf each man\u2019s disposition by his deeds;\nAnd, in the mean time, ev\u2019ry Wooer feeds\nBeyond satiety, nor knows how to spare.\nThe women yet, since they more easy are\nFor our inquiry, I would wish you try,\nWho right your state, who do it injury.\nThe men I would omit, and these things make\nYour labour after. But, to undertake\nThe Wooers\u2019 war, I wish your utmost speed,\nEspecially if you could cheer the deed\nWith some ostent from Jove.\u201d Thus, as the sire\nConsented to the son, did here expire\nTheir mutual speech. And now the ship was come,\nThat brought the young prince and his soldiers home,\nThe deep haven reach\u2019d, they drew the ship ashore,\nTook all their arms out, and the rich gifts bore\nTo Clitius\u2019 house. But to Ulysses\u2019 court\nThey sent a herald first, to make report\nTo wise Penelop\u00e9, that safe at field\nHer son was left; yet, since the ship would yield\nMost haste to her, he sent that first, and them\nTo comfort with his utmost the extreme\nHe knew she suffer\u2019d. At the court now met\nThe herald and the herdsman, to repeat\nOne message to the queen. Both whom arriv\u2019d\nWithin the gates; both to be foremost striv\u2019d\nIn that good news. The herald, he for haste\nAmongst the maids bestow\u2019d it, thinking plac\u2019d\nThe queen amongst them. \u201cNow,\u201d said he, \u201cO queen,\nYour lov\u2019d son is arriv\u2019d.\u201d And, then was seen\nThe queen herself, to whom the herdsman told\nAll that Telemachus enjoin\u2019d he should;\nAll which discharg\u2019d, his steps he back bestows,\nAnd left both court and city for his sows.\nThe Wooers then grew sad; soul-vex\u2019d, and all\nMade forth the court; when, by the mighty wall\nThey took their sev\u2019ral seats, before the gates.\nTo whom Eurymachus initiates.\nTheir utter\u2019d grievance. \u201cO,\u201d said he, \u201cmy friends,\nA work right-great begun, as proudly ends,\nWe said, Telemachus should never make\nHis voyage good, nor this shore ever take\nFor his return\u2019s receipt; and yet we fail,\nAnd he performs it. Come, let\u2019s man a sail,\nThe best In our election, and bestow\nSuch soldiers in her as can swiftest row,\nTo tell our friends that way-lay his retreat\n\u2018Tis safe perform\u2019d, and make them quickly get\nTheir ship for Ithaca.\u201d This was not said\nBefore Amphinomus in port display\u2019d\nThe ship arriv\u2019d, her sails then under-stroke,\nAnd oars resum\u2019d; when, laughing, thus he spoke:\n\u201cMove for no messenger. These men are come,\nSome God hath either told his turning home,\nOr they themselves have seen his ship gone by,\nHad her in chase, and lost her.\u201d Instantly\nThey rose, and went to port; found drawn to land\nThe ship, the soldiers taking arms in hand.\nThe Wooers themselves to council went in throng,\nAnd not a man besides, or old, or young,\nLet sit amongst them. Then Eupitheus\u2019 son,\nAntinous, said: \u201cSee, what the Gods have done!\nThey only have deliver\u2019d from our ill\nThe men we way-laid. Ev\u2019ry windy hill\nHath been their watch-tow\u2019r, where by turns they stood\nContinual sentinel. And we made good\nOur work as well, for, sun once set, we never\nSlept wink ashore all night, but made sail ever,\nThis way and that, ev\u2019n till the morning kept\nHer sacred station, so to intercept\nAnd take his life, for whom our ambush lay;\nAnd yet hath God to his return giv\u2019n way.\nBut let us prosecute with counsels here\nHis necessary death, nor anywhere\nLet rest his safety; for if he survive,\nOur sails will never in wish\u2019d havens arrive;\nSince he is wise, hath soul, and counsel too,\nTo work the people, who, will never do\nOur faction favour. What we then intend\nAgainst his person, give we present end,\nBefore he call a council, which, believe,\nHis spirit will haste, and point where it doth grieve,\nStand up amongst them all, and urge his death\nDecreed amongst us. Which complaint will breathe\nA fire about their spleens, and blow no praise\nOn our ill labours. Lest, they therefore raise\nPow\u2019r to exile us from our native earth,\nAnd force our lives\u2019 societies to the birth\nOf foreign countries, let our speeds prevent,\nHis coming home to this austere complaint,\nAt field and far from town, or in some way\nOf narrow passage, with his latest day\nShown to his forward youth, his goods and lands\nLeft to the free division of our hands,\nThe moveables made all his mother\u2019s dow\u2019r,\nAnd his, whoever Fate affords the pow\u2019r\nTo celebrate, with her sweet Hymen\u2019s rites.\nOr if this please not, but your appetites\nStand to his safety, and to give him seat\nIn his whole birth-right, let us look to eat\nAt his cost never more, but ev\u2019ry man\nHaste to his home, and wed, with whom he can\nAt home, and there lay first about for dow\u2019r\nAnd then the woman give his second pow\u2019r\nOf nuptial-liking, and, for last, apply\nHis purpose with most gifts and destiny.\u201d\nThis silence caus\u2019d; whose breach, at last, begun\nAmphinomus, the much renown\u00e9d son\nOf Nisus surnam\u2019d Aretiades,\nWho from Dulichius full of flow\u2019ry leas\nLed all the Wooers, and in chief did please\nThe queen with his discourse, because it grew\nFrom roots of those good minds that did endue[4]\nHis goodly person; who, exceeding wise,\nUs\u2019d this speech: \u201cFriends, I never will advise\nThe prince\u2019s death; for \u2019tis a damn\u00e9d thing\nTo put to death the issue of a king.\nFirst, therefore, let\u2019s examine, what applause\nThe Gods will give it: If the equal laws\nOf Jove approve it, I myself will be\nThe man shall kill him, and this company\nExhort to that mind: If the Gods remain\nAdverse, and hate it, I advise, refrain.\u201d\nThis said Amphinomus, and pleas\u2019d them all\nWhen all arose, and in Ulysses\u2019 hall\nTook seat again. Then to the queen was come\nThe Wooers\u2019 plot, to kill her son at home,\nSince their abroad-design had miss\u2019d success,\nThe herald Medon (who the whole address\nKnew of their counsels) making the report.\nThe Goddess of her sex, with her fair sort\nOf lovely women, at the large hall\u2019s door\n(Her bright cheeks clouded with a veil she wore)\nStood, and directed to Antinous\nHer sharp reproof, which she digested thus:\n\u201cAntinous! Compos\u2019d of injury!\nPlotter of mischief! Though reports that fly\nAmongst our Ithacensian people say\nThat thou, of all that glory in their sway,\nArt best in words and counsels, th\u2019 art not so.\nFond, busy fellow, why plott\u2019st thou the woe\nAnd slaughter of my son, and dost not fear\nThe presidents of suppliants, when the ear\nOf Jove stoops to them? \u2019Tis unjust to do\nSlaughter for slaughter, or pay woe for woe,\nMischief for kindness. Death for life sought, then,\nIs an injustice to be loath\u2019d of men.\nServes not thy knowledge to remember when\nThy father fled to us? Who (mov\u2019d to wrath\nAgainst the Taphian thieves) pursued with scathe\nThe guiltless Thesprots; in whose people\u2019s fear,\nPursuing him for wreak, he landed here,\nThey after him, professing both their prize\nOf all his chiefly-valued faculties,\nAnd more priz\u2019d life. Of all whose bloodiest ends\nUlysses curb\u2019d them, though they were his friends.\nYet thou, like one that no law will allow\nThe least true honour, eat\u2019st his house up now\nThat fed thy father; woo\u2019st for love his wife,\nWhom thus thou griev\u2019st and seek\u2019st her sole son\u2019s life!\nCease, I command thee, and command the rest\nTo see all thought of these foul fashions ceas\u2019d.\u201d\nEurymachus replied: \u201cBe confident,\nThou all-of-wit-made, the most fam\u2019d descent\nOf king Icarius. Free thy spirits of fear.\nThere lives not anyone, nor shall live here\nNow, nor hereafter, while my life gives heat\nAnd light to me on earth, that dares intreat\nWith any ill touch thy well-lov\u00e9d son,\nBut here I vow, and here will see it done,\nHis life shall stain my lance. If on his knees\nThe city-racer, Laertiades,\nHath made me sit, put in my hand his food,\nAnd held his red wine to me, shall the blood\nOf his Telemachus on my hand lay\nThe least pollution, that my life can stay?\nNo! I have ever charg\u2019d him not to fear\nDeath\u2019s threat from any. And, for that most dear\nLove of his father, he shall ever be\nMuch the most lov\u2019d of all that live to me.\n_Who kills a guiltless man from man may fly,\nFrom God his searches all escapes deny.\u201d_\nThus cheer\u2019d his words, but his affections still\nFear\u2019d not to cherish foul intent to kill\nEv\u2019n him whose life to all lives he preferr\u2019d.\nThe queen went up, and to her love appear\u2019d\nHer lord so freshly, that she wept, till sleep\n(By Pallas forc\u2019d on her) her eyes did steep\nIn his sweet humour. When the even was come,\nThe God-like herdsman reach\u2019d the whole way home.\nUlysses and his son for supper drest\nA year-old swine, and ere their host and guest\nHad got their presence, Pallas had put by\nWith her fair rod Ulysses\u2019 royalty,\nAnd render\u2019d him an aged man again,\nWith all his vile integuments, lest his swain\nShould know him in his trim, and tell his queen,\nIn these deep secrets being not deeply seen.\nHe seen, to him the prince these words did use:\n\u201cWelcome divine Eum\u00e6us! Now what news\nEmploys the city? Are the Wooers come\nBack from their scout dismay\u2019d? Or here at home\nWill they again attempt me?\u201d He replied:\n\u201cThese touch not my care. I was satisfied\nTo do, with most speed, what I went to do;\nMy message done, return. And yet, not so\nCame my news first; a herald (met with there)\nForestall\u2019d my tale, and told how safe you were.\nBesides which merely necessary thing,\nWhat in my way chanc\u2019d I may over-bring,\nBeing what I know, and witness\u2019d with mine eyes.\nWhere the Herm\u00e6an sepulchre doth rise\nAbove the city, I beheld take port\nA ship, and in her many a man of sort;\nHer freight was shields and lances; and, methought,\nThey were the Wooers; but, of knowledge, nought\nCan therein tell you.\u201d The prince smil\u2019d, and knew\nThey were the Wooers, casting secret view\nUpon his father. But what they intended\nFled far the herdsman; whose swain\u2019s labours ended,\nThey dress\u2019d the supper, which, past want, was eat.\nWhen all desire suffic\u2019d of wine and meat,\nOf other human wants they took supplies\nAt Sleep\u2019s soft hand, who sweetly clos\u2019d their eyes.\n\nTHE END OF THE SIXTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n [1] _\u2019\u0391\u0390\u03b4\u03b7\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd \u1f45\u03bc\u03b9\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f00\u0390\u03b4\u03b7\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 of \u1f00\u0390\u03b4\u03b7\u03c2, orcus,_ and signifies\n properly _tenebricosus,_ or _infernalis,_ so that _perniciosus_ (which\n is the Latin translation) is not so fit as damned for that crew of\n dissolute Wooers. The phrase being now used to all so licentious.\n\n [2] Intending his father, whose return though he were far from\n knowing, or fully expecting, yet he desired to order all things as he\n were present.\n\n [3] Intending to Laertes all that Eum\u00e6us would have told.\n\n [4] _\u03d5\u03c0\u03b5\u03c3\u1f76 \u1f00\u03b3\u03b1\u03b8\u1fc3\u0311\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd, bonis mentibus,_ the plural number used ever by\n Homer.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEVENTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nTelemachus, return\u2019d to town,\nMakes to his curious mother known,\nIn part, his travels. After whom\nUlysses to the court doth come,\nIn good Eum\u00e6us\u2019 guide, and prest\nTo witness of the Wooers\u2019 feast;\nWhom, though twice ten years did bestow\nIn far-off parts, his dog doth know.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03a1\u03c9\u0311._\nUlysses shows\nThrough all disguise.\nWhom his dog knows;\nWho knowing dies.\n\nBut when air\u2019s rosy birth, the morn, arose,\nTelemachus did for the town dispose\nHis early steps; and took to his command\nHis fair long lance, well-sorting with his hand,\nThus parting with Eum\u00e6us: \u201cNow, my friend,\nI must to town, lest too far I extend\nMy mother\u2019s moan for me, who, till her eyes\nMine own eyes witness, varies tears and cries\nThrough all extremes. Do then this charge of mine,\nAnd guide to town this hapless guest of thine,\nTo beg elsewhere his further festival.\nGive they that please, I cannot give to all,\nMine own wants take up for myself my pain.\nIf it incense him, he the worst shall gain.\nThe lovely truth I love, and must be plain.\u201d\n\u201cAlas, friend,\u201d said his father, \u201cnor do I\nDesire at all your further charity.\n\u2018Tis better beg in cities than in fields,\nAnd take the worst a beggar\u2019s fortune yields.\nNor am I apt to stay in swine-styes more,\nHowever; ever the great chief before\nThe poor ranks must to ev\u2019ry step obey.\nBut go; your man in my command shall sway,\nAnon yet too, by favour, when your fires\nHave comforted the cold heat age expires,\nAnd when the sun\u2019s flame hath besides corrected\nThe early air abroad, not being protected\nBy these my bare weeds from the morning\u2019s frost,\nWhich (if so much ground is to be engrost\nBy my poor feet as you report) may give\nToo violent charge to th\u2019 heat by which I live.\u201d\nThis said, his son went on with spritely pace,\nAnd to the Wooers studied little grace.\nArriv\u2019d at home, he gave his jav\u2019lin stay\nAgainst a lofty pillar, and bold way\nMade further in. When having so far gone\nThat he transcended the fair porch of stone,\nThe first by far that gave his entry eye\nWas nurse Euryclea; who th\u2019 embrodery\nOf stools there set was giving cushions fair;\nWho ran upon him, and her rapt repair\nShed tears for joy. About him gather\u2019d round\nThe other maids; his head and shoulders crown\u2019d\nWith kisses and embraces. From above\nThe Queen herself came, like the Queen of Love,\nOr bright Diana; cast about her son\nHer kind embraces, with effusi\u00f3n\nOf loving tears; kiss\u2019d both his lovely eyes,\nHis cheeks, and forehead; and gave all supplies\nWith this entreaty; \u201cWelcome, sweetest light!\nI never had conceit to set quick sight\nOn thee thus soon, when thy lov\u2019d father\u2019s fame\nAs far as Pylos did thy spirit inflame,\nIn that search ventur\u2019d all-unknown to me.\nO say, by what pow\u2019r cam\u2019st thou now to be\nMine eyes\u2019 dear object?\u201d He return\u2019d reply:\n\u201cMove me not now, when you my \u2019scape descry\nFrom imminent death, to think me fresh entrapt;\nThe fear\u2019d wound rubbing, felt before I \u2019scapt.\nDouble not needless passion on a heart\nWhose joy so green is, and so apt t\u2019 invert;\nBut pure weeds putting on, ascend and take\nYour women with you, that ye all may make\nVows of full hecatombs in sacred fire\nTo all the Godheads, if their only Sire\nVouchsafe revenge of guest-rites wrong\u2019d, which he\nIs to protect as being their Deity.\nMy way shall be directed to the hall\nOf common concourse, that I thence may call\nA stranger, who from off the Pylian shore\nCame friendly with me; whom I sent before\nWith all my soldiers, but in chief did charge\nPir\u00e6us with him, wishing him t\u2019 enlarge\nHis love to him at home, in best affair,\nAnd utmost honours, till mine own repair.\u201d\nHer son thus spoken, his words could not bear\nThe wings too easily through her either ear,\nBut putting pure weeds on, made vows entire\nOf perfect hecatombs in sacred fire\nTo all the Deities, if their only Sire\nVouchsaf\u2019d revenge of guest-rites wrong\u2019d, which he\nWas to protect as being their Deity.\nHer son left house, in his fair hand his lance,\nHis dogs attending; and, on ev\u2019ry glance\nHis looks cast from them, Pallas put a grace\nThat made him seem of the celestial race.\nWhom, come to concourse, ev\u2019ry man admir\u2019d,\nAbout him throng\u2019d the Wooers, and desir\u2019d\nAll good to him in tongues, but in their hearts\nMost deep ills threaten\u2019d to his most deserts.\nOf whose huge rout once free, he cast glad eye\nOn some that, long before his infancy,\nWere with his father great and gracious,\nGrave Halitherses, Mentor, Antiphus:\nTo whom he went, took seat by them, and they\nInquir\u2019d of all things since his parting day.\nTo them Pir\u00e6us came, and brought his guest\nAlong the city thither, whom not least\nThe prince respected, nor was long before\nHe rose and met him. The first word yet bore\nPir\u00e6us from them both; whose haste besought\nThe prince to send his women to see brought\nThe gifts from his house that Atrides gave,\nWhich his own roofs, he thought, would better save.\nThe wise prince answer\u2019d: \u201cI can scarce conceive\nThe way to these works. If the Wooers reave\nBy privy stratagem my life at home,\nI rather wish Pir\u00e6us may become\nThe master of them, than the best of these.\nBut, if I sow in their fields of excess\nSlaughter and ruin, then thy trust employ,\nAnd to me joying bring thou those with joy.\u201d\nThis said, he brought home his grief-practis\u2019d guest;\nWhere both put off, both oil\u2019d, and did invest\nThemselves in rich robes, wash\u2019d, and sate, and eat.\nHis mother, in a fair chair taking seat\nDirectly opposite, her loom applied;\nWho, when her son and guest had satisfied\nTheir appetites with feast, said: \u201cO my son,\nYou know that ever since your sire was won\nTo go in Agamemnon\u2019s guide to Troy,\nAttempting sleep, I never did enjoy\nOne night\u2019s good rest, but made my quiet bed\nA sea blown-up with sighs, with tears still shed\nEmbrew\u2019d and troubled; yet, though all your miss\nIn your late voyage hath been made for this,\nThat you might know th\u2019 abode your father made.\nYou shun to tell me what success you had.\nNow then, before the insolent access\nThe Wooers straight will force on us, express\nWhat you have heard.\u201d \u201cI will,\u201d said he, \u201cand true.\nWe came to Pylos, where the studious due\nThat any father could afford his son,\n(But new-arriv\u2019d from some course he had run\nTo an extreme length, in some voyage vow\u2019d),\nNestor, the pastor of the people, show\u2019d\nTo me arriv\u2019d, in turrets thrust-up high,\nWhere not his brave sons were more lov\u2019d than I.\nYet of th\u2019 unconquer\u2019d ever-sufferer;\nUlysses, never he could set his ear,\nAlive or dead, from any earthy man.\nBut to the great Laced\u00e6monian,\nAtrides, famous for his lance, he sent,\nWith horse and chariots, me, to learn th\u2019 event\nFrom his relation; where I had the view\nOf Argive Helen, whose strong beauties drew,\nBy wills of Gods, so many Grecian states,\nAnd Trojans, under such laborious fates.\nWhere Menelaus ask\u2019d me, what affair\nTo Laced\u00e6mon render\u2019d my repair.\nI told him all the truth, who made reply:\n\u2018O deed of most abhorr\u2019d indecency!\nA sort of impotents attempt his bed\nWhose strength of mind hath cities levell\u00e9d!\nAs to a lion\u2019s den, when any hind\nHath brought her young calves, to their rest inclin\u2019d,\nWhen he is ranging hills, and herby dales,\nTo make of feeders there his festivals,\nBut, turning to his luster, calves and dam\nHe shows abhorr\u2019d death, in his anger\u2019s flame;\nSo, should Ulysses find this rabble hous\u2019d\nIn his free turrets, courting his espous\u2019d,\nFoul death would fall them. O, I would to Jove,\nPh\u0153bus, and Pallas, that, when he shall prove\nThe broad report of his exhausted store\nTrue with his eyes, his nerves and sinews wore\nThat vigour then that in the Lesbian tow\u2019rs,\nProvok\u2019d to wrastle with the iron pow\u2019rs\nPhilomelides vaunted, he approv\u2019d;\nWhen down he hurl\u2019d his challenger, and mov\u2019d\nHuge shouts from all the Achives then in view.\nIf, once come home, he all those forces drew\nAbout him there to work, they all were dead,\nAnd should find bitter his attempted bed.\nBut what you ask and sue for, I, as far\nAs I have heard the true-spoke mariner,\nWill tell directly, nor delude your ear:\nHe told me that an island did ensphere,\nIn much discomfort, great Laertes\u2019 son;\nAnd that the Nymph Calypso, overrun\nWith his affection, kept him in her caves,\nWhere men, nor ship, of pow\u2019r to brook the waves,\nWere near his convoy to his country\u2019s shore,\nAnd where herself importun\u2019d evermore\nHis quiet stay; which not obtain\u2019d, by force\nShe kept his person from all else recourse.\u2019\nThis told Atrides, which was all he knew.\nNor stay\u2019d I more, but from the Gods there blew\nA prosp\u2019rous wind, that set me quickly here.\u201d\nThis put his mother quite from all her cheer.\nWhen Theoclymenus the augur said:\n\u201cO woman, honour\u2019d with Ulysses\u2019 bed,\nYour son, no doubt, knows clearly nothing more,\nHear me yet speak, that can the truth uncore,\nNor will be curious. Jove then witness bear,\nAnd this thy hospitable table here,\nWith this whole household of your blameless lord,\nThat at this hour his royal feet are shor\u2019d\nOn his lov\u2019d country-earth, and that ev\u2019n here\nComing, or creeping, he will see the cheer\nThese Wooers make, and in his soul\u2019s field sow\nSeeds that shall thrive to all their overthrow.\nThis, set a ship-board, I knew sorted thus,\nAnd cried it out to your Telemachus.\u201d\nPenelop\u00e9 replied: \u201cWould this would prove,\nYou well should witness a most friendly love,\nAnd gifts such of me, as encount\u2019ring Fame\nShould greet you with a bless\u00e9d mortal\u2019s name.\u201d\nThis mutual speech past, all the Wooers were\nHurling the stone, and tossing of the spear,\nBefore the palace, in the pav\u00e9d court,\nWhere otherwhiles their petulant resort\nSat plotting injuries. But when the hour\nOf supper enter\u2019d, and the feeding pow\u2019r\nBrought sheep from field, that fill\u2019d up ev\u2019ry way\nWith those that us\u2019d to furnish that purvey,\nMedon, the herald (who of all the rest\nPleas\u2019d most the Wooers, and at ev\u2019ry feast\nWas ever near) said: \u201cYou whose kind consort\nMake the fair branches of the tree our court,\nGrace it within now, and your suppers take.\nYou that for health, and fair contention\u2019s sake,\nWill please your minds, know, bodies must have meat;\n_Play\u2019s worse than idleness in times to eat.\u201d_\nThis said, all left, came in, cast by, on thrones\nAnd chairs, their garments. Their provisi\u00f3ns\nWere sheep, swine, goats, the chiefly-great and fat,\nBesides an ox that from the herd they gat.\nAnd now the king and herdsman, from the field,\nIn good way were to town; \u2019twixt whom was held\nSome walking conference, which thus begun\nThe good Eum\u00e6us: \u201cGuest, your will was won,\nBecause the prince commanded, to make way\nUp to the city, though I wish\u2019d your stay,\nAnd to have made you guardian of my stall;\nBut I, in care and fear of what might fall\nIn after-anger of the prince, forbore.\n_The checks of princes touch their subjects sore._\nBut make we haste, the day is nearly ended,\nAnd cold airs still are in the even extended.\u201d\n\u201cI know\u2019t,\u201d said he, \u201cconsider all; your charge\nIs giv\u2019n to one that understands at large.\nHaste then. Hereafter, you shall lead the way;\nAfford your staff too, if it fit your stay,\nThat I may use it; since you say our pass\nIs less friend to a weak foot than it was.\u201d\nThus cast he on his neck his nasty scrip,\nAll-patch\u2019d and torn; a cord, that would not slip\nFor knots and bracks about the mouth of it,\nMade serve the turn; and then his swain did fit\nHis forc\u2019d state with a staff. Then plied they hard\nTheir way to town, their cottage left in guard\nTo swains and dogs. And now Eum\u00e6us led\nThe king along, his garments to a thread\nAll-bare and burn\u2019d, and he himself hard bore\nUpon his staff, at all parts like a poor\nAnd sad old beggar. But when now they got\nThe rough highway, their voyage wanted not\nMuch of the city, where a fount they reach\u2019d,\nFrom whence the town their choicest water fetch\u2019d,\nThat ever overflow\u2019d, and curious art\nWas shown about it; in which three had part\nWhose names Neritus and Polyctor were,\nAnd famous Ithacus. It had a sphere\nOf poplar, that ran round about the wall;\nAnd into it a lofty rock let fall\nContinual supply of cool clear stream.\nOn whose top, to the Nymphs that were supreme\nIn those parts\u2019 loves, a stately altar rose,\nWhere ev\u2019ry traveller did still impose\nDevoted sacrifice. At this fount found\nThese silly travellers a man renown\u2019d\nFor guard of goats, which now he had in guide,\nWhose huge-stor\u2019d herd two herdsmen kept beside,\nFor all herds it excell\u2019d, and bred a feed\nFor Wooers only. He was Dolius\u2019 seed,\nAnd call\u2019d Melanthius. Who casting eye\nOn these two there, he chid them terribly,\nAnd so past mean, that ev\u2019n the wretched fate\nNow on Ulysses he did irritate.\nHis fume to this effect he did pursue:\n\u201cWhy so,\u2019tis now at all parts passing true,\nThat ill leads ill, good evermore doth train\nWith like his like. Why, thou unenvied swain,\nWhither dost thou lead this same victless leaguer,\nThis bane of banquets, this most nasty beggar,\nWhose sight doth make one sad, it so abhors?\nWho, with his standing in so many doors,\nHath broke his back; and all his beggary tends\nTo beg base crusts, but to no manly ends,\nAs asking swords, or with activity\nTo get a caldron. Wouldst thou give him me,\nTo farm my stable, or to sweep my yard,\nAnd bring browse to my kids, and that preferr\u2019d\nHe should be at my keeping for his pains\nTo drink as much whey as his thirsty veins\nWould still be swilling (whey made all his fees)\nHis monstrous belly would oppress his knees.\nBut he hath learn\u2019d to lead base life about,\nAnd will not work, but crouch among the rout\nFor broken meat to cram his bursten gut.\nYet this I\u2019ll say, and he will find it put\nIn sure effect, that if he enters where\nUlysses\u2019 roofs cast shade, the stools will there\nAbout his ears fly, all the house will throw,\nAnd rub his ragged sides with cuffs enow.\u201d\nPast these reviles, his manless rudeness spurn\u2019d\nDivine Ulysses; who at no part turn\u2019d\nHis face from him, but had his spirit fed\nWith these two thoughts, if he should strike him dead\nWith his bestow\u00e9d staff, or at his feet\nMake his direct head and the pavement meet.\nBut he bore all, and entertain\u2019d a breast\nThat in the strife of all extremes did rest.\nEum\u00e6us, frowning on him, chid him yet,\nAnd, lifting up his hands to heav\u2019n, he set\nThis bitter curse at him: \u201cO you that bear\nFair name to be the race of Jupiter,\nNymphs of these fountains! If Ulysses ever\nBurn\u2019d thighs to you, that, hid in fat, did never\nFail your acceptance, of or lamb or kid,\nGrant this grace to me: Let the man thus hid\nShine through his dark fate, make some God his guide,\nThat, to thee, goatherd, this same palate\u2019s pride,[1]\nThou driv\u2019st afore thee, he may come and make\nThe scatt\u2019rings of the earth, and overtake\nThy wrongs, with forcing thee to ever err\nAbout the city, hunted by his fear.\nAnd in the mean space by some slothful swains\nLet lousy sickness gnaw thy cattle\u2019s veins.\u201d\n\u201cO Gods!\u201d replied Melanthius, \u201cwhat a curse\nHath this dog bark\u2019d out, and can yet do worse!\nThis man shall I have giv\u2019n into my hands,\nWhen in a well-built ship to far-off lands\nI shall transport him, that, should I want here,\nMy sale of him may find me victuals there.\nAnd, for Ulysses, would to heav\u2019n his joy\nThe silver-bearing-bow God would destroy,\nThis day, within his house, as sure as he\nThe day of his return shall never see.\u201d\nThis said, he left them going silent on;\nBut he out-went them, and took straight upon\nThe palace-royal, which he enter\u2019d straight,\nSat with the Wooers, and his trencher\u2019s freight\nThe carvers gave him of the flesh there vented,\nBut bread the rev\u2019rend butleress presented.\nHe took against Eurymachus his place,\nWho most of all the Wooers gave him grace.\nAnd now Ulysses and his swain got near,\nWhen round about them visited their ear\nThe hollow harp\u2019s delicious-stricken string,\nTo which did Phemius, near the Wooers, sing.\nThen by the hand Ulysses took his swain,\nAnd said: \u201cEum\u00e6us, one may here see plain,\nIn many a grace, that Laertiades\nBuilt here these turrets, and,\u2019mongst others these,\nHis whole court arm\u2019d with such a goodly wall,\nThe cornice, and the cope, majestical,\nHis double gates, and turrets, built too strong\nFor force or virtue ever to expugn.\nI know the feasters in it now abound,\nTheir cates cast such a savour; and the sound\nThe harp gives argues an accomplish\u2019d feast.\n_The Gods made music banquet\u2019s dearest guest.\u201d_\n\u201cThese things,\u201d said he, \u201cyour skill may tell with ease,\nSince you are grac\u2019d with greater knowledges.\nBut now consult we how these works shall sort,\nIf you will first approach this prais\u00e9d court,\nAnd see these Wooers, I remaining here;\nOr I shall enter, and yourself forbear?\nBut be not you too tedious in your stay,\nLest thrust ye be and buffeted away.\n_Brain hath no fence for blows;_ look to \u2019t I pray.\u201d\n\u201cYou speak to one that comprehends,\u201d said he,\n\u201cGo you before, and here adventure me.\nI have of old been us\u2019d to cuffs and blows;\nMy mind is harden\u2019d, having borne the throes\nOf many a sour event in waves and wars,\nWhere knocks and buffets are no foreigners.\nAnd this same harmful belly by no mean\nThe greatest abstinent can ever wean.\n_Men suffer much bane by the belly\u2019s rage;_\nFor whose sake ships in all their equipage\nAre arm\u2019d, and set out to th\u2019 untamed seas,\nTheir bulks full-fraught with ills to enemies.\u201d\nSuch speech they chang\u2019d; when in the yard there lay\nA dog, call\u2019d Argus, which, before his way\nAssum\u2019d for Ilion, Ulysses bred,\nYet stood his pleasure then in little stead,\nAs being too young, but, growing to his grace,\nYoung men made choice of him for ev\u2019ry chace,\nOr of their wild goats, of their hares, or harts.\nBut his king gone, and he, now past his parts,\nLay all abjectly on the stable\u2019s store,\nBefore the oxstall, and mules\u2019 stable door,\nTo keep the clothes cast from the peasants\u2019 hands,\nWhile they laid compass on Ulysses\u2019 lands,\nThe dog, with ticks (unlook\u2019d-to) overgrown.\nBut by this dog no sooner seen but known\nWas wise Ulysses, who new-enter\u2019d there,\nUp went his dog\u2019s laid ears, and, coming near,\nUp he himself rose, fawn\u2019d, and wagg\u2019d his stern,\nCouch\u2019d close his ears, and lay so; nor discern[2]\nCould evermore his dear-lov\u2019d lord again.\nUlysses saw it, nor had pow\u2019r t\u2019 abstain\nFrom shedding tears; which (far-off seeing his swain)\nHe dried from his sight clean; to whom he thus\nHis grief dissembled: \u201c\u2019Tis miraculous,\nThat such a dog as this should have his lair\nOn such a dunghill, for his form is fair.\nAnd yet, I know not, if there were in him\nGood pace, or parts, for all his goodly limb;\nOr he liv\u2019d empty of those inward things,\nAs are those trencher-beagles tending kings,\nWhom for their pleasure\u2019s, or their glory\u2019s, sake,\nOr fashion, they into their favour take.\u201d\n\u201cThis dog,\u201d said he, \u201cwas servant to one dead\nA huge time since. But if he bore his head,\nFor form and quality, of such a height,\nAs when Ulysses, bound for th\u2019 Ilion fight,\nOr quickly after, left him, your rapt eyes\nWould then admire to see him use his thighs\nIn strength and swiftness. He would nothing fly,\nNor anything let \u2019scape. If once his eye\nSeiz\u2019d any wild beast, he knew straight his scent;\nGo where he would, away with him he went.\nNor was there ever any savage stood\nAmongst the thickets of the deepest wood\nLong time before him, but he pull\u2019d him down;\nAs well by that true hunting to be shown\nIn such vast coverts, as for speed of pace\nIn any open lawn. For in deep chace\nHe was a passing-wise and well-nos\u2019d hound.\nAnd yet is all this good in him uncrown\u2019d\nWith any grace here now, nor he more fed\nThan any errant cur. His king is dead,\nFar from his country; and his servants are\nSo negligent they lend his hound no care.\n_Where masters rule not, but let men alone,\nYou never there see honest service done.\nThat man\u2019s half-virtue Jove takes quite away,\nThat once is sun-burnt with the servile day.\u201d_\nThis said, he enter\u2019d the well-builded-tow\u2019rs,\nUp bearing right upon the glorious Wooers,\nAnd left poor Argus dead; his lord\u2019s first sight\nSince that time twenty years bereft his light.\nTelemachus did far the first behold\nEum\u00e6us enter, and made signs he should\nCome up to him. He, noting, came, and took\nOn earth his seat. And then the master-cook\nServ\u2019d in more banquet; of which, part he set\nBefore the Wooers, part the prince did get,\nWho sate alone, his table plac\u2019d aside;\nTo which the herald did the bread divide.\nAfter Eum\u00e6us, enter\u2019d straight the king,[3]\nLike to a poor and heavy aged thing,\nBore hard upon his staff, and was so clad\nAs would have made his mere beholder sad.\nUpon the ashen floor his limbs he spread,\nAnd \u2019gainst a cypress-threshold stay\u2019d his head,\nThe tree wrought smooth, and in a line direct\nTried by the plumb and by the architect.\nThe prince then bade the herdsman give him bread,\nThe finest there, and see that prostrated\nAt-all-parts plight of his giv\u2019n all the cheer\nHis hands could turn to: \u201cTake,\u201d said he, \u201cand bear\nThese cates to him, and bid him beg of all\nThese Wooers here, and to their festival\nBear up with all the impudence he can;\n_Bashful behaviour fits no needy man.\u201d_\nHe heard, and did his will. \u201cHold guest,\u201d said he,\n\u201cTelemachus commends these cates to thee,\nBids thee bear up, and all these Wooers implore.\n_Wit must make impudent whom Fate makes poor.\u201d_\n\u201cO Jove,\u201d said he, \u201cdo my poor pray\u2019rs the grace\nTo make him blessed\u2019st of the mortal race,\nAnd ev\u2019ry thought now in his gen\u2019rous heart\nTo deeds that further my desires convert.\u201d\nThus took he in with both his hands his store,\nAnd in the uncouth scrip, that lay before\nHis ill-shod feet, repos\u2019d it; whence he fed\nAll time the music to the feasters play\u2019d.\nBoth jointly ending, then began the Wooers\nTo put in old act their tumultuous pow\u2019rs;\nWhen Pallas standing close did prompt her friend,\nTo prove how far the bounties would extend\nOf those proud Wooers; so, to let him try\nWho most, who least, had learn\u2019d humanity.\nHowever, no thought touch\u2019d Minerva\u2019s mind,\nThat anyone should \u2019scape his wreak design\u2019d.\nHe handsomely became all, crept about\nTo ev\u2019ry Wooer, held a forc\u2019d hand out,\nAnd all his work did in so like a way,\nAs he had practis\u2019d begging many a day.\nAnd though they knew all beggars could do this,\nYet they admir\u2019d it as no deed of his;\nThough far from thought of other, us\u2019d expence\nAnd pity to him, who he was, and whence,\nInquiring mutually. Melanthius then:\n\u201cHear me, ye Wooers of the far-fam\u2019d queen,\nAbout this beggar. I have seen before\nThis face of his; and know for certain more,\nThat this swain brought him hither. What he is,\nOr whence he came, flies me.\u201d Reply to this\nAntinous made, and mock\u2019d Eum\u00e6us thus:\n\u201cO thou renown\u00e9d herdsman, why to us\nBrought\u2019st thou this beggar? Serves it not our hands;\nThat other land-leapers, and cormorands,\nProfane poor knaves, lie on us, unconducted,\nBut you must bring them? So amiss instructed\nArt thou in course of thrift, as not to know\nThy lord\u2019s goods wrack\u2019d in this their overflow?\nWhich think\u2019st thou nothing, that thou call\u2019st in these?\u201d\nEum\u00e6us answer\u2019d: \u201cThough you may be wise,\nYou speak not wisely. Who calls in a guest\nThat is a guest himself? None call to feast\nOther than men that are of public use,\nProphets, or poets, whom the Gods produce,\nPhysicians for men\u2019s ills, or architects.\nSuch men the boundless earth affords respects\nBounded in honour, and may call them well.\nBut poor men who calls? Who doth so excell\nIn others\u2019 good to do himself an ill?\nBut all Ulysses\u2019 servants have been still\nEyesores in your way more than all that woo,\nAnd chiefly I. But what care I for you,\nAs long as these roofs hold as thralls to none\nThe wise Penelope and her god-like son?\u201d\n\u201cForbear,\u201d said he, \u201cand leave this tongue\u2019s bold ill.\nAntinous uses to be crossing still,\nAnd give sharp words; his blood that humour bears,\nTo set men still together by the ears.\nBut,\u201d turning then t\u2019 Antinous, \u201cO,\u201d said he,\n\u201cYou entertain a father\u2019s care of me,\nTo turn these eating guests out. \u2019Tis advice\nOf needful use for my poor faculties,\nBut God doth not allow this; there must be\nSome care of poor men in humanity.\nWhat you yourselves take, give; I not envy,\nBut give command that hospitality\nBe giv\u2019n all strangers. Nor shall my pow\u2019rs fear,\nIf this mood in me reach my mother\u2019s ear;\nMuch less the servants\u2019, that are here to see\nUlysses\u2019 house kept in his old degree.\nBut you bear no such mind, your wits more cast\nTo fill yourself than let another taste.\u201d\nAntinous answer\u2019d him: \u201cBrave-spoken man!\nWhose mind\u2019s free fire see check\u2019d no virtue can.\nIf all we Wooers here would give as much\nAs my mind serves, his[4] largess should be such\nAs would for three months serve his far-off way\nFrom troubling your house with more cause of stay.\u201d\nThis said, he took a stool up, that did rest,\nBeneath the board, his spangled feet at feast,\nAnd offer\u2019d at him; but the rest gave all,\nAnd fill\u2019d his fulsome scrip with festival.\nAnd so Ulysses for the present was,\nAnd for the future, furnish\u2019d, and his pass\nBent to the door to eat. Yet could not leave\nAntinous so, but said: \u201cDo you too give,\nLov\u2019d lord; your presence makes a show to me\nAs you not worst were of the company,\nBut best, and so much that you seem the king,\nAnd therefore you should give some better thing\nThan bread, like others. I will spread your praise\nThrough all the wide world, that have in my days\nKept house myself, and trod the wealthy ways\nOf other men ev\u2019n to the title Blest;\nAnd often have I giv\u2019n an erring guest\n(How mean soever) to the utmost gain\nOf what he wanted, kept whole troops of men,\nAnd had all other comings in, with which\nMen live so well, and gain the fame of rich.\nYet Jove consum\u2019d all; he would have it so;\nTo which, his mean was this: He made me go\nFar off, for Egypt, in the rude consort\nOf all-ways-wand\u2019ring pirates, where, in port,\nI bade my lov\u2019d men draw their ships ashore,\nAnd dwell amongst them; sent out some t\u2019 explore\nUp to the mountains, who, intemperate,\nAnd their inflam\u2019d bloods bent to satiate,\nForag\u2019d the rich fields, hal\u2019d the women thence,\nAnd unwean\u2019d children, with the foul expence\nBoth of their fames and bloods. The cry then flew\nStraight to the city; and the great fields grew\nWith horse and foot, and flam\u2019d with iron arms;\nWhen Jove (that breaks the thunder in alarms)\nAn ill flight cast amongst my men; not one\nInspir\u2019d with spirit to stand, and turn upon\nThe fierce pursuing foe; and therefore stood\nTheir ill fate thick about them; some in blood,\nAnd some in bondage; toils led by constraint\nFast\u2019ning upon them. Me along they sent\nTo Cyprus with a stranger-prince they met,\nDmetor Iasides, who th\u2019 imperial seat\nOf that sweet island sway\u2019d in strong command.\nAnd thus feel I here need\u2019s contemned hand.\u201d\n\u201cAnd what God sent,\u201d said he, \u201cthis suff\u2019ring bane\nTo vex our banquet? Stand off, nor profane\nMy board so boldly, lest I show thee here\nCyprus and Egypt made more sour than there.\nYou are a saucy set-fac\u2019d vagabond.\nAbout with all you go, and they, beyond\nDiscretion, give thee, since they find not here\nThe least proportion set down to their cheer.\nBut ev\u2019ry fountain hath his under-floods.\n_It is no bounty to give others\u2019 goods.\u201d_\n\u201cO Gods,\u201d replied Ulysses, \u201cI see now,\nYou bear no soul in this your goodly show.\nBeggars at your board, I perceive, should get\nScarce salt from your hands, if themselves brought meat;\nSince, sitting where another\u2019s board is spread,\nThat flows with feast, not to the broken bread\nWill your allowance reach.\u201d \u201cNay then,\u201d said he,\nAnd look\u2019d austerely, \u201cif so saucy be\nYour suffer\u2019d language, I suppose, that clear\nYou shall not \u2019scape without some broken cheer.\u201d\nThus rapt he up a stool, with which he smit\nThe king\u2019s right shoulder, \u2019twixt his neck and it.\nHe stood him like a rock. Antinous\u2019 dart\nNor stirr\u2019d Ulysses; who in his great heart\nDeep ills projected, which, for time yet, close\nHe bound in silence, shook his head, and went\nOut to the entry, where he then gave vent\nTo his full scrip, sat on the earth, and eat,\nAnd talk\u2019d still to the Wooers: \u201cHear me yet,\nYe Wooers of the Queen. It never grieves\nA man to take blows, where for sheep, or beeves,\nOr other main possessions, a man fights;\nBut for his harmful belly this man smites,\nWhose love to many a man breeds many a woe.\nAnd if the poor have Gods, and Furies too,\nBefore Antinous wear his nuptial wreath,\nHe shall be worn upon the dart of death.\u201d\n\u201cHarsh guest,\u201d said he, \u201csit silent at your meat,\nOr seek your desp\u2019rate plight some safer seat,\nLest by the hands or heels youths drag your years,\nAnd rend your rotten rags about your ears.\u201d\nThis made the rest as highly hate his folly,\nAs he had violated something holy.\nWhen one, ev\u2019n of the proudest, thus began:\n\u201cThou dost not nobly, thus to play the man\nOn such an errant wretch. O ill dispos\u2019d!\nPerhaps some sacred Godhead goes enclos\u2019d\nEv\u2019n in his abject outside; for the Gods\nHave often visited these rich abodes\nLike such poor stranger pilgrims, since their pow\u2019rs\n(Being always shapeful) glide through towns and tow\u2019rs,\nObserving, as they pass still, who they be\nThat piety love, and who impiety.\u201d\nThis all men said, but he held sayings cheap.\nAnd all this time Telemachus did heap\nSorrow on sorrow on his beating heart,\nTo see his father stricken; yet let part\nNo tear to earth, but shook his head, and thought\nAs deep as those ills that were after wrought.\nThe Queen now, hearing of her poor guest\u2019s stroke,\nSaid to her maid (as to her Wooer she spoke),\n\u201cI wish the famous-for-his-bow, the Sun,\nWould strike thy heart so.\u201d Her wish, thus begun,\nHer lady, fair Eurynome, pursued\nHer execration, and did thus conclude:\n\u201cSo may our vows call down from heav\u2019n his end,\nAnd let no one life of the rest extend\nHis life till morning.\u201d \u201cO Eurynom\u00e9,\u201d\nReplied the Queen, \u201cmay all Gods speak in thee,\nFor all the Wooers we should rate as foes,\nSince all their weals they place in others\u2019 woes!\nBut this Antinous we past all should hate,\nAs one resembling black and cruel Fate.\nA poor strange wretch begg\u2019d here, compell\u2019d by need,\nAsk\u2019d all, and ev\u2019ry one gave in his deed,\nFill\u2019d his sad scrip, and eas\u2019d his heavy wants,\nOnly this man bestow\u2019d unmanly taunts,\nAnd with a cruel blow, his force let fly,\n\u2018Twixt neck and shoulders show\u2019d his charity.\u201d\nThese minds, above, she and her maids did show,\nWhile, at his scrip, Ulysses sat below.\nIn which time she Eum\u00e6us call\u2019d, and said:\n\u201cGo, good Eum\u00e6us, and see soon convey\u2019d\nThe stranger to me; bid him come and take\nMy salutations for his welcome\u2019s sake,\nAnd my desire serve, if he hath not heard\nOr seen distress\u2019d Ulysses, who hath err\u2019d\nLike such a man, and therefore chance may fall\nHe hath by him been met and spoke withal?\u201d\n\u201cO Queen,\u201d said he, \u201cI wish to heav\u2019n your ear\nWere quit of this unrev\u2019rend noise you hear\nFrom these rude Wooers, when I bring the guest;\nSuch words your ear would let into your breast\nAs would delight it to your very heart.\nThree nights and days I did my roof impart\nTo his fruition (for he came to me\nThe first of all men since he fled the sea)\nAnd yet he had not giv\u2019n a perfect end\nTo his relation of what woes did spend\nThe spite of Fate on him, but as you see[5]\nA singer, breathing out of Deity\nLove-kindling lines, when all men seated near\nAre rapt with endless thirst to ever hear;\nSo sweeten\u2019d he my bosom at my meat,\nAffirming that Ulysses was in Crete,\nWhere first the memories of Minos were,\nA guest to him there dwelling then, as dear\nAs his true father; and from thence came he\nTir\u2019d on with sorrows, toss\u2019d from sea to sea,\nTo cast himself in dust, and tumble here,\nAt Wooers\u2019 feet, for blows and broken cheer.\nBut of Ulysses, where the Thesprots dwell,\nA wealthy people, Fame, he says, did tell\nThe still survival; who his native light\nWas bound for now, with treasure infinite.\u201d\n\u201cCall him,\u201d said she, \u201cthat he himself may say\nThis over to me. We shall soon have way\nGiv\u2019n by the Wooers; they, as well at gate,\nAs set within doors, use to recreate\nTheir high-fed spirits. As their humours lead\nThey follow; and may well; for still they tread\nUncharg\u2019d ways here, their own wealth lying unwasted\nIn poor-kept houses, only something tasted\nTheir bread and wine is by their household swains,\nBut they themselves let loose continual reins\nTo our expenses, making slaughter still\nOf sheep, goats, oxen, feeding past their fill,\nAnd vainly lavishing our richest wine;\nAll these extending past the sacred line,\nFor here lives no man like Ulysses now\nTo curb these reins. But should he once show\nHis country-light his presence, he and his\nWould soon revenge these Wooers\u2019 injuries.\u201d\nThis said, about the house, in echoes round,\nHer son\u2019s strange neesings made a horrid sound;[6]\nAt which the Queen yet laugh\u2019d, and said: \u201cGo call\nThe stranger to me. Heard\u2019st thou not, to all\nMy words last utter\u2019d, what a neesing brake\nFrom my Telemachus? From whence I make,\nThis sure conclusion: That the death and fate\nOf ev\u2019ry Wooer here is near his date.\nCall, then, the guest, and if he tell as true\nWhat I shall ask him, coat, cloak, all things new,\nThese hands shall yield him.\u201d This said, down he went,\nAnd told Ulysses, \u201cthat the Queen had sent\nTo call him to her, that she might enquire\nAbout her husband what her sad desire\nUrg\u2019d her to ask; and, if she found him true,\nBoth coat, and cassock (which he needed) new\nHer hands would put on him; and that the bread,\nWhich now he begg\u2019d amongst the common tread,\nShould freely feed his hunger now from her,\nWho all he wish\u2019d would to his wants prefer.\u201d\nHis answer was: \u201cI will with fit speed tell\nThe whole truth to the Queen; for passing well\nI know her lord, since he and I have shar\u2019d\nIn equal sorrows. But I much am scar\u2019d\nWith this rude multitude of Wooers here,\nThe rage of whose pride smites heav\u2019n\u2019s brazen sphere.\nOf whose rout when one struck me for no fault,\nTelemachus nor none else turn\u2019d th\u2019 assault\nFrom my poor shoulders. Therefore, though she haste,\nBeseech the Queen her patience will see past\nThe day\u2019s broad light, and then may she enquire.\n\u2019Tis but my closer pressing to the fire\nIn th\u2019 ev\u2019ning\u2019s cold, because my weeds, you know,\nAre passing thin; for I made bold to show\nTheir bracks to you, and pray\u2019d your kind supply.\u201d\nHe heard, and hasted; and met instantly\nThe Queen upon the pavement in his way,\nWho ask\u2019d: \u201cWhat! Bring\u2019st thou not? What cause of stay\nFind his austere supposes? Takes he fear\nOf th\u2019 unjust Wooers? Or thus hard doth bear\nOn any other doubt the house objects?\nHe does me wrong, and gives too nice respects\nTo his fear\u2019d safety.\u201d \u201cHe does right,\u201d said he,\n\u201cAnd what he fears should move the policy\nOf any wise one; taking care to shun\nThe violent Wooers. He bids bide, till sun\nHath hid his broad light. And, believe it, Queen,\n\u2019Twill make your best course, since you two, unseen,\nMay pass th\u2019 encounter; you to speak more free,\nAnd he your ear gain less distractedly.\u201d\n\u201cThe guest is wise,\u201d said she, \u201cand well doth give\nThe right thought use. Of all the men that live,\nLife serves none such as these proud Wooers are,\nTo give a good man cause to use his care.\u201d\nThus, all agreed, amongst the Wooers goes\nEum\u00e6us to the prince, and, whisp\u2019ring close,\nSaid: \u201cNow, my love, my charge shall take up me,\n(Your goods and mine). What here is, you must see\nIn fit protection. But, in chief, regard\nYour own dear safeguard; whose state study hard,\nLest suff\u2019rance seize you. Many a wicked thought\nConceal these Wooers; whom just Jove see brought\nTo utter ruin, ere it touch at us.\u201d\n\u201cSo chance it, friend,\u201d replied Telemachus,\n\u201cYour bever taken, go. In first of day\nCome, and bring sacrifice the best you may.\nTo me and to th\u2019 Immortals be the care\nor whatsoever here the safeties are.\u201d\nThis said, he sat in his elaborate throne.\nEum\u00e6us (fed to satisfaction)\nWent to his charge, left both the court and walls\nFull of secure and fatal festivals,\nIn which the Wooers\u2019 pleasures still would sway.\nAnd now begun the even\u2019s near-ending day.\n\n THE END OF THE SEVENTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n [1] Intending his fat herd, kept only for the Wooers\u2019 dainty palates.\n\n [2] The dog died as soon as he had seen Ulysses.\n\n [3] Ulysses\u2019 ruthful fashion of entry to his own hall.\n\n [4] His\u2014intending Ulysses.\n\n [5] Simile, in which Ulysses is compared with a poet for the sweetness\n of his speech.\n\n [6] Neezing a good omen.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EIGHTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nUlysses and rogue Irus fight.\nPenelope vouchsafes her sight\nTo all her Wooers; who present\nGifts to her, ravish\u2019d with content.\nA certain parl\u00e9 then we sing.\nBetwixt a Wooer and the King.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03a3\u03af\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1._\nThe beggar\u2019s glee.\nThe King\u2019s high fame.\nGifts giv\u2019n to see\nA virtuous dame.\n\nThere came a common beggar to the court,\nWho in the city begg\u2019d of all resort,\nExcell\u2019d in madness of the gut, drunk, ate,\nPast intermission, was most hugely great,\nYet had no fibres in him nor no force,\nIn sight a man, in mind a living corse.\nHis true name was Arn\u00e6us, for his mother\nImpos\u2019d it from his birth, and yet another\nThe city youth would give him (from the course\nHe after took, deriv\u2019d out of the force\nThat need held on him, which was up and down\nTo run on all men\u2019s errands through the town)\nWhich sounded Irus. When whose gut was come,\nHe needs would bar Ulysses his own home,\nAnd fell to chiding him: \u201cOld man,\u201d said he,\n\u201cYour way out of the entry quickly see\nBe with fair language taken, lest your stay\nBut little longer see you dragg\u2019d away.\nSee, sir, observe you not how all these make\nDirect signs at me, charging me to take\nYour heels, and drag you out? But I take shame.\nRise yet, y\u2019 are best, lest we two play a game\nAt cuffs together.\u201d He bent brows, and said:\n\u201cWretch! I do thee no ill, nor once upbraid\nThy presence with a word, nor, what mine eye\nBy all hands sees thee giv\u2019n, one thought envy.\nNor shouldst thou envy others. Thou may\u2019st see\nThe place will hold us both; and seem\u2019st to me\nA beggar like myself; which who can mend?\n_The Gods give most to whom they least are friend.\nThe chief goods Gods give, is in good to end._\nBut to the hands\u2019 strife, of which y\u2019 are so free,\nProvoke me not, for fear you anger me;\nAnd lest the old man, on whose scorn you stood,\nYour lips and bosom make shake hands in blood.\nI love my quiet well, and more will love\nTo-morrow than to-day. But if you move\nMy peace beyond my right, the war you make\nWill never after give you will to take\nUlysses\u2019 house into your begging walk.\u201d\n\u201cO Gods,\u201d said he, \u201chow volubly doth talk\nThis eating gulf! And how his fume breaks out,\nAs from an old crack\u2019d oven! Whom I will clout\nSo bitterly, and so with both hands mall\nHis chaps together, that his teeth shall fall\nAs plain seen on the earth as any sow\u2019s,\nThat ruts the corn-fields, or devours the mows.\nCome, close we now, that all may see what wrong\nAn old man tempts that takes at cuffs a young.\u201d\nThus in the entry of those lofty tow\u2019rs\nThese two, with all spleen, spent their jarring pow\u2019rs.\nAntinous took it, laugh\u2019d, and said: \u201cO friends,\nWe never had such sport! This guest contends\nWith this vast beggar at the buffet\u2019s fight.\nCome, join we hands, and screw up all their spite.\u201d\nAll rose in laughters; and about them bore\nAll the ragg\u2019d rout of beggars at the door.\nThen mov\u2019d Antinous the victor\u2019s hire\nTo all the Wooers thus: \u201cThere are now at fire\nTwo breasts of goat; both which let law set down\nBefore the man that wins the day\u2019s renown,\nWith all their fat and gravy. And of both\nThe glorious victor shall prefer his tooth,\nTo which he makes his choice of, from us all,\nAnd ever after banquet in our hall,\nWith what our boards yield; not a beggar more\nAllow\u2019d to share, but all keep out at door.\u201d\nThis he propos\u2019d; and this they all approv\u2019d,\nTo which Ulysses answer\u2019d: \u201cO most lov\u2019d,\nBy no means should an old man, and one old\nIn chief with sorrows, be so over-bold\nTo combat with his younger; but, alas,\nMan\u2019s own-ill-working belly needs will pass\nThis work upon me, and enforce me, too,\nTo beat this fellow. But then, you must do\nMy age no wrong, to take my younger\u2019s part,\nAnd play me foul play, making your strokes\u2019 smart\nHelp his to conquer; for you eas\u2019ly may\nWith your strengths crush me. Do then right, and lay\nYour honours on it in your oaths, to yield\nHis part no aid, but equal leave the field.\u201d\nAll swore his will. But then Telemachus\nHis father\u2019s scoffs with comforts serious\nCould not but answer, and made this reply:\n\u201cGuest! If thine own pow\u2019rs cheer thy victory,\nFear no man\u2019s else that will not pass it free.\nHe fights with many that shall touch but thee.\nI\u2019ll see thy guest-right paid. Thou here art come\nIn my protection; and to this the sum\nOf all these Wooers (which Antinous are\nAnd King Eurymachus) conjoin their care.\u201d\nBoth vow\u2019d it. When Ulysses, laying by\nHis upper weed, his inner beggary\nNear show\u2019d his shame, which he with rags prevented\nPluck\u2019d from about his thighs, and so presented\nTheir goodly sight, which were so white and great,\nAnd his large shoulders were to view so set\nBy his bare rags, his arms, his breast, and all,\nSo broad, and brawny\u2014their grace natural\nBeing kept by Pallas, ever standing near\u2014\nThat all the Wooers his admirers were\nBeyond all measure, mutual whispers driv\u2019n\nThrough all their cluster, saying: \u201cSure as heav\u2019n\nPoor Irus pull\u2019d upon him bitter blows.\nThrough his thin garment what a thigh he shows!\u201d\nThey said; but Irus felt. His coward mind\nWas mov\u2019d at root. But now he needs must find\nFacts to his brags; and forth at all parts fit\nThe servants brought him, all his art\u2019ries smit\nWith fears and tremblings. Which Antinous saw,\nAnd said: \u201cNay, now too late comes fear. No law\nThou shouldst at first have giv\u2019n thy braggart vein,\nNor should it so have swell\u2019d, if terrors strain\nThy spirits to this pass, for a man so old,\nAnd worn with penuries that still lay hold\nOn his ragg\u2019d person. Howsoever, take\nThis vow from me for firm: That if, he make\nThy forces stoop, and prove his own supreme,\nI\u2019ll put thee in a ship, and down the stream\nSend thee ashore where King Echetus reigns,\n(The roughest tyrant that the world contains)\nAnd he will slit thy nostrils, crop each ear,\nThy shame cut off, and give it dogs to tear.\u201d\nThis shook his nerves the more. But both were now\nBrought to the lists; and up did either throw\nHis heavy fists. Ulysses, in suspense\nTo strike so home that he should fright from thence\nHis coward soul, his trunk laid prostrate there,\nOr let him take more leisure to his fear,\nAnd stoop him by degrees. The last show\u2019d best,\nTo strike him slightly, out of fear the rest\nWould else discover him. But, peace now broke,\nOn his right shoulder Irus laid his stroke.\nUlysses struck him just beneath the ear,\nHis jawbone broke, and made the blood appear;\nWhen straight he strew\u2019d the dust, and made his cry\nStand for himself; with whom his teeth did lie,\nSpit with his blood out; and against the ground\nHis heels lay sprawling. Up the hands went round\nOf all the Wooers, all at point to die\nWith violent laughters. Then the king did ply\nThe beggar\u2019s feet, and dragg\u2019d him forth the hall,\nAlong the entry, to the gates and wall;\nWhere leaving him, he put into his hand\nA staff; and bade him there use his command\nOn swine and dogs, and not presume to be\nLord of the guests, or of the beggary,\nSince he of all men was the scum and curse;\nAnd so bade please with that, or fare yet worse.\nThen cast he on his scrip, all-patch\u2019d and rent,\nHung by a rotten cord, and back he went\nTo greet the entry\u2019s threshold with his seat.\nThe Wooers throng\u2019d to him, and did entreat\nWith gentle words his conquest, laughing still,\nPray\u2019d Jove and all the Gods to give his will\nWhat most it wish\u2019d him and would joy him most,\nSince he so happily had clear\u2019d their coast\nOf that unsavoury morsel; whom they vow\u2019d\nTo see with all their utmost haste bestow\u2019d\nAboard a ship, and for Epirus sent\nTo King Echetus, on whose throne was spent\nThe worst man\u2019s seat that breath\u2019d. And thus was grac\u2019d\nDivine Ulysses, who with joy embrac\u2019d\nEv\u2019n that poor conquest. Then was set to him\nThe goodly goat\u2019s breast promis\u2019d (that did swim\nIn fat and gravy) by Antinous,\nAnd from a basket, by Amphinomus,\nWere two breads giv\u2019n him; who, besides, renown\u2019d\nHis banquet with a golden goblet; crown\u2019d,\nAnd this high salutation: \u201cFrolic, guest,\nAnd be those riches that you first possest\nRestor\u2019d again with full as many joys,\nAs in your poor state I see now annoys.\u201d\n\u201cAmphinomus,\u201d said he, \u201cyou seem to me\nExceeding wise, as being the progeny\nOf such a father as authentic Fame\nHath told me was so, one of honour\u2019d name,\nAnd great revenues in Dulichius,\nHis fair name Nisus. He is blazon\u2019d thus;\nAnd you to be his son, his wisdom heiring,\nAs well as wealth, his state in nought impairing.\nTo prove which always, let me tell you this,\n(As warning you to shun the miseries\nThat follow full states, if they be not held\nWith wisdom still at full, and so compell\u2019d\nTo courses that abode not in their brows,\nBy too much swing, their sudden overthrows)\n_Of all things breathing, or that creep on earth,\nNought is more wretched than a human birth.\nBless\u2019d men think never they can cursed be,\nWhile any power lasts to move a knee._\nBut when the bless\u2019d Gods make them feel that smart,\nThat fled their faith so, as they had no heart\nThey bear their suff\u2019rings, and, what well they might\nHave clearly shunn\u2019d, they then meet in despite.\n_The mind of man flies still out of his way,\nUnless God guide and prompt it ev\u2019ry day._\nI thought me once a bless\u00e9d man with men.\nAnd fashion\u2019d me to all so counted then,\nDid all injustice like them, what for lust,\nOr any pleasure, never so unjust\nI could by pow\u2019r or violence obtain,\nAnd gave them both in all their pow\u2019rs the rein,\nBold of my fathers and my brothers still;\nWhile which held good my arts seem\u2019d never ill.\nAnd thus is none held simply good or bad,\nBut as his will is either miss\u2019d or had.\nAll goods God\u2019s gifts man calls, howe\u2019er he gets them,\nAnd so takes all; what price soe\u2019er God sets them,\nSays nought how ill they come, nor will controul\nThat ravine in him, though it cost his soul.\nAnd these parts here I see these Wooers play,\nTake all that falls, and all dishonours lay\nOn that man\u2019s Queen, that, tell your friends, doth bear\nNo long time\u2019s absence, but is passing near.\nLet God then guide thee home, lest he may meet\nIn his return thy undeparted feet;\nFor when he enters, and sees men so rude,\nThe quarrel cannot but in blood conclude.\u201d\nThis said, he sacrific\u2019d, then drunk, and then\nReferr\u2019d the giv\u2019n bowl to the guide-of-men;\nWho walk\u2019d away, afflicted at his heart,\nShook head, and fear\u2019d that these facts would convert\nTo ill in th\u2019 end; yet had not grace to fly,\nMinerva stay\u2019d him, being ordain\u2019d to die\nUpon the lance of young Ulyssides.\nSo down he sat; and then did Pallas please\nT\u2019 incline the Queen\u2019s affections to appear\nTo all the Wooers, to extend their cheer\nTo th\u2019 utmost lightning that still ushers death,\nAnd made her put on all the painted sheath,\nThat might both set her Wooers\u2019 fancies high,\nAnd get her greater honour in the eye\nEv\u2019n of her son and sov\u2019reign than before.\nWho laughing yet, to show her humour bore\nNo serious appetite to that light show,\nShe told Eurynom\u00e9, that not till now\nShe ever knew her entertain desire\nTo please her Wooers\u2019 eyes, but oft on fire\nShe set their hate, in keeping from them still;\nYet now she pleas\u2019d t\u2019 appear, though from no will\nTo do them honour, vowing she would tell\nHer son that of them that should fit him well\nTo make use of; which was, not to converse\nToo freely with their pride, nor to disperse\nHis thoughts amongst them, since they us\u2019d to give\nGood words, but through them ill intents did drive.\nEurynom\u00e9 replied: \u201cWith good advise\nYou vow his counsel, and your open guise.\nGo then, advise your son, nor keep more close\nYour cheeks, still drown\u2019d in your eyes\u2019 overflows,\nBut bathe your body, and with balms make clear\nYour thicken\u2019d count\u2019nance. _Uncompos\u00e9d cheer,\nAnd ever mourning, will the marrow wear._\nNor have you cause to mourn; your son hath now\nPut on that virtue which, in chief, your vow\nWish\u2019d, as your blessing, at his birth, might deck\nHis blood and person.\u201d \u201cBut forbear to speak\nOf baths, or balmings, or of beauty, now,\u201d\nThe Queen replied, \u201clest, urging comforts, you\nDiscomfort much; because the Gods have won\nThe spoil of my looks since my lord was gone.\nBut these must serve. Call hither then to me\nHippodamia and Autono\u00e9,\nThat those our train additions may supply\nOur own deserts. And yet, besides, not I,\nWith all my age, have learn\u2019d the boldness yet\nT\u2019 expose myself to men, unless I get\nSome other gracers.\u201d This said, forth she went\nTo call the ladies, and much spirit spent\nTo make their utmost speed, for now their Queen\nWould both herself show, and make them be seen.\nBut now Minerva other projects laid,\nAnd through Icarius\u2019 daughter\u2019s veins convey\u2019d\nSweet sleep\u2019s desire; in whose soft fumes involv\u2019d\nShe was as soon as laid, and quite dissolv\u2019d\nWere all her lineaments. The Goddess then\nBestow\u2019d immortal gifts on her, that men\nMight wonder at her beauties; and the beams\nThat glister in the Deified Supremes\nShe clear\u2019d her mourning count\u2019nance up withall.\nEv\u2019n such a radiance as doth round empall\nCrown\u2019d Cytherea, when her order\u2019d places\nConduct the bevy of the dancing Graces,\nShe added to her own; more plump, more high,\nAnd fairer than the polish\u2019d ivory,\nRend\u2019ring her parts and presence. This grace done,\nAway the Deity flew; and up did run\nHer lovely-wristed ladies, with a noise\nThat blew the soft chains from her sleeping joys;\nWhen she her fair eyes wip\u2019d, and, gasping, said:\n\u201cO me unblest! How deep a sweet sleep spread\nHis shades about me! Would Diana pleas\u2019d\nTo shoot me with a death no more diseas\u2019d,\nAs soon as might be, that no more my moan\nMight waste my blood in weepings never done,\nFor want of that accomplish\u2019d virtue spher\u2019d\nIn my lov\u2019d lord, to all the Greeks preferr\u2019d!\u201d\nThen she descended with her maids, and took\nPlace in the portal; whence her beamy look\nReach\u2019d ev\u2019ry Wooer\u2019s heart; yet cast she on\nSo thin a veil, that through it quite there shone\nA grace so stol\u2019n, it pleas\u2019d above the clear,\nAnd sunk the knees of ev\u2019ry Wooer there,\nTheir minds so melted in love\u2019s vehement fires,\nThat to her bed she heighten\u2019d all desires.\nThe prince then coming near, she said: \u201cO son,\nThy thoughts and judgments have not yet put on\nThat constancy in what becomes their good,\nWhich all expect in thee. Thy younger blood\nDid sparkle choicer spirits; but, arriv\u2019d\nAt this full growth, wherein their form hath thriv\u2019d\nBeyond the bounds of childhood, and when now,\nBeholders should affirm, \u2018This man doth grow\nLike the rare son of his matchless Sire,\n(His goodliness, his beauty, and his fire\nOf soul aspir\u2019d to)\u2019 thou mak\u2019st nothing good\nThy fate, nor fortune, nor thy height of blood,\nIn manage of thy actions. What a deed\nOf foul desert hath thy gross suff\u2019rance freed\nBeneath thine own roof! A poor stranger here\nUs\u2019d most unmanly! How will this appear\nTo all the world, when Fame shall trumpet out,\nThat thus, and thus, are our guests beat about\nOur court unrighted? \u2019Tis a blaze will show\nExtremely shameful to your name and you.\u201d\n\u201cI blame you not, O mother,\u201d he replied,\n\u201cThat, this clear wrong sustain\u2019d by me, you chide;\nYet know I both the good and bad of all,\nBeing past the years in which young errors fall.\nBut, all this known, skill is not so exact\nTo give, when once it knows, things fit their fact.\nI well may doubt the prease of strangers here,\nWho, bent to ill, and only my nerves near,\nMay do it in despite. And yet the jar\nBetwixt our guest and Irus was no war\nWrought by the Wooers; nor our guest sustain\u2019d\nWrong in that action, but the conquest gain\u2019d.\nAnd would to Jove, Minerva, and the Sun,\nThat all your Wooers might serve Contention\nFor such a purchase as the beggar made,\nAnd wore such weak heads! Some should death invade,\nStrew\u2019d in the entry, some embrue the hall,\nTill ev\u2019ry man had vengeance capital,\nSattled like Irus at the gates, his head\nEv\u2019ry way nodding, like one forfeited\nTo reeling Bacchus, knees nor feet his own,\nTo bear him where he\u2019s better lov\u2019d or known.\u201d\nTheir speeches giv\u2019n this end, Eurymachus\nBegan his courtship, and express\u2019d it thus:\n\u201cMost wise Icarius\u2019 daughter! If all those,\nThat did for Colchos vent\u2019rous sail dispose\nFor that rich purchase, had before but seen\nEarth\u2019s richer prize in th\u2019 Ithacensian Queen,\nThey had not made that voyage, but to you\nWould all their virtues and their beings vow.\nShould all the world know what a worth you store,\nTo-morrow than to-day, and next light, more\nYour court should banquet; since to all dames you\nAre far preferr\u2019d, both for the grace of show,\nIn stature, beauty, form in ev\u2019ry kind\nOf all parts outward, and for faultless mind.\u201d\n\u201cAlas,\u201d said she, \u201cmy virtue, body, form,\nThe Gods have blasted with that only storm\nThat ravish\u2019d Greece to Ilion, since my lord,\nFor that war shipp\u2019d, bore all my goods aboard.\nIf he, return\u2019d, should come and govern here\nMy life\u2019s whole state, the grace of all things there\nHis guide would heighten, as the spirit it bore;\nWhich dead in me lives, giv\u2019n him long before.\nA sad course I live now; Heav\u2019n\u2019s stern decree\nWith many an ill hath numb\u2019d and deaded me.\nHe took life with him, when he took my hand\nIn parting from me to the Trojan strand,\nThese words my witness: \u2018Woman! I conceive\nThat not all th\u2019 Achives bound for Troy shall leave\nTheir native earth their safe return\u00e9d bones,\nFame saying, that Troy trains up approv\u00e9d sons\nIn deeds of arms, brave putters-off of shafts,\nFor winging lances masters of their crafts,\nUnmatch\u00e9d riders, swift of foot, and straight\nCan arbitrate a war of deadliest weight.\nHope then can scarce fill all with life\u2019s supply,\nAnd of all any failing, why not I?\nNor do I know, if God hath marshall\u2019d me\nAmongst the safe-return\u2019d; or his decree\nHath left me to the thraldom order\u2019d there.\nHowever, all cares be thy burthens here,\nMy sire and mother tend as much as now,\nI further off, more near in cares be you.\nYour son to man\u2019s state grown, wed whom you will;\nAnd, you gone, his care let his household fill.\u2019\nThus made my lord his will, which Heav\u2019n sees prov\u2019d\nAlmost at all parts; for the Sun remov\u2019d\nDown to his set, ere long, will lead the night\nOf those abhorr\u00e9d nuptials, that should fright\nEach worthy woman, which her second are\nWith any man that breathes, her first lord\u2019s care\nDead, because he to flesh and blood is dead;\nWhich, I fear, I shall yield to, and so wed\nA second husband; and my reason is,\nSince Jove hath taken from me all his bliss.\n_Whom God gives over they themselves forsake,\nTheir griefs their joys, their God their devil, make._\nAnd \u2019tis a great grief, nor was seen till now\nIn any fashion of such men as woo\nA good and wealthy woman, and contend\nWho shall obtain her, that those men should spend\nHer beeves and best sheep, as their chiefest ends,\nBut rather that herself and all her friends\nThey should with banquets and rich gifts entreat.\n_Their life is death that live with other\u2019s meat.\u201d_\nDivine Ulysses much rejoic\u2019d to hear\nHis Queen thus fish for gifts, and keep in cheer.\nTheir hearts with hope that she would wed again,\nHer mind yet still her first intent retain.\nAntinous saw the Wooers won to give,\nAnd said: \u201cWise Queen, by all your means receive\nWhatever bounty any Wooer shall use.\nGifts freely giv\u2019n \u2019tis folly to refuse.\nFor know, that we resolve not to be gone\nTo keep our own roofs, till of all some one,\nWhom best you like, your long-woo\u2019d love shall win.\u201d\nThis pleas\u2019d the rest, and ev\u2019ry one sent in\nHis present by the herald. First had place\nAntinous\u2019 gift: A robe of special grace,\nExceeding full and fair, and twenty hues\nChang\u2019d lustre to it; to which choice of shows,\nTwelve massy plated buttons, all of gold,\nEnrich\u2019d the substance, made to fairly hold\nThe robe together, all lac\u2019d down before,\nWhere keeps and catches both sides of it wore.\nEurymachus a golden tablet gave,\nIn which did Art her choicest works engrave;\nAnd round about an amber verge did run,\nThat cast a radiance from it like the Sun.\nEurydamas two servants had that bore\nTwo goodly earrings, whose rich hollows wore\nThree pearls in either, like so many eyes,\nReflecting glances radiant as the skies.\nThe king Pisander, great Polyctor\u2019s heir,\nA casket gave, exceeding rich and fair.\nThe other other wealthy gifts commended\nTo her fair hand; which took, and straight ascended\nThis Goddess of her sex her upper state.\nHer ladies all her gifts elaborate\nUp bearing after. All to dancing then\nThe Wooers went, and song\u2019s delightful strain;\nIn which they frolick\u2019d, till the evening came,\nAnd then rais\u2019d sable Hesperus his flame.\nWhen, for their lights within, they set up there\nThree lamps, whose wicks were wood exceeding sere,\nAnd passing porous; which they caus\u2019d to burn,\nTheir matter ever minister\u2019d by turn\nOf sev\u2019ral handmaids. Whom Ulysses seeing\nToo conversant with Wooers, ill-agreeing\nWith guise of maids, advis\u2019d in this fair sort:\n\u201cMaids of your long-lack\u2019d King, keep you the port\nYour Queen\u2019s chaste presence bears. Go up to her,\nEmploy your looms, or rocks, and keep ye there;\nI\u2019ll serve to feed these lamps, should these lords\u2019 dances\nLast till Aurora cheer\u2019d us with their glances.\nThey cannot weary me, for I am one\nBorn to endure when all men else have done.\u201d\nThey wantonly brake out in laughters all,\nLook\u2019d on each other; and to terms did fall\nCheek-proud Melantho, who was Dolius\u2019 seed,\nKept by the Queen, that gave her dainty bread\nFit for her daughter; and yet won not so\nHer heart to her to share in any woe\nShe suffer\u2019d for her lord, but she was great\nWith great Eurymachus, and her love\u2019s heat\nIn his bed quench\u2019d. And this choleric thing\nBestow\u2019d this railing language on the King:\n\u201cBase stranger, you are taken in your brain,\nYou talk so wildly. Never you again\nCan get where you were born, and seek your bed\nIn some smith\u2019s hovel, or the marketsted,\nBut here you must take confidence to prate\nBefore all these; for fear can get no state\nIn your wine-hardy stomach. Or \u2019tis like\nTo prove your native garb, your tongue will strike\nOn this side of your mouth still, being at best.\nIs the man idle-brain\u2019d for want of rest?\nOr proud because he beat the roguish beggar?\nTake heed, Sir, lest some better man beleager\nYour ears with his fists, and set headlong hence\nYour bold abode here with your blood\u2019s expence.\u201d\nHe, looking sternly on her, answer\u2019d her:\n\u201cDog! What broad language giv\u2019st thou? I\u2019ll prefer\nYour usage to the prince, that he may fall\nFoul on your fair limbs till he tell them all.\u201d\nThis fray\u2019d the wenches, and all straight got gone\nIn fear about their business, ev\u2019ry one\nConfessing he said well. But he stood now\nClose by the cressets, and did looks bestow\nOn all men there; his brain employ\u2019d about\nSome sharper business than to dance it out,\nWhich had not long to go. Nor therefore would\nMinerva let the Wooers\u2019 spleens grow cold\nWith too good usuage of him, that his heart\nMight fret enough, and make his choler smart.\nEurymachus provok\u2019d him first, and made\nHis fellow laugh, with a conceit he had\nFetch\u2019d far from what was spoken long before,\nThat his poor form perhaps some Deity bore.\n\u201cIt well may chance,\u201d said he, \u201csome God doth bear\nThis man\u2019s resemblance, for, thus standing near\nThe glist\u2019ring torches, his slick\u2019d head doth throw\nBeams round about it as those cressets do,\nFor not a hair he hath to give it shade.\nSay, will thy heart serve t\u2019 undertake a trade\nFor fitting wages? Should I take thee hence\nTo walk my grounds, and look to ev\u2019ry fence,\nOr plant high trees, thy hire should raise thy forces\nFood store, and clothes. But these same idle courses\nThou art so prompt in that thou wilt not work,\nBut forage up and down, and beg, and lurk\nIn ev\u2019ry house whose roofs hold any will\nTo feed such fellows. That thy gut may fill,\nGives end to all thy being.\u201d He replied:\n\u201cI wish, at any work we two were tried,\nIn height of spring-time, when heav\u2019n\u2019s lights are long,\nI a good crook\u2019d scythe that were sharp and strong,\nYou such another, where the grass grew deep,\nUp by day-break, and both our labours keep\nUp till slow darkness eas\u2019d the labouring light,\nFasting all day, and not a crumb till night;\nWe then should prove our either workmanship.\nOr if, again, beeves, that the goad or whip\nWere apt t\u2019 obey before a tearing plow,\nBig lusty beasts, alike in bulk and brow,\nAlike in labour, and alike in strength,\nOur task four acres, to be till\u2019d in length\nOf one sole day; again: then you should try\nIf the dull glebe before the plow should fly,\nOr I a long stitch could bear clean and even.\nOr lastly, if the Guide of earth and heaven\nShould stir stern war up, either here or there,\nAnd that at this day I had double spear,\nAnd shield, and steel casque fitting for my brows;\nAt this work likewise, \u2019midst the foremost blows,\nYour eyes should note me, and get little cause\nTo twit me with my belly\u2019s sole applause.\nBut you affect t\u2019 affect with injury,\nYour mind ungentle, seem in valour high,\nBecause \u2019gainst few, and those not of the best,\nYour conversation hath been still profest.\nBut if Ulysses, landed on his earth,\nAnd enter\u2019d on the true right of his birth,\nShould come and front ye, straight his ample gates\nYour feet would hold too narrow for your fates.\u201d\nHe frown\u2019d, rag\u2019d, call\u2019d him wretch, and vow\u2019d\nTo be his death, since he durst prove so proud\nAmongst so many, to tell him so home\nWhat he affected; ask\u2019d, if overcome\nWith wine he were, or, as his minion said,\nTalk\u2019d still so idly, and were palsi\u00e9d\nIn his mind\u2019s instruments, or was proud because\nHe gat from Irus off with such applause?\nWith all which, snatching up a stool, he threw;\nWhen old Ulysses to the knees withdrew\nOf the Dulichian lord, Amphinomus,\nAs if he fear\u2019d him. His dart missing thus\nHis aged object, and his page\u2019s hand\n(A boy that waited on his cup\u2019s command,\nNow holding of an ewer to him) he smit,\nDown fell the sounding ewer, and after it\nThe guiltless page lay sprawling in the dust,\nAnd crying out. When all the Wooers thrust\nA tumult up amongst them, wishing all\nThe rogue had perish\u2019d in some hospital,\nBefore his life there stirr\u2019d such uproars up,\nAnd with rude speeches spice their pleasures\u2019 cup.\nAnd all this for a beggar to fulfill\nA filthy proverb: _Good still yields to ill._\nThe prince cried out on them, to let the bad\nObscure the good so; told them they were mad,\nAbus\u2019d their banquet, and affirm\u2019d some God\nTried mast\u2019ries with them; bade them take their load\nOf food and wine, sit up, or fall to bed\nAt their free pleasures; and since he gave head\nTo all their freedoms, why should they mistake\nTheir own rich humours for a beggar\u2019s sake?\nAll bit their lips to be so taken down,\nAnd taught the course that should have been their own,\nAdmir\u2019d the prince; and said he bravely spoke.\nBut Nisus\u2019 son then struck the equal stroke,\nAnd said: \u201cO friends, let no man here disdain\nTo put up equal speeches, nor maintain\nWith serious words an humour, nor with stroke\nA stranger in another\u2019s house provoke,\nNor touch the meanest servant, but confine\nAll these dissentions in a bowl of wine;\nWhich fill us, cup-bearer, that, having done\nOur nightly sacrifice, we may atone\nOur pow\u2019rs with sleep, resigning first the guest\nUp to the prince, that holds all interest\nIn his disposure here; the house being his\nIn just descent, and all the faculties.\u201d\nThis all approv\u2019d; when noble Mulius,\nHerald-in-chief to lord Amphinomus,\nThe wine distributed with rev\u2019rend grace\nTo ev\u2019ry Wooer; when the Gods giv\u2019n place;\nWith service fit; they serv\u2019d themselves, and took\nTheir parting cups, till, when they all had shook\nThe angry humour off, they bent to rest,\nAnd ev\u2019ry Wooer to sev\u2019ral roofs addrest.\n\n THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NINETEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nUlysses and his son eschew\nOffending of the Wooers\u2019 view\nWith any armour. His birth\u2019s seat,\nUlysses tells his Queen, is Crete,\nEuryclea the truth yet found,\nDiscover\u2019d by a scar-heal\u2019d wound,\nWhich in Parnassus\u2019 tops a boar,\nStruck by him in his chace, did gore.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03a4\u03b1\u03c5\u0311._\nThe King still hid\nBy what he said;\nBy what he did\nInforms his maid.\n\nYet did divine Ulysses keep his roof,\nAnd with Minerva plotted still the proof\nOf all the Wooers\u2019 deaths; when thus his son\nHe taught with these fore-counsels: \u201cWe must run\nA close course with these arms, and lay them by,\nAnd to the Wooers make so fair a sky\nAs it would never thunder. Let me then,\nThat you may well retain, repeat again\nWhat in Eum\u00e6us\u2019 cottage I advis\u2019d:\nIf when they see no leisure exercis\u2019d,\nIn fetching down your arms, and ask what use\nYour mind will give them, say, \u2019tis their abuse\nWith smoke and rust that makes you take them down,\nThis not being like the armory well-known\nTo be the leavings of Laertes\u2019 son\nConsorting the design for Ilion;\nYour eyes may see how much they are infected,\nAs all fires\u2019 vapours ever since reflected\nOn those sole arms. Besides, a graver thought\nJove graves within you, lest, their spirits wrought\nAbove their pitch with wine, they might contend\nAt some high banquet, and to wounds transcend,\nTheir feast inverting; which, perhaps, may be\nTheir nuptial feast with wise Penelop\u00e9.\n_The ready weapon, when the blood is up,\nDoubles the uproar heighten\u2019d by the cup.\nWrath\u2019s means for act, curb all the ways ye can,\nAs loadstones draw the steel, so steel draws man._\nRetain these words; nor what is good think, thus\nReceiv\u2019d at second hand, superfluous.\u201d\nThe son, obeying, did Euryclea call,\nAnd bade her shut in th\u2019 utter porches all\nThe other women, till himself brought down\nHis father\u2019s arms, which all were overgrown\nBy his neglect with rust, his father gone,\nAnd he too-childish to spend thoughts upon\nThose manly implements; but he would now\nReform those young neglects, and th\u2019 arms bestow\nPast reach of smoke. The loving nurse replied:\n\u201cI wish, O son, your pow\u2019rs would once provide\nFor wisdom\u2019s habit, see your household were\nIn thrifty manage, and tend all things there.\nBut if these arms must down, and ev\u2019ry maid\nBe shut in utter rooms, who else should aid\nYour work with light?\u201d He answer\u2019d: \u201cThis my guest.\nThere shall no one in my house taste my feast,\nOr join in my nave, that shall idly live,[1]\nHowever far hence he his home derive.\u201d\nHe said, and his words stood. The doors she shut\nOf that so well-fill\u2019d house. And th\u2019 other put\nTheir thoughts in act; best shields, helms, sharpen\u2019d lances,\nBrought down; and Pallas before both advances\nA golden cresset, that did cast a light\nAs if the Day sat in the throne of Night.\nWhen, half-amaz\u2019d, the prince said: \u201cO my father,\nMine eyes my soul\u2019s pow\u2019rs all in wonder gather,\nFor though the walls, and goodly wind-beams here,\nAll all these pillars, that their heads so rear,\nAnd all of fir, they seem yet all of fire.\nSome God is surely with us.\u201d His wise sire\nBade peace, and keep the counsels of the Gods,\nNor ask a word: \u201cThese Pow\u2019rs, that use abodes\nAbove the stars, have pow\u2019r from thence to shine\nThrough night and all shades to earth\u2019s inmost mine.\nGo thou for sleep, and leave me here to wake\nThe women, and the Queen whose heart doth ache\nTo make inquiry for myself of me.\u201d\nHe went to sleep where lights did endlessly\nBurn in his night-rooms; where he feasted rest,\nTill day\u2019s fair weed did all the world invest.\nThus was divine Ulysses left alone\nWith Pallas, plotting foul confusion\nTo all the Wooers. Forth then came the Queen;\nPh\u0153be, with golden Cytherea seen,\nHer port presented. Whom they set a chair\nAside the fire, the fashion circular,\nThe substance silver and rich elephant;\nWhose fabric did the cunning finger vaunt\nOf great Icmalius, who besides had done\nA footstool for her that did suit her throne,\nOn which they cast an ample skin, to be\nThe cushion for her other royalty.\nAnd there she sat; about whom came her maids,\nWho brought upon a table store of breads,\nAnd bowls that with the Wooers\u2019 wine were crown\u2019d.\nThe embers then they cast upon the ground\nFrom out the lamps, and other fuel added,\nThat still with cheerful flame the sad house gladded.\nMelantha seeing still Ulysses there,\nThus she held out her spleen: \u201cStill, stranger, here?\nThus late in night? To see what ladies do?\nAvaunt you, wretch, hence, go without doors, go;\nAnd quickly, too, lest ye be singed away\nWith burning firebrands.\u201d He, thus seeing their fray\nContinued by her with such spleen, replied:\n\u201cMinion! What makes your angry blood thus chide\nMy presence still? Is it because you see\nI shine not in your wanton bravery,\nBut wear these rags? It fits the needy fate\nThat makes me beg thus of the common state.\nSuch poor souls, and such beggars, yet are men;\nAnd ev\u2019n my mean means means had to maintain\nA wealthy house, and kept a manly press,\nWas counted blessed, and the poor access\nOf any beggar did not scorn, but feed,\nWith often hand, and any man of need\nReliev\u2019d as fitted; kept my servants, too,\nNot few, but did with those additions go\nThat call choice men _The Honest_, who are styl\u2019d\nThe rich, the great. But what such great ones build\nJove oft pulls down, as thus he ruin\u2019d me;\nHis will was such, which is his equity.\nAnd therefore, woman, bear you fitting hand\nOn your behaviour, lest your spirit thus mann\u2019d,\nAnd cherish\u2019d with your beauties, when they wane,\nComes down, your pride now being then your bane;\nAnd in the mean space shun the present danger,\nLest your bold fashion breed your sov\u2019reign\u2019s anger,\nOr lest Ulysses come, of whom ev\u2019n yet\nHope finds some life in Fate. Or, be his seat\nAmongst the merely ruin\u2019d, yet his son,\nWhose life\u2019s heat Ph\u0153bus saves, is such a one\nAs can discover who doth well deserve\nOf any woman here his years now serve.\u201d\nThe Queen gave ear, and thus suppress\u2019d the flame:\n\u201cThou quite without a brow, past female shame,\nI hear thy monstrous boldness, which thy head\nShall pay me pains for. Thou hast heard it said,\nAnd from myself too, and ev\u2019ry part\nThy knowledge serves thee, that, to ease my heart\nSo punish\u2019d in thy witness, my desire\nDwelt on this stranger, that I might inquire\nMy lost friend\u2019s being. But \u2019tis ever tried,\n_Both man and God are still forgot with pride._\nEurynom\u00e9, bring here this guest a seat,\nAnd cushion on it, that we two may treat\nOf the affair in question. Set it near,\nThat I may softly speak, yet he well hear.\u201d\nShe did this little freely; and he sat\nClose by the Queen, who ask\u2019d him, Whence, and what\nHe was himself? And what th\u2019 inhabited place\nWhere liv\u2019d his parents? Whence he fetch\u2019d his race?\n\u201cO woman,\u201d he replied, \u201cwith whom no man,\nThat moves in earth\u2019s unbounded circle, can\nMaintain contention for true honour giv\u2019n,\nWhose fame hath reach\u2019d the fairly-flowing heav\u2019n,\nWho, like a never-ill-deserving king,\nThat is well-spoke of, first, for worshipping,\nAnd striving to resemble God in empire;\nWhose equal hand impartially doth temper\nGreatness and Goodness; to whom therefore bears\nThe black earth store of all grain, trees confers\nCracking with burthen, long-liv\u2019d herds creates,\nAll which the sea with her sorts emulates;\nAnd all this feeds beneath his pow\u2019rful hand\nMen, valiant, many, making strong his land\nWith happy lives led; nothing else the cause\nOf all these blessings, but well-order\u2019d laws;\nLike such a king are you, in love, in fame,\nAnd all the bliss that deifies a dame.\nAnd therefore do not mix this with a moan\nSo wretched as is now in question;\nAsk not my race nor country, lest you fill\nMy heart yet fuller with repeated ill;\nFor I must follow it with many tears,\nThough \u2019tis not seemly to sit wounding ears\nIn public roofs with our particular life.\n_Time\u2019s worst expense is still-repeated grief._\nI should be irksome to your ladies here,\nAnd you yourself would say you urg\u2019d your ear\nTo what offends it, my still-broken eyne\nSupposing wounded with your too-much wine.\u201d\n\u201cStranger,\u201d said she, \u201cyou fear your own excess\nWith giving me too great a nobleness.\nThe Gods my person, beauty, virtue too,\nLong since subverted, when the Ilion woe\nThe Greek design attempted; in which went\nMy praise and honour. In his government\nHad I deserv\u2019d your utmost grace, but now\nSinister Deity makes dishonour woo,\nIn show of grace, my ruin. All the peers\nSylvan Zacynthus, and Dulichius, spheres,\nSamos and Ithaca, strange strifes have shown\nTo win me, spending on me all mine own;\nWill wed me, in my spite; and these are those\nThat take from me all virtue to dispose\nOr guest or suppliant, or take any course\nAmongst my heralds, that should all disburse,\nTo order anything. Though I need none\nTo give me grief at home, abroad errs one\nThat my veins shrink for, whom these holding gone,\nTheir nuptials hasten, and find me as slow.\nGood spirits prompted me to make a show\nOf undertaking a most curious task,\nThat an unmeasur\u2019d space of time would ask;\nWhich they enduring long would often say,\nWhen ends thy work? I soon had my delay,\nAnd pray\u2019d their stay; for though my lord were dead,\nHis father\u2019s life yet matter ministred\nThat must employ me; which, to tell them true,\nWas that great work I nam\u2019d. For now near drew\nLaertes\u2019 death, and on my hand did lie\nHis funeral-robe, whose end, being now so nigh,\nI must not leave, and lose so much begun,\nThe rather lest the Greek dames might be won\nTo tax mine honour, if a man so great\nShould greet his grave without his winding sheet.\nPride made them credulous, and I went on;\nWhen whatsoever all the day had done\nI made the night help to undo again,\nThough oil and watch it cost, and equal pain.\nThree years my wit secur\u2019d me undiscern\u2019d,\nYet, when the fourth came, by my maids discern\u2019d,\nFalse careless wenches, how they were deluded;\nWhen, by my light discern\u2019d, they all intruded,\nUsed threat\u2019ning words, and made me give it end;\nAnd then could I to no more length extend\nMy linger\u2019d nuptials; not a counsel more\nWas to be stood upon; my parents bore\nContinual hand on me to make me wed;\nMy son grew angry that so ruin\u00e9d\nHis goods were by them. He is now a man\nWise in a great degree, and one that can\nHimself give order to his household fare;\nAnd Jove give equal glory to his care.\nBut thus you must not pass me; I must know,\nIt may be for more end, from whence doth grow\nYour race and you; for I suppose you none\nSprung of old oak, or justled out of stone.\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cO Ulysses\u2019 rev\u2019rend wife!\nYet hold you purpose to inquire my life?\nI\u2019ll tell you, though it much afflict me more\nThan all the sorrows I have felt before.\nAs worthily it may, since so long time\nAs I have wander\u2019d from my native clime,\nThrough human cities, and in suff\u2019rance still,\nTo rip all wounds up, though of all their ill\nI touch but part, must actuate all their pain.\nBut, ask you still, I\u2019ll tell, though still sustain.\nIn middle of the sable sea there lies\nAn isle call\u2019d Crete, a ravisher of eyes,\nFruitful, and mann\u2019d with many an infinite store;\nWhere ninety cities crown the famous shore,\nMix\u2019d with all-languag\u2019d men. There Greeks survive,\nThere the great-minded Eteocretans live,\nThere the Dorensians never out of war,\nThe Cydons there, and there the singular\nPelasgian people. There doth Cnossus stand,\nThat mighty city, where had most command\nGreat Jove\u2019s disciple, Minos, who nine years\nConferr\u2019d with Jove, both great familiars\nIn mutual counsels. And this Minos\u2019 son,\nThe mighty-minded king Deucalion,\nWas sire to me and royal Idomen,\nWho with Atrides went to Ilion then,\nMy elder brother and the better man,\nMy name Aethon. At that time began\nMy knowledge of Ulysses, whom my home\nReceiv\u2019d with guest-rites. He was thither come\nBy force of weather, from the Malean coast\nBut new got off, where he the navy lost,\nThen under sail for Troy, and wind-bound lay\nLong in Amnisus; hardly got away\nFrom horrid storms, that made him anchor there,\nIn havens that sacred to Lucina were,\nDreadful and dang\u2019rous, in whose bosom crept\nLucina\u2019s cavern. But in my roof slept\nUlysses, shor\u2019d in Crete; who first inquir\u2019d\nFor royal Idomen, and much desir\u2019d\nTo taste his guest-rites, since to him had been\nA welcome guest my brother Idomen.\nThe tenth or \u2019leventh light on Ulysses shin\u2019d\nIn stay at Crete, attending then the wind\nFor threaten\u2019d Ilion. All which time my house\nWith love and entertainments curious\nEmbrac\u2019d his person, though a number more\nMy hospitable roofs receiv\u2019d before,\nHis men I likewise call\u2019d, and from the store\nAllow\u2019d them meal and heat-exciting wine,\nAnd oxen for their slaughter, to confine\nIn my free hand the utmost of their need.\nTwelve days the Greeks stay\u2019d, ere they got them freed,\nA gale so bitter blew out of the north,\nThat none could stand on earth, being tumbled forth\nBy some stern God. But on the thirteenth day\nThe tempest ceas\u2019d, and then went Greeks their way.\u201d\nThus many tales Ulysses told his wife,\nAt most but painting, yet most like the life;\nOf which her heart such sense took through her ears,\nIt made her weep as she would turn to tears.\nAnd as from off the mountains melts the snow,\nWhich Zephyr\u2019s breath conceal\u2019d, but was made flow\nBy hollow Eurus, which so fast pours down,\nThat with their torrent floods have overflown;\nSo down her fair cheeks her kind tears did glide,\nHer miss\u2019d lord mourning set so near her side.\nUlysses much was mov\u2019d to see her mourn,\nWhose eyes yet stood as dry as iron or horn\nIn his untroubled lids, which in his craft\nOf bridling passion he from issue saft.\nWhen she had giv\u2019n her moan so many tears,\nThat now \u2019twas satiate, her yet loving fears\nAsk\u2019d thus much further: \u201cYou have thus far tried\nMy love\u2019s credulity, but if gratified\nWith so long stay he was with you, you can\nDescribe what weed he wore, what kind of man\nBoth he himself was, and what followers\nObserv\u2019d him there.\u201d \u201cAlas,\u201d said he, \u201cthe years\nHave grown so many since\u2014this making now\nTheir twentieth revolution\u2014that my show\nOf these slight notes will set my memory sore,\nBut, to my now remembrance, this he wore:\nA double purple robe, drawn close before\nWith golden buttons, plaited thick, and bore\nA facing where a hundred colours shin\u2019d.\nAbout the skirts a hound a freckled hind\nIn full course hunted; on the fore skirts, yet,\nHe pinch\u2019d and pull\u2019d her down, when with her feet,\nAnd all her force, she struggled hard for flight.\nWhich had such life in gold, that to the sight\nIt seem\u2019d the hind itself for ev\u2019ry hue,\nThe hound and all so answering the view,\nThat all admir\u2019d all. I observ\u2019d beside\nHis inner weed, so rarely beautified\nThat dumb amaze it bred, and was as thin\nAs any dry and tender onion skin;\nAs soft \u2019twas, too, and glister\u2019d like the sun.\nThe women were to loving wonder won\nBy him and by his weeds. But, by the way,\nYou must excuse me, that I cannot say\nHe brought this suit from home, or had it there\nSent for some present, or, perhaps, elsewhere\nReceiv\u2019d it for his guest-gift; for your lord\nHad friends not few, the fleet did not afford\nMany that had not fewer. I bestow\u2019d\nA well-edg\u2019d sword on him, a robe that flow\u2019d\nIn folds and fulness, and did reach his feet,\nOf richest purple; brought him to his fleet\nWith all my honour; and besides, to add\nTo all this sifted circumstance, he had\nA herald there, in height a little more\nPut from the earth, that thicker shoulders wore,\nA swarth complexion and a curl\u00e9d head,\nHis name Eurybates; and much in stead\nHe stood your king, employ\u2019d in most command,\nSince most of all his mind could understand.\u201d\nWhen all these signs she knew for chiefly true,\nDesire of moan upon her beauties grew,\nAnd yet, ev\u2019n that desire suffic\u2019d, she said:\n\u201cTill this, my guest, a wretched state array\u2019d\nYour ill-us\u2019d person, but from this hour forth\nYou shall be honour\u2019d, and find all the worth\nThat fits a friend. Those weeds these hands bestow\u2019d\nFrom out my wardrobe; those gold buttons sew\u2019d\nBefore for closure and for ornament.\nBut never more must his return present\nThe person that gave those adornments state;\nAnd therefore, under an abhorr\u00e9d fate,\nWas he induc\u2019d to feed the common fame,\nTo visit vile Troy, ay too vile to name.\u201d\n\u201cNo more yet mourn,\u201d said he, \u201cnor thus see pin\u2019d\nYour lovely person. _Weeping wastes the mind._\nAnd yet I blame you not; for any dame\nThat weds one young, and brings to him his name,\nWhatever man he is, will mourn his loss.\nMuch more respectful then must show your woes\nThat weep thus for Ulysses, who, Fame says,\nWas equal with the Gods in all his ways.\nBut where no cause is there must be no moan,\nAnd therefore hear me, my relation\nShall lay the clear truth naked to your view:\nI heard amongst the Thesprots for most true,\nThat lord Ulysses liv\u2019d, and stood just now\nOn his return for home; that wealth did flow\nIn his possession, which he made not known,\nBut begg\u2019d amongst the people, since alone\nHe quite was left, for all his men were lost\nIn getting off from the Trinacrian coast;\nJove and the Sun was wroth with them for rape\nMade of his oxen, and no man let \u2019scape\nThe rugged deeps of Neptune; only he,\nThe ship\u2019s keel only keeping, was by sea\nCast on the fair Ph\u00e6acian continent,\nWhere men survive that are the Gods\u2019 descent,\nAnd like a God receiv\u2019d him, gave him heaps\nOf wealthy gifts, and would conduct his steps\nThemselves safe home; which he might long ago\nHis pleasure make, but profit would not so.\nHe gather\u2019d going, and had mighty store\nOf gold in safeguard; so beyond the shore\nThat common sails kept, his high flood of wit\nBore glorious top, and all the world for it\nHath far exceeded. All this Ph\u00e6don told,\nThat doth the sceptre of Thesprotia hold,\nWho swore to me, in household sacrifice,\nThe ship was launch\u2019d, and men to man the prise,\nThat soon should set him on his country earth,\nShow\u2019d me the goods, enough to serve the birth\nThat in the tenth age of his seed should spring,\nYet in his court contain\u2019d. But then the king,\nYour husband, for Dodona was in way,\nThat from th\u2019 Oraculous Oak he might display\nJove\u2019s will what course for home would best prevail,\nTo come in pomp, or bear a secret sail.\nBut me the king dispatch\u2019d in course before,\nA ship then bound for the Dulichian shore.\nSo thus you see his safety whom you mourn;\nWho now is passing near, and his return\nNo more will punish with delays, but see\nHis friends and country. All which truth to thee\nI\u2019ll seal with sacred oath. Be witness, Jove,\nThou first and best of all the thron\u2019d above!\nAnd thou house of the great Laertes\u2019 heir,\nTo whose high roofs I tender my repair,\nThat what I tell the Queen event shall crown!\nThis year Ulysses shall possess his own,\nNay ere the next month ends shall here arrive,\nNay, ere it enters, here abide alive!\u201d\n\u201cO may this prove,\u201d said she; \u201cgifts, friendship, then\nShould make your name the most renown\u2019d of men.\nBut \u2019tis of me receiv\u2019d, and must so sort,\nThat nor my lord shall ever see his court,\nNor you gain your deduction thence, for now\nThe alter\u2019d house doth no such man allow\nAs was Ulysses, if he ever were,\nTo entertain a rev\u2019rend passenger,\nAnd give him fair dismission. But, maids, see\nYe bathe his feet, and then with tapestry,\nBest sheets and blankets, make his bed, and lay\nSoft waistcoats by him, that, lodg\u2019d warm, he may\nEv\u2019n till the golden-seated morning\u2019s ray\nEnjoy good rest; and then, with her first light,\nBathe, and give alms, that cherish\u2019d appetite\nHe may apply within our hall, and sit\nSafe by Telemachus. Or, if th\u2019 unfit\nAnd harmful mind of any be so base\nTo grieve his age again, let none give grace\nOf doing any deed he shall command,\nHow wroth soever, to his barbarous hand.\nFor how shall you, guest, know me for a dame\nThat pass so far, nay, turn and wind the fame\nOf other dames for wisdom, and the frame\nOf household usage, if your poor thin weeds\nI let draw on you want, and worser deeds,\nThat may, perhaps, cause here your latest day?\n_The life of man is short and flies away._\nAnd if the ruler\u2019s self of households be\nUngentle, studying inhumanity,\nThe rest prove worse, but he bears all the blame;\nAll men will, living, vow against his name\nMischiefs and miseries, and, dead, supply\nWith bitter epitaphs his memory.\nBut if himself be noble\u2014noble things\nDoing and knowing\u2014all his underlings\nWill imitate his noblesse, and all guests\nGive it, in many, many interests.\u201d\n\u201cBut, worthiest Queen,\u201d said he, \u201cwhere you command\nBaths and rich beds for me, I scorn to stand\nOn such state now nor ever thought it yet,\nSince first I left the snowy hills of Crete.\nWhen once I fell a-shipboard those thoughts fled;\nI love to take now, as long since, my bed.\nThough I began the use with sleepless nights,\nI many a darkness with right homely rites\nHave spent ere this hour, and desir\u2019d the morn\nWould come, and make sleep to the world a scorn.\nNor run these dainty baths in my rude head;\nNor any handmaid, to your service bred,\nShall touch my ill-kept feet, unless there live\nSome poor old drudge here, that hath learn\u2019d to give\nOld men good usage, and no work will fly,\nAs having suffer\u2019d ill as much as I.\nBut if there live one such in your command,\nI will not shame to give my foot her hand.\u201d\nShe gave this answer: \u201cO my lov\u00e9d guest,\nThere never enter\u2019d these kind roofs for rest\nStranger or friend that so much wisdom laid\nIn gage for guest-rites, as your lips have paid.\nThere lives an old maid in my charge that knows\nThe good you speak of by her many woes;\nThat nourish\u2019d and brought up, with curious care,\nTh\u2019 unhappy man; your old familiar,\nEv\u2019n since his mother let him view the light,\nAnd oft hath felt in her weak arms his weight;\nAnd she, though now much weaker, shall apply\nHer maiden service to your modesty.\nEuryclea, rise, and wash the feet of one\nThat is of one age with your sov\u2019reign gone,\nSuch hands, such feet hath, though of alter\u2019d grace.\n_Much grief in men will bring on change apace.\u201d_\nShe, from her aged slumber wak\u2019d, did clear\nHer heavy eyes, and instantly, to hear\nHer sov\u2019reign\u2019s name, had work enough to dry\nHer cheeks from tears, and to his memory\nThese moans did offer: \u201cO my son,\u201d said she,\n\u201cI never can take grief enough for thee,\nWhom Goodness hurts, and whom ev\u2019n Jove\u2019s high spleen,\nSince thou art Jove-like, hates the most of men.\nFor none hath offer\u2019d him so many thighs,\nNor such whole hecatombs of sacrifice,\nFat and selected, as thy zeal hath done;\nFor all, but praying that thy noble son,\nThy happy age might see at state of man.\nAnd yet hath Jove with mists Cimmerian\nPut out the light of his returning day.\nAnd as yourself, O father, in your way\nTook these fair roofs for hospitable rites,\nYet find, for them, our dogged women\u2019s spites;\nSo he, in like course, being driven to proof,\nLong time ere this, what such a royal roof\nWould yield his mis\u2019ries, found such usage there.\nAnd you, now flying the foul language here,\nAnd many a filthy fact of our fair dames,\nFly me like them, and put on causeless shames\nTo let me cleanse your feet. For not the cause\nThe Queen\u2019s command yields is the pow\u2019r that draws\nMy will to wash your feet, but what I do\nProceeds from her charge and your rev\u2019rence too;\nSince I in soul am stricken with a ruth\nOf your distresses, and past show of truth;[2]\nYour strangeness claiming little interest\nIn my affections. And yet many a guest\nOf poor condition hath been harbour\u2019d here,\nBut never any did so right appear\nLike king Ulysses as yourself, for state\nBoth of your stature, voice, and very gait.\u201d\n\u201cSo all have said,\u201d said he, \u201cthat ever yet\nHad the proportions of our figures met\nIn their observance; so right your eye\nProves in your soul your judging faculty.\u201d\nThus took she up a caldron brightly scour\u2019d,\nTo cleanse his feet in; and into it pour\u2019d\nStore of cold wave, which on the fire she set;\nAnd therein bath\u2019d, being temperately heat,\nHer sov\u2019reign\u2019s feet. Who turn\u2019d him from the light,\nSince suddenly he doubted her conceit,\nSo rightly touching at his state before,\nA scar now seeing on his foot, that bore\nAn old note, to discern him, might descry\nThe absolute truth; which, witness\u2019d by her eye,\nWas straight approv\u2019d. He first receiv\u2019d this sore\nAs in Parnassus\u2019 tops a white-tooth\u2019d boar\nHe stood in chase withal, who struck him there,\nAt such time as he liv\u2019d a sojourner\nWith his grandsire, Autolycus; who th\u2019 art\nOf theft and swearing (not out of the heart,\nBut by equivocation) first adorn\u2019d\nYour witty man withal, and was suborn\u2019d\nBy Jove\u2019s descent, ingenious Mercury,\nWho did bestow it, since so many a thigh\nOf lambs and kids he had on him bestow\u2019d\nIn sacred flames, who therefore when he vow\u2019d\nWas ever with him. And this man impos\u2019d\nUlysses\u2019 name, the light being first disclos\u2019d\nTo his first sight then, when his grandsire came\nTo see the then preferrer of his fame,\nHis lov\u00e9d daughter. The first supper done,\nEuryclea put in his lap her son,\nAnd pray\u2019d him to bethink and give his name,\nSince that desire did all desires inflame.\n\u201cDaughter and son-in-law,\u201d said he, \u201clet then\nThe name that I shall give him stand with men.\nSince I arriv\u2019d here at the hour of pain,\nIn which mine own kind entrails did sustain\nMoan for my daughter\u2019s yet unended throes,\nAnd when so many men\u2019s and women\u2019s woes,\nIn joint compassion met of human birth,\nBrought forth t\u2019 attend the many-feeding earth,\nLet Odyss\u00ebus be his name, as one[3]\nExpos\u2019d to just constraint of all men\u2019s moan.\nWhen here at home he is arriv\u2019d at state\nOf man\u2019s first youth he shall initiate\nHis practis\u2019d feet in travel made abroad,\nAnd to Parnassus, where mine own abode\nAnd chief means lie, address his way, where I\nWill give him from my open\u2019d treasury\nWhat shall return him well, and fit the fame\nOf one that had the honour of his name.\u201d\nFor these fair gifts he went, and found all grace\nOf hands and words in him and all his race.\nAmphithea, his mother\u2019s mother, too,\nApplied her to his love, withal, to do\nIn grandame\u2019s welcomes, both his fair eyes kist,\nAnd brows; and then commanded to assist\nWere all her sons by their respected sire\nIn furnishing a feast, whose ears did fire\nTheir minds with his command; who home straight led\nA five-years-old male ox, fell\u2019d, slew, and flay\u2019d,\nGather\u2019d about him, cut him up with art,\nSpitted, and roasted, and his ev\u2019ry part\nDivided orderly. So all the day\nThey spent in feast; no one man went his way\nWithout his fit fill. When the sun was set,\nAnd darkness rose, they slept, till day\u2019s fire het\nTh\u2019 enlighten\u2019d earth; and then on hunting went\nBoth hounds and all Autolycus\u2019 descent.\nIn whose guide did divine Ulysses go,\nClimb\u2019d steep Parnassus, on whose forehead grow\nAll sylvan offsprings round. And Soon they reach\u2019d\nThe concaves, whence air\u2019s sounding vapours fetch\u2019d\nTheir loud descent. As soon as any sun\nHad from the ocean, where his waters run\nIn silent deepness, rais\u2019d his golden head,\nThe early huntsmen all the hill had spread,\nTheir hounds before them on the searching trail,\nThey near, and ever eager to assail:\nUlysses brandishing a lengthful lance,\nOf whose first flight he long\u2019d to prove the chance.\nThen found they lodg\u2019d a boar of bulk extreme,\nIn such a queach as never any beam\nThe sun shot pierc\u2019d, nor any pass let find\nThe moist impressions of the fiercest wind,\nNor any storm the sternest winter drives,\nSuch proof it was; yet all within lay leaves\nIn mighty thickness; and through all this flew\nThe hounds\u2019 loud mouths. The sounds the tumult threw,\nAnd all together, rous\u2019d the boar, that rush\u2019d\nAmongst their thickest, all his bristles push\u2019d\nFrom forth his rough neck, and with flaming eyes\nStood close, and dar\u2019d all. On which horrid prise\nUlysses first charg\u2019d; whom above the knee\nThe savage struck, and rac\u2019d it crookedly\nAlong the skin, yet never reach\u2019d the bone.\nUlysses\u2019 lance yet through him quite was thrown,\nAt his right shoulder ent\u2019ring, at his left\nThe bright head passage to his keenness cleft,\nAnd show\u2019d his point gilt with the gushing gore.\nDown in the dust fell the extended boar,\nAnd forth his life flew. To Ulysses round\nHis uncle drew; who, woeful for his wound,\nWith all art bound it up, and with a charm\nStay\u2019d straight the blood, went home, and, when the harm\nReceiv\u2019d full cure, with gifts, and all event\nOf joy and love to his lov\u2019d home they sent\nTheir honour\u2019d nephew; whose return his sire\nAnd rev\u2019rend mother took with joys entire,\nEnquir\u2019d all passages, all which he gave\nIn good relation, nor of all would save\nHis wound from utt\u2019rance; by whose scar he came\nTo be discover\u2019d by this aged dame.\nWhich when she cleansing felt, and noted well,\nDown from her lap into the caldron fell\nHis weighty foot, that made the brass resound,\nTurn\u2019d all aside, and on th\u2019 embrew\u00e9d ground\nSpilt all the water. Joy and grief together\nHer breast invaded; and of weeping weather\nHer eyes stood full; her small voice stuck within\nHer part expressive; till at length his chin\nShe took and spake to him: \u201cO son,\u201d said she,\n\u201cThou art Ulysses, nor canst other be;\nNor could I know thee yet, till all my king\nI had gone over with the warm\u00e9d spring.\u201d\nThen look\u2019d she for the Queen to tell her all;\nAnd yet knew nothing sure, though nought could fall\nIn compass of all thoughts to make her doubt,\nMinerva that distraction struck throughout\nHer mind\u2019s rapt forces that she might not tell.\nUlysses, noting yet her aptness well,\nWith one hand took her chin, and made all show\nOf favour to her, with the other drew\nHer offer\u2019d parting closer, ask\u2019d her why\nShe, whose kind breast had nurs\u2019d so tenderly\nHis infant life, would now his age destroy,\nThough twenty years had held him from the joy\nOf his lov\u2019d country? But, since only she,\nGod putting her in mind, now knew \u2019twas he,\nHe charg\u2019d her silence, and to let no ear\nIn all the court more know his being there,\nLest, if God gave into his wreakful hand\nTh\u2019 insulting Wooers\u2019 lives, he did not stand\nOn any partial respect with her,\nBecause his nurse, and to the rest prefer\nHer safety therefore, but, when they should feel\nHis punishing finger, give her equal steel.\n\u201cWhat words,\u201d said she, \u201cfly your retentive pow\u2019rs?\nYou know you lock your counsels in your tow\u2019rs\nIn my firm bosom, and that I am far\nFrom those loose frailties. Like an iron bar,\nOr bolt of solid\u2019st stone, I will contain;\nAnd tell you this besides; that if you gain,\nBy God\u2019s good aid, the Wooers\u2019 lives in yours,\nWhat dames are here their shameless paramours;\nAnd have done most dishonour to your worth,\nMy information well shall paint you forth.\u201d\n\u201cIt shall not need,\u201d said he, \u201cmyself will soon,\nWhile thus I mask here, set on ev\u2019ry one\nMy sure observance of the worst and best.\nBe thou then silent, and leave God the rest.\u201d\nThis said, the old dame for more water went,\nThe rest was all upon the pavement spent\nBy known Ulysses\u2019 foot. More brought, and he\nSupplied beside with sweetest ointments, she\nHis seat drew near the fire, to keep him warm,\nAnd with his piec\u2019d rags hiding close his harm.\nThe Queen came near, and said: \u201cYet, guest, afford\nYour further patience, till but in a word\nI\u2019ll tell my woes to you; for well I know\nThat Rest\u2019s sweet hour her soft foot orders now,\nWhen all poor men, how much soever griev\u2019d,\nWould gladly get their woe-watch\u2019d pow\u2019rs reliev\u2019d.\nBut God hath giv\u2019n my grief a heart so great\nIt will not down with rest, and so I set\nMy judgment up to make it my delight.\nAll day I mourn, yet nothing let the right\nI owe my charge both in my work and maids;\nAnd when the night brings rest to others\u2019 aids\nI toss my bed; Distress, with twenty points,\nSlaught\u2019ring the pow\u2019rs that to my turning joints\nConvey the vital heat. And as all night\nPandareus\u2019 daughter, poor Edone, sings,\nClad in the verdure of the yearly springs,\nWhen she for Itylus, her lov\u00e9d son,\nBy Zethus\u2019 issue in his madness done\nTo cruel death, pours out her hourly moan,\nAnd draws the ears to her of ev\u2019ry one;\nSo flows my moan that cuts in two my mind,\nAnd here and there gives my discourse the wind,\nUncertain whether I shall with my son\nAbide still here, the safe possession\nAnd guard of all goods, rev\u2019rence to the bed\nOf my lov\u2019d lord, and to my far-off spread\nFame with the people, putting still in use,\nOr follow any best Greek I can chuse\nTo his fit house, with treasure infinite,\nWon to his nuptials. While the infant plight\nAnd want of judgment kept my son in guide,\nHe was not willing with my being a bride,\nNor with my parting from his court; but now,\nArriv\u2019d at man\u2019s state, he would have me vow\nMy love to some one of my Wooers here,\nAnd leave his court; offended that their cheer\nShould so consume his free possessions.\nTo settle then a choice in these my moans,\nHear and expound a dream that did engrave\nMy sleeping fancy: Twenty geese I have,\nAll which, me thought, mine eye saw tasting wheat\nIn water steep\u2019d, and joy\u2019d to see them eat;\nWhen straight a crook-beak\u2019d eagle from a hill\nStoop\u2019d, and truss\u2019d all their necks, and all did kill;\nWhen, all left scatter\u2019d on the pavement there,\nShe took her wing up to the Gods\u2019 fair sphere.\nI, ev\u2019n amid my dream, did weep and mourn\nTo see the eagle, with so shrewd a turn,\nStoop my sad turrets; when, methought, there came\nAbout my mournings many a Grecian dame,\nTo cheer my sorrows; in whose most extreme\nThe hawk came back, and on the prominent beam\nThat cross\u2019d my chamber fell, and us\u2019d to me\nA human voice, that sounded horribly,\nAnd said: \u2018Be confident, Icarius\u2019 seed,\nThis is no dream, but what shall chance indeed.\nThe geese the Wooers are, the eagle, I,\nWas heretofore a fowl, but now imply\nThy husband\u2019s being, and am come to give\nThe Wooers\u2019 death, that on my treasure live.\u2019\nWith this sleep left me, and my waking way\nI took, to try if any violent prey\nWere made of those my fowls, which well enough\nI, as before, found feeding at their trough\nTheir yoted wheat.\u201d \u201cO woman,\u201d he replied,\n\u201cThy dream can no interpretation bide\nBut what the eagle made, who was your lord,\nAnd said himself would sure effect afford\nTo what he told you; that confusion\nTo all the Wooers should appear, and none\nEscape the fate and death he had decreed.\u201d\nShe answer\u2019d him: \u201cO guest, these dreams exceed\nThe art of man t\u2019 interpret; and appear\nWithout all choice or form; nor ever were\nPerform\u2019d to all at all parts. But there are\nTo these light dreams, that like thin vapours fare,\nTwo two-leav\u2019d gates, the one of ivory,\nThe other horn. Those dreams, that fantasy\nTakes from the polish\u2019d ivory port, delude\nThe dreamer ever, and no truth include;\nThose, that the glitt\u2019ring horn-gate lets abroad,\nDo evermore some certain truth abode.\nBut this my dream I hold of no such sort\nTo fly from thence; yet, whichsoever port\nIt had access from, it did highly please\nMy son and me. And this my thoughts profess:\nThat day that lights me from Ulysses\u2019 court\nShall both my infamy and curse consort.\nI, therefore, purpose to propose them now,\nIn strong contention, Ulysses\u2019 bow;\nWhich he that eas\u2019ly draws, and from his draft\nShoots through twelve axes (as he did his shaft,\nAll set up in a row, and from them all\nHis stand-far-off kept firm) my fortunes shall\nDispose, and take me to his house from hence,\nWhere I was wed a maid, in confluence\nOf feast and riches; such a court here then\nAs I shall ever in my dreams retain.\u201d\n\u201cDo not,\u201d said he, \u201cdefer the gameful prize,\nBut set to task their importunities\nWith something else than nuptials; for your lord\nWill to his court and kingdom be restor\u2019d\nBefore they thread those steels, or draw his bow.\u201d\n\u201cO guest,\u201d replied Penelope, \u201cwould you\nThus sit and please me with your speech, mine ears\nWould never let mine eyelids close their spheres!\nBut none can live without the death of sleep,\nTh\u2019 Immortals in our mortal memories keep\nOur ends and deaths by sleep, dividing so,\nAs by the fate and portion of our woe,\nOur times spent here, to let us nightly try\nThat while we live, as much live as we die.\nIn which use I will to my bed ascend,\nWhich I bedew with tears, and sigh past end\nThrough all my hours spent, since I lost my joy\nFor vile, lewd, never-to-be-nam\u00e9d, Troy,\nYet there I\u2019ll prove for sleep, which take you here,\nOr on the earth, if that your custom were,\nOr have a bed, dispos\u2019d for warmer rest.\u201d\nThus left she with her ladies her old guest,\nAscended her fair chamber, and her bed,\nWhose sight did ever duly make her shed\nTears for her lord; which still her eyes did steep,\nTill Pallas shut them with delightsome sleep.\n\n THE END OF THE NINETEENTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n [1] _\u03a7\u03bf\u1f76\u03bd\u03b9\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f05\u03c0\u03c4\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9,_ they will needs turn this, _quadram_ (for\n _modium) gustet._ Though the words bear no such signification, but\n give a proverb then in use repetition, which was: _he shall not join\n or make a spoke in the nave of my chariot, or chariot-wheel.\n \u03a7\u03bf\u03af\u03bd\u03b9\u03ba\u03bf\u03bd,_ or _\u03c7\u03bf\u03af\u03bd\u03b9\u03ba\u03b9\u03c2,_ signifying _modiolus rot\u00e6,_ and _\u1f05\u03c0\u03c4\u03c9,\n recto._\n\n [2] Intending with truth itself, not his show only.\n\n [3] Autolycus gives his grandchild Ulysses his name: from whence the\n Odysseys is derived, _\u2019\u039f\u03b4\u03c5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03cd\u03c2,_ derived of _\u1f40\u03b4\u03cd\u03b6\u03bf\u03bc\u03b1\u03b9, ex \u1f40\u03b4\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7\n factum;_ signifying _dolorem proprie corporis, nam ira ex dolore\n oritur._\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWENTIETH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nUlysses, in the Wooers\u2019 beds,\nResolving first to kill the maids.\nThat sentence giving off, his care\nFor other objects doth prepare.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03c8._\nJove\u2019s thunder chides,\nBut cheers the King,\nThe Wooers\u2019 prides\nDiscomfiting.\n\nUlysses in the entry laid his head,\nAnd under him an ox-hide newly-flay\u2019d,\nAbove him sheep-fells store; and over those\nEurynom\u00e9 cast mantles. His repose\nWould bring no sleep yet, studying the ill\nHe wish\u2019d the Wooers; who came by him still\nWith all their wenches, laughing, wantoning,\nIn mutual lightness; which his heart did sting,\nContending two ways, if, all patience fled,\nHe should rush up and strike those strumpets dead,\nOr let that night be last, and take th\u2019 extreme\nOf those proud Wooers, that were so supreme\nIn pleasure of their high-fed fantasies.\nHis heart did bark within him to surprise\nTheir sports with spoils; no fell she-mastiff can,\nAmongst her whelps, fly eag\u2019rer on a man\nShe doth not know, yet scents him something near,\nAnd fain would come to please her tooth, and tear,\nThan his disdain, to see his roof so fil\u2019d\nWith those foul fashions, grew within him wild\nTo be in blood of them. But, finding best\nIn his free judgment to let passion rest,\nHe chid his angry spirit, and beat his breast,\nAnd said: \u201cForbear, my mind, and think on this:\nThere hath been time when bitter agonies\nHave tried thy patience. Call to mind the day\nIn which the Cyclop, which pass\u2019d manly sway\nOf violent strength, devour\u2019d thy friends; thou then\nStood\u2019st firmly bold, till from that hellish den\nThy wisdom brought thee off, when nought but death\nThy thoughts resolv\u2019d on.\u201d This discourse did breathe\nThe fiery boundings of his heart, that still\nLay in that \u00e6sture, without end his ill\nYet manly suff\u2019ring. But from side to side\nIt made him toss apace. You have not tried\nA fellow roasting of a pig before\nA hasty fire, his belly yielding store\nOf fat and blood, turn faster, labour more\nTo have it roast, and would not have it burn,\nThan this and that way his unrest made turn\nHis thoughts and body, would not quench the fire,\nAnd yet not have it heighten his desire\nPast his discretion, and the fit enough\nOf haste and speed, that went to all the proof\nHis well-laid plots, and his exploits requir\u2019d,\nSince he, but one, to all their deaths aspir\u2019d.\nIn this contention Pallas stoop\u2019d from heav\u2019n,\nStood over him, and had her presence giv\u2019n\nA woman\u2019s form, who sternly thus began:\n\u201cWhy, thou most sour and wretched-fated man\nOf all that breathe, yet liest thou thus awake?\nThe house in which thy cares so toss and take\nThy quiet up is thine; thy wife is there;\nAnd such a son, as if thy wishes were\nTo be suffic\u2019d with one they could not mend.\u201d\n\u201cGoddess,\u201d said he, \u201c\u2019tis true; but I contend\nTo right their wrongs, and, though I be but one,\nTo lay unhelp\u2019d and wreakful hand upon\nThis whole resort of impudents, that here\nTheir rude assemblies never will forbear.\nAnd yet a greater doubt employs my care,\nThat if their slaughters in my reaches are,\nAnd I perform them, Jove and you not pleas\u2019d,\nHow shall I fly their friends? And would stand seis\u2019d\nOf counsel to resolve this care in me.\u201d\n\u201cWretch,\u201d she replied, \u201ca friend of worse degree\nMight win thy credence, that a mortal were, I\nAnd us\u2019d to second thee, though nothing near\nSo pow\u2019rful in performance nor in care;\nYet I, a Goddess, that have still had share\nIn thy achievements, and thy person\u2019s guard,\nMust still be doubted by thy brain, so hard\nTo credit anything above thy pow\u2019r;\nAnd that must come from heav\u2019n; if ev\u2019ry hour\nThere be not personal appearance made,\nAnd aid direct giv\u2019n, that may sense invade.\nI\u2019ll tell thee, therefore, clearly: If there were\nOf divers-languag\u2019d men an army here\nOf fifty companies, all driving hence\nThy sheep and oxen, and with violence\nOffer\u2019d to charge us, and besiege us round,\nThou shouldst their prey reprise, and them confound.\nLet sleep then seize thee. _To keep watch all night\nConsumes the spirits, and makes dull the sight.\u201d_\nThus pour\u2019d the Goddess sleep into his eyes,\nAnd reascended the Olympian skies.\nWhen care-and-lineament-resolving sleep\nHad laid his temples in his golden steep,\nHis-wise-in-chaste-wit-worthy wife did rise,\nFirst sitting up in her soft bed, her eyes\nOpen\u2019d with tears, in care of her estate,\nWhich now her friends resolv\u2019d to terminate\nTo more delays, and make her marry one.\nHer silent tears then ceas\u2019d, her orison\nThis Queen of women to Diana made:\n\u201cRev\u2019rend Diana, let thy darts invade\nMy woeful bosom, and my life deprive,\nNow at this instant, or soon after drive\nMy soul with tempests forth, and give it way\nTo those far-off dark vaults, where never day\nHath pow\u2019r to shine, and let them cast it down\nWhere refluent Oceanus doth crown\nHis curl\u00e9d head, where Pluto\u2019s orchard is,\nAnd entrance to our after miseries.\nAs such stern whirlwinds ravish\u2019d to that stream\nPandareus\u2019 daughters, when the Gods to them\nHad reft their parents, and them left alone,\nPoor orphan children, in their mansion;\nWhose desolate life did Love\u2019s sweet Queen incline\nTo nurse with press\u00e9d milk and sweetest wine;\nWhom Juno deck\u2019d beyond all other dames\nWith wisdom\u2019s light, and beauty\u2019s moving flames;\nWhom Ph\u0153be goodliness of stature render\u2019d;\nAnd to whose fair hands wise Minerva tender\u2019d\nThe loom and needle in their utmost skill;\nAnd while Love\u2019s Empress scal\u2019d th\u2019 Olympian hill\nTo beg of lightning-loving Jove (since he\nThe means to all things knows, and doth decree\nFortunes, infortunes, to the mortal race)\nFor those poor virgins, the accomplish\u2019d grace\nOf sweetest nuptials, the fierce Harpies prey\u2019d\nOn ev\u2019ry good and miserable maid,\nAnd to the hateful Furies gave them all\nIn horrid service; yet, may such fate fall\nFrom steep Olympus on my loath\u00e9d head,\nOr fair-chair\u2019d Ph\u0153be strike me instant dead,\nThat I may undergo the gloomy shore\nTo visit great Ulysses\u2019 soul, before\nI soothe my idle blood and wed a worse.\nAnd yet, beneath how desperate a curse\nDo I live now! It is an ill that may\nBe well endur\u2019d, to mourn the whole long day,\nSo night\u2019s sweet sleeps, that make a man forget\nBoth bad and good, in some degree would let\nMy thoughts leave grieving; but, both day and night,\nSome cruel God gives my sad memory sight.\nThis night, methought, Ulysses grac\u2019d my bed\nIn all the goodly state with which he led\nThe Grecian army; which gave joys extreme\nTo my distress, esteeming it no dream,\nBut true indeed; and that conceit I had,\nThat when I saw it false I might be mad.\nSuch cruel fates command in my life\u2019s guide.\u201d\nBy this the morning\u2019s orient dews had dyed\nThe earth in all her colours; when the King,\nIn his sweet sleep, suppos\u2019d the sorrowing\nThat she us\u2019d waking in her plaintive bed\nTo be her mourning, standing by his head,\nAs having known him there; who straight arose,\nAnd did again within the hall dispose\nThe carpets and the cushions, where before\nThey serv\u2019d the seats. The hide without the door\nHe carried back, and then, with held-up hands,\nHe pray\u2019d to Him that heav\u2019n and earth commands:\n\u201cO Father Jove, if through the moist and dry\nYou, willing, brought me home, when misery\nHad punish\u2019d me enough by your free dooms,\nLet some of these within those inner rooms,\nStartled with horror of some strange ostent,\nCome here, and tell me that great Jove hath bent\nThreat\u2019nings without at some lewd men within.\u201d\nTo this his pray\u2019r Jove shook his sable chin,\nAnd thunder\u2019d from those pure clouds that, above\nThe breathing air, in bright Olympus move.\nDivine Ulysses joy\u2019d to hear it roar.\nReport of which a woman-miller bore\nStraight to his ears; for near to him there ground\nMills for his corn, that twice six women found\nContinual motion, grinding barley-meal,\nAnd wheat, man\u2019s marrow. Sleep the eyes did seal\nOf all the other women, having done\nTheir usual task; which yet this dame alone\nHad scarce giv\u2019n end to, being, of all the rest,\nLeast fit for labour. But when these sounds prest\nHer ears, above the rumbling of her mill,\nShe let that stand, look\u2019d out, and heav\u2019n\u2019s steep hill\nSaw clear and temp\u2019rate; which made her (unware\nOf giving any comfort to his care\nIn that strange sign he pray\u2019d for) thus, invoke:\n\u201cO King of men and Gods, a mighty stroke\nThy thund\u2019ring hand laid on the cope of stars,\nNo cloud in all the air; and therefore wars\nThou bidst to some men in thy sure ostent!\nPerform to me, poor wretch, the main event,\nAnd make this day the last, and most extreme,\nIn which the Wooers\u2019 pride shall solace them\nWith whorish banquets in Ulysses\u2019 roof,\nThat, with sad toil to grind them meal enough,\nHave quite dissolv\u2019d my knees. Vouchsafe, then, now\nThy thunders may their latest feast foreshow.\u201d\nThis was the boon Ulysses begg\u2019d of Jove,[1]\nWhich, with his thunder, through his bosom drove\nA joy, that this vaunt breath\u2019d: \u201cWhy now these men,\nDespite their pride, will Jove make pay me pain.\u201d\nBy this had other maids, than those that lay\nMix\u2019d with the Wooers, made a fire like day\nAmidst the hearth of the illustrious hall;\nAnd then the Prince, like a Celestial,\nRose from his bed, to his embalm\u2019d feet tied\nFair shoes, his sword about his breast applied,\nTook to his hand his sharp-pil\u2019d lance, and met,\nAmidst the entry, his old nurse, that set\nHis haste at sudden stand; to whom he said:\n\u201cO, my lov\u2019d nurse, with what grace have you laid\nAnd fed my guest here? Could you so neglect\nHis age, to lodge him thus? Though all respect\nI give my mother\u2019s wisdom, I must yet\nAffirm it fail\u2019d in this; for she hath set\nAt much more price a man of much less worth,\nWithout his person\u2019s note, and yet casts forth\nWith ignominious hands, for his form sake,\nA man much better.\u201d \u201cDo not faulty make,\nGood son, the faultless. He was giv\u2019n his seat\nClose to her side, and food till he would eat,\nWine till his wish was serv\u2019d; for she requir\u2019d\nHis wants, and will\u2019d him all things he desir\u2019d;\nCommanded her chief maids to make his bed,\nBut he, as one whom sorrow only fed\nAnd all infortune, would not take his rest\nIn bed, and cov\u2019rings fit for any guest,\nBut in the entry, on an ox\u2019s hide\nNever at tanner\u2019s, his old limbs implied,\nIn warm sheep-fells; yet over all we cast\nA mantle, fitting for a man more grac\u2019d.\u201d\nHe took her answer, left the house, and went,\nAttended with his dogs, to sift th\u2019 event\nOf private plots, betwixt him and his sire\nIn common counsel. Then the crew entire\nOf all the household maids Euryclea bad\nBestir them through the house, and see it clad\nIn all best form; gave all their parts; and one\nShe set to furnish ev\u2019ry seat and throne\nWith needle works, and purple clothes of state;\nAnother set to scour and cleanse the plate;\nAnother all the tables to make proud\nWith porous sponges; others she bestow\u2019d\nIn all speed to the spring, to fetch from thence\nFit store of water; all at all expence\nOf pains she will\u2019d to be; for this to all\nShould be a day of common festival,\nAnd not a Wooer now should seek his home,\nElsewhere than there, but all were bid to come\nExceeding early, and be rais\u2019d to heav\u2019n\nWith all the entertainment could be giv\u2019n.\nThey heard with greedy ears, and ev\u2019rything\nPut straight in practice. Twenty to the spring\nMade speed for water; many in the house\nTook pains; and all were both laborious\nAnd skill\u2019d in labour; many fell to fell\nAnd cleave their wood; and all did more than well.\nThen troop\u2019d the lusty Wooers in; and then\nCame all from spring; at their heels loaded men\nWith slaughter\u2019d brawns, of all the herd the prize,\nThat had been long fed-up in sev\u2019ral styes;\nEum\u00e6us and his men convey\u2019d them there,\nHe, seeing now the king, began to cheer,\nAnd thus saluted him: \u201cHow now, my guest?\nHave yet your virtues found more interest\nIn these great Wooers\u2019 good respects? Or still\nPursue they you with all their wonted ill?\u201d\n\u201cI would to heav\u2019n, Eum\u00e6us,\u201d he replied,\n\u201cThe Deities once would take in hand their pride,\nThat such unseemly fashions put in frame\nIn others\u2019 roofs, as show no spark of shame.\u201d\nThus these; and to these came Melanthius,\nGreat guardian of the most egregious\nRich Wooers\u2019 herds, consisting all of goats;\nWhich he, with two more, drave, and made their cotes\nThe sounding porticos of that fair court.\nMelanthius, seeing the king, this former sort\nOf upland language gave: \u201cWhat? Still stay here,\nAnd dull these Wooers with thy wretched cheer?\nNot gone for ever yet? Why now I see\nThis strife of cuffs betwixt the beggary,\nThat yesterday assay\u2019d to get thee gone,\nAnd thy more roguery, needs will fall upon\nMy hands to arbitrate. Thou wilt not hence\nTill I set on thee; thy ragg\u2019d impudence\nIs so fast-footed. Are there not beside\nOther great banquetants, but you must tide\nAt anchor still with us?\u201d He nothing said,\nBut thought of ill enough, and shook his head.\nThen came Phil\u0153tius, a chief of men,\nThat to the Wooers\u2019 all-devouring den\nA barren steer drave, and fat goats; for they\nIn custom were with traffickers by sea,\nThat who they would sent, and had utt\u2019rance there.\nAnd for these likewise the fair porches were\nHurdles and sheep-pens, as in any fair.\nPhil\u0153tius took note in his repair\nOf seen Ulysses, being a man as well\nGiv\u2019n to his mind\u2019s use as to buy and sell,\nOr do the drudg\u2019ry that the blood desir\u2019d,\nAnd, standing near Eum\u00e6us, this enquir\u2019d:\n\u201cWhat guest is this that makes our house of late\nHis entertainer? Whence claims he the state\nHis birth in this life holds? What nation?\nWhat race? What country stands his speech upon?\nO\u2019er hardly portion\u2019d by the terrible Fates.\nThe structure of his lineaments relates\nA king\u2019s resemblance in his pomp of reign\nEv\u2019n thus in these rags. But poor erring men,\nThat have no firm home, but range here and there\nAs need compels, God keeps in this earth\u2019s sphere,\nAs under water, and this tune he sings,\nWhen he is spinning ev\u2019n the cares of kings.\u201d\nThus coming to him, with a kind of fear\nHe took his hand, and, touch\u2019d exceeding near\nWith mere imagination of his worth,\nThis salutation he sent loudly forth:\n\u201cHealth! Father stranger! In another world\nBe rich and happy, though thou here art hurl\u2019d\nAt feet of never such insulting Need.\nO Jove, there lives no one God of thy seed\nMore ill to man than thou. Thou tak\u2019st no ruth\u2014\nWhen thou thyself hast got him in most truth\u2014\nTo wrap him in the straits of most distress,\nAnd in the curse of others\u2019 wickedness.\nMy brows have swet to see it, and mine eyes\nBroke all in tears, when this being still the guise\nOf worthiest men, I have but only thought,\nThat down to these ills was Ulysses wrought,\nAnd that, thus clad, ev\u2019n he is error-driv\u2019n,\nIf yet he live and sees the light of heav\u2019n.\nBut, if now dead, and in the house of hell,\nO me! O good Ulysses! That my weal\nDid ever wish, and when, but half a man\nAmongst the people Cephallenian,\nHis bounty to his oxen\u2019s charge preferr\u2019d\nOne in that youth; which now is grown a herd\nUnspeakable for number, and feed there\nWith their broad heads, as thick as of his ear\nA field of corn is to a man. Yet these\nSome men advise me with this noted prease\nOf Wooers may devour, and wish me drive\nUp to their feasts with them, that neither give\nHis son respect, though in his own free roof,\nNor have the wit to fear th\u2019 infallible proof\nOf Heav\u2019nly vengeance, but make offer now\nThe long-lack\u2019d King\u2019s possessions to bestow\nIn their self-shares. Methinks the mind in me\nDoth turn as fast, as in a flood or sea\nA raging whirlpit doth, to gather in\nTo fishy death those swimmers in their sin;\nOr feeds a motion as circular\nTo drive my herds away. But while the son\nBears up with life, \u2019twere heinous wrong to run\nTo other people with them, and to trust\nMen of another earth. And yet more just\nIt were to venture their laws, the main right\nMade still their masters, than at home lose quite\nTheir right and them, and sit and grieve to see\nThe wrong authoriz\u2019d by their gluttony.\nAnd I had long since fled, and tried th\u2019 event\nWith other proud kings, since more insolent\nThese are than can be borne, but that ev\u2019n still\nI had a hope that this, though born to ill,\nWould one day come from some coast, and their last\nIn his roofs strew with ruins red and vast.\u201d\n\u201cHerdsman,\u201d said he, \u201cbecause thou art in show\nNor lewd nor indiscreet, and that I know\nThere rules in thee an understanding soul,\nI\u2019ll take an oath, that in thee shall control\nAll doubt of what I swear: Be witness, Jove,\nThat sway\u2019st the first seat of the thron\u2019d above,\nThis hospitable table, and this house,\nThat still hold title for the strenuous\nSon of Laertes, that, if so you please,\nYour eyes shall witness Laertiades\nArriv\u2019d at home, and all these men that reign\nIn such excesses here shall here lie slain!\u201d\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cStranger! Would just Jove would sign\nWhat you have sworn! In your eyes\u2019 beams should shine\nWhat pow\u2019rs I manage, and how these my hands\nWould rise and follow where he first commands.\u201d\nSo said Eum\u00e6us, praying all the Sky\nThat wise Ulysses might arrive and try.\nThus while they vow\u2019d, the Wooers sat as hard\nOn his son\u2019s death, but had their counsels scar\u2019d,\nFor on their left hand did an eagle soar,\nAnd in her seres a fearful pigeon bore.\nWhich seen, Amphinomus presag\u2019d: \u201cO friends,\nOur counsels never will receive their ends\nIn this man\u2019s slaughter. Let us therefore ply\nOur bloody feast, and make his oxen die.\u201d\nThus came they in, cast off on seats their cloaks,\nAnd fell to giving sacrificing strokes\nOf sheep and goats, the chiefly fat and great,\nSlew fed-up swine, and from the herd a neat.\nThe inwards roasted they dispos\u2019d bewixt\nTheir then observers, wine in flagons mixt.\nThe bowls Eum\u00e6us brought, Phil\u0153tius bread,\nMelanthius fill\u2019d the wine. Thus drank and fed\nThe feastful Wooers. Then the prince, in grace\nOf his close project, did his father place\nAmidst the pav\u00e9d entry, in a seat\nSeemless and abject, a small board and meat\nOf th\u2019 only inwards; in a cup of gold\nYet sent him wine, and bade him now drink bold,\nAll his approaches he himself would free\n\u2019Gainst all the Wooers, since he would not see\nHis court made popular, but that his sire\nBuilt it to his use. Therefore all the fire\nBlown in the Wooers\u2019 spleens he bade suppress,\nAnd that in hands nor words they should digress\nFrom that set peace his speech did then proclaim.\nThey bit their lips and wonder\u2019d at his aim\nIn that brave language; when Antinous said:\n\u201cThough this speech, Grecians, be a mere upbraid,\nYet this time give it pass. The will of Jove\nForbids the violence of our hands to move,\nBut of our tongues we keep the motion free,\nAnd, therefore, if his further jollity\nTempt our encounter with his braves, let\u2019s check\nHis growing insolence, though pride to speak\nFly passing high with him.\u201d The wise prince made\nNo more spring of his speech, but let it fade.\nAnd now the heralds bore about the town\nThe sacred hecatomb; to whose renown\nThe fair-hair\u2019d Greeks assembled, and beneath\nApollo\u2019s shady wood the holy death\nThey put to fire; which, made enough, they drew,\nDivided all, that did in th\u2019 end accrue\nTo glorious satisfaction. Those that were\nDisposers of the feast did equal cheer\nBestow on wretched Laertiades,\nWith all the Wooers\u2019 souls; it so did please\nTelemachus to charge them. And for these\nMinerva would not see the malices\nThe Wooers bore too much contain\u2019d, that so\nUlysses\u2019 mov\u2019d heart yet might higher flow\nIn wreakful anguish. There was wooing there,\nAmongst the rest, a gallant that did bear\nThe name of one well-learn\u2019d in jests profane,\nHis name Ctesippus, born a Samian;\nWho, proud because his father was so rich,\nHad so much confidence as did bewitch\nHis heart with hope to wed Ulysses\u2019 wife;\nAnd this man said: \u201cHear me, my lords, in strife\nFor this great widow. This her guest did share\nEven feast with us, with very comely care\nOf him that order\u2019d it; for \u2019tis not good\nNor equal to deprive guests of their food,\nAnd specially whatever guest makes way\nTo that house where Telemachus doth sway;\nAnd therefore I will add to his receit\nA gift of very hospitable weight,\nWhich he may give again to any maid\nThat bathes his grave feet, and her pains see paid,\nOr any servant else that the divine\nUlysses\u2019 lofty battlements confine.\u201d\nThus snatch\u2019d he with a valiant hand, from out\nThe poor folks\u2019 common basket, a neat\u2019s foot,\nAnd threw it at Ulysses; who his head\nShrunk quietly aside, and let it shed\nHis malice on the wall; the suff\u2019ring man\nA laughter raising most Sardinian,\nWith scorn and wrath mix\u2019d, at the Samian.\nWhom thus the prince reprov\u2019d: \u201cYour valour wan\nMuch grace, Ctesippus, and hath eas\u2019d your mind\nWith mighty profit, yet you see it find\nNo mark it aim\u2019d at; the poor stranger\u2019s part\nHimself made good enough, to \u2019scape your dart.\nBut should I serve thee worthily, my lance\nShould strike thy heart through, and, in place t\u2019 advance\nThyself in nuptials with his wealth, thy sire\nShould make thy tomb here; that the foolish fire\nOf all such valours may not dare to show\nThese foul indecencies to me. I now\nHave years to understand my strength, and know\nThe good and bad of things, and am no more\nAt your large suff\u2019rance, to behold my store\nConsum\u2019d with patience, see my cattle slain,\nMy wine exhausted, and my bread in vain\nSpent on your license; for to one then young\nSo many enemies were match too strong.\nBut let me never more be witness to\nYour hostile minds, nor those base deeds ye do;\nFor, should ye kill me in my offer\u2019d wreak,\nI wish it rather, and my death would speak\nMuch more good of me, than to live and see\nIndignity upon indignity,\nMy guests provok\u2019d with bitter words and blows,\nMy women-servants dragg\u2019d about my house\nTo lust and rapture.\u201d This made silence seize\nThe house throughout; till Damastorides\nAt length the calm brake, and said: \u201cFriend, forbear\nTo give a just speech a disdainful ear;\nThe guest no more touch, nor no servant here.\nMyself will to the Prince and Queen commend\nA motion grateful, if they please to lend\nGrateful receipt. As long as any hope\nLeft wise Ulysses any passage ope\nTo his return in our conceits, so long\nThe Queen\u2019s delays to our demands stood strong\nIn cause and reason, and our quarrels thus\nWith guests, the Queen, or her Telemachus,\nSet never foot amongst our lib\u2019ral feast;\nFor should the King return, though thought deceas\u2019d,\nIt had been gain to us, in finding him,\nTo lose his wife. But now, since nothing dim\nThe days break out that show he never more\nShall reach the dear touch of his country-shore,\nSit by your mother, in persuasion\nThat now it stands her honour much upon\nTo choose the best of us, and, who gives most,\nTo go with him home. For so, all things lost\nIn sticking on our haunt so, you shall clear\nRecover in our no more concourse here,\nPossess your birth-right wholly, eat and drink,\nAnd never more on our disgraces think.\u201d\n\u201cBy Jove, no, Agelaus! For I swear\nBy all my father\u2019s sorrows, who doth err\nFar off from Ithaca, or rests in death,\nI am so far from spending but my breath\nTo make my mother any more defer\nHer wish\u00e9d nuptials, that I\u2019ll counsel her\nTo make her free choice; and besides will give\nLarge gifts to move her. But I fear to drive\nOr charge her hence; for God will not give way\nTo any such course, if I should assay.\u201d\nAt this, Minerva made for foolish joy\nThe Wooers mad, and rous\u2019d their late annoy\nTo such a laughter as would never down.\nThey laugh\u2019d with others\u2019 cheeks, ate meat o\u2019erflown\nWith their own bloods, their eyes stood full of tears\nFor violent joys; their souls yet thought of fears,\nWhich Theoclymenus express\u2019d, and said:\n\u201cO wretches! Why sustain ye, well apaid,\nYour imminent ill? A night, with which death sees,\nYour heads and faces hides beneath your knees;\nShrieks burn about you; your eyes thrust out tears;\nThese fix\u00e9d walls, and that main beam that bears\nThe whole house up, in bloody torrents fall;\nThe entry full of ghosts stands; full the hall\nOf passengers to hell; and under all\nThe dismal shades; the sun sinks from the poles;\nAnd troubled air pours bane about your souls.\u201d\nThey sweetly laughed at this. Eurymachus\nTo mocks dispos\u2019d, and said: \u201cThis new-come-t\u2019-us\nIs surely mad, conduct him forth to light\nIn th\u2019 open market-place; he thinks \u2019tis night\nWithin the house.\u201d \u201cEurymachus,\u201d said he,\n\u201cI will not ask for any guide of thee,\nI both my feet enjoy, have ears and eyes,\nAnd no mad soul within me; and with these\nWill I go forth the doors, because I know\nThat imminent mischief must abide with you,\nWhich not a man of all the Wooers here\nShall fly or \u2019scape. Ye all too highly bear\nYour uncurb\u2019d heads. Impieties ye commit,\nAnd ev\u2019ry man affect with forms unfit.\u201d\nThis said, he left the house, and took his way\nHome to Pir\u00e6us; who, as free as day,\nWas of his welcome. When the Wooers\u2019 eyes\nChang\u2019d looks with one another, and, their guise\nOf laughters still held on, still eas\u2019d their breasts\nOf will to set the Prince against his guests,\nAffirming that of all the men alive\nHe worst luck had, and prov\u2019d it worst to give\nGuests entertainment; for he had one there\nA wand\u2019ring hunter-out of provender,\nAn errant beggar ev\u2019ry way, yet thought\n(He was so hungry) that he needed nought\nBut wine and victuals, nor knew how to do,\nNor had a spirit to put a knowledge to,\nBut liv\u2019d an idle burthen to the earth.\nAnother then stepp\u2019d up, and would lay forth\nHis lips in prophecy, thus: \u201cBut, would he hear\nHis friends\u2019 persuasions, he should find it were\nMore profit for him to put both aboard\nFor the Sicilian people, that afford\nThese feet of men good price; and this would bring[2]\nGood means for better guests.\u201d These words made wing\nTo his ears idly, who had still his eye\nUpon his father, looking fervently\nWhen he would lay his long-withholding hand\nOn those proud Wooers. And, within command\nOf all this speech that pass\u2019d, Icarius\u2019 heir,\nThe wise Penelope, her royal chair\nHad plac\u2019d of purpose. Their high dinner then\nWith all-pleas\u2019d palates these ridiculous men\nFell sweetly to, as joying they had slain\nSuch store of banquet. But there did not reign\nA bitterer banquet-planet in all heav\u2019n\nThan that which Pallas had to that day driv\u2019n,\nAnd, with her able friend now, meant t\u2019 appose,\nSince they till then were in deserts so gross.\n\n THE END OF THE TWENTIETH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n [1] Viz. That some from within might issue, and witness in his hearing\n some wreakful ostent to his enemies from heaven.\n\n [2] These feet of men, etc. _\u1f00\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u03b1\u03c0\u03bf\u03b4\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b1\u03af._\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWENTY-FIRST BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nPenelope proposeth now\nTo him that draws Ulysses\u2019 bow\nHer instant nuptials. Ithacus\nEum\u00e6us and Phil\u0153tius\nGives charge for guarding of the gates;\nAnd he his shaft shoots through the plates.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03a6\u03b9\u0311._\nThe nuptial vow\nAnd game rehears\u2019d,\nDrawn is the bow,\nThe steels are pierc\u2019d.\n\nPallas, the Goddess with the sparkling eyes,\nExcites Penelope t\u2019 object the prize,\nThe bow and bright steels, to the Wooers\u2019 strength\nAnd here began the strife and blood at length.\nShe first ascended by a lofty stair\nHer utmost chamber; of whose door her fair\nAnd half transparent hand receiv\u2019d the key,\nBright, brazen, bitted passing curiously,\nAnd at it hung a knob of ivory.\nAnd this did lead her where was strongly kept\nThe treasure-royal; in whose store lay heapt\nGold, brass, and steel, engrav\u2019n with infinite art;\nThe crooked bow, and arrowy quiver, part\nOf that rich magazine. In the quiver were\nArrows a number, sharp and sighing gear.\nThe bow was giv\u2019n by kind Eurytides\nIphitus, fashion\u2019d like the Deities,\nTo young Ulysses, when within the roof\nOf wise Orsilochus their pass had proof\nOf mutual meeting in Messena; where\nUlysses claim\u2019d a debt, to whose pay were\nThe whole Messenian people bound, since they\nFrom Ithaca had forc\u2019d a wealthy prey\nOf sheep and shepherds. In their ships they thrust\nThree hundred sheep together; for whose just\nAnd instant rendry old Laertes sent\nUlysses his ambassador, that went\nA long way in the ambassy, yet then\nBore but the foremost prime of youngest men;\nHis father sending first to that affair\nHis gravest counsellors, and then his heir.\nIphitus made his way there, having lost\nTwelve female horse, and mules commended most\nFor use of burthen; which were after cause\nOf death and fate to him; for, past all laws\nOf hospitality, Jove\u2019s mighty son,\nSkill\u2019d in great acts, was his confusion\nClose by his house, though at that time his guest,\nRespecting neither the appos\u00e9d feast,\nAnd hospitable table, that in love\nHe set before him, nor the voice of Jove,\nBut, seizing first his mares, he after slew\nHis host himself. From those mares\u2019 search now grew\nUlysses known t\u2019 Iphitus; who that bow\nAt their encounter did in love bestow,\nWhich great Eurytus\u2019 hand had borne before,\n(Iphitus\u2019 father) who, at death\u2019s sad door,\nIn his steep turrets, left it to his son.\nUlysses gave him a keen falchion,\nAnd mighty lance. And thus began they there\nTheir fatal loves; for after never were\nTheir mutual tables to each other known,\nBecause Jove\u2019s son th\u2019 unworthy part had shown\nOf slaughtering this God-like loving man,\nEurytus\u2019 son, who with that bow began\nAnd ended love t\u2019 Ulysses; who so dear\nA gift esteem\u2019d it, that he would not bear\nIn his black fleet that guest-rite to the war,\nBut, in fit memory of one so far\nIn his affection, brought it home, and kept\nHis treasure with it; where till now it slept.\nAnd now the Queen of women had intent\nTo give it use, and therefore made ascent\nUp all the stairs\u2019 height to the chamber door,\nWhose shining leaves two bright pilasters bore\nTo such a close when both together went\nIt would resist the air in their consent.\nThe ring she took then, and did draw aside\nA bar that ran within, and then implied\nThe key into the lock, which gave a sound,\nThe bolt then shooting, as in pasture ground\nA bull doth low, and make the valleys ring;\nSo loud the lock humm\u2019d when it loos\u2019d the spring,\nAnd ope the doors flew. In she went, along\nThe lofty chamber, that was boarded strong\nWith heart of oak, which many years ago\nThe architect did smooth and polish so\nThat now as then he made it freshly shine,\nAnd tried the evenness of it with a line.\nThere stood in this room presses that enclos\u2019d\nRobes odoriferous, by which repos\u2019d\nThe bow was upon pins; nor from it far\nHung the round quiver glitt\u2019ring like a star;\nBoth which her white extended hand took down.\nThen sat she low, and made her lap a crown\nOf both these relics, which she wept to see,\nAnd cried quite out with loving memory\nOf her dear lord; to whose worth paying then\nKind debts enow, she left, and, to the men\nVow\u2019d to her wooing, brought the crooked bow,\nAnd shaft-receiving quiver, that did flow\nWith arrows beating sighs up where they fell.\nThen, with another chest, replete as well\nWith games won by the King, of steel and brass,\nHer maids attended. Past whom making pass\nTo where her Wooers were, she made her stay\nAmidst the fair hall door, and kept the ray\nOf her bright count\u2019nance hid with veils so thin,\nThat though they seem\u2019d t\u2019 expose, they let love in;\nHer maids on both sides stood; and thus she spake:\n\u201cHear me, ye Wooers, that a pleasure take\nTo do me sorrow, and my house invade\nTo eat and drink, as if \u2019twere only made\nTo serve your rapines; my lord long away,\nAnd you allow\u2019d no colour for your stay\nBut his still absence; striving who shall frame\nMe for his wife; and, since \u2019tis made a game,\nI here propose divine Ulysses\u2019 bow\nFor that great master-piece to which ye vow.\nHe that can draw it with least show to strive,\nAnd through these twelve axe-heads an arrow drive,\nHim will I follow, and this house forego\nThat nourish\u2019d me a maid, now furnish\u2019d so\nWith all things fit, and which I so esteem\nThat I shall still live in it in my dream.\u201d\nThis said, she made Eum\u00e6us give it them.\nHe took and laid it by, and wept for woe;\nAnd like him wept Phil\u0153tius, when the bow\nOf which his king was bearer he beheld.\nTheir tears Antinous\u2019 manhood much refell\u2019d,\nAnd said: \u201cYe rustic fools! that still each day\nYour minds give over to this vain dismay,\nWhy weep ye, wretches, and the widow\u2019s eyes\nTempt with renew\u2019d thought, that would otherwise\nDepose her sorrows, since her lord is dead,\nAnd tears are idle? Sit, and eat your bread,\nNor whisper more a word; or get ye gone,\nAnd weep without doors. Let this bow alone\nTo our out-match\u2019d contention. For I fear\nThe bow will scarce yield draught to any here;\nHere no such man lives as Laertes\u2019 son\nAmongst us all. I knew him; thought puts on\nHis look\u2019s sight now, methinks, though then a child.\u201d\nThus show\u2019d his words doubt, yet his hopes instill\u2019d\nHis strength the stretcher of Ulysses\u2019 string,\nAnd his steels\u2019 piercer. But his shaft must sing\nThrough his pierc\u2019d palate first; whom so he wrong\u2019d\nIn his free roof, and made the rest ill-tongued\nAgainst his virtues. Then the sacred heat\nThat spirited his son did further set\nTheir confidence on fire, and said: \u201cO friends,\nJove hath bereft my wits. The Queen intends,\nThough I must grant her wise, ere long to leave\nUlysses\u2019 court, and to her bed receive\nSome other lord; yet, notwithstanding, I\nAm forc\u2019d to laugh, and set my pleasures high\nLike one mad sick. But, Wooers, since ye have\nAn object for your trials now so brave,\nAs all the broad Achaian earth exceeds,\nAs sacred Pylos, as the Argive breeds,\nAs black Epirus, as Mycena\u2019s birth,\nAnd as the more fam\u2019d Ithacensian earth,\nAll which, yourselves well know, and oft have said\u2014\nFor what need hath my mother of my aid\nIn her advancement?\u2014tender no excuse\nFor least delay, nor too much time profuse\nIn stay to draw this bow, but draw it straight,\nShoot, and the steels pierce; make all see how slight\nYou make these poor bars to so rich a prize.\nNo eag\u2019rer yet? Come all. My faculties\nShall try the bow\u2019s strength, and the pierc\u00e9d steel.\nI will not for my rev\u2019rend mother feel\nThe sorrows that I know will seize my heart,\nTo see her follow any, and depart\nFrom her so long-held home; but first extend\nThe bow and arrow to their tender\u2019d end.\nFor I am only to succeed my sire\nIn guard of his games, and let none aspire\nTo their besides possession.\u201d This said,\nHis purple robe he cast off; by he laid\nHis well-edg\u2019d sword; and, first, a sev\u2019ral pit\nHe digg\u2019d for ev\u2019ry axe, and strengthen\u2019d it\nWith earth close ramm\u2019d about it; on a rew\nSet them, of one height, by a line he drew\nAlong the whole twelve; and so orderly\nDid ev\u2019ry deed belonging (yet his eye\nNever before beholding how \u2019twas done)\nThat in amaze rose all his lookers-on.\nThen stood he near the door, and prov\u2019d to draw\nThe stubborn bow. Thrice tried, and thrice gave law\nTo his uncrown\u2019d attempts; the fourth assay\nWith all force off\u2019ring, which a sign gave stay\nGiv\u2019n by his father; though he show\u2019d a mind\nAs if he stood right heartily inclin\u2019d\nTo perfect the exploit, when all was done\nIn only drift to set the Wooers on.\nHis weakness yet confess\u2019d, he said: \u201cO shame!\nI either shall be ever of no name,\nBut prove a wretch; or else I am too young,\nAnd must not now presume on pow\u2019rs so strong\nAs sinews yet more growing may engraft,\nTo turn a man quite over with a shaft.\nBesides, to men whose nerves are best prepar\u2019d,\n_All great adventures at first proof are hard._\nBut come, you stronger men, attempt this bow,\nAnd let us end our labour.\u201d Thus, below\nA well-join\u2019d board he laid it, and close by\nThe brightly-headed shaft; then thron\u2019d his thigh\nAmidst his late-left seat. Antinous then\nBade all arise; but first, who did sustain\nThe cup\u2019s state ever, and did sacrifice\nBefore they ate still, and that man bade rise,\nSince on the other\u2019s right hand he was plac\u2019d,\nBecause he held the right hand\u2019s rising, grac\u2019d\nWith best success still. This discretion won\nSupreme applause; and first rose \u0152nops\u2019 son,\nLiodes, that was priest to all the rest,\nSat lowest with the cup still, and their jest\nCould never like, but ever was the man\nThat check\u2019d their follies; and he now began\nTo taste the bow, the sharp shaft took, tugg\u2019d hard,\nAnd held aloft, and, till he quite had marr\u2019d\nHis delicate tender fingers, could not stir\nThe churlish string; who therefore did refer\nThe game to others, saying, that same bow,\nIn his presage, would prove the overthrow\nOf many a chief man there; nor thought the fate\nWas any whit austere, since death\u2019s short date\nWere much the better taken, than long life\nWithout the object of their amorous strife,\nFor whom they had burn\u2019d-out so many days\nTo find still other, nothing but delays\nObtaining in them; and affirm\u2019d that now\nSome hop\u2019d to have her, but when that tough bow\nThey all had tried, and seen the utmost done,\nThey must rest pleas\u2019d to cease; and now some one\nOf all their other fair-veil\u2019d Grecian dames\nWith gifts, and dower, and Hymeneal flames,\nLet her love light to him that most will give,\nAnd whom the nuptial destiny did drive.\nThus laid he on the well-join\u2019d polish\u2019d board\nThe bow and bright-pil\u2019d shaft, and then restor\u2019d\nHis seat his right. To him Antinous\nGave bitter language, and reprov\u2019d him thus:\n\u201cWhat words, Liodes, pass thy speech\u2019s guard,\nThat \u2019tis a work to bear, and set so hard\nThey set up my disdain! This bow must end\nThe best of us? Since thy arms cannot lend\nThe string least motion? Thy mother\u2019s throes\nBrought never forth thy arms to draught of bows,\nOr knitting shafts off. Though thou canst not draw\nThe sturdy plant, thou art to us no law.\nMelanthius! Light a fire, and set thereat\nA chair and cushions, and that mass of fat\nThat lies within bring out, that we may set\nOur pages to this bow, to see it het\nAnd suppled with the suet, and then we\nMay give it draught, and pay this great decree\nUtmost performance.\u201d He a mighty fire\nGave instant flame, put into act th\u2019 entire\nCommand laid on him, chair and cushions set,\nLaid on the bow, which straight the pages het,\nChaf\u2019d, suppled with the suet to their most;\nAnd still was all their unctuous labour lost,\nAll Wooers\u2019 strengths too indigent and poor\nTo draw that bow; Antinous\u2019 arms it tore,\nAnd great Eurymachus\u2019, the both clear best,\nYet both it tir\u2019d, and made them glad to rest.\nForth then went both the swains, and after them\nDivine Ulysses; when, being past th\u2019 extreme\nOf all the gates, with winning words he tried\nTheir loves, and this ask\u2019d: \u201cShall my counsels hide\nTheir depths from you? My mind would gladly know\nIf suddenly Ulysses had his vow\nMade good for home, and had some God to guide\nHis steps and strokes to wreak these Wooers\u2019 pride,\nWould your aids join on his part, or with theirs?\nHow stand your hearts affected?\u201d They made pray\u2019rs\nThat some God would please to return their lord,\nHe then should see how far they would afford\nTheir lives for his. He, seeing their truth, replied;\n\u201cI am your lord, through many a suff\u2019rance tried,\nArriv\u2019d now here, whom twenty years have held\nFrom forth my country. Yet are not conceal\u2019d\nFrom my sure knowledge your desires to see\nMy safe return. Of all the company\nNow serving here besides, not one but you\nMine ear hath witness\u2019d willing to bestow\nTheir wishes of my life, so long held dead.\nI therefore vow, which shall be perfected,\nThat if God please beneath my hand to leave\nThese Wooers lifeless, ye shall both receive\nWives from that hand, and means, and near to me\nHave houses built to you, and both shall be\nAs friends and brothers to my only son.\nAnd, that ye well may know me, and be won\nTo that assurance, the infallible sign\nThe white-tooth\u2019d boar gave, this mark\u2019d knee of mine,\nWhen in Parnassus he was held in chase\nBy me, and by my famous grandsire\u2019s race,\nI\u2019ll let you see.\u201d Thus sever\u2019d he his weed\nFrom that his wound; and ev\u2019ry word had deed\nIn their sure knowledges. Which made them cast\nTheir arms about him, his broad breast embrac\u2019d,\nHis neck and shoulders kiss\u2019d. And him as well\nDid those true pow\u2019rs of human love compell\nTo kiss their heads and hands, and to their moan\nHad sent the free light of the cheerful sun,\nHad not Ulysses broke the ruth, and said;\n\u201cCease tears and sorrows, lest we prove display\u2019d\nBy some that issue from the house, and they\nRelate to those within. Take each his way,\nNot altogether in, but one by one,\nFirst I, then you; and then see this be done;\nThe envious Wooers will by no means give\nThe offer of the bow and arrow leave\nTo come at me; spite then their pride, do thou,\nMy good Eum\u00e6us, bring both shaft and bow\nTo my hand\u2019s proof; and charge the maids before\nThat instantly they shut in ev\u2019ry door,\nThat they themselves (if any tumult rise\nBeneath my roofs by any that envies\nMy will to undertake the game) may gain\nNo passage forth, but close at work contain\nWith all free quiet, or at least constrain\u2019d,\nAnd therefore, my Phil\u0153tius, see maintain\u2019d,\nWhen close the gates are shut, their closure fast,\nTo which end be it thy sole work to cast\nTheir chains before them.\u201d This said, in he led,\nTook first his seat; and then they seconded\nHis entry with their own. Then took in hand\nEurymachus the bow, made close his stand\nAside the fire, at whose heat here and there\nHe warm\u2019d and suppled it, yet could not stere\nTo any draught the string, with all his art;\nAnd therefore swell\u2019d in him his glorious heart,\nAffirming, \u201cthat himself and all his friends\nHad cause to grieve, not only that their ends\nThey miss\u2019d in marriage, since enough besides\nKind Grecian dames there liv\u2019d to be their brides\nIn Ithaca, and other bord\u2019ring towns,\nBut that to all times future their renowns\nWould stand disparag\u2019d, if Ulysses\u2019 bow\nThey could not draw, and yet his wife would woo.\u201d\nAntinous answer\u2019d; \u201cThat there could ensue\nNo shame at all to them; for well he knew\nThat this day was kept holy to the Sun\nBy all the city, and there should be done\nNo such profane act, therefore bade lay by\nThe bow for that day; but the mastery\nOf axes that were set up still might stand,\nSince that no labour was, nor any hand\nWould offer to invade Ulysses\u2019 house,\nTo take, or touch with surreptitious\nOr violent hand, what there was left for use.\nHe, therefore, bade the cup-bearer infuse\nWine to the bowls, that so with sacrifice\nThey might let rest the shooting exercise,\nAnd in the morning make Melanthius bring\nThe chief goats of his herd, that to the King\nOf bows and archers they might burn the thighs\nFor good success, and then attempt the prize.\u201d\nThe rest sat pleas\u2019d with this. The heralds straight\nPour\u2019d water on their hands; each page did wait\nWith his crown\u2019d cup of wine, serv\u2019d ev\u2019ry man\nTill all were satisfied. And then began\nUlysses\u2019 plot of his close purpose thus:\n\u201cHear me, ye much renown\u2019d Eurymachus,\nAnd king Antinous, in chief, who well,\nAnd with decorum sacred, doth compell\nThis day\u2019s observance, and to let lay down\nThe bow all this light, giving Gods their own.\nThe morning\u2019s labour God the more will bless,\nAnd strength bestow where he himself shall please.\nAgainst which time let me presume to pray\nYour favours with the rest, that this assay\nMay my old arms prove, trying if there lie\nIn my poor pow\u2019rs the same activity\nThat long since crown\u2019d them; or if needy fare\nAnd desolate wand\u2019ring have the web worn bare\nOf my life\u2019s thread at all parts, that no more\nCan furnish these affairs as heretofore.\u201d\nThis het their spleens past measure, blown with fear\nLest his loath\u2019d temples would the garland wear\nOf that bow\u2019s draught; Antinous using speech\nTo this sour purpose: \u201cThou most arrant wretch\nOf all guests breathing, in no least degree\nGrac\u2019d with a human soul, it serves not thee\nTo feast in peace with us, take equal share\nOf what we reach to, sit, and all things hear\nThat we speak freely,\u2014which no begging guest\nDid ever yet,\u2014but thou must make request\nTo mix with us in merit of the Queen.\nBut wine inflames thee, that hath ever been\nThe bane of men whoever yet would take\nTh\u2019 excess it offers and the mean forsake.\nWine spoil\u2019d the Centaur great Eurytion,\nIn guest-rites with the mighty-minded son\nOf bold Ixion, in his way to war\nAgainst the Lapithes; who, driv\u2019n as far\nAs madness with the bold effects of wine,\nDid outrage to his kind host, and decline\nOther hero\u00ebs from him feasted there\nWith so much anger that they left their cheer,\nAnd dragg\u2019d him forth the fore-court, slit his nose,\nCropp\u2019d both his ears, and, in the ill-dispose\nHis mind then suffer\u2019d, drew the fatal day\nOn his head with his host; for thence the fray\nBetwixt the Centaurs and the Lapithes\nHad mortal act. But he for his excess\nIn spoil of wine fared worse himself; as thou\nFor thy large cups, if thy arms draw the bow,\nMy mind fortells shalt fear; for not a man\nOf all our consort, that in wisdom can\nBoast any fit share, will take prayers then,\nBut to Echetus, the most stern of men,\nA black sail freight with thee, whose worst of ill,\nBe sure, is past all ransom. Sit, then, still,\nDrink temp\u2019rately, and never more contend\nWith men your youngers.\u201d This the Queen did end\nWith her defence of him, and told his foe\nIt was not fair nor equal t\u2019 overcrow\nThe poorest guest her son pleas\u2019d t\u2019 entertain\nIn his free turrets with so proud a strain\nOf threats and bravings; asking if he thought,\nThat if the stranger to his arms had brought\nThe stubborn bow down, he should marry her,\nAnd bear her home? And said, himself should err\nIn no such hope; nor of them all the best\nThat griev\u2019d at any good she did her guest\nShould banquet there; since it in no sort show\u2019d\nNoblesse in them, nor paid her what she ow\u2019d\nHer own free rule there. This Eurymachus\nConfirm\u2019d and said: \u201cNor feeds it hope in us,\nIcarius\u2019 daughter, to solemnize rites\nOf nuptials with thee; nor in noblest sights\nIt can show comely; but to our respects\nThe rumour both of sexes and of sects\nAmongst the people would breed shame and fear,\nLest any worst Greek said: \u2018See, men that were\nOf mean deservings will presume t\u2019 aspire\nTo his wife\u2019s bed, whom all men did admire\nFor fame and merit, could not draw his bow,\nAnd yet his wife had foolish pride to woo,\nWhen straight an errant beggar comes and draws\nThe bow with ease, performing all the laws\nThe game besides contain\u2019d\u2019; and this would thus\nProve both indignity and shame to us.\u201d\nThe Queen replied: \u201cThe fame of men, I see,\nBears much price in your great suppos\u2019d degree;\nYet who can prove amongst the people great,\nThat of one so esteem\u2019d of them the seat\nDoth so defame and ruin? And beside,\nWith what right is this guest thus vilified\nIn your high censures, when the man in blood\nIs well compos\u2019d and great, his parents good?[1]\nAnd therefore give the bow to him, to try\nHis birth and breeding by his chivalry.\nIf his arms draw it, and that Ph\u0153bus stands\nSo great a glory to his strength, my hands\nShall add this guerdon: Ev\u2019ry sort of weed,\nA two-edg\u2019d sword, and lance to keep him freed\nFrom dogs and men hereafter, and dismiss\nHis worth to what place tends that heart of his.\u201d\nHer son gave answer: \u201cThat it was a wrong\nTo his free sway in all things that belong\nTo guard of that house, to demand the bow\nOf any Wooer, and the use bestow\nUpon the stranger: for the bow was his\nTo give or to withhold; no masteries\nOf her proposing giving any pow\u2019r\nT\u2019 impair his right in things for any Wooer,\nOr any that rough Ithaca affords,\nAny that Elis; of which no man\u2019s words\nNor pow\u2019rs should curb him, stood he so inclin\u2019d,\nTo see the bow in absolute gift resign\u2019d\nTo that his guest to bear and use at will,\nAnd therefore bade his mother keep her still\nAmongst her women at her rock and loom;\nBows were for men; and this bow did become\nPast all men\u2019s his disposure, since his sire\nLeft it to him, and all the house entire.\u201d\nShe stood dismay\u2019d at this, and in her mind\nHis wise words laid up, standing so inclin\u2019d\nAs he had will\u2019d, with all her women going\nUp to her chamber, there her tears bestowing,\nAs ev\u2019ry night she did, on her lov\u2019d lord,\nTill sleep and Pallas her fit rest restor\u2019d.\nThe bow Eum\u00e6us took, and bore away;\nWhich up in tumult, and almost in fray,\nPut all the Wooers, one enquiring thus:\n\u201cWhither, rogue, abject, wilt thou bear from us\nThat bow propos\u2019d? Lay down, or I protest\nThy dogs shall eat thee, that thou nourishest\nTo guard thy swine; amongst whom, left of all,\nThy life shall leave thee, if the festival,\nWe now observe to Ph\u0153bus, may our zeals\nGrace with his aid, and all the Deities else.\u201d\nThis threat made good Eum\u00e6us yield the bow\nTo his late place, not knowing what might grow\nFrom such a multitude. And then fell on\nTelemachus with threats, and said: \u201cSet gone\nThat bow yet further; \u2019tis no servant\u2019s part\nTo serve too many masters; raise your heart\nAnd bear it off, lest, though you\u2019re younger, yet\nWith stones I pelt you to the field with it.\nIf you and I close, I shall prove too strong.\nI wish as much too hard for all this throng\nThe Gods would make me, I should quickly send\nSome after with just sorrow to their end,\nThey waste my victuals so, and ply my cup,\nAnd do me such shrewd turns still.\u201d This put up\nThe Wooers all in laughters, and put down\nTheir angers to him, that so late were grown\nSo grave and bloody; which resolv\u2019d that fear\nOf good Eum\u00e6us, who did take and bear\nThe King the bow; call\u2019d nurse, and bade her make\nThe doors all sure, that if men\u2019s tumults take\nThe ears of some within, they may not fly,\nBut keep at work still close and silently.\nThese words put wings to her, and close she put\nThe chamber door. The court-gates then were shut\nBy kind Phil\u0153tius, who straight did go\nFrom out the hall, and in the portico\nFound laid a gable of a ship, compos\u2019d\nOf spongy bulrushes; with which he clos\u2019d,\nIn winding round about them, the court-gates,\nThen took his place again, to view the fates\nThat quickly follow\u2019d. When he came, he saw\nUlysses viewing, ere he tried to draw,\nThe famous bow, which ev\u2019ry way he mov\u2019d,\nUp and down turning it; in which be prov\u2019d\nThe plight it was in, fearing, chiefly, lest\nThe horns were eat with worms in so long rest.\nBut what his thoughts intended turning so,\nAnd keeping such a search about the bow,\nThe Wooers little knowing fell to jest,\nAnd said: \u201cPast doubt he is a man profest\nIn bowyers\u2019 craft, and sees quite through the wood;\nOr something, certain, to be understood\nThere is in this his turning of it still.\nA cunning rogue he is at any ill.\u201d\nThen spake another proud one: \u201cWould to heav\u2019n,\nI might, at will, get gold till he hath giv\u2019n\nThat bow his draught!\u201d With these sharp jests did these\nDelightsome Woo\u2019rs their fatal humours please.\nBut when the wise Ulysses once had laid\nHis fingers on it, and to proof survey\u2019d\nThe still sound plight it held, as one of skill\nIn song, and of the harp, doth at his will,\nIn tuning of his instrument, extend\nA string out with his pin, touch all, and lend\nTo ev\u2019ry well-wreath\u2019d string his perfect sound,\nStruck all together; with such ease drew round\nThe King the bow. Then twang\u2019d he up the string,\nThat as a swallow in the air doth sing\nWith no continued tune, but, pausing still,\nTwinks out her scatter\u2019d voice in accents shrill;\nSo sharp the string sung when he gave it touch,\nOnce having bent and drawn it. Which so much\nAmaz\u2019d the Wooers, that their colours went\nAnd came most grievously. And then Jove rent\nThe air with thunder; which at heart did cheer\nThe now-enough-sustaining traveller,\nThat Jove again would his attempt enable.\nThen took he into hand, from off the table,\nThe first drawn arrow: and a number more\nSpent shortly on the Wooers; but this one\nHe measur\u2019d by his arm, as if not known\nThe length were to him, nock\u2019d it then, and drew;\nAnd through the axes, at the first hole, flew\nThe steel-charg\u2019d arrow; which when he had done\nHe thus bespake the Prince: \u201cYou have not won\nDisgrace yet by your guest; for I have strook\nThe mark I shot at, and no such toil took\nIn wearying the bow with fat and fire\nAs did the Wooers. Yet reserv\u2019d entire,\nThank Heav\u2019n, my strength is, and myself am tried,\nNo man to be so basely vilified\nAs these men pleas\u2019d to think me. But, free way\nTake that, and all their pleasures; and while day\nHolds her torch to you, and the hour of feast\nHath now full date, give banquet, and the rest,\nPoem and harp, that grace a well-fill\u2019d board.\u201d\nThis said, he beckon\u2019d to his son; whose sword\nHe straight girt to him, took to hand his lance,\nAnd c\u00f3mplete-arm\u2019d did to his sire advance.\n\n THE END OF THE TWENTY-FIRST BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n [1] _\u0395\u1f50\u03c0\u03b7\u03b3\u03ae\u03c2, bene compactus et coagmentatus._\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nThe Wooers in Minerva\u2019s sight\nSlain by Ulysses; all the light\nAnd lustful housewives by his son\nAnd servants are to slaughter done.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03a7\u03b9\u0311._\nThe end of pride,\nAnd lawless lust,\nIs wretched tried\nWith slaughters just.\n\nThe upper rags that wise Ulysses wore\nCast off, he rusheth to the great hall door\nWith bow and quiver full of shafts, which down\nHe pour\u2019d before his feet, and thus made known\nHis true state to the Wooers: \u201cThis strife thus\nHath harmless been decided; now for us\nThere rests another mark, more hard to hit,\nAnd such as never man before hath smit;\nWhose full point likewise my hands shall assay,\nAnd try if Ph\u0153bus will give me his day.\u201d\nHe said, and off his bitter arrow thrust\nRight at Antinous; and struck him just\nAs he was lifting up the bowl, to show\nThat \u2019twixt the cup and lip much ill may grow.\nDeath touch\u2019d not at his thoughts at feast; for who\nWould think that he alone could perish so\nAmongst so many, and he best of all?\nThe arrow in his throat took full his fall,\nAnd thrust his head far through the other side.\nDown fell his cup, down he, down all his pride;\nStraight from his nostrils gush\u2019d the human gore;\nAnd, as he fell, his feet far overbore\nThe feastful table; all the roast and bread\nAbout the house strew\u2019d. When his high-born head\nThe rest beheld so low, up rush\u2019d they all,\nAnd ransack\u2019d ev\u2019ry corner of the hall\nFor shields and darts; but all fled far their reach.\nThen fell they foul on him with terrible speech,\nAnd told him it should prove the dearest shaft\nThat ever pass\u2019d him; and that now was saft\nNo shift for him, but sure and sudden death;\nFor he had slain a man, whose like did breathe\nIn no part of the kingdom; and that now\nHe should no more for games strive with his bow,\nBut vultures eat him there. These threats they spent,\nYet ev\u2019ry man believ\u2019d that stern event\nChanc\u2019d \u2019gainst the author\u2019s will. O fools, to think\nThat all their rest had any cup to drink\nBut what their great Antinous began!\nHe, frowning, said: \u201cDogs, see in me the man\nYe all held dead at Troy. My house it is\nThat thus ye spoil, and thus your luxuries\nFile with my women\u2019s rapes; in which ye woo\nThe wife of one that lives, and no thought show\nOf man\u2019s fit fear, or God\u2019s, your present fame,\nOr any fair sense of your future name;\nAnd, therefore, present and eternal death\nShall end your base life.\u201d This made fresh fears breathe\nTheir former boldness. Ev\u2019ry man had eye\nOn all the means, and studied ways to fly\nSo deep deaths imminent. But seeing none,\nEurymachus began with suppliant moan\nTo move his pity, saying: \u201cIf you be\nThis isle\u2019s Ulysses, we must all agree,\nIn grant of your reproof\u2019s integrity,\nThe Greeks have done you many a wrong at home,\nAt field as many. But of all the sum\nLies here contract in death; for only he\nImpos\u2019d the whole ill-offices that we\nAre now made guilty of, and not so much\nSought his endeavours, or in thought did touch\nAt any nuptials, but a greater thing\nEmploy\u2019d his forces; for to be our king\nWas his chief object; his sole plot it was\nTo kill your son, which Jove\u2019s hand would not pass,\nBut set it to his own most merited end.\nIn which end your just anger, nor extend\nYour stern wreak further; spend your royal pow\u2019rs\nIn mild ruth of your people; we are yours;\nAnd whatsoever waste of wine or food\nOur liberties have made, we\u2019ll make all good\nIn restitutions. Call a court, and pass\nA fine of twenty oxen, gold, and brass,\nOn ev\u2019ry head, and raise your most rates still,\nTill you are pleas\u2019d with your confess\u00e9d fill.\nWhich if we fail to tender, all your wrath\nIt shall be justice in our bloods to bathe.\u201d\n\u201cEurymachus,\u201d said he, \u201cif you would give\nAll that your fathers\u2019 hoard, to make ye live,\nAnd all that ever you yourselves possess,\nOr shall by any industry increase,\nI would not cease from slaughter, till your bloods\nHad bought out your intemp\u2019rance in my goods.\nIt rests now for you that you either fight\nThat will \u2019scape death, or make your way by flight.\nIn whose best choice, my thoughts conceive, not one\nShall shun the death your first hath undergone.\u201d\nThis quite dissolv\u2019d their knees. Eurymachus,\nEnforcing all their fears, yet counsell\u2019d thus:\n\u201cO friends! This man, now he hath got the bow\nAnd quiver by him, ever will bestow\nHis most inaccessible hands at us,\nAnd never leave, if we avoid him thus,\nTill he hath strewn the pavement with us all;\nAnd, therefore, join we swords, and on him fall\nWith tables forc\u2019d up, and borne in oppos\u2019d\nAgainst his sharp shafts; when, being round-enclos\u2019d\nBy all our onsets, we shall either take\nHis horrid person, or for safety make\nHis rage retire from out the hall and gates;\nAnd then, if he escape, we\u2019ll make our states\nKnown to the city by our gen\u2019ral cry.\nAnd thus this man shall let his last shaft fly\nThat ever his hand vaunted.\u201d Thus he drew\nHis sharp-edg\u2019d sword; and with a table flew\nIn on Ulysses, with a terrible throat\nHis fierce charge urging. But Ulysses smote\nThe board, and cleft it through from end to end\nBorne at his breast; and made his shaft extend\nHis sharp head to his liver, his broad breast\nPierc\u2019d at his nipple; when his hand releast\nForthwith his sword, that fell and kiss\u2019d the ground,\nWith cups and victuals lying scatter\u2019d round\nAbout the pavement; amongst which his brow\nKnock\u2019d the imbrued earth, while in pains did flow\nHis vital spirits, till his heels shook out\nHis feastful life, and hurl\u2019d a throne about\nThat way-laid death\u2019s convulsions in his feet;\nWhen from his tender eyes the light did fleet.\nThen charg\u2019d Amphinomus with his drawn blade\nThe glorious king, in purpose to have made\nHis feet forsake the house; but his assay\nThe prince prevented, and his lance gave way\nQuite through his shoulder, at his back; his breast\nThe fierce pile letting forth. His ruin prest\nGroans from the pavement, which his forehead strook.\nTelemachus his long lance then forsook\u2014\nLeft in Amphinomus\u2014and to his sire\nMade fiery pass, not staying to acquire\nHis lance again, in doubt that, while he drew\nThe fix\u00e9d pile, some other might renew\nFierce charge upon him, and his unharm\u2019d head\nCleave with his back-drawn sword; for which he fled\nClose to his father, bade him arm, and he\nWould bring him shield and jav\u2019lins instantly,\nHis own head arming, more arms laying by\nTo serve the swine-herd and the oxen-herd.\n_Valour well arm\u2019d is ever most preferr\u2019d._\n\u201cRun then,\u201d said he, \u201cand come before the last\nOf these auxiliary shafts are past,\nFor fear, lest, left alone, they force my stand\nFrom forth the ports.\u201d He flew, and brought to hand\nEight darts, four shields, four helms. His own parts then\nFirst put in arms, he furnish\u2019d both his men,\nThat to their king stood close; but he, as long\nAs he had shafts to friend, enough was strong\nFor all the Wooers, and some one man still\nHe made make even with earth, till all a hill\nHad rais\u2019d in th\u2019 even-floor\u2019d hall. His last shaft spent,\nHe set his bow against a beam, and went\nTo arm at all parts, while the other three\nKept off the Wooers, who, unarm\u2019d, could be\nNo great assailants. In the well-built wall\nA window was thrust out, at end of all\nThe house\u2019s entry; on whose utter side\nThere lay a way to town, and in it wide\nAnd two-leav\u2019d folds were forg\u2019d, that gave fit mean\nFor flyers-out; and, therefore, at it then\nUlysses plac\u2019d Eum\u00e6us in close guard;\nOne only pass ope to it, which (prepar\u2019d\nIn this sort by Ulysses \u2019gainst all pass)\nBy Agelaus\u2019 tardy memory was\nIn question call\u2019d, who bade some one ascend\nAt such a window, and bring straight to friend\nThe city with his clamour, that this man\nMight quickly shoot his last. \u201cThis no one can\nMake safe access to,\u201d said Melanthius,\n\u201cFor \u2019tis too near the hall\u2019s fair doors, whence thus\nThe man afflicts ye; for from thence there lies\nBut one strait passage to it, that denies\nAccess to all, if any one man stand,\nBeing one of courage, and will countermand\nOur offer to it. But I know a way\nTo bring you arms, from where the King doth lay\nHis whole munition; and believe there is\nNo other place to all the armories\nBoth of himself and son.\u201d This said, a pair\nOf lofty stairs he climb\u2019d, and to th\u2019 affair\nTwelve shields, twelve lances brought, as many casques\nWith horsehair plumes; and set to bitter tasks\nBoth son and sire. Then shrunk Ulysses\u2019 knees,\nAnd his lov\u2019d heart, when thus in arms he sees\nSo many Wooers, and their shaken darts;\nFor then the work show\u2019d as it ask\u2019d more parts\nTo safe performance, and he told his son\nThat or Melanthius or his maids had done\nA deed that foul war to their hands conferr\u2019d.\n\u201cO father,\u201d he replied, \u201c\u2019tis I have err\u2019d\nIn this caus\u2019d labour; I, and none but I,\nThat left the door ope of your armoury.\nBut some, it seems, hath set a sharper eye\nOn that important place. Eum\u00e6us! Haste\nAnd shut the door, observing who hath past\nTo this false action; any maid, or one\nThat I suspect more, which is Dolius\u2019 son.\u201d\nWhile these spake thus, Melanthius went again\nFor more fair arms; when the renown\u00e9d swain\nEum\u00e6us saw, and told Ulysses straight\nIt was the hateful man that his conceit\nBefore suspected, who had done that ill;\nAnd, being again there, ask\u2019d if he should kill,\nIf his pow\u2019r serv\u2019d, or he should bring the swain\nTo him, t\u2019 inflict on him a sev\u2019ral pain\nFor ev\u2019ry forfeit he had made his house.\nHe answer\u2019d: \u201cI and my Telemachus\nWill here contain these proud ones in despite,\nHow much soever these stol\u2019n arms excite\nTheir guilty courages, while you two take\nPossession of the chamber. The doors make\nSure at your back, and then, surprising him,\nHis feet and hands bind, wrapping ev\u2019ry limb\nIn pliant chains; and with a halter cast\nAbove the wind-beam\u2014at himself made fast\u2014\nAloft the column draw him; where alive\nHe long may hang, and pains enough deprive\nHis vex\u00e9d life before his death succeed.\u201d\nThis charge, soon heard, as soon they put to deed,\nStole on his stealth, and at the further end\nOf all the chamber saw him busily bend\nHis hands to more arms, when they, still at door,\nWatch\u2019d his return. At last he came, and bore\nIn one hand a fair helm, in th\u2019 other held\nA broad and ancient rusty-rested shield,\nThat old Laertes in his youth had worn,\nOf which the cheek-bands had with age been torn.\nThey rush\u2019d upon him, caught him by the hair,\nAnd dragg\u2019d him in again; whom, crying out,\nThey cast upon the pavement, wrapp\u2019d about\nWith sure and pinching cords both foot and hand,\nAnd then, in full act of their King\u2019s command,\nA pliant chain bestow\u2019d on him, and hal\u2019d\nHis body up the column, till he scal\u2019d\nThe highest wind-beam; where made firmly fast,\nEum\u00e6us on his just infliction past\nThis pleasurable cavil: \u201cNow you may\nAll night keep watch here, and the earliest day\nDiscern, being hung so high, to rouse from rest\nYour dainty cattle to the Wooers\u2019 feast.\nThere, as befits a man of means so fair,\nSoft may you sleep, nought under you but air;\nAnd so long hang you.\u201d Thus they left him there,\nMade fast the door, and with Ulysses were\nAll arm\u2019d in th\u2019 instant. Then they all stood close,\nTheir minds fire breath\u2019d in flames against their foes,\nFour in th\u2019 entry fighting all alone;\nWhen from the hall charg\u2019d many a mighty one.\nBut to them then Jove\u2019s seed, Minerva, came,\nResembling Mentor both in voice and frame\nOf manly person. Passing well apaid\nUlysses was, and said: \u201cNow, Mentor, aid\n\u2019Gainst these odd mischiefs; call to memory now\nMy often good to thee, and that we two\nOf one year\u2019s life are.\u201d Thus he said, but thought\nft was Minerva, that had ever brought\nTo her side safety. On the other part,\nThe Wooers threaten\u2019d; but the chief in heart\nWas Agelaus, who to Mentor spake:\n\u201cMentor! Let no words of Ulysses make\nThy hand a fighter on his feeble side\n\u2018Gainst all us Wooers; for we firm abide\nIn this persuasion, that when sire and son\nOur swords have slain, thy life is sure to run\nOne fortune with them. What strange acts hast thou\nConceit to form here? Thy head must bestow\nThe wreak of theirs on us. And when thy pow\u2019rs\nAre taken down by these fierce steels of ours,\nAll thy possessions, in-doors and without,\nMust raise on heap with his; and all thy rout\nOf sons and daughters in thy turrets bleed\nWreak off\u2019rings to us; and our town stand freed\nOf all charge with thy wife.\u201d Minerva\u2019s heart\nWas fir\u2019d with these braves, the approv\u2019d desert\nOf her Ulysses chiding, saying: \u201cNo more\nThy force nor fortitude as heretofore\nWill gain thee glory; when nine years at Troy\nWhite-wristed Helen\u2019s rescue did employ\nThy arms and wisdom, still and ever us\u2019d,\nThe bloods of thousands through the field diffus\u2019d\nBy thy vast valour; Priam\u2019s broad-way\u2019d town\nBy thy grave parts was sack\u2019d and overthrown;\nAnd now, amongst thy people and thy goods,\nAgainst the Wooers\u2019 base and petulant bloods\nStint\u2019st thou thy valour? Rather mourning here\nThan manly fighting? Come, friend, stand we near,\nAnd note my labour, that thou may\u2019st discern\nAmongst thy foes how Mentor\u2019s nerves will earn\nAll thy old bounties.\u201d This she spake, but stay\u2019d\nHer hand from giving each-way-often-sway\u2019d\nUncertain conquest to his certain use,\nBut still would try what self-pow\u2019rs would produce\nBoth in the father and the glorious son.\nThen on the wind-beam that along did ron\nThe smoky roof, transform\u2019d, Minerva sat,\nLike to a swallow; sometimes cuffing at\nThe swords and lances, rushing from her seat,\nAnd up and down the troubl\u2019d house did beat\nHer wing at ev\u2019ry motion. And as she\nHad rous\u2019d Ulysses; so the enemy\nDamastor\u2019s son excited, Polybus,\nAmphinomus, and Demoptolemus,\nEurynomus, and Polyctorides;\nFor these were men that of the wooing prease\nWere most egregious, and the clearly best\nIn strength of hand of all the desp\u2019rate rest\nThat yet surviv\u2019d, and now fought for their souls;\nWhich straight swift arrows sent among the fowls.\nBut first, Damastor\u2019s son had more spare breath\nTo spend on their excitements ere his death,\nAnd said: That now Ulysses would forbear\nHis dismal hand, since Mentor\u2019s spirit was there,\nAnd blew vain vaunts about Ulysses\u2019 ears;\nIn whose trust he would cease his massacres,\nRest him, and put his friend\u2019s huge boasts in proof;\nAnd so was he beneath the entry\u2019s roof\nLeft with Telemachus and th\u2019 other two.\n\u201cAt whom,\u201d said he, \u201cdischarge no darts, but throw\nAll at Ulysses, rousing his faint rest;\nWhom if we slaughter, by our interest\nIn Jove\u2019s assistance, all the rest may yield\nOur pow\u2019rs no care, when he strews once the field.\u201d\nAs he then will\u2019d, they all at random threw\nWhere they suppos\u2019d he rested; and then flew\nMinerva after ev\u2019ry dart, and made\nSome strike the threshold, some the walls invade,\nSome beat the doors, and all acts render\u2019d vain\nTheir grave steel offer\u2019d. Which escap\u2019d, again\nCame on Ulysses, saying: \u201cO that we\nThe Wooers\u2019 troop with our joint archery\nMight so assail, that where their spirits dream\nOn our deaths first, we first may slaughter them!\u201d\nThus the much-suff\u2019rer said; and all let-fly,\nWhen ev\u2019ry man struck dead his enemy.\nUlysses slaughter\u2019d Demoptolemus.\nEuryades by young Telemachus\nHis death encounter\u2019d. Good Eum\u00e6us slew\nElatus. And Phil\u0153tius overthrew\nPisander. All which tore the pav\u00e9d floor\nUp with their teeth. The rest retir\u2019d before\nTheir second charge to inner rooms; and then\nUlysses follow\u2019d; from the slaughter\u2019d men\nTheir darts first drawing. While which work was done,\nThe Wooers threw with huge contention\nTo kill them all; when with her swallow-wing\nMinerva cuff\u2019d, and made their jav\u2019lins ring\nAgainst the doors and thresholds, as before.\nSome yet did graze upon their marks. One tore\nThe prince\u2019s wrist, which was Amphimedon,\nTh\u2019 extreme part of the skin but touch\u2019d upon.\nCtesippus over good Eumeeus\u2019 shield\nHis shoulder\u2019s top did taint; which yet did yield\nThe lance free pass, and gave his hurt the ground.\nAgain then charg\u2019d the Wooers, and girt round\nUlysses with their lances; who turn\u2019d head,\nAnd with his jav\u2019lin struck Eurydamas dead.\nTelemachus disliv\u2019d Amphimedon;\nEum\u00e6us, Polybus; Phil\u0153tius won\nCtesippus\u2019 bosom with his dart, and said,\nIn quittance of the jester\u2019s part he play\u2019d,\nThe neat\u2019s foot hurling at Ulysses: \u201cNow,\nGreat son of Polytherses, you that vow\nYour wit to bitter taunts, and love to wound\nThe heart of any with a jest, so crown\u2019d\nYour wit be with a laughter, never yielding\nTo fools in folly, but your glory building\nOn putting down in fooling, spitting forth\nPuff\u2019d words at all sorts, cease to scoff at worth,\nAnd leave revenge of vile words to the Gods,\nSince their wits bear the sharper edge by odds;\nAnd, in the mean time, take the dart I drave,\nFor that right hospitable foot you gave\nDivine Ulysses, begging but his own.\u201d\nThus spake the black-ox-herdsman; and straight down\nUlysses struck another with his dart\u2014\nDamastor\u2019s son. Telemachus did part,\nJust in the midst, the belly of the fair\nEvenor\u2019s son; his fierce pile taking air\nOut at his back. Flat fell he on his face,\nHis whole brows knocking, and did mark the place.\nAnd now man-slaught\u2019ring Pallas took in hand\nHer snake-fring\u2019d shield, and on that beam took stand\nIn her true form, where swallow-like she sat.\nAnd then, in this way of the house and that,\nThe Wooers, wounded at the heart with fear,\nFled the encounter; as in pastures where\nFat herds of oxen feed, about the field\n(As if wild madness their instincts impell\u2019d)\nThe high-fed bullocks fly, whom in the spring,\nWhen days are long, gad-bees or breezes sting.\nUlysses and his son the flyers chas\u2019d,\nAs when, with crooked beaks and seres, a cast\nOf hill-bred eagles, cast-off at some game,\nThat yet their strengths keep, but, put up, in flame\nThe eagle stoops; from which, along the field\nThe poor fowls make wing, this and that way yield\nTheir hard-flown pinions, then the clouds assay\nFor \u2019scape or shelter, their forlorn dismay\nAll spirit exhaling, all wings\u2019 strength to carry\nTheir bodies forth, and, truss\u2019d up, to the quarry\nTheir falconers ride-in, and rejoice to see\nTheir hawks perform a flight so fervently;\nSo, in their flight, Ulysses with his heir\nDid stoop and cuff the Wooers, that the air\nBroke in vast sighs, whose heads they shot and cleft,\nThe pavement boiling with the souls they reft.\nLiodes, running to Ulysses, took\nHis knees, and thus did on his name invoke;\n\u201cUlysses! Let me pray thee to my place\nAfford the rev\u2019rence, and to me the grace;\nThat never did or said, to any dame\nThy court contain\u2019d, or deed, or word to blame;\nBut others so affected I have made\nI lay down their insolence; and, if the trade\nThey kept with wickedness have made them still\nDespise my speech, and use their wonted ill,\nThey have their penance by the stroke of death,\nWhich their desert divinely warranteth.\nBut I am priest amongst them, and shall I\nThat nought have done worth death amongst them die?\nFrom thee this proverb then will men derive:\n_Good turns do never their mere deeds survive.\u201d_\nHe, bending his displeas\u00e9d forehead, said:\n\u201cIf you be priest among them, as you plead,\nYet you would marry, and with my wife too,\nAnd have descent by her. For all that woo\nWish to obtain, which they should never do,\nDames\u2019 husbands living. You must therefore pray\nOf force, and oft in Court here, that the day\nOf my return for him might never shine;\nThe death to me wish\u2019d, therefore, shall be thine.\u201d\nThis said, he took a sword up that was cast\nFrom Agelaus, having struck his last,\nAnd on the priest\u2019s mid neck he laid a stroke\nThat struck his head off, tumbling as he spoke.\nThen did the poet Phemius (whose surname\nWas call\u2019d Terpiades; who thither came\nForc\u2019d by the Wooers) fly death; but being near\nThe court\u2019s great gate, he stood, and parted there\nIn two his counsels; either to remove\nAnd take the altar of Herceian Jove\n(Made sacred to him, with a world of art\nEngrav\u2019n about it, where were wont t\u2019 impart\nLaertes and Ulysses many a thigh\nOf broad-brow\u2019d oxen to the Deity)\nOr venture to Ulysses, clasp his knee,\nAnd pray his ruth. The last was the decree\nHis choice resolv\u2019d on. \u2019Twixt the royal throne\nAnd that fair table that the bowl stood on\nWith which they sacrific\u2019d, his harp he laid\nAlong the earth, the King\u2019s knees hugg\u2019d, and said:\n\u201cUlysses! Let my pray\u2019rs obtain of thee\nMy sacred skill\u2019s respect, and ruth to me!\nIt will hereafter grieve thee to have slain\nA poet, that doth sing to Gods and men.\nI of myself am taught, for God alone\nAll sorts of song hath in my bosom sown,\nAnd I, as to a God, will sing to thee;\nThen do not thou deal like the priest with me.\nThine own lov\u2019d son Telemachus will say,\nThat not to beg here, nor with willing way\nWas my access to thy high court addrest,\nTo give the Wooers my song after feast,\nBut, being many, and so much more strong,\nThey forced me hither, and compell\u2019d my song.\u201d\nThis did the prince\u2019s sacred virtue hear,\nAnd to the King, his father, said: \u201cForbear\nTo mix the guiltless with the guilty\u2019s blood.\nAnd with him likewise let our mercies save\nMedon the herald, that did still behave\nHimself with care of my good from a child;\nIf by Eum\u00e6us yet he be not kill\u2019d,\nOr by Phil\u0153tius, nor your fury met,\nWhile all this blood about the house it swet.\u201d\nThis Medon heard, as lying hid beneath\nA throne set near, half-dead with fear of death;\nA new-flay\u2019d ox-hide, as but there thrown by,\nHis serious shroud made, he lying there to fly.\nBut hearing this he quickly left the throne,\nHis ox-hide cast as quickly, and as soon\nThe prince\u2019s knees seiz\u2019d, saying: \u201cO my love,\nI am not slain, but here alive and move.\nAbstain yourself, and do not see your sire\nQuench with my cold blood the unmeasur\u2019d fire\nThat flames in his strength, making spoil of me,\nHis wrath\u2019s right, for the Wooers\u2019 injury.\u201d\nUlysses smil\u2019d, and said: \u201cBe confident\nThis man hath sav\u2019d and made thee different,\nTo let thee know, and say, and others see,\n_Good life is much more safe than villany._\nGo then, sit free without from death within.\nThis much-renown\u00e9d singer from the sin\nOf these men likewise quit. Both rest you there,\nWhile I my house purge as it fits me here.\u201d\nThis said, they went and took their seat without\nAt Jove\u2019s high altar, looking round about,\nExpecting still their slaughter. When the King\nSearch\u2019d round the hall, to try life\u2019s hidden wing\nMade from more death. But all laid prostrate there\nIn blood and gore he saw. Whole shoals they were,\nAnd lay as thick as in a hollow creek\nWithout the white sea, when the fishers break\nTheir many-mesh\u2019d draught-net up, there lie\nFish frisking on the sands, and fain the dry\nWould for the wet change, but th\u2019 all-seeing beam\nThe sun exhales hath suck\u2019d their lives from them;\nSo one by other sprawl\u2019d the Wooers there.\nUlysses and his son then bid appear\nThe nurse Euryclea, to let her hear\nHis mind in something fit for her affair.\nHe op\u2019d the door, and call\u2019d, and said: \u201cRepair,\nGrave matron long since born, that art our spy\nTo all this house\u2019s servile housewif\u2019ry;\nMy father calls thee, to impart some thought\nThat asks thy action.\u201d His word found in nought\nHer slack observance, who straight op\u2019d the door\nAnd enter\u2019d to him; when himself before\nHad left the hall. But there the King she view\u2019d\nAmongst the slain, with blood and gore imbrued.\nAnd as a lion skulking all in night,\nFar-off in pastures, and come home, all dight\nIn jaws and breast-locks with an ox\u2019s blood\nNew feasted on him, his looks full of mood;\nSo look\u2019d Ulysses, all his hands and feet\nFreckled with purple. When which sight did greet\nThe poor old woman (such works being for eyes\nOf no soft temper) out she brake in cries,\nWhose vent, though throughly open\u2019d, he yet clos\u2019d,\nCall\u2019d her more near, and thus her plaints compos\u2019d:\n\u201cForbear, nor shriek thus, but vent joys as loud.\n_It is no piety to bemoan the proud,_\nThough ends befall them moving ne\u2019er so much,\nThese are the portions of the Gods to such.\n_Men\u2019s own impieties in their instant act\nSustain their plagues, which are with stay but rackt._\nBut these men Gods nor men had in esteem,\nNor good nor bad had any sense in them,\nTheir lives directly ill were, therefore, cause\nThat Death in these stern forms so deeply draws.\nRecount, then, to me those licentious dames\nThat lost my honour and their sex\u2019s shames.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you truly,\u201d she replied: \u201cThere are\nTwice five-and-twenty women here that share\nAll work amongst them; whom I taught to spin,\nAnd bear the just bands that they suffer\u2019d in.\nOf all which only there were twelve that gave\nThemselves to impudence and light behave,\nNor me respecting, nor herself\u2014the Queen.\nAnd for your son he hath but lately been\nOf years to rule; nor would his mother bear\nHis empire where her women\u2019s labours were,\nBut let me go and give her notice now\nOf your arrival. Sure some God doth show\nHis hand upon her in this rest she takes,\nThat all these uproars bears and never wakes.\u201d\n\u201cNor wake her yet,\u201d said he, \u201cbut cause to come\nThose twelve light women to this utter room.\u201d\nShe made all utmost haste to come and go,\nAnd bring the women he had summon\u2019d so.\nThen both his swains and son he bade go call\nThe women to their aid, and clear the hall\nOf those dead bodies, cleanse each board and throne\nWith wetted sponges. Which with fitness done,\nHe bade take all the strumpets \u2019twixt the wall\nOf his first court and that room next the hall,\nIn which the vessels of the house were scour\u2019d,\nAnd in their bosoms sheath their ev\u2019ry sword,\nTill all their souls were fled, and they had then\nFelt \u2019twas but pain to sport with lawless men.\nThis said, the women came all drown\u2019d in moan,\nAnd weeping bitterly. But first was done\nThe bearing thence the dead; all which beneath\nThe portico they stow\u2019d, where death on death\nThey heap\u2019d together. Then took all the pains\nUlysses will\u2019d. His son yet and the swains\nWith paring-shovels wrought. The women bore\nTheir parings forth, and all the clotter\u2019d gore.\nThe house then cleans\u2019d, they brought the women out,\nAnd put them in a room so wall\u2019d about\nThat no means serv\u2019d their sad estates to fly.\nThen said Telemachus: \u201cThese shall not die\nA death that lets out any wanton blood,\nAnd vents the poison that gave lust her food,\nThe body cleansing, but a death that chokes\nThe breath, and altogether that provokes\nAnd seems as bellows to abhorr\u00e9d lust,\nThat both on my head pour\u2019d depraves unjust,\nAnd on my mother\u2019s, scandalling the Court,\nWith men debauch\u2019d, in so abhorr\u2019d a sort.\u201d\nThis said, a halser of a ship they cast\nAbout a cross-beam of the roof, which fast\nThey made about their necks, in twelve parts cut,\nAnd hal\u2019d them up so high they could not put\nTheir feet to any stay. As which was done,\nLook how a mavis, or a pigeon,\nIn any grove caught with a springe or net,\nWith struggling pinions \u2019gainst the ground doth beat\nHer tender body, and that then strait bed\nIs sour to that swing in which she was bred;\nSo striv\u2019d these taken birds, till ev\u2019ry one\nHer pliant halter had enforc\u2019d upon\nHer stubborn neck, and then aloft was haul\u2019d\nTo wretched death. A little space they sprawl\u2019d,\nTheir feet fast moving, but were quickly still.\nThen fetch\u2019d they down Melanthius, to fulfill\nThe equal execution; which was done\nIn portal of the hall, and thus begun:\nThey first slit both his nostrils, cropp\u2019d each ear,\nHis members tugg\u2019d off, which the dogs did tear\nAnd chop up bleeding sweet; and, while red-hot\nThe vice-abhorring blood was, off they smote\nHis hands and feet; and there that work had end.\nThen wash\u2019d they hands and feet that blood had stain\u2019d,\nAnd took the house again. And then the King\nEuryclea calling, bade her quickly bring\nAll-ill-expelling brimstone, and some fire,\nThat with perfumes cast he might make entire\nThe house\u2019s first integrity in all.\nAnd then his timely will was, she should call\nHer Queen and ladies; still yet charging her\nThat all the handmaids she should first confer.\nShe said he spake as fitted; but, before,\nShe held it fit to change the weeds he wore,\nAnd she would others bring him, that not so\nHis fair broad shoulders might rest clad, and show\nHis person to his servants was to blame.\n\u201cFirst bring me fire,\u201d said he. She went and came\nWith fire and sulphur straight; with which the hall\nAnd of the huge house all rooms capital\nHe throughly sweeten\u2019d. Then went nurse to call\nThe handmaid servants down; and up she went\nTo tell the news, and will\u2019d them to present\nTheir service to their sov\u2019reign. Down they came\nSustaining torches all, and pour\u2019d a flame\nOf love about their lord, with welcomes home,\nWith huggings of his hands, with laboursome\nBoth heads and foreheads kisses, and embraces,\nAnd plied him so with all their loving graces\nThat tears and sighs took up his whole desire;\nFor now he knew their hearts to him entire.\n\n THE END OF THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWENTY-THIRD BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nUlysses to his wife is known.\nA brief sum of his travels shown.\nHimself, his son, and servants go\nT\u2019 approve the Wooers\u2019 overthrow.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03a8\u03b9\u0311._\nFor all annoys\nSustain\u2019d before,\nThe true wife\u2019s joys\nNow made the more.\n\nThe servants thus inform\u2019d, the matron goes\nUp where the Queen was cast in such repose,\nAffected with a fervent joy to tell\nWhat all this time she did with pain conceal.\nHer knees revok\u2019d their first strength, and her feet\nWere borne above the ground with wings to greet\nThe long-griev\u2019d Queen with news her King was come;\nAnd, near her, said: \u201cWake, leave this withdrawn room,\nThat now your eyes may see at length, though late,\nThe man return\u2019d, which, all the heavy date\nYour woes have rack\u2019d out, you have long\u2019d to see.\nUlysses is come home, and hath set free\nHis court of all your Wooers, slaught\u2019ring all\nFor wasting so his goods with festival,\nHis house so vexing, and for violence done\nSo all ways varied to his only son.\u201d\nShe answer\u2019d her: \u201cThe Gods have made thee mad,\nOf whose pow\u2019r now thy pow\u2019rs such proof have had.\nThe Gods can blind with follies wisest eyes,\nAnd make men foolish so to make them wise.\nFor they have hurt ev\u2019n thy grave brain, that bore\nAn understanding spirit heretofore.\nWhy hast thou wak\u2019d me to more tears, when Moan\nHath turn\u2019d my mind, with tears into her own?\nThy madness much more blameful, that with lies\nThy haste is laden, and both robs mine eyes\nOf most delightsome sleep, and sleep of them,\nThat now had bound me in his sweet extreme,\nT\u2019 embrace my lids and close my visual spheres:\nI have not slept so much this twenty years,\nSince first my dearest sleeping-mate was gone\nFor that too-ill-to-speak-of Ilion.\nHence, take your mad steps back. If any maid\nOf all my train besides a part had play\u2019d\nSo bold to wake, and tell mine ears such lies,\nI had return\u2019d her to her housewif\u2019ries\nWith good proof of my wrath to such rude dames.\nBut go, your years have sav\u2019d their younger blames.\u201d\nShe answer\u2019d her: \u201cI nothing wrong your ear,\nBut tell the truth. Your long-miss\u2019d lord is here,\nAnd, with the Wooers\u2019 slaughter, his own hand,\nIn chief exploit, hath to his own command\nReduc\u2019d his house; and that poor guest was he,\nThat all those Wooers wrought such injury.\nTelemachus had knowledge long ago\nThat \u2019twas his father, but his wisdom so\nObserv\u2019d his counsels, to give surer end\nTo that great work to which they did contend.\u201d\nThis call\u2019d her spirits to their conceiving places;\nShe sprung for joy from blames into embraces\nOf her grave nurse, wip\u2019d ev\u2019ry tear away\nFrom her fair cheeks, and then began to say\nWhat nurse said over thus: \u201cO nurse, can this\nBe true thou say\u2019st? How could that hand of his\nAlone destroy so many? They would still\nTroop all together. How could he then kill\nSuch numbers so united?\u201d \u201cHow,\u201d said she,\n\u201cI have not seen nor heard; but certainly\nThe deed is done. We sat within in fear,\nThe doors shut on us, and from thence might hear\nThe sighs and groans of ev\u2019ry man he slew,\nBut heard nor saw more, till at length there flew\nYour son\u2019s voice to mine ear, that call\u2019d to me,\nAnd bade me then come forth, and then I see\nUlysses standing in the midst of all\nYour slaughter\u2019d Wooers, heap\u2019d up, like a wall,\nOne on another round about his side.\nIt would have done you good to have descried\nYour conqu\u2019ring lord all-smear\u2019d with blood and gore\nSo like a lion. Straight, then, off they bore\nThe slaughter\u2019d carcasses, that now before\nThe fore-court gates lie, one on another pil\u2019d.\nAnd now your victor all the hall, defil\u2019d\nWith stench of hot death, is perfuming round,\nAnd with a mighty fire the hearth hath crown\u2019d.\n\n\u201cThus, all the death remov\u2019d, and ev\u2019ry room\nMade sweet and sightly, that yourself should come\nHis pleasure sent me. Come, then, take you now\nYour mutual fills of comfort. Grief on you\nHath long and many suff\u2019rings laid; which length,\nWhich many suff\u2019rings, now your virtuous strength\nOf uncorrupted chasteness hath conferr\u2019d\nA happy end to. He that long hath err\u2019d\nIs safe arriv\u2019d at home; his wife, his son,\nFound safe and good; all ill that hath been done\nOn all the doers\u2019 heads, though long prolong\u2019d,\nHis right hath wreak\u2019d, and in the place they wrong\u2019d.\u201d\nShe answer\u2019d: \u201cDo not you now laugh and boast\nAs you had done some great act, seeing most\nInto his being; for you know he won\u2014\nEv\u2019n through his poor and vile condition\u2014\nA kind of prompted thought that there was plac\u2019d\nSome virtue in him fit to be embrac\u2019d\nBy all the house, but most of all by me,\nAnd by my son that was the progeny\nOf both our loves. And yet it is not he,\nFor all the likely proofs ye plead to me,\u2014\nSome God hath slain the Wooers in disdain\nOf the abhorr\u00e9d pride he saw so reign\nIn those base works they did. No man alive,\nOr good or bad, whoever did arrive\nAt their abodes once, ever could obtain\nRegard of them; and therefore their so vain\nAnd vile deserts have found as vile an end.\nBut, for Ulysses, never will extend\nHis wish\u2019d return to Greece, nor he yet lives.\u201d\n\u201cHow strange a Queen are you,\u201d said she, \u201cthat gives\nNo truth your credit, that your husband, set\nClose in his house at fire, can purchase yet\nNo faith of you, but that he still is far\nFrom any home of his! Your wit\u2019s at war\nWith all credulity ever! And yet now,\nI\u2019ll name a sign shall force belief from you:\nI bath\u2019d him lately, and beheld the scar\nThat still remains a mark too ocular\nTo leave your heart yet blinded; and I then\nHad run and told you, but his hand was fain\nTo close my lips from th\u2019 acclamation\nMy heart was breathing, and his wisdom won\nMy still retention, till he gave me leave\nAnd charge to tell you this. Now then receive\nMy life for gage of his return; which take\nIn any cruel fashion, if I make\nAll this not clear to you.\u201d \u201cLov\u2019d nurse,\u201d said she,\n\u201cThough many things thou know\u2019st, yet these things be\nVeil\u2019d in the counsels th\u2019 uncreated Gods\nHave long time mask\u2019d in; whose dark periods\n\u2019Tis hard for thee to see into. But come,\nLet\u2019s see my son, the slain, and him by whom\nThey had their slaughter.\u201d This said, down they went;\nWhen, on the Queen\u2019s part, divers thoughts were spent,\nIf, all this giv\u2019n no faith, she still should stand\nAloof, and question more; or his hugg\u2019d hand\nAnd lov\u00e9d head she should at first assay\nWith free-giv\u2019n kisses. When her doubtful way\nHad pass\u2019d the stony pavement, she took seat\nAgainst her husband, in the opposite heat\nThe fire then cast upon the other wall.\nHimself set by the column of the hall,\nHis looks cast downwards, and expected still\nWhen her incredulous and curious will\nTo shun ridiculous error, and the shame\nTo kiss a husband that was not the same,\nWould down, and win enough faith from his sight.\nShe silent sat, and her perplex\u00e9d plight\nAmaze encounter\u2019d. Sometimes she stood clear\nHe was her husband; sometimes the ill wear\nHis person had put on transform\u2019d him so\nThat yet his stamp would hardly current go.\nHer son, her strangeness seeing, blam\u2019d her thus:\n\u201cMother, ungentle mother! tyrannous!\nIn this too-curious modesty you show.\nWhy sit you from my father, nor bestow\nA word on me t\u2019 enquire and clear such doubt\nAs may perplex you? Found man ever out\nOne other such a wife that could forbear\nHer lov\u2019d lord\u2019s welcome home, when twenty year\nIn infinite suff\u2019rance he had spent apart.\n_No flint so hard is as a woman\u2019s heart.\u201d_\n\u201cSon,\u201d said she, \u201camaze contains my mind,\nNor can I speak and use the common kind\nOf those enquiries, nor sustain to see\nWith opposite looks his count\u2019nance. If this be\nMy true Ulysses now return\u2019d, there are\nTokens betwixt us of more fitness far\nTo give me argument he is my lord;\nAnd my assurance of him may afford\nMy proofs of joy for him from all these eyes\nWith more decorum than obj\u00e9ct their guise\nTo public notice.\u201d The much-suff\u2019rer brake\nIn laughter out, and to his son said: \u201cTake\nYour mother from the prease, that she may make\nHer own proofs of me, which perhaps may give\nMore cause to the acknowledgments that drive\nTheir show thus off. But now, because I go\nSo poorly clad, she takes disdain to know\nSo loath\u2019d a creature for her lov\u00e9d lord.\nLet us consult, then, how we may accord\nThe town to our late action. Some one slain\nHath made the all-left slaughterer of him fain\nTo fly his friends and country; but our swords\nHave slain a city\u2019s most supportful lords,\nThe chief peers of the kingdom, therefore see\nYou use wise means t\u2019 uphold your victory.\u201d\n\u201cSee you to that, good father,\u201d said the son,\n\u201cWhose counsels have the sov\u2019reign glory won\nFrom all men living. None will strive with you,\nBut with unquestion\u2019d girlands grace your brow,\nTo whom our whole alacrities we vow\nIn free attendance. Nor shall our hands leave\nYour onsets needy of supplies to give\nAll the effects that in our pow\u2019rs can fall.\u201d\n\u201cThen this,\u201d said he, \u201cto me seems capital\nOf all choice courses: Bathe we first, and then\nAttire we freshly; all our maids and men\nEnjoining likewise to their best attire.\nThe sacred singer then let touch his lyre,\nAnd go before us all in graceful dance,\nThat all without, to whose ears shall advance\nOur cheerful accents, or of travellers by,\nOr firm inhabitants, solemnity\nOf frolic nuptials may imagine here.\nAnd this perform we, lest the massacre\nOf all our Wooers be divulg\u2019d about\nThe ample city, ere ourselves get out\nAnd greet my father in his grove of trees,\nWhere, after, we will prove what policies\nOlympius shall suggest to overcome\nOur latest toils, and crown our welcome home.\u201d\nThis all obey\u2019d; bath\u2019d, put on fresh attire\nBoth men and women did. Then took his lyre\nThe holy singer, and set thirst on fire\nWith songs and faultless dances; all the court\nRung with the footings that the numerous sport\nFrom jocund men drew and fair-girdled dames;\nWhich heard abroad, thus flew the common fames:\n\u201cThis sure the day is when the much-woo\u2019d Queen\nIs richly wed. O wretch! That hath not been\nSo constant as to keep her ample house\nTill th\u2019 utmost hour had brought her foremost spouse.\u201d\nThus some conceiv\u2019d, but little knew the thing.\nAnd now Eurynom\u00e9 had bath\u2019d the King,\nSmooth\u2019d him with oils, and he himself attir\u2019d\nIn vestures royal. Her part then inspir\u2019d\nThe Goddess Pallas, deck\u2019d his head and face\nWith infinite beauties, gave a goodly grace\nOf stature to him, a much plumper plight\nThrough all his body breath\u2019d, curls soft and bright\nAdorn\u2019d his head withal, and made it show\nAs if the flow\u2019ry hyacinth did grow\nIn all his pride there, in the gen\u2019ral trim\nOf ev\u2019ry lock and ev\u2019ry curious limb.\nLook how a skilful artizan, well-seen\nIn all arts metalline, as having been\nTaught by Minerva and the God of fire,\nDoth gold with silver mix so that entire\nThey keep their self-distinction, and yet so\nThat to the silver from the gold doth flow\nA much more artificial lustre than his own,\nAnd thereby to the gold itself is grown\nA greater glory than if wrought alone,\nBoth being stuck off by either\u2019s mixtion;\nSo did Minerva her\u2019s and his combine,\nHe more in her, she more in him, did shine.\nLike an Immortal from the bath he rose,\nAnd to his wife did all his grace dispose,\nEncount\u2019ring this her strangeness: \u201cCruel dame\nOf all that breathe, the Gods past steel and flame\nHave made thee ruthless. Life retains not one\nOf all dames else that bears so overgrown\nA mind with abstinence, as twenty years\nTo miss her husband drown\u2019d in woes and tears,\nAnd at his coming keep aloof, and fare\nAs of his so long absence and his care\nNo sense had seiz\u2019d her. Go, nurse, make a bed,\nThat I alone may sleep; her heart is dead\nTo all reflection!\u201d To him thus replied\nThe wise Penelope: \u201cMan half-deified,\n\u2019Tis not my fashion to be taken straight\nWith bravest men, nor poorest use to sleight.\nYour mean appearance made not me retire,\nNor this your rich show makes me now admire,\nNor moves at all; for what is all to me\nIf not my husband? All his certainty\nI knew at parting; but, so long apart,\nThe outward likeness holds no full desert\nFor me to trust to. Go, nurse, see addrest\nA soft bed for him, and the single rest\nHimself affects so. Let it be the bed\nThat stands within our bridal chamber-sted,\nWhich he himself made. Bring it forth from thence,\nAnd see it furnish\u2019d with magnificence.\u201d\nThis said she to assay him, and did stir\nEv\u2019n his establish\u2019d patience; and to her\nWhom thus he answer\u2019d: \u201cWoman! your words prove\nMy patience strangely. Who is it can move\nMy bed out of his place? It shall oppress\nEarth\u2019s greatest understander; and, unless\nEv\u2019n God himself come, that can eas\u2019ly grace\nMen in their most skills, it shall hold his place;\nFor man he lives not that (as not most skill\u2019d,\nSo not most young) shall easily make it yield,\nIf, building on the strength in which he flows,\nHe adds both levers too and iron crows:\nFor in the fixture of the bed is shown\nA master-piece, a wonder; and \u2019twas done\nBy me, and none but me, and thus was wrought:\nThere was an olive-tree that had his grought\nAmidst a hedge, and was of shadow proud,\nFresh, and the prime age of his verdure show\u2019d,\nHis leaves and arms so thick that to the eye\nIt show\u2019d a column for solidity.\nTo this had I a comprehension\nTo build my bridal bow\u2019r; which all of stone,\nThick as the tree of leaves, I rais\u2019d, and cast\nA roof about it nothing meanly grac\u2019d,\nPut glued doors to it, that op\u2019d art enough,\nThen from the olive ev\u2019ry broad-leav\u2019d bough\nI lopp\u2019d away; then fell\u2019d the tree; and then\nWent over it both with my axe and plane,\nBoth govern\u2019d by my line, And then I hew\u2019d\nMy curious bedstead out; in which I shew\u2019d\nWork of no common hand. All this begun,\nI could not leave till to perfection\nMy pains had brought it; took my wimble, bor\u2019d\nThe holes, as fitted, and did last afford\nThe varied ornament, which show\u2019d no want\nOf silver, gold, and polish\u2019d elephant.\nAn ox-hide dyed in purple then I threw\nAbove the cords. And thus to curious view\nI hope I have objected honest sign\nTo prove I author nought that is not mine.\nBut if my bed stand unremov\u2019d or no,\nO woman, passeth human wit to know.\u201d\nThis sunk her knees and heart, to hear so true\nThe signs she urg\u2019d; and first did tears ensue\nHer rapt assurance; then she ran and spread\nHer arms about his neck, kiss\u2019d oft his head,\nAnd thus the curious stay she made excus\u2019d:\n\u201cUlysses! Be not angry that I us\u2019d\nSuch strange delays to this, since heretofore\nYour suff\u2019ring wisdom hath the garland wore\nFrom all that breathe; and \u2019tis the Gods that, thus\nWith mutual miss so long afflicting us,\nHave caus\u2019d my coyness; to our youths envied\nThat wish\u2019d society that should have tied\nOur youths and years together; and since now\nJudgment and Duty should our age allow\nAs full joys therein as in youth and blood,\nSee all young anger and reproof withstood\nFor not at first sight giving up my arms,\nMy heart still trembling lest the false alarms\nThat words oft strike-up should ridiculize me.\nHad Argive Helen known credulity\nWould bring such plagues with it, and her again,\nAs authoress of them all, with that foul stain\nTo her and to her country, she had stay\u2019d\nHer love and mixture from a stranger\u2019s bed;\nBut God impell\u2019d her to a shameless deed,\nBecause she had not in herself decreed,\nBefore th\u2019 attempt, that such acts still were shent\nAs simply in themselves as in th\u2019 event\nBy which not only she herself sustains,\nBut we, for her fault, have paid mutual pains.\nYet now, since these signs of our certain bed\nYou have discover\u2019d, and distinguish\u00e9d\nFrom all earth\u2019s others, no one man but you\nYet ever getting of it th\u2019 only show,\nNor one of all dames but myself and she\nMy father gave, old Actor\u2019s progeny,\nWho ever guarded to ourselves the door\nOf that thick-shaded chamber, I no more\nWill cross your clear persuasion, though till now\nI stood too doubtful and austere to you,\u201d\nThese words of hers, so justifying her stay,\nDid more desire of joyful moan convey\nTo his glad mind than if at instant sight\nShe had allow\u2019d him all his wishes\u2019 right.\nHe wept for joy, t\u2019 enjoy a wife so fit\nFor his grave mind, that knew his depth of wit,\nAnd held chaste virtue at a price so high,\nAnd as sad men at sea when shore is nigh,\nWhich long their hearts have wish\u2019d, their ship quite lost\nBy Neptune\u2019s rigour, and they vex\u2019d and tost\n\u2019Twixt winds and black waves, swimming for their lives,\nA few escap\u2019d, and that few that survives,\nAll drench\u2019d in foam and brine, crawl up to land,\nWith joy as much as they did worlds command;\nSo dear to this wife was her husband\u2019s sight,\nWho still embrac\u2019d his neck, and had, till light\nDisplay\u2019d her silver ensign, if the Dame,\nThat bears the blue sky intermix\u2019d with flame\nIn her fair eyes, had not infix\u2019d her thought\nOn other joys, for loves so hardly brought\nTo long\u2019d-for meeting; who th\u2019 extended night\nWithheld in long date, nor would let the light\nHer wing-hoov\u2019d horse join\u2014Lampus, Phaeton\u2014\nThose ever-colts that bring the morning on\nTo worldly men, but, in her golden chair,\nDown to the ocean by her silver hair\nBound her aspirings. Then Ulysses said:\n\u201cO wife! Nor yet are my contentions stay\u2019d.\nA most unmeasur\u2019d labour long and hard\nAsks more performance; to it being prepar\u2019d\nBy grave Tiresi\u00e1s, when down to hell\nI made dark passage, that his skill might tell\nMy men\u2019s return and mine. But come, and now\nEnjoy the sweet rest that our Fates allow.\u201d\n\u201cThe place of rest is ready,\u201d she replied,\n\u201cYour will at full serve, since the Deified\nHave brought you where your right is to command.\nBut since you know, God making understand\nYour searching mind, inform me what must be\nYour last set labour; since \u2019twill fall to me,\nI hope, to hear it after, tell me now.\n_The greatest pleasure is before to know.\u201d_\n\u201cUnhappy!\u201d said Ulysses; \u201cTo what end\nImportune you this labour? It will lend\nNor you nor me delight, but you shall know\nI was commanded yet more to bestow\nMy years in travel, many cities more\nBy sea to visit; and when first for shore\nI left my shipping, I was will\u2019d to take\nA naval oar in hand, and with it make\nMy passage forth till such strange men I met\nAs knew no sea, nor ever salt did eat\nWith any victuals, who the purple beaks\nOf ships did never see, nor that which breaks\nThe waves in curls, which is a fan-like oar,\nAnd serves as wings with which a ship doth soar.\nTo let me know, then, when I was arriv\u2019d\nOn that strange earth where such a people liv\u2019d,\nHe gave me this for an unfailing sign:\nWhen any one that took that oar of mine,\nBorne on my shoulder, for a corn-cleanse fan,\nI met ashore, and show\u2019d to be a man\nOf that land\u2019s labour, there had I command\nTo fix mine oar, and offer on that strand\nT\u2019 imperial Neptune, whom I must implore,\nA lamb, a bull, and sow-ascending boar;\nAnd then turn home, where all the other Gods\nThat in the broad heav\u2019n made secure abodes\nI must solicit\u2014all my curious heed\nGiv\u2019n to the sev\u2019ral rites they have decreed\u2014\nWith holy hecatombs; and then, at home,\nA gentle death should seize me that would come\nFrom out the sea, and take me to his rest\nIn full ripe age, about me living blest\nMy loving people; to which, he presag\u2019d,\nThe sequel of my fortunes were engag\u2019d.\u201d\n\u201cIf then,\u201d said she, \u201cthe Gods will please t\u2019 impose\nA happier being to your fortune\u2019s close\nThan went before, your hope gives comfort strength\nThat life shall lend you better days at length.\u201d\nWhile this discourse spent mutual speech, the bed\nEurynom\u00e9 and nurse had made, and spread\nWith richest furniture, while torches spent\nTheir parcel-gilt thereon. To bed then went\nThe aged nurse; and, where their sov\u2019reigns were,\nEurynom\u00e9, the chambermaid, did bear\nA torch, and went before them to their rest;\nTo which she left them and for her\u2019s addrest.\nThe King and Queen then now, as newly-wed,\nResum\u2019d the old laws of th\u2019 embracing bed.\nTelemachus and both his herdsmen then\nDissolv\u2019d the dances both to maids and men;\nWho in their shady roofs took timely sleep.\nThe bride and bridegroom having ceas\u2019d to keep\nObserv\u00e9d love-joys, from their fit delight\nThey turn\u2019d to talk. The Queen then did recite\nWhat she had suffer\u2019d by the hateful rout\nOf harmful Wooers, who had eat her out\nSo many oxen and so many sheep,\nHow many tun of wine their drinking deep\nHad quite exhausted. Great Ulysses then\nWhatever slaughters he had made of men,\nWhatever sorrows he himself sustain\u2019d,\nRepeated amply; and her ears remain\u2019d\nWith all delight attentive to their end,\nNor would one wink sleep till he told her all,\nBeginning where he gave the Cicons fall;\nFrom thence his pass to the Lotophagi;\nThe Cyclop\u2019s acts, the putting out his eye,\nAnd wreak of all the soldiers he had eat,\nNo least ruth shown to all they could entreat;\nHis way to \u00c6olus; his prompt receit\nAnd kind dismission; his enforc\u2019d retreat\nBy sudden tempest to the fishy main,\nAnd quite distraction from his course again;\nHis landing at the L\u00e6strigonian port,\nWhere ships and men in miserable sort\nMet all their spoils, his ship and he alone\nGot off from the abhorr\u2019d confusi\u00f3n;\nHis pass to Circe, her deceits and arts;\nHis thence descension to th\u2019 Infernal parts;\nHis life\u2019s course of the Theban prophet learn\u2019d,\nWhere all the slaughter\u2019d Grecians he discern\u2019d,\nAnd lov\u00e9d mother; his astonish\u2019d ear\nWith what the Siren\u2019s voices made him hear;\nHis \u2019scape from th\u2019 erring rocks, which Scylla was,\nAnd rough Charybdis, with the dang\u2019rous pass\nOf all that touch\u2019d there; his Sicilian\nOffence giv\u2019n to the Sun; his ev\u2019ry man\nDestroy\u2019d by thunder vollied out of heav\u2019n,\nThat split his ship; his own endeavours driv\u2019n\nTo shift for succours on th\u2019 Ogygian shore,\nWhere Nymph Calypso such affection bore\nTo him in his arrival, that with feast\nShe kept him in her caves, and would have blest\nHis welcome life with an immortal state\nWould he have stay\u2019d and liv\u2019d her nuptial mate,\nAll which she never could persuade him to;\nHis pass to the Ph\u00e6acians spent in woe;\nTheir hearty welcome of him, as he were\nA God descended from the starry sphere;\nTheir kind dismission of him home with gold,\nBrass, garments, all things his occasions would.\nThis last word us\u2019d, sleep seiz\u2019d his weary eye\nThat salves all care to all mortality.\nIn mean space Pallas entertain\u2019d intent\nThat when Ulysses thought enough time spent\nIn love-joys with his wife, to raise the day,\nAnd make his grave occasions call away.\nThe morning rose and he, when thus he said:\n\u201cO Queen, now satiate with afflictions laid\nOn both our bosoms,\u2014you oppress\u00e9d here\nWith cares for my return, I ev\u2019rywhere\nBy Jove and all the other Deities tost\nEv\u2019n till all hope of my return was lost,\u2014\nAnd both arriv\u2019d at this sweet haven, our bed,\nBe your care us\u2019d to see administ\u2019red\nMy house-possessions left. Those sheep, that were\nConsum\u2019d in surfeits by your Wooers here,\nI\u2019ll forage to supply with some; and more\nThe suff\u2019ring Grecians shall be made restore,\nEv\u2019n till our stalls receive their wonted fill.\n\n\u201cAnd now, to comfort my good father\u2019s ill\nLong suffer\u2019d for me, to the many-tree\u2019d\nAnd ample vineyard grounds it is decreed\nIn my next care that I must haste and see\nHis long\u2019d-for presence. In the mean time, be\nYour wisdom us\u2019d, that since, the sun ascended,\nThe fame will soon be through the town extended\nOf those I here have slain, yourself, got close\nUp to your chamber, see you there repose,\nCheer\u2019d with your women, and nor look afford\nWithout your court, nor any man a word.\u201d\nThis said, he arm\u2019d; to arms both son and swain\nHis pow\u2019r commanding, who did entertain\nHis charge with spirit, op\u2019d the gates and out,\nHe leading all. And now was hurl\u2019d about\nAurora\u2019s ruddy fire; through all whose light\nMinerva led them through the town from sight.\n\n THE END OF THE TWENTY-THIRD BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWENTY-FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS\n\n THE ARGUMENT\n\nBy Mercury the Wooers\u2019 souls\nAre usher\u2019d to th\u2019 infernal pools.\nUlysses with Laertes met,\nThe people are in uproar set\nAgainst them, for the Wooers\u2019 ends;\nWhom Pallas stays and renders friends.\n\n ANOTHER ARGUMENT\n\n_\u03a9._\nThe uproar\u2019s fire,\nThe people\u2019s fall:\nThe grandsire, sire,\nAnd son, to all.\n\nCyllenian Hermes, with his golden rod,\nThe Wooers\u2019 souls, that yet retain\u2019d abode\nAmidst their bodies, call\u2019d in dreadful rout\nForth to th\u2019 Infernals; who came murmuring out.\nAnd as amidst the desolate retreat\nOf some vast cavern, made the sacred seat\nOf austere spirits, bats with breasts and wings\nClasp fast the walls, and each to other clings,\nBut, swept off from their coverts, up they rise\nAnd fly with murmurs in amazeful guise\nAbout the cavern; so these, grumbling, rose\nAnd flock\u2019d together. Down before them goes\nNone-hurting Mercury to Hell\u2019s broad ways,\nAnd straight to those straits; where the ocean stays\nHis lofty current in calm deeps, they flew,\nThen to the snowy rock they next withdrew,\nAnd to the close of Ph\u0153bus\u2019 orient gates,\nThe nation then of dreams, and then the states\nOf those souls\u2019 idols that the weary dead\nGave up in earth, which in a flow\u2019ry mead\nHad habitable situati\u00f3n.\nAnd there they saw the soul of Thetis\u2019 son,\nOf good Patroclus, brave Antilochus,\nAnd Ajax, the supremely strenuous\nOf all the Greek host next Pel\u00ebion;\nAll which assembled about Maia\u2019s son.\nAnd to them, after, came the mournful ghost\nOf Agamemnon, with all those he lost\nIn false \u00c6gisthus\u2019 court. Achilles then\nBeholding there that mighty king of men,\nDeplor\u2019d his plight, and said: \u201cO Atreus\u2019 son!\nOf all hero\u00ebs, all opinion\nGave thee for Jove\u2019s most lov\u2019d, since most command\nOf all the Greeks he gave thy eminent hand\nAt siege of Ilion, where we suffer\u2019d so.\nAnd is the issue this, that first in woe\nStern Fate did therefore set thy sequel down?\n_None borne past others\u2019 Fates can pass his own._\nI wish to heav\u2019n that in the height of all\nOur pomp at Ilion Fate had sign\u2019d thy fall,\nThat all the Greeks might have advanc\u2019d to thee\nA famous sepulchre, and Fame might see\nThy son giv\u2019n honour in thy honour\u2019d end!\nBut now a wretched death did Fate extend\nTo thy confusion and thy issue\u2019s shame.\u201d\n\u201cO Thetis\u2019 son,\u201d said he, \u201cthe vital flame\nExtinct at Ilion, far from th\u2019 Argive fields,\nThe style of Blessed to thy virtue yields.\nAbout thy fall the best of Greece and Troy\nWere sacrific\u2019d to slaughter. Thy just joy\nConceiv\u2019d in battle with some worth forgot\nIn such a death as great Apollo shot\nAt thy encounters. Thy brave person lay\nHid in a dusty whirlwind, that made way\nWith human breaths spent in thy ruin\u2019s state\nThou, great, wert greatly valued in thy fate.\nAll day we fought about thee; nor at all\nHad ceas\u2019d our conflict, had not Jove let fall\nA storm that forc\u2019d off our unwilling feet.\nBut, having brought thee from the fight to fleet,\nThy glorious person, bath\u2019d and balm\u2019d, we laid\nAloft a bed; and round about thee paid\nThe Greeks warm tears to thy deplor\u2019d decease,\nQuite daunted, cutting all their curls\u2019 increase.\nThy death drave a divine voice through the seas\nThat started up thy mother from the waves;\nAnd all the m\u00e1rine Godheads left their caves,\nConsorting to our fleet her rapt repair.\nThe Greeks stood frighted to see sea and air\nAnd earth combine so in thy loss\u2019s sense,\nHad taken ship and fled for ever thence,\nIf old much-knowing-Nestor had not stay\u2019d\nTheir rushing off; his counsels having sway\u2019d\nIn all times former with such cause their courses;\nWho bade contain themselves, and trust their forces,\nFor all they saw was Thetis come from sea,\nWith others of the wat\u2019ry progeny,\nTo see and mourn for her deceas\u00e9d son.\nWhich stay\u2019d the fears that all to flight had won;\nAnd round about thee stood th\u2019 old sea-God\u2019s Seeds\nWretchedly mourning, their immortal weeds\nSpreading upon thee. All the sacred Nine\nOf deathless Muses paid thee dues divine,\nBy varied turns their heav\u2019nly voices venting,\nAll in deep passion for thy death consenting.\nAnd then of all our army not an eye\nYou could have seen undrown\u2019d in misery,\nThe moving Muse so rul\u2019d in ev\u2019ry mind.\nFull seventeen days and nights our tears confin\u2019d\nTo celebration of thy mourn\u00e9d end;\nBoth men and Gods did in thy moan contend.\nThe eighteenth day we spent about thy heap\nOf dying fire. Black oxen, fattest sheep\nWe slew past number. Then the precious spoil,\nThy corse, we took up, which with floods of oil\nAnd pleasant honey we embalm\u2019d, and then\nWrapp\u2019d thee in those robes that the Gods did rain.\nIn which we gave thee to the hallow\u2019d flame;\nTo which a number of heroical name,\nAs prest to sacrifice their vital right\nTo thy dead ruins while so bright they burn\u2019d.\nBoth foot and horse brake in, and fought and mourn\u2019d\nIn infinite tumult. But when all the night\nThe rich flame lasted, and that wasted quite\nThy body was with the enamour\u2019d fire:\nWe came in early morn, and an entire\nCollection made of ev\u2019ry ivory bone;\nWhich wash\u2019d in wine, and giv\u2019n fit uncti\u00f3n,\nA two-ear\u2019d bowl of gold thy mother gave,\nBy Bacchus giv\u2019n her and did form receive\nFrom Vulcan\u2019s famous hand, which, O renown\u2019d\nGreat Thetis\u2019 son, with thy fair bones we crown\u2019d\nMix\u2019d with the bones of Men\u0153tiades\nAnd brave Antilochus; who, in decease\nOf thy Patroclus, was thy favour\u2019s dear.\nAbout thee then a matchless sepulchre\nThe sacred host of the Achaians rais\u2019d\nUpon the Hellespont, where most it seiz\u2019d,\nFor height and conspicuity, the eyes\nOf living men and their posterities.\nThy mother then obtain\u2019d the Gods\u2019 consent\nTo institute an honour\u2019d game, that spent\nThe best approvement of our Grecian fames.\nIn whose praise I must say that many games\nAbout hero\u00ebs\u2019 sepulchres mine eyes\nHave seen perform\u2019d, but these bore off the prize\nWith miracles to me from all before.\nIn which thy silver-footed mother bore\nThe institution\u2019s name, but thy deserts,\nBeing great with heav\u2019n, caus\u2019d all the eminent parts.\nAnd thus, through all the worst effects of Fate,\nAchilles\u2019 fame ev\u2019n Death shall propagate.\nWhile anyone shall lend the light an eye\nDivine \u00c6acides shall never die.\nBut wherein can these comforts be conceiv\u2019d\nAs rights to me? When, having quite achiev\u2019d\nAn end with safety, and with conquest, too,\nOf so unmatch\u2019d a war, what none could do\nOf all our enemies there, at home a friend\nAnd wife have giv\u2019n me inglorious end?\u201d\nWhile these thus spake, the Argus-killing spy\nBrought-near Ulysses\u2019 noble victory\nTo their renew\u2019d discourse, in all the ends\nThe Wooers\u2019 suffer\u2019d, and show\u2019d those his friends;\nWhom now amaze invaded with the view\nAnd made give back; yet Agamemnon knew\nMelanthius\u2019 heir, much-fam\u2019d Amphimedon,\nWho had in Ithaca guest-favours shown\nTo great Atrides; who first spake, and said:\n\u201cAmphimedon! What suff\u2019rance hath been laid\nOn your alive parts that hath made you make\nThis land of darkness the retreat you take,\nSo all together, all being like in years,\nNor would a man have choos\u2019d, of all the peers\nA city honours, men to make a part\nMore strong for any object? Hath your smart\nBeen felt from Neptune, being at sea\u2014his wrath\nThe winds and waves exciting to your scathe?\nOr have offensive men impos\u2019d this fate\u2014\nYour oxen driving, or your flock\u2019s estate?\nOr for your city fighting and your wives,\nHave deaths untimely seiz\u2019d your best-tim\u2019d lives?\nInform me truly. I was once your guest,\nWhen I and Menelaus had profest\nFirst arms for Ilion, and were come ashore\nOn Ithaca, with purpose to implore\nUlysses\u2019 aid, that city-racing man,\nIn wreak of the adult\u2019rous Phrygian.\nRetain not you the time? A whole month\u2019s date\nWe spent at sea, in hope to instigate\nIn our arrival old Laertes\u2019 son,\nWhom, hardly yet, to our design we won.\u201d\nThe soul made answer: \u201cWorthiest king of men,\nI well remember ev\u2019ry passage then\nYou now reduce to thought, and will relate\nThe truth in whole form of our timeless fate:\n\u201cWe woo\u2019d the wife of that long-absent king,\nWho (though her second marriage were a thing\nOf most hate to her) she would yet deny\nAt no part our affections, nor comply\nWith any in performance, but decreed,\nIn her delays, the cruel Fates we feed.\nHer craft was this: She undertook to weave\nA funeral garment destin\u2019d to receive\nThe corse of old Laertes; being a task\nOf infinite labour, and which time would ask.\nIn midst of whose attempt she caus\u2019d our stay\nWith this attraction: \u2018Youths, that come in way\nOf honour\u2019d nuptials to me, though my lord\nAbide amongst the dead, yet cease to board\nMy choice for present nuptials, and sustain,\nLest what is past me of this web be vain,\nTill all receive perfection. \u2019Tis a weed\nDispos\u2019d to wrap in at his funeral need\nThe old Laertes; who, possessing much,\nWould, in his want of rites as fitting, touch\nMy honour highly with each vulgar dame.\u2019\nThus spake she, and persuaded; and her frame\nAll-day she labour\u2019d, her day\u2019s work not small,\nBut ev\u2019ry night-time she unwrought it all.\nThree years continuing this imperfect task;\nBut when the fourth year came her sleights could mask\nIn no more covert, since her trusted maid\nHer whole deceit to our true note betray\u2019d.\nWith which surpriz\u2019d, she could no more protract\nHer work\u2019s perfection, but gave end exact\nTo what remain\u2019d, wash\u2019d-up, and set thereon\nA gloss so bright that like the sun and moon\nThe whole work show\u2019d together. And when now\nOf mere necessity her honour\u2019d vow\nShe must make good to us, ill-fortune brought\nUlysses home, who yet gave none one thought\nOf his arrival, but far-off at field\nLiv\u2019d with his herdsman, nor his trust would yield\nNote of his person, but liv\u2019d there as guest,\nRagg\u2019d as a beggar in that life profest.\nAt length Telemachus left Pylos\u2019 sand,\nAnd with a ship fetch\u2019d soon his native land,\nWhen yet not home he went, but laid his way\nUp to his herdsman where his father lay;\nAnd where both laid our deaths. To town then bore\nThe swine-herd and his King, the swain before,\nTelemachus in other ways bestow\u2019d\nHis course home first, t\u2019 associate us that woo\u2019d.\nThe swain the King led after, who came on\nRagg\u00e9d and wretched, and still lean\u2019d upon\nA borrow\u2019d staff. At length he reach\u2019d his home,\nWhere (on the sudden and so wretched come)\nNor we nor much our elders once did dream\nOf his return there, but did wrongs extreme\nOf words and blows to him; all which he bore\nWith that old patience he had learn\u2019d before.\nBut when the mind of Jove had rais\u2019d his own,\nHis son and he fetch\u2019d all their armour down,\nFast-lock\u2019d the doors, and, to prepare their use,\nHe will\u2019d his wife, for first mean, to produce\nHis bow to us to draw; of which no one\nCould stir the string; himself yet set upon\nThe deadly strength it held, drew all with ease,\nShot through the steels, and then began to seize\nOur armless bosoms; striking first the breast\nOf king Antinous, and then the rest\nIn heaps turn\u2019d over; hopeful of his end\nBecause some God, he knew, stood firm his friend.\nNor prov\u2019d it worse with him, but all in flood\nThe pavement straight blush\u2019d with our vital blood.\nAnd thus our souls came here; our bodies laid\nNeglected in his roofs, no word convey\u2019d\nTo any friend to take us home and give\nOur wounds fit balming, nor let such as live\nEntomb our deaths, and for our fortunes shed\nThose tears and dead-rites that renown the dead.\u201d\nAtrides\u2019 ghost gave answer: \u201cO bless\u2019d son\nOf old Laertes, thou at length hast won\nWith mighty virtue thy unmatch\u00e9d wife.\nHow good a knowledge, how untouch\u2019d a life,\nHath wise Penelope! How well she laid\nHer husband\u2019s rights up, whom she lov\u2019d a maid!\nFor which her virtues shall extend applause,\nBeyond the circles frail mortality draws;\nThe deathless in this vale of death comprising\nHer praise in numbers into infinites rising.\nThe daughter Tyndarus begat begot\nNo such chaste thoughts, but cut the virgin knot\nThat knit her spouse and her with murd\u2019rous swords.\nFor which posterities shall put hateful words\nTo notes of her that all her sex defam\u2019d,\nAnd for her ill shall ev\u2019n the good be blam\u2019d.\u201d\nTo this effect these these digressions made\nIn hell, earth\u2019s dark and ever-hiding shade.\nUlysses and his son, now past the town,\nSoon reach\u2019d the field elaborately grown\nBy old Laertes\u2019 labour, when, with cares\nFor his lost son, he left all court affairs,\nAnd took to this rude upland; which with toil\nHe made a sweet and habitable soil;\nWhere stood a house to him; about which ran,\nIn turnings thick and labyrinthian,\nPoor hovels, where his necessary men\nThat did those works (of pleasure to him then)\nMight sit, and eat, and sleep. In his own house\nAn old Sicilian dame liv\u2019d, studious\nTo serve his sour age with her cheerful pains.\nThen said Ulysses to his son and swains:\n\u201cGo you to town, and for your dinner kill\nThe best swine ye can choose; myself will still\nStay with my father, and assay his eye\nIf my acknowledg\u2019d truth it can descry,\nOr that my long time\u2019s travel doth so change\nMy sight to him that I appear as strange.\u201d\nThus gave he arms to them, and home they hied.\nUlysses to the fruitful field applied\nHis present place; nor found he Dolius there,\nHis sons, or any servant, anywhere\nIn all that spacious ground; all gone from thence\nWere dragging bushes to repair a fence,\nOld Dolius leading all. Ulysses found\nHis father far above in that fair ground,\nEmploy\u2019d in proining of a plant; his weeds\nAll torn and tatter\u2019d, fit for homely deeds,\nBut not for him. Upon his legs he wore\nPatch\u2019d boots to guard him from the bramble\u2019s gore;\nHis hands had thorn-proof hedging mittens on;\nHis head a goat-skin casque; through all which shone\nHis heart giv\u2019n over to abjectest moan.\nHim when Ulysses saw consum\u2019d with age,\nAnd all the ensigns on him that the rage\nOf grief presented, he brake out in tears;\nAnd, taking stand then where a tree of pears\nShot high his forehead over him, his mind\nHad much contention, if to yield to kind,\nMake straight way to his father, kiss, embrace,\nTell his return, and put on all the face\nAnd fashion of his instant-told return;\nOr stay th\u2019 impulsion, and the long day burn\nOf his quite loss giv\u2019n in his father\u2019s fear\nA little longer, trying first his cheer\nWith some free dalliance, th\u2019 earnest being so near.\nThis course his choice preferr\u2019d, and forth he went.\nHis father then his aged shoulders bent\nBeneath what years had stoop\u2019d, about a tree\nBusily digging: \u201cO, old man,\u201d said he,\n\u201cYou want no skill to dress and deck your ground,\nFor all your plants doth order\u2019d distance bound.\nNo apple, pear, or olive, fig; or vine,\nNor any plat or quarter you confine\nTo grass or flow\u2019rs stands empty of your care,\nWhich shows exact in each peculiar;\nAnd yet (which let not move you) you bestow\nNo care upon yourself, though to this show\nOf outward irksomeness to what you are\nYou labour with an inward froward care,\nWhich is your age, that should wear all without\nMore neat and cherishing. I make no doubt\nThat any sloth you use procures your lord\nTo let an old man go so much abhorr\u2019d\nIn all his weeds; nor shines there in your look\nA fashion and a goodliness so took\nWith abject qualities to merit this\nNasty entreaty. Your resemblance is\nA very king\u2019s, and shines through this retreat.\nYou look like one that having wash\u2019d and eat\nShould sleep securely, lying sweet and neat.\n_It is the ground of age, when cares abuse it,\nTo know life\u2019s end, and, as \u2019tis sweet, so use it._\n\u201cBut utter truth, and tell what lord is he\nThat rates your labour and your liberty?\nWhose orchard is it that you husband thus?\nOr quit me this doubt, for if Ithacus\nThis kingdom claims for his, the man I found\nAt first arrival here is hardly sound\nOf brain or civil, not enduring stay\nTo tell nor hear me my inquiry out\nOf that my friend, if still he bore about\nHis life and being, or were div\u2019d to death,\nAnd in the house of him that harboureth\nThe souls of men. For once he liv\u2019d my guest;\nMy land and house retaining interest\nIn his abode there; where there sojourn\u2019d none\nAs guest from any foreign region\nOf more price with me. He deriv\u2019d his race\nFrom Ithaca, and said his father was\nLaertes, surnam\u2019d Arcesiades,\nI had him home, and all the offices\nPerform\u2019d to him that fitted any friend,\nWhose proof I did to wealthy gifts extend:\nSeven talents gold; a bowl all-silver, set\nWith pots of flowers; twelve robes that had no pleat!\nTwelve cloaks, or mantles, of delicious dye;\nTwelve inner weeds; twelve suits of tapestry.\nI gave him likewise women skill\u2019d in use\nOf loom and needle, freeing him to choose\nFour the most fair.\u201d His father, weeping, said:\n\u201cStranger! The earth to which you are convey\u2019d\nIs Ithaca; by such rude men possess\u2019d,\nUnjust and insolent, as first address\u2019d\nTo your encounter; but the gifts you gave\nWere giv\u2019n, alas! to the ungrateful grave.\nIf with his people, where you now arrive,\nYour fate had been to find your friend alive,\nYou should have found like guest-rites from his hand,\nLike gifts, and kind pass to your wish\u00e9d land.\nBut how long since receiv\u2019d you for your guest\nYour friend, my son, who was th\u2019 unhappiest\nOf all men breathing, if he were at all?\nO born when Fates and ill-aspects let fall\nA cruel influence for him! Far away\nFrom friends and country destin\u2019d to allay.\nThe sea-bred appetites, or, left ashore,\nTo be by fowls and upland monsters tore,\nHis life\u2019s kind authors nor his wealthy wife\nBemoaning, as behov\u2019d, his parted life,\nNor closing, as in honour\u2019s course it lies\nTo all men dead, in bed his dying eyes.\nBut give me knowledge of your name and race.\nWhat city bred you? Where the anchoring-place\nYour ship now rides-at lies that shor\u2019d you here\nAnd where your men? Or, if a passenger\nIn other keels you came, who (giving land\nTo your adventures here, some other strand\nTo fetch in further course) have left to us\nYour welcome presence?\u201d His reply was thus:\n\u201cI am of Alyband\u00e9, where I hold\nMy name\u2019s chief house, to much renown extoll\u2019d.\nMy father Aphidantes, fam\u2019d to spring\nFrom Polypemon, the Molossian king.\nMy name Eperitus. My taking land\nOn this fair Isle was rul\u2019d by the command\nOf God or fortune, quite against consent\nOf my free purpose, that in course was bent\nFor th\u2019 isle Sicania. My ship is held\nFar from the city, near an ample field.\nAnd for Ulysses, since his pass from me\n\u2019Tis now five years. Unbless\u2019d by destiny,\nThat all this time hath had the fate to err!\nThough, at his parting, good birds did augur\nHis putting-off, and on his right hand flew,\nWhich to his passage my affection drew,\nHis spirit joyful; and my hope was now\nTo guest with him, and see his hand bestow\nRites of our friendship.\u201d This a cloud of grief\nCast over all the forces of his life.\nWith both his hands the burning dust he swept\nUp from the earth, which on his head he heapt,\nAnd fetch\u2019d a sigh as in it life were broke.\nWhich grieved his son, and gave so smart a stroke\nUpon his nostrils with the inward stripe,\nThat up the vein rose there; and weeping ripe\nHe was to see his sire feel such woe\nFor his dissembled joy; which now let go,\nHe sprung from earth, embrac\u2019d and kiss\u2019d his sire,\nAnd said: \u201cO father! He of whom y\u2019 enquire\nAm I myself, that, from you twenty years,\nIs now return\u2019d. But do not break in tears,\nFor now we must not forms of kind maintain,\nBut haste and guard the substance. I have slain\nAll my wife\u2019s Wooers, so revenging now\nTheir wrong so long time suffer\u2019d. Take not you\nThe comfort of my coming then to heart\nAt this glad instant, but, in prov\u2019d desert\nOf your grave judgment, give moan glad suspense,\nAnd on the sudden put this consequence\nIn act as absolute, as all time went\nTo ripening of your resolute assent.\u201d\nAll this haste made not his staid faith so free\nTo trust his words; who said: \u201cIf you are he,\nApprove it by some sign.\u201d \u201cThis scar then see,\u201d\nReplied Ulysses, \u201cgiv\u2019n me by the boar\nSlain in Parnassus, I being sent before\nBy your\u2019s and by my honour\u2019d mother\u2019s will,\nTo see your sire Autolycus fulfill\nThe gifts he vow\u2019d at giving of my name.\nI\u2019ll tell you, too, the trees, in goodly frame\nOf this fair orchard, that I ask\u2019d of you\nBeing yet a child, and follow\u2019d for your show\nAnd name of ev\u2019ry tree. You gave me then\nOf fig-trees forty, apple-bearers ten,\nPear-trees thirteen, and fifty ranks of vine;\nEach one of which a season did confine\nFor his best eating. Not a grape did grow\nThat grew not there, and had his heavy brow\nWhen Jove\u2019s fair daughters, the all ripening Hours,\nGave timely date to it.\u201d This charg\u2019d the pow\u2019rs\nBoth of his knees and heart with such impression\nOf sudden comfort, that it gave possession\nOf all to Trance, the signs were all so true,\nAnd did the love that gave them so renew.\nHe cast his arms about his son and sunk,\nThe circle slipping to his feet; so shrunk\nWere all his age\u2019s forces with the fire\nOf his young love rekindled. The old sire\nThe son took up quite lifeless. But his breath\nAgain respiring, and his soul from death\nHis body\u2019s pow\u2019r recov\u2019ring, out he cried,\nAnd said: \u201cO Jupiter! I now have tried\nThat still there live in heav\u2019n rememb\u2019ring Gods\nOf men that serve them; though the periods\nThey set on their appearances are long\nIn best men\u2019s suff\u2019rings, yet as sure as strong\nThey are in comforts, be their strange delays\nExtended never so from days to days.\nYet see the short joys or the soon-mix\u2019d fears\nOf helps withheld by them so many years!\nFor if the Wooers now have paid the pain\nDue to their impious pleasures, now again\nExtreme fear takes me, lest we straight shall see\nThe Ithacensians here in mutiny,\nTheir messengers dispatch\u2019d to win to friend\nThe Cephallenian cities.\u201d \u201cDo not spend\nYour thoughts on these cares,\u201d said his suff\u2019ring son,\n\u201cBut be of comfort, and see that course run\nThat best may shun the worst. Our house is near,\nTelemachus and both his herdsmen there\nTo dress our supper with their utmost haste;\nAnd thither haste we.\u201d This said, forth they past,\nCame home, and found Telemachus at feast\nWith both his swains; while who had done, all drest\nWith baths and balms and royally array\u2019d\nThe old king was by his Sicilian maid.\nBy whose side Pallas stood, his crook\u2019d-age straight\u2019ning,\nHis flesh more plumping, and his looks enlight\u2019ning.\nWho issuing then to view, his son admir\u2019d\nThe Gods\u2019 aspects into his form inspir\u2019d,\nAnd said: \u201cO father, certainly some God\nBy your addression in this state hath stood,\nMore great, more rev\u2019rend, rend\u2019ring you by far\nAt all your parts than of yourself you are!\u201d\n\u201cI would to Jove,\u201d said he, \u201cthe Sun, and She\nThat bears Jove\u2019s shield, the state had stood with me\nThat help\u2019d me take-in the well-builded tow\u2019rs\nOf strong Nericus (the Cephalian pow\u2019rs\nTo that fair city leading) two days past,\nWhile with the Wooers thy conflict did last,\nAnd I had then been in the Wooers\u2019 wreak!\nI should have help\u2019d thee so to render weak\nTheir stubborn knees, that in thy joy\u2019s desert\nThy breast had been too little for thy heart.\u201d\nThis said, and supper order\u2019d by their men,\nThey sat to it; old Dolius ent\u2019ring then,\nAnd with him, tried with labour, his sons came,\nCall\u2019d by their mother, the Sicilian dame\nThat brought them up and dress\u2019d their father\u2019s fare,\nAs whose age grew, with it increas\u2019d her care\nTo see him serv\u2019d as fitted. When thus set\nThese men beheld Ulysses there at meat,\nThey knew him, and astonish\u2019d in the place\nStood at his presence; who, with words of grace,\nCall\u2019d to old Dolius, saying: \u201cCome and eat,\nAnd banish all astonishment. Your meat\nHath long been ready, and ourselves made stay,\nExpecting ever when your wish\u00e9d way\nWould reach amongst us.\u201d This brought fiercely on\nOld Dolius from his stand; who ran upon,\nWith both his arms abroad, the King, and kiss\u2019d\nOf both his rapt up hands the either wrist,\nThus welcoming his presence: \u201cO my love,\nYour presence here, for which all wishes strove,\nNo one expected. Ev\u2019n the Gods have gone\nIn guide before you to your mansi\u00f3n.\nWelcome, and all joys to your heart contend.\nKnows yet Penelope? Or shall we send\nSome one to tell her this?\u201d \u201cShe knows,\u201d said he,\n\u201cWhat need these troubles, father, touch at thee?\u201d\nThen came the sons of Dolius, and again\nWent over with their father\u2019s entertain,\nWelcom\u2019d, shook hands, and then to feast sat down.\nAbout which while they sat, about the town\nFame flew, and shriek\u2019d about the cruel death\nAnd fate the Wooers had sustain\u2019d beneath\nUlysses\u2019 roofs. All heard; together all\nFrom hence and thence met in Ulysses\u2019 hall,\nShort-breath\u2019d and noiseful, bore out all the dead\nTo instant burial, while their deaths were spread\nTo other neighbour cities where they liv\u2019d,\nFrom whence in swiftest fisher-boats arriv\u2019d\nMen to transfer them home. In mean space here\nThe heavy nobles all in council were;\nWhere, met in much heap, up to all arose\nExtremely-griev\u2019d Eupitheus so to lose\nHis son Antinous, who, first of all,\nBy great Ulysses\u2019 hand had slaught\u2019rous fall.\nWhose father, weeping for him, said: \u201cO friends,\nThis man hath author\u2019d works of dismal ends,\nLong since conveying in his guide to Troy\nGood men, and many that did ships employ,\nAll which are lost, and all their soldiers dead;\nAnd now the best men Cephallenia bred\nHis hand hath slaughter\u2019d. Go we then (before\nHis \u2019scape to Pylos, or the Elians\u2019 shore,\nWhere rule the Epeans) \u2019gainst his horrid hand;\nFor we shall grieve, and infamy will brand\nOur fames for ever, if we see our sons\nAnd brothers end in these confusions,\nRevenge left uninflicted. Nor will I\nEnjoy one day\u2019s life more, but grieve and die\nWith instant onset. Nor should you survive\nTo keep a base and beastly name alive.\nHaste, then, lest flight prevent us.\u201d This with tears\nHis griefs advis\u2019d, and made all sufferers\nIn his affliction. But by this was come\nUp to the council from Ulysses\u2019 home\u2014\nWhen sleep had left them, which the slaughters there\nAnd their self-dangers from their eyes in fear\nHad two nights intercepted\u2014those two men\nThat just Ulysses sav\u2019d out of the slain,\nWhich Medon and the sacred singer were.\nThese stood amidst the council; and the fear\nThe slaughter had impress\u2019d in either\u2019s look\nStuck still so ghastly, that amaze it strook\nThrough ev\u2019ry there beholder. To whose ears\nOne thus enforc\u2019d, in his fright, cause of theirs:\n\u201cAttend me, Ithacensians! This stern fact\nDone by Ulysses was not put in act\nWithout the Gods\u2019 assistance. These self eyes\nSaw one of the immortal Deities\nClose by Ulysses, Mentor\u2019s form put on\nAt ev\u2019ry part. And this sure Deity shone\nNow near Ulysses, setting on his bold\nAnd slaught\u2019rous spirit, now the points controll\u2019d\nOf all the Wooers\u2019 weapons, round about\nThe arm\u2019d house whisking, in continual rout\nTheir party putting, till in heaps they fell.\u201d\nThis news new fears did through their spirits impell,\nWhen Halitherses (honour\u2019d Mastor\u2019s son,\nWho of them all saw only what was done\nPresent and future) the much-knowing man\nAnd aged hero\u00eb this plain course ran\nAmongst their counsels: \u201cGive me likewise ear,\nAnd let me tell ye, friends, that these ills bear\nOn your malignant spleens their sad effects,\nWho not what I persuaded gave respects,\nNor what the people\u2019s pastor, Mentor, said,\u2014\nThat you should see your issues\u2019 follies stay\u2019d\nIn those foul courses, by their petulant life\nThe goods devouring, scandalling the wife\nOf no mean person, who, they still would say,\nCould never more see his returning-day.\nWhich yet appearing now, now give it trust,\nAnd yield to my free counsels: Do not thrust\nYour own safe persons on the acts your sons\nSo dearly bought, lest their confusions\nOn your lov\u2019d heads your like addictions draw.\u201d\nThis stood so far from force of any law\nTo curb their loose attempts, that much the more\nThey rush\u2019d to wreak, and made rude tumult roar.\nThe greater part of all the court arose;\nGood counsel could not ill designs dispose.\nEupitheus was persuader of the course,\nWhich, c\u00f3mplete-arm\u2019d, they put in present force;\nThe rest sat still in council. These men met\nBefore the broad town, in a place they set\nAll girt in arms; Eupitheus choosing chief\nTo all their follies, who put grief to grief,\nAnd in his slaughter\u2019d son\u2019s revenge did burn.\nBut Fate gave never feet to his return,\nOrdaining there his death. Then Pallas spake\nTo Jove, her Father, with intent to make\nHis will high arbiter of th\u2019 act design\u2019d,\nAnd ask\u2019d of him what his unsearch\u00e9d mind\nHeld undiscover\u2019d? If with arms, and ill,\nAnd grave encounter he, would first fulfill\nHis sacred purpose, or both parts combine\nIn peaceful friendship? He ask\u2019d: \u201cWhy incline\nThese doubts thy counsels? Hast not thou decreed\nThat Ithacus should come and give his deed\nThe glory of revenge on these and theirs?\nPerform thy will; the frame of these affairs\nHave this fit issue: When Ulysses\u2019 hand\nHath reach\u2019d full wreak, his then renown\u2019d command\nShall reign for ever, faithful truces strook\n\u2019Twixt him and all; for ev\u2019ry man shall brook\nHis sons\u2019 and brothers\u2019 slaughters; by our mean\nTo send Oblivion in, expunging clean\nThe character of enmity in them all,\nAs in best leagues before. _Peace, festival,\nAnd riches in abundance, be the state\nThat crowns the close of wise Ulysses\u2019 Fate.\u201d_\nThis spurr\u2019d the free, who from heav\u2019n\u2019s continent\nTo th\u2019 Ithacensian isle made straight descent.\nWhere, dinner past, Ulysses said: \u201cSome one\nLook out to see their nearness.\u201d Dolius\u2019 son\nMade present speed abroad, and saw them nigh,\nRan back, and told, bade arm; and instantly\nWere all in arms. Ulysses\u2019 part was four,\nAnd six more sons of Dolius; all his pow\u2019r\nTwo only more, which were his aged sire\nAnd like-year\u2019d Dolius, whose lives\u2019-slak\u2019d fire\nAll-white had left their heads, yet, driv\u2019n by need,\nMade soldiers both of necessary deed.\nAnd now, all-girt in arms, the ports set wide,\nThey sallied forth, Ulysses being their guide;\nAnd to them in the instant Pallas came,\nIn form and voice like Mentor, who a flame\nInspir\u2019d of comfort in Ulysses\u2019 heart\nWith her seen presence. To his son, apart,\nHe thus then spake: \u201cNow, son, your eyes shall see,\nExpos\u2019d in slaught\u2019rous fight, the enemy,\nAgainst whom who shall best serve will be seen.\nDisgrace not then your race, that yet hath been\nFor force and fortitude the foremost tried\nOf all earth\u2019s offsprings.\u201d His true son replied:\n\u201cYourself shall see, lov\u2019d father, if you please,\nThat my deservings shall in nought digress\nFrom best fame of our race\u2019s foremost merit.\u201d\nThe old king sprung for joy to hear his spirit,\nAnd said: \u201cO lov\u2019d Immortals, what a day\nDo your clear bounties to my life display!\nI joy, past measure, to behold my son\nAnd nephew close in such contention\nOf virtues martial.\u201d Pallas, standing near,\nSaid: \u201cO my friend! Of all supremely dear,\nSeed of Arcesius, pray to Jove and Her\nThat rules in arms, his daughter, and a dart,\nSpritefully brandish\u2019d, hurl at th\u2019 adverse part.\u201d\nThis said, he pray\u2019d; and she a mighty force\nInspir\u2019d within him, who gave instant course\nTo his brave-brandish\u2019d lance, which struck the brass\nThat cheek\u2019d Eupitheus\u2019 casque, and thrust his pass\nQuite through his head; who fell, and sounded falling,\nHis arms the sound again from earth recalling.\nUlysses and his son rush\u2019d on before,\nAnd with their both-way-headed darts did gore\nTheir enemies\u2019 breasts so thick, that all had gone\nThe way of slaughter, had not Pallas thrown\nHer voice betwixt them, charging all to stay\nAnd spare expense of blood. Her voice did fray\nThe blood so from their faces that it left\nA greenish paleness; all their hands it reft\nOf all their weapons, falling thence to earth;\nAnd to the common mother of their birth,\nThe city, all fled, in desire to save\nThe lives yet left them. Then Ulysses gave\nA horrid shout, and like Jove\u2019s eagle flew\nIn fiery pursuit, till Saturnius threw\nHis smoking lightning \u2019twixt them, that had fall\nBefore Minerva, who then out did call\nThus to Ulysses: \u201cBorn of Jove! Abstain\nFrom further bloodshed. Jove\u2019s hand in the slain\nHath equall\u2019d in their pains their prides to thee.\nAbstain, then, lest you move the Deity.\u201d\nAgain then, \u2019twixt both parts the Seed of Jove,\nAthenian Pallas, of all future love\nA league compos\u2019d, and for her form took choice\nOf Mentor\u2019s likeness both in limb and voice.\n\n THE END OF THE TWENTY-FOURTH AND LAST BOOK OF HOMER\u2019S ODYSSEYS.\n\n \u201cSO WROUGHT DIVINE ULYSSES\u201d\n\n_So wrought divine Ulysses through his woes,\nSo crown\u2019d the light with him his mother\u2019s throes,\nAs through his great Renowner I have wrought,\nAnd my safe sail to sacred anchor brought.\nNor did the Argive ship more burthen feel,\nThat bore the care of all men in her keel,\nThan my adventurous bark; the Colchian fleece\nNot half so precious as this Soul of Greece,\nIn whose Songs I have made our shores rejoice,\nAnd Greek itself vail to our English voice.\nYet this inestimable Pearl will all\nOur dunghill chanticleers but obvious call;\nEach modern scraper this Gem scratching by,\nHis oat preferring far. Let such let lie.\nSo scorn the stars the clouds, as true-soul\u2019d men\nDespise deceivers. For, as clouds would fain\nObscure the stars, yet (regions left below\nWith all their envies) bar them but of show,\nFor they shine ever, and will shine, when they\nDissolve in sinks, make mire, and temper clay;\nSo puff\u2019d impostors (our muse-vapours) strive,\nWith their self-blown additions, to deprive\nMen solid of their full, though infinite short\nThey come in their compare, and false report\nOf levelling or touching at their light,\nThat still retain their radiance, and clear right,\nAnd shall shine ever, when, alas! one blast\nOf least disgrace tears down th\u2019 impostor\u2019s mast,\nHis tops and tacklings, his whole freight, and he\nConfiscate to the fishy monarchy,\nHis trash, by foolish Fame brought now, from hence\nGiven to serve mackarel forth, and frankincense.\nSuch then, and any too soft-eyed to see,\nThrough works so solid, any worth, so free\nOf all the learn\u2019d professions, as is fit\nTo praise at such price, let him think his wit\nToo weak to rate it, rather than oppose\nWith his poor pow\u2019rs Ages and Hosts of Foes._\n\n _TO THE RUINS OF TROY AND GREECE_\n\n_Troy rac\u2019d, Greece wrack\u2019d, who mourns? Ye both may boast,\nElse th\u2019 Iliads and Odysseys had been lost!_\n\n _AD DEUM_\n\n_The Only True God (betwixt Whom and me\nI only bound my comfort, and agree\nWith all my actions) only truly knows,\nAnd can judge truly, me, with all that goes\nTo all my faculties, In Whose free Grace\nAnd Inspiration I only place\nAll means to know (with my means, study, pray\u2019r,\nIn and from His Word taken) stair by stair,\nIn all continual contentation, rising\nTo knowledge of His Truth, and practising\nHis Will in it, with my sole Saviour\u2019s Aid,\nGuide, and Enlight\u2019ning; nothing done, nor said,\nNor thought, that good is, but acknowledg\u2019d by\nHis Inclination, Skill, and Faculty.\nBy which, to find the way out to His Love\nPast all the worlds, the sphere is where doth move\nMy studies, pray\u2019rs, and pow\u2019rs; no pleasure taken\nBut sign\u2019d by His, for which, my blood forsaken,\nMy soul I cleave to, and what (in His Blood\nThat hath redeem\u2019d, cleans\u2019d, taught her) fits her good._\n\n _DEO OPT. MAX. GLORIA_\n\n\n\n\nTHE BATRACHOMYOMACHIA\n\n THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY\n\n TO MY EVER MOST-WORTHY-TO-BE-MOST HONOURED LORD, THE EARL OF SOMERSET,\n ETC.\n\n_Not forc\u2019d by fortune, but since your free mind\n(Made by affliction) rests in choice resign\u2019d\nTo calm retreat, laid quite beneath the wind\nOf grace and glory, I well know, my Lord,\nYou would not be entitled to a word\nThat might a thought remove from your repose,\nTo thunder and spit flames, as greatness does,\nFor all the trumps that still tell where he goes.\nOf which trumps Dedication being one,\nMethinks I see you start to hear it blown.\nBut this is no such trump as summons lords\n\u2019Gainst Envy\u2019s steel to draw their leaden swords,\nOr \u2019gainst hare-lipp\u2019d Detraction, Contempt,\nAll which from all resistance stand exempt,\nIt being as hard to sever wrong from merit,\nAs meat-indu\u2019d from blood, or blood from spirit.\nNor in the spirit\u2019s chariot rides the soul\nIn bodies chaste, with more divine control,\nNor virtue shines more in a lovely face,\nThan true desert is stuck off with disgrace.\nAnd therefore Truth itself, that had to bless\nThe merit of it all, Almightiness,\nWould not protect it from the bane and ban\nOf all moods most distraught and Stygian;\nAs counting it the crown of all desert,\nBorne to heaven, to take of earth, no part\nOf false joy here, for joys-there-endless troth,\nNor sell his birthright for a mess of broth.\nBut stay and still sustain, and his bliss bring,\nLike to the hatching of the blackthorn\u2019s spring,\nWith bitter frosts, and smarting hailstorms, forth.\nFates love bees\u2019 labours; only Pain crown\u2019s Worth.\nThis Dedication calls no greatness, then,\nTo patron this greatness-creating pen,\nNor you to add to your dead calm a breath,\nFor those arm\u2019d angels, that in spite of death\nInspir\u2019d those flow\u2019rs that wrought this Poet\u2019s wreath,\nShall keep it ever, Poesy\u2019s steepest star,\nAs in Earth\u2019s flaming walls, Heaven\u2019s sevenfold Car,\nFrom all the wilds of Neptune\u2019s wat\u2019ry sphere,\nFor ever guards the Erymanthian bear.\nSince then your Lordship settles in your shade\nA life retir\u2019d, and no retreat is made\nBut to some strength, (for else \u2019tis no retreat,\nBut rudely running from your battle\u2019s heat)\nI give this as your strength; your strength, my Lord,\nIn counsels and examples, that afford\nMore guard than whole hosts of corporeal pow\u2019r,\nAnd more deliverance teach the fatal hour.\nTurn not your med\u2019cine then to your disease,\nBy your too set and slight repulse of these,\nThe adjuncts of your matchless Odysses;\nSince on that wisest mind of man relies\nRefuge from all life\u2019s infelicities.\nNor sing these such division from them,\nBut that these spin the thread of the same stream\nFrom one self distaff\u2019s stuff; for Poesy\u2019s pen,\nThrough all themes, is t\u2019 inform the lives of men;\nAll whose retreats need strengths of all degrees;\nWithout which, had you even Herculean knees,\nYour foes\u2019 fresh charges would at length prevail,\nTo leave your noblest suff\u2019rance no least sail.\nStrength then the object is of all retreats;\nStrength needs no friends\u2019 trust; strength your foes defeats.\nRetire to strength, then, if eternal things,\nAnd y\u2019are eternal; for our knowing springs\nFlow into those things that we truly know,\nWhich being eternal, we are render\u2019d so.\nAnd though your high-fix\u2019d light pass infinite far\nTh\u2019 adviceful guide of my still-trembling star,\nYet hear what my discharg\u2019d piece must foretel,\nStanding your poor and perdue sentinel.\nKings may perhaps wish even your beggar\u2019s-voice\nTo their eternities, how scorn\u2019d a choice\nSoever now it lies; and (dead) I may\nExtend your life to light\u2019s extremest ray.\nIf not, your Homer yet past doubt shall make\nImmortal, like himself, your bounty\u2019s stake\nPut in my hands, to propagate your fame;\nSuch virtue reigns in such united name.\nRetire to him then for advice, and skill,\nTo know things call\u2019d worst, best; and best, most ill.\nWhich known, truths best choose, and retire to still.\nAnd as our English general, (whose name_[1]\n_Shall equal interest find in th\u2019 house of fame\nWith all Earth\u2019s great\u2019st commanders,) in retreat\nTo Belgian Gant, stood all Spain\u2019s armies\u2019 heat\nBy Parma led, though but one thousand strong;\nThree miles together thrusting through the throng\nOf th\u2019 enemy\u2019s horse, still pouring on their fall\n\u2019Twixt him and home, and thunder\u2019d through them all;\nThe Gallic Monsieur standing on the wall,\nAnd Wond\u2019ring at his dreadful discipline,\nFir\u2019d with a valour that spit spirit divine;\nIn five battalions ranging all his men,\nBristl\u2019d with pikes, and flank\u2019d with flankers ten;\nGave fire still in his rear; retir\u2019d, and wrought\nDown to his fix\u2019d strength still; retir\u2019d and fought;\nAll the battalions of the enemy\u2019s horse\nStorming upon him still their fieriest force;\nCharge upon charge laid fresh; he, fresh as day,\nRepulsing all, and forcing glorious way\nInto the gates, that gasp\u2019d, (as swoons for air,)\nAnd took their life in, with untouch\u2019d repair:\u2014\nSo fight out, sweet Earl, your retreat in peace;\nNo ope-war equals that where privy prease\nOf never-number\u2019d odds if enemy,\nArm\u2019d all by envy, in blind ambush lie,\nTo rush out like an opening threat\u2019ning sky,\nBroke all in meteors round about your ears.\n\u2019Gainst which, though far from hence, through all your rears,\nHave fires prepar\u2019d; wisdom with wisdom flank,\nAnd all your forces range in present rank;\nRetiring as you now fought in your strength,\nFrom all the force laid, in time\u2019s utmost length,\nTo charge, and basely come on you behind.\nThe doctrine of all which you here shall find,\nAnd in the true glass of a human mind.\nYour Odysses, the body letting see\nAll his life past, through infelicity,\nAnd manage of it all. In which to friend,\nThe full Muse brings you both the prime and end\nOf all arts ambient in the orb of man;\nWhich never darkness most Cimmerian\nCan give eclipse, since, blind, he all things saw,\nAnd to all ever since liv\u2019d lord and law.\nAnd through our mere-learn\u2019d men; and modern wise,\nTaste not poor Poesy\u2019s ingenuities,\nBeing crusted with their covetous leprosies,\nBut hold her pains worse than the spiders\u2019 work,\nAnd lighter than the shadow of a cork,\nYet th\u2019 ancient learn\u2019d, heat with celestial fire,\nAffirms her flames so sacred and entire,\nThat not without God\u2019s greatest grace she can\nFall in the wid\u2019st capacity of man._\n_If yet the vile soul of this verminous time\nLove more the sale-muse, and the squirrel\u2019s chime,\nThan this full sphere of poesy\u2019s sweetest prime,\nGive them unenvied their vain vein and vent,\nAnd rest your wings in his approv\u2019d ascent\nThat yet was never reach\u2019d, nor ever fell\nInto affections bought with things that sell,\nBeing the sun\u2019s flow\u2019r, and wrapt so in his sky\nHe cannot yield to every candle\u2019s eye._\n\n_Whose most worthy discoveries, to your lordship\u2019s judicial\nperspective, in most subdue humility submitteth,_\n\n_GEORGE CHAPMAN._\n\n [1] A simile illustrating the most renowned service of General Norris\n in his retreat before Gant, never before made sacred to memory.\n\n THE OCCASION OF THIS IMPOSED CROWNE\n\nAfter this not only Prime of Poets, but Philosophers, had written his\ntwo great poems of Iliads and Odysses; which (for their first lights\nborn before all learning) were worthily called the Sun and Moon of the\nEarth; finding no compensation, he writ in contempt of men this\nridiculous poem of Vermin, giving them nobility of birth, valorous\nelocution not inferior to his heroes. At which the Gods themselves, put\nin amaze, called councils about their assistance of either army, and\nthe justice of their quarrels, even to the mounting of Jove\u2019s artillery\nagainst them, and discharge of his three-forked flashes; and all for\nthe drowning of a mouse. After which slight and only recreative touch,\nhe betook him seriously to the honour of the Gods, in Hymns resounding\nall their peculiar titles, jurisdictions, and dignities; which he\nillustrates at all parts, as he had been continually conversant amongst\nthem; and whatsoever authentic Poesy he omitted in the episodes\ncontained in his Iliads and Odysses, he comprehends and concludes in\nhis Hymns and Epigrams. All his observance and honour of the Gods,\nrather moved their envies against him, than their rewards, or respects\nof his endeavours. And so like a man _verecundi ingenii_ (which he\nwitnesseth of himself) he lived unhonoured and needy till his death;\nand yet notwithstanding all men\u2019s servile and manacled miseries, to his\nmost absolute and never-equalled merit, yea even bursten profusion to\nimposture and impiety, hear our ever-the-same intranced, and\nnever-sleeping, Master of the Muses, to his last accents, incomparably\nsinging.\n\n\n\n\nBATRACHOMYOMACHIA\n\nEnt\u2019ring the fields, first let my vows call on\nThe Muses\u2019 whole quire out of Helicon\nInto my heart, for such a poem\u2019s sake,\nAs lately I did in my tables take,\nAnd put into report upon my knees.\nA fight so fierce, as might in all degrees\nFit Mars himself, and his tumultuous hand,\nGlorying to dart to th\u2019 ears of every land\nOf all the voice-divided;[1] and to show\nHow bravely did both Frogs and Mice bestow\nIn glorious fight their forces, even the deeds\nDaring to imitate of Earth\u2019s Giant Seeds.\nThus then men talk\u2019d; this seed the strife begat:\nThe Mouse once dry, and \u2019scaped the dangerous cat,\nDrench\u2019d in the neighbour lake her tender beard,\nTo taste the sweetness of the wave it rear\u2019d.\nThe far-famed Fen-affecter, seeing him, said:\n\u201cHo, stranger! What are you, and whence, that tread\nThis shore of ours? Who brought you forth? Reply\nWhat truth may witness, lest I find you lie.\nIf worth fruition of my love and me,\nI\u2019ll have thee home, and hospitality\nOf feast and gift, good and magnificent,\nBestow on thee; for all this confluent\nResounds my royalty; my name, the great\nIn blown-up-count\u2019nances and looks of threat,\nPhysignathus,[2] adored of all Frogs here\nAll their days\u2019 durance, and the empire bear\nOf all their beings; mine own being begot\nBy royal Peleus,[3] mix\u2019d in nuptial knot\nWith fair Hydromedusa,[4] on the bounds\nNear which Eridanus[5] his race resounds.\nAnd thee mine eye makes my conceit inclined\nTo reckon powerful both in form and mind,\nA sceptre-bearer, and past others far\nAdvanc\u2019d in all the fiery fights of war.\nCome then, thy race to my renown commend.\u201d\nThe Mouse made answer: \u201cWhy inquires my friend?\nFor what so well know men and Deities,\nAnd all the wing\u2019d affecters of the skies?\nPsicharpax[6] I am call\u2019d; Troxartes\u2019[7] seed,\nSurnamed the mighty-minded. She that freed\nMine eyes from darkness was Lichomyle,[8]\nKing Pternotroctes\u2019[9] daughter, showing me,\nWithin an aged hovel, the young light,\nFed me with figs and nuts, and all the height\nOf varied viands. But unfold the cause,\nWhy, \u2019gainst similitude\u2019s most equal laws\nObserved in friendship, thou mak\u2019st me thy friend?\nThy life the waters only help t\u2019 extend;\nMine, whatsoever men are used to eat,\nTakes part with them at shore; their purest cheat,\nThrice boulted, kneaded, and subdued in paste,\nIn clean round kymnels, cannot be so fast\nFrom my approaches kept but in I eat;\nNor cheesecakes full of finest Indian wheat,\nThat crusty-weeds[10] wear, large as ladies\u2019 trains;\nLiverings,[11] white-skinn\u2019d as ladies; nor the strains,\nOf press\u2019d milk, renneted; nor collops cut\nFresh from the flitch; nor junkets, such as put\nPalates divine in appetite; nor any\nOf all men\u2019s delicates, though ne\u2019er so many\nTheir cooks devise them, who each dish see deckt\nWith all the dainties all strange soils affect.[12]\nYet am I not so sensual to fly\nOf fields embattled the most fiery cry,\nBut rush out straight, and with the first in fight\nMix in adventure. No man with affright\nCan daunt my forces, though his body be\nor never so immense a quantity,\nBut making up, even to his bed, access,\nHis fingers\u2019 ends dare with my teeth compress,\nHis feet taint likewise, and so soft seize both\nThey shall not taste th\u2019 impression of a tooth.\nSweet sleep shall hold his own in every eye\nWhere my tooth takes his tartest liberty.\nBut two there are, that always, far and near,\nExtremely still control my force with fear,\nThe Cat, and Night-hawk, who much scathe confer\nOn all the outrays where for food I err.\nTogether with the straits-still-keeping trap,[13]\nWhere lurks deceitful and set-spleen\u2019d mishap.\nBut most of all the Cat constrains my fear,\nBeing ever apt t\u2019 assault me everywhere;\nFor by that hole that hope says I shall \u2019scape,\nAt that hole ever she commits my rape.\nThe best is yet, I eat no pot-herb grass,\nNor radishes, nor coloquintidas,\nNor still-green beets, nor parsley; which you make\nYour dainties still, that live upon the lake.\u201d\nThe Frog replied: \u201cStranger, your boasts creep all\nUpon their bellies; though to our lives fall\nMuch more miraculous meats by lake and land,\nJove tend\u2019ring our lives with a twofold hand,\nEnabling us to leap ashore for food,\nAnd hide us straight in our retreatful flood.\nWhich, if you will serve, you may prove with ease.\nI\u2019ll take you on my shoulders; which fast seize,\nIf safe arrival at my house y\u2019 intend.\u201d\nHe stoop\u2019d, and thither spritely did ascend,\nClasping his golden neck, that easy seat\nGave to his sally; who was jocund yet,\nSeeing the safe harbours of the king so near,\nAnd he a swimmer so exempt from peer.\nBut when he sunk into the purple wave,\nHe mourn\u2019d extremely, and did much deprave\nUnprofitable penitence; his hair\nTore by the roots up, labour\u2019d for the air\nWith his feet fetch\u2019d up to his belly close;\nHis heart within him panted out repose,\nFor th\u2019 insolent plight in which his state did stand;\nSigh\u2019d bitterly, and long\u2019d to greet the land,\nForced by the dire need of his freezing fear.\nFirst, on the waters he his tail did stere,\nLike to a stern; then drew it like an oar,\nStill praying the Gods to set him safe ashore;\nYet sunk he midst the red waves more and more,\nAnd laid a throat out to his utmost height;\nYet in forced speech he made his peril slight,\nAnd thus his glory with his grievance strove:\n\u201cNot in such choice state was the charge of love\nBorne by the bull, when to the Cretan shore\nHe swum Europa through the wavy roar,\nAs this Frog ferries me, his pallid breast\nBravely advancing, and his verdant crest\n(Submitted to my seat) made my support,\nThrough his white waters, to his royal court.\u201d\nBut on the sudden did apparance make\nAn horrid spectacle,\u2014a Water-snake\nThrusting his freckled neck above the lake.\nWhich seen to both, away Physignathus\nDived to his deeps, as no way conscious\nOf whom he left to perish in his lake,\nBut shunn\u2019d black fate himself, and let him take\nThe blackest of it; who amidst the fen\nSwum with his breast up, hands held up in vain,\nCried _Peepe_, and perish\u2019d; sunk the waters oft,\nAnd often with his sprawlings came aloft,\nYet no way kept down death\u2019s relentless force,\nBut, full of water, made an heavy corse.\nBefore he perish\u2019d yet, he threaten\u2019d thus:\n\u201cThou lurk\u2019st not yet from heaven, Physignathus,\nThough yet thou hid\u2019st here, that hast cast from thee,\nAs from a rock, the shipwrack\u2019d life of me,\nThough thou thyself no better was than I,\nO worst of things, at any faculty,\nWrastling or race. But, for thy perfidy\nIn this my wrack, Jove bears a wreakful eye;\nAnd to the host of Mice thou pains shalt pay,\nPast all evasion.\u201d This his life let say,\nAnd left him to the waters. Him beheld\nLichopinax,[14] placed in the pleasing field,\nWho shriek\u2019d extremely, ran and told the Mice;\nWho having heard his wat\u2019ry destinies,\nPernicious anger pierced the hearts of all,\nAnd then their heralds forth they sent to call\nA council early, at Troxartes\u2019 house,\nSad father of this fatal shipwrack\u2019d Mouse;\nWhose dead corse upwards swum along the lake,\nNor yet, poor wretch, could be enforced to make\nThe shore his harbour, but the mid-main Swum.\nWhen now, all haste made, with first morn did come\nAll to set council; in which first rais\u2019d head\nTroxartes, angry for his son, and said:\n\u201cO friends, though I alone may seem to bear\nAll the infortune, yet may all met here\nAccount it their case. But \u2019tis true, I am\nIn chief unhappy, that a triple flame\nOf life feel put forth, in three famous sons;\nThe first, the chief in our confusions,\nThe Cat, made rape of, caught without his hole:\nThe second, Man, made with a cruel soul,\nBrought to his ruin with a new-found sleight,\nAnd a most wooden engine of deceit,\nThey term a Trap, mere murth\u2019ress of our Mice.\nThe last, that in my love held special price,\nAnd his rare mother\u2019s, this Physignathus\n(With false pretext of wafting to his house)\nStrangled in chief deeps of his bloody stream.\nCome then, haste all, and issue out on them,\nOur bodies deck\u2019d in our D\u00e6dalean arms.\u201d\nThis said, his words thrust all up in alarms,\nAnd Mars himself, that serves the cure of war,\nMade all in their appropriates circular.\nFirst on each leg the green shales of a bean\nThey closed for boots, that sat exceeding clean;[15]\nThe shales they broke ope, boothaling by night,\nAnd ate the beans; their jacks art exquisite\nHad shown in them, being cats\u2019 skins, everywhere\nQuilted with quills; their fenceful bucklers were\nThe middle rounds of can\u2019sticks; but their spear\nA huge long needle was, that could not bear\nThe brain of any but be Mars his own\nMortal invention; their heads\u2019 arming crown\nWas vessel to the kernel of a nut.\nAnd thus the Mice their powers in armour put.\nThis the Frogs hearing, from the water all\nIssue to one place, and a council call\nOf wicked war; consulting what should be\nCause to this murmur and strange mutiny.\nWhile this was question\u2019d, near them made his stand\nAn herald with a sceptre in his hand,\nEmbasichytrus[16] call\u2019d, that fetch\u2019d his kind\nFrom Tyroglyphus[17] with the mighty mind,\nDenouncing ill-named war in these high terms:\n\u201cO Frogs! the Mice send threats to you of arms,\nAnd bid me bid ye battle and fix\u2019d fight;\nTheir eyes all wounded with Psicharpax\u2019 sight\nFloating your waters, whom your king hath kill\u2019d,\nAnd therefore all prepare for force of field,\nYou that are best born whosoever held.\u201d\nThis said, he sever\u2019d: his speech firing th\u2019 ears\nOf all the Mice, but freez\u2019d the Frogs with fears,\nThemselves conceiting guilty; whom the king\nThus answer\u2019d, rising, \u201cFriends! I did not bring\nPsicharpax to his end; he, wantoning\nUpon our waters, practising to swim,\nAped us,[18] and drown\u2019d without my sight of him.\nAnd yet these worst of vermin accuse me,\nThough no way guilty. Come, consider we\nHow we may ruin these deceitful Mice.\nFor my part, I give voice to this advice,\nAs seeming fittest to direct our deeds:\nOur bodies decking with our arming weeds,\nLet all our pow\u2019rs stand rais\u2019d in steep\u2019st repose\nOf all our shore; that, when they charge us close,\nWe may the helms snatch off from all so deckt,\nDaring our onset, and them all deject\nDown to our waters; who, not knowing the sleight.\nTo dive our soft deeps, may be strangled straight,\nAnd we triumphing may a trophy rear,\nOf all the Mice that we have slaughter\u2019d here.\u201d\nThese words put all in arms; and mallow leaves\nThey drew upon their legs, for arming greaves.[19]\nTheir curets, broad green beets; their bucklers were\nGood thick-leaved cabbage, proof \u2019gainst any spear;\nTheir spears sharp bulrushes, of which were all\nFitted with long ones; their parts capital\nThey hid in subtle cockleshells from blows.\nAnd thus all arm\u2019d, the steepest shores they chose\nT\u2019 encamp themselves; where lance with lance they lined,\nAnd brandish\u2019d bravely, each Frog full of mind.\nThen Jove call\u2019d all Gods in his flaming throne,\nAnd show\u2019d all all this preparation\nFor resolute war; these able soldiers,\nMany, and great, all shaking lengthful spears,\nIn show like Centaurs, Or the Giants\u2019 host.\nWhen, sweetly smiling, he inquired who, most\nOf all th\u2019 Immortals, pleased to add their aid\nTo Frogs or Mice; and thus to Pallas said:\n\u201cO Daughter! Must not your needs aid these Mice,\nThat, with the odours and meat sacrifice\nUsed in your temple, endless triumphs make,\nAnd serve you for your sacred victuals\u2019 sake?\u201d\nPallas replied: \u201cO Father, never I\nWill aid the Mice in any misery.\nSo many mischiefs by them I have found,\nEating the cotton that my distaffs crown\u2019d,[20]\nMy lamps still haunting to devour the oil.\nBut that which most my mind eats, is their spoil\nMade of a veil, that me in much did stand,\nOn which bestowing an elaborate hand,\nA fine woof working of as pure a thread;\nSuch holes therein their petulancies fed\nThat, putting it to darning, when \u2019twas done,\nThe darner a most dear pay stood upon\nFor his so dear pains, laid down instantly;\nOr, to forbear, exacted usury.[21]\nSo, borrowing from my fane the weed I wove,\nI can by no means th\u2019 usurous darner move\nTo let me have the mantle to restore.\nAnd this is it that rubs the angry sore\nOf my offence took at these petulant Mice.\nNor will I yield the Frogs\u2019 wants my supplies,\nFor their infirm minds that no confines keep;\nFor I from war retir\u2019d, and wanting sleep,\nAll leap\u2019d ashore in tumult, nor would stay\nTill one wink seized mine eyes, and so I lay\nSleepless, and pain\u2019d with headache, till first light\nThe cock had crow\u2019d up. Therefore, to the fight\nLet no God go assistant, lest a lance\nWound whosoever offers to advance,\nOr wishes but their aid, that scorn all foes;\nShould any God\u2019s access their spirits oppose.\nSit we then pleased to see from heaven their fight.\u201d\nShe said, and all Gods join\u2019d in her delight.\nAnd now both hosts to one field drew the jar,\nBoth heralds bearing the ostents of war.\nAnd then the wine-gnats,[22] that shrill trumpets sound,\nTerribly rung out the encounter round;\nJove thund\u2019red; all heaven sad war\u2019s sign resounded.\nAnd first Hypsiboas[23] Lichenor[24] wounded,\nStanding th\u2019 impression of the first in fight.\nHis lance did in his liver\u2019s midst alight,\nAlong his belly. Down he fell; his face\nHis fall on that part sway\u2019d, and all the grace\nOf his soft hair fil\u2019d with disgraceful dust.\nThen Troglodytes[25] his thick javelin thrust\nIn Pelion\u2019s[26] bosom, bearing him to ground,\nWhom sad death seiz\u2019d; his soul flew through his wound.\nSeutl\u00e6us[27] next Embasichytros slew,\nHis heart through-thrusting. Then Artophagus[28] threw\nHis lance at Polyphon,[29] and struck him quite\nThrough his mid-belly; down he fell upright,\nAnd from his fair limbs took his soul her flight.\nLimnocharis,[30] beholding Polyphon\nThus done to death, did, with as round a stone\nAs that the mill turns, Troglodytes wound,\nNear his mid-neck, ere he his onset found;\nWhose eyes sad darkness seiz\u2019d. Lichenor[31] cast\nA flying dart off, and his aim so placed\nUpon Limnocharis; that sure he thought[32]\nThe wound he wish\u2019d him; nor untruly wrought\nThe dire success, for through his liver flew\nThe fatal lance; which when Crambophagus[33] knew,\nDown the deep waves near shore he, diving, fled;\nBut fled not fate so; the stern enemy fed\nDeath with his life in diving; never more\nThe air he drew in; his vermilion gore\nStain\u2019d all the waters, and along the shore\nHe laid extended; his fat entrails lay\n(By his small guts\u2019 impulsion) breaking way\nOut at his wound. Limnisius[34] near the shore\nDestroy\u2019d Tyroglyphus. Which frighted sore\nThe soul of Calaminth,[35] seeing coming on,\nFor wreak, Pternoglyphus;[36] who got him gone\nWith large leaps to the lake, his target thrown\nInto the waters. Hydrocharis[37] slew\nKing Pternophagus,[38] at whose throat he threw\nA huge stone, strook it high, and beat his brain\nOut at his nostrils. Earth blush\u2019d with the stain\nHis blood made on her bosom. For next prise,\nLichopinax to death did sacrifice\nBorboroccetes\u2019[39] faultless faculties;\nHis lance enforced it; darkness closed his eyes.\nOn which when Prassophagus[40] cast his look,\nCnissodioctes[41] by the heels he took,\nDragg\u2019d him to fen from off his native ground,\nThen seized his throat, and soused him till he drown\u2019d\nBut now Psicharpax wreaks his fellows\u2019 deaths,\nAnd in the bosom of Pelusius[42] sheaths,\nIn centre of his liver, his bright lance.\nHe fell before the author of the chance;\nHis soul to hell fled. Which Pelobates[43]\nTaking sad note of, wreakfully did seize\nHis hand\u2019s gripe full of mud, and all besmear\u2019d\nHis forehead with it so, that scarce appear\u2019d\nThe light to him. Which certainly incensed\nHis fiery spleen; who with his wreak dispensed\nNo point of time, but rear\u2019d with his strong hand\nA stone so massy it oppress\u2019d the land,\nAnd hurl\u2019d it at him; when below the knee\nIt strook his right leg so impetuously\nIt piecemeal brake it; he the dust did seize,\nUpwards everted. But Craugasides[44]\nRevenged his death, and at his enemy\nDischarged a dart that did his point imply\nIn his mid-belly. All the sharp-pil\u2019d spear\nGot after in, and did before it bear\nHis universal entrails to the earth,\nSoon as his swoln hand gave his jav\u2019lin birth.\nSitophagus,[45] beholding the sad sight,\nSet on the shore, went halting from the fight,\nVex\u2019d with his wounds extremely; and, to make\nWay from extreme fate, leap\u2019d into the lake.\nTroxartes strook, in th\u2019 instep\u2019s upper part,\nPhysignathus; who (privy to the smart\nHis wound imparted) with his utmost haste\nLeap\u2019d to the lake, and fled. Troxartes cast\nHis eye upon the foe that fell before,\nAnd, seeing him half-liv\u2019d, long\u2019d again to gore\nHis gutless bosom; and, to kill him quite,\nRan fiercely at him. Which Prassseus\u2019[46] sight\nTook instant note of, and the first in fight\nThrust desp\u2019rate way through, casting his keen lance\nOff at Troxartes; whose shield turn\u2019d th\u2019 advance\nThe sharp head made, and check\u2019d the mortal chance.\nAmongst the Mice fought an egregious\nYoung springall, and a close-encount\u2019ring Mouse,\nPure Artepibulus\u2019s[47] dear descent;\nA prince that Mars himself show\u2019d where he went.\n(Call\u2019d Meridarpax,[48]) of so huge a might,\nThat only he still domineer\u2019d in fight\nOf all the Mouse-host. He advancing close\nUp to the lake, past all the rest arose\nIn glorious object, and made vaunt that he\nCame to depopulate all the progeny\nOf Frogs, affected with the lance of war.\nAnd certainly he had put on as far\nAs he advanced his vaunt, he was endu\u2019d\nWith so unmatch\u2019d a force and fortitude,\nHad not the Father both of Gods and men\nInstantly known it, and the Frogs, even then\nGiven up to ruin, rescued with remorse.\nWho, his head moving, thus began discourse:\n\u201cNo mean amaze affects me, to behold\nPrince Meridarpax rage so uncontroll\u2019d,\nIn thirst of Frog-blood, all along the lake.\nCome therefore still, and all addression make,\nDespatching Pallas, with tumultuous Mars,\nDown to the field, to make him leave the wars,\nHow potently soever he be said[49]\nWhere he attempts once to uphold his head.\u201d\nMars answer\u2019d: \u201cO Jove, neither She nor I,\nWith both our aids, can keep depopulacy\nFrom off the Frogs! And therefore arm we all,\nEven thy lance letting brandish to his call\nFrom off the field, that from the field withdrew\nThe Titanois, the Titanois that slew,\nThough most exempt from match of all earth\u2019s Seeds,\nSo great and so inaccessible deeds\nIt hath proclaim\u2019d to men; bound hand and foot\nThe vast Enceladus; and rac\u2019d by th\u2019 root\nThe race of upland Giants.\u201d This speech past,\nSaturnius a smoking lightning cast\nAmongst the armies, thund\u2019ring then so sore,\nThat with a rapting circumflex he bore\nAll huge heaven over. But the terrible ire\nOf his dart, sent abroad, all wrapt in fire,\n(Which certainly his very finger was)\nAmazed both Mice and Frogs. Yet soon let pass\nWas all this by the Mice, who much the more\nBurn\u2019d in desire t\u2019 exterminate the store\nOf all those lance-loved soldiers. Which had been,\nIf from Olympus Jove\u2019s eye had not seen\nThe Frogs with pity, and with instant speed\nSent them assistants. Who, ere any heed\nWas given to their approach, came crawling on\nWith anvils on their backs, that, beat upon[50]\nNever so much, are never wearied yet;\nCrook-paw\u2019d, and wrested on with foul cloven feet,\nTongues in their mouths,[51] brick-back\u2019d, all over bone,\nBroad shoulder\u2019d, whence a ruddy yellow shone,\nDistorted, and small-thigh\u2019d; had eyes that saw\nOut at their bosoms; twice four feet did draw\nAbout their bodies; strong-neck\u2019d, whence did rise\nTwo heads; nor could to any hand be prise;\nThey call them lobsters; that ate from the Mice\nTheir tails, their feet, and hands, and wrested all\nTheir lances from them, so that cold appall\nThe wretches put in rout, past all return.\nAnd now the Fount of Light forbore to burn\nAbove the earth; when, which men\u2019s laws commend,\nOur battle in one day took absolute end.\n\n THE END OF HOMER\u2019S BATTLE OF FROGS AND MICE.\n\n [1] Intending _men:_ being divided from all other creatures by the\n voice; _\u03bc\u03ad\u03c1\u03bf\u03c8,_ being a periphrasis, signifying _voce divisus,_ of\n _\u03bc\u03b5\u03af\u03c1\u03c9 (\u03bc\u03b5\u03af\u03c1\u03bf\u03bc\u03b1\u03b9) divido,_ and _\u1f45\u03c8, \u1f41\u03c0\u03cc\u03c2, vox._\n\n [2] _\u03a6\u03c5\u03c3\u03af\u03b3\u03bd\u03b1\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2, Genas et buccas inflans._\n\n [3] _\u03a0\u03b7\u03bb\u03b5\u03cd\u03c2, qui ex luto nascitur._\n\n [4] _\u2018\u03d2\u03b4\u03c1\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03b4\u03bf\u03c5\u03bd\u03b1. Aquarum regina._\n\n [5] The river Po, in Italy.\n\n [6] _\u03a8\u03b9\u03c7\u03ac\u03c1\u03c0\u03b1\u03be._ Gather-crum, or ravish-crum,\n\n [7] Shear-crust.\n\n [8] Lick-mill.\n\n [9] Bacon-flitch-devourer, or gnawer.\n\n [10] _\u03a4\u03b1\u03bd\u03cd\u03c0\u03b5\u03c0\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2. Extenso et prourisso peploamictus._ A metaphor taken\n from ladies\u2019 veils, or trains, and therefore their names are here\n added.\n\n [11] _\u1fde\u0397\u03c0\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u03bb\u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u03bf\u03c7\u03af\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\u03b1._ Livering puddings white-skinn\u2019d.\n\n [12] _\u03a0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03b4\u03b1\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u0311\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd._ Whose common exposition is only _variis,_ when\n it properly signifies _ex omni solo._\n\n [13] _\u03a3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\u03cc\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd,_ of _\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03bd\u03cc\u03c2, angutstus._\n\n [14] Lickdish.\n\n [15] _\u0395\u03c5\u0352 \u03c4\u1fbd \u1f00\u03c3\u03ba\u03ae\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2, ab \u1f00\u03c3\u03ba\u03ad\u03c9, elaborat\u00e8 concinno._\n\n [16] Enter-pot, or search-pot.\n\n [17] Cheese-miner. _Qui caseum rodendo cavat._\n\n [18] _\u039c\u03b9\u03bc\u03bf\u03cd\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2._ Aping, or imitating us.\n\n [19] Boots of war.\n\n [20] _\u03a3\u03c4\u03ad\u03bc\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1, Lanas, eo quod colus cingant seu coronent._ Which our\n learned sect translate eating the crowns that Pallas wore.\n\n [21] _\u03a4\u03cc\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2. Partus, et id quod partu edidit mater. Metap. hic\n appellatur f\u00e6nus quod ex usur\u00e2 ad nos redit._\n\n [22] _\u039a\u03ce\u03bd\u03c9\u03c8. Culex vinarius._\n\n [23] Loud-mouth.\n\n [24] Kitchen-vessel licker.\n\n [25] Hole-dweller. _Qui foramina subit._\n\n [26] Mud-born.\n\n [27] Beet-devourer.\n\n [28] The great bread eater.\n\n [29] _\u03a0\u03bf\u03bb\u03cd\u03c6\u03c9\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd._ The great-noise-maker, shrill or big-voiced.\n\n [30] The lake-lover.\n\n [31] _Qui lambit culinaria vasa._\n\n [32] _\u03a4\u03b9\u03c4\u03cd\u03c3\u03ba\u03bf\u03bc\u03b1\u03b9 intentissime dirigo ut certum ictum inferam._\n\n [33] The cabbage-eater.\n\n [34] _Paludis incola._ Lake-liver.\n\n [35] _Qui in calaminth\u00e2, herb\u00e2 palustri, habitat._\n\n [36] Bacon-eater.\n\n [37] _Qui aquis delectatur._\n\n [38] Collop-devourer.\n\n [39] Mud-sleeper.\n\n [40] Leek or scallion lover.\n\n [41] Kitchen-smell haunter, or hunter.\n\n [42] Fenstalk.\n\n [43] _Qui per lutum it._\n\n [44] Vociferator.\n\n [45] Eat-corn.\n\n [46] Scallion-devourer.\n\n [47] Bread-betrayer.\n\n [48] Scrap, or broken-meat-eater.\n\n [49] _\u039a\u03c1\u03b1\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03cc\u03c2, validus seu potens in retineudo._\n\n [50] _\u039d\u03c9\u03c4\u03ac\u03ba\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b5\u03c2. Incudes ferentes,_ or anvil-backed. _\u1fde\u0391\u03ba\u03bc\u03c9\u03bd. Incus,\n dicta per syncopen quasi nullis ictibus fatigetur._\n\n [51] _\u03a8\u03b1\u03bb\u03af\u03b4\u03bf\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2. Forcipem in ore habens._\n\n\n\n\nHYMNS\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Apollo\n\nI will remember and express the praise\nOf heaven\u2019s Far-darter, the fair King of days,\nWhom even the Gods themselves fear when he goes\nThrough Jove\u2019s high house; and when his goodly bows\nHe goes to bend, all from their thrones arise,\nAnd cluster near, t\u2019 admire his faculties.\nOnly Latona stirs not from her seat\nClose by the Thund\u2019rer, till her Son\u2019s retreat\nFrom his dread archery; but then she goes,\nSlackens his string, and shuts his quiver close,\nAnd (having taken to her hand his bow,\nFrom off his able shoulders) doth bestow\nUpon a pin of gold the glorious tiller,\nThe pin of gold fix\u2019d in his father\u2019s pillar.\nThen doth She to his throne his state uphold,\nWhere his great Father, in a cup of gold,\nServes him with nectar, and shows all the grace\nOf his great son. Then th\u2019 other Gods take place;\nHis gracious mother glorying to bear\nSo great an archer, and a son so clear.\nAll hail, O blest Latona! to bring forth\nAn issue of such all-out-shining worth,\nRoyal Apollo, and the Queen that loves\nThe hurls of darts. She in th\u2019 Ortygian groves,\nAnd he in cliffy Delos, leaning on\nThe lofty Oros, and being built upon\nBy Cynthus\u2019 prominent, that his head rears\nClose to the palm that Inops\u2019 fluent cheers.\nHow shall I praise thee, far being worthiest praise,\nO Ph\u0153bus? To whose worth the law of lays\nIn all kinds is ascrib\u2019d, if feeding flocks\nBy continent or isle. All eminent\u2019st rocks\nDid sing for joy, hill-tops, and floods in song\nDid break their billows, as they flow\u2019d along\nTo serve the sea; the shores, the seas, and all\nDid sing as soon as from the lap did fall\nOf blest Latona thee the joy of man.\nHer child-bed made the mountain Cynthian\nIn rocky Delos, the sea-circled isle,\nOn whose all sides the black seas brake their pile,\nAnd overflow\u2019d for joy, so frank a gale\nThe singing winds did on their waves exhale.\nHere born, all mortals live in thy commands,\nWhoever Crete holds, Athens, or the strands\nOf th\u2019 isle \u00c6gina, or the famous land\nFor ships (Eub\u0153a), or Eresia,\nOr Peparethus bord\u2019ring on the sea,\n\u00c6gas, or Athos that doth Thrace divide\nAnd Macedon; or Pelion, with the pride\nOf his high forehead; or the Samian isle,\nThat likewise lies near Thrace; or Scyrus\u2019 soil;\nIda\u2019s steep tops; or all that Phocis fill;\nOr Autocanes, with the heaven-high hill;\nOr populous Imber; Lemnos without ports;\nOr Lesbos, fit for the divine resorts;\nAnd sacred soil of blest \u00c6olion;\nOr Chios that exceeds comparison\nFor fruitfulness; with all the isles that lie\nEmbrac\u2019d with seas; Mimas, with rocks so high;\nOr lofty-crown\u2019d Corycius; or the bright\nCharos; or \u00c6sag\u00e6us\u2019 dazzling height;\nOr watery Samos; Mycale, that bears\nHer brows even with the circles of the spheres;\nMiletus; Cous, that the city is\nOf voice-divided-choice humanities;\nHigh Cnidus; Carpathus, still strook with wind;\nNaxos, and Paros; and the rocky-min\u2019d\nRugged Rhen\u00e6a. Yet through all these parts\nLatona, great-grown with the King of darts,\nTravell\u2019d; and tried if any would become\nTo her dear birth an hospitable home.\nAll which extremely trembled, shook with fear,\nNor durst endure so high a birth to bear\nIn their free states, though, for it, they became\nNever so fruitful; till the reverend Dame\nAscended Delos, and her soil did seize\nWith these wing\u2019d words: \u201cO Delos! Wouldst thou please\nTo be my son Apollo\u2019s native seat,\nAnd build a wealthy fane to one so great,\nNo one shall blame or question thy kind deed.\nNor think I, thou dost sheep or oxen feed\nIn any such store, or in vines exceed,\nNor bring\u2019st forth such innumerable plants,\nWhich often make the rich inhabitants\nCareless of Deity. If thou then shouldst rear\nA fane to Ph\u0153bus, all men would confer\nWhole hecatombs of beeves for sacrifice,\nStill thronging hither; and to thee would rise\nEver unmeasur\u2019d odours, shouldst thou long\nNourish thy King thus; and from foreign wrong\nThe Gods would guard thee; which thine own address\nCan never compass for thy barrenness.\u201d\nShe said, and Delos joy\u2019d, replying thus:\n\u201cMost happy sister of Saturnius!\nI gladly would with all means entertain\nThe King your son, being now despised of men,\nBut should be honour\u2019d with the greatest then.\nYet this I fear, nor will conceal from thee:\nYour son, some say, will author misery\nIn many kinds, as being to sustain\nA mighty empire over Gods and men,\nUpon the holy-gift-giver the Earth.\nAnd bitterly I fear that, when his birth\nGives him the sight of my so barren soil,\nHe will contemn, and give me up to spoil,\nEnforce the sea to me, that ever will\nOppress my heart with many a wat\u2019ry hill.\nAnd therefore let him choose some other land,\nWhere he shall please, to build at his command\nTemple and grove, set thick with many a tree.\nFor wretched polypuses breed in me\nRetiring chambers, and black sea-calves den\nIn my poor soil, for penury of men.\nAnd yet, O Goddess, wouldst thou please to swear\nThe Gods\u2019 great oath to me, before thou bear\nThy blessed son here, that thou wilt erect\nA fane to him, to render the effect\nOf men\u2019s demands to them before they fall,\nThen will thy son\u2019s renown be general,\nMen will his name in such variety call,\nAnd I shall then be glad his birth to bear.\u201d\nThis said, the Gods\u2019 great oath she thus did swear:\n\u201cKnow this, O Earth! broad heaven\u2019s inferior sphere,\nAnd of black Styx the most infernal lake,\n(Which is the gravest oath the Gods can take)\nThat here shall ever rise to Ph\u0153bus\u2019 name\nAn odorous fane and altar; and thy fame\nHonour, past all isles else, shall see him employ\u2019d.\u201d\nHer oath thus took and ended, Delos joy\u2019d\nin mighty measure that she should become\nTo far-shot Ph\u0153bus\u2019 birth the famous home.\nLatona then nine days and nights did fall\nIn hopeless labour; at whose birth were all\nHeaven\u2019s most supreme and worthy Goddesses,\nDione, Rh\u00e6a, and th\u2019 Exploratress\nThemis, and Amphitrite that will be\nPursu\u2019d with sighs still; every Deity,\nExcept the snowy-wristed wife of Jove,\nWho held her moods aloft, and would not move;\nOnly Lucina (to whose virtue vows\nEach childbirth patient) heard not of her throes,\nBut sat, by Juno\u2019s counsel, on the brows\nOf broad Olympus, wrapp\u2019d in clouds of gold.\nWhom Jove\u2019s proud wife in envy did withhold,\nBecause bright-lock\u2019d Latona was to bear\nA son so faultless and in force so clear.\nThe rest Thaumantia sent before, to bring\nLucina to release the envied king,\nAssuring her, that they would straight confer\nA carcanet, nine cubits long, on her,\nAll woven with wires of gold. But charg\u2019d her, then,\nTo call apart from th\u2019 ivory-wristed Queen\nThe childbirth-guiding Goddess, for just fear\nLest, her charge utter\u2019d in Saturnia\u2019s ear,\nShe, after, might dissuade her from descent.\nWhen wind-swift-footed Iris knew th\u2019 intent\nOf th\u2019 other Goddesses, away she went,\nAnd instantly she pass\u2019d the infinite space\n\u2019Twixt earth and heaven; when, coming to the place\nWhere dwelt th\u2019 Immortals, straight without the gate\nShe gat Lucina, and did all relate\nThe Goddesses commanded, and inclin\u2019d\nTo all that they demanded her dear mind.\nAnd on their way they went, like those two doves\nThat, walking highways, every shadow moves\nUp from the earth, forc\u2019d with their natural fear.\nWhen ent\u2019ring Delos, She, that is so dear\nTo dames in labour, made Latona straight\nProne to delivery, and to wield the weight\nOf her dear burthen with a world of ease.\nWhen, with her fair hand, she a palm did seize,\nAnd, staying her by it, stuck her tender knees\nAmidst the soft mead, that did smile beneath\nHer sacred labour; and the child did breathe\nThe air in th\u2019 instant. All the Goddesses\nBrake in kind tears and shrieks for her quick ease,\nAnd thee, O archer Ph\u0153bus, with waves clear\nWash\u2019d sweetly over, swaddled with sincere\nAnd spotless swathbands; and made then to flow\nAbout thy breast a mantle, white as snow,\nFine, and new made; and cast a veil of gold\nOver thy forehead. Nor yet forth did hold\nThy mother for thy food her golden breast,\nBut Themis, in supply of it, address\u2019d\nLovely Ambrosia, and drunk off to thee\nA bowl of nectar, interchangeably\nWith her immortal fingers serving thine.\nAnd when, O Ph\u0153bus, that eternal wine\nThy taste had relish\u2019d, and that food divine,\nNo golden swathband longer could contain\nThy panting bosom; all that would constrain\nThy soon-eas\u2019d Godhead, every feeble chain\nOf earthy child-rites, flew in sunder all.\nAnd then didst thou thus to the Deities call:\n\u201cLet there be given me my lov\u2019d lute and bow,\nI\u2019ll prophesy to men, and make them know\nJove\u2019s perfect counsels.\u201d This said, up did fly\nFrom broad-way\u2019d Earth the unshorn Deity,\nFar-shot Apollo. All th\u2019 Immortals stood\nIn steep amaze to see Latona\u2019s brood.\nAll Delos, looking on him, all with gold\nWas loaden straight, and joy\u2019d to be extoll\u2019d\nBy great Latona so, that she decreed\nHer barrenness should bear the fruitful\u2019st seed\nOf all the isles and continents of earth,\nAnd lov\u2019d her from her heart so for her birth.\nFor so she flourish\u2019d, as a hill that stood\nCrown\u2019d with the flow\u2019r of an abundant wood.\nAnd thou, O Ph\u0153bus, bearing in thy hand\nThy silver bow, walk\u2019st over every land,\nSometimes ascend\u2019st the rough-hewn rocky hill\nOf desolate Cynthus, and sometimes tak\u2019st will\nTo visit islands, and the plumps of men.\nAnd many a temple, all ways, men ordain\nTo thy bright Godhead; groves, made dark with trees,\nAnd never shorn, to hide the Deities,\nAll high-lov\u2019d prospects, all the steepest brows\nOf far-seen hills, and every flood that flows\nForth to the sea, are dedicate to thee.\nBut most of all thy mind\u2019s alacrity\nIs rais\u2019d with Delos; since, to fill thy fane,\nThere flocks so many an Ionian,\nWith ample gowns that flow down to their feet,\nWith all their children, and the reverend sweet\nOf all their pious wives. And these are they\nThat (mindful of thee) even thy Deity\nRender more spritely with their champion fight,\nDances, and songs, perform\u2019d to glorious sight,\nOnce having publish\u2019d, and proclaim\u2019d their strife.\nAnd these are acted with such exquisite life\nThat one would say, \u201cNow, the Ionian strains\nAre turn\u2019d Immortals, nor know what age means.\u201d\nHis mind would take such pleasure from his eye,\nTo see them serv\u2019d by all mortality,\nTheir men so human, women so well grac\u2019d,\nTheir ships so swift, their riches so increas\u2019d,\nSince thy observance, who, being all before\nThy opposites, were all despis\u2019d and poor.\nAnd to all these this absolute wonder add,\nWhose praise shall render all posterities glad:\nThe Delian virgins are thy handmaids all,\nAnd, since they serv\u2019d Apollo, jointly fall\nBefore Latona, and Diana too,\nIn sacred service, and do therefore know\nHow to make mention of the ancient trims\nOf men and women, in their well-made hymns,\nAnd soften barbarous nations with their songs,\nBeing able all to speak the several tongues\nOf foreign nations, and to imitate\nTheir musics there, with art so fortunate\nThat one would say, there everyone did speak,\nAnd all their tunes in natural accents break,\nTheir songs so well compos\u2019d are, and their art\nTo answer all sounds is of such desert.\nBut come, Latona, and thou King of flames,\nWith Ph\u0153be, rect\u2019ress of chaste thoughts in dames\nLet me salute ye, and your graces call\nHereafter to my just memorial.\nAnd you, O Delian virgins, do me grace,\nWhen any stranger of our earthy race,\nWhose restless life affliction hath in chace,\nShall hither come and question you, who is,\nTo your chaste ears, of choicest faculties\nIn sacred poesy, and with most right\nIs author of your absolut\u2019st delight,\nYe shall yourselves do all the right ye can\nTo answer for our name:\u2014\u201cThe sightless man\nOf stony Chios. All whose poems shall\nIn all last ages stand for capital.\u201d\nThis for your own sakes I desire, for I\nWill propagate mine own precedency\nAs far as earth shall well-built cities bear,\nOr human conversation is held dear,\nNot with my praise direct, but praises due,\nAnd men shall credit it, because \u2019tis true.\nHowever, I\u2019ll not cease the praise I vow\nTo far-shot Ph\u0153bus with the silver bow,\nWhom lovely-hair\u2019d Latona gave the light.\nO King! both Lycia is in rule thy right,\nFair M\u0153ony, and the maritimal\nMiletus, wish\u2019d to be the seat of all.\nBut chiefly Delos, girt with billows round,\nThy most respected empire doth resound.\nWhere thou to Pythus went\u2019st, to answer there,\nAs soon as thou wert born, the burning ear\nOf many a far-come, to hear future deeds,\nClad in divine and odoriferous weeds,\nAnd with thy golden fescue play\u2019dst upon\nThy hollow harp, that sounds to heaven set gone.\nThen to Olympus swift as thought he flew,\nTo Jove\u2019s high house, and had a retinue\nOf Gods t\u2019 attend him; and then straight did fall\nTo study of the harp, and harpsical,\nAll th\u2019 Immortals. To whom every Muse\nWith ravishing voices did their answers use,\nSinging th\u2019 eternal deeds of Deity,\nAnd from their hands what hells of misery\nPoor humans suffer, living desperate quite,\nAnd not an art they have, wit, or deceit,\nCan make them manage any act aright,\nNor find, with all the soul they can engage,\nA salve for death, or remedy for age.\nBut here the fair-hair\u2019d Graces, the wise Hours,\nHarmonia, Hebe, and sweet Venus\u2019 pow\u2019rs,\nDanc\u2019d, and each other\u2019s palm to palm did cling.\nAnd with these danc\u2019d not a deformed thing,\nNo forespoke dwarf, nor downward witherling,\nBut all with wond\u2019rous goodly forms were deckt,\nAnd mov\u2019d with beauties of unpriz\u2019d aspect.\nDart-dear Diana, even with Ph\u0153bus bred,\nDanc\u2019d likewise there; and Mars a march did tread\nWith that brave bevy. In whose consort fell\nArgicides, th\u2019 ingenious sentinel.\nPh\u0153bus-Apollo touch\u2019d his lute to them\nSweetly and softly, a most glorious beam\nCasting about him, as he danc\u2019d and play\u2019d,\nAnd even his feet were all with rays array\u2019d;\nHis weed and all of a most curious trim\nWith no less lustre grac\u2019d and circled him.\nBy these Latona, with a hair that shin\u2019d\nLike burnish\u2019d gold, and, with the mighty mind;\nHeaven\u2019s counsellor, Jove, sat with delightsome eyes;\nTo see their son new rank\u2019d with Deities.\nHow shall I praise thee, then, that art all praise?\nAmongst the brides shall I thy Deity raise?\nOr being in love, when sad thou went\u2019st to woo\nThe virgin Aza, and didst overthrow\nThe even-with-Gods, Elation\u2019s mighty seed,\nThat had of goodly horse so brave a breed,\nAnd Phorbas, son of sovereign Triopus,\nValiant Leucippus, and Ereutheus,\nAnd Triopus himself with equal fall,\nThou but on foot, and they on horseback all?\nOr shall I sing thee, as thou first didst grace\nEarth with thy foot, to find thee forth a place\nFit to pronounce thy oracles to men?\nFirst from Olympus thou alightedst then\nInto Pieria, passing all the land\nOf fruitless Lesbos, chok\u2019d with drifts of sand,\nThe Magnets likewise, and the Perrh\u00e6bes;\nAnd to Iolcus variedst thy access,\nCen\u00e6us\u2019 tops ascending, that their base\nMake bright Eub\u0153a, being of ships the grace,\nAnd fix\u2019d thy fair stand in Lelantus\u2019 field,\nThat did not yet thy mind\u2019s contentment yield\nTo raise a fane on, and a sacred grove.\nPassing Euripus then, thou mad\u2019st remove\nUp to earth\u2019s ever-green and holiest hill.\nYet swiftly thence, too, thou transcendedst still\nTo Mycalessus, and didst touch upon\nTeumessus, apt to make green couches on,\nAnd flowery field-beds. Then thy progress found\nThebes out, whose soil with only woods was crown\u2019d,\nFor yet was sacred Thebes no human seat,\nAnd therefore were no paths nor highways beat\nOn her free bosom, that flows now with wheat,\nBut then she only wore on it a wood.\nFrom hence (even loth to part, because it stood\nFit for thy service) thou putt\u2019st on remove\nTo green Onchestus, Neptune\u2019s glorious grove,\nWhere new-tam\u2019d horse, bred, nourish nerves so rare\nThat still they frolic, though they travell\u2019d are\nNever so sore, and hurry after them\nMost heavy coaches, but are so extreme\n(In usual travel) fiery and free,\nThat though their coachman ne\u2019er so masterly\nGoverns their courages, he sometimes must\nForsake his seat, and give their spirits their lust,\nWhen after them their empty coach they draw,\nFoaming, and neighing, quite exempt from awe.\nAnd if their coachman guide through any grove\nUnshorn, and vow\u2019d to any Deity\u2019s love,\nThe lords encoach\u2019d leap out, and all their care\nUse to allay their fires, with speaking fair\nStroking and trimming them, and in some queach,\nOr strength of shade, within their nearest reach,\nReining them up, invoke the deified King\nOf that unshorn and everlasting spring,\nAnd leave them then to her preserving hands,\nWho is the Fate that there the God commands.\nAnd this was first the sacred fashion there.\nFrom hence thou went\u2019st, O thou in shafts past peer,\nAnd found\u2019st Cephissus with thy all-seeing beams,\nWhose flood affects so many silver streams,\nAnd from Lil\u00e6us pours so bright a wave.\nYet forth thy foot flew, and thy fair eyes gave\nThe view of Ocale the rich in tow\u2019rs;\nThen to Amartus that abounds in flow\u2019rs,\nThen to Delphusa putt\u2019st thy progress on,\nWhose blessed soil nought harmful breeds upon;\nAnd there thy pleasure would a fane adorn,\nAnd nourish woods whose shades should ne\u2019er be shorn.\nWhere this thou told\u2019st her, standing to her close:\n\u201cDelphusa, here I entertain suppose\nTo build a far-fam\u2019d temple, and ordain\nAn oracle t\u2019 inform the minds of men,\nWho shall for ever offer to my love\nWhole hecatombs; even all the men that move\nIn rich Peloponnesus, and all those\nOf Europe, and the isles the seas enclose,\nWhom future search of acts and beings brings.\nTo whom I\u2019ll prophesy the truths of things\nIn that rich temple where my oracle sings.\u201d\nThis said, the All-bounds-reacher, with his bow,\nThe fane\u2019s divine foundations did foreshow;\nAmple they were, and did huge length impart,\nWith a continuate tenour, full of art.\nBut when Delphusa look\u2019d into his end,\nHer heart grew angry, and did thus extend\nItself to Ph\u0153bus: \u201cPh\u0153bus, since thy mind\nA far-fam\u2019d fane hath in itself design\u2019d\nTo bear an oracle to men in me,\nThat hecatombs may put in fire to thee,\nThis let me tell thee, and impose for stay\nUpon thy purpose: Th\u2019 inarticulate neigh\nOf fire-hov\u2019d horse will ever disobey\nThy numerous ear, and mules will for their drink\nTrouble my sacred springs, and I should think\nThat any of the human race had rather\nSee here the hurries of rich coaches gather,\nAnd hear the haughty neighs of swift-hov\u2019d horse,\nThan in his pleasure\u2019s place convert recourse\nT\u2019a mighty temple; and his wealth bestow\nOn pieties, where his sports may freely flow,\nOr see huge wealth that he shall never owe.\nAnd, therefore, wouldst thou hear my free advice,\u2014\nThough mightier far thou art, and much more wise,\nO king, than I, thy pow\u2019r being great\u2019st of all\nIn Crissa, underneath the bosom\u2019s fall\nOf steep Parnassus,\u2014let thy mind be given\nTo set thee up a fane, where never driven\nShall glorious coaches be, nor horses\u2019 neighs\nStorm near thy well-built altars, but thy praise\nLet the fair race of pious humans bring\nInto thy fane, that Io-p\u00e6ans sing.\nAnd those gifts only let thy deified mind\nBe circularly pleas\u2019d with, being the kind\nAnd fair burnt-offerings that true Deities bind.\u201d\nWith this his mind she altered, though she spake\nNot for his good, but her own glory\u2019s sake.\nFrom hence, O Ph\u0153bus, first thou mad\u2019st retreat,\nAnd of the Phlegians reached the walled seat,\nInhabited with contumelious men,\nWho, slighting Jove, took up their dwellings then\nWithin a large cave, near Cephissus\u2019 lake.\nHence, swiftly moving, thou all speed didst make\nUp to the tops intended, and the ground\nOf Crissa, under the-with-snow-still-crown\u2019d\nParnassus, reach\u2019d, whose face affects the West;\nAbove which hangs a rock, that still seems prest\nTo fall upon it, through whose breast doth run\nA rocky cave, near which the King the Sun\nCast to contrive a temple to his mind,\nAnd said, \u201cNow here stands my conceit inclin\u2019d\nTo build a famous fane, where still shall be\nAn oracle to men, that still to me\nShall offer absolute hecatombs, as well\nThose that in rich Peloponnesus dwell\nAs those of Europe, and the isles that lie\nWall\u2019d with the sea, that all their pains apply\nT\u2019 employ my counsels. To all which will I\nTrue secrets tell, by way of prophecy,\nIn my rich temple, that shall ever be\nAn oracle to all posterity.\u201d\nThis said, the fane\u2019s form he did straight present,\nAmple, and of a length of great extent;\nIn which Trophonius and Agamede,\nWho of Erginus were the famous seed,\nImpos\u2019d the stony entry, and the heart\nOf every God had for their excellent art.\nAbout the temple dwelt of human name\nUnnumber\u2019d nations, it acquired such fame,\nBeing all of stone, built for eternal date.\nAnd near it did a fountain propagate\nA fair stream far away; when Jove\u2019s bright seed,\nThe King Apollo, with an arrow, freed\nFrom his strong string, destroy\u2019d the Dragoness\nThat wonder nourish\u2019d, being of such excess\nIn size, and horridness of monstrous shape,\nThat on the forc\u2019d earth she wrought many a rape,\nMany a spoil made on it, many an ill\nOn crook-haunch\u2019d herds brought, being impurpled still\nWith blood of all sorts; having undergone\nThe charge of Juno, with the golden throne,\nTo nourish Typhon, the abhorr\u2019d affright\nAnd bane of mortals, whom into the light\nSaturnia brought forth, being incensed with Jove,\nBecause the most renown\u2019d fruit of his love\n(Pallas) he got, and shook out of his brain.\nFor which majestic Juno did complain\nIn this kind to the Bless\u2019d Court of the skies:\n\u201cKnow all ye sex-distinguish\u2019d Deities,\nThat Jove, assembler of the cloudy throng,\nBegins with me first, and affects with wrong\nMy right in him, made by himself his wife,\nThat knows and does the honour\u2019d marriage life\nAll honest offices; and yet hath he\nUnduly got, without my company,\nBlue-eyed Minerva, who of all the sky\nOf blest Immortals is the absolute grace;\nWhere I have brought into the Heavenly Race\nA son, both taken in his feet and head,\nSo ugly, and so far from worth my bed,\nThat, ravish\u2019d into hand, I took and threw\nDown to the vast sea his detested view;\nWhere Nereus\u2019 daughter, Thetis, who her way\nWith silver feet makes, and the fair array\nOf her bright sisters, saved, and took to guard.\nBut, would to heaven, another yet were spared\nThe like grace of his godhead! Crafty mate,\nWhat other scape canst thou excogitate?\nHow could thy heart sustain to get alone\nThe grey-eyed Goddess? Her conception\nNor bringing forth had any hand of mine,\nAnd yet, know all the Gods, I go for thine\nTo such kind uses. But I\u2019ll now employ\nMy brain to procreate a masculine joy,\nThat \u2019mongst th\u2019 Immortals may as eminent shine,\nWith shame affecting nor my bed nor thine.\nNor will I ever touch at thine again,\nBut far fly it and thee; and yet will reign\nAmongst th\u2019 Immortals ever.\u201d This spleen spent\n(Still yet left angry) far away she went\nFrom all the Deathless, and yet pray\u2019d to all,\nAdvanced her hand, and, ere she let it fall,\nUsed these excitements: \u201cHear me now, O Earth!\nBroad Heaven above it, and beneath, your birth,\nThe deified Titanois, that dwell about\nVast Tartarus, from whence sprung all the rout\nOf Men and Deities! Hear me all, I say,\nWith all your forces, and give instant way\nT\u2019 a son of mine without Jove, who yet may\nNothing inferior prove in force to him,\nBut past him spring as far in able limb\nAs he past Saturn.\u201d This pronounced, she strook\nLife-bearing Earth so strongly, that she shook\nBeneath her numb\u2019d hand. Which when she beheld,\nHer bosom with abundant comforts swell\u2019d,\nIn hope all should to her desire extend.\nFrom hence the year, that all such proofs gives end,\nGrew round; yet all that time the bed of Jove\nShe never touch\u2019d at, never was her love\nEnflam\u2019d to sit near his D\u00e6dalian throne,\nAs she accustomed, to consult upon\nCounsels kept dark with many a secret skill,\nBut kept her vow-frequented temple still,\nPleas\u2019d with her sacrifice; till now, the nights\nAnd days accomplish\u2019d, and the year\u2019s whole rights\nIn all her revolutions being expired,\nThe hours and all run out that were required\nTo vent a birth-right, she brought forth a son,\nLike Gods or men in no condition,\nBut a most dreadful and pernicious thing,\nCall\u2019d Typhon, who on all the human spring\nConferr\u2019d confusion. Which received to hand\nBy Juno, instantly she gave command\n(Ill to ill adding) that the Dragoness\nShould bring it up; who took, and did oppress\nWith many a misery (to maintain th\u2019 excess\nOf that inhuman monster) all the race\nOf men that were of all the world the grace,\nTill the far-working Ph\u0153bus at her sent\nA fiery arrow, that invoked event\nOf death gave to her execrable life.\nBefore which yet she lay in bitter strife,\nWith dying pains, grovelling on earth, and drew\nExtreme short respirations; for which flew\nA shout about the air, whence no man knew,\nBut came by power divine. And then she lay\nTumbling her trunk, and winding every way\nAbout her nasty nest, quite leaving then\nHer murderous life, embrued with deaths of men.\nThen Ph\u0153bus gloried, saying: \u201cThyself now lie\nOn men-sustaining earth, and putrefy,\nWho first of putrefaction was inform\u2019d.\nNow on thy life have death\u2019s cold vapours storm\u2019d,\nThat storm\u2019dst on men the earth-fed so much death,\nIn envy of the offspring they made breathe\nTheir lives out on my altars. Now from thee\nNot Typhon shall enforce the misery\nOf merited death, nor She, whose name implies\nSuch scathe (Chim\u00e6ra), but black earth make prise\nTo putrefaction thy immanities,\nAnd bright Hyperion, that light all eyes shows,\nThine with a night of rottenness shall close.\u201d\nThus spake he glorying. And then seiz\u2019d upon\nHer horrid heap, with putrefaction,\nHyperion\u2019s lovely pow\u2019rs; from whence her name\nTook sound of Python, and heaven\u2019s Sovereign Flame\nWas surnam\u2019d Pythius, since the sharp-eyed Sun\nAffected so with putrefaction\nThe hellish monster. And now Ph\u0153bus\u2019 mind\nGave him to know that falsehood had strook blind\nEven his bright eye, because it could not find\nThe subtle Fountain\u2019s fraud; to whom he flew,\nEnflamed with anger, and in th\u2019 instant drew\nClose to Delphusa, using this short vow:\n\u201cDelphusa! You must look no longer now\nTo vent your frauds on me; for well I know\nYour situation to be lovely, worth\nA temple\u2019s imposition, it pours forth\nSo delicate a stream. But your renown\nShall now no longer shine here, but mine own.\u201d\nThis said, he thrust her promontory down,\nAnd damm\u2019d her fountain up with mighty stones,\nA temple giving consecrations\nIn woods adjoining. And in this fane all\nOn him, by surname of Delphusius, call,\nBecause Delphusa\u2019s sacred flood and fame\nHis wrath affected so, and hid in shame.\nAnd then thought Ph\u0153bus what descent of men\nTo be his ministers he should retain,\nTo do in stony Pythos sacrifice.\nTo which his mind contending, his quick eyes\nHe cast upon the blue sea, and beheld\nA ship, on whose masts sails that wing\u2019d it swell\u2019d,\nIn which were men transferr\u2019d, many and good,\nThat in Minoian Cnossus ate their food,\nAnd were Cretensians; who now are those\nThat all the sacrificing dues dispose,\nAnd all the laws deliver to a word\nOf Day\u2019s great King, that wears the golden sword,\nAnd oracles (out of his Delphian tree\nThat shrouds her fair arms in the cavity\nBeneath Parnassus\u2019 mount) pronounce to men.\nThese now his priests, that lived as merchants then,\nIn traffics and pecuniary rates,\nFor sandy Pylos and the Pylian states.\nWere under sail. But now encounter\u2019d them\nPh\u0153bus-Apollo, who into the stream\nCast himself headlong, and the strange disguise\nTook of a dolphin of a goodly size.\nLike which he leap\u2019d into their ship, and lay\nAs an ostent of infinite dismay.\nFor none with any strife of mind could look\nInto the omen, all the ship-masts shook,\nAnd silent all sat with the fear they took,\nArm\u2019d not, nor strook they sail, but as before\nWent on with full trim, and a foreright blore,\nStiff, and from forth the south, the ship made fly.\nWhen first they stripp\u2019d the Malean promont\u2019ry,\nTouch\u2019d at Laconia\u2019s soil, in which a town\nTheir ship arriv\u2019d at, that the sea doth crown,\nCalled Tenarus, a place of much delight\nTo men that serve Heaven\u2019s Comforter of sight.\nIn which are fed the famous flocks that bear\nThe wealthy fleeces, on a delicate lair\nBeing fed and seated. Where the merchants fain\nWould have put in, that they might out again\nTo tell the miracle that chanced to them,\nAnd try if it would take the sacred stream,\nRushing far forth, that he again might bear\nThose other fishes that abounded there\nDelightsome company, or still would stay\nAboard their dry ship. But it fail\u2019d t\u2019 obey,\nAnd for the rich Peloponnesian shore\nSteer\u2019d her free sail; Apollo made the blore\nDirectly guide it. That obeying still\nReach\u2019d dry Arena, and (what wish doth fill)\nFair Argyph\u00e6a, and the populous height\nOf Thryus, whose stream, siding her, doth wait\nWith safe pass on Alph\u00e6us, Pylos\u2019 sands,\nAnd Pylian dwellers; keeping by the strands\nOn which th\u2019 inhabitants of Crunius dwell,\nAnd Helida set opposite to hell;\nChalcis and Dymes reach\u2019d, and happily\nMade sail by Pheras; all being overjoy\u2019d\nWith that frank gale that Jove himself employ\u2019d.\nAnd then amongst the clouds they might descry\nThe hill, that far-seen Ithaca calls her Eye,\nDulichius, Samos, and, with timber graced,\nShady Zacynthus. But when now they past\nPeloponnesus all, and then when show\u2019d\nThe infinite vale of Crissa, that doth shroud\nAll rich Morea with her liberal breast,\nSo frank a gale there flew out of the West\nAs all the sky discover\u2019d; \u2019twas so great,\nAnd blew so from the very council seat\nOf Jove himself, that quickly it might send\nThe ship through full seas to her journey\u2019s end.\nFrom thence they sail\u2019d, quite opposite, to the East,\nAnd to the region where Light leaves his rest,\nThe Light himself being sacred pilot there,\nAnd made the sea-trod ship arrive them near\nThe grapeful Crissa, where he rest doth take\nClose to her port and sands. And then forth brake\nThe far-shot King, like to a star that strows\nHis glorious forehead where the mid-day glows,\nThat all in sparkles did his state attire,\nWhose lustre leap\u2019d up to the sphere of fire.\nHe trod where no way oped, and pierced the place\nThat of his sacred tripods held the grace,\nIn which he lighted such a fluent flame\nAs gilt all Crissa; in which every dame,\nAnd dame\u2019s fair daughter, cast out vehement cries\nAt those fell fires of Ph\u0153bus\u2019 prodigies,\nThat shaking fears through all their fancies threw.\nThen, like the mind\u2019s swift light, again he flew\nBack to the ship, shaped like a youth in height\nOf all his graces, shoulders broad and straight,\nAnd all his hair in golden curls enwrapp\u2019d;\nAnd to the merchants thus his speech he shap\u2019d:\n\u201cHo! Strangers! What are you? And from what seat\nSail ye these ways that salt and water sweat?\nTo traffic justly? Or use vagrant scapes\nVoid of all rule, conferring wrongs and rapes,\nLike pirates, on the men ye never saw,\nWith minds project exempt from list or law?\nWhy sit ye here so stupefied, nor take\nLand while ye may, nor deposition make\nOf naval arms, when this the fashion is\nOf men industrious, who (their faculties\nWearied at sea) leave ship, and use the land\nFor food, that with their healths and stomachs stand?\u201d\nThis said, with bold minds he their breast supplied,\nAnd thus made answer the Cretensian guide:\n\u201cStranger! Because you seem to us no seed\nOf any mortal, but celestial breed\nFor parts and person, joy your steps ensue,\nAnd Gods make good the bliss we think your due.\nVouchsafe us true relation, on what land\nWe here arrive, and what men here command.\nWe were for well-known parts bound, and from Crete\n(Our vaunted country) to the Pylian seat\nVow\u2019d our whole voyage; yet arrive we here,\nQuite cross to those wills that our motions steer,\nWishing to make return some other way,\nSome other course desirous to assay,\nTo pay our lost pains. But some God hath fill\u2019d\nOur frustrate sails, defeating what we will\u2019d.\u201d\nApollo answer\u2019d: \u201cStrangers! Though before\nYe dwelt in woody Cnossus, yet no more\nYe must be made your own reciprocals\nTo your loved city and fair severals\nOf wives and houses, but ye shall have here\nMy wealthy temple, honour\u2019d far and near\nOf many a nation; for myself am son\nTo Jove himself, and of Apollo won\nThe glorious title, who thus safely through\nThe sea\u2019s vast billows still have held your plough,\nNo ill intending, that will yet ye make\nMy temple here your own, and honours take\nUpon yourselves, all that to me are given.\nAnd more, the counsels of the King of Heaven\nYourselves shall know, and with his will receive\nEver the honours that all men shall give.\nDo as I say then instantly, strike sail,\nTake down your tackling, and your vessel hale\nUp into land; your goods bring forth, and all\nThe instruments that into sailing fall;\nMake on this shore an altar, fire enflame,\nAnd barley white cakes offer to my name;\nAnd then, environing the altar, pray,\nAnd call me (as ye saw me in the day\nWhen from the windy seas I brake swift way\nInto your ship) Delphinius, since I took\nA dolphin\u2019s form then. And to every look\nThat there shall seek it, that my altar shall\nBe made a Delphian memorial\nFrom thence for ever. After this, ascend\nYour swift black ship and sup, and then intend\nIngenuous offerings to the equal Gods\nThat in celestial seats make blest abodes.\nWhen, having stay\u2019d your healthful hunger\u2019s sting,\nCome all with me, and Io-p\u00e6ans sing\nAll the way\u2019s length, till you attain the state\nWhere I your opulent fane have consecrate.\u201d\nTo this they gave him passing diligent ear,\nAnd vow\u2019d to his obedience all they were.\nFirst, striking sail, their tacklings then they losed,\nAnd (with their gables stoop\u2019d) their mast imposed\nInto the mast-room. Forth themselves then went,\nAnd from the sea into the continent\nDrew up their ship; which far up from the sand\nThey rais\u2019d with ample rafters. Then in hand\nThey took the altar; and inform\u2019d it on\nThe sea\u2019s near shore, imposing thereupon\nWhite cakes of barley, fire made, and did stand\nAbout it round, as Ph\u0153bus gave command,\nSubmitting invocations to his will.\nThen sacrific\u2019d to all the heavenly hill\nOf pow\u2019rful Godheads. After which they eat\nAboard their ship, till with fit food replete\nThey rose, nor to their temple used delay.\nWhom Ph\u0153bus usher\u2019d, and touch\u2019d all the way\nHis heavenly lute with art above admired,\nGracefully leading them. When all were fired\nWith zeal to him, and follow\u2019d wond\u2019ring all\nTo Pythos; and upon his name did call\nWith Io-p\u00e6ans, such as Cretans use.\nAnd in their bosoms did the deified Muse\nVoices of honey-harmony infuse.\nWith never-weary feet their way they went,\nAnd made with all alacrity ascent\nUp to Parnassus, and that long\u2019d-for place\nWhere they should live, and be of men the grace.\nWhen, all the way, Apollo show\u2019d them still\nTheir far-stretch\u2019d valleys, and their two-topp\u2019d hill,\nTheir famous fane, and all that all could raise\nTo a supreme height of their joy and praise.\nAnd then the Cretan captain thus inquired\nOf King Apollo: \u201cSince you have retired,\nO sovereign, our sad lives so far from friends\nAnd native soil (because so far extends\nYour dear mind\u2019s pleasure) tell us how we shall\nLive in your service? To which question call\nOur provident minds, because we see not crown\u2019d\nThis soil with store of vines, nor doth abound\nIn wealthy meadows, on which we may live,\nAs well as on men our attendance give.\u201d\nHe smiled, and said: \u201cO men that nothing know,\nAnd so are follow\u2019d with a world of woe,\nThat needs will succour care and curious moan,\nAnd pour out sighs without cessation,\nWere all the riches of the earth your own!\nWithout much business, I will render known\nTo your simplicities an easy way\nTo wealth enough, Let every man purvey\nA skeane, or slaught\u2019ring steel, and his right hand,\nBravely bestowing, evermore see mann\u2019d\nWith killing sheep, that to my fane will flow\nFrom all far nations. On all which bestow\nGood observation, and all else they give\nTo me make you your own all, and so live.\nFor all which watch before my temple well,\nAnd all my counsels, above all, conceal.\nIf any give vain language, or to deeds,\nYea or as far as injury, proceeds,\nKnow that, at losers\u2019 hands, for those that gain,\nIt is the law of mortals to sustain.\nBesides, ye shall have princes to obey,\nWhich still ye must, and (so ye gain) ye may.\nAll now is said; give all thy memory\u2019s stay.\u201d\nAnd thus to thee, Jove and Latona\u2019s son,\nBe given all grace of salutation!\nBoth thee and others of th\u2019 Immortal State\nMy song shall memorize to endless date.\n\n THE END OF THE HYMN TO APOLLO.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Hermes\n\nHermes, the son of Jove and Maia, sing,\nO Muse, th\u2019 Arcadian and Cyllenian king,\nThey rich in flocks, he heaven enriching still\nIn messages return\u2019d with all his will.\nWhom glorious Maia, the nymph rich in hair,\nMixing with Jove in amorous affair,\nBrought forth to him, sustaining a retreat\nFrom all th\u2019 Immortals of the blessed seat,\nAnd living in the same dark cave, where Jove\nInform\u2019d at midnight the effect of love,\nUnknown to either man or Deity,\nSweet sleep once having seized the jealous eye\nOf Juno deck\u2019d with wrists of ivory.\nBut when great Jove\u2019s high mind was consummate,\nThe tenth month had in heaven confined the date\nOf Maia\u2019s labour, and into the sight\nShe brought in one birth labours infinite;\nFor then she bore a son, that all tried ways\nCould turn and wind to wish\u2019d events assays,\nA fair-tongu\u2019d, but false-hearted, counsellor,\nRector of ox-stealers, and for all stealths bore\nA varied finger; speeder of night\u2019s spies,\nAnd guide of all her dreams\u2019 obscurities;\nGuard of door-guardians; and was born to be,\nAmongst th\u2019 Immortals, that wing\u2019d Deity\nThat in an instant should do acts would ask\nThe powers of others an eternal task.\nBorn in the morn, he form\u2019d his lute at noon,\nAt night stole all the oxen of the Sun;\nAnd all this in his birth\u2019s first day was done,\nWhich was the fourth of the increasing moon.\nBecause celestial limbs sustain\u2019d his strains,\nHis sacred swath-bands must not be his chains,\nSo, starting up, to Ph\u0153bus\u2019 herd he stept,\nFound straight the high-roof\u2019d cave where they were kept,\nAnd th\u2019 entry passing, he th\u2019 invention found\nOf making lutes; and did in wealth abound\nBy that invention, since he first of all\nWas author of that engine musical,\nBy this means moved to the ingenious work:\nNear the cave\u2019s inmost overture did lurk\nA tortoise, tasting th\u2019 odoriferous grass,\nLeisurely moving; and this object was\nThe motive to Jove\u2019s son (who could convert\nTo profitable uses all desert\nThat nature had in any work convey\u2019d)\nTo form the lute; when, smiling, thus he said:\n\u201cThou mov\u2019st in me a note of excellent use,\nWhich thy ill form shall never so seduce\nT\u2019 avert the good to be inform\u2019d by it,\nIn pliant force, of my form-forging wit.\u201d\nThen the slow tortoise, wrought on by his mind,\nHe thus saluted: \u201cAll joy to the kind\nInstinct of nature in thee, born to be\nThe spiriter of dances, company\nFor feasts, and following banquets, graced and blest\nFor bearing light to all the interest\nClaim\u2019d in this instrument! From whence shall spring\nPlay fair and sweet, to which may Graces sing.\nA pretty painted coat thou putt\u2019st on here,\nO Tortoise, while thy ill-bred vital sphere\nConfines thy fashion; but, surprised by me,\nI\u2019ll bear thee home, where thou shalt ever be\nA profit to me; and yet nothing more\nWill I contemn thee in my merited store.\nGoods with good parts got worth and honour gave,\nLeft goods and honours every fool may have,\nAnd since thou first shall give me means to live,\nI\u2019ll love thee ever. Virtuous qualities give\nTo live at home with them enough content,\nWhere those that want such inward ornament\nFly out for outward, their life made their load.\n_Tis best to be at home, harm lurks abroad._\nAnd certainly thy virtue shall be known,\n\u2019Gainst great-ill-causing incantation\nTo serve as for a lance or amulet.\nAnd where, in comfort of thy vital heat,\nThou now breath\u2019st but a sound confus\u2019d for song,\nExpos\u2019d by nature, after death, more strong\nThou shalt in sounds of art be, and command\nSong infinite sweeter.\u201d Thus with either hand\nHe took it up, and instantly took flight\nBack to his cave with that his home delight.\nWhere (giving to the mountain tortoise vents\nOf life and motion) with fit instruments\nForged of bright steel he straight inform\u2019d a lute,\nPut neck and frets to it, of which a suit\nHe made of splitted quills, in equal space\nImpos\u2019d upon the neck, and did embrace\nBoth back and bosom. At whose height (as gins\nT\u2019 extend and ease the string) he put in pins.\nSeven strings of several tunes he then applied,\nMade of the entrails of a sheep well-dried,\nAnd throughly twisted. Next he did provide\nA case for all, made of an ox\u2019s hide,\nOut of his counsels to preserve as well\nAs to create. And all this action fell\nInto an instant consequence. His word\nAnd work had individual accord,\nAll being as swiftly to perfection brought\nAs any worldly man\u2019s most ravish\u2019d thought,\nWhose mind care cuts in an infinity\nOf varied parts or passions instantly,\nOr as the frequent twinklings of an eye.\nAnd thus his house-delight given absolute end,\nHe touch\u2019d it, and did every string extend\n(With an exploratory spirit assay\u2019d)\nTo all the parts that could on it be play\u2019d.\nIt sounded dreadfully; to which he sung,\nAs if from thence the first and true force sprung\nThat fashions virtue. God in him did sing.\nHis play was likewise an unspeakable thing,\nYet, but as an extemporal assay,\nOf what show it would make being the first way,\nIt tried his hand; or a tumultuous noise,\nSuch as at feasts the first-flower\u2019d spirits of boys\nPour out in mutual contumelies still,\nAs little squaring with his curious will,\nOr was as wanton and untaught a store.\nOf Jove, and Maia that rich shoes still wore,\nHe sung; who suffer\u2019d ill reports before,\nAnd foul stains under her fair titles bore.\nBut Hermes sung her nation, and her name\nDid iterate ever; all her high-flown fame\nOf being Jove\u2019s mistress; celebrating all\nHer train of servants, and collateral\nSumpture of houses; all her tripods there,\nAnd caldrons huge, increasing every year.\nAll which she knew, yet felt her knowledge stung\nWith her fame\u2019s loss, which (found) she more wish\u2019d sung.\nBut now he in his sacred cradle laid\nHis lute so absolute, and straight convey\u2019d\nHimself up to a watch-tow\u2019r forth his house,\nRich, and divinely odoriferous,\nA lofty wile at work in his conceit,\nThirsting the practice of his empire\u2019s height.\nAnd where impostors rule (since sable night\nMust serve their deeds) he did his deeds their right.\nFor now the never-resting Sun was turn\u2019d\nFor th\u2019 under earth, and in the ocean burn\u2019d\nHis coach and coursers; when th\u2019 ingenious spy\nPieria\u2019s shady hill had in his eye,\nWhere the immortal oxen of the Gods\nIn air\u2019s flood solaced their select abodes,\nAnd earth\u2019s sweet green flow\u2019r, that was never shorn,\nFed ever down. And these the witty-born,\nArgicides, set serious spy upon,\nSevering from all the rest, and setting gone\nFull fifty of the violent bellowers.\nWhich driving through the sands, he did reverse\n(His birth\u2019s-craft straight rememb\u2019ring) all their hoves,\nAnd them transpos\u2019d in opposite removes,\nThe fore behind set, the behind before,\nT\u2019 employ the eyes of such as should explore.\nAnd he himself, as sly-pac\u2019d, cast away\nHis sandals on the sea sands; past display\nAnd unexcogitable thoughts in act\nPutting, to shun of his stol\u2019n steps the tract,\nMixing both tamrisk and like-tamrisk sprays\nIn a most rare confusion, to raise\nHis footsteps up from earth. Of which sprays he\n(His armful gathering fresh from off the tree)\nMade for his sandals ties, both leaves and ties\nHolding together; and then fear\u2019d no eyes\nThat could affect his feet\u2019s discoveries.\nThe tamrisk boughs he gather\u2019d, making way\nBack from Pieria, but as to convey\nProvision in them for his journey fit,\nIt being long and, therefore, needing it.\nAn old man, now at labour near the field\nOf green Onchestus, knew the verdant yield\nOf his fair armful; whom th\u2019 ingenious son\nOf Maia, therefore, salutation\nDid thus begin to: \u201cHo, old man! that now\nArt crooked grown with making plants to grow,\nThy nerves will far be spent, when these boughs shall\nTo these their leaves confer me fruit and all.\nBut see not thou whatever thou dost see,\nNor hear though hear, but all as touching me\nConceal, since nought it can endamage thee.\u201d\nThis, and no more, he said, and on drave still\nHis broad-brow\u2019d oxen. Many a shady hill,\nAnd many an echoing valley, many a field\nPleasant and wishful, did his passage yield\nTheir safe transcension. But now the divine\nAnd black-brow\u2019d Night, his mistress, did decline\nExceeding swiftly; Day\u2019s most early light\nFast hasting to her first point, to excite\nWorldlings to work; and in her watch-tow\u2019r shone\nKing Pallas-Megamedes\u2019 seed (the Moon);\nWhen through th\u2019 Alph\u00e6an flood Jove\u2019s powerful son\nPh\u0153bus-Apollo\u2019s ample-foreheaded herd\n(Whose necks the lab\u2019ring yoke had never sphered)\nDrave swiftly on; and then into a stall\n(Hilly, yet pass\u2019d to through an humble vale\nAnd hollow dells, in a most lovely mead)\nHe gather\u2019d all, and them divinely fed\nWith odorous cypress, and the ravishing tree\nThat makes his eaters lose the memory\nOf name and country. Then he brought withal\nMuch wood, whose sight into his search let fall\nThe art of making fire; which thus he tried:\nHe took a branch of laurel, amplified\nPast others both in beauty and in size,\nYet lay next hand, rubb\u2019d it, and straight did rise\nA warm fume from it; steel being that did raise\n(As agent) the attenuated bays\nTo that hot vapour. So that Hermes found\nBoth fire first, and of it the seed close bound\nIn other substances; and then the seed\nHe multiplied, of sere-wood making feed\nThe apt heat of it, in a pile combined\nLaid in a low pit, that in flames straight shined,\nAnd cast a sparkling crack up to the sky,\nAll the dry parts so fervent were, and high\nIn their combustion. And how long the force\nOf glorious Vulcan kept the fire in course,\nSo long was he in dragging from their stall\nTwo of the crook-haunch\u2019d herd, that roar\u2019d withal,\nAnd raged for fear, t\u2019 approach the sacred fire,\nTo which did all his dreadful pow\u2019rs aspire.\nWhen, blust\u2019ring forth their breath, he on the soil\nCast both at length, though with a world of toil,\nFor long he was in getting them to ground\nAfter their through-thrust and most mortal wound.\nBut work to work he join\u2019d, the flesh and cut,\nCover\u2019d with fat, and, on treen broches put,\nIn pieces roasted; but in th\u2019 intestines\nThe black blood, and the honorary chines,\nTogether with the carcases, lay there,\nCast on the cold earth, as no Deities\u2019 cheer;\nThe hides upon a rugged rock he spread.\nAnd thus were these now all in pieces shred,\nAnd undistinguish\u2019d from earth\u2019s common herd,\nThough born for long date, and to heaven endear\u2019d,\nAnd now must ever live in dead event.\nBut Hermes, here hence having his content,\nCared for no more, but drew to places even\nThe fat-works, that, of force, must have for heaven\nTheir capital ends, though stol\u2019n, and therefore were\nIn twelve parts cut, for twelve choice Deities\u2019 cheer,\nBy this devotion. To all which he gave\nTheir several honours, and did wish to have\nHis equal part thereof, as free and well\nAs th\u2019 other Deities; but the fatty smell\nAfflicted him, though he Immortal were,\nPlaying mortal parts, and being like mortals here\nYet his proud mind nothing the more obey\u2019d\nFor being a God himself, and his own aid\nHaving to cause his due, and though in heart\nHe highly wish\u2019d it; but the weaker part\nSubdued the stronger, and went on in ill.\nEven heavenly pow\u2019r had rather have his will\nThan have his right; and will\u2019s the worst of all,\nWhen but in least sort it is criminal,\nOne taint being author of a number still.\nAnd thus, resolved to leave his hallow\u2019d hill,\nFirst both the fat parts and the fleshy all\nTaking away, at the steep-entried stall\nHe laid all, all the feet and heads entire,\nAnd all the sere-wood, making clear with fire.\nAnd now, he leaving there then all things done,\nAnd finish\u2019d in their fit perfection,\nThe coals put out, and their black ashes thrown\nFrom all discovery by the lovely light\nThe cheerful moon cast, shining all the night,\nHe straight assumed a novel voice\u2019s note,\nAnd in the whirl-pit-eating flood afloat\nHe set his sandals. When now, once again\nThe that-morn-born Cyllenius did attain\nHis home\u2019s divine height; all the far-stretch\u2019d way\nNo one bless\u2019d God encount\u2019ring his assay,\nNor mortal man; nor any dog durst spend\nHis born-to-bark mouth at him; till in th\u2019 end\nHe reach\u2019d his cave, and at the gate went in\nCrooked, and wrapt into a fold so thin\nThat no eye could discover his repair,\nBut as a darkness of th\u2019 autumnal air.\nWhen, going on fore-right, he straight arrived\nAt his rich fane; his soft feet quite deprived\nOf all least noise of one that trod the earth,\nThey trod so swift to reach his room of birth.\nWhere, in his swath-bands he his shoulders wrapt,\nAnd (like an infant, newly having scap\u2019t\nThe teeming straits) as in the palms he lay\nOf his loved nurse. Yet instantly would play\n(Freeing his right hand) with his bearing cloth\nAbout his knees wrapt, and straight (loosing both\nHis right and left hand) with his left he caught\nHis much-loved lute. His mother yet was taught\nHis wanton wiles, nor could a God\u2019s wit lie\nHid from a Goddess, who did therefore try\nHis answer thus: \u201cWhy, thou made-all-of-sleight,\nAnd whence arriv\u2019st thou in this rest of night?\nImprovident impudent! In my conceit\nThou rather shouldst be getting forth thy gate,\nWith all flight fit for thy endanger\u2019d state,\n(In merit of th\u2019 inevitable bands\nTo be impos\u2019d by vex\u2019d Latona\u2019s hands,\nJustly incens\u2019d for her Apollo\u2019s harms)\nThan lie thus wrapt, as ready for her arms,\nTo take thee up and kiss thee. Would to heaven,\nIn cross of that high grace, thou hadst been given\nUp to perdition, ere poor mortals bear\nThose black banes, that thy Father Thunderer\nHath planted thee of purpose to confer\nOn them and Deities!\u201d He returned reply:\n\u201cAs master of the feats of policy,\nMother, why aim you thus amiss at me,\nAs if I were a son that infancy\nCould keep from all the skill that age can teach,\nOr had in cheating but a childish reach,\nAnd of a mother\u2019s mandates fear\u2019d the breach?\nI mount that art at first, that will be best\nWhen all times consummate their cunningest,\nAble to counsel now myself and thee,\nIn all things best, to all eternity.\nWe cannot live like Gods here without gifts,\nNo, nor without corruption and shifts,\nAnd, much less, without eating; as we must\nIn keeping thy rules, and in being just,\nOf which we cannot undergo the loads.\n\u2019Tis better here to imitate the Gods,\nAnd wine or wench out all time\u2019s periods,\nTo that end growing rich in ready heaps,\nStored with revenues, being in corn-field reaps\nOf infinite acres, than to live enclosed\nIn caves, to all earth\u2019s sweetest air exposed.\nI as much honour hold as Ph\u0153bus does;\nAnd if my Father please not to dispose\nPossessions to me, I myself will see\nIf I can force them in; for I can be\nPrince of all thieves. And, if Latona\u2019s son\nMake after my stealth indignation,\nI\u2019ll have a scape as well as he a search,\nAnd overtake him with a greater lurch;\nFor I can post to Pythos, and break through\nHis huge house there, where harbours wealth enough,\nMost precious tripods, caldrons, steel, and gold,\nGarments rich wrought, and full of liberal fold.\nAll which will I at pleasure own, and thou\nShalt see all, wilt thou but thy sight bestow.\u201d\nThus changed great words the Goat-hide-wearer\u2019s son,\nAnd Maia of majestic fashion.\nAnd now the air-begot Aurora rose\nFrom out the Ocean great-in-ebbs-and-flows,\nWhen, at the never-shorn pure-and-fair grove\n(Onchestus) consecrated to the love\nOf round-and-long-neck\u2019d Neptune, Ph\u0153bus found\nA man whom heavy years had press\u2019d half round,\nAnd yet at work in plashing of a fence\nAbout a vineyard, that had residence\nHard by the highway; whom Latona\u2019s son\nMade it not strange, but first did question,\nAnd first saluted: \u201cHo you! aged sire,\nThat here are hewing from the vine the briar,\nFor certain oxen I come here t\u2019 inquire\nOut of Pieria; females all, and rear\u2019d\nAll with horns wreath\u2019d, unlike the common herd;\nA coal-black bull fed by them all alone;\nAnd all observ\u2019d, for preservation,\nThrough all their foody and delicious fen\nWith four fierce mastiffs, like one-minded men.\nThese left their dogs and bull (which I admire)\nAnd, when was near set day\u2019s eternal fire,\nFrom their fierce guardians, from their delicate fare,\nMade clear departure. To me then declare,\nO old man, long since born, if thy grave ray\nHath any man seen making steathful way\nWith all those oxen.\u201d Th\u2019 old man made reply:\n\u201c\u2019Tis hard, O friend, to render readily\nAccount of all that may invade mine eye,\nFor many a traveller this highway treads,\nSome in much ills search, some in noble threads,\nLeading their lives out; but I this young day,\nEven from her first point, have made good display\nOf all men passing this abundant hill\nPlanted with vines, and no such stealthful ill\nHer light hath shown me; but last evening, late,\nI saw a thing that show\u2019d of childish state\nTo my old lights, and seem\u2019d as he pursued\nA herd of oxen with brave heads endued,\nYet but an infant, and retain\u2019d a rod;\nWho wearily both this and that way trod,\nHis head still backwards turn\u2019d.\u201d This th\u2019 old man spake;\nWhich he well thought upon, and swiftly brake\nInto his pursuit with abundant wing,\nThat strook but one plain, ere he knew the thing\nThat was the thief to be th\u2019 impostor born;\nWhom Jove yet with his son\u2019s name did adorn.\nIn study and with ardour then the King\n(Jove\u2019s dazzling son) placed his exploring wing\nOn sacred Pylos, for his forced herd,\nHis ample shoulders in a cloud enspher\u2019d\nOf fiery crimson. Straight the steps he found\nOf his stol\u2019n herd, and said: \u201cStrange sights confound\nMy apprehensive powers, for here I see\nThe tracks of oxen, but aversively\nConverted towards the Pierian hills,\nAs treading to their mead of daffodils:\nBut nor mine eye men\u2019s feet nor women\u2019s draws,\nNor hoary wolves\u2019, nor bears\u2019, nor lions\u2019, paws,\nNor thick-neck\u2019d bulls, they show. But he that does\nThese monstrous deeds, with never so swift shoes\nHath pass\u2019d from that hour hither, but from hence\nHis foul course may meet fouler consequence.\u201d\nWith this took Ph\u0153bus wing; and Hermes still,\nFor all his threats, secure lay in his hill\nWall\u2019d with a wood; and more, a rock, beside,\nWhere a retreat ran, deeply multiplied\nIn blinding shadows, and where th\u2019 endless Bride\nBore to Saturnius his ingenious son;\nAn odour, worth a heart\u2019s desire, being thrown\nAlong the heaven-sweet hill, on whose herb fed\nRich flocks of sheep, that bow not where they tread\nTheir horny pasterns. There the Light of men\n(Jove\u2019s son, Apollo) straight descended then\nThe marble pavement, in that gloomy den.\nOn whom when Jove and Maia\u2019s son set eye,\nWroth for his oxen, on then, instantly,\nHis odorous swath-bands flew; in which as close\nTh\u2019 impostor lay, as in the cool repose\nOf cast-on ashes hearths of burning coals\nLie in the woods hid, under the controls\nOf skilful colliers; even so close did lie\nInscrutable Hermes in Apollo\u2019s eye,\nContracting his great Godhead to a small\nAnd infant likeness, feet, hands, head, and all.\nAnd as a hunter hath been often view\u2019d,\nFrom chase retired, with both his hands embrued\nIn his game\u2019s blood, that doth for water call\nTo cleanse his hands, and to provoke withal\nDelightsome sleep, new-wash\u2019d and laid to rest;\nSo now lay Hermes in the close-compress\u2019d\nChace of his oxen, his new-found-out lute\nBeneath his arm held, as if no pursuit\nBut that prise, and the virtue of his play,\nHis heart affected. But to Ph\u0153bus lay\nHis close heart open; and he likewise knew\nThe brave hill-nymph there, and her dear son, new-\nBorn, and as well wrapt in his wiles as weeds.\nAll the close shrouds too, for his rapinous deeds,\nIn all the cave he knew; and with his key\nHe open\u2019d three of them, in which there lay\nSilver and gold-heaps, nectar infinite store,\nAnd dear ambrosia; and of weeds she wore,\nPure white and purple, a rich wardrobe shined.\nFit for the bless\u2019d states of Pow\u2019rs so divined.\nAll which discover\u2019d, thus to Mercury\nHe offer\u2019d conference: \u201cInfant! You that lie\nWrapt so in swath-bands, instantly unfold\nIn what conceal\u2019d retreats of yours you hold\nMy oxen stol\u2019n by you; or straight we shall\nJar, as beseems not Pow\u2019rs Celestial.\nFor I will take and hurl thee to the deeps\nOf dismal Tartarus, where ill Death keeps\nHis gloomy and inextricable fates,\nAnd to no eye that light illuminates\nMother nor Father shall return thee free,\nBut under earth shall sorrow fetter thee,\nAnd few repute thee their superior.\u201d\nOn him replied craft\u2019s subtlest Counsellor:\n\u201cWhat cruel speech hath past Latona\u2019s care!\nSeeks he his stol\u2018n wild-cows where Deities are?\nI have nor seen nor heard, nor can report\nFrom others\u2019 mouths one word of their resort\nTo any stranger. Nor will I, to gain\nA base reward, a false relation feign.\nNor would I, could I tell. Resemble I\nAn ox-thief, or a man? Especially\nA man of such a courage, such a force\nAs to that labour goes, that violent course?\nNo infant\u2019s work is that. My pow\u2019rs aspire\nTo sleep, and quenching of my hunger\u2019s fire\nWith mother\u2019s milk, and, \u2019gainst cold shades, to arm\nWith cradle-cloths my shoulders, and baths warm,\nThat no man may conceive the war you threat\nCan spring in cause from my so peaceful heat.\nAnd, even amongst th\u2019 Immortals it would bear\nEvent of absolute miracle, to hear\nA new-born infant\u2019s forces should transcend\nThe limits of his doors; much less contend\nWith untam\u2019d oxen. This speech nothing seems\nTo savour the decorum of the beams\nCast round about the air Apollo breaks,\nWhere his divine mind her intention speaks.\nI brake but yesterday the blessed womb,\nMy feet are tender, and the common tomb\nOf men (the Earth) lies sharp beneath their tread.\nBut, if you please, even by my Father\u2019s head\nI\u2019ll take the great oath, that nor I protest\nMyself to author on your interest\nAny such usurpation, nor have I\nSeen any other that feloniously\nHath forced your oxen. Strange thing! What are those\nOxen of yours? Or what are oxen? Knows\nMy rude mind, think you? My ears only touch\nAt their renown, and hear that there are such.\u201d\nThis speech he pass\u2019d; and, ever as he spake,\nBeams from the hair about his eyelids brake,\nHis eyebrows up and down cast, and his eye\nEvery way look\u2019d askance and carelessly,\nAnd he into a lofty whistling fell,\nAs if he idle thought Apollo\u2019s spell.\nApollo, gently smiling, made reply:\n\u201cO thou impostor, whose thoughts ever lie\nIn labour with deceit! For certain, I\nRetain opinion, that thou (even thus soon)\nHast ransack\u2019d many a house, and not in one\nNight\u2019s-work alone, nor in one country neither,\nHast been besieging house and man together,\nRigging and rifling all ways, and no noise\nMade with thy soft feet, where it all destroys.\nSoft, therefore, well, and tender, thou may\u2019st call\nThe feet that thy stealths go and fly withal,\nFor many a field-bred herdsman (unheard still)\nHast thou made drown the caverns of the hill,\nWhere his retreats lie, with his helpless tears,\nWhen any flesh-stealth thy desire endears,\nAnd thou encount\u2019rest either flocks of sheep,\nOr herds of oxen! Up then! Do not sleep\nThy last nap in thy cradle, but come down,\nCompanion of black night, and, for this crown\nOf thy young rapines, bear from all the state\nAnd style of Prince Thief, into endless date.\u201d\nThis said, he took the infant in his arms,\nAnd with him the remembrance of his harms,\nThis presage utt\u2019ring, lifting him aloft:\n\u201cBe evermore the miserably-soft\nSlave of the belly, pursuivant of all,\nAnd author of all mischiefs capital.\u201d\nHe scorn\u2019d his prophecy so he sneezed in\u2019s face\nMost forcibly; which hearing, his embrace\nHe loathed and hurl\u2019d him \u2019gainst the ground; yet still\nTook seat before him, though, with all the ill\nHe bore by him, he would have left full fain\nThat hewer of his heart so into twain.\nYet salv\u2019d all thus: \u201cCome, you so-swaddled thing!\nIssue of Maia, and the Thunder\u2019s King!\nBe confident, I shall hereafter find\nMy broad-brow\u2019d oxen, my prophetic mind\nSo far from blaming this thy course, that I\nForesee thee in it to posterity\nThe guide of all men, always, to their ends.\u201d\nThis spoken, Hermes from the earth ascends,\nStarting aloft, and as in study went,\nWrapping himself in his integument,\nAnd thus ask\u2019d Ph\u0153bus: \u201cWhither force you me,\nFar-shot, and far most powerful Deity?\nI know, for all your feigning, you\u2019re still wroth\nAbout your oxen, and suspect my troth.\nO Jupiter! I wish the general race\nOf all earth\u2019s oxen rooted from her face.\nI steal your oxen! I again profess\nThat neither I have stol\u2019n them, nor can guess\nWho else should steal them. What strange beasts are these\nYour so-loved oxen? I must say, to please\nYour humour thus far, that even my few hours\nHave heard their fame. But be the sentence yours\nOf the debate betwixt us, or to Jove\n(For more indifferency) the cause remove.\u201d\nThus when the solitude-affecting God,\nAnd the Latonian seed, had laid abroad\nAll things betwixt them; though not yet agreed,\nYet, might I speak, Apollo did proceed\nNothing unjustly, to charge Mercury\nWith stealing of the cows he does deny.\nBut his profession was, with filed speech,\nAnd craft\u2019s fair compliments, to overreach\nAll, and even Ph\u0153bus. Who because he knew\nHis trade of subtlety, he still at view\nHunted his foe through all the sandy way\nUp to Olympus. Nor would let him stray\nFrom out his sight, but kept behind him still.\nAnd now they reach\u2019d the odorif\u2019rous hill\nOf high Olympus, to their Father Jove,\nTo arbitrate the cause in which they strove.\nWhere, before both, talents of justice were\nPropos\u2019d for him whom Jove should sentence clear,\nIn cause of their contention. And now\nAbout Olympus, ever crown\u2019d with snow,\nThe rumour of their controversy flew.\nAll the Incorruptible, to their view,\nOn Heaven\u2019s steep mountain made return\u2019d repair.\nHermes, and He that light hurls through the air,\nBefore the Thund\u2019rer\u2019s knees stood; who begun\nTo question thus far his illustrious Son:\n\u201cPh\u0153bus! To what end bring\u2019st thou captive here\nHim in whom my mind puts delights so dear?\nThis new-born infant, that the place supplies\nOf Herald yet to all the Deities?\nThis serious business, you may witness, draws\nThe Deities\u2019 whole Court to discuss the cause.\u201d\nPh\u0153bus replied: \u201cAnd not unworthy is\nThe cause of all the Court of Deities,\nFor, you shall hear, it comprehends the weight\nOf devastation, and the very height\nOf spoil and rapine, even of Deities\u2019 rights.\nYet you, as if myself loved such delights,\nUse words that wound my heart. I bring you here\nAn infant, that, even now, admits no peer\nIn rapes and robb\u2019ries. Finding out his place,\nAfter my measure of an infinite space,\nIn the Cyllenian mountain, such a one\nIn all the art of opprobration,\nAs not in all the Deities I have seen,\nNor in th\u2019 oblivion-mark\u2019d whole race of men.\nIn night he drave my oxen from their leas,\nAlong the lofty roar-resounding seas,\nFrom out the road-way quite; the steps of them\nSo quite transpos\u2019d, as would amaze the beam\nOf any mind\u2019s eye, being so infinite much\nInvolv\u2019d in doubt, as show\u2019d a deified touch\nWent to the work\u2019s performance; all the way,\nThrough which my cross-hoved cows he did convey,\nHad dust so darkly-hard to search, and he\nSo past all measure wrapt in subtilty.\nFor, nor with feet, nor hands, he form\u2019d his steps,\nIn passing through the dry way\u2019s sandy heaps,\nBut used another counsel to keep hid\nHis monstrous tracts, that show\u2019d as one had slid\nOn oak or other boughs, that swept out still\nThe footsteps of his oxen, and did fill\nTheir prints up ever, to the daffodill\n(Or dainty-feeding meadow) as they trod,\nDriven by this cautelous and infant God.\nA mortal man, yet, saw him driving on\nHis prey to Pylos. Which when he had done,\nAnd got his pass sign\u2019d, with a sacred fire,\nIn peace, and freely (though to his desire,\nNot to the Gods, he offer\u2019d part of these\nMy ravish\u2019d oxen) he retires, and lies,\nLike to the gloomy night, in his dim den,\nAll hid in darkness; and in clouts again\nWrapp\u2019d him so closely, that the sharp-seen eye\nOf your own eagle could not see him lie.\nFor with his hands the air he rarified\n(This way, and that moved) till bright gleams did glide\nAbout his being, that, if any eye\nShould dare the darkness, light appos\u2019d so nigh\nMight blind it quite with her antipathy.\nWhich wile he wove, in curious care t\u2019 illude\nTh\u2019 extreme of any eye that could intrude.\nOn which relying, he outrageously\n(When I accus\u2019d him) trebled his reply:\n\u2018I did not see, I did not hear, nor I\nWill tell at all, that any other stole\nYour broad-brow\u2019d beeves. Which an impostor\u2019s soul\nWould soon have done, and any author fain\nOf purpose only a reward to gain.\u2019\nAnd thus he colour\u2019d truth in every lie.\u201d\nThis said, Apollo sat; and Mercury\nThe Gods\u2019 Commander pleased with this reply:\n\u201cFather! I\u2019ll tell thee truth (for I am true,\nAnd far from art to lie): He did pursue\nEven to my cave his oxen this self day,\nThe sun new-raising his illustrious ray;\nBut brought with him none of the Bliss-endued,\nNor any ocular witness, to conclude\nHis bare assertion; but his own command\nLaid on with strong and necessary hand,\nTo show his oxen; using threats to cast\nMy poor and infant powers into the vast\nOf ghastly Tartarus; because he bears\nOf strength-sustaining youth the flaming years,\nAnd I but yesterday produced to light.\nBy which it fell into his own free sight,\nThat I in no similitude appear\u2019d\nOf power to be the forcer of a herd.\nAnd credit me, O Father, since the grace\nOf that name, in your style, you please to place,\nI drave not home his oxen, no, nor prest\nPast mine own threshold; for \u2019tis manifest,\nI reverence with my soul the Sun, and all\nThe knowing dwellers in this heavenly Hall,\nLove you, observe the least; and \u2019tis most clear\nIn your own knowledge, that my merits bear\nNo least guilt of his blame. To all which I\nDare add heaven\u2019s great oath, boldly swearing by\nAll these so well-built entries of the Blest.\nAnd therefore when I saw myself so prest\nWith his reproaches, I confess I burn\u2019d\nIn my pure gall, and harsh reply return\u2019d.\nAdd your aid to your younger then, and free\nThe scruple fixt in Ph\u0153bus\u2019 jealousy.\u201d\nThis said he wink\u2019d upon his Sire; and still\nHis swathbands held beneath his arm; no will\nDiscern\u2019d in him to hide, but have them shown.\nJove laugh\u2019d aloud at his ingenious Son,\nQuitting himself with art, so likely wrought,\nAs show\u2019d in his heart not a rapinous thought;\nCommanding both to bear atoned minds\nAnd seek out th\u2019 oxen; in which search he binds\nHermes to play the guide, and show the Sun\n(All grudge exil\u2019d) the shrowd to which he won\nHis fair-eyed oxen; then his forehead bow\u2019d\nFor sign it must be so; and Hermes show\u2019d\nHis free obedience; so soon he inclined\nTo his persuasion and command his mind.\nNow, then, Jove\u2019s jarring Sons no longer stood,\nBut sandy Pylos and th\u2019 Alph\u00e6an flood\nReach\u2019d instantly, and made as quick a fall\nOn those rich-feeding fields and lofty stall\nWhere Ph\u0153bus\u2019 oxen Hermes safely kept,\nDriven in by night. When suddenly he stept\nUp to the stony cave, and into light\nDrave forth the oxen. Ph\u0153bus at first sight\nKnew them the same, and saw apart dispread\nUpon a high-rais\u2019d rock the hides new flead\nOf th\u2019 oxen sacrific\u2019d. Then Ph\u0153bus said:\n\u201cO thou in crafty counsels undisplaid!\nHow couldst thou cut the throats, and cast to earth,\nTwo such huge oxen, being so young a birth,\nAnd a mere infant? I admire thy force,\nAnd will, behind thy back. But this swift course\nOf growing into strength thou hadst not need\nContinue any long date, O thou Seed\nOf honour\u2019d Maia!\u201d Hermes (to show how\nHe did those deeds) did forthwith cut and bow\nStrong osiers in soft folds, and strappled straight\nOne of his hugest oxen, all his weight\nLay\u2019ng prostrate on the earth at Ph\u0153bus\u2019 feet,\nAll his four cloven hoves eas\u2019ly made to greet\nEach other upwards, all together brought.\nIn all which bands yet all the beast\u2019s powers wrought,\nTo rise, and stand; when all the herd about\nThe mighty Hermes rush\u2019d in, to help out\nTheir fellow from his fetters. Ph\u0153bus\u2019 view\nOf all this up to admiration drew\nEven his high forces; and stern looks he threw\nAt Hermes for his herd\u2019s wrong, and the place\nTo which he had retir\u2019d them, being in grace\nAnd fruitful riches of it so entire;\nAll which set all his force on envious fire.\nAll whose heat flew out of his eyes in flames,\nWhich fain he would have hid, to hide the shames,\nOf his ill-govern\u2019d passions. But with ease\nHermes could calm them, and his humours please.\nStill at his pleasure, were he ne\u2019er so great\nIn force and fortitude, and high in heat,\nIn all which he his lute took, and assay\u2019d\nA song upon him, and so strangely play\u2019d,\nThat from his hand a ravishing horror flew.\nWhich Ph\u0153bus into laughter turn\u2019d, and grew\nPleasant past measure; tunes so artful clear\nStrook even his heart-strings, and his mind made hear.\nHis lute so powerful was in forcing love,\nAs his hand rul\u2019d it, that from him it drove\nAll fear of Ph\u0153bus; yet he gave him still\nThe upper hand; and, to advance his skill\nTo utmost miracle, he play\u2019d sometimes\nSingle awhile; in which, when all the climes\nOf rapture he had reach\u2019d, to make the Sun\nAdmire enough, O then his voice would run\nSuch points upon his play, and did so move,\nThey took Apollo prisoner to his love.\nAnd now the deathless Gods and deathful Earth\nHe sung, beginning at their either\u2019s birth\nTo full extent of all their empery.\nAnd, first, the honour to Mnemosyne,\nThe Muses\u2019 mother, of all Goddess states\nHe gave; even forced to\u2019t by the equal fates.\nAnd then (as it did in priority fall\nOf age and birth) he celebrated all.\nAnd with such elegance and order sung\n(His lute still touch\u2019d, to stick more off his tongue)\nThat Ph\u0153bus\u2019 heart with infinite love he eat.\nWho, therefore, thus did his deserts entreat:\n\u201cMaster of sacrifice! Chief soul of feast!\nPatient of all pains! Artizan so blest,\nThat all things thou canst do in anyone!\nWorth fifty oxen is th\u2019 invention\nOf this one lute. We both shall now, I hope,\nIn firm peace work to all our wishes\u2019 scope.\nInform me (thou that every way canst wind,\nAnd turn to act, all wishes of thy mind)\nTogether with thy birth came all thy skill?\nOr did some God, or God-like man, instill\nThis heavenly song to thee? Methink I hear\nA new voice, such as never yet came near\nThe breast of any, either man or God,\nTill in thee it had prime and period.\nWhat art, what Muse that med\u2019cine can produce\nFor cares most cureless, what inveterate use\nOr practice of a virtue so profuse\n(Which three do all the contribution keep\nThat Joy or Love confers, or pleasing Sleep.)\nTaught thee the sovereign facture of them all?\nI of the Muses am the capital\nConsort, or follower; and to these belong\nThe grace of dance, all worthy ways of song,\nAnd ever-flourishing verse, the delicate set\nAnd sound of instruments. But never yet\nDid anything so much affect my mind\nWith joy and care to compass, as this kind\nOf song and play, that for the spritely feast\nOf flourishing assemblies are the best\nAnd aptest works that ever worth gave act.\nMy powers with admiration stand distract,\nTo hear with what a hand to make in love\nThou rul\u2019st thy lute. And (though thy yong\u2019st hours move\nAt full art in old councils) here I vow\n(Even by this cornel dart I use to throw)\nTo thee, and to thy mother, I\u2019ll make thee\nAmongst the Gods of glorious degree,\nGuide of men\u2019s ways and theirs; and will impart\nTo thee the mighty imperatory art,\nBestow rich gifts on thee, and in the end\nNever deceive thee.\u201d Hermes (as a friend\nThat wrought on all advantage, and made gain\nHis capital object) thus did entertain\nPh\u0153bus Apollo: \u201cDo thy dignities,\nFar-working God and circularly wise,\nDemand my virtues? Without envy I\nWill teach thee to ascend my faculty.\nAnd this day thou shalt reach it; finding me,\nIn acts and counsels, all ways kind to thee,\nAs one that all things knows, and first tak\u2019st seat\nAmongst th\u2019 Immortals, being good and great,\nAnd therefore to Jove\u2019s love mak\u2019st free access,\nEven out of his accomplisht holiness.\nGreat gifts he likewise gives thee; who, fame says,\nHast won thy greatness by his will, his ways,\nBy him know\u2019st all the powers prophetical,\nO thou far-worker, and the fates of all!\nYea, and I know thee rich, yet apt to learn,\nAnd even thy wish dost but discern and earn.\nAnd since thy soul so burns to know the way\nSo play and sing as I do, sing, and play;\nPlay, and perfection in thy play employ;\nAnd be thy care, to learn things good, thy joy.\nTake thou my lute (my love) and give thou me\nThe glory of so great a faculty.\nThis sweet-tuned consort, held but in thy hand,\nSing, and perfection in thy song command.\nFor thou already hast the way to speak\nFairly and elegantly, and to break\nAll eloquence into thy utter\u2019d mind.\nOne gift from heaven found may another find.\nUse then securely this thy gift, and go\nTo feasts and dances that enamour so,\nAnd to that covetous sport of getting glory,\nThat day nor night will suffer to be sory.\nWhoever does but say in verse, sings still;\nWhich he that can of any other skill\nIs capable, so he be taught by art\nAnd wisdom, and can speak at every part\nThings pleasing to an understanding mind;\nAnd such a one that seeks this lute shall find.\nHim still it teaches eas\u2019ly, though he plays\nSoft voluntaries only, and assays\nAs wanton as the sports of children are,\nAnd (even when he aspires to singular\nIn all the mast\u2019ries he shall play or sing)\nFinds the whole work but an unhappy thing,\nHe, I say, sure shall of this lute be king.\nBut he, whoever rudely sets upon\nOf this lute\u2019s skill th\u2019 inquest or question\nNever so ardently and angrily,\nWithout the aptness and ability\nOf art, and nature fitting, never shall\nAspire to this, but utter trivial\nAnd idle accents, though sung ne\u2019er so loud,\nAnd never so commended of the crowd.\nBut thee I know, O eminent Son of Jove,\nThe fiery learner of whatever Love\nHath sharpen\u2019d thy affections to achieve,\nAnd thee I give this lute. Let us now live\nFeeding upon the hill and horse-fed earth\nOur never-handled oxen; whose dear birth\nTheir females, fellow\u2019d with their males, let flow\nIn store enough hereafter; nor must you\n(However cunning-hearted your wits are)\nBoil in your gall a grudge too circular.\u201d\nThus gave he him his lute, which he embrac\u2019d,\nAnd gave again a goad, whose bright head cast\nBeams like the light forth; leaving to his care\nHis oxen\u2019s keeping. Which, with joyful fare,\nHe took on him. The lute Apollo took\nInto his left hand, and aloft he shook\nDelightsome sounds up, to which God did sing.\nThen were the oxen to their endless spring\nTurn\u2019d; and Jove\u2019s two illustrous Offsprings flew\nUp to Olympus where it ever snew,\nDelighted with their lute\u2019s sound all the way.\nWhom Jove much joy\u2019d to see, and endless stay\nGave to their knot of friendship. From which date\nHermes gave Ph\u0153bus an eternal state\nIn his affection, whose sure pledge and sign\nHis lute was, and the doctrine so divine\nJointly conferr\u2019d on him; which well might be\nTrue symbol of his love\u2019s simplicity.\nOn th\u2019 other part, Apollo in his friend\nForm\u2019d th\u2019 art of wisdom, to the binding end\nOf his vow\u2019d friendship; and (for further meed)\nGave him the far-heard fistulary reed.\nFor all these forms of friendship, Ph\u0153bus yet\nFear\u2019d that both form and substance were not met\nIn Mercury\u2019s intentions; and, in plain,\nSaid (since he saw him born to craft and gain,\nAnd that Jove\u2019s will had him the honour done\nTo change at his will the possession\nOf others\u2019 goods) he fear\u2019d his breach of vows\nIn stealing both his lute and cunning bows,\nAnd therefore wish\u2019d that what the Gods affect\nHimself would witness, and to his request\nHis head bow, swearing by th\u2019 impetuous flood\nOf Styx that of his whole possessions not a good\nHe would diminish, but therein maintain\nThe full content in which his mind did reign.\nAnd then did Maia\u2019s son his forehead bow,\nMaking, by all that he desired, his vow\nNever to prey more upon anything\nIn just possession of the far-shot King,\nNor ever to come near a house of his.\nLatonian Ph\u0153bus bow\u2019d his brow to this,\nWith his like promise, saying: \u201cNot anyone\nOf all the Gods, nor any man, that son\nIs to Saturnius, is more dear to me,\nMore trusted, nor more honour\u2019d is than thee.\nWhich yet with greater gifts of Deity\nIn future I\u2019ll confirm, and give thy state\nA rod that riches shall accumulate,\nNor leave the bearer thrall to death, or fate,\nOr any sickness. All of gold it is,\nThree-leaved, and full of all felicities.\nAnd, this shall be thy guardian, this shall give\nThe Gods to thee in all the truth they live,\nAnd, finally, shall this the tut\u2019ress be\nOf all the words and works informing me\nFrom Jove\u2019s high counsels, making known to thee\nAll my instructions. But to prophesy,\nOf best of Jove\u2019s beloved, and that high skill\nWhich to obtain lies burning in thy will,\nNor thee, nor any God, will Fate let learn.\nOnly Jove\u2019s mind hath insight to discern\nWhat that importeth; yet am I allow\u2019d\n(My known faith trusted, and my forehead bow\u2019d,\nOur great oath taken, to resolve to none\nOf all th\u2019 Immortals the restriction\nOf that deep knowledge) of it all the mind.\nSince then it sits in such fast bounds confin\u2019d,\nO brother, when the golden rod is held\nIn thy strong hand, seek not to have reveal\u2019d\nAny sure fate that Jove will have conceal\u2019d.\nFor no man shall, by know\u2019ng, prevent his fate;\nAnd therefore will I hold in my free state\nThe pow\u2019r to hurt and help what man I will,\nOf all the greatest, or least touch\u2019d with ill,\nThat walk within the circle of mine eye,\nIn all the tribes and sexes it shall try.\nYet, truly, any man shall have his will\nTo reap the fruits of my prophetic skill,\nWhoever seeks it by the voice or wing\nOf birds, born truly such events to sing.\nNor will I falsely, nor with fallacies,\nInfringe the truth on which his faith relies,\nBut he that truths in chattering plumes would find,\nQuite opposite to them that prompt my mind,\nAnd learn by natural forgers of vain lies\nThe more-than-ever-certain Deities,\nThat man shall sea-ways tread that leave no tracts,\nAnd false or no guide find for all his facts.\nAnd yet will I his gifts accept as well\nAs his to whom the simple truth I tell.\nOne other thing to thee I\u2019ll yet make known,\nMaia\u2019s exceedingly renowned son,\nAnd Jove\u2019s, and of the Gods\u2019 whole session\nThe most ingenious genius: There dwell\nWithin a crooked cranny, in a dell\nBeneath Parnassus, certain Sisters born,\nCall\u2019d Parc\u00e6, whom extreme swift wings adorn,\nTheir number three, that have upon their heads\nWhite barley-flour still sprinkled, and are maids;\nAnd these are schoolmistresses of things to come,\nWithout the gift of prophecy. Of whom\n(Being but a boy, and keeping oxen near)\nI learn\u2019d their skill, though my great Father were\nCareless of it, or them. These flying from home\nTo others\u2019 roofs, and fed with honeycomb,\nCommand all skill, and (being enraged then)\nWill freely tell the truths of things to men.\nBut if they give them not that Gods\u2019 sweet meat,\nThey then are apt to utter their deceit,\nAnd lead men from their way. And these will I\nGive thee hereafter, when their scrutiny\nAnd truth thou hast both made and learn\u2019d; and then\nPlease thyself with them, and the race of men\n(Wilt thou know any) with thy skill endear,\nWho will, be sure, afford it greedy ear,\nAnd hear it often if it prove sincere.\nTake these, O Maia\u2019s son, and in thy care\nBe horse and oxen, all such men as are\nPatient of labour, lions, white-tooth\u2019d boars,\nMastiffs, and flocks that feed the flow\u2019ry shores,\nAnd every four-foot beast; all which shall stand\nIn awe of thy high imperatory hand.\nBe thou to Dis, too, sole Ambassador,\nWho, though all gifts and bounties he abhor,\nOn thee he will bestow a wealthy one.\u201d\nThus king Apollo honour\u2019d Maia\u2019s son\nWith all the rites of friendship; all whose love\nHad imposition from the will of Jove.\nAnd thus with Gods and mortals Hermes lived,\nWho truly help\u2019d but few, but all deceived\nWith an undifferencing respect, and made\nVain words and false persuasions his trade.\nHis deeds were all associates of the night,\nIn which his close wrongs cared for no man\u2019s right.\nSo all salutes to Hermes that are due,\nOf whom, and all Gods, shall my Muse sing true.\n\n THE END OF THE HYMN TO HERMES.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Venus (First Hymn)\n\nThe force, O Muse, and functions now unfold\nOf Cyprian Venus, grac\u2019d with mines of gold;\nWho even in Deities lights love\u2019s sweet desire,\nAnd all Death\u2019s kinds of men makes kiss her fire,\nAll air\u2019s wing\u2019d nation, all the belluine,\nThat or the earth feeds, or the seas confine.\nTo all which appertain the love and care\nOf well-crown\u2019d Venus\u2019 works. Yet three there are\nWhose minds She neither can deceive nor move;\nPallas, the Seed of \u00c6gis-bearing Jove,\nWho still lives indevirginate, her eyes\nBeing blue, and sparkling like the freezing skies,\nWhom all the gold of Venus never can\nTempt to affect her facts with God or man.\nShe, loving strife, and Mars\u2019s working banes,\nPitch\u2019d fields and fights, and famous artizans,\nTaught earthy men first all the arts that are,\nChariots, and all the frames vehicular,\nChiefly with brass arm\u2019d, and adorn\u2019d for war.\nWhere Venus only soft-skinn\u2019d wenches fills\nWith wanton house-works, and suggests those skills\nStill to their studies. Whom Diana neither,\nThat bears the golden distaff, and together\nCalls horns, and hollows, and the cries of hounds,\nAnd owns the epithet of loving sounds\nFor their sakes, springing from such spritely sports,\nCan catch with her kind lures; but hill resorts\nTo wild-beasts, slaughters, accents far-off heard\nOf harps and dances, and of woods unshear\u2019d\nThe sacred shades she loves, yet likes as well\nCities where good men and their offspring dwell.\nThe third, whom her kind passions nothing please,\nIs virgin Vesta; whom Saturnides\nMade reverend with his counsels, when his Sire,\nThat adverse counsels agitates, life\u2019s fire\nHad kindled in her, being his last-begot.\nWhom Neptune woo\u2019d to knit with him the knot\nOf honour\u2019d nuptials, and Apollo too;\nWhich with much vehemence she refused to do,\nAnd stern repulses put upon them both,\nAdding to all her vows the Gods\u2019 great oath,\nAnd touching Jove\u2019s chin, which must consummate\nAll vows so bound, that she would hold her state,\nAnd be th\u2019 invincible Maid of Deities\nThrough all her days\u2019 dates. For Saturnides\nGave her a fair gift in her nuptials\u2019 stead,\nTo sit in midst of his house, and be fed\nWith all the free and richest feast of heaven,\nIn all the temples of the Gods being given\nThe prize of honour. Not a mortal man,\n(That either, of the Pow\u2019rs Olympian\nHis half-birth having, may be said to be\nA mortal of the Gods, or else that he,\nDeities\u2019 wills doing, is of Deity)\nBut gives her honour of the amplest kind.\nOf all these three can Venus not a mind\nDeceive, or set on forces to reflect.\nOf all Pow\u2019rs else yet, not a sex, nor sect,\nFlies Venus; either of the blessed Gods,\nOr men confin\u2019d in mortal periods.\nBut even the mind of Jove she doth seduce,\nThat chides with thunder so her lawless use\nIn human creatures, and by lot is given\nOf all most honour, both in earth and heaven.\nAnd yet even his all-wise and mighty mind\nShe, when she lists, can forge affects to blind,\nAnd mix with mortal dames his Deity,\nConceal\u2019d at all parts from the jealous eye\nOf Juno, who was both his sister born,\nAnd made his wife; whom beauty did adorn\nPast all the bevy of Immortal Dames,\nAnd whose so chiefly-glorified flames\nCross-counsell\u2019d Saturn got, and Rh\u00e6a bore,\nAnd Jove\u2019s pure counsels (being conqueror)\nHis wife made of his sister. Ay, and more,\nCast such an amorous fire into her mind\nAs made her (like him) with the mortal kind\nMeet in unmeet bed; using utmost haste,\nLest she should know that he lived so unchaste,\nBefore herself felt that fault in her heart,\nAnd gave her tongue too just edge of desert\nTo tax his lightness. With this end, beside,\nLest laughter-studying Venus should deride\nThe Gods more than the Goddesses, and say\nThat she the Gods commix\u2019d in amorous play\nWith mortal dames, begetting mortal seed\nT\u2019 immortal sires, and not make Goddesses breed\nThe like with mortal fathers. But, t\u2019 acquite\nBoth Gods and Goddesses of her despite,\nJove took (even in herself) on him her pow\u2019r,\nAnd made her with a mortal paramour\nUse as deform\u2019d a mixture as the rest;\nKindling a kind affection in her breast\nTo God-like-limb\u2019d Anchises, as he kept,\nOn Ida\u2019s top-on-top-to-heaven\u2019s-pole-heapt,[1]\nAmongst the many fountains there, his herd.\nFor, after his brave person had appear\u2019d\nTo her bright eye, her heart flew all on fire,\nAnd to amaze she burn\u2019d in his desire,\nFlew straight to Cyprus, to her odorous fane\nAnd altars, that the people Paphian\nAdvanced to her. Where, soon as enter\u2019d, she\nThe shining gates shut; and the Graces three\nWash\u2019d, and with oils of everlasting scent\nBathed, as became, her deathless lineament.\nThen her ambrosian mantle she assum\u2019d,\nWith rich and odoriferous airs perfum\u2019d.\nWhich being put on, and all her trims beside\nFair, and with all allurements amplified,\nThe all-of-gold-made laughter-loving Dame\nLeft odorous Cyprus, and for Troy became\nA swift contendress, her pass cutting all\nAlong the clouds, and made her instant fall\nOn fountful Ida, that her mother-breasts\nGives to the preyful brood of savage beasts.\nAnd through the hill she went the ready way\nT\u2019 Anchises\u2019 oxstall, where did fawn and play\nAbout her blessed feet wolves grisly-gray,\nTerrible lions, many a mankind bear,\nAnd lybberds swift, insatiate of red deer.\nWhose sight so pleas\u2019d, that, ever as she past,\nThrough every beast a kindly love she cast,\nThat, in their dens obscured with shadows deep,\nMade all, distinguish\u2019d in kind couples, sleep.\nAnd now she reach\u2019d the rich pavilion\nOf the hero\u00eb, in whom heavens had shown\nA fair and goodly composition,\nAnd whom she in his oxstall found, alone,\nHis oxen feeding in fat pastures by,\nHe walking up and down, sounds clear and high\nFrom his harp striking. Then before him she\nStood like a virgin, that invincibly\nHad borne her beauties; yet alluringly\nBearing her person, lest his ravish\u2019d eye\nShould chance t\u2019 affect him with a stupid fear.\nAnchises seeing her, all his senses were\nWith wonder stricken, and high-taken heeds\nBoth of her form, brave stature, and rich weeds.\nFor, for a veil, she shin\u2019d in an attire\nThat cast a radiance past the ray of fire.\nBeneath which wore she, girt to her, a gown\nWrought all with growing-rose-buds, reaching down\nT\u2019 her slender smalls, which buskins did divine,\nSuch as taught Thetis\u2019 silver feet to shine.\nHer soft white neck rich carquenets embraced,\nBright, and with gold in all variety graced,\nThat to her breasts let down lay there and shone,\nAs, at her joyful full, the rising Moon.\nHer sight show\u2019d miracles. Anchises\u2019 heart\nLove took into his hand, and made him part\nWith these high salutations; \u201cJoy, O Queen!\nWhoever of the Blest thy beauties been\nThat light these entries; or the Deity\nThat darts affecteth; or that gave the Eye\nOf heaven his heat and lustre; or that moves\nThe hearts of all with all-commanding loves;\nOr generous Themis; or the blue-eyed Maid;\nOr of the Graces any that are laid\nWith all the Gods in comparable scales,\nAnd whom fame up to immortality calls;\nOr any of the Nymphs, that unshorn groves,\nOr that this fair hill-habitation, loves,\nOr valleys flowing with earth\u2019s fattest goods,\nOr fountains pouring forth eternal floods!\nSay, which of all thou art, that in some place\nOf circular prospect, for thine eyes\u2019 dear grace,\nI may an altar build, and to thy pow\u2019rs\nMake sacred all the year\u2019s devoted hours,\nWith consecrations sweet and opulent.\nAssur\u2019d whereof, be thy benign mind bent\nTo these wish\u2019d blessings of me: Give me parts\nOf chief attraction in Trojan hearts;\nAnd, after, give me the refulgency\nOf most renown\u2019d and rich posterity;\nLong, and free life, and heaven\u2019s sweet light as long;\nThe people\u2019s blessings, and a health so strong\nThat no disease it let my life engage,\nTill th\u2019 utmost limit of a human age.\u201d\nTo this Jove\u2019s Seed this answer gave again;\n\u201cAnchises! Happiest of the human strain!\nI am no Goddess! Why, a thrall to death\nThink\u2019st thou like those that immortality breathe?\nA woman brought me forth; my father\u2019s name\nWas Otre\u00fcs, if ever his high fame\nThine ears have witness\u2019d, for he govern\u2019d all\nThe Phrygian state, whose every town a wall\nImpregnable embrac\u2019d. Your tongue, you hear,\nI speak so well, that in my natural sphere\n(As I pretend) it must have taken prime.\nA woman, likewise, of the Trojan clime\nTook of me, in her house, the nurse\u2019s care\nFrom my dear mother\u2019s bosom; and thus are\nMy words of equal accent with your own.\nHow here I come, to make the reason known,\nArgicides, that bears the golden rod,\nTransferr\u2019d me forcibly from my abode\nMade with the maiden train of Her that joys\nIn golden shafts, and loves so well the noise\nOf hounds and hunters (heaven\u2019s pure-living Pow\u2019r)\nWhere many a nymph and maid of mighty dow\u2019r\nChaste sports employ\u2019d, all circled with a crown\nOf infinite multitude, to see so shown\nOur maiden pastimes. Yet, from all the fair\nOf this so forceful concourse, up in air\nThe golden-rod-sustaining Argus\u2019-Guide\nRapt me in sight of all, and made me ride\nAlong the clouds with him, enforcing me\nThrough many a labour of mortality,\nThrough many an unbuilt region, and a rude,\nWhere savage beasts devour\u2019d preys warm and crude,\nAnd would not let my fears take one foot\u2019s tread\nOn Her by whom are all lives comforted,\nBut said my maiden state must grace the bed\nOf king Anchises, and bring forth to thee\nIssue as fair as of divine degree.\nWhich said, and showing me thy moving grace,\nAway flew he up to th\u2019 Immortal Race,\nAnd thus came I to thee; Necessity,\nWith her steel stings, compelling me t\u2019 apply\nTo her high pow\u2019r my will. But you must I\nImplore by Jove, and all the reverence due\nTo your dear parents, who, in bearing you,\nCan bear no mean sail, lead me home to them\nAn untouch\u2019d maid, being brought up in th\u2019 extreme\nOf much too cold simplicity to know\nThe fiery cunnings that in Venus glow.\nShow me to them then, and thy brothers born,\nI shall appear none that parts disadorn,\nBut such as well may serve a brother\u2019s wife,\nAnd show them now, even to my future life,\nIf such or no my present will extend.\nTo horse-breed-vary\u2019ng Phrygia likewise send,\nT\u2019 inform my sire and mother of my state,\nThat live for me extreme disconsolate;\nWho gold enough, and well-woven weeds, will give.\nAll whose rich gifts in my amends receive.\nAll this perform\u2019d, and celebration then\nOf honour\u2019d nuptials, that by God and men\nAre held in reverence.\u201d All this while she said,\nInto his bosom jointly she convey\u2019d\nThe fires of love; when, all-enamour\u2019d, he\nIn these terms answer\u2019d: \u201cIf mortality\nConfine thy fortunes, and a woman were\nMother to those attractions that appear\nIn thy admir\u2019d form, thy great father given\nHigh name of Otre\u00fcs; and the Spy of heaven\n(Immortal Mercury) th\u2019 enforceful cause\nThat made thee lose the prize of that applause\nThat modesty immaculate virgins gives,\nMy wife thou shalt be call\u2019d through both our lives.\nNor shall the pow\u2019rs of men nor Gods withhold\nMy fiery resolution to enfold\nThy bosom in mine arms; which here I vow\nTo firm performance, past delay, and now.\nNor, should Apollo with his silver bow\nShoot me to instant death, would I forbear\nTo do a deed so full of cause so dear.\nFor with a heaven-sweet woman I will lie,\nThough straight I stoop the house of Dis, and die.\u201d\nThis said, he took her hand, and she took way\nWith him, her bright eyes casting round; whose stay\nShe stuck upon a bed, that was before\nMade for the king, and wealthy coverings wore.\nOn which bears\u2019 hides and big-voic\u2019d lions\u2019 lay,\nWhose preyful lives the king had made his prey,\nHunting th\u2019 Idalian hills. This bed when they\nHad both ascended, first he took from her\nThe fiery weed, that was her utmost wear;\nUnbutton\u2019d her next rosy robe; and loos\u2019d\nThe girdle that her slender waist enclos\u2019d;\nUnlac\u2019d her buskins; all her jewelry\nTook from her neck and breasts, and all laid by\nUpon a golden-studded chair of state.\nTh\u2019 amaze of all which being remov\u2019d, even Fate\nAnd council of the equal Gods gave way\nTo this, that with a deathless Goddess lay\nA deathful man; since, what his love assum\u2019d,\nNot with his conscious knowledge was presum\u2019d.\nNow when the shepherds and the herdsmen, all,\nTurn\u2019d from their flow\u2019ry pasture to their stall,\nWith all their oxen, fat and frolic sheep,\nVenus into Anchises cast a sleep,\nSweet and profound; while with her own hands now\nWith her rich weeds she did herself endow;\nBut so distinguish\u2019d, that he clear might know\nHis happy glories; then (to her desire\nHer heavenly person put in trims entire)\nShe by the bed stood of the well-built stall,\nAdvanc\u2019d her head to state celestial,\nAnd in her cheeks arose the radiant hue\nOf rich-crown\u2019d Venus to apparent view.\nAnd then she rous\u2019d him from his rest, and said:\n\u201cUp, my Dardanides, forsake thy bed.\nWhat pleasure, late employ\u2019d, lets humour steep\nThy lids in this inexcitable sleep?\nWake, and now say, if I appear to thee\nLike her that first thine eyes conceited me.\u201d\nThis started him from sleep, though deep and dear,\nAnd passing promptly he enjoy\u2019d his ear.\nBut when his eye saw Venus\u2019 neck and eyes,\nWhose beauties could not bear the counterprise\nOf any other, down his own eyes fell,\nWhich pallid fear did from her view repell,\nAnd made him, with a main respect beside,\nTurn his whole person from her state, and hide\n(With his rich weed appos\u2019d) his royal face,\nThese wing\u2019d words using: \u201cWhen, at first, thy grace\nMine eyes gave entertainment, well I knew\nThy state was deified; but thou told\u2019st not true;\nAnd therefore let me pray thee (by thy love\nBorne to thy father, \u00c6gis-bearing Jove)\nThat thou wilt never let me live to be\nAn abject, after so divine degree\nTaken in fortune, but take ruth on me,\nFor any man that with a Goddess lies,\nOf interest in immortalities,\nIs never long-liv\u2019d.\u201d She replied: \u201cForbear,\nO happiest of mortal men, this fear,\nAnd rest assured, that (not for me, at least)\nThy least ills fear fits; no, nor for the rest\nOf all the Blessed, for thou art their friend;\nAnd so far from sustaining instant end,\nThat to thy long-enlarg\u2019d life there shall spring\nAmongst the Trojans a dear son, and king,\nTo whom shall many a son, and son\u2019s son, rise\nIn everlasting great posterities;\nHis name \u00c6neas; therein keeping life,\nFor ever, in my much-conceited grief,\nThat I, immortal, fell into the bed\nOf one whose blood mortality must shed.\nBut rest thou comforted, and all the race\nThat Troy shall propagate, in this high grace:\nThat, past all races else, the Gods stand near\nYour glorious nation, for the forms ye bear,\nAnd natures so ingenuous and sincere.\nFor which, the great-in-counsels (Jupiter)\nYour gold-lock\u2019d Ganymedes did transfer\n(In rapture far from men\u2019s depressed fates)\nTo make him consort with our Deified States,\nAnd scale the tops of the Saturnian skies,\nHe was so mere a marvel in their eyes.\nAnd therefore from a bowl of gold he fills\nRed nectar, that the rude distension kills\nOf winds that in your human stomachs breed.\nBut then did languor on the liver feed\nOf Tros, his father, that was king of Troy,\nAnd ever did his memory employ[2]\nWith loss of his dear beauty so bereaven,\nThough with a sacred whirlwind rapt to heaven.\nBut Jove, in pity of him, saw him given\nGood compensation, sending by Heaven\u2019s Spy\nWhite-swift-hov\u2019d horse, that Immortality\nHad made firm-spirited; and had, beside,\nHermes to see his ambassy supplied\nWith this vow\u2019d bounty (using all at large\nThat his unalter\u2019d counsels gave in charge)\nThat he himself should immortality breathe,\nExpert of age and woe as well as death.\n\u201cThis ambassy express\u2019d, he mourn\u2019d no more,\nBut up with all his inmost mind he bore,\nJoying that he, upon his swift-hov\u2019d horse,\nShould be sustain\u2019d in an eternal course.\u201d\n\u201cSo did the golden-throned Aurora raise,\nInto her lap, another that the praise\nOf an immortal fashion had in fame,\nAnd of your nation bore the noble name,\n(His title Tithon) who, not pleased with her,\nAs she his lovely person did transfer,\nTo satisfy him, she bade ask of Jove\nThe gift of an Immortal for her love.\nJove gave, and bound it with his bowed brow,\nPerforming to the utmost point his vow.\nFool that she was, that would her love engage,\nAnd not as long ask from the bane of age\nThe sweet exemption, and youth\u2019s endless flow\u2019r!\nOf which as long as both the grace and pow\u2019r\nHis person entertain\u2019d, she loved the man,\nAnd (at the fluents of the ocean\nNear Earth\u2019s extreme bounds) dwelt with him; but when\nAccording to the course of aged men)\nOn his fair head, and honourable beard,\nHis first grey hairs to her light eyes appear\u2019d,\nShe left his bed, yet gave him still for food\nThe Gods\u2019 ambrosia, and attire as good.\nTill even the hate of age came on so fast\nThat not a lineament of his was grac\u2019d\nWith pow\u2019r of motion, nor did still sustain,\nMuch less, the vigour had t\u2019 advance a vein,\nThe virtue lost in each exhausted limb,\nThat at his wish before would answer him;\nAll pow\u2019rs so quite decay\u2019d, that when he spake\nHis voice no perceptible accent brake.\nHer counsel then thought best to strive no more,\nBut lay him in his bed and lock his door.\nSuch an Immortal would not I wish thee,\nT\u2019 extend all days so to eternity.\nBut if, as now, thou couldst perform thy course\nIn grace of form, and all corporeal force,\nTo an eternal date, thou then shouldst bear\nMy husband\u2019s worthy name, and not a tear\nShould I need rain, for thy deserts declin\u2019d,\nFrom my all-clouded bitterness of mind.\nBut now the stern storm of relentless age\nWill quickly circle thee, that waits t\u2019 engage\nAll men alike, even loathsomeness, and bane\nAttending with it, every human wane,\nWhich even the Gods hate. Such a penance lies\nImpos\u2019d on flesh and blood\u2019s infirmities!\nWhich I myself must taste in great degree,\nAnd date as endless, for consorting thee.\nAll the Immortals with my opprobry\nAre full by this time; on their hearts so lie,\n(Even to the sting of fear) my cunnings us\u2019d,\nAnd wiving conversations infus\u2019d\nInto the bosoms of the best of them\nWith women, that the frail and mortal stream\nDoth daily ravish. All this long since done.\nWhich now no more, but with effusion\nOf tears, I must in heaven so much as name,\nI have so forfeited in this my fame,\nAnd am impos\u2019d pain of so great a kind\nFor so much erring from a Goddess\u2019 mind.\nFor I have put beneath my girdle here\nA son, whose sire the human mortal sphere\nGives circumscription. But, when first the light\nHis eyes shall comfort, Nymphs that haunt the height\nOf hills, and breasts have of most deep receipt;\nShall be his nurses; who inhabit now\nA hill of so vast and divine a brow,\nAs man nor God can come at their retreats;\nWho live long lives, and eat immortal meats,\nAnd with Immortals in the exercise\nOf comely dances dare contend, and rise\nInto high question which deserves the prize.\nThe light Sileni mix in love with these,\nAnd, of all Spies the Prince, Argicides;\nIn well-trimm\u2019d caves their secret meetings made.\nAnd with the lives of these doth life invade\nOr odorous fir-trees, or high-foreheaded oaks,\nTogether taking their begetting strokes,\nAnd have their lives and deaths of equal dates,\nTrees bearing lovely and delightsome states,\nWhom Earth first feeds, that men initiates.\nOn her high hills she doth their states sustain,\nAnd they their own heights raise as high again.\nTheir growths together made, Nymphs call their groves\nVow\u2019d to th\u2019 Immortals services and loves;\nWhich men\u2019s steels therefore touch not, but let grow.\nBut when wise Fates times for their fadings know,\nThe fair trees still before the fair Nymphs die,\nThe bark about them grown corrupt and dry,\nAnd all their boughs fall\u2019n yield to Earth her right;\nAnd then the Nymphs\u2019 lives leave the lovely night,\n\u201cAnd these Nymphs in their caves shall nurse my son,\nWhom (when in him youth\u2019s first grace is begun)\nThe Nymphs, his nurses, shall present to thee;\nAnd show thee what a birth thou hast by me.\nAnd, sure as now I tell thee all these things,\nWhen Earth hath cloth\u2019d her plants in five fair springs,\nMyself will make return to this retreat,\nAnd bring that flow\u2019r of thy enamour\u2019d heat;\nWhom when thou then seest, joy shall fire thine eyes;\nHe shall so well present the Deities.\nAnd then into thine own care take thy son\nFrom his calm seat to windy Ilion,\nWhere, if strict question be upon the past,\nAsking what mother bore beneath her waist\nSo dear a son, answer, as I afford\nFit admonition, nor forget a word:\nThey say a Nymph, call\u2019d Calucopides,\nThat is with others an inhabitress\nOn this thy wood-crown\u2019d hill, acknowledges\nThat she his life gave. But, if thou declare\nThe secret\u2019s truth, and art so mad to dare\n(In glory of thy fortunes) to approve\nThat rich-crown\u2019d Venus mix\u2019d with thee in love,\nJove, fired with my aspersion so dispread,\nWill with a wreakful lightning dart thee dead.\n\u201cAll now is told thee, comprehend it all.\nBe master of thyself, and do not call\nMy name in question; but with reverence vow\nTo Deities\u2019 angers all the awe ye owe.\u201d\nThis said, She reach\u2019d heaven, where airs ever flow.\nAnd so, O Goddess, ever honour\u2019d be,\nIn thy so odorous Cyprian empery!\nMy Muse, affecting first thy fame to raise,\nShall make transcension now to others\u2019 praise.\n\n THE END OF THE FIRST HYMN TO VENUS\n\n [1] _\u1fbf\u0391\u03ba\u03c1\u03bf\u03c0\u03cc\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2. Altissimum habens verticem, cujus summitas ipsum\n polum attingit._\n\n [2] _\u1f04\u03bb\u03b7\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2. Cujus memoria erit perpetua._\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Venus (Second Hymn)\n\nThe reverend, rich-crown\u2019d, and fair Queen I sing,\nVenus, that owes ill fate the fortressing\nOf all maritimal Cyprus; where the force\nOf gentle-breathing Zephyr steer\u2019d her course\nAlong the waves of the resounding sea,\nWhile, yet unborn, in that soft foam she lay\nThat brought her forth; whom those fair Hours that bear\nThe golden bridles joyfully stood near,\nTook up into their arms, and put on her\nWeeds of a never-corruptible wear.\nOn her immortal head a crown they plac\u2019d,\nElaborate, and with all the beauties grac\u2019d\nThat gold could give it; of a weight so great,\nThat, to impose and take off, it had set\nThree handles on it, made, for endless hold,\nOf shining brass, and all adorn\u2019d with gold.\nHer soft neck all with carquenets was grac\u2019d,\nThat stoop\u2019d, and both her silver breasts embrac\u2019d,\nWhich even the Hours themselves wear in resort\nTo Deities\u2019 dances, and her Father\u2019s court.\nGrac\u2019d at all parts, they brought to heaven her graces;\nWhose first sight seen, all fell into embraces,\nHugg\u2019d her white hands, saluted, wishing all\nTo wear her maiden flow\u2019r in festival\nOf sacred Hymen, and to lead her home;\nAll, to all admiration, overcome\nWith Cytherea with the violet crown.\nSo to the Black-brow\u2019d Sweet-spoke all renown!\nPrepare my song, and give me, in the end,\nThe victory to whose palm all contend!\nSo shall my Muse for ever honour thee,\nAnd, for thy sake, thy fair posterity.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Bacchus, or the Pirates\n\nOf Dionysus, noble Semele\u2019s Son,\nI now intend to render mention,\nAs on a prominent shore his person shone,\nLike to a youth whose flow\u2019r was newly blown,\nBright azure tresses play\u2019d about his head,\nAnd on his bright broad shoulders was dispread\nA purple mantle. Strait he was descried\nBy certain manly pirates, that applied\nTheir utmost speed to prise him, being aboard\nA well-built bark, about whose broad sides roar\u2019d\nThe wine-black Tyrrhene billows; death as black\nBrought them upon him in their future wrack.\nFor, soon as they had purchas\u2019d but his view,\nMutual signs past them, and ashore they flew,\nTook him, and brought him instantly aboard,\nSoothing their hopes to have obtain\u2019d a hoard\nOf riches with him; and a Jove-kept king\nTo such a flow\u2019r must needs be natural spring.\nAnd therefore straight strong fetters they must fetch,\nTo make him sure. But no such strength would stretch\nTo his constrain\u2019d pow\u2019rs. Far flew all their bands\nFrom any least force done his feet or hands.\nBut he sat casting smiles from his black eyes\nAt all their worst. At which discoveries\nMade by the master, he did thus dehort\nAll his associates: \u201cWretches! Of what sort\nHold ye the person ye assay to bind?\nNay, which of all the Pow\u2019r fully-divin\u2019d\nEsteem ye him, whose worth yields so much weight\nThat not our well-built bark will bear his freight?\nOr Jove himself he is, or He that bears\nThe silver bow, or Neptune. Nor appears\nIn him the least resemblance of a man,\nBut of a strain at least Olympian.\nCome! Make we quick dismission of his state,\nAnd on the black-soil\u2019d earth exonerate\nOur sinking vessel of his deified load,\nNor dare the touch of an intangible God,\nLest winds outrageous, and of wrackful scathe,\nAnd smoking tempests, blow his fiery wrath.\u201d\nThis well-spoke master the tall captain gave\nHateful and horrible language; call\u2019d him slave,\nAnd bade him mark the prosp\u2019rous gale that blew,\nAnd how their vessel with her mainsail flew;\nBade all take arms, and said, their works requir\u2019d\nThe cares of men, and not of an inspir\u2019d\nPure zealous master; his firm hopes being fir\u2019d\nWith this opinion, that they should arrive\nIn \u00c6gypt straight, or Cyprus, or where live\nMen whose brave breaths above the north wind blow;\nYea, and perhaps beyond their region too.\nAnd that he made no doubt but in the end\nTo make his prisoner tell him every friend\nOf all his offspring, brothers, wealth, and all;\nSince that prise, certain, must some God let fall.\nThis said, the mast and mainsail up he drew,\nAnd in the mainsail\u2019s midst a frank gale blew;\nWhen all his ship took arms to brave their prise.\nBut straight strange works appear\u2019d to all their eyes:\nFirst, sweet wine through their swift-black bark did flow,\nOf which the odours did a little blow\nTheir fiery spirits, making th\u2019 air so fine\nThat they in flood were there as well as wine.\nA mere immortal-making savour rose,\nWhich on the air the Deity did impose.\nThe seamen see\u2019ng all, admiration seiz\u2019d;\nYet instantly their wonders were increas\u2019d,\nFor on the topsail there ran, here and there,\nA vine that grapes did in abundance bear,\nAnd in an instant was the ship\u2019s mainmast\nWith an obscure-green ivy\u2019s arms embrac\u2019d,\nThat flourish\u2019d straight, and were with berries grac\u2019d;\nOf which did garlands circle every brow\nOf all the pirates, and no one knew how.\nWhich when they saw, they made the master steer\nOut to the shore; whom Bacchus made forbear,\nWith showing more wonders. On the hatches He\nAppear\u2019d a terrible lion, horribly\nRoaring; and in the mid-deck a male bear,\nMade with a huge mane; making all, for fear,\nCrowd to the stern, about the master there,\nWhose mind he still kept dauntless and sincere,\nBut on the captain rush\u2019d and ramp\u2019d, with force\nSo rude and sudden, that his main recourse\nWas to the main-sea straight: and after him\nLeapt all his mates, as trusting to their swim\nTo fly foul death; but so found what they fled,\nBeing all to dolphins metamorphosed.\nThe master he took ruth of, sav\u2019d, and made\nThe blessed\u2019st man that ever tried his trade,\nThese few words giving him: \u201cBe confident,\nThou God-inspired pilot, in the bent\nOf my affection, ready to requite\nThy late-to-me-intended benefit.\nI am the roaring God of spritely wine,\nWhom Semele (that did even Jove incline\nTo amorous mixture, and was Cadmus\u2019 care)\nMade issue to the mighty Thunderer.\u201d\nAnd thus, all excellence of grace to thee,\nSon of sweet-count\u2019nance-carry\u2019ng Semele.\nI must not thee forget in least degree,\nBut pray thy spirit to render so my song\nSweet, and all ways in order\u2019d fury strong.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Mars\n\nMars, most-strong, gold-helm\u2019d, making chariots crack;\nNever without a shield cast on thy back;\nMind-master, town-guard, with darts never driven;\nStrong-handed, all arms, fort, and fence of heaven;\nFather of victory with fair strokes given;\nJoint surrogate of justice, lest she fall\nIn unjust strifes a tyrant; general\nOnly of just men justly; that dost bear\nFortitude\u2019s sceptre, to heaven\u2019s fiery sphere\nGiver of circular motion, between\nThat and the Pleiads that still wand\u2019ring been,\nWhere thy still-vehemently-flaming horse\nAbout the third heaven make their fiery course;\nHelper of mortals; hear!\u2014As thy fires give\nThe fair and present boldnesses that strive\nIn youth for honour, being the sweet-beam\u2019d light\nThat darts into their lives, from all their height,\nThe fortitudes and fortunes found in fight;\nSo would I likewise wish to have the pow\u2019r\nTo keep off from my head thy bitter hour,\nAnd that false fire, cast from my soul\u2019s low kind,\nStoop to the fit rule of my highest mind,\nControlling that so eager sting of wrath\nThat stirs me on still to that horrid scathe\nOf war, that God still sends to wreak his spleen\n(Even by whole tribes) of proud injurious men.\nBut O thou Ever-Blessed! give me still\nPresence of mind to put in act my will,\nVaried, as fits, to all occasion;\nAnd to live free, unforc\u2019d, unwrought upon,\nBeneath those laws of peace that never are\nAffected with pollutions popular\nOf unjust hurt, or loss to anyone;\nAnd to bear safe the burthen undergone\nOf foes inflexive, and inhuman hates,\nSecure from violent and harmful fates.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Diana\n\nDiana praise, Muse, that in darts delights,\nLives still a maid, and had nutritial rights\nWith her born-brother, the far-shooting Sun.\nThat doth her all-of-gold-made chariot run\nIn chase of game, from Meles that abounds\nIn black-brow\u2019d bulrushes, and, where her hounds\nShe first uncouples, joining there her horse,\nThrough Smyrna carried in most fiery course\nTo grape-rich Claros; where (ill his rich home,\nAnd constant expectation She will come)\nSits Ph\u0153bus, that the silver bow doth bear,\nTo meet with Ph\u0153be, that doth darts transfer\nAs far as He his shafts. As far then be\nThy chaste fame shot, O Queen of archery!\nSacring my song to every Deity.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Venus (Third Hymn)\n\nTo Cyprian Venus still my verses vow,\nWho gifts as sweet as honey doth bestow\nOn all mortality; that ever smiles,\nAnd rules a face that all foes reconciles;\nEver sustaining in her hand a flow\u2019r\nThat all desire keeps ever in her pow\u2019r.\n\nHail, then, O Queen of well-built Salamine,\nAnd all the state that Cyprus doth confine,\nInform my song with that celestial fire\nThat in thy beauties kindles all desire.\nSo shall my Muse for ever honour thee,\nAnd any other thou commend\u2019st to me.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Pallas\n\nPallas Minerva only I begin\nTo give my song; that makes war\u2019s terrible din,\nIs patroness of cities, and with Mars\nMarshall\u2019d in all the care and cure of wars,\nAnd in everted cities, fights, and cries.\nBut never doth herself set down or rise\nBefore a city, but at both times She\nAll injur\u2019d people sets on foot and free.\nGive, with thy war\u2019s force, fortune then to me,\nAnd, with thy wisdom\u2019s force, felicity.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Juno\n\nSaturnia, and her throne of gold, I sing,\nThat was of Rhea the eternal spring,\nAnd empress of a beauty never yet\nEquall\u2019d in height of tincture. Of the great\nSaturnius (breaking air in awful noise)\nThe far-fam\u2019d wife and sister; whom in joys\nOf high Olympus all the Blessed love,\nAnd honour equal with unequall\u2019d Jove.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Ceres\n\nThe rich-hair\u2019d Ceres I assay to sing;\nA Goddess, in whose grace the natural spring\nOf serious majesty itself is seen;\nAnd of the wedded, yet in grace still green,\nProserpina, her daughter, that displays\nA beauty casting every way her rays.\nAll honour to thee, Goddess! Keep this town;\nAnd take thou chief charge of my song\u2019s renown!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to the Mother of the Gods\n\nMother of all, both Gods and men, commend,\nO Muse, whose fair form did from Jove descend;\nThat doth with cymbal sounds delight her life,\nAnd tremulous divisions of the fife;\nLove\u2019s dreadful lions\u2019 roars, and wolves\u2019 hoarse howls,\nSylvan retreats, and hills, whose hollow knolls\nRaise repercussive sounds about her ears.\nAnd so may honour ever crown thy years\nWith all-else Goddesses, and ever be\nExalted in the Muses\u2019 harmony!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Lion-Hearted Hercules\n\nAlcides, forcefullest of all the brood\nOf men enforc\u2019d with need of earthy food,\nMy Muse shall memorise; the son of Jove,\nWhom, in fair-seated Thebes (commix\u2019d in love\nWith great heaven\u2019s sable-cloud-assembling State)\nAlcmena bore to him; and who, in date\nOf days forepast, through all the sea was sent,\nAnd Earth\u2019s inenarrable continent,\nTo acts that king Eurystheus had decreed;\nDid many a petulant and imperious deed\nHimself, and therefore suffer\u2019d many a toil;\nYet now inhabits the illustrious soil\nOf white Olympus, and delights his life\nWith still-young Hebe, his well-ankled wife.\nHail, King, and Son of Jove! Vouchsafe me\nVirtue, and, her effect, felicity!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to \u00c6sculapius\n\nWith \u00c6sculapius, the physician,\nThat cur\u2019d all sickness, and was Ph\u0153bus\u2019 son,\nMy Muse makes entry; to whose life gave yield\nDivine Coronis in the Dotian field,\n(King Phlegius\u2019 daughter) who much joy on men\nConferr\u2019d, in dear ease of their irksome pain.\nFor which, my salutation, worthy king,\nAnd vows to thee paid, ever when I sing!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Castor and Pollux\n\nCastor and Pollux, the Tyndarides,\nSweet Muse illustrate; that their essences\nFetch from the high forms of Olympian Jove,\nAnd were the fair fruits of bright Leda\u2019s love,\nWhich she produc\u2019d beneath the sacred shade\nOf steep Taygetus, being subdu\u2019d, and made\nTo serve th\u2019 affections of the Thunderer.\nAnd so all grace to you, whom all aver\n(For skill in horses, and their manage given)\nTo be the bravest horsemen under heaven!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Mercury\n\nHermes I honour, the Cyllenian Spy,\nKing of Cyllenia, and of Arcady\nWith flocks abounding; and the Messenger\nOf all th\u2019 Immortals, that doth still infer\nProfits of infinite value to their store;\nWhom to Saturnius bashful Maia bore,\nDaughter of Atlas, and did therefore fly\nOf all th\u2019 Immortals the society,\nTo that dark cave, where, in the dead of night,\nJove join\u2019d with her in love\u2019s divine delight,\nWhen golden sleep shut Juno\u2019s jealous eye,\nWhose arms had wrists as white as ivory,\nFrom whom, and all, both men and Gods beside,\nThe fair-hair\u2019d nymph had scape kept undescried.\nJoy to the Jove-got then, and Maia\u2019s care,\n\u2019Twixt men and Gods the general Messenger,\nGiver of good grace, gladness, and the flood\nOf all that men or Gods account their good!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Pan\n\nSing, Muse, this chief of Hermes\u2019 love-got joys,\nGoat-footed, two-horn\u2019d, amorous of noise,\nThat through the fair greens, all adorn\u2019d with trees,\nTogether goes with Nymphs, whose nimble knees\nCan every dance foot, that affect to scale\nThe most inaccessible tops of all\nUprightest rocks, and ever use to call\nOn Pan, the bright-hair\u2019d God of pastoral;\nWho yet is lean and loveless, and doth owe\nBy lot all loftiest mountains crown\u2019d with snow;\nAll tops of hills, and cliffy highnesses,\nAll sylvan copses, and the fortresses\nOf thorniest queaches, here and there doth rove,\nAnd sometimes, by allurement of his love,\nWill wade the wat\u2019ry softnesses. Sometimes\n(In quite oppos\u2019d _capriccios_) he climbs\nThe hardest rocks, and highest, every way\nRunning their ridges. Often will convey\nHimself up to a watch-tow\u2019r\u2019s top, where sheep\nHave their observance. Oft through hills as steep\nHis goats he runs upon, and never rests.\nThen turns he head, and flies on savage beasts,\nMad of their slaughters; so most sharp an eye\nSetting upon them, as his beams let fly\nThrough all their thickest tapistries. And then\n(When Hesp\u2019rus calls to fold the flocks of men)\nFrom the green clossets of his loftiest reeds\nHe rushes forth, and joy with song he feeds.\nWhen, under shadow of their motions set,\nHe plays a verse forth so profoundly sweet,\nAs not the bird that in the flow\u2019ry spring,\nAmidst the leaves set, makes the thickets ring\nOf her sour sorrows, sweeten\u2019d with her song,\nRuns her divisions varied so and strong.\nAnd then the sweet-voic\u2019d Nymphs that crown his mountains\n(Flock\u2019d round about the deep-black-water\u2019d fountains)\nFall in with their contention of song.\nTo which the echoes all the hills along\nTheir repercussions add. Then here and there\n(Plac\u2019d in the midst) the God the guide doth bear\nOf all their dances, winding in and out,\nA lynce\u2019s hide, besprinkled round about\nWith blood, cast on his shoulders. And thus He,\nWith well-made songs, maintains th\u2019 alacrity\nOf his free mind, in silken meadows crown\u2019d\nWith hyacinths and saffrons, that abound\nIn sweet-breath\u2019d odours, that th\u2019 unnumber\u2019d grass\n(Besides their scents) give as through all they pass.\nAnd these, in all their pleasures, ever raise\nThe blessed Gods\u2019 and long Olympus\u2019 praise:\nLike zealous Hermes, who of all I said\nMost profits up to all the Gods convey\u2019d.\nWho, likewise, came into th\u2019 Arcadian state,\n(That\u2019s rich in fountains, and all celebrate\nFor nurse of flocks,) where He had vow\u2019d a grove\n(Surnam\u2019d Cyllenius) to his Godhead\u2019s love.\nYet even himself (although a God he were)\nClad in a squalid sheepskin, govern\u2019d there\nA mortal\u2019s sheep. For soft love ent\u2019ring him\nConform\u2019d his state to his conceited trim,\nAnd made him long, in an extreme degree,\nT\u2019 enjoy the fair-hair\u2019d virgin Dryope.\nWhich ere he could, she made consummate\nThe flourishing rite of Hymen\u2019s honour\u2019d state;\nAnd brought him such a piece of progeny\nAs show\u2019d, at first sight, monstrous to the eye,\nGoat-footed, two-horn\u2019d, full of noise even then,\nAnd (opposite quite to other childeren)\nTold, in sweet laughter, he ought death no tear.\nYet straight his mother start, and fled, in fear,\nThe sight of so unsatisfying a thing,\nIn whose face put forth such a bristled spring.\nYet the most useful Mercury embrac\u2019d,\nAnd took into his arms, his homely-fac\u2019d,\nBeyond all measure joyful with his sight;\nAnd up to heaven with him made instant flight,\nWrapp\u2019d in the warm skin of a mountain hare,\nSet him by Jove, and made most merry fare\nTo all the Deities else with his son\u2019s sight;\nWhich most of all fill\u2019d Bacchus with delight;\nAnd Pan they call\u2019d him, since he brought to all\nOf mirth so rare and full a festival.\nAnd thus all honour to the shepherds\u2019 King,\nFor sacrifice to thee my Muse shall sing!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Vulcan\n\nPraise Vulcan, now Muse; whom fame gives the prize\nFor depth and fracture of all forge-devise;\nWho, with the sky-ey\u2019d Pallas, first did give\nMen rules of buildings, that before did live\nIn caves and dens, and hills, like savage beasts;\nBut now, by art-fam\u2019d Vulcan\u2019s interests\nIn all their civil industries, ways clear\nThrough th\u2019 all-things-bringing-to-their-ends (the year)\nThey work out to their ages\u2019 ends, at ease\nLodg\u2019d in safe roofs from Winter\u2019s utmost prease.\nBut, Vulcan, stand propitious to me,\nVirtue safe granting, and felicity!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Ph\u0153bus\n\nO Ph\u0153bus! Even the swan from forth her wings,\nJumping her proyning-bank, thee sweetly sings,\nBy bright Peneus\u2019 whirl-pit-making streams.\nThee, that thy lute mak\u2019st sound so to thy beams,\nThee, first and last, the sweet-voic\u2019d singer still\nSings, for thy song\u2019s all-songs-transcending skill.\nThy pleasure, then, shall my song still supply,\nAnd so salutes thee King of Poesy.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Neptune\n\nNeptune, the mighty marine God, I sing,\nEarth\u2019s mover, and the fruitless ocean\u2019s King,\nThat Helicon and th\u2019 \u00c6gean deeps dost hold.\nO thou Earth-shaker! Thy command two-fold\nThe Gods have sorted; making thee of horses\nThe awful tamer, and of naval forces\nThe Sure preserver. Hail, O Saturn\u2019s birth!\nWhose graceful green hair circles all the earth.\nBear a benign mind; and thy helpful hand\nLend all submitted to thy dread command.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Jove\n\nJove now I sing, the greatest and the best\nOf all these Pow\u2019rs that are with Deity blest,\nThat far-off doth his dreadful voice diffuse,\nAnd, being King of all, doth all conduce\nTo all their ends. Who (shut from all Gods else\nWith Themis, that the laws of all things tells)\nTheir fit composures to their times doth call,\nWeds them together, and preserves this all.\nGrace then, O far-heard Jove, the grace thou\u2019st given,\nMost Glorious, and most Great of Earth and Heaven!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Vesta\n\nVesta, that as a servant oversees\nKing Ph\u0153bus\u2019 hallow\u2019d house, in all degrees\nOf guide about it, on the sacred shore\nOf heavenly Pythos, and hast evermore\nRich balms distilling from thy odorous hair,\nGrace this house with thy housewifely repair!\nEnter, and bring a mind that most may move,\nConferring even, the great in counsels, Jove;\nAnd let my verse taste of your either\u2019s love.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to the Muses and Apollo\n\nThe Muses, Jove, and Ph\u0153bus, now I sing;\nFor from the far-off-shooting Ph\u0153bus spring\nAll poets and musicians, and from Jove\nTh\u2019 ascents of kings. The man the Muses love,\nFelicity blesses; elocution\u2019s choice\nIn syrup lay\u2019ng of sweetest breath his voice.\nHail, Seed of Jove, my song your honours give,\nAnd so in mine shall yours and others\u2019 live.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Bacchus\n\nIvy-crown\u2019d Bacchus iterate in thy praises,\nO Muse; whose voice all loftiest echoes raises,\nAnd he with all th\u2019 illustrious Seed of Jove\nIs join\u2019d in honour, being the fruit of love\nTo him, and Semele the-great-in-graces;\nAnd from the King his father\u2019s kind embraces\nBy fair-hair\u2019d Nymphs was taken to the dales\nOf Nyssa, and with curious festivals\nGiven his fair grought, far from his father\u2019s view,\nIn caves from whence eternal odours flew,\nAnd in high number of the Deities plac\u2019d.\nYet when the many-hymn-given God had past\nHis Nurses\u2019 cares, in ivies and in bays\nAll over thicketed, his varied ways\nTo sylvan coverts evermore He took,\nWith all his Nurses, whose shrill voices shook\nThickets, in which could no foot\u2019s entry fall,\nAnd he himself made captain of them all.\nAnd so, O grape-abounding Bacchus, be\nEver saluted by my Muse and me!\nGive us to spend with spirit our hours out here,\nAnd every hour extend to many a year.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Diana\n\nDiana, that the golden spindle moves,\nAnd lofty sounds as well as Bacchus loves,\nA bashful virgin, and of fearful hearts\nThe death-affecter with delighted darts,\nBy sire and mother Ph\u0153bus\u2019 sister born,\nWhose thigh the golden falchion doth adorn,\nI sing; who likewise over hills of shade\nAnd promontories that vast winds invade,\nAmorous of hunting, bends her all-gold bow,\nAnd sigh-begetting arrows doth bestow\nIn fates so dreadful that the hill-tops quake,\nAnd bristled woods their leafy foreheads shake,\nHorrors invade earth, and [the] fishy seas\nImpassion\u2019d furies; nothing can appease\nThe dying brays of beasts. And her delight\nIn so much death affects so with affright\nEven all inanimate natures; for, while she\nHer sports applies, their general progeny\nShe all ways turns upon to all their banes.\nYet when her fiery pleasures find their wanes,\nHer yielding bow unbent, to th\u2019 ample house,\nSeated in Delphos, rich and populous,\nOf her dear brother, her retreats advance.\nWhere th\u2019 instauration of delightsome dance\nAmongst the Muses and the Graces she\nGives form; in which herself the regency\n(Her unbent bow hung up, and casting on\nA gracious robe) assumes, and first sets gone\nThe dances\u2019 entry; to which all send forth\nTheir heavenly voices, and advance the worth\nOf her fair-ankled mother, since to light\nShe children brought the far most exquisite\nIn counsels and performances of all\nThe Goddesses that grace the heavenly hall.\nHail then, Latona\u2019s fair-hair\u2019d Seed, and Jove\u2019s!\nMy song shall ever call to mind your loves.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Pallas\n\nPallas-Minerva\u2019s deity, the renown\u2019d,\nMy Muse in her variety must resound;\nMighty in councils; whose illustrous eyes\nIn all resemblance represent the skies.\nA reverend maid of an inflexible mind;\nIn spirit and person strong; of triple kind;\nFautress of cities that just laws maintain;\nOf Jove, the-great-in-councils, very brain\nTook prime existence, his unbounded brows\nCould not contain her, such impetuous throes\nHer birth gave way to, that abroad she flew,\nAnd stood, in gold arm\u2019d, in her Father\u2019s view,\nShaking her sharp lance. All Olympus shook\nSo terribly beneath her, that it took\nUp in amazes all the Deities there.\nAll earth resounded with vociferous fear.\nThe sea was put up all in purple waves,\nAnd settled suddenly her rudest raves.\nHyperion\u2019s radiant son his swift-hov\u2019d steeds\nA mighty time stay\u2019d, till her arming weeds,\nAs glorious as the Gods\u2019, the blue-ey\u2019d Maid\nTook from her deathless shoulders; but then stay\u2019d\nAll these distempers, and heaven\u2019s counsellor, Jove,\nRejoic\u2019d that all things else his stay could move.\nSo I salute thee still; and still in praise\nThy fame, and others\u2019, shall my memory raise.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Vesta and Mercury\n\nVesta I sing, who, in bequest of fate,\nArt sorted out an everlasting state\nIn all th\u2019 Immortals\u2019 high-built roofs, and all\nThose of earth-dwelling men, as general\nAnd ancient honours given thee for thy gift\nOf free-liv\u2019d chastity, and precious thrift.\nNor can there amongst mortals banquets be,\nIn which, both first and last, they give not thee\nTheir endless gratitudes in pour\u2019d-out wine,\nAs gracious sacrifice to thy divine\nAnd useful virtues; being invok\u2019d by all,\nBefore the least taste of their festival\nIn wine or food affect their appetites.\nAnd Thou, that of th\u2019 adorn\u2019d-with-all-delights\nArt the most useful angel, born a God\nOf Jove and Maia, of heaven\u2019s golden rod\nThe sole sustainer, and hast pow\u2019r to bless\nWith all good all men, great Argicides,\nInhabit all good houses, see\u2019ng no wants\nOf mutual minds\u2019 love in th\u2019 inhabitants,\nJoin in kind blessing with the bashful maid\nAnd all-lov\u2019d virgin, Vesta; either\u2019s aid\nCombin\u2019d in every hospitable house;\nBoth being best seen in all the gracious\nHouse-works of mortals. Jointly follow then,\nEven from their youths, the minds of dames and men.\nHail then, old Daughter of the oldest God,\nAnd thou Great Bearer of Heaven\u2019s golden rod!\nYet not to you alone my vows belong,\nOthers as well claim th\u2019 homage of my song.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Earth, the Mother of All\n\nMother of all things, the well-founded Earth,\nMy Muse shall memorize; who all the birth\nGives food that all her upper regions breed,\nAll that in her divine diffusions feed\nIn under continents, all those that live\nIn all the seas, and all the air doth give\nWing\u2019d expeditions, of thy bounties eat;\nFair children, and fair fruits, thy labour\u2019s sweat,\nO great in reverence; and referr\u2019d to thee,\nFor life and death is all the pedigree\nOf mortal humans. Happy then is he\nWhom the innate propensions of thy mind\nStand bent to honour. He shall all things find\nIn all abundance; all his pastures yield\nHerds in all plenties; all his roofs are fill\u2019d\nWith rich possessions; he, in all the sway\nOf laws best order\u2019d, cuts out his own way\nIn cities shining with delicious dames,\nAnd takes his choice of all those striving flames;\nHigh happiness and riches, like his train,\nFollow his fortunes, with delights that reign\nIn all their princes; glory invests his sons;\nHis daughters, with their crown\u2019d selections\nOf all the city, frolic through the meads,\nAnd everyone her call\u2019d-for dances treads\nAlong the soft-flow\u2019r of the claver-grass.\nAll this, with all those, ever comes to pass,\nThat thy love blesses, Goddess full of grace,\nAnd treasurous Angel t\u2019 all the human race.\nHail, then, Great Mother of the Deified Kind,\nWife to the cope of stars! Sustain a mind\nPropitious to me for my praise, and give\n(Answering my mind) my vows fit means to live.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to the Sun\n\nThe radiant Sun\u2019s divine renown diffuse,\nJove\u2019s daughter, great Calliope, my Muse;\nWhom ox-ey\u2019d Eurypha\u00ebssa gave birth\nTo the bright Seed of starry Heaven and Earth.\nFor the far-fam\u2019d Hyperion took to wife\nHis sister Eurypha\u00ebssa, that life\nOf his high race gave to these lovely three:\nAurora, with the rosy-wrists; and She\nThat owns th\u2019 enamouring tresses, the bright Moon;\nTogether with the never-wearied Sun,\nWho (his horse mounting) gives both mortals light\nAnd all th\u2019 Immortals. Even to horror, bright\nA blaze burns from his golden burgonet,\nWhich to behold exceeds the sharpest set\nOf any eye\u2019s intention, beams so clear\nIt all ways pours abroad. The glorious cheer\nOf his far-shining face up to his crown\nCasts circular radiance, that comes streaming down\nAbout his temples, his bright cheeks, and all,\nRetaining the refulgence of their fall.\nAbout his bosom flows so fine a weed\nAs doth the thinness of the wind exceed\nIn rich context; beneath whose deep folds fly\nHis masculine horses round about the sky,\nTill in this hemisphere he renders stay\nT\u2019 his gold-yok\u2019d coach and coursers; and his way,\nLet down by heaven, the heavenly coachman makes\nDown to the ocean, where his rest he takes.\nMy salutations then, fair King, receive,\nAnd in propitious returns relieve\nMy life with mind-fit means; and then from thee,\nAnd all the race of complete Deity,\nMy song shall celebrate those half-god States,\nThat yet sad death\u2019s condition circulates,\nAnd whose brave acts the Gods show men that they\nAs brave may aim at, since they can but die.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to the Moon\n\nThe Moon, now, Muses, teach me to resound,\nWhose wide wings measure such a world of ground;\nJove\u2019s daughter, deck\u2019d with the mellifluous tongue,\nAnd seen in all the sacred art of song.\nWhose deathless brows when she from heaven displays,\nAll earth she wraps up in her orient rays.\nA heaven of ornament in earth is rais\u2019d\nWhen her beams rise. The subtle air is sais\u2019d\nOf delicate splendour from her crown of gold.\nAnd when her silver bosom is extoll\u2019d,\nWash\u2019d in the ocean, in day\u2019s equall\u2019d noon\nIs midnight seated; but when she puts on\nHer far-off-sprinkling-lustre evening weeds,\n(The month is two cut; her high-breasted steeds\nMan\u2019d all with curl\u2019d flames, put in coach and all,\nHer huge orb fill\u2019d,) her whole trims then exhale\nUnspeakable splendours from the glorious sky.\nAnd out of that state mortal men imply\nMany predictions. And with her then,\nIn love mix\u2019d, lay the King of Gods and men;\nBy whom made fruitful, she Pandea bore,\nAnd added her state to th\u2019 Immortal Store.\nHail, Queen, and Goddess, th\u2019 ivory-wristed Moon\nDivine, prompt, fair-hair\u2019d! With thy grace begun,\nMy Muse shall forth, and celebrate the praise\nOf men whose states the Deities did raise\nTo semi-deities; whose deeds t\u2019 endless date\nMuse-lov\u2019d and sweet-sung poets celebrate.\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Castor and Pollux\n\nJove\u2019s fair Sons, father\u2019d by th\u2019 Oebalian king,\nMuses well-worth-all men\u2019s beholdings, sing!\nThe dear birth that bright-ankl\u2019d Leda bore;\nHorse-taming Castor, and, the conqueror\nOf tooth-tongu\u2019d Momus, Pollux; whom beneath\nSteep-brow\u2019d Taygetus she gave half-god breath,\nIn love mix\u2019d with the black-clouds King of Heaven;\nWho, both of men and ships, being tempest driven,\nWhen Winter\u2019s wrathful empire is in force\nUpon th\u2019 implacable seas, preserve the course.\nFor when the gusts begin, if near the shore,\nThe seamen leave their ship, and, evermore\nBearing two milk-white lambs aboard, they now\nKill them ashore, and to Jove\u2019s issue vow,\nWhen though their ship, in height of all the roar\nThe winds and waves confound, can live no more\nIn all their hopes, then suddenly appear\nJove\u2019s saving Sons, who both their bodies bear\n\u2019Twixt yellow wings down from the sparkling pole,\nWho straight the rage of those rude winds control,\nAnd all the high-waves couch into the breast\nOf th\u2019 hoary seas. All which sweet signs of rest\nTo seamen\u2019s labours their glad souls conceive,\nAnd end to all their irksome grievance give.\nSo, once more, to the swift-horse-riding race\nOf royal Tyndarus, eternal grace!\n\n\n\n\nA Hymn to Men of Hospitality\n\nReverence a man with use propitious\nThat hospitable rites wants; and a house\n(You of this city with the seat of state\nTo ox-ey\u2019d Juno vow\u2019d) yet situate\nNear Pluto\u2019s region. At the extreme base\nOf whose so high-hair\u2019d city, from the race\nOf blue-wav\u2019d Hebrus lovely fluent, grac\u2019d\nWith Jove\u2019s begetting, you divine cups taste.\n\n\n\n\nEPIGRAMS AND OTHER POEMS\n\n\n\n\nTo Cuma\n\nLend hospitable rites and house-respect,\nYou that the virgin with the fair eyes deckt\nMake fautress of your stately-seated town,\nAt foot of Sardes, with the high-hair\u2019d crown,\nInhabiting rich Cuma; where ye taste\nOf Hermus\u2019 heavenly fluent, all embrac\u2019d\nBy curl\u2019d-head whirl pits; and whose waters move\nFrom the divine seed of immortal Jove.\n\n\n\n\nIn his Return to Cuma\n\nSwiftly my feet sustain me to the town,\nWhere men inhabit whom due honours crown,\nWhose minds with free-given faculties are mov\u2019d,\nAnd whose grave counsels best of best approv\u2019d.\n\n\n\n\nUpon the Sepulchre of Midus Cut in Brass, in the Figure of a Virgin\n\nA maid of brass I am, infixed here\nT\u2019 eternize honest Midus\u2019 sepulchre;\nAnd while the stream her fluent seed receives,\nAnd steep trees curl their verdant brows with leaves,\nWhile Ph\u0153bus rais\u2019d above the earth gives sight,\nAnd th\u2019 humorous Moon takes lustre from his light,\nWhile floods bear waves, and seas shall wash the shore,\nAt this his sepulchre, whom all deplore,\nI\u2019ll constantly abide; all passers by\nInforming, \u201cHere doth honest Midus lie.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCuma, refusing to eternize their State, Though Brought Thither by the\nMuses\n\nO to what fate hath Father Jove given o\u2019er\nMy friendless life, born ever to be poor!\nWhile in my infant state he pleas\u2019d to save me,\nMilk on my reverend mother\u2019s knees he gave me,\nIn delicate and curious nursery;\n\u00c6olian Smyrna, seated near the sea,\n(Of glorious empire, and whose bright sides\nSacred Meletus\u2019 silver current glides,)\nBeing native seat to me. Which, in the force\nOf far-past time, the breakers of wild horse,\nPhriconia\u2019s noble nation, girt with tow\u2019rs;\nWhose youth in fight put on with fiery pow\u2019rs,\nFrom hence, the Muse-maids, Jove\u2019s illustrous Seed,\nImpelling me, I made impetuous speed,\nAnd went with them to Cuma, with intent\nT\u2019 eternize all the sacred continent\nAnd state of Cuma. They, in proud ascent\nFrom off their bench, refus\u2019d with usage fierce\nThe sacred voice which I aver is verse.\nTheir follies, yet, and madness borne by me,\nShall by some pow\u2019r be thought on futurely,\nTo wreak of him whoever, whose tongue sought\nWith false impair my fall. What fate God brought\nUpon my birth I\u2019ll bear with any pain,\nBut undeserv\u2019d defame unfelt sustain.\nNor feels my person (dear to me though poor)\nAny great lust to linger any more\nIn Cuma\u2019s holy highways; but my mind\n(No thought impair\u2019d, for cares of any kind\nBorne in my body) rather vows to try\nThe influence of any other sky,\nAnd spirits of people bred in any land\nOf ne\u2019er so slender and obscure command.\n\n\n\n\nAn Essay of his begun Iliads\n\nIlion, and all the brave-horse-breeding soil,\nDardania, I sing; that many a toil\nImpos\u2019d upon the mighty Grecian pow\u2019rs,\nWho were of Mars the manly servitours.\n\n\n\n\nTo Thestor\u2019s Son[1] inquisitive about the Causes of Things\n\nThestorides! of all the skills unknown\nTo errant mortals, there remains not one\nOf more inscrutable affair to find\nThan is the true state of a human mind.\n\n [1] Homer intimated, in this his answer to Thestorides, a will to have\n him learn the knowledge of himself, before he inquired so curiously\n the causes of other things. And from hence had the great peripatetic,\n Themistius, his most grave epiphoneme, _Anima qu\u00e6 seipsam ignorat,\n quid sciret ipsa de aliis?_ And, therefore, according to Aristotle,\n advises all philosophical students to begin with that study.\n\n\n\n\nTo Neptune\n\nHear, pow\u2019rful Neptune, that shak\u2019st earth in ire,\nKing of the great green, where dance all the quire\nOf fair-hair\u2019d Helicon; give prosperous gales;\nAnd good pass, to these guiders of our sails,\nTheir voyage rend\u2019ring happily directed,\nAnd their return with no ill fate affected.\nGrant likewise at rough Mimas\u2019 lowest roots,\nWhose strength up to her tops pr\u00e6rupt rocks shoots,\nMy passage safe arrival; and that I\nMy bashful disposition may apply\nTo pious men, and wreak myself upon\nThe man whose verbal circumvention\nIn me did wrong t\u2019 hospitious Jove\u2019s whole state,\nAnd th\u2019 hospitable table violate.\n\n\n\n\nTo the City of Erythr\u00e6a\n\nWorshipful Earth, Giver of all things good!\nGiver of even felicity; whose flood\nThe mind all-over steeps in honeydew;\nThat to some men dost infinite kindness shew,\nTo others that despise thee art a shrew,\nAnd giv\u2019st them gamester\u2019s galls; who, once their main\nLost with an ill chance, fare like abjects slain.\n\n\n\n\nTo Mariners\n\nYe wave-trod watermen, as ill as she\nThat all the earth in infelicity\nOf rapine plunges; who upon your fare\nAs sterv\u2019d-like-ravenous as cormorants are;\nThe lives ye lead, but in the worst degree,\nNot to be envied more than misery;\nTake shame, and fear the indignation\nOf Him that thunders from the highest throne,\nHospitious Jove, who, at the back, prepares\nPains of abhorr\u2019d effect of him that dares\nThe pieties break of his hospitious squares.\n\n\n\n\nThe Pine\n\nAny tree else bears better fruit than thee,\nThat Ida\u2019s tops sustain, where every tree\nBears up in air such perspirable heights,\nAnd in which caves and sinuous receipts\nCreep in such great abundance. For about\nThy foots, that ever all thy fruits put out,\nAs nourish\u2019d by them, equal with thy fruits,\nPour Mars\u2019s iron-mines their accurs\u2019d pursuits.\nSo that when any earth-encroaching man,\nOf all the martial brood Cebrenian,\nPlead need of iron, they are certain still\nAbout thy roots to satiate every will.\n\n\n\n\nTo Glaucus,\nWho was so Miserably Sparing that he Feared All Men\u2019s Access to Him\n\nGlaucus! though wise enough, yet one word more\nLet my advice add to thy wisdom\u2019s store,\nFor \u2019twill be better so: Before thy door\nGive still thy mastiffs meat, that will be sure\nTo lie there, therefore, still, and not endure\n(With waylaid ears) the softest foot can fall,\nBut men and beasts make fly thee and thy stall.\n\n\n\n\nAgainst the Samian Ministress or Nun\n\nHear me, O Goddess, that invoke thine ear,\nThou that dost feed and form the youthful year,\nAnd grant that this dame may the loves refuse,\nAnd beds, of young men, and affect to use\nHumans whose temples hoary hairs distain,\nWhose pow\u2019rs are passing coy, whose wills would fain.\n\n\n\n\nWritten on the Council Chamber\n\nOf men, sons are the crowns of cities\u2019 tow\u2019rs;\nOf pastures, horse are the most beauteous flow\u2019rs;\nOf seas, ships are the grace; and money still\nWith trains and titles doth the family fill.\nBut royal counsellors, in council set,\nAre ornaments past all, as clearly great\nAs houses are that shining fires enfold,\nSuperior far to houses nak\u2019d and cold.\n\n\n\n\nThe Furnace called in to sing by Potters\n\nIf ye deal freely, O my fiery friends,\nAs ye assure, I\u2019ll sing, and serve your ends.\nPallas, vouchsafe thou here invok\u2019d access, I\nImpose thy hand upon this Forge, and bless\nAll cups these artists earn so, that they may\nLook black still with their depth, and every way\nGive all their vessels a most sacred sale.\nMake all well-burn\u2019d; and estimation call\nUp to their prices. Let them market well,\nAnd in all highways in abundance sell,\nTill riches to their utmost wish arise,\nAnd, as thou mak\u2019st them rich, so make me wise.\nBut if ye now turn all to impudence,\nAnd think to pay with lies my patience,\nThen will I summon \u2019gainst your Furnace all\nHell\u2019s harmfull\u2019st spirits; Maragus I\u2019ll call,\nSabactes, Asbett, and Omadamus,\nWho ills against your art innumerous\nExcogitates, supplies, and multiplies.\nCome, Pallas, then, and all command to rise,\nInfesting forge and house with fire, till all\nTumble together, and to ashes fall,\nThese potters selves dissolv\u2019d in tears as small.\nAnd as a horse-cheek chides his foaming bit,\nSo let this Forge murmur in fire and flit,\nAnd all this stuff to ashy ruins run.\nAnd thou, O Circe, daughter of the Sun,\nGreat-many-poison-mixer, come, and pour\nThy cruell\u2019st poisons on this Potters\u2019 floor,\nShivering their vessels; and themselves affect\nWith all the mischiefs possible to direct\n\u2019Gainst all their beings, urg\u2019d by all thy fiends.\nLet Chiron likewise come; and all those friends\n(The Centaurs) that Alcides\u2019 fingers fled,\nAnd all the rest too that his hand strook dead,\n(Their ghosts excited) come, and macerate\nThese earthen men; and yet with further fate\nAffect their Furnace; all their tear-burst eyes\nSeeing and mourning for their miseries,\nWhile I look on, and laugh their blasted art\nAnd them to ruin. Lastly, if apart\nAny lies lurking, and sees yet, his face\nInto a coal let th\u2019 angry fire embrace,\nThat all may learn by them, in all their lust,\nTo dare deeds great, to see them great and just.\n\n\n\n\nEiresione, or the Olive Branch\n\nThe turrets of a man of infinite might,\nOf infinite action, substance infinite,\nWe make access to; whose whole being rebounds\nFrom earth to heaven, and nought but bliss resounds.\nGive entry then, ye doors; more riches yet\nShall enter with me; all the Graces met\nIn joy of their fruition, perfect peace\nConfirming all; all crown\u2019d with such increase,\nThat every empty vessel in your house\nMay stand replete with all things precious;\nElaborate Ceres may your larders fill\nWith all dear delicates, and serve in still;\nMay for your son a wife make wish\u2019d approach\nInto your tow\u2019rs, and rapt in in her coach\nWith strong-kneed mules; may yet her state prove staid,\nWith honour\u2019d housewiferies; her fair hand laid\nTo artful loomworks; and her nak\u2019d feet tread\nThe gum of amber to a golden bead.\nBut I\u2019ll return; return, and yet not press\nYour bounties now assay\u2019d with oft access,\nOnce a year only, as the swallow prates\nBefore the wealthy Spring\u2019s wide open gates.\nMeantime I stand at yours, nor purpose stay\nMore time t\u2019 entreat. Give, or not give, away\nMy feet shall bear me, that did never come\nWith any thought to make your house my home.\n\n\n\n\nTo certain Fisher-Boys\npleasing him with Ingenious Riddles\n\nYet from the bloods even of your self-like sires\nAre you descended, that could make ye heirs\nTo no huge hoards of coin, nor leave ye able\nTo feed flocks of innumerable rabble.\n\n THE END OF ALL THE ENDLESS WORKS OF HOMER.\n\n\n\n\n_The Translator\u2019s Epilogue_\n\n_The work that I was born to do is done!\nGlory to Him that the conclusion\nMakes the beginning of my life; and never\nLet me be said to live, till I live ever.\nWhere\u2019s the outliving of my fortunes then,\nYe errant vapours of Fame\u2019s Lernean fen,\nThat, like possess\u2019d storms, blast all not in herd\nWith your abhorr\u2019d heads; who, because cashier\u2019d\nBy men for monsters, think men monsters all,\nThat are not of your pied Hood and your Hall,\nWhen you are nothing but the scum of things,\nAnd must be cast off; drones, that have no stings;\nNor any more soul than a stone hath wings?\nAvaunt, ye hags! Your hates and scandals are\nThe crowns and comforts of a good man\u2019s care;\nBy whose impartial perpendicular,\nAll is extuberance, and excretion all,\nThat you your ornaments and glories call.\nYour wry mouths censure right! Your blister\u2019d tongues,\nThat lick but itches! And whose ulcerous lungs\nCome up at all things permanent and sound!\nO you, like flies in dregs, in humours drown\u2019d!\nYour loves, like atoms, lost in gloomy air,\nI would not retrieve with a wither\u2019d hair.\nHate, and cast still your stings then, for your kisses\nBetray but truth, and your applauds are hisses.\nTo see our supercilious wizards frown,\nTheir faces fall\u2019n like fogs, and coming down,\nStinking the sun out, makes me shine the more;\nAnd like a check\u2019d flood bear above the shore,\nThat their profane opinions fain would set\nTo what they see not, know not, nor can let.\nYet then our learn\u2019d men with their torrents come,\nRoaring from their forc\u2019d hills, all crown\u2019d with foam,\nThat one not taught like them, should learn to know\nTheir Greek roots, and from thence the groves that grow,\nCasting such rich shades from great Homer\u2019s wings,\nThat first and last command the Muses\u2019 springs.\nThough he\u2019s best scholar, that, through pains and vows\nMade his own master only, all things knows.\nNor pleads my poor skill form, or learned place,\nBut dauntless labour, constant prayer, and grace.\nAnd what\u2019s all their skill, but vast varied reading?\nAs if broad-beaten highways had the leading\nTo Truth\u2019s abstract, and narrow path, and pit;\nFound in no walk of airy worldly wit.\nAnd without Truth, all\u2019s only sleight of hand,\nOr our law-learning in a foreign land,\nEmbroidery spent on cobwebs, braggart show\nOf men that all things learn, and nothing know.\nFor ostentation humble Truth still flies,\nAnd all confederate fashionists defies.\nAnd as some sharp-brow\u2019d doctor, English born,\nIn much learn\u2019d Latin idioms can adorn\nA verse with rare attractions, yet become\nHis English Muse like an Arachnean loom,\nWrought spite of Pallas, and therein bewrays\nMore tongue than truth, begs, and adopts his bays;\nSo Ostentation, be he never so\nLarded with labour to suborn his show,\nShall sooth within him but a bastard soul,\nNo more heaven heiring than, Earth\u2019s son, the mole,\nBut as in dead calms emptiest smokes arise,\nUncheck\u2019d and free, up straight into the skies;\nSo drowsy Peace, that in her humour steeps\nAll she affects, lets such rise while she sleeps.\nMany, and most men, have of wealth least store,\nBut none the gracious shame that fits the poor.\nSo most learn\u2019d men enough are ignorant,\nBut few the grace have to confess their want,\nTill lives and learnings come concomitant.\nFar from men\u2019s knowledges their lives\u2019-acts flow;\nVainglorious acts then vain prove all they know.\nAs night the life-inclining stars best shows,\nSo lives obscure the starriest souls disclose.\nFor me, let just men judge by what I show\nIn acts expos\u2019d how much I err or know;\nAnd let not envy make all worse than nought,\nWith her mere headstrong and quite brainless thought,\nOthers, for doing nothing, giving all,\nAnd bounding all worth in her bursten gall.\nGod and my dear_ Redeemer _rescue me\nFrom men\u2019s immane and mad impiety,\nAnd by my life and soul (sole known to Them)\nMake me of palm, or yew, an anadem.\nAnd so my sole_ God, _the_ Thrice-Sacred-Trine,\n_Bear all th\u2019 ascription of all me and mine._\n\nSupplico tibi, Domine, Pater, et Dux rationis nostr\u00e6, ut nostr\u00e6\nnobilitatis recordemur qu\u00e2 Tu nos ornasti; et ut Tu nobis pr\u00e6st\u00f3 sis,\nut iis qui per sese moventur; ut et \u00e0 corporis contagio, brutorumque\naffectuum, repurgemur, eosque superemus, atque regamus, et, sicut\ndecet, pro instrumentis iis utamur. Deinde, ut nobis adjumento sis, ad\naccuratam rationis nostr\u00e6 correctionem, et conjunctionem cum iis qui\nver\u00e8 sunt per lucem veritatis. Et terti\u00f9m, Salvatori supplex oro, ut ab\noculis animorum nostrorum, caliginem prorsus abstergas, ut norimus bene\nqui Deus, aut mortalis, habendus. _Amen._\n\n_Sine honore vivam, nulloque numera ero._\n\n FINIS","title":"The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":173136}