Opening…

CHAPMAN’S INTRODUCTION

TO THE MOST WORTHILY HONOURED, MY SINGULAR GOOD LORD, ROBERT, EARL OF SOMERSET, LORD CHAMBERLAIN, ETC.

I have adventured, right noble Earl, out of my utmost and ever-vowed service to your virtues, to entitle their merits to the patronage of Homer’s English life, whose wished natural life the great Macedon would have protected as the spirit of his empire,

That he to his unmeasur’d mighty acts Might add a fame as vast; and their extracts, In fires as bright and endless as the stars, His breast might breathe and thunder out his wars. But that great monarch’s love of fame and praise Receives an envious cloud in our foul days; For since our great ones ceased themselves to do, Deeds worth their praise, they hold it folly too To feed their praise in others. But what can, Of all the gifts that are, be giv’n to man More precious than Eternity and Glory, Singing their praises in unsilenc’d story? Which no black day, no nation, nor no age, No change of time or fortune, force nor rage, Shall ever rase? All which the monarch knew, Where Homer liv’d entitled, would ensue: _Cuius de gurgite vivo Combibit arcanos vatum omnis turba furores, etc._ From whose deep fount of life the thirsty rout Of Thespian prophets have lien sucking out Their sacred rages. And as th’ influent stone Of Father Jove’s great and laborious son Lifts high the heavy iron, and far implies The wide orbs that the needle rectifies, In virtuous guide of ev’ry sea-driv’n course, To all aspiring his one boundless force; So from one Homer all the holy fire That ever did the hidden heat inspire In each true Muse came clearly sparkling down, And must for him compose one flaming crown. He, at Jove’s table set, fills out to us Cups that repair age sad and ruinous, And gives it built of an eternal stand With his all-sinewy Odyssæan hand, Shifts time and fate, puts death in life’s free state, And life doth into ages propagate. He doth in men the Gods’ affects inflame, His fuel Virtue blown by Praise and Fame; And, with the high soul’s first impression driv’n, Breaks through rude chaos, earth, the seas, and heav’n. The nerves of all things hid in nature lie Naked before him; all their harmony Tun’d to his accents, that in beasts breathe minds. What fowls, what floods, what earth, what air, what winds, What fires ethereal, what the Gods conclude In all their counsels, his Muse makes indued With varied voices that ev’n rocks have mov’d. And yet for all this, naked Virtue lov’d, Honours without her he as abject prizes, And foolish Fame, deriv’d from thence, despises. When from the vulgar taking glorious bound Up to the mountain where the Muse is crown’d, He sits and laughs to see the jaded rabble Toil to his hard heights, t’ all access unable, etc.

And that your Lordship may in his face take view of his mind, the first words of his Iliads is μη̑νιν, wrath; the first word of his Odysseys, ἄνδρα man: contracting in either word his each work’s proposition. In one predominant perturbation; in the other over-ruling wisdom. In one the body’s fervour and fashion of outward fortitude to all possible height of heroical action; in the other the mind’s inward, constant, and unconquered empire, unbroken, unaltered, with any most insolent, and tyrannous infliction. To many most sovereign praises is this poem entitled; but to that grace, in chief, which sets on the crown both of poets and orators; τὸ τὰ μικρὰ μεγάλως, καὶ τὰ κοινὰ καιίνως: that is, Parva magnè dicere; pervulgata novè; jejuna plenè.—To speak things little greatly; things common rarely; things barren and empty fruitfully and fully. The return of a man into his country is his whole scope and object; which in itself, your Lordship may well say, is jejune and fruitless enough, affording nothing feastful, nothing magnificent. And yet even this doth the divine inspiration render vast, illustrious, and of miraculous composure. And for this, my Lord, is this poem preferred to his lliads; for therein much magnificence, both of person and action, gives great aid to his industry; but in this are these helps exceeding sparing, or nothing; and yet is the structure so elaborate and pompous that the poor plain ground-work, considered together, may seem the naturally rich womb to it, and produce it needfully. Much wondered at, therefore, is the censure of Dionysius Longinus, (a man otherwise affirmed grave and of elegant judgment,) comparing Homer in his Iliads to the Sun rising, in his Odysseys to his descent or setting, or to the ocean robbed of his æsture, many tributary floods and rivers of excellent ornament withheld from their observance. When this his work so far exceeds the ocean, with all his court and concourse, that all his sea is only a serviceable stream to it. Nor can it be compared to any one power to be named in nature, being an entirely well-sorted and digested confluence of all; where the most solid and grave is made as nimble and fluent as the most airy and fiery, the nimble and fluent as firm and well-bounded as the most grave and solid. And, taking all together, of so tender impression, and of such command to the voice of the Muse, that they knock heaven with her breath, and discover their foundations as low as hell. Nor is this all-comprising Poesy fantastic or mere fictive; but the most material and doctrinal illations of truth, both for all manly information of manners in the young, all prescription of justice, and even Christian piety, in the most grave and high governed. To illustrate both which, in both kinds, with all heightof expression, the Poet creates both a body and a soul in them. Wherein, if the body (being the letter or history) seems fictive, and beyond possibility to bring into act, the sense then and allegory, which is the soul, is to be sought, which intends a more eminent expressure of Virtue for her loveliness, and of Vice for her ugliness, in their several effects; going beyond the life than any art within life can possibly delineate. Why then is fiction to this end so hateful to our true ignorants? Or why should a poor chronicler of a Lord Mayor’s naked truth (that peradventure will last his year) include more worth with our modern wizards than Homer for his naked Ulysses clad in eternal fiction? But this proser Dionysius, and the rest of these grave and reputatively learned—that dare undertake for their gravities the headstrong censure of all things, and challenge the understanding of these toys in their childhoods; when even these childish vanities retain deep and most necessary learning enough in them to make them children in their ages, and teach them while they live—are not in these absolute divine infusions allowed either voice or relish: for, Qui Poeticas ad fores accedit, etc. (says the divine philosopher) he that knocks at the gates of the Muses, sine Musarum furore, is neither to be admitted entry, nor a touch at their thresholds; his opinion of entry ridiculous, and his presumption impious. Nor must Poets themselves (might I a little insist on these contempts, not tempting too far your Lordship’s Ulyssean patience) presume to these doors without the truly genuine and peculiar induction. There being in Poesy a twofold rapture,—or alienation of soul, as the abovesaid teacher terms it,—one insania, a disease of the mind, and a mere madness, by which the infected is thrust beneath all the degrees of humanity: et ex homine, brutum quodammodò redditur:—(for which poor Poesy, in this diseased and impostorous age, is so barbarously vilified;)—the other is, divinus furor, by which the sound and divinely healthful suprà hominis naturam erigitur, et in Deum transit. One a perfection directly infused from God; the other an infection obliquely and degenerately proceeding from man. Of the divine fury, my Lord, your Homer hath ever been both first and last instance; being pronounced absolutely, τὸν σοφώτατον, καὶ τὸν θειότατον ποιητήν, “the most wise and most divine poet.” Against whom whosoever shall open his profane mouth may worthily receive answer with this of his divine defender—Empedocles, Heraclitus, Protagoras, Epicharmus, etc., being of Homer’s part—τίς οο͒ν, etc.; who against such an army, and the general Homer, dares attempt the assault, but he must be reputed ridiculous? And yet against this host, and this invincible commander, shall we have every besogne and fool a leader. The common herd, I assure myself, ready to receive it on their horns. Their infected leaders,

Such men as sideling ride the ambling Muse, Whose saddle is as frequent as the stews. Whose raptures are in ev’ry pageant seen, In ev’ry wassail-rhyme and dancing-green; When he that writes by any beam of truth Must dive as deep as he, past shallow youth. Truth dwells in gulfs, whose deeps hide shades so rich That Night sits muffled there in clouds of pitch, More dark than Nature made her, and requires, To clear her tough mists, heav’n’s great fire of fires, To whom the sun itself is but a beam. For sick souls then—but rapt in foolish dream— To wrastle with these heav’n-strong mysteries, What madness is it? when their light serves eyes That are not worldly in their least aspect, But truly pure, and aim at heav’n direct. Yet these none like but what the brazen head Blatters abroad, no sooner born but dead.

Holding, then, in eternal contempt, my Lord, those short-lived bubbles, eternize your virtue and judgment with the Grecian monarch; esteeming, not as the least of your new-year’s presents,

Homer, three thousand years dead, now reviv’d, Ev’n from that dull death that in life he liv’d; When none conceited him, none understood That so much life in so much death as blood Conveys about it could mix. But when death Drunk up the bloody mist that human breath Pour’d round about him—poverty and spite. Thick’ning the hapless vapour—then truth’s light Glimmer’d about his poem; the pinch’d soul (Amidst the mysteries it did enrol) Brake pow’rfully abroad. And as we see The sun all-hid in clouds, at length got free, Through some forc’d covert, over all the ways, Near and beneath him, shoots his vented rays Far off, and sticks them in some little glade, All woods, fields, rivers, left besides in shade; So your Apollo, from that world of light Clos’d in his poem’s body, shot to sight Some few forc’d beams, which near him were not seen, (As in his life or country) Fate and spleen Clouding their radiance; which when Death had clear’d, To far-off regions his free beams appear’d; In which all stood and wonder’d, striving which His birth and rapture should in right enrich. Twelve labours of your Thespian Hercules I now present your Lordship; do but please To lend life means till th’ other twelve receive Equal achievement; and let Death then reave My life now lost in our patrician loves, That knock heads with the herd; in whom there moves One blood, one soul, both drown’d in one set height Of stupid envy and mere popular spite. Whose loves with no good did my least vein fill; And from their hates I fear as little ill. Their bounties nourish not when most they feed, But, where there is no merit or no need, Rain into rivers still, and are such show’rs As bubbles spring and overflow the flow’rs. Their worse parts and worst men their best suborns, Like winter cows whose milk runs to their horns. And as litigious clients’ books of law Cost infinitely; taste of all the awe Bench’d in our kingdom’s policy, piety, state; Earn all their deep explorings; satiate All sorts there thrust together by the heart With thirst of wisdom spent on either part; Horrid examples made of Life and Death From their fine stuff wov’n; yet when once the breath Of sentence leaves them, all their worth is drawn As dry as dust, and wears like cobweb lawn: So these men set a price upon their worth, That no man gives but those that trot it forth Though Need’s foul ways, feed Humours with all cost Though Judgment sterves in them; rout, State engrost (At all tobacco-benches, solemn tables, Where all that cross their envies are their fables) In their rank faction; shame and death approv’d Fit penance for their opposites; none lov’d But those that rub them; not a reason heard That doth not soothe and glorify their preferr’d Bitter opinions. When, would Truth resume The cause to his hands, all would fly in fume Before his sentence; since the innocent mind Just God makes good, to Whom their worst is wind. For, that I freely all my thoughts express, My conscience is my thousand witnesses; And to this stay my constant comforts vow, You for the world I have, or God for you.

CERTAIN ANCIENT GREEK EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED

All stars are drunk-up by the fiery sun, And in so much a flame lies shrunk the moon. Homer’s all-liv’d name all names leaves in death, Whose splendour only Muses’ bosoms breathe.

ANOTHER

Heav’n’s fires shall first fall darken’d from his sphere, Grave Night the light weed of the Day shall wear, Fresh streams shall chase the sea, tough ploughs shall tear Her fishy bottoms, men in long date dead Shall rise and live, before Oblivion shed Those still-green leaves that crown great Homer’s head.

ANOTHER

The great Mæonides doth only write, And to him dictates the great God of Light.

ANOTHER

Sev’n kingdoms strove in which should swell the womb That bore great Homer, whom Fame freed from tomb; Argos, Chios, Pylos, Smyrna, Colophone, The learn’d Athenian, and Ulyssean throne.

ANOTHER

Art thou of Chios? No. Of Salamine? As little. Was the Smyrnean country thine? Nor so. Which then? Was Cuma’s? Colophone? Nor one nor other. Art thou, then, of none That fame proclaims thee? None. Thy reason call. If I confess of one I anger all.

The First Book: OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS

THE ARGUMENT

The Gods in council sit, to call Ulysses from Calypso’s thrall, And order their high pleasures thus: Grey Pallas to Telemachus (In Ithaca) her way addrest; And did her heav’nly limbs invest In Mentas’ likeness, that did reign King of the Taphians, in the main Whose rough waves near Leucadia run. Advising wise Ulysses’ son To seek his father, and address His course to young Tantalides, That govern’d Sparta. Thus much said, She shew’d she was Heav’n’s martial Maid, And vanish’d from him. Next to this, The Banquet of the Wooers is.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Ἂλφα. The Deities sit; The Man retired; Th’ Ulyssean wit By Pallas fired.

The man, O Muse, inform, that many a way[1] Wound with his wisdom to his wished stay; That wander’d wondrous far, when he the town Of sacred Troy had sack’d and shiver’d down; The cities of a world of nations, With all their manners, minds, and fashions, He saw and knew; at sea felt many woes, Much care sustain’d, to save from overthrows Himself and friends in their retreat for home; But so their fates he could not overcome, Though much he thirsted it. O men unwise, They perish’d by their own impieties! That in their hunger’s rapine would not shun The oxen of the lofty-going Sun, Who therefore from their eyes the day bereft Of safe return. These acts, in some part left, Tell us, as others, deified Seed of Jove. Now all the rest that austere death outstrove At Troy’s long siege at home safe anchor’d are, Free from the malice both of sea and war; Only Ulysses is denied access To wife and home. The grace of Goddesses, The rev’rend nymph Calypso, did detain Him in her caves, past all the race of men Enflam’d to make him her lov’d lord and spouse. And when the Gods had destin’d that his house, Which Ithaca on her rough bosom bears, (The point of time wrought out by ambient years) Should be his haven, Contention still extends Her envy to him, ev’n amongst his friends. All Gods took pity on him; only he, That girds earth in the cincture of the sea, Divine Ulysses ever did envy, And made the fix’d port of his birth to fly. But he himself solemniz’d a retreat To th’ Æthiops, far dissunder’d in their seat, (In two parts parted, at the sun’s descent, And underneath his golden orient, The first and last of men) t’ enjoy their feast Of bulls and lambs, in hecatombs addrest;[2] At which he sat, giv’n over to delight. The other Gods in heav’n’s supremest height Were all in council met; to whom began The mighty Father both of God and man Discourse, inducing matter that inclin’d To wise Ulysses, calling to his mind Faultful Ægisthus, who to death was done[3] By young Orestes, Agamemnon’s son. His memory to the Immortals then Mov’d Jove thus deeply: “O how falsely men Accuse us Gods as authors of their ill! When, by the bane their own bad lives instill, They suffer all the mis’ries of their states, Past our inflictions, and beyond their fates. As now Ægisthus, past his fate, did wed The wife of Agamemnon, and (in dread To suffer death himself) to shun his ill, Incurr’d it by the loose bent of his will, In slaughtering Atrides in retreat. Which we foretold him would so hardly set To his murd’rous purpose, sending Mercury That slaughter’d Argus, our consid’rate spy, To give him this charge: ‘Do not wed his wife, Nor murder him; for thou shalt buy his life With ransom of thine own, impos’d on thee By his Orestes, when in him shall be Atrides’-self renew’d, and but the prime Of youth’s spring put abroad, in thirst to climb His haughty father’s throne by his high acts.’ These words of Hermes wrought not into facts Ægisthus’ powers; good counsel he despis’d, And to that good his ill is sacrific’d.” Pallas, whose eyes did sparkle like the skies, Answer’d: “O Sire! Supreme of Deities, Ægisthus pass’d his fate, and had desert To warrant our infliction; and convert May all the pains such impious men inflict On innocent suff’rers to revenge as strict, Their own hearts eating. But, that Ithacus, Thus never meriting, should suffer thus, I deeply suffer. His more pious mind Divides him from these fortunes. Though unkind Is piety to him, giving him a fate More suff’ring than the most unfortunate, So long kept friendless in a sea-girt soil, Where the sea’s navel is a sylvan isle, In which the Goddess dwells that doth derive Her birth from Atlas, who of all alive The motion and the fashion doth command With his wise mind, whose forces understand[4] The inmost deeps and gulfs of all the seas, Who (for his skill of things superior) stays The two steep columns that prop earth and heav’n. His daughter ‘tis, who holds this homeless-driv’n[5] Still mourning with her; evermore profuse Of soft and winning speeches, that abuse And make so languishingly, and possest[6] With so remiss a mind her loved guest, Manage the action of his way for home. Where he, though in affection overcome, In judgment yet more longs to show his hopes His country’s smoke leap from her chimney tops, And death asks in her arms. Yet never shall Thy lov’d heart be converted on his thrall, Austere Olympius. Did not ever he, In ample Troy, thy altars gratify, And Grecians’ fleet make in thy off’rings swim? Jove, why still then burns thy wrath to him?” The Cloud-assembler answer’d: “What words fly, Bold daughter, from thy pale of ivory?[7] As if I ever could cast from my care Divine Ulysses, who exceeds so far All men in wisdom, and so oft hath giv’n To all th’ Immortals thron’d in ample heav’n So great and sacred gifts? But his decrees, That holds the earth in with his nimble knees, Stand to Ulysses’ longings so extreme, For taking from the God-foe Polypheme His only eye; a Cyclop, that excell’d All other Cyclops, with whose burden swell’d The nymph Thoosa, the divine increase Of Phorcys’ seed, a great God of the seas. She mix’d with Neptune in his hollow caves, And bore this Cyclop to that God of waves. For whose lost eye, th’ Earth-shaker did not kill Erring Ulysses, but reserves him still In life for more death. But use we our pow’rs, And round about us cast these cares of ours, All to discover how we may prefer His wish’d retreat, and Neptune make forbear His stern eye to him, since no one God can, In spite of all, prevail, but ’gainst a man.” To this, this answer made the grey-eyed Maid: “Supreme of rulers, since so well apaid The blesséd Gods are all then, now, in thee, To limit wise Ulysses’ misery, And that you speak as you referr’d to me Prescription for the means, in this sort be Their sacred order: Let us now address With utmost speed our swift Argicides, To tell the nymph that bears the golden tress In th’ isle Ogygia, that ’tis our will She should not stay our lov’d Ulysses still, But suffer his return; and then will I To Ithaca, to make his son apply His sire’s inquest the more; infusing force Into his soul, to summon the concourse Of curl’d-head Greeks to council, and deter Each wooer, that hath been the slaughterer Of his fat sheep and crooked-headed beeves. From more wrong to his mother, and their leaves Take in such terms as fit deserts so great. To Sparta then, and Pylos, where doth beat Bright Amathus, the flood, and epithet To all that kingdom, my advice shall send The spirit-advanc’d Prince, to the pious end Of seeking his lost father, if he may Receive report from Fame where rests his stay; And make, besides, his own successive worth Known to the world, and set in action forth.” This said, her wing’d shoes to her feet she tied, Form’d all of gold, and all eternified, That on the round earth or the sea sustain’d Her ravish’d substance swift as gusts of wind. Then took she her strong lance with steel made keen, Great, massy, active, that whole hosts of men, Though all heroës, conquers, if her ire Their wrongs inflame, back’d by so great a Sire. Down from Olympus’ tops she headlong div’d, And swift as thought in Ithaca arriv’d, Close at Ulysses’ gates; in whose first court She made her stand, and, for her breast’s support, Lean’d on her iron lance; her form imprest With Mentas’ likeness, come as being a guest. There found she those proud wooers, that were then Set on those ox-hides that themselves had slain, Before the gates, and all at dice were playing. To them the heralds, and the rest obeying, Fill’d wine and water; some, still as they play’d, And some, for solemn supper’s state, purvey’d, With porous sponges cleansing tables, serv’d With much rich feast; of which to all they kerv’d. God-like Telemachus amongst them sat, Griev’d much in mind; and in his heart begat All representment of his absent sire, How, come from far-off parts, his spirits would fire With those proud wooers’ sight, with slaughter parting Their bold concourse, and to himself converting The honours they usurp’d, his own commanding. In this discourse, he first saw Pallas standing, Unbidden entry; up rose, and addrest His pace right to her, angry that a guest Should stand so long at gate; and, coming near, Her right hand took, took in his own her spear, And thus saluted: “Grace to your repair, Fair guest, your welcome shall be likewise fair. Enter, and, cheer’d with feast, disclose th’ intent That caus’d your coming.” This said, first he went, And Pallas follow’d. To a room they came, Steep, and of state; the jav’lin of the Dame He set against a pillar vast and high, Amidst a large and bright-kept armory, Which was, besides, with woods of lances grac’d Of his grave father’s. In a throne he plac’d The man-turn’d Goddess, under which was spread A carpet, rich and of deviceful thread; A footstool staying her feet; and by her chair Another seat (all garnish’d wondrous fair, To rest or sleep on in the day) he set, Far from the prease of wooers, lest at meat The noise they still made might offend his guest, Disturbing him at banquet or at rest, Ev’n to his combat with that pride of theirs, That kept no noble form in their affairs. And these he set far from them, much the rather To question freely of his absent father. A table fairly-polish’d then was spread, On which a rev’rend officer set bread, And other servitors all sorts of meat (Salads, and flesh, such as their haste could get) Serv’d with observance in. And then the sewer Pour’d water from a great and golden ewer, That from their hands t’ a silver caldron ran. Both wash’d, and seated close, the voiceful man Fetch’d cups of gold, and set by them, and round Those cups with wine with all endeavour crown’d. Then rush’d in the rude wooers, themselves plac’d; The heralds water gave; the maids in haste Serv’d bread from baskets. When, of all prepar’d And set before them, the bold wooers shar’d, Their pages plying their cups past the rest. But lusty wooers must do more than feast; For now, their hungers and their thirsts allay’d, They call’d for songs and dances; those, they said, Were th’ ornaments of feast. The herald straight A harp, carv’d full of artificial sleight, Thrust into Phemius’, a learn’d singer’s, hand, Who, till he much was urg’d, on terms did stand, But, after, play’d and sung with all his art. Telemachus to Pallas then (apart, His ear inclining close, that none might hear) In this sort said: “My guest, exceeding dear, Will you not sit incens’d with what I say? These are the cares these men take; feast and play. Which eas’ly they may use, because they eat, Free and unpunish’d, of another’s meat; And of a man’s, whose white bones wasting lie In some far region; with th’ incessancy Of show’rs pour’d down upon them, lying ashore, Or in the seas wash’d nak’d. Who, if he wore Those bones with flesh and life and industry, And these might here in Ithaca set eye On him return’d, they all would wish to be Either past other in celerity Of feet and knees, and not contend t’ exceed In golden garments. But his virtues feed The fate of ill death; nor is left to me The least hope of his life’s recovery, No, not if any of the mortal race Should tell me his return; the cheerful face Of his return’d day never will appear. But tell me, and let Truth your witness bear, Who, and from whence you are? What city’s birth? What parents? In what vessel set you forth? And with what mariners arriv’d you here? I cannot think you a foot passenger. Recount then to me all, to teach me well Fit usage for your worth. And if it fell In chance now first that you thus see us here, Or that in former passages you were My father’s guest? For many men have been Guests to my father. Studious of men His sociable nature ever was.” On him again the grey-eyed Maid did pass This kind reply: “I’ll answer passing true All thou hast ask’d: My birth his honour drew From wise Anchialus. The name I bear Is Mentas, the commanding islander Of all the Taphians studious in the art Of navigation; having touch’d this part With ship and men, of purpose to maintain Course through the dark seas t’ other-languag’d men; And Temesis sustains the city’s name For which my ship is bound, made known by fame For rich in brass, which my occasions need, And therefore bring I shining steel in stead, Which their use wants, yet makes my vessel’s freight, That near a plough’d field rides at anchor’s weight, Apart this city, in the harbour call’d Rhethrus, whose waves with Neius’ woods are wall’d. Thy sire and I were ever mutual guests, At either’s house still interchanging feasts. I glory in it. Ask, when thou shalt see Laertes, th’ old heroë, these of me, From the beginning. He, men say, no more Visits the city, but will needs deplore His son’s believ’d loss in a private field; One old maid only at his hands to yield Food to his life, as oft as labour makes His old limbs faint; which, though he creeps, he takes Along a fruitful plain, set all with vines, Which husbandman-like, though a king, he proins. But now I come to be thy father’s guest; I hear he wanders, while these wooers feast. And (as th’ Immortals prompt me at this hour) I’ll tell thee, out of a prophetic pow’r, (Not as profess’d a prophet, nor clear seen At all times what shall after chance to men) What I conceive, for this time, will be true: The Gods’ inflictions keep your sire from you. Divine Ulysses, yet, abides not dead Above earth, nor beneath, nor buried In any seas, as you did late conceive, But, with the broad sea sieg’d, is kept alive Within an isle by rude and upland men, That in his spite his passage home detain. Yet long it shall not be before he tread His country’s dear earth, though solicited, And held from his return, with iron chains; For he hath wit to forge a world of trains, And will, of all, be sure to make good one For his return, so much relied upon. But tell me, and be true: Art thou indeed So much a son, as to be said the seed[8] Of Ithacus himself? Exceeding much Thy forehead and fair eyes at his form touch; For oftentimes we met, as you and I Meet at this hour, before he did apply His pow’rs for Troy, when other Grecian states In hollow ships were his associates. But, since that time, mine eyes could never see Renown’d Ulysses, nor met his with me.” The wise Telemachus again replied: “You shall with all I know be satisfied. My mother certain says I am his son; I know not; nor was ever simply known By any child the sure truth of his sire. But would my veins had took in living fire From some man happy, rather than one wise, Whom age might see seis’d of what youth made prise. But he whoever of the mortal race Is most unblest, he holds my father’s place. This, since you ask, I answer.” She, again: “The Gods sure did not make the future strain Both of thy race and days obscure to thee, Since thou wert born so of Penelope. The style may by thy after acts be won, Of so great sire the high undoubted son. Say truth in this then: What’s this feasting here? What all this rout? Is all this nuptial cheer? Or else some friendly banquet made by thee? For here no shots are, where all sharers be. Past measure contumeliously this crew Fare through thy house; which should th’ ingenuous view Of any good or wise man come and find, (Impiety seeing play’d in ev’ry kind) He could not but through ev’ry vein be mov’d.” Again Telemachus: “My guest much lov’d. Since you demand and sift these sights so far, I grant ’twere fit a house so regular, Rich, and so faultless once in government, Should still at all parts the same form present That gave it glory while her lord was here. But now the Gods, that us displeasure bear, Have otherwise appointed, and disgrace My father most of all the mortal race. For whom I could not mourn so were he dead, Amongst his fellow-captains slaughteréd By common enemies, or in the hands Of his kind friends had ended his commands, After he had egregiously bestow’d His pow’r and order in a war so vow’d, And to his tomb all Greeks their grace had done, That to all ages he might leave his son Immortal honour; but now Harpies have Digg’d in their gorges his abhorréd grave. Obscure, inglorious, death hath made his end, And me, for glories, to all griefs contend. Nor shall I any more mourn him alone, The Gods have giv’n me other cause of moan. For look how many optimates remain In Samos, or the shores Dulichian, Shady Zacynthus, or how many bear Rule in the rough brows of this island here; So many now my mother and this house At all parts make defam’d and ruinous; And she her hateful nuptials nor denies, Nor will despatch their importunities, Though she beholds them spoil still as they feast All my free house yields, and the little rest Of my dead sire in me perhaps intend To bring ere long to some untimely end.” This Pallas sigh’d and answer’d: “O,” said she, “Absent Ulysses is much miss’d by thee, That on these shameless suitors he might lay His wreakful hands. Should he now come, and stay In thy court’s first gates, arm’d with helm and shield, And two such darts as I have seen him wield, When first I saw him in our Taphian court, Feasting, and doing his desert’s disport; When from Ephyrus he return’d by us From Ilus, son to Centaur Mermerus, To whom he travell’d through the wat’ry dreads, For bane to poison his sharp arrows’ heads, That death, but touch’d, caus’d; which he would not give, Because he fear’d the Gods that ever live Would plague such death with death; and yet their fear Was to my father’s bosom not so dear As was thy father’s love; (for what he sought My loving father found him to a thought.) If such as then Ulysses might but meet With these proud wooers, all were at his feet But instant dead men, and their nuptialls Would prove as bitter as their dying galls. But these things in the Gods’ knees are repos’d, If his return shall see with wreak inclos’d, These in his house, or he return no more; And therefore I advise thee to explore All ways thyself, to set these wooers gone; To which end give me fit attentión: To-morrow into solemn council call The Greek heroës, and declare to all (The Gods being witness) what thy pleasure is. Command to towns of their nativity These frontless wooers. If thy mother’s mind Stands to her second nuptials so inclin’d, Return she to her royal father’s tow’rs, Where th’ one of these may wed her, and her dow’rs Make rich, and such as may consort with grace So dear a daughter of so great a race And thee I warn as well (if thou as well Wilt hear and follow) take thy best-built sail, With twenty oars mann’d, and haste t’ inquire Where the abode is of thy absent sire, If any can inform thee, or thine ear From Jove the fame of his retreat may hear, For chiefly Jove gives all that honours men. To Pylos first be thy addression then, To god-like Nestor; thence to Sparta haste, To gold-lock’d Menelaus, who was last Of all the brass-arm’d Greeks that sail’d from Troy; And try from both these, if thou canst enjoy News of thy sire’s return’d life anywhere, Though sad thou suffer’st in his search a year. If of his death thou hear’st, return thou home, And to his memory erect a tomb, Performing parent-rites, of feast and game, Pompous, and such as best may fit his fame; And then thy mother a fit husband give. These past, consider how thou mayst deprive Of worthless life these wooers in thy house, By open force, or projects enginous. Things childish fit not thee; th’ art so no more. Hast thou not heard, how all men did adore Divine Orestes, after he had slain Ægisthus murd’ring by a treach’rous train His famous father? Be then, my most lov’d, Valiant and manly, ev’ry way approv’d As great as he. I see thy person fit, Noble thy mind, and excellent thy wit, All giv’n thee so to use and manage here That ev’n past death they may their memories bear. In meantime I’ll descend to ship and men, That much expect me. Be observant then Of my advice, and careful to maintain In equal acts thy royal father’s reign.” Telemachus replied: “You ope, fair guest, A friend’s heart in your speech, as well exprest As might a father serve t’ inform his son; All which sure place have in my memory won. Abide yet, though your voyage calls away, That, having bath’d, and dignified your stay With some more honour, you may yet beside Delight your mind by being gratified With some rich present taken in your way, That, as a jewel, your respect may lay Up in your treasury, bestow’d by me, As free friends use to guests of such degree.” “Detain me not,” said she, “so much inclin’d To haste my voyage. What thy loved mind Commands to give, at my return this way, Bestow on me, that I directly may Convey it home; which more of price to me The more it asks my recompense to thee.” This said, away grey-eyed Minerva flew, Like to a mounting lark; and did endue His mind with strength and boldness, and much more Made him his father long for than before; And weighing better who his guest might be, He stood amaz’d, and thought a Deity Was there descended; to whose will he fram’d His pow’rs at all parts, and went so inflam’d Amongst the wooers, who were silent set, To hear a poet sing the sad retreat The Greeks perform’d from Troy; which was from thence Proclaim’d by Pallas, pain of her offence. When which divine song was perceiv’d to bear That mournful subject by the list’ning ear Of wise Penelope, Icarius’ seed, Who from an upper room had giv’n it heed, Down she descended by a winding stair, Not solely, but the state in her repair Two maids of honour made. And when this queen Of women stoop’d so low, she might be seen By all her wooers. In the door, aloof, Ent’ring the hall grac’d with a goodly roof, She stood, in shade of graceful veils, implied About her beauties; on her either side, Her honour’d women. When, to tears mov’d, thus She chid the sacred singer: “Phemiüs, You know a number more of these great deeds Of Gods and men, that are the sacred seeds, And proper subjects, of a poet’s song, And those due pleasures that to men belong, Besides these facts that furnish Troy’s retreat, Sing one of those to these, that round your seat They may with silence sit, and taste their wine; But cease this song, that through these ears of mine Conveys deserv’d occasion to my heart Of endless sorrows, of which the desert In me unmeasur’d is past all these men, So endless is the memory I retain, And so desertful is that memory, Of such a man as hath a dignity So broad it spreads itself through all the pride Of Greece and Argos.” To the queen replied Inspir’d Telemachus: “Why thus envies My mother him that fits societies[9] With so much harmony, to let him please His own mind in his will to honour these? For these ingenious and first sort of men,[10] That do immediately from Jove retain Their singing raptures, are by Jove as well Inspir’d with choice of what their songs impell, Jove’s will is free in it, and therefore theirs. Nor is this man to blame, that the repairs The Greeks make homeward sings; for his fresh muse Men still most celebrate that sings most news. And therefore in his note your ears employ: For not Ulysses only lost in Troy The day of his return, but numbers more The deadly ruins of his fortunes bore. Go you then in, and take your work in hand, Your web, and distaff; and your maids command To ply their fit work. Words to men are due, And those reproving counsels you pursue, And most to me of all men, since I bear The rule of all things that are manag’d here.” She went amaz’d away, and in her heart Laid up the wisdom Pallas did impart To her lov’d son so lately, turn’d again Up to her chamber, and no more would reign In manly counsels. To her women she Applied her sway; and to the wooers he Began new orders, other spirits bewray’d Than those in spite of which the wooers sway’d. And (whiles his mother’s tears still wash’d her eyes, Till grey Minerva did those tears surprise With timely sleep, and that her wooers did rouse Rude tumult up through all the shady house, Dispos’d to sleep because their widow was) Telemachus this new-giv’n spirit did pass On their old insolence: “Ho! you that are, My mother’s wooers! much too high ye bear Your petulant spirits; sit; and, while ye may Enjoy me in your banquets, see ye lay These loud notes down, nor do this man the wrong, Because my mother hath disliked his song, To grace her interruption. ’Tis a thing Honest, and honour’d too, to hear one sing Numbers so like the Gods in elegance, As this man flows in. By the morn’s first light,[11] I’ll call ye all before me in a Court, That I may clearly banish your resort, With all your rudeness, from these roofs of mine. Away; and elsewhere in your feasts combine. Consume your own goods, and make mutual feast At either’s house. Or if ye still hold best, And for your humours’ more sufficéd fill, To feed, to spoil, because unpunish’d still, On other findings, spoil; but here I call Th’ Eternal Gods to witness, if it fall In my wish’d reach once to be dealing wreaks, By Jove’s high bounty, these your present checks To what I give in charge shall add more reins To my revenge hereafter; and the pains Ye then must suffer shall pass all your pride Ever to see redress’d, or qualified.” At this all bit their lips, and did admire His words sent from him with such phrase and fire; Which so much mov’d them that Antinous, Eupitheus’ son, cried out: “Telemachus! The Gods, I think, have rapt thee to this height Of elocution, and this great conceit Of self-ability. We all may pray, That Jove invest not in this kingdom’s sway Thy forward forces, which I see put forth A hot ambition in thee for thy birth.” “Be not offended,” he replied, “if I[12] Shall say, I would assume this empery, If Jove gave leave. You are not he that sings: The rule of kingdoms is the worst of things. Nor is it ill, at all, to sway a throne; A man may quickly gain possession Of mighty riches, make a wondrous prize Set of his virtues; but the dignities That deck a king, there are enough beside In this circumfluous isle that want no pride To think them worthy of, as young as I, And old as you are. An ascent so high My thoughts affect not. Dead is he that held Desert of virtue to have so excell’d. But of these turrets I will take on me To be the absolute king, and reign as free, As did my father, over all his hand Left here in this house slaves to my command.” Eurymachus, the son of Polybus, To this made this reply: “Telemachus! The girlond of this kingdom let the knees Of Deity run for; but the faculties This house is seis’d of, and the turrets here, Thou shalt be lord of, nor shall any bear The least part off of all thou dost possess, As long as this land is no wilderness. Nor rul’d by out-laws. But give these their pass, And tell me, best of princes, who he was That guested here so late? From whence? And what In any region boasted he his state? His race? His country? Brought he any news Of thy returning father? Or for dues Of moneys to him made he fit repair? How suddenly he rush’d into the air, Nor would sustain to stay and make him known! His port show’d no debauch’d companion.” He answer’d: “The return of my lov’d sire Is past all hope; and should rude Fame inspire From any place a flatt’ring messenger With news of his survival, he should bear No least belief off from my desp’rate love. Which if a sacred prophet should approve, Call’d by my mother for her care’s unrest, It should not move me. For my late fair guest, He was of old my father’s, touching here From sea-girt Taphos; and for name doth bear Mentas, the son of wise Anchialus; And governs all the Taphians studious Of navigation.” This he said, but knew It was a Goddess. These again withdrew To dances and attraction of the song; And while their pleasures did the time prolong, The sable Even descended, and did steep The lids of all men in desire of sleep. Telemachus, into a room built high, Of his illustrious court, and to the eye Of circular prospect, to his bed ascended, And in his mind much weighty thought contended Before him Euryclea (that well knew All the observance of a handmaid’s due, Daughter to Opis Pisenorides) Bore two bright torches; who did so much please Laërtes in her prime, that, for the price Of twenty oxen, he made merchandise Of her rare beauties; and love’s equal flame, To her he felt, as to his nuptial dame, Yet never durst he mix with her in bed, So much the anger of his wife he fled. She, now grown old, to young Telemachus Two torches bore, and was obsequious Past all his other maids, and did apply Her service to him from his infancy. His well-built chamber reach’d, she op’d the door, He on his bed sat, the soft weeds he wore Put off, and to the diligent old maid Gave all; who fitly all in thick folds laid, And hung them on a beam-pin near the bed, That round about was rich embroidered. Then made she haste forth from him, and did bring The door together with a silver ring, And by a string a bar to it did pull. He, laid, and cover’d well with curled wool Wov’n in silk quilts, all night employ’d his mind About the task that Pallas had design’d.

FINIS LIBRI PRIMI HOM. ODYSS.

[1] The information or fashion of an absolute man; and necessary (or fatal) passage through many afflictions (according with the most Sacred Letter) to his natural haven and country, is the whole argument and scope of this inimitable and miraculous poem. And therefore is the epithet πολὐτροπον given him in the first verse: πολὐτροπος signifying, Homo cujus ingenium velut per multas et varias vias vertitur in verum.Return to passage

[2] These notes following I am forced to insert (since the words they contain differ from all other translations) lest I be thought to err out of that ignorance that may perhaps possess my depraver.Return to passage

[3] ‘Αμὑμονος translated in this place inculpabilis, and made the epithet of Ægisthus, is from the true sense of the word, as it is here to be understood; which is quite contrary. As ὰντίθεος is to be expounded in some place Divinus, or Deo similis, but in another (soon after) contrarius Deo. The person to whom the epithet is given giving reason to distinguish it. And so ὀλοὁφρων, an epithet given to Atlas, instantly following, in one place signifies mente perniciosus, in the next, qui universa mente gerit.Return to passage

[4] In this place is Atlas given the epithet ὀλοὁφρων, which signifies qui universa mente agitat, here given him for the power the stars have in all things. Yet this receives other interpretation in other places, as abovesaid.Return to passage

[5] Δὐστηνος is here turned by others, infelix, in the general collection; when it hath here a particular exposition, applied to express Ulysses’ desert errors, ‘παρἁ τὁ στἣναι, ut sit, qui vix locum invenire potest ubi consistat.Return to passage

[6] This is thus translated, the rather to express and approve the allegory driven through the whole Odysseys. Deciphering the intangling of the wisest in his affections; and the torments that breed in every pious mind; to be thereby hindered to arrive so directly as he desires, at the proper and only true natural country of every worthy man, whose haven is heaven and the next life, to which, this life is but a sea in continual æsture and vexation. The words occasioning all this are μαλακοἳς λὀλοις: μαλακὀς signifying, qui languide, et animo remisso rem aliquam gerit; which being the effect of Calypso’s sweet words in Ulysses, is here applied passively to his own sufferance of their operation.Return to passage

[7] ῞Ερκος ὀδὀντων, viz. vallum or clanstrum dentium, which, for the better sound in our language, is here turned, Pale of Ivory. The teeth being that rampire, or pale, given us by nature in that part for restraint and compression of our speech, till the imagination, appetite, and soul (that ought to rule in their examination, before their delivery) have given worthy pass to them. The most grave and divine poet, teaching therein, that not so much for the necessary chewing of our sustenance our teeth are given us, as for their stay of our words, lest we utter them rashly.Return to passage

[8] Τὀσος παîς, Tantus filius. Pallas thus enforcing her question to stir up the son the more to the father’s worthiness.Return to passage

[9] ’Ερἰηρος ἀοιδὀς. Cantor, cujus tam apta est societas hominibus.Return to passage

[10] ’Ανδρἀσιν ἀλφηστᾔσιν. ’Αλφηστᾔσιν is an epithet proper to poets for their first finding out of arts and documents tending to elocution and government inspired only by Jove, and are here called the first of men, since first they gave rules to manly life, and have their information immediately from Jove (as Plato in Ione witnesseth); the word deduced from ἅλφα, which is taken for him qui primas teneat aliquâ in re, and will ἀλφηστῃσιν then be sufficiently expressed with ingeniosis, than which no exposition goes further.Return to passage

[11] ’Ηωθεν, prima luce.Return to passage

[12] Upon this answer of Telemachus, because it hath so sudden a change and is so far let down from his late height of heat, altering and tempering so commandingly his affections I thought not amiss to insert here Spondanus’ further annotations, which is this: Prudenter Telemachus joco furorem Antinoi ac asperitatem emolliit. Nam ita dictum illius interpretatur, ut existimetur censere jocosè ilia etiam ab Antinoo adversum se pronunciata. Et primum ironicè se Regem esse exoptat propter commoda quæ Reges solent comitari. Ne tamen invidiam in se ambitionis concitet, testatur se regnum, Ithacæ non ambire, mortuo Ulysse, cum id alii possidere queant se longe præstantiores ac digniores: hoc unum ait se moliri, ut propriarum ædium et bonorum solus sit dominus, iis exclusis, ac ejectis, qui vi illa occupare ac disperdere conantur.Return to passage

The Second Book: OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS

THE ARGUMENT

Telemachus to court doth call The Wooers, and commands them all To leave his house; and taking then From wise Minerva ship and men, And all things fit for him beside, That Euryclea could provide For sea-rites till he found his sire, He hoists sail; when Heav’n stoops his fire.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

βητα. The old Maid’s store The voyage cheers. The ship leaves shore, Minerva steers.

Now when with rosy fingers, th’ early born And thrown through all the air, appear’d the Morn, Ulysses’ lov’d son from his bed appear’d, His weeds put on, and did about him gird His sword that thwart his shoulders hung, and tied To his fair feet fair shoes, and all parts plied For speedy readiness: who, when he trod The open earth, to men show’d like a God. The heralds then he straight charg’d to consort The curl’d-head Greeks, with loud calls, to a Court. They summon’d; th’ other came in utmost haste. Who all assembled, and in one heap plac’d He likewise came to council, and did bear In his fair hand his iron-headed spear. Nor came alone, nor with men-troops prepar’d, But two fleet dogs made both his train and guard. Pallas supplied with her high wisdom’s grace, That all men’s wants supplies, State’s painted face. His ent’ring presence all men did admire; Who took seat in the high throne of his sire, To which the grave peers gave him rev’rend way. Amongst whom, an Egyptian heroë (Crookéd with age, and full of skill) begun The speech to all; who had a loved son That with divine Ulysses did ascend His hollow fleet to Troy; to serve which end, He kept fair horse, and was a man-at-arms, And in the cruel Cyclop’s stern alarms His life lost by him in his hollow cave, Whose entrails open’d his abhorréd grave, And made of him, of all Ulysses’ train, His latest supper, being latest slain; His name was Antiphus, And this old man, This crookéd-grown, this wise Egyptian, Had three sons more; of which one riotous A wooer was, and call’d Eurynomus; The other two took both his own wish’d course. Yet both the best fates weigh’d not down the worse, But left the old man mindful still of moan; Who, weeping, thus bespake the Session: “Hear, Ithacensians, all I fitly say: Since our divine Ulysses’ parting day Never was council call’d, nor session, And now by whom is this thus undergone? Whom did necessity so much compell, Of young or old? Hath anyone heard tell Of any coming army, that he thus now May openly take boldness to avow, First having heard it? Or will any here Some motion for the public good prefer? Some worth of note there is in this command; And, methinks, it must be some good man’s hand That’s put to it, that either hath direct Means to assist, or, for his good affect, Hopes to be happy in the proof he makes; And that Jove grant, whate’er he undertakes.” Telemachus (rejoicing much to hear The good hope and opinion men did bear Of his young actions) no longer sat, But long’d t’ approve what this man pointed at, And make his first proof in a cause so good; And in the council’s chief place up he stood; When straight Pisenor (herald to his sire, And learn’d in counsels) felt his heart on fire To hear him speak, and put into his hand The sceptre that his father did command; Then, to the old Egyptian turn’d, he spoke: “Father, not far he is that undertook To call this Council; whom you soon shall know. Myself, whose wrongs my griefs will make me show, Am he that author’d this assembly here. Nor have I heard of any army near, Of which, being first told, I might iterate, Nor for the public good can aught relate, Only mine own affairs all this procure, That in my house a double ill endure; One, having lost a father so renown’d, Whose kind rule once with’ your command was crown’d; The other is, what much more doth augment His weighty loss, the ruin imminent Of all my house by it, my goods all spent. And of all this the wooers, that are sons To our chief peers, are the confusións, Importuning my mother’s marriáge Against her will; nor dares their blood’s bold rage Go to Icarius’, her father’s, court, That, his will ask’d in kind and comely sort, He may endow his daughter with a dow’r, And, she consenting, at his pleasure’s pow’r Dispose her to a man, that, thus behav’d, May have fit grace, and see her honour sav’d. But these, in none but my house, all their lives Resolve to spend; slaught’ring my sheep and beeves, And with my fattest goats lay feast on feast, My gen’rous wine consuming as they list. A world of things they spoil, here wanting one, That, like Ulysses, quickly could set gone These peace-plagues from his house, that spoil like war; Whom my pow’rs are unfit to urge so far, Myself immartial. But, had I the pow’r, My will should serve me to exempt this hour From out my life-time. For, past patience, Base deeds are done here, that exceed defence Of any honour. Falling is my house, Which you should shame to see so ruinous. Rev’rence the censures that all good men give, That dwell about you; and for fear to live Expos’d to heav’n’s wrath (that doth ever pay Pains for joys forfeit) even by Jove I pray, Or Themis, both which pow’rs have to restrain, Or gather, councils, that ye will abstain From further spoil, and let me only waste In that most wretched grief I have embrac’d For my lost father. And though I am free From meriting your outrage, yet, if he, Good man, hath ever with a hostile heart Done ill to any Greek, on me convert Your like hostility, and vengeance take Of his ill on my life, and all these make Join in that justice; but, to see abus’d Those goods that do none ill but being ill-us’d, Exceeds all right. Yet better ’tis for me, My whole possessions and my rents to see Consum’d by you, than lose my life and all; For on your rapine a revenge may fall, While I live; and so long I may complain About the city, till my goods again, Oft ask’d, may be with all amends repaid. But in the mean space your misrule hath laid Griefs on my bosom, that can only speak, And are denied the instant pow’r of wreak.” This said, his sceptre ’gainst the ground he threw, And tears still’d from him; which mov’d all the crew, The court struck silent, not a man did dare To give a word that might offend his ear. Antinous only in this sort replied: “High spoken, and of spirit unpacified, How have you sham’d us in this speech of yours! Will you brand us for an offence not ours? Your mother, first in craft, is first in cause. Three years are past, and near the fourth now draws, Since first she mock’d the peers Achaian. All she made hope, and promis’d ev’ry man, Sent for us ever, left love’s show in nought, But in her heart conceal’d another thought. Besides, as curious in her craft, her loom She with a web charg’d, hard to overcome, And thus bespake us: ‘Youths, that seek my bed, Since my divine spouse rests amongst the dead, Hold on your suits but till I end, at most, This funeral weed, lest what is done be lost. Besides, I purpose, that when th’ austere fate Of bitter death shall take into his state Laertes the heroë, it shall deck His royal corse, since I should suffer check In ill report of ev’ry common dame, If one so rich should show in death his shame.’ This speech she us’d; and this did soon persuade Our gentle minds. But this a work she made So hugely long, undoing still in night, By torches, all she did by day’s broad light, That three years her deceit div’d past our view, And made us think that all she feign’d was true. But when the fourth year came, and those sly hours That still surprise at length dames’ craftiest powers, One of her women, that knew all, disclos’d The secret to us, that she still unloos’d Her whole day’s fair affair in depth of night. And then no further she could force her sleight, But, of necessity, her work gave end. And thus, by me, doth ev’ry other friend, Professing love to her, reply to thee; That ev’n thyself, and all Greeks else, may see, That we offend not in our stay, but she. To free thy house then, send her to her sire, Commanding that her choice be left entire To his election, and one settled will. Nor let her vex with her illusions still Her friends that woo her, standing on her wit, Because wise Pallas hath giv’n wills to it So full of art, and made her understand All works in fair skill of a lady’s hand. But (for her working mind) we read of none Of all the old world, in which Greece hath shown Her rarest pieces, that could equal her: Tyro, Alcmena, and Mycena were To hold comparison in no degree, For solid brain, with wise Penelope. And yet, in her delays of us, she shows No prophet’s skill with all the wit she owes; For all this time thy goods and victuals go To utter ruin; and shall ever so, While thus the Gods her glorious mind dispose. Glory herself may gain, but thou shalt lose Thy longings ev’n for necessary food, For we will never go where lies our good, Nor any other where, till this delay She puts on all she quits with th’ endless stay Of some one of us, that to all the rest May give free farewell with his nuptial feast.” The wise young prince replied: “Antinous! I may by no means turn out of my house Her that hath brought me forth and nourish’d me. Besides, if quick or dead my father be In any region, yet abides in doubt; And ’twill go hard, my means being so run out, To tender to Icarius again, If he again my mother must maintain In her retreat, the dow’r she brought with her. And then a double ill it will confer, Both from my father and from God on me, When, thrust out of her house, on her bent knee, My mother shall the horrid Furies raise With imprecations, and all men dispraise My part in her exposure. Never then Will I perform this counsel. If your spleen Swell at my courses, once more I command Your absence from my house; some other’s hand Charge with your banquets; on your own goods eat, And either other mutually in treat, At either of your houses, with your feast. But if ye still esteem more sweet and best Another’s spoil, so you still wreakless live, Gnaw, vermin-like, things sacred, no laws give[1] To your devouring; it remains that I Invoke each Ever-living Deity, And vow, if Jove shall deign in any date Pow’r of like pains for pleasure so past rate, From thenceforth look, where ye have revell’d so Unwreak’d, your ruins all shall undergo.” Thus spake Telemachus; t’ assure whose threat, Far-seeing Jove upon their pinions set Two eagles from the high brows of a hill, That, mounted on the Winds, together still Their strokes extended; but arriving now Amidst the Council, over ev’ry brow Shook their thick wings and, threat’ning death’s cold fears, Their necks and cheeks tore with their eager seres; Then, on the court’s right hand away they flew, Above both court and city. With whose view, And study what events they might foretell The Council into admiration fell. The old heroë, Halitherses, then, The son of Nestor, that of all old men, His peers in that court, only could foresee By flight of fowls man’s fixed destiny, ’Twixt them and their amaze, this interpos’d: “Hear, Ithacensians, all your doubts disclos’d. The Wooers most are touch’d in this ostent, To whom are dangers great and imminent; For now not long more shall Ulysses bear Lack of his most lov’d, but fills some place near, Addressing to these Wooers fate and death. And many more this mischief menaceth Of us inhabiting this famous isle. Let us consult yet, in this long forewhile, How to ourselves we may prevent this ill. Let these men rest secure, and revel still; Though they might find it safer, if with us They would in time prevent what threats them thus; Since not without sure trial I foretell These coming storms, but know their issue well. For to Ulysses all things have event, As I foretold him, when for Ilion went The whole Greek fleet together, and with them Th’ abundant-in-all-counsels took the stream. I told him, that, when much ill he had past, And all his men were lost, he should at last, The twentieth year, turn home, to all unknown; All which effects are to perfection grown.” Eurymachus, the son of Polybus, Oppos’d this man’s presage, and answer’d thus: “Hence, great in years, go, prophesy at home, Thy children teach to shun their ills to come. In these superior far to thee am I. A world of fowls beneath the sun-beams fly That are not fit t’ inform a prophecy. Besides, Ulysses perish’d long ago; And would thy fates to thee had destin’d so, Since so thy so much prophecy had spar’d Thy wronging of our rights, which, for reward Expected home with thee, hath summon’d us Within the anger of Telemachus. But this I will presage, which shall be true: If any spark of anger chance t’ ensue Thy much old art in these deep auguries, In this young man incenséd by thy lies, Ev’n to himself his anger shall confer The greater anguish, and thine own ends err From all their objects; and, besides, thine age Shall feel a pain, to make thee curse presage With worthy cause, for it shall touch thee near. But I will soon give end to all our fear, Preventing whatsoever chance can fall, In my suit to the young prince for us all, To send his mother to her father’s house, That he may sort her out a worthy spouse, And such a dow’r bestow, as may befit One lov’d, to leave her friends and follow it. Before which course be, I believe that none Of all the Greeks will cease th’ ambitión Of such a match. For, chance what can to us, We no man fear, no not Telemachus, Though ne’er so greatly spoken. Nor care we For any threats of austere prophecy, Which thou, old dotard, vaunt’st of so in vain. And thus shalt thou in much more hate remain; For still the Gods shall bear their ill expense, Nor ever be dispos’d by competence, Till with her nuptials she dismiss our suits, Our whole lives’ days shall sow hopes for such fruits. Her virtues we contend to, nor will go To any other, be she never so Worthy of us, and all the worth we owe.” He answer’d him: “Eurymachus, and all Ye gen’rous Wooers, now, in general, I see your brave resolves, and will no more Make speech of these points, and, much less, implore. It is enough, that all the Grecians here, And all the Gods besides, just witness bear, What friendly premonitions have been spent On your forbearance, and their vain event. Yet, with my other friends, let love prevail To fit me with a vessel free of sail, And twenty men, that may divide to me My ready passage through the yielding sea For Sparta, and Amathoan Pylos’ shore, I now am bound, in purpose to explore My long-lack’d father, and to try if fame Or Jove, most author of man’s honour’d name, With his return and life may glad mine ear, Though toil’d in that proof I sustain a year. If dead I hear him, nor of more state, here Retir’d to my lov’d country, I will rear A sepulchre to him, and celebrate Such royal parent-rites, as fits his state; And then my mother to a spouse dispose.” This said, he sat; and to the rest arose Mentor, that was Ulysses’ chosen friend, To whom, when he set forth, he did commend His cómplete family, and whom he will’d To see the mind of his old sire fulfill’d, All things conserving safe, till his retreat. Who, tender of his charge, and seeing so set In slight care of their king his subjects there, Suff’ring his son so much contempt to bear, Thus gravely, and with zeal, to him began: “No more let any sceptre-bearing man, Benevolent, or mild, or human be, Nor in his mind form acts of piety, But ever feed on blood, and facts unjust Commit, ev’n to the full swing of his lust, Since of divine Ulysses no man now, Of all his subjects, any thought doth show. All whom he govern’d, and became to them, Rather than one that wore a diadem, A most indulgent father. But, for all That can touch me, within no envy fall These insolent Wooers, that in violent kind Commit things foul by th’ ill wit of the mind, And with the hazard of their heads devour Ulysses’ house, since his returning hour They hold past hope. But it affects me much, Ye dull plebeians, that all this doth touch Your free states nothing; who, struck dumb, afford These Wooers not so much wreak as a word, Though few, and you with only number might Extinguish to them the profaned light.” Evenor’s son, Leocritus, replied: “Mentor! the railer, made a fool with pride, What language giv’st thou that would quiet us With putting us in storm, exciting thus The rout against us? Who, though more than we, Should find it is no easy victory To drive men, habited in feast, from feasts, No not if Ithacus himself such guests Should come and find so furnishing his Court, And hope to force them from so sweet a fort. His wife should little joy in his arrive, Though much she wants him; for, where she alive Would her’s enjoy, there death should claim his rights. He must be conquer’d that with many fights. Thou speak’st unfit things. To their labours then Disperse these people; and let these two men, Mentor and Halitherses, that so boast From the beginning to have govern’d most In friendship of the father, to the son Confirm the course he now affects to run. But my mind says, that, if he would but use A little patience, he should here hear news Of all things that his wish would understand, But no good hope for of the course in hand.” This said, the Council rose; when ev’ry peer And all the people in dispersion were To houses of their own; the Wooers yet Made to Ulysses’ house their old retreat. Telemachus, apart from all the prease, Prepar’d to shore, and, in the aged seas His fair hands wash’d, did thus to Pallas pray: “Hear me, O Goddess, that but yesterday Didst deign access to me at home, and lay Grave charge on me to take ship, and inquire Along the dark seas for mine absent sire! Which all the Greeks oppose; amongst whom most Those that are proud still at another’s cost, Past measure, and the civil rights of men, My mother’s Wooers, my repulse maintain.” Thus spake he praying; when close to him came Pallas, resembling Mentor both in frame Of voice and person, and advis’d him thus: “Those Wooers well might know, Telemachus, Thou wilt not ever weak and childish be, If to thee be instill’d the faculty Of mind and body that thy father grac’d; And if, like him, there be in thee enchac’d Virtue to give words works, and works their end. This voyage, that to them thou didst commend, Shall not so quickly, as they idly ween, Be vain, or giv’n up, for their opposite spleen. But, if Ulysses nor Penelope Were thy true parents, I then hope in thee Of no more urging thy attempt in hand; For few, that rightly bred on both sides stand, Are like their parents, many that are worse, And most few better. Those then that the nurse Or mother call true-born yet are not so, Like worthy sires much less are like to grow. But thou show’st now that in thee fades not quite Thy father’s wisdom; and that future light Shall therefore show thee far from being unwise, Or touch’d with stain of bastard cowardice. Hope therefore says, that thou wilt to the end Pursue the brave act thou didst erst intend. But for the foolish Wooers, they bewray They neither counsel have nor soul, since they Are neither wise nor just, and so must needs Rest ignorant how black above their heads Fate hovers holding Death, that one sole day Will make enough to make them all away. For thee, the way thou wishest shall no more Fly thee a step; I, that have been before Thy father’s friend, thine likewise now will be, Provide thy ship myself, and follow thee. Go thou then home, and sooth each Wooer’s vein, But under hand fit all things for the main; Wine in as strong and sweet casks as you can, And meal, the very marrow of a man, Which put in good sure leather sacks, and see That with sweet food sweet vessels still agree. I from the people straight will press for you Free voluntaries; and, for ships, enow Sea-circled Ithaca contains, both new And old-built; all which I’ll exactly view, And choose what one soever most doth please; Which rigg’d, we’ll straight launch, and assay the seas.” This spake Jove’s daughter, Pallas; whose voice heard, No more Telemachus her charge deferr’d, But hasted home, and, sad at heart, did see Amidst his hall th’ insulting Wooers flea Goats, and roast swine. ’Mongst whom, Antinous Careless, discov’ring in Telemachus His grudge to see them, laugh’d, met, took his hand, And said: “High-spoken, with the mind so mann’d! Come, do as we do, put not up your spirits With these low trifles, nor our loving merits In gall of any hateful purpose steep, But eat egregiously, and drink as deep. The things thou think’st on, all at full shall be By th’ Achives thought on, and perform’d to thee; Ship, and choice oars, that in a trice will land Thy hasty fleet on heav’nly Pylos’ sand, And at the fame of thy illustrious sire.” He answer’d: “Men, whom pride did so inspire, Are not fit consorts for an humble guest; Nor are constrain’d men merry at their feast. Is ’t not enough, that all this time ye have Op’d in your entrails my chief goods a grave, And, while I was a child, made me partake? My now more growth more grown my mind doth make, And, hearing speak more judging men than you, Perceive how much I was misgovern’d now. I now will try if I can bring ye home An ill Fate to consort you; if it come From Pylos, or amongst the people here. But thither I resolve, and know that there I shall not touch in vain. Nor will I stay, Though in a merchant’s ship I steer my way; Which shows in your sights best; since me ye know Incapable of ship, or men to row.” This said, his hand he coyly snatch’d away From forth Antinous’ hand. The rest the day Spent through the house with banquets; some with jests, And some with railings, dignifying their feasts. To whom a jest-proud youth the wit began: “Telemachus will kill us ev’ry man. From Sparta, to the very Pylian sand, He will raise aids to his impetuous hand. O he affects it strangely! Or he means To search Ephyra’s fat shores, and from thence Bring deathful poisons, which amongst our bowls Will make a general shipwrack of our souls.” Another said: “Alas, who knows but he Once gone, and erring like his sire at sea, May perish like him, far from aid of friends, And so he makes us work? For all the ends Left of his goods here we shall share, the house Left to his mother and her chosen spouse.” Thus they; while he a room ascended, high And large, built by his father, where did lie Gold and brass heap’d up, and in coffers were Rich robes, great store of odorous oils, and there Stood tuns of sweet old wines along the wall, Neat and divine drink, kept to cheer with all Ulysses’ old heart, if he turn’d again From labours fatal to him to sustain. The doors of plank were, their close exquisite, Kept with a double key, and day and night A woman lock’d within; and that was she Who all trust had for her sufficiency, Old Euryclea, one of Opis’ race, Son to Pisenor, and in passing grace With grey Minerva; her the prince did call, And said: “Nurse! Draw me the most sweet of all The wine thou keep’st; next that which for my sire Thy care reserves, in hope he shall retire. Twelve vessels fill me forth, and stop them well. Then into well-sew’d sacks of fine ground meal Pour twenty measures. Nor, to anyone But thee thyself, let this design be known. All this see got together; I it all In night will fetch off, when my mother shall Ascend her high room, and for sleep prepare. Sparta and Pylos I must see, in care To find my father.” Out Euryclea cried, And ask’d with tears: “Why is your mind applied. Dear son, to this course? Whither will you go? So far off leave us, and belovéd so, So only? And the sole hope of your race? Royal Ulysses, far from the embrace Of his kind country, in a land unknown Is dead; and, you from your lov’d country gone, The Wooers will with some deceit assay To your destruction, making then their prey Of all your goods. Where, in your own y’are strong, Make sure abode. It fits not you so young To suffer so much by the aged seas, And err in such a wayless wilderness.” “Be cheer’d, lov’d nurse,” said he, “for, not without The will of God, go my attempts about. Swear therefore, not to wound my mother’s ears With word of this, before from heav’n appears Th’ elev’nth or twelfth light, or herself shall please To ask of me, or hears me put to seas, Lest her fair body with her woe be wore.” To this the great oath of the Gods she swore; Which having sworn, and of it every due Perform’d to full, to vessels wine she drew, And into well-sew’d sacks pour’d foody meal. In mean time he, with cunning to conceal All thought of this from others, himself bore In broad house, with the Wooers, as before. Then grey-eyed Pallas other thoughts did own, And like Telemachus trod through the town, Commanding all his men in th’ even to be Aboard his ship. Again then question’d she Noënon, fam’d for aged Phronius’ son, About his ship; who all things to be done Assur’d her freely should. The sun then set, And sable shadows slid through ev’ry street, When forth they launch’d, and soon aboard did bring All arms, and choice of ev’ry needful thing That fits a well-rigg’d ship. The Goddess then Stood in the port’s extreme part, where her men, Nobly appointed, thick about her came, Whose ev’ry breast she did with spirit enflame. Yet still fresh projects laid the grey-eyed Dame. Straight to the house she hasted, and sweet sleep Pour’d on each Wooer; which so laid in steep Their drowsy temples, that each brow did nod, As all were drinking, and each hand his load, The cup, let fall. All start up, and to bed, Nor more would watch, when sleep so surfeited Their leaden eye-lids. Then did Pallas call Telemachus, in body, voice, and all, Resembling Mentor, from his native nest, And said, that all his arm’d men were addrest To use their oars, and all expected now He should the spirit of a soldier show. “Come then,” said she, “no more let us defer Our honour’d action.” Then she took on her A ravish’d spirit, and led as she did leap; And he her most haste took out step by step. Arrived at sea and ship, they found ashore The soldiers that their fashion’d-long hair wore; To whom the prince said: “Come, my friends, let’s bring Our voyage’s provision; ev’ry thing Is heap’d together in our court; and none, No not my mother, nor her maids, but one Knows our intention.” This express’d, he led, The soldiers close together followed; And all together brought aboard their store. Aboard the prince went; Pallas still before Sat at the stern, he close to her, the men Up hasted after. He and Pallas then Put from the shore. His soldiers then he bad See all their arms fit; which they heard, and had. A beechen mast, then, in the hollow base They put, and hoisted, fix’d it in its place With cables; and with well-wreath’d halsers hoise Their white sails, which grey Pallas now employs With full and fore-gales through the dark deep main. The purple waves, so swift cut, roar’d again Against the ship sides, that now ran and plow’d The rugged seas up. Then the men bestow’d Their arms about the ship, and sacrifice With crown’d wine-cups to th’ endless Deities They offer’d up. Of all yet thron’d above, They most observ’d the grey-eyed seed of Jove; Who, from the evening till the morning rose, And all day long their voyage did dispose.

FINIS LIBRI SECUNDI HOM. ODYSS.

[1] The word is κεἰρετε, κεἰρω signifying insatiabili, quddâm edacitate voro.Return to passage

The Third Book: OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS

THE ARGUMENT

Telemachus, and Heav’n’s wise Dame That never husband had, now came To Nestor; who his either guest Receiv’d at the religious feast He made to Neptune, on his shore; And there told what was done before The Trojan turrets, and the state Of all the Greeks since Ilion’s fate. This book these three of greatest place Doth serve with many a varied grace. Which past, Minerva takes her leave. Whose state when Nestor doth perceive, With sacrifice he makes it known, Where many a pleasing rite is shown. Which done, Telemachus hath gain’d A chariot of him; who ordain’d Pisistratus, his son, his guide To Sparta; and when starry eyed The ample heav’n began to be, All house-rites to afford them free, In Pheris, Diocles did please, His surname Ortilochides.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Γἀμμα. Ulysses’ son With Nestor lies, To Sparta gone; Thence Pallas flies.

The sun now left the great and goodly lake, And to the firm heav’n bright ascent did make, To shine as well upon the mortal birth, Inhabiting the plow’d life-giving earth, As on the ever-treaders upon death. And now to Pylos, that so garnisheth Herself with buildings, old Neleus’ town, The prince and Goddess come had strange sights shown, For, on the marine shore, the people there To Neptune, that the azure locks doth wear, Beeves that were wholly black gave holy flame. Nine seats of state they made to his high name; And ev’ry seat set with five hundred men, And each five hundred was to furnish then With nine black oxen ev’ry sacred seat. These of the entrails only pleas’d to eat, And to the God enflam’d the fleshy thighs. By this time Pallas with the sparkling eyes, And he she led, within the haven bore, Struck sail, cast anchor, and trod both the shore, She first, he after. Then said Pallas: “Now No more befits thee the least bashful brow; T’ embolden which this act is put on thee, To seek thy father both at shore and sea, And learn in what clime he abides so close, Or in the pow’r of what Fate doth repose. Come then, go right to Nestor; let us see, If in his bosom any counsel be, That may inform us. Pray him not to trace The common courtship, and to speak in grace Of the demander, but to tell the truth; Which will delight him, and commend thy youth For such prevention; for he loves no lies, Nor will report them, being truly wise.” He answer’d: “Mentor! how, alas! shall I Present myself? How greet his gravity? My youth by no means that ripe form affords, That can digest my mind’s instinct in words Wise, and beseeming th’ ears of one so sage. Youth of most hope blush to use words with age.” She said: “Thy mind will some conceit impress, And something God will prompt thy towardness; For, I suppose, thy birth, and breeding too, Were not in spite of what the Gods could do.” This said, she swiftly went before, and he Her steps made guides, and follow’d instantly. When soon they reach’d the Pylian throngs and seats, Where Nestor with his sons sat; and the meats, That for the feast serv’d, round about them were Adherents dressing, all their sacred cheer, Being roast and boil’d meats. When the Pylians saw These strangers come, in thrust did all men draw About their entry, took their hands, and pray’d They both would sit; their entry first assay’d By Nestor’s son, Pisistratus. In grace Of whose repair, he gave them honour’d place Betwixt his sire and brother Thrasymed, Who sat at feast on soft fells that were spread Along the sea sands, kerv’d, and reach’d to them Parts of the inwards, and did make a stream Of spritely wine into a golden bowl; Which to Minerva with a gentle soul He gave, and thus spake: “Ere you eat, fair guest, Invoke the Seas’ King, of whose sacred feast Your travel hither makes ye partners now; When, sacrificing as becomes, bestow This bowl of sweet wine on your friend, that he May likewise use these rites of piety; For I suppose his youth doth prayers use, Since all men need the Gods. But you I choose First in this cup’s disposure, since his years Seem short of yours, who more like me appears.” Thus gave he her the cup of pleasant wine; And since a wise and just man did design The golden bowl first to her free receit, Ev’n to the Goddess it did add delight, Who thus invok’d: “Hear thou, whose vast embrace Enspheres the whole earth, nor disdain thy grace To us that ask it in performing this: To Nestor first, and these fair sons of his, Vouchsafe all honour; and, next them, bestow On all these Pylians, that have offer’d now This most renowned hecatomb to thee, Remuneration fit for them, and free; And lastly deign Telemachus and me, The work perform’d for whose effect we came, Our safe return, both with our ship and fame.” Thus pray’d she; and herself herself obey’d, In th’ end performing all for which she pray’d. And now, to pray, and do as she had done, She gave the fair round bowl t’ Ulysses’ son. The meat then dress’d, and drawn, and serv’d t’ each guest, They celebrated a most sumptuous feast. When appetite to wine and food allay’d, Horse-taming Nestor then began, and said: “Now life’s desire is serv’d, as far as fare, Time fits me to enquire what guests these are. Fair guests, what are ye? And for what coast tries Your ship the moist deeps? For fit merchandise? Or rudely coast ye, like our men of prise, The rough seas tempting, desperately erring, The ill of others in their good conferring?” The wise prince now his boldness did begin, For Pallas’ self had harden’d him within, By this device of travel to explore His absent father; which two girlonds wore; His good by manage of his spirits; and then To gain him high grace in th’ accounts of men. “O Nestor! still in whom Nelëus lives! And all the glory of the Greeks survives, You ask from whence we are, and I relate: From Ithaca (whose seat is situate Where Neius, the renownéd mountain, rears His haughty forehead, and the honour bears To be our sea-mark) we assay’d the waves. The business, I must tell, our own good craves, And not the public. I am come t’ enquire, If, in the fame that best men doth inspire Of my most-suff’ring father, I may hear Some truth of his estate now, who did bear The name, being join’d in fight with you alone, To even with earth the height of Ilion. Of all men else, that any name did bear, And fought for Troy, the sev’ral ends we hear; But his death Jove keeps from the world unknown, The certain fame thereof being told by none; If on the continent by enemies slain, Or with the waves eat of the ravenous main. For his love ’tis that to your knees I sue, That you would please, out of your own clear view, T’ assure his sad end; or say, if your ear Hath heard of the unhappy wanderer, To too much sorrow whom his mother bore. You then by all your bounties I implore, (If ever to you deed or word hath stood, By my good father promis’d, render’d good Amongst the Trojans, where ye both have tried The Grecian suff’rance) that in nought applied To my respect or pity you will glose, But uncloth’d truth to my desires disclose.” “O my much-lov’d,” said he, “since you renew Remembrance of the miseries that grew Upon our still-in-strength-opposing Greece Amongst Troy’s people, I must touch a piece Of all our woes there, either in the men Achilles brought by sea and led to gain About the country, or in us that fought About the city, where to death were brought All our chief men, as many as were there. There Mars-like Ajax lies; Achilles there; There the in-counsel-like-the-Gods, his friend; There my dear son Antilochus took end, Past measure swift of foot, and staid in fight. A number more that ills felt infinite; Of which to reckon all, what mortal man, If five or six years you should stay here, can Serve such enquiry? You would back again, Affected with unsufferable pain, Before you heard it. Nine years sieg’d we them, With all the depth and sleight of stratagem That could be thought. Ill knit to ill past end. Yet still they toil’d us; nor would yet Jove send Rest to our labours, nor will scarcely yet. But no man liv’d, that would in public set His wisdom by Ulysses’ policy, As thought his equal; so excessively He stood superior all ways. If you be His son indeed, mine eyes ev’n ravish me To admiration. And in all consent Your speech puts on his speech’s ornament. Nor would one say, that one so young could use, Unless his son, a rhetoric so profuse. And while we liv’d together, he and I Never in speech maintain’d diversity; Nor sat in council but, by one soul led, With spirit and prudent counsel furnishéd The Greeks at all hours, that, with fairest course, What best became them, they might put in force. But when Troy’s’ high tow’rs we had levell’d thus, We put to sea, and God divided us. And then did Jove our sad retreat devise; For all the Greeks were neither just nor wise, And therefore many felt so sharp a fate, Sent from Minerva’s most pernicious hate; Whose mighty Father can do fearful things. By whose help she betwixt the brother kings Let fall contention; who in council met In vain, and timeless, when the sun was set, And all the Greeks call’d, that came charg’d with wine. Yet then the kings would utter their design, And why they summon’d. Menelaus, he Put all in mind of home, and cried, To sea. But Agamemnon stood on contraries, Whose will was, they should stay and sacrifice Whole hecatombs to Pallas, to forego Her high wrath to them. Fool! that did not know She would not so be won; for not with ease Th’ Eternal Gods are turn’d from what they please. So they, divided, on foul language stood. The Greeks in huge rout rose, their wine-heat blood Two ways affecting. And, that night’s sleep too, We turn’d to studying either other’s woe; When Jove besides made ready woes enow. Morn came, we launch’d, and in our ships did stow Our goods, and fair-girt women. Half our men The people’s guide, Atrides, did contain, And half, being now aboard, put forth to sea. A most free gale gave all ships prosp’rous way. God settled then the huge whale-bearing lake, And Tenedos we reach’d; where, for time’s sake, We did divine rites to the Gods. But Jove, Inexorable still, bore yet no love To our return, but did again excite A second sad contention, that turn’d quite A great part of us back to sea again; Which were th’ abundant-in-all-counsels man, Your matchless father, who, to gratify The great Atrides, back to him did fly. But I fled all, with all that follow’d me, Because I knew God studied misery, To hurl amongst us. With me likewise fled Martial Tydides. I the men he led Gat to go with him. Winds our fleet did bring To Lesbos, where the yellow-headed king, Though late, yet found us, as we put to choice A tedious voyage; if we sail should hoise Above rough Chius, left on our left hand, To th’ isle of Psyria, or that rugged land Sail under, and for windy Mimas steer. We ask’d of God that some ostent might clear Our cloudy business, who gave us sign, And charge, that all should, in a middle line, The sea cut for Eubœa, that with speed Our long-sustain’d infortune might be freed. Then did a whistling wind begin to rise, And swiftly flew we through the fishy skies, Till to Geræstus we in night were brought; Where, through the broad sea since we safe had wrought, At Neptune’s altars many solid thighs Of slaughter’d bulls we burn’d for sacrifice. The fourth day came, when Tydeus’ son did greet The haven of Argos with his cómplete fleet. But I for Pylos straight steer’d on my course; Nor ever left the wind his foreright force, Since God fore-sent it first. And thus I came, Dear son, to Pylos, uninform’d by fame, Nor know one sav’d by Fate, or overcome. Whom I have heard of since, set here at home, As fits, thou shalt be taught, nought left unshown. The expert spear-men, ev’ry Myrmidon, Led by the brave heir of the mighty-soul’d Unpeer’d Achilles, safe of home got hold; Safe Philoctetes, Pœan’s famous seed; And safe Idomenæus his men led To his home, Crete, who fled the arméd field, Of whom yet none the sea from him withheld. Atrides, you have both heard, though ye be His far-off dwellers, what an end had he, Done by Ægisthus to a bitter death; Who miserably paid for forcéd breath, Atrides leaving a good son, that dyed, In blood of that deceitful parricide, His wreakful sword. And thou my friend, as he For this hath his fame, the like spirit in thee Assume at all parts. Fair and great, I see, Thou art in all hope, make it good to th’ end, That after-times as much may thee commend.” He answer’d: “O thou greatest grace of Greece, Orestes made that wreak his master-piece, And him the Greeks will give a master-praise, Verse finding him to last all after-days. And would to God the Gods would favour me With his performance, that my injury, Done by my mother’s Wooers, being so foul, I might revenge upon their ev’ry soul; Who, pressing me with contumelies, dare Such things as past the pow’r of utt’rance are. But Heav’n’s great Pow’rs have grac’d my destiny With no such honour. Both my sire and I Are born to suffer everlastingly.” “Because you name those Wooers, friend,” said he, “Report says, many such, in spite of thee, Wooing thy mother, in thy house commit The ills thou nam’st. But say: Proceedeth it From will in thee to bear so foul a foil? Or from thy subjects’ hate, that wish thy spoil, And will not aid thee, since their spirits rely, Against thy rule, on some grave augury? What know they, but at length thy father may Come, and with violence their violence pay; Or he alone, or all the Greeks with him? But if Minerva now did so esteem Thee, as thy father in times past; whom, past All measure, she with glorious favours grac’t Amongst the Trojans, where we suffer’d so; (O! I did never see, in such clear show, The Gods so grace a man, as she to him, To all our eyes, appear’d in all her trim) If so, I say, she would be pleas’d to love, And that her mind’s care thou so much couldst move, As did thy father, ev’ry man of these Would lose in death their seeking marriages.” “O father,” answer’d he, “you make amaze Seize me throughout. Beyond the height of phrase You raise expression; but ’twill never be, That I shall move in any Deity So blest an honour. Not by any means, If Hope should prompt me, or blind Confidence, (The Gods of Fools) or ev’ry Deity Should will it; for ’tis past my destiny.” The burning-eyed Dame answer’d: “What a speech Hath past the teeth-guard Nature gave to teach Fit question of thy words before they fly! God easily can[1] (when to mortal eye He’s furthest off) a mortal satisfy; And does the more still. For thy car’d-for sire, I rather wish, that I might home retire, After my suff’rance of a world of woes, Far off, and then my glad eyes might disclose The day of my return, then straight retire, And perish standing by my household fire; As Agamemnon did, that lost his life By false Ægisthus, and his falser wife. For Death to come at length, ’tis due to all; Nor can the Gods themselves, when Fate shall call Their most-lov’d man, extend his vital breath Beyond the fix’d bounds of abhorréd Death.” “Mentor!” said he, “let’s dwell no more on this, Although in us the sorrow pious is. No such return, as we wish, Fates bequeath My erring father; whom a present death The Deathless have decreed. I’ll now use speech That tends to other purpose; and beseech Instruction of grave Nestor, since he flows Past shore in all experience, and knows The sleights and wisdoms, and whose heights aspire Others, as well as my commended sire, Whom Fame reports to have commanded three Ages of men, and doth in sight to me Show like th’ Immortals. Nestor! the renown Of old Neleius, make the clear truth known, How the most-great-in-empire, Atreus’ son, Sustain’d the act of his destruction, Where then was Menelaus? How was it That false Ægisthus, being so far unfit A match for him, could his death so enforce? Was he not then in Argos? or his course With men so left, to let a coward breathe Spirit enough to dare his brother’s death?” “I’ll tell thee truth in all, fair son,” said he: “Right well was this event conceiv’d by thee. If Menelaus in his brother’s house Had found the idle liver with his spouse, Arriv’d from Troy, he had not liv’d, nor dead Had the digg’d heap pour’d on his lustful head, But fowls and dogs had torn him in the fields, Far off of Argos; not a dame it yields Had giv’n him any tear, so foul his fact Show’d ev’n to women. Us Troy’s wars had rack’d To ev’ry sinew’s sufferance, while he In Argos’ uplands liv’d, from those works free, And Agamemnon’s wife with force of word Flatter’d and soften’d, who, at first, abhorr’d A fact so infamous. The heav’nly dame A good mind had, but was in blood to blame. There was a poet, to whose care the king His queen committed, and in ev’ry thing, When he from Troy went, charg’d him to apply Himself in all guard to her dignity. But when strong Fate so wrapt-in her effects, That she resolv’d to leave her fit respects, Into a desert isle her guardian led, There left, the rapine of the vultures fed. Then brought he willing home his will’s won prize, On sacred altars offer’d many thighs, Hung in the God’s fanes many ornaments, Garments and gold, that he the vast events Of such a labour to his wish had brought, As neither fell into his hope nor thought. At last, from Troy sail’d Sparta’s king and I, Both holding her untouch’d. And, that his eye Might see no worse of her, when both were blown To sacred Sunium, of Minerva’s town The goodly promontory, with his shafts severe Augur Apollo slew him that did steer Atrides’ ship, as he the stern did guide, And she the full speed of her sail applied. He was a man that natións of men Excell’d in safe guide of a vessel, when A tempest rush’d in on the ruffled seas; His name was Phrontis Onetorides. And thus was Menelaus held from home, Whose way he thirsted so to overcome, To give his friend the earth, being his pursuit, And all his exequies to execute. But sailing still the wine-hued seas,[2] to reach Some shore for fit performance, he did fetch The steep mount of the Malians, and there, With open voice, offended Jupiter Proclaim’d the voyage his repugnant mind, And pour’d the puffs out of a shrieking wind, That nourish’d billows heighten’d like to hills; And with the fleet’s division fulfills His hate proclaim’d; upon a part of Crete Casting the navy, where the sea-waves meet Rough Jardanus, and where the Cydons live. There is a rock, on which the sea doth drive, Bare, and all broken, on the confines set Of Gortys, that the dark seas likewise fret; And hither sent the South a horrid drift Of waves against the top, that was the left Of that torn cliff as far as Phæstus’ strand. A little stone the great sea’s rage did stand. The men here driv’n ‘scap’d hard the ship’s sore shocks, The ships themselves being wrack’d against the rocks, Save only five, that blue fore-castles bore, Which wind and water cast on Egypt’s shore. When he (there victling well, and store of gold Aboard his ships brought) his wild way did hold, And t’ other languag’d men was forc’d to roam. Mean space Ægisthus made sad work at home, And slew his brother, forcing to his sway Atrides’ subjects, and did sev’n years lay His yoke upon the rich Mycenian state. But in the eighth, to his affrighting fate, Divine Orestes home from Athens came, And what his royal father felt, the same He made the false Ægisthus groan beneath. Death evermore is the reward of death. Thus having slain him, a sepulchral feast He made the Argives for his lustful guest, And for his mother whom he did detest. The self-same day upon him stole the king Good-at-a-martial-shout, and goods did bring, As many as his freighted fleet could bear. But thou, my son, too long by no means err, Thy goods left free for many a spoilful guest, Lest they consume some, and divide the rest, And thou, perhaps, besides, thy voyage lose. To Menelaus yet thy course dispose I wish and charge thee; who but late arriv’d From such a shore and men, as to have liv’d In a return from them he never thought, And whom black whirlwinds violently brought Within a sea so vast, that in a year Not any fowl could pass it anywhere, So huge and horrid was it. But go thou With ship and men (or, if thou pleasest now To pass by land, there shall be brought for thee Both horse and chariot, and thy guides shall be My sons themselves) to Sparta the divine, And to the king whose locks like amber shine. Intreat the truth of him, nor loves he lies, Wisdom in truth is, and he’s passing wise.” This said, the Sun went down, and up rose Night, When Pallas spake: “O father, all good right Bear thy directions. But divide we now The sacrifices’ tongues, mix wines, and vow To Neptune, and the other Ever-Blest, That, having sacrific’d, we may to rest. The fit hour runs now, light dives out of date, At sacred feasts we must not sit too late.” She said; they heard; the heralds water gave; The youths crown’d cups with wine, and let all have Their equal shares, beginning from the cup Their parting banquet. All the tongues cut up, The fire they gave them, sacrific’d, and rose, Wine, and divine rites us’d, to each dispose; Minerva and Telemachus desir’d They might to ship be, with his leave, retir’d. He, mov’d with that, provok’d thus their abodes: “Now Jove forbid, and all the long-liv’d Gods, Your leaving me, to sleep aboard a ship; As I had drunk of poor Penia’s whip, Even to my nakedness, and had nor sheet Nor cov’ring in my house; that warm nor sweet A guest, nor I myself, had means to sleep; Where I, both weeds and wealthy cov’rings keep For all my guests. Nor shall Fame ever say, The dear son of the man Ulysses lay All night a-ship-board here while my days shine, Or in my court whiles any son of mine Enjoys survival, who shall guests receive, Whomever my house hath a nook to leave.” “My much-lov’d father,” said Minerva, “well All this becomes thee. But persuade to dwell This night with thee thy son Telemachus, For more convenient is the course for us, That he may follow to thy house and rest, And I may board our black-sail, that addrest At all parts I may make our men, and cheer All with my presence, since of all men there I boast myself the senior, th’ others are Youths, that attend in free and friendly care Great-soul’d Telemachus, and are his peers In fresh similitude of form and years. For their confirmance, I will therefore now Sleep in our black bark. But, when light shall show Her silver forehead, I intend my way Amongst the Caucons, men that are to pay A debt to me, nor small, nor new. For this, Take you him home; whom in the morn dismiss, With chariot and your sons, and give him horse Ablest in strength, and of the speediest course” This said, away she flew, form’d like the fowl Men call the ossifrage; when ev’ry soul Amaze invaded; even th’ old man admir’d, The youth’s hand took, and said: “O most desir’d, My hope says thy proof will no coward show, Nor one unskill’d in war, when Deities now So young attend thee, and become thy guides; Nor any of the heav’n-hous’d States besides, But Tritogenia’s self, the Seed of Jove, The great-in-prey, that did in honour move So much about thy father, amongst all The Grecian army. Fairest queen, let fall On me like favours! Give me good renown! Which, as on me, on my lov’d wife let down, And all my children. I will burn to thee An ox right bred, broad-headed, and yoke-free, To no man’s hand yet humbled. Him will I, His horns in gold hid, give thy Deity.” Thus pray’d he, and she heard; and home he led His sons, and all his heaps of kindered. Who ent’ring his court royal, ev’ry one He marshall’d in his sev’ral seat and throne; And ev’ry one, so kindly come, he gave His sweet-wine cup; which none was let to have Before his ‘leventh year landed him from Troy; Which now the butleress had leave t’ employ, Who therefore pierc’d it, and did give it vent. Of this the old duke did a cup present To ev’ry guest; made his Maid many a pray’r That wears the shield fring’d with his nurse’s hair, And gave her sacrifice. With this rich wine And food suffic’d, sleep all eyes did decline, And all for home went; but his court alone Telemachus, divine Ulysses’ son, Must make his lodging, or not please his heart. A bed, all chequer’d with elaborate art, Within a portico that rung like brass, He brought his guest to; and his bedfere was Pisistratus, the martial guide of men, That liv’d, of all his sons, unwed till then. Himself lay in a by-room, far above, His bed made by his barren wife, his love. The rosy-finger’d Morn no sooner shone, But up he rose, took air, and sat upon A seat of white and goodly polish’d stone, That such a gloss as richest ointments wore, Before his high gates; where the counsellor That match’d the Gods (his father) us’d to sit, Who now, by fate forc’d, stoop’d as low as it. And here sat Nestor, holding in his hand A sceptre; and about him round did stand, As early up, his sons’ troop; Perseus, The god-like Thrasymed, and Aretus, Echephron, Stratius, and sixth and last Pisistratus, and by him (half embrac’d Still as they came) divine Telemachus; To these spake Nestor, old Gerenius: “Haste, lovéd sons, and do me a desire, That, first of all the Gods, I may aspire To Pallas’ favour, who vouchsaf’d to me At Neptune’s feast her sight so openly. Let one to field go, and an ox with speed Cause hither brought, which let the herdsman lead; Another to my dear guest’s vessel go, And all his soldiers bring, save only two; A third the smith that works in gold command (Laertius) to attend, and lend his hand, To plate the both horns round about with gold; The rest remain here close. But first, see told The maids within, that they prepare a feast, Set seats through all the court, see straight addrest The purest water, and get fuel fell’d.” This said, not one but in the service held Officious hand. The ox came led from field; The soldiers troop’d from ship; the smith he came, And those tools brought that serv’d the actual frame His art conceiv’d, brought anvil, hammers brought, Fair tongs, and all, with which the gold was wrought. Minerva likewise came, to set the crown On that kind sacrifice, and make ’t her own. Then th’ old knight Nestor gave the smith the gold, With which he straight did both the horns infold, And trimm’d the off’ring so, the Goddess joy’d. About which thus were Nestor’s sons employ’d: Divine Echephron, and fair Stratius, Held both the horns. The water odorous, In which they wash’d, what to the rites was vow’d, Aretus, in a caldron all bestrow’d With herbs and flowers, serv’d in from th’ holy room Where all were drest, and whence the rites must come. And after him a hallow’d virgin came, That brought the barley-cake, and blew the flame. The axe, with which the ox should both be fell’d And cut forth, Thrasymed stood by and held. Perseus the vessel held that should retain The purple liquor of the off’ring slain. Then wash’d the pious father, then the cake (Of barley, salt, and oil, made) took, and brake, Ask’d many a boon of Pallas, and the state Of all the off’ring did initiate, In three parts cutting off the hair, and cast Amidst the flame. All th’ invocation past, And all the cake broke, manly Thrasymed Stood near, and sure, and such a blow he laid Aloft the off’ring, that to earth he sunk, His neck-nerves sunder’d, and his spirits shrunk. Out shriek’d the daughters, daughter-in-laws, and wife Of three-ag’d Nestor, who had eldest life Of Clymen’s daughters, chaste Eurydice. The ox on broad earth then laid laterally They held, while duke Pisistratus the throat Dissolv’d, and set the sable blood afloat, And then the life the bones left. Instantly They cut him up; apart flew either thigh, That with the fat they dubb’d, with art alone, The throat-brisk, and the sweet-bread pricking on. Then Nestor broil’d them on the coal-turn’d wood, Pour’d black wine on; and by him young men stood, That spits fine-pointed held, on which, when burn’d The solid thighs were, they transfix’d, and turn’d The inwards, cut in cantles; which, the meat Vow’d to the Gods consum’d, they roast and eat. In mean space, Polycasté (call’d the fair, Nestor’s young’st daughter) bath’d Ulysses’ heir; Whom having cleans’d, and with rich balms bespread, She cast a white shirt quickly o’er his head, And then his weeds put on; when forth he went, And did the person of a God present, Came, and by Nestor took his honour’d seat, This pastor of the people. Then, the meat Of all the spare parts roasted, off they drew, Sat, and fell to. But soon the temp’rate few Rose, and in golden bowls fill’d others wine. Till, when the rest felt thirst of feast decline, Nestor his sons bad fetch his high-man’d horse, And them in chariot join, to run the course The prince resolv’d. Obey’d, as soon as heard, Was Nestor by his sons, who straight prepar’d Both horse and chariot. She that kept the store, Both bread and wine, and all such viands more, As should the feast of Jove-fed kings compose, Purvey’d the voyage. To the rich coach rose Ulysses’ son, and close to him ascended The duke Pisistratus, the reins intended, And scourg’d, to force to field, who freely flew; And left the town that far her splendour threw, Both holding yoke, and shook it all the day. But now the sun set, dark’ning ev’ry way, When they to Pheris came; and in the house Of Diocles (the son t’ Orsilochus, Whom flood Alphëus got) slept all that night; Who gave them each due hospitable rite. But when the rosy-finger’d Morn arose, They went to coach, and did their horse inclose, Drave forth the fore-court, and the porch that yields Each breath a sound, and to the fruitful fields Rode scourging still their willing flying steeds, Who strenuously perform’d their wonted speeds. Their journey ending just when sun went down, And shadows all ways through the earth were thrown.

FINIS LIBRI TERTII HOM. ODYSS.

[1] Volente Deo, nihil est difficile.Return to passage

[2] Οἲνοπα πὀντον: οἲνοψ cujus facies vinum repræsentat.Return to passage