The Fourth Book: OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS
THE ARGUMENT
Receiv’d now in the Spartan court, Telemachus prefers report To Menelaus of the throng Of Wooers with him, and their wrong. Atrides tells the Greeks’ retreat, And doth a prophecy repeat That Proteus made, by which he knew His brother’s death; and then doth show How with Calypso liv’d the sire Of his young guest. The Wooers conspire Their prince’s death. Whose treach’ry known, Penelope in tears doth drown. Whom Pallas by a dream doth cheer, And in similitude appear Of fair Iphthima, known to be The sister of Penelope.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Δἐλτα. Here of the sire The son doth hear. The Wooers conspire. The Mother’s fear.
In Lacedæmon now, the nurse of whales,[1] These two arriv’d, and found at festivals, With mighty concourse, the renownéd king, His son and daughter jointly marrying. Alector’s daughter he did give his son, Strong Megapenthes, who his life begun By Menelaus’ bondmaid; whom he knew In years when Helen could no more renew In issue like divine Hermione, Who held in all fair form as high degree As golden Venus. Her he married now To great Achilles’ son, who was by vow Betroth’d to her at Troy, And thus the Gods To constant loves give nuptial periods. Whose state here past, the Myrmidons’ rich town (Of which she shar’d in the imperial crown) With horse and chariots he resign’d her to. Mean space, the high huge house with feast did flow Of friends and neighbours, joying with the king. Amongst whom did a heav’nly poet sing, And touch his harp. Amongst whom likewise danc’d Two, who in that dumb motion advanc’d, Would prompt the singer what to sing and play.[2] All this time in the utter court did stay, With horse and chariot, Telemachus, And Nestor’s noble son Pisistratus. Whom Eteoneus, coming forth, descried, And, being a servant to the king, most tried In care and his respect, he ran and cried: “Guests, Jove-kept Menelaus, two such men As are for form of high Saturnius’ strain. Inform your pleasure, if we shall unclose Their horse from coach, or say they must dispose Their way to some such house, as may embrace Their known arrival with more welcome grace?”
He, angry, answer’d: “Thou didst never show Thyself a fool, Boethides, till now; But now, as if turn’d child, a childish speech Vents thy vain spirits. We ourselves now reach Our home by much spent hospitality Of other men; nor know if Jove will try With other after-wants our state again; And therefore from our feast no more detain Those welcome guests, but take their steeds from coach, And with attendance guide in their approach.”
This said, he rush’d abroad, and call’d some more Tried in such service, that together bore Up to the guests, and took their steeds that swet Beneath their yokes from coach; at mangers set, Wheat and white barley gave them mix’d; and plac’d Their chariot by a wall so clear, it cast A light quite through it. And then they led Their guests to the divine house; which so fed Their eyes at all parts with illustrious sights, That admiration seiz’d them. Like the lights The sun and moon gave, all the palace threw A lustre through it. Satiate with whose view, Down to the king’s most bright-kept baths they went, Where handmaids did their services present, Bath’d, balm’d them, shirts and well-napt weeds put on, And by Atrides’ side set each his throne. Then did the handmaid-royal water bring, And to a laver, rich and glittering, Of massy gold, pour’d; which she plac’d upon A silver caldron, into which might run The water as they wash’d. Then set she near A polish’d table, on which all the cheer The present could afford a rev’rend dame, That kept the larder, set. A cook then came, And divers dishes, borne thence, serv’d again; Furnish’d the board with bowls of gold. And then, His right hand giv’n the guests, Atrides said: “Eat, and be cheerful. Appetite allay’d, I long to ask, of what stock ye descend; For not from parents whose race nameless end We must derive your offspring. Men obscure Could get none such as you. The portraiture Of Jove-sustain’d and sceptre-bearing kings Your either person in his presence brings.” An ox’s fat chine then they up did lift, And set before the guests; which was a gift, Sent as an honour to the king’s own taste. They saw yet ’twas but to be eaten plac’d, And fell to it. But food and wine’s care past, Telemachus thus prompted Nestor’s son, (His ear close laying, to be heard of none):[3]
“Consider, thou whom most of my mind esteems, The brass-work here, how rich it is in beams, And how, besides, it makes the whole house sound; What gold, and amber, silver, ivory, round Is wrought about it. Out of doubt, the hall Of Jupiter Olympius hath of all This state the like. How many infinites Take up to admiration all men’s sights!”
Atrides over-heard, and said: “Lov’d son, No mortal must affect contentión With Jove, whose dwellings are of endless date. Perhaps of men some one may emulate, Or none, my house, or me; for I am one That many a grave extreme have undergone, Much error felt by sea, and till th’ eighth year, Had never stay, but wander’d far and near, Cyprus, Phœnicia, and Sidonia, And fetch’d the far-off Æthiopia, Reach’d the Erembi of Arabia, And Lybia, where with horns ewes yean their lambs, Which ev’ry full year ewes are three times dams, Where neither king, nor shepherd, want comes near Of cheese, or flesh, or sweet milk; all the year They ever milk their ewes. And here while I Err’d, gath’ring means to live, one, murd’rously, Unwares, unseen, bereft my brother’s life, Chiefly betray’d by his abhorréd wife. So hold I, not enjoying, what you see. And of your fathers, if they living be, You must have heard this, since my suff’rings were So great and famous; from this palace here (So rarely-well-built, furnishéd so well, And substancéd with such a precious deal Of well-got treasure) banish’d by the doom Of Fate, and erring as I had no home. And now I have, and use it, not to take Th’ entire delight it offers, but to make Continual wishes, that a triple part Of all it holds were wanting, so my heart Were eas’d of sorrows, taken for their deaths That fell at Troy, by their revivéd breaths. And thus sit I here weeping, mourning still Each least man lost; and sometimes make mine ill, In paying just tears for their loss, my joy. Sometimes I breathe my woes, for in annoy The pleasure soon admits satiety. But all these men’s wants wet not so mine eye, Though much they move me, as one sole man’s miss, For which my sleep and meat ev’n loathsome is In his renew’d thought, since no Greek hath won Grace for such labours as Laërtes’ son Hath wrought and suffer’d, to himself nought else But future sorrows forging, to me hells For his long absence, since I cannot know If life or death detain him; since such woe For his love, old Laërtes, his wise wife, And poor young son sustains, whom new with life He left as sireless.” This speech grief to tears (Pour’d from the son’s lids on the earth) his ears, Told of the father, did excite; who kept His cheeks dry with his red weed as he wept, His both hands us’d therein. Atrides then Began to know him, and did strife retain, If he should let himself confess his sire, Or with all fitting circumstance enquire.
While this his thoughts disputed, forth did shine, Like to the golden distaff-deck’d Divine, From her bed’s high and odoriferous room, Helen. To whom, of an elaborate loom, Adresta set a chair; Alcippe brought A piece of tapestry of fine wool wrought; Phylo a silver cabinet conferr’d, Giv’n by Alcandra, nuptially endear’d To lord Polybius, whose abode in Thebes Th’ Ægyptian city was, where wealth in heaps His famous house held, out of which did go, In gift t’ Atrides, silver bath-tubs two, Two tripods, and of fine gold talents ten. His wife did likewise send to Helen then Fair gifts, a distaff that of gold was wrought, And that rich cabinet that Phylo brought, Round, and with gold ribb’d, now of fine thread full; On which extended (crown‘d with finest wool, Of violet gloss) the golden distaff-lay.
She took her state-chair, and a foot-stool’s stay Had for her feet; and of her husband thus Ask’d to know all things: “Is it known to us, King Menelaus, whom these men commend Themselves for, that our court now takes to friend? I must affirm, be I deceiv’d or no, I never yet saw man nor woman so Like one another, as this man is like Ulysses’ son. With admiration strike His looks my thoughts, that they should carry now Pow’r to persuade me thus, who did but know, When newly he was born, the form they bore. But ’tis his father’s grace, whom more and more His grace resembles, that makes me retain Thought that he now is like Telemachus, then Left by his sire, when Greece did undertake Troy’s bold war for my impudency’s sake.”
He answer’d: “Now wife, what you think I know, The true cast of his father’s eye doth show In his eyes’ order. Both his head and hair, His hands and feet, his very father’s are. Of whom, so well remember’d, I should now Acknowledge for me his continual flow Of cares and perils, yet still patient. But I should too much move him, that doth vent Such bitter tears for that which hath been spoke, Which, shunning soft show, see how he would cloak, And with his purple weed his weepings hide.”
Then Nestor’s son, Pisistratus, replied: “Great pastor of the people, kept of God! He is Ulysses’ son, but his abode Not made before here, and he modest too, He holds it an indignity to do A deed so vain, to use the boast of words, Where your words are on wing; whose voice affords Delight to us as if a God did break The air amongst us, and vouchsafe to speak. But me my father, old duke Nestor, sent To be his consort hither; his content Not to be heighten’d so as with your sight, In hope that therewith words and actions might Inform his comforts from you, since he is Extremely griev’d and injur’d by the miss Of his great father; suff’ring ev’n at home, And few friends found to help him overcome His too weak suff’rance, now his sire is gone; Amongst the people, not afforded one To check the miseries that mate him thus. And this the state is of Telemachus.”
“O Gods,” said he, “how certain, now, I see My house enjoys that friend’s son, that for me Hath undergone so many willing fights! Whom I resolv’d, past all the Grecian knights, To hold in love, if our return by seas The far-off Thunderer did ever please To grant our wishes. And to his respect A palace and a city to erect, My vow had bound me; whither bringing then His riches, and his son, and all his men, From barren Ithaca, (some one sole town Inhabited about him batter’d down) All should in Argos live. And there would I Ease him of rule, and take the empery Of all on me. And often here would we, Delighting, loving either’s company, Meet and converse; whom nothing should divide, Till death’s black veil did each all over hide. But this perhaps hath been a mean to take Ev’n God himself with envy; who did make Ulysses therefore only the unblest, That should not reach his loved country’s rest.”
These woes made ev’ry one with woe in love; Ev’n Argive Helen wept, the Seed of Jove; Ulysses’ son wept; Atreus’ son did weep; And Nestor’s son his eyes in tears did steep, But his tears fell not from the present cloud That from Ulysses was exhal’d, but flow’d From brave Antilochus’ remember’d due, Whom the renown’d Son of the Morning slew, Which yet he thus excus’d: “O Atreus’ son! Old Nestor says, there lives not such a one Amongst all mortals as Atrides is For deathless wisdom. ’Tis a praise of his, Still giv’n in your remembrance, when at home Our speech concerns you. Since then overcome You please to be with sorrow, ev’n to tears, That are in wisdom so exempt from peers, Vouchsafe the like effect in me excuse, If it be lawful, I affect no use Of tears thus after meals; at least, at night; But when the morn brings forth, with tears, her light, It shall not then impair me to bestow My tears on any worthy’s overthrow. It is the only rite that wretched men Can do dead friends, to cut hair, and complain. But Death my brother took, whom none could call The Grecian coward, you best knew of all. I was not there, nor saw, but men report Antilochus excell’d the common sort For footmanship, or for the chariot race, Or in the fight for hardy hold of place.”
“O friend,” said he, “since thou hast spoken so, At all parts as one wise should say and do, And like one far beyond thyself in years, Thy words shall bounds be to our former tears. O he is questionless a right-born son, That of his father hath not only won The person but the wisdom; and that sire Complete himself that hath a son entire, Jove did not only his full fate adorn, When he was wedded, but when he was born. As now Saturnius, through his life’s whole date, Hath Nestor’s bliss rais’d to as steep a state, Both in his age to keep in peace his house, And to have children wise and valorous. But let us not forget our rear feast thus. Let some give water here. Telemachus! The morning shall yield time to you and me To do what fits, and reason mutually.”
This said, the careful servant of the king, Asphalion, pour’d on th’ issue of the spring; And all to ready feast set ready hand. But Helen now on new device did stand, Infusing straight a medicine to their wine, That, drowning care and angers; did decline All thought of ill. Who drunk her cup could shed All that day not a tear, no not if dead That day his father or his mother were, Not if his brother, child, or chiefest dear, He should see murder’d then before his face. Such useful medicines, only borne in grace Of what was good, would Helen ever have. And this juice to her Polydamna gave The wife of Thoon, an Ægyptian born, Whose rich earth herbs of medicine do adorn In great abundance. Many healthful are, And many baneful. Ev’ry man is there A good physician out of Nature’s grace, For all the nation sprung of Pæon’s race.
When Helen then her medicine had infus’d, She bad pour wine to it, and this speech us’d:
“Atrides, and these good men’s sons, great Jove Makes good and ill one after other move, In all things earthly; for he can do all. The woes past, therefore, he so late let fall, The comforts he affords us let us take; Feast, and, with fit discourses, merry make. Nor will I other use. As then our blood Griev’d for Ulysses, since he was so good, Since he was good, let us delight to hear How good he was, and what his suff’rings were; Though ev’ry fight, and ev’ry suff’ring deed, Patient Ulysses underwent, exceed My woman’s pow’r to number, or to name. But what he did, and suffer’d, when he came Amongst the Trojans, where ye Grecians all Took part with suff’rance, I in part can call To your kind memories. How with ghastly wounds Himself he mangled, and the Trojan bounds, Thrust thick with enemies, adventur’d on, His royal shoulders having cast upon Base abject weeds, and enter’d like a slave. Then, beggar-like, he did of all men crave, And such a wretch was, as the whole Greek fleet Brought not besides. And thus through ev’ry street He crept discov’ring, of no one man known. And yet through all this diff’rence, I alone Smoked his true person, talk’d with him; but he Fled me with wiles still. Nor could we agree, Till I disclaim’d him quite; and so (as mov’d With womanly remorse of one that prov’d So wretched an estate, whate’er he were) Won him to take my house. And yet ev’n there, Till freely I, to make him doubtless, swore A pow’rful oath, to let him reach the shore Of ships and tents before Troy understood, I could not force on him his proper good. But then I bath’d and sooth’d him, and he then Confess’d, and told me all; and, having slain A number of the Trojan guards, retir’d, And reach’d the fleet, for sleight and force admir’d. Their husbands’ deaths by him the Trojan wives Shriek’d for; but I made triumphs for their lives, For then my heart conceiv’d, that once again I should reach home; and yet did still retain Woe for the slaughters Venus made for me, When both my husband, my Hermione, And bridal room, she robb’d of so much right, And drew me from my country with her sleight, Though nothing under heaven I here did need, That could my fancy or my beauty feed.”
Her husband said: “Wife! what you please to tell Is true at all parts, and becomes you well; And I myself, that now may say have seen The minds and manners of a world of men, And great heroes, measuring many a ground, Have never, by these eyes that light me, found One with a bosom so to be belov’d, As that in which th’ accomplish’d spirit mov’d Of patient Ulysses. What, brave man, He both did act, and suffer, when he wan The town of Ilion, in the brave-built horse, When all we chief states of the Grecian force Were hous’d together, bringing death and Fate Amongst the Trojans, you, wife, may relate; For you, at last, came to us; God, that would The Trojans’ glory give, gave charge you should Approach the engine; and Deiphobus, The god-like, follow’d. Thrice ye circled us With full survey of it; and often tried The hollow crafts that in it were implied.[4] When all the voices of their wives in it You took on you with voice so like and fit, And ev’ry man by name so visited, That I, Ulysses, the king Diomed, (Set in the midst, and hearing how you call’d) Tydides, and myself (as half appall’d With your remorseful plaints) would passing fain Have broke our silence, rather than again Endure, respectless, their so moving cries. But Ithacus our strongest phantasies Contain’d within us from the slenderest noise, And ev’ry man there sat without a voice. Anticlus only would have answer’d thee, But his speech Ithacus incessantly With strong hand held in, till, Minerva’s call Charging thee off, Ulysses sav’d us all.”
Telemachus replied: “Much greater is My grief, for hearing this high praise of his. For all this doth not his sad death divert, Nor can, though in him swell’d an iron heart. Prepare, and lead then, if you please, to rest: Sleep, that we hear not, will content us best.” Then Argive Helen made her handmaid go, And put fair bedding in the portico, Lay purple blankets on, rugs warm and soft, And cast an arras coverlet aloft.
They torches took, made haste, and made the bed; When both the guests were to their lodgings led Within a portico without the house. Atrides, and his large-train-wearing spouse, The excellent of women, for the way, In a retir’d receit, together lay. The Morn arose; the king rose, and put on His royal weeds, his sharp sword hung upon His ample shoulders, forth his chamber went, And did the person of a God present.
Telemachus accosts him, who begun Speech of his journey’s proposition:
“And what, my young Ulyssean heroë, Provok’d thee on the broad back of the sea, To visit Lacedæmon the divine? Speak truth, some public [good] or only thine?”
“I come,” said he, “to hear, if any fame Breath’d of my father to thy notice came. My house is sack’d, my fat works of the field Are all destroy’d; my house doth nothing yield But enemies, that kill my harmless sheep, And sinewy oxen, nor will ever keep Their steels without them. And these men are they That woo my mother, most inhumanly Committing injury on injury. To thy knees therefore I am come, t’ attend Relation of the sad and wretched end My erring father felt, if witness’d by Your own eyes, or the certain news that fly From others’ knowledges. For, more than is The usual heap of human miseries, His mother bore him to. Vouchsafe me then, Without all ruth of what I can sustain, The plain and simple truth of all you know. Let me beseech so much, if ever vow Was made, and put in good effect to you, At Troy, where suff’rance bred you so much smart, Upon my father good Ulysses’ part, And quit it now to me (himself in youth) Unfolding only the uncloséd truth.”
He, deeply sighing, answer’d him: “O shame, That such poor vassals should affect the fame To share the joys of such a worthy’s bed! As when a hind, her calves late farrowéd, To give suck, enters the bold lion’s den, He roots of hills and herby vallies then For food (there feeding) hunting; but at length Returning to his cavern, gives his strength The lives of both the mother and her brood In deaths indecent; so the Wooers’ blood Must pay Ulysses’ pow’rs as sharp an end. O would to Jove, Apollo, and thy friend The wise Minerva, that thy father were As once he was, when he his spirits did rear Against Philomelides, in a fight Perform’d in well-built Lesbos, where, down-right He strook the earth with him, and gat a shout Of all the Grecians! O, if now full out He were as then, and with the Wooers coped, Short-liv’d they all were, and their nuptials hoped Would prove as desp’rate. But, for thy demand Enforc’d with pray’rs, I’ll let thee understand The truth directly, nor decline a thought, Much less deceive, or sooth thy search in ought; But what the old and still-true-spoken God, That from the sea breathes oracles abroad, Disclos’d to me, to thee I’ll all impart, Nor hide one word from thy sollicitous heart.
I was in Ægypt, where a mighty time The Gods detain’d me, though my natural clime I never so desir’d, because their homes I did not greet with perfect hecatombs. For they will put men evermore in mind, How much their masterly commandments bind.
There is, besides, a certain island, call’d Pharos, that with the high-wav’d sea is wall’d, Just against Ægypt, and so much remote, As in a whole day, with a fore-gale smote, A hollow ship can sail. And this isle bears A port most portly, where sea-passengers Put in still for fresh water, and away To sea again. Yet here the Gods did stay My fleet full twenty days; the winds, that are Masters at sea, no prosp’rous puff would spare To put us off; and all my victuals here Had quite corrupted, as my men’s minds were, Had not a certain Goddess giv’n regard, And pitied me in an estate so hard; And ’twas Idothea, honour’d Proteus’ seed, That old sea-farer. Her mind I make bleed With my compassion, when (walk’d all alone, From all my soldiers, that were ever gone About the isle on fishing with hooks bent; Hunger their bellies on her errand sent) She came close to me, spake, and thus began:
‘Of all men thou art the most foolish man! Or slack in business, or stay’st here of choice, And dost in all thy suff’rances rejoice, That thus long liv’st detain’d here, and no end Canst give thy tarriance? Thou dost much offend The minds of all thy fellows.’ I replied:
‘Whoever thou art of the Deified, I must affirm, that no way with my will I make abode here; but, it seems, some ill The Gods, inhabiting broad heav’n, sustain Against my getting off. Inform me then, For Godheads all things know, what God is he That stays my passage from the fishy sea?’
‘Stranger,’ said she, ‘I’ll tell thee true: There lives An old sea-farer in these seas, that gives A true solution of all secrets here, Who deathless Proteus is, th’ Ægyptian peer, Who can the deeps of all the seas exquire, Who Neptune’s priest is, and, they say, the sire That did beget me. Him, if any way Thou couldst inveigle, he would clear display Thy course from hence, and how far off doth lie Thy voyage’s whole scope through Neptune’s sky. Informing thee, O God-preserv’d, beside, If thy desires would so be satisfied, Whatever good or ill hath got event, In all the time thy long and hard course spent, Since thy departure from thy house.’ This said; Again I answer’d: ‘Make the sleights display’d Thy father useth, lest his foresight see, Or his foreknowledge taking note of me, He flies the fixt place of his us’d abode. ’Tis hard for man to countermine with God.’
She straight replied: ‘I’ll utter truth in all: When heav’n’s supremest height the sun doth skall, The old Sea-tell-truth leaves the deeps, and hides Amidst a black storm, when the West Wind chides, In caves still sleeping. Round about him sleep (With short feet swimming forth the foamy deep) The sea-calves, lovely Halosydnes call’d, From whom a noisome odour is exhal’d, Got from the whirl-pools, on whose earth they lie. Here, when the morn illustrates all the sky, I’ll guide, and seat thee in the fittest place For the performance thou hast now in chace. In mean time, reach thy fleet, and choose out three Of best exploit, to go as aids to thee.
But now I’ll show thee all the old God’s sleights: He first will number, and take all the sights Of those his guard, that on the shore arrives. When having view’d, and told them forth by fives, He takes place in their midst, and there doth sleep, Like to a shepherd midst his flock of sheep. In his first sleep, call up your hardiest cheer, Vigour and violence, and hold him there, In spite of all his strivings to be gone. He then will turn himself to ev’ry one Of all things that in earth creep and respire, In water swim, or shine in heav’nly fire. Yet still hold you him firm, and much the more Press him from passing. But when, as before, When sleep first bound his pow’rs, his form ye see, Then cease your force, and th’ old heroë free, And then demand, which heav’n-born it may be That so afflicts you, hind’ring your retreat, And free sea-passage to your native seat.’
This said, she div’d into the wavy seas, And I my course did to my ships address, That on the sands stuck; where arriv’d, we made Our supper ready. Then th’ ambrosian shade Of night fell on us, and to sleep we fell. Rosy Aurora rose; we rose as well, And three of them on whom I most relied, For firm at ev’ry force, I choos’d, and hied Straight to the many-river-servéd seas; And all assistance ask’d the Deities.
Mean time Idothea the sea’s broad breast Embrac’d, and brought for me, and all my rest, Four of the sea-calves’ skins but newly flay’d, To work a wile which she had fashionéd Upon her father. Then, within the sand A covert digging, when these calves should land, She sat expecting. We came close to her; She plac’d us orderly, and made us wear Each one his calf’s skin. But we then must pass A huge exploit. The sea-calves’ savour was So passing sour, they still being bred at seas, It much afflicted us; for who can please To lie by one of these same sea-bred whales? But she preserves us, and to memory calls A rare commodity; she fetch’d to us Ambrosia, that an air most odorous Bears still about it, which she ‘nointed round Our either nosthrils, and in it quite drown’d The nasty whale-smell. Then the great event The whole morn’s date, with spirits patient, We lay expecting. When bright noon did flame, Forth from the sea in shoals the sea-calves came, And orderly, at last lay down and slept Along the sands. And then th’ old Sea-God crept From forth the deeps, and found his fat calves there, Survey’d, and number’d, and came never near The craft we us’d, but told us five for calves. His temples then dis-eas’d with sleep he salves; And in rush’d we, with an abhorréd cry, Cast all our hands about him manfully; And then th’ old Forger all his forms began: First was a lion with a mighty mane, Then next a dragon, a pied panther then, A vast boar next, and suddenly did strain All into water. Last he was a tree, Curl’d all at top, and shot up to the sky.
We, with resolv’d hearts, held him firmly still, When th’ old one (held too strait for all his skill To extricate) gave words, and question’d me:
‘Which of the Gods, O Atreus’ son,’ said he, ‘Advis’d and taught thy fortitude this sleight, To take and hold me thus in my despite?’ ‘What asks thy wish now?’ I replied. ‘Thou know’st. Why dost thou ask? What wiles are these thou show’st? I have within this isle been held for wind A wondrous time, and can by no means find An end to my retention. It hath spent The very heart in me. Give thou then vent To doubts thus bound in me, ye Gods know all, Which of the Godheads doth so foully fall On my addression home, to stay me here, Avert me from my way, the fishy clear Barr’d to my passage?’ He replied: ‘Of force, If to thy home thou wishest free recourse, To Jove, and all the other Deities, Thou must exhibit solemn sacrifice; And then the black sea for thee shall be clear, Till thy lov’d country’s settled reach. But where Ask these rites thy performance? ’Tis a fate To thee and thy affairs appropriate, That thou shalt never see thy friends, nor tread Thy country’s earth, nor see inhabited Thy so magnificent house, till thou make good Thy voyage back to the Ægyptian flood, Whose waters fell from Jove, and there hast giv’n To Jove, and all Gods housed in ample heav’n, Devoted hecatombs, and then free ways Shall open to thee, clear’d of all delays.’ This told he; and, methought, he brake my heart, In such a long and hard course to divert My hope for home, and charge my back retreat As far as Ægypt. I made answer yet: ‘Father, thy charge I’ll perfect; but before Resolve me truly, if their natural shore All those Greeks, and their ships, do safe enjoy, That Nestor and myself left, when from Troy We first rais’d sail? Or whether any died At sea a death unwish’d? Or, satisfied, When war was past, by friends embrac’d, in peace Resign’d their spirits? He made answer: ‘Cease To ask so far. It fits thee not to be So cunning in thine own calamity. Nor seek to learn what learn’d thou shouldst forget. Men’s knowledges have proper limits set, And should not prease into the mind of God. But ’twill not long be, as my thoughts abode, Before thou buy this curious skill with tears. Many of those, whose states so tempt thine ears, Are stoop’d by death, and many left alive, One chief of which in strong hold doth survive, Amidst the broad sea. Two, in their retreat, Are done to death. I list not to repeat Who fell at Troy, thyself was there in fight, But in return swift Ajax lost the light, In his long-oar’d ship. Neptune, yet, awhile Saft him unwrack’d, to the Gyræan isle, A mighty-rock removing from his way. And surely he had ‘scap’d the fatal day, In spite of Pallas, if to that foul deed He in her fane did, (when he ravishéd The Trojan prophetess) he had not here Adjoin’d an impious boast, that he would bear, Despite the Gods, his ship safe through the waves Then rais’d against him. These his impious braves When Neptune heard, in his strong hand he took His massy trident, and so soundly strook The rock Gyræan, that in two it cleft; Of which one fragment on the land he left, The other fell into the troubled seas; At which first rush’d Ajax Oïliades, And split his ship, and then himself afloat Swum on the rough waves of the world’s vast mote, Till having drunk a salt cup for his sin, There perish’d he. Thy brother yet did win The wreath from death, while in the waves they strove, Afflicted by the rev’rend wife of Jove. But when the steep mount of the Malian shore He seem’d to reach, a most tempestuous blore, Far to the fishy world that sighs so sore, Straight ravish’d him again as far away, As to th’ extreme bounds where the Agrians stay, Where first Thyestes dwelt, but then his son Ægisthus Thyestiades liv’d. This done, When his return untouch’d appear’d again, Back turn’d the Gods the wind, and set him then Hard by his house. Then, full of joy, he left His ship, and close t’ his country earth he cleft, Kiss’d it, and wept for joy, pour’d tear on tear, To set so wishedly his footing there. But see, a sentinel that all the year Crafty Ægisthus in a watchtow’r set To spy his landing, for reward as great As two gold talents, all his pow’rs did call To strict remembrance of his charge, and all Discharg’d at first sight, which at first he cast On Agamemnon, and with all his haste Inform’d Ægisthus. He an instant train Laid for his slaughter: Twenty chosen men Of his plebeians he in ambush laid; His other men he charg’d to see purvey’d A feast; and forth, with horse and chariots grac’d, He rode t’ invite him, but in heart embrac’d Horrible welcomes, and to death did bring, With treach’rous slaughter, the unwary king, Receiv’d him at a feast, and, like an ox Slain at his manger, gave him bits and knocks. No one left of Atrides’ train, nor one Sav’d to Ægisthus, but himself alone, All strew’d together there the bloody court.’ This said, my soul he sunk with his report, Flat on the sands I fell, tears spent their store, I light abhorr’d, my heart would live no more. When dry of tears, and tir’d of tumbling there, Th’ old Tell-truth thus my daunted spirits did cheer: ‘No more spend tears nor time, O Atreus’ son, With ceaseless weeping never wish was won, Use uttermost assay to reach thy home, And all unwares upon the murderer come, For torture, taking him thyself alive; Or let Orestes, that should far out-strive Thee in fit vengeance, quickly quit the light Of such a dark soul, and do thou the rite Of burial to him with a funeral feast.’
With these last words I fortified my breast, In which again a gen’rous spring began Of fitting comfort, as I was a man; But, as a brother, I must ever mourn. Yet forth I went, and told him the return Of these I knew; but he had nam’d a third, Held on the broad sea, still with life inspir’d, Whom I besought to know, though likewise dead, And I must mourn alike. He answeréd: ‘He is Laertes’ son; whom I beheld In nymph Calypso’s palace, who compell’d His stay with her, and, since he could not see His country earth, he mourn’d incessantly. For he had neither ship instruct with oars, Nor men to fetch him from those stranger shores. Where leave we him, and to thy self descend, Whom not in Argos Fate nor Death shall end, But the immortal ends of all the earth, So rul’d by them that order death by birth, The fields Elysian, Fate to thee will give; Where Rhadamanthus rules, and where men live A never-troubled life, where snow, nor show’rs, Nor irksome Winter spends his fruitless pow’rs, But from the ocean Zephyr still resumes A constant breath, that all the fields perfumes. Which, since thou marriedst Helen, are thy hire, And Jove himself is by her side thy sire.’ This said; he div’d the deepsome wat’ry heaps; I and my tried men took us to our ships, And worlds of thoughts I varied with my steps. Arriv’d and shipp’d, the silent solemn night And sleep bereft us of our visual light. At morn, masts, sails, rear’d, we sat, left the shores, And beat the foamy ocean with our oars. Again then we the Jove-fall’n flood did fetch, As far as Ægypt; where we did beseech The Gods with hecatombs; whose angers ceast, I tomb’d my brother that I might be blest. All rites perform’d, all haste I made for home, And all the prosp’rous winds about were come, I had the passport now of ev’ry God, And here clos’d all these labours’ period. Here stay then till th’ eleventh or twelfth day’s light, And I’ll dismiss thee well, gifts exquisite Preparing for thee, chariot, horses three, A cup of curious frame to serve for thee To serve th’ immortal Gods with sacrifice, Mindful of me while all suns light thy skies.” He answer’d: “Stay me not too long time here, Though I could sit attending all the year. Nor should my house, nor parents, with desire, Take my affections from you, so on fire With love to hear you are my thoughts; but so My Pylian friends I shall afflict with woe Who mourn ev’n this stay. Whatsoever be The gifts your grace is to bestow on me, Vouchsafe them such as I may bear and save For your sake ever. Horse, I list not have, To keep in Ithaca, but leave them here, To your soil’s dainties, where the broad fields bear Sweet cypers grass, where men-fed lote doth flow, Where wheat-like spelt, and wheat itself, doth grow, Where barley, white, and spreading like a tree; But Ithaca hath neither ground to be, For any length it comprehends, a race To try a horse’s speed, nor any place To make him fat in; fitter far to feed A cliff-bred goat, than raise or please a steed. Of all isles, Ithaca doth least provide Or meads to feed a horse, or ways to ride.” He, smiling, said: “Of good blood art thou, son. What speech, so young! What observatión Hast thou made of the world! I well am pleas’d To change my gifts to thee, as being confess’d Unfit indeed, my store is such I may. Of all my house-gifts then, that up I lay For treasure there, I will bestow on thee The fairest, and of greatest price to me. I will bestow on thee a rich carv’d cup, Of silver all, but all the brims wrought up With finest gold; it was the only thing That the heroical Sidonian king Presented to me, when we were to part At his receipt of me, and ’twas the art Of that great Artist that of heav’n is free; And yet ev’n this will I bestow on thee.” This speech thus ended, guests came, and did bring Muttons, for presents, to the God-like king, And spirit-prompting wine, that strenuous makes. Their riband-wreathed wives brought fruit and cakes. Thus in this house did these their feast apply; And in Ulysses’ house activity The Wooers practis’d; tossing of the spear, The stone, and hurling; thus delighted, where They exercis’d such insolence before, Ev’n in the court that wealthy pavements wore Antinous did still their strifes decide, And he that was in person deified Eurymachus; both ring-leaders of all, For in their virtues they were principal. These by Noëmon, son to Phronius, Were sided now, who made the question thus: “Antinous! Does any friend here know, When this Telemachus returns, or no, From sandy Pylos? He made bold to take My ship with him; of which, I now should make Fit use myself, and sail in her as far As spacious Elis, where of mine there are Twelve delicate mares, and under their sides go Laborious mules, that yet did never know The yoke, nor labour; some of which should bear The taming now, if I could fetch them there.” This speech the rest admir’d, nor dream’d that he Neleïan Pylos ever thought to see, But was at field about his flocks’ survey, Or thought his herdsmen held him so away. Eupitheus son, Antinous, then replied: “When went he, or with what train dignified? Of his selected Ithacensian youth? Prest men, or bond men, were they? Tell the truth. Could he effect this? Let me truly know. To gain thy vessel did he violence show, And us’d her ’gainst thy will? or had her free, When fitting question he had made with thee?” Noëmon answer’d: “I did freely give My vessel to him. Who deserves to live That would do other, when such men as he Did in distress ask? He should churlish be That would deny him. Of our youth the best Amongst the people, to the interest His charge did challenge in them, giving way, With all the tribute all their pow’rs could pay. Their captain, as he took the ship, I knew, Who Mentor was, or God. A Deity’s shew Mask’d in his likeness. But, to think ’twas he, I much admire, for I did clearly see, But yester-morning, God-like Mentor here; Yet th’ other ev’ning he took shipping there, And went for Pylos.” Thus went he for home, And left the rest with envy overcome; Who sat, and pastime left. Eupitheus son, Sad, and with rage his entrails overrun, His eyes like flames, thus interpos’d his speech: “Strange thing! An action of how proud a reach Is here committed by Telemachus! A boy, a child, and we, a sort of us, Vow’d ’gainst his voyage, yet admit it thus! With ship and choice youth of our people too! But let him on, and all his mischief do, Jove shall convert upon himself his pow’rs, Before their ill presum’d he brings on ours. Provide me then a ship, and twenty men To give her manage, that, against again He turns for home, on th’ Ithacensian seas, Or cliffy Samian, I may interprease, Way-lay, and take him, and make all his craft Sail with his ruin for his father saft.” This all applauded, and gave charge to do, Rose, and to greet Ulysses’ house did go. But long time past not, ere Penelope Had notice of their far-fetch’d treachery. Medon the herald told her, who had heard Without the hall how they within conferr’d, And hasted straight to tell it to the queen, Who, from the entry having Medon seen, Prevents him thus: “Now herald, what affair Intend the famous Wooers, in your repair? To tell Ulysses’ maids that they must cease From doing our work, and their banquets dress? I would to heav’n, that, leaving wooing me, Nor ever troubling other company, Here might the last feast be, and most extreme, That ever any shall address for them. They never meet but to consent in spoil, And reap the free fruits of another’s toil. O did they never, when they children were, What to their fathers was Ulysses, hear? Who never did ’gainst anyone proceed With unjust usage, or in word or deed? ’Tis yet with other kings another right, One to pursue with love, another spite; He still yet just, nor would, though might, devour, Nor to the worst did ever taste of pow’r. But their unrul’d acts show their minds’ estate. Good turns receiv’d once, thanks grow out of date.” Medon, the learn’d in wisdom, answer’d her: “I wish, O queen, that their ingratitudes were Their worst ill towards you; but worse by far, And much more deadly, their endeavours are, Which Jove will fail them in. Telemachus Their purpose is, as he returns to us, To give their sharp steels in a cruel death; Who now is gone to learn, if fame can breathe News of his sire, and will the Pylian shore, And sacred Sparta, in his search explore.” This news dissolv’d to her both knees and heart, Long silence held her ere one word would part, Her eyes stood full of tears, her small soft voice All late use lost; that yet at last had choice Of wonted words, which briefly thus she us’d: “Why left my son his mother? Why refus’d His wit the solid shore, to try the seas, And put in ships the trust of his distress, That are at sea to men unbridled horse, And run, past rule, their far-engagéd course, Amidst a moisture past all mean unstaid? No need compell’d this. Did he it, afraid To live and leave posterity his name?” “I know not,” he replied, “if th’ humour came From current of his own instinct, or flow’d From others’ instigations; but he vow’d Attempt to Pylos, or to see descried His sire’s return, or know what death he died.” This said, he took him to Ulysses’ house After the Wooers; the Ulyssean spouse, Run through with woes, let Torture seize her mind, Nor in her choice of state chairs stood inclin’d To take her seat, but th’ abject threshold chose Of her fair chamber for her loath’d repose, And mourn’d most wretch-like. Round about her fell Her handmaids, join’d in a continuate yell. From ev’ry corner of the palace, all Of all degrees tun’d to her comfort’s fall Their own dejections; to whom her complaint She thus enforc’d: “The Gods, beyond constraint Of any measure, urge these tears on me; Nor was there ever dame of my degree So past degree griev’d. First, a lord so good, That had such hardy spirits in his blood, That all the virtues was adorn’d withall, That all the Greeks did their superior call, To part with thus, and lose! And now a son, So worthily belov’d, a course to run Beyond my knowledge; whom rude tempests have Made far from home his most inglorious grave! Unhappy wenches, that no one of all (Though in the reach of ev’ry one must fall His taking ship) sustain’d the careful mind, To call me from my bed, who this design’d And most vow’d course in him had either stay’d, How much soever hasted, or dead laid He should have left me. Many a man I have, That would have call’d old Dolius my slave, (That keeps my orchard, whom my father gave At my departure) to have run, and told Laertes this; to try if he could hold From running through the people, and from tears, In telling them of these vow’d murderers; That both divine Ulysses’ hope, and his, Resolv’d to end in their conspiracies.” His nurse then, Euryclea, made reply: “Dear sov’reign, let me with your own hands die, Or cast me off here, I’ll not keep from thee One word of what I know. He trusted me With all his purpose, and I gave him all The bread and wine for which he pleas’d to call. But then a mighty oath he made me swear, Not to report it to your royal ear Before the twelfth day either should appear, Or you should ask me when you heard him gone. Impair not then your beauties with your moan, But wash, and put untear-stain’d garments on, Ascend your chamber with your ladies here, And pray the seed of goat-nurs’d Jupiter, Divine Athenia, to preserve your son, And she will save him from confusión, Th’ old king, to whom your hopes stand so inclin’d For his grave counsels, you perhaps may find Unfit affected, for his age’s sake. But heav’n-kings wax not old, and therefore make Fit pray’rs to them; for my thoughts never will Believe the heav’nly Pow’rs conceit so ill The seed of righteous Arcesiades, To end it utterly, but still will please In some place evermore some one of them To save, and deck him with a diadem, Give him possession of erected tow’rs, And far-stretch’d fields, crown’d all of fruits and flowr’s.” This eas’d her heart, and dried her humorous eyes, When having wash’d, and weeds of sacrifice Pure, and unstain’d with her distrustful tears, Put on, with all her women-ministers Up to a chamber of most height she rose, And cakes of salt and barley did impose Within a wicker basket; all which broke In decent order, thus she did invoke: “Great Virgin of the goat-preservéd God, If ever the inhabited abode Of wise Ulysses held the fatted thighs Of sheep and oxen, made thy sacrifice By his devotion, hear me, nor forget His pious services, but safe see set His dear son on these shores, and banish hence These Wooers past all mean in insolence.” This said, she shriek’d, and Pallas heard her pray’r. The Wooers broke with tumult all the air About the shady house; and one of them, Whose pride his youth had made the more extreme, Said: “Now the many-wooer-honour’d queen Will surely satiate her delayful spleen, And one of us in instant nuptials take. Poor dame, she dreams not, what design we make Upon the life and slaughter of her son.” So said he; but so said was not so done; Whose arrogant spirit in a vaunt so vain Antinous chid, and said: “For shame, contain These braving speeches. Who can tell who hears? Are we not now in reach of others’ ears? If our intentions please us, let us call Our spirits up to them, and let speeches fall. By watchful danger men must silent go. What we resolve on, let’s not say, but do.” This said, he choos’d out twenty men, that bore Best reckoning with him, and to ship and shore All hasted, reach’d the ship, launch’d, rais’d the mast, Put sails in, and with leather loops made fast The oars; sails hoisted, arms their men did bring, All giving speed and form to ev’rything. Then to the high deeps their rigg’d vessel driven, They supp’d, expecting the approaching even. Mean space, Penelope her chamber kept And bed, and neither eat, nor drank, nor slept, Her strong thoughts wrought so on her blameless son, Still in contention, if he should be done To death, or ‘scape the impious Wooers’ design. Look how a lion, whom men-troops combine To hunt, and close him in a crafty ring, Much varied thought conceives, and fear doth sting For urgent danger; so far’d she, till sleep All juncture of her joints and nerves did steep In his dissolving humour. When, at rest, Pallas her favours varied, when addrest An idol, that Iphthima did present In structure of her ev’ry lineament,[5] Great-soul’d Icarius’ daughter, whom for spouse Eumelus took, that kept in Pheris’ house. This to divine Ulysses’ house she sent, To try her best mean how she might content Mournful Penelope, and make relent The strict addiction in her to deplore. This idol, like a worm, that less or more[6] Contracts or strains her, did itself convey, Beyond the wards or windings of the key, Into the chamber, and, above her head Her seat assuming, thus she comforted Distress’d Penelope: “Doth sleep thus seize Thy pow’rs, affected with so much dis-ease? The Gods, that nothing troubles, will not see Thy tears nor griefs, in any least degree, Sustain’d with cause, for they will guard thy son Safe to his wish’d and native mansión. Since he is no offender of their states, And they to such are firmer than their fates.” The wise Penelope receiv’d her thus, Bound with a slumber most delicious, And in the port of dreams: “O sister, why Repair you hither, since so far off lie Your house and household? You were never here Before this hour, and would you now give cheer To my so many woes and miseries, Affecting fitly all the faculties My soul and mind hold, having lost before A husband, that of all the virtues bore The palm amongst the Greeks, and whose renown So ample was that Fame the sound hath blown Through Greece and Argos to her very heart? And now again, a son, that did convert My whole pow’rs to his love, by ship is gone; A tender plant, that yet was never grown To labour’s taste, nor the commerce of men; For whom more than my husband I complain, And lest he should at any suff’rance touch (Or in the sea, or by the men so much Estrang’d to him that must his consorts be) Fear and chill tremblings shake each joint of me. Besides, his danger sets on foes profess’d To way-lay his return, that have address’d Plots for his death.” The scarce-discernéd Dream, Said: “Be of comfort, nor fears so extreme Let thus dismay thee; thou hast such a mate Attending thee, as some at any rate Would wish to purchase, for her pow’r is great; Minerva pities thy delights’ defeat, Whose grace hath sent me to foretell thee these.” “If thou,” said she, “be of the Goddesses, And heardst her tell thee these, thou mayst as well From her tell all things else. Deign then to tell, If yet the man to all misfortunes born, My husband, lives, and sees the sun adorn The darksome earth, or hides his wretched head In Pluto’s house, and lives amongst the dead?” “I will not,” she replied, “my breath exhale In one continued and perpetual tale, Lives he or dies he. ’Tis a filthy use, To be in vain and idle speech profuse.” This said, she, through the key-hole of the door, Vanish’d again into the open blore. Icarius’ daughter started from her sleep, And Joy’s fresh humour her lov’d breast did steep, When now so clear, in that first watch of night, She saw the seen Dream vanish from her sight. The Wooers’ ship the sea’s moist waves did ply, And thought the prince a haughty death should die. There lies a certain island in the sea, Twixt rocky Samos and rough Ithaca, That cliffy is itself, and nothing great, Yet holds convenient havens that two ways let Ships in and out, call’d Asteris; and there The Wooers hop’d to make their massacre.
FINIS LIBRI QUARTI HOM. ODYSS.
[1] Αακεδαἰμονα κητὠσσαν which is expounded Spartam amplam, or πεγἀλην magnam; where κητὠεσσαν signifies properly plurima cete nutrientem.Return to passage
[2] Μολπης ἐ ἄρχοντες Cantum auspicantes: of which place, the critics affirm that saltatores motu suo indicant cantori quo genere cantus saltaturi forent. The rapture of Eteoneus at sight of Telemachus and Pisistratus.Return to passage
[3] Telemachus to Pisistratus, in observation of the house, not so much that he heartily admired it, as to please Menelaus, who he knew heard, though he seemed desirous he should not hear.Return to passage
[4] Helen counterfeited the wives’ voices of those kings of Greece that were in the wooden horse, and calls their husbands.Return to passage
[5] Δἐμας, membrorum structura.Return to passage
[6] Παρἁ κληîδος ἱμἀντα. Ιμἀς, affectus curculionis significat quod longior et gracilior evaserit.Return to passage
The Fifth Book: OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS
THE ARGUMENT
A second Court on Jove attends; Who Hermes to Calypso sends, Commanding her to clear the ways Ulysses sought; and she obeys. When Neptune saw Ulysses free, And so in safety plough the sea, Enrag’d, he ruffles up the waves, And splits his ship. Leucothea saves His person yet, as being a Dame Whose Godhead govern’d in the frame Of those seas’ tempers. But the mean, By which she curbs dread Neptune’s spleen, Is made a jewel, which she takes From off her head, and that she makes Ulysses on his bosom wear, About his neck, she ties it there, And, when he is with waves beset, Bids wear it as an amulet, Commanding him, that not before He touch’d upon Phæacia’s shore, He should not part with it, but then Return it to the sea again, And cast it from him. He performs; Yet, after this, bides bitter storms, And in the rocks sees death engrav’d, But on Phæacia’s shore is sav’d.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
E. Ulysses builds A ship; and gains The glassy fields; Pays Neptune pains.
Aurora rose from high-born Tithon’s bed, That men and Gods might be illustrated, And then the Deities sat. Imperial Jove, That makes the horrid murmur beat above, Took place past all, whose height for ever springs, And from whom flowers th’ eternal pow’r of things. Then Pallas, mindful of Ulysses, told The many cares that in Calypso’s hold He still sustain’d, when he had felt before So much affliction, and such dangers more. “O Father,” said she, “and ye Ever-blest, Give never king hereafter interest In any aid of yours, by serving you, By being gentle, human, just, but grow Rude, and for ever scornful of your rights, All justice ord’ring by their appetites, Since he, that rul’d as it in right behov’d, That all his subjects as his children lov’d, Finds you so thoughtless of him and his birth. Thus men begin to say, ye rule in earth, And grudge at what ye let him undergo, Who yet the least part of his suff’rance know: Thrall’d in an island, shipwrack’d in his tears, And, in the fancies that Calypso bears, Bound from his birthright, all his shipping gone, And of his soldiers not retaining one. And now his most-lov’d son’s life doth inflame Their slaught’rous envies; since his father’s fame He puts in pursuit, and is gone as far As sacred Pylos, and the singular Dame-breeding Sparta.” This, with this reply, The Cloud-assembler answer’d: “What words fly Thine own remembrance, daughter? Hast not thou The counsel giv’n thyself, that told thee how Ulysses shall with his return address His Wooers wrong? And, for the safe access His son shall make to his innative port, Do thou direct it, in as curious sort As thy wit serves thee; it obeys thy pow’rs; And in their ship return the speedless Wooers.” Then turn’d he to his issue Mercury, And said: “Thou hast made good our ambassy To th’ other Statists, to the Nymph then now, On whose fair head a tuft of gold doth grow, Bear our true-spoken counsel, for retreat Of patient Ulysses; who shall get No aid from us, nor any mortal man, But in a patch’d-up skiff (built as he can,[1] And suff’ring woes enough) the twentieth day At fruitful Scheria let him breathe his way, With the Phæacians, that half Deities live, Who like a God will honour him, and give His wisdom clothes, and ship, and brass, and gold, More than for gain of Troy he ever told; Where, at the whole division of the prey, If he a saver were, or got away Without a wound, if he should grudge, ’twas well. But th’ end shall crown all; therefore Fate will deal So well with him, to let him land, and see His native earth, friends, house, and family.” Thus charg’d he; nor Argicides denied, But to his feet his fair wing’d shoes he tied, Ambrosian, golden, that in his command Put either sea, or the unmeasur’d land, With pace as speedy as a puft of wind. Then up his rod went, with which he declin’d The eyes of any waker, when he pleas’d, And any sleeper, when he wish’d, diseas’d. This took; he stoop’d Pieria, and thence Glid through the air, and Neptune’s confluence Kiss’d as he flew, and check’d the waves as light As any sea-mew in her fishing flight, Her thick wings sousing in the savory seas. Like her, he pass’d a world of wilderness; But when the far-off isle he touch’d, he went Up from the blue sea to the continent, And reach’d the ample cavern of the Queen, Whom he within found, without seldom seen. A sun-like fire upon the hearth did flame, The matter precious, and divine the frame, Of cedar cleft and incense was the pile, That breath’d an odour round about the isle. Herself was seated in an inner room, Whom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loom, About a curious web, whose yarn she threw In with a golden shittle. A grove grew In endless spring about her cavern round, With odorous cypress, pines, and poplars, crown’d, Where hawks, sea-owls, and long-tongued bittours bred, And other birds their shady pinions spread; All fowls maritimal; none roosted there, But those whose labours in the waters were. A vine did all the hollow cave embrace, Still green, yet still ripe bunches gave it grace. Four fountains, one against another, pour’d Their silver streams; and meadows all enflower’d With sweet balm-gentle, and blue-violets hid, That deck’d the soft breasts of each fragrant mead. Should anyone, though he immortal were, Arrive and see the sacred objects there, He would admire them, and be over-joy’d; And so stood Hermes’ ravish’d pow’rs employ’d, But having all admir’d, he enter’d on The ample cave, nor could be seen unknown Of great Calypso (for all Deities are Prompt in each other’s knowledge, though so far Sever’d in dwellings) but he could not see Ulysses there within; without was he, Set sad ashore, where ’twas his use to view Th’ unquiet sea, sigh’d, wept, and empty drew His heart of comfort. Plac’d here in her throne, That beams cast up to admiratión, Divine Calypso question’d Hermes thus: “For what cause, dear, and much-esteem’d by us, Thou golden-rod-adorned Mercury, Arriv’st thou here? Thou hast not us’d t’ apply Thy passage this way. Say, whatever be Thy heart’s desire, my mind commands it thee, If in my means it lie, or pow’r of fact. But first, what hospitable rites exact, Come yet more near, and take.” This said, she set A table forth, and furnish’d it with meat, Such as the Gods taste; and serv’d in with it Vermilion nectar. When with banquet fit He had confirm’d his spirits, he thus exprest His cause of coming: “Thou hast made request, Goddess of Goddesses, to understand My cause of touch here; which thou shalt command, And know with truth: Jove caus’d my course to thee Against my will, for who would willingly Lackey along so vast a lake of brine, Near to no city that the Pow’rs divine Receives with solemn rites and hecatombs? But Jove’s will ever all law overcomes, No other God can cross or make it void; And he affirms, that one the most annoy’d With woes and toils of all those men that fought For Priam’s city, and to end hath brought Nine years in the contention, is with thee. For in the tenth year, when roy victory Was won to give the Greeks the spoil of Troy, Return they did profess, but not enjoy, Since Pallas they incens’d, and she the waves By all the winds’ pow’r, that blew ope their graves. And there they rested. Only this poor one This coast both winds and waves have cast upon; Whom now forthwith he wills thee to dismiss, Affirming that th’ unalter’d Destinies Not only have decreed he shall not die Apart his friends, but of necessity Enjoy their sights before those fatal hours, His country earth reach, and erected tow’rs.” This struck a love-check’d horror through her pow’rs, When, naming him, she this reply did give: “Insatiate are ye Gods, past all that live, In all things you affect; which still converts Your pow’rs to envies. It afflicts your hearts, That any Goddess should, as you obtain The use of earthly dames, enjoy the men, And most in open marriage. So ye far’d, When the delicious-finger’d Morning shar’d Orion’s bed; you easy-living States Could never satisfy your emulous hates, Till in Ortygia the precise-liv’d Dame, Gold-thron’d Diana, on him rudely came, And with her swift shafts slew him. And such pains, When rich-hair’d Ceres pleas’d to give the reins To her affections, and the grace did yield Of love and bed, amidst a three-cropp’d field, To her Iasion, he paid angry Jove, Who lost no long time notice of their love, But with a glowing lightning was his death. And now your envies labour underneath A mortal’s choice of mine; whose life I took To lib’ral safety, when his ship Jove strook, With red-hot flashes, piece-meal in the seas, And all his friends and soldiers succourless Perish’d but he. Him, cast upon this coast With blasts and billows, I, in life giv’n lost, Preserv’d alone, lov’d, nourish’d, and did vow To make him deathless, and yet never grow Crooked, or worn with age, his whole life long. But since no reason may be made so strong To strive with Jove’s will, or to make it vain, No not if all the other Gods should strain Their pow’rs against it, let his will be law, So he afford him fit means to withdraw, As he commands him, to the raging main. But means from me he never shall obtain, For my means yield nor men, nor ship, nor oars, To set him off from my so envied shores. But if my counsel and good will can aid His safe pass home, my best shall be assay’d.” “Vouchsafe it so,” said heav’n’s ambassador, “And deign it quickly. By all means abhor T’ incense Jove’s wrath against thee, that with grace He may hereafter all thy wish embrace.” Thus took the Argus-killing God his wings. And since the rev’rend Nymph these awful things Receiv’d from Jove, she to Ulysses went; Whom she ashore found, drown’d in discontent, His eyes kept never dry he did so mourn, And waste his dear age for his wish’d return; Which still without the cave he us’d to do, Because he could not please the Goddess so, At night yet, forc’d, together took their rest, The willing Goddess and th’ unwilling Guest; But he all day in rocks, and on the shore, The vex’d sea view’d, and did his fate deplore. Him, now, the Goddess coming near bespake: “Unhappy man, no more discomfort take For my constraint of thee, nor waste thine age, I now will passing freely disengage Thy irksome stay here. Come then, fell thee wood, And build a ship, to save thee from the flood. I’ll furnish thee with fresh wave, bread, and wine Ruddy and sweet, that will the piner pine,[2] Put garments on thee, give the winds foreright, That ev’ry way thy home-bent appetite May safe attain to it; if so it please At all parts all the heav’n-hous’d Deities, That more in pow’r are, more in skill, than I, And more can judge what fits humanity.” He stood amaz’d at this strange change in her, And said: “O Goddess! Thy intents prefer Some other project than my parting hence, Commanding things of too high consequence For my performance, that myself should build A ship of pow’r, my home-assays to shield Against the great sea of such dread to pass; Which not the best-built ship that ever was Will pass exulting, when such winds, as Jove Can thunder up, their trims and tacklings prove. But could I build one, I would ne’er aboard, Thy will oppos’d, nor, won, without thy word, Giv’n in the great oath of the Gods to me, Not to beguile me in the least degree.” The Goddess smil’d, held hard his hand, and said: “O y’ are a shrewd one, and so habited In taking heed thou know’st not what it is To be unwary, nor use words amiss. How hast thou charm’d me, were I ne’er so sly! Let earth know then, and heav’n, so broad, so high, And th’ under-sunk waves of th’ infernal stream, (Which is an oath, as terribly supreme, As any God swears) that I had no thought But stood with what I spake, nor would have wrought, Nor counsell’d, any act against thy good; But ever diligently weigh’d, and stood On those points in persuading thee, that I Would use myself in such extremity. For my mind simple is, and innocent, Not giv’n by cruel sleights to circumvent, Nor bear I in my breast a heart of steel, But with the suff’rer willing suff’rance feel.” This said, the Grace of Goddesses led home, He trac’d her steps; and, to the cavern come, In that rich throne, whence Mercury arose, He sat. The Nymph herself did then appose, For food and bev’rage, to him all best meat And drink, that mortals use to taste and eat. Then sat she opposite, and for her feast Was nectar and ambrosia addrest By handmaids to her. Both, what was prepar’d, Did freely fall to. Having fitly far’d, The Nymph Calypso this discourse began: “Jove-bred Ulysses! Many-witted man! Still is thy home so wish’d? So soon, away? Be still of cheer, for all the worst I say. But, if thy soul knew what a sum of woes, For thee to cast up, thy stern Fates impose, Ere to thy country earth thy hopes attain, Undoubtedly thy choice would here remain, Keep house with me, and be a liver ever. Which, methinks, should thy house and thee dissever, Though for thy wife there thou art set on fire, And all thy days are spent in her desire; And though it be no boast in me to say In form and mind I match her ev’ry way. Nor can it fit a mortal dame’s compare, T’ affect those terms with us that deathless are.” The great-in-counsels made her this reply: “Renown’d, and to be rev’renc’d, Deity! Let it not move thee, that so much I vow My comforts to my wife; though well I know All cause myself why wise Penelope In wit is far inferior to thee, In feature, stature, all the parts of show, She being a mortal, an immortal thou, Old ever growing, and yet never old. Yet her desire shall all my days see told, Adding the sight of my returning day, And natural home. If any God shall lay His hand upon me as I pass the seas, I’ll bear the worst of what his hand shall please, As having giv’n me such a mind as shall The more still rise the more his hand lets fall. In wars and waves my suff’rings were not small. I now have suffer’d much, as much before, Hereafter let as much result, and more.” This said, the sun set, and earth shadows gave; When these two (in an in-room of the cave, Left to themselves) left love no rites undone. The early Morn up, up he rose, put on His in and out weed. She herself enchaces Amidst a white robe, full of all the Graces, Ample, and pleated thick like fishy scales; A golden girdle then her waist impales; Her head a veil decks; and abroad they come. And now began Ulysses to go home. A great axe first she gave, that two ways cut, In which a fair well-polish’d helm was put, That from an olive bough receiv’d his frame. A plainer then. Then led she, till they came To lofty woods that did the isle confine. The fir-tree, poplar, and heav’n-scaling pine, Had there their offspring. Of which, those that were Of driest matter, and grew longest there, He choos’d for lighter sail. This place thus shown, The Nymph turn’d home. He fell to felling down, And twenty trees he stoop’d in little space, Plain’d, used his plumb, did all with artful grace. In mean time did Calypso wimbles bring. He bor’d, clos’d, nail’d, and order’d ev’ry thing, And look how much a ship-wright will allow A ship of burden (one that best doth know What fits his art) so large a keel he cast, Wrought up her decks, and hatches, side-boards, mast, With willow watlings arm’d her to resist The billows’ outrage, added all she miss’d, Sail-yards, and stern for guide. The Nymph then brought Linen for sails, which with dispatch he wrought, Gables, and halsters, tacklings. All the frame In four days’ space to full perfection came.[3] The fifth day, they dismiss’d him from the shore, Weeds neat, and odorous, gave him, victuals store, Wine, strong waters, and a prosp’rous wind, To which, Ulysses, fit-to-be-divin’d, His sails expos’d, and hoiséd. Off he gat; And cheerful was he. At the stern he sat, And steer’d right artfully. Nor sleep could seize His eye-lids. He beheld the Pleiades; The Bear, surnam’d the Wain, that round doth move About Orion, and keeps still above The billowy ocean; the slow-setting star Bootes call’d, by some the Waggoner. Calypso warn’d him he his course should steer Still to his left hand. Seventeen days did clear The cloudy night’s command in his moist way, And by the eighteenth light he might display The shady hills of the Phæacian shore, For which, as to his next abode, he bore. The country did a pretty figure yield, And look’d from off the dark seas like a shield. Imperious Neptune, making his retreat From th’ Æthiopian earth, and taking seat Upon the mountains of the Solymi, From thence, far off discov’ring, did descry Ulysses his fields ploughing. All on fire The sight straight set his heart, and made desire Of wreak run over, it did boil so high. When, his head nodding; “O impiety,” He cried out, “now the Gods’ inconstancy Is most apparent, alt’ring their designs Since I the Æthiops saw, and here confines To this Ulysses’ fate his misery. The great mark, on which all his hopes rely, Lies in Phæacia. But I hope he shall Feel woe at height, ere that dead calm befall.” This said; he, begging, gather’d clouds from land,[4] Frighted the seas up, snatch’d into his hand His horrid trident, and aloft did toss, Of all the winds, all storms he could engross, All earth took into sea with clouds, grim Night Fell tumbling headlong from the cope of light, The East and South winds justled in the air, The violent Zephyr, and North making-fair, Roll’d up the waves before them. And then bent Ulysses’ knees, then all his spirit was spent. In which despair, he thus spake: “Woe is me! What was I born to, man of misery! Fear tells me now, that, all the Goddess said, Truth’s self will author, that Fate would be paid Grief’s whole sum due from me, at sea, before I reach’d the dear touch of my country’s shore. With what clouds Jove heav’n’s heighten’d forehead binds! How tyrannize the wraths of all the winds! How all the tops he bottoms with the deeps, And in the bottoms all the tops he steeps! Thus dreadful is the presence of our death. Thrice four times blest were they that sunk beneath Their fates at Troy, and did to nought contend But to renown Atrides with their end! I would to God, my hour of death and fate That day had held the’ pow’r to terminate, When show’rs of darts my life bore undepress’d About divine Æacides deceas’d! Then had I been allotted to have died, By all the Greeks with fun’rals glorified, (Whence death, encouraging good life, had grown) Where now I die, by no man mourn’d nor known.” This spoke, a huge wave took him by the head, And hurl’d him o’er board; ship and all it laid Inverted quite amidst the waves, but he Far off from her sprawl’d, strow’d about the sea, His stern still holding broken off, his mast Burst in the midst, so horrible a blast Of mix’d winds struck it. Sails and sail-yards fell Amongst the billows; and himself did dwell A long time under water, nor could get In haste his head out, wave with wave so met In his depression; and his garments too, Giv’n by Calypso, gave him much to do, Hind’ring his swimming; yet he left not so His drenchéd vessel, for the overthrow Of her nor him, but gat at length again, Wrastling with Neptune, hold of her; and then Sat in her bulk, insulting over death, Which, with the salt stream prest to stop his breath, He ’scap’d, and gave the sea again to give To other men. His ship so striv’d to live, Floating at random, cuff’d from wave to wave. As you have seen the North wind when he drave In autumn heaps of thorn-fed grasshoppers Hither and thither, one heap this way bears, Another that, and makes them often meet in his confus’d gales; so Ulysses’ fleet The winds hurl’d up and down; now Boreas Toss’d it to Notus, Notus gave it pass To Eurus, Eurus Zephyr made pursue The horrid tennis. This sport call’d the view Of Cadmus’ daughter, with the narrow heel, Ino Leucothea, that first did feel A mortal dame’s desires, and had a tongue, But now had th’ honour to be nam’d among The marine Godheads. She with pity saw Ulysses justled thus from flaw to flaw, And, like a cormorant in form and flight, Rose from a whirl-pool, on the ship did light, And thus bespake him: “Why is Neptune thus In thy pursuit extremely furious, Oppressing thee with such a world of ill, Ev’n to thy death? He must not serve his will, Though ’tis his study. Let me then advise As my thoughts serve; thou shalt not be unwise To leave thy weeds and ship to the commands Of these rude winds, and work out with thy hands Pass to Phæacia, where thy austere Fate Is to pursue thee with no more such hate. Take here this tablet, with this riband strung, And see it still about thy bosom hung; By whose eternal virtue never fear To suffer thus again, nor perish here. But when thou touchest with thy hand the shore, Then take it from thy neck, nor wear it more, But cast it far off from the continent, And then thy person far ashore present. Thus gave she him the tablet; and again, Turn’d to a cormorant, div’d, past sight, the main. Patient Ulysses sigh’d at this, and stuck In the conceit of such fair-spoken luck, And said: “Alas! I must suspect ev’n this, Lest any other of the Deities Add sleight to Neptune’s force, to counsel me To leave my vessel, and so far off see The shore I aim at. Not with thoughts too clear Will I obey her, but to me appear These counsels best: As long as I perceive My ship not quite dissolv’d, I will not leave The help she may afford me, but abide, And suffer all woes till the worst be tried. When she is split, I’ll swim. No miracle can, Past near and clear means, move a knowing man.” While this discourse employ’d him, Neptune rais’d A huge, a high, and horrid sea, that seiz’d Him and his ship, and toss’d them through the lake. As when the violent winds together take Heaps of dry chaff, and hurl them ev’ry way; So his long wood-stack Neptune strook astray Then did Ulysses mount on rib, perforce, Like to a rider of a running horse, To stay himself a time, while he might shift His drenched weeds, that were Calypso’s gift. When putting straight Leucothea’s amulet About his neck, he all his forces set To swim, and cast him prostrate to the seas. When pow’rful Neptune saw the ruthless prease Of perils siege him thus, he mov’d his head, And this betwixt him and his heart he said: “So, now feel ills enow, and struggle so, Till to your Jove-lov’d islanders you row. But my mind says, you will not so avoid This last task too, but be with suff’rance cloy’d.” This said, his rich-man’d horse he mov’d, and reach’d His house at Ægas. But Minerva fetch’d The winds from sea, and all their ways but one Barr’d to their passage; the bleak North alone She set to blow, the rest she charg’d to keep Their rages in, and bind themselves in sleep. But Boreas still flew high to break the seas, Till Jove-bred Ithacus the more with ease The navigation-skill’d Phæacian states Might make his refuge, Death and angry Fates At length escaping. Two nights, yet, and days He spent in wrastling with the sable seas; In which space, often did his heart propose Death to his eyes. But when Aurora rose, And threw the third light from her orient hair, The winds grew calm, and clear was all the air, Not one breath stirring. Then he might descry, Rais’d by the high seas, clear, and land was nigh. And then, look how to good sons that esteem Their father’s life dear, (after pains extreme, Felt in some sickness, that hath held him long Down to his bed, and with affections strong Wasted his body, made his life his load, As being inflicted by some angry God) When on their pray’rs they see descend at length Health from the heav’ns, clad all in spirit and strength, The sight is precious; so, since here should end Ulysses’ toils, which therein should extend Health to his country, held to him his sire And on which long for him disease did tire, And then, besides, for his own sake to see The shores, the woods so near, such joy had he, As those good sons for their recover’d sire. Then labour’d feet and all parts to aspire To that wish’d continent; which when as near He came, as Clamour might inform an ear, He heard a sound beat from the sea-bred rocks, Against which gave a huge sea horrid shocks, That belch’d upon the firm land weeds and foam, With which were all things hid there, where no room Of fit capacity was for any port, Nor from the sea for any man’s resort, The shores, the rocks, the cliff’s, so prominent were. “O,” said Ulysses then, “now Jupiter Hath giv’n me sight of an unhop’d for shore, Though I have wrought these seas so long, so sore. Of rest yet no place shows the slend’rest prints, The rugged shore so bristled is with flints, Against which ev’ry way the waves so flock, And all the shore shows as one eminent rock, So near which ’tis so deep, that not a sand Is there for any tired foot to stand, Nor fly his death-fast-following miseries, Lest, if he land, upon him foreright flies A churlish wave, to crush him ’gainst a cliff, Worse than vain rend’ring all his landing strife. And should I swim to seek a hav’n elsewhere, Or land less way-beat, I may justly fear I shall be taken with a gale again, And cast a huge way off into the main; And there the great Earth-shaker (having seen My so near landing, and again his spleen Forcing me to him) will some whale send out, (Of which a horrid number here about His Amphitrite breeds) to swallow me. I well have prov’d, with what malignity He treads my steps.” While this discourse he held, A curs’d surge ’gainst a cutting rock impell’d His naked body, which it gash’d and tore, And had his bones broke, if but one sea more Had cast him on it. But She prompted him, That never fail’d, and bade him no more swim Still off and on, but boldly force the shore, And hug the rock that him so rudely tore; Which he with both hands sigh’d and clasp’d, till past The billow’s rage was; when ’scap’d, back so fast The rock repuls’d it, that it reft his hold, Sucking him from it, and far back he roll’d And as the polypus that (forc’d from home Amidst the soft sea, and near rough land come For shelter ’gainst the storms that beat on her At open sea, as she abroad doth err) A deal of gravel, and sharp little stones, Needfully gathers in her hollow bones; So he forc’d hither by the sharper ill, Shunning the smoother, where he best hop’d, still The worst succeeded; for the cruel friend, To which he cling’d for succour, off did rend From his broad hands the soaken flesh so sore That off he fell, and could sustain no more. Quite under water fell he; and, past fate, Hapless Ulysses there had lost the state He held in life, if, still the grey-eyed Maid His wisdom prompting, he had not assay’d Another course, and ceas’d t’ attempt that shore, Swimming, and casting round his eye t’ explore Some other shelter. Then the mouth he found Of fair Callicoe’s flood, whose shores were crown’d With most apt succours: rocks so smooth they seem’d Polish’d of purpose; land that quite redeem’d With breathless coverts th’ others’ blasted shores. The flood he knew, and thus in heart implores: “King of this river, hear! Whatever name Makes thee invok’d, to thee I humbly frame My flight from Neptune’s furies. Rev’rend is To all the ever-living Deities What erring man soever seeks their aid. To thy both flood and knees a man dismay’d With varied suff’rance sues. Yield then some rest To him that is thy suppliant profest.” This, though but spoke in thought, the Godhead heard, Her current straight stay’d, and her thick waves clear’d Before him, smooth’d her waters, and, just where He pray’d half-drown’d, entirely sav’d him there. Then forth he came, his both knees falt’ring, both His strong hands hanging down, and all with froth His cheeks and nosthrils flowing, voice and breath Spent to all use, and down he sunk to death. The sea had soak’d his heart through; all his veins His toils had rack’d t’ a labouring woman’s pains.[5] Dead weary was he. But when breath did find A pass reciprocal, and in his mind His spirit was recollected, up he rose, And from his neck did th’ amulet unloose, That Ino gave him; which he hurl’d from him To sea. It sounding fell, and back did swim With th’ ebbing waters, till it straight arriv’d Where Ino’s fair hand it again receiv’d. Then kiss’d he th’ humble earth; and on he goes, Till bulrushes show’d place for his repose, Where laid, he sigh’d, and thus said to his soul: “O me, what strange perplexities control The whole skill of thy pow’rs in this event! What feel I? If till care-nurse night be spent I watch amidst the flood, the sea’s chill breath, And vegetant dews, I fear will be my death, So low brought with my labours. Towards day A passing sharp air ever breathes at sea. If I the pitch of this next mountain scale, And shady wood, and in some thicket fall Into the hands of Sleep, though there the cold May well be check’d, and healthful slumbers hold Her sweet hand on my pow’rs, all care allay’d, Yet there will beasts devour me. Best appaid Doth that course make me yet; for there, some strife, Strength, and my spirit, may make me make for life; Which, though impair’d, may yet be fresh applied, Where peril possible of escape is tried. But he that fights with heav’n, or with the sea, To indiscretion adds impiety.” Thus to the woods he hasted; which he found Not far from sea, but on far-seeing ground, Where two twin underwoods he enter’d on, With olive-trees and oil-trees overgrown; Through which the moist force of the loud-voic’d wind Did never beat, nor ever Phœbus shin’d, Nor show’r beat through, they grew so one in one, And had, by turns, their pow’r t’ exclude the sun. Here enter’d our Ulysses; and a bed Of leaves huge, and of huge abundance, spread With all his speed. Large he made it, for there For two or three men ample cov’rings were, Such as might shield them from the winter’s worst, Though steel it breathed, and blew as it would burst.[6] Patient Ulysses joy’d, that ever day Show’d such a shelter. In the midst he lay, Store of leaves heaping high on ev’ry side. And as in some out-field a man doth hide A kindled brand, to keep the seed of fire, No neighbour dwelling near, and his desire Serv’d with self store, he else would ask of none, But of his fore-spent sparks rakes th’ ashes on; So this out-place Ulysses thus receives, And thus nak’d virtue’s seed lies hid in leaves. Yet Pallas made him sleep as soon as men Whom delicacies all their flatt’ries deign, And all that all his labours could comprise Quickly concluded in his closed eyes.
FINIS LIBRI QUINTI HOM. ODYSS.
[1] ᾽Επἱ σχεδἰης πογυδἐσμον, in rate multis vinculis ligatus.Return to passage
[2] The piner—Hunger.Return to passage
[3] This four day days’ work (you will say) is too much for one man: and Pliny affirms, that Hiero (a king of Sicily) in five-and forty days built two hundred and twenty ships, rigged them, and put to sea with them.Return to passage
[4] Συναγεἰρω—Mendicando colligo.Return to passage
[5] Ὤιδεε of ὠδἰνω ἁ partu doleo.Return to passage
[6] A metaphorical hyperbole, expressing the winter’s extremity of sharpness.Return to passage
The Sixth Book: OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS
THE ARGUMENT
Minerva in a vision stands Before Nausicaa: and commands She to the flood her weeds should bear; For now her nuptial day was near. Nausicaa her charge obeys, And then with other virgins plays. Their sports make wak’d Ulysses rise; Walk to them, and beseech supplies Of food and clothes. His naked sight Puts th’ other maids, afraid, to flight; Nausicaa only boldly stays, And gladly his desire obeys. He, furnish’d with her favour’s shown, Attends her and the rest to town.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Ζη̑τα. Here olive leaves T’ hide shame began, The maid receives The naked man.
The much-sustaining, patient, heav’nly man, Whom Toil and Sleep had worn so weak and wan,[1] Thus won his rest. In mean space Pallas went To the Phæacian city, and descent That first did broad Hyperia’s lands divide, Near the vast Cyclops, men of monstrous pride, That prey’d on those Hyperians, since they were Of greater pow’r; and therefore longer there Divine Nausithous dwelt not, but arose, And did for Scheria all his pow’rs dispose; Far from ingenious art-inventing men But there did he erect a city then, First drew a wall round, then he houses builds, And then a temple to the Gods, the fields Lastly dividing. But he, stoop’d by Fate, Div’d to th’ infernals; and Alcinous sate In his command, a man the Gods did teach Commanding counsels. His house held the reach Of grey Minerva’s project, to provide That great-soul’d Ithacus might be supplied With all things fitting his return. She went Up to the chamber, where the fair descent Of great Alcinous slept; a maid, whose parts In wit and beauty wore divine deserts. Well-deck’d her chamber was; of which the door Did seem to lighten, such a gloss it bore Betwixt the posts, and now flew ope to find The Goddess entry. Like a puft of wind She reach’d the virgin bed; neat which there lay Two maids, to whom the Graces did convey Figure and manners. But above the head Of bright Nausicaa did Pallas tread The subtle air, and put the person on Of Dymas’ daughter, from comparison Exempt in business naval. Like his seed Minerva look’d now; whom one year did breed[2] With bright Nausicaa, and who had gain’d Grace in her love, yet on her thus complain’d: “Nausicaa! Why bred thy mother one So negligent in rites so stood upon By other virgins? Thy fair garments lie Neglected by thee, yet thy nuptials nigh; When rich in all attire both thou shouldst be, And garments give to others honouring thee, That lead thee to the temple. Thy good name Grows amongst men for these things; they inflame Father and rev’rend mother with delight. Come, when the Day takes any wink from Night, Let’s to the river, and repurify Thy wedding garments. My society Shall freely serve thee for thy speedier aid, Because thou shalt no mote stand on the maid. The best of all Phæacia woo thy grace, Where thou wert bred, and ow’st thyself a race. Up, and stir up to thee thy honour’d sire, To give thee mules and coach, thee and thy tire, Veils, girdles, mantles, early to the flood To bear in state. It suits thy high-born blood, And far more fits thee, than to foot so far, For far from town thou know’st the bath-founts are.” This said, away blue-eyed Minerva went Up to Olympus, the firm continent That bears in endless being the Deified kind, That’s neither sous’d with show’rs, nor shook with wind, Nor chill’d with snow, but where Serenity flies Exempt from clouds, and ever-beamy skies Circle the glitt’ring hill, and all their days Give the delights of blesséd Deity praise. And hither Pallas flew, and left the maid, When she had all that might excite her said. Straight rose the lovely Morn, that up did raise Fair-veil’d Nausicaa, whose dream her praise To admiration took; who no time spent To give the rapture of her vision vent To her lov’d parents, whom she found within. Her mother set at fire, who had to spin A rock, whose tincture with sea-purple shin’d; Her maids about her. But she chanc’d to find Her father going abroad, to council call’d By his grave Senate. And to him exhal’d Her smother’d bosom was: “Lov’d sire,” said she,[3] “Will you not now command a coach for me, Stately and cómplete, fit for me to bear To wash at flood the weeds I cannot wear Before repurified? Yourself it fits To wear fair weeds, as ev’ry man that sits In place of council. And five sons you have, Two wed, three bachelors, that must be brave In ev’ry day’s shift, that they may go dance; For these three last with these things must advance Their states in marriage, and who else but I, Their sister, should their dancing rites supply?” This gen’ral cause she show’d, and would not name Her mind of nuptials to her sire, for shame. He understood her yet, and thus replied: “Daughter! nor these, nor any grace beside, I either will deny thee, or defer, Mules, nor a coach, of state and circular, Fitting at all parts. Go, my servants shall Serves thy desires, and thy command in all.” The servants then commanded soon obey’d, Fetch’d coach, and mules join’d in it. Then the Maid Brought from the chamber her rich weeds, and laid All up in coach; in which her mother plac’d A maund of victuals, varied well in taste, And other junkets. Wine she likewise fill’d Within a goat-skin bottle, and distill’d Sweet and moist oil into a golden cruse, Both for her daughter’s, and her handmaid’s, use, To soften their bright bodies, when they rose Cleans’d from their cold baths. Up to coach then goes Th’ observéd Maid, takes both the scourge and reins, And to her side her handmaid straight attains. Nor these alone, but other virgins, grac’d The nuptial chariot. The whole bevy plac’d, Nausicaa scourg’d to make the coach-mules run, That neigh’d, and pac’d their usual speed, and soon Both maids and weeds brought to the river-side, Where baths for all the year their use supplied, Whose waters were so pure they would not stain, But still ran fair forth, and did more remain Apt to purge stains, for that purg’d stain within, Which by the water’s pure store was not seen. These, here arriv’d, the mules uncoach’d, and drave Up to the gulfy river’s shore, that gave Sweet grass to them. The maids from coach then took Their clothes, and steep’d them in the sable brook: Then put them into springs, and trod them clean With cleanly feet; adventuring wagers then Who should have soonest and most cleanly done. When having thoroughly cleans’d, they spread them on The flood’s shore, all in order. And then, where The waves the pebbles wash’d, and ground was clear, They bath’d themselves, and all with glitt’ring oil Smooth’d their white skins; refreshing then their toil With pleasant dinner, by the river-side; Yet still watch’d when the sun their clothes had dried. Till which time, having din’d, Nausicaa With other virgins did at stool-ball play, Their shoulder-reaching head-tires laying by. Nausicaa, with the wrists of ivory, The liking stroke struck, singing first a song, As custom order’d, and amidst the throng Made such a show, and so past all was seen, As when the chaste-born, arrow-loving, Queen, Along the mountains gliding, either over Spartan Taygetus, whose tops far discover, Or Eurymanthus, in the wild boar’s chace, Or swift-hov’d hart, and with her Jove’s fair race, The field Nymphs, sporting; amongst whom, to see How far Diana had priority, Though all were fair, for fairness yet of all, As both by head and forehead being more tall, Latona triumph’d, since the dullest sight Might eas’ly judge whom her pains brought to light; Nausicaa so, whom never husband tam’d, Above them all in all the beauties flam’d. But when they now made homewards, and array’d, Ord’ring their weeds disorder’d as they play’d, Mules and coach ready, then Minerva thought What means to wake Ulysses might be wrought, That he might see this lovely-sighted maid, Whom she intended should become his aid, Bring him to town, and his return advance. Her mean was this, though thought a stool-ball chance:[4] The queen now, for the upstroke, struck the ball Quite wide off th’ other maids, and made it fall Amidst the whirlpools. At which out shriek’d all, And with the shriek did wise Ulysses wake; Who, sitting up, was doubtful who should make That sudden outcry, and in mind thus striv’d: “On what a people am I now arriv’d? At civil hospitable men, that fear The Gods? Or dwell injurious mortals here? Unjust, and churlish? Like the female cry Of youth it sounds. What are they? Nymphs bred high On tops of hills, or in the founts of floods, In herby marshes, or in leafy woods? Or are they high-spoke men I now am near? I’ll prove, and see.” With this, the wary peer Crept forth the thicket, and an olive bough Broke with his broad hand, which he did bestow In covert of his nakedness, and then Put hasty head out. Look how from his den A mountain lion looks, that, all embrued With drops of trees, and weather-beaten-hued, Bold of his strength, goes on, and in his eye A burning furnace glows, all bent to prey On sheep, or oxen, or the upland hart, His belly charging him, and he must part Stakes with the herdsman in his beasts’ attempt, Ev’n where from rape their strengths are most exempt; So wet, so weather-beat, so stung with need, Ev’n to the home-fields of the country’s breed Ulysses was to force forth his access, Though merely naked; and his sight did press The eyes of soft-hair’d virgins. Horrid was His rough appearance to them; the hard pass He had at sea stuck by him. All in flight The virgins scatter’d, frighted with this sight, About the prominent windings of the flood. All but Nausicaa fled; but she fast stood, Pallas had put a boldness in her breast, And in her fair limbs tender fear comprest. And still she stood him, as resolv’d to know What man he was, or out of what should grow His strange repair to them. And here was he Put to his wisdom; if her virgin knee He should be bold, but kneeling, to embrace, Or keep aloof, and try with words of grace, In humblest suppliance, if he might obtain Some cover for his nakedness, and gain Her grace to show and guide him to the town. The last he best thought, to be worth his own, In weighing both well; to keep still aloof, And give with soft words his desires their proof, Lest, pressing so near as to touch her knee, He might incense her maiden modesty. This fair and fil’d speech then shew’d this was he: “Let me beseech, O queen, this truth of thee, Are you of mortal, or the defied, race? If of the Gods, that th’ ample heav’ns embrace, I can resemble you to none above So near as to the chaste-born birth of Jove, The beamy Cynthia. Her you full present, In grace of ev’ry God-like lineament, Her goodly magnitude, and all th’ address You promise of her very perfectness. If sprung of humans, that inhabit earth, Thrice blest are both the authors of your birth, Thrice blest your brothers, that in your deserts Must, ev’n to rapture, bear delighted hearts, To see, so like the first trim of a tree, Your form adorn a dance. But most blest he, Of all that breathe, that hath the gift t’ engage Your bright neck in the yoke of marriage, And deck his house with your commanding merit I have not seen a man of so much spirit, Nor man, nor woman, I did ever see, At all parts equal to the parts in thee. T’ enjoy your sight, doth admiration seize My eyes, and apprehensive faculties. Lately in Delos (with a charge of men Arriv’d, that render’d me most wretched then, Now making me thus naked) I beheld The burthen of a palm, whose issue swell’d About Apollo’s fane, and that put on A grace like thee; for Earth had never none Of all her sylvan issue so adorn’d. Into amaze my very soul was turn’d, To give it observation; as now thee To view, O virgin, a stupidity Past admiration strikes me, join’d with fear To do a suppliant’s due, and press so near, As to embrace thy knees. Nor is it strange, For one of fresh and firmest spirit would change T’ embrace so bright an object. But, for me, A cruel habit of calamity Prepar’d the strong impression thou hast made; For this last day did fly night’s twentieth shade Since I, at length, escap’d the sable seas; When in the mean time th’ unrelenting prease Of waves and stern storms toss’d me up and down, From th’ isle Ogygia. And now God hath thrown My wrack on this shore, that perhaps I may My mis’ries vary here; for yet their stay, I fear, Heav’n hath not order’d, though, before These late afflictions, it hath lent me store. O queen, deign pity then, since first to you My fate importunes my distress to vow. No other dame, nor man, that this Earth own, And neighbour city, I have seen or known. The town then show me; give my nakedness Some shroud to shelter it, if to these seas Linen or woollen you have brought to cleanse. God give you, in requital, all th’ amends Your heart can wish, a husband, family, And good agreement. Nought beneath the sky More sweet, more worthy is, than firm consent Of man and wife in household government. It joys their wishers-well, their enemies wounds, But to themselves the special good redounds.” She answer’d: “Stranger! I discern in thee Nor sloth, nor folly, reigns; and yet I see Th’ art poor and wretched. In which I conclude, That industry nor wisdom make endued Men with those gifts that make them best to th’ eye; Jove only orders man’s felicity. To good and bad his pleasure fashions still The whole proportion of their good and ill. And he, perhaps, hath form’d this plight in thee, Of which thou must be patient, as he free. But after all thy wand’rings, since thy way, Both to our earth, and near our city, lay, As being expos’d to our cares to relieve, Weeds, and what else a human hand should give To one so suppliant and tam’d with woe, Thou shalt not want. Our city I will show, And tell our people’s name: This neighbour town, And all this kingdom, the Phæacians own. And (since thou seem’dst so fain to know my birth, And mad’st a question, if of heav’n or earth.) This earth hath bred me; and my father’s name Alcinous is, that in the pow’r and frame Of this isle’s rule is supereminent.” Thus, passing him, she to the virgins went, And said: “Give stay both to your feet and fright. Why thus disperse ye for a man’s mere sight? Esteem you him a Cyclop, that long since Made use to prey upon our citizens? This man no moist man is, (nor wat’rish thing,[5] That’s ever flitting, ever ravishing All it can compass; and, like it, doth range In rape of women, never stay’d in change). This man is truly manly, wise, and stay’d,[6] In soul more rich the more to sense decay’d, Who nor will do, nor suffer to be done, Acts lewd and abject; nor can such a one Greet the Phæacians with a mind envíous, Dear to the Gods they are, and he is pious, Besides, divided from the world we are, The out-part of it, billows circular The sea revolving round about our shore; Nor is there any man that enters more Than our own countrymen, with what is brought From other countries. This man, minding nought But his relief, a poor unhappy wretch, Wrack’d here, and hath no other land to fetch, Him now we must provide for. From Jove come[7] All strangers, and the needy of a home, Who any gift, though ne’er so small it be, Esteem as great, and take it gratefully. And therefore, virgins, give the stranger food, And wine; and see ye bathe him in the flood, Near to some shore to shelter most inclin’d. To cold-bath-bathers hurtful is the wind, Not only rugged making th’ outward skin, But by his thin pow’rs pierceth parts within.’ This said, their flight in a return they set, And did Ulysses with all grace entreat, Show’d him a shore, wind-proof, and full of shade, By him a shirt and utter mantle laid, A golden jug of liquid oil did add, Bad wash, and all things as Nausicaa bad. Divine Ulysses would not use their aid; But thus bespake them: “Ev’ry lovely maid, Let me entreat to stand a little by,[8] That I, alone, the fresh flood may apply To cleanse my bosom of the sea-wrought brine, And then use oil, which long time did not shine On my poor shoulders. I’ll not wash in sight Of fair-hair’d maidens. I should blush outright, To bathe all-bare by such a virgin light.” They mov’d, and mus’d a man had so much grace, And told their mistress what a man he was. He cleans’d his broad soil’d shoulders, back, and head Yet never tam’d, but now had foam and weed Knit in the fair curls. Which dissolv’d, and he Slick’d all with sweet oil, the sweet charity The untouch’d virgin show’d in his attire He cloth’d him with. Then Pallas put a fire, More than before, into his sparkling eyes, His late soil set off with his soon fresh guise. His locks, cleans’d, curl’d the more, and match’d, in pow’r To please an eye, the hyacinthian flow’r. And as a workman, that can well combine Silver and gold, and make both strive to shine, As being by Vulcan, and Minerva too, Taught how far either may be urg’d to go In strife of eminence, when work sets forth A worthy soul to bodies of such worth, No thought reproving th’ act, in any place, Nor Art no debt to Nature’s liveliest grace; So Pallas wrought in him a grace as great From head to shoulders, and ashore did seat His goodly presence. To which such a guise He show’d in going, that it ravish’d eyes. All which continued, as he sat apart, Nausicaa’s eye struck wonder through her heart, Who thus bespake her consorts: “Hear me, you Fair-wristed virgins! This rare man, I know, Treads not our country-earth, against the will Of some God thronéd on th’ Olympian hill. He show’d to me, till now, not worth the note, But now he looks as he had godhead got. I would to heav’n my husband were no worse, And would be call’d no better, but the course Of other husbands pleas’d to dwell out here. Observe and serve him with our utmost cheer.” She said, they heard and did. He drunk and eat Like to a harpy, having touch’d no meat A long before time. But Nausicaa now Thought of the more grace she did lately vow, Had horse to chariot join’d, and up she rose, Up cheer’d her guest, and said: “Guest, now dispose Yourself for town, that I may let you see My father’s court, where all the peers will be Of our Phæacian state. At all parts, then, Observe to whom and what place y’ are t’ attain; Though I need usher you with no advice, Since I suppose you absolutely wise. While we the fields pass, and men’s labours there, So long, in these maids’ guides, directly bear Upon my chariot (I must go before For cause that after comes, to which this more Be my induction) you shall then soon end Your way to town, whose tow’rs you see ascend[9] To such a steepness. On whose either side A fair port stands, to which is nothing wide An ent’rer’s passage; on whose both hands ride Ships in fair harbours; which once past, you win The goodly market-place (that circles in A fane to Neptune, built of curious stone, And passing ample) where munitión, Gables, and masts, men make, and polish’d oars; For the Phæacians are not conquerors By bows nor quivers; oars, masts, ships they are With which they plough the sea, and wage their war. And now the cause comes why I lead the way, Not taking you to coach: The men, that sway In work of those tools that so fit our state, Are rude mechanicals, that rare and late Work in the market-place; and those are they Whose bitter tongues I shun, who straight would say (For these vile vulgars are extremely proud, And foully-languag’d) ‘What is he, allow’d To coach it with Nausicaa, so large set, And fairly fashion’d? Where were these two met? He shall be sure her husband. She hath been Gadding in some place, and, of foreign men Fitting her fancy, kindly brought him home In her own ship. He must, of force, be come From some far region; we have no such man. It may be, praying hard, when her heart ran On some wish’d husband, out of heav’n some God Dropp’d in her lap; and there lies she at road Her cómplete life time. But, in sooth, if she, Ranging abroad, a husband, such as he Whom now we saw, laid hand on, she was wise, For none of all our nobles are of prize Enough for her; he must beyond sea come, That wins her high mind, and will have her home. Of our peers many have importun’d her, Yet she will none.’ Thus these folks will confer Behind my back; or, meeting, to my face The foul-mouth rout dare put home this disgrace; And this would be reproaches to my fame, For, ev’n myself just anger would inflame, If any other virgin I should see, Her parents living, keep the company Of any man to any end of love, Till open nuptials should her act approve. And therefore hear me, guest, and take such way, That you yourself may compass, in your stay, Your quick deduction by my father’s grace, And means to reach the root of all your race. We shall, not far out of our way to town, A never-fell’d grove find, that poplars crown, To Pallas sacred, where a fountain flows, And round about the grove a meadow grows, In which my father holds a manor-house, Deck’d all with orchards, green, and odorous, As far from town as one may hear a shout. There stay, and rest your foot-pains, till full out We reach the city; where, when you may guess We are arriv’d, and enter our access Within my father’s court, then put you on For our Phæacian state, where, to be shown My father’s house, desire. Each infant there Can bring you to it; and yourself will clear Distinguish it from others, for no shows The city-buildings make compar’d with those That king Alcinous’ seat doth celebrate. In whose roofs, and the court (where men of state, And suitors sit and stay) when you shall hide, Straight pass it, ent’ring further, where abide My mother, with her withdrawn housewif’ries, Who still sits in the fire-shine, and applies Her rock, all-purple, and of pompous show, Her chair plac’d ’gainst a pillar, all-a-row Her maids behind her set; and to her here My father’s dining-throne looks, seated where He pours his choice of wine in, like a God. This view once past, for th’ end of your abode, Address suit to my mother, that her mean May make the day of your redition seen, And you may frolic straight, though far away You are in distance from your wishéd stay. For, if she once be won to wish you well, Your hope may instantly your passport seal, And thenceforth sure abide to see your friends, Fair house, and all to which your heart contends.” This said, she us’d her shining scourge, and lash’d Her mules, that soon the shore left where she wash’d, And, knowing well the way, their pace was fleet, And thick they gather’d up their nimble feet. Which yet she temper’d so, and us’d her scourge[10] With so much skill, as not to over-urge The foot behind, and make them straggle so From close society. Firm together go Ulysses and her maids. And now the sun Sunk to the waters, when they all had won The never-fell’d, and sound-exciting, wood, Sacred to Pallas; where the god-like good Ulysses rested, and to Pallas pray’d: “Hear me, of goat-kept Jove th’ unconquer’d Maid![11] Now throughly hear me, since, in all the time Of all my wrack, my pray’rs could never climb Thy far-off ears; when noiseful Neptune toss’d Upon his wat’ry bristles my emboss’d And rock-torn body. Hear yet now, and deign I may of the Phæacian state obtain Pity, and grace.” Thus pray’d he, and she heard, By no means yet, expos’d to sight, appear’d, For fear t’ offend her uncle, the supreme Of all the Sea-Gods, whose wrath still extreme Stood to Ulysses; and would never cease, Till with his country shore he crown’d his peace.
FINIS LIBRI SEXTI HOM. ODYSS.
[1] ϒπνῳ καἱ καμἀτῳ ἁρημένος. Sonno et labore afflictus. Sleep (καταχρηστικω̑ς) for the want of sleep.Return to passage
[2] Intending Dymas’ daughter.Return to passage
[3] This familiar and near wanton carriage of Nausicaa to her father, joined with that virgin modesty expressed in her after, is much praised by the gravest of Homer’s expositors; with her father’s loving allowance of it, knowing her shamefastness and judgment would not let her exceed at any part. Which note is here inserted, not as if this were more worthy the observation than other every-where strewed flowers of precept, but because this more generally pleasing subject may perhaps find more fitness for the stay of most readers.Return to passage
[4] The piety and wisdom of the Poet was such, that (agreeing with the Sacred Letter) not the least of things he makes come to pass sine Numinis providentiâ. As Spondanus well notes of him.Return to passage
[5] Διερὸς βροτός. Cui vitalis vel sensualis humiditas inest. βροτὸς ὰ ῥέω, ut dicatur quasi ῥοτὸς, i.e. ὁ ἐν ῥοᾓ ὢν, quod nihil sit magis fluxum quam homo.Return to passage
[6] Ανήρ virili animo præditus, fortis, magnanimus. Nor are those affirmed to be men, qui servile quidpiam et abjectum faciunt, vel, facere sustinent: according to this of Herodotus in Polym. πολλοὶ μὲν ἄνθρωποι ει͒εν, ὀλίγοι δὲ ἄνδρες. Many men’s forms sustain, but few are men.Return to passage
[7] According to another translator: “Ab Jove nam supplex pauper procedit et hospes, Res brevis, at chara est, magni quoque munaris instar.” Which I cite to show his good when he keeps him to the original, and near in any degree expounds it.Return to passage
[8] He taught their youths modesty by his aged judgment. As receiving the custom of maids then used to that entertainment of men, notwithstanding the modesty of that age, could not be corrupted inwardly for those outward kind observations of guests and strangers, and was therefore privileged. It is easy to avoid show; and those, that most curiously avoid the outward construction, are ever most tainted with the inward corruption.Return to passage
[9] The city’s description so far forth as may in part induce her promised reason why she took not Ulysses to coach with her.Return to passage
[10] Not without some little note of our omnisufficient Homer’s general touch of the least fitness lying in his way, may this courtly discretion he describes in Nausicaa be observed, if you please.Return to passage
[11] More of our Poet’s curious and sweet piety.Return to passage
The Seventh Book: OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS
THE ARGUMENT
Nausicaa arrives at town; And then Ulysses. He makes known His suit to Arete: who view Takes of his vesture, which she knew, And asks him from whose hands it came. He tells, with all the hapless frame Of his affairs in all the while Since he forsook Calypso’s isle.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Ητα. The honour’d minds, And welcome things, Ulysses finds In Scheria’s kings.
Thus pray’d the wise and God-observing man. The Maid, by free force of her palfreys, wan Access to town, and the renownéd court Reach’d of her father; where, within the port, She stay’d her coach, and round about her came Her brothers, made as of immortal frame, Who yet disdain’d not, for her love, mean deeds, But took from coach her mules, brought in her weeds.[1] And she ascends her chamber; where purvey’d A quick fire was by her old chamber-maid, Eurymedusa, th’ Aperæan born, And brought by sea from Apera t’ adorn The court of great Alcinous, because He gave to all the blest Phæacians laws, And, like a heav’n-born pow’r in speech, acquir’d The people’s ears. To one then so admir’d, Eurymedusa was esteem’d no worse Than worth the gift; yet now, grown old, was nurse To ivory-arm’d Nausicaa, gave heat To all her fires, and dress’d her privy meat. Then rose Ulysses, and made way to town; Which ere he reach’d, a mighty mist was thrown By Pallas round about him, in her care, Lest, in the sway of envies popular, Some proud Phæacian might foul language pass, Justle him up, and ask him what he was. Ent’ring the lovely town yet, through the cloud Pallas appear’d, and like a young wench show’d Bearing a pitcher, stood before him so As if objected purposely to know What there he needed; whom he question’d thus: “Know you not, daughter, where Alcinous, That rules this town, dwells? I, a poor distrest Mere stranger here, know none I may request To make this court known to me.” She replied: “Strange father, I will see you satisfied In that request. My father dwells just by The house you seek for; but go silently, Nor ask, nor speak to any other, I Shall be enough to show your way. The men That here inhabit do not entertain With ready kindness strangers, of what worth Or state soever, nor have taken forth Lessons of civil usage or respect To men beyond them. They, upon their pow’rs Of swift ships building, top the wat’ry tow’rs, And Jove hath giv’n them ships, for sail so wrought, They cut a feather, and command a thought.”[2] This said, she usher’d him, and after he Trod in the swift steps of the Deity. The free-sail’d seamen could not get a sight Of our Ulysses yet, though he forthright Both by their houses and their persons past, Pallas about him such a darkness cast By her divine pow’r, and her rev’rend care, She would not give the town-born cause to stare. He wonder’d, as he past, to see the ports; The shipping in them; and for all resorts The goodly market-steads; and aisles beside For the heroës; walls so large and wide; Rampires so high, and of such strength withall, It would with wonder any eye appall. At last they reach’d the court, and Pallas said: “Now, honour’d stranger, I will see obey’d Your will, to show our ruler’s house; ’tis here; Where you shall find kings celebrating cheer. Enter amongst them, nor admit a fear. _More bold a man is, he prevails the more, Though man nor place lie ever saw before._ You first shall find the queen in court, whose name Is Arete, of parents born the same That was the king her spouse; their pedigree[3] I can report. The great Earth-shaker, he Of Peribœa (that her sex out-shone, And youngest daughter was t’ Eurymedon, Who of th’ unmeasur’d-minded giants sway’d Th’ imperial sceptre, and the pride allay’d Of men so impious with cold death, and died Himself soon after) got the magnified In mind, Nausithous; whom the kingdom’s state First held in supreme rule. Nausithous gat Rhexenor, and Alcinous, now king. Rhexenor (whose seed did no male fruit spring, And whom the silver-bow-grac’d Phœbus slew Young in the court) his shed blood did renew In only Arete, who now is spouse To him that rules the kingdom in this house, And is her uncle king Alcinous, Who honours her past equal. She may boast More honour of him than the honour’d most[4] Of any wife in earth can of her lord, How many more soever realms afford, That keep house under husbands. Yet no more Her husband honours her, than her blest store Of gracious children. All the city cast Eyes on her as a Goddess, and give taste Of their affections to her in their pray’rs, Still as she decks the street; for, all affairs Wrapt in contention, she dissolves to men. Whom she affects, she wants no mind to deign Goodness enough. If her heart stand inclin’d To your dispatch, hope all you wish to find, Your friends, your longing family, and all That can within your most affections fall.” This said, away the grey-eyed Goddess flew Along th’ untam’d sea, left the lovely hue Scheria presented, out-flew Marathon, And ample-streeted Athens lighted on; Where to the house, that casts so thick a shade,[5] Of Erechtheüs she ingression made. Ulysses to the lofty-builded court Of king Alcinous made bold resort; Yet in his heart cast many a thought, before The brazen pavement of the rich court bore His enter’d person. Like heav’n’s two main lights The rooms illustrated both days and nights. On ev’ry side stood firm a wall of brass, Ev’n from the threshold to the inmost pass, Which bore a roof up that all-sapphire was. The brazen thresholds both sides did enfold Silver pilasters, hung with gates of gold; Whose portal was of silver; over which A golden cornice did the front enrich. On each side, dogs, of gold and silver fram’d, The house’s guard stood: which the Deity lam’d With knowing inwards had inspir’d, and made That death nor age should their estates invade. Along the wall stood ev’ry way a throne, From th’ entry to the lobby, ev’ry one Cast over with a rich-wrought cloth of state. Beneath which the Phæacian princes sate At wine and food, and feasted all the year. Youths forg’d of gold, at ev’ry table there, Stood holding flaming torches, that, in night, Gave through the house each honour’d guest his light And, to encounter feast with housewif’ry, In one room fifty women did apply Their sev’ral tasks. Some apple-colour’d corn Ground in fair querns, and some did spindles turn, Some work in looms; no hand least rest receives, But all had motion apt as aspen leaves. And from the weeds they wove, so fast they laid, And so thick thrust together thread by thread, That th’ oil, of which the wool had drunk his fill, Did with his moisture in light dews distill. As much as the Phæacian men excell’d All other countrymen in art to build A swift-sail’d ship; so much the women there For work of webs, past other women were. Past mean, by Pallas’ means, they understood The grace of good works; and had wits as good. Without the hall, and close upon the gate, A goodly orchard-ground was situate, Of near ten acres; about which was led A lofty quickset. In it flourished High and broad fruit trees, that pomegranates bore, Sweet figs, pears, olives; and a number more Most useful plants did there produce their store, Whose fruits the hardest winter could not kill, Nor hottest summer wither. There was still Fruit in his proper season all the year. Sweet Zephyr breath’d upon them blasts that were Of varied tempers. These he made to bear Ripe fruits, these blossoms. Pear grew after pear, Apple succeeded apple, grape the grape, Fig after fig came; time made never rape Of any dainty there. A spritely vine Spread here his root, whose fruit a hot sunshine Made ripe betimes; here grew another green. Here some were gath’ring, here some pressing, seen. A large-allotted sev’ral each fruit had; And all th’ adorn’d grounds their appearance made In flow’r and fruit, at which the king did aim To the precisest order he could claim. Two fountains grac’d the garden; of which, one Pour’d out a winding stream that over-run The grounds for their use chiefly, th’ other went Close by the lofty palace gate, and lent The city his sweet benefit. And thus The Gods the court deck’d of Alcinous. Patient Ulysses stood a while at gaze, But, having all observ’d, made instant pace Into the court; where all the peers he found, And captains of Phæacia, with cups-crown’d Off’ring to sharp-eyed Hermes, to whom last They us’d to sacrifice, when sleep had cast His inclination through their thoughts. But these Ulysses pass’d, and forth went; nor their eyes Took note of him, for Pallas stopp’d the light With mists about him, that, unstay’d, he might First to Alcinous, and Arete, Present his person; and, of both them, she, By Pallas’ counsel, was to have the grace Of foremost greeting. Therefore his embrace He cast about her knee. And then off flew The heav’nly air that hid him. When his view With silence and with admiration strook The court quite through; but thus he silence broke: “Divine Rhexenor’s offspring, Arete, To thy most honour’d husband, and to thee, A man whom many labours have distrest Is come for comfort, and to ev’ry guest. To all whom heav’n vouchsafe delightsome lives, And after to your issue that survives A good resignment of the goods ye leave, With all the honour that yourselves receive Amongst your people. Only this of me Is the ambition; that I may but see (By your vouchsaf’d means, and betimes vouchsaf’d) My country-earth; since I have long been left To labours, and to errors, barr’d from end, And far from benefit of any friend,” He said no more, but left them dumb with that, Went to the hearth, and in the ashes sat, Aside the fire. At last their silence brake, And Echinëus, th’ old heroë, spake; A man that all Phæacians pass’d in years, And in persuasive eloquence all the peers, Knew much, and us’d it well; and thus spake he: “Alcinous! It shews not decently, Nor doth your honour what you see admit, That this your guest should thus abjectly sit, His chair the earth, the hearth his cushion, Ashes as if appos’d for food. A throne, Adorn’d with due rites, stands you more in hand To see his person plac’d in, and command That instantly your heralds fill-in wine, That to the God that doth in lightnings shine We may do sacrifice; for he is there, Where these his rev’rend suppliants appear. Let what you have within be brought abroad, To sup the stranger. All these would have show’d This fit respect to him, but that they stay For your precedence, that should grace the way.” When this had added to the well-inclin’d And sacred order of Alcinous’ mind, Then of the great-in-wit the hand he seis’d, And from the ashes his fair person rais’d, Advanc’d him to a well-adornéd throne, And from his seat rais’d his most lovéd son, Laodamas, that next himself was set, To give him place. The handmaid then did get An ewer of gold, with water fill’d, which plac’d Upon a caldron, all with silver grac’d, She pour’d out on their hands. And then was spread A table, which the butler set with bread, As others serv’d with other food the board, In all the choice the present could afford. Ulysses meat and wine took; and then thus The king the herald call’d: “Pontonous! Serve wine through all the house, that all may pay Rites to the Lightner, who is still in way With humble suppliants, and them pursues With all benign and hospitable dues.” Pontonous gave act to all he will’d, And honey-sweetness-giving-minds wine fill’d,[6] Disposing it in cups for all to drink. All having drunk what either’s heart could think Fit for due sacrifice, Alcinous said: “Hear me, ye dukes that the Phæacians lead, And you our counsellors, that I may now Discharge the charge my mind suggests to you, For this our guest: Feast past, and this night’s sleep, Next morn, our senate summon’d, we will keep Justs, sacred to the Gods, and this our guest Receive in solemn court with fitting feast; Then think of his return, that, under hand Of our deduction, his natural land (Without more toil or care, and with delight, And that soon giv’n him, how far-hence dissite Soever it can be) he may ascend; And in the mean time without wrong attend, Or other want, fit means to that ascent.[7] What, after, austere Fates shall make th’ event Of his life’s thread, now spinning, and began When his pain’d mother freed his root of man, He must endure in all kinds. If some God Perhaps abides with us in his abode, And other things will think upon than we, The Gods’ wills stand, who ever yet were free Of their appearance to us, when to them We offer’d hecatombs of fit esteem, And would at feast sit with us, ev’n where we Order’d our session. They would likewise be Encount’rers of us, when in way alone About his fit affairs went any one. Nor let them cloak themselves in any care To do us comfort, we as near them are, As are the Cyclops, or the impious race[8] Of earthy giants, that would heav’n outface.” Ulysses answer’d: “Let some other doubt Employ your thoughts than what your words give out, Which intimate a kind of doubt that I Should shadow in this shape a Deity. I bear no such least semblance, or in wit, Virtue, or person. What may well befit One of those mortals, whom you chiefly know Bears up and down the burthen of the woe Appropriate to poor man, give that to me; Of whose moans I sit in the most degree, And might say more, sustaining griefs that all The Gods consent to; no one ’twixt their fall And my unpitied shoulders letting down The least diversion. Be the grace then shown, To let me taste your free-giv’n food in peace. _Through greatest grief the belly must have ease; Worse than an envious belly nothing is._ It will command his strict necessities, Of men most griev’d in body or in mind, That are in health, and will not give their kind A desp’rate wound. When most with cause I grieve, It bids me still, Eat, man, and drink, and live; And this makes all forgot. Whatever ill I ever bear, it ever bids me fill. But this ease is but forc’d, and will not last, Till what the mind likes be as well embrac’d; And therefore let me wish you would partake In your late purpose; when the morn shall make Her next appearance, deign me but the grace, Unhappy man, that I may once embrace My country-earth. Though I be still thrust at By ancient ills, yet make me but see that. And then let life go, when withal I see My high-roof’d large house, lands, and family.” This all approv’d; and each will’d ev’ry one, Since he hath said so fairly, set him gone. Feast past and sacrifice, to sleep all vow Their eyes at either’s house. Ulysses now Was left here with Alcinous, and his Queen, The all-lov’d Arete. The handmaids then The vessel of the banquet took away. When Arete set eye on his array; Knew both his out and under weed, which she Made with her maids; and mus’d by what means he Obtain’d their wearing; which she made request To know, and wings gave to these speeches: “Guest! First let me ask, what, and from whence you are? And then, who grac’d you with the weeds you wear? Said you not lately, you had err’d at seas, And thence arriv’d here?” Laertiades To this thus answer’d: “’Tis a pain, O Queen, Still to be op’ning wounds wrought deep, and green, Of which the Gods have open’d store in me; Yet your will must be serv’d. Far hence, at sea, There lies an isle, that bears Ogygia’s name, Where Atlas’ daughter, the ingenious dame, Fair-hair’d Calypso lives; a Goddess grave, And with whom men nor Gods society have; Yet I, past man unhappy, liv’d alone, By Heav’n’s wrath forc’d, her house-companion. For Jove had with a fervent lightning cleft My ship in twain, and far at black sea left Me and my soldiers; all whose lives I lost. I in mine arms the keel took, and was tost Nine days together up from wave to wave. The tenth grim night, the angry Deities drave Me and my wrack on th’ isle, in which doth dwell Dreadful Calypso; who exactly well Receiv’d and nourish’d me, and promise made To make me deathless, nor should age invade My pow’rs with his deserts through all my days. All mov’d not me, and therefore, on her stays, Sev’n years she made me lie; and there spent I The long time, steeping in the misery Of ceaseless tears the garments I did wear, From her fair hand. The eighth revolvéd year (Or by her chang’d mind, or by charge of Jove) She gave provok’d way to my wish’d remove, And in a many-jointed ship, with wine Dainty in savour, bread, and weeds divine, Sign’d, with a harmless and sweet wind, my pass. Then sev’nteen days at sea I homeward was, And by the eighteenth the dark hills appear’d That your earth thrusts up. Much my heart was cheer’d, Unhappy man, for that was but a beam, To show I yet had agonies extreme To put in suff’rance, which th’ Earth-shaker sent, Crossing my way with tempests violent, Unmeasur’d seas up-lifting, nor would give The billows leave to let my vessel live The least time quiet, that ev’n sigh’d to bear Their bitter outrage, which, at last, did tear Her sides in pieces, set on by the winds. I yet through-swum the waves that your shore binds, Till wind and water threw me up to it; When, coming forth, a ruthless billow smit Against huge rocks, and an accessless shore, My mangl’d body. Back again I bore, And swum till I was fall’n upon a flood, Whose shores, methought, on good advantage stood For my receipt, rock-free, and fenc’d from wind; And this I put for, gath’ring up my mind. Then the divine night came, and treading earth, Close by the flood that had from Jove her birth, Within a thicket I repos’d; when round I ruffled up fall’n leaves in heap; and found, Let fall from heav’n, a sleep interminate. And here my heart, long time excruciate, Amongst the leaves I rested all that night, Ev’n till the morning and meridian light. The sun declining then, delightsome sleep No longer laid my temples in his steep, But forth I went, and on the shore might see Your daughter’s maids play. Like a Deity She shin’d above them; and I pray’d to her, And she in disposition did prefer Noblesse, and wisdom, no more low than might Become the goodness of a Goddess’ height. Nor would you therefore hope, suppos’d distrest As I was then, and old, to find the least Of any grace from her, being younger far. With young folks Wisdom makes her commerce rare. Yet she in all abundance did bestow Both wine, that makes the blood in humans grow,[9] And food, and bath’d me in the flood, and gave The weeds to me which now ye see me have. This through my griefs I tell you, and ’tis true.” Alcinous answer’d: “Guest! my daughter knew Least of what most you give her; nor became The course she took, to let with ev’ry dame Your person lackey; nor hath with them brought Yourself home too; which first you had besought.” “O blame her not,” said he, “heroical lord, Nor let me hear against her worth a word. She faultless is, and wish’d I would have gone With all her women home, but I alone Would venture my receipt here, having fear And rev’rend awe of accidents that were Of likely issue; both your wrath to move, And to inflame the common people’s love Of speaking ill, to which they soon give place. We men are all a most suspicious race.” “My guest,” said he, “I use not to be stirr’d To wrath too rashly; and where are preferr’d To men’s conceits things that may both ways fail, The noblest ever should the most prevail. Would Jove our Father, Pallas, and the Sun, That, were you still as now, and could but run One fate with me, you would my daughter wed, And be my son-in-law, still vow’d to lead Your rest of life here! I a house would give, And household goods, so freely you would live, Confin’d with us. But ’gainst your will shall none Contain you here, since that were violence done To Jove our Father. For your passage home, That you may well know we can overcome So great a voyage, thus it shall succeed: To-morrow shall our men take all their heed, While you securely sleep, to see the seas In calmest temper, and, if that will please, Show you your country and your house ere night, Though far beyond Eubœa be that sight. And this Eubœa, as our subjects say That have been there and seen, is far away, Farthest from us of all the parts they know; And made the trial when they help’d to row The gold-lock’d Rhadamanth, to give him view Of earth-born Tityus; whom their speeds did show In that far-off Eubœa, the same day They set from hence; and home made good their way With ease again, and him they did convey. Which I report to you, to let you see How swift my ships are, and how matchlessly My young Phæacians with their oars prevail, To beat the sea through, and assist a sail.” This cheer’d Ulysses, who in private pray’d: “I would to Jove our Father, what he said, He could perform at all parts; he should then Be glorified for ever, and I gain My natural country.” This discourse they had; When fair-arm’d Arete her handmaids bad A bed make in the portico, and ply With clothes, the cov’ring tapestry, The blankets purple; well-napp’d waistcoats too, To wear for more warmth. What these had to do, They torches took and did. The bed purvey’d, They mov’d Ulysses for his rest, and said: “Come guest, your bed is fit, now frame to rest.” Motion of sleep was gracious to their guest; Which now he took profoundly, being laid Within a loop-hole tow’r, where was convey’d The sounding portico. The King took rest In a retir’d part of the house; where drest The Queen her self a bed, and trundlebed, And by her lord repos’d her rev’rend head.
FINIS LIBRI SEPTIMI HOM. ODYSS.
[1] Hac fuit illius sæculi simplicitas: nam vel fraternus quoque amor tantus fuit, ut libenter hanc redeunti charissimæ sorori operam præstiterint. Spond.Return to passage
[2] Νέες ώκει̑αι ὡσεὶ πτερὸν ἠὲ νόημα, naves veloces veluti penna, atque cogitatio.Return to passage
[3] For the more perspicuity of this pedigree, I have here set down the diagram, as Spondanus hath it. Neptune begat Nausithous of Peribœa. By Nausithous, Rhexenor, Alcinous, were begot. By Rhexenor, Arete, the wife of her uncle Alcinous.Return to passage
[4] The honour of Arete (or virtue) alleg.Return to passage
[5] Casts so thick a shade—πυκινός spissus.Return to passage
[6] The word that bears this long epithet is translated only dulce: which signifies more, Μελίϕρονα οι͒νον ἐκίρνα Vinum quod melleâ dulcedine animum perfundit, et oblectat.Return to passage
[7] Ascent to his country’s shore.Return to passage
[8] Eustathius will have this comparison of the Phæacians with the Giants and Cyclops to proceed out of the inveterate virulency of Antinous to the Cyclops; who were cause (as is before said) of their remove from their country; and with great endeavour labours the approbation of it; but (under his peace) from the purpose: for the sense of the Poet is clear, that the Cyclops and Giants being in part the issue of the Gods, and yet afterward their defiers, (as Polyp. hereafter dares profess) Antinous (out of bold and manly reason, even to the face of one that might have been a God, for the past manly appearance he made there) would tell him, and the rest in him, that if they graced those Cyclops with their open appearance, that, though descended from them, durst yet deny them, they might much more do them the honour of their open presence that adored them.Return to passage
[9] Αἴθοψ οι͒νος, Vinum calefaciendi vim habens.Return to passage