Odyssey

"To the Æolian island we attain'd,

That swum about still on the sea, where reign'd

The God-lov'd Æolus Hippotades.

A wall of steel it had; and in the seas

A wave-beat-smooth rock mov'd about the wall.

Twelve children in his house imperial

Were born to him; of which six daughters were,

And six were sons, that youth's sweet flow'r did bear.

His daughters to his sons he gave as wives;

Who spent in feastful comforts all their lives,

Close seated by their sire and his grave spouse.

Past number were the dishes that the house

Made ever savour; and still full the hall

As long as day shin'd; in the night-time, all

Slept with their chaste wives, each his fair carv'd bed

Most richly furnish'd; and this life they led.

We reach'd the city and fair roofs of these,

Where, a whole month's time, all things that might please

The king vouchsaf'd us; of great Troy inquir'd,

The Grecian fleet, and how the Greeks retir'd.

To all which I gave answer as behov'd.

The fit time come when I dismission mov'd,

He nothing would deny me, but addrest

My pass with such a bounty, as might best

Teach me contentment; for he did enfold

Within an ox-hide, flay'd at nine years old,

All th' airy blasts that were of stormy kinds.

Saturnius made him Steward of his Winds,

And gave him pow'r to raise and to assuage.

And these he gave me, curb'd thus of their rage,

Which in a glitt'ring silver band I bound,

And hung-up in my ship, enclos'd so round

That no egression any breath could find;

Only he left abroad the Western Wind,

To speed our ships, and us with blasts secure.

But our securities made all unsure;

Nor could he consummate our course alone,

When all the rest had got egressión;

Which thus succeeded: Nine whole days and nights

We sail'd in safety; and the tenth, the lights

Borne on our country-earth we might descry,

So near we drew; and yet ev'n then fell I,

Being overwatch'd, into a fatal sleep,

For I would suffer no man else to keep

The foot that rul'd my vessel's course, to lead

The faster home. My friends then Envy fed

About the bag I hung-up, and suppos'd

That gold and silver I had there enclos'd,

As gift from Æolus, and said: 'O heav'n!

What grace and grave price is by all men giv'n

To our commander! Whatsoever coast

Or town he comes to, how much he engrost

Of fair and precious prey, and brought from Troy!

We the same voyage went, and yet enjoy

In our return these empty hands for all.

This bag, now, Æolus was so liberal

To make a guest-gift to him; let us try

Of what consists the fair-bound treasury,

And how much gold and silver it contains.'

Ill counsel present approbation gains.

They op'd the bag, and out the vapours brake,

When instant tempest did our vessel take,

That bore us back to sea, to mourn anew

Our absent country. Up amaz'd I flew,

And desp'rate things discours'd; if I should cast

Myself to ruin in the seas, or taste

Amongst the living more moan, and sustain?

Silent, I did so, and lay hid again

Beneath the hatches, while an ill wind took

My ships back to Æolia, my men strook

With woe enough. We pump'd and landed then,

Took food, for all this; and of all my men

I took a herald to me, and away

Went to the court of Æolus, where they

Were feasting still; he, wife, and children, set

Together close. We would not at their meat

Thrust in; but humbly on the threshold sat.

He then, amaz'd, my presence wonder'd at,

And call'd to me: 'Ulysses! How thus back

Art thou arriv'd here? What foul spirit brake

Into thy bosom, to retire thee thus?

We thought we had deduction curious

Giv'n thee before, to reach thy shore and home;

Did it not like thee?' I, ev'n overcome

With worthy sorrow, answer'd: 'My ill men

Have done me mischief, and to them hath been

My sleep th' unhappy motive; but do you,

Dearest of friends, deign succour to my vow.

Your pow'rs command it.' Thus endeavour'd I

With soft speech to repair my misery.

The rest with ruth sat dumb. But thus spake he:

'Avaunt, and quickly quit my land of thee,

Thou worst of all that breathe. It fits not me

To convoy, and take-in, whom Heav'ns expose.

Away, and with thee go the worst of woes,

That seek'st my friendship, and the Gods thy foes.'

Thus he dismiss'd me sighing. Forth we sail'd,

At heart afflicted. And now wholly fail'd

The minds my men sustain'd, so spent they were

With toiling at their oars, and worse did bear

Their growing labours; and they caus'd their grought

By self-will'd follies; nor now ever thought

To see their country more. Six nights and days

We sail'd; the seventh we saw fair Lamos raise

Her lofty tow'rs, the Læstrygonian state

That bears her ports so far disterminate;

Where shepherd shepherd calls out, he at home

Is call'd out by the other that doth come

From charge abroad, and then goes he to sleep,

The other issuing; he whose turn doth keep

The night observance hath his double hire,

Since day and night in equal length expire

About that region, and the night's watch weigh'd

At twice the day's ward, since the charge that's laid

Upon the night's-man (besides breach of sleep)

Exceeds the days-man's; for one oxen keep,

The other sheep. But when the haven we found,

(Exceeding famous, and environ'd round

With one continuate rock, which so much bent

That both ends almost met, so prominent

They were, and made the haven's mouth passing strait)

Our whole fleet in we got; in whose receit

Our ships lay anchor'd close. Nor needed we

Fear harm on any stays, Tranquillity

So purely sat there, that waves great nor small

Did ever rise to any height at all.

And yet would I no entry make, but stay'd

Alone without the haven, and thence survey'd,

From out a lofty watch-tow'r raised there,

The country round about; nor anywhere

The work of man or beast appear'd to me,

Only a smoke from earth break I might see.

I then made choice of two, and added more,

A herald for associate, to explore

What sort of men liv'd there. They went, and saw

A beaten way, through which carts us'd to draw

Wood from the high hills to the town, and met

A maid without the port, about to get

Some near spring-water. She the daughter was

Of mighty Læstrygonian Antiphas,

And to the clear spring call'd Artacia went,

To which the whole town for their water sent.

To her they came, and ask'd who govern'd there,

And what the people whom he order'd were?

She answer'd not, but led them through the port,

As making haste to show her father's court.

Where enter'd, they beheld, to their affright,

A woman like a mountain-top in height,

Who rush'd abroad, and from the council-place

Call'd home her horrid husband Antiphas,

Who, deadly-minded, straight he snatch'd up one,

And fell to supper. Both the rest were gone;

And to the fleet came. Antiphas a cry

Drave through the city; which heard, instantly

This way and that innumerable sorts,

Not men, but giants, issued through the ports,

And mighty flints from rocks tore, which they threw

Amongst our ships; through which an ill noise flew

Of shiver'd ships, and life-expiring men,

That were, like fishes, by the monsters slain,

And borne to sad feast. While they slaughter'd these,

That were engag'd in all th' advantages

The close-mouth'd and most dead-calm haven could give,

I, that without lay, made some means to live,

My sword drew, cut my gables, and to oars

Set all my men; and, from the plagues those shores

Let fly amongst us, we made haste to fly,

My men close working as men loth to die.

My ship flew freely off; but theirs that lay

On heaps in harbours could enforce no way

Through these stern fates that had engag'd them there.

Forth our sad remnant sail'd, yet still retain'd

The joys of men, that our poor few remain'd.

Then to the isle Ææa we attain'd,

Where fair-hair'd, dreadful, eloquent Circe reign'd,

Ææta's sister both by dame and sire,

Both daughters to Heav'n's man-enlight'ning Fire,

And Perse, whom Oceanus begat,

The ship-fit port here soon we landed at,

Some God directing us. Two days, two nights,

We lay here pining in the fatal spights

Of toil and sorrow; but the next third day

When fair Aurora had inform'd, quick way

I made out of my ship, my sword and lance

Took for my surer guide, and made advance

Up to a prospect; I assay to see

The works of men, or hear mortality

Exspire a voice. When I had climb'd a height,

Rough and right hardly accessible, I might

Behold from Circe's house, that in a grove

Set thick with trees stood, a bright vapour move,

I then grew curious in my thought to try

Some fit inquiry, when so spritely fly

I saw the yellow smoke; but my discourse

A first retiring to my ship gave force,

To give my men their dinner, and to send

(Before th' adventure of myself) some friend.

Being near my ship, of one so desolate

Some God had pity, and would recreate

My woes a little, putting up to me

A great and high-palm'd hart, that (fatally,

Just in my way itself to taste a flood)

Was then descending; the sun heat had sure

Importun'd him, besides the temperature

His natural heat gave. Howsoever, I

Made up to him, and let my jav'lin fly,

That struck him through the mid-part of his chine,

And made him, braying, to the dust confine

His flying forces. Forth his spirit flew;

When I stept in, and from the death's wound drew

My shrewdly-bitten lance; there let him lie

Till I, of cut-up osiers, did imply

A withe a fathom long, with which his feet

I made together in a sure league meet,

Stoop'd under him, and to my neck I heav'd

The mighty burden, of which I receiv'd

A good part on my lance, for else I could

By no means with one hand alone uphold

(Join'd with one shoulder) such a deathful load.

And so, to both my shoulders, both hands stood

Needful assistants; for it was a deer

Goodly-well-grown. When (coming something near

Where rode my ships) I cast it down, and rear'd

My friends with kind words; whom by name I cheer'd,

In note particular, and said: 'See, friends,

We will not yet to Pluto's house; our ends

Shall not be hasten'd, though we be declin'd

In cause of comfort, till the day design'd

By Fate's fix'd finger. Come, as long as food

Or wine lasts in our ship, let's spirit our blood,

And quit our care and hunger both in one.'

This said, they frolick'd, came, and look'd upon

With admiration the huge-bodied beast;

And when their first-serv'd eyes had done their feast,

They wash'd, and made a to-be-striv'd-for meal

In point of honour. On which all did dwell

The whole day long. And, to our venison's store,

We added wine till we could wish no more.

Sun set, and darkness up, we slept, till light

Put darkness down; and then did I excite

My friends to counsel, utt'ring this: 'Now, friends,

Afford unpassionate ear; though ill Fate lends

So good cause to your passion, no man knows

The reason whence and how the darkness grows;

The reason how the morn is thus begun;

The reason how the man-enlight'ning sun

Dives under earth; the reason how again

He rears his golden head. Those counsels, then,

That pass our comprehension, we must leave

To him that knows their causes; and receive

Direction from him in our acts, as far

As he shall please to make them regular,

And stoop them to our reason. In our state

What then behoves us? Can we estimate,

With all our counsels, where we are? Or know

(Without instruction, past our own skills) how,

Put off from hence, to steer our course the more?

I think we cannot. We must then explore

These parts for information; in which way

We thus far are: Last morn I might display

(From off a high-rais'd cliff) an island lie

Girt with th' unmeasur'd sea, and is so nigh

That in the midst I saw the smoke arise

Through tufts of trees. This rests then to advise,

Who shall explore this?' This struck dead their hearts,

Rememb'ring the most execrable parts

That Læstrygonian Antiphas had play'd,

And that foul Cyclop that their fellows bray'd

Betwixt his jaws; which mov'd them so, they cried.

But idle tears had never wants supplied.

I in two parts divided all, and gave

To either part his captain. I must have

The charge of one; and one of God-like look,

Eurylochus, the other. Lots we shook,

Put in a casque together, which of us

Should lead th' attempt; and 'twas Eurylochus.

He freely went, with two-and-twenty more;

All which took leave with tears; and our eyes wore

The same wet badge of weak humanity.

These in a dale did Circe's house descry,

Of bright stone built, in a conspicuous way.

Before her gates hill-wolves, and lions, lay;

Which with her virtuous drugs so tame she made,

That wolf nor lion would one man invade

With any violence, but all arose,

Their huge long tails wagg'd, and in fawns would close,

As loving dogs, when masters bring them home

Relics of feast, in all observance come,

And soothe their entries with their fawns and bounds,

All guests still bringing some scraps for their hounds;

So, on these men, the wolves and lions ramp'd,

Their horrid paws set up. Their spirits were damp'd

To see such monstrous kindness, stay'd at gate,

And heard within the Goddess elevate

A voice divine, as at her web she wrought,

Subtle, and glorious, and past earthly thought,

As all the housewif'ries of Deities are.

To hear a voice so ravishingly rare,

Polités (one exceeding dear to me,

A prince of men, and of no mean degree

In knowing virtue, in all acts whose mind

Discreet cares all ways us'd to turn, and wind)

Was yet surpris'd with it, and said: 'O friends,

Some one abides within here, that commends

The place to us, and breathes a voice divine,

As she some web wrought, or her spindle's twine

She cherish'd with her song; the pavement rings

With imitation of the tunes she sings.

Some woman, or some Goddess, 'tis. Assay

To see with knocking.' Thus said he, and they

Both knock'd, and call'd; and straight her shining gates

She open'd, issuing, bade them in to cates.

Led, and unwise, they follow'd; all but one,

Which was Eurylochus, who stood alone

Without the gates, suspicious of a sleight.

They enter'd, she made sit; and her deceit

She cloak'd with thrones, and goodly chairs of state;

Set herby honey, and the delicate

Wine brought from Smynra, to them; meal and cheese;

But harmful venoms she commix'd with these,

That made their country vanish from their thought.

Which eat, she touch'd them with a rod that wrought

Their transformation far past human wonts;

Swine's snouts, swine's bodies, took they, bristles, grunts,

But still retain'd the souls they had before,

Which made them mourn their bodies' change the more.

She shut them straight in styes, and gave them meat,

Oak-mast, and beech, and cornel-fruit, they eat,

Grov'lling like swine on earth, in foulest sort.

Eurylochus straight hasted the report

Of this his fellows' most remorseful fate,

Came to the ships, but so excruciate

Was with his woe, he could not speak a word,

His eyes stood full of tears, which show'd how stor'd

His mind with moan remain'd. We all admir'd,

Ask'd what had chanc'd him, earnestly desir'd

He would resolve us. At the last, our eyes

Enflam'd in him his fellows' memories,

And out his grief burst thus: 'You will'd; we went

Through those thick woods you saw; when a descent

Show'd us a fair house, in a lightsome ground,

Where, at some work, we heard a heav'nly sound

Breath'd from a Goddess', or a woman's, breast.

They knock'd, she op'd her bright gates; each her guest

Her fair invitement made; nor would they stay,

Fools that they were, when she once led the way.

I enter'd not, suspecting some deceit.

When all together vanish'd, nor the sight

Of anyone (though long I look'd) mine eye

Could any way discover.' Instantly,

My sword and bow reach'd, I bad show the place,

When down he fell, did both my knees embrace,

And pray'd with tears thus: 'O thou kept of God,

Do not thyself lose, nor to that abode

Lead others rashly; both thyself, and all

Thou ventur'st thither, I know well, must fall

In one sure ruin. With these few then fly;

We yet may shun the others' destiny.'

I answer'd him: 'Eurylochus! Stay thou,

And keep the ship then, eat and drink; I now

Will undertake th' adventure; there is cause

In great Necessity's unalter'd laws.'

This said, I left both ship and seas, and on

Along the sacred valleys all alone

Went in discov'ry, till at last I came

Where of the main-med'cine-making Dame

I saw the great house; where encounter'd me

The golden-rod-sustaining Mercury,

Ev'n ent'ring Circe's doors. He met me in

A young man's likeness, of the first-flow'r'd chin,

Whose form hath all the grace of one so young.

He first call'd to me, then my hand he wrung,

And said: 'Thou no-place-finding-for-repose,

Whither, alone, by these hill-confines, goes

Thy erring foot? Th' art ent'ring Circe's house,

Where, by her med'cines, black, and sorcerous,

Thy soldiers all are shut in well-arm'd styes,

And turn'd to swine. Art thou arriv'd with prize

Fit for their ransoms? Thou com'st out no more,

If once thou ent'rest, like thy men before

Made to remain here. But I'll guard thee free,

And save thee in her spite. Receive of me

This fair and good receipt; with which once arm'd,

Enter her roofs, for th' art to all proof charm'd

Against the ill day. I will tell thee all

Her baneful counsel: With a festival

She'll first receive thee, but will spice thy bread

With flow'ry poisons; yet unalteréd

Shall thy firm form be, for this remedy

Stands most approv'd 'gainst all her sorcery,

Which thus particularly shun: When she

Shall with her long rod strike thee, instantly

Draw from thy thigh thy sword, and fly on her

As to her slaughter. She, surpris'd with fear

And love, at first, will bid thee to her bed.

Nor say the Goddess nay, that welcoméd

Thou may'st with all respect be, and procure

Thy fellows' freedoms. But before, make sure

Her favours to thee; and the great oath take

With which the blesséd Gods assurance make

Of all they promise; that no prejudice

(By stripping thee of form, and faculties)

She may so much as once attempt on thee.'

This said, he gave his antidote to me,

Which from the earth he pluck'd, and told me all

The virtue of it, with what Deities call

The name it bears; and Moly they impose

For name to it. The root is hard to loose

From hold of earth by mortals; but God's pow'r

Can all things do. 'Tis black, but bears a flow'r

As white as milk. And thus flew Mercury

Up to immense Olympus, gliding by

The sylvan island. I made back my way

To Circe's house, my mind of my assay

Much thought revolving. At her gates I stay'd

And call'd; she heard, and her bright doors display'd,

Invited, led; I follow'd in, but trac'd

With some distraction. In a throne she plac'd

My welcome person; of a curious frame

'Twas, and so bright I sat as in a flame;

A foot-stool added. In a golden bowl

She then suborn'd a potion, in her soul

Deform'd things thinking; for amidst the wine

She mix'd her man-transforming medicine;

Which when she saw I had devour'd, she then

No more observ'd me with her soothing vein,

But struck me with her rod, and to her stye

Bad, out, away, and with thy fellows lie.

I drew my sword, and charg'd her, as I meant

To take her life. When out she cried, and bent

Beneath my sword her knees, embracing mine,

And, full of tears, said: 'Who? Of what high line

Art thou the issue? Whence? What shores sustain

Thy native city? I amaz'd remain

That, drinking these my venoms, th' art not turn'd.

Never drunk any this cup but be mourn'd

In other likeness, if it once had pass'd

The ivory bounders of his tongue and taste.

All but thyself are brutishly declin'd.

Thy breast holds firm yet, and unchang'd thy mind.

Thou canst be therefore none else but the man

Of many virtues, Ithacensian,

Deep-soul'd, Ulysses, who; I oft was told,

By that sly God that bears the rod of gold,

Was to arrive here in retreat from Troy.

Sheathe then thy sword, and let my bed enjoy

So much a man, that when the bed we prove,

We may believe in one another's love.'

I then: 'O Circe, why entreat'st thou me

To mix in any human league with thee,

When thou my friends hast beasts turn'd; and thy bed

Tender'st to me, that I might likewise lead

A beast's life with thee, soften'd, naked stripp'd,

That in my blood thy banes may more be steep'd?

I never will ascend thy bed, before,

I may affirm, that in heav'n's sight you swore

The great oath of the Gods, that all attempt

To do me ill is from your thoughts exempt.'

I said, she swore, when, all the oath-rites said,

I then ascended her adornéd bed,

But thus prepar'd: Four handmaids served her there,

That daughters to her silver fountains were,

To her bright-sea-observing sacred floods,

And to her uncut consecrated woods.

One deck'd the throne-tops with rich cloths of state,

And did with silks the foot-pace consecrate.

Another silver tables set before

The pompous throne, and golden dishes' store

Serv'd in with sev'ral feast. A third fill'd wine.

The fourth brought water, and made fuel shine

In ruddy fires beneath a womb of brass.

Which heat, I bath'd; and od'rous water was

Disperpled lightly on my head and neck,

That might my late heart-hurting sorrows check

With the refreshing sweetness; and, for that,

Men sometimes may be something delicate.

Bath'd, and adorn'd, she led me to a throne

Of massy silver, and of fashión

Exceeding curious. A fair foot-stool set,

Water appos'd, and ev'ry sort of meat

Set on th' elaborately-polish'd board,

She wish'd my taste employ'd; but not a word

Would my ears taste of taste; my mind had food

That must digest; eye-meat would do me good.

Circe (observing that I put no hand

To any banquet, having countermand

From weightier cares the light cates could excuse)

Bowing her near me, these wing'd words did use;

'Why sits Ulysses like one dumb, his mind

Less'ning with languors? Nor to food inclin'd,

Nor wine? Whence comes it? Out of any fear

Of more illusion? You must needs forbear

That wrongful doubt, since you have heard me swear.'

'O Circe!' I replied, 'what man is he,

Aw'd with the rights of true humanity,

That dares taste food or wine, before he sees

His friends redeem'd from their deformities?

If you be gentle, and indeed incline

To let me taste the comfort of your wine,

Dissolve the charms that their forc'd forms enchain,

And show me here my honour'd friends like men.'

This said, she left her throne, and took her rod,

Went to her stye, and let my men abroad,

Like swine of nine years old. They opposite stood,

Observ'd their brutish form, and look'd for food;

When, with another med'cine, ev'ry one

All over smear'd, their bristles all were gone,

Produc'd by malice of the other bane,

And ev'ry one, afresh, look'd up a man,

Both younger than they were, of stature more,

And all their forms much goodlier than before.

All knew me, cling'd about me, and a cry

Of pleasing mourning flew about so high

The horrid roof resounded; and the queen

Herself was mov'd to see our kind so keen,

Who bad me now bring ship and men ashore,

Our arms, and goods in caves hid, and restore

Myself to her, with all my other men.

I granted, went, and op'd the weeping vein

In all my men; whose violent joy to see

My safe return was passing kindly free

Of friendly tears, and miserably wept.

You have not seen young heifers (highly kept,

Fill'd full of daisies at the field, and driv'n

Home to their hovels, all so spritely giv'n

That no room can contain them, but about

Bace by the dams, and let their spirits out

In ceaseless bleating) of more jocund plight

Than my kind friends, ev'n crying out with sight

Of my return so doubted; circled me

With all their welcomes, and as cheerfully

Dispos'd their rapt minds, as if there they saw

Their natural country, cliffy Ithaca,

And ev'n the roofs where they were bred and born,

And vow'd as much, with tears; 'O your return

As much delights us as in you had come

Our country to us, and our natural home.

But what unhappy fate hath reft our friends?'

I gave unlook'd-for answer, that amends

Made for their mourning, bad them first of all

Our ship ashore draw, then in caverns stall

Our foody cattle, hide our mutual prize,

'And then,' said I, 'attend me, that your eyes,

In Circe's sacred house, may see each friend

Eating and drinking banquets out of end.'

They soon obey'd; all but Eurylochus,

Who needs would stay them all, and counsell'd thus:

'O wretches! whither will ye? Why are you

Fond of your mischiefs, and such gladness show

For Circe's house, that will transform ye all

To swine, or wolves, or lions? Never shall

Our heads get out, if once within we be,

But stay compell'd by strong necessity.

So wrought the Cyclop, when t' his cave our friends

This bold one led on, and brought all their ends

By his one indiscretion.' I for this

Thought with my sword (that desp'rate head of his

Hewn from his neck) to gash upon the ground

His mangled body, though my blood was bound

In near alliance to him. But the rest

With humble suit contain'd me, and request,

That I would leave him with my ship alone,

And to the sacred palace lead them on.

I led them; nor Eurylochus would stay

From their attendance on me, our late fray

Struck to his heart so. But mean time, my men,

In Circe's house, were all, in sev'ral bain,

Studiously sweeten'd, smug'd with oil, and deck'd

With in and out weeds, and a feast secret

Serv'd in before them; at which close we found

They all were set, cheer'd, and carousing round,

When mutual sight had, and all thought on, then

Feast was forgotten, and the moan again

About the house flew, driv'n with wings of joy.

But then spake Circe: 'Now, no more annoy,

I know myself what woes by sea, and shore,

And men unjust have plagued enough before

Your injur'd virtues. Here then feast as long,

And be as cheerful, till ye grow as strong

As when ye first forsook your country-earth.

Ye now fare all like exiles; not a mirth,

Flash'd in amongst ye, but is quench'd again

With still-renew'd tears, though the beaten vein

Of your distresses should, me think, be now

Benumb with suff'rance.' We did well allow

Her kind persuasions, and the whole year stay'd

In varied feast with her. When, now array'd

The world was with the spring, and orby hours

Had gone the round again through herbs and flow'rs,

The months absolv'd in order, till the days

Had run their full race in Apollo's rays;

My friends remember'd me of home, and said;

If ever fate would sign my pass, delay'd

It should be now no more. I heard them well,

Yet that day spent in feast, till darkness fell,

And sleep his virtues through our vapours shed.

When I ascended sacred Circe's bed,

Implor'd my pass, and her performéd vow

Which now my soul urg'd, and my soldiers now

Afflicted me with tears to get them gone.

All these I told her, and she answer'd these:

"Much-skill'd Ulysses Laertiades!

Remain no more against your wills with me,

But take your free way; only this must be

Perform'd before you steer your course for home:

You must the way to Pluto overcome,

And stern Persephoné, to form your pass,

By th' aged Theban soul Tiresias,

The dark-brow'd prophet, whose soul yet can see

Clearly, and firmly; grave Persephoné,

Ev'n dead, gave him a mind, that he alone

Might sing truth's solid wisdom, and not one

Prove more than shade in his comparison.'

This broke my heart; I sunk into my bed,

Mourn'd, and would never more be comforted

With light, nor life. But having now exprest

My pains enough to her in my unrest,

That so I might prepare her ruth, and get

All I held fit for an affair so great,

I said: 'O Circe, who shall steer my course

To Pluto's kingdom? Never ship had force

To make that voyage.' The divine-in-voice

Said; 'Seek no guide, raise you your mast, and hoise

Your ship's white sails, and then sit yon at peace,

The fresh North Spirit shall waft ye through the Seas.

But, having past the ocean, you shall see

A little shore, that to Persephoné

Puts up a consecrated wood, where grows

Tall firs, and sallows that their fruits soon lose.

Cast anchor in the gulfs, and go alone

To Pluto's dark house, where, to Acheron

Cocytus runs, and Pyriphlegethon,

Cocytus born of Styx, and where a rock

Of both the met floods bears the roaring shock.

The dark heroë, great Tiresias,

Now coming near, to gain propitious pass,

Dig of a cubit ev'ry way a pit,

And pour to all that are deceas'd in it

A solemn sacrifice. For which, first take

Honey and wine, and their commixtion make;

Then sweet wine neat; and thirdly water pour;

And lastly add to these the whitest flour.

Then vow to all the weak necks of the dead

Off'rings a number; and, when thou shalt tread

The Ithacensian shore, to sacrifice

A heifer never-tam'd, and most of prize,

A pile of all thy most esteeméd goods

Enflaming to the dear streams of their bloods;

And, in secret rites, to Tiresias vow

A ram coal-black at all parts, that doth flow

With fat and fleece, and all thy flocks doth lead.

When the all-calling nation of the dead

Thou thus hast pray'd to, offer on the place

A ram and ewe all black being turn'd in face

To dreadful Erebus, thyself aside

The flood's shore walking. And then, gratified

With flocks of souls of men and dames deceas'd

Shall all thy pious rites be. Straight address'd

See then the off'ring that thy fellows slew,

Flay'd, and impos'd in fire; and all thy crew

Pray to the state of either Deity,

Grave Pluto, and severe Persephoné.

Then draw thy sword, stand firm, nor suffer one

Of all the faint shades of the dead and gone

T' approach the blood, till thou hast heard their king,

The wise Tiresias; who thy offering

Will instantly do honour, thy home-ways,

And all the measure of them by the seas,

Amply unfolding.' This the Goddess told;

And then the Morning in her throne of gold

Survey'd the vast world; by whose orient light

The Nymph adorn'd me with attires as bright,

Her own hands putting on both shirt and weed,

Robes fine, and curious, and upon my head

An ornament that glitter'd like a flame,

Girt me in gold; and forth betimes I came

Amongst my soldiers, rous'd them all from sleep,

And bad them now no more observance keep

Of ease, and feast, but straight a-shipboard fall,

For now the Goddess had inform'd me all.

Their noble spirits agreed; nor yet so clear

Could I bring all off, but Elpenor there

His heedless life left. He was youngest man

Of all my company, and one that wan

Least fame for arms, as little for his brain;

Who (too much steep'd in wine, and so made fain

To get refreshing by the cool of sleep,

Apart his fellows, plung'd in vapours deep,

And they as high in tumult of their way)

Suddenly wak'd and (quite out of the stay

A sober mind had giv'n him) would descend

A huge long ladder, forward, and an end

Fell from the very roof, full pitching on

The dearest joint his head was plac'd upon,

Which, quite dissolv'd, let loose his soul to hell.

I to the rest, and Circe's means did tell

Of our return, as crossing clean the hope

I gave them first, and said: 'You think the scope

Of our endeavours now is straight for home;

No; Circe otherwise design'd, whose doom

Enjoin'd us first to greet the dreadful house

Of austere Pluto and his glorious spouse,

To take the counsel of Tiresias,

The rev'rend Theban, to direct our pass.'

This brake their hearts, and grief made tear their hair.

But grief was never good at great affair;

It would have way yet. We went woful on

To ship and shore, where was arriv'd as soon

Circe unseen, a black ewe and a ram

Binding for sacrifice, and, as she came,

Vanish'd again unwitness'd by our eyes;

Which griev'd not us, nor check'd our sacrifice,

For who would see God, loth to let us see,

This way or that bent; still his ways are free.