Odyssey

The man, O Muse, inform, that many a way

Wound with his wisdom to his wished stay;

That wander'd wondrous far, when he the town

Of sacred Troy had sack'd and shiver'd down;

The cities of a world of nations,

With all their manners, minds, and fashions,

He saw and knew; at sea felt many woes,

Much care sustain'd, to save from overthrows

Himself and friends in their retreat for home;

But so their fates he could not overcome,

Though much he thirsted it. O men unwise,

They perish'd by their own impieties!

That in their hunger's rapine would not shun

The oxen of the lofty-going Sun,

Who therefore from their eyes the day bereft

Of safe return. These acts, in some part left,

Tell us, as others, deified Seed of Jove.

Now all the rest that austere death outstrove

At Troy's long siege at home safe anchor'd are,

Free from the malice both of sea and war;

Only Ulysses is denied access

To wife and home. The grace of Goddesses,

The rev'rend nymph Calypso, did detain

Him in her caves, past all the race of men

Enflam'd to make him her lov'd lord and spouse.

And when the Gods had destin'd that his house,

Which Ithaca on her rough bosom bears,

(The point of time wrought out by ambient years)

Should be his haven, Contention still extends

Her envy to him, ev'n amongst his friends.

All Gods took pity on him; only he,

That girds earth in the cincture of the sea,

Divine Ulysses ever did envy,

And made the fix'd port of his birth to fly.

But he himself solemniz'd a retreat

To th' Æthiops, far dissunder'd in their seat,

(In two parts parted, at the sun's descent,

And underneath his golden orient,

The first and last of men) t' enjoy their feast

Of bulls and lambs, in hecatombs addrest;

At which he sat, giv'n over to delight.

The other Gods in heav'n's supremest height

Were all in council met; to whom began

The mighty Father both of God and man

Discourse, inducing matter that inclin'd

To wise Ulysses, calling to his mind

Faultful Ægisthus, who to death was done

By young Orestes, Agamemnon's son.

His memory to the Immortals then

Mov'd Jove thus deeply: "O how falsely men

Accuse us Gods as authors of their ill!

When, by the bane their own bad lives instill,

They suffer all the mis'ries of their states,

Past our inflictions, and beyond their fates.

As now Ægisthus, past his fate, did wed

The wife of Agamemnon, and (in dread

To suffer death himself) to shun his ill,

Incurr'd it by the loose bent of his will,

In slaughtering Atrides in retreat.

Which we foretold him would so hardly set

To his murd'rous purpose, sending Mercury

That slaughter'd Argus, our consid'rate spy,

To give him this charge: 'Do not wed his wife,

Nor murder him; for thou shalt buy his life

With ransom of thine own, impos'd on thee

By his Orestes, when in him shall be

Atrides'-self renew'd, and but the prime

Of youth's spring put abroad, in thirst to climb

His haughty father's throne by his high acts.'

These words of Hermes wrought not into facts

Ægisthus' powers; good counsel he despis'd,

And to that good his ill is sacrific'd."

Pallas, whose eyes did sparkle like the skies,

Answer'd: "O Sire! Supreme of Deities,

Ægisthus pass'd his fate, and had desert

To warrant our infliction; and convert

May all the pains such impious men inflict

On innocent suff'rers to revenge as strict,

Their own hearts eating. But, that Ithacus,

Thus never meriting, should suffer thus,

I deeply suffer. His more pious mind

Divides him from these fortunes. Though unkind

Is piety to him, giving him a fate

More suff'ring than the most unfortunate,

So long kept friendless in a sea-girt soil,

Where the sea's navel is a sylvan isle,

In which the Goddess dwells that doth derive

Her birth from Atlas, who of all alive

The motion and the fashion doth command

With his wise mind, whose forces understand

The inmost deeps and gulfs of all the seas,

Who (for his skill of things superior) stays

The two steep columns that prop earth and heav'n.

His daughter 'tis, who holds this homeless-driv'n

Still mourning with her; evermore profuse

Of soft and winning speeches, that abuse

And make so languishingly, and possest

With so remiss a mind her loved guest,

Manage the action of his way for home.

Where he, though in affection overcome,

In judgment yet more longs to show his hopes

His country's smoke leap from her chimney tops,

And death asks in her arms. Yet never shall

Thy lov'd heart be converted on his thrall,

Austere Olympius. Did not ever he,

In ample Troy, thy altars gratify,

And Grecians' fleet make in thy off'rings swim?

Jove, why still then burns thy wrath to him?"

The Cloud-assembler answer'd: "What words fly,

Bold daughter, from thy pale of ivory?

As if I ever could cast from my care

Divine Ulysses, who exceeds so far

All men in wisdom, and so oft hath giv'n

To all th' Immortals thron'd in ample heav'n

So great and sacred gifts? But his decrees,

That holds the earth in with his nimble knees,

Stand to Ulysses' longings so extreme,

For taking from the God-foe Polypheme

His only eye; a Cyclop, that excell'd

All other Cyclops, with whose burden swell'd

The nymph Thoosa, the divine increase

Of Phorcys' seed, a great God of the seas.

She mix'd with Neptune in his hollow caves,

And bore this Cyclop to that God of waves.

For whose lost eye, th' Earth-shaker did not kill

Erring Ulysses, but reserves him still

In life for more death. But use we our pow'rs,

And round about us cast these cares of ours,

All to discover how we may prefer

His wish'd retreat, and Neptune make forbear

His stern eye to him, since no one God can,

In spite of all, prevail, but 'gainst a man."

To this, this answer made the grey-eyed Maid:

"Supreme of rulers, since so well apaid

The blesséd Gods are all then, now, in thee,

To limit wise Ulysses' misery,

And that you speak as you referr'd to me

Prescription for the means, in this sort be

Their sacred order: Let us now address

With utmost speed our swift Argicides,

To tell the nymph that bears the golden tress

In th' isle Ogygia, that 'tis our will

She should not stay our lov'd Ulysses still,

But suffer his return; and then will I

To Ithaca, to make his son apply

His sire's inquest the more; infusing force

Into his soul, to summon the concourse

Of curl'd-head Greeks to council, and deter

Each wooer, that hath been the slaughterer

Of his fat sheep and crooked-headed beeves.

From more wrong to his mother, and their leaves

Take in such terms as fit deserts so great.

To Sparta then, and Pylos, where doth beat

Bright Amathus, the flood, and epithet

To all that kingdom, my advice shall send

The spirit-advanc'd Prince, to the pious end

Of seeking his lost father, if he may

Receive report from Fame where rests his stay;

And make, besides, his own successive worth

Known to the world, and set in action forth."

This said, her wing'd shoes to her feet she tied,

Form'd all of gold, and all eternified,

That on the round earth or the sea sustain'd

Her ravish'd substance swift as gusts of wind.

Then took she her strong lance with steel made keen,

Great, massy, active, that whole hosts of men,

Though all heroës, conquers, if her ire

Their wrongs inflame, back'd by so great a Sire.

Down from Olympus' tops she headlong div'd,

And swift as thought in Ithaca arriv'd,

Close at Ulysses' gates; in whose first court

She made her stand, and, for her breast's support,

Lean'd on her iron lance; her form imprest

With Mentas' likeness, come as being a guest.

There found she those proud wooers, that were then

Set on those ox-hides that themselves had slain,

Before the gates, and all at dice were playing.

To them the heralds, and the rest obeying,

Fill'd wine and water; some, still as they play'd,

And some, for solemn supper's state, purvey'd,

With porous sponges cleansing tables, serv'd

With much rich feast; of which to all they kerv'd.

God-like Telemachus amongst them sat,

Griev'd much in mind; and in his heart begat

All representment of his absent sire,

How, come from far-off parts, his spirits would fire

With those proud wooers' sight, with slaughter parting

Their bold concourse, and to himself converting

The honours they usurp'd, his own commanding.

In this discourse, he first saw Pallas standing,

Unbidden entry; up rose, and addrest

His pace right to her, angry that a guest

Should stand so long at gate; and, coming near,

Her right hand took, took in his own her spear,

And thus saluted: "Grace to your repair,

Fair guest, your welcome shall be likewise fair.

Enter, and, cheer'd with feast, disclose th' intent

That caus'd your coming." This said, first he went,

And Pallas follow'd. To a room they came,

Steep, and of state; the jav'lin of the Dame

He set against a pillar vast and high,

Amidst a large and bright-kept armory,

Which was, besides, with woods of lances grac'd

Of his grave father's. In a throne he plac'd

The man-turn'd Goddess, under which was spread

A carpet, rich and of deviceful thread;

A footstool staying her feet; and by her chair

Another seat (all garnish'd wondrous fair,

To rest or sleep on in the day) he set,

Far from the prease of wooers, lest at meat

The noise they still made might offend his guest,

Disturbing him at banquet or at rest,

Ev'n to his combat with that pride of theirs,

That kept no noble form in their affairs.

And these he set far from them, much the rather

To question freely of his absent father.

A table fairly-polish'd then was spread,

On which a rev'rend officer set bread,

And other servitors all sorts of meat

(Salads, and flesh, such as their haste could get)

Serv'd with observance in. And then the sewer

Pour'd water from a great and golden ewer,

That from their hands t' a silver caldron ran.

Both wash'd, and seated close, the voiceful man

Fetch'd cups of gold, and set by them, and round

Those cups with wine with all endeavour crown'd.

Then rush'd in the rude wooers, themselves plac'd;

The heralds water gave; the maids in haste

Serv'd bread from baskets. When, of all prepar'd

And set before them, the bold wooers shar'd,

Their pages plying their cups past the rest.

But lusty wooers must do more than feast;

For now, their hungers and their thirsts allay'd,

They call'd for songs and dances; those, they said,

Were th' ornaments of feast. The herald straight

A harp, carv'd full of artificial sleight,

Thrust into Phemius', a learn'd singer's, hand,

Who, till he much was urg'd, on terms did stand,

But, after, play'd and sung with all his art.

Telemachus to Pallas then (apart,

His ear inclining close, that none might hear)

In this sort said: "My guest, exceeding dear,

Will you not sit incens'd with what I say?

These are the cares these men take; feast and play.

Which eas'ly they may use, because they eat,

Free and unpunish'd, of another's meat;

And of a man's, whose white bones wasting lie

In some far region; with th' incessancy

Of show'rs pour'd down upon them, lying ashore,

Or in the seas wash'd nak'd. Who, if he wore

Those bones with flesh and life and industry,

And these might here in Ithaca set eye

On him return'd, they all would wish to be

Either past other in celerity

Of feet and knees, and not contend t' exceed

In golden garments. But his virtues feed

The fate of ill death; nor is left to me

The least hope of his life's recovery,

No, not if any of the mortal race

Should tell me his return; the cheerful face

Of his return'd day never will appear.

But tell me, and let Truth your witness bear,

Who, and from whence you are? What city's birth?

What parents? In what vessel set you forth?

And with what mariners arriv'd you here?

I cannot think you a foot passenger.

Recount then to me all, to teach me well

Fit usage for your worth. And if it fell

In chance now first that you thus see us here,

Or that in former passages you were

My father's guest? For many men have been

Guests to my father. Studious of men

His sociable nature ever was."

On him again the grey-eyed Maid did pass

This kind reply: "I'll answer passing true

All thou hast ask'd: My birth his honour drew

From wise Anchialus. The name I bear

Is Mentas, the commanding islander

Of all the Taphians studious in the art

Of navigation; having touch'd this part

With ship and men, of purpose to maintain

Course through the dark seas t' other-languag'd men;

And Temesis sustains the city's name

For which my ship is bound, made known by fame

For rich in brass, which my occasions need,

And therefore bring I shining steel in stead,

Which their use wants, yet makes my vessel's freight,

That near a plough'd field rides at anchor's weight,

Apart this city, in the harbour call'd

Rhethrus, whose waves with Neius' woods are wall'd.

Thy sire and I were ever mutual guests,

At either's house still interchanging feasts.

I glory in it. Ask, when thou shalt see

Laertes, th' old heroë, these of me,

From the beginning. He, men say, no more

Visits the city, but will needs deplore

His son's believ'd loss in a private field;

One old maid only at his hands to yield

Food to his life, as oft as labour makes

His old limbs faint; which, though he creeps, he takes

Along a fruitful plain, set all with vines,

Which husbandman-like, though a king, he proins.

But now I come to be thy father's guest;

I hear he wanders, while these wooers feast.

And (as th' Immortals prompt me at this hour)

I'll tell thee, out of a prophetic pow'r,

(Not as profess'd a prophet, nor clear seen

At all times what shall after chance to men)

What I conceive, for this time, will be true:

The Gods' inflictions keep your sire from you.

Divine Ulysses, yet, abides not dead

Above earth, nor beneath, nor buried

In any seas, as you did late conceive,

But, with the broad sea sieg'd, is kept alive

Within an isle by rude and upland men,

That in his spite his passage home detain.

Yet long it shall not be before he tread

His country's dear earth, though solicited,

And held from his return, with iron chains;

For he hath wit to forge a world of trains,

And will, of all, be sure to make good one

For his return, so much relied upon.

But tell me, and be true: Art thou indeed

So much a son, as to be said the seed

Of Ithacus himself? Exceeding much

Thy forehead and fair eyes at his form touch;

For oftentimes we met, as you and I

Meet at this hour, before he did apply

His pow'rs for Troy, when other Grecian states

In hollow ships were his associates.

But, since that time, mine eyes could never see

Renown'd Ulysses, nor met his with me."

The wise Telemachus again replied:

"You shall with all I know be satisfied.

My mother certain says I am his son;

I know not; nor was ever simply known

By any child the sure truth of his sire.

But would my veins had took in living fire

From some man happy, rather than one wise,

Whom age might see seis'd of what youth made prise.

But he whoever of the mortal race

Is most unblest, he holds my father's place.

This, since you ask, I answer." She, again:

"The Gods sure did not make the future strain

Both of thy race and days obscure to thee,

Since thou wert born so of Penelope.

The style may by thy after acts be won,

Of so great sire the high undoubted son.

Say truth in this then: What's this feasting here?

What all this rout? Is all this nuptial cheer?

Or else some friendly banquet made by thee?

For here no shots are, where all sharers be.

Past measure contumeliously this crew

Fare through thy house; which should th' ingenuous view

Of any good or wise man come and find,

(Impiety seeing play'd in ev'ry kind)

He could not but through ev'ry vein be mov'd."

Again Telemachus: "My guest much lov'd.

Since you demand and sift these sights so far,

I grant 'twere fit a house so regular,

Rich, and so faultless once in government,

Should still at all parts the same form present

That gave it glory while her lord was here.

But now the Gods, that us displeasure bear,

Have otherwise appointed, and disgrace

My father most of all the mortal race.

For whom I could not mourn so were he dead,

Amongst his fellow-captains slaughteréd

By common enemies, or in the hands

Of his kind friends had ended his commands,

After he had egregiously bestow'd

His pow'r and order in a war so vow'd,

And to his tomb all Greeks their grace had done,

That to all ages he might leave his son

Immortal honour; but now Harpies have

Digg'd in their gorges his abhorréd grave.

Obscure, inglorious, death hath made his end,

And me, for glories, to all griefs contend.

Nor shall I any more mourn him alone,

The Gods have giv'n me other cause of moan.

For look how many optimates remain

In Samos, or the shores Dulichian,

Shady Zacynthus, or how many bear

Rule in the rough brows of this island here;

So many now my mother and this house

At all parts make defam'd and ruinous;

And she her hateful nuptials nor denies,

Nor will despatch their importunities,

Though she beholds them spoil still as they feast

All my free house yields, and the little rest

Of my dead sire in me perhaps intend

To bring ere long to some untimely end."

This Pallas sigh'd and answer'd: "O," said she,

"Absent Ulysses is much miss'd by thee,

That on these shameless suitors he might lay

His wreakful hands. Should he now come, and stay

In thy court's first gates, arm'd with helm and shield,

And two such darts as I have seen him wield,

When first I saw him in our Taphian court,

Feasting, and doing his desert's disport;

When from Ephyrus he return'd by us

From Ilus, son to Centaur Mermerus,

To whom he travell'd through the wat'ry dreads,

For bane to poison his sharp arrows' heads,

That death, but touch'd, caus'd; which he would not give,

Because he fear'd the Gods that ever live

Would plague such death with death; and yet their fear

Was to my father's bosom not so dear

As was thy father's love; (for what he sought

My loving father found him to a thought.)

If such as then Ulysses might but meet

With these proud wooers, all were at his feet

But instant dead men, and their nuptialls

Would prove as bitter as their dying galls.

But these things in the Gods' knees are repos'd,

If his return shall see with wreak inclos'd,

These in his house, or he return no more;

And therefore I advise thee to explore

All ways thyself, to set these wooers gone;

To which end give me fit attentión:

To-morrow into solemn council call

The Greek heroës, and declare to all

(The Gods being witness) what thy pleasure is.

Command to towns of their nativity

These frontless wooers. If thy mother's mind

Stands to her second nuptials so inclin'd,

Return she to her royal father's tow'rs,

Where th' one of these may wed her, and her dow'rs

Make rich, and such as may consort with grace

So dear a daughter of so great a race

And thee I warn as well (if thou as well

Wilt hear and follow) take thy best-built sail,

With twenty oars mann'd, and haste t' inquire

Where the abode is of thy absent sire,

If any can inform thee, or thine ear

From Jove the fame of his retreat may hear,

For chiefly Jove gives all that honours men.

To Pylos first be thy addression then,

To god-like Nestor; thence to Sparta haste,

To gold-lock'd Menelaus, who was last

Of all the brass-arm'd Greeks that sail'd from Troy;

And try from both these, if thou canst enjoy

News of thy sire's return'd life anywhere,

Though sad thou suffer'st in his search a year.

If of his death thou hear'st, return thou home,

And to his memory erect a tomb,

Performing parent-rites, of feast and game,

Pompous, and such as best may fit his fame;

And then thy mother a fit husband give.

These past, consider how thou mayst deprive

Of worthless life these wooers in thy house,

By open force, or projects enginous.

Things childish fit not thee; th' art so no more.

Hast thou not heard, how all men did adore

Divine Orestes, after he had slain

Ægisthus murd'ring by a treach'rous train

His famous father? Be then, my most lov'd,

Valiant and manly, ev'ry way approv'd

As great as he. I see thy person fit,

Noble thy mind, and excellent thy wit,

All giv'n thee so to use and manage here

That ev'n past death they may their memories bear.

In meantime I'll descend to ship and men,

That much expect me. Be observant then

Of my advice, and careful to maintain

In equal acts thy royal father's reign."

Telemachus replied: "You ope, fair guest,

A friend's heart in your speech, as well exprest

As might a father serve t' inform his son;

All which sure place have in my memory won.

Abide yet, though your voyage calls away,

That, having bath'd, and dignified your stay

With some more honour, you may yet beside

Delight your mind by being gratified

With some rich present taken in your way,

That, as a jewel, your respect may lay

Up in your treasury, bestow'd by me,

As free friends use to guests of such degree."

"Detain me not," said she, "so much inclin'd

To haste my voyage. What thy loved mind

Commands to give, at my return this way,

Bestow on me, that I directly may

Convey it home; which more of price to me

The more it asks my recompense to thee."

This said, away grey-eyed Minerva flew,

Like to a mounting lark; and did endue

His mind with strength and boldness, and much more

Made him his father long for than before;

And weighing better who his guest might be,

He stood amaz'd, and thought a Deity

Was there descended; to whose will he fram'd

His pow'rs at all parts, and went so inflam'd

Amongst the wooers, who were silent set,

To hear a poet sing the sad retreat

The Greeks perform'd from Troy; which was from thence

Proclaim'd by Pallas, pain of her offence.

When which divine song was perceiv'd to bear

That mournful subject by the list'ning ear

Of wise Penelope, Icarius' seed,

Who from an upper room had giv'n it heed,

Down she descended by a winding stair,

Not solely, but the state in her repair

Two maids of honour made. And when this queen

Of women stoop'd so low, she might be seen

By all her wooers. In the door, aloof,

Ent'ring the hall grac'd with a goodly roof,

She stood, in shade of graceful veils, implied

About her beauties; on her either side,

Her honour'd women. When, to tears mov'd, thus

She chid the sacred singer: "Phemiüs,

You know a number more of these great deeds

Of Gods and men, that are the sacred seeds,

And proper subjects, of a poet's song,

And those due pleasures that to men belong,

Besides these facts that furnish Troy's retreat,

Sing one of those to these, that round your seat

They may with silence sit, and taste their wine;

But cease this song, that through these ears of mine

Conveys deserv'd occasion to my heart

Of endless sorrows, of which the desert

In me unmeasur'd is past all these men,

So endless is the memory I retain,

And so desertful is that memory,

Of such a man as hath a dignity

So broad it spreads itself through all the pride

Of Greece and Argos." To the queen replied

Inspir'd Telemachus: "Why thus envies

My mother him that fits societies

With so much harmony, to let him please

His own mind in his will to honour these?

For these ingenious and first sort of men,

That do immediately from Jove retain

Their singing raptures, are by Jove as well

Inspir'd with choice of what their songs impell,

Jove's will is free in it, and therefore theirs.

Nor is this man to blame, that the repairs

The Greeks make homeward sings; for his fresh muse

Men still most celebrate that sings most news.

And therefore in his note your ears employ:

For not Ulysses only lost in Troy

The day of his return, but numbers more

The deadly ruins of his fortunes bore.

Go you then in, and take your work in hand,

Your web, and distaff; and your maids command

To ply their fit work. Words to men are due,

And those reproving counsels you pursue,

And most to me of all men, since I bear

The rule of all things that are manag'd here."

She went amaz'd away, and in her heart

Laid up the wisdom Pallas did impart

To her lov'd son so lately, turn'd again

Up to her chamber, and no more would reign

In manly counsels. To her women she

Applied her sway; and to the wooers he

Began new orders, other spirits bewray'd

Than those in spite of which the wooers sway'd.

And (whiles his mother's tears still wash'd her eyes,

Till grey Minerva did those tears surprise

With timely sleep, and that her wooers did rouse

Rude tumult up through all the shady house,

Dispos'd to sleep because their widow was)

Telemachus this new-giv'n spirit did pass

On their old insolence: "Ho! you that are,

My mother's wooers! much too high ye bear

Your petulant spirits; sit; and, while ye may

Enjoy me in your banquets, see ye lay

These loud notes down, nor do this man the wrong,

Because my mother hath disliked his song,

To grace her interruption. 'Tis a thing

Honest, and honour'd too, to hear one sing

Numbers so like the Gods in elegance,

As this man flows in. By the morn's first light,

I'll call ye all before me in a Court,

That I may clearly banish your resort,

With all your rudeness, from these roofs of mine.

Away; and elsewhere in your feasts combine.

Consume your own goods, and make mutual feast

At either's house. Or if ye still hold best,

And for your humours' more sufficéd fill,

To feed, to spoil, because unpunish'd still,

On other findings, spoil; but here I call

Th' Eternal Gods to witness, if it fall

In my wish'd reach once to be dealing wreaks,

By Jove's high bounty, these your present checks

To what I give in charge shall add more reins

To my revenge hereafter; and the pains

Ye then must suffer shall pass all your pride

Ever to see redress'd, or qualified."

At this all bit their lips, and did admire

His words sent from him with such phrase and fire;

Which so much mov'd them that Antinous,

Eupitheus' son, cried out: "Telemachus!

The Gods, I think, have rapt thee to this height

Of elocution, and this great conceit

Of self-ability. We all may pray,

That Jove invest not in this kingdom's sway

Thy forward forces, which I see put forth

A hot ambition in thee for thy birth."

"Be not offended," he replied, "if I

Shall say, I would assume this empery,

If Jove gave leave. You are not he that sings:

The rule of kingdoms is the worst of things.

Nor is it ill, at all, to sway a throne;

A man may quickly gain possession

Of mighty riches, make a wondrous prize

Set of his virtues; but the dignities

That deck a king, there are enough beside

In this circumfluous isle that want no pride

To think them worthy of, as young as I,

And old as you are. An ascent so high

My thoughts affect not. Dead is he that held

Desert of virtue to have so excell'd.

But of these turrets I will take on me

To be the absolute king, and reign as free,

As did my father, over all his hand

Left here in this house slaves to my command."

Eurymachus, the son of Polybus,

To this made this reply: "Telemachus!

The girlond of this kingdom let the knees

Of Deity run for; but the faculties

This house is seis'd of, and the turrets here,

Thou shalt be lord of, nor shall any bear

The least part off of all thou dost possess,

As long as this land is no wilderness.

Nor rul'd by out-laws. But give these their pass,

And tell me, best of princes, who he was

That guested here so late? From whence? And what

In any region boasted he his state?

His race? His country? Brought he any news

Of thy returning father? Or for dues

Of moneys to him made he fit repair?

How suddenly he rush'd into the air,

Nor would sustain to stay and make him known!

His port show'd no debauch'd companion."

He answer'd: "The return of my lov'd sire

Is past all hope; and should rude Fame inspire

From any place a flatt'ring messenger

With news of his survival, he should bear

No least belief off from my desp'rate love.

Which if a sacred prophet should approve,

Call'd by my mother for her care's unrest,

It should not move me. For my late fair guest,

He was of old my father's, touching here

From sea-girt Taphos; and for name doth bear

Mentas, the son of wise Anchialus;

And governs all the Taphians studious

Of navigation." This he said, but knew

It was a Goddess. These again withdrew

To dances and attraction of the song;

And while their pleasures did the time prolong,

The sable Even descended, and did steep

The lids of all men in desire of sleep.

Telemachus, into a room built high,

Of his illustrious court, and to the eye

Of circular prospect, to his bed ascended,

And in his mind much weighty thought contended

Before him Euryclea (that well knew

All the observance of a handmaid's due,

Daughter to Opis Pisenorides)

Bore two bright torches; who did so much please

Laërtes in her prime, that, for the price

Of twenty oxen, he made merchandise

Of her rare beauties; and love's equal flame,

To her he felt, as to his nuptial dame,

Yet never durst he mix with her in bed,

So much the anger of his wife he fled.

She, now grown old, to young Telemachus

Two torches bore, and was obsequious

Past all his other maids, and did apply

Her service to him from his infancy.

His well-built chamber reach'd, she op'd the door,

He on his bed sat, the soft weeds he wore

Put off, and to the diligent old maid

Gave all; who fitly all in thick folds laid,

And hung them on a beam-pin near the bed,

That round about was rich embroidered.

Then made she haste forth from him, and did bring

The door together with a silver ring,

And by a string a bar to it did pull.

He, laid, and cover'd well with curled wool

Wov'n in silk quilts, all night employ'd his mind

About the task that Pallas had design'd.