Odyssey

Pallas, the Goddess with the sparkling eyes,

Excites Penelope t' object the prize,

The bow and bright steels, to the Wooers' strength

And here began the strife and blood at length.

She first ascended by a lofty stair

Her utmost chamber; of whose door her fair

And half transparent hand receiv'd the key,

Bright, brazen, bitted passing curiously,

And at it hung a knob of ivory.

And this did lead her where was strongly kept

The treasure-royal; in whose store lay heapt

Gold, brass, and steel, engrav'n with infinite art;

The crooked bow, and arrowy quiver, part

Of that rich magazine. In the quiver were

Arrows a number, sharp and sighing gear.

The bow was giv'n by kind Eurytides

Iphitus, fashion'd like the Deities,

To young Ulysses, when within the roof

Of wise Orsilochus their pass had proof

Of mutual meeting in Messena; where

Ulysses claim'd a debt, to whose pay were

The whole Messenian people bound, since they

From Ithaca had forc'd a wealthy prey

Of sheep and shepherds. In their ships they thrust

Three hundred sheep together; for whose just

And instant rendry old Laertes sent

Ulysses his ambassador, that went

A long way in the ambassy, yet then

Bore but the foremost prime of youngest men;

His father sending first to that affair

His gravest counsellors, and then his heir.

Iphitus made his way there, having lost

Twelve female horse, and mules commended most

For use of burthen; which were after cause

Of death and fate to him; for, past all laws

Of hospitality, Jove's mighty son,

Skill'd in great acts, was his confusion

Close by his house, though at that time his guest,

Respecting neither the apposéd feast,

And hospitable table, that in love

He set before him, nor the voice of Jove,

But, seizing first his mares, he after slew

His host himself. From those mares' search now grew

Ulysses known t' Iphitus; who that bow

At their encounter did in love bestow,

Which great Eurytus' hand had borne before,

(Iphitus' father) who, at death's sad door,

In his steep turrets, left it to his son.

Ulysses gave him a keen falchion,

And mighty lance. And thus began they there

Their fatal loves; for after never were

Their mutual tables to each other known,

Because Jove's son th' unworthy part had shown

Of slaughtering this God-like loving man,

Eurytus' son, who with that bow began

And ended love t' Ulysses; who so dear

A gift esteem'd it, that he would not bear

In his black fleet that guest-rite to the war,

But, in fit memory of one so far

In his affection, brought it home, and kept

His treasure with it; where till now it slept.

And now the Queen of women had intent

To give it use, and therefore made ascent

Up all the stairs' height to the chamber door,

Whose shining leaves two bright pilasters bore

To such a close when both together went

It would resist the air in their consent.

The ring she took then, and did draw aside

A bar that ran within, and then implied

The key into the lock, which gave a sound,

The bolt then shooting, as in pasture ground

A bull doth low, and make the valleys ring;

So loud the lock humm'd when it loos'd the spring,

And ope the doors flew. In she went, along

The lofty chamber, that was boarded strong

With heart of oak, which many years ago

The architect did smooth and polish so

That now as then he made it freshly shine,

And tried the evenness of it with a line.

There stood in this room presses that enclos'd

Robes odoriferous, by which repos'd

The bow was upon pins; nor from it far

Hung the round quiver glitt'ring like a star;

Both which her white extended hand took down.

Then sat she low, and made her lap a crown

Of both these relics, which she wept to see,

And cried quite out with loving memory

Of her dear lord; to whose worth paying then

Kind debts enow, she left, and, to the men

Vow'd to her wooing, brought the crooked bow,

And shaft-receiving quiver, that did flow

With arrows beating sighs up where they fell.

Then, with another chest, replete as well

With games won by the King, of steel and brass,

Her maids attended. Past whom making pass

To where her Wooers were, she made her stay

Amidst the fair hall door, and kept the ray

Of her bright count'nance hid with veils so thin,

That though they seem'd t' expose, they let love in;

Her maids on both sides stood; and thus she spake:

"Hear me, ye Wooers, that a pleasure take

To do me sorrow, and my house invade

To eat and drink, as if 'twere only made

To serve your rapines; my lord long away,

And you allow'd no colour for your stay

But his still absence; striving who shall frame

Me for his wife; and, since 'tis made a game,

I here propose divine Ulysses' bow

For that great master-piece to which ye vow.

He that can draw it with least show to strive,

And through these twelve axe-heads an arrow drive,

Him will I follow, and this house forego

That nourish'd me a maid, now furnish'd so

With all things fit, and which I so esteem

That I shall still live in it in my dream."

This said, she made Eumæus give it them.

He took and laid it by, and wept for woe;

And like him wept Philœtius, when the bow

Of which his king was bearer he beheld.

Their tears Antinous' manhood much refell'd,

And said: "Ye rustic fools! that still each day

Your minds give over to this vain dismay,

Why weep ye, wretches, and the widow's eyes

Tempt with renew'd thought, that would otherwise

Depose her sorrows, since her lord is dead,

And tears are idle? Sit, and eat your bread,

Nor whisper more a word; or get ye gone,

And weep without doors. Let this bow alone

To our out-match'd contention. For I fear

The bow will scarce yield draught to any here;

Here no such man lives as Laertes' son

Amongst us all. I knew him; thought puts on

His look's sight now, methinks, though then a child."

Thus show'd his words doubt, yet his hopes instill'd

His strength the stretcher of Ulysses' string,

And his steels' piercer. But his shaft must sing

Through his pierc'd palate first; whom so he wrong'd

In his free roof, and made the rest ill-tongued

Against his virtues. Then the sacred heat

That spirited his son did further set

Their confidence on fire, and said: "O friends,

Jove hath bereft my wits. The Queen intends,

Though I must grant her wise, ere long to leave

Ulysses' court, and to her bed receive

Some other lord; yet, notwithstanding, I

Am forc'd to laugh, and set my pleasures high

Like one mad sick. But, Wooers, since ye have

An object for your trials now so brave,

As all the broad Achaian earth exceeds,

As sacred Pylos, as the Argive breeds,

As black Epirus, as Mycena's birth,

And as the more fam'd Ithacensian earth,

All which, yourselves well know, and oft have said—

For what need hath my mother of my aid

In her advancement?—tender no excuse

For least delay, nor too much time profuse

In stay to draw this bow, but draw it straight,

Shoot, and the steels pierce; make all see how slight

You make these poor bars to so rich a prize.

No eag'rer yet? Come all. My faculties

Shall try the bow's strength, and the piercéd steel.

I will not for my rev'rend mother feel

The sorrows that I know will seize my heart,

To see her follow any, and depart

From her so long-held home; but first extend

The bow and arrow to their tender'd end.

For I am only to succeed my sire

In guard of his games, and let none aspire

To their besides possession." This said,

His purple robe he cast off; by he laid

His well-edg'd sword; and, first, a sev'ral pit

He digg'd for ev'ry axe, and strengthen'd it

With earth close ramm'd about it; on a rew

Set them, of one height, by a line he drew

Along the whole twelve; and so orderly

Did ev'ry deed belonging (yet his eye

Never before beholding how 'twas done)

That in amaze rose all his lookers-on.

Then stood he near the door, and prov'd to draw

The stubborn bow. Thrice tried, and thrice gave law

To his uncrown'd attempts; the fourth assay

With all force off'ring, which a sign gave stay

Giv'n by his father; though he show'd a mind

As if he stood right heartily inclin'd

To perfect the exploit, when all was done

In only drift to set the Wooers on.

His weakness yet confess'd, he said: "O shame!

I either shall be ever of no name,

But prove a wretch; or else I am too young,

And must not now presume on pow'rs so strong

As sinews yet more growing may engraft,

To turn a man quite over with a shaft.

Besides, to men whose nerves are best prepar'd,

All great adventures at first proof are hard.

But come, you stronger men, attempt this bow,

And let us end our labour." Thus, below

A well-join'd board he laid it, and close by

The brightly-headed shaft; then thron'd his thigh

Amidst his late-left seat. Antinous then

Bade all arise; but first, who did sustain

The cup's state ever, and did sacrifice

Before they ate still, and that man bade rise,

Since on the other's right hand he was plac'd,

Because he held the right hand's rising, grac'd

With best success still. This discretion won

Supreme applause; and first rose Œnops' son,

Liodes, that was priest to all the rest,

Sat lowest with the cup still, and their jest

Could never like, but ever was the man

That check'd their follies; and he now began

To taste the bow, the sharp shaft took, tugg'd hard,

And held aloft, and, till he quite had marr'd

His delicate tender fingers, could not stir

The churlish string; who therefore did refer

The game to others, saying, that same bow,

In his presage, would prove the overthrow

Of many a chief man there; nor thought the fate

Was any whit austere, since death's short date

Were much the better taken, than long life

Without the object of their amorous strife,

For whom they had burn'd-out so many days

To find still other, nothing but delays

Obtaining in them; and affirm'd that now

Some hop'd to have her, but when that tough bow

They all had tried, and seen the utmost done,

They must rest pleas'd to cease; and now some one

Of all their other fair-veil'd Grecian dames

With gifts, and dower, and Hymeneal flames,

Let her love light to him that most will give,

And whom the nuptial destiny did drive.

Thus laid he on the well-join'd polish'd board

The bow and bright-pil'd shaft, and then restor'd

His seat his right. To him Antinous

Gave bitter language, and reprov'd him thus:

"What words, Liodes, pass thy speech's guard,

That 'tis a work to bear, and set so hard

They set up my disdain! This bow must end

The best of us? Since thy arms cannot lend

The string least motion? Thy mother's throes

Brought never forth thy arms to draught of bows,

Or knitting shafts off. Though thou canst not draw

The sturdy plant, thou art to us no law.

Melanthius! Light a fire, and set thereat

A chair and cushions, and that mass of fat

That lies within bring out, that we may set

Our pages to this bow, to see it het

And suppled with the suet, and then we

May give it draught, and pay this great decree

Utmost performance." He a mighty fire

Gave instant flame, put into act th' entire

Command laid on him, chair and cushions set,

Laid on the bow, which straight the pages het,

Chaf'd, suppled with the suet to their most;

And still was all their unctuous labour lost,

All Wooers' strengths too indigent and poor

To draw that bow; Antinous' arms it tore,

And great Eurymachus', the both clear best,

Yet both it tir'd, and made them glad to rest.

Forth then went both the swains, and after them

Divine Ulysses; when, being past th' extreme

Of all the gates, with winning words he tried

Their loves, and this ask'd: "Shall my counsels hide

Their depths from you? My mind would gladly know

If suddenly Ulysses had his vow

Made good for home, and had some God to guide

His steps and strokes to wreak these Wooers' pride,

Would your aids join on his part, or with theirs?

How stand your hearts affected?" They made pray'rs

That some God would please to return their lord,

He then should see how far they would afford

Their lives for his. He, seeing their truth, replied;

"I am your lord, through many a suff'rance tried,

Arriv'd now here, whom twenty years have held

From forth my country. Yet are not conceal'd

From my sure knowledge your desires to see

My safe return. Of all the company

Now serving here besides, not one but you

Mine ear hath witness'd willing to bestow

Their wishes of my life, so long held dead.

I therefore vow, which shall be perfected,

That if God please beneath my hand to leave

These Wooers lifeless, ye shall both receive

Wives from that hand, and means, and near to me

Have houses built to you, and both shall be

As friends and brothers to my only son.

And, that ye well may know me, and be won

To that assurance, the infallible sign

The white-tooth'd boar gave, this mark'd knee of mine,

When in Parnassus he was held in chase

By me, and by my famous grandsire's race,

I'll let you see." Thus sever'd he his weed

From that his wound; and ev'ry word had deed

In their sure knowledges. Which made them cast

Their arms about him, his broad breast embrac'd,

His neck and shoulders kiss'd. And him as well

Did those true pow'rs of human love compell

To kiss their heads and hands, and to their moan

Had sent the free light of the cheerful sun,

Had not Ulysses broke the ruth, and said;

"Cease tears and sorrows, lest we prove display'd

By some that issue from the house, and they

Relate to those within. Take each his way,

Not altogether in, but one by one,

First I, then you; and then see this be done;

The envious Wooers will by no means give

The offer of the bow and arrow leave

To come at me; spite then their pride, do thou,

My good Eumæus, bring both shaft and bow

To my hand's proof; and charge the maids before

That instantly they shut in ev'ry door,

That they themselves (if any tumult rise

Beneath my roofs by any that envies

My will to undertake the game) may gain

No passage forth, but close at work contain

With all free quiet, or at least constrain'd,

And therefore, my Philœtius, see maintain'd,

When close the gates are shut, their closure fast,

To which end be it thy sole work to cast

Their chains before them." This said, in he led,

Took first his seat; and then they seconded

His entry with their own. Then took in hand

Eurymachus the bow, made close his stand

Aside the fire, at whose heat here and there

He warm'd and suppled it, yet could not stere

To any draught the string, with all his art;

And therefore swell'd in him his glorious heart,

Affirming, "that himself and all his friends

Had cause to grieve, not only that their ends

They miss'd in marriage, since enough besides

Kind Grecian dames there liv'd to be their brides

In Ithaca, and other bord'ring towns,

But that to all times future their renowns

Would stand disparag'd, if Ulysses' bow

They could not draw, and yet his wife would woo."

Antinous answer'd; "That there could ensue

No shame at all to them; for well he knew

That this day was kept holy to the Sun

By all the city, and there should be done

No such profane act, therefore bade lay by

The bow for that day; but the mastery

Of axes that were set up still might stand,

Since that no labour was, nor any hand

Would offer to invade Ulysses' house,

To take, or touch with surreptitious

Or violent hand, what there was left for use.

He, therefore, bade the cup-bearer infuse

Wine to the bowls, that so with sacrifice

They might let rest the shooting exercise,

And in the morning make Melanthius bring

The chief goats of his herd, that to the King

Of bows and archers they might burn the thighs

For good success, and then attempt the prize."

The rest sat pleas'd with this. The heralds straight

Pour'd water on their hands; each page did wait

With his crown'd cup of wine, serv'd ev'ry man

Till all were satisfied. And then began

Ulysses' plot of his close purpose thus:

"Hear me, ye much renown'd Eurymachus,

And king Antinous, in chief, who well,

And with decorum sacred, doth compell

This day's observance, and to let lay down

The bow all this light, giving Gods their own.

The morning's labour God the more will bless,

And strength bestow where he himself shall please.

Against which time let me presume to pray

Your favours with the rest, that this assay

May my old arms prove, trying if there lie

In my poor pow'rs the same activity

That long since crown'd them; or if needy fare

And desolate wand'ring have the web worn bare

Of my life's thread at all parts, that no more

Can furnish these affairs as heretofore."

This het their spleens past measure, blown with fear

Lest his loath'd temples would the garland wear

Of that bow's draught; Antinous using speech

To this sour purpose: "Thou most arrant wretch

Of all guests breathing, in no least degree

Grac'd with a human soul, it serves not thee

To feast in peace with us, take equal share

Of what we reach to, sit, and all things hear

That we speak freely,—which no begging guest

Did ever yet,—but thou must make request

To mix with us in merit of the Queen.

But wine inflames thee, that hath ever been

The bane of men whoever yet would take

Th' excess it offers and the mean forsake.

Wine spoil'd the Centaur great Eurytion,

In guest-rites with the mighty-minded son

Of bold Ixion, in his way to war

Against the Lapithes; who, driv'n as far

As madness with the bold effects of wine,

Did outrage to his kind host, and decline

Other heroës from him feasted there

With so much anger that they left their cheer,

And dragg'd him forth the fore-court, slit his nose,

Cropp'd both his ears, and, in the ill-dispose

His mind then suffer'd, drew the fatal day

On his head with his host; for thence the fray

Betwixt the Centaurs and the Lapithes

Had mortal act. But he for his excess

In spoil of wine fared worse himself; as thou

For thy large cups, if thy arms draw the bow,

My mind fortells shalt fear; for not a man

Of all our consort, that in wisdom can

Boast any fit share, will take prayers then,

But to Echetus, the most stern of men,

A black sail freight with thee, whose worst of ill,

Be sure, is past all ransom. Sit, then, still,

Drink temp'rately, and never more contend

With men your youngers." This the Queen did end

With her defence of him, and told his foe

It was not fair nor equal t' overcrow

The poorest guest her son pleas'd t' entertain

In his free turrets with so proud a strain

Of threats and bravings; asking if he thought,

That if the stranger to his arms had brought

The stubborn bow down, he should marry her,

And bear her home? And said, himself should err

In no such hope; nor of them all the best

That griev'd at any good she did her guest

Should banquet there; since it in no sort show'd

Noblesse in them, nor paid her what she ow'd

Her own free rule there. This Eurymachus

Confirm'd and said: "Nor feeds it hope in us,

Icarius' daughter, to solemnize rites

Of nuptials with thee; nor in noblest sights

It can show comely; but to our respects

The rumour both of sexes and of sects

Amongst the people would breed shame and fear,

Lest any worst Greek said: 'See, men that were

Of mean deservings will presume t' aspire

To his wife's bed, whom all men did admire

For fame and merit, could not draw his bow,

And yet his wife had foolish pride to woo,

When straight an errant beggar comes and draws

The bow with ease, performing all the laws

The game besides contain'd'; and this would thus

Prove both indignity and shame to us."

The Queen replied: "The fame of men, I see,

Bears much price in your great suppos'd degree;

Yet who can prove amongst the people great,

That of one so esteem'd of them the seat

Doth so defame and ruin? And beside,

With what right is this guest thus vilified

In your high censures, when the man in blood

Is well compos'd and great, his parents good?

And therefore give the bow to him, to try

His birth and breeding by his chivalry.

If his arms draw it, and that Phœbus stands

So great a glory to his strength, my hands

Shall add this guerdon: Ev'ry sort of weed,

A two-edg'd sword, and lance to keep him freed

From dogs and men hereafter, and dismiss

His worth to what place tends that heart of his."

Her son gave answer: "That it was a wrong

To his free sway in all things that belong

To guard of that house, to demand the bow

Of any Wooer, and the use bestow

Upon the stranger: for the bow was his

To give or to withhold; no masteries

Of her proposing giving any pow'r

T' impair his right in things for any Wooer,

Or any that rough Ithaca affords,

Any that Elis; of which no man's words

Nor pow'rs should curb him, stood he so inclin'd,

To see the bow in absolute gift resign'd

To that his guest to bear and use at will,

And therefore bade his mother keep her still

Amongst her women at her rock and loom;

Bows were for men; and this bow did become

Past all men's his disposure, since his sire

Left it to him, and all the house entire."

She stood dismay'd at this, and in her mind

His wise words laid up, standing so inclin'd

As he had will'd, with all her women going

Up to her chamber, there her tears bestowing,

As ev'ry night she did, on her lov'd lord,

Till sleep and Pallas her fit rest restor'd.

The bow Eumæus took, and bore away;

Which up in tumult, and almost in fray,

Put all the Wooers, one enquiring thus:

"Whither, rogue, abject, wilt thou bear from us

That bow propos'd? Lay down, or I protest

Thy dogs shall eat thee, that thou nourishest

To guard thy swine; amongst whom, left of all,

Thy life shall leave thee, if the festival,

We now observe to Phœbus, may our zeals

Grace with his aid, and all the Deities else."

This threat made good Eumæus yield the bow

To his late place, not knowing what might grow

From such a multitude. And then fell on

Telemachus with threats, and said: "Set gone

That bow yet further; 'tis no servant's part

To serve too many masters; raise your heart

And bear it off, lest, though you're younger, yet

With stones I pelt you to the field with it.

If you and I close, I shall prove too strong.

I wish as much too hard for all this throng

The Gods would make me, I should quickly send

Some after with just sorrow to their end,

They waste my victuals so, and ply my cup,

And do me such shrewd turns still." This put up

The Wooers all in laughters, and put down

Their angers to him, that so late were grown

So grave and bloody; which resolv'd that fear

Of good Eumæus, who did take and bear

The King the bow; call'd nurse, and bade her make

The doors all sure, that if men's tumults take

The ears of some within, they may not fly,

But keep at work still close and silently.

These words put wings to her, and close she put

The chamber door. The court-gates then were shut

By kind Philœtius, who straight did go

From out the hall, and in the portico

Found laid a gable of a ship, compos'd

Of spongy bulrushes; with which he clos'd,

In winding round about them, the court-gates,

Then took his place again, to view the fates

That quickly follow'd. When he came, he saw

Ulysses viewing, ere he tried to draw,

The famous bow, which ev'ry way he mov'd,

Up and down turning it; in which be prov'd

The plight it was in, fearing, chiefly, lest

The horns were eat with worms in so long rest.

But what his thoughts intended turning so,

And keeping such a search about the bow,

The Wooers little knowing fell to jest,

And said: "Past doubt he is a man profest

In bowyers' craft, and sees quite through the wood;

Or something, certain, to be understood

There is in this his turning of it still.

A cunning rogue he is at any ill."

Then spake another proud one: "Would to heav'n,

I might, at will, get gold till he hath giv'n

That bow his draught!" With these sharp jests did these

Delightsome Woo'rs their fatal humours please.

But when the wise Ulysses once had laid

His fingers on it, and to proof survey'd

The still sound plight it held, as one of skill

In song, and of the harp, doth at his will,

In tuning of his instrument, extend

A string out with his pin, touch all, and lend

To ev'ry well-wreath'd string his perfect sound,

Struck all together; with such ease drew round

The King the bow. Then twang'd he up the string,

That as a swallow in the air doth sing

With no continued tune, but, pausing still,

Twinks out her scatter'd voice in accents shrill;

So sharp the string sung when he gave it touch,

Once having bent and drawn it. Which so much

Amaz'd the Wooers, that their colours went

And came most grievously. And then Jove rent

The air with thunder; which at heart did cheer

The now-enough-sustaining traveller,

That Jove again would his attempt enable.

Then took he into hand, from off the table,

The first drawn arrow: and a number more

Spent shortly on the Wooers; but this one

He measur'd by his arm, as if not known

The length were to him, nock'd it then, and drew;

And through the axes, at the first hole, flew

The steel-charg'd arrow; which when he had done

He thus bespake the Prince: "You have not won

Disgrace yet by your guest; for I have strook

The mark I shot at, and no such toil took

In wearying the bow with fat and fire

As did the Wooers. Yet reserv'd entire,

Thank Heav'n, my strength is, and myself am tried,

No man to be so basely vilified

As these men pleas'd to think me. But, free way

Take that, and all their pleasures; and while day

Holds her torch to you, and the hour of feast

Hath now full date, give banquet, and the rest,

Poem and harp, that grace a well-fill'd board."

This said, he beckon'd to his son; whose sword

He straight girt to him, took to hand his lance,

And cómplete-arm'd did to his sire advance.