Odyssey

Now when with rosy fingers, th' early born

And thrown through all the air, appear'd the Morn,

Ulysses' lov'd son from his bed appear'd,

His weeds put on, and did about him gird

His sword that thwart his shoulders hung, and tied

To his fair feet fair shoes, and all parts plied

For speedy readiness: who, when he trod

The open earth, to men show'd like a God.

The heralds then he straight charg'd to consort

The curl'd-head Greeks, with loud calls, to a Court.

They summon'd; th' other came in utmost haste.

Who all assembled, and in one heap plac'd

He likewise came to council, and did bear

In his fair hand his iron-headed spear.

Nor came alone, nor with men-troops prepar'd,

But two fleet dogs made both his train and guard.

Pallas supplied with her high wisdom's grace,

That all men's wants supplies, State's painted face.

His ent'ring presence all men did admire;

Who took seat in the high throne of his sire,

To which the grave peers gave him rev'rend way.

Amongst whom, an Egyptian heroë

(Crookéd with age, and full of skill) begun

The speech to all; who had a loved son

That with divine Ulysses did ascend

His hollow fleet to Troy; to serve which end,

He kept fair horse, and was a man-at-arms,

And in the cruel Cyclop's stern alarms

His life lost by him in his hollow cave,

Whose entrails open'd his abhorréd grave,

And made of him, of all Ulysses' train,

His latest supper, being latest slain;

His name was Antiphus, And this old man,

This crookéd-grown, this wise Egyptian,

Had three sons more; of which one riotous

A wooer was, and call'd Eurynomus;

The other two took both his own wish'd course.

Yet both the best fates weigh'd not down the worse,

But left the old man mindful still of moan;

Who, weeping, thus bespake the Session:

"Hear, Ithacensians, all I fitly say:

Since our divine Ulysses' parting day

Never was council call'd, nor session,

And now by whom is this thus undergone?

Whom did necessity so much compell,

Of young or old? Hath anyone heard tell

Of any coming army, that he thus now

May openly take boldness to avow,

First having heard it? Or will any here

Some motion for the public good prefer?

Some worth of note there is in this command;

And, methinks, it must be some good man's hand

That's put to it, that either hath direct

Means to assist, or, for his good affect,

Hopes to be happy in the proof he makes;

And that Jove grant, whate'er he undertakes."

Telemachus (rejoicing much to hear

The good hope and opinion men did bear

Of his young actions) no longer sat,

But long'd t' approve what this man pointed at,

And make his first proof in a cause so good;

And in the council's chief place up he stood;

When straight Pisenor (herald to his sire,

And learn'd in counsels) felt his heart on fire

To hear him speak, and put into his hand

The sceptre that his father did command;

Then, to the old Egyptian turn'd, he spoke:

"Father, not far he is that undertook

To call this Council; whom you soon shall know.

Myself, whose wrongs my griefs will make me show,

Am he that author'd this assembly here.

Nor have I heard of any army near,

Of which, being first told, I might iterate,

Nor for the public good can aught relate,

Only mine own affairs all this procure,

That in my house a double ill endure;

One, having lost a father so renown'd,

Whose kind rule once with' your command was crown'd;

The other is, what much more doth augment

His weighty loss, the ruin imminent

Of all my house by it, my goods all spent.

And of all this the wooers, that are sons

To our chief peers, are the confusións,

Importuning my mother's marriáge

Against her will; nor dares their blood's bold rage

Go to Icarius', her father's, court,

That, his will ask'd in kind and comely sort,

He may endow his daughter with a dow'r,

And, she consenting, at his pleasure's pow'r

Dispose her to a man, that, thus behav'd,

May have fit grace, and see her honour sav'd.

But these, in none but my house, all their lives

Resolve to spend; slaught'ring my sheep and beeves,

And with my fattest goats lay feast on feast,

My gen'rous wine consuming as they list.

A world of things they spoil, here wanting one,

That, like Ulysses, quickly could set gone

These peace-plagues from his house, that spoil like war;

Whom my pow'rs are unfit to urge so far,

Myself immartial. But, had I the pow'r,

My will should serve me to exempt this hour

From out my life-time. For, past patience,

Base deeds are done here, that exceed defence

Of any honour. Falling is my house,

Which you should shame to see so ruinous.

Rev'rence the censures that all good men give,

That dwell about you; and for fear to live

Expos'd to heav'n's wrath (that doth ever pay

Pains for joys forfeit) even by Jove I pray,

Or Themis, both which pow'rs have to restrain,

Or gather, councils, that ye will abstain

From further spoil, and let me only waste

In that most wretched grief I have embrac'd

For my lost father. And though I am free

From meriting your outrage, yet, if he,

Good man, hath ever with a hostile heart

Done ill to any Greek, on me convert

Your like hostility, and vengeance take

Of his ill on my life, and all these make

Join in that justice; but, to see abus'd

Those goods that do none ill but being ill-us'd,

Exceeds all right. Yet better 'tis for me,

My whole possessions and my rents to see

Consum'd by you, than lose my life and all;

For on your rapine a revenge may fall,

While I live; and so long I may complain

About the city, till my goods again,

Oft ask'd, may be with all amends repaid.

But in the mean space your misrule hath laid

Griefs on my bosom, that can only speak,

And are denied the instant pow'r of wreak."

This said, his sceptre 'gainst the ground he threw,

And tears still'd from him; which mov'd all the crew,

The court struck silent, not a man did dare

To give a word that might offend his ear.

Antinous only in this sort replied:

"High spoken, and of spirit unpacified,

How have you sham'd us in this speech of yours!

Will you brand us for an offence not ours?

Your mother, first in craft, is first in cause.

Three years are past, and near the fourth now draws,

Since first she mock'd the peers Achaian.

All she made hope, and promis'd ev'ry man,

Sent for us ever, left love's show in nought,

But in her heart conceal'd another thought.

Besides, as curious in her craft, her loom

She with a web charg'd, hard to overcome,

And thus bespake us: 'Youths, that seek my bed,

Since my divine spouse rests amongst the dead,

Hold on your suits but till I end, at most,

This funeral weed, lest what is done be lost.

Besides, I purpose, that when th' austere fate

Of bitter death shall take into his state

Laertes the heroë, it shall deck

His royal corse, since I should suffer check

In ill report of ev'ry common dame,

If one so rich should show in death his shame.'

This speech she us'd; and this did soon persuade

Our gentle minds. But this a work she made

So hugely long, undoing still in night,

By torches, all she did by day's broad light,

That three years her deceit div'd past our view,

And made us think that all she feign'd was true.

But when the fourth year came, and those sly hours

That still surprise at length dames' craftiest powers,

One of her women, that knew all, disclos'd

The secret to us, that she still unloos'd

Her whole day's fair affair in depth of night.

And then no further she could force her sleight,

But, of necessity, her work gave end.

And thus, by me, doth ev'ry other friend,

Professing love to her, reply to thee;

That ev'n thyself, and all Greeks else, may see,

That we offend not in our stay, but she.

To free thy house then, send her to her sire,

Commanding that her choice be left entire

To his election, and one settled will.

Nor let her vex with her illusions still

Her friends that woo her, standing on her wit,

Because wise Pallas hath giv'n wills to it

So full of art, and made her understand

All works in fair skill of a lady's hand.

But (for her working mind) we read of none

Of all the old world, in which Greece hath shown

Her rarest pieces, that could equal her:

Tyro, Alcmena, and Mycena were

To hold comparison in no degree,

For solid brain, with wise Penelope.

And yet, in her delays of us, she shows

No prophet's skill with all the wit she owes;

For all this time thy goods and victuals go

To utter ruin; and shall ever so,

While thus the Gods her glorious mind dispose.

Glory herself may gain, but thou shalt lose

Thy longings ev'n for necessary food,

For we will never go where lies our good,

Nor any other where, till this delay

She puts on all she quits with th' endless stay

Of some one of us, that to all the rest

May give free farewell with his nuptial feast."

The wise young prince replied: "Antinous!

I may by no means turn out of my house

Her that hath brought me forth and nourish'd me.

Besides, if quick or dead my father be

In any region, yet abides in doubt;

And 'twill go hard, my means being so run out,

To tender to Icarius again,

If he again my mother must maintain

In her retreat, the dow'r she brought with her.

And then a double ill it will confer,

Both from my father and from God on me,

When, thrust out of her house, on her bent knee,

My mother shall the horrid Furies raise

With imprecations, and all men dispraise

My part in her exposure. Never then

Will I perform this counsel. If your spleen

Swell at my courses, once more I command

Your absence from my house; some other's hand

Charge with your banquets; on your own goods eat,

And either other mutually in treat,

At either of your houses, with your feast.

But if ye still esteem more sweet and best

Another's spoil, so you still wreakless live,

Gnaw, vermin-like, things sacred, no laws give

To your devouring; it remains that I

Invoke each Ever-living Deity,

And vow, if Jove shall deign in any date

Pow'r of like pains for pleasure so past rate,

From thenceforth look, where ye have revell'd so

Unwreak'd, your ruins all shall undergo."

Thus spake Telemachus; t' assure whose threat,

Far-seeing Jove upon their pinions set

Two eagles from the high brows of a hill,

That, mounted on the Winds, together still

Their strokes extended; but arriving now

Amidst the Council, over ev'ry brow

Shook their thick wings and, threat'ning death's cold fears,

Their necks and cheeks tore with their eager seres;

Then, on the court's right hand away they flew,

Above both court and city. With whose view,

And study what events they might foretell

The Council into admiration fell.

The old heroë, Halitherses, then,

The son of Nestor, that of all old men,

His peers in that court, only could foresee

By flight of fowls man's fixed destiny,

'Twixt them and their amaze, this interpos'd:

"Hear, Ithacensians, all your doubts disclos'd.

The Wooers most are touch'd in this ostent,

To whom are dangers great and imminent;

For now not long more shall Ulysses bear

Lack of his most lov'd, but fills some place near,

Addressing to these Wooers fate and death.

And many more this mischief menaceth

Of us inhabiting this famous isle.

Let us consult yet, in this long forewhile,

How to ourselves we may prevent this ill.

Let these men rest secure, and revel still;

Though they might find it safer, if with us

They would in time prevent what threats them thus;

Since not without sure trial I foretell

These coming storms, but know their issue well.

For to Ulysses all things have event,

As I foretold him, when for Ilion went

The whole Greek fleet together, and with them

Th' abundant-in-all-counsels took the stream.

I told him, that, when much ill he had past,

And all his men were lost, he should at last,

The twentieth year, turn home, to all unknown;

All which effects are to perfection grown."

Eurymachus, the son of Polybus,

Oppos'd this man's presage, and answer'd thus:

"Hence, great in years, go, prophesy at home,

Thy children teach to shun their ills to come.

In these superior far to thee am I.

A world of fowls beneath the sun-beams fly

That are not fit t' inform a prophecy.

Besides, Ulysses perish'd long ago;

And would thy fates to thee had destin'd so,

Since so thy so much prophecy had spar'd

Thy wronging of our rights, which, for reward

Expected home with thee, hath summon'd us

Within the anger of Telemachus.

But this I will presage, which shall be true:

If any spark of anger chance t' ensue

Thy much old art in these deep auguries,

In this young man incenséd by thy lies,

Ev'n to himself his anger shall confer

The greater anguish, and thine own ends err

From all their objects; and, besides, thine age

Shall feel a pain, to make thee curse presage

With worthy cause, for it shall touch thee near.

But I will soon give end to all our fear,

Preventing whatsoever chance can fall,

In my suit to the young prince for us all,

To send his mother to her father's house,

That he may sort her out a worthy spouse,

And such a dow'r bestow, as may befit

One lov'd, to leave her friends and follow it.

Before which course be, I believe that none

Of all the Greeks will cease th' ambitión

Of such a match. For, chance what can to us,

We no man fear, no not Telemachus,

Though ne'er so greatly spoken. Nor care we

For any threats of austere prophecy,

Which thou, old dotard, vaunt'st of so in vain.

And thus shalt thou in much more hate remain;

For still the Gods shall bear their ill expense,

Nor ever be dispos'd by competence,

Till with her nuptials she dismiss our suits,

Our whole lives' days shall sow hopes for such fruits.

Her virtues we contend to, nor will go

To any other, be she never so

Worthy of us, and all the worth we owe."

He answer'd him: "Eurymachus, and all

Ye gen'rous Wooers, now, in general,

I see your brave resolves, and will no more

Make speech of these points, and, much less, implore.

It is enough, that all the Grecians here,

And all the Gods besides, just witness bear,

What friendly premonitions have been spent

On your forbearance, and their vain event.

Yet, with my other friends, let love prevail

To fit me with a vessel free of sail,

And twenty men, that may divide to me

My ready passage through the yielding sea

For Sparta, and Amathoan Pylos' shore,

I now am bound, in purpose to explore

My long-lack'd father, and to try if fame

Or Jove, most author of man's honour'd name,

With his return and life may glad mine ear,

Though toil'd in that proof I sustain a year.

If dead I hear him, nor of more state, here

Retir'd to my lov'd country, I will rear

A sepulchre to him, and celebrate

Such royal parent-rites, as fits his state;

And then my mother to a spouse dispose."

This said, he sat; and to the rest arose

Mentor, that was Ulysses' chosen friend,

To whom, when he set forth, he did commend

His cómplete family, and whom he will'd

To see the mind of his old sire fulfill'd,

All things conserving safe, till his retreat.

Who, tender of his charge, and seeing so set

In slight care of their king his subjects there,

Suff'ring his son so much contempt to bear,

Thus gravely, and with zeal, to him began:

"No more let any sceptre-bearing man,

Benevolent, or mild, or human be,

Nor in his mind form acts of piety,

But ever feed on blood, and facts unjust

Commit, ev'n to the full swing of his lust,

Since of divine Ulysses no man now,

Of all his subjects, any thought doth show.

All whom he govern'd, and became to them,

Rather than one that wore a diadem,

A most indulgent father. But, for all

That can touch me, within no envy fall

These insolent Wooers, that in violent kind

Commit things foul by th' ill wit of the mind,

And with the hazard of their heads devour

Ulysses' house, since his returning hour

They hold past hope. But it affects me much,

Ye dull plebeians, that all this doth touch

Your free states nothing; who, struck dumb, afford

These Wooers not so much wreak as a word,

Though few, and you with only number might

Extinguish to them the profaned light."

Evenor's son, Leocritus, replied:

"Mentor! the railer, made a fool with pride,

What language giv'st thou that would quiet us

With putting us in storm, exciting thus

The rout against us? Who, though more than we,

Should find it is no easy victory

To drive men, habited in feast, from feasts,

No not if Ithacus himself such guests

Should come and find so furnishing his Court,

And hope to force them from so sweet a fort.

His wife should little joy in his arrive,

Though much she wants him; for, where she alive

Would her's enjoy, there death should claim his rights.

He must be conquer'd that with many fights.

Thou speak'st unfit things. To their labours then

Disperse these people; and let these two men,

Mentor and Halitherses, that so boast

From the beginning to have govern'd most

In friendship of the father, to the son

Confirm the course he now affects to run.

But my mind says, that, if he would but use

A little patience, he should here hear news

Of all things that his wish would understand,

But no good hope for of the course in hand."

This said, the Council rose; when ev'ry peer

And all the people in dispersion were

To houses of their own; the Wooers yet

Made to Ulysses' house their old retreat.

Telemachus, apart from all the prease,

Prepar'd to shore, and, in the aged seas

His fair hands wash'd, did thus to Pallas pray:

"Hear me, O Goddess, that but yesterday

Didst deign access to me at home, and lay

Grave charge on me to take ship, and inquire

Along the dark seas for mine absent sire!

Which all the Greeks oppose; amongst whom most

Those that are proud still at another's cost,

Past measure, and the civil rights of men,

My mother's Wooers, my repulse maintain."

Thus spake he praying; when close to him came

Pallas, resembling Mentor both in frame

Of voice and person, and advis'd him thus:

"Those Wooers well might know, Telemachus,

Thou wilt not ever weak and childish be,

If to thee be instill'd the faculty

Of mind and body that thy father grac'd;

And if, like him, there be in thee enchac'd

Virtue to give words works, and works their end.

This voyage, that to them thou didst commend,

Shall not so quickly, as they idly ween,

Be vain, or giv'n up, for their opposite spleen.

But, if Ulysses nor Penelope

Were thy true parents, I then hope in thee

Of no more urging thy attempt in hand;

For few, that rightly bred on both sides stand,

Are like their parents, many that are worse,

And most few better. Those then that the nurse

Or mother call true-born yet are not so,

Like worthy sires much less are like to grow.

But thou show'st now that in thee fades not quite

Thy father's wisdom; and that future light

Shall therefore show thee far from being unwise,

Or touch'd with stain of bastard cowardice.

Hope therefore says, that thou wilt to the end

Pursue the brave act thou didst erst intend.

But for the foolish Wooers, they bewray

They neither counsel have nor soul, since they

Are neither wise nor just, and so must needs

Rest ignorant how black above their heads

Fate hovers holding Death, that one sole day

Will make enough to make them all away.

For thee, the way thou wishest shall no more

Fly thee a step; I, that have been before

Thy father's friend, thine likewise now will be,

Provide thy ship myself, and follow thee.

Go thou then home, and sooth each Wooer's vein,

But under hand fit all things for the main;

Wine in as strong and sweet casks as you can,

And meal, the very marrow of a man,

Which put in good sure leather sacks, and see

That with sweet food sweet vessels still agree.

I from the people straight will press for you

Free voluntaries; and, for ships, enow

Sea-circled Ithaca contains, both new

And old-built; all which I'll exactly view,

And choose what one soever most doth please;

Which rigg'd, we'll straight launch, and assay the seas."

This spake Jove's daughter, Pallas; whose voice heard,

No more Telemachus her charge deferr'd,

But hasted home, and, sad at heart, did see

Amidst his hall th' insulting Wooers flea

Goats, and roast swine. 'Mongst whom, Antinous

Careless, discov'ring in Telemachus

His grudge to see them, laugh'd, met, took his hand,

And said: "High-spoken, with the mind so mann'd!

Come, do as we do, put not up your spirits

With these low trifles, nor our loving merits

In gall of any hateful purpose steep,

But eat egregiously, and drink as deep.

The things thou think'st on, all at full shall be

By th' Achives thought on, and perform'd to thee;

Ship, and choice oars, that in a trice will land

Thy hasty fleet on heav'nly Pylos' sand,

And at the fame of thy illustrious sire."

He answer'd: "Men, whom pride did so inspire,

Are not fit consorts for an humble guest;

Nor are constrain'd men merry at their feast.

Is 't not enough, that all this time ye have

Op'd in your entrails my chief goods a grave,

And, while I was a child, made me partake?

My now more growth more grown my mind doth make,

And, hearing speak more judging men than you,

Perceive how much I was misgovern'd now.

I now will try if I can bring ye home

An ill Fate to consort you; if it come

From Pylos, or amongst the people here.

But thither I resolve, and know that there

I shall not touch in vain. Nor will I stay,

Though in a merchant's ship I steer my way;

Which shows in your sights best; since me ye know

Incapable of ship, or men to row."

This said, his hand he coyly snatch'd away

From forth Antinous' hand. The rest the day

Spent through the house with banquets; some with jests,

And some with railings, dignifying their feasts.

To whom a jest-proud youth the wit began:

"Telemachus will kill us ev'ry man.

From Sparta, to the very Pylian sand,

He will raise aids to his impetuous hand.

O he affects it strangely! Or he means

To search Ephyra's fat shores, and from thence

Bring deathful poisons, which amongst our bowls

Will make a general shipwrack of our souls."

Another said: "Alas, who knows but he

Once gone, and erring like his sire at sea,

May perish like him, far from aid of friends,

And so he makes us work? For all the ends

Left of his goods here we shall share, the house

Left to his mother and her chosen spouse."

Thus they; while he a room ascended, high

And large, built by his father, where did lie

Gold and brass heap'd up, and in coffers were

Rich robes, great store of odorous oils, and there

Stood tuns of sweet old wines along the wall,

Neat and divine drink, kept to cheer with all

Ulysses' old heart, if he turn'd again

From labours fatal to him to sustain.

The doors of plank were, their close exquisite,

Kept with a double key, and day and night

A woman lock'd within; and that was she

Who all trust had for her sufficiency,

Old Euryclea, one of Opis' race,

Son to Pisenor, and in passing grace

With grey Minerva; her the prince did call,

And said: "Nurse! Draw me the most sweet of all

The wine thou keep'st; next that which for my sire

Thy care reserves, in hope he shall retire.

Twelve vessels fill me forth, and stop them well.

Then into well-sew'd sacks of fine ground meal

Pour twenty measures. Nor, to anyone

But thee thyself, let this design be known.

All this see got together; I it all

In night will fetch off, when my mother shall

Ascend her high room, and for sleep prepare.

Sparta and Pylos I must see, in care

To find my father." Out Euryclea cried,

And ask'd with tears: "Why is your mind applied.

Dear son, to this course? Whither will you go?

So far off leave us, and belovéd so,

So only? And the sole hope of your race?

Royal Ulysses, far from the embrace

Of his kind country, in a land unknown

Is dead; and, you from your lov'd country gone,

The Wooers will with some deceit assay

To your destruction, making then their prey

Of all your goods. Where, in your own y'are strong,

Make sure abode. It fits not you so young

To suffer so much by the aged seas,

And err in such a wayless wilderness."

"Be cheer'd, lov'd nurse," said he, "for, not without

The will of God, go my attempts about.

Swear therefore, not to wound my mother's ears

With word of this, before from heav'n appears

Th' elev'nth or twelfth light, or herself shall please

To ask of me, or hears me put to seas,

Lest her fair body with her woe be wore."

To this the great oath of the Gods she swore;

Which having sworn, and of it every due

Perform'd to full, to vessels wine she drew,

And into well-sew'd sacks pour'd foody meal.

In mean time he, with cunning to conceal

All thought of this from others, himself bore

In broad house, with the Wooers, as before.

Then grey-eyed Pallas other thoughts did own,

And like Telemachus trod through the town,

Commanding all his men in th' even to be

Aboard his ship. Again then question'd she

Noënon, fam'd for aged Phronius' son,

About his ship; who all things to be done

Assur'd her freely should. The sun then set,

And sable shadows slid through ev'ry street,

When forth they launch'd, and soon aboard did bring

All arms, and choice of ev'ry needful thing

That fits a well-rigg'd ship. The Goddess then

Stood in the port's extreme part, where her men,

Nobly appointed, thick about her came,

Whose ev'ry breast she did with spirit enflame.

Yet still fresh projects laid the grey-eyed Dame.

Straight to the house she hasted, and sweet sleep

Pour'd on each Wooer; which so laid in steep

Their drowsy temples, that each brow did nod,

As all were drinking, and each hand his load,

The cup, let fall. All start up, and to bed,

Nor more would watch, when sleep so surfeited

Their leaden eye-lids. Then did Pallas call

Telemachus, in body, voice, and all,

Resembling Mentor, from his native nest,

And said, that all his arm'd men were addrest

To use their oars, and all expected now

He should the spirit of a soldier show.

"Come then," said she, "no more let us defer

Our honour'd action." Then she took on her

A ravish'd spirit, and led as she did leap;

And he her most haste took out step by step.

Arrived at sea and ship, they found ashore

The soldiers that their fashion'd-long hair wore;

To whom the prince said: "Come, my friends, let's bring

Our voyage's provision; ev'ry thing

Is heap'd together in our court; and none,

No not my mother, nor her maids, but one

Knows our intention." This express'd, he led,

The soldiers close together followed;

And all together brought aboard their store.

Aboard the prince went; Pallas still before

Sat at the stern, he close to her, the men

Up hasted after. He and Pallas then

Put from the shore. His soldiers then he bad

See all their arms fit; which they heard, and had.

A beechen mast, then, in the hollow base

They put, and hoisted, fix'd it in its place

With cables; and with well-wreath'd halsers hoise

Their white sails, which grey Pallas now employs

With full and fore-gales through the dark deep main.

The purple waves, so swift cut, roar'd again

Against the ship sides, that now ran and plow'd

The rugged seas up. Then the men bestow'd

Their arms about the ship, and sacrifice

With crown'd wine-cups to th' endless Deities

They offer'd up. Of all yet thron'd above,

They most observ'd the grey-eyed seed of Jove;

Who, from the evening till the morning rose,

And all day long their voyage did dispose.