Odyssey

The much-sustaining, patient, heav'nly man,

Whom Toil and Sleep had worn so weak and wan,

Thus won his rest. In mean space Pallas went

To the Phæacian city, and descent

That first did broad Hyperia's lands divide,

Near the vast Cyclops, men of monstrous pride,

That prey'd on those Hyperians, since they were

Of greater pow'r; and therefore longer there

Divine Nausithous dwelt not, but arose,

And did for Scheria all his pow'rs dispose;

Far from ingenious art-inventing men

But there did he erect a city then,

First drew a wall round, then he houses builds,

And then a temple to the Gods, the fields

Lastly dividing. But he, stoop'd by Fate,

Div'd to th' infernals; and Alcinous sate

In his command, a man the Gods did teach

Commanding counsels. His house held the reach

Of grey Minerva's project, to provide

That great-soul'd Ithacus might be supplied

With all things fitting his return. She went

Up to the chamber, where the fair descent

Of great Alcinous slept; a maid, whose parts

In wit and beauty wore divine deserts.

Well-deck'd her chamber was; of which the door

Did seem to lighten, such a gloss it bore

Betwixt the posts, and now flew ope to find

The Goddess entry. Like a puft of wind

She reach'd the virgin bed; neat which there lay

Two maids, to whom the Graces did convey

Figure and manners. But above the head

Of bright Nausicaa did Pallas tread

The subtle air, and put the person on

Of Dymas' daughter, from comparison

Exempt in business naval. Like his seed

Minerva look'd now; whom one year did breed

With bright Nausicaa, and who had gain'd

Grace in her love, yet on her thus complain'd:

"Nausicaa! Why bred thy mother one

So negligent in rites so stood upon

By other virgins? Thy fair garments lie

Neglected by thee, yet thy nuptials nigh;

When rich in all attire both thou shouldst be,

And garments give to others honouring thee,

That lead thee to the temple. Thy good name

Grows amongst men for these things; they inflame

Father and rev'rend mother with delight.

Come, when the Day takes any wink from Night,

Let's to the river, and repurify

Thy wedding garments. My society

Shall freely serve thee for thy speedier aid,

Because thou shalt no mote stand on the maid.

The best of all Phæacia woo thy grace,

Where thou wert bred, and ow'st thyself a race.

Up, and stir up to thee thy honour'd sire,

To give thee mules and coach, thee and thy tire,

Veils, girdles, mantles, early to the flood

To bear in state. It suits thy high-born blood,

And far more fits thee, than to foot so far,

For far from town thou know'st the bath-founts are."

This said, away blue-eyed Minerva went

Up to Olympus, the firm continent

That bears in endless being the Deified kind,

That's neither sous'd with show'rs, nor shook with wind,

Nor chill'd with snow, but where Serenity flies

Exempt from clouds, and ever-beamy skies

Circle the glitt'ring hill, and all their days

Give the delights of blesséd Deity praise.

And hither Pallas flew, and left the maid,

When she had all that might excite her said.

Straight rose the lovely Morn, that up did raise

Fair-veil'd Nausicaa, whose dream her praise

To admiration took; who no time spent

To give the rapture of her vision vent

To her lov'd parents, whom she found within.

Her mother set at fire, who had to spin

A rock, whose tincture with sea-purple shin'd;

Her maids about her. But she chanc'd to find

Her father going abroad, to council call'd

By his grave Senate. And to him exhal'd

Her smother'd bosom was: "Lov'd sire," said she,

"Will you not now command a coach for me,

Stately and cómplete, fit for me to bear

To wash at flood the weeds I cannot wear

Before repurified? Yourself it fits

To wear fair weeds, as ev'ry man that sits

In place of council. And five sons you have,

Two wed, three bachelors, that must be brave

In ev'ry day's shift, that they may go dance;

For these three last with these things must advance

Their states in marriage, and who else but I,

Their sister, should their dancing rites supply?"

This gen'ral cause she show'd, and would not name

Her mind of nuptials to her sire, for shame.

He understood her yet, and thus replied:

"Daughter! nor these, nor any grace beside,

I either will deny thee, or defer,

Mules, nor a coach, of state and circular,

Fitting at all parts. Go, my servants shall

Serves thy desires, and thy command in all."

The servants then commanded soon obey'd,

Fetch'd coach, and mules join'd in it. Then the Maid

Brought from the chamber her rich weeds, and laid

All up in coach; in which her mother plac'd

A maund of victuals, varied well in taste,

And other junkets. Wine she likewise fill'd

Within a goat-skin bottle, and distill'd

Sweet and moist oil into a golden cruse,

Both for her daughter's, and her handmaid's, use,

To soften their bright bodies, when they rose

Cleans'd from their cold baths. Up to coach then goes

Th' observéd Maid, takes both the scourge and reins,

And to her side her handmaid straight attains.

Nor these alone, but other virgins, grac'd

The nuptial chariot. The whole bevy plac'd,

Nausicaa scourg'd to make the coach-mules run,

That neigh'd, and pac'd their usual speed, and soon

Both maids and weeds brought to the river-side,

Where baths for all the year their use supplied,

Whose waters were so pure they would not stain,

But still ran fair forth, and did more remain

Apt to purge stains, for that purg'd stain within,

Which by the water's pure store was not seen.

These, here arriv'd, the mules uncoach'd, and drave

Up to the gulfy river's shore, that gave

Sweet grass to them. The maids from coach then took

Their clothes, and steep'd them in the sable brook:

Then put them into springs, and trod them clean

With cleanly feet; adventuring wagers then

Who should have soonest and most cleanly done.

When having thoroughly cleans'd, they spread them on

The flood's shore, all in order. And then, where

The waves the pebbles wash'd, and ground was clear,

They bath'd themselves, and all with glitt'ring oil

Smooth'd their white skins; refreshing then their toil

With pleasant dinner, by the river-side;

Yet still watch'd when the sun their clothes had dried.

Till which time, having din'd, Nausicaa

With other virgins did at stool-ball play,

Their shoulder-reaching head-tires laying by.

Nausicaa, with the wrists of ivory,

The liking stroke struck, singing first a song,

As custom order'd, and amidst the throng

Made such a show, and so past all was seen,

As when the chaste-born, arrow-loving, Queen,

Along the mountains gliding, either over

Spartan Taygetus, whose tops far discover,

Or Eurymanthus, in the wild boar's chace,

Or swift-hov'd hart, and with her Jove's fair race,

The field Nymphs, sporting; amongst whom, to see

How far Diana had priority,

Though all were fair, for fairness yet of all,

As both by head and forehead being more tall,

Latona triumph'd, since the dullest sight

Might eas'ly judge whom her pains brought to light;

Nausicaa so, whom never husband tam'd,

Above them all in all the beauties flam'd.

But when they now made homewards, and array'd,

Ord'ring their weeds disorder'd as they play'd,

Mules and coach ready, then Minerva thought

What means to wake Ulysses might be wrought,

That he might see this lovely-sighted maid,

Whom she intended should become his aid,

Bring him to town, and his return advance.

Her mean was this, though thought a stool-ball chance:

The queen now, for the upstroke, struck the ball

Quite wide off th' other maids, and made it fall

Amidst the whirlpools. At which out shriek'd all,

And with the shriek did wise Ulysses wake;

Who, sitting up, was doubtful who should make

That sudden outcry, and in mind thus striv'd:

"On what a people am I now arriv'd?

At civil hospitable men, that fear

The Gods? Or dwell injurious mortals here?

Unjust, and churlish? Like the female cry

Of youth it sounds. What are they? Nymphs bred high

On tops of hills, or in the founts of floods,

In herby marshes, or in leafy woods?

Or are they high-spoke men I now am near?

I'll prove, and see." With this, the wary peer

Crept forth the thicket, and an olive bough

Broke with his broad hand, which he did bestow

In covert of his nakedness, and then

Put hasty head out. Look how from his den

A mountain lion looks, that, all embrued

With drops of trees, and weather-beaten-hued,

Bold of his strength, goes on, and in his eye

A burning furnace glows, all bent to prey

On sheep, or oxen, or the upland hart,

His belly charging him, and he must part

Stakes with the herdsman in his beasts' attempt,

Ev'n where from rape their strengths are most exempt;

So wet, so weather-beat, so stung with need,

Ev'n to the home-fields of the country's breed

Ulysses was to force forth his access,

Though merely naked; and his sight did press

The eyes of soft-hair'd virgins. Horrid was

His rough appearance to them; the hard pass

He had at sea stuck by him. All in flight

The virgins scatter'd, frighted with this sight,

About the prominent windings of the flood.

All but Nausicaa fled; but she fast stood,

Pallas had put a boldness in her breast,

And in her fair limbs tender fear comprest.

And still she stood him, as resolv'd to know

What man he was, or out of what should grow

His strange repair to them. And here was he

Put to his wisdom; if her virgin knee

He should be bold, but kneeling, to embrace,

Or keep aloof, and try with words of grace,

In humblest suppliance, if he might obtain

Some cover for his nakedness, and gain

Her grace to show and guide him to the town.

The last he best thought, to be worth his own,

In weighing both well; to keep still aloof,

And give with soft words his desires their proof,

Lest, pressing so near as to touch her knee,

He might incense her maiden modesty.

This fair and fil'd speech then shew'd this was he:

"Let me beseech, O queen, this truth of thee,

Are you of mortal, or the defied, race?

If of the Gods, that th' ample heav'ns embrace,

I can resemble you to none above

So near as to the chaste-born birth of Jove,

The beamy Cynthia. Her you full present,

In grace of ev'ry God-like lineament,

Her goodly magnitude, and all th' address

You promise of her very perfectness.

If sprung of humans, that inhabit earth,

Thrice blest are both the authors of your birth,

Thrice blest your brothers, that in your deserts

Must, ev'n to rapture, bear delighted hearts,

To see, so like the first trim of a tree,

Your form adorn a dance. But most blest he,

Of all that breathe, that hath the gift t' engage

Your bright neck in the yoke of marriage,

And deck his house with your commanding merit

I have not seen a man of so much spirit,

Nor man, nor woman, I did ever see,

At all parts equal to the parts in thee.

T' enjoy your sight, doth admiration seize

My eyes, and apprehensive faculties.

Lately in Delos (with a charge of men

Arriv'd, that render'd me most wretched then,

Now making me thus naked) I beheld

The burthen of a palm, whose issue swell'd

About Apollo's fane, and that put on

A grace like thee; for Earth had never none

Of all her sylvan issue so adorn'd.

Into amaze my very soul was turn'd,

To give it observation; as now thee

To view, O virgin, a stupidity

Past admiration strikes me, join'd with fear

To do a suppliant's due, and press so near,

As to embrace thy knees. Nor is it strange,

For one of fresh and firmest spirit would change

T' embrace so bright an object. But, for me,

A cruel habit of calamity

Prepar'd the strong impression thou hast made;

For this last day did fly night's twentieth shade

Since I, at length, escap'd the sable seas;

When in the mean time th' unrelenting prease

Of waves and stern storms toss'd me up and down,

From th' isle Ogygia. And now God hath thrown

My wrack on this shore, that perhaps I may

My mis'ries vary here; for yet their stay,

I fear, Heav'n hath not order'd, though, before

These late afflictions, it hath lent me store.

O queen, deign pity then, since first to you

My fate importunes my distress to vow.

No other dame, nor man, that this Earth own,

And neighbour city, I have seen or known.

The town then show me; give my nakedness

Some shroud to shelter it, if to these seas

Linen or woollen you have brought to cleanse.

God give you, in requital, all th' amends

Your heart can wish, a husband, family,

And good agreement. Nought beneath the sky

More sweet, more worthy is, than firm consent

Of man and wife in household government.

It joys their wishers-well, their enemies wounds,

But to themselves the special good redounds."

She answer'd: "Stranger! I discern in thee

Nor sloth, nor folly, reigns; and yet I see

Th' art poor and wretched. In which I conclude,

That industry nor wisdom make endued

Men with those gifts that make them best to th' eye;

Jove only orders man's felicity.

To good and bad his pleasure fashions still

The whole proportion of their good and ill.

And he, perhaps, hath form'd this plight in thee,

Of which thou must be patient, as he free.

But after all thy wand'rings, since thy way,

Both to our earth, and near our city, lay,

As being expos'd to our cares to relieve,

Weeds, and what else a human hand should give

To one so suppliant and tam'd with woe,

Thou shalt not want. Our city I will show,

And tell our people's name: This neighbour town,

And all this kingdom, the Phæacians own.

And (since thou seem'dst so fain to know my birth,

And mad'st a question, if of heav'n or earth.)

This earth hath bred me; and my father's name

Alcinous is, that in the pow'r and frame

Of this isle's rule is supereminent."

Thus, passing him, she to the virgins went,

And said: "Give stay both to your feet and fright.

Why thus disperse ye for a man's mere sight?

Esteem you him a Cyclop, that long since

Made use to prey upon our citizens?

This man no moist man is, (nor wat'rish thing,

That's ever flitting, ever ravishing

All it can compass; and, like it, doth range

In rape of women, never stay'd in change).

This man is truly manly, wise, and stay'd,

In soul more rich the more to sense decay'd,

Who nor will do, nor suffer to be done,

Acts lewd and abject; nor can such a one

Greet the Phæacians with a mind envíous,

Dear to the Gods they are, and he is pious,

Besides, divided from the world we are,

The out-part of it, billows circular

The sea revolving round about our shore;

Nor is there any man that enters more

Than our own countrymen, with what is brought

From other countries. This man, minding nought

But his relief, a poor unhappy wretch,

Wrack'd here, and hath no other land to fetch,

Him now we must provide for. From Jove come

All strangers, and the needy of a home,

Who any gift, though ne'er so small it be,

Esteem as great, and take it gratefully.

And therefore, virgins, give the stranger food,

And wine; and see ye bathe him in the flood,

Near to some shore to shelter most inclin'd.

To cold-bath-bathers hurtful is the wind,

Not only rugged making th' outward skin,

But by his thin pow'rs pierceth parts within.'

This said, their flight in a return they set,

And did Ulysses with all grace entreat,

Show'd him a shore, wind-proof, and full of shade,

By him a shirt and utter mantle laid,

A golden jug of liquid oil did add,

Bad wash, and all things as Nausicaa bad.

Divine Ulysses would not use their aid;

But thus bespake them: "Ev'ry lovely maid,

Let me entreat to stand a little by,

That I, alone, the fresh flood may apply

To cleanse my bosom of the sea-wrought brine,

And then use oil, which long time did not shine

On my poor shoulders. I'll not wash in sight

Of fair-hair'd maidens. I should blush outright,

To bathe all-bare by such a virgin light."

They mov'd, and mus'd a man had so much grace,

And told their mistress what a man he was.

He cleans'd his broad soil'd shoulders, back, and head

Yet never tam'd, but now had foam and weed

Knit in the fair curls. Which dissolv'd, and he

Slick'd all with sweet oil, the sweet charity

The untouch'd virgin show'd in his attire

He cloth'd him with. Then Pallas put a fire,

More than before, into his sparkling eyes,

His late soil set off with his soon fresh guise.

His locks, cleans'd, curl'd the more, and match'd, in pow'r

To please an eye, the hyacinthian flow'r.

And as a workman, that can well combine

Silver and gold, and make both strive to shine,

As being by Vulcan, and Minerva too,

Taught how far either may be urg'd to go

In strife of eminence, when work sets forth

A worthy soul to bodies of such worth,

No thought reproving th' act, in any place,

Nor Art no debt to Nature's liveliest grace;

So Pallas wrought in him a grace as great

From head to shoulders, and ashore did seat

His goodly presence. To which such a guise

He show'd in going, that it ravish'd eyes.

All which continued, as he sat apart,

Nausicaa's eye struck wonder through her heart,

Who thus bespake her consorts: "Hear me, you

Fair-wristed virgins! This rare man, I know,

Treads not our country-earth, against the will

Of some God thronéd on th' Olympian hill.

He show'd to me, till now, not worth the note,

But now he looks as he had godhead got.

I would to heav'n my husband were no worse,

And would be call'd no better, but the course

Of other husbands pleas'd to dwell out here.

Observe and serve him with our utmost cheer."

She said, they heard and did. He drunk and eat

Like to a harpy, having touch'd no meat

A long before time. But Nausicaa now

Thought of the more grace she did lately vow,

Had horse to chariot join'd, and up she rose,

Up cheer'd her guest, and said: "Guest, now dispose

Yourself for town, that I may let you see

My father's court, where all the peers will be

Of our Phæacian state. At all parts, then,

Observe to whom and what place y' are t' attain;

Though I need usher you with no advice,

Since I suppose you absolutely wise.

While we the fields pass, and men's labours there,

So long, in these maids' guides, directly bear

Upon my chariot (I must go before

For cause that after comes, to which this more

Be my induction) you shall then soon end

Your way to town, whose tow'rs you see ascend

To such a steepness. On whose either side

A fair port stands, to which is nothing wide

An ent'rer's passage; on whose both hands ride

Ships in fair harbours; which once past, you win

The goodly market-place (that circles in

A fane to Neptune, built of curious stone,

And passing ample) where munitión,

Gables, and masts, men make, and polish'd oars;

For the Phæacians are not conquerors

By bows nor quivers; oars, masts, ships they are

With which they plough the sea, and wage their war.

And now the cause comes why I lead the way,

Not taking you to coach: The men, that sway

In work of those tools that so fit our state,

Are rude mechanicals, that rare and late

Work in the market-place; and those are they

Whose bitter tongues I shun, who straight would say

(For these vile vulgars are extremely proud,

And foully-languag'd) 'What is he, allow'd

To coach it with Nausicaa, so large set,

And fairly fashion'd? Where were these two met?

He shall be sure her husband. She hath been

Gadding in some place, and, of foreign men

Fitting her fancy, kindly brought him home

In her own ship. He must, of force, be come

From some far region; we have no such man.

It may be, praying hard, when her heart ran

On some wish'd husband, out of heav'n some God

Dropp'd in her lap; and there lies she at road

Her cómplete life time. But, in sooth, if she,

Ranging abroad, a husband, such as he

Whom now we saw, laid hand on, she was wise,

For none of all our nobles are of prize

Enough for her; he must beyond sea come,

That wins her high mind, and will have her home.

Of our peers many have importun'd her,

Yet she will none.' Thus these folks will confer

Behind my back; or, meeting, to my face

The foul-mouth rout dare put home this disgrace;

And this would be reproaches to my fame,

For, ev'n myself just anger would inflame,

If any other virgin I should see,

Her parents living, keep the company

Of any man to any end of love,

Till open nuptials should her act approve.

And therefore hear me, guest, and take such way,

That you yourself may compass, in your stay,

Your quick deduction by my father's grace,

And means to reach the root of all your race.

We shall, not far out of our way to town,

A never-fell'd grove find, that poplars crown,

To Pallas sacred, where a fountain flows,

And round about the grove a meadow grows,

In which my father holds a manor-house,

Deck'd all with orchards, green, and odorous,

As far from town as one may hear a shout.

There stay, and rest your foot-pains, till full out

We reach the city; where, when you may guess

We are arriv'd, and enter our access

Within my father's court, then put you on

For our Phæacian state, where, to be shown

My father's house, desire. Each infant there

Can bring you to it; and yourself will clear

Distinguish it from others, for no shows

The city-buildings make compar'd with those

That king Alcinous' seat doth celebrate.

In whose roofs, and the court (where men of state,

And suitors sit and stay) when you shall hide,

Straight pass it, ent'ring further, where abide

My mother, with her withdrawn housewif'ries,

Who still sits in the fire-shine, and applies

Her rock, all-purple, and of pompous show,

Her chair plac'd 'gainst a pillar, all-a-row

Her maids behind her set; and to her here

My father's dining-throne looks, seated where

He pours his choice of wine in, like a God.

This view once past, for th' end of your abode,

Address suit to my mother, that her mean

May make the day of your redition seen,

And you may frolic straight, though far away

You are in distance from your wishéd stay.

For, if she once be won to wish you well,

Your hope may instantly your passport seal,

And thenceforth sure abide to see your friends,

Fair house, and all to which your heart contends."

This said, she us'd her shining scourge, and lash'd

Her mules, that soon the shore left where she wash'd,

And, knowing well the way, their pace was fleet,

And thick they gather'd up their nimble feet.

Which yet she temper'd so, and us'd her scourge

With so much skill, as not to over-urge

The foot behind, and make them straggle so

From close society. Firm together go

Ulysses and her maids. And now the sun

Sunk to the waters, when they all had won

The never-fell'd, and sound-exciting, wood,

Sacred to Pallas; where the god-like good

Ulysses rested, and to Pallas pray'd:

"Hear me, of goat-kept Jove th' unconquer'd Maid!

Now throughly hear me, since, in all the time

Of all my wrack, my pray'rs could never climb

Thy far-off ears; when noiseful Neptune toss'd

Upon his wat'ry bristles my emboss'd

And rock-torn body. Hear yet now, and deign

I may of the Phæacian state obtain

Pity, and grace." Thus pray'd he, and she heard,

By no means yet, expos'd to sight, appear'd,

For fear t' offend her uncle, the supreme

Of all the Sea-Gods, whose wrath still extreme

Stood to Ulysses; and would never cease,

Till with his country shore he crown'd his peace.