Odyssey

Thus pray'd the wise and God-observing man.

The Maid, by free force of her palfreys, wan

Access to town, and the renownéd court

Reach'd of her father; where, within the port,

She stay'd her coach, and round about her came

Her brothers, made as of immortal frame,

Who yet disdain'd not, for her love, mean deeds,

But took from coach her mules, brought in her weeds.

And she ascends her chamber; where purvey'd

A quick fire was by her old chamber-maid,

Eurymedusa, th' Aperæan born,

And brought by sea from Apera t' adorn

The court of great Alcinous, because

He gave to all the blest Phæacians laws,

And, like a heav'n-born pow'r in speech, acquir'd

The people's ears. To one then so admir'd,

Eurymedusa was esteem'd no worse

Than worth the gift; yet now, grown old, was nurse

To ivory-arm'd Nausicaa, gave heat

To all her fires, and dress'd her privy meat.

Then rose Ulysses, and made way to town;

Which ere he reach'd, a mighty mist was thrown

By Pallas round about him, in her care,

Lest, in the sway of envies popular,

Some proud Phæacian might foul language pass,

Justle him up, and ask him what he was.

Ent'ring the lovely town yet, through the cloud

Pallas appear'd, and like a young wench show'd

Bearing a pitcher, stood before him so

As if objected purposely to know

What there he needed; whom he question'd thus:

"Know you not, daughter, where Alcinous,

That rules this town, dwells? I, a poor distrest

Mere stranger here, know none I may request

To make this court known to me." She replied:

"Strange father, I will see you satisfied

In that request. My father dwells just by

The house you seek for; but go silently,

Nor ask, nor speak to any other, I

Shall be enough to show your way. The men

That here inhabit do not entertain

With ready kindness strangers, of what worth

Or state soever, nor have taken forth

Lessons of civil usage or respect

To men beyond them. They, upon their pow'rs

Of swift ships building, top the wat'ry tow'rs,

And Jove hath giv'n them ships, for sail so wrought,

They cut a feather, and command a thought."

This said, she usher'd him, and after he

Trod in the swift steps of the Deity.

The free-sail'd seamen could not get a sight

Of our Ulysses yet, though he forthright

Both by their houses and their persons past,

Pallas about him such a darkness cast

By her divine pow'r, and her rev'rend care,

She would not give the town-born cause to stare.

He wonder'd, as he past, to see the ports;

The shipping in them; and for all resorts

The goodly market-steads; and aisles beside

For the heroës; walls so large and wide;

Rampires so high, and of such strength withall,

It would with wonder any eye appall.

At last they reach'd the court, and Pallas said:

"Now, honour'd stranger, I will see obey'd

Your will, to show our ruler's house; 'tis here;

Where you shall find kings celebrating cheer.

Enter amongst them, nor admit a fear.

More bold a man is, he prevails the more,

Though man nor place lie ever saw before.

You first shall find the queen in court, whose name

Is Arete, of parents born the same

That was the king her spouse; their pedigree

I can report. The great Earth-shaker, he

Of Peribœa (that her sex out-shone,

And youngest daughter was t' Eurymedon,

Who of th' unmeasur'd-minded giants sway'd

Th' imperial sceptre, and the pride allay'd

Of men so impious with cold death, and died

Himself soon after) got the magnified

In mind, Nausithous; whom the kingdom's state

First held in supreme rule. Nausithous gat

Rhexenor, and Alcinous, now king.

Rhexenor (whose seed did no male fruit spring,

And whom the silver-bow-grac'd Phœbus slew

Young in the court) his shed blood did renew

In only Arete, who now is spouse

To him that rules the kingdom in this house,

And is her uncle king Alcinous,

Who honours her past equal. She may boast

More honour of him than the honour'd most

Of any wife in earth can of her lord,

How many more soever realms afford,

That keep house under husbands. Yet no more

Her husband honours her, than her blest store

Of gracious children. All the city cast

Eyes on her as a Goddess, and give taste

Of their affections to her in their pray'rs,

Still as she decks the street; for, all affairs

Wrapt in contention, she dissolves to men.

Whom she affects, she wants no mind to deign

Goodness enough. If her heart stand inclin'd

To your dispatch, hope all you wish to find,

Your friends, your longing family, and all

That can within your most affections fall."

This said, away the grey-eyed Goddess flew

Along th' untam'd sea, left the lovely hue

Scheria presented, out-flew Marathon,

And ample-streeted Athens lighted on;

Where to the house, that casts so thick a shade,

Of Erechtheüs she ingression made.

Ulysses to the lofty-builded court

Of king Alcinous made bold resort;

Yet in his heart cast many a thought, before

The brazen pavement of the rich court bore

His enter'd person. Like heav'n's two main lights

The rooms illustrated both days and nights.

On ev'ry side stood firm a wall of brass,

Ev'n from the threshold to the inmost pass,

Which bore a roof up that all-sapphire was.

The brazen thresholds both sides did enfold

Silver pilasters, hung with gates of gold;

Whose portal was of silver; over which

A golden cornice did the front enrich.

On each side, dogs, of gold and silver fram'd,

The house's guard stood: which the Deity lam'd

With knowing inwards had inspir'd, and made

That death nor age should their estates invade.

Along the wall stood ev'ry way a throne,

From th' entry to the lobby, ev'ry one

Cast over with a rich-wrought cloth of state.

Beneath which the Phæacian princes sate

At wine and food, and feasted all the year.

Youths forg'd of gold, at ev'ry table there,

Stood holding flaming torches, that, in night,

Gave through the house each honour'd guest his light

And, to encounter feast with housewif'ry,

In one room fifty women did apply

Their sev'ral tasks. Some apple-colour'd corn

Ground in fair querns, and some did spindles turn,

Some work in looms; no hand least rest receives,

But all had motion apt as aspen leaves.

And from the weeds they wove, so fast they laid,

And so thick thrust together thread by thread,

That th' oil, of which the wool had drunk his fill,

Did with his moisture in light dews distill.

As much as the Phæacian men excell'd

All other countrymen in art to build

A swift-sail'd ship; so much the women there

For work of webs, past other women were.

Past mean, by Pallas' means, they understood

The grace of good works; and had wits as good.

Without the hall, and close upon the gate,

A goodly orchard-ground was situate,

Of near ten acres; about which was led

A lofty quickset. In it flourished

High and broad fruit trees, that pomegranates bore,

Sweet figs, pears, olives; and a number more

Most useful plants did there produce their store,

Whose fruits the hardest winter could not kill,

Nor hottest summer wither. There was still

Fruit in his proper season all the year.

Sweet Zephyr breath'd upon them blasts that were

Of varied tempers. These he made to bear

Ripe fruits, these blossoms. Pear grew after pear,

Apple succeeded apple, grape the grape,

Fig after fig came; time made never rape

Of any dainty there. A spritely vine

Spread here his root, whose fruit a hot sunshine

Made ripe betimes; here grew another green.

Here some were gath'ring, here some pressing, seen.

A large-allotted sev'ral each fruit had;

And all th' adorn'd grounds their appearance made

In flow'r and fruit, at which the king did aim

To the precisest order he could claim.

Two fountains grac'd the garden; of which, one

Pour'd out a winding stream that over-run

The grounds for their use chiefly, th' other went

Close by the lofty palace gate, and lent

The city his sweet benefit. And thus

The Gods the court deck'd of Alcinous.

Patient Ulysses stood a while at gaze,

But, having all observ'd, made instant pace

Into the court; where all the peers he found,

And captains of Phæacia, with cups-crown'd

Off'ring to sharp-eyed Hermes, to whom last

They us'd to sacrifice, when sleep had cast

His inclination through their thoughts. But these

Ulysses pass'd, and forth went; nor their eyes

Took note of him, for Pallas stopp'd the light

With mists about him, that, unstay'd, he might

First to Alcinous, and Arete,

Present his person; and, of both them, she,

By Pallas' counsel, was to have the grace

Of foremost greeting. Therefore his embrace

He cast about her knee. And then off flew

The heav'nly air that hid him. When his view

With silence and with admiration strook

The court quite through; but thus he silence broke:

"Divine Rhexenor's offspring, Arete,

To thy most honour'd husband, and to thee,

A man whom many labours have distrest

Is come for comfort, and to ev'ry guest.

To all whom heav'n vouchsafe delightsome lives,

And after to your issue that survives

A good resignment of the goods ye leave,

With all the honour that yourselves receive

Amongst your people. Only this of me

Is the ambition; that I may but see

(By your vouchsaf'd means, and betimes vouchsaf'd)

My country-earth; since I have long been left

To labours, and to errors, barr'd from end,

And far from benefit of any friend,"

He said no more, but left them dumb with that,

Went to the hearth, and in the ashes sat,

Aside the fire. At last their silence brake,

And Echinëus, th' old heroë, spake;

A man that all Phæacians pass'd in years,

And in persuasive eloquence all the peers,

Knew much, and us'd it well; and thus spake he:

"Alcinous! It shews not decently,

Nor doth your honour what you see admit,

That this your guest should thus abjectly sit,

His chair the earth, the hearth his cushion,

Ashes as if appos'd for food. A throne,

Adorn'd with due rites, stands you more in hand

To see his person plac'd in, and command

That instantly your heralds fill-in wine,

That to the God that doth in lightnings shine

We may do sacrifice; for he is there,

Where these his rev'rend suppliants appear.

Let what you have within be brought abroad,

To sup the stranger. All these would have show'd

This fit respect to him, but that they stay

For your precedence, that should grace the way."

When this had added to the well-inclin'd

And sacred order of Alcinous' mind,

Then of the great-in-wit the hand he seis'd,

And from the ashes his fair person rais'd,

Advanc'd him to a well-adornéd throne,

And from his seat rais'd his most lovéd son,

Laodamas, that next himself was set,

To give him place. The handmaid then did get

An ewer of gold, with water fill'd, which plac'd

Upon a caldron, all with silver grac'd,

She pour'd out on their hands. And then was spread

A table, which the butler set with bread,

As others serv'd with other food the board,

In all the choice the present could afford.

Ulysses meat and wine took; and then thus

The king the herald call'd: "Pontonous!

Serve wine through all the house, that all may pay

Rites to the Lightner, who is still in way

With humble suppliants, and them pursues

With all benign and hospitable dues."

Pontonous gave act to all he will'd,

And honey-sweetness-giving-minds wine fill'd,

Disposing it in cups for all to drink.

All having drunk what either's heart could think

Fit for due sacrifice, Alcinous said:

"Hear me, ye dukes that the Phæacians lead,

And you our counsellors, that I may now

Discharge the charge my mind suggests to you,

For this our guest: Feast past, and this night's sleep,

Next morn, our senate summon'd, we will keep

Justs, sacred to the Gods, and this our guest

Receive in solemn court with fitting feast;

Then think of his return, that, under hand

Of our deduction, his natural land

(Without more toil or care, and with delight,

And that soon giv'n him, how far-hence dissite

Soever it can be) he may ascend;

And in the mean time without wrong attend,

Or other want, fit means to that ascent.

What, after, austere Fates shall make th' event

Of his life's thread, now spinning, and began

When his pain'd mother freed his root of man,

He must endure in all kinds. If some God

Perhaps abides with us in his abode,

And other things will think upon than we,

The Gods' wills stand, who ever yet were free

Of their appearance to us, when to them

We offer'd hecatombs of fit esteem,

And would at feast sit with us, ev'n where we

Order'd our session. They would likewise be

Encount'rers of us, when in way alone

About his fit affairs went any one.

Nor let them cloak themselves in any care

To do us comfort, we as near them are,

As are the Cyclops, or the impious race

Of earthy giants, that would heav'n outface."

Ulysses answer'd: "Let some other doubt

Employ your thoughts than what your words give out,

Which intimate a kind of doubt that I

Should shadow in this shape a Deity.

I bear no such least semblance, or in wit,

Virtue, or person. What may well befit

One of those mortals, whom you chiefly know

Bears up and down the burthen of the woe

Appropriate to poor man, give that to me;

Of whose moans I sit in the most degree,

And might say more, sustaining griefs that all

The Gods consent to; no one 'twixt their fall

And my unpitied shoulders letting down

The least diversion. Be the grace then shown,

To let me taste your free-giv'n food in peace.

Through greatest grief the belly must have ease;

Worse than an envious belly nothing is.

It will command his strict necessities,

Of men most griev'd in body or in mind,

That are in health, and will not give their kind

A desp'rate wound. When most with cause I grieve,

It bids me still, Eat, man, and drink, and live;

And this makes all forgot. Whatever ill

I ever bear, it ever bids me fill.

But this ease is but forc'd, and will not last,

Till what the mind likes be as well embrac'd;

And therefore let me wish you would partake

In your late purpose; when the morn shall make

Her next appearance, deign me but the grace,

Unhappy man, that I may once embrace

My country-earth. Though I be still thrust at

By ancient ills, yet make me but see that.

And then let life go, when withal I see

My high-roof'd large house, lands, and family."

This all approv'd; and each will'd ev'ry one,

Since he hath said so fairly, set him gone.

Feast past and sacrifice, to sleep all vow

Their eyes at either's house. Ulysses now

Was left here with Alcinous, and his Queen,

The all-lov'd Arete. The handmaids then

The vessel of the banquet took away.

When Arete set eye on his array;

Knew both his out and under weed, which she

Made with her maids; and mus'd by what means he

Obtain'd their wearing; which she made request

To know, and wings gave to these speeches: "Guest!

First let me ask, what, and from whence you are?

And then, who grac'd you with the weeds you wear?

Said you not lately, you had err'd at seas,

And thence arriv'd here?" Laertiades

To this thus answer'd: "'Tis a pain, O Queen,

Still to be op'ning wounds wrought deep, and green,

Of which the Gods have open'd store in me;

Yet your will must be serv'd. Far hence, at sea,

There lies an isle, that bears Ogygia's name,

Where Atlas' daughter, the ingenious dame,

Fair-hair'd Calypso lives; a Goddess grave,

And with whom men nor Gods society have;

Yet I, past man unhappy, liv'd alone,

By Heav'n's wrath forc'd, her house-companion.

For Jove had with a fervent lightning cleft

My ship in twain, and far at black sea left

Me and my soldiers; all whose lives I lost.

I in mine arms the keel took, and was tost

Nine days together up from wave to wave.

The tenth grim night, the angry Deities drave

Me and my wrack on th' isle, in which doth dwell

Dreadful Calypso; who exactly well

Receiv'd and nourish'd me, and promise made

To make me deathless, nor should age invade

My pow'rs with his deserts through all my days.

All mov'd not me, and therefore, on her stays,

Sev'n years she made me lie; and there spent I

The long time, steeping in the misery

Of ceaseless tears the garments I did wear,

From her fair hand. The eighth revolvéd year

(Or by her chang'd mind, or by charge of Jove)

She gave provok'd way to my wish'd remove,

And in a many-jointed ship, with wine

Dainty in savour, bread, and weeds divine,

Sign'd, with a harmless and sweet wind, my pass.

Then sev'nteen days at sea I homeward was,

And by the eighteenth the dark hills appear'd

That your earth thrusts up. Much my heart was cheer'd,

Unhappy man, for that was but a beam,

To show I yet had agonies extreme

To put in suff'rance, which th' Earth-shaker sent,

Crossing my way with tempests violent,

Unmeasur'd seas up-lifting, nor would give

The billows leave to let my vessel live

The least time quiet, that ev'n sigh'd to bear

Their bitter outrage, which, at last, did tear

Her sides in pieces, set on by the winds.

I yet through-swum the waves that your shore binds,

Till wind and water threw me up to it;

When, coming forth, a ruthless billow smit

Against huge rocks, and an accessless shore,

My mangl'd body. Back again I bore,

And swum till I was fall'n upon a flood,

Whose shores, methought, on good advantage stood

For my receipt, rock-free, and fenc'd from wind;

And this I put for, gath'ring up my mind.

Then the divine night came, and treading earth,

Close by the flood that had from Jove her birth,

Within a thicket I repos'd; when round

I ruffled up fall'n leaves in heap; and found,

Let fall from heav'n, a sleep interminate.

And here my heart, long time excruciate,

Amongst the leaves I rested all that night,

Ev'n till the morning and meridian light.

The sun declining then, delightsome sleep

No longer laid my temples in his steep,

But forth I went, and on the shore might see

Your daughter's maids play. Like a Deity

She shin'd above them; and I pray'd to her,

And she in disposition did prefer

Noblesse, and wisdom, no more low than might

Become the goodness of a Goddess' height.

Nor would you therefore hope, suppos'd distrest

As I was then, and old, to find the least

Of any grace from her, being younger far.

With young folks Wisdom makes her commerce rare.

Yet she in all abundance did bestow

Both wine, that makes the blood in humans grow,

And food, and bath'd me in the flood, and gave

The weeds to me which now ye see me have.

This through my griefs I tell you, and 'tis true."

Alcinous answer'd: "Guest! my daughter knew

Least of what most you give her; nor became

The course she took, to let with ev'ry dame

Your person lackey; nor hath with them brought

Yourself home too; which first you had besought."

"O blame her not," said he, "heroical lord,

Nor let me hear against her worth a word.

She faultless is, and wish'd I would have gone

With all her women home, but I alone

Would venture my receipt here, having fear

And rev'rend awe of accidents that were

Of likely issue; both your wrath to move,

And to inflame the common people's love

Of speaking ill, to which they soon give place.

We men are all a most suspicious race."

"My guest," said he, "I use not to be stirr'd

To wrath too rashly; and where are preferr'd

To men's conceits things that may both ways fail,

The noblest ever should the most prevail.

Would Jove our Father, Pallas, and the Sun,

That, were you still as now, and could but run

One fate with me, you would my daughter wed,

And be my son-in-law, still vow'd to lead

Your rest of life here! I a house would give,

And household goods, so freely you would live,

Confin'd with us. But 'gainst your will shall none

Contain you here, since that were violence done

To Jove our Father. For your passage home,

That you may well know we can overcome

So great a voyage, thus it shall succeed:

To-morrow shall our men take all their heed,

While you securely sleep, to see the seas

In calmest temper, and, if that will please,

Show you your country and your house ere night,

Though far beyond Eubœa be that sight.

And this Eubœa, as our subjects say

That have been there and seen, is far away,

Farthest from us of all the parts they know;

And made the trial when they help'd to row

The gold-lock'd Rhadamanth, to give him view

Of earth-born Tityus; whom their speeds did show

In that far-off Eubœa, the same day

They set from hence; and home made good their way

With ease again, and him they did convey.

Which I report to you, to let you see

How swift my ships are, and how matchlessly

My young Phæacians with their oars prevail,

To beat the sea through, and assist a sail."

This cheer'd Ulysses, who in private pray'd:

"I would to Jove our Father, what he said,

He could perform at all parts; he should then

Be glorified for ever, and I gain

My natural country." This discourse they had;

When fair-arm'd Arete her handmaids bad

A bed make in the portico, and ply

With clothes, the cov'ring tapestry,

The blankets purple; well-napp'd waistcoats too,

To wear for more warmth. What these had to do,

They torches took and did. The bed purvey'd,

They mov'd Ulysses for his rest, and said:

"Come guest, your bed is fit, now frame to rest."

Motion of sleep was gracious to their guest;

Which now he took profoundly, being laid

Within a loop-hole tow'r, where was convey'd

The sounding portico. The King took rest

In a retir'd part of the house; where drest

The Queen her self a bed, and trundlebed,

And by her lord repos'd her rev'rend head.