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Indecently to rail without offence!
What bounty gives without a rival share;
I ask, what harms not thee, to breathe this air:
Alike on alms we both precarious live:
And canst thou envy when the great relieve?
Know, from the bounteous heavens all riches flow,
And what man gives, the gods by man bestow;
Proud as thou art, henceforth no more be proud,
Lest I imprint my vengeance in thy blood;
Old as I am, should once my fury burn,
How would’st thou fly, nor e’en in thought return!”
“Mere woman-glutton! (thus the churl replied;)
A tongue so flippant, with a throat so wide!
Why cease I, gods! to dash those teeth away,
Like some wild boar’s, that, greedy of his prey,
Uproots the bearded corn? Rise, try the fight,
Gird well thy loins, approach, and feel my might:
Sure of defeat, before the peers engage:
Unequal fight, when youth contends with age!”
Thus in a wordy war their tongues display
More fierce intents, preluding to the fray;
Antinous hears, and in a jovial vein,
Thus with loud laughter to the suitor train:
“This happy day in mirth, my friends, employ,
And lo! the gods conspire to crown our joy;
See ready for the fight, and hand to hand,
Yon surly mendicants contentious stand:
Why urge we not to blows!” Well pleased they spring
Swift from their seats, and thickening form a ring.
To whom Antinous: “Lo! enrich’d with blood,
A kid’s well-fatted entrails (tasteful food)
On glowing embers lie; on him bestow
The choicest portion who subdues his foe;
Grant him unrivall’d in these walls to stay,
The sole attendant on the genial day.”
The lords applaud: Ulysses then with art,
And fears well-feign’d, disguised his dauntless heart.
“Worn as I am with age, decay’d with woe;
Say, is it baseness to decline the foe?
Hard conflict! when calamity and age
With vigorous youth, unknown to cares, engage!
Yet, fearful of disgrace, to try the day
Imperious hunger bids, and I obey; | 1,100 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
But swear, impartial arbiters of right,
Swear to stand neutral, while we cope in fight.”
The peers assent: when straight his sacred head
Telemachus upraised, and sternly said:
“Stranger, if prompted to chastise the wrong
Of this bold insolent, confide, be strong!
The injurious Greek that dares attempt a blow,
That instant makes Telemachus his foe;
And these my friends shall guard the sacred ties
Of hospitality, for they are wise.”
Then, girding his strong loins, the king prepares
To close in combat, and his body bares;
Broad spread his shoulders, and his nervous thighs
By just degrees, like well-turn’d columns, rise
Ample his chest, his arms are round and long,
And each strong joint Minerva knits more strong
(Attendant on her chief): the suitor-crowd
With wonder gaze, and gazing speak aloud:
“Irus! alas! shall Irus be no more?
Black fate impends, and this the avenging hour!
Gods! how his nerves a matchless strength proclaim,
Swell o’er his well-strong limbs, and brace his frame!”
Then pale with fears, and sickening at the sight;
They dragg’d the unwilling Irus to the fight;
From his blank visage fled the coward blood,
And his flesh trembled as aghast he stood.
“O that such baseness should disgrace the light?
O hide it, death, in everlasting night!
(Exclaims Antinous;) can a vigorous foe
Meanly decline to combat age and woe?
But hear me wretch! if recreant in the fray
That huge bulk yield this ill-contested day,
Instant thou sail’st, to Eschetus resign’d;
A tyrant, fiercest of the tyrant kind,
Who casts thy mangled ears and nose a prey
To hungry dogs, and lops the man away.”
While with indignant scorn he sternly spoke,
In every joint the trembling Irus shook.
Now front to front each frowning champion stands,
And poises high in air his adverse hands.
The chief yet doubts, or to the shades below
To fell the giant at one vengeful blow,
Or save his life, and soon his life to save | 1,101 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
The king resolves, for mercy sways the brave
That instant Irus his huge arm extends,
Full on his shoulder the rude weight descends;
The sage Ulysses, fearful to disclose
The hero latent in the man of woes,
Check’d half his might; yet rising to the stroke,
His jawbone dash’d, the crashing jawbone broke:
Down dropp’d he stupid from the stunning wound;
His feet extended quivering, beat the ground;
His mouth and nostrils spout a purple flood;
His teeth, all shatter’d, rush inmix’d with blood.
The peers transported, as outstretch’d he lies,
With bursts of laughter rend the vaulted skies;
Then dragg’d along, all bleeding from the wound,
His length of carcase trailing prints the ground:
Raised on his feet, again he reels, he falls,
Till propp’d, reclining on the palace walls:
Then to his hand a staff the victor gave,
And thus with just reproach address’d the slave:
“There terrible, affright with dogs, and reign
A dreaded tyrant o’er the bestial train!
But mercy to the poor and stranger show,
Lest Heaven in vengeance send some mightier woe.”
Scornful he spoke, and o’er his shoulder flung
The broad-patch’d scrip in tatters hung
Ill join’d, and knotted to a twisted thong.
Then, turning short, disdain’d a further stay;
But to the palace measured back the way.
There, as he rested gathering in a ring,
The peers with smiles address’d their unknown king:
“Stranger, may Jove and all the aërial powers
With every blessing crown thy happy hours!
Our freedom to thy prowess’d arm we owe
From bold intrusion of thy coward foe:
Instant the flying sail the slave shall wing
To Eschetus, the monster of a king.”
While pleased he hears, Antinous bears the food,
A kid’s well-fatted entrails, rich with blood;
The bread from canisters of shining mould
Amphinomus; and wines that laugh in gold:
“And oh! (he mildly cries) may Heaven display
A beam of glory o’er thy future day! | 1,102 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Alas, the brave too oft is doom’d to bear
The gripes of poverty and stings of care.”
To whom with thought mature the king replies:
“The tongue speaks wisely, when the soul is wise:
Such was thy father! in imperial state,
Great without vice, that oft attends the great;
Nor from the sire art thou, the son, declin’d;
Then hear my words, and grace them in thy mind!
Of all that breathes, or grovelling creeps on earth,
Most vain is man! calamitous by birth:
To-day, with power elate, in strength he blooms;
The haughty creature on that power presumes:
Anon from Heaven a sad reverse he feels:
Untaught to bear, ’gainst Heaven the wretch rebels.
For man is changeful, as his bliss or woe!
Too high when prosperous, when distress’d too low.
There was a day, when with the scornful great
I swell’d in pomp and arrogance of state;
Proud of the power that to high birth belongs;
And used that power to justify my wrongs.
Then let not man be proud; but firm of mind,
Bear the best humbly; and the worst resign’d;
Be dumb when Heaven afflicts! unlike yon train
Of haughty spoilers, insolently vain;
Who make their queen and all her wealth a prey:
But vengeance and Ulysses wing their way.
O may’st thou, favour’d by some guardian power,
Far, far be distant in that deathful hour!
For sure I am, if stern Ulysses breathe,
These lawless riots end in blood and death.”
Then to the gods the rosy juice he pours,
And the drain’d goblet to the chief restores.
Stung to the soul, o’ercast with holy dread,
He shook the graceful honours of his head;
His boding mind the future woe forestalls,
In vain! by great Telemachus he falls,
For Pallas seals his doom: all sad he turns
To join the peers; resumes his throne, and mourns.
Meanwhile Minerva with instinctive fires
Thy soul, Penelope, from Heaven inspires;
With flattering hopes the suitors to betray,
And seem to meet, yet fly, the bridal day: | 1,103 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Thy husband’s wonder, and thy son’s to raise;
And crown the mother and the wife with praise.
Then, while the streaming sorrow dims her eyes,
Thus, with a transient smile, the matron cries:
“Eurynome! to go where riot reigns
I feel an impulse, though my soul disdains;
To my loved son the snares of death to show,
And in the traitor friend, unmask the foe;
Who, smooth of tongue, in purpose insincere,
Hides fraud in smiles, while death is ambush’d there.”
“Go, warn thy son, nor be the warning vain
(Replied the sagest of the royal train);
But bathed, anointed, and adorn’d, descend;
Powerful of charms, bid every grace attend;
The tide of flowing tears awhile suppress;
Tears but indulge the sorrow, not repress.
Some joy remains: to thee a son is given,
Such as, in fondness, parents ask of Heaven.”
“Ah me! forbear!” returns the queen, “forbear,
Oh! talk not, talk not of vain beauty’s care;
No more I bathe, since he no longer sees
Those charms, for whom alone I wish to please.
The day that bore Ulysses from this coast
Blasted the little bloom these cheeks could boast.
But instant bid Autonoe descend,
Instant Hippodame our steps attend;
Ill suits it female virtue, to be seen
Alone, indecent, in the walks of men.”
Then while Eurynome the mandate bears,
From heaven Minerva shoots with guardian cares;
O’er all her senses, as the couch she press’d,
She pours, a pleasing, deep and death-like rest,
With every beauty every feature arms,
Bids her cheeks glow, and lights up all her charms;
In her love-darting eyes awakes the fires
(Immortal gifts! to kindle soft desires);
From limb to limb an air majestic sheds,
And the pure ivory o’er her bosom spreads.
Such Venus shines, when with a measured bound
She smoothly gliding swims the harmonious round,
When with the Graces in the dance she moves,
And fires the gazing gods with ardent loves.
Then to the skies her flight Minerva bends, | 1,104 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
And to the queen the damsel train descends;
Waked at their steps, her flowing eyes unclose;
The tears she wipes, and thus renews her woes:
“Howe’er ’tis well that sleep awhile can free,
With soft forgetfulness a wretch like me;
Oh! were it given to yield this transient breath,
Send, O Diana! send the sleep of death!
Why must I waste a tedious life in tears,
Nor bury in the silent grave my cares?
O my Ulysses! ever honour’d name!
For thee I mourn till death dissolves my frame.”
Thus wailing, slow and sadly she descends,
On either band a damsel train attends:
Full where the dome its shining valves expands,
Radiant before the gazing peers she stands;
A veil translucent o’er her brow display’d,
Her beauty seems, and only seems, to shade:
Sudden she lightens in their dazzled eyes,
And sudden flames in every bosom rise;
They send their eager souls with every look.
Till silence thus the imperial matron broke:
“O why! my son, why now no more appears
That warmth of soul that urged thy younger years?
Thy riper days no growing worth impart,
A man in stature, still a boy in heart!
Thy well-knit frame unprofitably strong,
Speaks thee a hero, from a hero sprung:
But the just gods in vain those gifts bestow,
O wise alone in form, and grave in show!
Heavens! could a stranger feel oppression’s hand
Beneath thy roof, and couldst thou tamely stand!
If thou the stranger’s righteous cause decline
His is the sufferance, but the shame is thine.”
To whom, with filial awe, the prince returns:
“That generous soul with just resentment burns;
Yet, taught by time, my heart has learn’d to glow
For others’ good, and melt at others’ woe;
But, impotent those riots to repel,
I bear their outrage, though my soul rebel;
Helpless amid the snares of death I tread,
And numbers leagued in impious union dread;
But now no crime is theirs: this wrong proceeds
From Irus, and the guilty Irus bleeds. | 1,105 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Oh would to Jove! or her whose arms display
The shield of Jove, or him who rules the day!
That yon proud suitors, who licentious tread
These courts, within these courts like Irus bled:
Whose loose head tottering, as with wine oppress’d,
Obliquely drops, and nodding knocks his breast;
Powerless to move, his staggering feet deny
The coward wretch the privilege to fly.”
Then to the queen Eurymachus replies:
“O justly loved, and not more fair than wise!
Should Greece through all her hundred states survey
Thy finish’d charms, all Greece would own thy sway
In rival crowds contest the glorious prize.
Dispeopling realms to gaze upon thy eyes:
O woman! loveliest of the lovely kind,
In body perfect, and complete in mind.”
“Ah me! (returns the queen) when from this shore
Ulysses sail’d, then beauty was no more!
The gods decreed these eyes no more should keep
Their wonted grace, but only serve to weep.
Should he return, whate’er my beauties prove,
My virtues last; my brightest charm is love.
Now, grief, thou all art mine! the gods o’ercast
My soul with woes, that long, ah long must last!
Too faithfully my heart retains the day
That sadly tore my royal lord away:
He grasp’d my hand, and, ‘O, my spouse! I leave
Thy arms (he cried), perhaps to find a grave:
Fame speaks the Trojans bold; they boast the skill
To give the feather’d arrow wings to kill,
To dart the spear, and guide the rushing car
With dreadful inroad through the walks of war.
My sentence is gone forth, and ’tis decreed
Perhaps by righteous Heaven that I must bleed!
My father, mother, all I trust to three;
To them, to them, transfer the love of me:
But, when my son grows man, the royal sway
Resign, and happy be thy bridal day!’
Such were his words; and Hymen now prepares
To light his torch, and give me up to cares;
The afflictive hand of wrathful Jove to bear:
A wretch the most complete that breathes the air! | 1,106 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Fall’n e’en below the rights to woman due!
Careless to please, with insolence ye woo!
The generous lovers, studious to succeed,
Bid their whole herds and flocks in banquets bleed;
By precious gifts the vow sincere display:
You, only you, make her ye love your prey.”
Well-pleased Ulysses hears his queen deceive
The suitor-train, and raise a thirst to give:
False hopes she kindles, but those hopes betray,
And promise, yet elude, the bridal day.
While yet she speaks, the gay Antinous cries:
“Offspring of kings, and more than woman wise!
’Tis right; ’tis man’s prerogative to give,
And custom bids thee without shame receive;
Yet never, never, from thy dome we move,
Till Hymen lights the torch of spousal love.”
The peers despatch’d their heralds to convey
The gifts of love; with speed they take the way.
A robe Antinous gives of shining dyes,
The varying hues in gay confusion rise
Rich from the artist’s hand! Twelve clasps of gold
Close to the lessening waist the vest infold!
Down from the swelling loins the vest unbound
Floats in bright waves redundant o’er the ground,
A bracelet rich with gold, with amber gay,
That shot effulgence like the solar ray,
Eurymachus presents: and ear-rings bright,
With triple stars, that cast a trembling light.
Pisander bears a necklace wrought with art:
And every peer, expressive of his heart,
A gift bestows: this done, the queen ascends,
And slow behind her damsel train attends.
Then to the dance they form the vocal strain,
Till Hesperus leads forth the starry train;
And now he raises, as the daylight fades,
His golden circlet in the deepening shades:
Three vases heap’d with copious fires display
O’er all the palace a fictitious day;
From space to space the torch wide-beaming burns,
And sprightly damsels trim the rays by turns.
To whom the king: “Ill suits your sex to stay
Alone with men! ye modest maids, away! | 1,107 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Go, with the queen; the spindle guide; or cull
(The partners of her cares) the silver wool;
Be it my task the torches to supply
E’en till the morning lamp adorns the sky;
E’en till the morning, with unwearied care,
Sleepless I watch; for I have learn’d to bear.”
Scornful they heard: Melantho, fair and young,
(Melantho, from the loins of Dolius sprung,
Who with the queen her years an infant led,
With the soft fondness of a daughter bred,)
Chiefly derides: regardless of the cares
Her queen endures, polluted joys she shares
Nocturnal with Eurymachus: with eyes
That speak disdain, the wanton thus replies:
“Oh! whither wanders thy distemper’d brain,
Thou bold intruder on a princely train?
Hence, to the vagrants’ rendezvous repair;
Or shun in some black forge the midnight air.
Proceeds this boldness from a turn of soul,
Or flows licentious from the copious bowl?
Is it that vanquish’d Irus swells thy mind?
A foe may meet thee of a braver kind,
Who, shortening with a storm of blows thy stay,
Shall send thee howling all in blood away!”
To whom with frowns: “O impudent in wrong!
Thy lord shall curb that insolence of tongue;
Know, to Telemachus I tell the offence;
The scourge, the scourge shall lash thee into sense.”
With conscious shame they hear the stern rebuke,
Nor longer durst sustain the sovereign look.
Then to the servile task the monarch turns
His royal hands: each torch refulgent burns
With added day: meanwhile in museful mood,
Absorb’d in thought, on vengeance fix’d he stood.
And now the martial maid, by deeper wrongs
To rouse Ulysses, points the suitors’ tongues:
Scornful of age, to taunt the virtuous man,
Thoughtless and gay, Eurymachus began:
“Hear me (he cries), confederates and friends!
Some god, no doubt, this stranger kindly sends;
The shining baldness of his head survey,
It aids our torchlight, and reflects the ray.”
Then to the king that levell’d haughty Troy: | 1,108 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
“Say, if large hire can tempt thee to employ
Those hands in work; to tend the rural trade,
To dress the walk, and form the embowering shade.
So food and raiment constant will I give:
But idly thus thy soul prefers to live,
And starve by strolling, not by work to thrive.”
To whom incensed: “Should we, O prince, engage
In rival tasks beneath the burning rage
Of summer suns; were both constrain’d to wield
Foodless the scythe along the burden’d field;
Or should we labour while the ploughshare wounds,
With steers of equal strength, the allotted grounds,
Beneath my labours, how thy wondering eyes
Might see the sable field at once arise!
Should Jove dire war unloose, with spear and shield,
And nodding helm, I tread the ensanguined field,
Fierce in the van: then wouldst thou, wouldst thou,—say,—
Misname me glutton, in that glorious day?
No, thy ill-judging thoughts the brave disgrace
’Tis thou injurious art, not I am base.
Proud to seem brave among a coward train!
But now, thou art not valorous, but vain.
God! should the stern Ulysses rise in might,
These gates would seem too narrow for thy flight.”
While yet he speaks, Eurymachus replies,
With indignation flashing from his eyes:
“Slave, I with justice might deserve the wrong,
Should I not punish that opprobrious tongue.
Irreverent to the great, and uncontroll’d,
Art thou from wine, or innate folly, bold?
Perhaps these outrages from Irus flow,
A worthless triumph o’er a worthless foe!”
He said, and with full force a footstool threw;
Whirl’d from his arm, with erring rage it flew:
Ulysses, cautious of the vengeful foe,
Stoops to the ground, and disappoints the blow.
Not so a youth, who deals the goblet round,
Full on his shoulder it inflicts a wound;
Dash’d from his hand the sounding goblet flies,
He shrieks, he reels, he falls, and breathless lies.
Then wild uproar and clamour mount the sky,
Till mutual thus the peers indignant cry: | 1,109 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
“Oh had this stranger sunk to realms beneath,
To the black realms of darkness and of death,
Ere yet he trod these shores! to strife he draws
Peer against peer; and what the weighty cause?
A vagabond! for him the great destroy,
In vile ignoble jars, the feast of joy.”
To whom the stern Telemachus uprose;
“Gods! what wild folly from the goblet flows!
Whence this unguarded openness of soul,
But from the license of the copious bowl?
Or Heaven delusion sends: but hence away!
Force I forbear, and without force obey.”
Silent, abash’d, they hear the stern rebuke,
Till thus Amphinomus the silence broke:
“True are his words, and he whom truth offends,
Not with Telemachus, but truth contends;
Let not the hand of violence invade
The reverend stranger, or the spotless maid;
Retire we hence, but crown with rosy wine
The flowing goblet to the powers divine!
Guard he his guest beneath whose roof he stands:
This justice, this the social rite demands.”
The peers assent: the goblet Mulius crown’d
With purple juice, and bore in order round:
Each peer successive his libation pours
To the blest gods who fill’d the ethereal bowers:
Then swill’d with wine, with noise the crowds obey,
And rushing forth, tumultuous reel away.
BOOK XIX.
ARGUMENT.
THE DISCOVERY OF ULYSSES TO EURYCLEA.
Ulysses and his son remove the weapons out of the armoury. Ulysses, in
conversation with Penelope, gives a fictitious account of his adventures; then
assures her he had formerly entertained her husband in Crete; and describes
exactly his person and dress; affirms to have heard of him in Phæacia and
Thesprotia, and that his return is certain, and within a month. He then goes to
bathe, and is attended by Euryclea, who discovers him to be Ulysses by the scar
upon his leg, which he formerly received in hunting the wild boar on Parnassus.
The poet inserts a digression relating that accident, with all its particulars. | 1,110 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Consulting secret with the blue-eyed maid,
Still in the dome divine Ulysses stay’d:
Revenge mature for act inflamed his breast;
And thus the son the fervent sire address’d:
“Instant convey those steely stores of war
To distant rooms, disposed with secret care:
The cause demanded by the suitor-train,
To soothe their fears, a specious reason feign:
Say, since Ulysses left his natal coast,
Obscene with smoke, their beamy lustre lost,
His arms deform the roof they wont adorn:
From the glad walls inglorious lumber torn.
Suggest, that Jove the peaceful thought inspired,
Lest they, by sight of swords to fury fired,
Dishonest wounds, or violence of soul,
Defame the bridal feast and friendly bowl.”
The prince, obedient to the sage command,
To Euryclea thus: “The female band
In their apartments keep; secure the doors;
These swarthy arms among the covert stores
Are seemlier hid; my thoughtless youth they blame,
Imbrown’d with vapour of the smouldering flame.”
“In happier hour (pleased Euryclea cries),
Tutour’d by early woes, grow early wise;
Inspect with sharpen’d sight, and frugal care,
Your patrimonial wealth, a prudent heir.
But who the lighted taper will provide
(The female train retired) your toils to guide?”
“Without infringing hospitable right,
This guest (he cried) shall bear the guiding light:
I cheer no lazy vagrants with repast;
They share the meal that earn it ere they taste.”
He said: from female ken she straight secures
The purposed deed, and guards the bolted doors:
Auxiliar to his son, Ulysses bears
The plumy-crested helms and pointed spears,
With shields indented deep in glorious wars.
Minerva viewless on her charge attends,
And with her golden lamp his toil befriends.
Not such the sickly beams, which unsincere
Gild the gross vapour of this nether sphere!
A present deity the prince confess’d,
And wrapp’d with ecstasy the sire address’d: | 1,111 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
“What miracle thus dazzles with surprise!
Distinct in rows the radiant columns rise;
The walls, where’er my wondering sight I turn,
And roofs, amidst a blaze of glory burn!
Some visitant of pure ethereal race
With his bright presence deigns the dome to grace.”
“Be calm (replies the sire); to none impart,
But oft revolve the vision in thy heart:
Celestials, mantled in excess of light,
Can visit unapproach’d by mortal sight.
Seek thou repose: whilst here I sole remain,
To explore the conduct of the female train:
The pensive queen, perchance, desires to know
The series of my toils, to soothe her woe.”
With tapers flaming day his train attends,
His bright alcove the obsequious youth ascends:
Soft slumberous shades his drooping eyelids close,
Till on her eastern throne Aurora glows.
Whilst, forming plans of death, Ulysses stay’d,
In counsel secret with the martial maid,
Attendant nymphs in beauteous order wait
The queen, descending from her bower of state.
Her cheeks the warmer blush of Venus wear,
Chasten’d with coy Diana’s pensive air.
An ivory seat with silver ringlets graced,
By famed Icmalius wrought, the menials placed:
With ivory silver’d thick the footstool shone,
O’er which the panther’s various hide was thrown.
The sovereign seat with graceful air she press’d;
To different tasks their toil the nymphs address’d:
The golden goblets some, and some restored
From stains of luxury the polish’d board:
These to remove the expiring embers came,
While those with unctuous fir foment the flame.
’Twas then Melantho with imperious mien
Renew’d the attack, incontinent of spleen:
“Avaunt (she cried), offensive to my sight!
Deem not in ambush here to lurk by night,
Into the woman-state asquint to pry;
A day-devourer, and an evening spy!
Vagrant, begone! before this blazing brand
Shall urge”—and waved it hissing in her hand.
The insulted hero rolls his wrathful eyes | 1,112 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
And “Why so turbulent of soul? (he cries;)
Can these lean shrivell’d limbs, unnerved with age,
These poor but honest rags, enkindle rage?
In crowds, we wear the badge of hungry fate:
And beg, degraded from superior state!
Constrain’d a rent-charge on the rich I live;
Reduced to crave the good I once could give:
A palace, wealth, and slaves, I late possess’d,
And all that makes the great be call’d the bless’d:
My gate, an emblem of my open soul,
Embraced the poor, and dealt a bounteous dole.
Scorn not the sad reverse, injurious maid!
’Tis Jove’s high will, and be his will obey’d!
Nor think thyself exempt: that rosy prime
Must share the general doom of withering time:
To some new channel soon the changeful tide
Of royal grace the offended queen may guide;
And her loved lord unplume thy towering pride.
Or, were he dead, ’tis wisdom to beware:
Sweet blooms the prince beneath Apollo’s care;
Your deeds with quick impartial eye surveys,
Potent to punish what he cannot praise.”
Her keen reproach had reach’d the sovereign’s ear:
“Loquacious insolent! (she cries,) forbear;
To thee the purpose of my soul I told;
Venial discourse, unblamed, with him to hold;
The storied labours of my wandering lord,
To soothe my grief he haply may record:
Yet him, my guest, thy venom’d rage hath stung;
Thy head shall pay the forfeit of thy tongue!
But thou on whom my palace cares depend,
Eurynome, regard the stranger-friend:
A seat, soft spread with furry spoils, prepare;
Due-distant for us both to speak, and hear.”
The menial fair obeys with duteous haste:
A seat adorn’d with furry spoils she placed:
Due-distant for discourse the hero sate;
When thus the sovereign from her chair of state:
“Reveal, obsequious to my first demand,
Thy name, thy lineage, and thy natal land.”
He thus: “O queen! whose far-resounding fame
Is bounded only by the starry frame,
Consummate pattern of imperial sway, | 1,113 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Whose pious rule a warlike race obey!
In wavy gold thy summer vales are dress’d;
Thy autumns bind with copious fruit oppress’d:
With flocks and herds each grassy plain is stored;
And fish of every fin thy seas afford:
Their affluent joys the grateful realms confess;
And bless the power that still delights to bless,
Gracious permit this prayer, imperial dame!
Forbear to know my lineage, or my name:
Urge not this breast to heave, these eyes to weep;
In sweet oblivion let my sorrows sleep!
My woes awaked, will violate your ear,
And to this gay censorious train appear
A whiny vapour melting in a tear.”
“Their gifts the gods resumed (the queen rejoin’d),
Exterior grace, and energy of mind,
When the dear partner of my nuptial joy,
Auxiliar troops combined, to conquer Troy.
My lord’s protecting hand alone would raise
My drooping verdure, and extend my praise!
Peers from the distant Samian shore resort:
Here with Dulichians join’d, besiege the court:
Zacynthus, green with ever-shady groves,
And Ithaca, presumptuous, boast their loves:
Obtruding on my choice a second lord,
They press the Hymenaean rite abhorr’d.
Misrule thus mingling with domestic cares,
I live regardless of my state affairs;
Receive no stranger-guest, no poor relieve;
But ever for my lord in secret grieve!—
This art, instinct by some celestial power,
I tried, elusive of the bridal hour:
“‘Ye peers, (I cry,) who press to gain a heart,
Where dead Ulysses claims no future part;
Rebate your loves, each rival suit suspend,
Till this funeral web my labours end:
Cease, till to good Laertes I bequeath
A pall of state, the ornament of death.
For when to fate he bows, each Grecian dame
With just reproach were licensed to defame,
Should he, long honour’d in supreme command,
Want the last duties of a daughter’s hand.’
The fiction pleased; their loves I long elude;
The night still ravell’d what the day renew’d: | 1,114 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Three years successful in my heart conceal’d,
My ineffectual fraud the fourth reveal’d:
Befriended by my own domestic spies,
The woof unwrought the suitor-train surprise.
From nuptial rites they now no more recede,
And fear forbids to falsify the brede.
My anxious parents urge a speedy choice,
And to their suffrage gain the filial voice.
For rule mature, Telemachus deplores
His dome dishonour’d, and exhausted stores—
But, stranger! as thy days seem full of fate,
Divide discourse, in turn thy birth relate:
Thy port asserts thee of distinguish’d race;
No poor unfather’d product of disgrace.”
“Princess! (he cries,) renew’d by your command,
The dear remembrance of my native land
Of secret grief unseals the fruitful source;
Fond tears repeat their long-forgotten course!
So pays the wretch whom fate constrains to roam,
The dues of nature to his natal home!—
But inward on my soul let sorrow prey,
Your sovereign will my duty bids obey.
“Crete awes the circling waves, a fruitful soil!
And ninety cities crown the sea-born isle:
Mix’d with her genuine sons, adopted names
In various tongues avow their various claims:
Cydonians, dreadful with the bended yew,
And bold Pelasgi boast a native’s due:
The Dorians, plumed amid the files of war,
Her foodful glebe with fierce Achaians share;
Cnossus, her capital of high command;
Where sceptred Minos with impartial hand
Divided right: each ninth revolving year,
By Jove received in council to confer.
His son Deucalion bore successive sway:
His son, who gave me first to view the day!
The royal bed an elder issue bless’d,
Idomeneus whom Ilion fields attest
Of matchless deeds: untrain’d to martial toil,
I lived inglorious in my native isle,
Studious of peace, and Æthon is my name.
’Twas then to Crete the great Ulysses came.
For elemental war, and wintry Jove,
From Malea’s gusty cape his navy drove
To bright Lucina’s fane; the shelfy coast | 1,115 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Where loud Amnisus in the deep is lost.
His vessels moor’d (an incommodious port!)
The hero speeded to the Cnossian court:
Ardent the partner of his arms to find,
In leagues of long commutual friendship join’d.
Vain hope! ten suns had warm’d the western strand
Since my brave brother, with his Cretan band,
Had sail’d for Troy: but to the genial feast
My honour’d roof received the royal guest:
Beeves for his train the Cnossian peers assign,
A public treat, with jars of generous wine.
Twelve days while Boreas vex’d the aërial space,
My hospitable dome he deign’d to grace:
And when the north had ceased the stormy roar,
He wing’d his voyage to the Phrygian shore.”
Thus the fam’d hero, perfected in wiles,
With fair similitude of truth beguiles
The queen’s attentive ear: dissolved in woe,
From her bright eyes the tears unbounded flow,
As snows collected on the mountain freeze;
When milder regions breathe a vernal breeze,
The fleecy pile obeys the whispering gales,
Ends in a stream, and murmurs through the vales:
So, melting with the pleasing tale he told,
Down her fair cheek the copious torrent roll’d:
She to her present lord laments him lost,
And views that object which she wants the most,
Withering at heart to see the weeping fair,
His eyes look stern, and cast a gloomy stare;
Of horn the stiff relentless balls appear,
Or globes of iron fix’d in either sphere;
Firm wisdom interdicts the softening tear.
A speechless interval of grief ensues,
Till thus the queen the tender theme renews.
“Stranger! that e’er thy hospitable roof
Ulysses graced, confirm by faithful proof;
Delineate to my view my warlike lord,
His form, his habit, and his train record.”
“‘Tis hard (he cries,) to bring to sudden sight
Ideas that have wing’d their distant flight;
Rare on the mind those images are traced,
Whose footsteps twenty winters have defaced:
But what I can, receive.—In ample mode, | 1,116 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
A robe of military purple flow’d
O’er all his frame: illustrious on his breast,
The double-clasping gold the king confess’d.
In the rich woof a hound, mosaic drawn,
Bore on full stretch, and seized a dappled fawn;
Deep in the neck his fangs indent their hold;
They pant and struggle in the moving gold.
Fine as a filmy web beneath it shone
A vest, that dazzled like a cloudless sun:
The female train who round him throng’d to gaze,
In silent wonder sigh’d unwilling praise.
A sabre, when the warrior press’d to part,
I gave, enamell’d with Vulcanian art:
A mantle purple-tinged, and radiant vest,
Dimension’d equal to his size, express’d
Affection grateful to my honour’d guest.
A favourite herald in his train I knew,
His visage solemn, sad of sable hue:
Short woolly curls o’erfleeced his bending head,
O’er which a promontory shoulder spread;
Eurybates; in whose large soul alone
Ulysses view’d an image of his own.”
His speech the tempest of her grief restored;
In all he told she recognized her lord:
But when the storm was spent in plenteous showers,
A pause inspiriting her languish’d powers,
“O thou, (she cried,) whom first inclement Fate
Made welcome to my hospitable gate;
With all thy wants the name of poor shall end:
Henceforth live honour’d, my domestic friend!
The vest much envied on your native coast,
And regal robe with figured gold emboss’d,
In happier hours my artful hand employ’d,
When my loved lord this blissful bower enjoy’d:
The fall of Troy erroneous and forlorn
Doom’d to survive, and never to return!”
Then he, with pity touch’d: “O royal dame!
Your ever-anxious mind, and beauteous frame,
From the devouring rage of grief reclaim.
I not the fondness of your soul reprove
For such a lord! who crown’d your virgin love
With the dear blessing of a fair increase;
Himself adorn’d with more than mortal grace:
Yet while I speak the mighty woe suspend; | 1,117 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Truth forms my tale; to pleasing truth attend.
The royal object of your dearest care
Breathes in no distant clime the vital air:
In rich Thesprotia, and the nearer bound
Of Thessaly, his name I heard renown’d:
Without retinue, to that friendly shore
Welcomed with gifts of price, a sumless store!
His sacrilegious train, who dared to prey
On herds devoted to the god of day,
Were doom’d by Jove, and Phœbus’ just decree,
To perish in the rough Trinacrian sea.
To better fate the blameless chief ordain’d,
A floating fragment of the wreck regain’d,
And rode the storm; till, by the billows toss’d,
He landed on the fair Phæacian coast.
That race who emulate the life of gods,
Receive him joyous to their bless’d abodes;
Large gifts confer, a ready sail command,
To speed his voyage to the Grecian strand.
But your wise lord (in whose capacious soul
High schemes of power in just succession roll)
His Ithaca refused from favouring Fate,
Till copious wealth might guard his regal state.
Phedon the fact affirm’d, whose sovereign sway
Thesprotian tribes, a duteous race, obey;
And bade the gods this added truth attest
(While pure libations crown’d the genial feast),
That anchor’d in his port the vessels stand,
To waft the hero to his natal land.
I for Dulichium urge the watery way,
But first the Ulyssean wealth survey:
So rich the value of a store so vast
Demands the pomp of centuries to waste!
The darling object of your royal love
Was journey’d thence to Dodonean Jove;
By the sure precept of the sylvan shrine,
To form the conduct of his great design;
Irresolute of soul, his state to shroud
In dark disguise, or come, a king avow’d!
Thus lives your lord; nor longer doom’d to roam;
Soon will he grace this dear paternal dome.
By Jove, the source of good, supreme in power!
By the bless’d genius of this friendly bower!
I ratify my speech, before the sun
His annual longitude of heaven shall run; | 1,118 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
When the pale empress of yon starry train
In the next month renews her faded wane,
Ulysses will assert his rightful reign.”
“What thanks! what boon! (replied the queen), are due,
When time shall prove the storied blessing true!
My lord’s return should fate no more retard,
Envy shall sicken at thy vast reward.
But my prophetic fears, alas! presage
The wounds of Destiny’s relentless rage.
I long must weep, nor will Ulysses come,
With royal gifts to send you honour’d home!—
Your other task, ye menial train forbear:
Now wash the stranger, and the bed prepare:
With splendid palls the downy fleece adorn:
Uprising early with the purple morn.
His sinews, shrunk with age, and stiff with toil,
In the warm bath foment with fragrant oil.
Then with Telemachus the social feast
Partaking free, my soul invited guest;
Whoe’er neglects to pay distinction due,
The breach of hospitable right may rue.
The vulgar of my sex I most exceed
In real fame, when most humane my deed;
And vainly to the praise of queen aspire,
If, stranger! I permit that mean attire
Beneath the feastful bower. A narrow space
Confines the circle of our destin’d race;
’Tis ours with good the scanty round to grace.
Those who to cruel wrong their state abuse,
Dreaded in life the mutter’d curse pursues;
By death disrobed of all their savage powers,
Then, licensed rage her hateful prey devours.
But he whose inborn worth his acts commend,
Of gentle soul, to human race a friend;
The wretched he relieves diffuse his fame,
And distant tongues extol the patron-name.”
“Princess? (he cried) in vain your bounties flow
On me, confirm’d and obstinate in woe.
When my loved Crete received my final view,
And from my weeping eyes her cliffs withdrew;
These tatter’d weeds (my decent robes resign’d)
I chose, the livery of a woful mind!
Nor will my heart-corroding care abate
With splendid palls, and canopies of state: | 1,119 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Low-couch’d on earth, the gift of sleep I scorn,
And catch the glances of the waking morn.
The delicacy of your courtly train
To wash a wretched wanderer would disdain;
But if, in tract of long experience tried,
And sad similitude of woes allied,
Some wretch reluctant views aërial light,
To her mean hand assign the friendly rite.”
Pleased with his wise reply, the queen rejoin’d:
“Such gentle manners, and so sage a mind,
In all who graced this hospitable bower
I ne’er discerned, before this social hour.
Such servant as your humble choice requires,
To light received the lord of my desires,
New from the birth; and with a mother’s hand
His tender bloom to manly growth sustain’d:
Of matchless prudence, and a duteous mind;
Though now to life’s extremest verge declined,
Of strength superior to the toil design’d—
Rise, Euryclea! with officious care
For the poor friend the cleansing bath prepare:
This debt his correspondent fortunes claim,
Too like Ulysses, and perhaps the same!
Thus old with woes my fancy paints him now!
For age untimely marks the careful brow.”
Instant, obsequious to the mild command,
Sad Euryclea rose: with trembling hand
She veils the torrent of her tearful eyes;
And thus impassion’d to herself replies:
“Son of my love, and monarch of my cares,
What pangs for thee this wretched bosom bears!
Are thus by Jove who constant beg his aid
With pious deed, and pure devotion, paid?
He never dared defraud the sacred fane
Of perfect hecatombs in order slain:
There oft implored his tutelary power,
Long to protract the sad sepulchral hour;
That, form’d for empire with paternal care,
His realm might recognize an equal heir.
O destined head! The pious vows are lost;
His God forgets him on a foreign coast!—
Perhaps, like thee, poor guest! in wanton pride
The rich insult him, and the young deride!
Conscious of worth reviled, thy generous mind
The friendly rite of purity declined; | 1,120 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
My will concurring with my queen’s command,
Accept the bath from this obsequious hand.
A strong emotion shakes my anguish’d breast:
In thy whole form Ulysses seems express’d;
Of all the wretched harboured on our coast,
None imaged e’er like thee my master lost.”
Thus half-discover’d through the dark disguise,
With cool composure feign’d, the chief replies:
“You join your suffrage to the public vote;
The same you think have all beholders thought.”
He said: replenish’d from the purest springs,
The laver straight with busy care she brings:
In the deep vase, that shone like burnish’d gold,
The boiling fluid temperates the cold.
Meantime revolving in his thoughtful mind
The scar, with which his manly knee was sign’d;
His face averting from the crackling blaze,
His shoulders intercept the unfriendly rays:
Thus cautious in the obscure he hoped to fly
The curious search of Euryclea’s eye.
Cautious in vain! nor ceased the dame to find
This scar with which his manly knee was sign’d.
This on Parnassus (combating the boar)
With glancing rage the tusky savage tore.
Attended by his brave maternal race,
His grandsire sent him to the sylvan chase,
Autolycus the bold (a mighty name
For spotless faith and deeds of martial fame:
Hermes, his patron god, those gifts bestow’d,
Whose shrine with weanling lambs he wont to load).
His course to Ithaca this hero sped,
When the first product of Laertes’ bed
Was now disclosed to birth: the banquet ends,
When Euryclea from the queen descends,
And to his fond embrace the babe commends:
“Receive (she cries) your royal daughter’s son;
And name the blessing that your prayers have won.”
Then thus the hoary chief: “My victor arms
Have awed the realms around with dire alarms:
A sure memorial of my dreaded fame
The boy shall bear; Ulysses be his name!
And when with filial love the youth shall come
To view his mother’s soil, my Delphic dome | 1,121 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
With gifts of price shall send him joyous home.”
Lured with the promised boon, when youthful prime
Ended in man, his mother’s natal clime
Ulysses sought; with fond affection dear
Amphitea’s arms received the royal heir:
Her ancient lord an equal joy possess’d;
Instant he bade prepare the genial feast:
A steer to form the sumptuous banquet bled,
Whose stately growth five flowery summers fed:
His sons divide, and roast with artful care
The limbs; then all the tasteful viands share.
Nor ceased discourse (the banquet of the soul),
Till Phœbus wheeling to the western goal
Resign’d the skies, and night involved the pole.
Their drooping eyes the slumberous shade oppress’d,
Sated they rose, and all retired to rest.
Soon as the morn, new-robed in purple light,
Pierced with her golden shafts the rear of night,
Ulysses, and his brave maternal race,
The young Autolyci, essay the chase.
Parnassus, thick perplex’d with horrid shades,
With deep-mouth’d hounds the hunter-troop invades;
What time the sun, from ocean’s peaceful stream,
Darts o’er the lawn his horizontal beam.
The pack impatient snuff the tainted gale;
The thorny wilds the woodmen fierce assail:
And, foremost of the train, his cornel spear
Ulysses waved, to rouse the savage war.
Deep in the rough recesses of the wood,
A lofty copse, the growth of ages, stood;
Nor winter’s boreal blast, nor thunderous shower,
Nor solar ray, could pierce the shady bower.
With wither’d foliage strew’d, a heapy store!
The warm pavilion of a dreadful boar.
Roused by the hounds’ and hunters’ mingling cries,
The savage from his leafy shelter flies;
With fiery glare his sanguine eye-balls shine,
And bristles high impale his horrid chine.
Young Ithacus advanced, defies the foe,
Poising his lifted lance in act to throw;
The savage renders vain the wound decreed,
And springs impetuous with opponent speed!
His tusks oblique he aim’d, the knee to gore; | 1,122 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Aslope they glanced, the sinewy fibres tore,
And bared the bone; Ulysses undismay’d,
Soon with redoubled force the wound repaid;
To the right shoulder-joint the spear applied,
His further flank with streaming purple dyed:
On earth he rushed with agonizing pain;
With joy and vast surprise, the applauding train
View’d his enormous bulk extended on the plain.
With bandage firm Ulysses’ knee they bound;
Then, chanting mystic lays, the closing wound
Of sacred melody confess’d the force;
The tides of life regain’d their azure course.
Then back they led the youth with loud acclaim;
Autolycus, enamoured with his fame,
Confirm’d the cure; and from the Delphic dome
With added gifts return’d him glorious home.
He safe at Ithaca with joy received,
Relates the chase, and early praise achieved.
Deep o’er his knee inseam’d remain’d the scar;
Which noted token of the woodland war
When Euryclea found, the ablution ceased:
Down dropp’d the leg, from her slack hand released;
The mingled fluids from the base redound;
The vase reclining floats the floor around!
Smiles dew’d with tears the pleasing strife express’d
Of grief and joy, alternate in her breast.
Her fluttering words in melting murmurs died;
At length abrupt—“My son!—my king!”—she cried.
His neck with fond embrace infolding fast,
Full on the queen her raptured eye she cast
Ardent to speak the monarch safe restored:
But, studious to conceal her royal lord,
Minerva fix’d her mind on views remote,
And from the present bliss abstracts her thought.
His hand to Euryclea’s mouth applied,
“Art thou foredoom’d my pest? (the hero cried:)
Thy milky founts my infant lips have drain’d;
And have the Fates thy babbling age ordain’d
To violate the life thy youth sustain’d?
An exile have I told, with weeping eyes,
Full twenty annual suns in distant skies;
At length return’d, some god inspires thy breast
To know thy king, and here I stand confess’d. | 1,123 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
This heaven-discover’d truth to thee consign’d,
Reserve the treasure of thy inmost mind:
Else, if the gods my vengeful arm sustain,
And prostrate to my sword the suitor-train;
With their lewd mates, thy undistinguish’d age
Shall bleed a victim to vindictive rage.”
Then thus rejoin’d the dame, devoid of fear:
“What words, my son, have passed thy lips severe?
Deep in my soul the trust shall lodge secured;
With ribs of steel, and marble heart, immured.
When Heaven, auspicious to thy right avow’d,
Shall prostrate to thy sword the suitor-crowd,
The deeds I’ll blazon of the menial fair;
The lewd to death devote, the virtuous spare.”
“Thy aid avails me not (the chief replied);
My own experience shall their doom decide:
A witness-judge precludes a long appeal:
Suffice it then thy monarch to conceal.”
He said: obsequious, with redoubled pace,
She to the fount conveys the exhausted vase:
The bath renew’d, she ends the pleasing toil
With plenteous unction of ambrosial oil.
Adjusting to his limbs the tatter’d vest,
His former seat received the stranger guest;
Whom thus with pensive air the queen addressed:
“Though night, dissolving grief in grateful ease,
Your drooping eyes with soft impression seize;
Awhile, reluctant to her pleasing force,
Suspend the restful hour with sweet discourse.
The day (ne’er brighten’d with a beam of joy!)
My menials, and domestic cares employ;
And, unattended by sincere repose,
The night assists my ever-wakeful woes;
When nature’s hush’d beneath her brooding shade,
My echoing griefs the starry vault invade.
As when the months are clad in flowery green,
Sad Philomel, in bowery shades unseen,
To vernal airs attunes her varied strains;
And Itylus sounds warbling o’er the plains;
Young Itylus, his parents’ darling joy!
Whom chance misled the mother to destroy;
Now doom’d a wakeful bird to wail the beauteous boy.
So in nocturnal solitude forlorn, | 1,124 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
A sad variety of woes I mourn!
My mind, reflective, in a thorny maze
Devious from care to care incessant strays.
Now, wavering doubt succeeds to long despair;
Shall I my virgin nuptial vow revere;
And, joining to my son’s my menial train,
Partake his counsels, and assist his reign?
Or, since, mature in manhood, he deplores
His dome dishonour’d, and exhausted stores;
Shall I, reluctant! to his will accord;
And from the peers select the noblest lord;
So by my choice avow’d, at length decide
These wasteful love-debates, a mourning bride!
A visionary thought I’ll now relate;
Illustrate, if you know, the shadow’d fate:
“A team of twenty geese (a snow-white train!)
Fed near the limpid lake with golden grain,
Amuse my pensive hours. The bird of Jove
Fierce from his mountain-eyrie downward drove;
Each favourite fowl he pounced with deathful sway,
And back triumphant wing’d his airy way.
My pitying eyes effused a plenteous stream,
To view their death thus imaged in a dream;
With tender sympathy to soothe my soul,
A troop of matrons, fancy-form’d, condole.
But whilst with grief and rage my bosom burn’d,
Sudden the tyrant of the skies returned;
Perch’d on the battlements he thus began
(In form an eagle, but in voice a man):
`O queen! no vulgar vision of the sky
I come, prophetic of approaching joy;
View in this plumy form thy victor-lord;
The geese (a glutton race) by thee deplored,
Portend the suitors fated to my sword.’
This said, the pleasing feather’d omen ceased.
When from the downy bands of sleep released,
Fast by the limpid lake my swan-like train
I found, insatiate of the golden grain.”
“The vision self-explain’d (the chief replies)
Sincere reveals the sanction of the skies;
Ulysses speaks his own return decreed;
And by his sword the suitors sure to bleed.”
“Hard is the task, and rare,” (the queen rejoin’d,)
Impending destinies in dreams to find; | 1,125 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Immured within the silent bower of sleep,
Two portals firm the various phantoms keep;
Of ivory one; whence flit, to mock the brain,
Of winged lies a light fantastic train;
The gate opposed pellucid valves adorn,
And columns fair incased with polish’d horn;
Where images of truth for passage wait,
With visions manifest of future fate.
Not to this troop, I fear, that phantom soar’d,
Which spoke Ulysses to this realm restored;
Delusive semblance!-but my remnant life
Heaven shall determine in a gameful strife;
With that famed bow Ulysses taught to bend,
For me the rival archers shall contend.
As on the listed field he used to place
Six beams, opposed to six in equal space;
Elanced afar by his unerring art,
Sure through six circlets flew the whizzing dart.
So, when the sun restores the purple day,
Their strength and skill the suitors shall assay;
To him the spousal honour is decreed,
Who through the rings directs the feather’d reed.
Torn from these walls (where long the kinder powers
With joy and pomp have wing’d my youthful hours!)
On this poor breast no dawn of bliss shall beam;
The pleasure past supplies a copious theme
For many a dreary thought, and many a doleful dream!”
“Propose the sportive lot (the chief replies),
Nor dread to name yourself the bowyer’s prize;
Ulysses will surprise the unfinish’d game,
Avow’d, and falsify the suitors’ claim.”
To whom with grace serene the queen rejoin’d:
“In all thy speech what pleasing force I find!
O’er my suspended woe thy words prevail;
I part reluctant from the pleasing tale,
But Heaven, that knows what all terrestrials need,
Repose to night, and toil to day decreed;
Grateful vicissitudes! yet me withdrawn,
Wakeful to weep and watch the tardy dawn
Establish’d use enjoins; to rest and joy
Estranged, since dear Ulysses sail’d to Troy!
Meantime instructed is the menial tribe
Your couch to fashion as yourself prescribe.” | 1,126 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Thus affable, her bower the queen ascends;
The sovereign step a beauteous train attends;
There imaged to her soul Ulysses rose;
Down her pale cheek new-streaming sorrow flows;
Till soft oblivious shade Minerva spread,
And o’er her eyes ambrosial slumber shed.
BOOK XX.
ARGUMENT.
While Ulysses lies in the vestibule of the palace, he is witness to the
disorders of the women. Minerva comforts him, and casts him asleep. At his
waking he desires a favourable sign from Jupiter, which is granted. The feast
of Apollo is celebrated by the people, and the suitors banquet in the palace.
Telemachus exerts his authority amongst them; notwithstanding which, Ulysses is
insulted by Caesippus, and the rest continue in their excesses. Strange
prodigies are seen by Theoclymenus, the augur, who explains them to the
destruction of the wooers.
An ample hide devine Ulysses spread.
And form’d of fleecy skins his humble bed
(The remnants of the spoil the suitor-crowd
In festival devour’d, and victims vow’d).
Then o’er the chief, Eurynome the chaste
With duteous care a downy carpet cast:
With dire revenge his thoughtful bosom glows,
And, ruminating wrath, he scorns repose.
As thus pavilion’d in the porch he lay,
Scenes of lewd loves his wakeful eyes survey,
Whilst to nocturnal joys impure repair,
With wanton glee, the prostituted fair.
His heart with rage this new dishonour stung,
Wavering his thoughts in dubious balance hung:
Or instant should he quench the guilty flame
With their own blood, and intercept the shame:
Or to their lust indulge a last embrace,
And let the peers consummate the disgrace
Round his swoln heart the murmurous fury rolls,
As o’er her young the mother-mastiff growls,
And bays the stranger groom: so wrath compress’d,
Recoiling, mutter’d thunder in his breast.
“Poor suffering heart! (he cried,) support the pain
Of wounded honour, and thy rage restrain. | 1,127 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Not fiercer woes thy fortitude could foil,
When the brave partners of thy ten years’ toil
Dire Polypheme devour’d; I then was freed
By patient prudence from the death decreed.”
Thus anchor’d safe on reason’s peaceful coast,
Tempests of wrath his soul no longer toss’d;
Restless his body rolls, to rage resign’d
As one who long with pale-eyed famine pined,
The savoury cates on glowing embers cast
Incessant turns, impatient for repast
Ulysses so, from side to side-devolved,
In self-debate the suitor’s doom resolved
When in the form of mortal nymph array’d,
From heaven descends the Jove-born martial maid;
And hovering o’er his head in view confess’d,
The goddess thus her favourite care address’d:
“O thou, of mortals most inured to woes!
Why roll those eyes unfriended of repose?
Beneath thy palace-roof forget thy care;
Bless’d in thy queen! bless’d in thy blooming heir!
Whom, to the gods when suppliant fathers bow
They name the standard of their dearest vow.”
“Just is thy kind reproach (the chief rejoin’d),
Deeds full of fate distract my various mind,
In contemplation wrapp’d. This hostile crew
What single arm hath prowess to subdue?
Or if, by Jove’s and thy auxiliar aid,
They’re doom’d to bleed; O say, celestial maid!
Where shall Ulysses shun, or how sustain
Nations embattled to revenge the slain?”
“Oh impotence of faith! (Minerva cries,)
If man on frail unknowing man relies,
Doubt you the gods? Lo, Pallas self descends,
Inspires thy counsels, and thy toils attends.
In me affianced, fortify thy breast,
Though myriads leagued thy rightful claim contest
My sure divinity shall bear the shield,
And edge thy sword to reap the glorious field.
Now, pay the debt to craving nature due,
Her faded powers with balmy rest renew.”
She ceased, ambrosial slumbers seal his eyes;
Her care dissolves in visionary joys
The goddess, pleased, regains her natal skies. | 1,128 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Not so the queen; the downy bands of sleep
By grief relax’d she waked again to weep:
A gloomy pause ensued of dumb despair;
Then thus her fate invoked, with fervent prayer
“Diana! speed thy deathful ebon dart,
And cure the pangs of this convulsive heart.
Snatch me, ye whirlwinds! far from human race,
Toss’d through the void illimitable space
Or if dismounted from the rapid cloud,
Me with his whelming wave let Ocean shroud!
So, Pandarus, thy hopes, three orphan fair,
Were doom’d to wander through the devious air;
Thyself untimely, and thy consort died,
But four celestials both your cares supplied.
Venus in tender delicacy rears
With honey, milk, and wine their infant years;
Imperial Juno to their youth assigned
A form majestic, and sagacious mind;
With shapely growth Diana graced their bloom;
And Pallas taught the texture of the loom.
But whilst, to learn their lots in nuptial love,
Bright Cytherea sought the bower of Jove
(The God supreme, to whose eternal eye
The registers of fate expanded lie);
Wing’d Harpies snatch the unguarded charge away,
And to the Furies bore a grateful prey.
Be such my lot! Or thou, Diana, speed
Thy shaft, and send me joyful to the dead;
To seek my lord among the warrior train,
Ere second vows my bridal faith profane.
When woes the waking sense alone assail,
Whilst Night extends her soft oblivious veil,
Of other wretches’ care the torture ends;
No truce the warfare of my heart suspends!
The night renews the day distracting theme,
And airy terrors sable every dream.
The last alone a kind illusion wrought,
And to my bed my loved Ulysses brought,
In manly bloom, and each majestic grace,
As when for Troy he left my fond embrace;
Such raptures in my beating bosom rise,
I deem it sure a vision of the skies.”
Thus, whilst Aurora mounts her purple throne,
In audible laments she breathes her moan;
The sounds assault Ulysses’ wakeful ear; | 1,129 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Misjudging of the cause, a sudden fear
Of his arrival known, the chief alarms;
He thinks the queen is rushing to his arms.
Upspringing from his couch, with active haste
The fleece and carpet in the dome he placed
(The hide, without, imbibed the morning air);
And thus the gods invoked with ardent prayer:
“Jove, and eternal thrones! with heaven to friend,
If the long series of my woes shall end;
Of human race now rising from repose,
Let one a blissful omen here disclose;
And, to confirm my faith, propitious Jove!
Vouchsafe the sanction of a sign above.”
Whilst lowly thus the chief adoring bows,
The pitying god his guardian aid avows.
Loud from a sapphire sky his thunder sounds;
With springing hope the hero’s heart rebounds.
Soon, with consummate joy to crown his prayer,
An omen’d voice invades his ravish’d ear.
Beneath a pile that close the dome adjoin’d,
Twelve female slaves the gift of Ceres grind;
Task’d for the royal board to bolt the bran
From the pure flour (the growth and strength of man)
Discharging to the day the labour due,
Now early to repose the rest withdrew;
One maid unequal to the task assign’d,
Still turn’d the toilsome mill with anxious mind;
And thus in bitterness of soul divined:
“Father of gods and men, whose thunders roll
O’er the cerulean vault, and shake the pole:
Whoe’er from Heaven has gain’d this rare ostent
(Of granted vows a certain signal sent),
In this blest moment of accepted prayer,
Piteous, regard a wretch consumed with care!
Instant, O Jove! confound the suitor-train,
For whom o’ertoil’d I grind the golden grain:
Far from this dome the lewd devourers cast,
And be this festival decreed their last!”
Big with their doom denounced in earth and sky,
Ulysses’ heart dilates with secret joy.
Meantime the menial train with unctious wood
Heap’d high the genial hearth, Vulcanian food:
When, early dress’d, advanced the royal heir; | 1,130 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
With manly grasp he waved a martial spear;
A radiant sabre graced his purple zone,
And on his foot the golden sandal shone.
His steps impetuous to the portal press’d;
And Euryclea thus he there address’d:
“Say thou to whom my youth its nurture owes,
Was care for due refection and repose
Bestow’d the stranger-guest? Or waits he grieved,
His age not honour’d, nor his wants relieved?
Promiscuous grace on all the queen confers
(In woes bewilder’d, oft the wisest errs).
The wordy vagrant to the dole aspires,
And modest worth with noble scorn retires.”
She thus: “O cease that ever-honour’d name
To blemish now: it ill deserves your blame,
A bowl of generous wine sufficed the guest;
In vain the queen the night refection press’d;
Nor would he court repose in downy state,
Unbless’d, abandon’d to the rage of Fate!
A hide beneath the portico was spread,
And fleecy skins composed an humble bed;
A downy carpet cast with duteous care,
Secured him from the keen nocturnal air.”
His cornel javelin poised with regal port,
To the sage Greeks convened in Themis’ court,
Forth-issuing from the dome the prince repair’d;
Two dogs of chase, a lion-hearted guard,
Behind him sourly stalked. Without delay
The dame divides the labour of the day;
Thus urging to the toil the menial train;
“What marks of luxury the marble stain
Its wonted lustre let the floor regain;
The seats with purple clothe in order due;
And let the abstersive sponge the board renew;
Let some refresh the vase’s sullied mould;
Some bid the goblets boast their native gold;
Some to the spring, with each a jar, repair,
And copious waters pure for bathing bear;
Dispatch! for soon the suitors will essay
The lunar feast-rites to the god of day.”
She said: with duteous haste a bevy fair
Of twenty virgins to the spring repair;
With varied toils the rest adorn the dome.
Magnificent, and blithe, the suitors come. | 1,131 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Some wield the sounding axe; the dodder’d oaks
Divide, obedient to the forceful strokes.
Soon from the fount, with each a brimming urn
(Eumaeus in their train), the maids return.
Three porkers for the feast, all brawny-chined,
He brought; the choicest of the tusky-kind;
In lodgments first secure his care he viewed,
Then to the king this friendly speech renew’d:
“Now say sincere, my guest! the suitor-train
Still treat thy worth with lordly dull disdain;
Or speaks their deed a bounteous mind humane?”
“Some pitying god (Ulysses sad replied)
With vollied vengeance blast their towering pride!
No conscious blush, no sense of right, restrains
The tides of lust that swell the boiling veins;
From vice to vice their appetites are toss’d,
All cheaply sated at another’s cost!”
While thus the chief his woes indignant told,
Melanthius, master of the bearded fold,
The goodliest goats of all the royal herd
Spontaneous to the suitors’ feast preferr’d;
Two grooms assistant bore the victims bound;
With quavering cries the vaulted roofs resound;
And to the chief austere aloud began
The wretch unfriendly to the race of man:
“Here vagrant, still? offensive to my lords!
Blows have more energy than airy words;
These arguments I’ll use: nor conscious shame,
Nor threats, thy bold intrusion will reclaim.
On this high feast the meanest vulgar boast
A plenteous board! Hence! seek another host!”
Rejoinder to the churl the king disdain’d,
But shook his head, and rising wrath restrain’d.
From Cephalenia ’cross the surgy main
Philaetius late arrived, a faithful swain.
A steer ungrateful to the bull’s embrace.
And goats he brought, the pride of all their race;
Imported in a shallop not his own;
The dome re-echoed to the mingl’d moan.
Straight to the guardian of the bristly kind
He thus began, benevolent of mind:
“What guest is he, of such majestic air?
His lineage and paternal clime declare: | 1,132 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Dim through the eclipse of fate, the rays divine
Of sovereign state with faded splendour shine.
If monarchs by the gods are plunged in woe,
To what abyss are we foredoom’d to go!”
Then affable he thus the chief address’d,
Whilst with pathetic warmth his hand he press’d:
“Stranger, may fate a milder aspect show,
And spin thy future with a whiter clue!
O Jove! for ever deaf to human cries;
The tyrant, not the father of the skies!
Unpiteous of the race thy will began!
The fool of fate, thy manufacture, man,
With penury, contempt, repulse, and care,
The galling load of life is doom’d to bear.
Ulysses from his state a wanderer still,
Upbraids thy power, thy wisdom, or thy will!
O monarch ever dear!-O man of woe!
Fresh flow my tears, and shall for ever flow!
Like thee, poor stranger guest, denied his home,
Like thee: in rags obscene decreed to roam!
Or, haply perish’d on some distant coast,
In stygian gloom he glides, a pensive ghost!
Oh, grateful for the good his bounty gave,
I’ll grieve, till sorrow sink me to the grave!
His kind protecting hand my youth preferr’d,
The regent of his Cephalenian herd;
With vast increase beneath my care it spreads:
A stately breed! and blackens far the meads.
Constrain’d, the choicest beeves I thence import,
To cram these cormorants that crowd his court:
Who in partition seek his realm to share;
Nor human right nor wrath divine revere,
Since here resolved oppressive these reside,
Contending doubts my anxious heart divide:
Now to some foreign clime inclined to fly,
And with the royal herd protection buy;
Then, happier thoughts return the nodding scale,
Light mounts despair, alternate hopes prevail:
In opening prospects of ideal joy,
My king returns; the proud usurpers die.”
To whom the chief: “In thy capacious mind
Since daring zeal with cool debate is join’d,
Attend a deed already ripe in fate:
Attest, O Jove! the truth I now relate! | 1,133 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
This sacred truth attest, each genial power,
Who bless the board, and guard this friendly bower!
Before thou quit the dome (nor long delay)
Thy wish produced in act, with pleased survey,
Thy wondering eyes shall view: his rightful reign
By arms avow’d Ulysses shall regain,
And to the shades devote the suitor-train.”
“O Jove supreme! (the raptured swain replies,)
With deeds consummate soon the promised joys!
These aged nerves, with new-born vigour strung,
In that blest cause should emulate the young.”
Assents Eumaeus to the prayer address’d;
And equal ardours fire his loyal breast.
Meantime the suitors urge the prince’s fate,
And deathful arts employ the dire debate:
When in his airy tour, the bird of Jove
Truss’d with his sinewy pounce a trembling dove;
Sinister to their hope! This omen eyed
Amphinomus, who thus presaging cried:
“The gods from force and fraud the prince defend;
O peers! the sanguinary scheme suspend:
Your future thought let sable fate employ;
And give the present hour to genial joy.”
From council straight the assenting peerage ceased,
And in the dome prepared the genial feast.
Disrobed, their vests apart in order lay,
Then all with speed succinct the victims slay:
With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled,
And the proud steer was on the marble spread.
With fire prepared, they deal the morsels round,
Wine, rosy-bright, the brimming goblets crown’d,
By sage Eumaeus borne; the purple tide
Melanthius from an ample jar supplied:
High canisters of bread Philaetius placed;
And eager all devour the rich repast.
Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat;
A trivet table, and ignobler seat,
The prince appoints; but to his sire assigns
The tasteful inwards, and nectareous wines.
“Partake, my guest (he cried), without control
The social feast, and drain the cheering bowl:
Dread not the railer’s laugh, nor ruffian’s rage;
No vulgar roof protects thy honour’d age; | 1,134 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
This dome a refuge to thy wrongs shall be,
From my great sire too soon devolved to me!
Your violence and scorn, ye suitors, cease,
Lest arms avenge the violated peace.”
Awed by the prince, so haughty, brave, and young,
Rage gnaw’d the lip, amazement chain’d the tongue.
“Be patient, peers! (at length Antinous cries,)
The threats of vain imperious youth despise:
Would Jove permit the meditated blow,
That stream of eloquence should cease to flow.”
Without reply vouchsafed, Antinous ceased:
Meanwhile the pomp of festival increased:
By heralds rank’d; in marshall’d order move
The city tribes, to pleased Apollo’s grove:
Beneath the verdure of which awful shade,
The lunar hecatomb they grateful laid;
Partook the sacred feast, and ritual honours paid.
But the rich banquet, in the dome prepared
(An humble sideboard set) Ulysses shared.
Observant of the prince’s high behest,
His menial train attend the stranger-guest;
Whom Pallas with unpardoning fury fired,
By lordly pride and keen reproach inspired.
A Samian peer, more studious than the rest
Of vice, who teem’d with many a dead-born jest;
And urged, for title to a consort queen,
Unnumber’d acres arable and green
(Ctesippus named); this lord Ulysses eyed,
And thus burst out the imposthumate with pride:
“The sentence I propose, ye peers, attend:
Since due regard must wait the prince’s friend,
Let each a token of esteem bestow:
This gift acquits the dear respect I owe;
With which he nobly may discharge his seat,
And pay the menials for a master’s treat.”
He said: and of the steer before him placed,
That sinewy fragment at Ulysses cast,
Where to the pastern-bone, by nerves combined,
The well-horn’d foot indissolubly join’d;
Which whizzing high, the wall unseemly sign’d.
The chief indignant grins a ghastly smile;
Revenge and scorn within his bosom boil:
When thus the prince with pious rage inflamed: | 1,135 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
“Had not the inglorious wound thy malice aim’d
Fall’n guiltless of the mark, my certain spear
Had made thee buy the brutal triumph dear:
Nor should thy sire a queen his daughter boast;
The suitor, now, had vanish’d in a ghost:
No more, ye lewd compeers, with lawless power
Invade my dome, my herds and flocks devour:
For genuine worth, of age mature to know,
My grape shall redden, and my harvest grow
Or, if each other’s wrongs ye still support,
With rapes and riot to profane my court;
What single arm with numbers can contend?
On me let all your lifted swords descend,
And with my life such vile dishonours end.”
A long cessation of discourse ensued,
By gentler Agelaus thus renew’d:
“A just reproof, ye peers! your rage restrain
From the protected guest, and menial train:
And, prince! to stop the source of future ill,
Assent yourself, and gain the royal will.
Whilst hope prevail’d to see your sire restored,
Of right the queen refused a second lord:
But who so vain of faith, so blind to fate,
To think he still survives to claim the state?
Now press the sovereign dame with warm desire
To wed, as wealth or worth her choice inspire:
The lord selected to the nuptial joys
Far hence will lead the long-contested prize:
Whilst in paternal pomp with plenty bless’d,
You reign, of this imperial dome possess’d.”
Sage and serene Telemachus replies:
“By him at whose behest the thunder flies,
And by the name on earth I most revere,
By great Ulysses and his woes I swear!
(Who never must review his dear domain;
Enroll’d, perhaps, in Pluto’s dreary train),
Whene’er her choice the royal dame avows,
My bridal gifts shall load the future spouse:
But from this dome my parent queen to chase!
From me, ye gods! avert such dire disgrace.”
But Pallas clouds with intellectual gloom
The suitors’ souls, insensate of their doom!
A mirthful frenzy seized the fated crowd; | 1,136 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
The roofs resound with causeless laughter loud;
Floating in gore, portentous to survey!
In each discolour’d vase the viands lay;
Then down each cheek the tears spontaneous flow
And sudden sighs precede approaching woe.
In vision wrapp’d, the Hyperesian seer
Uprose, and thus divined the vengeance near:
“O race to death devote! with Stygian shade
Each destin’d peer impending fates invade;
With tears your wan distorted cheeks are drown’d;
With sanguine drops the walls are rubied round:
Thick swarms the spacious hall with howling ghosts,
To people Orcus, and the burning coasts!
Nor gives the sun his golden orb to roll,
But universal night usurps the pole!”
Yet warn’d in vain, with laughter loud elate
The peers reproach the sure divine of Fate;
And thus Eurymachus: “The dotard’s mind
To every sense is lost, to reason blind;
Swift from the dome conduct the slave away;
Let him in open air behold the day.”
“Tax not (the heaven-illumined seer rejoin’d)
Of rage, or folly, my prophetic mind,
No clouds of error dim the ethereal rays,
Her equal power each faithful sense obeys.
Unguided hence my trembling steps I bend,
Far hence, before yon hovering deaths descend;
Lest the ripe harvest of revenge begun,
I share the doom ye suitors cannot shun.”
This said, to sage Piraeus sped the seer,
His honour’d host, a welcome inmate there.
O’er the protracted feast the suitors sit,
And aim to wound the prince with pointless wit:
Cries one, with scornful leer and mimic voice,
“Thy charity we praise, but not thy choice;
Why such profusion of indulgence shown
To this poor, timorous, toil-detesting drone?
That others feeds on planetary schemes,
And pays his host with hideous noon-day dreams.
But, prince! for once at least believe a friend;
To some Sicilian mart these courtiers send,
Where, if they yield their freight across the main,
Dear sell the slaves! demand no greater gain.” | 1,137 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Thus jovial they; but nought the prince replies;
Full on his sire he roll’d his ardent eyes:
Impatient straight to flesh his virgin-sword;
From the wise chief he waits the deathful word.
Nigh in her bright alcove, the pensive queen
To see the circle sate, of all unseen.
Sated at length they rise, and bid prepare
An eve-repast, with equal cost and care:
But vengeful Pallas, with preventing speed,
A feast proportion’d to their crimes decreed;
A feast of death, the feasters doom’d to bleed!
BOOK XXI.
ARGUMENT.
THE BENDING OF ULYSSES’ BOW.
Penelope, to put an end to the solicitation of the suitors, proposes to marry
the person who shall first bend the bow of Ulysses, and shoot through the
ringlets. After their attempts have proved ineffectual, Ulysses, taking Eumaeus
and Philaetius apart, discovers himself to them; then returning, desires leave
to try his strength at the bow, which, though refused with indignation by the
suitors, Penelope and Telemachus cause it to be delivered to his hands. He
bends it immediately, and shoots through all the rings. Jupiter at the same
instant thunders from heaven; Ulysses accepts the omen, and gives a sign to
Telemachus, who stands ready armed at his side.
And Pallas now, to raise the rivals’ fires,
With her own art Penelope inspires
Who now can bend Ulysses’ bow, and wing
The well-aim’d arrow through the distant ring,
Shall end the strife, and win the imperial dame:
But discord and black death await the game!
The prudent queen the lofty stair ascends:
At distance due a virgin-train attends;
A brazen key she held, the handle turn’d,
With steel and polish’d elephant adorn’d:
Swift to the inmost room she bent her way,
Where, safe reposed, the royal treasures lay:
There shone high heap’d the labour’d brass and ore,
And there the bow which great Ulysses bore;
And there the quiver, where now guiltless slept
Those winged deaths that many a matron wept. | 1,138 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
This gift, long since when Sparta’s shore he trod,
On young Ulysses Iphitus bestowed:
Beneath Orsilochus’ roof they met;
One loss was private, one a public debt;
Messena’s state from Ithaca detains
Three hundred sheep, and all the shepherd swains;
And to the youthful prince to urge the laws,
The king and elders trust their common cause.
But Iphitus, employed on other cares,
Search’d the wide country for his wandering mares,
And mules, the strongest of the labouring kind;
Hapless to search; more hapless still to find!
For journeying on to Hercules, at length
That lawless wretch, that man of brutal strength,
Deaf to Heaven’s voice, the social rites transgress’d;
And for the beauteous mares destroy’d his guest.
He gave the bow; and on Ulysses’ part
Received a pointed sword, and missile dart:
Of luckless friendship on a foreign shore
Their first, last pledges! for they met no more.
The bow, bequeath’d by this unhappy hand,
Ulysses bore not from his native land;
Nor in the front of battle taught to bend,
But kept in dear memorial of his friend.
Now gently winding up the fair ascent,
By many an easy step the matron went;
Then o’er the pavement glides with grace divine
(With polish’d oak the level pavements shine);
The folding gates a dazzling light display’d,
With pomp of various architrave o’erlaid.
The bolt, obedient to the silken string,
Forsakes the staple as she pulls the ring;
The wards respondent to the key turn round;
The bars fall back; the flying valves resound;
Loud as a bull makes hill and valley ring,
So roar’d the lock when it released the spring.
She moves majestic through the wealthy room,
Where treasured garments cast a rich perfume;
There from the column where aloft it hung,
Reach’d in its splendid case, the bow unstrung;
Across her knees she laid the well-known bow,
And pensive sate, and tears began to flow.
To full satiety of grief she mourns, | 1,139 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Then silent to the joyous hall returns,
To the proud suitors bears in pensive state
The unbended bow, and arrows winged with fate.
Behind, her train the polish’d coffer brings,
Which held the alternate brass and silver rings.
Full in the portal the chaste queen appears,
And with her veil conceals the coming tears:
On either side awaits a virgin fair;
While thus the matron, with majestic air:
“Say you, when these forbidden walls inclose,
For whom my victims bleed, my vintage flows:
If these neglected, faded charms can move?
Or is it but a vain pretence, you love?
If I the prize, if me you seek to wife,
Hear the conditions, and commence the strife.
Who first Ulysses’ wondrous bow shall bend,
And through twelve ringlets the fleet arrow send;
Him will I follow, and forsake my home,
For him forsake this loved, this wealthy dome,
Long, long the scene of all my past delight,
And still to last, the vision of my night!”
Graceful she said, and bade Eumaeus show
The rival peers the ringlets and the bow.
From his full eyes the tears unbidden spring,
Touch’d at the dear memorials of his king.
Philaetius too relents, but secret shed
The tender drops. Antinous saw, and said:
“Hence to your fields, ye rustics! hence away,
Nor stain with grief the pleasures of the day;
Nor to the royal heart recall in vain
The sad remembrance of a perish’d man.
Enough her precious tears already flow—
Or share the feast with due respect; or go
To weep abroad, and leave to us the bow,
No vulgar task! Ill suits this courtly crew
That stubborn horn which brave Ulysses drew.
I well remember (for I gazed him o’er
While yet a child), what majesty he bore!
And still (all infant as I was) retain
The port, the strength, the grandeur of the man.”
He said, but in his soul fond joys arise,
And his proud hopes already win the prize.
To speed the flying shaft through every ring,
Wretch! is not thine: the arrows of the king | 1,140 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Shall end those hopes, and fate is on the wing!
Then thus Telemachus: “Some god I find
With pleasing frenzy has possess’d my mind;
When a loved mother threatens to depart,
Why with this ill-timed gladness leaps my heart?
Come then, ye suitors! and dispute a prize
Richer than all the Achaian state supplies,
Than all proud Argos, or Mycaena knows,
Than all our isles or continents inclose;
A woman matchless, and almost divine,
Fit for the praise of every tongue but mine.
No more excuses then, no more delay;
Haste to the trial—Lo! I lead the way.
“I too may try, and if this arm can wing
The feather’d arrow through the destined ring,
Then if no happier night the conquest boast,
I shall not sorrow for a mother lost;
But, bless’d in her, possess those arms alone,
Heir of my father’s strength, as well as throne.”
He spoke; then rising, his broad sword unbound,
And cast his purple garment on the ground.
A trench he open’d: in a line he placed.
The level axes, and the points made fast
(His perfect skill the wondering gazers eyed,
The game as yet unseen, as yet untried).
Then, with a manly pace, he took his stand:
And grasp’d the bow, and twang’d it in his hand.
Three times, with beating heart, he made essay:
Three times, unequal to the task, gave way;
A modest boldness on his cheek appear’d:
And thrice he hoped, and thrice again he fear’d.
The fourth had drawn it. The great sire with joy
Beheld, but with a sign forbade the boy.
His ardour straight the obedient prince suppress’d,
And, artful, thus the suitor-train address’d:
“O lay the cause on youth yet immature!
(For heaven forbid such weakness should endure!)
How shall this arm, unequal to the bow,
Retort an insult, or repel a foe?
But you! whom Heaven with better nerves has bless’d,
Accept the trial, and the prize contest.”
He cast the bow before him, and apart
Against the polish’d quiver propp’d the dart. | 1,141 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Resuming then his seat, Eupithes’ son,
The bold Antinous, to the rest begun:
“From where the goblet first begins to flow,
From right to left in order take the bow;
And prove your several strengths.” The princes heard
And first Leiodes, blameless priest, appear’d:
The eldest born of Œnops’ noble race,
Who next the goblet held his holy place:
He, only he, of all the suitor throng,
Their deeds detested, and abjured the wrong.
With tender hands the stubborn horn he strains,
The stubborn horn resisted all his pains!
Already in despair he gives it o’er:
“Take it who will (he cries), I strive no more,
What numerous deaths attend this fatal bow!
What souls and spirits shall it send below!
Better, indeed, to die, and fairly give
Nature her debt, than disappointed live,
With each new sun to some new hope a prey,
Yet still to-morrow falser than to-day.
How long in vain Penelope we sought!
This bow shall ease us of that idle thought,
And send us with some humbler wife to live,
Whom gold shall gain, or destiny shall give.”
Thus speaking, on the floor the bow he placed
(With rich inlay the various floor was graced):
At distance far the feather’d shaft he throws,
And to the seat returns from whence he rose.
To him Antinous thus with fury said:
“What words ill-omen’d from thy lips have fled?
Thy coward-function ever is in fear!
Those arms are dreadful which thou canst not bear,
Why should this bow be fatal to the brave?
Because the priest is born a peaceful slave.
Mark then what others can.” He ended there,
And bade Melanthius a vast pile prepare;
He gives it instant flame, then fast beside
Spreads o’er an ample board a bullock’s hide.
With melted lard they soak the weapon o’er,
Chafe every knot, and supple every pore.
Vain all their art, and all their strength as vain;
The bow inflexible resists their pain.
The force of great Eurymachus alone
And bold Antinous, yet untired, unknown: | 1,142 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Those only now remain’d; but those confess’d
Of all the train the mightiest and the best.
Then from the hall, and from the noisy crew,
The masters of the herd and flock withdrew.
The king observes them, he the hall forsakes,
And, past the limits of the court, o’ertakes.
Then thus with accent mild Ulysses spoke:
“Ye faithful guardians of the herd and flock!
Shall I the secret of my breast conceal,
Or (as my soul now dictates) shall I tell?
Say, should some favouring god restore again
The lost Ulysses to his native reign,
How beat your hearts? what aid would you afford
To the proud suitors, or your ancient lord?”
Philaetius thus: “O were thy word not vain!
Would mighty Jove restore that man again!
These aged sinews, with new vigour strung,
In his blest cause should emulate the young.”
With equal vows Eumaeus too implored
Each power above, with wishes for his lord.
He saw their secret souls, and thus began:
“Those vows the gods accord; behold the man!
Your own Ulysses! twice ten years detain’d
By woes and wanderings from this hapless land:
At length he comes; but comes despised, unknown,
And finding faithful you, and you alone.
All else have cast him from their very thought,
E’en in their wishes and their prayers forgot!
Hear then, my friends: If Jove this arm succeed,
And give yon impious revellers to bleed,
My care shall be to bless your future lives
With large possessions and with faithful wives;
Fast by my palace shall your domes ascend,
And each on young Telemachus attend,
And each be call’d his brother and my friend.
To give you firmer faith, now trust your eye;
Lo! the broad scar indented on my thigh,
When with Autolycus’ sons, of yore,
On Parnass’ top I chased the tusky boar.”
His ragged vest then drawn aside disclosed
The sign conspicuous, and the scar exposed:
Eager they view’d, with joy they stood amazed
With tearful eyes o’er all their master gazed: | 1,143 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Around his neck their longing arms they cast,
His head, his shoulders, and his knees embraced;
Tears followed tears; no word was in their power;
In solemn silence fell the kindly shower.
The king too weeps, the king too grasps their hands;
And moveless, as a marble fountain, stands.
Thus had their joy wept down the setting sun,
But first the wise man ceased, and thus begun:
“Enough—on other cares your thought employ,
For danger waits on all untimely joy.
Full many foes and fierce, observe us near;
Some may betray, and yonder walls may hear.
Re-enter then, not all at once, but stay
Some moments you, and let me lead the way.
To me, neglected as I am I know
The haughty suitors will deny the bow;
But thou, Eumaeus, as ’tis borne away,
Thy master’s weapon to his hand convey.
At every portal let some matron wait,
And each lock fast the well-compacted gate:
Close let them keep, whate’er invades their ear;
Though arms, or shouts, or dying groans they hear.
To thy strict charge, Philaetius, we consign
The court’s main gate: to guard that pass be thine.”
This said, he first return’d; the faithful swains
At distance follow, as their king ordains.
Before the flame Eurymachus now stands,
And turns the bow, and chafes it with his hands
Still the tough bow unmoved. The lofty man
Sigh’d from his mighty soul, and thus began:
“I mourn the common cause: for, oh, my friends,
On me, on all, what grief, what shame attends!
Not the lost nuptials can affect me more
(For Greece has beauteous dames on every shore),
But baffled thus! confess’d so far below
Ulysses’ strength, as not to bend his bow!
How shall all ages our attempt deride!
Our weakness scorn!” Antinous thus replied:
“Not so, Eurymachus: that no man draws
The wondrous bow, attend another cause.
Sacred to Phœbus is the solemn day,
Which thoughtless we in games would waste away:
Till the next dawn this ill-timed strife forego, | 1,144 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
And here leave fixed the ringlets in a row.
Now bid the sewer approach, and let us join
In due libations, and in rites divine,
So end our night: before the day shall spring,
The choicest offerings let Melanthius bring:
Let then to Phœbus’ name the fatted thighs
Feed the rich smokes high curling to the skies.
So shall the patron of these arts bestow
(For his the gift) the skill to bend the bow.”
They heard well pleased: the ready heralds bring
The cleansing waters from the limpid spring:
The goblet high with rosy wine they crown’d,
In order circling to the peers around.
That rite complete, uprose the thoughtful man,
And thus his meditated scheme began:
“If what I ask your noble minds approve,
Ye peers and rivals in the royal love!
Chief, if it hurt not great Antinous’ ear
(Whose sage decision I with wonder hear),
And if Eurymachus the motion please:
Give Heaven this day and rest the bow in peace.
To-morrow let your arms dispute the prize,
And take it he, the favour’d of the skies!
But, since till then this trial you delay,
Trust it one moment to my hands to-day:
Fain would I prove, before your judging eyes,
What once I was, whom wretched you despise:
If yet this arm its ancient force retain;
Or if my woes (a long-continued train)
And wants and insults, make me less than man.”
Rage flash’d in lightning from the suitors’ eyes,
Yet mixed with terror at the bold emprise.
Antinous then: “O miserable guest!
Is common sense quite banish’d from thy breast?
Sufficed it not, within the palace placed,
To sit distinguish’d, with our presence graced,
Admitted here with princes to confer,
A man unknown, a needy wanderer?
To copious wine this insolence we owe,
And much thy betters wine can overthrow:
The great Eurytion, when this frenzy stung,
Pirithous’ roofs with frantic riot rung;
Boundless the Centaur raged; till one and all
The heroes rose, and dragg’d him from the hall; | 1,145 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
His nose they shorten’d, and his ears they slit,
And sent him sober’d home, with better wit.
Hence with long war the double race was cursed,
Fatal to all, but to the aggressor first.
Such fate I prophesy our guest attends,
If here this interdicted bow he bends:
Nor shall these walls such insolence contain:
The first fair wind transports him o’er the main,
Where Echetus to death the guilty brings
(The worst of mortals, e’en the worst of kings).
Better than that, if thou approve our cheer;
Cease the mad strife and share our bounty here.”
To this the queen her just dislike express’d:
“‘Tis impious, prince, to harm the stranger-guest,
Base to insult who bears a suppliant’s name,
And some respect Telemachus may claim.
What if the immortals on the man bestow
Sufficient strength to draw the mighty bow?
Shall I, a queen, by rival chiefs adored,
Accept a wandering stranger for my lord?
A hope so idle never touch’d his brain:
Then ease your bosoms of a fear so vain.
Far be he banish’d from this stately scene
Who wrongs his princess with a thought so mean.”
“O fair! and wisest of so fair a kind!
(Respectful thus Eurymachus rejoin’d,)
Moved by no weak surmise, but sense of shame,
We dread the all-arraigning voice of Fame:
We dread the censure of the meanest slave,
The weakest woman: all can wrong the brave.
‘Behold what wretches to the bed pretend
Of that brave chief whose bow they could not bend!
In came a beggar of the strolling crew,
And did what all those princes could not do.’
Thus will the common voice our deed defame,
And thus posterity upbraid our name.”
To whom the queen: “If fame engage your views,
Forbear those acts which infamy pursues;
Wrong and oppression no renown can raise;
Know, friend! that virtue is the path to praise.
The stature of our guest, his port, his face,
Speak him descended from no vulgar race.
To him the bow, as he desires, convey; | 1,146 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
And to his hand if Phœbus give the day,
Hence, to reward his merit, be shall bear
A two-edged falchion and a shining spear,
Embroider’d sandals, a rich cloak and vest,
A safe conveyance to his port of rest.”
“O royal mother! ever-honour’d name!
Permit me (cries Telemachus) to claim
A son’s just right. No Grecian prince but I
Has power this bow to grant or to deny.
Of all that Ithaca’s rough hills contain,
And all wide Elis’ courser-breeding plain,
To me alone my father’s arms descend;
And mine alone they are, to give or lend.
Retire, O queen! thy household task resume,
Tend, with thy maids, the labours of thy loom;
The bow, the darts, and arms of chivalry,
These cares to man belong, and most to me.”
Mature beyond his years, the queen admired
His sage reply, and with her train retired;
There in her chamber as she sate apart,
Revolved his words, and placed them in her heart.
On her Ulysses then she fix’d her soul;
Down her fair cheek the tears abundant roll,
Till gentle Pallas, piteous of her cries,
In slumber closed her silver-streaming eyes.
Now through the press the bow Eumaeus bore,
And all was riot, noise, and wild uproar.
“Hold! lawless rustic! whither wilt thou go?
To whom, insensate, dost thou bear the bow?
Exiled for this to some sequester’d den,
Far from the sweet society of men,
To thy own dogs a prey thou shalt be made;
If Heaven and Phœbus lend the suitors aid.”
Thus they. Aghast he laid the weapon down,
But bold Telemachus thus urged him on:
“Proceed, false slave, and slight their empty words:
What! hopes the fool to please so many lords?
Young as I am, thy prince’s vengeful hand
Stretch’d forth in wrath shall drive thee from the land.
Oh! could the vigour of this arm as well
The oppressive suitors from my walls expel!
Then what a shoal of lawless men should go
To fill with tumult the dark courts below!”
The suitors with a scornful smile survey | 1,147 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
The youth, indulging in the genial day.
Eumaeus, thus encouraged, hastes to bring
The strifeful bow and gives it to the king.
Old Euryclea calling then aside,
“Hear what Telemachus enjoins (he cried):
At every portal let some matron wait,
And each lock fast the well-compacted gate;
And if unusual sounds invade their ear,
If arms, or shouts, or dying groans they hear,
Let none to call or issue forth presume,
But close attend the labours of the loom.”
Her prompt obedience on his order waits;
Closed in an instant were the palace gates.
In the same moment forth Philaetius flies,
Secures the court, and with a cable ties
The utmost gate (the cable strongly wrought
Of Byblos’ reed, a ship from Egypt brought);
Then unperceived and silent at the board
His seat he takes, his eyes upon his lord.
And now his well-known bow the master bore,
Turn’d on all sides, and view’d it o’er and o’er;
Lest time or worms had done the weapon wrong,
Its owner absent, and untried so long.
While some deriding—“How he turns the bow!
Some other like it sure the man must know,
Or else would copy; or in bows he deals;
Perhaps he makes them, or perhaps he steals.”
“Heaven to this wretch (another cried) be kind!
And bless, in all to which he stands inclined.
With such good fortune as he now shall find.”
Heedless he heard them: but disdain’d reply;
The bow perusing with exactest eye.
Then, as some heavenly minstrel, taught to sing
High notes responsive to the trembling string,
To some new strain when he adapts the lyre,
Or the dumb lute refits with vocal wire,
Relaxes, strains, and draws them to and fro;
So the great master drew the mighty bow,
And drew with ease. One hand aloft display’d
The bending horns, and one the string essay’d.
From his essaying hand the string, let fly,
Twang’d short and sharp like the shrill swallow’s cry.
A general horror ran through all the race, | 1,148 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Sunk was each heart, and pale was every face,
Signs from above ensued: the unfolding sky
In lightning burst; Jove thunder’d from on high.
Fired at the call of heaven’s almighty Lord,
He snatch’d the shaft that glitter’d on the board
(Fast by, the rest lay sleeping in the sheath,
But soon to fly the messengers of death).
Now sitting as he was, the cord he drew,
Through every ringlet levelling his view:
Then notch’d the shaft, released, and gave it wing;
The whizzing arrow vanished from the string,
Sung on direct, and threaded every ring.
The solid gate its fury scarcely bounds;
Pierced through and through the solid gate resounds,
Then to the prince: “Nor have I wrought thee shame;
Nor err’d this hand unfaithful to its aim;
Nor prov’d the toil too hard; nor have I lost
That ancient vigour, once my pride and boast.
Ill I deserved these haughty peers’ disdain;
Now let them comfort their dejected train,
In sweet repast their present hour employ,
Nor wait till evening for the genial joy:
Then to the lute’s soft voice prolong the night;
Music, the banquet’s most refined delight.”
He said, then gave a nod; and at the word
Telemachus girds on his shining sword.
Fast by his father’s side he takes his stand:
The beamy javelin lightens in his hand.
BOOK XXII.
ARGUMENT.
THE DEATH OF THE SUITORS.
Ulysses begins the slaughter of the suitors by the death of Antinous. He
declares himself, and lets fly his arrows at the rest. Telemachus assists and
brings arms for his father, himself, Eumaeus, and Philaetius. Melanthius does
the same for the wooers. Minerva encourages Ulysses in the shape of Mentor. The
suitors are all slain, only Medon and Phemius are spared. Melanthius and the
unfaithful servants are executed. The rest acknowledge their master with all
demonstrations of joy.
Then fierce the hero o’er the threshold strode;
Stripp’d of his rags, he blazed out like a god. | 1,149 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Full in their face the lifted bow he bore,
And quiver’d deaths, a formidable store;
Before his feet the rattling shower he threw,
And thus, terrific, to the suitor-crew:
“One venturous game this hand hath won to-day,
Another, princes! yet remains to play;
Another mark our arrow must attain.
Phœbus, assist! nor be the labour vain.”
Swift as the word the parting arrow sings,
And bears thy fate, Antinous, on its wings:
Wretch that he was, of unprophetic soul!
High in his hands he rear’d the golden bowl!
E’en then to drain it lengthen’d out his breath;
Changed to the deep, the bitter draught of death:
For fate who fear’d amidst a feastful band?
And fate to numbers, by a single hand?
Full through his throat Ulysses’ weapon pass’d,
And pierced his neck. He falls, and breathes his last.
The tumbling goblet the wide floor o’erflows,
A stream of gore burst spouting from his nose;
Grim in convulsive agonies be sprawls:
Before him spurn’d the loaded table falls,
And spreads the pavement with a mingled flood
Of floating meats, and wine, and human blood.
Amazed, confounded, as they saw him fall,
Up rose the throngs tumultuous round the hall:
O’er all the dome they cast a haggard eye,
Each look’d for arms—in vain; no arms were nigh:
“Aim’st thou at princes? (all amazed they said;)
Thy last of games unhappy hast thou play’d;
Thy erring shaft has made our bravest bleed,
And death, unlucky guest, attends thy deed.
Vultures shall tear thee.” Thus incensed they spoke,
While each to chance ascribed the wondrous stroke:
Blind as they were: for death e’en now invades
His destined prey, and wraps them all in shades.
Then, grimly frowning, with a dreadful look,
That wither’d all their hearts, Ulysses spoke:
“Dogs, ye have had your day! ye fear’d no more
Ulysses vengeful from the Trojan shore;
While, to your lust and spoil a guardless prey,
Our house, our wealth, our helpless handmaids lay: | 1,150 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Not so content, with bolder frenzy fired,
E’en to our bed presumptuous you aspired:
Laws or divine or human fail’d to move,
Or shame of men, or dread of gods above;
Heedless alike of infamy or praise,
Or Fame’s eternal voice in future days;
The hour of vengeance, wretches, now is come;
Impending fate is yours, and instant doom.”
Thus dreadful he. Confused the suitors stood,
From their pale cheeks recedes the flying blood:
Trembling they sought their guilty heads to hide.
Alone the bold Eurymachus replied:
“If, as thy words import (he thus began),
Ulysses lives, and thou the mighty man,
Great are thy wrongs, and much hast thou sustain’d
In thy spoil’d palace, and exhausted land;
The cause and author of those guilty deeds,
Lo! at thy feet unjust Antinous bleeds
Not love, but wild ambition was his guide;
To slay thy son, thy kingdom to divide,
These were his aims; but juster Jove denied.
Since cold in death the offender lies, oh spare
Thy suppliant people, and receive their prayer!
Brass, gold, and treasures, shall the spoil defray,
Two hundred oxen every prince shall pay:
The waste of years refunded in a day.
Till then thy wrath is just.” Ulysses burn’d
With high disdain, and sternly thus return’d:
“All, all the treasure that enrich’d our throne
Before your rapines, join’d with all your own,
If offer’d, vainly should for mercy call;
’Tis you that offer, and I scorn them all;
Your blood is my demand, your lives the prize,
Till pale as yonder wretch each suitor lies.
Hence with those coward terms; or fight or fly;
This choice is left you, to resist or die:
And die I trust ye shall.” He sternly spoke:
With guilty fears the pale assembly shook.
Alone Eurymachus exhorts the train:
“Yon archer, comrades, will not shoot in vain;
But from the threshold shall his darts be sped,
(Whoe’er he be), till every prince lie dead?
Be mindful of yourselves, draw forth your swords, | 1,151 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
And to his shafts obtend these ample boards
(So need compels). Then, all united, strive
The bold invader from his post to drive:
The city roused shall to our rescue haste,
And this mad archer soon have shot his last.”
Swift as he spoke, he drew his traitor sword,
And like a lion rush’d against his lord:
The wary chief the rushing foe repress’d,
Who met the point and forced it in his breast:
His falling hand deserts the lifted sword,
And prone he falls extended o’er the board!
Before him wide, in mix’d effusion roll
The untasted viands, and the jovial bowl.
Full through his liver pass’d the mortal wound,
With dying rage his forehead beats the ground;
He spurn’d the seat with fury as he fell,
And the fierce soul to darkness dived, and hell.
Next bold Amphinomus his arm extends
To force the pass; the godlike man defends.
Thy spear, Telemachus, prevents the attack,
The brazen weapon driving through his back.
Thence through his breast its bloody passage tore;
Flat falls he thundering on the marble floor,
And his crush’d forehead marks the stone with gore.
He left his javelin in the dead, for fear
The long encumbrance of the weighty spear
To the fierce foe advantage might afford,
To rush between and use the shorten’d sword.
With speedy ardour to his sire he flies,
And, “Arm, great father! arm (in haste he cries).
Lo, hence I run for other arms to wield,
For missive javelins, and for helm and shield;
Fast by our side let either faithful swain
In arms attend us, and their part sustain.”
“Haste, and return (Ulysses made reply)
While yet the auxiliar shafts this hand supply;
Lest thus alone, encounter’d by an host,
Driven from the gate, the important pass be lost.”
With speed Telemachus obeys, and flies
Where piled in heaps the royal armour lies;
Four brazen helmets, eight refulgent spears,
And four broad bucklers to his sire he bears:
At once in brazen panoply they shone. | 1,152 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
At once each servant braced his armour on;
Around their king a faithful guard they stand.
While yet each shaft flew deathful from his hand:
Chief after chief expired at every wound,
And swell’d the bleeding mountain on the ground.
Soon as his store of flying fates was spent.
Against the wall he set the bow unbent;
And now his shoulders bear the massy shield,
And now his hands two beamy javelins wield:
He frowns beneath his nodding plume, that play’d
O’er the high crest, and cast a dreadful shade.
There stood a window near, whence looking down
From o’er the porch appear’d the subject town.
A double strength of valves secured the place,
A high and narrow, but the only pass:
The cautious king, with all-preventing care,
To guard that outlet, placed Eumaeus there;
When Agelaus thus: “Has none the sense
To mount yon window, and alarm from thence
The neighbour-town? the town shall force the door,
And this bold archer soon shall shoot no more.”
Melanthius then: “That outlet to the gate
So near adjoins, that one may guard the strait.
But other methods of defence remain;
Myself with arms can furnish all the train;
Stores from the royal magazine I bring,
And their own darts shall pierce the prince and king.”
He said; and mounting up the lofty stairs,
Twelve shields, twelve lances, and twelve helmets bears:
All arm, and sudden round the hall appears
A blaze of bucklers, and a wood of spears.
The hero stands oppress’d with mighty woe,
On every side he sees the labour grow;
“Oh cursed event! and oh unlook’d for aid!
Melanthius or the women have betray’d—
Oh my dear son!”—The father with a sigh
Then ceased; the filial virtue made reply;
“Falsehood is folly, and ’tis just to own
The fault committed: this was mine alone;
My haste neglected yonder door to bar,
And hence the villain has supplied their war.
Run, good Eumaeus, then, and (what before
I thoughtless err’d in) well secure that door: | 1,153 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Learn, if by female fraud this deed were done,
Or (as my thought misgives) by Dolius’ son.”
While yet they spoke, in quest of arms again
To the high chamber stole the faithless swain,
Not unobserved. Eumaeus watchful eyed,
And thus address’d Ulysses near his side:
“The miscreant we suspected takes that way;
Him, if this arm be powerful, shall I slay?
Or drive him hither, to receive the meed
From thy own hand, of this detested deed?”
“Not so (replied Ulysses); leave him there,
For us sufficient is another care;
Within the structure of this palace wall
To keep enclosed his masters till they fall.
Go you, and seize the felon; backward bind
His arms and legs, and fix a plank behind:
On this his body by strong cords extend,
And on a column near the roof suspend:
So studied tortures his vile days shall end.”
The ready swains obey’d with joyful haste,
Behind the felon unperceived they pass’d,
As round the room in quest of arms he goes
(The half-shut door conceal’d his lurking foes):
One hand sustain’d a helm, and one the shield
Which old Laertes wont in youth to wield,
Cover’d with dust, with dryness chapp’d and worn,
The brass corroded, and the leather torn.
Thus laden, o’er the threshold as he stepp’d,
Fierce on the villain from each side they leap’d,
Back by the hair the trembling dastard drew,
And down reluctant on the pavement threw.
Active and pleased the zealous swains fulfil
At every point their master’s rigid will;
First, fast behind, his hands and feet they bound,
Then straighten’d cords involved his body round;
So drawn aloft, athwart the column tied,
The howling felon swung from side to side.
Eumaeus scoffing then with keen disdain:
“There pass thy pleasing night, O gentle swain!
On that soft pillow, from that envied height,
First may’st thou see the springing dawn of light;
So timely rise, when morning streaks the east,
To drive thy victims to the suitors’ feast.” | 1,154 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
This said, they, left him, tortured as he lay,
Secured the door, and hasty strode away:
Each, breathing death, resumed his dangerous post
Near great Ulysses; four against an host,
When lo! descending to her hero’s aid,
Jove’s daughter, Pallas, War’s triumphant maid:
In Mentor’s friendly form she join’d his side:
Ulysses saw, and thus with transport cried:
“Come, ever welcome, and thy succour lend;
O every sacred name in one, my friend!
Early we loved, and long our loves have grown;
Whate’er through life’s whole series I have done,
Or good, or grateful, now to mind recall,
And, aiding this one hour, repay it all.”
Thus he; but pleasing hopes his bosom warm
Of Pallas latent in the friendly form.
The adverse host the phantom-warrior eyed,
And first, loud-threatening, Agelaus cried:
“Mentor, beware, nor let that tongue persuade
Thy frantic arm to lend Ulysses aid;
Our force successful shall our threat make good,
And with the sire and son commix thy blood.
What hopest thou here? Thee first the sword shall slay,
Then lop thy whole posterity away;
Far hence thy banish’d consort shall we send;
With his thy forfeit lands and treasures blend;
Thus, and thus only, shalt thou join thy friend.”
His barbarous insult even the goddess fires,
Who thus the warrior to revenge inspires:
“Art thou Ulysses? where then shall we find
The patient body and the constant mind?
That courage, once the Trojans’ daily dread,
Known nine long years, and felt by heroes dead?
And where that conduct, which revenged the lust
Of Priam’s race, and laid proud Troy in dust?
If this, when Helen was the cause, were done;
What for thy country now, thy queen, thy son?
Rise then in combat, at my side attend;
Observe what vigour gratitude can lend,
And foes how weak, opposed against a friend!”
She spoke; but willing longer to survey
The sire and son’s great acts withheld the day!
By farther toils decreed the brave to try, | 1,155 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
And level poised the wings of victory;
Then with a change of form eludes their sight,
Perch’d like a swallow on a rafter’s height,
And unperceived enjoys the rising fight.
Damastor’s son, bold Agelaus, leads,
The guilty war, Eurynomus succeeds;
With these, Pisander, great Polyctor’s son,
Sage Polybus, and stern Amphimedon,
With Demoptolemus: these six survive:
The best of all the shafts had left alive.
Amidst the carnage, desperate as they stand,
Thus Agelaus roused the lagging band:
“The hour has come, when yon fierce man no more
With bleeding princes shall bestrew the floor;
Lo! Mentor leaves him with an empty boast;
The four remain, but four against an host.
Let each at once discharge the deadly dart,
One sure of six shall reach Ulysses’ heart:
The rest must perish, their great leader slain:
Thus shall one stroke the glory lost regain.”
Then all at once their mingled lances threw,
And thirsty all of one man’s blood they flew;
In vain! Minerva turned them with her breath,
And scattered short, or wide, the points of death!
With deaden’d sound one on the threshold falls,
One strikes the gate, one rings against the walls:
The storm passed innocent. The godlike man
Now loftier trod, and dreadful thus began:
“‘Tis now (brave friends) our turn, at once to throw,
(So speed them Heaven) our javelins at the foe.
That impious race to all their past misdeeds
Would add our blood, injustice still proceeds.”
He spoke: at once their fiery lances flew:
Great Demoptolemus Ulysses slew;
Euryades received the prince’s dart;
The goatherd’s quiver’d in Pisander’s heart;
Fierce Elatus by thine, Eumaeus, falls;
Their fall in thunder echoes round the walls.
The rest retreat: the victors now advance,
Each from the dead resumes his bloody lance.
Again the foe discharge the steely shower;
Again made frustrate by the virgin-power.
Some, turn’d by Pallas, on the threshold fall, | 1,156 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Some wound the gate, some ring against the wall;
Some weak, or ponderous with the brazen head,
Drop harmless on the pavement, sounding dead.
Then bold Amphimedon his javelin cast:
Thy hand, Telemachus, it lightly razed:
And from Ctesippus’ arm the spear elanced:
On good Eumaeus’ shield and shoulder glanced;
Not lessened of their force (so light the wound)
Each sung along and dropped upon the ground.
Fate doom’d thee next, Eurydamus, to bear,
Thy death ennobled by Ulysses’ spear.
By the bold son Amphimedon was slain,
And Polybus renown’d, the faithful swain.
Pierced through the breast the rude Ctesippus bled,
And thus Philaetius gloried o’er the dead:
“There end thy pompous vaunts and high disdain;
O sharp in scandal, voluble and vain!
How weak is mortal pride! To Heaven alone
The event of actions and our fates are known:
Scoffer, behold what gratitude we bear:
The victim’s heel is answered with this spear.”
Ulysses brandish’d high his vengeful steel,
And Damastorides that instant fell:
Fast by Leocritus expiring lay,
The prince’s javelin tore its bloody way
Through all his bowels: down he tumbled prone,
His batter’d front and brains besmear the stone.
Now Pallas shines confess’d; aloft she spreads
The arm of vengeance o’er their guilty heads:
The dreadful aegis blazes in their eye:
Amazed they see, they tremble, and they fly:
Confused, distracted, through the rooms they fling:
Like oxen madden’d by the breeze’s sting,
When sultry days, and long, succeed the gentle spring,
Not half so keen fierce vultures of the chase
Stoop from the mountains on the feather’d race,
When, the wide field extended snares beset,
With conscious dread they shun the quivering net:
No help, no flight; but wounded every way,
Headlong they drop; the fowlers seize their prey.
On all sides thus they double wound on wound,
In prostrate heaps the wretches beat the ground, | 1,157 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Unmanly shrieks precede each dying groan,
And a red deluge floats the reeking stone.
Leiodes first before the victor falls:
The wretched augur thus for mercy calls:
“Oh gracious hear, nor let thy suppliant bleed;
Still undishonoured, or by word or deed,
Thy house, for me remains; by me repress’d
Full oft was check’d the injustice of the rest:
Averse they heard me when I counselled well,
Their hearts were harden’d, and they justly fell.
O spare an augur’s consecrated head,
Nor add the blameless to the guilty dead.”
“Priest as thou art! for that detested band
Thy lying prophecies deceived the land;
Against Ulysses have thy vows been made,
For them thy daily orisons were paid:
Yet more, e’en to our bed thy pride aspires:
One common crime one common fate requires.”
Thus speaking, from the ground the sword he took
Which Agelaus’ dying hand forsook:
Full through his neck the weighty falchion sped;
Along the pavement roll’d the muttering head.
Phemius alone the hand of vengeance spared,
Phemius the sweet, the heaven-instructed bard.
Beside the gate the reverend minstrel stands;
The lyre now silent trembling in his hands;
Dubious to supplicate the chief, or fly
To Jove’s inviolable altar nigh,
Where oft Laertes holy vows had paid,
And oft Ulysses smoking victims laid.
His honour’d harp with care he first set down,
Between the laver and the silver throne;
Then prostrate stretch’d before the dreadful man,
Persuasive thus, with accent soft began:
“O king! to mercy be thy soul inclined,
And spare the poet’s ever-gentle kind.
A deed like this thy future fame would wrong,
For dear to gods and men is sacred song.
Self-taught I sing; by Heaven, and Heaven alone,
The genuine seeds of poesy are sown:
And (what the gods bestow) the lofty lay
To gods alone and godlike worth we pay.
Save then the poet, and thyself reward!
’Tis thine to merit, mine is to record. | 1,158 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
That here I sung, was force, and not desire;
This hand reluctant touch’d the warbling wire;
And let thy son attest, nor sordid pay,
Nor servile flattery, stain’d the moral lay.”
The moving words Telemachus attends,
His sire approaches, and the bard defends.
“O mix not, father, with those impious dead
The man divine! forbear that sacred head;
Medon, the herald, too, our arms may spare,
Medon, who made my infancy his care;
If yet he breathes, permit thy son to give
Thus much to gratitude, and bid him live.”
Beneath a table, trembling with dismay,
Couch’d close to earth, unhappy Medon lay,
Wrapp’d in a new-slain ox’s ample hide;
Swift at the word he cast his screen aside,
Sprung to the prince, embraced his knee with tears,
And thus with grateful voice address’d his ears
“O prince! O friend! lo, here thy Medon stands
Ah stop the hero’s unresisted hands,
Incensed too justly by that impious brood,
Whose guilty glories now are set in blood.”
To whom Ulysses with a pleasing eye:
“Be bold, on friendship and my son rely;
Live, an example for the world to read,
How much more safe the good than evil deed:
Thou, with the heaven-taught bard, in peace resort
From blood and carnage to yon open court:
Me other work requires.” With timorous awe
From the dire scene the exempted two withdraw,
Scarce sure of life, look round, and trembling move
To the bright altars of Protector Jove.
Meanwhile Ulysses search’d the dome, to find
If yet there live of all the offending kind.
Not one! complete the bloody tale he found,
All steep’d in blood, all gasping on the ground.
So, when by hollow shores the fisher-train
Sweep with their arching nets the roaring main,
And scarce the meshy toils the copious draught contain,
All naked of their element, and bare,
The fishes pant, and gasp in thinner air;
Wide o’er the sands are spread the stiffening prey,
Till the warm sun exhales their soul away. | 1,159 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
And now the king commands his son to call
Old Euryclea to the deathful hall:
The son observant not a moment stays;
The aged governess with speed obeys;
The sounding portals instant they display;
The matron moves, the prince directs the way.
On heaps of death the stern Ulysses stood,
All black with dust, and cover’d thick with blood.
So the grim lion from the slaughter comes,
Dreadful he glares, and terribly he foams,
His breast with marks of carnage painted o’er,
His jaws all dropping with the bull’s black gore.
Soon as her eyes the welcome object met,
The guilty fall’n, the mighty deed complete;
A scream of joy her feeble voice essay’d;
The hero check’d her, and composedly said.
“Woman, experienced as thou art, control
Indecent joy, and feast thy secret soul.
To insult the dead is cruel and unjust;
Fate and their crime have sunk them to the dust.
Nor heeded these the censure of mankind,
The good and bad were equal in their mind
Justly the price of worthlessness they paid,
And each now wails an unlamented shade.
But thou sincere! O Euryclea, say,
What maids dishonour us, and what obey?”
Then she: “In these thy kingly walls remain
(My son) full fifty of the handmaid train,
Taught by my care to cull the fleece or weave,
And servitude with pleasing tasks deceive;
Of these, twice six pursue their wicked way,
Nor me, nor chaste Penelope obey;
Nor fits it that Telemachus command
(Young as he is) his mother’s female band.
Hence to the upper chambers let me fly
Where slumbers soft now close the royal eye;
There wake her with the news”—the matron cried.
“Not so (Ulysses, more sedate, replied),
Bring first the crew who wrought these guilty deeds.”
In haste the matron parts: the king proceeds;
“Now to dispose the dead, the care remains
To you, my son, and you, my faithfull swains;
The offending females to that task we doom,
To wash, to scent, and purify the room; | 1,160 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
These (every table cleansed, and every throne,
And all the melancholy labour done)
Drive to yon court, without the palace wall,
There the revenging sword shall smite them all;
So with the suitors let them mix in dust,
Stretch’d in a long oblivion of their lust.”
He said: the lamentable train appear,
Each vents a groan, and drops a tender tear;
Each heaved her mournful burden, and beneath
The porch deposed the ghastly heap of death.
The chief severe, compelling each to move,
Urged the dire task imperious from above;
With thirsty sponge they rub the tables o’er
(The swains unite their toil); the walls, the floor,
Wash’d with the effusive wave, are purged of gore.
Once more the palace set in fair array,
To the base court the females take their way;
There compass’d close between the dome and wall
(Their life’s last scene) they trembling wait their fall.
Then thus the prince: “To these shall we afford
A fate so pure as by the martial sword?
To these, the nightly prostitutes to shame,
And base revilers of our house and name?”
Thus speaking, on the circling wall he strung
A ship’s tough cable from a column hung;
Near the high top he strain’d it strongly round,
Whence no contending foot could reach the ground.
Their heads above connected in a row,
They beat the air with quivering feet below:
Thus on some tree hung struggling in the snare,
The doves or thrushes flap their wings in air.
Soon fled the soul impure, and left behind
The empty corse to waver with the wind.
Then forth they led Melanthius, and began
Their bloody work; they lopp’d away the man,
Morsel for dogs! then trimm’d with brazen shears
The wretch, and shorten’d of his nose and ears;
His hands and feet last felt the cruel steel:
He roar’d, and torments gave his soul to hell.
They wash, and to Ulysses take their way:
So ends the bloody business of the day.
To Euryclea then address’d the king: | 1,161 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
“Bring hither fire, and hither sulphur bring,
To purge the palace: then the queen attend,
And let her with her matron-train descend;
The matron-train, with all the virgin-band,
Assemble here, to learn their lord’s command.”
Then Euryclea: “Joyful I obey,
But cast those mean dishonest rags away;
Permit me first the royal robes to bring:
Ill suits this garb the shoulders of a king.”
“Bring sulphur straight, and fire” (the monarch cries).
She hears, and at the word obedient flies.
With fire and sulphur, cure of noxious fumes,
He purged the walls, and blood-polluted rooms.
Again the matron springs with eager pace,
And spreads her lord’s return from place to place.
They hear, rush forth, and instant round him stand,
A gazing throng, a torch in every hand.
They saw, they knew him, and with fond embrace
Each humbly kiss’d his knee, or hand, or face;
He knows them all, in all such truth appears,
E’en he indulges the sweet joy of tears.
BOOK XXIII.
ARGUMENT.
Euryclea awakens Penelope with the news of Ulysses’ return, and the death
of the suitors. Penelope scarcely credits her; but supposes some god has
punished them, and descends from her department in doubt. At the first
interview of Ulysses and Penelope, she is quite unsatisfied. Minerva restores
him to the beauty of his youth; but the queen continues incredulous, till by
some circumstances she is convinced, and falls into all the transports of
passion and tenderness. They recount to each other all that has passed during
their long separation. The next morning Ulysses, arming himself and his
friends, goes from the city to visit his father.
Then to the queen, as in repose she lay,
The nurse with eager rapture speeds her way:
The transports of her faithful heart supply
A sudden youth, and give her wings to fly.
“And sleeps my child? (the reverend matron cries)
Ulysses lives! arise, my child, arise!
At length appears the long-expected hour! | 1,162 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Ulysses comes! the suitors are no more!
No more they view the golden light of day!
Arise, and bless thee with the glad survey?”
Touch’d at her words, the mournful queen rejoin’d:
“Ah! whither wanders thy distemper’d mind?
The righteous powers, who tread the starry skies,
The weak enlighten, and confound the wise,
And human thought, with unresisted sway,
Depress or raise, enlarge or take away:
Truth, by their high decree, thy voice forsakes,
And folly with the tongue of wisdom speaks.
Unkind, the fond illusion to impose!
Was it to flatter or deride my woes?
Never did I sleep so sweet enjoy,
Since my dear lord left Ithaca for Troy.
Why must I wake to grieve, and curse thy shore,
O Troy?—may never tongue pronounce thee more!
Begone! another might have felt our rage,
But age is sacred, and we spare thy age.”
To whom with warmth: “My soul a lie disdains;
Ulysses lives, thy own Ulysses reigns:
That stranger, patient of the suitors’ wrongs,
And the rude license of ungovern’d tongues!
He, he is thine! Thy son his latent guest
Long knew, but lock’d the secret in his breast:
With well concerted art to end his woes,
And burst at once in vengeance on the foes.”
While yet she spoke, the queen in transport sprung
Swift from the couch, and round the matron hung;
Fast from her eye descends the rolling tear:
“Say, once more say, is my Ulysses here?
How could that numerous and outrageous band
By one be slain, though by a hero’s hand?”
“I saw it not (she cries), but heard alone,
When death was busy, a loud dying groan;
The damsel-train turn’d pale at every wound,
Immured we sate, and catch’d each passing sound;
When death had seized her prey, thy son attends,
And at his nod the damsel-train descends;
There terrible in arms Ulysses stood,
And the dead suitors almost swam in blood:
Thy heart had leap’d the hero to survey,
Stern as the surly lion o’er his prey, | 1,163 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Glorious in gore, now with sulphereous fire
The dome he purges, now the flame aspires;
Heap’d lie the dead without the palace walls—
Haste, daughter, haste, thy own Ulysses calls!
Thy every wish the bounteous gods bestow;
Enjoy the present good, and former woe.
Ulysses lives, his vanquish’d foes to see;
He lives to thy Telemachus and thee!”
“Ah, no! (with sighs Penelope rejoin’d,)
Excess of joy disturbs thy wandering mind;
How blest this happy hour, should he appear,
Dear to us all, to me supremely dear;
Ah, no! some god the suitors death decreed,
Some god descends, and by his hand they bleed;
Blind! to contemn the stranger’s righteous cause,
And violate all hospitable laws!
The good they hated, and the powers defied!
But heaven is just, and by a god they died.
For never must Ulysses view this shore;
Never! the loved Ulysses is no more!”
“What words (the matron cries) have reach’d my ears?
Doubt we his presence, when he now appears!
Then hear conviction: Ere the fatal day
That forced Ulysses o’er the watery way,
A boar, fierce rushing in the sylvan war,
Plough’d half his thigh; I saw, I saw the scar,
And wild with transport had reveal’d the wound;
But ere I spoke, he rose, and check’d the sound.
Then, daughter, haste away! and if a lie
Flow from this tongue, then let thy servant die!”
To whom with dubious joy the queen replies:
“Wise is thy soul, but errors seize the wise;
The works of gods what mortal can survey?
Who knows their motives, who shall trace their way?
But learn we instant how the suitors trod
The paths of death, by man, or by a god.”
Thus speaks the queen, and no reply attends,
But with alternate joy and fear descends;
At every step debates her lord to prove;
Or, rushing to his arms, confess her love!
Then gliding through the marble valves, in state
Opposed, before the shining sire she sate.
The monarch, by a column high enthroned, | 1,164 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
His eye withdrew, and fix’d it on the ground;
Curious to hear his queen the silence break:
Amazed she sate, and impotent to speak;
O’er all the man her eyes she rolls in vain,
Now hopes, now fears, now knows, then doubts again.
At length Telemachus: “Oh, who can find
A woman like Penelope unkind?
Why thus in silence? why with winning charms
Thus slow to fly with rapture to his arms?
Stubborn the breast that with no transport glows,
When twice ten years are pass’d of mighty woes;
To softness lost, to spousal love unknown,
The gods have formed that rigid heart of stone!”
“O my Telemachus! (the queen rejoin’d,)
Distracting fears confound my labouring mind;
Powerless to speak. I scarce uplift my eyes,
Nor dare to question; doubts on doubts arise.
Oh deign he, if Ulysses, to remove
These boding thoughts, and what he is, to prove!”
Pleased with her virtuous fears, the king replies:
“Indulge, my son, the cautions of the wise;
Time shall the truth to sure remembrance bring:
This garb of poverty belies the king:
No more. This day our deepest care requires,
Cautious to act what thought mature inspires.
If one man’s blood, though mean, distain our hands,
The homicide retreats to foreign lands;
By us, in heaps the illustrious peerage falls,
The important deed our whole attention calls.”
“Be that thy care (Telemachus replies)
The world conspires to speak Ulysses wise;
For wisdom all is thine! lo, I obey,
And dauntless follow where you led the way;
Nor shalt thou in the day of danger find
Thy coward son degenerate lag behind.”
“Then instant to the bath (the monarch cries),
Bid the gay youth and sprightly virgins rise,
Thence all descend in pomp and proud array,
And bid the dome resound the mirthful lay;
While the sweet lyrist airs of rapture sings,
And forms the dance responsive to the strings,
That hence the eluded passengers may say,
‘Lo! the queen weds! we hear the spousal lay!’ | 1,165 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
The suitor’s death, unknown, till we remove
Far from the court, and act inspired by Jove.”
Thus spoke the king: the observant train obey,
At once they bathe, and dress in proud array:
The lyrist strikes the string; gay youths advance,
And fair-zoned damsels form the sprightly dance.
The voice, attuned to instrumental sounds,
Ascends the roof, the vaulted roof rebounds;
Not unobserved: the Greeks eluded say,
“Lo! the queen weds, we hear the spousal lay!
Inconstant! to admit the bridal hour.”
Thus they—but nobly chaste she weds no more.
Meanwhile the wearied king the bath ascends;
With faithful cares Eurynome attends,
O’er every limb a shower of fragrance sheds;
Then, dress’d in pomp, magnificent he treads.
The warrior-goddess gives his frame to shine
With majesty enlarged, and grace divine.
Back from his brows in wavy ringlets fly
His thick large locks of hyacinthine dye.
As by some artist to whom Vulcan gives
His heavenly skill, a breathing image lives;
By Pallas taught, he frames the wondrous mould,
And the pale silver glows with fusile gold:
So Pallas his heroic form improves
With bloom divine, and like a god he moves!
More high he treads, and issuing forth in state,
Radiant before his gazing consort sate.
“And, O my queen! (he cries) what power above
Has steel’d that heart, averse to spousal love?
Canst thou, Penelope, when heaven restores
Thy lost Ulysses to his native shores,
Canst thou, O cruel! unconcern’d survey
Thy lost Ulysses, on this signal day?
Haste, Euryclea, and despatchful spread
For me, and me alone, the imperial bed,
My weary nature craves the balm of rest.
But Heaven with adamant has arm’d her breast.”
“Ah no! (she cries) a tender heart I bear,
A foe to pride: no adamant is there;
And now, e’en now it melts! for sure I see
Once more Ulysses my beloved in thee!
Fix’d in my soul, as when he sailed to Troy,
His image dwells: then haste the bed of joy, | 1,166 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Haste, from the bridal bower the bed translate,
Fram’d by his hand, and be it dress’d in state!”
Thus speaks the queen, still dubious, with disguise
Touch’d at her words, the king with warmth replies
“Alas for this! what mortal strength can move
The enormous burden, who but Heaven above?
It mocks the weak attempts of human hands!
But the whole earth must move if Heaven commands
Then hear sure evidence, while we display
Words seal’d with sacred truth, and truth obey:
This hand the wonder framed; an olive spread
Full in the court its ever verdant head.
Vast as some mighty column’s bulk, on high
The huge trunk rose, and heaved into the sky;
Around the tree I raised a nuptial bower,
And roof’d defensive of the storm and shower;
The spacious valve, with art inwrought conjoins;
And the fair dome with polished marble shines.
I lopp’d the branchy head: aloft in twain
Sever’d the bole, and smoothed the shining grain;
Then posts, capacious of the frame, I raise,
And bore it, regular, from space to space:
Athwart the frame, at equal distance lie
Thongs of tough hides, that boast a purple dye;
Then polishing the whole, the finished mould
With silver shone, with elephant, and gold.
But if o’erturn’d by rude, ungovern’d hands,
Or still inviolate the olive stands,
’Tis thine, O queen, to say, and now impart,
If fears remain, or doubts distract thy heart.”
While yet he speaks, her powers of life decay;
She sickens, trembles, falls, and faints away.
At length recovering, to his arms she flew,
And strain’d him close, as to his breast she grew.
The tears pour’d down amain, and “O (she cries)
Let not against thy spouse thine anger rise!
O versed in every turn of human art,
Forgive the weakness of a woman’s heart!
The righteous powers, that mortal lot dispose,
Decree us to sustain a length of woes.
And from the flower of life the bliss deny
To bloom together, fade away, and die. | 1,167 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
O let me, let me not thine anger move,
That I forbore, thus, thus to speak my love:
Thus in fond kisses, while the transport warms
Pour out my soul and die within thine arms!
I dreaded fraud! Men, faithless men, betray
Our easy faith, and make our sex their prey:
Against the fondness of my heart I strove:
’Twas caution, O my lord! not want of love.
Like me had Helen fear’d, with wanton charms
Ere the fair mischief set two worlds in arms;
Ere Greece rose dreadful in the avenging day;
Thus had she fear’d, she had not gone astray.
But Heaven, averse to Greece, in wrath decreed
That she should wander, and that Greece should bleed:
Blind to the ills that from injustice flow,
She colour’d all our wretched lives with woe.
But why these sorrows when my lord arrives?
I yield, I yield! my own Ulysses lives!
The secrets of the bridal bed are known
To thee, to me, to Actoris alone
(My father’s present in the spousal hour,
The sole attendant on our genial bower).
Since what no eye hath seen thy tongue reveal’d,
Hard and distrustful as I am, I yield.”
Touch’d to the soul, the king with rapture hears,
Hangs round her neck, and speaks his joy in tears.
As to the shipwreck’d mariner, the shores
Delightful rise, when angry Neptune roars:
Then, when the surge in thunder mounts the sky,
And gulf’d in crowds at once the sailors die;
If one, more happy, while the tempest raves,
Outlives the tumult of conflicting waves,
All pale, with ooze deform’d, he views the strand,
And plunging forth with transport grasps the land:
The ravish’d queen with equal rapture glows,
Clasps her loved lord, and to his bosom grows.
Nor had they ended till the morning ray,
But Pallas backward held the rising day,
The wheels of night retarding, to detain
The gay Aurora in the wavy main;
Whose flaming steeds, emerging through the night,
Beam o’er the eastern hills with streaming light.
At length Ulysses with a sigh replies: | 1,168 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
“Yet Fate, yet cruel Fate repose denies;
A labour long, and hard, remains behind;
By heaven above, by hell beneath enjoin’d:
For to Tiresias through the eternal gates
Of hell I trode, to learn my future fates.
But end we here—the night demands repose,
Be deck’d the couch! and peace awhile, my woes!”
To whom the queen: “Thy word we shall obey,
And deck the couch; far hence be woes away:
Since the just gods, who tread the starry plains,
Restore thee safe, since my Ulysses reigns.
But what those perils heaven decrees, impart;
Knowledge may grieve, but fear distracts the heart.”
To this the king: “Ah, why must I disclose
A dreadful story of approaching woes?
Why in this hour of transport wound thy ears,
When thou must learn what I must speak with tears?
Heaven, by the Theban ghost, thy spouse decrees,
Torn from thy arms, to sail a length of seas;
From realm to realm, a nation to explore
Who ne’er knew salt, or heard the billows roar,
Nor saw gay vessel storm the surgy plain,
A painted wonder, flying on the main:
An oar my hand must bear; a shepherd eyes
The unknown instrument with strange surprise,
And calls a corn-van; this upon the plain
I fix, and hail the monarch of the main;
Then bathe his altars with the mingled gore
Of victims vow’d, a ram, a bull, a boar;
Thence swift re-sailing to my native shores,
Due victims slay to all the ethereal powers.
Then Heaven decrees, in peace to end my days
And steal myself from life by slow decays!
Unknown to pain, in age resign my breath,
When late stern Neptune points the shaft of death;
To the dark grave retiring as to rest;
My people blessing, by my people bless’d.
Such future scenes the all-righteous powers display
By their dread seer, and such my future day.”
To whom thus firm of soul: “If ripe for death,
And full of days, thou gently yield thy breath;
While Heaven a kind release from ills foreshows,
Triumph, thou happy victor of thy woes?” | 1,169 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
But Euryclea, with dispatchful care,
And sage Eurynome, the couch prepare;
Instant they bid the blazing torch display
Around the dome and artificial day;
Then to repose her steps the matron bends,
And to the queen Eurynome descends;
A torch she bears, to light with guiding fires
The royal pair; she guides them, and retires
The instant his fair spouse Ulysses led
To the chaste love-rites of the nuptial bed.
And now the blooming youths and sprightly fair
Cease the gay dance, and to their rest repair;
But in discourse the king and consort lay,
While the soft hours stole unperceived away;
Intent he hears Penelope disclose
A mournful story of domestic woes,
His servants’ insults, his invaded bed,
How his whole flocks and herds exhausted bled,
His generous wines dishonour’d shed in vain,
And the wild riots of the suitor-train.
The king alternate a dire tale relates,
Of wars, of triumphs, and disastrous fates;
All he unfolds; his listening spouse turns pale
With pleasing horror at the dreadful tale;
Sleepless devours each word; and hears how slain
Cicons on Cicons swell the ensanguined plain;
How to the land of Lote unbless’d he sails;
And images the rills and flowery vales!
How dash’d like dogs, his friends the Cyclops tore
(Not unrevenged), and quaff’d the spouting gore;
How the loud storms in prison bound, he sails
From friendly Aeolus with prosperous gales:
Yet fate withstands! a sudden tempest roars,
And whirls him groaning from his native shores:
How on the barbarous Laestrigonian coast,
By savage hands his fleet and friends lie lost;
How scarce himself survived: he paints the bower,
The spells of Circe, and her magic power;
His dreadful journey to the realms beneath,
To seek Tiresias in the vales of death;
How in the doleful mansions lie survey’d
His royal mother, pale Anticlea’s shade;
And friends in battle slain, heroic ghosts!
Then how, unharm’d, he pass’d the Syren-coasts, | 1,170 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
The justling rocks where fierce Charybdis raves,
And howling Scylla whirls her thunderous waves,
The cave of death! How his companions slay
The oxen sacred to the god of day.
Till Jove in wrath the rattling tempest guides,
And whelms the offenders in the roaring tides:
How struggling through the surge he reach’d the shores
Of fair Ogygia and Calypso’s bowers;
Where the gay blooming nymph constrain’d his stay,
With sweet, reluctant, amorous delay;
And promised, vainly promised, to bestow
Immortal life, exempt from age and woe:
How saved from storms Phæacia’s coast he trod,
By great Alcinous honour’d as a god,
Who gave him last his country to behold,
With change of raiment, brass, and heaps of gold
He ended, sinking into sleep, and shares
A sweet forgetfulness of all his cares.
Soon as soft slumber eased the toils of day,
Minerva rushes through the aërial way,
And bids Aurora with her golden wheels
Flame from the ocean o’er the eastern hills;
Uprose Ulysses from the genial bed,
And thus with thought mature the monarch said:
“My queen, my consort! through a length of years
We drank the cup of sorrow mix’d with tears;
Thou, for thy lord; while me the immortal powers
Detain’d reluctant from my native shores.
Now, bless’d again by Heaven, the queen display,
And rule our palace with an equal sway.
Be it my care, by loans, or martial toils,
To throng my empty folds with gifts or spoils.
But now I haste to bless Laertes’ eyes
With sight of his Ulysses ere he dies;
The good old man, to wasting woes a prey,
Weeps a sad life in solitude away.
But hear, though wise! This morning shall unfold
The deathful scene, on heroes heroes roll’d.
Thou with thy maids within the palace stay,
From all the scene of tumult far away!”
He spoke, and sheathed in arms incessant flies
To wake his son, and bid his friends arise.
“To arms!” aloud he cries; his friends obey, | 1,171 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
With glittering arms their manly limbs array,
And pass the city gate; Ulysses leads the way.
Now flames the rosy dawn, but Pallas shrouds
The latent warriors in a veil of clouds.
BOOK XXIV.
ARGUMENT.
The souls of the suitors are conducted by Mercury to the infernal shades.
Ulysses in the country goes to the retirement of his father, Laertes; he finds
him busied in his garden all alone; the manner of his discovery to him is
beautifully described. They return together to his lodge, and the king is
acknowledged by Dolius and the servants. The Ithacensians, led by Eupithes, the
father of Antinous, rise against Ulysses, who gives them battle in which
Eupithes is killed by Laertes: and the goddess Pallas makes a lasting peace
between Ulysses and his subjects, which concludes the Odyssey.
Cyllenius now to Pluto’s dreary reign
Conveys the dead, a lamentable train!
The golden wand, that causes sleep to fly,
Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye,
That drives the ghosts to realms of night or day,
Points out the long uncomfortable way.
Trembling the spectres glide, and plaintive vent
Thin, hollow screams, along the deep descent.
As in the cavern of some rifted den,
Where flock nocturnal bats, and birds obscene;
Cluster’d they hang, till at some sudden shock
They move, and murmurs run through all the rock!
So cowering fled the sable heaps of ghosts,
And such a scream fill’d all the dismal coasts.
And now they reach’d the earth’s remotest ends,
And now the gates where evening Sol descends,
And Leucas’ rock, and Ocean’s utmost streams,
And now pervade the dusky land of dreams,
And rest at last, where souls unbodied dwell
In ever-flowing meads of asphodel.
The empty forms of men inhabit there,
Impassive semblance, images of air!
Naught else are all that shined on earth before:
Ajax and great Achilles are no more!
Yet still a master ghost, the rest he awed,
The rest adored him, towering as he trod; | 1,172 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Still at his side is Nestor’s son survey’d,
And loved Patroclus still attends his shade.
New as they were to that infernal shore,
The suitors stopp’d, and gazed the hero o’er.
When, moving slow, the regal form they view’d
Of great Atrides: him in pomp pursued
And solemn sadness through the gloom of hell,
The train of those who by AEgysthus fell:
“O mighty chief! (Pelides thus began)
Honour’d by Jove above the lot of man!
King of a hundred kings! to whom resign’d
The strongest, bravest, greatest of mankind
Comest thou the first, to view this dreary state?
And was the noblest, the first mark of Fate,
Condemn’d to pay the great arrear so soon,
The lot, which all lament, and none can shun!
Oh! better hadst thou sunk in Trojan ground,
With all thy full-blown honours cover’d round;
Then grateful Greece with streaming eyes might raise
Historic marbles to record thy praise:
Thy praise eternal on the faithful stone
Had with transmissive glories graced thy son.
But heavier fates were destined to attend:
What man is happy, till he knows his end?”
“O son of Peleus! greater than mankind!
(Thus Agamemnon’s kingly shade rejoin’d)
Thrice happy thou, to press the martial plain
’Midst heaps of heroes in thy quarrel slain:
In clouds of smoke raised by the noble fray,
Great and terrific e’en in death you lay,
And deluges of blood flow’d round you every way.
Nor ceased the strife till Jove himself opposed,
And all in Tempests the dire evening closed.
Then to the fleet we bore thy honour’d load,
And decent on the funeral bed bestow’d;
Then unguents sweet and tepid streams we shed;
Tears flow’d from every eye, and o’er the dead
Each clipp’d the curling honours of his head.
Struck at the news, thy azure mother came,
The sea-green sisters waited on the dame:
A voice of loud lament through all the main
Was heard; and terror seized the Grecian train:
Back to their ships the frighted host had fled; | 1,173 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
But Nestor spoke, they listen’d and obey’d
(From old experience Nestor’s counsel springs,
And long vicissitudes of human things):
‘Forbear your flight: fair Thetis from the main
To mourn Achilles leads her azure train.’
Around thee stand the daughters of the deep,
Robe thee in heavenly vests, and round thee weep:
Round thee, the Muses, with alternate strain,
In ever-consecrating verse, complain.
Each warlike Greek the moving music hears,
And iron-hearted heroes melt in tears.
Till seventeen nights and seventeen days return’d
All that was mortal or immortal mourn’d,
To flames we gave thee, the succeeding day,
And fatted sheep and sable oxen slay;
With oils and honey blazed the augmented fires,
And, like a god adorn’d, thy earthly part expires.
Unnumber’d warriors round the burning pile
Urge the fleet coursers or the racer’s toil;
Thick clouds of dust o’er all the circle rise,
And the mix’d clamour thunders in the skies.
Soon as absorb’d in all-embracing flame
Sunk what was mortal of thy mighty name,
We then collect thy snowy bones, and place
With wines and unguents in a golden vase
(The vase to Thetis Bacchus gave of old,
And Vulcan’s art enrich’d the sculptured gold).
There, we thy relics, great Achilles! blend
With dear Patroclus, thy departed friend:
In the same urn a separate space contains
Thy next beloved, Antilochus’ remains.
Now all the sons of warlike Greece surround
Thy destined tomb and cast a mighty mound;
High on the shore the growing hill we raise,
That wide the extended Hellespont surveys;
Where all, from age to age, who pass the coast,
May point Achilles’ tomb, and hail the mighty ghost.
Thetis herself to all our peers proclaims
Heroic prizes and exequial games;
The gods assented; and around thee lay
Rich spoils and gifts that blazed against the day.
Oft have I seen with solemn funeral games
Heroes and kings committed to the flames; | 1,174 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
But strength of youth, or valour of the brave,
With nobler contest ne’er renown’d a grave.
Such were the games by azure Thetis given,
And such thy honours, O beloved of Heaven!
Dear to mankind thy fame survives, nor fades
Its bloom eternal in the Stygian shades.
But what to me avail my honours gone,
Successful toils, and battles bravely won?
Doom’d by stern Jove at home to end my life,
By cursed Ægysthus, and a faithless wife!”
Thus they: while Hermes o’er the dreary plain
Led the sad numbers by Ulysses slain.
On each majestic form they cast a view,
And timorous pass’d, and awfully withdrew.
But Agamemnon, through the gloomy shade,
His ancient host Amphimedon survey’d:
“Son of Melanthius! (he began) O say!
What cause compell’d so many, and so gay,
To tread the downward, melancholy way?
Say, could one city yield a troop so fair?
Were all these partners of one native air?
Or did the rage of stormy Neptune sweep
Your lives at once, and whelm beneath the deep?
Did nightly thieves, or pirates’ cruel bands,
Drench with your blood your pillaged country’s sands?
Or well-defending some beleaguer’d wall,
Say,—for the public did ye greatly fall?
Inform thy guest: for such I was of yore
When our triumphant navies touch’d your shore;
Forced a long month the wintry seas to bear,
To move the great Ulysses to the war.”
“O king of men! I faithful shall relate
(Replied Amphimedon) our hapless fate.
Ulysses absent, our ambitious aim
With rival loves pursued his royal dame;
Her coy reserve, and prudence mix’d with pride,
Our common suit nor granted, nor denied;
But close with inward hate our deaths design’d;
Versed in all arts of wily womankind.
Her hand, laborious, in delusion spread
A spacious loom, and mix’d the various thread.
‘Ye peers (she cried) who press to gain my heart,
Where dead Ulysses claims no more a part,
Yet a short space your rival suit suspend, | 1,175 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Till this funereal web my labours end:
Cease, till to good Laertes I bequeath
A task of grief, his ornaments of death:
Lest when the Fates his royal ashes claim,
The Grecian matrons taint my spotless fame;
Should he, long honour’d with supreme command,
Want the last duties of a daughter’s hand.’
“The fiction pleased, our generous train complies,
Nor fraud mistrusts in virtue’s fair disguise.
The work she plied, but studious of delay,
Each following night reversed the toils of day.
Unheard, unseen, three years her arts prevail;
The fourth, her maid reveal’d the amazing tale,
And show’d as unperceived we took our stand,
The backward labours of her faithless hand.
Forced she completes it; and before us lay
The mingled web, whose gold and silver ray
Display’d the radiance of the night and day.
“Just as she finished her illustrious toil,
Ill fortune led Ulysses to our isle.
Far in a lonely nook, beside the sea,
At an old swineherd’s rural lodge he lay:
Thither his son from sandy Pyle repairs,
And speedy lands, and secretly confers.
They plan our future ruin, and resort
Confederate to the city and the court.
First came the son; the father next succeeds,
Clad like a beggar, whom Eumaeus leads;
Propp’d on a staff, deform’d with age and care,
And hung with rags that flutter’d in the air.
Who could Ulysses in that form behold?
Scorn’d by the young, forgotten by the old,
Ill-used by all! to every wrong resigned,
Patient he suffered with a constant mind.
But when, arising in his wrath to obey
The will of Jove, he gave the vengeance way:
The scattered arms that hung around the dome
Careful he treasured in a private room;
Then to her suitors bade his queen propose
The archer’s strife, the source of future woes,
And omen of our death! In vain we drew
The twanging string, and tried the stubborn yew:
To none it yields but great Ulysses’ hands;
In vain we threat; Telemachus commands: | 1,176 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
The bow he snatch’d, and in an instant bent;
Through every ring the victor arrow went.
Fierce on the threshold then in arms he stood;
Poured forth the darts that thirsted for our blood,
And frown’d before us, dreadful as a god!
First bleeds Antinous: thick the shafts resound,
And heaps on heaps the wretches strew the ground;
This way, and that, we turn, we fly, we fall;
Some god assisted, and unmann’d us all;
Ignoble cries precede the dying groans;
And battered brains and blood besmear the stones.
“Thus, great Atrides, thus Ulysses drove
The shades thou seest from yon fair realms above;
Our mangled bodies now deformed with gore,
Cold and neglected, spread the marble floor.
No friend to bathe our wounds, or tears to shed
O’er the pale corse! the honours of the dead.”
“Oh bless’d Ulysses! (thus the king express’d
His sudden rapture) in thy consort bless’d!
Not more thy wisdom than her virtue shined;
Not more thy patience than her constant mind.
Icarius’ daughter, glory of the past,
And model to the future age, shall last:
The gods, to honour her fair fame, shall rise
(Their great reward) a poet in her praise.
Not such, O Tyndarus! thy daughter’s deed,
By whose dire hand her king and husband bled;
Her shall the Muse to infamy prolong,
Example dread, and theme of tragic song!
The general sex shall suffer in her shame,
And e’en the best that bears a woman’s name.”
Thus in the regions of eternal shade
Conferr’d the mournful phantoms of the dead;
While from the town, Ulysses and his band
Pass’d to Laertes’ cultivated land.
The ground himself had purchased with his pain,
And labour made the rugged soil a plain,
There stood his mansion of the rural sort,
With useful buildings round the lowly court;
Where the few servants that divide his care
Took their laborious rest, and homely fare;
And one Sicilian matron, old and sage,
With constant duty tends his drooping age. | 1,177 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Here now arriving, to his rustic band
And martial son, Ulysses gave command:
“Enter the house, and of the bristly swine
Select the largest to the powers divine.
Alone, and unattended, let me try
If yet I share the old man’s memory:
If those dim eyes can yet Ulysses know
(Their light and dearest object long ago),
Now changed with time, with absence and with woe.”
Then to his train he gives his spear and shield;
The house they enter; and he seeks the field,
Through rows of shade, with various fruitage crown’d,
And labour’d scenes of richest verdure round.
Nor aged Dolius; nor his sons, were there,
Nor servants, absent on another care;
To search the woods for sets of flowery thorn,
Their orchard bounds to strengthen and adorn.
But all alone the hoary king he found;
His habit course, but warmly wrapp’d around;
His head, that bow’d with many a pensive care,
Fenced with a double cap of goatskin hair:
His buskins old, in former service torn,
But swell repair’d; and gloves against the thorn.
In this array the kingly gardener stood,
And clear’d a plant, encumber’d with its wood.
Beneath a neighbouring tree, the chief divine
Gazed o’er his sire, retracing every line,
The ruins of himself, now worn away
With age, yet still majestic in decay!
Sudden his eyes released their watery store;
The much-enduring man could bear no more.
Doubtful he stood, if instant to embrace
His aged limbs, to kiss his reverend face,
With eager transport to disclose the whole,
And pour at once the torrent of his soul.—
Not so: his judgment takes the winding way
Of question distant, and of soft essay;
More gentle methods on weak age employs:
And moves the sorrows to enhance the joys.
Then, to his sire with beating heart he moves,
And with a tender pleasantry reproves;
Who digging round the plant still hangs his bead,
Nor aught remits the work, while thus he said:
“Great is thy skill, O father! great thy toil, | 1,178 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Thy careful hand is stamp’d on all the soil,
Thy squadron’d vineyards well thy art declare,
The olive green, blue fig, and pendent pear;
And not one empty spot escapes thy care.
On every plant and tree thy cares are shown,
Nothing neglected, but thyself alone.
Forgive me, father, if this fault I blame;
Age so advanced, may some indulgence claim.
Not for thy sloth, I deem thy lord unkind:
Nor speaks thy form a mean or servile mind;
I read a monarch in that princely air,
The same thy aspect, if the same thy care;
Soft sleep, fair garments, and the joys of wine,
These are the rights of age, and should be thine.
Who then thy master, say? and whose the land
So dress’d and managed by thy skilful hand?
But chief, oh tell me! (what I question most)
Is this the far-famed Ithacensian coast?
For so reported the first man I view’d
(Some surly islander, of manners rude),
Nor farther conference vouchsafed to stay;
Heedless he whistled, and pursued his way.
But thou whom years have taught to understand,
Humanely hear, and answer my demand:
A friend I seek, a wise one and a brave:
Say, lives he yet, or moulders in the grave?
Time was (my fortunes then were at the best)
When at my house I lodged this foreign guest;
He said, from Ithaca’s fair isle he came,
And old Laertes was his father’s name.
To him, whatever to a guest is owed
I paid, and hospitable gifts bestow’d:
To him seven talents of pure ore I told,
Twelve cloaks, twelve vests, twelve tunics stiff with gold:
A bowl, that rich with polish’d silver flames,
And skill’d in female works, four lovely dames.”
At this the father, with a father’s fears
(His venerable eyes bedimm’d with tears):
“This is the land; but ah! thy gifts are lost,
For godless men, and rude possess the coast:
Sunk is the glory of this once-famed shore!
Thy ancient friend, O stranger, is no more!
Full recompense thy bounty else had borne: | 1,179 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
For every good man yields a just return:
So civil rights demand; and who begins
The track of friendship, not pursuing, sins.
But tell me, stranger, be the truth confess’d,
What years have circled since thou saw’st that guest?
That hapless guest, alas! for ever gone!
Wretch that he was! and that I am! my son!
If ever man to misery was born,
’Twas his to suffer, and ’tis mine to mourn!
Far from his friends, and from his native reign,
He lies a prey to monsters of the main;
Or savage beasts his mangled relics tear,
Or screaming vultures scatter through the air:
Nor could his mother funeral unguents shed;
Nor wail’d his father o’er the untimely dead:
Nor his sad consort, on the mournful bier,
Seal’d his cold eyes, or dropp’d a tender tear!
“But, tell me who thou art? and what thy race?
Thy town, thy parents, and thy native place?
Or, if a merchant in pursuit of gain,
What port received thy vessel from the main?
Or comest thou single, or attend thy train?”
Then thus the son: “From Alybas I came,
My palace there; Eperitus my name
Not vulgar born: from Aphidas, the king
Of Polyphemon’s royal line, I spring.
Some adverse demon from Sicania bore
Our wandering course, and drove us on your shore;
Far from the town, an unfrequented bay
Relieved our wearied vessel from the sea.
Five years have circled since these eyes pursued
Ulysses parting through the sable flood:
Prosperous he sail’d, with dexter auguries,
And all the wing’d good omens of the skies.
Well hoped we then to meet on this fair shore,
Whom Heaven, alas! decreed to meet no more.”
Quick through the father’s heart these accents ran;
Grief seized at once, and wrapp’d up all the man:
Deep from his soul he sigh’d, and sorrowing spread
A cloud of ashes on his hoary head.
Trembling with agonies of strong delight
Stood the great son, heart-wounded with the sight:
He ran, he seized him with a strict embrace, | 1,180 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
With thousand kisses wander’d o’er his face:
“I, I am he; O father, rise! behold
Thy son, with twenty winters now grown old;
Thy son, so long desired, so long detain’d,
Restored, and breathing in his native land:
These floods of sorrow, O my sire, restrain!
The vengeance is complete; the suitor train,
Stretch’d in our palace, by these hands lie slain.”
Amazed, Laertes: “Give some certain sign
(If such thou art) to manifest thee mine.”
“Lo here the wound (he cries) received of yore,
The scar indented by the tusky boar,
When, by thyself, and by Anticlea sent,
To old Autolycus’ realms I went.
Yet by another sign thy offspring know;
The several trees you gave me long ago,
While yet a child, these fields I loved to trace,
And trod thy footsteps with unequal pace;
To every plant in order as we came,
Well-pleased, you told its nature and its name,
Whate’er my childish fancy ask’d, bestow’d:
Twelve pear-trees, bowing with their pendent load,
And ten, that red with blushing apples glow’d;
Full fifty purple figs; and many a row
Of various vines that then began to blow,
A future vintage! when the Hours produce
Their latent buds, and Sol exalts the juice.”
Smit with the signs which all his doubts explain,
His heart within him melts; his knees sustain
Their feeble weight no more: his arms alone
Support him, round the loved Ulysses thrown;
He faints, he sinks, with mighty joys oppress’d:
Ulysses clasps him to his eager breast.
Soon as returning life regains its seat,
And his breath lengthens, and his pulses beat:
“Yes, I believe (he cries) almighty Jove!
Heaven rules us yet, and gods there are above.
’Tis so—the suitors for their wrongs have paid—
But what shall guard us, if the town invade?
If, while the news through every city flies,
All Ithaca and Cephalenia rise?”
To this Ulysses: “As the gods shall please
Be all the rest: and set thy soul at ease. | 1,181 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Haste to the cottage by this orchard’s side,
And take the banquet which our cares provide;
There wait thy faithful band of rural friends,
And there the young Telemachus attends.”
Thus, having said, they traced the garden o’er
And stooping entered at the lowly door.
The swains and young Telemachus they found.
The victim portion’d and the goblet crown’d.
The hoary king, his old Sicilian maid
Perfum’d and wash’d, and gorgeously arrayed.
Pallas attending gives his frame to shine
With awful port, and majesty divine;
His gazing son admires the godlike grace,
And air celestial dawning o’er his face.
“What god (he cried) my father’s form improves!
How high he treads and how enlarged he moves!”
“Oh! would to all the deathless powers on high,
Pallas and Jove, and him who gilds the sky!
(Replied the king elated with his praise)
My strength were still, as once in better days:
When the bold Cephalens the leaguer form’d.
And proud Nericus trembled as I storm’d.
Such were I now, not absent from your deed
When the last sun beheld the suitors bleed,
This arm had aided yours, this hand bestrown
Our shores with death, and push’d the slaughter on;
Nor had the sire been separate from the son.”
They communed thus; while homeward bent their way
The swains, fatigued with labours of the day:
Dolius, the first, the venerable man;
And next his sons, a long succeeding train.
For due refection to the bower they came,
Call’d by the careful old Sicilian dame,
Who nursed the children, and now tends the sire,
They see their lord, they gaze, and they admire.
On chairs and beds in order seated round,
They share the gladsome board; the roofs resound,
While thus Ulysses to his ancient friend:
“Forbear your wonder, and the feast attend:
The rites have waited long.” The chief commands
Their love in vain; old Dolius spreads his hands,
Springs to his master with a warm embrace,
And fastens kisses on his hands and face; | 1,182 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Then thus broke out: “O long, O daily mourn’d!
Beyond our hopes, and to our wish return’d!
Conducted sure by Heaven! for Heaven alone
Could work this wonder: welcome to thy own!
And joys and happiness attend thy throne!
Who knows thy bless’d, thy wish’d return? oh say,
To the chaste queen shall we the news convey?
Or hears she, and with blessings loads the day?”
“Dismiss that care, for to the royal bride
Already is it known” (the king replied,
And straight resumed his seat); while round him bows
Each faithful youth, and breathes out ardent vows:
Then all beneath their father take their place,
Rank’d by their ages, and the banquet grace.
Now flying Fame the swift report had spread
Through all the city, of the suitors dead,
In throngs they rise, and to the palace crowd;
Their sighs were many and the tumult loud.
Weeping they bear the mangled heaps of slain;
Inhume the natives in their native plain,
The rest in ships are wafted o’er the main.
Then sad in council all the seniors sate,
Frequent and full, assembled to debate:
Amid the circle first Eupithes rose,
Big was his eye with tears, his heart with woes:
The bold Antinous was his age’s pride,
The first who by Ulysses’ arrow died.
Down his wan cheek the trickling torrent ran,
As mixing words with sighs he thus began:
“Great deeds, O friends! this wondrous man has wrought,
And mighty blessings to his country brought!
With ships he parted, and a numerous train,
Those, and their ships, he buried in the main.
Now he returns, and first essays his hand
In the best blood of all his native land.
Haste, then, and ere to neighbouring Pyle he flies,
Or sacred Elis, to procure supplies;
Arise (or ye for ever fall), arise!
Shame to this age, and all that shall succeed!
If unrevenged your sons and brothers bleed.
Prove that we live, by vengeance on his head,
Or sink at once forgotten with the dead.”
Here ceased he, but indignant tears let fall | 1,183 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Spoke when he ceased: dumb sorrow touch’d them all.
When from the palace to the wondering throng
Sage Medon came, and Phemius came along
(Restless and early sleep’s soft bands they broke);
And Medon first the assembled chiefs bespoke;
“Hear me, ye peers and elders of the land,
Who deem this act the work of mortal hand;
As o’er the heaps of death Ulysses strode,
These eyes, these eyes beheld a present god,
Who now before him, now beside him stood,
Fought as he fought, and mark’d his way with blood:
In vain old Mentor’s form the god belied;
’Twas Heaven that struck, and Heaven was on his side.”
A sudden horror all the assembly shook,
When slowly rising, Halitherses spoke
(Reverend and wise, whose comprehensive view
At once the present and the future knew):
“Me too, ye fathers, hear! from you proceed
The ills ye mourn; your own the guilty deed.
Ye gave your sons, your lawless sons, the rein
(Oft warn’d by Mentor and myself in vain);
An absent hero’s bed they sought to soil,
An absent hero’s wealth they made their spoil;
Immoderate riot, and intemperate lust!
The offence was great, the punishment was just.
Weigh then my counsels in an equal scale,
Nor rush to ruin. Justice will prevail.”
His moderate words some better minds persuade:
They part, and join him: but the number stay’d.
They storm, they shout, with hasty frenzy fired,
And second all Eupithes’ rage inspired.
They case their limbs in brass; to arms they run;
The broad effulgence blazes in the sun.
Before the city, and in ample plain,
They meet: Eupithes heads the frantic train.
Fierce for his son, he breathes his threats in air;
Fate bears them not, and Death attends him there.
This pass’d on earth, while in the realms above
Minerva thus to cloud-compelling Jove!
“May I presume to search thy secret soul?
O Power Supreme, O Ruler of the whole!
Say, hast thou doom’d to this divided state
Or peaceful amity or stern debate? | 1,184 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Declare thy purpose, for thy will is fate.”
“Is not thy thought my own? (the god replies
Who rolls the thunder o’er the vaulted skies;)
Hath not long since thy knowing soul decreed
The chief’s return should make the guilty bleed.
’Tis done, and at thy will the Fates succeed.
Yet hear the issue: Since Ulysses’ hand
Has slain the suitors, Heaven shall bless the land.
None now the kindred of the unjust shall own;
Forgot the slaughter’d brother and the son:
Each future day increase of wealth shall bring,
And o’er the past Oblivion stretch her wing.
Long shall Ulysses in his empire rest,
His people blessing, by his people bless’d.
Let all be peace.”—He said, and gave the nod
That binds the Fates; the sanction of the god
And prompt to execute the eternal will,
Descended Pallas from the Olympian hill.
Now sat Ulysses at the rural feast
The rage of hunger and of thirst repress’d:
To watch the foe a trusty spy he sent:
A son of Dolius on the message went,
Stood in the way, and at a glance beheld
The foe approach, embattled on the field.
With backward step he hastens to the bower,
And tells the news. They arm with all their power.
Four friends alone Ulysses’ cause embrace,
And six were all the sons of Dolius’ race:
Old Dolius too his rusted arms put on;
And, still more old, in arms Laertes shone.
Trembling with warmth, the hoary heroes stand,
And brazen panoply invests the band.
The opening gates at once their war display:
Fierce they rush forth: Ulysses leads the way.
That moment joins them with celestial aid,
In Mentor’s form, the Jove-descended maid:
The suffering hero felt his patient breast
Swell with new joy, and thus his son address’d:
“Behold, Telemachus! (nor fear the sight,)
The brave embattled, the grim front of fight!
The valiant with the valiant must contend.
Shame not the line whence glorious you descend.
Wide o’er the world their martial fame was spread; | 1,185 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
Regard thyself, the living and the dead.”
“Thy eyes, great father! on this battle cast,
Shall learn from me Penelope was chaste.”
So spoke Telemachus: the gallant boy
Good old Laertes heard with panting joy.
“And bless’d! thrice bless’d this happy day! (he cries,)
The day that shows me, ere I close my eyes,
A son and grandson of the Arcesian name
Strive for fair virtue, and contest for fame!”
Then thus Minerva in Laertes’ ear:
“Son of Arcesius, reverend warrior, hear!
Jove and Jove’s daughter first implore in prayer,
Then, whirling high, discharge thy lance in air.”
She said, infusing courage with the word.
Jove and Jove’s daughter then the chief implored,
And, whirling high, dismiss’d the lance in air.
Full at Eupithes drove the deathful spear:
The brass-cheek’d helmet opens to the wound;
He falls, earth thunders, and his arms resound.
Before the father and the conquering son
Heaps rush on heaps, they fight, they drop, they run
Now by the sword, and now the javelin, fall
The rebel race, and death had swallow’d all;
But from on high the blue-eyed virgin cried;
Her awful voice detain’d the headlong tide:
“Forbear, ye nations, your mad hands forbear
From mutual slaughter; Peace descends to spare.”
Fear shook the nations: at the voice divine
They drop their javelins, and their rage resign.
All scatter’d round their glittering weapons lie;
Some fall to earth, and some confusedly fly.
With dreadful shouts Ulysses pour’d along,
Swift as an eagle, as an eagle strong.
But Jove’s red arm the burning thunder aims:
Before Minerva shot the livid flames;
Blazing they fell, and at her feet expired;
Then stopped the goddess, trembled and retired.
“Descended from the gods! Ulysses, cease;
Offend not Jove: obey, and give the peace.”
So Pallas spoke: the mandate from above
The king obey’d. The virgin-seed of Jove,
In Mentor’s form, confirm’d the full accord, | 1,186 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
And willing nations knew their lawful lord. | 1,187 | Homer | The Odyssey | 3,160 |
WINNIE-THE-POOH
BY A. A. MILNE
JUVENILES
When We Were Very Young"The best book of verses for children ever
written."—A. EDWARD NEWTON in The Atlantic Monthly.
Fourteen Songs from When We Were Very YoungWords by A. A. Milne.
Music by H. Fraser-Simson. Decorations by E. H. Shepard.
The King's BreakfastWords by A. A. Milne. Music by H. Fraser-Simson.
Decorations by E. H. Shepard
ESSAYS
Not That It Matters
The Sunny Side
If I May
MYSTERY STORY
The Red House Mystery
WINNIE-THE-POOH
BY A. A. MILNE
McCLELLAND & STEWART, LTD.
PUBLISHERS—TORONTO
Copyright, Canada, 1926
By McClelland & Stewart, Limited
Publishers, Toronto
First Printing, October, 1926
Second " July, 1927
Third " December, 1928
Fourth " December, 1929
Fifth " March, 1931
Printed in Canada
To Her
HAND IN HAND WE COME
CHRISTOPHER ROBIN AND I
TO LAY THIS BOOK IN YOUR LAP.
SAY YOU'RE SURPRISED?
SAY YOU LIKE IT?
SAY IT'S JUST WHAT YOU WANTED?
BECAUSE IT'S YOURS——
BECAUSE WE LOVE YOU.
INTRODUCTION
If you happen to have read another book about Christopher Robin, you may
remember that he once had a swan (or the swan had Christopher Robin, I
don't know which) and that he used to call this swan Pooh. That was a
long time ago, and when we said good-bye, we took the name with us, as
we didn't think the swan would want it any more. Well, when Edward Bear
said that he would like an exciting name all to himself, Christopher
Robin said at once, without stopping to think, that he was
Winnie-the-Pooh. And he was. So, as I have explained the Pooh part, I
will now explain the rest of it.
You can't be in London for long without going to the Zoo. There are some
people who begin the Zoo at the beginning, called WAYIN, and walk as
quickly as they can past every cage until they get to the one called
WAYOUT, but the nicest people go straight to the animal they love the
most, and stay there. So when Christopher Robin goes to the Zoo, he goes | 1,188 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
to where the Polar Bears are, and he whispers something to the third
keeper from the left, and doors are unlocked, and we wander through dark
passages and up steep stairs, until at last we come to the special cage,
and the cage is opened, and out trots something brown and furry, and
with a happy cry of "Oh, Bear!" Christopher Robin rushes into its arms.
Now this bear's name is Winnie, which shows what a good name for bears
it is, but the funny thing is that we can't remember whether Winnie is
called after Pooh, or Pooh after Winnie. We did know once, but we have
forgotten....
I had written as far as this when Piglet looked up and said in his
squeaky voice, "What about Me?" "My dear Piglet," I said, "the whole
book is about you." "So it is about Pooh," he squeaked. You see what it
is. He is jealous because he thinks Pooh is having a Grand Introduction
all to himself. Pooh is the favourite, of course, there's no denying it,
but Piglet comes in for a good many things which Pooh misses; because
you can't take Pooh to school without everybody knowing it, but Piglet
is so small that he slips into a pocket, where it is very comforting to
feel him when you are not quite sure whether twice seven is twelve or
twenty-two. Sometimes he slips out and has a good look in the ink-pot,
and in this way he has got more education than Pooh, but Pooh doesn't
mind. Some have brains, and some haven't, he says, and there it is.
And now all the others are saying, "What about Us?" So perhaps the
best thing to do is to stop writing Introductions and get on with the
book.
A. A. M.
CONTENTS
I.IN WHICH WE ARE INTRODUCED TO WINNIE-THE-POOH AND SOME BEES, AND THE
STORIES BEGIN
II. IN WHICH POOH GOES VISITING AND GETS INTO A TIGHT PLACE
III. IN WHICH POOH AND PIGLET GO HUNTING AND NEARLY CATCH A WOOZLE
IV. IN WHICH EEYORE LOSES A TAIL AND POOH FINDS ONE
V. IN WHICH PIGLET MEETS A HEFFALUMP
VI. IN WHICH EEYORE HAS A BIRTHDAY AND GETS TWO PRESENTS | 1,189 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
VII. IN WHICH KANGA AND BABY ROO COME TO THE FOREST, AND PIGLET HAS A
BATH
VIII. IN WHICH CHRISTOPHER ROBIN LEADS AN EXPOTITION TO THE NORTH POLE
IX. IN WHICH PIGLET IS ENTIRELY SURROUNDED BY WATER
X. IN WHICH CHRISTOPHER ROBIN GIVES A POOH PARTY, AND WE SAY GOOD-BYE
WINNIE-THE-POOH
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH WE ARE INTRODUCED TO WINNIE-THE-POOH AND SOME BEES, AND THE
STORIES BEGIN
Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the
back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows,
the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there
really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and
think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn't. Anyhow, here he
is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh.
When I first heard his name, I said, just as you are going to say, "But
I thought he was a boy?"
"So did I," said Christopher Robin.
"Then you can't call him Winnie?"
"I don't."
"But you said——"
"He's Winnie-ther-Pooh. Don't you know what 'ther' means?"
"Ah, yes, now I do," I said quickly; and I hope you do too, because it
is all the explanation you are going to get.
Sometimes Winnie-the-Pooh likes a game of some sort when he comes
downstairs, and sometimes he likes to sit quietly in front of the fire
and listen to a story. This evening——
"What about a story?" said Christopher Robin.
"What about a story?" I said.
"Could you very sweetly tell Winnie-the-Pooh one?"
"I suppose I could," I said. "What sort of stories does he like?"
"About himself. Because he's that sort of Bear."
"Oh, I see."
"So could you very sweetly?"
"I'll try," I said.
So I tried.
Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday,
Winnie-the-Pooh lived in a forest all by himself under the name of
Sanders.
("What does 'under the name' mean?" asked Christopher Robin.
"It means he had the name over the door in gold letters, and lived
under it." | 1,190 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
"Winnie-the-Pooh wasn't quite sure," said Christopher Robin.
"Now I am," said a growly voice.
"Then I will go on," said I.)
One day when he was out walking, he came to an open place in the middle
of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak-tree,
and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing-noise.
Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between
his paws and began to think.
First of all he said to himself: "That buzzing-noise means something.
You don't get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing,
without its meaning something. If there's a buzzing-noise, somebody's
making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise
that I know of is because you're a bee."
Then he thought another long time, and said: "And the only reason for
being a bee that I know of is making honey."
And then he got up, and said: "And the only reason for making honey is
so as I can eat it." So he began to climb the tree.
He climbed and he climbed and he climbed, and as he climbed he sang a
little song to himself. It went like this:
Isn't it funny
How a bear likes honey?
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
I wonder why he does?
Then he climbed a little further ... and a little further ... and
then just a little further. By that time he had thought of another song.
It's a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees,
They'd build their nests at the bottom of trees.
And that being so (if the Bees were Bears),
We shouldn't have to climb up all these stairs.
He was getting rather tired by this time, so that is why he sang a
Complaining Song. He was nearly there now, and if he just stood on that
branch ...
Crack!
"Oh, help!" said Pooh, as he dropped ten feet on the branch below him.
"If only I hadn't——" he said, as he bounced twenty feet on to the next
branch.
"You see, what I meant to do," he explained, as he turned
head-over-heels, and crashed on to another branch thirty feet below,
"what I meant to do——" | 1,191 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
"Of course, it was rather——" he admitted, as he slithered very
quickly through the next six branches.
"It all comes, I suppose," he decided, as he said good-bye to the last
branch, spun round three times, and flew gracefully into a gorse-bush,
"it all comes of liking honey so much. Oh, help!"
He crawled out of the gorse-bush, brushed the prickles from his nose,
and began to think again. And the first person he thought of was
Christopher Robin.
("Was that me?" said Christopher Robin in an awed voice, hardly daring
to believe it.
"That was you."
Christopher Robin said nothing, but his eyes got larger and larger, and
his face got pinker and pinker.)
So Winnie-the-Pooh went round to his friend Christopher Robin, who lived
behind a green door in another part of the forest.
"Good morning, Christopher Robin," he said.
"Good morning, Winnie-ther-Pooh," said you.
"I wonder if you've got such a thing as a balloon about you?"
"A balloon?"
"Yes, I just said to myself coming along: 'I wonder if Christopher Robin
has such a thing as a balloon about him?' I just said it to myself,
thinking of balloons, and wondering."
"What do you want a balloon for?" you said.
Winnie-the-Pooh looked round to see that nobody was listening, put his
paw to his mouth, and said in a deep whisper: "Honey!"
"But you don't get honey with balloons!"
"I do," said Pooh.
Well, it just happened that you had been to a party the day before at
the house of your friend Piglet, and you had balloons at the party. You
had had a big green balloon; and one of Rabbit's relations had had a big
blue one, and had left it behind, being really too young to go to a
party at all; and so you had brought the green one and the blue one
home with you.
"Which one would you like?" you asked Pooh.
He put his head between his paws and thought very carefully.
"It's like this," he said. "When you go after honey with a balloon, the
great thing is not to let the bees know you're coming. Now, if you have | 1,192 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
a green balloon, they might think you were only part of the tree, and
not notice you, and, if you have a blue balloon, they might think you
were only part of the sky, and not notice you, and the question is:
Which is most likely?"
"Wouldn't they notice you underneath the balloon?" you asked.
"They might or they might not," said Winnie-the-Pooh. "You never can
tell with bees." He thought for a moment and said: "I shall try to look
like a small black cloud. That will deceive them."
"Then you had better have the blue balloon," you said; and so it was
decided.
Well, you both went out with the blue balloon, and you took your gun
with you, just in case, as you always did, and Winnie-the-Pooh went to a
very muddy place that he knew of, and rolled and rolled until he was
black all over; and then, when the balloon was blown up as big as big,
and you and Pooh were both holding on to the string, you let go
suddenly, and Pooh Bear floated gracefully up into the sky, and stayed
there—level with the top of the tree and about twenty feet away from
it.
"Hooray!" you shouted.
"Isn't that fine?" shouted Winnie-the-Pooh down to you. "What do I look
like?"
"You look like a Bear holding on to a balloon," you said.
"Not," said Pooh anxiously, "—not like a small black cloud in a blue
sky?"
"Not very much."
"Ah, well, perhaps from up here it looks different. And, as I say, you
never can tell with bees."
There was no wind to blow him nearer to the tree, so there he stayed. He
could see the honey, he could smell the honey, but he couldn't quite
reach the honey.
After a little while he called down to you.
"Christopher Robin!" he said in a loud whisper.
"Hallo!"
"I think the bees suspect something!"
"What sort of thing?"
"I don't know. But something tells me that they're suspicious!"
"Perhaps they think that you're after their honey."
"It may be that. You never can tell with bees."
There was another little silence, and then he called down to you again.
"Christopher Robin!"
"Yes?" | 1,193 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
"Have you an umbrella in your house?"
"I think so."
"I wish you would bring it out here, and walk up and down with it, and
look up at me every now and then, and say 'Tut-tut, it looks like rain.'
I think, if you did that, it would help the deception which we are
practising on these bees."
Well, you laughed to yourself, "Silly old Bear!" but you didn't say it
aloud because you were so fond of him, and you went home for your
umbrella.
"Oh, there you are!" called down Winnie-the-Pooh, as soon as you got
back to the tree. "I was beginning to get anxious. I have discovered
that the bees are now definitely Suspicious."
"Shall I put my umbrella up?" you said.
"Yes, but wait a moment. We must be practical. The important bee to
deceive is the Queen Bee. Can you see which is the Queen Bee from down
there?"
"No."
"A pity. Well, now, if you walk up and down with your umbrella, saying,
'Tut-tut, it looks like rain,' I shall do what I can by singing a little
Cloud Song, such as a cloud might sing.... Go!"
So, while you walked up and down and wondered if it would rain,
Winnie-the-Pooh sang this song:
How sweet to be a Cloud
Floating in the Blue!
Every little cloud
Always sings aloud.
"How sweet to be a Cloud
Floating in the Blue!"
It makes him very proud
To be a little cloud.
The bees were still buzzing as suspiciously as ever. Some of them,
indeed, left their nests and flew all round the cloud as it began the
second verse of this song, and one bee sat down on the nose of the cloud
for a moment, and then got up again.
"Christopher—ow!—Robin," called out the cloud.
"Yes?"
"I have just been thinking, and I have come to a very important
decision. These are the wrong sort of bees."
"Are they?"
"Quite the wrong sort. So I should think they would make the wrong sort
of honey, shouldn't you?"
"Would they?"
"Yes. So I think I shall come down."
"How?" asked you.
Winnie-the-Pooh hadn't thought about this. If he let go of the string, | 1,194 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
he would fall—bump—and he didn't like the idea of that. So he
thought for a long time, and then he said:
"Christopher Robin, you must shoot the balloon with your gun. Have you
got your gun?"
"Of course I have," you said. "But if I do that, it will spoil the
balloon," you said.
"But if you don't," said Pooh, "I shall have to let go, and that would
spoil me."
When he put it like this, you saw how it was, and you aimed very
carefully at the balloon, and fired.
"Ow!" said Pooh.
"Did I miss?" you asked.
"You didn't exactly miss," said Pooh, "but you missed the balloon."
"I'm so sorry," you said, and you fired again, and this time you hit the
balloon, and the air came slowly out, and Winnie-the-Pooh floated down
to the ground.
But his arms were so stiff from holding on to the string of the balloon
all that time that they stayed up straight in the air for more than a
week, and whenever a fly came and settled on his nose he had to blow it
off. And I think—but I am not sure—that that is why he was always
called Pooh.
"Is that the end of the story?" asked Christopher Robin.
"That's the end of that one. There are others."
"About Pooh and Me?"
"And Piglet and Rabbit and all of you. Don't you remember?"
"I do remember, and then when I try to remember, I forget."
"That day when Pooh and Piglet tried to catch the Heffalump——"
"They didn't catch it, did they?"
"No."
"Pooh couldn't, because he hasn't any brain. Did I catch it?"
"Well, that comes into the story."
Christopher Robin nodded.
"I do remember," he said, "only Pooh doesn't very well, so that's why he
likes having it told to him again. Because then it's a real story and
not just a remembering."
"That's just how I feel," I said.
Christopher Robin gave a deep sigh, picked his Bear up by the leg, and
walked off to the door, trailing Pooh behind him. At the door he turned
and said, "Coming to see me have my bath?"
"I might," I said.
"I didn't hurt him when I shot him, did I?"
"Not a bit." | 1,195 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
He nodded and went out, and in a moment I heard Winnie-the-Pooh—bump,
bump, bump—going up the stairs behind him.
CHAPTER II
IN WHICH POOH GOES VISITING AND GETS INTO A TIGHT PLACE
Edward Bear, known to his friends as Winnie-the-Pooh, or Pooh for
short, was walking through the forest one day, humming proudly to
himself. He had made up a little hum that very morning, as he was doing
his Stoutness Exercises in front of the glass: Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
as he stretched up as high as he could go, and then Tra-la-la,
tra-la—oh, help!—la, as he tried to reach his toes. After breakfast
he had said it over and over to himself until he had learnt it off by
heart, and now he was humming it right through, properly. It went like
this:
Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum.
Tiddle-iddle, tiddle-iddle,
Tiddle-iddle, tiddle-iddle,
Rum-tum-tum-tiddle-um.
Well, he was humming this hum to himself, and walking along gaily,
wondering what everybody else was doing, and what it felt like, being
somebody else, when suddenly he came to a sandy bank, and in the bank
was a large hole.
"Aha!" said Pooh. (Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum.) "If I know anything about
anything, that hole means Rabbit," he said, "and Rabbit means Company,"
he said, "and Company means Food and Listening-to-Me-Humming and such
like. Rum-tum-tum-tiddle-um."
So he bent down, put his head into the hole, and called out:
"Is anybody at home?"
There was a sudden scuffling noise from inside the hole, and then
silence.
"What I said was, 'Is anybody at home?'" called out Pooh very loudly.
"No!" said a voice; and then added, "You needn't shout so loud. I heard
you quite well the first time."
"Bother!" said Pooh. "Isn't there anybody here at all?"
"Nobody."
Winnie-the-Pooh took his head out of the hole, and thought for a little,
and he thought to himself, "There must be somebody there, because
somebody must have said 'Nobody.'" So he put his head back in the
hole, and said: | 1,196 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
"Hallo, Rabbit, isn't that you?"
"No," said Rabbit, in a different sort of voice this time.
"But isn't that Rabbit's voice?"
"I don't think so," said Rabbit. "It isn't meant to be."
"Oh!" said Pooh.
He took his head out of the hole, and had another think, and then he put
it back, and said:
"Well, could you very kindly tell me where Rabbit is?"
"He has gone to see his friend Pooh Bear, who is a great friend of his."
"But this is Me!" said Bear, very much surprised.
"What sort of Me?"
"Pooh Bear."
"Are you sure?" said Rabbit, still more surprised.
"Quite, quite sure," said Pooh.
"Oh, well, then, come in."
So Pooh pushed and pushed and pushed his way through the hole, and at
last he got in.
"You were quite right," said Rabbit, looking at him all over. "It is
you. Glad to see you."
"Who did you think it was?"
"Well, I wasn't sure. You know how it is in the Forest. One can't have
anybody coming into one's house. One has to be careful. What about a
mouthful of something?"
Pooh always liked a little something at eleven o'clock in the morning,
and he was very glad to see Rabbit getting out the plates and mugs; and
when Rabbit said, "Honey or condensed milk with your bread?" he was so
excited that he said, "Both," and then, so as not to seem greedy, he
added, "But don't bother about the bread, please." And for a long time
after that he said nothing ... until at last, humming to himself in a
rather sticky voice, he got up, shook Rabbit lovingly by the paw, and
said that he must be going on.
"Must you?" said Rabbit politely.
"Well," said Pooh, "I could stay a little longer if it—if you——" and
he tried very hard to look in the direction of the larder.
"As a matter of fact," said Rabbit, "I was going out myself directly."
"Oh, well, then, I'll be going on. Good-bye."
"Well, good-bye, if you're sure you won't have any more."
"Is there any more?" asked Pooh quickly.
Rabbit took the covers off the dishes, and said, "No, there wasn't." | 1,197 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
"I thought not," said Pooh, nodding to himself. "Well, good-bye. I must
be going on."
So he started to climb out of the hole. He pulled with his front paws,
and pushed with his back paws, and in a little while his nose was out in
the open again ... and then his ears ... and then his front paws ...
and then his shoulders ... and then——
"Oh, help!" said Pooh. "I'd better go back."
"Oh, bother!" said Pooh. "I shall have to go on."
"I can't do either!" said Pooh. "Oh, help and bother!"
Now by this time Rabbit wanted to go for a walk too, and finding the
front door full, he went out by the back door, and came round to Pooh,
and looked at him.
"Hallo, are you stuck?" he asked.
"N-no," said Pooh carelessly. "Just resting and thinking and humming to
myself."
"Here, give us a paw."
Pooh Bear stretched out a paw, and Rabbit pulled and pulled and
pulled....
"Ow!" cried Pooh. "You're hurting!"
"The fact is," said Rabbit, "you're stuck."
"It all comes," said Pooh crossly, "of not having front doors big
enough."
"It all comes," said Rabbit sternly, "of eating too much. I thought at
the time," said Rabbit, "only I didn't like to say anything," said
Rabbit, "that one of us was eating too much," said Rabbit, "and I knew
it wasn't me," he said. "Well, well, I shall go and fetch Christopher
Robin."
Christopher Robin lived at the other end of the Forest, and when he came
back with Rabbit, and saw the front half of Pooh, he said, "Silly old
Bear," in such a loving voice that everybody felt quite hopeful again.
"I was just beginning to think," said Bear, sniffing slightly, "that
Rabbit might never be able to use his front door again. And I should
hate that," he said.
"So should I," said Rabbit.
"Use his front door again?" said Christopher Robin. "Of course he'll use
his front door again."
"Good," said Rabbit.
"If we can't pull you out, Pooh, we might push you back."
Rabbit scratched his whiskers thoughtfully, and pointed out that, when | 1,198 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
once Pooh was pushed back, he was back, and of course nobody was more
glad to see Pooh than he was, still there it was, some lived in trees
and some lived underground, and——
"You mean I'd never get out?" said Pooh.
"I mean," said Rabbit, "that having got so far, it seems a pity to
waste it."
Christopher Robin nodded.
"Then there's only one thing to be done," he said. "We shall have to
wait for you to get thin again."
"How long does getting thin take?" asked Pooh anxiously.
"About a week, I should think."
"But I can't stay here for a week!"
"You can stay here all right, silly old Bear. It's getting you out
which is so difficult."
"We'll read to you," said Rabbit cheerfully. "And I hope it won't snow,"
he added. "And I say, old fellow, you're taking up a good deal of room
in my house—do you mind if I use your back legs as a towel-horse?
Because, I mean, there they are—doing nothing—and it would be very
convenient just to hang the towels on them."
"A week!" said Pooh gloomily. "What about meals?"
"I'm afraid no meals," said Christopher Robin, "because of getting thin
quicker. But we will read to you."
Bear began to sigh, and then found he couldn't because he was so tightly
stuck; and a tear rolled down his eye, as he said:
"Then would you read a Sustaining Book, such as would help and comfort a
Wedged Bear in Great Tightness?"
So for a week Christopher Robin read that sort of book at the North end
of Pooh, and Rabbit hung his washing on the South end ... and in
between Bear felt himself getting slenderer and slenderer. And at the
end of the week Christopher Robin said, "Now!"
So he took hold of Pooh's front paws and Rabbit took hold of Christopher
Robin, and all Rabbit's friends and relations took hold of Rabbit, and
they all pulled together....
And for a long time Pooh only said "Ow!" ...
And "Oh!" ...
And then, all of a sudden, he said "Pop!" just as if a cork were
coming out of a bottle.
And Christopher Robin and Rabbit and all Rabbit's friends and relations | 1,199 | A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne | Winnie-the-Pooh | 67,098 |
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