The Odyssey

“‘Press not too far,’ replied the god: ‘but cease To know what, known, will violate thy peace; Too curious of their doom! with friendly woe Thy breast will heave, and tears eternal flow. Part live! the rest, a lamentable train! Range the dark bounds of Pluto’s dreary reign. Two, foremost in the roll of Mars renown’d, Whose arms with conquest in thy cause were crown’d, Fell by disastrous fate: by tempests toss’d, A third lives wretched on a distant coast.

“By Neptune rescued from Minerva’s hate, On Gyrae, safe Oilean Ajax sate, His ship o’erwhelm’d; but, frowning on the floods, Impious he roar’d defiance to the gods; To his own prowess all the glory gave: The power defrauding who vouchsafed to save. This heard the raging ruler of the main; His spear, indignant for such high disdain, He launched; dividing with his forky mace The aërial summit from the marble base: The rock rush’d seaward, with impetuous roar Ingulf’d, and to the abyss the boaster bore.

“By Juno’s guardian aid, the watery vast, Secure of storms, your royal brother pass’d, Till, coasting nigh the cape where Malen shrouds Her spiry cliffs amid surrounding clouds, A whirling gust tumultuous from the shore Across the deep his labouring vessel bore. In an ill-fated hour the coast he gain’d, Where late in regal pomp Thyestes reigned; But, when his hoary honours bow’d to fate, Ægysthus govern’d in paternal state, The surges now subside, the tempest ends; From his tall ship the king of men descends; There fondly thinks the gods conclude his toil: Far from his own domain salutes the soil; With rapture oft the verge of Greece reviews, And the dear turf with tears of joy bedews. Him, thus exulting on the distant stand, A spy distinguish’d from his airy stand; To bribe whose vigilance, Ægysthus told A mighty sum of ill-persuading gold: There watch’d this guardian of his guilty fear, Till the twelfth moon had wheel’d her pale career; And now, admonish’d by his eye, to court With terror wing’d conveys the dread report. Of deathful arts expert, his lord employs The ministers of blood in dark surprise; And twenty youths, in radiant mail incased, Close ambush’d nigh the spacious hall he placed. Then bids prepare the hospitable treat: Vain shows of love to veil his felon hate! To grace the victor’s welcome from the wars, A train of coursers and triumphal cars Magnificent he leads: the royal guest, Thoughtless of ill, accepts the fraudful feast. The troop forth-issuing from the dark recess, With homicidal rage the king oppress!

So, whilst he feeds luxurious in the stall, The sovereign of the herd is doomed to fall, The partners of his fame and toils at Troy, Around their lord, a mighty ruin, lie: Mix’d with the brave, the base invaders bleed; Ægysthus sole survives to boast the deed.’

“He said: chill horrors shook my shivering soul, Rack’d with convulsive pangs in dust I roll; And hate, in madness of extreme despair, To view the sun, or breathe the vital air. But when, superior to the rage of woe, I stood restored and tears had ceased to flow, Lenient of grief the pitying god began: ‘Forget the brother, and resume the man. To Fate’s supreme dispose the dead resign, That care be Fate’s, a speedy passage thine Still lives the wretch who wrought the death deplored, But lives a victim for thy vengeful sword; Unless with filial rage Orestes glow, And swift prevent the meditated blow: You timely will return a welcome guest, With him to share the sad funereal feast.’

“He said: new thoughts my beating heart employ, My gloomy soul receives a gleam of joy. Fair hope revives; and eager I address’d The prescient godhead to reveal the rest: ‘The doom decreed of those disastrous two I’ve heard with pain, but oh! the tale pursue; What third brave son of Mars the Fates constrain To roam the howling desert of the main; Or, in eternal shade of cold he lies, Provoke new sorrows from these grateful eyes.’

“‘That chief (rejoin’d the god) his race derives From Ithaca, and wondrous woes survives; Laertes’ son: girt with circumfluous tides, He still calamitous constraint abides. Him in Calypso’s cave of late I view’d, When streaming grief his faded cheek bedow’d. But vain his prayer, his arts are vain, to move The enamour’d goddess, or elude her love: His vessel sunk, and dear companions lost, He lives reluctant on a foreign coast. But oh, beloved by Heaven! reserved to thee A happier lot the smiling Fates decree: Free from that law, beneath whose mortal sway Matter is changed, and varying forms decay, Elysium shall be thine: the blissful plains Of utmost earth, where Rhadamanthus reigns. Joys ever young, unmix’d with pain or fear, Fill the wide circle of the eternal year: Stern winter smiles on that auspicious clime: The fields are florid with unfading prime; From the bleak pole no winds inclement blow, Mould the round hail, or flake the fleecy snow; But from the breezy deep the blest inhale The fragrant murmurs of the western gale. This grace peculiar will the gods afford To thee, the son of Jove, and beauteous Helen’s lord.’

“He ceased, and plunging in the vast profound, Beneath the god and whirling billows bound. Then speeding back, involved in various thought, My friends attending at the shore I sought, Arrived, the rage of hunger we control Till night with silent shade invests the pole; Then lose the cares of life in pleasing rest. Soon as the morn reveals the roseate east, With sails we wing the masts, our anchors weigh, Unmoor the fleet, and rush into the sea. Ranged on the banks, beneath our equal oars White curl the waves, and the vex’d ocean roars Then, steering backward from the Pharian isle, We gain the stream of Jove-descended Nile; There quit the ships, and on the destined shore With ritual hecatombs the gods adore; Their wrath atoned, to Agamemnon’s name A cenotaph I raise of deathless fame. These rites to piety and grief discharged, The friendly gods a springing gale enlarged; The fleet swift tilting o’er the surges flew, Till Grecian cliffs appear’d a blissful view!

“Thy patient ear hath heard me long relate A story, fruitful of disastrous fate. And now, young prince, indulge my fond request; Be Sparta honoured with his royal guest, Till, from his eastern goal, the joyous sun His twelfth diurnal race begins to run. Meantime my train the friendly gifts prepare, The sprightly coursers and a polish’d car; With these a goblet of capacious mould, Figured with art to dignify the gold (Form’d for libation to the gods), shall prove A pledge and monument of sacred love.”

“My quick return (young Ithacus rejoin’d), Damps the warm wishes of my raptured mind; Did not my fate my needful haste constrain, Charm’d by your speech so graceful and humane, Lost in delight the circling year would roll, While deep attention fix’d my listening soul. But now to Pyle permit my destined way, My loved associates chide my long delay: In dear remembrance of your royal grace, I take the present of the promised vase; The coursers, for the champaign sports retain; That gift our barren rocks will render vain: Horrid with cliffs, our meagre land allows Thin herbage for the mountain goat to browse, But neither mead nor plain supplies, to feed The sprightly courser, or indulge his speed: To sea-surrounded realms the gods assign Small tract of fertile lawn, the least to mine.”

His hand the king with tender passion press’d, And, smiling, thus the royal youth address’d: “O early worth! a soul so wise, and young, Proclaims you from the sage Ulysses sprung. Selected from my stores, of matchless price, An urn shall recompense your prudent choice; By Vulcan’s art, the verge with gold enchased. A pledge the sceptred power of Sidon gave, When to his realm I plough’d the orient wave.”

Thus they alternate; while, with artful care, The menial train the regal feast prepare. The firstlings of the flock are doom’d to die: Rich fragrant wines the cheering bowl supply; A female band the gift of Ceres bring; And the gilt roofs with genial triumph ring.

Meanwhile, in Ithaca, the suitor powers In active games divide their jovial hours; In areas varied with mosaic art, Some whirl the disk, and some the javelin dart, Aside, sequester’d from the vast resort, Antinous sole spectator of the sport; With great Eurymachus, of worth confess’d, And high descent, superior to the rest; Whom young Noëmon lowly thus address’d:—

“My ship, equipp’d within the neighboring port, The prince, departing for the Pylian court, Requested for his speed; but, courteous, say When steers he home, or why this long delay? For Elis I should sail with utmost speed, To import twelve mares which there luxurious feed, And twelve young mules, a strong laborious race, New to the plow, unpractised in the trace.”

Unknowing of the course to Pyle design’d, A sudden horror seized on either mind; The prince in rural bower they fondly thought, Numbering his flocks and herds, not far remote. “Relate (Antinous cries), devoid of guile, When spread the prince his sale for distant Pyle? Did chosen chiefs across the gulfy main Attend his voyage, or domestic train? Spontaneous did you speed his secret course, Or was the vessel seized by fraud or force?”

“With willing duty, not reluctant mind (Noëmon cried), the vessel was resign’d, Who, in the balance, with the great affairs Of courts presume to weigh their private cares? With him, the peerage next in power to you; And Mentor, captain of the lordly crew, Or some celestial in his reverend form, Safe from the secret rock and adverse storm, Pilots the course; for when the glimmering ray Of yester dawn disclosed the tender day, Mentor himself I saw, and much admired,” Then ceased the youth, and from the court retired.

“O shame to manhood! shall one daring boy The scheme of all our happiness destroy? Fly unperceived, seducing half the flower Of nobles, and invite a foreign power? The ponderous engine raised to crush us all, Recoiling, on his head is sure to fall. Instant prepare me, on the neighbouring strand, With twenty chosen mates a vessel mann’d; For ambush’d close beneath the Samian shore His ship returning shall my spies explore; He soon his rashness shall with life atone, Seek for his father’s fate, but find his own.”

With vast applause the sentence all approve; Then rise, and to the feastful hall remove; Swift to the queen the herald Medon ran, Who heard the consult of the dire divan: Before her dome the royal matron stands, And thus the message of his haste demands;

“What will the suitors? must my servant-train The allotted labours of the day refrain, For them to form some exquisite repast? Heaven grant this festival may prove their last! Or, if they still must live, from me remove The double plague of luxury and love! Forbear, ye sons of insolence! forbear, In riot to consume a wretched heir. In the young soul illustrious thought to raise, Were ye not tutor’d with Ulysses’ praise? Have not your fathers oft my lord defined, Gentle of speech, beneficent of mind? Some kings with arbitrary rage devour, Or in their tyrant-minions vest the power; Ulysses let no partial favours fall, The people’s parent, he protected all; But absent now, perfidious and ingrate! His stores ye ravage, and usurp his state.”

He thus: “O were the woes you speak the worst! They form a deed more odious and accursed; More dreadful than your boding soul divines; But pitying Jove avert the dire designs! The darling object of your royal care Is marked to perish in a deathful snare; Before he anchors in his native port, From Pyle re-sailing and the Spartan court; Horrid to speak! in ambush is decreed The hope and heir of Ithaca to bleed!”

Sudden she sunk beneath the weighty woes, The vital streams a chilling horror froze; The big round tear stands trembling in her eye, And on her tongue imperfect accents die. At length in tender language interwove With sighs, she thus expressed her anxious love; “Why rarely would my son his fate explore, Ride the wild waves, and quit the safer shore? Did he with all the greatly wretched, crave A blank oblivion, and untimely grave?”

“Tis not (replied the sage) to Medon given To know, if some inhabitant of heaven In his young breast the daring thought inspired Or if, alone with filial duty fired, The winds and waves he tempts in early bloom, Studious to learn his absent father’s doom.”

The sage retired: unable to control The mighty griefs that swell her labouring soul Rolling convulsive on the floor is seen The piteous object of a prostrate queen. Words to her dumb complaint a pause supplies, And breath, to waste in unavailing cries. Around their sovereign wept the menial fair, To whom she thus address’d her deep despair:

“Behold a wretch whom all the gods consign To woe! Did ever sorrows equal mine? Long to my joys my dearest lord is lost, His country’s buckler, and the Grecian boast; Now from my fond embrace, by tempests torn, Our other column of the state is borne; Nor took a kind adieu, nor sought consent!— Unkind confederates in his dire intent! Ill suits it with your shows of duteous zeal, From me the purposed voyage to conceal; Though at the solemn midnight hour he rose, Why did you fear to trouble my repose? He either had obey’d my fond desire, Or seen his mother pierced with grief expire. Bid Dolius quick attend, the faithful slave Whom to my nuptial train Icarius gave To tend the fruit groves: with incessant speed He shall this violence of death decreed To good Laertes tell. Experienced age May timely intercept the ruffian rage. Convene the tribes the murderous plot reveal, And to their power to save his race appeal.”

Then Euryclea thus: “My dearest dread; Though to the sword I bow this hoary head, Or if a dungeon be the pain decreed, I own me conscious of the unpleasing deed; Auxiliar to his flight, my aid implored, With wine and viands I the vessel stored; A solemn oath, imposed, the secret seal’d, Till the twelfth dawn the light of day reveal’d. Dreading the effect of a fond mother’s fear, He dared not violate your royal ear. But bathe, and, in imperial robes array’d, Pay due devotions to the martial maid, And rest affianced in her guardian aid. Send not to good Laertes, nor engage In toils of state the miseries of age: Tis impious to surmise the powers divine To ruin doom the Jove-descended line; Long shall the race of just Arcesius reign, And isles remote enlarge his old domain.”

The queen her speech with calm attention hears, Her eyes restrain the silver-streaming tears: She bathes, and robed, the sacred dome ascends; Her pious speed a female train attends: The salted cakes in canisters are laid, And thus the queen invokes Minerva’s aid;

“Daughter divine of Jove, whose arm can wield The avenging bolt, and shake the dreadful shield If e’er Ulysses to thy fane preferr’d The best and choicest of his flock and herd; Hear, goddess, hear, by those oblations won; And for the pious sire preserve the son; His wish’d return with happy power befriend, And on the suitors let thy wrath descend.”

“These empty vaunts will make the voyage vain: Alarm not with discourse the menial train: The great event with silent hope attend, Our deeds alone our counsel must commend.” His speech thus ended short, he frowning rose, And twenty chiefs renowned for valour chose; Down to the strand he speeds with haughty strides, Where anchor’d in the bay the vessel rides, Replete with mail and military store, In all her tackle trim to quit the shore. The desperate crew ascend, unfurl the sails (The seaward prow invites the tardy gales); Then take repast till Hesperus display’d His golden circlet, in the western shade.

Meantime the queen, without reflection due, Heart-wounded, to the bed of state withdrew: In her sad breast the prince’s fortunes roll, And hope and doubt alternate seize her soul. So when the woodman’s toil her cave surrounds, And with the hunter’s cry the grove resounds, With grief and rage the mother-lion stung, Fearless herself, yet trembles for her young, While pensive in the silent slumberous shade, Sleep’s gentle powers her drooping eyes invade; Minerva, life-like, on embodied air Impress’d the form of Iphthima the fair; (Icarius’ daughter she, whose blooming charms Allured Eumelus to her virgin arms; A sceptred lord, who o’er the fruitful plain Of Thessaly wide stretched his ample reign:) As Pallas will’d, along the sable skies, To calm the queen, the phantom sister flies. Swift on the regal dome, descending right, The bolted valves are pervious to her flight. Close to her head the pleasing vision stands, And thus performs Minerva’s high commands

“O why, Penelope, this causeless fear, To render sleep’s soft blessing unsincere? Alike devote to sorrow’s dire extreme The day-reflection, and the midnight-dream! Thy son the gods propitious will restore, And bid thee cease his absence to deplore.”

To whom the queen (whilst yet in pensive mind Was in the silent gates of sleep confined): “O sister to my soul forever dear, Why this first visit to reprove my fear? How in a realm so distant should you know From what deep source my ceaseless sorrows flow? To all my hope my royal lord is lost, His country’s buckler, and the Grecian boast; And with consummate woe to weigh me down, The heir of all his honours and his crown, My darling son is fled! an easy prey To the fierce storms, or men more fierce than they; Who, in a league of blood associates sworn, Will intercept the unwary youth’s return.”

“Courage resume (the shadowy form replied); In the protecting care of Heaven confide; On him attends the blue eyed martial maid: What earthly can implore a surer aid? Me now the guardian goddess deigns to send, To bid thee patient his return attend.”

Swift through the valves the visionary fair Repass’d, and viewless mix’d with common air. The queen awakes, deliver’d of her woes; With florid joy her heart dilating glows: The vision, manifest of future fate, Makes her with hope her son’s arrival wait.

Meantime the suitors plough the watery plain, Telemachus in thought already slain! When sight of lessening Ithaca was lost Their sail directed for the Samian coast A small but verdant isle appear’d in view, And Asteris the advancing pilot knew; An ample port the rocks projected form, To break the rolling waves and ruffling storm: That safe recess they gain with happy speed, And in close ambush wait the murderous deed.