The sacred number. Never ship could shun
The nimble peril wing’d there, but did run
With all her bulk, and bodies of her men,
To utter ruin. For the seas retain
Not only their outrageous æsture there,
But fierce assistants of particular fear,
And supernatural mischief, they exspire,
And those are whirlwinds of devouring fire
Whisking about still. Th’ Argive ship alone,
Which bore the care of all men, got her gone, 2
Come from Areta. Yet perhaps ev’n she
Had wrack’d at those rocks, if the Deity,
That lies by Jove’s side, had not lent her hand
To their transmission; since the man, that mann’d
In chief that voyage, she in chief did love.
Of these two spiteful rocks, the one doth shove
Against the height of heav’n her pointed brow.
A black cloud binds it round, and never show
Lends to the sharp point; not the clear blue sky
Lets ever view it, not the summer’s eye,
Nor fervent autumn’s. None that death could end
Could ever scale it, or, if up, descend,
Though twenty hands and feet he had for hold,
A polish’d ice-like glibness doth enfold
The rock so round, whose midst a gloomy cell
Shrouds so far westward that it sees to hell.
From this keep you as far, as from his bow
An able young man can his shaft bestow.
For here the whuling Scylla shrouds her face, 3
That breathes a voice at all parts no more base
Than are a newly-kitten’d kitling’s cries,
Herself a monster yet of boundless size,
Whose sight would nothing please a mortal’s eyes,
No nor the eyes of any God, if he
(Whom nought should fright) fell foul on her, and she
Her full shape show’d. Twelve foul feet bear about
Her ugly bulk. Six huge long necks look out
Of her rank shoulders; ev’ry neck doth let
A ghastly head out; ev’ry head three set,
Thick thrust together, of abhorréd teeth,
And ev’ry tooth stuck with a sable death.
She lurks in midst of all her den, and streaks
From out a ghastly whirlpool all her necks;
Where, gloting round her rock, to fish she falls;
And up rush dolphins, dogfish; somewhiles whales
If got within her when her rapine feeds;
For ever-groaning Amphitrite breeds
About her whirlpool an unmeasur’d store.
No sea-man ever boasted touch of shore
That there touch’d with his ship, but still she fed
Of him and his; a man for ev’ry head
Spoiling his ship of. You shall then descry
The other humbler rock, that moves so nigh
Your dart may mete the distance. It receives
A huge wild fig-tree, curl’d with ample leaves,
Beneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits,
Supping the black deeps. Thrice a day her pits
She drinking all dry, and thrice a day again
All up she belches, baneful to sustain.
When she is drinking, dare not near her draught,
For not the force of Neptune, if once caught,
Can force your freedom. Therefore, in your strife
To ‘scape Charybdis, labour all for life
To row near Scylla, for she will but have
For her six heads six men; and better save
The rest, than all make off’rings to the wave.’
This need she told me of my loss, when I
Desir’d to know, if that Necessity,
When I had ‘scap’d Charybdis’ outrages,
My pow’rs might not revenge, though not redress?
She answer’d: ‘O unhappy! art thou yet
Enflam’d with war, and thirst to drink thy sweat?
Not to the Gods give up both arms and will?
She deathless is, and that immortal ill
Grave, harsh, outrageous, not to be subdued,
That men must suffer till they be renew’d.
Nor lives there any virtue that can fly
The vicious outrage of their cruelty.
Shouldst thou put arms on, and approach the rock,
I fear six more must expiate the shock.
Six heads six men ask still. Hoise sail, and fly,
And, in thy flight, aloud on Cratis cry
(Great Scylla’s mother, who expos’d to light
The bane of men) and she will do such right
To thy observance, that she down will tread
Her daughter’s rage, nor let her show a head.
From thenceforth then, for ever past her care,
Thou shalt ascend the isle triangular,
Where many oxen of the Sun are fed,
And fatted flocks. Of oxen fifty head
In ev’ry herd feed, and their herds are seven;
And of his fat flocks is their number even.
Increase they yield not, for they never die.
There ev’ry shepherdess a Deity.
Fair Phaëthusa, and Lampetié,
The lovely Nymphs are that their guardians be,
Who to the daylight’s lofty-going Flame
Had gracious birthright from the heav’nly Dame,
Still young Neæra; who (brought forth and bred)
Far off dismiss’d them, to see duly fed
Their father’s herds and flocks in Sicily.
These herds and flocks if to the Deity
Ye leave, as sacred things, untouch’d, and on
Go with all fit care of your home, alone,
(Though through some suff’rance) you yet safe shall land
In wishéd Ithaca. But if impious hand
You lay on those herds to their hurts, I then
Presage sure ruin to thy ship and men.
If thou escap’st thyself, extending home
Thy long’d-for landing, thou shalt loaded come
With store of losses, most exceeding late,
And not consorted with a savéd mate.’
This said, the golden-thron’d Aurora rose,
She her way went, and I did mine dispose
Up to my ship, weigh’d anchor, and away.
When rev’rend Circe help’d us to convey
Our vessel safe, by making well inclin’d
A seaman’s true companion, a forewind,
With which she fill’d our sails; when, fitting all
Our arms close by us, I did sadly fall
To grave relation what concern’d in fate
My friends to know, and told them that the state
Of our affairs’ success, which Circe had
Presag’d to me alone, must yet be made
To one nor only two known, but to all;
That, since their lives and deaths were left to fall
In their elections, they might life elect,
And give what would preserve it fit effect.
I first inform’d them, that we were to fly
The heav’nly-singing Sirens’ harmony,
And flow’r-adorned meadow; and that I
Had charge to hear their song, but fetter’d fast
In bands, unfavour’d, to th’ erected mast,
From w
hence, if I should pray, or use command,
To be enlarg’d, they should with much more band
Contain my strugglings. This I simply told
To each particular, nor would withhold
What most enjoin’d mine own affection’s stay,
That theirs the rather might be taught t’ obey.
In mean time flew our ships, and straight we fetch’d
The Siren’s isle; a spleenless wind so stretch’d
Her wings to waft us, and so urg’d our keel.
But having reach’d this isle, we could not feel
The least gasp of it, it was stricken dead,
And all the sea in prostrate slumber spread,
The Sirens’ devil charm’d all. Up then flew
My friends to work, struck sail, together drew,
And under hatches stow’d them, sat, and plied
The polish’d oars, and did in curls divide
The white-head waters. My part then came on:
A mighty waxen cake I set upon,
Chopp’d it in fragments with my sword, and wrought
With strong hand ev’ry piece, till all were soft.
The great pow’r of the sun, in such a beam
As then flew burning from his diadem,
To liquefaction help’d us. Orderly
I stopp’d their ears; and they as fair did ply
My feet and hands with cords, and to the mast
With other halsers made me soundly fast.
Then took they seat, and forth our passage strook,
The foamy sea beneath their labour shook.
Row’d on, in reach of an erected voice,
The Sirens soon took note, without our noise,
Tun’d those sweet accents that made charms so strong,
And these learn’d numbers made the Sirens’ song:
‘Come here, thou worthy of a world of praise,
That dost so high the Grecian glory raise,
Ulysses! stay thy ship, and that song hear
That none pass’d ever but it bent his ear,
But left him ravish’d, and instructed more
By us, than any ever heard before.
For we know all things whatsoever were
In wide Troy labour’d; whatsoever there
The Grecians and the Trojans both sustain’d
By those high issues that the Gods ordain’d.
And whatsoever all the earth can show
T’ inform a knowledge of desert, we know.’
This they gave accent in the sweetest strain
That ever open’d an enamour’d vein.
When my constrain’d heart needs would have mine ear
Yet more delighted, force way forth, and hear.
To which end I commanded with all sign
Stern looks could make (for not a joint of mine
Had pow’r to stir) my friends to rise, and give
My limbs free way. They freely striv’d to drive
Their ship still on. When, far from will to loose,
Eurylochus and Perimedes rose
To wrap me surer, and oppress’d me more
With many a halser than had use before.
When, rowing on without the reach of sound,
My friends unstopp’d their ears, and me unbound,
And that isle quite we quitted. But again
Fresh fears employ’d us. I beheld a main
Of mighty billows, and a smoke ascend,
A horrid murmur hearing. Ev’ry friend
Astonish’d sat; from ev’ry hand his Oar
Fell quite forsaken; with the dismal roar
Were all things there made echoes; stone-still stood
Our ship itself, because the ghastly flood
Took all men’s motions from her in their own.
I through the ship went, labouring up and down
My friends’ recover’d spirits. One by one
I gave good words, and said: That well were known
These ills to them before, I told them all,
And that these could not prove more capital
Than those the Cyclops block’d us up in, yet
My virtue, wit, and heav’n-help’d counsels set
Their freedoms open. I could not believe
But they remember’d it, and wish’d them give
My equal care and means now equal trust.
The strength they had for stirring up they must
Rouse and extend, to try if Jove had laid
His pow’rs in theirs up, and would add his aid
To ‘scape ev’n that death. In particular then,
I told our pilot, that past other men
He most must bear firm spirits, since he sway’d
The continent that all our spirits convey’d,
In his whole guide of her. He saw there boil
The fiery whirlpools that to all our spoil
Inclos’d a rock, without which he must steer,
Or all our ruins stood concluded there.
All heard me and obey’d, and little knew
That, shunning that rock, six of them should rue
The wrack another hid. For I conceal’d
The heavy wounds, that never would be heal’d,
To be by Scylla open’d; for their fear
Would then have robb’d all of all care to steer,
Or stir an oar, and made them hide beneath,
When they and all had died an idle death.
But then ev’n I forgot to shun the harm
Circe forewarn’d; who will’d I should not arm,
Nor show myself to Scylla, lest in vain
I ventur’d life. Yet could not I contain,
But arm’d at all parts, and two lances took,
Up to the foredeck went, and thence did look
That rocky Scylla would have first appear’d
And taken my life with the friends I fear’d.
From thence yet no place could afford her sight,
Though through the dark rock mine eye threw her light,
And ransack’d all ways. I then took a strait
That gave myself, and some few more, receit
‘Twixt Scylla and Charybdis; whence we saw
How horridly Charybdis’ throat did draw
The brackish sea up, which when all aboard
She spit again out, never caldron sod
With so much fervour, fed with all the store
That could enrage it; all the rock did roar
With troubled waters; round about the tops
Of all the steep crags flew the foamy drops.
But when her draught the sea and earth dissunder’d,
The troubled bottoms turn’d up, and she thunder’d,
Far under shore the swart sands naked lay.
Whose whole stern sight the startled blood did fray
From all our faces. And while we on her
Our eyes bestow’d thus to our ruin’s fear,
Six friends had Scylla snatch’d out of our keel,
In whom most loss did force and virtue feel.
When looking to my ship, and lending eye
To see my friends’ estates, their heels turn’d high,
And hands cast up, I might discern, and hear
Their calls to me for help, when now they were
To try me in their last extremities.
And as an angler med’cine for surprise
Of little fish sits pouring from the rocks,
From out the crook’d horn of a fold-b
red ox,
And then with his long angle hoists them high
Up to the air, then slightly hurls them by,
When helpless sprawling on the land they lie;
So eas’ly Scylla to her rock had rapt
My woeful friends, and so unhelp’d entrapt
Struggling they lay beneath her violent rape,
Who in their tortures, desp’rate of escape,
Shriek’d as she tore, and up their hands to me
Still threw for sweet life. I did never see,
In all my suff’rance ransacking the seas,
A spectacle so full of miseries.
Thus having fled these rocks (these cruel dames
Scylla, Charybdis) where the King of flames
Hath off’rings burn’d to him, our ship put in
The island that from all the earth doth win
The epithet Faultless, where the broad-of-head
And famous oxen for the Sun are fed,
With many fat flocks of that high-gone God.
Set in my ship, mine ear reach’d where we rode
The bellowing of oxen, and the bleat
Of fleecy sheep, that in my memory’s seat
Put up the forms that late had been imprest
By dread Ææn Circe, and the best
Of souls and prophets, the blind Theban seer,
The wise Tiresias, who was grave decreer
Of my return’s whole means; of which this one
In chief he urg’d — that I should always shun
The island of the man-delighting Sun.
When, sad at heart for our late loss, I pray’d
My friends to hear fit counsel (though dismay’d
With all ill fortunes) which was giv’n to me
By Circe’s and Tiresias’ prophecy, —
That I should fly the isle where was ador’d
The Comfort of the world, for ills abhorr’d
Were ambush’d for us there; and therefore will’d
They should put off and leave the isle. This kill’d
Their tender spirits; when Eurylochus
A speech that vex’d me utter’d, answ’ring thus:
‘Cruel Ulysses! Since thy nerves abound
In strength, the more spent, and no toils confound
Thy able limbs, as all beat out of steel,
Thou ablest us too, as unapt to feel
The teeth of Labour, and the spoil of Sleep,
And therefore still wet waste us in the deep,
Nor let us land to eat, but madly now
In night put forth, and leave firm land to strew
The sea with errors. All the rabid flight
Of winds that ruin ships are bred in night.
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 135
