To turn a man quite over with a shaft.
Besides, to men whose nerves are best prepar’d,
All great adventures at first proof are hard.
But come, you stronger men, attempt this bow,
And let us end our labour.” Thus, below
A well-join’d board he laid it, and close by
The brightly-headed shaft; then thron’d his thigh
Amidst his late-left seat. Antinous then
Bade all arise; but first, who did sustain
The cup’s state ever, and did sacrifice
Before they ate still, and that man bade rise,
Since on the other’s right hand he was plac’d,
Because he held the right hand’s rising, grac’d
With best success still. This discretion won
Supreme applause; and first rose Œnops’ son,
Liodes, that was priest to all the rest,
Sat lowest with the cup still, and their jest
Could never like, but ever was the man
That check’d their follies; and he now began
To taste the bow, the sharp shaft took, tugg’d hard,
And held aloft, and, till he quite had marr’d
His delicate tender fingers, could not stir
The churlish string; who therefore did refer
The game to others, saying, that same bow,
In his presage, would prove the overthrow
Of many a chief man there; nor thought the fate
Was any whit austere, since death’s short date
Were much the better taken, than long life
Without the object of their amorous strife,
For whom they had burn’d-out so many days
To find still other, nothing but delays
Obtaining in them; and affirm’d that now
Some hop’d to have her, but when that tough bow
They all had tried, and seen the utmost done,
They must rest pleas’d to cease; and now some one
Of all their other fair-veil’d Grecian dames
With gifts, and dower, and Hymeneal flames,
Let her love light to him that most will give,
And whom the nuptial destiny did drive.”
Thus laid he on the well-join’d polish’d board
The bow and bright-pil’d shaft, and then restor’d
His seat his right. To him Antinous
Gave bitter language, and reprov’d him thus:
“What words, Liodes, pass thy speech’s guard,
That ’tis a work to bear, and set so hard
They set up my disdain! This bow must end
The best of us? Since thy arms cannot lend
The string least motion? Thy mother’s throes
Brought never forth thy arms to draught of bows,
Or knitting shafts off. Though thou canst not draw
The sturdy plant, thou art to us no law.
Melanthius! Light a fire, and set thereat
A chair and cushions, and that mass of fat
That lies within bring out, that we may set
Our pages to this bow, to see it het
And suppled with the suet, and then we
May give it draught, and pay this great decree
Utmost performance.” He a mighty fire
Gave instant flame, put into act th’ entire
Command laid on him, chair and cushions set,
Laid on the bow, which straight the pages het,
Chaf’d, suppled with the suet to their most;
And still was all their unctuous labour lost,
All Wooers’ strengths too indigent and poor
To draw that bow; Antinous’ arms it tore,
And great Eurymachus’, the both clear best,
Yet both it tir’d, and made them glad to rest.
Forth then went both the swains, and after them
Divine Ulysses; when, being past th’ extreme
Of all the gates, with winning words he tried
Their loves, and this ask’d: “Shall my counsels hide
Their depths from you? My mind would gladly know
If suddenly Ulysses had his vow
Made good for home, and had some God to guide
His steps and strokes to wreak these Wooers’ pride,
Would your aids join on his part, or with theirs?
How stand your hearts affected?” They made pray’rs
That some God would please to return their lord,
He then should see how far they would afford
Their lives for his. He, seeing their truth, replied;
“I am your lord, through many a suff’rance tried,
Arriv’d now here, whom twenty years have held
From forth my country. Yet are not conceal’d
From my sure knowledge your desires to see
My safe return. Of all the company
Now serving here besides, not one but you
Mine ear hath witness’d willing to bestow
Their wishes of my life, so long held dead.
I therefore vow, which shall be perfected,
That if God please beneath my hand to leave
These Wooers lifeless, ye shall both receive
Wives from that hand, and means, and near to me
Have houses built to you, and both shall be
As friends and brothers to my only son.
And, that ye well may know me, and be won
To that assurance, the infallible sign
The white-tooth’d boar gave, this mark’d knee of mine,
When in Parnassus he was held in chase
By me, and by my famous grandsire’s race,
I’ll let you see.” Thus sever’d he his weed
From that his wound; and ev’ry word had deed
In their sure knowledges. Which made them cast
Their arms about him, his broad breast embrac’d,
His neck and shoulders kiss’d. And him as well
Did those true pow’rs of human love compell
To kiss their heads and hands, and to their moan
Had sent the free light of the cheerful sun,
Had not Ulysses broke the ruth, and said;
“Cease tears and sorrows, lest we prove display’d
By some that issue from the house, and they
Relate to those within. Take each his way,
Not altogether in, but one by one,
First I, then you; and then see this be done;
The envious Wooers will by no means give
The offer of the bow and arrow leave
To come at me; spite then their pride, do thou,
My good Eumæus, bring both shaft and bow
To my hand’s proof; and charge the maids before
That instantly they shut in ev’ry door,
That they themselves (if any tumult rise
Beneath my roofs by any that envies
My will to undertake the game) may gain
No passage forth, but close at work contain
With all free quiet, or at least constrain’d,
And therefore, my Philœtius, see maintain’d,
When close the gates are shut, their closure fast,
To which end be it thy sole work to cast
Their chains before them.” This said, in he led,
Took first his seat; and then they seconded
His entry with their own. Then took in hand
Eurymachus the bow, made close his stand
Aside
the fire, at whose heat here and there
He warm’d and suppled it, yet could not stere
To any draught the string, with all his art;
And therefore swell’d in him his glorious heart,
Affirming, “that himself and all his friends
Had cause to grieve, not only that their ends
They miss’d in marriage, since enough besides
Kind Grecian dames there liv’d to be their brides
In Ithaca, and other bord’ring towns,
But that to all times future their renowns
Would stand disparag’d, if Ulysses’ bow
They could not draw, and yet his wife would woo.”
Antinous answer’d; “That there could ensue
No shame at all to them; for well he knew
That this day was kept holy to the Sun
By all the city, and there should be done
No such profane act, therefore bade lay by
The bow for that day; but the mastery
Of axes that were set up still might stand,
Since that no labour was, nor any hand
Would offer to invade Ulysses’ house,
To take, or touch with surreptitious
Or violent hand, what there was left for use.
He, therefore, bade the cup-bearer infuse
Wine to the bowls, that so with sacrifice
They might let rest the shooting exercise,
And in the morning make Melanthius bring
The chief goats of his herd, that to the King
Of bows and archers they might burn the thighs
For good success, and then attempt the prize.”
The rest sat pleas’d with this. The heralds straight
Pour’d water on their hands; each page did wait
With his crown’d cup of wine, serv’d ev’ry man
Till all were satisfied. And then began
Ulysses’ plot of his close purpose thus:
“Hear me, ye much renown’d Eurymachus,
And king Antinous, in chief, who well,
And with decorum sacred, doth compell
This day’s observance, and to let lay down
The bow all this light, giving Gods their own.
The morning’s labour God the more will bless,
And strength bestow where he himself shall please.
Against which time let me presume to pray
Your favours with the rest, that this assay
May my old arms prove, trying if there lie
In my poor pow’rs the same activity
That long since crown’d them; or if needy fare
And desolate wand’ring have the web worn bare
Of my life’s thread at all parts, that no more
Can furnish these affairs as heretofore.”
This het their spleens past measure, blown with fear
Lest his loath’d temples would the garland wear
Of that bow’s draught; Antinous using speech
To this sour purpose: “Thou most arrant wretch
Of all guests breathing, in no least degree
Grac’d with a human soul, it serves not thee
To feast in peace with us, take equal share
Of what we reach to, sit, and all things hear
That we speak freely, — which no begging guest
Did ever yet, — but thou must make request
To mix with us in merit of the Queen.
But wine inflames thee, that hath ever been
The bane of men whoever yet would take
Th’ excess it offers and the mean forsake.
Wine spoil’d the Centaur great Eurytion,
In guest-rites with the mighty-minded son
Of bold Ixion, in his way to war
Against the Lapithes; who, driv’n as far
As madness with the bold effects of wine,
Did outrage to his kind host, and decline
Other heroës from him feasted there
With so much anger that they left their cheer,
And dragg’d him forth the fore-court, slit his nose,
Cropp’d both his ears, and, in the ill-dispose
His mind then suffer’d, drew the fatal day
On his head with his host; for thence the fray
Betwixt the Centaurs and the Lapithes
Had mortal act. But he for his excess
In spoil of wine fared worse himself; as thou
For thy large cups, if thy arms draw the bow,
My mind fortells shalt fear; for not a man
Of all our consort, that in wisdom can
Boast any fit share, will take prayers then,
But to Echetus, the most stern of men,
A black sail freight with thee, whose worst of ill,
Be sure, is past all ransom. Sit, then, still,
Drink temp’rately, and never more contend
With men your youngers.” This the Queen did end
With her defence of him, and told his foe
It was not fair nor equal t’ overcrow
The poorest guest her son pleas’d t’ entertain
In his free turrets with so proud a strain
Of threats and bravings; asking if he thought,
That if the stranger to his arms had brought
The stubborn bow down, he should marry her,
And bear her home? And said, himself should err
In no such hope; nor of them all the best
That griev’d at any good she did her guest
Should banquet there; since it in no sort show’d
Noblesse in them, nor paid her what she ow’d
Her own free rule there. This Eurymachus
Confirm’d and said: “Nor feeds it hope in us,
Icarius’ daughter, to solemnize rites
Of nuptials with thee; nor in noblest sights
It can show comely; but to our respects
The rumour both of sexes and of sects
Amongst the people would breed shame and fear,
Lest any worst Greek said: ‘See, men that were
Of mean deservings will presume t’ aspire
To his wife’s bed, whom all men did admire
For fame and merit, could not draw his bow,
And yet his wife had foolish pride to woo,
When straight an errant beggar comes and draws
The bow with ease, performing all the laws
The game besides contain’d’; and this would thus
Prove both indignity and shame to us.”
The Queen replied: “The fame of men, I see,
Bears much price in your great suppos’d degree;
Yet who can prove amongst the people great,
That of one so esteem’d of them the seat
Doth so defame and ruin? And beside,
With what right is this guest thus vilified
In your high censures, when the man in blood
Is well compos’d and great, his parents good? 1
And therefore give the bow to him, to try
His birth and breeding by his chivalry.
If his arms draw it, and that Phœbus stands
So great a glory to his strength, my hands
Shall add this guerdon: Ev’ry sort of weed,
A two-edg’d sword, and lance to keep him freed
From dogs and men hereafter, and dismiss
His worth to what place tends that heart of his.”
Her son gave answer: “That it was a wrong
To
his free sway in all things that belong
To guard of that house, to demand the bow
Of any Wooer, and the use bestow
Upon the stranger: for the bow was his
To give or to withhold; no masteries
Of her proposing giving any pow’r
T’ impair his right in things for any Wooer,
Or any that rough Ithaca affords,
Any that Elis; of which no man’s words
Nor pow’rs should curb him, stood he so inclin’d,
To see the bow in absolute gift resign’d
To that his guest to bear and use at will,
And therefore bade his mother keep her still
Amongst her women at her rock and loom;
Bows were for men; and this bow did become
Past all men’s his disposure, since his sire
Left it to him, and all the house entire.”
She stood dismay’d at this, and in her mind
His wise words laid up, standing so inclin’d
As he had will’d, with all her women going
Up to her chamber, there her tears bestowing,
As ev’ry night she did, on her lov’d lord,
Till sleep and Pallas her fit rest restor’d.
The bow Eumæus took, and bore away;
Which up in tumult, and almost in fray,
Put all the Wooers, one enquiring thus:
“Whither, rogue, abject, wilt thou bear from us
That bow propos’d? Lay down, or I protest
Thy dogs shall eat thee, that thou nourishest
To guard thy swine; amongst whom, left of all,
Thy life shall leave thee, if the festival,
We now observe to Phœbus, may our zeals
Grace with his aid, and all the Deities else.”
This threat made good Eumæus yield the bow
To his late place, not knowing what might grow
From such a multitude. And then fell on
Telemachus with threats, and said: “Set gone
That bow yet further; ’tis no servant’s part
To serve too many masters; raise your heart
And bear it off, lest, though you’re younger, yet
With stones I pelt you to the field with it.
If you and I close, I shall prove too strong.
I wish as much too hard for all this throng
The Gods would make me, I should quickly send
Some after with just sorrow to their end,
They waste my victuals so, and ply my cup,
And do me such shrewd turns still.” This put up
The Wooers all in laughters, and put down
Their angers to him, that so late were grown
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 156
