My sight to him that I appear as strange.”
Thus gave he arms to them, and home they hied.
Ulysses to the fruitful field applied
His present place; nor found he Dolius there,
His sons, or any servant, anywhere
In all that spacious ground; all gone from thence
Were dragging bushes to repair a fence,
Old Dolius leading all. Ulysses found
His father far above in that fair ground,
Employ’d in proining of a plant; his weeds
All torn and tatter’d, fit for homely deeds,
But not for him. Upon his legs he wore
Patch’d boots to guard him from the bramble’s gore;
His hands had thorn-proof hedging mittens on;
His head a goat-skin casque; through all which shone
His heart giv’n over to abjectest moan.
Him when Ulysses saw consum’d with age,
And all the ensigns on him that the rage
Of grief presented, he brake out in tears;
And, taking stand then where a tree of pears
Shot high his forehead over him, his mind
Had much contention, if to yield to kind,
Make straight way to his father, kiss, embrace,
Tell his return, and put on all the face
And fashion of his instant-told return;
Or stay th’ impulsion, and the long day burn
Of his quite loss giv’n in his father’s fear
A little longer, trying first his cheer
With some free dalliance, th’ earnest being so near.
This course his choice preferr’d, and forth he went.
His father then his aged shoulders bent
Beneath what years had stoop’d, about a tree
Busily digging: “O, old man,” said he,
“You want no skill to dress and deck your ground,
For all your plants doth order’d distance bound.
No apple, pear, or olive, fig; or vine,
Nor any plat or quarter you confine
To grass or flow’rs stands empty of your care,
Which shows exact in each peculiar;
And yet (which let not move you) you bestow
No care upon yourself, though to this show
Of outward irksomeness to what you are
You labour with an inward froward care,
Which is your age, that should wear all without
More neat and cherishing. I make no doubt
That any sloth you use procures your lord
To let an old man go so much abhorr’d
In all his weeds; nor shines there in your look
A fashion and a goodliness so took
With abject qualities to merit this
Nasty entreaty. Your resemblance is
A very king’s, and shines through this retreat.
You look like one that having wash’d and eat
Should sleep securely, lying sweet and neat.
It is the ground of age, when cares abuse it,
To know life’s end, and, as ’tis sweet, so use it.
“But utter truth, and tell what lord is he
That rates your labour and your liberty?
Whose orchard is it that you husband thus?
Or quit me this doubt, for if Ithacus
This kingdom claims for his, the man I found
At first arrival here is hardly sound
Of brain or civil, not enduring stay
To tell nor hear me my inquiry out
Of that my friend, if still he bore about
His life and being, or were div’d to death,
And in the house of him that harboureth
The souls of men. For once he liv’d my guest;
My land and house retaining interest
In his abode there; where there sojourn’d none
As guest from any foreign region
Of more price with me. He deriv’d his race
From Ithaca, and said his father was
Laertes, surnam’d Arcesiades,
I had him home, and all the offices
Perform’d to him that fitted any friend,
Whose proof I did to wealthy gifts extend:
Seven talents gold; a bowl all-silver, set
With pots of flowers; twelve robes that had no pleat!
Twelve cloaks, or mantles, of delicious dye;
Twelve inner weeds; twelve suits of tapestry.
I gave him likewise women skill’d in use
Of loom and needle, freeing him to choose
Four the most fair.” His father, weeping, said:
“Stranger! The earth to which you are convey’d
Is Ithaca; by such rude men possess’d,
Unjust and insolent, as first address’d
To your encounter; but the gifts you gave
Were giv’n, alas! to the ungrateful grave.
If with his people, where you now arrive,
Your fate had been to find your friend alive,
You should have found like guest-rites from his hand,
Like gifts, and kind pass to your wishéd land.
But how long since receiv’d you for your guest
Your friend, my son, who was th’ unhappiest
Of all men breathing, if he were at all?
O born when Fates and ill-aspects let fall
A cruel influence for him! Far away
From friends and country destin’d to allay.
The sea-bred appetites, or, left ashore,
To be by fowls and upland monsters tore,
His life’s kind authors nor his wealthy wife
Bemoaning, as behov’d, his parted life,
Nor closing, as in honour’s course it lies
To all men dead, in bed his dying eyes.
But give me knowledge of your name and race.
What city bred you? Where the anchoring-place
Your ship now rides-at lies that shor’d you here
And where your men? Or, if a passenger
In other keels you came, who (giving land
To your adventures here, some other strand
To fetch in further course) have left to us
Your welcome presence?” His reply was thus:
“I am of Alybandé, where I hold
My name’s chief house, to much renown extoll’d.
My father Aphidantes, fam’d to spring
From Polypemon, the Molossian king.
My name Eperitus. My taking land
On this fair Isle was rul’d by the command
Of God or fortune, quite against consent
Of my free purpose, that in course was bent
For th’ isle Sicania. My ship is held
Far from the city, near an ample field.
And for Ulysses, since his pass from me
’Tis now five years. Unbless’d by destiny,
That all this time hath had the fate to err!
Though, at his parting, good birds did augur
His putting-off, and on his right hand flew,
Which to his passage my affection drew,
His spirit joyful; and my hope was now
To guest with him, and see his hand bestow
Rites of our friendship.” This a cloud of grief
Cast over all the forces of his life.
With both his hands the burning dust he swept
Up from the earth, which on his head he heapt,
And fetch�
�d a sigh as in it life were broke.
Which grieved his son, and gave so smart a stroke
Upon his nostrils with the inward stripe,
That up the vein rose there; and weeping ripe
He was to see his sire feel such woe
For his dissembled joy; which now let go,
He sprung from earth, embrac’d and kiss’d his sire,
And said: “O father! He of whom y’ enquire
Am I myself, that, from you twenty years,
Is now return’d. But do not break in tears,
For now we must not forms of kind maintain,
But haste and guard the substance. I have slain
All my wife’s Wooers, so revenging now
Their wrong so long time suffer’d. Take not you
The comfort of my coming then to heart
At this glad instant, but, in prov’d desert
Of your grave judgment, give moan glad suspense,
And on the sudden put this consequence
In act as absolute, as all time went
To ripening of your resolute assent.”
All this haste made not his staid faith so free
To trust his words; who said: “If you are he,
Approve it by some sign.” “This scar then see,”
Replied Ulysses, “giv’n me by the boar
Slain in Parnassus, I being sent before
By your’s and by my honour’d mother’s will,
To see your sire Autolycus fulfill
The gifts he vow’d at giving of my name.
I’ll tell you, too, the trees, in goodly frame
Of this fair orchard, that I ask’d of you
Being yet a child, and follow’d for your show
And name of ev’ry tree. You gave me then
Of fig-trees forty, apple-bearers ten,
Pear-trees thirteen, and fifty ranks of vine;
Each one of which a season did confine
For his best eating. Not a grape did grow
That grew not there, and had his heavy brow
When Jove’s fair daughters, the all ripening Hours,
Gave timely date to it.” This charg’d the pow’rs
Both of his knees and heart with such impression
Of sudden comfort, that it gave possession
Of all to Trance, the signs were all so true,
And did the love that gave them so renew.
He cast his arms about his son and sunk,
The circle slipping to his feet; so shrunk
Were all his age’s forces with the fire
Of his young love rekindled. The old sire
The son took up quite lifeless. But his breath
Again respiring, and his soul from death
His body’s pow’r recov’ring, out he cried,
And said: “O Jupiter! I now have tried
That still there live in heav’n rememb’ring Gods
Of men that serve them; though the periods
They set on their appearances are long
In best men’s suff’rings, yet as sure as strong
They are in comforts, be their strange delays
Extended never so from days to days.
Yet see the short joys or the soon-mix’d fears
Of helps withheld by them so many years!
For if the Wooers now have paid the pain
Due to their impious pleasures, now again
Extreme fear takes me, lest we straight shall see
The Ithacensians here in mutiny,
Their messengers dispatch’d to win to friend
The Cephallenian cities.” “Do not spend
Your thoughts on these cares,” said his suff’ring son,
“But be of comfort, and see that course run
That best may shun the worst. Our house is near,
Telemachus and both his herdsmen there
To dress our supper with their utmost haste;
And thither haste we.” This said, forth they past,
Came home, and found Telemachus at feast
With both his swains; while who had done, all drest
With baths and balms and royally array’d
The old king was by his Sicilian maid.
By whose side Pallas stood, his crook’d-age straight’ning,
His flesh more plumping, and his looks enlight’ning.
Who issuing then to view, his son admir’d
The Gods’ aspects into his form inspir’d,
And said: “O father, certainly some God
By your addression in this state hath stood,
More great, more rev’rend, rend’ring you by far
At all your parts than of yourself you are!”
“I would to Jove,” said he, “the Sun, and She
That bears Jove’s shield, the state had stood with me
That help’d me take-in the well-builded tow’rs
Of strong Nericus (the Cephalian pow’rs
To that fair city leading) two days past,
While with the Wooers thy conflict did last,
And I had then been in the Wooers’ wreak!
I should have help’d thee so to render weak
Their stubborn knees, that in thy joy’s desert
Thy breast had been too little for thy heart.”
This said, and supper order’d by their men,
They sat to it; old Dolius ent’ring then,
And with him, tried with labour, his sons came,
Call’d by their mother, the Sicilian dame
That brought them up and dress’d their father’s fare,
As whose age grew, with it increas’d her care
To see him serv’d as fitted. When thus set
These men beheld Ulysses there at meat,
They knew him, and astonish’d in the place
Stood at his presence; who, with words of grace,
Call’d to old Dolius, saying: “Come and eat,
And banish all astonishment. Your meat
Hath long been ready, and ourselves made stay,
Expecting ever when your wishéd way
Would reach amongst us.” This brought fiercely on
Old Dolius from his stand; who ran upon,
With both his arms abroad, the King, and kiss’d
Of both his rapt up hands the either wrist,
Thus welcoming his presence: “O my love,
Your presence here, for which all wishes strove,
No one expected. Ev’n the Gods have gone
In guide before you to your mansión.
Welcome, and all joys to your heart contend.
Knows yet Penelope? Or shall we send
Some one to tell her this?” “She knows,” said he,
“What need these troubles, father, touch at thee?”
Then came the sons of Dolius, and again
Went over with their father’s entertain,
Welcom’d, shook hands, and then to feast sat down.
About which while they sat, about the town
Fame flew, and shriek’d about the cruel death
And fate the Wooers had sustain’d beneath
Ulysses’ roofs. All heard; together all
From hence and thence met in Ulysses’ hall,
Short-breath’d and noiseful, bore out all the dead
To instant burial, while their deaths were spread
To other neighbour cities where they liv’d,
From whence in swiftest fisher-boats arriv’d
Men to transfer them
home. In mean space here
The heavy nobles all in council were;
Where, met in much heap, up to all arose
Extremely-griev’d Eupitheus so to lose
His son Antinous, who, first of all,
By great Ulysses’ hand had slaught’rous fall.
Whose father, weeping for him, said: “O friends,
This man hath author’d works of dismal ends,
Long since conveying in his guide to Troy
Good men, and many that did ships employ,
All which are lost, and all their soldiers dead;
And now the best men Cephallenia bred
His hand hath slaughter’d. Go we then (before
His ‘scape to Pylos, or the Elians’ shore,
Where rule the Epeans) ‘gainst his horrid hand;
For we shall grieve, and infamy will brand
Our fames for ever, if we see our sons
And brothers end in these confusions,
Revenge left uninflicted. Nor will I
Enjoy one day’s life more, but grieve and die
With instant onset. Nor should you survive
To keep a base and beastly name alive.
Haste, then, lest flight prevent us.” This with tears
His griefs advis’d, and made all sufferers
In his affliction. But by this was come
Up to the council from Ulysses’ home —
When sleep had left them, which the slaughters there
And their self-dangers from their eyes in fear
Had two nights intercepted — those two men
That just Ulysses sav’d out of the slain,
Which Medon and the sacred singer were.
These stood amidst the council; and the fear
The slaughter had impress’d in either’s look
Stuck still so ghastly, that amaze it strook
Through ev’ry there beholder. To whose ears
One thus enforc’d, in his fright, cause of theirs:
“Attend me, Ithacensians! This stern fact
Done by Ulysses was not put in act
Without the Gods’ assistance. These self eyes
Saw one of the immortal Deities
Close by Ulysses, Mentor’s form put on
At ev’ry part. And this sure Deity shone
Now near Ulysses, setting on his bold
And slaught’rous spirit, now the points controll’d
Of all the Wooers’ weapons, round about
The arm’d house whisking, in continual rout
Their party putting, till in heaps they fell.”
This news new fears did through their spirits impell,
When Halitherses (honour’d Mastor’s son,
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 162
