by Homer
Pray to thy father yet, a deity,
And prove, from him if thou canst help acquire.’
Thus spake they, leaving him; when all on fire
My heart with joy was, that so well my wit
And name deceiv’d him; whom now pain did split,
And groaning up and down he groping tried
To find the stone; which found, he put aside,
But in the door sat, feeling if he could
(As his sheep issu’d) on some man lay hold –
Esteeming me a fool, that could devise
No stratagem to ’scape his gross surprise.
But I, contending what I could invent
My friends and me from death so imminent
To get deliver’d, all my wiles I wove
(Life being the subject) and did this approve:
Fat fleecy rams, most fair and great, lay there,
That did a burden like a violet bear.
These, while this learn’d-in-villany did sleep,
I yok’d with osiers cut there, sheep to sheep,
Three in a rank, and still the mid sheep bore
A man about his belly; the two more
March’d on his each side for defence. I then,
Choosing myself the fairest of the den,
His fleecy belly under-crept, embrac’d
His back, and in his rich wool wrapt me fast
With both my hands, arm’d with as fast a mind.
And thus each man hung, till the morning shin’d;
Which come, he knew the hour, and let abroad
His male-flocks first; the females unmilk’d stood
Bleating and braying, their full bags so sore
With being unemptied, but their shepherd more
With being unsighted, which was cause his mind
Went not a-milking. He, to wreak inclin’d,
The backs felt, as they pass’d, of those male dams –
Gross fool, believing we would ride his rams!
Nor ever knew that any of them bore
Upon his belly any man before.
The last ram came to pass him, with his wool
And me together loaded to the full,
For there did I hang; and that ram he stay’d,
And me withal had in his hands, my head
Troubled the while, not causelessly, nor least.
This ram he grop’d, and talk’d to: ‘Lazy beast!
Why last art thou now? Thou hast never us’d
To lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruis’d
The tender blossom of a flower, and held
State in thy steps, both to the flood and field;
First still at fold at ev’n, now last remain?
Dost thou not wish I had mine eye again,
Which that abhorr’d man No-Man did put out,
Assisted by his execrable rout,
When he had wrought me down with wine? But he
Must not escape my wreak so cunningly.
I would to heav’n thou knew’st, and could but speak,
To tell me where he lurks now! I would break
His brain about my cave, strew’d here and there,
To ease my heart of those foul ills, that were
Th’ inflictions of a man I priz’d at nought.’
Thus let he him abroad; when I, once brought
A little from his hold, myself first loos’d,
And next my friends. Then drave we, and dispos’d,
His straight-legg’d fat fleece-bearers over land,
Ev’n till they all were in my ship’s command;
And to our lov’d friends show’d our pray’d-for sight,
Escap’d from death. But, for our loss, outright
They brake in tears; which with a look I stay’d,
And bade them take our boot in. They obey’d,
And up we all went, sat, and used our oars.
But having left as far the savage shores
As one might hear a voice, we then might see
The Cyclop at the hav’n; when instantly
I stay’d our oars, and this insultance us’d:
‘Cyclop! Thou shouldst not have so much abus’d
Thy monstrous forces, to oppose their least
Against a man immartial, and a guest,
And eat his fellows. Thou mightst know there were
Some ills behind, rude swain, for thee to bear,
That fear’d not to devour thy guests, and break
All laws of humans. Jove sends therefore wreak,
And all the gods, by me.’ This blew the more
His burning fury; when the top he tore
From off a huge rock, and so right a throw
Made at our ship, that just before the prow
It overflew and fell, miss’d mast and all
Exceeding little; but about the fall
So fierce a wave it rais’d, that back it bore
Our ship so far, it almost touch’d the shore.
A bead-hook then, a far-extended one,
I snatch’d up, thrust hard, and so set us gone
Some little way; and straight commanded all
To help me with their oars, on pain to fall
Again on our confusion. But a sign
I with my head made, and their oars were mine
In all performance. When we off were set
(Than first, twice further), my heart was so great,
It would again provoke him, but my men
On all sides rush’d about me, to contain,
And said: ‘Unhappy! Why will you provoke
A man so rude, that with so dead a stroke,
Giv’n with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back
Our ship so far, and near had forc’d our wrack?
Should he again but hear your voice resound,
And any word reach, thereby would be found
His dart’s direction, which would, in his fall,
Crush piece-meal us, quite split our ship and all,
So much dart wields the monster.’ Thus urg’d they
Impossible things, in fear; but I gave way
To that wrath which so long I held depress’d,
By great necessity conquer’d, in my breast:
‘Cyclop! If any ask thee, who impos’d
Th’ unsightly blemish that thine eye enclos’d,
Say that Ulysses, old Laertes’ son,
Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won
Surname of city-raser, bored it out.’
At this, he bray’d so loud, that round about
He drave affrighted echoes through the air,
And said: ‘O beast! I was premonish’d fair,
By aged prophecy, in one that was
A great and good man, this should come to pass;
And how ’tis prov’d now! Augur Telemus,
Surnam’d Eurymides (that spent with us
His age in augury, and did exceed
In all presage of truth) said all this deed
Should this event take, author’d by the hand
Of one Ulysses, who I thought was mann’d
With great and goodly personage, and bore
A virtue answerable; and this shore
Should shake with weight of such a conqueror;
When now a weakling came, a dwarfy thing,
A thing of nothing; who yet wit did bring,
That brought supply to all, and with his wine
Put out the flame where all my light did shine.
Come, lan
d again, Ulysses, that my hand
May guest-rites give thee, and the great command,
That Neptune hath at sea, I may convert
To the deduction where abides thy heart,
With my solicitings; whose son I am,
And whose fame boasts to bear my father’s name.
Nor think my hurt offends me, for my sire
Can soon repose in it the visual fire,
At his free pleasure; which no power beside
Can boast, of men, or of the deified.’
I answer’d: ‘Would to god I could compel
Both life and soul from thee, and send to hell
Those spoils of nature! Hardly Neptune then
Could cure thy hurt, and give thee all again.’
Then flew fierce vows to Neptune, both his hands
To star-born heav’n cast: ‘O thou that all lands
Gird’st in thy ambient circle, and in air
Shak’st the curl’d tresses of thy sapphire hair,
If I be thine, or thou mayst justly vaunt
Thou art my father, hear me now, and grant
That this Ulysses, old Laertes’ son,
That dwells in Ithaca, and name hath won
Of city-ruiner, may never reach
His natural region. Or if to fetch
That, and the sight of his fair roofs and friends,
Be fatal to him, let him that amends
For all his miseries, long time and ill,
Smart for, and fail of; nor that fate fulfill,
Till all his soldiers quite are cast away
In others’ ships. And when, at last, the day
Of his sole-landing shall his dwelling show,
Let detriment prepare him wrongs enow.’
Thus pray’d he Neptune; who, his sire, appear’d,
And all his pray’r to every syllable heard.
But then a rock, in size more amplified
Than first, he ravish’d to him, and implied
A dismal strength in it, when, wheel’d about,
He sent it after us; nor flew it out
From any blind aim, for a little pass
Beyond our fore-deck from the fall there was,
With which the sea our ship gave back upon,
And shrunk up into billows from the stone,
Our ship again repelling near as near
The shore as first. But then our rowers were,
Being warn’d, more arm’d, and stronglier stemm’d the flood
That bore back on us, till our ship made good
The other island, where our whole fleet lay,
In which our friends lay mourning for our stay,
And every minute look’d when we should land.
Where, now arriv’d, we drew up to the sand,
The Cyclops’ sheep dividing, that none there
Of all our privates might be wrung, and bear
Too much on pow’r. The ram yet was alone
By all my friends made all my portion
Above all others; and I made him then
A sacrifice for me and all my men
To cloud-compelling Jove that all commands,
To whom I burn’d the thighs; but my sad hands
Receiv’d no grace from him, who studied how
To offer men and fleet to overthrow.
All day, till sun-set, yet we sat and eat,
And liberal store took in of wine and meat.
The sun then down, anal place resign’d to shade,
We slept. Morn came, my men I rais’d, and made
All go aboard, weigh anchor, and away.
They boarded, sat, and beat the aged sea,
And forth we made sail, sad for loss before,
And yet had comfort since we lost no more.
The end of the ninth book
Book 10
The Argument
Ulysses now relates to us
The grace he had with Aeolus,
Great guardian of the hollow winds;
Which in a leather bag he binds,
And gives Ulysses; all but one,
Which Zephyr was, who fill’d alone
Ulysses’ sails. The bag once seen,
While he slept, by Ulysses’ men,
They thinking it did gold enclose,
To find it, all the winds did loose,
Who back flew to their guard again.
Forth sail’d he, and did next attain
To where the Laestrygonians dwell;
Where he elev’n ships lost, and fell
On the Aeaean coast, whose shore
He sends Eurylochus t’ explore,
Dividing with him half his men;
Who go, and turn no more again,
All, save Eurylochus, to swine
By Circe turn’d. Their stays incline
Ulysses to their search; who got
Of Mercury an antidote,
Which moly was, ’gainst Circe’s charms,
And so avoids his soldiers’ harms.
A year with Circe all remain,
And then their native forms regain.
On utter shores a time they dwell,
While Ithacus descends to hell.
Another Argument
Kappa
Great Aeolus
And Circe, friends
Finds Ithacus;
And hell descends.
Book 10
To the Aeolian island we attain’d,
That swum about still on the sea, where reign’d
The god-lov’d Aeolus Hippotades.
A wall of steel it had, and in the seas
A wave-beat-smooth rock moved about the wall.
Twelve children in his house imperial
Were born to him; of which six daughters were,
And six were sons, that youth’s sweet flower did bear.
His daughters to his sons he gave as wives;
Who spent in feastful comforts all their lives,
Close seated by their sire and his grave spouse.
Past number were the dishes that the house
Made ever savour; and still full the hall
As long as day shin’d; in the night-time, all
Slept with their chaste wives, each his fair carv’d bed
Most richly furnish’d; and this life they led.
We reach’d the city and fair roofs of these,
Where, a whole month’s time, all things that might please
The king vouchsaf’d us; of great Troy inquir’d,
The Grecian fleet, and how the Greeks retir’d.
To all which I gave answer as behov’d.
The fit time come when I dismission mov’d,
He nothing would deny me, but address’d
My pass with such a bounty, as might best
Teach me contentment; for he did enfold
Within an ox-hide, flay’d at nine years old,
All th’ airy blasts that were of stormy kinds.
Saturnius made him steward of his winds,
And gave him power to raise and to assuage.
And these he gave me, curb’d thus of their rage,
Which in a glittering silver band I bound,
And hung up in my ship, enclos’d so round
That no egression any breath could find;
Only he left abroad the Western wind,
To speed our ships and us with blasts secure.
But our securities made all unsure;
Nor could he consummate our c
ourse alone,
When all the rest had got egression;
Which thus succeeded: nine whole days and nights
We sail’d in safety; and the tenth, the lights
Borne on our country earth we might descry,
So near we drew; and yet even then fell I,
Being overwatch’d, into a fatal sleep,
For I would suffer no man else to keep
The foot that ruled my vessel’s course, to lead
The faster home. My friends then envy fed
About the bag I hung up, and suppos’d
That gold and silver I had there enclos’d,
As gift from Aeolus, and said: ‘O heav’n!
What grace and grave price is by all men giv’n
To our commander! Whatsoever coast
Or town he comes to, how much he engrost
Of fair and precious prey, and brought from Troy!
We the same voyage went, and yet enjoy
In our return these empty hands for all.
This bag, now, Aeolus was so liberal
To make a guest-gift to him; let us try
Of what consists the fair-bound treasury,
And how much gold and silver it contains.’
Ill counsel present approbation gains.
They op’d the bag, and out the vapours brake,
When instant tempest did our vessel take,
That bore us back to sea, to mourn anew
Our absent country. Up amaz’d I flew,
And desperate things discours’d: if I should cast
Myself to ruin in the seas, or taste
Amongst the living more moan, and sustain?
Silent, I did so, and lay hid again
Beneath the hatches, while an ill wind took
My ships back to Aeolia, my men strook
With woe enough. We pump’d and landed then,
Took food, for all this; and of all my men
I took a herald to me, and away
Went to the court of Aeolus, where they
Were feasting still: he, wife, and children, set
Together close. We would not at their meat
Thrust in, but humbly on the threshold sat.
He then, amaz’d, my presence wonder’d at,
And call’d to me: ‘Ulysses! How thus back
Art thou arriv’d here? What foul spirit brake
Into thy bosom, to retire thee thus?
We thought we had deduction curious
Given thee before, to reach thy shore and home.
Did it not like thee?’ I, ev’n overcome
With worthy sorrow, answer’d: ‘My ill men
Have done me mischief, and to them hath been
