by Homer
And after shall the herdsman guide to town
My steps, my person wholly overgrown
With all appearance of a poor old swain,
Heavy, and wretched. If their high disdain
Of my vile presence make them my desert
Affect with contumelies, let thy lov’d heart
Beat in fix’d confines of thy bosom still,
And see me suffer, patient of their ill.
Ay, though they drag me by the heels about
Mine own free earth, and after hurl me out,
Do thou still suffer. Nay, though with their darts
They beat and bruise me, bear. But these foul parts
Persuade them to forbear, and by their names
Call all with kind words, bidding, for their shames,
Their pleasures cease. If yet they yield not way,
There breaks the first light of their fatal day.
In mean space, mark this: when the chiefly wise
Minerva prompts me, I’ll inform thine eyes
With some giv’n sign, and then all th’ arms that are
Aloft thy roof in some near room prepare
For speediest use. If those brave men inquire
Thy end in all, still rake up all thy fire
In fair cool words, and say: ‘I bring them down
To scour the smoke off, being so overgrown
That one would think all fumes that ever were
Breath’d since Ulysses’ loss, reflected here.
These are not like the arms he left behind,
In way for Troy. Besides, Jove prompts my mind
In their remove apart thus with this thought,
That if in height of wine there should be wrought
Some harsh contention ’twixt you, this apt mean
To mutual bloodshed may be taken clean
From out your reach, and all the spoil prevented
Of present feast, perhaps ev’n then presented
My mother’s nuptials to your long kind vows.
Steel itself, ready, draws a man to blows.’
Thus make their thoughts secure; to us alone
Two swords, two darts, two shields left; which see done
Within our readiest reach, that at our will
We may resume, and charge, and all their skill
Pallas and Jove, that all just counsels breathe,
May darken with secureness to their death.
And let me charge thee now, as thou art mine,
And as thy veins mine own true blood combine:
Let, after this, none know Ulysses near,
Not any one of all the household there,
Not here the herdsman, not Laertes be
Made privy, nor herself Penelope,
But only let thyself and me work out
The women’s thoughts of all things borne about
The wooers’ hearts; and then thy men approve,
To know who honours, who with rev’rence love,
Our well-weigh’d memories, and who is won
To fail thy fit right, though my only son.’
‘You teach,’ said he, ‘so punctually now
As I knew nothing, nor were sprung from you.
I hope, hereafter, you shall better know
What soul I bear, and that it doth not let
The least loose motion pass his natural seat.
But this course you propose will prove, I fear,
Small profit to us; and could wish your care
Would weigh it better, as too far about.
For time will ask much, to the sifting out
Of each man’s disposition by his deeds;
And, in the mean time, every wooer feeds
Beyond satiety, nor knows how to spare.
The women yet, since they more easy are
For our inquiry, I would wish you try,
Who right your state, who do it injury.
The men I would omit, and these things make
Your labour after. But, to undertake
The wooers’ war, I wish your utmost speed,
Especially if you could cheer the deed
With some ostent from Jove.’ Thus, as the sire
Consented to the son, did here expire
Their mutual speech. And now the ship was come,
That brought the young prince and his soldiers home.
The deep hav’n reach’d, they drew the ship ashore,
Took all their arms out, and the rich gifts bore
To Clitius’ house. But to Ulysses’ court
They sent a herald first, to make report
To wise Penelope, that safe at field
Her son was left; yet, since the ship would yield
Most haste to her, he sent that first, and them
To comfort with his utmost the extreme
He knew she suffer’d. At the court now met
The herald and the herdsman, to repeat
One message to the queen. Both whom arriv’d
Within the gates, both to be foremost striv’d
In that good news. The herald, he for haste
Amongst the maids bestow’d it, thinking plac’d
The queen amongst them. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘O queen,
Your lov’d son is arriv’d.’ And then was seen
The queen herself, to whom the herdsman told
All that Telemachus enjoin’d he should;
All which discharg’d, his steps he back bestows,
And left both court and city for his sows.
The wooers then grew sad, soul-vex’d, and all
Made forth the court; when by the mighty wall
They took their several seat, before the gates.
To whom Eurymachus initiates
Their utter’d grievance: ‘O,’ said he, ‘my friends,
A work right great begun, as proudly ends.
We said Telemachus should never make
His voyage good, nor this shore ever take
For his return’s receipt; and yet we fail,
And he performs it. Come, let’s man a sail,
The best in our election, and bestow
Such soldiers in her as can swiftest row,
To tell our friends that way-lay his retreat
’Tis safe perform’d, and make them quickly get
Their ship for Ithaca.’ This was not said
Before Amphinomus in port display’d
The ship arriv’d, her sails then under-stroke,
And oars resum’d; when, laughing, thus he spoke:
‘Move for no messenger. These men are come.
Some god hath either told his turning home,
Or they themselves have seen his ship gone by,
Had her in chase, and lost her.’ Instantly
They rose, and went to port; found drawn to land
The ship, the soldiers taking arms in hand.
The wooers themselves to council went in throng,
And not a man besides, or old or young,
Let sit amongst them. Then Eupitheus’ son,
Antinous, said: ‘See what the gods have done!
They only have deliver’d from our ill
The men we waylaid. Every windy hill
Hath been their watch-tower, where by turns they stood
Continual sentinel. And we made good
Our work as well, for, sun once set, we never
Slept wink ashore all night, but made sail ever,
This way and that, ev’n till the morning kept
&
nbsp; Her sacred station, so to intercept
And take his life, for whom our ambush lay;
And yet hath god to his return giv’n way.
But let us prosecute with counsels here
His necessary death, nor any where
Let rest his safety; for if he survive,
Our sails will never in wish’d hav’ns arrive,
Since he is wise, hath soul and counsel too,
To work the people, who will never do
Our faction favour. What we then intend
Against his person, give we present end,
Before he call a council, which, believe,
His spirit will haste, and point where it doth grieve,
Stand up amongst them all, and urge his death
Decreed amongst us. Which complaint will breathe
A fire about their spleens, and blow no praise
On our ill labours. Lest they therefore raise
Pow’r to exile us from our native earth,
And force our lives’ societies to the birth
Of foreign countries, let our speeds prevent
His coming home to this austere complaint,
At field and far from town, or in some way
Of narrow passage, with his latest day
Shown to his forward youth, his goods and lands
Left to the free division of our hands,
The moveables made all his mother’s dow’r,
And his, whoever fate affords the pow’r
To celebrate with her sweet Hymen’s rites.
Or if this please not, but your appetites
Stand to his safety, and to give him seat
In his whole birthright, let us look to eat
At his cost never more, but every man
Haste to his home, and wed with whom he can
At home, and there lay first about for dow’r,
And then the woman give his second pow’r
Of nuptial liking, and, for last, apply
His purpose with most gifts and destiny.’
This silence caus’d; whose breach, at last, begun
Amphinomus, the much renowned son
Of Nisus surnam’d Aretiades,
Who from Dulichius full of flow’ry leas
Led all the wooers, and in chief did please
The queen with his discourse, because it grew
From roots of those good minds that did endue
His goodly person; who, exceeding wise,
Us’d this speech: ‘Friends, I never will advise
The prince’s death; for ’tis a damned thing
To put to death the issue of a king.
First, therefore, let’s examine, what applause
The gods will give it: if the equal laws
Of Jove approve it, I myself will be
The man shall kill him, and this company
Exhort to that mind; if the gods remain
Adverse, and hate it, I advise, refrain.’
This said Amphinomus, and pleas’d them all;
When all arose, and in Ulysses’ hall
Took seat again. Then to the queen was come
The wooers’ plot, to kill her son at home,
Since their abroad design had miss’d success,
The herald Medon (who the whole address
Knew of their counsels) making the report.
The goddess of her sex, with her fair sort
Of lovely women, at the large hall’s door
(Her bright cheeks clouded with a veil she wore)
Stood, and directed to Antinous
Her sharp reproof, which she digested thus:
‘Antinous! Compos’d of injury!
Plotter of mischief! Though reports that fly
Amongst our Ithacensian people say
That thou, of all that glory in their sway,
Art best in words and counsels, th’ art not so.
Fond, busy fellow, why plott’st thou the woe
And slaughter of my son, and dost not fear
The presidents of suppliants, when the ear
Of Jove stoops to them? ’Tis unjust to do
Slaughter for slaughter, or pay woe for woe.
Mischief for kindness, death for life sought, then,
Is an injustice to be loath’d of men.
Serves not thy knowledge to remember when
Thy father fled to us? Who (mov’d to wrath
Against the Taphian thieves) pursu’d with scathe
The guiltless Thesprots; in whose people’s fear,
Pursuing him for wreak, he landed here,
They after him, professing both their prize
Of all his chiefly valued faculties
And more priz’d life. Of all whose bloodiest ends
Ulysses curb’d them, though they were his friends.
Yet thou, like one that no law will allow
The least true honour, eat’st his house up now
That fed thy father, woo’st for love his wife,
Whom thus thou griev’st, and seek’st her sole son’s life!
Cease, I command thee, and command the rest
To see all thought of these foul fashions ceas’d.’
Eurymachus replied: ‘Be confident,
Thou all-of-wit-made, the most fam’d descent
Of king Icarius. Free thy spirits of fear.
There lives not any one, nor shall live here
Now, nor hereafter, while my life gives heat
And light to me on earth, that dares intreat
With any ill touch thy well-lov’d son,
But here I vow, and here will see it done,
His life shall stain my lance. If on his knees
The city-raser, Laertiades,
Hath made me sit, put in my hand his food,
And held his red wine to me, shall the blood
Of his Telemachus on my hand lay
The least pollution, that my life can stay?
No! I have ever charg’d him not to fear
Death’s threat from any. And, for that most dear
Love of his father, he shall ever be
Much the most lov’d of all that live to me.
Who kills a guiltless man from man may fly,
From god his searches all escapes deny.’
Thus cheer’d his words, but his affections still
Fear’d not to cherish foul intent to kill
Ev’n him whose life to all lives he preferr’d.
The queen went up, and to her love appear’d
Her lord so freshly, that she wept, till sleep
(By Pallas forc’d on her) her eyes did steep
In his sweet humour. When the ev’n was come,
The godlike herdsman reach’d the whole way home.
Ulysses and his son for supper drest
A year-old swine, and ere their host and guest
Had got their presence, Pallas had put by
With her fair rod Ulysses’ royalty,
And render’d him an aged man again,
With all his vile integuments, lest his swain
Should know him in his trim, and tell his queen,
In these deep secrets being not deeply seen.
He seen, to him the prince these words did use:
‘Welcome, divine Eumaeus! Now what news
Employs the city? Are the wooers come
Back from their scout dismay’d? Or here at home
Will they again attempt me?’ He replied:
‘These touch not my care.
I was satisfied
To do, with most speed, what I went to do;
My message done, return. And yet, not so
Came my news first; a herald (met with there)
Forestall’d my tale, and told how safe you were.
Besides which merely necessary thing,
What in my way chanc’d I may over-bring,
Being what I know, and witness’d with mine eyes.
Where the Hermaean sepulchre doth rise
Above the city, I beheld take port
A ship, and in her many a man of sort;
Her freight was shields and lances; and methought
They were the wooers; but, of knowledge, nought
Can therein tell you.’ The prince smil’d, and knew
They were the wooers, casting secret view
Upon his father. But what they intended
Fled far the herdsman; whose swain’s labours ended,
They dress’d the supper, which, past want, was eat.
When all desire suffic’d of wine and meat,
Of other human wants they took supplies
At Sleep’s soft hand, who sweetly clos’d their eyes.
The end of the sixteenth book
Book 17
The Argument
Telemachus, return’d to town,
Makes to his curious mother known,
In part, his travels. After whom
Ulysses to the court doth come,
In good Eumaeus’ guide, and press’d
To witness of the wooers’ feast;
Whom, though twice ten years did bestow
In far-off parts, his dog doth know.
Another Argument
Rho
Ulysses shows
Through all disguise.
Whom his dog knows;
Who knowing dies.
Book 17
But when air’s rosy birth, the Morn, arose,
Telemachus did for the town dispose
His early steps; and took to his command
His fair long lance, well sorting with his hand,
Thus parting with Eumaeus: ‘Now, my friend,
I must to town, lest too far I extend
My mother’s moan for me, who, till her eyes
Mine own eyes witness, varies tears and cries
Through all extremes. Do then this charge of mine,
And guide to town this hapless guest of thine,
To beg elsewhere his further festival.
Give they that please, I cannot give to all,
Mine own wants take up for myself my pain.
If it incense him, he the worst shall gain.
