by Homer
The lovely truth I love, and must be plain.’
‘Alas, friend,’ said his father, ‘nor do I
Desire at all your further charity.
’Tis better beg in cities than in fields,
And take the worst a beggar’s fortune yields.
Nor am I apt to stay in swine-sties more,
However; ever the great chief before
The poor ranks must to every step obey.
But go; your man in my command shall sway,
Anon yet too, by favour, when your fires
Have comforted the cold heat age expires,
And when the sun’s flame hath besides corrected
The early air abroad, not being protected
By these my bare weeds from the morning’s frost,
Which (if so much ground is to be engross’d
By my poor feet as you report) may give
Too violent charge to th’ heat by which I live.’
This said, his son went on with spritely pace,
And to the wooers studied little grace.
Arriv’d at home, he gave his javelin stay
Against a lofty pillar, and bold way
Made further in. When having so far gone
That he transcended the fair porch of stone,
The first by far that gave his entry eye
Was nurse Euryclea: who th’ embrodery
Of stools there set was giving cushions fair;
Who ran upon him, and her rapt repair
Shed tears for joy. About him gather’d round
The other maids, his head and shoulders crown’d
With kisses and embraces. From above
The queen herself came, like the queen of love,
Or bright Diana; cast about her son
Her kind embraces, with effusion
Of loving tears; kiss’d both his lovely eyes,
His cheeks, and forehead; and gave all supplies
With this entreaty: ‘Welcome, sweetest light!
I never had conceit to set quick sight
On thee thus soon, when thy lov’d father’s fame
As far as Pylos did thy spirit inflame,
In that search ventur’d all unknown to me.
O say, by what pow’r cam’st thou now to be
Mine eyes’ dear object?’ He return’d reply:
‘Move me not now, when you my ’scape descry
From imminent death, to think me fresh entrapp’d,
The fear’d wound rubbing, felt before I ’scap’d.
Double not needless passion on a heart
Whose joy so green is, and so apt t’ invert;
But pure weeds putting on, ascend and take
Your women with you, that ye all may make
Vows of full hecatombs in sacred fire
To all the godheads, if their only sire
Vouchsafe revenge of guest-rites wrong’d, which he
Is to protect as being their deity.
My way shall be directed to the hall
Of common concourse, that I thence may call
A stranger, who from off the Pylian shore
Came friendly with me; whom I sent before
With all my soldiers, but in chief did charge
Piraeus with him, wishing him t’ enlarge
His love to him at home, in best affair,
And utmost honours, till mine own repair.’
Her son thus spoken, his words could not bear
The wings too easily through her either ear,
But putting pure weeds on, made vows entire
Of perfect hecatombs in sacred fire
To all the deities, if their only sire
Vouchsaf’d revenge of guest-rites wrong’d, which he
Was to protect as being their deity.
Her son left house, in his fair hand his lance,
His dogs attending, and, on every glance
His looks cast from them, Pallas put a grace
That made him seem of the celestial race.
Whom, come to concourse, every man admir’d.
About him throng’d the wooers, and desir’d
All good to him in tongues, but in their hearts
Most deep ills threaten’d to his most deserts.
Of whose huge rout once free, he cast glad eye
On some that, long before his infancy,
Were with his father great and gracious,
Grave Halitherses, Mentor, Antiphus;
To whom he went, took seat by them, and they
Inquir’d of all things since his parting day.
To them Piraeus came, and brought his guest
Along the city thither, whom not least
The prince respected, nor was long before
He rose and met him. The first word yet bore
Piraeus from them both, whose haste besought
The prince to send his women to see brought
The gifts from his house that Atrides gave,
Which his own roofs, he thought, would better save.
The wise prince answer’d: ‘I can scarce conceive
The way to these works. If the wooers reave
By privy stratagem my life at home,
I rather wish Piraeus may become
The master of them, than the best of these.
But, if I sow in their fields of excess
Slaughter and ruin, then thy trust employ,
And to me joying bring thou those with joy.’
This said, he brought home his grief-practis’d guest;
Where both put off, both oil’d, and did invest
Themselves in rich robes, wash’d, and sate, and eat.
His mother, in a fair chair taking seat
Directly opposite, her loom applied;
Who, when her son and guest had satisfied
Their appetites with feast, said: ‘O my son,
You know that ever since your sire was won
To go in Agamemnon’s guide to Troy,
Attempting sleep, I never did enjoy
One night’s good rest, but made my quiet bed
A sea blown up with sighs, with tears still shed
Embrew’d and troubled; yet, though all your miss
In your late voyage hath been made for this,
That you might know th’ abode your father made,
You shun to tell me what success you had.
Now then, before the insolent access
The wooers straight will force on us, express
What you have heard.’ ‘I will,’ said he, ‘and true.
We came to Pylos, where the studious due
That any father could afford his son
(But new arriv’d from some course he had run
To an extreme length, in some voyage vow’d)
Nestor, the pastor of the people, show’d
To me arriv’d, in turrets thrust up high,
Where not his brave sons were more lov’d than I.
Yet of th’ unconquer’d ever-sufferer,
Ulysses, never he could set his ear,
Alive or dead, from any earthy man.
But to the great Lacedaemonian,
Atrides, famous for his lance, he sent,
With horse and chariots, me, to learn th’ event
From his relation; where I had the view
Of Argive Helen, whose strong beauties drew,
By wills of gods, so many Grecian states,
And Trojans, under such laborious fates.
Where Menelaus ask’d me, what affair
To Lacedaemon render’d my repair.
I told him all the truth, who made reply:
‘O deed of most abhorr’d indecency!
A sort of impotents attempt his bed
Whose strength of mind hath cities levelled!
As to a lion’s den, when any hind
Hath brought her young calves, to their rest inclin’d,
When he is ranging hills and herby dales,
To make of feeders there his festivals,
But, turning to his luster, calves and dam
He shows abhorr’d death, in his anger’s flame:
So, should Ulysses find this rabble hous’d
In his free turrets, courting his espous’d,
Foul death would fall them. O, I would to Jove,
Phoebus, and Pallas, that, when he shall prove
The broad report of his exhausted store
True with his eyes, his nerves and sinews wore
That vigour then that in the Lesbian tow’rs,
Provok’d to wrestle with the iron pow’rs
Philomelides vaunted, he approv’d;
When down he hurl’d his challenger, and mov’d
Huge shouts from all the Achives then in view.
If, once come home, he all those forces drew
About him there to work, they all were dead,
And should find bitter his attempted bed.
But what you ask and sue for, I, as far
As I have heard the true-spoke mariner,
Will tell directly, nor delude your ear:
He told me that an island did ensphere,
In much discomfort, great Laertes’ son;
And that the nymph Calypso, overrun
With his affection, kept him in her caves,
Where men, nor ship of pow’r to brook the waves,
Were near his convoy to his country’s shore,
And where herself importun’d evermore
His quiet stay; which not obtain’d, by force
She kept his person from all else recourse.’
This told Atrides, which was all he knew.
Nor stay’d I more, but from the gods there blew
A prosperous wind, that set me quickly here.’
This put his mother quite from all her cheer;
When Theoclymenus the augur said:
‘O woman honour’d with Ulysses’ bed,
Your son, no doubt, knows clearly nothing more;
Hear me yet speak, that can the truth uncore,
Nor will be curious. Jove then witness bear,
And this thy hospitable table here,
With this whole household of your blameless lord,
That at this hour his royal feet are shor’d
On his lov’d country earth, and that ev’n here
Coming, or creeping, he will see the cheer
These wooers make, and in his soul’s field sow
Seeds that shall thrive to all their overthrow.
This, set a-shipboard, I knew sorted thus,
And cried it out to your Telemachus.’
Penelope replied: ‘Would this would prove,
You well should witness a most friendly love,
And gifts such of me, as encount’ring Fame
Should greet you with a blessed mortal’s name.’
This mutual speech past, all the wooers were
Hurling the stone, and tossing of the spear,
Before the palace, in the paved court,
Where otherwhiles their petulant resort
Sat plotting injuries. But when the hour
Of supper enter’d, and the feeding pow’r
Brought sheep from field, that fill’d up every way
With those that us’d to furnish that purvey,
Medon, the herald (who of all the rest
Pleas’d most the wooers, and at every feast
Was ever near) said: ‘You whose kind consort
Make the fair branches of the tree our court,
Grace it within now, and your suppers take.
You that for health, and fair contention’s sake,
Will please your minds, know, bodies must have meat;
Play’s worse than idleness in times to eat.’
This said, all left, came in, cast by on thrones
And chairs their garments. Their provisions
Were sheep, swine, goats, the chiefly great and fat,
Besides an ox that from the herd they gat.
And now the king and herdsman, from the field,
In good way were to town; ’twixt whom was held
Some walking conference, which thus begun
The good Eumaeus: ‘Guest, your will was won,
Because the prince commanded, to make way
Up to the city, though I wish’d your stay,
And to have made you guardian of my stall;
But I, in care and fear of what might fall
In after-anger of the prince, forbore.
The checks of princes touch their subjects sore.
But make we haste, the day is nearly ended,
And cold airs still are in the ev’n extended.’
‘I know’t,’ said he, ‘consider all; your charge
Is giv’n to one that understands at large.
Haste then. Hereafter, you shall lead the way;
Afford your staff too, if it fit your stay,
That I may use it, since you say our pass
Is less friend to a weak foot than it was.’
Thus cast he on his neck his nasty scrip,
All patch’d and torn; a cord, that would not slip
For knots and bracks about the mouth of it,
Made serve the turn; and then his swain did fit
His forc’d state with a staff. Then plied they hard
Their way to town, their cottage left in guard
To swains and dogs. And now Eumaeus led
The king along, his garments to a thread
All bare, and burn’d, and he himself hard bore
Upon his staff, at all parts like a poor
And sad old beggar. But when now they got
The rough highway, their voyage wanted not
Much of the city, where a fount they reach’d,
From whence the town their choicest water fetch’d,
That ever overflow’d, and curious art
Was shown about it; in which three had part,
Whose names Neritus and Polyctor were,
And famous Ithacus. It had a sphere
Of poplar, that ran round about the wall;
And into it a lofty rock let fall
Continual supply of cool clear stream.
On whose top, to the nymphs that were supreme
In those parts’ loves, a stately altar rose,
Where every traveller did still impose
Devoted sacrifice. At this fount found
These silly travellers a man renown’d
For guard of goats, which now he had in guide,
Whose huge-stor’d herd two herdsmen kept beside,
For all herds it excell’d, and bred a feed
For wooers only. He was Dolius’ seed,
And call’d Melanthius. Who casting eye
On these two there, he chid them terribly,
And so past mean, that ev’n the wretched fate
Now on Ulysses he did irritate.
His fume to this effect he did pursue:
‘Why so, ’tis now at all parts passing true,
Tha
t ill leads ill, good evermore doth train
With like his like. Why, thou unenvied swain,
Whither dost thou lead this same victless leaguer,
This bane of banquets, this most nasty beggar,
Whose sight doth make one sad, it so abhors?
Who, with his standing in so many doors,
Hath broke his back; and all his beggary tends
To beg base crusts, but to no manly ends,
As asking swords, or with activity
To get a cauldron. Wouldst thou give him me,
To farm my stable, or to sweep my yard,
And bring browse to my kids, and that preferr’d,
He should be at my keeping for his pains
To drink as much whey as his thirsty veins
Would still be swilling (whey made all his fees);
His monstrous belly would oppress his knees.
But he hath learn’d to lead base life about,
And will not work, but crouch among the rout
For broken meat to cram his bursten gut.
Yet this I’ll say, and he will find it put
In sure effect, that if he enters where
Ulysses’ roofs cast shade, the stools will there
About his ears fly, all the house will throw,
And rub his ragged sides with cuffs enow.’
Past these reviles, his manless rudeness spurn’d
Divine Ulysses; who at no part turn’d
His face from him, but had his spirit fed
With these two thoughts: if he should strike him dead
With his bestowed staff, or at his feet
Make his direct head and the pavement meet.
But he bore all, and entertain’d a breast
That in the strife of all extremes did rest.
Eumaeus, frowning on him, chid him yet,
And, lifting up his hands to heav’n, he set
This bitter curse at him: ‘O you that bear
Fair name to be the race of Jupiter,
Nymphs of these fountains! If Ulysses ever
Burn’d thighs to you, that, hid in fat, did never
Fail your acceptance, of or lamb or kid,
Grant this grace to me: let the man thus hid
Shine through his dark fate, make some god his guide,
That, to thee, goatherd, this same palate’s pride
Thou driv’st afore thee, he may come and make
The scatterings of the earth, and overtake
Thy wrongs, with forcing thee to ever err
About the city, hunted by his fear.
And in the mean space may some slothful swains
Let lousy sickness gnaw thy cattle’s veins.’
‘O gods!’ replied Melanthius. ‘What a curse
