by Homer
The varied ornament, which show’d no want
Of silver, gold, and polish’d elephant.
An oxhide dyed in purple then I threw
Above the cords. And thus to curious view
I hope I have objected honest sign
To prove I author nought that is not mine.
But if my bed stand unremov’d or no,
O woman, passeth human wit to know.’
This sunk her knees and heart, to hear so true
The signs she urg’d; and first did tears ensue
Her rapt assurance; then she ran and spread
Her arms about his neck, kiss’d oft his head,
And thus the curious stay she made excus’d:
‘Ulysses! Be not angry that I us’d
Such strange delays to this, since heretofore
Your suff’ring wisdom hath the garland wore
From all that breathe; and ’tis the gods that thus,
With mutual miss so long afflicting us,
Have caused my coyness; to our youths envied
That wish’d society that should have tied
Our youths and years together; and since now
Judgment and duty should our age allow
As full joys therein as in youth and blood,
See all young anger and reproof withstood
For not at first sight giving up my arms,
My heart still trembling lest the false alarms
That words oft strike up should ridiculize me.
Had Argive Helen known credulity
Would bring such plagues with it, and her again,
As authoress of them all, with that foul stain
To her and to her country, she had stay’d
Her love and mixture from a stranger’s bed;
But god impell’d her to a shameless deed
Because she had not in herself decreed,
Before th’ attempt, that such acts still were shent
As simply in themselves as in th’ event.
By which not only she herself sustains,
But we, for her fault, have paid mutual pains.
Yet now, since these signs of our certain bed
You have discover’d, and distinguished
From all earth’s others, no one man but you
Yet ever getting of it th’ only show,
Nor one of all dames but myself and she
My father gave, old Actor’s progeny,
Who ever guarded to ourselves the door
Of that thick-shaded chamber, I no more
Will cross your clear persuasion, though till now
I stood too doubtful and austere to you.’
These words of hers, so justifying her stay,
Did more desire of joyful moan convey
To his glad mind than if at instant sight
She had allow’d him all his wishes’ right.
He wept for joy, t’ enjoy a wife so fit
For his grave mind, that knew his depth of wit,
And held chaste virtue at a price so high.
And as sad men at sea when shore is nigh,
Which long their hearts have wish’d, their ship quite lost
By Neptune’s rigour, and they vex’d and toss’d
’Twixt winds and black waves, swimming for their lives,
A few escaped, and that few that survives
All drench’d in foam and brine, crawl up to land,
With joy as much as they did worlds command:
So dear to this wife was her husband’s sight,
Who still embrac’d his neck – and had, till light
Display’d her silver ensign, if the dame
That bears the blue sky intermix’d with flame
In her fair eyes had not infix’d her thought
On other joys, for loves so hardly brought
To long’d-for meeting; who th’ extended night
Withheld in long date, nor would let the light
Her wing-hoov’d horse join – Lampus, Phaëton,
Those ever colts that bring the morning on
To worldly men – but, in her golden chair,
Down to the ocean by her silver hair
Bound her aspirings. Then Ulysses said:
‘O wife! Nor yet are my contentions stay’d.
A most unmeasur’d labour long and hard
Asks more performance – to it being prepared
By grave Tiresias, when down to hell
I made dark passage, that his skill might tell
My men’s return and mine. But come, and now
Enjoy the sweet rest that our fates allow.’
‘The place of rest is ready,’ she replied,
‘Your will at full serve, since the deified
Have brought you where your right is to command.
But since you know, god making understand
Your searching mind, inform me what must be
Your last set labour; since ’twill fall to me,
I hope, to hear it after, tell me now.
The greatest pleasure is before to know.’
‘Unhappy!’ said Ulysses. ‘To what end
Importune you this labour? It will lend
Nor you nor me delight, but you shall know
I was commanded yet more to bestow
My years in travel, many cities more
By sea to visit; and when first for shore
I left my shipping, I was will’d to take
A naval oar in hand, and with it make
My passage forth till such strange men I met
As knew no sea, nor ever salt did eat
With any victuals, who the purple beaks
Of ships did never see, nor that which breaks
The waves in curls, which is a fan-like oar,
And serves as wings with which a ship doth soar.
To let me know, then, when I was arriv’d
On that strange earth where such a people liv’d,
He gave me this for an unfailing sign:
When any one, that took that oar of mine
Borne on my shoulder, for a corn-cleanse fan,
I met ashore, and show’d to be a man
Of that land’s labour, there had I command
To fix mine oar, and offer on that strand
T’ imperial Neptune, whom I must implore,
A lamb, a bull, and sow-ascending boar;
And then turn home, where all the other gods
That in the broad heav’n made secure abodes
I must solicit – all my curious heed
Giv’n to the several rites they have decreed –
With holy hecatombs; and then, at home,
A gentle death should seize me that would come
From out the sea, and take me to his rest
In full ripe age, about me living blest
My loving people; to which, he presag’d,
The sequel of my fortunes were engag’d.’
‘If then,’ said she, ‘the gods will please t’ impose
A happier being to your fortune’s close
Than went before, your hope gives comfort strength
That life shall lend you better days at length.’
While this discourse spent mutual speech, the bed
Eurynome and nurse had made, and spread
With richest furniture, while torches spent
Their parcel-gilt thereon. To bed then went
The aged nurse; and, where their sovereigns were,
Eurynome, the cham
bermaid, did bear
A torch, and went before them to their rest;
To which she left them and for hers address’d.
The king and queen then now, as newly wed,
Resum’d the old laws of th’ embracing bed.
Telemachus and both his herdsmen then
Dissolv’d the dances both to maids and men;
Who in their shady roofs took timely sleep.
The bride and bridegroom having ceas’d to keep
Observed love-joys, from their fit delight
They turn’d to talk. The queen then did recite
What she had suffer’d by the hateful rout
Of harmful wooers, who had eat her out
So many oxen and so many sheep,
How many tun of wine their drinking deep
Had quite exhausted. Great Ulysses then,
Whatever slaughters he had made of men,
Whatever sorrows he himself sustain’d,
Repeated amply; and her ears remain’d
With all delight attentive to their end,
Nor would one wink sleep till he told her all,
Beginning where he gave the Cicons fall;
From thence his pass to the Lotophagi;
The Cyclop’s acts, the putting out his eye,
And wreak of all the soldiers he had eat,
No least ruth shown to all they could entreat;
His way to Aeolus; his prompt receipt
And kind dismission; his enforc’d retreat
By sudden tempest to the fishy main,
And quite distraction from his course again;
His landing at the Laestrigonian port,
Where ships and men in miserable sort
Met all their spoils, his ship and he alone
Got off from the abhorr’d confusion;
His pass to Circe, her deceits and arts;
His thence descension to th’ infernal parts;
His life’s course of the Theban prophet learn’d,
Where all the slaughter’d Grecians he discern’d
And loved mother; his astonish’d ear
With what the Sirens’ voices made him hear;
His ’scape from th’ erring rocks, which Scylla was,
And rough Charybdis, with the dangerous pass
Of all that touch’d there; his Sicilian
Offence given to the Sun; his every man
Destroy’d by thunder vollied out of heav’n,
That split his ship; his own endeavours driv’n
To shift for succours on th’ Ogygian shore,
Where nymph Calypso such affection bore
To him in his arrival, that with feast
She kept him in her caves, and would have blest
His welcome life with an immortal state
Would he have stay’d and liv’d her nuptial mate –
All which she never could persuade him to;
His pass to the Phaeacians spent in woe;
Their hearty welcome of him, as he were
A god descended from the starry sphere;
Their kind dismission of him home with gold,
Brass, garments, all things his occasions would.
This last word used, sleep seiz’d his weary eye
That salves all care to all mortality.
In mean space Pallas entertain’d intent
That when Ulysses thought enough time spent
In love-joys with his wife, to raise the day,
And make his grave occasions call away.
The Morning rose, and he; when thus he said:
‘O queen, now satiate with afflictions laid
On both our bosoms – you oppressed here
With cares for my return, I everywhere
By Jove and all the other deities toss’d
Ev’n till all hope of my return was lost –
And both arriv’d at this sweet hav’n, our bed,
Be your care us’d to see administ’red
My house-possessions left. Those sheep that were
Consum’d in surfeits by your wooers here,
I’ll forage to supply with some; and more
The suffering Grecians shall be made restore,
Ev’n till our stalls receive their wonted fill.
And now, to comfort my good father’s ill
Long suffer’d for me, to the many-tree’d
And ample vineyard grounds it is decreed
In my next care that I must haste and see
His long’d-for presence. In the mean time, be
Your wisdom us’d, that since, the sun ascended,
The fame will soon be through the town extended
Of those I here have slain, yourself got close
Up to your chamber, see you there repose,
Cheer’d with your women, and nor look afford
Without your court, nor any man a word.’
This said, he arm’d, to arms both son and swain
His pow’r commanding, who did entertain
His charge with spirit, op’d the gates and out,
He leading all. And now was hurl’d about
Aurora’s ruddy fire, through all whose light
Minerva led them through the town from sight.
The end of the twenty-third book
Book 24
The Argument
By Mercury the wooers’ souls
Are usher’d to th’ infernal pools.
Ulysses with Laertes met,
The people are in uproar set
Against them, for the wooers’ ends;
Whom Pallas stays and renders friends.
Another Argument
Omega
The uproar’s fire,
The people’s fall:
The grandsire, sire,
And son, to all.
Book 24
Cyllenian Hermes with his golden rod
The wooers’ souls, that yet retain’d abode
Amidst their bodies, call’d in dreadful rout
Forth to th’ infernals; who came murmuring out.
And, as amidst the desolate retreat
Of some vast cavern, made the sacred seat
Of austere spirits, bats with breasts and wings
Clasp fast the walls, and each to other clings,
But, swept off from their coverts, up they rise
And fly with murmurs in amazeful guise
About the cavern: so these, grumbling, rose
And flock’d together. Down before them goes
None-hurting Mercury to Hell’s broad ways,
And straight to those straits where the ocean stays
His lofty current in calm deeps they flew.
Then to the snowy rock they next withdrew,
And to the close of Phoebus’ orient gates,
The nation then of dreams, and then the states
Of those souls’ idols that the weary dead
Gave up in earth, which in a flow’ry mead
Had habitable situation.
And there they saw the soul of Thetis’ son,
Of good Patroclus, brave Antilochus,
And Ajax, the supremely strenuous
Of all the Greek host next Peleïon;
All which assembled about Maia’s son.
And to them, after, came the mournful ghost
Of Agamemnon, with all those he lost
In false Aegisthus’ court. Achilles then
Beholding there that mighty king of men,
Deplor’d his pli
ght, and said: ‘O Atreus’ son!
Of all heroës, all opinion
Gave thee for Jove’s most lov’d, since most command
Of all the Greeks he gave thy eminent hand
At siege of Ilion, where we suffer’d so.
And is the issue this, that first in woe
Stern Fate did therefore set thy sequel down?
None borne past others’ fates can pass his own.
I wish to heav’n that in the height of all
Our pomp at Ilion Fate had sign’d thy fall,
That all the Greeks might have advanc’d to thee
A famous sepulchre, and Fame might see
Thy son giv’n honour in thy honour’d end!
But now a wretched death did Fate extend
To thy confusion and thy issue’s shame.’
‘O Thetis’ son,’ said he, ‘the vital flame
Extinct at Ilion, far from th’ Argive fields,
The style of “blessed” to thy virtue yields.
About thy fall the best of Greece and Troy
Were sacrific’d to slaughter – thy just joy
Conceiv’d in battle with some worth forgot
In such a death as great Apollo shot
At thy encounters. Thy brave person lay
Hid in a dusty whirlwind, that made way
With human breaths spent in thy ruin’s state.
Thou, great, wert greatly valued in thy fate.
All day we fought about thee; nor at all
Had ceas’d our conflict, had not Jove let fall
A storm that forc’d off our unwilling feet.
But, having brought thee from the fight to fleet,
Thy glorious person, bath’d and balm’d, we laid
Aloft a bed; and round about thee paid
The Greeks warm tears to thy deplor’d decease,
Quite daunted, cutting all their curls’ increase.
Thy death drave a divine voice through the seas
That started up thy mother from the waves;
And all the marine godheads left their caves,
Consorting to our fleet her rapt repair.
The Greeks stood frighted to see sea and air
And earth combine so in thy loss’s sense –
Had taken ship and fled for ever thence,
If old much-knowing-Nestor had not stay’d
Their rushing off, his counsels having sway’d
In all times former with such cause their courses;
Who bade contain themselves, and trust their forces,
For all they saw was Thetis come from sea,
With others of the wat’ry progeny,
