by Homer
But give me knowledge of your name and race.
What city bred you? Where the anchoring-place
Your ship now rides at lies that shored 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 Alybande, 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 ruled 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 heap’d,
And fetch’d a sigh, as in it life were broke.
Which griev’d 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 returned. 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 proved 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 fulfil
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 every 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 remembering gods
Of men that serve them, though the periods
They set on their appearances are long
In best men’s sufferings, 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 suffering 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 pass’d,
Came home, and found Telemachus at feast
With both his swains; while who had done, all dress’d
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 reverend 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 entering 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 wished 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 mansion.
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 counsel 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 Elian 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 saved 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 every 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 every 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 impel,
When Halitherses (honour’d Mastor’s son,
Who of them all saw only what was done
Present and future), the much-knowing man
And aged heroë, this plain course ran
Amongst their counsels: ‘Give me likewise ear,
And let me tell ye, friends, that these ills bear
On your malignant spleens their sad effects,
Who not what I persuaded gave respects,
Nor what the people’s pastor, Mentor, said –
That you should see your issues’ follies stay’d
In those foul courses, by their petulant life
The goods devouring, scandalling the wife
Of no mean person, who, they still would say,
Could never more see his returning day.
Which yet appearing now, now give it trust,
And yield to my free counsels: do not thrust
Your own safe persons on the acts your sons
So dearly bought, lest their confusions
On your lov’d heads your like addictions draw.’
This stood so far from force of any law
To curb their loose attempts, that much the more
They rush’d to wreak, and made rude tumult roar.
The greater part of all the court arose;
Good counsel could not ill designs dispose.
Eupitheus was persuader of the course,
Which, complete arm’d, they put in present force;
The rest sat still in council. These men met
Before the broad town, in a place they set
All girt in arms, Eupitheus choosing chief
To all their follies, who put grief to grief,
And in his slaughter’d son’s revenge did burn.
But Fate gave never feet to his return,
Ordaining there his death. Then Pallas spake
To Jove her father, with intent to make
His will high arbiter of th’ act design’d,
And ask’d of him what his unsearched mind
Held undiscover’d? If with arms and ill
And grave encounter he would first fulfil
His sacred purpose, or both parts combine
In peaceful friendship? He ask’d: ‘Why incline
These doubts thy counsels? Hast not thou decreed
That Ithacus should come and give his deed
The glory of revenge on these and theirs?
Perform thy will; the frame of these affairs
Have this fit issue: when Ulysses’ hand
Hath reach’d full wreak, his then renown’d command
Shall reign for ever, faithful truces strook
’Twixt him and all; for every man shall brook
His sons’ and brothers’ slaughters, by our mean
To send Oblivion in, expunging clean
The character of enmity in them all,
As in best leagues before. Peace, festival,
And riches in abundance, be the state
That crowns the close of wise Ulysses’ fate.’
This spurr’d the free, who from heav’n’s continent
To th’ Ithacensian isle made straight descent.
Look out to see their nearness.’ Dolius’ son
Made present speed abroad, and saw them nigh,
Ran back and told, bade arm; and instantly
Were all in arms. Ulysses’ part was four,
And six more sons of Dolius; all his pow’r
Two only more, which were his aged sire
And like-year’d Dolius, whose lives’ slaked fire
All white had left their heads, yet, driv’n by need,
Made soldiers both of necessary deed.
And now, all girt in arms, the ports set wide,
They sallied forth, Ulysses being their guide;
And to them in the instant Pallas came,
In form and voice like Mentor, who a flame
Inspir’d of comfort in Ulysses’ heart
With her seen presence. To his son, apart,
He thus then spake: ‘Now, son, your eyes shall see,
Expos’d in slaughterous fight the enemy,
Against whom who shall best serve will be seen.
Disgrace not then your race, that yet hath been
For force and fortitude the foremost tried
Of all earth’s offsprings.’ His true son replied:
‘Yourself shall see, lov’d father, if you please,
That my deservings shall in nought digress
From best fame of our race’s foremost merit.’
The old king sprung for joy to hear his spirit,
And said: ‘O lov’d immortals, what a day
Do your clear bounties to my life display!
I joy, past measure, to behold my son
And nephew close in such contention
Of virtues martial.’ Pallas, standing near,
Said: ‘O my friend! Of all supremely dear,
Seed of Arcesius, pray to Jove and her
That rules in arms, his daughter, and a dart,
Spritefully brandish’d, hurl at th’ adverse part.’
This said, he pray’d; and she a mighty force
Inspir’d within him, who gave instant course
To his brave-brandish’d lance, which struck the brass
That cheek’d Eupitheus’ casque, and thrust his pass
Quite through his head; who fell, and sounded falling,
His arms the sound again from earth recalling.
Ulysses and his son rush’d on before,
And with their both-way-headed darts did gore
Their enemies’ breasts so thick, that all had gone
The way of slaughter, had not Pallas thrown
Her voice betwixt them, charging all to stay
And spare expense of blood. Her voice did fray
