Who mourn’d her lord twice ten revolving years, 385
And wastes the days in grief, the nights in tears.
But Pallas knew (thy friends and navy lost)
Once more ‘t was given thee to behold thy coast:
Yet how could I with adverse Fate engage,
And mighty Neptune’s unrelenting rage? 390
Now lift thy longing eyes, while I restore
The pleasing prospect of thy native shore.
Behold the port of Phorcys! fenc’d around
With rocky mountains, and with olives crown’d.
Behold the gloomy grot! whose cool recess 395
Delights the Nereids of the neighb’ring seas:
Whose now neglected altars, in thy reign,
Blush’d with the blood of sheep and oxen slain.
Behold! where Neritus the clouds divides,
And shakes the waving forests on his sides.’ 400
So spake the Goddess, and the prospect clear’d;
The mists dispers’d, and all the coast appear’d.
The King with joy confess’d his place of birth,
And on his knees salutes his Mother Earth:
Then, with his suppliant hands upheld in air, 405
Thus to the sea-green Sisters sends his prayer:
‘All hail! ye virgin Daughters of the Main!
Ye streams, beyond my hopes beheld again!
To you once more your own Ulysses bows;
Attend his transports, and receive his vows! 410
If Jove prolong my days, and Pallas crown
The growing virtues of my youthful son,
To you shall rites divine be ever paid,
And grateful off’rings on your altars laid.’
Thus then Minerva: ‘From that anxious breast 415
Dismiss those cares, and leave to Heav’n the rest.
Our task be now thy treasured stores to save,
Deep in the close recesses of the cave:
Then future means consult.’ She spoke, and trod
The shady grot, that brighten’d with the God. 420
The closest caverns of the grot she sought;
The gold, the brass, the robes, Ulysses brought;
These in the secret gloom the Chief disposed;
The entrance with a rock the Goddess closed.
Now, seated in the olive’s sacred shade, 425
Confer the Hero and the Martial Maid.
The Goddess of the Azure Eyes began:
‘Son of Laërtes! much-experienc’d man!
The suitor-train thy earliest care demand,
Of that luxurious race to rid the land: 430
Three years thy house their lawless rule has seen,
And proud addresses to the matchless Queen.
But she thy absence mourns from day to day,
And inly bleeds, and silent wastes away:
Elusive of the bridal hour, she gives 435
Fond hopes to all, and all with hopes deceives.’
To this Ulysses: ‘O celestial Maid!
Prais’d be thy counsel, and thy timely aid:
Else had I seen my native walls in vain,
Like great Atrides, just restor’d and slain. 440
Vouchsafe the means of vengeance to debate,
And plan with all thy arts the scene of fate.
Then, then be present, and my soul inspire,
As when we wrapp’d Troy’s Heav’n-built walls in fire.
Though leagued against me hundred heroes stand, 445
Hundreds shall fall, if Pallas aid my hand.’
She answer’d: ‘In the dreadful day of fight
Know I am with thee, strong in all my might.
If thou but equal to thyself be found,
What gasping numbers then shall press the ground! 450
What human victims stain the feastful floor!
How wide the pavements float with guilty gore!
It fits thee now to wear a dark disguise,
And secret walk unknown to mortal eyes.
For this, my hand shall wither ev’ry grace, 455
And ev’ry elegance of form and face;
O’er thy smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread,
Turn hoar the auburn honours of thy head;
Disfigure every limb with coarse attire,
And in thy eyes extinguish all the fire; 460
Add all the wants and the decays of life;
Estrange thee from thy own; thy son, thy wife:
From the loathed object ev’ry eye shall turn,
And the blind suitors their destruction scorn.
‘Go first the master of thy herds to find, 465
True to his charge, a loyal swain and kind:
For thee he sighs; and to the royal heir
And chaste Penelope extends his care.
At the Coracian rock he now resides,
Where Arethusa’s sable water glides; 470
The sable water and the copious mast
Swell the fat herd; luxuriant, large repast!
With him rest peaceful in the rural cell,
And all you ask his faithful tongue shall tell.
Me into other realms my cares convey, 475
To Sparta, still with female beauty gay:
For know, to Sparta thy lov’d offspring came,
To learn thy fortunes from the voice of Fame.’
At this the father, with a father’s care:
‘Must he too suffer? he, O Goddess! bear 480
Of wand’rings and of woes a wretched share?
Thro’ the wild ocean plough the dangerous way,
And leave his fortunes and his house a prey?
Why would’st not thou, O all-enlighten’d Mind!
Inform him certain, and protect him, kind?’ 485
To whom Minerva: ‘Be thy soul at rest:
And know, whatever Heav’n ordains is best.
To fame I sent him, to acquire renown;
To other regions is his virtue known:
Secure he sits, near great Atrides placed: 490
With friendships strengthen’d, and with honours graced.
But lo! an ambush waits his passage o’er;
Fierce foes insidious intercept the shore:
In vain; far sooner all the murd’rous brood
This injured land shall fatten with their blood.’ 495
She spake, then touch’d him with her powerful wand:
The skin shrunk up, and wither’d at her hand:
A swift old age o’er all his members spread;
A sudden frost was sprinkled on his head;
Nor longer in the heavy eye-ball shined 500
The glance divine, forth-beaming from the mind.
His robe, which spots indelible besmear,
In rags dishonest flutters with the air:
A stag’s torn hide is lapp’d around his reins;
A rugged staff his trembling hand sustains; 505
And at his side a wretched scrip was hung,
Wide-patch’d, and knotted to a twisted thong.
So look’d the chief, so mov’d; to mortal eyes
Object uncouth! a man of miseries!
While Pallas, cleaving the wide fields of air, 510
To Sparta flies, Telemachus her care.
Odyssey Book XIV. The Conversation with Eumæus
THE ARGUMENT
Ulysses arrives in disguise at the house of Eumæus, where he is received, entertained, and lodged with the utmost hospitality. The several discourses of that faithful old servant, with the feigned story told by Ulysses to conceal himself, and other conversations on various subjects, take up this entire book.
BUT he, deep-musing, o’er the mountains stray’d
Thro’ mazy thickets of the woodland shade,
And cavern’d ways, the shaggy coast along,
With cliffs and nodding forests overhung.
Eumæus at his sylvan lodge he sought, 5
A faithful servant, and wit
hout a fault.
Ulysses found him busied, as he sate
Before the threshold of his rustic gate:
Around, the mansion in a circle shone,
A rural portico of rugged stone 10
(In absence of his lord, with honest toil
His own industrious hands had rais’d the pile);
The wall was stone from neighb’ring quarries borne,
Encircled with a fence of native thorn,
And strong with pales, by many a weary stroke 15
Of stubborn labour hewn from heart of oak;
Frequent and thick. Within the space were rear’d
Twelve ample cells, the lodgments of his herd.
Full fifty pregnant females each contain’d:
The males without (a smaller race) remain’d; 20
Doom’d to supply the suitors’ wasteful feast,
A stock by daily luxury decreas’d;
Now scarce four hundred left. These to defend,
Four savage dogs, a watchful guard, attend.
Here sat Eumæus, and his cares applied 25
To form strong buskins of well-season’d hide.
Of four assistants who his labour share,
Three now were absent on the rural care:
The fourth drove victims to the suitor train:
But he, of ancient faith, a simple swain, 30
Sigh’d, while he furnish’d the luxurious board,
And wearied Heav’n with wishes for his lord.
Soon as Ulysses near th’ inclosure drew,
With open mouths the furious mastiffs flew:
Down sate the sage, and, cautious to withstand, 35
Let fall th’ offensive truncheon from his hand.
Sudden, the master runs: aloud he calls;
And from his hasty hand the leather falls;
With showers of stones he drives them far away;
The scatt’ring dogs around at distance bay. 40
‘Unhappy stranger’ (thus the faithful swain
Began with accent gracious and humane),
‘What sorrow had been mine, if at my gate
Thy rev’rend age had met a shameful fate!
Enough of woes already have I known: 45
Enough my master’s sorrows and my own.
While here (ungrateful task!) his herds I feed,
Ordain’d for lawless rioters to bleed!
Perhaps, supported at another’s board,
Far from his country roams my hapless lord! 50
Or sigh’d in exile forth his latest breath,
Now cover’d with th’ eternal shade of death!
‘But enter this my homely roof, and see
Our woods not void of hospitality.
Then tell me whence thou art, and what the share 55
Of woes and wand’rings thou wert born to bear.’
He said, and, seconding the kind request,
With friendly step precedes his unknown guest.
A shaggy goat’s soft hide beneath him spread,
And with fresh rushes heap’d an ample bed: 60
Joy touch’d the Hero’s tender soul, to find
So just reception from a heart so kind;
And ‘Oh, ye Gods! with all your blessings grace’
(He thus broke forth) ‘this friend of human race!’
The swain replied: ‘It never was our guise 65
To slight the poor, or aught humane despise:
For Jove unfolds our hospitable door,
‘T is Jove that sends the stranger and the poor.
Little, alas! is all the good I can;
A man oppress’d, dependent, yet a man: 70
Accept such treatment as a swain affords,
Slave to the insolence of youthful lords!
Far hence is by unequal Gods remov’d
That man of bounties, loving and belov’d!
To whom whate’er his slave enjoys is ow’d, 75
And more, had Fate allow’d, had been bestow’d.
But Fate condemn’d him to a foreign shore;
Much have I sorrow’d, but my master more.
Now cold he lies, to Death’s embrace resign’d:
Ah, perish Helen! perish all her kind! 80
For whose curs’d cause, in Agamemnon’s name,
He trod so fatally the paths of Fame.’
His vest succinct then girding round his waist,
Forth rush’d the swain with hospitable haste;
Straight to the lodgments of his herd he run, 85
Where the fat porkers slept beneath the sun;
Of two, his cutlass launch’d the spouting blood;
These, quarter’d, singed, and fix’d on forks of wood,
All hasty on the hissing coals he threw;
And, smoking, back the tasteful viands drew, 90
Broachers and all; then on the board display’d
The ready meal, before Ulysses laid
With flour imbrown’d; next mingled wine yet new,
And luscious as the bees’ nectareous dew:
Then sate, companion of the friendly feast, 95
With open look; and thus bespoke his guest:
‘Take with free welcome what our hands prepare,
Such food as falls to simple servants’ share;
The best our lords consume; those thoughtless peers,
Rich without bounty, guilty without fears. 100
Yet sure the Gods their impious acts detest,
And honour justice and the righteous breast.
Pirates and conquerors of harden’d mind,
The foes of peace, and scourges of mankind,
To whom offending men are made a prey 105
When Jove in vengeance gives a land away;
Ev’n these, when of their ill-got spoils possess’d,
Find sure tormentors in the guilty breast:
Some voice of God close whisp’ring from within,
“Wretch! this is villany, and this is sin.” 110
But these, no doubt, some oracle explore,
That tells, the great Ulysses is no more.
Hence springs their confidence, and from our sighs
Their rapine strengthens, and their riots rise:
Constant as Jove the night and day bestows, 115
Bleeds a whole hecatomb, a vintage flows.
None match’d this hero’s wealth, of all who reign
O’er the fair islands of the neighb’ring main.
Nor all the Monarchs whose far-dreaded sway
The wide-extended continents obey: 120
First, on the mainland, of Ulysses’ breed
Twelve herds, twelve flocks, on ocean’s margin feed;
As many stalls for shaggy goats are rear’d;
As many lodgments for the tusky herd;
Those, foreign keepers guard: and here are seen 125
Twelve herds of goats that graze our utmost green;
To native pastors is their charge assign’d,
And mine the care to feed the bristly kind:
Each day the fattest bleeds of either herd,
All to the suitors’ wasteful board preferr’d.’ 130
Thus he, benevolent: his unknown guest
With hunger keen devours the sav’ry feast;
While schemes of vengeance ripen in his breast.
Silent and thoughtful while the board he eyed,
Eumæus pours on high the purple tide; 135
The King with smiling looks his joy express’d,
And thus the kind inviting host address’d:
‘Say, now, what man is he, the man deplor’d,
So rich, so potent, whom you style your lord?
Late with such affluence and possessions bless’d, 140
And now in honour’s glorious bed at rest.
Whoever was the warrior, he must be
To Fame no stranger, nor perhaps to me;
Who (so the Gods and so the Fates ordain’d)
Have wander’d many a sea
and many a land.’ 145
‘Small is the faith the Prince and Queen ascribe’
(Replied Eumæus) ‘to the wand’ring tribe.
For needy strangers still to flatt’ry fly,
And want too oft betrays the tongue to lie.
Each vagrant traveller, that touches here, 150
Deludes with fallacies the royal ear,
To dear remembrance makes his image rise,
And calls the springing sorrows from her eyes.
Such thou may’st be. But he whose name you crave
Moulders in earth, or welters on the wave, 155
Or food for fish or dogs his relics lie,
Or torn by birds are scatter’d thro’ the sky.
So perish’d he: and left (for ever lost)
Much woe to all, but sure to me the most.
So mild a master never shall I find; 160
Less dear the parents whom I left behind,
Less soft my mother, less my father kind.
Not with such transport would my eyes run o’er,
Again to hail them in their native shore,
As lov’d Ulysses once more to embrace, 165
Restor’d and breathing in his natal place.
That name for ever dread, yet ever dear,
Ev’n in his absence I pronounce with fear:
In my respect, he bears a Prince’s part;
But lives a very brother in my heart.’ 170
Thus spoke the faithful swain, and thus rejoin’d
The master of his grief, the man of patient mind:
‘Ulysses’ friend shall view his old abodes
(Distrustful as thou art), nor doubt the Gods.
Nor speak I rashly, but with faith averr’d, 175
And what I speak attesting Heav’n has heard.
If so, a cloak and vesture be my meed;
Till his return, no title shall I plead,
Tho’ certain be my news, and great my need;
Whom want itself can force untruths to tell, 180
My soul detests him as the gates of Hell.
‘Thou first be witness, hospitable Jove!
And ev’ry God inspiring social love!
And witness ev’ry household Power that waits,
Guard of these fires, and angel of these gates! 185
Ere the next moon increase, or this decay,
His ancient realms Ulysses shall survey,
In blood and dust each proud oppressor mourn,
And the lost glories of his house return.’
‘Nor shall that meed be thine, nor evermore 190
Shall lov’d Ulysses hail this happy shore’
(Replied Eumæus): ‘to the present hour
Now turn thy thought, and joys within our power.
From sad reflection let my soul repose;
The name of him awakes a thousand woes. 195
But guard him, Gods! and to these arms restore!
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 134
