Not his true consort can desire him more;
Not old Laërtes, broken with despair;
Not young Telemachus, his blooming heir.
Alas, Telemachus! my sorrows flow 200
Afresh for thee, my second cause of woe!
Like some fair plant set by a heav’nly hand,
He grew, he flourish’d, and he bless’d the land;
In all the youth his father’s image shined,
Bright in his person, brighter in his mind. 205
What man, or God, deceiv’d his better sense,
Far on the swelling seas to wander hence?
To distant Pylos hapless is he gone,
To seek his father’s fate, and find his own!
For traitors wait his way, with dire design 210
To end at once the great Arcesian line.
But let us leave him to their wills above;
The fates of men are in the hand of Jove.
And now, my venerable Guest! declare
Your name, your parents, and your native air: 215
Sincere from whence begun your course relate,
And to what ship I owe the friendly freight?’
Thus he: and thus (with prompt invention bold)
The cautious Chief his ready story told:
‘On dark reserve what better can prevail, 220
Or from the fluent tongue produce the tale,
Than when two friends, alone, in peaceful place
Confer, and wines and cates the table grace;
But most, the kind inviter’s cheerful face?
Thus might we sit, with social goblets crown’d, 225
Till the whole circle of the year goes round;
Not the whole circle of the year would close
My long narration of a life of woes.
But such was Heav’n’s high will! Know then, I came
From sacred Crete, and from a sire of fame: 230
Castor Hylacides (that name he bore),
Belov’d and honour’d in his native shore;
Bless’d in his riches, in his children more.
Sprung of a handmaid, from a bought embrace,
I shared his kindness with his lawful race: 235
But when that Fate, which all must undergo,
From earth remov’d him to the shades below,
The large domain his greedy sons divide,
And each was portion’d as the lots decide.
Little, alas! was left my wretched share, 240
Except a house, a covert from the air:
But what by niggard Fortune was denied,
A willing widow’s copious wealth supplied.
My valour was my plea, a gallant mind
That, true to honour, never lagg’d behind 245
(The sex is ever to a soldier kind).
Now wasting years my former strength confound,
And added woes have bow’d me to the ground;
Yet by the stubble you may guess the grain,
And mark the ruins of no vulgar man. 250
Me Pallas gave to lead the martial storm,
And the fair ranks of battle to deform;
Me Mars inspired to turn the foe to flight,
And tempt the secret ambush of the night.
Let ghastly Death in all his forms appear, 255
I saw him not, it was not mine to fear.
Before the rest I rais’d my ready steel;
The first I met, he yielded, or he fell.
But works of peace my soul disdain’d to bear,
The rural labour, or domestic care. 260
To raise the mast, the missile dart to wing,
And send swift arrows from the bounding string,
Were arts the Gods made grateful to my mind;
Those Gods, who turn (to various ends design’d)
The various thoughts and talents of mankind. 265
Before the Grecians touch’d the Trojan plain,
Nine times commander or by land or main,
In foreign fields I spread my glory far,
Great in the praise, rich in the spoils of war:
Thence, charged with riches, as increas’d in fame, 270
To Crete return’d, an honourable name.
But when great Jove that direful war decreed,
Which rous’d all Greece, and made the mighty bleed;
Our states myself and Idomen employ
To lead their fleets, and carry death to Troy. 275
Nine years we warr’d; the tenth saw Ilion fall;
Homeward we sail’d, but Heav’n dispers’d us all.
One only month my wife enjoy’d my stay;
So will’d the God who gives and takes away.
Nine ships I mann’d, equipp’d with ready stores, 280
Intent to voyage to th’ Ægyptian shores;
In feast and sacrifice my chosen train
Six days consumed; the sev’nth we plough’d the main.
Crete’s ample fields diminish to our eye;
Before the Boreal blast the vessels fly; 285
Safe thro’ the level seas we sweep our way;
The steersman governs, and the ships obey.
The fifth fair morn we stem th’ Ægyptian tide,
And tilting o’er the bay the vessels ride:
To anchor there my fellows I command, 290
And spies commission to explore the land.
But, sway’d by lust of gain, and headlong will,
The coasts they ravage, and the natives kill.
The spreading clamour to their city flies,
And horse and foot in mingled tumult rise. 295
The redd’ning dawn reveals the circling fields,
Horrid with bristly spears, and glancing shields.
Jove thunder’d on their side. Our guilty head
We turn’d to flight; the gath’ring vengeance spread
On all parts round, and heaps on heaps on heaps lie dead. 300
I then explor’d my thought, what course to prove
(And sure the thought was dictated by Jove);
Oh, had he left me to that happier doom,
And saved a life of miseries to come!
The radiant helmet from my brows unlaced, 305
And low on earth my shield and jav’lin cast,
I meet the Monarch with a suppliant’s face,
Approach his chariot, and his knees embrace.
He heard, he saved, he placed me at his side;
My state he pitied, and my tears he dried, 310
Restrain’d the rage the vengeful foe express’d,
And turn’d the deadly weapons from my breast.
Pious! to guard the hospitable rite,
And fearing Jove, whom mercy’s works delight.
‘In Ægypt thus with peace and plenty bless’d, 315
I liv’d (and happy still had liv’d) a guest.
On sev’n bright years successive blessings wait;
The next changed all the colour of my fate.
A false Phœnician, of insidious mind,
Vers’d in vile arts, and foe to humankind, 320
With semblance fair invites me to his home.
I seiz’d the proffer (ever fond to roam):
Domestic in his faithless roof I stay’d,
Till the swift sun his annual circle made.
To Libya then he meditates the way; 325
With guileful art a stranger to betray,
And sell to bondage in a foreign land:
Much doubting, yet compell’d, I quit the strand.
Thro’ the mid seas the nimble pinnace sails,
Aloof from Crete, before the northern gales: 330
But when remote her chalky cliffs we lost,
And far from ken of any other coast,
When all was wild expanse of sea and air,
Then doom’d high Jove due vengeance to prepare.
He hung a night of horrors o’er their head 335
(The shaded ocean blacken’d a
s it spread);
He launch’d the fiery bolt; from pole to pole
Broad burst the lightnings, deep the thunders roll;
In giddy rounds the whirling ship is toss’d,
And all in clouds of smoth’ring sulphur lost. 340
As from a hanging rock’s tremendous height,
The sable crows with intercepted flight
Drop endlong; scarr’d and black with sulphurous hue,
So from the deck are hurl’d the ghastly crew.
Such end the wicked found! but Jove’s intent 345
Was yet to save th’ oppress’d and innocent.
Placed on the mast (the last resource of life),
With winds and waves I held unequal strife;
For nine long days the billows tilting o’er,
The tenth soft wafts me to Thesprotia’s shore. 350
The Monarch’s son a shipwreck’d wretch reliev’d,
The Sire with hospitable rites receiv’d,
And in his palace like a brother placed,
With gifts of price and gorgeous garments graced.
While here I sojourn’d, oft I heard the fame 355
How late Ulysses to the country came,
How lov’d, how honour’d, in this court he stay’d,
And here his whole collected treasure laid;
I saw myself the vast unnumber’d store
Of steel elab’rate, and refulgent ore, 360
And brass high heap’d amidst the regal dome;
Immense supplies for ages yet to come!
Meantime he voyaged to explore the will
Of Jove, on high Dodona’s holy hill,
What means might best his safe return avail, 365
To come in pomp, or bear a secret sail?
Full oft has Phidon, whilst he pour’d the wine,
Attesting solemn all the Powers divine,
That soon Ulysses would return, declared,
The sailors waiting, and the ships prepared. 370
But first the King dismiss’d me from his shores,
For fair Dulichium crown’d with fruitful stores;
To good Acastus’ friendly care consign’d:
But other counsels pleas’d the sailors’ mind:
New frauds were plotted by the faithless train, 375
And misery demands me once again.
Soon as remote from shore they plough the wave,
With ready hands they rush to seize their slave;
Then with these tatter’d rags they wrapp’d me round
(Stripp’d of my own), and to the vessel bound. 380
At eve, at Ithaca’s delightful land
The ship arrived: forth issuing on the sand,
They sought repast: while, to th’ unhappy kind,
The pitying Gods themselves my chains unbind.
Soft I descended, to the sea applied 385
My naked breast, and shot along the tide.
Soon pass’d beyond their sight, I left the flood,
And took the spreading shelter of the wood.
Their prize escaped the faithless pirates mourn’d;
But deem’d inquiry vain, and to their ships return’d. 390
Screen’d by protecting Gods from hostile eyes,
They led me to a good man and a wise,
To live beneath thy hospitable care,
And wait the woes Heav’n dooms me yet to bear.’
‘Unhappy Guest! whose sorrows touch my mind’ 395
(Thus good Eumæus with a sigh rejoin’d),
‘For real suff’rings since I grieve sincere,
Check not with fallacies the springing tear:
Nor turn the passion into groundless joy
For him whom Heav’n has destin’d to destroy. 400
Oh! had he perish’d on some well-fought day,
Or in his friends’ embraces died away!
That grateful Greece with streaming eyes might raise
Historic marbles to record his praise;
His praise, eternal on the faithful stone, 405
Had with transmissive honours graced his son.
Now, snatch’d by Harpies to the dreary coast,
Sunk is the hero, and his glory lost!
While pensive in this solitary den,
Far from gay cities and the ways of men, 410
I linger life; nor to the Court repair,
But when my constant Queen commands my care;
Or when, to taste her hospitable board,
Some guest arrives, with rumours of her lord;
And these indulge their want, and those their woe, 415
And here the tears, and there the goblets flow.
By many such have I been warn’d; but chief
By one Ætolian robb’d of all belief,
Whose hap it was to this our roof to roam,
For murder banish’d from his native home. 420
He swore, Ulysses on the coast of Crete
Stay’d but a season to refit his fleet;
A few revolving months should waft him o’er,
Fraught with bold warriors, and a boundless store.
O thou! whom age has taught to understand, 425
And Heav’n has guided with a fav’ring hand!
On God or mortal to obtrude a lie
Forbear, and dread to flatter, as to die.
Not for such ends my house and heart are free,
But dear respect to Jove, and charity.’, 430
‘And why, O swain of unbelieving mind!’
(Thus quick replied the wisest of mankind),
‘Doubt you my oath? yet more my faith to try,
A solemn compact let us ratify,
And witness ev’ry Power that rules the sky! 435
If here Ulysses from his labours rest,
Be then my prize a tunic and a vest;
And, where my hopes invite me, straight transport
In safety to Dulichium’s friendly court.
But if he greets not thy desiring eye, 440
Hurl me from yon dread precipice on high;
The due reward of fraud and perjury.’
‘Doubtless, O Guest! great laud and praise were mine’
(Replied the swain), ‘for spotless faith divine,
If, after social rites and gifts bestow’d, 445
I stain’d my hospitable hearth with blood.
How would the Gods my righteous toils succeed,
And bless the hand that made a stranger bleed?
No more — th’ approaching hours of silent night
First claim refection, then to rest invite; 450
Beneath our humble cottage let us haste,
And here, unenvied, rural dainties taste.’
Thus communed these; while to their lowly dome
The full-fed swine return’d with ev’ning home:
Compell’d, reluctant, to their sev’ral sties, 455
With din obstrep’rous, and ungrateful cries.
Then to the slaves: ‘Now from the herd the best
Select, in honour of our foreign guest:
With him let us the genial banquet share,
For great and many are the griefs we bear; 460
While those who from our labours heap their board
Blaspheme their feeder, and forget their lord.’
Thus speaking, with despatchful hand he took
A weighty axe, and cleft the solid oak;
This on the earth he piled; a boar full fed, 465
Of five years’ age, before the pile was led:
The swain, whom acts of piety delight,
Observant of the Gods, begins the rite;
First shears the forehead of the bristly boar,
And suppliant stands, invoking ev’ry Power 470
To speed Ulysses to his native shore.
A knotty stake then aiming at his head,
Down dropp’d he groaning, and the spirit fled.
The scorching flames climb round on ev’ry side:
Th
en the singed members they with skill divide; 475
On these, in rolls of fat involv’d with art,
The choicest morsels lay from ev’ry part.
Some in the flames bestrew’d with flour they threw;
Some cut in fragments from the forks they drew:
These, while on sev’ral tables they dispose, 480
A priest himself, the blameless rustic rose;
Expert the destin’d victim to dispart
In sev’n just portions, pure of hand and heart.
One sacred to the Nymphs apart they lay;
Another to the winged son of May: 485
The rural tribe in common share the rest,
The King, the chine, the honour of the feast;
Who sate delighted at his servant’s board;
The faithful servant joy’d his unknown lord.
‘O be thou dear’ (Ulysses cried) ‘to Jove, 490
As well thou claim’st a grateful stranger’s love!’
‘Be then thy thanks’ (the bounteous swain replied)
‘Enjoyment of the good the Gods provide.
From God’s own hand descend our joys and woes;
These he decrees, and he but suffers those: 495
All power is his, and whatsoe’er he wills,
The will itself, omnipotent, fulfils.’
This said, the first-fruits to the Gods he gave;
Then pour’d of offer’d wine the sable wave:
In great Ulysses’ hand he placed the bowl; 500
He sate, and sweet refection cheer’d his soul.
The bread from canisters Mesaulius gave
(Eumæus’ proper treasure bought this slave,
And led from Taphos, to attend his board,
A servant added to his absent lord); 505
His task it was the wheaten loaves to lay,
And from the banquet take the bowls away.
And now the rage of hunger was repress’d,
And each betakes him to his couch to rest.
Now came the night, and darkness cover’d o’er 510
The face of things; the winds began to roar;
The driving storm the wat’ry west-wind pours,
And Jove descends in deluges of showers.
Studious of rest and warmth, Ulysses lies,
Foreseeing from the first the storm would rise; 515
In mere necessity of coat and cloak,
With artful preface to his host he spoke:
‘Hear me, my friends, who this good banquet grace;
‘T is sweet to play the fool in time and place,
And wine can of their wits the wise beguile, 520
Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile,
The grave in merry measures frisk about,
And many a long repented word bring out.
Since to be talkative I now commence,
Let Wit cast off the sullen yoke of Sense. 525
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 135
