For, first, she perish’d by Diana’s shafts
In Dia, Bacchus witnessing her crime.
Mæra and Clymene I saw beside,
And odious Eriphyle, who received
The price in gold of her own husband’s life.
But all the wives of Heroes whom I saw,
And all their daughters can I not relate;
Night, first, would fail; and even now the hour
Calls me to rest either on board my bark, 400
Or here; meantime, I in yourselves confide,
And in the Gods to shape my conduct home.
He ceased; the whole assembly silent sat,
Charm’d into ecstacy by his discourse
Throughout the twilight hall, till, at the last,
Areta iv’ry arm’d them thus bespake.
Phæacians! how appears he in your eyes
This stranger, graceful as he is in port,
In stature noble, and in mind discrete?
My guest he is, but ye all share with me 410
That honour; him dismiss not, therefore, hence
With haste, nor from such indigence withhold
Supplies gratuitous; for ye are rich,
And by kind heav’n with rare possessions blest.
The Hero, next, Echeneus spake, a Chief
Now ancient, eldest of Phæacia’s sons.
Your prudent Queen, my friends, speaks not beside
Her proper scope, but as beseems her well.
Her voice obey; yet the effect of all
Must on Alcinoüs himself depend. 420
To whom Alcinoüs, thus, the King, replied.
I ratify the word. So shall be done,
As surely as myself shall live supreme
O’er all Phæacia’s maritime domain.
Then let the guest, though anxious to depart,
Wait till the morrow, that I may complete
The whole donation. His safe conduct home
Shall be the gen’ral care, but mine in Chief,
To whom dominion o’er the rest belongs.
Him answer’d, then, Ulysses ever-wise. 430
Alcinoüs! Prince! exalted high o’er all
Phæacia’s sons! should ye solicit, kind,
My stay throughout the year, preparing still
My conduct home, and with illustrious gifts
Enriching me the while, ev’n that request
Should please me well; the wealthier I return’d,
The happier my condition; welcome more
And more respectable I should appear
In ev’ry eye to Ithaca restored.
To whom Alcinoüs answer thus return’d. 440
Ulysses! viewing thee, no fears we feel
Lest thou, at length, some false pretender prove,
Or subtle hypocrite, of whom no few
Disseminated o’er its face the earth
Sustains, adepts in fiction, and who frame
Fables, where fables could be least surmised.
Thy phrase well turn’d, and thy ingenuous mind
Proclaim thee diff’rent far, who hast in strains
Musical as a poet’s voice, the woes
Rehears’d of all thy Greecians, and thy own. 450
But say, and tell me true. Beheld’st thou there
None of thy followers to the walls of Troy
Slain in that warfare? Lo! the night is long —
A night of utmost length; nor yet the hour
Invites to sleep. Tell me thy wond’rous deeds,
For I could watch till sacred dawn, could’st thou
So long endure to tell me of thy toils.
Then thus Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.
Alcinoüs! high exalted over all
Phæacia’s sons! the time suffices yet 460
For converse both and sleep, and if thou wish
To hear still more, I shall not spare to unfold
More pitiable woes than these, sustain’d
By my companions, in the end destroy’d;
Who, saved from perils of disast’rous war
At Ilium, perish’d yet in their return,
Victims of a pernicious woman’s crime.
Now, when chaste Proserpine had wide dispers’d
Those female shades, the spirit sore distress’d
Of Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, appear’d; 470
Encircled by a throng, he came; by all
Who with himself beneath Ægisthus’ roof
Their fate fulfill’d, perishing by the sword.
He drank the blood, and knew me; shrill he wail’d
And querulous; tears trickling bathed his cheeks,
And with spread palms, through ardour of desire
He sought to enfold me fast, but vigour none,
Or force, as erst, his agile limbs inform’d.
I, pity-moved, wept at the sight, and him,
In accents wing’d by friendship, thus address’d. 480
Ah glorious son of Atreus, King of men!
What hand inflicted the all-numbing stroke
Of death on thee? Say, didst thou perish sunk
By howling tempests irresistible
Which Neptune raised, or on dry land by force
Of hostile multitudes, while cutting off
Beeves from the herd, or driving flocks away,
Or fighting for Achaia’s daughters, shut
Within some city’s bulwarks close besieged?
I ceased, when Agamemnon thus replied. 490
Ulysses, noble Chief, Laertes’ son
For wisdom famed! I neither perish’d sunk
By howling tempests irresistible
Which Neptune raised, nor on dry land received
From hostile multitudes the fatal blow,
But me Ægisthus slew; my woeful death
Confed’rate with my own pernicious wife
He plotted, with a show of love sincere
Bidding me to his board, where as the ox
Is slaughter’d at his crib, he slaughter’d me. 500
Such was my dreadful death; carnage ensued
Continual of my friends slain all around,
Num’rous as boars bright-tusk’d at nuptial feast,
Or feast convivial of some wealthy Chief.
Thou hast already witness’d many a field
With warriors overspread, slain one by one,
But that dire scene had most thy pity moved,
For we, with brimming beakers at our side,
And underneath full tables bleeding lay.
Blood floated all the pavement. Then the cries 510
Of Priam’s daughter sounded in my ears
Most pitiable of all. Cassandra’s cries,
Whom Clytemnestra close beside me slew.
Expiring as I lay, I yet essay’d
To grasp my faulchion, but the trayt’ress quick
Withdrew herself, nor would vouchsafe to close
My languid eyes, or prop my drooping chin
Ev’n in the moment when I sought the shades.
So that the thing breathes not, ruthless and fell
As woman once resolv’d on such a deed 520
Detestable, as my base wife contrived,
The murther of the husband of her youth.
I thought to have return’d welcome to all,
To my own children and domestic train;
But she, past measure profligate, hath poured
Shame on herself, on women yet unborn,
And even on the virtuous of her sex.
He ceas’d, to whom, thus, answer I return’d.
Gods! how severely hath the thund’rer plagued
The house of Atreus even from the first, 530
By female counsels! we for Helen’s sake
Have num’rous died, and Clytemnestra framed,
While thou wast far remote, this snare for thee!
So I, to whom Atrides thus replied.
Thou, therefore, be not pliant overm
uch
To woman; trust her not with all thy mind,
But half disclose to her, and half conceal.
Yet, from thy consort’s hand no bloody death,
My friend, hast thou to fear; for passing wise
Icarius’ daughter is, far other thoughts, 540
Intelligent, and other plans, to frame.
Her, going to the wars we left a bride
New-wedded, and thy boy hung at her breast,
Who, man himself, consorts ere now with men
A prosp’rous youth; his father, safe restored
To his own Ithaca, shall see him soon,
And he shall clasp his father in his arms
As nature bids; but me, my cruel one
Indulged not with the dear delight to gaze
On my Orestes, for she slew me first. 550
But listen; treasure what I now impart.
Steer secret to thy native isle; avoid
Notice; for woman merits trust no more.
Now tell me truth. Hear ye in whose abode
My son resides? dwells he in Pylus, say,
Or in Orchomenos, or else beneath
My brother’s roof in Sparta’s wide domain?
For my Orestes is not yet a shade.
So he, to whom I answer thus return’d.
Atrides, ask not me. Whether he live, 560
Or have already died, I nothing know;
Mere words are vanity, and better spared.
Thus we discoursing mutual stood, and tears
Shedding disconsolate. The shade, meantime,
Came of Achilles, Peleus’ mighty son;
Patroclus also, and Antilochus
Appear’d, with Ajax, for proportion just
And stature tall, (Pelides sole except)
Distinguish’d above all Achaia’s sons.
The soul of swift Æacides at once 570
Knew me, and in wing’d accents thus began.
Brave Laertiades, for wiles renown’d!
What mightier enterprise than all the past
Hath made thee here a guest? rash as thou art!
How hast thou dared to penetrate the gloom
Of Ades, dwelling of the shadowy dead,
Semblances only of what once they were?
He spake, to whom I, answ’ring, thus replied.
O Peleus’ son! Achilles! bravest far
Of all Achaia’s race! I here arrived 580
Seeking Tiresias, from his lips to learn,
Perchance, how I might safe regain the coast
Of craggy Ithaca; for tempest-toss’d
Perpetual, I have neither yet approach’d
Achaia’s shore, or landed on my own.
But as for thee, Achilles! never man
Hath known felicity like thine, or shall,
Whom living we all honour’d as a God,
And who maintain’st, here resident, supreme
Controul among the dead; indulge not then, 590
Achilles, causeless grief that thou hast died.
I ceased, and answer thus instant received.
Renown’d Ulysses! think not death a theme
Of consolation; I had rather live
The servile hind for hire, and eat the bread
Of some man scantily himself sustain’d,
Than sov’reign empire hold o’er all the shades.
But come — speak to me of my noble boy;
Proceeds he, as he promis’d, brave in arms,
Or shuns he war? Say also, hast thou heard 600
Of royal Peleus? shares he still respect
Among his num’rous Myrmidons, or scorn
In Hellas and in Phthia, for that age
Predominates in his enfeebled limbs?
For help is none in me; the glorious sun
No longer sees me such, as when in aid
Of the Achaians I o’erspread the field
Of spacious Troy with all their bravest slain.
Oh might I, vigorous as then, repair
For one short moment to my father’s house, 610
They all should tremble; I would shew an arm,
Such as should daunt the fiercest who presumes
To injure him, or to despise his age.
Achilles spake, to whom I thus replied.
Of noble Peleus have I nothing heard;
But I will tell thee, as thou bidd’st, the truth
Unfeign’d of Neoptolemus thy son;
For him, myself, on board my hollow bark
From Scyros to Achaia’s host convey’d.
Oft as in council under Ilium’s walls 620
We met, he ever foremost was in speech,
Nor spake erroneous; Nestor and myself
Except, no Greecian could with him compare.
Oft, too, as we with battle hemm’d around
Troy’s bulwarks, from among the mingled crowd
Thy son sprang foremost into martial act,
Inferior in heroic worth to none.
Beneath him num’rous fell the sons of Troy
In dreadful fight, nor have I pow’r to name
Distinctly all, who by his glorious arm 630
Exerted in the cause of Greece, expired.
Yet will I name Eurypylus, the son
Of Telephus, an Hero whom his sword
Of life bereaved, and all around him strew’d
The plain with his Cetean warriors, won
To Ilium’s side by bribes to women giv’n.
Save noble Memnon only, I beheld
No Chief at Ilium beautiful as he.
Again, when we within the horse of wood
Framed by Epeüs sat, an ambush chos’n 640
Of all the bravest Greeks, and I in trust
Was placed to open or to keep fast-closed
The hollow fraud; then, ev’ry Chieftain there
And Senator of Greece wiped from his cheeks
The tears, and tremors felt in ev’ry limb;
But never saw I changed to terror’s hue
His ruddy cheek, no tears wiped he away,
But oft he press’d me to go forth, his suit
With pray’rs enforcing, griping hard his hilt
And his brass-burthen’d spear, and dire revenge 650
Denouncing, ardent, on the race of Troy.
At length, when we had sack’d the lofty town
Of Priam, laden with abundant spoils
He safe embark’d, neither by spear or shaft
Aught hurt, or in close fight by faulchion’s edge,
As oft in war befalls, where wounds are dealt
Promiscuous at the will of fiery Mars.
So I; then striding large, the spirit thence
Withdrew of swift Æacides, along
The hoary mead pacing, with joy elate 660
That I had blazon’d bright his son’s renown.
The other souls of men by death dismiss’d
Stood mournful by, sad uttering each his woes;
The soul alone I saw standing remote
Of Telamonian Ajax, still incensed
That in our public contest for the arms
Worn by Achilles, and by Thetis thrown
Into dispute, my claim had strongest proved,
Troy and Minerva judges of the cause.
Disastrous victory! which I could wish 670
Not to have won, since for that armour’s sake
The earth hath cover’d Ajax, in his form
And martial deeds superior far to all
The Greecians, Peleus’ matchless son except.
I, seeking to appease him, thus began.
O Ajax, son of glorious Telamon!
Canst thou remember, even after death,
Thy wrath against me, kindled for the sake
Of those pernicious arms? arms which the Gods
Ordain’d of such dire consequence to Greece, 680
Which caused thy death, our bulwark! Thee we mourn
With grief perpetual, no
r the death lament
Of Peleus’ son, Achilles, more than thine.
Yet none is blameable; Jove evermore
With bitt’rest hate pursued Achaia’s host,
And he ordain’d thy death. Hero! approach,
That thou may’st hear the words with which I seek
To sooth thee; let thy long displeasure cease!
Quell all resentment in thy gen’rous breast!
I spake; nought answer’d he, but sullen join’d 690
His fellow-ghosts; yet, angry as he was,
I had prevail’d even on him to speak,
Or had, at least, accosted him again,
But that my bosom teem’d with strong desire
Urgent, to see yet others of the dead.
There saw I Minos, offspring famed of Jove;
His golden sceptre in his hand, he sat
Judge of the dead; they, pleading each in turn,
His cause, some stood, some sat, filling the house
Whose spacious folding-gates are never closed. 700
Orion next, huge ghost, engaged my view,
Droves urging o’er the grassy mead, of beasts
Which he had slain, himself, on the wild hills,
With strong club arm’d of ever-during brass.
There also Tityus on the ground I saw
Extended, offspring of the glorious earth;
Nine acres he o’erspread, and, at his side
Station’d, two vultures on his liver prey’d,
Scooping his entrails; nor sufficed his hands
To fray them thence; for he had sought to force 710
Latona, illustrious concubine of Jove,
What time the Goddess journey’d o’er the rocks
Of Pytho into pleasant Panopeus.
Next, suff’ring grievous torments, I beheld
Tantalus; in a pool he stood, his chin
Wash’d by the wave; thirst-parch’d he seem’d, but found
Nought to assuage his thirst; for when he bow’d
His hoary head, ardent to quaff, the flood
Vanish’d absorb’d, and, at his feet, adust
The soil appear’d, dried, instant, by the Gods. 720
Tall trees, fruit-laden, with inflected heads
Stoop’d to him, pomegranates, apples bright,
The luscious fig, and unctuous olive smooth;
Which when with sudden grasp he would have seized,
Winds hurl’d them high into the dusky clouds.
There, too, the hard-task’d Sisyphus I saw,
Thrusting before him, strenuous, a vast rock.
With hands and feet struggling, he shoved the stone
Up to a hill-top; but the steep well-nigh
Vanquish’d, by some great force repulsed, the mass 730
Rush’d again, obstinate, down to the plain.
Again, stretch’d prone, severe he toiled, the sweat
Bathed all his weary limbs, and his head reek’d.
The might of Hercules I, next, survey’d;
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