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William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works

Page 166

by William Cowper


  His semblance; for himself their banquet shares

  With the Immortal Gods, and in his arms

  Enfolds neat-footed Hebe, daughter fair

  Of Jove, and of his golden-sandal’d spouse.

  Around him, clamorous as birds, the dead

  Swarm’d turbulent; he, gloomy-brow’d as night, 740

  With uncased bow and arrow on the string

  Peer’d terrible from side to side, as one

  Ever in act to shoot; a dreadful belt

  He bore athwart his bosom, thong’d with gold.

  There, broider’d shone many a stupendous form,

  Bears, wild boars, lions with fire-flashing eyes,

  Fierce combats, battles, bloodshed, homicide.

  The artist, author of that belt, none such

  Before, produced, or after. Me his eye

  No sooner mark’d, than knowing me, in words 750

  By sorrow quick suggested, he began.

  Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!

  Ah, hapless Hero! thou art, doubtless, charged,

  Thou also, with some arduous labour, such

  As in the realms of day I once endured.

  Son was I of Saturnian Jove, yet woes

  Immense sustain’d, subjected to a King

  Inferior far to me, whose harsh commands

  Enjoin’d me many a terrible exploit.

  He even bade me on a time lead hence 760

  The dog, that task believing above all

  Impracticable; yet from Ades him

  I dragg’d reluctant into light, by aid

  Of Hermes, and of Pallas azure-eyed.

  So saying, he penetrated deep again

  The abode of Pluto; but I still unmoved

  There stood expecting, curious, other shades

  To see of Heroes in old time deceased.

  And now, more ancient worthies still, and whom

  I wish’d, I had beheld, Pirithoüs 770

  And Theseus, glorious progeny of Gods,

  But nations, first, numberless of the dead

  Came shrieking hideous; me pale horror seized,

  Lest awful Proserpine should thither send

  The Gorgon-head from Ades, sight abhorr’d!

  I, therefore, hasting to the vessel, bade

  My crew embark, and cast the hawsers loose.

  They, quick embarking, on the benches sat.

  Down the Oceanus the current bore

  My galley, winning, at the first, her way 780

  With oars, then, wafted by propitious gales.

  BOOK XII

  ARGUMENT

  Ulysses, pursuing his narrative, relates his return from the shades to

  Circe’s island, the precautions given him by that Goddess, his escape

  from the Sirens, and from Scylla and Charybdis; his arrival in Sicily,

  where his companions, having slain and eaten the oxen of the Sun, are

  afterward shipwrecked and lost; and concludes the whole with an account

  of his arrival, alone, on the mast of his vessel, at the island of

  Calypso.

  And now, borne seaward from the river-stream

  Of the Oceanus, we plow’d again

  The spacious Deep, and reach’d th’ Ææan isle,

  Where, daughter of the dawn, Aurora takes

  Her choral sports, and whence the sun ascends.

  We, there arriving, thrust our bark aground

  On the smooth beach, then landed, and on shore

  Reposed, expectant of the sacred dawn.

  But soon as day-spring’s daughter rosy-palm’d

  Look’d forth again, sending my friends before, 10

  I bade them bring Elpenor’s body down

  From the abode of Circe to the beach.

  Then, on the utmost headland of the coast

  We timber fell’d, and, sorrowing o’er the dead,

  His fun’ral rites water’d with tears profuse.

  The dead consumed, and with the dead his arms,

  We heap’d his tomb, and the sepulchral post

  Erecting, fix’d his shapely oar aloft.

  Thus, punctual, we perform’d; nor our return

  From Ades knew not Circe, but attired 20

  In haste, ere long arrived, with whom appear’d

  Her female train with plenteous viands charged,

  And bright wine rosy-red. Amidst us all

  Standing, the beauteous Goddess thus began.

  Ah miserable! who have sought the shades

  Alive! while others of the human race

  Die only once, appointed twice to die!

  Come — take ye food; drink wine; and on the shore

  All day regale, for ye shall hence again

  At day-spring o’er the Deep; but I will mark 30

  Myself your future course, nor uninform’d

  Leave you in aught, lest, through some dire mistake,

  By sea or land new mis’ries ye incur.

  The Goddess spake, whose invitation kind

  We glad accepted; thus we feasting sat

  Till set of sun, and quaffing richest wine;

  But when the sun went down and darkness fell,

  My crew beside the hawsers slept, while me

  The Goddess by the hand leading apart,

  First bade me sit, then, seated opposite, 40

  Enquired, minute, of all that I had seen,

  And I, from first to last, recounted all.

  Then, thus the awful Goddess in return.

  Thus far thy toils are finish’d. Now attend!

  Mark well my words, of which the Gods will sure

  Themselves remind thee in the needful hour.

  First shalt thou reach the Sirens; they the hearts

  Enchant of all who on their coast arrive.

  The wretch, who unforewarn’d approaching, hears

  The Sirens’ voice, his wife and little-ones 50

  Ne’er fly to gratulate his glad return,

  But him the Sirens sitting in the meads

  Charm with mellifluous song, while all around

  The bones accumulated lie of men

  Now putrid, and the skins mould’ring away.

  But, pass them thou, and, lest thy people hear

  Those warblings, ere thou yet approach, fill all

  Their ears with wax moulded between thy palms;

  But as for thee — thou hear them if thou wilt.

  Yet let thy people bind thee to the mast 60

  Erect, encompassing thy feet and arms

  With cordage well-secured to the mast-foot,

  So shalt thou, raptur’d, hear the Sirens’ song.

  But if thou supplicate to be released,

  Or give such order, then, with added cords

  Let thy companions bind thee still the more.

  When thus thy people shall have safely pass’d

  The Sirens by, think not from me to learn

  What course thou next shalt steer; two will occur;

  Delib’rate chuse; I shall describe them both. 70

  Here vaulted rocks impend, dash’d by the waves

  Immense of Amphitrite azure-eyed;

  The blessed Gods those rocks, Erratic, call.

  Birds cannot pass them safe; no, not the doves

  Which his ambrosia bear to Father Jove,

  But even of those doves the slipp’ry rock

  Proves fatal still to one, for which the God

  Supplies another, lest the number fail.

  No ship, what ship soever there arrives,

  Escapes them, but both mariners and planks 80

  Whelm’d under billows of the Deep, or, caught

  By fiery tempests, sudden disappear.

  Those rocks the billow-cleaving bark alone

  The Argo, further’d by the vows of all,

  Pass’d safely, sailing from Ææta’s isle;

  Nor she had pass’d, but surely dash’d had been

  On those huge
rocks, but that, propitious still

  To Jason, Juno sped her safe along.

  These rocks are two; one lifts his summit sharp

  High as the spacious heav’ns, wrapt in dun clouds 90

  Perpetual, which nor autumn sees dispers’d

  Nor summer, for the sun shines never there;

  No mortal man might climb it or descend,

  Though twice ten hands and twice ten feet he own’d,

  For it is levigated as by art.

  Down scoop’d to Erebus, a cavern drear

  Yawns in the centre of its western side;

  Pass it, renown’d Ulysses! but aloof

  So far, that a keen arrow smartly sent

  Forth from thy bark should fail to reach the cave. 100

  There Scylla dwells, and thence her howl is heard

  Tremendous; shrill her voice is as the note

  Of hound new-whelp’d, but hideous her aspect,

  Such as no mortal man, nor ev’n a God

  Encount’ring her, should with delight survey.

  Her feet are twelve, all fore-feet; six her necks

  Of hideous length, each clubb’d into a head

  Terrific, and each head with fangs is arm’d

  In triple row, thick planted, stored with death.

  Plunged to her middle in the hollow den 110

  She lurks, protruding from the black abyss

  Her heads, with which the rav’ning monster dives

  In quest of dolphins, dog-fish, or of prey

  More bulky, such as in the roaring gulphs

  Of Amphitrite without end abounds.

  It is no seaman’s boast that e’er he slipp’d

  Her cavern by, unharm’d. In ev’ry mouth

  She bears upcaught a mariner away.

  The other rock, Ulysses, thou shalt find

  Humbler, a bow-shot only from the first; 120

  On this a wild fig grows broad-leav’d, and here

  Charybdis dire ingulphs the sable flood.

  Each day she thrice disgorges, and each day

  Thrice swallows it. Ah! well forewarn’d, beware

  What time she swallows, that thou come not nigh,

  For not himself, Neptune, could snatch thee thence.

  Close passing Scylla’s rock, shoot swift thy bark

  Beyond it, since the loss of six alone

  Is better far than shipwreck made of all.

  So Circe spake, to whom I thus replied. 130

  Tell me, O Goddess, next, and tell me true!

  If, chance, from fell Charybdis I escape,

  May I not also save from Scylla’s force

  My people; should the monster threaten them?

  I said, and quick the Goddess in return.

  Unhappy! can exploits and toils of war

  Still please thee? yield’st not to the Gods themselves?

  She is no mortal, but a deathless pest,

  Impracticable, savage, battle-proof.

  Defence is vain; flight is thy sole resource. 140

  For should’st thou linger putting on thy arms

  Beside the rock, beware, lest darting forth

  Her num’rous heads, she seize with ev’ry mouth

  A Greecian, and with others, even thee.

  Pass therefore swift, and passing, loud invoke

  Cratais, mother of this plague of man,

  Who will forbid her to assail thee more.

  Thou, next, shalt reach Thrinacia; there, the beeves

  And fatted flocks graze num’rous of the Sun;

  Sev’n herds; as many flocks of snowy fleece; 150

  Fifty in each; they breed not, neither die,

  Nor are they kept by less than Goddesses,

  Lampetia fair, and Phäethusa, both

  By nymph Neæra to Hyperion borne.

  Them, soon as she had train’d them to an age

  Proportion’d to that charge, their mother sent

  Into Thrinacia, there to dwell and keep

  Inviolate their father’s flocks and herds.

  If, anxious for a safe return, thou spare

  Those herds and flocks, though after much endured, 160

  Ye may at last your Ithaca regain;

  But should’st thou violate them, I foretell

  Destruction of thy ship and of thy crew,

  And though thyself escape, thou shalt return

  Late, in ill plight, and all thy friends destroy’d.

  She ended, and the golden morning dawn’d.

  Then, all-divine, her graceful steps she turn’d

  Back through the isle, and, at the beach arrived,

  I summon’d all my followers to ascend

  The bark again, and cast the hawsers loose. 170

  They, at my voice, embarking, fill’d in ranks

  The seats, and rowing, thresh’d the hoary flood.

  And now, melodious Circe, nymph divine,

  Sent after us a canvas-stretching breeze,

  Pleasant companion of our course, and we

  (The decks and benches clear’d) untoiling sat,

  While managed gales sped swift the bark along.

  Then, with dejected heart, thus I began.

  Oh friends! (for it is needful that not one

  Or two alone the admonition hear 180

  Of Circe, beauteous prophetess divine)

  To all I speak, that whether we escape

  Or perish, all may be, at least, forewarn’d.

  She bids us, first, avoid the dang’rous song

  Of the sweet Sirens and their flow’ry meads.

  Me only she permits those strains to hear;

  But ye shall bind me with coercion strong

  Of cordage well-secured to the mast-foot,

  And by no struggles to be loos’d of mine.

  But should I supplicate to be released 190

  Or give such order, then, with added cords

  Be it your part to bind me still the more.

  Thus with distinct precaution I prepared

  My people; rapid in her course, meantime,

  My gallant bark approach’d the Sirens’ isle,

  For brisk and favourable blew the wind.

  Then fell the wind suddenly, and serene

  A breathless calm ensued, while all around

  The billows slumber’d, lull’d by pow’r divine.

  Up-sprang my people, and the folded sails 200

  Bestowing in the hold, sat to their oars,

  Which with their polish’d blades whiten’d the Deep.

  I, then, with edge of steel sev’ring minute

  A waxen cake, chafed it and moulded it

  Between my palms; ere long the ductile mass

  Grew warm, obedient to that ceaseless force,

  And to Hyperion’s all-pervading beams.

  With that soft liniment I fill’d the ears

  Of my companions, man by man, and they

  My feet and arms with strong coercion bound 210

  Of cordage to the mast-foot well secured.

  Then down they sat, and, rowing, thresh’d the brine.

  But when with rapid course we had arrived

  Within such distance as a voice may reach,

  Not unperceived by them the gliding bark

  Approach’d, and, thus, harmonious they began.

  Ulysses, Chief by ev’ry tongue extoll’d,

  Achaia’s boast, oh hither steer thy bark!

  Here stay thy course, and listen to our lay!

  These shores none passes in his sable ship 220

  Till, first, the warblings of our voice he hear,

  Then, happier hence and wiser he departs.

  All that the Greeks endured, and all the ills

  Inflicted by the Gods on Troy, we know,

  Know all that passes on the boundless earth.

  So they with voices sweet their music poured

  Melodious on my ear, winning with ease

  My heart’s desire to listen, and by signs

&n
bsp; I bade my people, instant, set me free.

  But they incumbent row’d, and from their seats 230

  Eurylochus and Perimedes sprang

  With added cords to bind me still the more.

  This danger past, and when the Sirens’ voice,

  Now left remote, had lost its pow’r to charm,

  Then, my companions freeing from the wax

  Their ears, deliver’d me from my restraint.

  The island left afar, soon I discern’d

  Huge waves, and smoke, and horrid thund’rings heard.

  All sat aghast; forth flew at once the oars

  From ev’ry hand, and with a clash the waves 240

  Smote all together; check’d, the galley stood,

  By billow-sweeping oars no longer urged,

  And I, throughout the bark, man after man

  Encouraged all, addressing thus my crew.

  We meet not, now, my friends, our first distress.

  This evil is not greater than we found

  When the huge Cyclops in his hollow den

  Imprison’d us, yet even thence we ‘scaped,

  My intrepidity and fertile thought

  Opening the way; and we shall recollect 250

  These dangers also, in due time, with joy.

  Come, then — pursue my counsel. Ye your seats

  Still occupying, smite the furrow’d flood

  With well-timed strokes, that by the will of Jove

  We may escape, perchance, this death, secure.

  To thee the pilot thus I speak, (my words

  Mark thou, for at thy touch the rudder moves)

  This smoke, and these tumultuous waves avoid;

  Steer wide of both; yet with an eye intent

  On yonder rock, lest unaware thou hold 260

  Too near a course, and plunge us into harm.

  So I; with whose advice all, quick, complied.

  But Scylla I as yet named not, (that woe

  Without a cure) lest, terrified, my crew

  Should all renounce their oars, and crowd below.

  Just then, forgetful of the strict command

  Of Circe not to arm, I cloath’d me all

  In radiant armour, grasp’d two quiv’ring spears,

  And to the deck ascended at the prow,

  Expecting earliest notice there, what time 270

  The rock-bred Scylla should annoy my friends.

  But I discern’d her not, nor could, although

  To weariness of sight the dusky rock

  I vigilant explored. Thus, many a groan

  Heaving, we navigated sad the streight,

  For here stood Scylla, while Charybdis there

  With hoarse throat deep absorb’d the briny flood.

  Oft as she vomited the deluge forth,

  Like water cauldron’d o’er a furious fire

  The whirling Deep all murmur’d, and the spray 280

 

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