William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works

by William Cowper

  BOOK XXIV

  ARGUMENT

  Mercury conducts the souls of the suitors down to Ades. Ulysses discovers himself to Laertes, and quells, by the aid of Minerva, an insurrection of the people resenting the death of the suitors.

  And now Cyllenian Hermes summon’d forth

  The spirits of the suitors; waving wide

  The golden wand of pow’r to seal all eyes

  In slumber, and to ope them wide again,

  He drove them gibb’ring down into the shades,

  As when the bats within some hallow’d cave

  Flit squeaking all around, for if but one

  Fall from the rock, the rest all follow him,

  In such connexion mutual they adhere,

  So, after bounteous Mercury, the ghosts, 10

  Troop’d downward gibb’ring all the dreary way.

  The Ocean’s flood and the Leucadian rock,

  The Sun’s gate also and the land of Dreams

  They pass’d, whence, next, into the meads they came

  Of Asphodel, by shadowy forms possess’d,

  Simulars of the dead. They found the souls

  Of brave Pelides there, and of his friend

  Patroclus, of Antilochus renown’d,

  And of the mightier Ajax, for his form

  And bulk (Achilles sole except) of all 20

  The sons of the Achaians most admired.

  These waited on Achilles. Then, appear’d

  The mournful ghost of Agamemnon, son

  Of Atreus, compass’d by the ghosts of all

  Who shared his fate beneath Ægisthus’ roof,

  And him the ghost of Peleus’ son bespake.

  Atrides! of all Heroes we esteem’d

  Thee dearest to the Gods, for that thy sway

  Extended over such a glorious host

  At Ilium, scene of sorrow to the Greeks. 30

  But Fate, whose ruthless force none may escape

  Of all who breathe, pursued thee from the first.

  Thou should’st have perish’d full of honour, full

  Of royalty, at Troy; so all the Greeks

  Had rais’d thy tomb, and thou hadst then bequeath’d

  Great glory to thy son; but Fate ordain’d

  A death, oh how deplorable! for thee.

  To whom Atrides’ spirit thus replied.

  Blest son of Peleus, semblance of the Gods,

  At Ilium, far from Argos, fall’n! for whom 40

  Contending, many a Trojan, many a Chief

  Of Greece died also, while in eddies whelm’d

  Of dust thy vastness spread the plain, nor thee

  The chariot aught or steed could int’rest more!

  All day we waged the battle, nor at last

  Desisted, but for tempests sent from Jove.

  At length we bore into the Greecian fleet

  Thy body from the field; there, first, we cleansed

  With tepid baths and oil’d thy shapely corse,

  Then placed thee on thy bier, while many a Greek 50

  Around thee wept, and shore his locks for thee.

  Thy mother, also, hearing of thy death

  With her immortal nymphs from the abyss

  Arose and came; terrible was the sound

  On the salt flood; a panic seized the Greeks,

  And ev’ry warrior had return’d on board

  That moment, had not Nestor, ancient Chief,

  Illumed by long experience, interposed,

  His counsels, ever wisest, wisest proved

  Then also, and he thus address’d the host. 60

  Sons of Achaia; fly not; stay, ye Greeks!

  Thetis arrives with her immortal nymphs

  From the abyss, to visit her dead son.

  So he; and, by his admonition stay’d,

  The Greeks fled not. Then, all around thee stood

  The daughters of the Ancient of the Deep,

  Mourning disconsolate; with heav’nly robes

  They clothed thy corse, and all the Muses nine

  Deplored thee in full choir with sweetest tones

  Responsive, nor one Greecian hadst thou seen 70

  Dry-eyed, such grief the Muses moved in all.

  Full sev’nteen days we, day and night, deplored

  Thy death, both Gods in heav’n and men below,

  But, on the eighteenth day, we gave thy corse

  Its burning, and fat sheep around thee slew

  Num’rous, with many a pastur’d ox moon-horn’d.

  We burn’d thee clothed in vesture of the Gods,

  With honey and with oil feeding the flames

  Abundant, while Achaia’s Heroes arm’d,

  Both horse and foot, encompassing thy pile, 80

  Clash’d on their shields, and deaf’ning was the din.

  But when the fires of Vulcan had at length

  Consumed thee, at the dawn we stored thy bones

  In unguent and in undiluted wine;

  For Thetis gave to us a golden vase

  Twin-ear’d, which she profess’d to have received

  From Bacchus, work divine of Vulcan’s hand.

  Within that vase, Achilles, treasured lie

  Thine and the bones of thy departed friend

  Patroclus, but a sep’rate urn we gave 90

  To those of brave Antilochus, who most

  Of all thy friends at Ilium shared thy love

  And thy respect, thy friend Patroclus slain.

  Around both urns we piled a noble tomb,

  (We warriors of the sacred Argive host)

  On a tall promontory shooting far

  Into the spacious Hellespont, that all

  Who live, and who shall yet be born, may view

  Thy record, even from the distant waves.

  Then, by permission from the Gods obtain’d, 100

  To the Achaian Chiefs in circus met

  Thetis appointed games. I have beheld

  The burial rites of many an Hero bold,

  When, on the death of some great Chief, the youths

  Girding their loins anticipate the prize,

  But sight of those with wonder fill’d me most,

  So glorious past all others were the games

  By silver-footed Thetis giv’n for thee,

  For thou wast ever favour’d of the Gods.

  Thus, hast thou not, Achilles! although dead, 110

  Foregone thy glory, but thy fair report

  Is universal among all mankind;

  But, as for me, what recompense had I,

  My warfare closed? for whom, at my return,

  Jove framed such dire destruction by the hands

  Of fell Ægisthus and my murth’ress wife.

  Thus, mutual, they conferr’d; meantime approach’d,

  Swift messenger of heav’n, the Argicide,

  Conducting thither all the shades of those

  Slain by Ulysses. At that sight amazed 120

  Both moved toward them. Agamemnon’s shade

  Knew well Amphimedon, for he had been

  Erewhile his father’s guest in Ithaca,

  And thus the spirit of Atreus’ son began.

  Amphimedon! by what disastrous chance,

  Coœvals as ye seem, and of an air

  Distinguish’d all, descend ye to the Deeps?

  For not the chosen youths of a whole town

  Should form a nobler band. Perish’d ye sunk

  Amid vast billows and rude tempests raised 130

  By Neptune’s pow’r? or on dry land through force

  Of hostile multitudes, while cutting off

  Beeves from the herd, or driving flocks away?

  Or fighting for your city and your wives?

  Resolve me? I was once a guest of yours.

  Remember’st not what time at your abode

  With godlike Menelaus I arrived,

  That we might win Ulysses with his fleet

  To follow us to Troy? scarce we prevail’d

 
At last to gain the city-waster Chief, 140

  And, after all, consumed a whole month more

  The wide sea traversing from side to side.

  To whom the spirit of Amphimedon.

  Illustrious Agamemnon, King of men!

  All this I bear in mind, and will rehearse

  The manner of our most disastrous end.

  Believing brave Ulysses lost, we woo’d

  Meantime his wife; she our detested suit

  Would neither ratify nor yet refuse,

  But, planning for us a tremendous death, 150

  This novel stratagem, at last, devised.

  Beginning, in her own recess, a web

  Of slend’rest thread, and of a length and breadth

  Unusual, thus the suitors she address’d.

  Princes, my suitors! since the noble Chief

  Ulysses is no more, enforce not yet

  My nuptials; wait till I shall finish first

  A fun’ral robe (lest all my threads decay)

  Which for the ancient Hero I prepare,

  Laertes, looking for the mournful hour 160

  When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest;

  Else, I the censure dread of all my sex,

  Should he so wealthy, want at last a shroud.

  So spake the Queen; we, unsuspicious all,

  With her request complied. Thenceforth, all day

  She wove the ample web, and by the aid

  Of torches ravell’d it again at night.

  Three years she thus by artifice our suit

  Eluded safe, but when the fourth arrived,

  And the same season, after many moons 170

  And fleeting days, return’d, a damsel then

  Of her attendants, conscious of the fraud,

  Reveal’d it, and we found her pulling loose

  The splendid web. Thus, through constraint, at length,

  She finish’d it, and in her own despight.

  But when the Queen produced, at length, her work

  Finish’d, new-blanch’d, bright as the sun or moon,

  Then came Ulysses, by some adverse God

  Conducted, to a cottage on the verge

  Of his own fields, in which his swine-herd dwells; 180

  There also the illustrious Hero’s son

  Arrived soon after, in his sable bark

  From sandy Pylus borne; they, plotting both

  A dreadful death for all the suitors, sought

  Our glorious city, but Ulysses last,

  And first Telemachus. The father came

  Conducted by his swine-herd, and attired

  In tatters foul; a mendicant he seem’d,

  Time-worn, and halted on a staff. So clad,

  And ent’ring on the sudden, he escaped 190

  All knowledge even of our eldest there,

  And we reviled and smote him; he although

  Beneath his own roof smitten and reproach’d,

  With patience suffer’d it awhile, but roused

  By inspiration of Jove Ægis-arm’d

  At length, in concert with his son convey’d

  To his own chamber his resplendent arms,

  There lodg’d them safe, and barr’d the massy doors

  Then, in his subtlety he bade the Queen

  A contest institute with bow and rings 200

  Between the hapless suitors, whence ensued

  Slaughter to all. No suitor there had pow’r

  To overcome the stubborn bow that mock’d

  All our attempts; and when the weapon huge

  At length was offer’d to Ulysses’ hands,

  With clamour’d menaces we bade the swain

  Withhold it from him, plead he as he might;

  Telemachus alone with loud command,

  Bade give it him, and the illustrious Chief

  Receiving in his hand the bow, with ease 210

  Bent it, and sped a shaft through all the rings.

  Then, springing to the portal steps, he pour’d

  The arrows forth, peer’d terrible around,

  Pierced King Antinoüs, and, aiming sure

  His deadly darts, pierced others after him,

  Till in one common carnage heap’d we lay.

  Some God, as plain appear’d, vouchsafed them aid,

  Such ardour urged them, and with such dispatch

  They slew us on all sides; hideous were heard

  The groans of dying men fell’d to the earth 220

  With head-strokes rude, and the floor swam with blood.

  Such, royal Agamemnon! was the fate

  By which we perish’d, all whose bodies lie

  Unburied still, and in Ulysses’ house,

  For tidings none have yet our friends alarm’d

  And kindred, who might cleanse from sable gore

  Our clotted wounds, and mourn us on the bier,

  Which are the rightful privilege of the dead.

  Him answer’d, then, the shade of Atreus’ son.

  Oh happy offspring of Laertes! shrewd 230

  Ulysses! matchless valour thou hast shewn

  Recov’ring thus thy wife; nor less appears

  The virtue of Icarius’ daughter wise,

  The chaste Penelope, so faithful found

  To her Ulysses, husband of her youth.

  His glory, by superior merit earn’d,

  Shall never die, and the immortal Gods

  Shall make Penelope a theme of song

  Delightful in the ears of all mankind.

  Not such was Clytemnestra, daughter vile 240

  Of Tyndarus; she shed her husband’s blood,

  And shall be chronicled in song a wife

  Of hateful memory, by whose offence

  Even the virtuous of her sex are shamed.

  Thus they, beneath the vaulted roof obscure

  Of Pluto’s house, conferring mutual stood.

  Meantime, descending from the city-gates,

  Ulysses, by his son and by his swains

  Follow’d, arrived at the delightful farm

  Which old Laertes had with strenuous toil 250

  Himself long since acquired. There stood his house

  Encompass’d by a bow’r in which the hinds

  Who served and pleased him, ate, and sat, and slept.

  An ancient woman, a Sicilian, dwelt

  There also, who in that sequester’d spot

  Attended diligent her aged Lord.

  Then thus Ulysses to his followers spake.

  Haste now, and, ent’ring, slay ye of the swine

  The best for our regale; myself, the while,

  Will prove my father, if his eye hath still 260

  Discernment of me, or if absence long

  Have worn the knowledge of me from his mind.

  He said, and gave into his servants’ care

  His arms; they swift proceeded to the house,

  And to the fruitful grove himself as swift

  To prove his father. Down he went at once

  Into the spacious garden-plot, but found

  Nor Dolius there, nor any of his sons

  Or servants; they were occupied elsewhere,

  And, with the ancient hind himself, employ’d 270

  Collecting thorns with which to fence the grove.

  In that umbrageous spot he found alone

  Laertes, with his hoe clearing a plant;

  Sordid his tunic was, with many a patch

  Mended unseemly; leathern were his greaves,

  Thong-tied and also patch’d, a frail defence

  Against sharp thorns, while gloves secured his hands

  From briar-points, and on his head he bore

  A goat-skin casque, nourishing hopeless woe.

  No sooner then the Hero toil-inured 280

  Saw him age-worn and wretched, than he paused

  Beneath a lofty pear-tree’s shade to weep.

  There standing much he mused, whether, at once,

  Kissing and clasping in
his arms his sire,

  To tell him all, by what means he had reach’d

  His native country, or to prove him first.

  At length, he chose as his best course, with words

  Of seeming strangeness to accost his ear,

  And, with that purpose, moved direct toward him.

  He, stooping low, loosen’d the earth around 290

  A garden-plant, when his illustrious son

  Now, standing close beside him, thus began.

  Old sir! thou art no novice in these toils

  Of culture, but thy garden thrives; I mark

  In all thy ground no plant, fig, olive, vine,

  Pear-tree or flow’r-bed suff’ring through neglect.

  But let it not offend thee if I say

  That thou neglect’st thyself, at the same time

  Oppress’d with age, sun-parch’d and ill-attired.

  Not for thy inactivity, methinks, 300

  Thy master slights thee thus, nor speaks thy form

  Or thy surpassing stature servile aught

  In thee, but thou resemblest more a King.

  Yes — thou resemblest one who, bathed and fed,

  Should softly sleep; such is the claim of age.

  But tell me true — for whom labourest thou,

  And whose this garden? answer me beside,

  For I would learn; have I indeed arrived

  In Ithaca, as one whom here I met

  Ev’n now assured me, but who seem’d a man 310

  Not overwise, refusing both to hear

  My questions, and to answer when I ask’d

  Concerning one in other days my guest

  And friend, if he have still his being here,

  Or have deceas’d and journey’d to the shades.

  For I will tell thee; therefore mark. Long since

  A stranger reach’d my house in my own land,

  Whom I with hospitality receiv’d,

  Nor ever sojourn’d foreigner with me

  Whom I lov’d more. He was by birth, he said, 320

  Ithacan, and Laertes claim’d his sire,

  Son of Arcesias. Introducing him

  Beneath my roof, I entertain’d him well,

  And proved by gifts his welcome at my board.

  I gave him seven talents of wrought gold,

  A goblet, argent all, with flow’rs emboss’d,

  Twelve single cloaks, twelve carpets, mantles twelve

  Of brightest lustre, with as many vests,

  And added four fair damsels, whom he chose

  Himself, well born and well accomplish’d all. 330

  Then thus his ancient sire weeping replied.

  Stranger! thou hast in truth attain’d the isle

  Of thy enquiry, but it is possess’d

  By a rude race, and lawless. Vain, alas!

  Were all thy num’rous gifts; yet hadst thou found

  Him living here in Ithaca, with gifts