Chapter XIV: Part 14

In Lacedæmon, large, and apt for dances,[1] Athenian Pallas her access advances Up to the great-in-soul Ulysses’ seed, Suggesting his return now fit for deed. She found both him and Nestor’s noble son In bed, in front of that fair mansión, Nestorides surpris’d with pleasing sleep, But on the watch Ulysses’ son did keep, Sleep could not enter, cares did so excite His soul, through all the solitary night, For his lov’d father. To him, near, she said: “Telemachus! ’Tis time that now were stay’d Thy foreign travels, since thy goods are free For those proud men that all will eat from thee, Divide thy whole possessións, and leave Thy too-late presence nothing to receive. Incite the shrill-voic’d Menelaus then, To send thee to thy native seat again, While thou mayst yet find in her honour strong Thy blameless mother, ’gainst thy fathers’ wrong. For both the father, and the brothers too, Of thy lov’d mother, will not suffer so Extended any more her widow’s bed, But make her now her richest wooer wed, Eurymachus, who chiefly may augment Her gifts, and make her jointure eminent. And therefore haste thee, lest, in thy despite, Thy house stand empty of thy native right. For well thou know’st what mind a woman bears; The house of him, whoever she endears Herself in nuptials to, she sees increas’d, The issue of her first lov’d lord deceas’d Forgotten quite, and never thought on more. In thy return then, the re-counted store Thou find’st reserv’d, to thy most trusted maid Commit in guard, till Heav’n’s Pow’rs have purvey’d A wife, in virtue and in beauty’s grace, Of fit sort for thee, to supply her place. And this note more I’ll give thee, which repose In sure remembrance: The best sort of those That woo thy mother watchful scouts address Both in the straits of th’ Ithacensian seas, And dusty Samos, with intent t’ invade And take thy life, ere thy return be made. Which yet I think will fail, and some of them That waste thy fortunes taste of that extreme They plot for thee. But keep off far from shore, And day and night sail, for a fore-right blore, Whoever of th’ Immortals that vow guard And ’scape to thy return, will see prepar’d. As soon as thou arriv’st, dismiss to town Thy ship and men, and first of all make down To him that keeps thy swine, and doth conceive A tender care to see thee well survive. There sleep; and send him to the town, to tell The chaste Penelopé, that safe and well Thou liv’st in his charge, and that Pylos’ sands The place contain’d from whence thy person lands.” Thus she to large Olympus made ascent. When with his heel a little touch he lent To Nestor’s son, whose sleep’s sweet chains he loos’d, Bad rise, and see in chariot inclos’d Their one-hoof’d horse, that they might straight be gone. “No such haste,” he replied, “Night holds her throne, And dims all way to course of chariot. The morn will soon get up. Nor see forgot The gifts with haste, that will, I know, be rich, And put into our coach with gracious speech By lance-fam’d Menelaus. Not a guest Shall touch at his house, but shall store his breast With fit mind of an hospitable man, To last as long as any daylight can His eyes recomfort, in such gifts as he Will proofs make of his hearty royalty.” He had no sooner said, but up arose Aurora, that the golden hills repose. And Menelaus, good-at-martial-cries, From Helen’s bed rais’d, to his guest applies His first appearance. Whose repair made known T’ Ulysses’ lov’d son, on his robe was thrown About his gracious body, his cloak cast Athwart his ample shoulders, and in haste Abroad he went, and did the king accost: “Atrides, guarded with heav’n’s deified host, Grant now remission to my native right, My mind now urging mine own house’s sight.” “Nor will I stay,” said he, “thy person long, Since thy desires to go are grown so strong. I should myself be angry to sustain The like detention urg’d by other men. Who loves a guest past mean, past mean will hate, _The mean in all acts bears the best estate._ A like ill ’tis, to thrust out such a guest As would not go, as to detain the rest. We should a guest love, while he loves to stay, And, when he likes not, give him loving way. Yet suffer so, that we may gifts impose In coach to thee; which ere our hands inclose, Thine eyes shall see, lest else our loves may glose. Besides, I’ll cause our women to prepare What our house yields, and merely so much fare As may suffice for health. Both well will do, Both for our honour and our profit too. And, serving strength with food, you after may As much earth measure as will match the clay. If you will turn your course from sea, and go Through Greece and Argos (that myself may so Keep kind way with thee) I’ll join horse, and guide T’ our human cities. Nor ungratified Will anyone remit us; some one thing Will each present us, that along may bring Our pass with love, and prove our virtues blaz’d: A caldron, or a tripod, richly-braz’d, Two mules, a bowl of gold, that hath his price Heighten’d with emblems of some rare device.” The wise prince answer’d: “I would gladly go Home to mine own, and see that govern’d so That I may keep what I for certain hold, Not hazard that for only hop’d-for gold. I left behind me none so all ways fit To give it guard, as mine own trust with it. Besides, in this broad course which you propose, My father seeking I myself may lose.” When this the shrill-voic’d Menelaus heard, He charg’d his queen and maids to see prepar’d Breakfast, of what the whole house held for best. To him rose Eteoneus from his rest, Whose dwelling was not far off from the court, And his attendance his command did sort With kindling fires, and furth’ring all the roast, In act of whose charge heard no time he lost. Himself then to an odorous room descended, Whom Megapenthe and his queen attended. Come to his treasury, a two-ear’d cup He choos’d of all, and made his son bear up A silver bowl. The queen then taking stand Aside her chest, where by her own fair hand Lay vests of all hues wrought, she took out one Most large, most artful, chiefly fair, and shone Like to a star, and lay of all the last. Then through the house with either’s gift they past; When to Ulysses’ son Atrides said: “Telemachus, since so entirely sway’d Thy thoughts are with thy vow’d return now tender’d, May Juno’s thund’ring husband see it render’d Perfect at all parts, action answ’ring thought. Of all the rich gifts, in my treasure sought, I give thee here the most in grace and best. A bowl but silver, yet the brim’s comprest With gold, whose fabric his desert doth bring From Vulcan’s hand, presented by the king And great heroë of Sidonia’s state, When at our parting he did consummate His whole house-keeping. This do thou command.” This said, he put the round bowl in his hand, And then his strong son Megapenthe plac’d The silver cup before him, amply grac’d With work and lustre. Helen (standing by, And in her hand the robe, her housewifery) His name rememb’ring, said: “And I present, Lov’d son, this gift to thee, the monument Of the so-many-lovéd Helen’s hands, Which, at the knitting of thy nuptial bands, Present thy wife. In mean space, may it lie By thy lov’d mother; but to me apply Thy pleasure in it, and thus take thy way To thy fair house, and country’s wishéd stay.” Thus gave she to his hands the veil, and he The acceptation author’d joyfully. Which in the chariot’s chest Pisistratus Plac’d with the rest, and held miraculous. The yellow-headed king then led them all To seats and thrones plac’d in his spacious hall. The hand-maid water brought, and gave it stream From out a fair and golden ewer to them, From whose hands to a silver caldron fled The troubled wave. A bright board then she spread, On which another rev’rend dame set bread. To which more servants store of victuals serv’d. Eteonëus was the man that kerv’d, And Megapenthe fill’d them all their wine. All fed and drank, till all felt care decline For those refreshings. Both the guests did go To horse, and coach, and forth the portico A little issued, when the yellow King Brought wine himself, that, with an offering To all the Gods, they might their journey take. He stood before the Gods, and thus he spake: “Farewell young Princes! To grave Nestor’s ear This salutation from my gratitude bear: That I profess, in all our Ilion wars, He stood a careful father to my cares.” To whom the wise Ulyssides replied: “With all our utmost shall be signified, Jove-kept Atrides, your right royal will; And would to God, I could as well fulfill Mine own mind’s gratitude, for your free grace, In telling to Ulysses, in the place Of my return, in what accomplish’d kind I have obtain’d the office of a friend At your deservings; whose fair end you crown With gifts so many, and of such renown!” His wish, that he might find in his retreat His father safe return’d (to so repeat The king’s love to him) was saluted thus: An eagle rose, and in her seres did truss A goose, all-white, and huge, a household one, Which men and women, crying out upon, Pursued, but she, being near the guests, her flight Made on their right hand, and kept still fore-right Before their horses; which observ’d by them, The spirits in all their minds took joys extreme, Which Nestor’s son thus question’d: “Jove-kept king,[2] Yield your grave thoughts, if this ostentful thing (This eagle, and this goose) touch us, or you?” He put to study, and not knowing how To give fit answer, Helen took on her Th’ ostent’s solution, and did this prefer: “Hear me, and I will play the prophet’s part, As the Immortals cast it in my heart, And as, I think, will make the true sense known: As this Jove’s bird, from out the mountains flown, (Where was her eyrie, and whence rose her race,) Truss’d up this goose, that from the house did graze, So shall Ulysses, coming from the wild Of seas and suff’rings, reach, unreconcil’d, His native home, where ev’n this hour he is, And on those house-fed Wooers those wrongs of his Will shortly wreak, with all their miseries.” “O,” said Telemachus, “if Saturnian Jove To my desires thy dear presage approve, When I arrive, I will perform to thee My daily vows, as to a Deity.” This said, he us’d his scourge upon the horse, That through the city freely made their course To field, and all day made that first speed good. But when the sun set, and obscureness stood In each man’s way, they ended their access At Pheras, in the house of Diocles, Son to Orsilochus, Alphëus’ seed, Who gave them guest-rites; and sleep’s natural need They that night served there. When Aurora rose, They join’d their horse, took coach, and did dispose Their course for Pylos; whose high city soon They reach’d. Nor would Telemachus be won To Nestor’s house, and therefore order’d thus His speech to Nestor’s son, Pisistratus: “How shall I win thy promise to a grace That I must ask of thee? We both embrace The names of bed-fellows, and in that name Will glory as an adjunct of our fame; Our fathers’ friendship, our own equal age, And our joint travel, may the more engage Our mutual concord. Do not then assay, My God-lov’d friend, to lead me from my way To my near ship, but take a course direct And leave me there, lest thy old sire’s respect, In his desire to love me, hinder so My way for home, that have such need to go.” This said, Nestorides held all discourse In his kind soul, how best he might enforce Both promise and performance; which, at last; He vow’d to venture, and directly cast His horse about to fetch the ship and shore. Where come, his friends’ most lovely gifts he bore Aboard the ship, and in her hind-deck plac’d The veil that Helen’s curious hand had grac’d, And Menelaus’ gold, and said: “Away, Nor let thy men, in any least date, stay, But quite put off, ere I get home, and tell The old duke, you are past; for passing well I know his mind to so exceed all force Of any pray’r, that he will stay your course, Himself make hither, all your course call back, And, when he hath you, have no thought to rack Him from his bounty, and to let you part Without a present, but be vex’d at heart With both our pleadings, if we once put move The least repression of his fiery love.” Thus took he coach, his fair-man’d steeds scourg’d on Along the Pylian city, and anon His father’s court reach’d; while Ulysses’ son Bade board, and arm; which with a thought was done. His rowers set, and he rich odours firing In his hind-deck, for his secure retiring, To great Athenia, to his ship came flying A stranger, and a prophet, as relying On wishéd passage, having newly slain A man at Argos, yet his race’s vein Flow’d from Melampus, who in former date In Pylos liv’d, and had a huge estate, But fled his country, and the punishing hand Of great-soul’d Neleus, in a foreign land, From that most famous mortal, having held A world of riches, nor could be compell’d To render restitution in a year. In mean space, living as close prisoner In court of Phylacus, and for the sake Of Neleus’ daughter mighty cares did take, Together with a grievous languor sent From grave Erinnys, that did much torment His vexéd conscience; yet his life’s expence He scap’d, and drave the loud-voiced oxen thence, To breed-sheep Pylos, bringing vengeance thus Her foul demerit to great Neleüs, And to his brother’s house reduc’d his wife. Who yet from Pylos did remove his life For feed-horse Argos, where his fate set down A dwelling for him, and in much renown Made govern many Argives, where a spouse He took to him, and built a famous house. There had he born to him Antiphates, And forceful Mantius. To the first of these Was great Oïcleus born: Oïcleus gat Amphiaraus, that the popular state Had all their health in, whom ev’n from his heart Jove lov’d, and Phœbus in the whole desert Of friendship held him; yet not bless’d so much That age’s threshold he did ever touch, But lost his life by female bribery.[3] Yet two sons author’d his posterity, Alcmæon, and renown’d Amphilochus. Mantius had issue Polyphidius, And Clytus, but Aurora ravish’d him, For excellence of his admiréd limb, And interested him amongst the Gods. His brother knew men’s good and bad abodes The best of all men, after the decease Of him that perish’d in unnatural peace At spacious Thebes. Apollo did inspire His knowing soul with a prophetic fire. Who, angry with his father, took his way To Hyperesia; where, making stay, He prophesied to all men, and had there A son call’d Theoclymenus, who here Came to Telemachus, and found aboard Himself at sacrifice, whom in a word He thus saluted: “O friend, since I find, Ev’n here at ship, a sacrificing mind Inform your actions, by your sacrifice, And by that worthy choice of Deities To whom you offer, by yourself, and all These men that serve your course maritimal, Tell one that asks the truth, nor give it glose, Both who, and whence, you are? From what seed rose Your royal person? And what city’s tow’rs Hold habitation to your parents’ pow’rs?” He answer’d: “Stranger! The sure truth is this: I am of Ithaca; my father is (Or was) Ulysses, but austere death now Takes his state from him; whose event to know Himself being long away, I set forth thus With ship and soldiers.” Theoclymenus As freely said: “And I to thee am fled From forth my country, for a man struck dead By my unhappy hand, who was with me Of one self-tribe, and of his pedigree Are many friends and brothers, and the sway Of Achive kindred reacheth far away. From whom, because I fear their spleens suborn Blood and black fate against me (being born To be a wand’rer among foreign men) Make thy fair ship my rescue, and sustain My life from slaughter. Thy deservings may Perform that mercy, and to them I pray.” “Nor will I bar,” said he, “thy will to make My means and equal ship thy aid, but take (With what we have here, in all friendly use) Thy life from any violence that pursues.” Thus took he in his lance, and it extended Aloft the hatches, which himself ascended. The prince took seat at stern, on his right hand Set Theoclymenus, and gave command To all his men to arm, and see made fast Amidst the hollow keel the beechen mast With able halsers, hoise sail, launch; which soon He saw obey’d. And then his ship did run A merry course; blue-eyed Minerva sent A fore-right gale, tumultuous, vehement, Along the air, that her way’s utmost yield The ship might make, and plough the brackish field. Then set the sun, and night black’d all the ways. The ship, with Jove’s wind wing’d, where th’ Epian sways, Fetch’d Pheras first, then Elis the divine, And then for those isles made, that sea-ward shine For form and sharpness like a lance’s head, About which lay the Wooers ambushéd; On which he rush’d, to try if he could ’scape His plotted death, or serve her treach’rous rape. And now return we to Eumæus’ shed, Where, at their food with others marshalléd, Ulysses and his noble herdsman sate. To try if whose love’s curious estate Stood firm to his abode, or felt it fade, And so would take each best cause to persuade His guest to town, Ulysses thus contends: “Hear me, Eumæus, and ye other friends. Next morn to town I covet to be gone, To beg some others’ alms, not still charge one. Advise me well then, and as well provide I may be fitted with an honest guide, For through the streets, since need will have it so, I’ll tread, to try if any will bestow A dish of drink on me, or bit of bread, Till to Ulysses’ house I may be led; And there I’ll tell all-wise Penelope news, Mix with the Wooers’ pride, and, since they use To fare above the full, their hands excite To some small feast from out their infinite: For which, I’ll wait, and play the servingman, Fairly enough, command the most they can. For I will tell thee, note me well, and hear, That, if the will be of Heav’n’s Messenger, (Who to the works of men, of any sort, Can grace infuse, and glory) nothing short Am I of him, that doth to most aspire In any service, as to build a fire, To cleave sere wood, to roast or boil their meat, To wait at board, mix wine, or know the neat, Or any work, in which the poor-call’d worst To serve the rich-call’d best in Fate are forc’d.” He, angry with him, said: “Alas, poor guest, Why did this counsel ever touch thy breast? Thou seek’st thy utter spoil beyond all doubt, If thou giv’st venture on the Wooers’ rout, Whose wrong and force affects the iron heav’n, Their light delights are far from being giv’n To such grave servitors. Youths richly trick’d In coats or cassocks, locks divinely slick’d, And looks most rapting, ever have the gift To taste their crown’d cups, and full trenchers shift. Their tables ever like their glasses shine, Loaded with bread, with varied flesh, and wine. And thou go thither? Stay, for here do none Grudge at thy presence, nor myself, nor one Of all I feed. But when Ulysses’ son Again shall greet us, he shall put thee on Both coat and cassock, and thy quick retreat Set where thy heart and soul desire thy seat.” Industrious Ulysses gave reply: “I still much wish, that Heav’n’s chief Deity Lov’d thee, as I do, that hast eas’d my mind Of woes and wand’rings never yet confin’d. _Nought is more wretched in a human race, Than country’s want, and shift from place to place._ But for the baneful belly men take care Beyond good counsel, whosoever are In compass of the wants it undergoes By wand’rings, losses, or dependent woes. Excuse me therefore, if I err’d at home; Which since thou wilt make here, as overcome With thy command for stay, I’ll take on me Cares appertaining to this place, like thee. Does then Ulysses’ sire, and mother, breathe, Both whom he left in th’ age next door to death? Or are they breathless, and descended where The dark house is, that never day doth clear?” “Laertes lives,” said he, “but ev’ry hour Beseecheth Jove to take from him the pow’r That joins his life and limbs; for with a moan That breeds a marvel he laments his son Depriv’d by death, and adds to that another Of no less depth for that dead son’s dead mother, Whom he a virgin wedded, which the more Makes him lament her loss, and doth deplore Yet more her miss, because her womb the truer Was to his brave son, and his slaughter slew her. Which last love to her doth his life engage, And makes him live an undigested age. O! such a death she died as never may Seize anyone that here beholds the day, That either is to any man a friend, Or can a woman kill in such a kind. As long as she had being, I would be A still inquirer (since ’twas dear to me, Though death to her, to hear his name) when she Heard of Ulysses, for I might be bold, She brought me up, and in her love did hold My life, compar’d with long-veil’d Ctimené, Her youngest issue (in some small degree Her daughter yet preferr’d) a brave young dame. And when of youth the dearly-lovéd flame Was lighted in us, marriage did prefer The maid to Samos; whence was sent for her Infinite riches, when the queen bestow’d A fair new suit, new shoes, and all, and vow’d Me to the field, but passing loth to part, As loving me more than she lov’d her heart. And these I want now; but their business grows Upon me daily, which the Gods impose, To whom I hold all, give account to them, For I see none left to the diadem That may dispose all better. So, I drink And eat of what is here; and whom I think Worthy or rev’rend, I have giv’n to, still, These kinds of guest-rites; for the household ill (Which, where the queen is, riots) takes her still From thought of these things. Nor is it delight To hear, from her plight, of or work or word; The Wooers spoil all. But yet my men will board Her sorrows often with discourse of all, Eating and drinking of the festival That there is kept, and after bring to field Such things as servants make their pleasures yield.”

“O me, Eumæus,” said Laertes’ son, “Hast thou then err’d so of a little one, Like me, from friends and country? Pray thee say, And say a truth, doth vast Destruction lay Her hand upon the wide-way’d seat of men,[4] Where dwelt thy sire and rev’rend mother then, That thou art spar’d there? Or else, set alone In guard of beeves, or sheep, set th’ enemy on, Surpris’d, and shipp’d, transferr’d, and sold thee here? He that bought thee paid well, yet bought not dear.” “Since thou enquir’st of that, my guest,” said he, “Hear and be silent, and, mean space, sit free In use of these cups to thy most delights; Unspeakable in length now are the nights. Those that affect sleep yet, to sleep have leave, Those that affect to hear, their hearers give. But sleep not ere your hour; _much sleep doth grieve._ Whoever lists to sleep, away to bed, Together with the morning raise his head, Together with his fellows break his fast, And then his lord’s herd drive to their repast. We two, still in our tabernacle here Drinking and eating, will our bosoms cheer With memories and tales of our annoys. _Betwixt his sorrows ev’ry human joys,_ He most, who most hath felt and furthest err’d. And now thy will to act shall be preferr’d. There is an isle above Ortygia, If thou hast heard, they call it Syria, Where, once a day, the sun moves backward still. ’Tis not so great as good, for it doth fill The fields with oxen, fills them still with sheep, Fills roofs with wine, and makes all corn there cheap. No dearth comes ever there, nor no disease That doth with hate us wretched mortals seize, But when men’s varied nations, dwelling there In any city, enter th’ aged year, The silver-bow-bearer, the Sun, and She That bears as much renown for archery, Stoop with their painless shafts, and strike them dead, As one would sleep, and never keep the bed. In this isle stand two cities, betwixt whom All things that of the soil’s fertility come In two parts are divided. And both these My father rul’d, Ctesius Ormenides, A man like the Immortals. With these states The cross-biting Phœnicians traffick’d rates Of infinite merchandise in ships brought there, In which they then were held exempt from peer. There dwelt within my father’s house a dame, Born a Phœnician, skilful in the frame Of noble housewif’ries, right tall and fair. Her the Phœnician great-wench-net-lay’r[5] With sweet words circumvented, as she was Washing her linen. To his amorous pass He brought her first, shor’d from his ship to her; To whom he did his whole life’s love prefer, Which of these breast-exposing dames the hearts Deceives, though fashion’d of right honest parts. He ask’d her after, what she was, and whence? She, passing presently, the excellence Told of her father’s turrets, and that she Might boast herself sprung from the progeny Of the rich Sidons, and the daughter was Of the much-year-revénued Arybas; But that the Taphian pirates made her prise, As she return’d from her field-housewif’ries, Transferr’d her hither, and, at that man’s house Where now she liv’d, for value precious Sold her to th’ owner. He that stole her love Bade her again to her birth’s seat remove, To see the fair roofs of her friends again, Who still held state, and did the port maintain Herself reported. She said: ‘Be it so, So you, and all that in your ship shall row, Swear to return me in all safety hence.’ All swore. Th’ oath past, with ev’ry consequence, She bade: ‘Be silent now, and not a word Do you, or any of your friends, afford, Meeting me afterward in any way, Or at the washing-fount; lest some display Be made, and told the old man, and he then Keep me strait bound, to you and to your men The utter ruin plotting of your lives. Keep in firm thought then ev’ry word that strives For dang’rous utt’rance. Haste your ship’s full freight Of what you traffic for, and let me straight Know by some sent friend she hath all in hold, And with myself I’ll bring thence all the gold I can by all means finger; and, beside, I’ll do my best to see your freight supplied With some well-weighing burthen of mine own. For I bring-up in house a great man’s son, As crafty as myself, who will with me Run ev’ry way along, and I will be His leader, till your ship hath made him sure. He will an infinite great price procure, Transfer him to what languag’d men ye may.’ This said, she gat her home, and there made stay A whole year with us, goods of great avail Their ship enriching. Which now fit for sail, They sent a messenger t’ inform the dame; And to my father’s house a fellow came, Full of Phœnician craft, that to be sold A tablet brought, the body all of gold, The verge all-amber. This had ocular view Both by my honour’d mother and the crew Of her house-handmaids, handled, and the price Beat, ask’d, and promis’d. And while this device Lay thus upon the forge, this jeweller Made privy signs, by winks and wiles, to her That was his object; which she took, and he, His sign seeing noted, hied to ship. When she, (My hand still taking, as she us’d to do To walk abroad with her) convey’d me so Abroad with her, and in the portico Found cups, with tasted viands, which the guests That us’d to flock about my father’s feasts Had left. They gone (some to the council-court, Some to hear news amongst the talking sort) Her theft three bowls into her lap convey’d, And forth she went. Nor was my wit so stay’d To stay her, or myself. The sun went down, And shadows round about the world were flown, When we came to the haven, in which did ride The swift Phœnician ship; whose fair broad side They boarded straight, took us up; and all went Along the moist waves. Wind Saturnius sent. Six days we day and night sail’d; but when Jove Put up the seventh day, She that shafts doth love Shot dead the woman, who into the pump Like to a dop-chick div’d, and gave a thump In her sad settling. Forth they cast her then To serve the fish and sea-calves, no more men; But I was left there with a heavy heart; When wind and water drave them quit apart Their own course, and on Ithaca they fell, And there poor me did to Laertes sell. And thus these eyes the sight of this isle prov’d.” “Eumæus,” he replied, “thou much hast mov’d The mind in me with all things thou hast said, And all the suff’rance on thy bosom laid, But, truly, to thy ill hath Jove join’d good, That one whose veins are serv’d with human blood Hath bought thy service, that gives competence Of food, wine, cloth to thee; and sure th’ expence Of thy life’s date here is of good desert, Whose labours not to thee alone impart Sufficient food and housing, but to me; Where I through many a heap’d humanity Have hither err’d, where, though, like thee, not sold, Nor stay’d like thee yet, nor nought needful hold.” This mutual speech they us’d, nor had they slept Much time before the much-near morning leapt To her fair throne. And now struck sail the men That serv’d Telemachus, arriv’d just then Near his lov’d shore; where now they stoop’d the mast, Made to the port with oars, and anchor cast, Made fast the ship, and then ashore they went, Dress’d supper, fill’d wine; when (their appetites spent) Telemachus commanded they should yield The ship to th’ owner, while himself at field Would see his shepherds; when light drew to end He would his gifts see, and to town descend, And in the morning at a feast bestow Rewards for all their pains. “And whither, now,” Said Theoclymenus, “my lovéd son, Shall I address myself? Whose mansión, Of all men, in this rough-hewn isle, shall I Direct my way to? Or go readily To thy house and thy mother?” He replied: “Another time I’ll see you satisfied With my house-entertainment, but as now You should encounter none that could bestow Your fit entreaty, and (which less grace were) You could not see my mother, I not there; For she’s no frequent object, but apart Keeps from her Wooers, woo’d with her desert, Up in her chamber, at her housewif’ry But I’ll name one to whom you shall apply Direct repair, and that’s Eurymachus, Renown’d descent to wise Polybius, A man whom th’ Ithacensians look on now As on a God, since he of all that woo Is far superior man, and likest far To wed my mother, and as circular Be in that honour as Ulysses was. But heav’n-hous’d Jove knows the yet hidden pass Of her disposure, and on them he may A blacker sight bring than her nuptial day.” As this he utter’d, on his right hand flew A saker, sacred to the God of view, That in his talons truss’d and plum’d a dove; The feathers round about the ship did rove, And on Telemachus fell; whom th’ augur then Took fast by the hand, withdrew him from his men, And said: “Telemachus! This hawk is sent From God; I knew it for a sure ostent When first I saw it. Be you well assur’d, There will no Wooer be by heav’n endur’d To rule in Ithaca above your race, But your pow’rs ever fill the regal place.” “I wish to heav’n,” said he, “thy word might stand, Thou then shouldst soon acknowledge from my hand Such gifts and friendship, as would make thee, guest, Met and saluted as no less than blest.” This said, he call’d Piræus, Clytus’ son, His true associate, saying: “Thou hast done (Of all my followers to the Pylian shore) My will in chief in other things, once more Be chiefly good to me; take to thy house This lovéd stranger, and be studious T’ embrace and greet him with thy greatest fare, Till I myself come and take off thy care.” The famous-for-his-lance said: “If your stay Take time for life here, this man’s care I’ll lay On my performance, nor what fits a guest Shall any penury withhold his feast.” Thus took he ship, bade them board, and away. They boarded, sat, but did their labour stay Till he had deck’d his feet, and reached his lance. They to the city; he did straight advance Up to his styes, where swine lay for him store, By whose side did his honest swine-herd snore, Till his short cares his longest nights had ended, And nothing worse to both his lords intended.

THE END OF THE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

[1] _Εὐρύχορον Λακεδαίμονα in quâ ampli ut pulchri chori duci possunt, vel ducuntur;_ which the vulgar translations turn therefore, _latam, seu amplam._

[2] Nestor’s son to Menelaus, his ironical question continuing still Homer’s character of Menelaus.

[3] His wife betrayed him for money.

[4] Supposing him to dwell in a city.

[5] _Πολυπαίπαλος, admodum vafer, Der. ex παλεύω, pertraho in retia, et παι̑ς, puella._

THE SIXTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS

THE ARGUMENT

The Prince at field, he sends to town Eumæus, to make truly known His safe return. By Pallas’ will, Telemachus is giv’n the skill To know his father. Those that lay In ambush, to prevent the way Of young Ulyssides for home, Retire, with anger overcome.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

_Πι̑._ To his most dear Ulysses shows. The wise-son here His father knows.