The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (85 page)

Or other want, fit means to that ascent.

What, after, austere fates shall make th’ event

Of his life’s thread, now spinning, and began

When his pain’d mother freed his root of man,

He must endure in all kinds. If some god

Perhaps abides with us in his abode,

And other things will think upon than we,

The gods’ wills stand, who ever yet were free

Of their appearance to us, when to them

We offer’d hecatombs of fit esteem,

And would at feast sit with us, even where we

Order’d our session. They would likewise be

Encount’rers of us, when in way alone

About his fit affairs went any one.

Nor let them cloak themselves in any care

To do us comfort; we as near them are,

As are the Cyclops, or the impious race

Of earthy giants, that would heav
’
n outface.’

Ulysses answer’d; ‘Let some other doubt

Employ your thoughts than what your words give out;

Which intimate a kind of doubt that I

Should shadow in this shape a deity.

I bear no such least semblance, or in wit,

Virtue, or person. What may well befit

One of those mortals, whom you chiefly know

Bears up and down the burthen of the woe

Appropriate to poor man, give that to me;

Of whose moans I sit in the most degree,

And might say more, sustaining griefs that all

The gods consent to, no one ’twixt their fall

And my unpitied shoulders letting down

The least diversion. Be the grace then shown,

To let me taste your free-giv
’
n food in peace.

Through greatest grief the belly must have ease.

Worse than an envious belly nothing is.

It will command his strict necessities,

Of men most griev’d in body or in mind,

That are in health, and will not give their kind

A desperate wound. When most with cause I grieve,

It bids me still, “Eat, man, and drink, and live,

And this makes all forgot.” Whatever ill

I ever bear, it ever bids me fill.

But this ease is but forc’d, and will not last,

Till what the mind likes be as well embrac’d;

And therefore let me wish you would partake

In your late purpose; when the morn shall make

Her next appearance, deign me but the grace,

Unhappy man, that I may once embrace

My country earth. Though I be still thrust at

By ancient ills, yet make me but see that,

And then let life go, when withal I see

My high-roo
f
’
d large house, lands, and family.’

This all approv’d; and each will’d every one,

Since he hath said so fairly, set him gone.

Feast past and sacrifice, to sleep all vow

Their eyes at either’s house. Ulysses now

Was left here with Alcinous, and his queen,

The all-lov’d Arete. The handmaids then

The vessel of the banquet took away;

When Arete set eye on his array,

Knew both his out and under weed, which she

Made with her maids, and mus
’
d by what means he

Obtain’d their wearing; which she made request

To know, and wings gave to these speeches: ‘Guest,

First let me ask what and from whence you are?

And then, who grac’d you with the weeds you wear?

Said you not lately, you had err’d at seas,

And thence arrived here?’ Laertiades

To this thus answer’d: ‘Tis a pain, O queen,

Still to be opening wounds wrought deep and green,

Of which the gods have open’d store in me;

Yet your will must be serv’d. Far hence, at sea,

There lies an isle that bears Ogygia’s name,

Where Atlas’ daughter, the ingenious dame,

Fair-hair’d Calypso lives – a goddess grave,

And with whom men nor gods society have.

Yet I, past man unhappy, liv’d alone,

By heav’n’s wrath forc’d, her house companion.

For Jove had with a fervent lightning cleft

My ship in twain, and far at black sea left

Me and my soldiers; all whose lives I lost.

I in mine arms the keel took, and was toss’d

Nine days together up from wave to wave.

The tenth grim night, the angry deities drave

Me and my wrack on th’ isle in which doth dwell

Dreadful Calypso; who exactly well

Receiv’d and nourish’d me, and promise made

To make me deathless, nor should age invade

My pow’rs with his deserts through all my days.

All mov’d not me, and therefore, on her stays,

Sev’n years she made me lie; and there spent I

The long time, steeping in the misery

Of ceaseless tears the garments I did wear,

From her fair hand. The eighth revolved year

(Or by her chang’d mind, or by charge of Jove)

She gave provok’d way to my wish’d remove,

And in a many-jointed ship, with wine

Dainty in savour, bread, and weeds divine,

Sign’d, with a harmless and sweet wind, my pass.

Then seventeen days at sea I homeward was,

And by the eighteenth the dark hills appear’d

That your earth thrusts up. Much my heart was cheer’d –

Unhappy man, for that was but a beam,

To show I yet had agonies extreme

To put in suf
f
’
rance, which th’ Earth-shaker sent,

Crossing my way with tempests violent,

Unmeasur’d seas up-lifting, nor would give

The billows leave to let my vessel live

The least time quiet, that even sigh’d to bear

Their bitter outrage; which at last did tear

Her sides in pieces, set on by the winds.

I yet through-swum the waves that your shore binds

Till wind and water threw me up to it;

When, coming forth, a ruthless billow smit

Against huge rocks, and an accessless shore,

My mangl’d body. Back again I bore,

And swum till I was fall’n upon a flood,

Whose shores, methought, on good advantage stood

For my receipt, rock-free and fenc’d from wind;

And this I put for, gathering up my mind.

Then the divine night came, and treading earth,

Close by the flood that had from Jove her birth,

Within a thicket I repos’d, when round

I ruffled up fall’n leaves in heap, and found,

Let fall from heav’n, a sleep interminate.

And here my heart, long time excruciate,

Amongst the leaves I rested all that night,

Ev’n till the morning and meridian light.

The sun declining then, delightsome sleep

No longer laid my temples in his steep,

But forth I went, and on the shore might see

Your daughter’s maids play. Like a deity

She shin’d above them; and I pray’d to her,

And she in disposition did prefer

Noblesse, and wisdom, no more low than might

Become the goodness of a goddess’ height.

Nor would you therefore hope, suppos’d distrest

As I was then, and old, to find the least

Of any grace from her, being younger far.

With young folks wisdom makes her commerce rare.

Yet she in all abundance did bestow

Both wine, that makes the blood in humans grow,

And food, and bath’d me in the flood, and gave

The weeds to me which now ye see me have.

This through my griefs I tell you, and ’tis true.’

Alcinous answer’d: ‘Guest! My daughter knew

Least of what most you give her; nor became

The course she took, to let with every dame

Your person lackey; nor hath with them brought

Yourself home too, which first you had besought.’

‘O blame her not,’ said he, ‘heroical lord,

Nor let me hear against her worth a word.

She faultless is, and wish’d I would have gone

With all her women home; but I alone

Would venture my receipt here, having fear

And reverend awe of accidents that were

Of likely issue: both your wrath to move,

And to enflame the common people’s love

Of speaking ill, to which they soon give place.

We men are all a most suspicious race.’

‘My guest,’ said he, ‘I use not to be stirr’d

To wrath too rashly; and where are preferr’d

To men’s conceits things that may both ways fail,

The noblest ever should the most prevail.

Would Jove our father, Pallas, and the Sun,

That, were you still as now, and could but run

One fate with me, you would my daughter wed,

And be my son-in-law, still vow’d to lead

Your rest of life here! I a house would give,

And household goods; so freely you would live,

Confin’d with us. But ’gainst your will shall none

Contain you here, since that were violence done

To Jove our father. For your passage home,

That you may well know we can overcome

So great a voyage, thus it shall succeed:

Tomorrow shall our men take all their heed,

While you securely sleep, to see the seas

In calmest temper, and, if that will please,

Show you your country and your house ere night,

Though far beyond Euboea be that sight.

And this Euboea, as our subjects say

That have been there and seen, is far away,

Farthest from us of all the parts they know

And made the trial when they help’d to row

The gold-lock’d Rhadamanth, to give him view

Of earth-born Tityus; whom their speeds did show

In that far-off Euboea, the same day

They set from hence; and home made good their way

With ease again, and him they did convey.

Which I report to you, to let you see

How swift my ships are, and how matchlessly

My young Phaeacians with their oars prevail,

To beat the sea through, and assist a sail.’

This cheer’d Ulysses, who in private pray’d:

‘I would to Jove our father, what he said

He could perform at all parts; he should then

Be glorified for ever, and I gain

My natural country.’ This discourse they had,

When fair-arm’d Arete her handmaids bad

A bed make in the portico, and ply

With clothes, the covering tapestry,

The blankets purple; well-napp’d waistcoats too,

To wear for more warmth. What these had to do,

They torches took and did. The bed purvey’d,

They moved Ulysses for his rest, and said:

‘Come guest, your bed is fit, now frame to rest.’

Motion of sleep was gracious to their guest,

Which now he took profoundly, being laid

Within a loop-hole tower, where was convey’d

The sounding portico. The king took rest

In a retir’d part of the house, where dress
’
d

The queen her self a bed, and trundlebed,

And by her lord repos’d her reverend head.

The end of the seventh book

Book 8

The Argument

The peers of the Phaeacian state

A council call, to consolate

Ulysses with all means for home.

The council to a banquet come,

Invited by the king. Which done,

Assays for hurling of the stone

The youths make with the stranger king.

Demodocus, at feast, doth sing

Th’ adultery of the god of arms

With her that rules in amorous charms;

And after sings the entercourse

Of acts about th’ Epaean horse.

Another Argument

Theta

The council’s frame

At fleet applied;

In strifes of game

Ulysses tried.

Book 8

N
o
w w
he
n the rosy-finger’d Morn arose,

The sacred pow
’
r Alcinous did dispose

Did likewise rise; and, like him, left his ease

The city-razer Laertiades.

The council at the navy was design’d;

To which Alcinous with the sacred mind

Came first of all. On polish’d stones they sate,

Near to the navy. To increase the state,

Minerva took the herald’s form on her

(That served Alcinous), studious to prefer

Ulysses’ suit for home. About the town

She made quick way, and fill’d with the renown

Of that design the ears of every man,

Proclaiming thus: ‘Peers Phaeacensian!

And men of council, all haste to the court,

To hear the stranger that made late resort

To king Alcinous, long time lost at sea,

And is in person like a deity.’

This all their pow’rs set up, and spirit instill’d,

And straight the court and seats with men were fill’d.

The whole state wonder’d at Laertes’ son,

When they beheld him. Pallas put him on

A supernatural and heav
’
nly dress,

Enlarg’d him with a height, and goodliness

In breast and shoulders, that he might appear

Gracious and grave and reverend, and bear

A perfect hand on his performance there

In all the trials they resolv’d t’ impose.

All met and gather’d in attention close,

Alcinous thus bespake them: ‘Dukes and lords,

Hear me digest my hearty thoughts in words.

This stranger here, whose travels found my court,

I know not, nor can tell if his resort

From east or west comes; but his suit is this –

That to his country earth we would dismiss

His hither-forced person – and doth bear

The mind to pass it under every peer;

Whom I prepare and stir up, making known

My free desire of his deduction.

Nor shall there ever any other man

That tries the goodness Phaeacensian

In me, and my court’s entertainment, stay,

Mourning for passage, under least delay.

Come then, a ship into the sacred seas,

New-built, now launch we; and from out our prease

Choose two and fifty youths, of all, the best

To use an oar. All which see straight impress’d,

And in their oar-bound seats. Let others hie

Home to our court, commanding instantly

The solemn preparation of a feast,

In which provision may for any guest

Be made at my charge. Charge of these low things

I give our youth. You, sceptre-bearing kings,

Consort me home, and help with grace to use

This guest of ours; no one man shall refuse.

Some other of you haste, and call to us

The sacred singer, grave Demodocus,

To whom hath god giv’n song that can excite

The heart of whom he listeth with delight.’

This said, he led. The sceptre-bearers lent

Their free attendance; and with all speed went

The herald for the sacred man in song.

Youths two and fifty, chosen from the throng,

Went, as was will’d, to the untam’d sea’s shore;

Where come, they launch’d the ship, the mast it bore

Advanc’d, sails hoised, every seat his oar

Gave with a leather thong. The deep moist then

They further reach’d. The dry streets flow’d with men

That troop’d up to the king’s capacious court,

Whose porticos were chok’d with the resort,

Whose walls were hung with men, young, old, thrust there

In mighty concourse; for whose promis’d cheer

Alcinous slew twelve sheep, eight white-tooth’d swine,

Two crook-haunch’d beeves; which flay’d and dress’d, divine

The show was of so many a jocund guest,

All set together at so set a feast.

To whose accomplish’d state the herald then

The lovely singer led; who past all men

The muse affected, gave him good and ill,

His eyes put out, but put in soul at will.

His place was given him in a chair all grac’d

With silver studs, and ’gainst a pillar plac’d;

Where, as the centre to the state, he rests,

And round about the circle of the guests.

The herald on a pin above his head

His soundful harp hung, to whose height he led

His hand for taking of it down at will;

A board set by with food, and forth did fill

A bowl of wine, to drink at his desire.

The rest then fell to feast, and, when the fire

Of appetite was quench’d, the muse inflam’d

The sacred singer. Of men highliest fam’d

He sung the glories, and a poem penn’d,

That in applause did ample heaven ascend.

Whose subject was, the stern contention

Betwixt Ulysses and great Thetis’ son,

As, at a banquet sacred to the gods,

In dreadful language they express’d their odds.

When Agamemnon sat rejoic’d in soul

To hear the Greek peers jar in terms so foul;

For augur Phoebus in presage had told

The king of men (desirous to unfold

The war’s perplex’d end, and being therefore gone

In heavenly Pythia to the porch of stone)

That then the end of all griefs should begin

’Twixt Greece and Troy, when Greece (with strife to win

That wish’d conclusion) in her kings should jar,

And plead if force or wit must end the war.

This brave contention did the poet sing,

Expressing so the spleen of either king,

That his large purple wood UIysses held

Before his face and eyes, since thence distill’d

Tears uncontain’d; which he obscur’d, in fear

To let th’ observing presence note a tear.

But when his sacred song the mere divine

Had given an end, a goblet crown’d with wine

Ulysses, drying his wet eyes, did seize,

And sacrific
’
d to those gods that would please

T’ inspire the poet with a song so fit

To do him honour, and renown his wit.

His tears then stay’d. But when again began,

By all the kings’ desires, the moving man,

Again Ulysses could not choose but yield

To that soft passion, which again, withheld,

He kept so cunningly from sight, that none,

Except Alcinous himself alone,

Discern’d him mov’d so much. But he sat next,

And heard him deeply sigh; which his pretext

Could not keep hid from him. Yet he conceal’d

His utterance of it, and would have it held

From all the rest, brake off the song, and this

Said to those oar-affecting peers of his:

‘Princes and peers! We now are satiate

With sacred song that fits a feast of state,

With wine and food. Now then to field, and try

In all kinds our approv’d activity,

That this our guest may give his friends to know,

In his return, that we as little owe

To fights and wrestlings, leaping, speed of race,

As these our court-rites; and commend our grace

In all to all superior.’ Forth he led,

The peers and people troop’d up to their head.

Nor must Demodocus be left within;

Whose harp the herald hung upon the pin,

His hand in his took, and abroad he brought

The heavenly poet, out the same way wrought

That did the princes, and what they would see

With admiration, with his company

They wish’d to honour. To the place of game

These throng’d; and after routs of other came,

Of all sort, infinite. Of youths that strove,

Many and strong rose to their trial’s love.

Up rose Acroneus, and Ocyalus,

Elatreus, Prymneus, and Anchialus,

Nauteus, Eretmeus, Thoön, Proreus,

Ponteus, and the strong Amphialus,

Son to Tectonides Polyneus.

Up rose to these the great Euryalus,

In action like the Homicide of War.

Naubolides, that was for person far

Past all the rest, but one he could not pass,

Nor any thought improve, Laodamas.

Up Anabesineus then arose;

And three sons of the sceptre-state, and those

Were Halius, the fore-prais’d Laodamas,

And Clytoneus, like a god in grace.

These first the foot-game tried, and from the lists

Took start together. Up the dust in mists

They hurl’d about, as in their speed they flew;

But Clytoneus first of all the crew

A stitch’s length in any fallow field

Made good his pace when, where the judges yield

The prize and praise, his glorious speed arriv’d.

Next, for the boist’rous wrestling game they striv’d,

At which Euryalus the rest outshone.

At leap Amphialus. At the hollow stone

Elatreus excell’d. At buffets, last,

Laodamas, the king’s fair son, surpass
’
d.

When all had striv’d in these assays their fill,

Laodamas said: ‘Come friends, let’s prove what skill

This stranger hath attain’d to in our sport.

Methinks, he must be of the active sort –

His calves, thighs, hands, and well-knit shoulders show

That nature disposition did bestow

To fit with fact their form. Nor wants he prime,

But sour affliction, made a mate with time,

Makes time the more seen. Nor imagine I

A worse thing to enforce debility

Than is the sea, though nature ne’er so strong

Knits one together.’ ‘Nor conceive you wrong,’

Replied Euryalus, ‘but prove his blood

With what you question.’ In the midst then stood

Renown’d Laodamas, and prov’d him thus:

‘Come, stranger father, and assay with us

Your pow
’
rs in these contentions. If your show

Be answer’d with your worth, ’tis fit that you

Should know these conflicts. Nor doth glory stand

On any worth more, in a man’s command,

Than to be strenuous both of foot and hand.

Come then, make proof with us, discharge your mind

Of discontentments; for not far behind

Comes your deduction; ship is ready now,

And men, and all things.’ ‘Why,’ said he, ‘dost thou

Mock me, Laodamas, and these strifes bind

My powers to answer? I am more inclin’d

To cares than conflict. Much sustain’d I have,

And still am suffering. I come here to crave,

In your assemblies, means to be dismiss’d,

And pray both kings and subjects to assist.’

Euryalus an open brawl began,

And said: ‘I take you, sir, for no such man

As fits these honour’d strifes. A number more

Strange men there are that I would choose before.

To one that loves to lie a-shipboard much,

Or is the prince of sailors, or to such

As traffic far and near, and nothing mind

But freight, and passage, and a foreright wind,

Or to a victualler of a ship, or men

That set up all their pow
’
rs for rampant gain,

I can compare, or hold you like to be:

But, for a wrestler, or of quality

Fit for contentions noble, you abhor

From worth of any such competitor.’

Ulysses, frowning, answer’d: ‘Stranger, far

Thy words are from the fashions regular

Of kind, or honour. Thou art in thy guise

Like to a man that authors injuries.

I see the gods to all men give not all

Manly addiction – wisdom, words that fall,

Like dice, upon the square still. Some man takes

Ill form from parents, but god often makes

That fault of form up with observ’d repair

Of pleasing speech, that makes him held for fair,

That makes him speak securely, makes him shine

In an assembly with a grace divine.

Men take delight to see how ev’nly lie

His words asteep in honey modesty.

Another, then, hath fashion like a god,

But in his language he is foul and broad.

And such art thou. A person fair is giv’n,

But nothing else is in thee sent from heav’n;

For in thee lurks a base and earthy soul,

And th’ hast compell’d me, with a speech most foul,

To be thus bitter. I am not unseen

In these fair strifes, as thy words overween,

But in the first rank of the best I stand;

At least I did, when youth and strength of hand

Made me thus confident, but now am worn

With woes and labours, as a human born

To bear all anguish. Suffer’d much I have.

The war of men, and the inhuman wave,

Have I driv’n through at all parts. But with all

My waste in sufferance, what yet may fall

In my performance, at these strifes I’ll try.

Thy speech hath mov’d, and made my wrath run high.’

This said, with robe and all, he grasp’d a stone,

A little graver than was ever thrown

By these Phaeacians in their wrestling rout,

More firm, more massy; which, turn’d round about,

He hurried from him with a hand so strong

It sung, and flew, and over all the throng

That at the others’ marks stood, quite it went;

Yet down fell all beneath it, fearing spent

The force that drave it flying from his hand,

As it a dart were, or a walking wand;

And far past all the marks of all the rest

His wing stole way; when Pallas straight impress’d

A mark at fall of it, resembling then

One of the navy-giv
’
n Phaeacian men,

And thus advanc’d Ulysses: ‘One, though blind,

O stranger, groping, may thy stone’s fall find;

For not amidst the rout of marks it fell,

But far before all. Of thy worth think well,

And stand in all strifes. No Phaeacian here

This bound can either better or come near.’