The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (91 page)

I in two parts divided all, and gave

To either part his captain. I must have

The charge of one; and one of godlike look,

Eurylochus, the other. Lots we shook,

Put in a casque together, which of us

Should lead th’ attempt; and ’twas Eurylochus.

He freely went, with two and twenty more;

All which took leave with tears, and our eyes wore

The same wet badge of weak humanity.

These in a dale did Circe’s house descry,

Of bright stone built, in a conspicuous way.

Before her gates hill-wolves and lions lay;

Which with her virtuous drugs so tame she made,

That wolf nor lion would one man invade

With any violence, but all arose,

Their huge long tails wagg’d, and in fawns would close,

As loving dogs, when masters bring them home

Relics of feast, in all observance come,

And soothe their entries with their fawns and bounds,

All guests still bringing some scraps for their hounds:

So on these men the wolves and lions ramp’d,

Their horrid paws set up. Their spirits were damp’d

To see such monstrous kindness, stay’d at gate,

And heard within the goddess elevate

A voice divine, as at her web she wrought,

Subtle, and glorious, and past earthly thought,

As all the housewi
f
’
ries of deities are.

To hear a voice so ravishingly rare,

Polites (one exceeding dear to me,

A prince of men, and of no mean degree

In knowing virtue, in all acts whose mind

Discreet cares all ways us’d to turn and wind)

Was yet surpris
’
d with it, and said: ‘O friends,

Some one abides within here, that commends

The place to us, and breathes a voice divine,

As she some web wrought, or her spindle’s twine

She cherish’d with her song; the pavement rings

With imitation of the tunes she sings.

Some woman, or some goddess, ’tis. Assay

To see with knocking.’ Thus said he, and they

Both knock’d, and call’d; and straight her shining gates

She open’d, issuing, bade them in to cates.

Led, and unwise, they follow’d – all but one,

Which was Eurylochus, who stood alone

Without the gates, suspicious of a sleight.

They enter’d, she made sit; and her deceit

She cloak’d with thrones, and goodly chairs of state;

Set herby honey, and the delicate

Wine brought from Smyrna, to them; meal and cheese;

But harmful venoms she commix’d with these,

That made their country vanish from their thought.

Which eat, she touch’d them with a rod that wrought

Their transformation far past human wonts;

Swine’s snouts, swine’s bodies took they, bristles, grunts,

But still retain’d the souls they had before,

Which made them mourn their bodies’ change the more.

She shut them straight in sties, and gave them meat:

Oak-mast, and beech, and cornel fruit, they eat,

Grovelling like swine on earth, in foulest sort.

Eurylochus straight hasted the report

Of this his fellows’ most remorseful fate;

Came to the ships, but so excruciate

Was with his woe, he could not speak a word,

His eyes stood full of tears, which show’d how stor’d

His mind with moan remain’d. We all admir’d,

Ask’d what had chanc’d him, earnestly desir’d

He would resolve us. At the last, our eyes

Enflam’d in him his fellows’ memories,

And out his grief burst thus: ‘You will’d; we went

Through those thick woods you saw, when a descent

Show’d us a fair house in a lightsome ground,

Where, at some work, we heard a heavenly sound

Breathed from a goddess’, or a woman’s, breast.

They knock’d, she op’d her bright gates, each her guest

Her fair invitement made; nor would they stay,

Fools that they were, when she once led the way.

I enter’d not, suspecting some deceit,

When all together vanish’d, nor the sight

Of any one (though long I look’d) mine eye

Could any way discover.’ Instantly,

My sword and bow reach’d, I bad show the place,

When down he fell, did both my knees embrace,

And pray’d with tears thus: ‘O thou kept of god,

Do not thyself lose, nor to that abode

Lead others rashly; both thyself and all

Thou ventur’st thither, I know well must fall

In one sure ruin. With these few then fly;

We yet may shun the others’ destiny.’

I answer’d him: ‘Eurylochus! Stay thou

And keep the ship then, eat and drink; I now

Will undertake th’ adventure; there is cause

In great Necessity’s unalter’d laws.’

This said, I left both ship and seas, and on

Along the sacred valleys all alone

Went in discovery, till at last I came

Where of the main-medicine-making dame

I saw the great house; where encounter’d me

The golden-rod-sustaining Mercury,

Even ent’ring Circe’s doors. He met me in

A young man’s likeness, of the first-flower’d chin,

Whose form hath all the grace of one so young.

He first call’d to me, then my hand he wrung,

And said: ‘Thou no-place-finding-for-repose,

Whither, alone, by these hill-confines goes

Thy erring foot? Th’ art entering Circe’s house,

Where, by her med’cines, black and sorcerous,

Thy soldiers all are shut in well-arm’d sties,

And turn’d to swine. Art thou arrived with prize

Fit for their ransoms? Thou com’st out no more,

If once thou ent’rest, like thy men before

Made to remain here. But I’ll guard thee free,

And save thee in her spite. Receive of me

This fair and good receipt; with which once arm’d,

Enter her roofs, for th’ art to all proof charm’d

Against the ill day. I will tell thee all

Her baneful counsel: with a festival

She’ll first receive thee, but will spice thy bread

With flow’ry poisons; yet unaltered

Shall thy firm form be, for this remedy

Stands most approv
’
d ’gainst all her sorcery,

Which thus particularly shun: when she

Shall with her long rod strike thee, instantly

Draw from thy thigh thy sword, and fly on her

As to her slaughter. She, surpris’d with fear

And love, at first will bid thee to her bed.

Nor say the goddess nay, that welcomed

Thou may’st with all respect be, and procure

Thy fellows’ freedoms. But before, make sure

Her favours to thee; and the great oath take

With which the blessed gods assurance make

Of all they promise, that no prejudice

(By stripping thee of form and faculties)

She may so much as once attempt on thee.’

This said, he gave his antidote to me,

Which from the earth he pluck’d, and told me all

The virtue of it, with what deities call

The name it bears; and
moly
they impose

For name to it. The root is hard to loose

From hold of earth by mortals, but god’s pow’r

Can all things do. ’Tis black, but bears a flow’r

As white as milk. And thus flew Mercury

Up to immense Olympus, gliding by

The sylvan island. I made back my way

To Circe’s house, my mind of my assay

Much thought revolving. At her gates I stay’d

And call’d; she heard, and her bright doors display’d,

Invited, led; I follow’d in, but trac’d

With some distraction. In a throne she plac’d

My welcome person; of a curious frame

’Twas, and so bright I sat as in a flame,

A foot-stool added. In a golden bowl

She then suborn’d a potion, in her soul

Deform’d things thinking; for amidst the wine

She mix’d her man-transforming medicine;

Which when she saw I had devour’d, she then

No more observ’d me with her soothing vein,

But struck me with her rod, and to her sty

Bad ‘Out, away, and with thy fellows lie.’

I drew my sword, and charg’d her, as I meant

To take her life. When out she cried, and bent

Beneath my sword her knees, embracing mine,

And, full of tears, said: ‘Who, of what high line,

Art thou the issue? Whence? What shores sustain

Thy native city? I amaz’d remain

That, drinking these my venoms, th’ art not turn’d.

Never drunk any this cup but he mourn’d

In other likeness, if it once had pass’d

The ivory bounders of his tongue and taste.

All but thyself are brutishly declin’d.

Thy breast holds firm yet, and unchanged thy mind.

Thou canst be therefore none else but the man

Of many virtues, Ithacensian,

Deep-soul’d Ulysses, who, I oft was told

By that sly god that bears the rod of gold,

Was to arrive here in retreat from Troy.

Sheathe then thy sword, and let my bed enjoy

So much a man, that when the bed we prove,

We may believe in one another’s love.’

I then: ‘O Circe, why entreat’st thou me

To mix in any human league with thee,

When thou my friends hast beasts turn’d, and thy bed

Tender’st to me, that I might likewise lead

A beast’s life with thee, soften’d, naked stripp’d,

That in my blood thy banes may more be steep’d?

I never will ascend thy bed before

I may affirm, that in heav
’
n’s sight you swore

The great oath of the gods, that all attempt

To do me ill is from your thoughts exempt.’

I said, she swore, when, all the oath-rites said,

I then ascended her adorned bed,

But thus prepar’d: four handmaids serv’d her there

That daughters to her silver fountains were,

To her bright-sea-observing sacred floods,

And to her uncut consecrated woods.

One deck’d the throne-tops with rich cloths of state,

And did with silks the foot-pace consecrate.

Another silver tables set before

The pompous throne, and golden dishes’ store

Serv’d in with several feast. A third fill’d wine.

The fourth brought water, and made fuel shine

In ruddy fires beneath a womb of brass.

Which heat, I bath’d; and odorous water was

Disperpled lightly on my head and neck,

That might my late heart-hurting sorrows check

With the refreshing sweetness; and, for that,

Men sometimes may be something delicate.

Bath’d, and adorn’d, she led me to a throne

Of massy silver, and of fashion

Exceeding curious. A fair foot-stool set,

Water appos’d, and every sort of meat

Set on th’ elaborately-polish’d board,

She wish’d my taste employ’d, but not a word

Would my ears taste of taste; my mind had food

That must digest, eye meat would do me good.

Circe (observing that I put no hand

To any banquet, having countermand

From weightier cares the light cates could excuse)

Bowing her near me, these wing’d words did use:

‘Why sits Ulysses like one dumb, his mind

Lessening with languors? Nor to food inclin’d,

Nor wine? Whence comes it? Out of any fear

Of more illusion? You must needs forbear

That wrongful doubt, since you have heard me swear.’

‘O Circe!’ I replied, ‘what man is he,

Aw’d with the rights of true humanity,

That dares taste food or wine, before he sees

His friends redeem’d from their deformities?

If you be gentle, and indeed incline

To let me taste the comfort of your wine,

Dissolve the charms that their forc’d forms enchain,

And show me here my honour’d friends like men.’

This said, she left her throne, and took her rod,

Went to her sty, and let my men abroad,

Like swine of nine years old. They opposite stood,

Observ’d their brutish form, and look’d for food;

When, with another med’cine, every one

All over smear’d, their bristles all were gone,

Produc’d by malice of the other bane,

And every one, afresh, look’d up a man,

Both younger than they were, of stature more,

And all their forms much goodlier than before.

All knew me, cling’d about me, and a cry

Of pleasing mourning flew about so high

The horrid roof resounded; and the queen

Herself was mov’d to see our kind so keen,

Who bad me now bring ship and men ashore,

Our arms and goods in caves hid, and restore

Myself to her, with all my other men.

I granted, went, and op’d the weeping vein

In all my men; whose violent joy to see

My safe return was, passing kindly, free

Of friendly tears, and miserably wept.

You have not seen young heifers (highly kept,

Fill’d full of daisies at the field, and driv’n

Home to their hovels, all so spritely giv’n

That no room can contain them, but about

Bace by the dams, and let their spirits out

In ceaseless bleating) of more jocund plight

Than my kind friends, ev
’
n crying out with sight

Of my return so doubted; circled me

With all their welcomes, and as cheerfully

Dispos’d their rapt minds, as if there they saw

Their natural country, cliffy Ithaca,

And even the roofs where they were bred and born,

And vow’d as much, with tears: ‘O your return

As much delights us as in you had come

Our country to us, and our natural home.

But what unhappy fate hath reft our friends?’

I gave unlook’d for answer, that amends

Made for their mourning, bad them first of all

Our ship ashore draw, then in caverns stall