O.
From Sparta’s strand
Makes safe access
To his own land
Ulyssides.
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.