_Φι̑._
The nuptial vow
And game rehears’d,
Drawn is the bow,
The steels are pierc’d.
Pallas, the Goddess with the sparkling eyes,
Excites Penelope t’ object the prize,
The bow and bright steels, to the Wooers’ strength
And here began the strife and blood at length.
She first ascended by a lofty stair
Her utmost chamber; of whose door her fair
And half transparent hand receiv’d the key,
Bright, brazen, bitted passing curiously,
And at it hung a knob of ivory.
And this did lead her where was strongly kept
The treasure-royal; in whose store lay heapt
Gold, brass, and steel, engrav’n with infinite art;
The crooked bow, and arrowy quiver, part
Of that rich magazine. In the quiver were
Arrows a number, sharp and sighing gear.
The bow was giv’n by kind Eurytides
Iphitus, fashion’d like the Deities,
To young Ulysses, when within the roof
Of wise Orsilochus their pass had proof
Of mutual meeting in Messena; where
Ulysses claim’d a debt, to whose pay were
The whole Messenian people bound, since they
From Ithaca had forc’d a wealthy prey
Of sheep and shepherds. In their ships they thrust
Three hundred sheep together; for whose just
And instant rendry old Laertes sent
Ulysses his ambassador, that went
A long way in the ambassy, yet then
Bore but the foremost prime of youngest men;
His father sending first to that affair
His gravest counsellors, and then his heir.
Iphitus made his way there, having lost
Twelve female horse, and mules commended most
For use of burthen; which were after cause
Of death and fate to him; for, past all laws
Of hospitality, Jove’s mighty son,
Skill’d in great acts, was his confusion
Close by his house, though at that time his guest,
Respecting neither the apposéd feast,
And hospitable table, that in love
He set before him, nor the voice of Jove,
But, seizing first his mares, he after slew
His host himself. From those mares’ search now grew
Ulysses known t’ Iphitus; who that bow
At their encounter did in love bestow,
Which great Eurytus’ hand had borne before,
(Iphitus’ father) who, at death’s sad door,
In his steep turrets, left it to his son.
Ulysses gave him a keen falchion,
And mighty lance. And thus began they there
Their fatal loves; for after never were
Their mutual tables to each other known,
Because Jove’s son th’ unworthy part had shown
Of slaughtering this God-like loving man,
Eurytus’ son, who with that bow began
And ended love t’ Ulysses; who so dear
A gift esteem’d it, that he would not bear
In his black fleet that guest-rite to the war,
But, in fit memory of one so far
In his affection, brought it home, and kept
His treasure with it; where till now it slept.
And now the Queen of women had intent
To give it use, and therefore made ascent
Up all the stairs’ height to the chamber door,
Whose shining leaves two bright pilasters bore
To such a close when both together went
It would resist the air in their consent.
The ring she took then, and did draw aside
A bar that ran within, and then implied
The key into the lock, which gave a sound,
The bolt then shooting, as in pasture ground
A bull doth low, and make the valleys ring;
So loud the lock humm’d when it loos’d the spring,
And ope the doors flew. In she went, along
The lofty chamber, that was boarded strong
With heart of oak, which many years ago
The architect did smooth and polish so
That now as then he made it freshly shine,
And tried the evenness of it with a line.
There stood in this room presses that enclos’d
Robes odoriferous, by which repos’d
The bow was upon pins; nor from it far
Hung the round quiver glitt’ring like a star;
Both which her white extended hand took down.
Then sat she low, and made her lap a crown
Of both these relics, which she wept to see,
And cried quite out with loving memory
Of her dear lord; to whose worth paying then
Kind debts enow, she left, and, to the men
Vow’d to her wooing, brought the crooked bow,
And shaft-receiving quiver, that did flow
With arrows beating sighs up where they fell.
Then, with another chest, replete as well
With games won by the King, of steel and brass,
Her maids attended. Past whom making pass
To where her Wooers were, she made her stay
Amidst the fair hall door, and kept the ray
Of her bright count’nance hid with veils so thin,
That though they seem’d t’ expose, they let love in;
Her maids on both sides stood; and thus she spake:
“Hear me, ye Wooers, that a pleasure take
To do me sorrow, and my house invade
To eat and drink, as if ’twere only made
To serve your rapines; my lord long away,
And you allow’d no colour for your stay
But his still absence; striving who shall frame
Me for his wife; and, since ’tis made a game,
I here propose divine Ulysses’ bow
For that great master-piece to which ye vow.
He that can draw it with least show to strive,
And through these twelve axe-heads an arrow drive,
Him will I follow, and this house forego
That nourish’d me a maid, now furnish’d so
With all things fit, and which I so esteem
That I shall still live in it in my dream.”
This said, she made Eumæus give it them.
He took and laid it by, and wept for woe;
And like him wept Philœtius, when the bow
Of which his king was bearer he beheld.
Their tears Antinous’ manhood much refell’d,
And said: “Ye rustic fools! that still each day
Your minds give over to this vain dismay,
Why weep ye, wretches, and the widow’s eyes
Tempt with renew’d thought, that would otherwise
Depose her sorrows, since her lord is dead,
And tears are idle? Sit, and eat your bread,
Nor whisper more a word; or get ye gone,
And weep without doors. Let this bow alone
To our out-match’d contention. For I fear
The bow will scarce yield draught to any here;
Here no such man lives as Laertes’ son
Amongst us all. I knew him; thought puts on
His look’s sight now, methinks, though then a child.”
Thus show’d his words doubt, yet his hopes instill’d
His strength the stretcher of Ulysses’ string,
And his steels’ piercer. But his shaft must sing
Through his pierc’d palate first; whom so he wrong’d
In his free roof, and made the rest ill-tongued
Against his virtues. Then the sacred heat
That spirited his son did further set
Their confidence on fire, and said: “O friends,
Jove hath bereft my wits. The Queen intends,
Though I must grant her wise, ere long to leave
Ulysses’ court, and to her bed receive
Some other lord; yet, notwithstanding, I
Am forc’d to laugh, and set my pleasures high
Like one mad sick. But, Wooers, since ye have
An object for your trials now so brave,
As all the broad Achaian earth exceeds,
As sacred Pylos, as the Argive breeds,
As black Epirus, as Mycena’s birth,
And as the more fam’d Ithacensian earth,
All which, yourselves well know, and oft have said—
For what need hath my mother of my aid
In her advancement?—tender no excuse
For least delay, nor too much time profuse
In stay to draw this bow, but draw it straight,
Shoot, and the steels pierce; make all see how slight
You make these poor bars to so rich a prize.
No eag’rer yet? Come all. My faculties
Shall try the bow’s strength, and the piercéd steel.
I will not for my rev’rend mother feel
The sorrows that I know will seize my heart,
To see her follow any, and depart
From her so long-held home; but first extend
The bow and arrow to their tender’d end.
For I am only to succeed my sire
In guard of his games, and let none aspire
To their besides possession.” This said,
His purple robe he cast off; by he laid
His well-edg’d sword; and, first, a sev’ral pit
He digg’d for ev’ry axe, and strengthen’d it
With earth close ramm’d about it; on a rew
Set them, of one height, by a line he drew
Along the whole twelve; and so orderly
Did ev’ry deed belonging (yet his eye
Never before beholding how ’twas done)
That in amaze rose all his lookers-on.
Then stood he near the door, and prov’d to draw
The stubborn bow. Thrice tried, and thrice gave law
To his uncrown’d attempts; the fourth assay
With all force off’ring, which a sign gave stay
Giv’n by his father; though he show’d a mind
As if he stood right heartily inclin’d
To perfect the exploit, when all was done
In only drift to set the Wooers on.
His weakness yet confess’d, he said: “O shame!
I either shall be ever of no name,
But prove a wretch; or else I am too young,
And must not now presume on pow’rs so strong
As sinews yet more growing may engraft,
To turn a man quite over with a shaft.
Besides, to men whose nerves are best prepar’d,
_All great adventures at first proof are hard._
But come, you stronger men, attempt this bow,
And let us end our labour.” Thus, below
A well-join’d board he laid it, and close by
The brightly-headed shaft; then thron’d his thigh
Amidst his late-left seat. Antinous then
Bade all arise; but first, who did sustain
The cup’s state ever, and did sacrifice
Before they ate still, and that man bade rise,
Since on the other’s right hand he was plac’d,
Because he held the right hand’s rising, grac’d
With best success still. This discretion won
Supreme applause; and first rose Œnops’ son,
Liodes, that was priest to all the rest,
Sat lowest with the cup still, and their jest
Could never like, but ever was the man
That check’d their follies; and he now began
To taste the bow, the sharp shaft took, tugg’d hard,
And held aloft, and, till he quite had marr’d
His delicate tender fingers, could not stir
The churlish string; who therefore did refer
The game to others, saying, that same bow,
In his presage, would prove the overthrow
Of many a chief man there; nor thought the fate
Was any whit austere, since death’s short date
Were much the better taken, than long life
Without the object of their amorous strife,
For whom they had burn’d-out so many days
To find still other, nothing but delays
Obtaining in them; and affirm’d that now
Some hop’d to have her, but when that tough bow
They all had tried, and seen the utmost done,
They must rest pleas’d to cease; and now some one
Of all their other fair-veil’d Grecian dames
With gifts, and dower, and Hymeneal flames,
Let her love light to him that most will give,
And whom the nuptial destiny did drive.
Thus laid he on the well-join’d polish’d board
The bow and bright-pil’d shaft, and then restor’d
His seat his right. To him Antinous
Gave bitter language, and reprov’d him thus:
“What words, Liodes, pass thy speech’s guard,
That ’tis a work to bear, and set so hard
They set up my disdain! This bow must end
The best of us? Since thy arms cannot lend
The string least motion? Thy mother’s throes
Brought never forth thy arms to draught of bows,
Or knitting shafts off. Though thou canst not draw
The sturdy plant, thou art to us no law.
Melanthius! Light a fire, and set thereat
A chair and cushions, and that mass of fat
That lies within bring out, that we may set
Our pages to this bow, to see it het
And suppled with the suet, and then we
May give it draught, and pay this great decree
Utmost performance.” He a mighty fire
Gave instant flame, put into act th’ entire
Command laid on him, chair and cushions set,
Laid on the bow, which straight the pages het,
Chaf’d, suppled with the suet to their most;
And still was all their unctuous labour lost,
All Wooers’ strengths too indigent and poor
To draw that bow; Antinous’ arms it tore,
And great Eurymachus’, the both clear best,
Yet both it tir’d, and made them glad to rest.
Forth then went both the swains, and after them
Divine Ulysses; when, being past th’ extreme
Of all the gates, with winning words he tried
Their loves, and this ask’d: “Shall my counsels hide
Their depths from you? My mind would gladly know
If suddenly Ulysses had his vow
Made good for home, and had some God to guide
His steps and strokes to wreak these Wooers’ pride,
Would your aids join on his part, or with theirs?
How stand your hearts affected?” They made pray’rs
That some God would please to return their lord,
He then should see how far they would afford
Their lives for his. He, seeing their truth, replied;
“I am your lord, through many a suff’rance tried,
Arriv’d now here, whom twenty years have held
From forth my country. Yet are not conceal’d
From my sure knowledge your desires to see
My safe return. Of all the company
Now serving here besides, not one but you
Mine ear hath witness’d willing to bestow
Their wishes of my life, so long held dead.
I therefore vow, which shall be perfected,
That if God please beneath my hand to leave
These Wooers lifeless, ye shall both receive
Wives from that hand, and means, and near to me
Have houses built to you, and both shall be
As friends and brothers to my only son.
And, that ye well may know me, and be won
To that assurance, the infallible sign
The white-tooth’d boar gave, this mark’d knee of mine,
When in Parnassus he was held in chase
By me, and by my famous grandsire’s race,
I’ll let you see.” Thus sever’d he his weed
From that his wound; and ev’ry word had deed
In their sure knowledges. Which made them cast
Their arms about him, his broad breast embrac’d,
His neck and shoulders kiss’d. And him as well
Did those true pow’rs of human love compell
To kiss their heads and hands, and to their moan
Had sent the free light of the cheerful sun,
Had not Ulysses broke the ruth, and said;
“Cease tears and sorrows, lest we prove display’d
By some that issue from the house, and they
Relate to those within. Take each his way,
Not altogether in, but one by one,
First I, then you; and then see this be done;
The envious Wooers will by no means give
The offer of the bow and arrow leave
To come at me; spite then their pride, do thou,
My good Eumæus, bring both shaft and bow
To my hand’s proof; and charge the maids before
That instantly they shut in ev’ry door,
That they themselves (if any tumult rise
Beneath my roofs by any that envies
My will to undertake the game) may gain
No passage forth, but close at work contain
With all free quiet, or at least constrain’d,
And therefore, my Philœtius, see maintain’d,
When close the gates are shut, their closure fast,
To which end be it thy sole work to cast
Their chains before them.” This said, in he led,
Took first his seat; and then they seconded
His entry with their own. Then took in hand
Eurymachus the bow, made close his stand
Aside the fire, at whose heat here and there
He warm’d and suppled it, yet could not stere
To any draught the string, with all his art;
And therefore swell’d in him his glorious heart,
Affirming, “that himself and all his friends
Had cause to grieve, not only that their ends
They miss’d in marriage, since enough besides
Kind Grecian dames there liv’d to be their brides
In Ithaca, and other bord’ring towns,
But that to all times future their renowns
Would stand disparag’d, if Ulysses’ bow
They could not draw, and yet his wife would woo.”
Antinous answer’d; “That there could ensue
No shame at all to them; for well he knew
That this day was kept holy to the Sun
By all the city, and there should be done
No such profane act, therefore bade lay by
The bow for that day; but the mastery
Of axes that were set up still might stand,
Since that no labour was, nor any hand
Would offer to invade Ulysses’ house,
To take, or touch with surreptitious
Or violent hand, what there was left for use.
He, therefore, bade the cup-bearer infuse
Wine to the bowls, that so with sacrifice
They might let rest the shooting exercise,
And in the morning make Melanthius bring
The chief goats of his herd, that to the King
Of bows and archers they might burn the thighs
For good success, and then attempt the prize.”
The rest sat pleas’d with this. The heralds straight
Pour’d water on their hands; each page did wait
With his crown’d cup of wine, serv’d ev’ry man
Till all were satisfied. And then began
Ulysses’ plot of his close purpose thus:
“Hear me, ye much renown’d Eurymachus,
And king Antinous, in chief, who well,
And with decorum sacred, doth compell
This day’s observance, and to let lay down
The bow all this light, giving Gods their own.
The morning’s labour God the more will bless,
And strength bestow where he himself shall please.
Against which time let me presume to pray
Your favours with the rest, that this assay
May my old arms prove, trying if there lie
In my poor pow’rs the same activity
That long since crown’d them; or if needy fare
And desolate wand’ring have the web worn bare
Of my life’s thread at all parts, that no more
Can furnish these affairs as heretofore.”
This het their spleens past measure, blown with fear
Lest his loath’d temples would the garland wear
Of that bow’s draught; Antinous using speech
To this sour purpose: “Thou most arrant wretch
Of all guests breathing, in no least degree
Grac’d with a human soul, it serves not thee
To feast in peace with us, take equal share
Of what we reach to, sit, and all things hear
That we speak freely,—which no begging guest
Did ever yet,—but thou must make request
To mix with us in merit of the Queen.
But wine inflames thee, that hath ever been
The bane of men whoever yet would take
Th’ excess it offers and the mean forsake.
Wine spoil’d the Centaur great Eurytion,
In guest-rites with the mighty-minded son
Of bold Ixion, in his way to war
Against the Lapithes; who, driv’n as far
As madness with the bold effects of wine,
Did outrage to his kind host, and decline
Other heroës from him feasted there
With so much anger that they left their cheer,
And dragg’d him forth the fore-court, slit his nose,
Cropp’d both his ears, and, in the ill-dispose
His mind then suffer’d, drew the fatal day
On his head with his host; for thence the fray
Betwixt the Centaurs and the Lapithes
Had mortal act. But he for his excess
In spoil of wine fared worse himself; as thou
For thy large cups, if thy arms draw the bow,
My mind fortells shalt fear; for not a man
Of all our consort, that in wisdom can
Boast any fit share, will take prayers then,
But to Echetus, the most stern of men,
A black sail freight with thee, whose worst of ill,
Be sure, is past all ransom. Sit, then, still,
Drink temp’rately, and never more contend
With men your youngers.” This the Queen did end
With her defence of him, and told his foe
It was not fair nor equal t’ overcrow
The poorest guest her son pleas’d t’ entertain
In his free turrets with so proud a strain
Of threats and bravings; asking if he thought,
That if the stranger to his arms had brought
The stubborn bow down, he should marry her,
And bear her home? And said, himself should err
In no such hope; nor of them all the best
That griev’d at any good she did her guest
Should banquet there; since it in no sort show’d
Noblesse in them, nor paid her what she ow’d
Her own free rule there. This Eurymachus
Confirm’d and said: “Nor feeds it hope in us,
Icarius’ daughter, to solemnize rites
Of nuptials with thee; nor in noblest sights
It can show comely; but to our respects
The rumour both of sexes and of sects
Amongst the people would breed shame and fear,
Lest any worst Greek said: ‘See, men that were
Of mean deservings will presume t’ aspire
To his wife’s bed, whom all men did admire
For fame and merit, could not draw his bow,
And yet his wife had foolish pride to woo,
When straight an errant beggar comes and draws
The bow with ease, performing all the laws
The game besides contain’d’; and this would thus
Prove both indignity and shame to us.”
The Queen replied: “The fame of men, I see,
Bears much price in your great suppos’d degree;
Yet who can prove amongst the people great,
That of one so esteem’d of them the seat
Doth so defame and ruin? And beside,
With what right is this guest thus vilified
In your high censures, when the man in blood
Is well compos’d and great, his parents good?[1]
And therefore give the bow to him, to try
His birth and breeding by his chivalry.
If his arms draw it, and that Phœbus stands
So great a glory to his strength, my hands
Shall add this guerdon: Ev’ry sort of weed,
A two-edg’d sword, and lance to keep him freed
From dogs and men hereafter, and dismiss
His worth to what place tends that heart of his.”
Her son gave answer: “That it was a wrong
To his free sway in all things that belong
To guard of that house, to demand the bow
Of any Wooer, and the use bestow
Upon the stranger: for the bow was his
To give or to withhold; no masteries
Of her proposing giving any pow’r
T’ impair his right in things for any Wooer,
Or any that rough Ithaca affords,
Any that Elis; of which no man’s words
Nor pow’rs should curb him, stood he so inclin’d,
To see the bow in absolute gift resign’d
To that his guest to bear and use at will,
And therefore bade his mother keep her still
Amongst her women at her rock and loom;
Bows were for men; and this bow did become
Past all men’s his disposure, since his sire
Left it to him, and all the house entire.”
She stood dismay’d at this, and in her mind
His wise words laid up, standing so inclin’d
As he had will’d, with all her women going
Up to her chamber, there her tears bestowing,
As ev’ry night she did, on her lov’d lord,
Till sleep and Pallas her fit rest restor’d.
The bow Eumæus took, and bore away;
Which up in tumult, and almost in fray,
Put all the Wooers, one enquiring thus:
“Whither, rogue, abject, wilt thou bear from us
That bow propos’d? Lay down, or I protest
Thy dogs shall eat thee, that thou nourishest
To guard thy swine; amongst whom, left of all,
Thy life shall leave thee, if the festival,
We now observe to Phœbus, may our zeals
Grace with his aid, and all the Deities else.”
This threat made good Eumæus yield the bow
To his late place, not knowing what might grow
From such a multitude. And then fell on
Telemachus with threats, and said: “Set gone
That bow yet further; ’tis no servant’s part
To serve too many masters; raise your heart
And bear it off, lest, though you’re younger, yet
With stones I pelt you to the field with it.
If you and I close, I shall prove too strong.
I wish as much too hard for all this throng
The Gods would make me, I should quickly send
Some after with just sorrow to their end,
They waste my victuals so, and ply my cup,
And do me such shrewd turns still.” This put up
The Wooers all in laughters, and put down
Their angers to him, that so late were grown
So grave and bloody; which resolv’d that fear
Of good Eumæus, who did take and bear
The King the bow; call’d nurse, and bade her make
The doors all sure, that if men’s tumults take
The ears of some within, they may not fly,
But keep at work still close and silently.
These words put wings to her, and close she put
The chamber door. The court-gates then were shut
By kind Philœtius, who straight did go
From out the hall, and in the portico
Found laid a gable of a ship, compos’d
Of spongy bulrushes; with which he clos’d,
In winding round about them, the court-gates,
Then took his place again, to view the fates
That quickly follow’d. When he came, he saw
Ulysses viewing, ere he tried to draw,
The famous bow, which ev’ry way he mov’d,
Up and down turning it; in which be prov’d
The plight it was in, fearing, chiefly, lest
The horns were eat with worms in so long rest.
But what his thoughts intended turning so,
And keeping such a search about the bow,
The Wooers little knowing fell to jest,
And said: “Past doubt he is a man profest
In bowyers’ craft, and sees quite through the wood;
Or something, certain, to be understood
There is in this his turning of it still.
A cunning rogue he is at any ill.”
Then spake another proud one: “Would to heav’n,
I might, at will, get gold till he hath giv’n
That bow his draught!” With these sharp jests did these
Delightsome Woo’rs their fatal humours please.
But when the wise Ulysses once had laid
His fingers on it, and to proof survey’d
The still sound plight it held, as one of skill
In song, and of the harp, doth at his will,
In tuning of his instrument, extend
A string out with his pin, touch all, and lend
To ev’ry well-wreath’d string his perfect sound,
Struck all together; with such ease drew round
The King the bow. Then twang’d he up the string,
That as a swallow in the air doth sing
With no continued tune, but, pausing still,
Twinks out her scatter’d voice in accents shrill;
So sharp the string sung when he gave it touch,
Once having bent and drawn it. Which so much
Amaz’d the Wooers, that their colours went
And came most grievously. And then Jove rent
The air with thunder; which at heart did cheer
The now-enough-sustaining traveller,
That Jove again would his attempt enable.
Then took he into hand, from off the table,
The first drawn arrow: and a number more
Spent shortly on the Wooers; but this one
He measur’d by his arm, as if not known
The length were to him, nock’d it then, and drew;
And through the axes, at the first hole, flew
The steel-charg’d arrow; which when he had done
He thus bespake the Prince: “You have not won
Disgrace yet by your guest; for I have strook
The mark I shot at, and no such toil took
In wearying the bow with fat and fire
As did the Wooers. Yet reserv’d entire,
Thank Heav’n, my strength is, and myself am tried,
No man to be so basely vilified
As these men pleas’d to think me. But, free way
Take that, and all their pleasures; and while day
Holds her torch to you, and the hour of feast
Hath now full date, give banquet, and the rest,
Poem and harp, that grace a well-fill’d board.”
This said, he beckon’d to his son; whose sword
He straight girt to him, took to hand his lance,
And cómplete-arm’d did to his sire advance.