Translation of: The Odyssey of Homer: Book IV

ARGUMENT     Telemachus, with Pisistratus, arrives at the palace of Menelaus, from whom he receives some fresh information concerning the return of the Greecians, and is in particular told on the authority of Proteus, that his father is detained by Calypso. The suitors, plotting against the life of Telemachus, lie in wait to intercept him in his return to Ithaca. Penelope being informed of his departure, and of their designs to slay him, becomes inconsolable, but is relieved by a dream sent to her from Minerva.             In hollow Lacedmon's spacious vale             Arriving, to the house they drove direct             Of royal Menelaus; him they found             In his own palace, all his num'rous friends             Regaling at a nuptial banquet giv'n             Both for his daughter and the prince his son.             His daughter to renown'd Achilles' heir             He sent, to whom he had at Troy engaged             To give her, and the Gods now made her his.             With chariots and with steeds he sent her forth             To the illustrious city where the prince,             Achilles' offspring, ruled the Myrmidons.             But to his son he gave a Spartan fair,             Alector's daughter; from an handmaid sprang             That son to Menelaus in his age,             Brave Megapenthes; for the Gods no child             To Helen gave, made mother, once, of her             Who vied in perfect loveliness of form             With golden Venus' self, Hermione.                 Thus all the neighbour princes and the friends             Of noble Menelaus, feasting sat             Within his spacious palace, among whom             A sacred bard sang sweetly to his harp,             While, in the midst, two dancers smote the ground             With measur'd steps responsive to his song.                 And now the Heroes, Nestor's noble son             And young Telemachus arrived within             The vestibule, whom, issuing from the hall,             The noble Eteoneus of the train             Of Menelaus, saw; at once he ran             Across the palace to report the news             To his Lord's ear, and, standing at his side,             In accents wing'd with haste thus greeted him.                 Oh Menelaus! Heav'n descended Chief!             Two guests arrive, both strangers, but the race             Of Jove supreme resembling each in form.             Say, shall we loose, ourselves, their rapid steeds,             Or hence dismiss them to some other host?                 But Menelaus, Hero golden-hair'd,             Indignant answer'd him. Boethe's son!             Thou wast not, Eteoneus, heretofore,             A babbler, who now pratest as a child.             We have ourselves arrived indebted much             To hospitality of other men,             If Jove shall, even here, some pause at last             Of woe afford us. Therefore loose, at once,             Their steeds, and introduce them to the feast.                 He said, and, issuing, Eteoneus call'd             The brisk attendants to his aid, with whom             He loos'd their foaming coursers from the yoke.             Them first they bound to mangers, which with oats             And mingled barley they supplied, then thrust             The chariot sidelong to the splendid wall.[9]             Themselves he, next, into the royal house             Conducted, who survey'd, wond'ring, the abode             Of the heav'n-favour'd King; for on all sides             As with the splendour of the sun or moon             The lofty dome of Menelaus blazed.             Satiate, at length, with wonder at that sight,             They enter'd each a bath, and by the hands             Of maidens laved, and oil'd, and cloath'd again             With shaggy mantles and resplendent vests,             Sat both enthroned at Menelaus' side.             And now a maiden charged with golden ew'r,             And with an argent laver, pouring first             Pure water on their hands, supplied them next             With a bright table, which the maiden, chief             In office, furnish'd plenteously with bread             And dainties, remnants of the last regale.             Then came the sew'r, who with delicious meats             Dish after dish, served them, and placed beside             The chargers cups magnificent of gold,             When Menelaus grasp'd their hands, and said.                 Eat and rejoice, and when ye shall have shared             Our nuptial banquet, we will then inquire             Who are ye both, for, certain, not from those             Whose generation perishes are ye,             But rather of some race of sceptred Chiefs             Heav'n-born; the base have never sons like you.                 So saying, he from the board lifted his own             Distinguish'd portion, and the fatted chine             Gave to his guests; the sav'ry viands they             With outstretch'd hands assail'd, and when the force             No longer now of appetite they felt,             Telemachus, inclining close his head             To Nestor's son, lest others should his speech             Witness, in whisper'd words him thus address'd.                 Dearest Pisistratus, observe, my friend!             How all the echoing palace with the light             Of beaming brass, of gold and amber shines             Silver and ivory! for radiance such             Th' interior mansion of Olympian Jove             I deem. What wealth, how various, how immense             Is here! astonish'd I survey the sight!                 But Menelaus, golden-hair'd, his speech             O'erhearing, thus in accents wing'd replied                 My children! let no mortal man pretend             Comparison with Jove; for Jove's abode             And all his stores are incorruptible.             But whether mortal man with me may vie             In the display of wealth, or whether not,             This know, that after many toils endured,             And perilous wand'rings wide, in the eighth year             I brought my treasures home. Remote I roved             To Cyprus, to Phoenice, to the shores             Of gypt; thiopia's land I reach'd,             Th' Erembi, the Sidonians, and the coasts             Of Lybia, where the lambs their foreheads shew             At once with horns defended, soon as yean'd.             There, thrice within the year the flocks produce,             Nor master, there, nor shepherd ever feels             A dearth of cheese, of flesh, or of sweet milk             Delicious, drawn from udders never dry.             While, thus, commodities on various coasts             Gath'ring I roam'd, another, by the arts             Of his pernicious spouse aided, of life             Bereav'd my brother privily, and when least             He fear'd to lose it. Therefore little joy             To me results from all that I possess.             Your fathers (be those fathers who they may)             These things have doubtless told you; for immense             Have been my suff'rings, and I have destroy'd             A palace well inhabited and stored             With precious furniture in ev'ry kind;             Such, that I would to heav'n! I own'd at home             Though but the third of it, and that the Greeks             Who perish'd then, beneath the walls of Troy             Far from steed-pastured Argos, still survived.             Yet while, sequester'd here, I frequent mourn             My slaughter'd friends, by turns I sooth my soul             With tears shed for them, and by turns again             I cease; for grief soon satiates free indulged.             But of them all, although I all bewail,             None mourn I so as one, whom calling back             To memory, I both sleep and food abhor.             For, of Achaia's sons none ever toiled             Strenuous as Ulysses; but his lot             Was woe, and unremitting sorrow mine             For his long absence, who, if still he live,             We know not aught, or be already dead.             Him doubtless, old Laertes mourns, and him             Discrete Penelope, nor less his son             Telemachus, born newly when he sail'd.                 So saying, he kindled in him strong desire             To mourn his father; at his father's name             Fast fell his tears to ground, and with both hands             He spread his purple cloak before his eyes;             Which Menelaus marking, doubtful sat             If he should leave him leisure for his tears,             Or question him, and tell him all at large.                 While thus he doubted, Helen (as it chanced)             Leaving her fragrant chamber, came, august             As Dian, goddess of the golden bow.             Adrasta, for her use, set forth a throne,             Alcippe with soft arras cover'd it,             And Philo brought her silver basket, gift             Of fair Alcandra, wife of Polybus,             Whose mansion in gyptian Thebes is rich             In untold treasure, and who gave, himself,             Ten golden talents, and two silver baths             To Menelaus, with two splendid tripods             Beside the noble gifts which, at the hand             Of his illustrious spouse, Helen receiv'd;             A golden spindle, and a basket wheel'd,             Itself of silver, and its lip of gold.             That basket Philo, her own handmaid, placed             At beauteous Helen's side, charged to the brim             With slender threads, on which the spindle lay             With wool of purple lustre wrapp'd around.             Approaching, on her foot-stool'd throne she sat,             And, instant, of her royal spouse enquired.                 Know we, my Menelaus, dear to Jove!             These guests of ours, and whence they have arrived?             Erroneous I may speak, yet speak I must;             In man or woman never have I seen             Such likeness to another (wonder-fixt             I gaze) as in this stranger to the son             Of brave Ulysses, whom that Hero left             New-born at home, when (shameless as I was)             For my unworthy sake the Greecians sailed             To Ilium, with fierce rage of battle fir'd.                 Then Menelaus, thus, the golden-hair'd.             I also such resemblance find in him             As thou; such feet, such hands, the cast of eye[10]             Similar, and the head and flowing locks.             And even now, when I Ulysses named,             And his great sufferings mention'd, in my cause,             The bitter tear dropp'd from his lids, while broad             Before his eyes his purple cloak he spread.                 To whom the son of Nestor thus replied.             Atrides! Menelaus! Chief renown'd!             He is in truth his son, as thou hast said,             But he is modest, and would much himself             Condemn, if, at his first arrival here,             He should loquacious seem and bold to thee,             To whom we listen, captived by thy voice,             As if some God had spoken. As for me,             Nestor, my father, the Gerenian Chief             Bade me conduct him hither, for he wish'd             To see thee, promising himself from thee             The benefit of some kind word or deed.             For, destitute of other aid, he much             His father's tedious absence mourns at home.             So fares Telemachus; his father strays             Remote, and, in his stead, no friend hath he             Who might avert the mischiefs that he feels.                 To whom the Hero amber-hair'd replied.             Ye Gods! the offspring of indeed a friend             Hath reach'd my house, of one who hath endured             Arduous conflicts num'rous for my sake;             And much I purpos'd, had Olympian Jove             Vouchsaf'd us prosp'rous passage o'er the Deep,             To have receiv'd him with such friendship here             As none beside. In Argos I had then             Founded a city for him, and had rais'd             A palace for himself; I would have brought             The Hero hither, and his son, with all             His people, and with all his wealth, some town             Evacuating for his sake, of those             Ruled by myself, and neighb'ring close my own.             Thus situate, we had often interchanged             Sweet converse, nor had other cause at last             Our friendship terminated or our joys,             Than death's black cloud o'ershadowing him or me.             But such delights could only envy move             Ev'n in the Gods, who have, of all the Greeks,             Amerc'd _him_ only of his wish'd return.                 So saying, he kindled the desire to weep             In ev'ry bosom. Argive Helen wept             Abundant, Jove's own daughter; wept as fast             Telemachus and Menelaus both;             Nor Nestor's son with tearless eyes remain'd,             Calling to mind Antilochus[11] by the son[12]             Illustrious of the bright Aurora slain,             Rememb'ring whom, in accents wing'd he said.                 Atrides! antient Nestor, when of late             Conversing with him, we remember'd thee,             Pronounced thee wise beyond all human-kind.             Now therefore, let not even my advice             Displease thee. It affords me no delight             To intermingle tears with my repast,             And soon, Aurora, daughter of the dawn,             Will tinge the orient. Not that I account             Due lamentation of a friend deceased             Blameworthy, since, to sheer the locks and weep,             Is all we can for the unhappy dead.             I also have my grief, call'd to lament             One, not the meanest of Achaia's sons,             My brother; him I cannot but suppose             To thee well-known, although unknown to me             Who saw him never;[13] but report proclaims             Antilochus superior to the most,             In speed superior, and in feats of arms.                 To whom, the Hero of the yellow locks.             O friend belov'd! since nought which thou hast said             Or recommended now, would have disgraced             A man of years maturer far than thine,             (For wise thy father is, and such art thou,             And easy is it to discern the son             Of such a father, whom Saturnian Jove             In marriage both and at his birth ordain'd             To great felicity; for he hath giv'n             To Nestor gradually to sink at home             Into old age, and, while he lives, to see             His sons past others wise, and skill'd in arms)             The sorrow into which we sudden fell             Shall pause. Come--now remember we the feast;             Pour water on our hands, for we shall find,             (Telemachus and I) no dearth of themes             For mutual converse when the day shall dawn.                 He ended; then, Asphalion, at his word,             Servant of glorious Menelaus, poured             Pure water on their hands, and they the feast             Before them with keen appetite assail'd.             But Jove-born Helen otherwise, meantime,             Employ'd, into the wine of which they drank             A drug infused, antidote to the pains             Of grief and anger, a most potent charm             For ills of ev'ry name. Whoe'er his wine             So medicated drinks, he shall not pour             All day the tears down his wan cheek, although             His father and his mother both were dead,             Nor even though his brother or his son             Had fall'n in battle, and before his eyes.             Such drugs Jove's daughter own'd, with skill prepar'd,             And of prime virtue, by the wife of Thone,             gyptian Polydamna, giv'n her.             For gypt teems with drugs, yielding no few             Which, mingled with the drink, are good, and many             Of baneful juice, and enemies to life.             There ev'ry man in skill medicinal             Excels, for they are sons of Pon all.             That drug infused, she bade her servant pour             The bev'rage forth, and thus her speech resumed.                 Atrides! Menelaus! dear to Jove!             These also are the sons of Chiefs renown'd,             (For Jove, as pleases him, to each assigns             Or good or evil, whom all things obey)             Now therefore, feasting at your ease reclin'd,             Listen with pleasure, for myself, the while,             Will matter seasonable interpose.             I cannot all rehearse, nor even name,             (Omitting none) the conflicts and exploits             Of brave Ulysses; but with what address             Successful, one atchievement he perform'd             At Ilium, where Achaia's sons endured             Such hardship, will I speak. Inflicting wounds             Dishonourable on himself, he took             A tatter'd garb, and like a serving-man             Enter'd the spacious city of your foes.             So veil'd, some mendicant he seem'd, although             No Greecian less deserved that name than he.             In such disguise he enter'd; all alike             Misdeem'd him; me alone he not deceived             Who challeng'd him, but, shrewd, he turn'd away.             At length, however, when I had myself             Bathed him, anointed, cloath'd him, and had sworn             Not to declare him openly in Troy             Till he should reach again the camp and fleet,             He told me the whole purpose of the Greeks.             Then, (many a Trojan slaughter'd,) he regain'd             The camp, and much intelligence he bore             To the Achaians. Oh what wailing then             Was heard of Trojan women! but my heart             Exulted, alter'd now, and wishing home;             For now my crime committed under force             Of Venus' influence I deplored, what time             She led me to a country far remote,             A wand'rer from the matrimonial bed,             From my own child, and from my rightful Lord             Alike unblemish'd both in form and mind.                 Her answer'd then the Hero golden-hair'd.             Helen! thou hast well spoken. All is true.             I have the talents fathom'd and the minds             Of num'rous Heroes, and have travell'd far             Yet never saw I with these eyes in man             Such firmness as the calm Ulysses own'd;             None such as in the wooden horse he proved,             Where all our bravest sat, designing woe             And bloody havoc for the sons of Troy.             Thou thither cam'st, impell'd, as it should seem,             By some divinity inclin'd to give             Victory to our foes, and with thee came             Godlike Deiphobus. Thrice round about             The hollow ambush, striking with thy hand             Its sides thou went'st, and by his name didst call             Each prince of Greece feigning his consort's voice.             Myself with Diomede, and with divine             Ulysses, seated in the midst, the call             Heard plain and loud; we (Diomede and I)             With ardour burn'd either to quit the horse             So summon'd, or to answer from within.             But, all impatient as we were, Ulysses             Controul'd the rash design; so there the sons             Of the Achaians silent sat and mute,             And of us all Anticlus would alone             Have answer'd; but Ulysses with both hands             Compressing close his lips, saved us, nor ceased             Till Pallas thence conducted thee again.                 Then thus, discrete, Telemachus replied.             Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown'd!             Hard was his lot whom these rare qualities             Preserved not, neither had his dauntless heart             Been iron, had he scaped his cruel doom.             But haste, dismiss us hence, that on our beds             Reposed, we may enjoy sleep, needful now.                 He ceas'd; then Argive Helen gave command             To her attendant maidens to prepare             Beds in the portico with purple rugs             Resplendent, and with arras, overspread,             And cover'd warm with cloaks of shaggy pile.             Forth went the maidens, bearing each a torch,             And spread the couches; next, the herald them             Led forth, and in the vestibule the son             Of Nestor and the youthful Hero slept,             Telemachus; but in the interior house             Atrides, with the loveliest of her sex             Beside him, Helen of the sweeping stole.             But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,             Glow'd in the East, then from his couch arose             The warlike Menelaus, fresh attir'd;             His faulchion o'er his shoulders slung, he bound             His sandals fair to his unsullied feet,             And like a God issuing, at the side             Sat of Telemachus, to whom he spake.                 Hero! Telemachus! what urgent cause             Hath hither led thee, to the land far-famed             Of Lacedmon o'er the spacious Deep?             Public concern or private? Tell me true.                 To whom Telemachus discrete replied.             Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown'd!             News seeking of my Sire, I have arrived.             My household is devour'd, my fruitful fields             Are desolated, and my palace fill'd             With enemies, who while they mutual wage             Proud competition for my mother's love,             My flocks continual slaughter, and my beeves.             For this cause, at thy knees suppliant, I beg             That thou wouldst tell me his disastrous end,             If either thou beheld'st with thine own eyes             His death, or from some wand'rer of the Greeks             Hast heard it; for no common woes, alas!             Was he ordain'd to share ev'n from the womb.             Neither through pity or o'erstrain'd respect             Flatter me, but explicit all relate             Which thou hast witness'd. If my noble Sire             E'er gratified thee by performance just             Of word or deed at Ilium, where ye fell             So num'rous slain in fight, oh recollect             Now his fidelity, and tell me true!                 Then Menelaus, sighing deep, replied.             Gods! their ambition is to reach the bed             Of a brave man, however base themselves.             But as it chances, when the hart hath lay'd             Her fawns new-yean'd and sucklings yet, to rest             Within some dreadful lion's gloomy den,             She roams the hills, and in the grassy vales             Feeds heedless, till the lion, to his lair             Return'd, destroys her and her little-ones,             So them thy Sire shall terribly destroy.             Jove, Pallas and Apollo! oh that such             As erst in well-built Lesbos, where he strove             With Philomelides, and threw him flat,             A sight at which Achaia's sons rejoic'd,             Such, now, Ulysses might assail them all!             Short life and bitter nuptials should be theirs.             But thy enquiries neither indirect             Will I evade, nor give thee false reply,             But all that from the Antient of the Deep[14]             I have receiv'd will utter, hiding nought.                 As yet the Gods on gypt's shore detained             Me wishing home, angry at my neglect             To heap their altars with slain hecatombs.             For they exacted from us evermore             Strict rev'rence of their laws. There is an isle             Amid the billowy flood, Pharos by name,             In front of gypt, distant from her shore             Far as a vessel by a sprightly gale             Impell'd, may push her voyage in a day.             The haven there is good, and many a ship             Finds wat'ring there from riv'lets on the coast.             There me the Gods kept twenty days, no breeze             Propitious granting, that might sweep the waves,             And usher to her home the flying bark.             And now had our provision, all consumed,             Left us exhausted, but a certain nymph             Pitying saved me. Daughter fair was she             Of mighty Proteus, Antient of the Deep,             Idothea named; her most my sorrows moved;             She found me from my followers all apart             Wand'ring (for they around the isle, with hooks             The fishes snaring roamed, by famine urged)             And standing at my side, me thus bespake.                 Stranger! thou must be ideot born, or weak             At least in intellect, or thy delight             Is in distress and mis'ry, who delay'st             To leave this island, and no egress hence             Canst find, although thy famish'd people faint.                 So spake the Goddess, and I thus replied.             I tell thee, whosoever of the Pow'rs             Divine thou art, that I am prison'd here             Not willingly, but must have, doubtless, sinn'd             Against the deathless tenants of the skies.             Yet say (for the Immortals all things know)             What God detains me, and my course forbids             Hence to my country o'er the fishy Deep?                 So I; to whom the Goddess all-divine.             Stranger! I will inform thee true. A seer             Oracular, the Antient of the Deep,             Immortal Proteus, the gyptian, haunts             These shores, familiar with all Ocean's gulphs,             And Neptune's subject. He is by report             My father; him if thou art able once             To seize and bind, he will prescribe the course             With all its measured distances, by which             Thou shalt regain secure thy native shores.             He will, moreover, at thy suit declare,             Thou favour'd of the skies! what good, what ill             Hath in thine house befall'n, while absent thou             Thy voyage difficult perform'st and long.                 She spake, and I replied--Thyself reveal             By what effectual bands I may secure             The antient Deity marine, lest, warn'd             Of my approach, he shun me and escape.             Hard task for mortal hands to bind a God!                 Then thus Idothea answer'd all-divine.             I will inform thee true. Soon as the sun             Hath climb'd the middle heav'ns, the prophet old,             Emerging while the breezy zephyr blows,             And cover'd with the scum of ocean, seeks             His spacious cove, in which outstretch'd he lies.             The phoc[15] also, rising from the waves,             Offspring of beauteous Halosydna, sleep             Around him, num'rous, and the fishy scent             Exhaling rank of the unfathom'd flood.             Thither conducting thee at peep of day             I will dispose thee in some safe recess,             But from among thy followers thou shalt chuse             The bravest three in all thy gallant fleet.             And now the artifices understand             Of the old prophet of the sea. The sum             Of all his phoc numb'ring duly first,             He will pass through them, and when all by fives             He counted hath, will in the midst repose             Content, as sleeps the shepherd with his flock.             When ye shall see him stretch'd, then call to mind             That moment all your prowess, and prevent,             Howe'er he strive impatient, his escape.             All changes trying, he will take the form             Of ev'ry reptile on the earth, will seem             A river now, and now devouring fire;             But hold him ye, and grasp him still the more.             And when himself shall question you, restored             To his own form in which ye found him first             Reposing, then from farther force abstain;             Then, Hero! loose the Antient of the Deep,             And ask him, of the Gods who checks thy course             Hence to thy country o'er the fishy flood.                 So saying, she plunged into the billowy waste.             I then, in various musings lost, my ships             Along the sea-beach station'd sought again,             And when I reach'd my galley on the shore             We supp'd, and sacred night falling from heav'n,             Slept all extended on the ocean-side.             But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,             Look'd rosy forth, pensive beside the shore             I walk'd of Ocean, frequent to the Gods             Praying devout, then chose the fittest three             For bold assault, and worthiest of my trust.             Meantime the Goddess from the bosom wide             Of Ocean rising, brought us thence four skins             Of phoc, and all newly stript, a snare             Contriving subtle to deceive her Sire.             Four cradles in the sand she scoop'd, then sat             Expecting us, who in due time approach'd;             She lodg'd us side by side, and over each             A raw skin cast. Horrible to ourselves             Proved that disguise whom the pernicious scent             Of the sea-nourish'd phoc sore annoy'd;             For who would lay him down at a whale's side?             But she a potent remedy devised             Herself to save us, who the nostrils sooth'd             Of each with pure ambrosia thither brought             Odorous, which the fishy scent subdued.             All morning, patient watchers, there we lay;             And now the num'rous phoc from the Deep             Emerging, slept along the shore, and he             At noon came also, and perceiving there             His fatted monsters, through the flock his course             Took regular, and summ'd them; with the first             He number'd us, suspicion none of fraud             Conceiving, then couch'd also. We, at once,             Loud-shouting flew on him, and in our arms             Constrain'd him fast; nor the sea-prophet old             Call'd not incontinent his shifts to mind.             First he became a long-maned lion grim,             Then dragon, panther then, a savage boar,             A limpid stream, and an o'ershadowing tree.             We persevering held him, till at length             The Antient of the Deep, skill'd as he is             In wiles, yet weary, question'd me, and said.                 Oh Atreus' son, by what confed'rate God             Instructed liest thou in wait for me,             To seize and hold me? what is thy desire?                 So He; to whom thus answer I return'd.             Old Seer! thou know'st; why, fraudful, should'st thou ask?             It is because I have been prison'd long             Within this isle, whence I have sought in vain             Deliv'rance, till my wonted courage fails.             Yet say (for the Immortals all things know)             What God detains me, and my course forbids             Hence to my country o'er the fishy Deep?                 So I; when thus the old one of the waves.             But thy plain duty[16] was to have adored             Jove, first, in sacrifice, and all the Gods,             That then embarking, by propitious gales             Impell'd, thou might'st have reach'd thy country soon.             For thou art doom'd ne'er to behold again             Thy friends, thy palace, or thy native shores,             Till thou have seen once more the hallow'd flood             Of gypt, and with hecatombs adored             Devout, the deathless tenants of the skies.             Then will they speed thee whither thou desir'st.                 He ended, and my heart broke at his words,             Which bade me pass again the gloomy gulph             To gypt; tedious course, and hard to atchieve!             Yet, though in sorrow whelm'd, I thus replied.                 Old prophet! I will all thy will perform.             But tell me, and the truth simply reveal;             Have the Achaians with their ships arrived             All safe, whom Nestor left and I, at Troy?             Or of the Chiefs have any in their barks,             Or in their followers' arms found a dire death             Unlook'd for, since that city's siege we closed?                 I spake, when answer thus the God return'd.             Atrides, why these questions? Need is none             That thou should'st all my secrets learn, which once             Reveal'd, thou would'st not long dry-eyed remain.             Of those no few have died, and many live;             But leaders, two alone, in their return             Have died (thou also hast had war to wage)             And one, still living, roams the boundless sea.                 Ajax,[17] surrounded by his galleys, died.             Him Neptune, first, against the bulky rocks             The Gyr drove, but saved him from the Deep;             Nor had he perish'd, hated as he was             By Pallas, but for his own impious boast             In frenzy utter'd that he would escape             The billows, even in the Gods' despight.             Neptune that speech vain-glorious hearing, grasp'd             His trident, and the huge Gyran rock             Smiting indignant, dash'd it half away;             Part stood, and part, on which the boaster sat             When, first, the brainsick fury seiz'd him, fell,             Bearing him with it down into the gulphs             Of Ocean, where he drank the brine, and died.             But thy own brother in his barks escaped             That fate, by Juno saved; yet when, at length,             He should have gain'd Malea's craggy shore,             Then, by a sudden tempest caught, he flew             With many a groan far o'er the fishy Deep             To the land's utmost point, where once his home             Thyestes had, but where Thyestes' son             Dwelt then, gisthus. Easy lay his course             And open thence, and, as it pleased the Gods,             The shifted wind soon bore them to their home.             He, high in exultation, trod the shore             That gave him birth, kiss'd it, and, at the sight,             The welcome sight of Greece, shed many a tear.             Yet not unseen he landed; for a spy,             One whom the shrewd gisthus had seduced             By promise of two golden talents, mark'd             His coming from a rock where he had watch'd             The year complete, lest, passing unperceived,             The King should reassert his right in arms.             Swift flew the spy with tidings to this Lord,             And He, incontinent, this project framed             Insidious. Twenty men, the boldest hearts             Of all the people, from the rest he chose,             Whom he in ambush placed, and others charged             Diligent to prepare the festal board.             With horses, then, and chariots forth he drove             Full-fraught with mischief, and conducting home             The unsuspicious King, amid the feast             Slew him, as at his crib men slay an ox.             Nor of thy brother's train, nor of his train             Who slew thy brother, one survived, but all,             Welt'ring in blood together, there expired.                 He ended, and his words beat on my heart             As they would break it. On the sands I sat             Weeping, nor life nor light desiring more.             But when I had in dust roll'd me, and wept             To full satiety, mine ear again             The oracle of Ocean thus address'd.              Sit not, O son of Atreus! weeping here             Longer, for remedy can none be found;             But quick arising, trial make, how best             Thou shalt, and soonest, reach thy home again.             For either him still living thou shalt find,             Or ere thou come, Orestes shall have slain             The traytor, and thine eyes shall see his tomb.                 He ceas'd, and I, afflicted as I was,             Yet felt my spirit at that word refresh'd,             And in wing'd accents answer thus return'd.                 Of these I am inform'd; but name the third             Who, dead or living, on the boundless Deep             Is still detain'd; I dread, yet wish to hear.                 So I; to whom thus Proteus in return.             Laertes' son, the Lord of Ithaca--             Him in an island weeping I beheld,             Guest of the nymph Calypso, by constraint             Her guest, and from his native land withheld             By sad necessity; for ships well-oar'd,             Or faithful followers hath he none, whose aid             Might speed him safely o'er the spacious flood.             But, Menelaus dear to Jove! thy fate             Ordains not thee the stroke of death to meet             In steed-fam'd Argos, but far hence the Gods             Will send thee to Elysium, and the earth's             Extremest bounds; (there Rhadamanthus dwells,             The golden-hair'd, and there the human kind             Enjoy the easiest life; no snow is there,             No biting winter, and no drenching show'r,             But zephyr always gently from the sea             Breathes on them to refresh the happy race)             For that fair Helen is by nuptial bands             Thy own, and thou art son-in-law of Jove.                 So saying, he plunged into the billowy waste,             I then, with my brave comrades to the fleet             Return'd, deep-musing as I went, and sad.             No sooner had I reach'd my ship beside             The ocean, and we all had supp'd, than night             From heav'n fell on us, and, at ease reposed             Along the margin of the sea, we slept.             But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,             Look'd rosy forth, drawing our galleys down             Into the sacred Deep, we rear'd again             The mast, unfurl'd the sail, and to our seats             On board returning, thresh'd the foamy flood.             Once more, at length, within the hallow'd stream             Of gypt mooring, on the shore I slew             Whole hecatombs, and (the displeasure thus             Of the immortal Gods appeased) I reared             To Agamemnon's never-dying fame             A tomb, and finishing it, sail'd again             With such a gale from heaven vouchsafed, as sent             My ships swift-scudding to the shores of Greece.             But come--eleven days wait here, or twelve             A guest with me, when I will send thee hence             Nobly, and honour'd with illustrious gifts,             With polish'd chariot, with three princely steeds,             And with a gorgeous cup, that to the Gods             Libation pouring ever while thou liv'st             From that same cup, thou may'st remember me.                 Him, prudent, then answer'd Telemachus.             Atrides, seek not to detain me here             Long time; for though contented I could sit             The year beside thee, nor regret my home             Or parents, (so delightful thy discourse             Sounds in my ear) yet, even now, I know,             That my attendants to the Pylian shore             Wish my return, whom thou thus long detain'st.             What boon soe'er thou giv'st me, be it such             As I may treasur'd keep; but horses none             Take I to Ithaca; them rather far             Keep thou, for thy own glory. Thou art Lord             Of an extended plain, where copious springs             The lotus, herbage of all savours, wheat,             Pulse, and white barley of luxuriant growth.             But Ithaca no level champaign owns,             A nursery of goats, and yet a land             Fairer than even pastures to the eye.             No sea-encircled isle of ours affords             Smooth course commodious and expanse of meads,             But my own Ithaca transcends them all!                 He said; the Hero Menelaus smiled,             And stroaking tenderly his cheek, replied.             Dear youth! thy speech proclaims thy noble blood.             I can with ease supply thee from within             With what shall suit thee better, and the gift             Of all that I possess which most excels             In beauty, and the noblest shall be thine.             I give thee, wrought elaborate, a cup             Itself all silver, bound with lip of gold.             It is the work of Vulcan, which to me             The Hero Phdimus imparted, King             Of the Sidonians, when on my return             His house received me. That shall be thy own.                 Thus they conferr'd; and now the busy train             Of menials culinary,[18] at the gate             Enter'd of Menelaus, Chief renown'd;             They brought him sheep, with heart-ennobling wine,             While all their wives, their brows with frontlets bound,             Came charg'd with bread. Thus busy they prepared             A banquet in the mansion of the King.                 Meantime, before Ulysses' palace gate             The suitors sported with the quoit and spear             On the smooth area, customary scene             Of all their strife and angry clamour loud.             There sat Antinos, and the godlike youth             Eurymachus, superior to the rest             And Chiefs among them, to whom Phronius' son             Nomon drawing nigh, with anxious mien             Question'd Antinos, and thus began.                 Know we, Antinos! or know we not,             When to expect Telemachus at home             Again from Pylus? in my ship he went,             Which now I need, that I may cross the sea             To Elis, on whose spacious plain I feed             Twelve mares, each suckling a mule-colt as yet             Unbroken, but of which I purpose one             To ferry thence, and break him into use.                 He spake, whom they astonish'd heard; for him             They deem'd not to Nelian Pylus gone,             But haply into his own fields, his flocks             To visit, or the steward of his swine.             Then thus, Eupithes' son, Antinos, spake.                 Say true. When sail'd he forth? of all our youth,             Whom chose he for his followers? his own train             Of slaves and hirelings? hath he pow'r to effect             This also? Tell me too, for I would learn--             Took he perforce thy sable bark away,             Or gav'st it to him at his first demand?                 To whom Nomon, Phronius' son, replied.             I gave it voluntary; what could'st thou,             Should such a prince petition for thy bark             In such distress? Hard were it to refuse.             Brave youths (our bravest youths except yourselves)             Attend him forth; and with them I observed             Mentor embarking, ruler o'er them all,             Or, if not him, a God; for such he seem'd.             But this much moves my wonder. Yester-morn             I saw, at day-break, noble Mentor here,             Whom shipp'd for Pylus I had seen before.                 He ceas'd; and to his father's house return'd;             They, hearing, sat aghast. Their games meantime             Finish'd, the suitors on their seats reposed,             To whom Eupithes' son, Antinos, next,             Much troubled spake; a black storm overcharged             His bosom, and his vivid eyes flash'd fire.                 Ye Gods, a proud exploit is here atchieved,             This voyage of Telemachus, by us             Pronounced impracticable; yet the boy             In downright opposition to us all,             Hath headlong launched a ship, and, with a band             Selected from our bravest youth, is gone.             He soon will prove more mischievous, whose pow'r             Jove wither, ere we suffer its effects!             But give me a swift bark with twenty rowers,             That, watching his return within the streights             Of rocky Samos and of Ithaca,             I may surprise him; so shall he have sail'd             To seek his Sire, fatally for himself.                 He ceased and loud applause heard in reply,             With warm encouragement. Then, rising all,             Into Ulysses' house at once they throng'd.             Nor was Penelope left uninformed             Long time of their clandestine plottings deep,             For herald Medon told her all, whose ear             Their councils caught while in the outer-court             He stood, and they that project framed within.             Swift to Penelope the tale he bore,             Who as he pass'd the gate, him thus address'd.                 For what cause, herald! have the suitors sent             Thee foremost? Wou'd they that my maidens lay             Their tasks aside, and dress the board for them?             Here end their wooing! may they hence depart             Never, and may the banquet now prepared,             This banquet prove your last![19] who in such throngs             Here meeting, waste the patrimony fair             Of brave Telemachus; ye never, sure,             When children, heard how gracious and how good             Ulysses dwelt among your parents, none             Of all his people, or in word or deed             Injuring, as great princes oft are wont,             By favour influenc'd now, now by disgust.             He no man wrong'd at any time; but plain             Your wicked purpose in your deeds appears,             Who sense have none of benefits conferr'd.                 Then Medon answer'd thus, prudent, return'd.             Oh Queen! may the Gods grant this prove the worst.             But greater far and heavier ills than this             The suitors plan, whose counsels Jove confound!             Their base desire and purpose are to slay             Telemachus on his return; for he,             To gather tidings of his Sire is gone             To Pylus, or to Sparta's land divine.                 He said; and where she stood, her trembling knees             Fail'd under her, and all her spirits went.             Speechless she long remain'd, tears filled her eyes,             And inarticulate in its passage died             Her utt'rance, till at last with pain she spake.                 Herald! why went my son? he hath no need             On board swift ships to ride, which are to man             His steeds that bear him over seas remote.             Went he, that, with himself, his very name             Might perish from among mankind for ever?                 Then answer, thus, Medon the wise return'd.             I know not whether him some God impell'd             Or his own heart to Pylus, there to hear             News of his Sire's return, or by what fate             At least he died, if he return no more.                 He said, and traversing Ulysses' courts,             Departed; she with heart consuming woe             O'erwhelm'd, no longer could endure to take             Repose on any of her num'rous seats,             But on the threshold of her chamber-door             Lamenting sat, while all her female train             Around her moan'd, the antient and the young,             Whom, sobbing, thus Penelope bespake.                 Hear me, ye maidens! for of women born             Coeval with me, none hath e'er received             Such plenteous sorrow from the Gods as I,             Who first my noble husband lost, endued             With courage lion-like, of all the Greeks             The Chief with ev'ry virtue most adorn'd,             A prince all-excellent, whose glorious praise             Through Hellas and all Argos flew diffused.             And now, my darling son,--him storms have snatch'd             Far hence inglorious, and I knew it not.             Ah treach'rous servants! conscious as ye were             Of his design, not one of you the thought             Conceived to wake me when he went on board.             For had but the report once reach'd my ear,             He either had not gone (how much soe'er             He wish'd to leave me) or had left me dead.             But haste ye,--bid my antient servant come,             Dolion, whom (when I left my father's house             He gave me, and whose office is to attend             My num'rous garden-plants) that he may seek             At once Laertes, and may tell him all,             Who may contrive some remedy, perchance,             Or fit expedient, and shall come abroad             To weep before the men who wish to slay             Even the prince, godlike Ulysses' son.                 Then thus the gentle Euryclea spake,             Nurse of Telemachus. Alas! my Queen!             Slay me, or spare, deal with me as thou wilt,             I will confess the truth. I knew it all.             I gave him all that he required from me.             Both wine and bread, and, at his bidding, swore             To tell thee nought in twelve whole days to come,             Or till, enquiry made, thou should'st thyself             Learn his departure, lest thou should'st impair             Thy lovely features with excess of grief.             But lave thyself, and, fresh attired, ascend             To thy own chamber, there, with all thy train,             To worship Pallas, who shall save, thenceforth,             Thy son from death, what ills soe'er he meet.             Add not fresh sorrows to the present woes             Of the old King, for I believe not yet             Arcesias' race entirely by the Gods             Renounced, but trust that there shall still be found             Among them, who shall dwell in royal state,             And reap the fruits of fertile fields remote.                 So saying, she hush'd her sorrow, and her eyes             No longer stream'd. Then, bathed and fresh attired,             Penelope ascended with her train             The upper palace, and a basket stored             With hallow'd cakes off'ring, to Pallas pray'd.                 Hear matchless daughter of Jove gis-arm'd!             If ever wise Ulysses offer'd here             The thighs of fatted kine or sheep to thee,             Now mindful of his piety, preserve             His darling son, and frustrate with a frown             The cruelty of these imperious guests!                 She said, and wept aloud, whose earnest suit             Pallas received. And now the spacious hall             And gloomy passages with tumult rang             And clamour of that throng, when thus, a youth,             Insolent as his fellows, dared to speak.                 Much woo'd and long, the Queen at length prepares             To chuse another mate,[20] and nought suspects             The bloody death to which her son is doom'd.                 So he; but they, meantime, themselves remain'd             Untaught, what course the dread concern elsewhere             Had taken, whom Antinos thus address'd.                 Sirs! one and all, I counsel you, beware             Of such bold boasting unadvised; lest one             O'erhearing you, report your words within.             No--rather thus, in silence, let us move             To an exploit so pleasant to us all.                 He said, and twenty chose, the bravest there,             With whom he sought the galley on the shore,             Which drawing down into the deep, they placed             The mast and sails on board, and, sitting, next,             Each oar in order to its proper groove,             Unfurl'd and spread their canvas to the gale.             Their bold attendants, then, brought them their arms,             And soon as in deep water they had moor'd             The ship, themselves embarking, supp'd on board,             And watch'd impatient for the dusk of eve.                 But when Penelope, the palace stairs             Remounting, had her upper chamber reach'd,             There, unrefresh'd with either food or wine,             She lay'd her down, her noble son the theme             Of all her thoughts, whether he should escape             His haughty foes, or perish by their hands.             Num'rous as are the lion's thoughts, who sees,             Not without fear, a multitude with toils             Encircling him around, such num'rous thoughts             Her bosom occupied, till sleep at length             Invading her, she sank in soft repose.                 Then Pallas, teeming with a new design,             Set forth an airy phantom in the form             Of fair Iphthima, daughter of the brave             Icarius, and Eumelus' wedded wife             In Pher. Shaped like her the dream she sent             Into the mansion of the godlike Chief             Ulysses, with kind purpose to abate             The sighs and tears of sad Penelope.             Ent'ring the chamber-portal, where the bolt             Secured it, at her head the image stood,             And thus, in terms compassionate, began.                 Sleep'st thou, distress'd Penelope? The Gods,             Happy in everlasting rest themselves,             Forbid thy sorrows. Thou shalt yet behold             Thy son again, who hath by no offence             Incurr'd at any time the wrath of heav'n.                 To whom, sweet-slumb'ring in the shadowy gate             By which dreams pass, Penelope replied.                 What cause, my sister, brings thee, who art seen             Unfrequent here, for that thou dwell'st remote?             And thou enjoin'st me a cessation too             From sorrows num'rous, and which, fretting, wear             My heart continual; first, my spouse I lost             With courage lion-like endow'd, a prince             All-excellent, whose never-dying praise             Through Hellas and all Argos flew diffused;             And now my only son, new to the toils             And hazards of the sea, nor less untaught             The arts of traffic, in a ship is gone             Far hence, for whose dear cause I sorrow more             Than for his Sire himself, and even shake             With terror, lest he perish by their hands             To whom he goes, or in the stormy Deep;             For num'rous are his foes, and all intent             To slay him, ere he reach his home again.                 Then answer thus the shadowy form return'd.             Take courage; suffer not excessive dread             To overwhelm thee, such a guide he hath             And guardian, one whom many wish their friend,             And ever at their side, knowing her pow'r,             Minerva; she compassionates thy griefs,             And I am here her harbinger, who speak             As thou hast heard by her own kind command.                 Then thus Penelope the wise replied.             Oh! if thou art a goddess, and hast heard             A Goddess' voice, rehearse to me the lot             Of that unhappy one, if yet he live             Spectator of the cheerful beams of day,             Or if, already dead, he dwell below.                 Whom answer'd thus the fleeting shadow vain.             I will not now inform thee if thy Lord             Live, or live not. Vain words are best unspoken.                 So saying, her egress swift beside the bolt             She made, and melted into air. Upsprang             From sleep Icarius' daughter, and her heart             Felt heal'd within her, by that dream distinct             Visited in the noiseless night serene.                 Meantime the suitors urged their wat'ry way,             To instant death devoting in their hearts             Telemachus. There is a rocky isle             In the mid sea, Samos the rude between             And Ithaca, not large, named Asteris.             It hath commodious havens, into which             A passage clear opens on either side,             And there the ambush'd Greeks his coming watch'd.