Translation of: The Odyssey of Homer: Book XII

ARGUMENT     Ulysses, pursuing his narrative, relates his return from the shades to Circe's island, the precautions given him by that Goddess, his escape from the Sirens, and from Scylla and Charybdis; his arrival in Sicily, where his companions, having slain and eaten the oxen of the Sun, are afterward shipwrecked and lost; and concludes the whole with an account of his arrival, alone, on the mast of his vessel, at the island of Calypso.             And now, borne seaward from the river-stream             Of the Oceanus, we plow'd again             The spacious Deep, and reach'd th' an isle,             Where, daughter of the dawn, Aurora takes             Her choral sports, and whence the sun ascends.             We, there arriving, thrust our bark aground             On the smooth beach, then landed, and on shore             Reposed, expectant of the sacred dawn.             But soon as day-spring's daughter rosy-palm'd             Look'd forth again, sending my friends before,             I bade them bring Elpenor's body down             From the abode of Circe to the beach.             Then, on the utmost headland of the coast             We timber fell'd, and, sorrowing o'er the dead,             His fun'ral rites water'd with tears profuse.             The dead consumed, and with the dead his arms,             We heap'd his tomb, and the sepulchral post             Erecting, fix'd his shapely oar aloft.                 Thus, punctual, we perform'd; nor our return             From Ades knew not Circe, but attired             In haste, ere long arrived, with whom appear'd             Her female train with plenteous viands charged,             And bright wine rosy-red. Amidst us all             Standing, the beauteous Goddess thus began.                 Ah miserable! who have sought the shades             Alive! while others of the human race             Die only once, appointed twice to die!             Come--take ye food; drink wine; and on the shore             All day regale, for ye shall hence again             At day-spring o'er the Deep; but I will mark             Myself your future course, nor uninform'd             Leave you in aught, lest, through some dire mistake,             By sea or land new mis'ries ye incur.                 The Goddess spake, whose invitation kind             We glad accepted; thus we feasting sat             Till set of sun, and quaffing richest wine;             But when the sun went down and darkness fell,             My crew beside the hawsers slept, while me             The Goddess by the hand leading apart,             First bade me sit, then, seated opposite,             Enquired, minute, of all that I had seen,             And I, from first to last, recounted all.             Then, thus the awful Goddess in return.                 Thus far thy toils are finish'd. Now attend!             Mark well my words, of which the Gods will sure             Themselves remind thee in the needful hour.             First shalt thou reach the Sirens; they the hearts             Enchant of all who on their coast arrive.             The wretch, who unforewarn'd approaching, hears             The Sirens' voice, his wife and little-ones             Ne'er fly to gratulate his glad return,             But him the Sirens sitting in the meads             Charm with mellifluous song, while all around             The bones accumulated lie of men             Now putrid, and the skins mould'ring away.             But, pass them thou, and, lest thy people hear             Those warblings, ere thou yet approach, fill all             Their ears with wax moulded between thy palms;             But as for thee--thou hear them if thou wilt.             Yet let thy people bind thee to the mast             Erect, encompassing thy feet and arms             With cordage well-secured to the mast-foot,             So shalt thou, raptur'd, hear the Sirens' song.             But if thou supplicate to be released,             Or give such order, then, with added cords             Let thy companions bind thee still the more.             When thus thy people shall have safely pass'd             The Sirens by, think not from me to learn             What course thou next shalt steer; two will occur;             Delib'rate chuse; I shall describe them both.             Here vaulted rocks impend, dash'd by the waves             Immense of Amphitrite azure-eyed;             The blessed Gods those rocks, Erratic, call.             Birds cannot pass them safe; no, not the doves             Which his ambrosia bear to Father Jove,             But even of those doves the slipp'ry rock             Proves fatal still to one, for which the God             Supplies another, lest the number fail.             No ship, what ship soever there arrives,             Escapes them, but both mariners and planks             Whelm'd under billows of the Deep, or, caught             By fiery tempests, sudden disappear.             Those rocks the billow-cleaving bark alone             The Argo, further'd by the vows of all,             Pass'd safely, sailing from ta's isle;             Nor she had pass'd, but surely dash'd had been             On those huge rocks, but that, propitious still             To Jason, Juno sped her safe along.             These rocks are two; one lifts his summit sharp             High as the spacious heav'ns, wrapt in dun clouds             Perpetual, which nor autumn sees dispers'd             Nor summer, for the sun shines never there;             No mortal man might climb it or descend,             Though twice ten hands and twice ten feet he own'd,             For it is levigated as by art.             Down scoop'd to Erebus, a cavern drear             Yawns in the centre of its western side;             Pass it, renown'd Ulysses! but aloof             So far, that a keen arrow smartly sent             Forth from thy bark should fail to reach the cave.             There Scylla dwells, and thence her howl is heard             Tremendous; shrill her voice is as the note             Of hound new-whelp'd, but hideous her aspect,             Such as no mortal man, nor ev'n a God             Encount'ring her, should with delight survey.             Her feet are twelve, all fore-feet; six her necks             Of hideous length, each clubb'd into a head             Terrific, and each head with fangs is arm'd             In triple row, thick planted, stored with death.             Plunged to her middle in the hollow den             She lurks, protruding from the black abyss             Her heads, with which the rav'ning monster dives             In quest of dolphins, dog-fish, or of prey             More bulky, such as in the roaring gulphs             Of Amphitrite without end abounds.             It is no seaman's boast that e'er he slipp'd             Her cavern by, unharm'd. In ev'ry mouth             She bears upcaught a mariner away.             The other rock, Ulysses, thou shalt find             Humbler, a bow-shot only from the first;             On this a wild fig grows broad-leav'd, and here             Charybdis dire ingulphs the sable flood.             Each day she thrice disgorges, and each day             Thrice swallows it. Ah! well forewarn'd, beware             What time she swallows, that thou come not nigh,             For not himself, Neptune, could snatch thee thence.             Close passing Scylla's rock, shoot swift thy bark             Beyond it, since the loss of six alone             Is better far than shipwreck made of all.                 So Circe spake, to whom I thus replied.             Tell me, O Goddess, next, and tell me true!             If, chance, from fell Charybdis I escape,             May I not also save from Scylla's force             My people; should the monster threaten them?                 I said, and quick the Goddess in return.             Unhappy! can exploits and toils of war             Still please thee? yield'st not to the Gods themselves?             She is no mortal, but a deathless pest,             Impracticable, savage, battle-proof.             Defence is vain; flight is thy sole resource.             For should'st thou linger putting on thy arms             Beside the rock, beware, lest darting forth             Her num'rous heads, she seize with ev'ry mouth             A Greecian, and with others, even thee.             Pass therefore swift, and passing, loud invoke             Cratais, mother of this plague of man,             Who will forbid her to assail thee more.             Thou, next, shalt reach Thrinacia; there, the beeves             And fatted flocks graze num'rous of the Sun;             Sev'n herds; as many flocks of snowy fleece;             Fifty in each; they breed not, neither die,             Nor are they kept by less than Goddesses,             Lampetia fair, and Phethusa, both             By nymph Nera to Hyperion borne.             Them, soon as she had train'd them to an age             Proportion'd to that charge, their mother sent             Into Thrinacia, there to dwell and keep             Inviolate their father's flocks and herds.             If, anxious for a safe return, thou spare             Those herds and flocks, though after much endured,             Ye may at last your Ithaca regain;             But should'st thou violate them, I foretell             Destruction of thy ship and of thy crew,             And though thyself escape, thou shalt return             Late, in ill plight, and all thy friends destroy'd.                 She ended, and the golden morning dawn'd.             Then, all-divine, her graceful steps she turn'd             Back through the isle, and, at the beach arrived,             I summon'd all my followers to ascend             The bark again, and cast the hawsers loose.             They, at my voice, embarking, fill'd in ranks             The seats, and rowing, thresh'd the hoary flood.             And now, melodious Circe, nymph divine,             Sent after us a canvas-stretching breeze,             Pleasant companion of our course, and we             (The decks and benches clear'd) untoiling sat,             While managed gales sped swift the bark along.             Then, with dejected heart, thus I began.                 Oh friends! (for it is needful that not one             Or two alone the admonition hear             Of Circe, beauteous prophetess divine)             To all I speak, that whether we escape             Or perish, all may be, at least, forewarn'd.             She bids us, first, avoid the dang'rous song             Of the sweet Sirens and their flow'ry meads.             Me only she permits those strains to hear;             But ye shall bind me with coercion strong             Of cordage well-secured to the mast-foot,             And by no struggles to be loos'd of mine.             But should I supplicate to be released             Or give such order, then, with added cords             Be it your part to bind me still the more.                 Thus with distinct precaution I prepared             My people; rapid in her course, meantime,             My gallant bark approach'd the Sirens' isle,             For brisk and favourable blew the wind.             Then fell the wind suddenly, and serene             A breathless calm ensued, while all around             The billows slumber'd, lull'd by pow'r divine.             Up-sprang my people, and the folded sails             Bestowing in the hold, sat to their oars,             Which with their polish'd blades whiten'd the Deep.             I, then, with edge of steel sev'ring minute             A waxen cake, chafed it and moulded it             Between my palms; ere long the ductile mass             Grew warm, obedient to that ceaseless force,             And to Hyperion's all-pervading beams.             With that soft liniment I fill'd the ears             Of my companions, man by man, and they             My feet and arms with strong coercion bound             Of cordage to the mast-foot well secured.             Then down they sat, and, rowing, thresh'd the brine.             But when with rapid course we had arrived             Within such distance as a voice may reach,             Not unperceived by them the gliding bark             Approach'd, and, thus, harmonious they began.                 Ulysses, Chief by ev'ry tongue extoll'd,             Achaia's boast, oh hither steer thy bark!             Here stay thy course, and listen to our lay!             These shores none passes in his sable ship             Till, first, the warblings of our voice he hear,             Then, happier hence and wiser he departs.             All that the Greeks endured, and all the ills             Inflicted by the Gods on Troy, we know,             Know all that passes on the boundless earth.                 So they with voices sweet their music poured             Melodious on my ear, winning with ease             My heart's desire to listen, and by signs             I bade my people, instant, set me free.             But they incumbent row'd, and from their seats             Eurylochus and Perimedes sprang             With added cords to bind me still the more.             This danger past, and when the Sirens' voice,             Now left remote, had lost its pow'r to charm,             Then, my companions freeing from the wax             Their ears, deliver'd me from my restraint.             The island left afar, soon I discern'd             Huge waves, and smoke, and horrid thund'rings heard.             All sat aghast; forth flew at once the oars             From ev'ry hand, and with a clash the waves             Smote all together; check'd, the galley stood,             By billow-sweeping oars no longer urged,             And I, throughout the bark, man after man             Encouraged all, addressing thus my crew.                 We meet not, now, my friends, our first distress.             This evil is not greater than we found             When the huge Cyclops in his hollow den             Imprison'd us, yet even thence we 'scaped,             My intrepidity and fertile thought             Opening the way; and we shall recollect             These dangers also, in due time, with joy.             Come, then--pursue my counsel. Ye your seats             Still occupying, smite the furrow'd flood             With well-timed strokes, that by the will of Jove             We may escape, perchance, this death, secure.             To thee the pilot thus I speak, (my words             Mark thou, for at thy touch the rudder moves)             This smoke, and these tumultuous waves avoid;             Steer wide of both; yet with an eye intent             On yonder rock, lest unaware thou hold             Too near a course, and plunge us into harm.                 So I; with whose advice all, quick, complied.             But Scylla I as yet named not, (that woe             Without a cure) lest, terrified, my crew             Should all renounce their oars, and crowd below.             Just then, forgetful of the strict command             Of Circe not to arm, I cloath'd me all             In radiant armour, grasp'd two quiv'ring spears,             And to the deck ascended at the prow,             Expecting earliest notice there, what time             The rock-bred Scylla should annoy my friends.             But I discern'd her not, nor could, although             To weariness of sight the dusky rock             I vigilant explored. Thus, many a groan             Heaving, we navigated sad the streight,             For here stood Scylla, while Charybdis there             With hoarse throat deep absorb'd the briny flood.             Oft as she vomited the deluge forth,             Like water cauldron'd o'er a furious fire             The whirling Deep all murmur'd, and the spray             On both those rocky summits fell in show'rs.             But when she suck'd the salt wave down again,             Then, all the pool appear'd wheeling about             Within, the rock rebellow'd, and the sea             Drawn off into that gulph disclosed to view             The oozy bottom. Us pale horror seized.             Thus, dreading death, with fast-set eyes we watch'd             Charybdis; meantime, Scylla from the bark             Caught six away, the bravest of my friends.             With eyes, that moment, on my ship and crew             Retorted, I beheld the legs and arms             Of those whom she uplifted in the air;             On me they call'd, my name, the last, last time             Pronouncing then, in agony of heart.             As when from some bold point among the rocks             The angler, with his taper rod in hand,             Casts forth his bait to snare the smaller fry,             He swings away remote his guarded line,[56]             Then jerks his gasping prey forth from the Deep,             So Scylla them raised gasping to the rock,             And at her cavern's mouth devour'd them loud-             Shrieking, and stretching forth to me their arms             In sign of hopeless mis'ry. Ne'er beheld             These eyes in all the seas that I have roam'd,             A sight so piteous, nor in all my toils.                 From Scylla and Charybdis dire escaped,             We reach'd the noble island of the Sun             Ere long, where bright Hyperion's beauteous herds             Broad-fronted grazed, and his well-batten'd flocks.             I, in the bark and on the sea, the voice             Of oxen bellowing in hovels heard,             And of loud-bleating sheep; then dropp'd the word             Into my memory of the sightless Seer,             Theban Tiresias, and the caution strict             Of Circe, my an monitress,             Who with such force had caution'd me to avoid             The island of the Sun, joy of mankind.             Thus then to my companions, sad, I spake.                 Hear ye, my friends! although long time distress'd,             The words prophetic of the Theban seer             And of an Circe, whose advice             Was oft repeated to me to avoid             This island of the Sun, joy of mankind.             There, said the Goddess, dread your heaviest woes,             Pass the isle, therefore, scudding swift away.                 I ceased; they me with consternation heard,             And harshly thus Eurylochus replied.                 Ulysses, ruthless Chief! no toils impair             Thy strength, of senseless iron thou art form'd,             Who thy companions weary and o'erwatch'd             Forbidd'st to disembark on this fair isle,             Where now, at last, we might with ease regale.             Thou, rash, command'st us, leaving it afar,             To roam all night the Ocean's dreary waste;             But winds to ships injurious spring by night,             And how shall we escape a dreadful death             If, chance, a sudden gust from South arise             Or stormy West, that dash in pieces oft             The vessel, even in the Gods' despight?             Prepare we rather now, as night enjoins,             Our evening fare beside the sable bark,             In which at peep of day we may again             Launch forth secure into the boundless flood.                 He ceas'd, whom all applauded. Then I knew             That sorrow by the will of adverse heav'n             Approach'd, and in wing'd accents thus replied.                 I suffer force, Eurylochus! and yield             O'er-ruled by numbers. Come, then, swear ye all             A solemn oath, that should we find an herd             Or num'rous flock, none here shall either sheep             Or bullock slay, by appetite profane             Seduced, but shall the viands eat content             Which from immortal Circe we received.                 I spake; they readily a solemn oath             Sware all, and when their oath was fully sworn,             Within a creek where a fresh fountain rose             They moor'd the bark, and, issuing, began             Brisk preparation of their evening cheer.             But when nor hunger now nor thirst remain'd             Unsated, recollecting, then, their friends             By Scylla seized and at her cave devour'd,             They mourn'd, nor ceased to mourn them, till they slept.             The night's third portion come, when now the stars             Had travers'd the mid-sky, cloud-gath'rer Jove             Call'd forth a vehement wind with tempest charged,             Menacing earth and sea with pitchy clouds             Tremendous, and the night fell dark from heav'n.             But when Aurora, daughter of the day,             Look'd rosy forth, we haled, drawn inland more,             Our bark into a grot, where nymphs were wont             Graceful to tread the dance, or to repose.             Convening there my friends, I thus began.                 My friends! food fails us not, but bread is yet             And wine on board. Abstain we from the herds,             Lest harm ensue; for ye behold the flocks             And herds of a most potent God, the Sun!             Whose eye and watchful ear none may elude.                 So saying, I sway'd the gen'rous minds of all.             A month complete the South wind ceaseless blew,             Nor other wind blew next, save East and South,             Yet they, while neither food nor rosy wine             Fail'd them, the herds harm'd not, through fear to die.             But, our provisions failing, they employed             Whole days in search of food, snaring with hooks             Birds, fishes, of what kind soe'er they might.             By famine urged. I solitary roam'd             Meantime the isle, seeking by pray'r to move             Some God to shew us a deliv'rance thence.             When, roving thus the isle, I had at length             Left all my crew remote, laving my hands             Where shelter warm I found from the rude blast,             I supplicated ev'ry Pow'r above;             But they my pray'rs answer'd with slumbers soft             Shed o'er my eyes, and with pernicious art             Eurylochus, the while, my friends harangued.                 My friends! afflicted as ye are, yet hear             A fellow-suff'rer. Death, however caused,             Abhorrence moves in miserable man,             But death by famine is a fate of all             Most to be fear'd. Come--let us hither drive             And sacrifice to the Immortal Pow'rs             The best of all the oxen of the Sun,             Resolving thus--that soon as we shall reach             Our native Ithaca, we will erect             To bright Hyperion an illustrious fane,             Which with magnificent and num'rous gifts             We will enrich. But should he chuse to sink             Our vessel, for his stately beeves incensed,             And should, with him, all heav'n conspire our death,             I rather had with open mouth, at once,             Meeting the billows, perish, than by slow             And pining waste here in this desert isle.                 So spake Eurylochus, whom all approved.             Then, driving all the fattest of the herd             Few paces only, (for the sacred beeves             Grazed rarely distant from the bark) they stood             Compassing them around, and, grasping each             Green foliage newly pluck'd from saplings tall,             (For barley none in all our bark remain'd)             Worshipp'd the Gods in pray'r. Pray'r made, they slew             And flay'd them, and the thighs with double fat             Investing, spread them o'er with slices crude.             No wine had they with which to consecrate             The blazing rites, but with libation poor             Of water hallow'd the interior parts.             Now, when the thighs were burnt, and each had shared             His portion of the maw, and when the rest             All-slash'd and scored hung roasting at the fire,             Sleep, in that moment, suddenly my eyes             Forsaking, to the shore I bent my way.             But ere the station of our bark I reach'd,             The sav'ry steam greeted me. At the scent             I wept aloud, and to the Gods exclaim'd.                 Oh Jupiter, and all ye Pow'rs above!             With cruel sleep and fatal ye have lull'd             My cares to rest, such horrible offence             Meantime my rash companions have devised.                 Then, flew long-stoled Lampetia to the Sun             At once with tidings of his slaughter'd beeves,             And he, incensed, the Immortals thus address'd.                 Jove, and ye everlasting Pow'rs divine!             Avenge me instant on the crew profane             Of Laertiades; Ulysses' friends             Have dared to slay my beeves, which I with joy             Beheld, both when I climb'd the starry heav'ns,             And when to earth I sloped my "westring wheels,"             But if they yield me not amercement due             And honourable for my loss, to Hell             I will descend and give the ghosts my beams.                 Then, thus the cloud-assembler God replied.             Sun! shine thou still on the Immortal Pow'rs,             And on the teeming earth, frail man's abode.             My candent bolts can in a moment reach             And split their flying bark in the mid-sea.                 These things Calypso told me, taught, herself,             By herald Hermes, as she oft affirm'd.                 But when, descending to the shore, I reach'd             At length my bark, with aspect stern and tone             I reprimanded them, yet no redress             Could frame, or remedy--the beeves were dead.             Soon follow'd signs portentous sent from heav'n.             The skins all crept, and on the spits the flesh             Both roast and raw bellow'd, as with the voice             Of living beeves. Thus my devoted friends             Driving the fattest oxen of the Sun,             Feasted six days entire; but when the sev'nth             By mandate of Saturnian Jove appeared,             The storm then ceased to rage, and we, again             Embarking, launch'd our galley, rear'd the mast,             And gave our unfurl'd canvas to the wind.                 The island left afar, and other land             Appearing none, but sky alone and sea,             Right o'er the hollow bark Saturnian Jove             Hung a crulean cloud, dark'ning the Deep.             Not long my vessel ran, for, blowing wild,             Now came shrill Zephyrus; a stormy gust             Snapp'd sheer the shrouds on both sides; backward fell             The mast, and with loose tackle strew'd the hold;             Striking the pilot in the stern, it crush'd             His scull together; he a diver's plunge             Made downward, and his noble spirit fled.             Meantime, Jove thund'ring, hurl'd into the ship             His bolts; she, smitten by the fires of Jove,             Quaked all her length; with sulphur fill'd she reek'd,             And o'er her sides headlong my people plunged             Like sea-mews, interdicted by that stroke             Of wrath divine to hope their country more.             But I, the vessel still paced to and fro,             Till, fever'd by the boist'rous waves, her sides             Forsook the keel now left to float alone.             Snapp'd where it join'd the keel the mast had fall'n,             But fell encircled with a leathern brace,             Which it retain'd; binding with this the mast             And keel together, on them both I sat,             Borne helpless onward by the dreadful gale.             And now the West subsided, and the South             Arose instead, with mis'ry charged for me,             That I might measure back my course again             To dire Charybdis. All night long I drove,             And when the sun arose, at Scylla's rock             Once more, and at Charybdis' gulph arrived.             It was the time when she absorb'd profound             The briny flood, but by a wave upborne             I seized the branches fast of the wild-fig.[57]             To which, bat-like, I clung; yet where to fix             My foot secure found not, or where to ascend,             For distant lay the roots, and distant shot             The largest arms erect into the air,             O'ershadowing all Charybdis; therefore hard             I clench'd the boughs, till she disgorg'd again             Both keel and mast. Not undesired by me             They came, though late; for at what hour the judge,             After decision made of num'rous strifes[58]             Between young candidates for honour, leaves             The forum for refreshment' sake at home,             Then was it that the mast and keel emerged.             Deliver'd to a voluntary fall,             Fast by those beams I dash'd into the flood,             And seated on them both, with oary palms             Impell'd them; nor the Sire of Gods and men             Permitted Scylla to discern me more,             Else had I perish'd by her fangs at last.             Nine days I floated thence, and, on the tenth             Dark night, the Gods convey'd me to the isle             Ogygia, habitation of divine             Calypso, by whose hospitable aid             And assiduity, my strength revived.             But wherefore this? ye have already learn'd             That hist'ry, thou and thy illustrious spouse;             I told it yesterday, and hate a tale             Once amply told, then, needless, traced again.