Translation of: The Odyssey of Homer: Book XXIV

ARGUMENT     Mercury conducts the souls of the suitors down to Ades. Ulysses discovers himself to Laertes, and quells, by the aid of Minerva, an insurrection of the people resenting the death of the suitors.             And now Cyllenian Hermes summon'd forth             The spirits of the suitors; waving wide             The golden wand of pow'r to seal all eyes             In slumber, and to ope them wide again,             He drove them gibb'ring down into the shades,[111]             As when the bats within some hallow'd cave             Flit squeaking all around, for if but one             Fall from the rock, the rest all follow him,             In such connexion mutual they adhere,             So, after bounteous Mercury, the ghosts,             Troop'd downward gibb'ring all the dreary way.[111]             The Ocean's flood and the Leucadian rock,             The Sun's gate also and the land of Dreams             They pass'd, whence, next, into the meads they came             Of Asphodel, by shadowy forms possess'd,             Simulars of the dead. They found the souls             Of brave Pelides there, and of his friend             Patroclus, of Antilochus renown'd,             And of the mightier Ajax, for his form             And bulk (Achilles sole except) of all             The sons of the Achaians most admired.             These waited on Achilles. Then, appear'd             The mournful ghost of Agamemnon, son             Of Atreus, compass'd by the ghosts of all             Who shared his fate beneath gisthus' roof,             And him the ghost of Peleus' son bespake.                 Atrides! of all Heroes we esteem'd             Thee dearest to the Gods, for that thy sway             Extended over such a glorious host             At Ilium, scene of sorrow to the Greeks.             But Fate, whose ruthless force none may escape             Of all who breathe, pursued thee from the first.             Thou should'st have perish'd full of honour, full             Of royalty, at Troy; so all the Greeks             Had rais'd thy tomb, and thou hadst then bequeath'd             Great glory to thy son; but Fate ordain'd             A death, oh how deplorable! for thee.                 To whom Atrides' spirit thus replied.             Blest son of Peleus, semblance of the Gods,             At Ilium, far from Argos, fall'n! for whom             Contending, many a Trojan, many a Chief             Of Greece died also, while in eddies whelm'd             Of dust thy vastness spread the plain,[112] nor thee             The chariot aught or steed could int'rest more!             All day we waged the battle, nor at last             Desisted, but for tempests sent from Jove.             At length we bore into the Greecian fleet             Thy body from the field; there, first, we cleansed             With tepid baths and oil'd thy shapely corse,             Then placed thee on thy bier, while many a Greek             Around thee wept, and shore his locks for thee.             Thy mother, also, hearing of thy death             With her immortal nymphs from the abyss             Arose and came; terrible was the sound             On the salt flood; a panic seized the Greeks,             And ev'ry warrior had return'd on board             That moment, had not Nestor, ancient Chief,             Illumed by long experience, interposed,             His counsels, ever wisest, wisest proved             Then also, and he thus address'd the host.                 Sons of Achaia; fly not; stay, ye Greeks!             Thetis arrives with her immortal nymphs             From the abyss, to visit her dead son.                 So he; and, by his admonition stay'd,             The Greeks fled not. Then, all around thee stood             The daughters of the Ancient of the Deep,             Mourning disconsolate; with heav'nly robes             They clothed thy corse, and all the Muses nine             Deplored thee in full choir with sweetest tones             Responsive, nor one Greecian hadst thou seen             Dry-eyed, such grief the Muses moved in all.             Full sev'nteen days we, day and night, deplored             Thy death, both Gods in heav'n and men below,             But, on the eighteenth day, we gave thy corse             Its burning, and fat sheep around thee slew             Num'rous, with many a pastur'd ox moon-horn'd.             We burn'd thee clothed in vesture of the Gods,             With honey and with oil feeding the flames             Abundant, while Achaia's Heroes arm'd,             Both horse and foot, encompassing thy pile,             Clash'd on their shields, and deaf'ning was the din.             But when the fires of Vulcan had at length             Consumed thee, at the dawn we stored thy bones             In unguent and in undiluted wine;             For Thetis gave to us a golden vase             Twin-ear'd, which she profess'd to have received             From Bacchus, work divine of Vulcan's hand.             Within that vase, Achilles, treasured lie             Thine and the bones of thy departed friend             Patroclus, but a sep'rate urn we gave             To those of brave Antilochus, who most             Of all thy friends at Ilium shared thy love             And thy respect, thy friend Patroclus slain.             Around both urns we piled a noble tomb,             (We warriors of the sacred Argive host)             On a tall promontory shooting far             Into the spacious Hellespont, that all             Who live, and who shall yet be born, may view             Thy record, even from the distant waves.             Then, by permission from the Gods obtain'd,             To the Achaian Chiefs in circus met             Thetis appointed games. I have beheld             The burial rites of many an Hero bold,             When, on the death of some great Chief, the youths             Girding their loins anticipate the prize,             But sight of those with wonder fill'd me most,             So glorious past all others were the games             By silver-footed Thetis giv'n for thee,             For thou wast ever favour'd of the Gods.             Thus, hast thou not, Achilles! although dead,             Foregone thy glory, but thy fair report             Is universal among all mankind;             But, as for me, what recompense had I,             My warfare closed? for whom, at my return,             Jove framed such dire destruction by the hands             Of fell gisthus and my murth'ress wife.                 Thus, mutual, they conferr'd; meantime approach'd,             Swift messenger of heav'n, the Argicide,             Conducting thither all the shades of those             Slain by Ulysses. At that sight amazed             Both moved toward them. Agamemnon's shade             Knew well Amphimedon, for he had been             Erewhile his father's guest in Ithaca,             And thus the spirit of Atreus' son began.                 Amphimedon! by what disastrous chance,             Cooevals as ye seem, and of an air             Distinguish'd all, descend ye to the Deeps?             For not the chosen youths of a whole town             Should form a nobler band. Perish'd ye sunk             Amid vast billows and rude tempests raised             By Neptune's pow'r? or on dry land through force             Of hostile multitudes, while cutting off             Beeves from the herd, or driving flocks away?             Or fighting for your city and your wives?             Resolve me? I was once a guest of yours.             Remember'st not what time at your abode             With godlike Menelaus I arrived,             That we might win Ulysses with his fleet             To follow us to Troy? scarce we prevail'd             At last to gain the city-waster Chief,             And, after all, consumed a whole month more             The wide sea traversing from side to side.                 To whom the spirit of Amphimedon.             Illustrious Agamemnon, King of men!             All this I bear in mind, and will rehearse             The manner of our most disastrous end.             Believing brave Ulysses lost, we woo'd             Meantime his wife; she our detested suit             Would neither ratify nor yet refuse,             But, planning for us a tremendous death,             This novel stratagem, at last, devised.             Beginning, in her own recess, a web             Of slend'rest thread, and of a length and breadth             Unusual, thus the suitors she address'd.                 Princes, my suitors! since the noble Chief             Ulysses is no more, enforce not yet             My nuptials; wait till I shall finish first             A fun'ral robe (lest all my threads decay)             Which for the ancient Hero I prepare,             Laertes, looking for the mournful hour             When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest;             Else, I the censure dread of all my sex,             Should he so wealthy, want at last a shroud.                 So spake the Queen; we, unsuspicious all,             With her request complied. Thenceforth, all day             She wove the ample web, and by the aid             Of torches ravell'd it again at night.             Three years she thus by artifice our suit             Eluded safe, but when the fourth arrived,             And the same season, after many moons             And fleeting days, return'd, a damsel then             Of her attendants, conscious of the fraud,             Reveal'd it, and we found her pulling loose             The splendid web. Thus, through constraint, at length,             She finish'd it, and in her own despight.             But when the Queen produced, at length, her work             Finish'd, new-blanch'd, bright as the sun or moon,             Then came Ulysses, by some adverse God             Conducted, to a cottage on the verge             Of his own fields, in which his swine-herd dwells;             There also the illustrious Hero's son             Arrived soon after, in his sable bark             From sandy Pylus borne; they, plotting both             A dreadful death for all the suitors, sought             Our glorious city, but Ulysses last,             And first Telemachus. The father came             Conducted by his swine-herd, and attired             In tatters foul; a mendicant he seem'd,             Time-worn, and halted on a staff. So clad,             And ent'ring on the sudden, he escaped             All knowledge even of our eldest there,             And we reviled and smote him; he although             Beneath his own roof smitten and reproach'd,             With patience suffer'd it awhile, but roused             By inspiration of Jove gis-arm'd             At length, in concert with his son convey'd             To his own chamber his resplendent arms,             There lodg'd them safe, and barr'd the massy doors             Then, in his subtlety he bade the Queen             A contest institute with bow and rings             Between the hapless suitors, whence ensued             Slaughter to all. No suitor there had pow'r             To overcome the stubborn bow that mock'd             All our attempts; and when the weapon huge             At length was offer'd to Ulysses' hands,             With clamour'd menaces we bade the swain             Withhold it from him, plead he as he might;             Telemachus alone with loud command,             Bade give it him, and the illustrious Chief             Receiving in his hand the bow, with ease             Bent it, and sped a shaft through all the rings.             Then, springing to the portal steps, he pour'd             The arrows forth, peer'd terrible around,             Pierced King Antinos, and, aiming sure             His deadly darts, pierced others after him,             Till in one common carnage heap'd we lay.             Some God, as plain appear'd, vouchsafed them aid,             Such ardour urged them, and with such dispatch             They slew us on all sides; hideous were heard             The groans of dying men fell'd to the earth             With head-strokes rude, and the floor swam with blood.             Such, royal Agamemnon! was the fate             By which we perish'd, all whose bodies lie             Unburied still, and in Ulysses' house,             For tidings none have yet our friends alarm'd             And kindred, who might cleanse from sable gore             Our clotted wounds, and mourn us on the bier,             Which are the rightful privilege of the dead.                 Him answer'd, then, the shade of Atreus' son.             Oh happy offspring of Laertes! shrewd             Ulysses! matchless valour thou hast shewn             Recov'ring thus thy wife; nor less appears             The virtue of Icarius' daughter wise,             The chaste Penelope, so faithful found             To her Ulysses, husband of her youth.             His glory, by superior merit earn'd,             Shall never die, and the immortal Gods             Shall make Penelope a theme of song             Delightful in the ears of all mankind.             Not such was Clytemnestra, daughter vile             Of Tyndarus; she shed her husband's blood,             And shall be chronicled in song a wife             Of hateful memory, by whose offence             Even the virtuous of her sex are shamed.                 Thus they, beneath the vaulted roof obscure             Of Pluto's house, conferring mutual stood.                 Meantime, descending from the city-gates,             Ulysses, by his son and by his swains             Follow'd, arrived at the delightful farm             Which old Laertes had with strenuous toil             Himself long since acquired. There stood his house             Encompass'd by a bow'r in which the hinds             Who served and pleased him, ate, and sat, and slept.             An ancient woman, a Sicilian, dwelt             There also, who in that sequester'd spot             Attended diligent her aged Lord.             Then thus Ulysses to his followers spake.                 Haste now, and, ent'ring, slay ye of the swine             The best for our regale; myself, the while,             Will prove my father, if his eye hath still             Discernment of me, or if absence long             Have worn the knowledge of me from his mind.                 He said, and gave into his servants' care             His arms; they swift proceeded to the house,             And to the fruitful grove himself as swift             To prove his father. Down he went at once             Into the spacious garden-plot, but found             Nor Dolius there, nor any of his sons             Or servants; they were occupied elsewhere,             And, with the ancient hind himself, employ'd             Collecting thorns with which to fence the grove.             In that umbrageous spot he found alone             Laertes, with his hoe clearing a plant;             Sordid his tunic was, with many a patch             Mended unseemly; leathern were his greaves,             Thong-tied and also patch'd, a frail defence             Against sharp thorns, while gloves secured his hands             From briar-points, and on his head he bore             A goat-skin casque, nourishing hopeless woe.             No sooner then the Hero toil-inured             Saw him age-worn and wretched, than he paused             Beneath a lofty pear-tree's shade to weep.             There standing much he mused, whether, at once,             Kissing and clasping in his arms his sire,             To tell him all, by what means he had reach'd             His native country, or to prove him first.             At length, he chose as his best course, with words             Of seeming strangeness to accost his ear,             And, with that purpose, moved direct toward him.             He, stooping low, loosen'd the earth around             A garden-plant, when his illustrious son             Now, standing close beside him, thus began.                 Old sir! thou art no novice in these toils             Of culture, but thy garden thrives; I mark             In all thy ground no plant, fig, olive, vine,             Pear-tree or flow'r-bed suff'ring through neglect.             But let it not offend thee if I say             That thou neglect'st thyself, at the same time             Oppress'd with age, sun-parch'd and ill-attired.             Not for thy inactivity, methinks,             Thy master slights thee thus, nor speaks thy form             Or thy surpassing stature servile aught             In thee, but thou resemblest more a King.             Yes--thou resemblest one who, bathed and fed,             Should softly sleep; such is the claim of age.             But tell me true--for whom labourest thou,             And whose this garden? answer me beside,             For I would learn; have I indeed arrived             In Ithaca, as one whom here I met             Ev'n now assured me, but who seem'd a man             Not overwise, refusing both to hear             My questions, and to answer when I ask'd             Concerning one in other days my guest             And friend, if he have still his being here,             Or have deceas'd and journey'd to the shades.             For I will tell thee; therefore mark. Long since             A stranger reach'd my house in my own land,             Whom I with hospitality receiv'd,             Nor ever sojourn'd foreigner with me             Whom I lov'd more. He was by birth, he said,             Ithacan, and Laertes claim'd his sire,             Son of Arcesias. Introducing him             Beneath my roof, I entertain'd him well,             And proved by gifts his welcome at my board.             I gave him seven talents of wrought gold,             A goblet, argent all, with flow'rs emboss'd,             Twelve single cloaks, twelve carpets, mantles twelve             Of brightest lustre, with as many vests,             And added four fair damsels, whom he chose             Himself, well born and well accomplish'd all.                 Then thus his ancient sire weeping replied.             Stranger! thou hast in truth attain'd the isle             Of thy enquiry, but it is possess'd             By a rude race, and lawless. Vain, alas!             Were all thy num'rous gifts; yet hadst thou found             Him living here in Ithaca, with gifts             Reciprocated he had sent thee hence,             Requiting honourably in his turn             Thy hospitality. But give me quick             Answer and true. How many have been the years             Since thy reception of that hapless guest             My son? for mine, my own dear son was he.             But him, far distant both from friends and home,             Either the fishes of the unknown Deep             Have eaten, or wild beasts and fowls of prey,             Nor I, or she who bare him, was ordain'd             To bathe his shrouded body with our tears,             Nor his chaste wife, well-dow'r'd Penelope             To close her husband's eyes, and to deplore             His doom, which is the privilege of the dead.             But tell me also thou, for I would learn,             Who art thou? whence? where born? and sprung from whom?             The bark in which thou and thy godlike friends             Arrived, where is she anchor'd on our coast?             Or cam'st thou only passenger on board             Another's bark, who landed thee and went?                 To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.             I will with all simplicity relate             What thou hast ask'd. Of Alybas am I,             Where in much state I dwell, son of the rich             Apheidas royal Polypemon's son,             And I am named Eperitus; by storms             Driven from Sicily I have arrived,             And yonder, on the margin of the field             That skirts your city, I have moor'd my bark.             Five years have pass'd since thy Ulysses left,             Unhappy Chief! my country; yet the birds             At his departure hovered on the right,             And in that sign rejoicing, I dismiss'd             Him thence rejoicing also, for we hoped             To mix in social intercourse again,             And to exchange once more pledges of love.                 He spake; then sorrow as a sable cloud             Involved Laertes; gath'ring with both hands             The dust, he pour'd it on his rev'rend head             With many a piteous groan. Ulysses' heart             Commotion felt, and his stretch'd nostrils throbb'd             With agony close-pent, while fixt he eyed             His father; with a sudden force he sprang             Toward him, clasp'd, and kiss'd him, and exclaim'd.                 My father! I am he. Thou seest thy son             Absent these twenty years at last return'd.             But bid thy sorrow cease; suspend henceforth             All lamentation; for I tell thee true,             (And the occasion bids me briefly tell thee)             I have slain all the suitors at my home,             And all their taunts and injuries avenged.                 Then answer thus Laertes quick return'd.             If thou hast come again, and art indeed             My son Ulysses, give me then the proof             Indubitable, that I may believe.                 To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.             View, first, the scar which with his iv'ry tusk             A wild boar gave me, when at thy command             And at my mother's, to Autolycus             Her father, on Parnassus, I repair'd             Seeking the gifts which, while a guest of yours,             He promis'd should be mine. Accept beside             This proof. I will enum'rate all the trees             Which, walking with thee in this cultured spot             (Boy then) I begg'd, and thou confirm'dst my own.             We paced between them, and thou mad'st me learn             The name of each. Thou gav'st me thirteen pears,[113]             Ten apples,[113] thirty figs,[113] and fifty ranks             Didst promise me of vines, their alleys all             Corn-cropp'd between. There, oft as sent from Jove             The influences of the year descend,             Grapes of all hues and flavours clust'ring hang.                 He said; Laertes, conscious of the proofs             Indubitable by Ulysses giv'n,             With fault'ring knees and fault'ring heart both arms             Around him threw. The Hero toil-inured             Drew to his bosom close his fainting sire,             Who, breath recov'ring, and his scatter'd pow'rs             Of intellect, at length thus spake aloud.                 Ye Gods! oh then your residence is still             On the Olympian heights, if punishment             At last hath seized on those flagitious men.             But terrour shakes me, lest, incensed, ere long             All Ithaca flock hither, and dispatch             Swift messengers with these dread tidings charged             To ev'ry Cephallenian state around.                 Him answer'd then Ulysses ever-wise.             Courage! fear nought, but let us to the house             Beside the garden, whither I have sent             Telemachus, the herdsman, and the good             Eumus to prepare us quick repast.                 So they conferr'd, and to Laertes' house             Pass'd on together; there arrived, they found             Those three preparing now their plenteous feast,             And mingling sable wine; then, by the hands             Of his Sicilian matron, the old King             Was bathed, anointed, and attired afresh,             And Pallas, drawing nigh, dilated more             His limbs, and gave his whole majestic form             Encrease of amplitude. He left the bath.             His son, amazed as he had seen a God             Alighted newly from the skies, exclaim'd.                 My father! doubtless some immortal Pow'r             Hath clothed thy form with dignity divine.                 Then thus replied his venerable sire.             Jove! Pallas! Phoebus! oh that I possess'd             Such vigour now, as when in arms I took             Nericus, continental city fair,             With my brave Cephallenians! oh that such             And arm'd as then, I yesterday had stood             Beside thee in thy palace, combating             Those suitors proud, then had I strew'd the floor             With num'rous slain, to thy exceeding joy.                 Such was their conference; and now, the task             Of preparation ended, and the feast             Set forth, on couches and on thrones they sat,             And, ranged in order due, took each his share.             Then, ancient Dolius, and with him, his sons             Arrived toil-worn, by the Sicilian dame             Summon'd, their cat'ress, and their father's kind             Attendant ever in his eve of life.             They, seeing and recalling soon to mind             Ulysses, in the middle mansion stood             Wond'ring, when thus Ulysses with a voice             Of some reproof, but gentle, them bespake.                 Old servant, sit and eat, banishing fear             And mute amazement; for, although provoked             By appetite, we have long time abstain'd,             Expecting ev'ry moment thy return.                 He said; then Dolius with expanded arms             Sprang right toward Ulysses, seized his hand,             Kiss'd it, and in wing'd accents thus replied.                 Oh master ever dear! since thee the Gods             Themselves in answer to our warm desires,             Have, unexpectedly, at length restored,             Hail, and be happy, and heav'n make thee such!             But say, and truly; knows the prudent Queen             Already thy return, or shall we send             Ourselves an herald with the joyful news?                 To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.             My ancient friend, thou may'st release thy mind             From that solicitude; she knows it well.                 So he; then Dolius to his glossy seat             Return'd, and all his sons gath'ring around             Ulysses, welcom'd him and grasp'd his hand,             Then sat beside their father; thus beneath             Laertes' roof they, joyful, took repast.                 But Fame with rapid haste the city roam'd             In ev'ry part, promulging in all ears             The suitors' horrid fate. No sooner heard             The multitude that tale, than one and all             Groaning they met and murmuring before             Ulysses' gates. Bringing the bodies forth,             They buried each his friend, but gave the dead             Of other cities to be ferried home             By fishermen on board their rapid barks.             All hasted then to council; sorrow wrung             Their hearts, and, the assembly now convened,             Arising first Eupithes spake, for grief             Sat heavy on his soul, grief for the loss             Of his Antinos by Ulysses slain             Foremost of all, whom mourning, thus he said.                 My friends! no trivial fruits the Greecians reap             Of this man's doings. Those he took with him             On board his barks, a num'rous train and bold,             Then lost his barks, lost all his num'rous train,             And these, our noblest, slew at his return.             Come therefore--ere he yet escape by flight             To Pylus or to noble Elis, realm             Of the Epeans, follow him; else shame             Attends us and indelible reproach.             If we avenge not on these men the blood             Of our own sons and brothers, farewell then             All that makes life desirable; my wish             Henceforth shall be to mingle with the shades.             Oh then pursue and seize them ere they fly.                 Thus he with tears, and pity moved in all.             Then, Medon and the sacred bard whom sleep             Had lately left, arriving from the house             Of Laertiades, approach'd; amid             The throng they stood; all wonder'd seeing them,             And Medon, prudent senior, thus began.                 Hear me, my countrymen! Ulysses plann'd             With no disapprobation of the Gods             The deed that ye deplore. I saw, myself,             A Pow'r immortal at the Hero's side,             In semblance just of Mentor; now the God,             In front apparent, led him on, and now,             From side to side of all the palace, urged             To flight the suitors; heaps on heaps they fell.                 He said; then terrour wan seiz'd ev'ry cheek,             And Halitherses, Hero old, the son             Of Mastor, who alone among them all             Knew past, and future, prudent, thus began.                 Now, O ye men of Ithaca! my words             Attentive hear! by your own fault, my friends,             This deed hath been perform'd; for when myself             And noble Mentor counsell'd you to check             The sin and folly of your sons, ye would not.             Great was their wickedness, and flagrant wrong             They wrought, the wealth devouring and the wife             Dishonouring of an illustrious Chief             Whom they deem'd destined never to return.             But hear my counsel. Go not, lest ye draw             Disaster down and woe on your own heads.                 He ended; then with boist'rous roar (although             Part kept their seats) upsprang the multitude,             For Halitherses pleased them not, they chose             Eupithes' counsel rather; all at once             To arms they flew, and clad in dazzling brass             Before the city form'd their dense array.             Leader infatuate at their head appear'd             Eupithes, hoping to avenge his son             Antinos, but was himself ordain'd             To meet his doom, and to return no more.             Then thus Minerva to Saturnian Jove.                 Oh father! son of Saturn! Jove supreme!             Declare the purpose hidden in thy breast.             Wilt thou that this hostility proceed,             Or wilt thou grant them amity again?                 To whom the cloud-assembler God replied.             Why asks my daughter? didst thou not design             Thyself, that brave Ulysses coming home             Should slay those profligates? act as thou wilt,             But thus I counsel, since the noble Chief             Hath slain the suitors, now let peace ensue             Oath-bound, and reign Ulysses evermore!             The slaughter of their brethren and their sons             To strike from their remembrance, shall be ours.             Let mutual amity, as at the first,             Unite them, and let wealth and peace abound.                 So saying, he animated to her task             Minerva prompt before, and from the heights             Olympian down to Ithaca she flew.             Meantime Ulysses (for their hunger now             And thirst were sated) thus address'd his hinds.                 Look ye abroad, lest haply they approach.             He said, and at his word, forth went a son             Of Dolius; at the gate he stood, and thence             Beholding all that multitude at hand,             In accents wing'd thus to Ulysses spake.                 They come--they are already arrived--arm all!             Then, all arising, put their armour on,             Ulysses with his three, and the six sons             Of Dolius; Dolius also with the rest,             Arm'd and Laertes, although silver-hair'd,             Warriors perforce. When all were clad alike             In radiant armour, throwing wide the gates             They sallied, and Ulysses led the way.             Then Jove's own daughter Pallas, in the form             And with the voice of Mentor, came in view,             Whom seeing Laertiades rejoiced,             And thus Telemachus, his son, bespake.                 Now, oh my son! thou shalt observe, untold             By me, where fight the bravest. Oh shame not             Thine ancestry, who have in all the earth             Proof given of valour in all ages past.                 To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.             My father! if thou wish that spectacle,             Thou shalt behold thy son, as thou hast said,             In nought dishonouring his noble race.                 Then was Laertes joyful, and exclaim'd,             What sun hath ris'n to-day?[114] oh blessed Gods!             My son and grandson emulous dispute             The prize of glory, and my soul exults.                 He ended, and Minerva drawing nigh             To the old King, thus counsell'd him. Oh friend             Whom most I love, son of Arcesias! pray'r             Preferring to the virgin azure-eyed,             And to her father Jove, delay not, shake             Thy lance in air, and give it instant flight.                 So saying, the Goddess nerved his arm anew.             He sought in pray'r the daughter dread of Jove,             And, brandishing it, hurl'd his lance; it struck             Eupithes, pierced his helmet brazen-cheek'd             That stay'd it not, but forth it sprang beyond,             And with loud clangor of his arms he fell.             Then flew Ulysses and his noble son             With faulchion and with spear of double edge             To the assault, and of them all had left             None living, none had to his home return'd,             But that Jove's virgin daughter with a voice             Of loud authority thus quell'd them all.             Peace, O ye men of Ithaca! while yet             The field remains undeluged with your blood.                 So she, and fear at once paled ev'ry cheek.             All trembled at the voice divine; their arms             Escaping from the grasp fell to the earth,             And, covetous of longer life, each fled             Back to the city. Then Ulysses sent             His voice abroad, and with an eagle's force             Sprang on the people; but Saturnian Jove,             Cast down, incontinent, his smouldring bolt             At Pallas' feet, and thus the Goddess spake.                 Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd!             Forbear; abstain from slaughter; lest thyself             Incur the anger of high thund'ring Jove.                 So Pallas, whom Ulysses, glad, obey'd.             Then faithful covenants of peace between             Both sides ensued, ratified in the sight             Of Pallas progeny of Jove, who seem'd,             In voice and form, the Mentor known to all. END OF THE ODYSSEY