ACT · II

Ithaca: the seashore. Thick mist thro’ which Ulysses can scarcely be discerned asleep under a tree. In the foreground, Athena.ATHENA.Thisday, the last of twenty fateful years,Fulfils the toil and wanderings of the Greeks,Who sailed with Agamemnon against TroyTo win back Argive Helen; for to-dayUlysses, last and most despaired of all,Is safe again in Ithaca: and in truthHave I, Athena, though the wisest powerAnd mightiest in Olympus, striven longIn heaven and earth to save him from the wrath10Of great Poseidon; but at length my willNears its accomplishment, for on this isleOf Ithaca was he at break of mornLanded by good Phæacian mariners,Who ply the convoys of the dangerous sea;Even as they promised him, their king and queen,Alcinous and Aretè, honouring himWith loving gifts, tripods of bronze and iron,Raiment and bowls of gold: thro’ blackest night,And the confusion of the baffling waters,20With sail and oar urging their keel they bore him,Who all the while wrapt in sound slumber layDeep likest death; and in that trance they laid himBeneath yon olive tree, and, by his feet,The gifts they brought: there may ye see him lying,And there the gifts: and yet ye scarce may see,With so thick darkness have I drenched the air,Lest when he wake, the sight and sweet desireOf home supplant his cunning, and he riseForthwith, and entering suddenly his house30Fall by the treachery of the infatuate lords,Who prey there on his substance unrestrained,Sitting in idle suit to woo his wife,Who weeps his fate unknown; and thus my willAt last were crossed. So hither am I comeMyself to break the sleep I sent, and warn himAgainst his foes. And now must I awake him;But first will doff my helmet, and appearIn mortal semblance, as a delicate youth,Some prince of the isle: so shall my javelin,40Long robe and shining sandals not betrayMy godhead. He to me, disguised and strange,Will answer nothing truly, nor believeWhat truth I tell: ’tis thus I love to prove him,And catch his ready mind at unawares.Wake, merchant, wake, awake; whoe’er thou beest,That sleepest thus so nigh the public road:Arouse thee, man, and guard thy store: Look to it!Ay, if some passer-by have not alreadyFilched from thee a sad loan of bronze or iron.For though we reverence Zeus, thou giv’st occasion51To make a thief even of an honest man.ULYSSES(awaking).Hail, friend, whom first my waking eyes beholdHere in this land: and since thou speakest friendly,Prove now my friend, and show how best to saveThese few things, ay, and save myself, being hereWithout thee friendless. And, I prithee, tell meWhat land is this? What people dwell herein?Is it an island, or some mainland shoreThat from its fertile plains shelves to the deep?60Ath.What hast thou asked, man? Couldst thou hither come,Not shipwrecked, as is plain, and yet not knowOur famous isle? Not so am I deceived.Thyself tell rather who thou art and whence,Else learn’st thou nought of me: And speak but truth.Ill speeds entreaty on a lying tongue.Ul.Indeed I speak but truth, friend, when I sayI know not where I stand; as thou must grantAt hearing how I came: for from wide CreteHave I fared over sea with these my goods—70Where to my sons I left as much again,When thence I fled in fear, because I slewThe noble and swift-footed prince of Crete,Orsilochus, son of Idomeneus;Who threatened to despoil me of the wealthI won at Troy, suffering for many yearsThe woes of that long war; and all his grudgeWas that I had not served the king his father,But kept my own retainers—for which thingHe would have robbed me: but I smote him dead.—80Ath.Ah, king of ready wile, what tale is thisOf Crete and of thy sons, which when I bid theeSpeak truth, trips on thy tongue? Dost thou not knowThy goddess, great Athena? Was’t not IWho stirred the hearts of those Phæacian menTo bring thee hither? Wherefore in my earsPourest thou fables?Ul.’Tis thy voice indeed,Which tho’ my eyes were blinded, well I knew.Voice of Athena, dearest of the gods!Now with my soul I grasp thee, now I see,90And worship thee, divine one, and thy kneesEmbrace: but in this darkness and disguiseNot even a god had known thee; blame me not.Ath.Nor for thy false tale to a stranger spoken?Ul.Since thou who lackest cause hast more deceived.And I—where were I now without my guile,Without thy help?Ath.If I should help thee still,What wouldst thou ask?Ul.Answer me.—Say, what shoreIs this I stand on, which is hidden from meBy so thick mist: whether they promised true100Who brought me hither, and it be indeedIthaca, or whether, as I rather fear,Some other land, to which my fated curseHales me, or ever I may see my own?Ath.’Tis Ithaca.Ul.I pray thee by my longingFor that dear boon, goddess, deceive me not.Ath.Thou dost not yet believe; but if I show theeThy very Ithaca, wilt thou believe?Turn now and set thy back against the noiseOf the stilly-moaning surge and look inland.110Ul.Nought.Ath.Look!Ul.I see nought. ’Tis a thicker mistThan ever in my own cloud-gathering isleClung to the frowning cliffs, when the warm southBeat up the vapours from the seas at morn.Ath.Look.Ul.Now it brightens somewhat, or mine eyeWearies with vainly poring on the dark.Ath.Look.Ul.Ay, the vapours lift, the highlands loom,The air obeys thee: thro’ its thinning veilsThe figure of some mountain jags the sky;And those should be my hills: ’tis Neritos,’Tis Ithaca indeed.120Ath.’Tis Ithaca.Ul.O Blessed Light, that unto all men’s eyesShewest the lands and waters: that uprisestDay after day upon the windy seasAnd fertile plains, valleys and lovely hills,Rivers and shores, and heights and peopled towns;Now in all Greece is no tongue praiseth theeAs mine, nor heart thanketh; nor any eyeRejoicest thou as mine.Ath.Turn now to left.There is the haven of Phorcys, here the tree,130Thy well-remembered olive; and to rightThe rock-roofed cave, where thou so oft hast doneSweet sacrifice unto the native Nymphs.Ul.Soil of my dear-desirèd fatherland,For warrant that I dream not, take this kiss;My home! And ye, dear sisters of the spring,I raise my hands to you, whom nevermoreI looked to greet; but now, children of heaven,As once of old I praise you, and henceforthWill pay with loving vows, if your fair queen140But grant me life, and comfort in my son.Ath.Now thou believest.Ul.See, there be the firs,Which eastward of my house bar the red dawnWith black, and in their feathery tops at nightSigh to the moon. Ay, and my house I seeUnchanged. ’Tis Ithaca.Ath.Wilt thou not goNow to thy home, and with the sweet surpriseOf thy desired return gladden thy wife,And greet thy son, a man, whom thou didst leaveIn cradle? See, I here will guard thy goods.Thou wouldst be gone.150Ul.Goddess, if strong desireCould ever conquer me, now should I doA thing for which no man might blame me, nayEven tho’ he pitied me, if too great longingShould fool me to my ruin. But in my heartAre other thoughts. The wife of AgamemnonAt his return welcomed the king with state,And to his chamber led, but in the bathSoon as he lay, giving him honied words,She slew him with a dagger, to the deed160Being prompted by her guilty paramour,Ægisthus. Ten years numbered since that crimeDouble the equal motive of my fear:Nor can a woman, when her lord, tho’ loved,Is long away, be trusted, that she should notIn weariness at last forsake her faith.Wherefore I would not enter in my house,Nay, nor be known of any, till I hearSuch tidings as bespeak my coming well.Ath.O brave! thy wary mind has gone before,170The way I would have led it: thou art as everFore-reckoner with chance, to take thy standArmed at all points.Ul.This fear, goddess, I learntOf blind Tiresias, when at Circe’s biddingI sailed for south beyond the coasts of men,To dark Cimmerian cloud-land, and I sawThe hapless king himself, who with thin voicePoured forth his wrongs; and many more I saw,Who suffered pain: the tearful shadows pennedIn mansions of austere Persephonè.180From that old prophet’s tongue of warning weirdStill for myself in the end I gathered hope,And treasured it, but from thy tongue fear ill.Ath.Yet shouldst thou cherish all the words he spake.Ul.I ask not now what shall be, but what is.Beneath yon roof what passes? Thou canst givePresent assurance. Tell me then. My wife—She is well?Ath.And beautiful.Ul.Faithful?Ath.And brave.Ul.My son Telemachus?Ath.He too is well.Ul.Great are the gods in heaven! I need no more.190Thee, Goddess, will I worship while I live.Ath.And much thou needest me yet. Hark while I tell.Three years thy house hath been the hostelryOf dissolute and shameless men, the lordsAnd princes of the isles and western shores;Who woo thy wife, and feasting in thy hallsMake waste of all thy substance day and night.As men besiege a city, and their hostEncamp about and let none out nor in,Waiting the day when hunger and sore need,200Sharper than iron and cruder than fire,Shall bow the starvèd necks beneath the yoke:So sit they there: and ’mong them is an oathThat none will leave till one be satisfied;Whoe’er it be that in the end shall takeThy fair wife, and thy house and goods and lands;Which false and covetous oath, since all have shared,Must be the death of all.Ul.Now with thine aidShall they be scattered, were their cursed swarmThick as the rooks, which from his new-sown fields210The husbandman a moment stays to scare,Raising both hands.Ath.Not so may they escape.Better thou hadst not now returned, if oneOf all these men avoid his destined death.Ul.How say’st thou, goddess, shall these men be slain?Ath.How were Ulysses’ foes then wont to die?Ul.It may not be.Ath.Thou wert not used to fear.Ul.Nay, but returned from exile and hard war,I would not usher battle in my home.Ath.Think’st thou of peace? Hadst thou but hence been stayed220So long as shall suffice yon dying moonTo launch her young bark on the western sea,Then had Penelope no more been thine.Ul.Thou saidst that she was faithful.Ath.She withstandsThe urgence of the wooers day by day;But ’gainst herself, to save thy house from loss,Deeming thee dead indeed, now falls to yield.Ul.Vengeance upon them! Grant me but thine aid,And though they count by hundreds they shall die.Ath.If one escape, his joy will be for thine.230Ul.All shall be slain, though ’twere a task too heavyFor great Alcides. But my son in thisShould stand with me. May I not see him first?Shall he not know me, and, in that embraceI yearn for, knit his willing strength with mine?Ath.Telemachus hath lately at my biddingSailed hence to Lacedæmon, there to inquireWhat might be learnt of thee.Ul.Was this well done,Or kindly of thee, who couldst have told him all:To send him far, upon a useless errand,240Out of my sight, the eve of my return?Ath.I sent him for his safety, there to winOpinion too of such as knew him not,And rouse remembrance of thee in the world.To-day is he returned: I have brought his shipNorth of the island, as was need, to shunThe wooers’ galley sent to take him; thereIs he disbarked alone. Thou mayst be firstTo meet him.Ul.Lead me thither.Ath.Ah! thou forgettest.If any one but he should see thy face?—250Ul.Contrive then that I meet with him alone.Ath.How if my plot were better, so that allMight see thee, yet none know thee but thy son?Ul.What manner of disguise is in thy thought?Ath.Disfigurement, which thou mayst shrink to bear.Ul.Ay, if my son behold me ill transformed.Ath.Yet he alone shall see thee as thou art.Ul.Then tell me, goddess, what thou wouldst: thou knowest258Playing another’s part I am most myself.Ath.But I will make thee now least like thyself.Ul.How! shall I stoop then to be less than man?Ath.Nay, but of men the vilest, though a man.For that thou mayst be hidden, lo! I will changeThy outward seeming to the piteous aspectOf age and beggary. Thy supple skinI’ll wrinkle on thy joints, thy thick brown hairRob from thy head, and dim thy radiant eyes,And o’er thy shoulders bowed cast sorry rags,To make thee loathed of men. In such disguiseMayst thou in safety seek thy herdsman’s hut,270Eumæus: he is faithful, and with kindnessWill serve thee as a stranger in distress,No less than he will welcome thee revealed.Accept his food and shelter, and the whileLearn from his lips what friends thou hast to look for,What foes to reckon with, what wrongs to avenge;And humour as thou wilt his honest ears,Awaiting till I thither send thy son.Ul.When wilt thou send him?Ath.He will come ere noon.Ul.Then must he first behold me thus deformed?Ath.He cannot know thee. Thou betray thyself281No whit; I will be near and make occasionTo shew thee to him, as thou art, alone.Ul.I have had no hope, goddess, but in thine aid:Long as that tarried I despaired not then;How should I, when thou comest, deny thee now?Ath.Then first unto the cave, therein to stowThese goods; and after by this olive trunkSit we awhile together: when thou hast heardMy counsel, I will work this change upon thee,290That one who saw thee now of kingly port,Hale and well-liking, ay, and bowed the head,Should, when he next saw, spurn thee with his foot;Thus must it be. Come, let us to the cave.ACT · IIThe hut of EUMÆUS. (Same background as Act I.)Some swine seen thro’ pens.EUMÆUS(who is cutting a thong for his sandal).Letman serve God, but not for that requireAn answerable favour: there is noneOutside himself: but yet within himselfHe hath his guerdon and may be content.Some three and thirty years of servitudeHave taught me this; dependence on the gods300Wins independence of the gods and fate.I that was born a prince have lived a slave,—No fault of mine;—and still if Zeus so willedThat man might look for favour, I might hopeOnce more, ere I grow old, to make returnUnto my royal home and kingly sire,—If yet he lives,—and rule myself the realmI was born heir to: be good king Eumæus,So should it be, Eumæus, king of men.309Nay—I must play the king over these swine;This homestead for my kingdom, this hut for palace,This bench my throne, these crowded pens and styesMy city; and I will boast ’twere hard to findA commonwealth of men, whom equal justiceFlattered in distribution to this pitchOf general content, such fat well-beingAs holds among my folk, their laws regardantOf them they govern and their good alone.Ay, so: a king of beasts, no king at all.Swineherd Eumæus; who would call me king?Fool, fool! Serve God, Eumæus, and mend thy shoes.321And why complain? Had not Laertes tooA son that feared the gods? and where is he?Would he not now be glad to be alive,Were’t but to envy me who feed his swine,And guard his goods from robbers, and pretendThe hope of his return; which is less likeFor that Ulysses than for this Eumæus;—There too I best him,—since ’tis easierFor any living slave to climb a throne,330Than for a king once dead to step againUpon the joyous threshold of his house,And take the loving kisses from the lipsOf wife and child.—Hark to the hounds. What foeInvades my kingdom? O a piteous sight.Off, dogs;—why they will rend him—Mesaulius, ho!Cottus, call off the dogs! Will they not leave him?To kennel, curs!—Ye heavens! BeggaryIs beggared in this miserable beggar.Enter Ulysses(disguised).How wast thou near, old man, to end thy daysBeside my gate, and bring me shame and sorrow:341And that no fault of mine, so suddenlyHast thou appeared. Come, come, sir; step within.Surely ’tis food thou needest. On this tableAre bread and wine, and I can bring thee meat:Sit and be satisfied.ULYSSES.Now may the gods,Since thou this day giv’st me so good a welcome,Grant thee thy dearest wish, whate’er it be.Eum.Thou art my guest, old man: and if there cameA meaner even than thou, I should not stint350To offer of my best. Strangers and beggarsAre sent from Zeus: and tho’ a poor man’s giftBe poor, a hearty welcome makes it rich.Ul.I pray the gods reward thee.Eum.Nay, there’s the meat;I’ll fetch it thee.[Exit.Ul.Was ever sound on earthSo musical as the remembered voiceThat welcomes home? By heaven, ’twas yesterdayThat I was here. No change at all: this bench,This board:—the very hogs might be the same.O my good bread and wine! And here’s his loaf,360The shape he ever made; and cut the same,Scooped to the thumb. Hail, grape of Ithaca!Good day to thee! (Drinks.)Eum.(re-entering). See, here is meat in plenty:Fall to and spare not.Ul.Thank thee, sir; I thank thee.Eum.Art thou of Ithaca, old man?Ul.Nay, sir;Indeed I am not.Eum.When cam’st thou then among us?Ul.With this day’s sun I first beheld your isle.Eum.Eh! hath a ship arrived so late in harbour?Whence hails she?Ul.From Thesprotia coasting south;But driven far out to sea in beating back370Put in for water; when the notion took meTo leave her, and pursue my own starvationWithout the risk of drowning.Eum.And how thenCam’st thou aboard a vessel so ill-found?Ul.My tale were long, sir, should I once begin:And since I have seen no food since yestermorn,Believe I’d lend thee ear rather than mouth.Eum.Ay, so, no fool, and I was but a churlTo bid thee talk and eat: eat, sir, in peace.Ul.I pray thee while I eat tell of thyself,380Whom here thou servest, and who rules this isle.Eum.I am a servant, sir, that hath no master:These swine I tend are no man’s: those I killI kill for any one; for on this isleWe pay our service to a gap betweenA grandsire and a grandchild. Dost thou take me?Ul.Yes, friend: thy master is away or dead.Eum.Both as I think. The while, for lack of tidings,We make believe he lives. His ancient father,Decrepit and despairing, lies aloof,—390We call him king no longer;—and his son,The old man’s grandchild, is away on questOf any tidings to be gleaned from thoseWho years agone fought with his sire at Troy.His widow keeps his house, and hath in handSome five or six score suitors. Judge from thisWhat hope hath beggary in Ithaca.Ul.In all my wanderings never have I foundA kinder host. But since thou sayest thy master,Whose absence makes thee masterless, was one400Who fought at Troy, I too was in that war;If thou wouldst tell his name, I may know somewhatTo cheer his wife and child.Eum.Try not that talk,Old man. No more of him shall traveller hitherCome bringing tidings that may win their ear.Lightly indeed for welcome’s sake will vagrantsSpeak false, nor have they cause to wish for truth.Nay, and there’s none strays to this isle, but goesSeeking my mistress, and there spins his lie;While she with tender care asks of each thing,410And from her sorrowing eyes the tears fall fast,Hearing the name she doth not dare to speak.And soon enough wouldst thou too coin thy tale,Couldst thou but win a blanket for thy back:The while for him vultures and wolves are likeTo have stripped his bones of flesh—ay, ay, he is dead—Or fish have preyed upon him, and his ribsBleach on the sea-shore, sunk in drifting sand.Such fate is his, grievous to all who loved him,And most to me; who ne’er shall find again420So kind a lord, wherever I may go:Not even again if home to father and motherI should return, where I was bred and born.Nor are my tears for them, yearn as I doWith these eyes to behold them, and my country;But my desire is for Ulysses gone:Speaking whose name, stranger, tho’ far from hearingI do obeisance (towards Ul.); for he loved me well;And worshipful I call him, be he dead.Ul.If ’tis Ulysses, friend, whom thou lamentest,I know he lives.430Eum.Try not that tale, I say.Ul.Now, sir, tho’ thou deny it and think I lie,Ulysses will return, and on that dayGive me my due; since I dare call on Zeus,First of the gods, and by this friendly tableSwear, and his dear home whither I be come,This thing shall be, and with the running yearHe shall return.Eum.Nay, ’tis not I shall payThy recompense. Content thee, man, and drink.Why wouldst thou force persuasion? Tell me rather440Thy own true story, who thou art and whence.Ul.Would then that thou couldst give me food and wine,Ay, and the gods fair sunshine and no toil,The while my tale should last: for on this benchWould I take comfort of thee many a day.But of thy lord ...Eum.Wilt thou not cease from that!Ul.With my own ships I fought at Ilion;And tho’ I look not now, in age and rags,A master among men, nay, nor a foeMany would fear, yet mayst thou see on me450The sign of what I have been, and I thinkStill from the gratten one may guess the grain.Eum.(aside). How age and misery will brag! And thisTo me, who really am a king.Ul.’Twas thenI knew Ulysses, and have since, like himAnd many a Greek, striven against destinyTo gain my home:—at length our ship was castOn mountainous Thesprotia, where the kingPheidon was kind to me, and there I heard—Nor yet are many weeks passed since that day—460Full tidings of Ulysses, and I sawWhat wealth his arm had gotten: he himselfWas travelled to Dodona, but by thisShould be returned.Eum.Stranger, if all thy words,That grow in number, should outreach in taleThe moments of his absence, they were vainlyPoured in mine ears.Ul.Nay, then, and if indeedUlysses came himself, here of his friendsHe would not be received.Eum.Ay, that may be:And time will change a man so from himself,470That oft I wonder none have e’er contrivedTo make pretence to be Ulysses’ self.That were a game for thee, old man, if ageDid not so far belie thee. Nay, nay, nay!Signs there would be: and if these eyes should see him,And seeing know not, I would serve them soThat they should see no more.Ul.Now when he comes ...Eum.Still harking back! I tell thee, friend, our thoughtIs rather for his son Telemachus,And his return; who when he promised well480To be his father’s match, went wandering henceTo Lacedæmon, seeking for his sire:An idle quest and perilous, for I say’Twould much increase the tender love of themThat woo the mother, could they kill the son,And quarrel for the inheritance: and nowThey have sent a ship to take him in the straits,As he comes home: but may the gods protect him.Tho’, till I see him safe, my heart is vexed.Ul.Fear not; the gods will save him.Eum.Thank thee, sir.Hast ever been in Sparta?490Ul.Ask me nought,If thou wilt credit nought; or shall I sayI have never lodged in Pitanè, nor drunkOut of Eurotas, nor on summer noonsGazed on the steep sun-checquered precipicesOf huge Taygetus?Eum.Thy pardon, sir.Hast eaten well?Ul.Ay, to content: but, friend,I shall not prey upon thee: an hour or twoI’ll rest me here; then, if thou shew the roadTo good Ulysses’ house, I’ll e’en be gone.500Food must be there in plenty: I make no doubtTo beg a meal till I may serve for hire.Eum.Why, man, what put this folly in thy head?’Twere the short way to end thy days, to goAmong that insolent and godless herd,To tempt their violence. Not such as thouTheir servants are: they that attend on themAre young and gaily clad and fair of face:And though the polished tables lack not food,’Tis not for such as thou the hot feast smokes510From morn till eve, and the red wine is poured.Bide here; for here thou vexest none, nor meNor any of my fellows. Bide awhile,And if Telemachus return, I warrantThou shalt have no complaint. Hark, I hear feet:Some one now comes.Ul.And ’tis a friend; the dogsBark not, but fawn around. (Aside.) If this be he!I dare not rise and look.Enter Telemachus.Eum.Why he! ’tis he!Telemachus, my son Telemachus,Art thou returned in safety?Ul.(aside.) Praised be the gods! I see my son indeed!TELEMACHUS(to Eum.).520You see me, father.Eum.Light of mine eyes, thou’rt come, Telemachus;All shall go forward with us once again.Ul.(aside). He calls him father, and I may not speak.Tel.Hath aught been wrong?Eum.Nay, nought is changed for that.’Twas only lack of thee: and with the fearSome ill might hap to thee, what dost thou thinkMust old Eumæus feel?Tel.What couldst thou fear?Eum.Didst thou not know? The wooers sent a shipTo take thee, son. Thou didst not? Well, some god531Protected thee. Now let me look on thee.Come within. Sit thee down.Tel.So will I gladly.Ere I would venture to the house, I cameTo talk with thee, and learn if aught has passed.My mother?...Eum.All is well, prince, yet; she bidesPatient and brave, and weeps both day and night;Weeps too for thee. Give me thy spear, my son.Now sit thee down. I say we have feared for thee.Tel.(to Ul.). Nay, rise not, stranger; there be other seats,540And men to set them.—Pardon me that my joyO’erlooked thee. Thou hast guests, Eumæus?Eum.Nay,None but this ancient father.Tel.And who is he?Eum.To me is he a stranger as to thee.’Twas yesterday, he tells me, that his shipThesprotian, as he says, driven from her course,Put in for water: when for some mistrustOr weariness of voyage he remained.He hath fed with me, but thou being now returnedHe looks to be a suppliant at the house.He is thy man.550Tel.Eumæus, thou must knowI could not, whatsoe’er his claim, receive himWhere I myself am threatened: and even my motherHolds no sure mind, wavering from day to dayWho shall be master. No: there is no placeFor suppliants at the house: but as thy guestI still may treat him well: here he shall haveRaiment and all he needs, and I will give himA sword, and bid him fare where’er he will.But not to the house I bid him come, for fear560Violence befall him and I be accursed.Ul.Sir, since thy kindness makes me bold to speak,Thou hast my thanks; nor can I hear thy wrongs,Nor see thy shame unmoved, for thou art noble.Hast thou provoked this, tell me, or are thy peopleMoved by some god to hate, or is’t thy brethrenPlay thee false?Tel.Nay, there is neither grudge nor hateBetwixt me and my folk, nor do my brethrenStand faithlessly aloof. ’Tis all to sayThat Zeus hath made our house of single heirs:570Arceisios gat one only son Laertes,And he one only son, Ulysses; I,Ulysses’ son, am too his only child:And he hath left his house the prey of foes.I cannot aid thee, stranger.Ul.O would that IWere young as thou, and in my present mood;That I were this Ulysses or his son:Far rather would I die slain in my hallsBy my thick foes, than see this reckless wrong;My good farms plundered, and my herds devoured,580My red wine wasted, and my handmaidensHither and thither haled about, at willOf such a rabble as fear not God nor man,Spoilers and robbers, who have set their heartsVainly upon a purpose, which I sayShall never be accomplished.Athena appears at the door to Ulysses.Tel.I pray the godsIt never be, and thank thee well, my friend,For thy good will.Eum.How art thou moved, old man.Ul.The heart unmoved by others’ wrongs is dead:And yet maybe I am somewhat overwrought;If I may go within ...590Eum.Ay, go within,And rest thee; thou hast need.Ul.I thank thee, friend.I’ll lay me down to sleep: here I but shackleYour private talk.Eum.Be at thy ease, I pray.Tel.Go, father; rest thee well.Ul.I thank thee, sir.[Exit.Eum.How earnest thou, son? Where didst thou land?Tel.Is’t trueThe wooers sent a ship?Eum.Didst thou not meet them?Tel.Hark now, and hear in what strange manner warnedI knew their ambush, to avoid them.Eum.Ah!Thou knewest it, thou knewest!Tel.Wilt thou think600I was at Sparta but three days ago?There in my sleep the goddess, at whose wordI made this voyage, came and stood beside me,Called me by name, and bade me quick return;And for my safety warned me that a ship’Twixt Ithaca and Samè lay in wait;Which if I would avoid I must sail round,Keeping the west of the isle; and for that voyageShe promised a fair wind. So the next mornWas I at Pylos; whence as I set forth,610I found the wind, and sailing day and night,With swift unbroken passage came to shoreLast evening north of the isle. Hither aloneI passed in the dark, and sent my ship about.Eum.That was well done: I praise the gods for that.I knew that they would save thee.Tel.But, Eumæus,What of the ship? What knowest thou? What means it?Were all agreed plotting my life together,Or whose deed is it?Eum.One rancorous spirit rules them,—Save Lord Amphinomus, who stands as ever620Within the bounds: of all the rest there’s noneThat would not take thy life by stealth, nor oneWho openly would dare.Tel.Who sailed the ship?Eum.Antinous.Tel.Ah!Eum.And if I die to avenge it,Son, he shall pay for it.Tel.Talk, I pray, of safety,Not of revenge. Shall I make bold to goStraight to the house, or must I hide me here?Eum.Bide, son, bide! ’Tis not safe. Let me go, son.When once ’tis known in the isle that thou’rt returned,Then thou mayst shew thyself. The cowards fear630The love the people bear thee. Let me go.Tel.Is all else well?Eum.All’s well where ill is well.Tel.Eumæus, I’ll not venture yet: but thouHaste to the house, and in my mother’s earWhisper I am here: but let none other guessThat thou hast tidings of me.Eum.Not to tellThy grandsire, son? He scarce hath eat or drunkWhile thou hast been away: ’twere well he knew,And quickly; for an hour is much to oneWhose life leans on the grave.Tel.My safe return640Can be no secret, but my hiding-placeMust not be known: therefore I would not haveThee for my herald. Thou mayst bid my motherSend one to comfort him; but go not thouWandering among the hills. My bidding done,Make swift return. I shall be here.Eum.I prayLet not that old man here come round thee, son,With idle stories of thy sire: he is fullOf tales of Troy: and if he win thine earHe hath a purpose.Tel.He! Nay, trust me, father.650Eum.Well, he will try.Tel.Fear not.Eum.He hath a tongue:He saith he fought at Ilion. Then, he saithHe knew Ulysses.Tel.Saith he so?Eum.And thenHe hath been in Lacedæmon too.Tel.His talkWhile thou’rt away may well beguile the time.Eum.Ay, and thee too. Thou hast not heard, I fear,Aught of thy father now, where thou hast been?Tel.Somewhat, but nothing recent. What I knowI’ll tell thee later. Thou couldst gather noughtFrom this old man?Eum.He is cunning: didst thou see660How he could counterfeit? I tell thee, son,He hath not been here an hour, and never knewAught of thy father; but he plucks from meThe story word by word, and then at onceBursts out,—he knew Ulysses: ay, he stayedEating to speak of him.Tel.What said he of him?Eum.I would not hear him, son: I would not hear him.Tel.Think you he lied?Eum.Ay, ay. Why, how believeThy father now is in Thesprotia,Where the king Pheidon hath a ship all storedTo bring him home?670Tel.Eumæus, good Eumæus!What if ’tis true?Eum.True! There, ’tis as I thought:I would not leave thee with him, son; he is quick:He will delude thee.Tel.I must hear his tale,Though it be false. Go thou: my ship will elseBe round before thee. Go, and never fearThat this old man will turn my head.Eum.Be warned.Trust him not, son. There is something strange about himI like not.Tel.Come: as far as to the gateI will go with thee.[Exeunt.Re-enter Ulysses as himself.Ul.Lo! now the sun in the mid goal of heavenHath climbed to view my fortunes, and my shade682On this well-trodden floor falls neither way:So towers my genius; so my future and pastLie gathered for the moment.—How oft in dreams,When longing hath forecast this hour, I have lovedThe rescuing tears that loosed my heart: and nowThe womanish water wells, I bid it back:For nature stammers in me, and I see689Imagination hath a grasp of joyFiner than sense; and my most passionate spirit,When most it should leap forth, hangs back unwillingTo officer the trembling instruments,By which delight is served. Back, then, my tears!Fate rules; reason should fashion me.—And welcomeEven this harshness of fate; for if my sonShall know me as I am, not as a merchantShould I return at ease, that men might askWhether Ulysses were returned or no;Rather in blood than doubt.—Here on this bench700I’ll wait him, nor myself be first to speak:And ’twill be tried for once how a man’s sonShall know his father, never having seen him.Re-enter Telemachus.Tel.Why, who art thou? Not he that on this benchSattest so late! In truth I much mistook thee,Or thou art changed. Thy hair was thin and white,Thy body rough and pinched with age, thy clothesWere meanest rags. Say art thou he, the same,Eumæus’ guest from the Thesprotian ship?Ul.Ay, son, I am.Tel.Surely thou art a god.Be gracious to our house![Kneels.710Ul.(rising).Nay, rise, my son.I am no god. Why wilt thou liken meTo those immortals? I am thy father, son,Ulysses to my home at last returned.[Kisses him.Tel.Alas, thou art a god, and thy words mock me.Ul.Thou knowest me not.[Sits.Tel.Say, if thou wert a man,How couldst thou put that change of semblance on,Which only gods may use?Ul.The wise AthenaUses me as she will: then was I oldThat none might know me; now I am myself720That thou mayst know.—’Tis I.Tel.Father! my father!O, happy day.[Weeps on his neck.Ul.Thy kisses, O, my son:Thy kisses and thy tears, my son, my son.Tel.O, thou art come. O, happy, happy day.Ul.I am come, Telemachus: but how to know’Tis I?Tel.O, I am sure; who could be like thee?I knew too thou wouldst come, dear father, and yetI never honoured thee enough: I thoughtI should be worthy of thee: now I fear ...Ul.I must be unlike thy thought, son; but in thee730I see myself again of twenty years:Nay, I was somewhat thicker, but maybeThat will make up; and thou hast got insteadThy mother’s grace. ’Tis true we mostly shapeLess to the father.Tel.How, sire, didst thou come?Ul.A good Phæacian ship brought me last night.I came to land in the dark: and all the spoilsI have brought with me are hidden in the cave,738Till we may fetch them forth.Tel.First come thou home.Ul.And would I might. The hope of twenty yearsIs gathered in this hour. Come home, thou sayst:Ah, son; and would I might; but what of themThat stop the way?Tel.The suitors of my mother?O, they will fly to hear of thy return.Ul.They must not fly. All, where they have done me wrong,Must with their lives atone. This is the causeOf my disguise, that none should know me hereBut thou, to whom alone I am revealed,That plotting with thee I may draw the netAbout them. This the goddess bids me, son;To slay thy mother’s wooers.750Tel.Father, I knowThou art unmatchable among the GreeksIn warriorship and wisdom, ay, and hereIs none would dare to face thee: yet by tensThey reckon, and I fear would overpower theeBy very number.Ul.Say: how many be they?Tel.Out of Dulichium there be two and fiftyPrinces and lords, each with his serving-man:From Samè, four and twenty: from ZakynthusA score; and even of Ithaca itself760Twelve of the best, with Phemius the bard,Medon, and many followers: ’gainst all theseWe are but two.Ul.I fear them not, my son.Tel.Seek other aid, I pray, ere ’gainst so manyWe venture.Ul.What, son, sayst thou, if AthenaAnd father Zeus aid us? will they, thou thinkest,Suffice, or must we cast about to findSome other champion?Tel.Truly they are the bestThou namest, father; tho’ among the cloudsTheir seat is, and their countenance withheldFrom mortal men.770Ul.They will not hold aloof,When once our spears are plunging in the breastsOf that vain rabble. Goes thy heart with mine?Tel.With thee and for thee, father, will I fight,Askest thou?Ul.Wilt thou bear to look on meAs late thou sawest me, and seeing me so,Find not the least diminishment of love?Tel.I never shall forget this godlike mien,Whence to disguise thou deignest as a god.Ul.But when thou seest me mocked and scorned, a slave,780A beggar where I am lord, wilt thou discoverNo indignation?Tel.I will hide my wrath.Ul.For I must be thy guest among my foes.Tel.To be my guest, if they should set upon theeTo drive thee forth, will force me to resist.Ul.Fear not the threatenings of those doomèd men.Tel.They all are armed, and thou wilt be unarmed.Ul.Tho’ they provoke me I will bide my time.Tel.But how if they assault thee unprepared?Ul.The goddess will withhold their impious hands.790Tel.Lurk rather here until the plot be ripe.Ul.Nay, son; and were the lure of home less strongTo me so long deprived, yet would I seeMyself the wrongs there done me, see the shameOf which men speak; and, once within the hall,I can take count and measure of my foes.A just cause, bold heart, and the aid of heavenShould still thy fear.Tel.Tell me thy bidding, father!Ul.Ay, so ’tis best: and thro’ thee I may comeTo see thy mother;—hark, the course is plain:800Go to the town; announce thine own return;Thence to the house, and to Eumæus sayThou wilt receive me; he must know no more:Bid him to-morrow fetch me to the hall.And when thou seest thy mother, tell her thus;Thou hast seen a stranger in Eumæus’ hut,Who having known thy father, carries newsThat he is near. As to confirm thy tale,Bring her to speech with me when none are by.Ourselves may meet at night, and then consult810In secret on what stratagem may growFrom that occasion, or what further thingThe goddess may command.Tel.Now thy disguiseIs my chief fear, father; I know these men:Their insolent assumption would not brookAny intruder, but against a beggarThey will make sport of outrage.Ul.Sayst thou so?Then shall we prove them thus: be they good menThey will show pity: if they mock my rags,Try if they honour thee; and bid them make,820Each of his own, a portion unto me.I then shall see their hearts: the more they rage,Force them the more with full authority.This canst thou well do. ’Tis thy harder taskNot to betray me. Youth is bold of heartAnd hot in battle, but to guard the tongueAnd to restrain the hand come with long years.Tel.Now let this trial prove me once for all,Whether in keeping counsel and in battleI am thy true son, or another man.830Ul.All hangs on thee; for none but thou must know,Not even thy mother. Tell me, I would learnIf in her thought I am alive or dead;And what thine own mind was, fear not to say.Tel.Truly ’twixt hope and hopelessness, we stoodIn blank uncertainty; and if not yetOur wishes wore the colour of our fears,Now was the turn.Ul.I come then not too soon?Tel.Nay, nor too late.Ul.’Tis well, but time is short;Tarry no longer. Get thee home, and there840Ordain a sacrifice, such as befitsThis day of days: such as may well contentThe favourable deities, and appeaseThe unfriendly. Guess, son, if thy heart is stirred,How ’tis with me. The ties of home are dear,And what a man is born to, both the place,Where’er it be, that hath received his beingOut of oblivion, and given his mindThe shapes and hues of earth, the sights of heaven,The place whence he sets forth to meet strange things,850Whither returns to find his own, himself;This bides, the harbour of his fancy,—and draws himSpite of all else from world’s end to world’s end.And more, more dear, are those whose place it was,Whose name he is called by, whom he calls his own,Whose love hath borne and nurtured him, whose lifeHe is offshoot of and diligent support.This love thou knowest, and being to-day returnedBut from short voyage, mayst in little gaugeMy joy returning after many years.860But what thou know’st not—mayst thou come to know!—I’ll tell thee. There be ties dearer than placeOr parents; there be bonds that break in piecesThe hearts that break them, and whose severanceIs more than banishment. Boy, ’tis thy motherThat makes this Ithaca the world to me;These tears are hers: and seeing thee, my son,Whose picture I have carried in my heart,And year by year have checked and altered stillWith vain imagination to thy growth870Since last I left thee fondled in her arms,I learn how dear art thou. Now on thy browI’ll set this kiss. Begone and do my bidding.The goddess calls me: I must take againThat shape which late thou saw’st me in. Farewell.Forget not when I am changèd what I am.Tel.Thy first commands are dear, sire; I obey.

Ithaca: the seashore. Thick mist thro’ which Ulysses can scarcely be discerned asleep under a tree. In the foreground, Athena.

ATHENA.

Thisday, the last of twenty fateful years,Fulfils the toil and wanderings of the Greeks,Who sailed with Agamemnon against TroyTo win back Argive Helen; for to-dayUlysses, last and most despaired of all,Is safe again in Ithaca: and in truthHave I, Athena, though the wisest powerAnd mightiest in Olympus, striven longIn heaven and earth to save him from the wrath10Of great Poseidon; but at length my willNears its accomplishment, for on this isleOf Ithaca was he at break of mornLanded by good Phæacian mariners,Who ply the convoys of the dangerous sea;Even as they promised him, their king and queen,Alcinous and Aretè, honouring himWith loving gifts, tripods of bronze and iron,Raiment and bowls of gold: thro’ blackest night,And the confusion of the baffling waters,20With sail and oar urging their keel they bore him,Who all the while wrapt in sound slumber layDeep likest death; and in that trance they laid himBeneath yon olive tree, and, by his feet,The gifts they brought: there may ye see him lying,And there the gifts: and yet ye scarce may see,With so thick darkness have I drenched the air,Lest when he wake, the sight and sweet desireOf home supplant his cunning, and he riseForthwith, and entering suddenly his house30Fall by the treachery of the infatuate lords,Who prey there on his substance unrestrained,Sitting in idle suit to woo his wife,Who weeps his fate unknown; and thus my willAt last were crossed. So hither am I comeMyself to break the sleep I sent, and warn himAgainst his foes. And now must I awake him;But first will doff my helmet, and appearIn mortal semblance, as a delicate youth,Some prince of the isle: so shall my javelin,40Long robe and shining sandals not betrayMy godhead. He to me, disguised and strange,Will answer nothing truly, nor believeWhat truth I tell: ’tis thus I love to prove him,And catch his ready mind at unawares.

Thisday, the last of twenty fateful years,

Fulfils the toil and wanderings of the Greeks,

Who sailed with Agamemnon against Troy

To win back Argive Helen; for to-day

Ulysses, last and most despaired of all,

Is safe again in Ithaca: and in truth

Have I, Athena, though the wisest power

And mightiest in Olympus, striven long

In heaven and earth to save him from the wrath

Of great Poseidon; but at length my will

Nears its accomplishment, for on this isle

Of Ithaca was he at break of morn

Landed by good Phæacian mariners,

Who ply the convoys of the dangerous sea;

Even as they promised him, their king and queen,

Alcinous and Aretè, honouring him

With loving gifts, tripods of bronze and iron,

Raiment and bowls of gold: thro’ blackest night,

And the confusion of the baffling waters,

With sail and oar urging their keel they bore him,

Who all the while wrapt in sound slumber lay

Deep likest death; and in that trance they laid him

Beneath yon olive tree, and, by his feet,

The gifts they brought: there may ye see him lying,

And there the gifts: and yet ye scarce may see,

With so thick darkness have I drenched the air,

Lest when he wake, the sight and sweet desire

Of home supplant his cunning, and he rise

Forthwith, and entering suddenly his house

Fall by the treachery of the infatuate lords,

Who prey there on his substance unrestrained,

Sitting in idle suit to woo his wife,

Who weeps his fate unknown; and thus my will

At last were crossed. So hither am I come

Myself to break the sleep I sent, and warn him

Against his foes. And now must I awake him;

But first will doff my helmet, and appear

In mortal semblance, as a delicate youth,

Some prince of the isle: so shall my javelin,

Long robe and shining sandals not betray

My godhead. He to me, disguised and strange,

Will answer nothing truly, nor believe

What truth I tell: ’tis thus I love to prove him,

And catch his ready mind at unawares.

Wake, merchant, wake, awake; whoe’er thou beest,That sleepest thus so nigh the public road:Arouse thee, man, and guard thy store: Look to it!Ay, if some passer-by have not alreadyFilched from thee a sad loan of bronze or iron.For though we reverence Zeus, thou giv’st occasion51To make a thief even of an honest man.

Wake, merchant, wake, awake; whoe’er thou beest,

That sleepest thus so nigh the public road:

Arouse thee, man, and guard thy store: Look to it!

Ay, if some passer-by have not already

Filched from thee a sad loan of bronze or iron.

For though we reverence Zeus, thou giv’st occasion

To make a thief even of an honest man.

ULYSSES(awaking).

Hail, friend, whom first my waking eyes beholdHere in this land: and since thou speakest friendly,Prove now my friend, and show how best to saveThese few things, ay, and save myself, being hereWithout thee friendless. And, I prithee, tell meWhat land is this? What people dwell herein?Is it an island, or some mainland shoreThat from its fertile plains shelves to the deep?

Hail, friend, whom first my waking eyes behold

Here in this land: and since thou speakest friendly,

Prove now my friend, and show how best to save

These few things, ay, and save myself, being here

Without thee friendless. And, I prithee, tell me

What land is this? What people dwell herein?

Is it an island, or some mainland shore

That from its fertile plains shelves to the deep?

60Ath.What hast thou asked, man? Couldst thou hither come,Not shipwrecked, as is plain, and yet not knowOur famous isle? Not so am I deceived.Thyself tell rather who thou art and whence,Else learn’st thou nought of me: And speak but truth.Ill speeds entreaty on a lying tongue.

Ath.What hast thou asked, man? Couldst thou hither come,

Not shipwrecked, as is plain, and yet not know

Our famous isle? Not so am I deceived.

Thyself tell rather who thou art and whence,

Else learn’st thou nought of me: And speak but truth.

Ill speeds entreaty on a lying tongue.

Ul.Indeed I speak but truth, friend, when I sayI know not where I stand; as thou must grantAt hearing how I came: for from wide CreteHave I fared over sea with these my goods—70Where to my sons I left as much again,When thence I fled in fear, because I slewThe noble and swift-footed prince of Crete,Orsilochus, son of Idomeneus;Who threatened to despoil me of the wealthI won at Troy, suffering for many yearsThe woes of that long war; and all his grudgeWas that I had not served the king his father,But kept my own retainers—for which thingHe would have robbed me: but I smote him dead.—

Ul.Indeed I speak but truth, friend, when I say

I know not where I stand; as thou must grant

At hearing how I came: for from wide Crete

Have I fared over sea with these my goods—

Where to my sons I left as much again,

When thence I fled in fear, because I slew

The noble and swift-footed prince of Crete,

Orsilochus, son of Idomeneus;

Who threatened to despoil me of the wealth

I won at Troy, suffering for many years

The woes of that long war; and all his grudge

Was that I had not served the king his father,

But kept my own retainers—for which thing

He would have robbed me: but I smote him dead.—

80Ath.Ah, king of ready wile, what tale is thisOf Crete and of thy sons, which when I bid theeSpeak truth, trips on thy tongue? Dost thou not knowThy goddess, great Athena? Was’t not IWho stirred the hearts of those Phæacian menTo bring thee hither? Wherefore in my earsPourest thou fables?

Ath.Ah, king of ready wile, what tale is this

Of Crete and of thy sons, which when I bid thee

Speak truth, trips on thy tongue? Dost thou not know

Thy goddess, great Athena? Was’t not I

Who stirred the hearts of those Phæacian men

To bring thee hither? Wherefore in my ears

Pourest thou fables?

Ul.’Tis thy voice indeed,Which tho’ my eyes were blinded, well I knew.Voice of Athena, dearest of the gods!Now with my soul I grasp thee, now I see,90And worship thee, divine one, and thy kneesEmbrace: but in this darkness and disguiseNot even a god had known thee; blame me not.

Ul.’Tis thy voice indeed,

Which tho’ my eyes were blinded, well I knew.

Voice of Athena, dearest of the gods!

Now with my soul I grasp thee, now I see,

And worship thee, divine one, and thy knees

Embrace: but in this darkness and disguise

Not even a god had known thee; blame me not.

Ath.Nor for thy false tale to a stranger spoken?

Ul.Since thou who lackest cause hast more deceived.And I—where were I now without my guile,Without thy help?

Ul.Since thou who lackest cause hast more deceived.

And I—where were I now without my guile,

Without thy help?

Ath.If I should help thee still,What wouldst thou ask?

Ath.If I should help thee still,

What wouldst thou ask?

Ul.Answer me.—Say, what shoreIs this I stand on, which is hidden from meBy so thick mist: whether they promised true100Who brought me hither, and it be indeedIthaca, or whether, as I rather fear,Some other land, to which my fated curseHales me, or ever I may see my own?

Ul.Answer me.—Say, what shore

Is this I stand on, which is hidden from me

By so thick mist: whether they promised true

Who brought me hither, and it be indeed

Ithaca, or whether, as I rather fear,

Some other land, to which my fated curse

Hales me, or ever I may see my own?

Ath.’Tis Ithaca.

Ul.I pray thee by my longingFor that dear boon, goddess, deceive me not.

Ul.I pray thee by my longing

For that dear boon, goddess, deceive me not.

Ath.Thou dost not yet believe; but if I show theeThy very Ithaca, wilt thou believe?Turn now and set thy back against the noiseOf the stilly-moaning surge and look inland.

Ath.Thou dost not yet believe; but if I show thee

Thy very Ithaca, wilt thou believe?

Turn now and set thy back against the noise

Of the stilly-moaning surge and look inland.

110Ul.Nought.

Ul.Nought.

Ath.Look!

Ul.I see nought. ’Tis a thicker mistThan ever in my own cloud-gathering isleClung to the frowning cliffs, when the warm southBeat up the vapours from the seas at morn.

Ul.I see nought. ’Tis a thicker mist

Than ever in my own cloud-gathering isle

Clung to the frowning cliffs, when the warm south

Beat up the vapours from the seas at morn.

Ath.Look.

Ul.Now it brightens somewhat, or mine eyeWearies with vainly poring on the dark.

Ul.Now it brightens somewhat, or mine eye

Wearies with vainly poring on the dark.

Ath.Look.

Ul.Ay, the vapours lift, the highlands loom,The air obeys thee: thro’ its thinning veilsThe figure of some mountain jags the sky;And those should be my hills: ’tis Neritos,’Tis Ithaca indeed.

Ul.Ay, the vapours lift, the highlands loom,

The air obeys thee: thro’ its thinning veils

The figure of some mountain jags the sky;

And those should be my hills: ’tis Neritos,

’Tis Ithaca indeed.

120Ath.’Tis Ithaca.

Ath.’Tis Ithaca.

Ul.O Blessed Light, that unto all men’s eyesShewest the lands and waters: that uprisestDay after day upon the windy seasAnd fertile plains, valleys and lovely hills,Rivers and shores, and heights and peopled towns;Now in all Greece is no tongue praiseth theeAs mine, nor heart thanketh; nor any eyeRejoicest thou as mine.

Ul.O Blessed Light, that unto all men’s eyes

Shewest the lands and waters: that uprisest

Day after day upon the windy seas

And fertile plains, valleys and lovely hills,

Rivers and shores, and heights and peopled towns;

Now in all Greece is no tongue praiseth thee

As mine, nor heart thanketh; nor any eye

Rejoicest thou as mine.

Ath.Turn now to left.There is the haven of Phorcys, here the tree,130Thy well-remembered olive; and to rightThe rock-roofed cave, where thou so oft hast doneSweet sacrifice unto the native Nymphs.

Ath.Turn now to left.

There is the haven of Phorcys, here the tree,

Thy well-remembered olive; and to right

The rock-roofed cave, where thou so oft hast done

Sweet sacrifice unto the native Nymphs.

Ul.Soil of my dear-desirèd fatherland,For warrant that I dream not, take this kiss;My home! And ye, dear sisters of the spring,I raise my hands to you, whom nevermoreI looked to greet; but now, children of heaven,As once of old I praise you, and henceforthWill pay with loving vows, if your fair queen140But grant me life, and comfort in my son.

Ul.Soil of my dear-desirèd fatherland,

For warrant that I dream not, take this kiss;

My home! And ye, dear sisters of the spring,

I raise my hands to you, whom nevermore

I looked to greet; but now, children of heaven,

As once of old I praise you, and henceforth

Will pay with loving vows, if your fair queen

But grant me life, and comfort in my son.

Ath.Now thou believest.

Ul.See, there be the firs,Which eastward of my house bar the red dawnWith black, and in their feathery tops at nightSigh to the moon. Ay, and my house I seeUnchanged. ’Tis Ithaca.

Ul.See, there be the firs,

Which eastward of my house bar the red dawn

With black, and in their feathery tops at night

Sigh to the moon. Ay, and my house I see

Unchanged. ’Tis Ithaca.

Ath.Wilt thou not goNow to thy home, and with the sweet surpriseOf thy desired return gladden thy wife,And greet thy son, a man, whom thou didst leaveIn cradle? See, I here will guard thy goods.Thou wouldst be gone.

Ath.Wilt thou not go

Now to thy home, and with the sweet surprise

Of thy desired return gladden thy wife,

And greet thy son, a man, whom thou didst leave

In cradle? See, I here will guard thy goods.

Thou wouldst be gone.

150Ul.Goddess, if strong desireCould ever conquer me, now should I doA thing for which no man might blame me, nayEven tho’ he pitied me, if too great longingShould fool me to my ruin. But in my heartAre other thoughts. The wife of AgamemnonAt his return welcomed the king with state,And to his chamber led, but in the bathSoon as he lay, giving him honied words,She slew him with a dagger, to the deed160Being prompted by her guilty paramour,Ægisthus. Ten years numbered since that crimeDouble the equal motive of my fear:Nor can a woman, when her lord, tho’ loved,Is long away, be trusted, that she should notIn weariness at last forsake her faith.Wherefore I would not enter in my house,Nay, nor be known of any, till I hearSuch tidings as bespeak my coming well.

Ul.Goddess, if strong desire

Could ever conquer me, now should I do

A thing for which no man might blame me, nay

Even tho’ he pitied me, if too great longing

Should fool me to my ruin. But in my heart

Are other thoughts. The wife of Agamemnon

At his return welcomed the king with state,

And to his chamber led, but in the bath

Soon as he lay, giving him honied words,

She slew him with a dagger, to the deed

Being prompted by her guilty paramour,

Ægisthus. Ten years numbered since that crime

Double the equal motive of my fear:

Nor can a woman, when her lord, tho’ loved,

Is long away, be trusted, that she should not

In weariness at last forsake her faith.

Wherefore I would not enter in my house,

Nay, nor be known of any, till I hear

Such tidings as bespeak my coming well.

Ath.O brave! thy wary mind has gone before,170The way I would have led it: thou art as everFore-reckoner with chance, to take thy standArmed at all points.

Ath.O brave! thy wary mind has gone before,

The way I would have led it: thou art as ever

Fore-reckoner with chance, to take thy stand

Armed at all points.

Ul.This fear, goddess, I learntOf blind Tiresias, when at Circe’s biddingI sailed for south beyond the coasts of men,To dark Cimmerian cloud-land, and I sawThe hapless king himself, who with thin voicePoured forth his wrongs; and many more I saw,Who suffered pain: the tearful shadows pennedIn mansions of austere Persephonè.180From that old prophet’s tongue of warning weirdStill for myself in the end I gathered hope,And treasured it, but from thy tongue fear ill.

Ul.This fear, goddess, I learnt

Of blind Tiresias, when at Circe’s bidding

I sailed for south beyond the coasts of men,

To dark Cimmerian cloud-land, and I saw

The hapless king himself, who with thin voice

Poured forth his wrongs; and many more I saw,

Who suffered pain: the tearful shadows penned

In mansions of austere Persephonè.

From that old prophet’s tongue of warning weird

Still for myself in the end I gathered hope,

And treasured it, but from thy tongue fear ill.

Ath.Yet shouldst thou cherish all the words he spake.

Ul.I ask not now what shall be, but what is.Beneath yon roof what passes? Thou canst givePresent assurance. Tell me then. My wife—She is well?

Ul.I ask not now what shall be, but what is.

Beneath yon roof what passes? Thou canst give

Present assurance. Tell me then. My wife—

She is well?

Ath.And beautiful.

Ul.Faithful?

Ath.And brave.

Ul.My son Telemachus?

Ath.He too is well.

Ul.Great are the gods in heaven! I need no more.190Thee, Goddess, will I worship while I live.

Ul.Great are the gods in heaven! I need no more.

Thee, Goddess, will I worship while I live.

Ath.And much thou needest me yet. Hark while I tell.Three years thy house hath been the hostelryOf dissolute and shameless men, the lordsAnd princes of the isles and western shores;Who woo thy wife, and feasting in thy hallsMake waste of all thy substance day and night.As men besiege a city, and their hostEncamp about and let none out nor in,Waiting the day when hunger and sore need,200Sharper than iron and cruder than fire,Shall bow the starvèd necks beneath the yoke:So sit they there: and ’mong them is an oathThat none will leave till one be satisfied;Whoe’er it be that in the end shall takeThy fair wife, and thy house and goods and lands;Which false and covetous oath, since all have shared,Must be the death of all.

Ath.And much thou needest me yet. Hark while I tell.

Three years thy house hath been the hostelry

Of dissolute and shameless men, the lords

And princes of the isles and western shores;

Who woo thy wife, and feasting in thy halls

Make waste of all thy substance day and night.

As men besiege a city, and their host

Encamp about and let none out nor in,

Waiting the day when hunger and sore need,

Sharper than iron and cruder than fire,

Shall bow the starvèd necks beneath the yoke:

So sit they there: and ’mong them is an oath

That none will leave till one be satisfied;

Whoe’er it be that in the end shall take

Thy fair wife, and thy house and goods and lands;

Which false and covetous oath, since all have shared,

Must be the death of all.

Ul.Now with thine aidShall they be scattered, were their cursed swarmThick as the rooks, which from his new-sown fields210The husbandman a moment stays to scare,Raising both hands.

Ul.Now with thine aid

Shall they be scattered, were their cursed swarm

Thick as the rooks, which from his new-sown fields

The husbandman a moment stays to scare,

Raising both hands.

Ath.Not so may they escape.Better thou hadst not now returned, if oneOf all these men avoid his destined death.

Ath.Not so may they escape.

Better thou hadst not now returned, if one

Of all these men avoid his destined death.

Ul.How say’st thou, goddess, shall these men be slain?

Ath.How were Ulysses’ foes then wont to die?

Ul.It may not be.

Ath.Thou wert not used to fear.

Ul.Nay, but returned from exile and hard war,I would not usher battle in my home.

Ul.Nay, but returned from exile and hard war,

I would not usher battle in my home.

Ath.Think’st thou of peace? Hadst thou but hence been stayed220So long as shall suffice yon dying moonTo launch her young bark on the western sea,Then had Penelope no more been thine.

Ath.Think’st thou of peace? Hadst thou but hence been stayed

So long as shall suffice yon dying moon

To launch her young bark on the western sea,

Then had Penelope no more been thine.

Ul.Thou saidst that she was faithful.

Ath.She withstandsThe urgence of the wooers day by day;But ’gainst herself, to save thy house from loss,Deeming thee dead indeed, now falls to yield.

Ath.She withstands

The urgence of the wooers day by day;

But ’gainst herself, to save thy house from loss,

Deeming thee dead indeed, now falls to yield.

Ul.Vengeance upon them! Grant me but thine aid,And though they count by hundreds they shall die.

Ul.Vengeance upon them! Grant me but thine aid,

And though they count by hundreds they shall die.

Ath.If one escape, his joy will be for thine.

230Ul.All shall be slain, though ’twere a task too heavyFor great Alcides. But my son in thisShould stand with me. May I not see him first?Shall he not know me, and, in that embraceI yearn for, knit his willing strength with mine?

Ul.All shall be slain, though ’twere a task too heavy

For great Alcides. But my son in this

Should stand with me. May I not see him first?

Shall he not know me, and, in that embrace

I yearn for, knit his willing strength with mine?

Ath.Telemachus hath lately at my biddingSailed hence to Lacedæmon, there to inquireWhat might be learnt of thee.

Ath.Telemachus hath lately at my bidding

Sailed hence to Lacedæmon, there to inquire

What might be learnt of thee.

Ul.Was this well done,Or kindly of thee, who couldst have told him all:To send him far, upon a useless errand,240Out of my sight, the eve of my return?

Ul.Was this well done,

Or kindly of thee, who couldst have told him all:

To send him far, upon a useless errand,

Out of my sight, the eve of my return?

Ath.I sent him for his safety, there to winOpinion too of such as knew him not,And rouse remembrance of thee in the world.To-day is he returned: I have brought his shipNorth of the island, as was need, to shunThe wooers’ galley sent to take him; thereIs he disbarked alone. Thou mayst be firstTo meet him.

Ath.I sent him for his safety, there to win

Opinion too of such as knew him not,

And rouse remembrance of thee in the world.

To-day is he returned: I have brought his ship

North of the island, as was need, to shun

The wooers’ galley sent to take him; there

Is he disbarked alone. Thou mayst be first

To meet him.

Ul.Lead me thither.

Ath.Ah! thou forgettest.If any one but he should see thy face?—

Ath.Ah! thou forgettest.

If any one but he should see thy face?—

250Ul.Contrive then that I meet with him alone.

Ul.Contrive then that I meet with him alone.

Ath.How if my plot were better, so that allMight see thee, yet none know thee but thy son?

Ath.How if my plot were better, so that all

Might see thee, yet none know thee but thy son?

Ul.What manner of disguise is in thy thought?

Ath.Disfigurement, which thou mayst shrink to bear.

Ul.Ay, if my son behold me ill transformed.

Ath.Yet he alone shall see thee as thou art.

Ul.Then tell me, goddess, what thou wouldst: thou knowest258Playing another’s part I am most myself.

Ul.Then tell me, goddess, what thou wouldst: thou knowest

Playing another’s part I am most myself.

Ath.But I will make thee now least like thyself.

Ul.How! shall I stoop then to be less than man?

Ath.Nay, but of men the vilest, though a man.For that thou mayst be hidden, lo! I will changeThy outward seeming to the piteous aspectOf age and beggary. Thy supple skinI’ll wrinkle on thy joints, thy thick brown hairRob from thy head, and dim thy radiant eyes,And o’er thy shoulders bowed cast sorry rags,To make thee loathed of men. In such disguiseMayst thou in safety seek thy herdsman’s hut,270Eumæus: he is faithful, and with kindnessWill serve thee as a stranger in distress,No less than he will welcome thee revealed.Accept his food and shelter, and the whileLearn from his lips what friends thou hast to look for,What foes to reckon with, what wrongs to avenge;And humour as thou wilt his honest ears,Awaiting till I thither send thy son.

Ath.Nay, but of men the vilest, though a man.

For that thou mayst be hidden, lo! I will change

Thy outward seeming to the piteous aspect

Of age and beggary. Thy supple skin

I’ll wrinkle on thy joints, thy thick brown hair

Rob from thy head, and dim thy radiant eyes,

And o’er thy shoulders bowed cast sorry rags,

To make thee loathed of men. In such disguise

Mayst thou in safety seek thy herdsman’s hut,

Eumæus: he is faithful, and with kindness

Will serve thee as a stranger in distress,

No less than he will welcome thee revealed.

Accept his food and shelter, and the while

Learn from his lips what friends thou hast to look for,

What foes to reckon with, what wrongs to avenge;

And humour as thou wilt his honest ears,

Awaiting till I thither send thy son.

Ul.When wilt thou send him?

Ath.He will come ere noon.

Ul.Then must he first behold me thus deformed?

Ath.He cannot know thee. Thou betray thyself281No whit; I will be near and make occasionTo shew thee to him, as thou art, alone.

Ath.He cannot know thee. Thou betray thyself

No whit; I will be near and make occasion

To shew thee to him, as thou art, alone.

Ul.I have had no hope, goddess, but in thine aid:Long as that tarried I despaired not then;How should I, when thou comest, deny thee now?

Ul.I have had no hope, goddess, but in thine aid:

Long as that tarried I despaired not then;

How should I, when thou comest, deny thee now?

Ath.Then first unto the cave, therein to stowThese goods; and after by this olive trunkSit we awhile together: when thou hast heardMy counsel, I will work this change upon thee,290That one who saw thee now of kingly port,Hale and well-liking, ay, and bowed the head,Should, when he next saw, spurn thee with his foot;Thus must it be. Come, let us to the cave.

Ath.Then first unto the cave, therein to stow

These goods; and after by this olive trunk

Sit we awhile together: when thou hast heard

My counsel, I will work this change upon thee,

That one who saw thee now of kingly port,

Hale and well-liking, ay, and bowed the head,

Should, when he next saw, spurn thee with his foot;

Thus must it be. Come, let us to the cave.

The hut of EUMÆUS. (Same background as Act I.)Some swine seen thro’ pens.EUMÆUS(who is cutting a thong for his sandal).Letman serve God, but not for that requireAn answerable favour: there is noneOutside himself: but yet within himselfHe hath his guerdon and may be content.Some three and thirty years of servitudeHave taught me this; dependence on the gods300Wins independence of the gods and fate.I that was born a prince have lived a slave,—No fault of mine;—and still if Zeus so willedThat man might look for favour, I might hopeOnce more, ere I grow old, to make returnUnto my royal home and kingly sire,—If yet he lives,—and rule myself the realmI was born heir to: be good king Eumæus,So should it be, Eumæus, king of men.309Nay—I must play the king over these swine;This homestead for my kingdom, this hut for palace,This bench my throne, these crowded pens and styesMy city; and I will boast ’twere hard to findA commonwealth of men, whom equal justiceFlattered in distribution to this pitchOf general content, such fat well-beingAs holds among my folk, their laws regardantOf them they govern and their good alone.Ay, so: a king of beasts, no king at all.Swineherd Eumæus; who would call me king?Fool, fool! Serve God, Eumæus, and mend thy shoes.321And why complain? Had not Laertes tooA son that feared the gods? and where is he?Would he not now be glad to be alive,Were’t but to envy me who feed his swine,And guard his goods from robbers, and pretendThe hope of his return; which is less likeFor that Ulysses than for this Eumæus;—There too I best him,—since ’tis easierFor any living slave to climb a throne,330Than for a king once dead to step againUpon the joyous threshold of his house,And take the loving kisses from the lipsOf wife and child.—Hark to the hounds. What foeInvades my kingdom? O a piteous sight.Off, dogs;—why they will rend him—Mesaulius, ho!Cottus, call off the dogs! Will they not leave him?To kennel, curs!—Ye heavens! BeggaryIs beggared in this miserable beggar.Enter Ulysses(disguised).How wast thou near, old man, to end thy daysBeside my gate, and bring me shame and sorrow:341And that no fault of mine, so suddenlyHast thou appeared. Come, come, sir; step within.Surely ’tis food thou needest. On this tableAre bread and wine, and I can bring thee meat:Sit and be satisfied.ULYSSES.Now may the gods,Since thou this day giv’st me so good a welcome,Grant thee thy dearest wish, whate’er it be.Eum.Thou art my guest, old man: and if there cameA meaner even than thou, I should not stint350To offer of my best. Strangers and beggarsAre sent from Zeus: and tho’ a poor man’s giftBe poor, a hearty welcome makes it rich.Ul.I pray the gods reward thee.Eum.Nay, there’s the meat;I’ll fetch it thee.[Exit.Ul.Was ever sound on earthSo musical as the remembered voiceThat welcomes home? By heaven, ’twas yesterdayThat I was here. No change at all: this bench,This board:—the very hogs might be the same.O my good bread and wine! And here’s his loaf,360The shape he ever made; and cut the same,Scooped to the thumb. Hail, grape of Ithaca!Good day to thee! (Drinks.)Eum.(re-entering). See, here is meat in plenty:Fall to and spare not.Ul.Thank thee, sir; I thank thee.Eum.Art thou of Ithaca, old man?Ul.Nay, sir;Indeed I am not.Eum.When cam’st thou then among us?Ul.With this day’s sun I first beheld your isle.Eum.Eh! hath a ship arrived so late in harbour?Whence hails she?Ul.From Thesprotia coasting south;But driven far out to sea in beating back370Put in for water; when the notion took meTo leave her, and pursue my own starvationWithout the risk of drowning.Eum.And how thenCam’st thou aboard a vessel so ill-found?Ul.My tale were long, sir, should I once begin:And since I have seen no food since yestermorn,Believe I’d lend thee ear rather than mouth.Eum.Ay, so, no fool, and I was but a churlTo bid thee talk and eat: eat, sir, in peace.Ul.I pray thee while I eat tell of thyself,380Whom here thou servest, and who rules this isle.Eum.I am a servant, sir, that hath no master:These swine I tend are no man’s: those I killI kill for any one; for on this isleWe pay our service to a gap betweenA grandsire and a grandchild. Dost thou take me?Ul.Yes, friend: thy master is away or dead.Eum.Both as I think. The while, for lack of tidings,We make believe he lives. His ancient father,Decrepit and despairing, lies aloof,—390We call him king no longer;—and his son,The old man’s grandchild, is away on questOf any tidings to be gleaned from thoseWho years agone fought with his sire at Troy.His widow keeps his house, and hath in handSome five or six score suitors. Judge from thisWhat hope hath beggary in Ithaca.Ul.In all my wanderings never have I foundA kinder host. But since thou sayest thy master,Whose absence makes thee masterless, was one400Who fought at Troy, I too was in that war;If thou wouldst tell his name, I may know somewhatTo cheer his wife and child.Eum.Try not that talk,Old man. No more of him shall traveller hitherCome bringing tidings that may win their ear.Lightly indeed for welcome’s sake will vagrantsSpeak false, nor have they cause to wish for truth.Nay, and there’s none strays to this isle, but goesSeeking my mistress, and there spins his lie;While she with tender care asks of each thing,410And from her sorrowing eyes the tears fall fast,Hearing the name she doth not dare to speak.And soon enough wouldst thou too coin thy tale,Couldst thou but win a blanket for thy back:The while for him vultures and wolves are likeTo have stripped his bones of flesh—ay, ay, he is dead—Or fish have preyed upon him, and his ribsBleach on the sea-shore, sunk in drifting sand.Such fate is his, grievous to all who loved him,And most to me; who ne’er shall find again420So kind a lord, wherever I may go:Not even again if home to father and motherI should return, where I was bred and born.Nor are my tears for them, yearn as I doWith these eyes to behold them, and my country;But my desire is for Ulysses gone:Speaking whose name, stranger, tho’ far from hearingI do obeisance (towards Ul.); for he loved me well;And worshipful I call him, be he dead.Ul.If ’tis Ulysses, friend, whom thou lamentest,I know he lives.430Eum.Try not that tale, I say.Ul.Now, sir, tho’ thou deny it and think I lie,Ulysses will return, and on that dayGive me my due; since I dare call on Zeus,First of the gods, and by this friendly tableSwear, and his dear home whither I be come,This thing shall be, and with the running yearHe shall return.Eum.Nay, ’tis not I shall payThy recompense. Content thee, man, and drink.Why wouldst thou force persuasion? Tell me rather440Thy own true story, who thou art and whence.Ul.Would then that thou couldst give me food and wine,Ay, and the gods fair sunshine and no toil,The while my tale should last: for on this benchWould I take comfort of thee many a day.But of thy lord ...Eum.Wilt thou not cease from that!Ul.With my own ships I fought at Ilion;And tho’ I look not now, in age and rags,A master among men, nay, nor a foeMany would fear, yet mayst thou see on me450The sign of what I have been, and I thinkStill from the gratten one may guess the grain.Eum.(aside). How age and misery will brag! And thisTo me, who really am a king.Ul.’Twas thenI knew Ulysses, and have since, like himAnd many a Greek, striven against destinyTo gain my home:—at length our ship was castOn mountainous Thesprotia, where the kingPheidon was kind to me, and there I heard—Nor yet are many weeks passed since that day—460Full tidings of Ulysses, and I sawWhat wealth his arm had gotten: he himselfWas travelled to Dodona, but by thisShould be returned.Eum.Stranger, if all thy words,That grow in number, should outreach in taleThe moments of his absence, they were vainlyPoured in mine ears.Ul.Nay, then, and if indeedUlysses came himself, here of his friendsHe would not be received.Eum.Ay, that may be:And time will change a man so from himself,470That oft I wonder none have e’er contrivedTo make pretence to be Ulysses’ self.That were a game for thee, old man, if ageDid not so far belie thee. Nay, nay, nay!Signs there would be: and if these eyes should see him,And seeing know not, I would serve them soThat they should see no more.Ul.Now when he comes ...Eum.Still harking back! I tell thee, friend, our thoughtIs rather for his son Telemachus,And his return; who when he promised well480To be his father’s match, went wandering henceTo Lacedæmon, seeking for his sire:An idle quest and perilous, for I say’Twould much increase the tender love of themThat woo the mother, could they kill the son,And quarrel for the inheritance: and nowThey have sent a ship to take him in the straits,As he comes home: but may the gods protect him.Tho’, till I see him safe, my heart is vexed.Ul.Fear not; the gods will save him.Eum.Thank thee, sir.Hast ever been in Sparta?490Ul.Ask me nought,If thou wilt credit nought; or shall I sayI have never lodged in Pitanè, nor drunkOut of Eurotas, nor on summer noonsGazed on the steep sun-checquered precipicesOf huge Taygetus?Eum.Thy pardon, sir.Hast eaten well?Ul.Ay, to content: but, friend,I shall not prey upon thee: an hour or twoI’ll rest me here; then, if thou shew the roadTo good Ulysses’ house, I’ll e’en be gone.500Food must be there in plenty: I make no doubtTo beg a meal till I may serve for hire.Eum.Why, man, what put this folly in thy head?’Twere the short way to end thy days, to goAmong that insolent and godless herd,To tempt their violence. Not such as thouTheir servants are: they that attend on themAre young and gaily clad and fair of face:And though the polished tables lack not food,’Tis not for such as thou the hot feast smokes510From morn till eve, and the red wine is poured.Bide here; for here thou vexest none, nor meNor any of my fellows. Bide awhile,And if Telemachus return, I warrantThou shalt have no complaint. Hark, I hear feet:Some one now comes.Ul.And ’tis a friend; the dogsBark not, but fawn around. (Aside.) If this be he!I dare not rise and look.Enter Telemachus.Eum.Why he! ’tis he!Telemachus, my son Telemachus,Art thou returned in safety?Ul.(aside.) Praised be the gods! I see my son indeed!TELEMACHUS(to Eum.).520You see me, father.Eum.Light of mine eyes, thou’rt come, Telemachus;All shall go forward with us once again.Ul.(aside). He calls him father, and I may not speak.Tel.Hath aught been wrong?Eum.Nay, nought is changed for that.’Twas only lack of thee: and with the fearSome ill might hap to thee, what dost thou thinkMust old Eumæus feel?Tel.What couldst thou fear?Eum.Didst thou not know? The wooers sent a shipTo take thee, son. Thou didst not? Well, some god531Protected thee. Now let me look on thee.Come within. Sit thee down.Tel.So will I gladly.Ere I would venture to the house, I cameTo talk with thee, and learn if aught has passed.My mother?...Eum.All is well, prince, yet; she bidesPatient and brave, and weeps both day and night;Weeps too for thee. Give me thy spear, my son.Now sit thee down. I say we have feared for thee.Tel.(to Ul.). Nay, rise not, stranger; there be other seats,540And men to set them.—Pardon me that my joyO’erlooked thee. Thou hast guests, Eumæus?Eum.Nay,None but this ancient father.Tel.And who is he?Eum.To me is he a stranger as to thee.’Twas yesterday, he tells me, that his shipThesprotian, as he says, driven from her course,Put in for water: when for some mistrustOr weariness of voyage he remained.He hath fed with me, but thou being now returnedHe looks to be a suppliant at the house.He is thy man.550Tel.Eumæus, thou must knowI could not, whatsoe’er his claim, receive himWhere I myself am threatened: and even my motherHolds no sure mind, wavering from day to dayWho shall be master. No: there is no placeFor suppliants at the house: but as thy guestI still may treat him well: here he shall haveRaiment and all he needs, and I will give himA sword, and bid him fare where’er he will.But not to the house I bid him come, for fear560Violence befall him and I be accursed.Ul.Sir, since thy kindness makes me bold to speak,Thou hast my thanks; nor can I hear thy wrongs,Nor see thy shame unmoved, for thou art noble.Hast thou provoked this, tell me, or are thy peopleMoved by some god to hate, or is’t thy brethrenPlay thee false?Tel.Nay, there is neither grudge nor hateBetwixt me and my folk, nor do my brethrenStand faithlessly aloof. ’Tis all to sayThat Zeus hath made our house of single heirs:570Arceisios gat one only son Laertes,And he one only son, Ulysses; I,Ulysses’ son, am too his only child:And he hath left his house the prey of foes.I cannot aid thee, stranger.Ul.O would that IWere young as thou, and in my present mood;That I were this Ulysses or his son:Far rather would I die slain in my hallsBy my thick foes, than see this reckless wrong;My good farms plundered, and my herds devoured,580My red wine wasted, and my handmaidensHither and thither haled about, at willOf such a rabble as fear not God nor man,Spoilers and robbers, who have set their heartsVainly upon a purpose, which I sayShall never be accomplished.Athena appears at the door to Ulysses.Tel.I pray the godsIt never be, and thank thee well, my friend,For thy good will.Eum.How art thou moved, old man.Ul.The heart unmoved by others’ wrongs is dead:And yet maybe I am somewhat overwrought;If I may go within ...590Eum.Ay, go within,And rest thee; thou hast need.Ul.I thank thee, friend.I’ll lay me down to sleep: here I but shackleYour private talk.Eum.Be at thy ease, I pray.Tel.Go, father; rest thee well.Ul.I thank thee, sir.[Exit.Eum.How earnest thou, son? Where didst thou land?Tel.Is’t trueThe wooers sent a ship?Eum.Didst thou not meet them?Tel.Hark now, and hear in what strange manner warnedI knew their ambush, to avoid them.Eum.Ah!Thou knewest it, thou knewest!Tel.Wilt thou think600I was at Sparta but three days ago?There in my sleep the goddess, at whose wordI made this voyage, came and stood beside me,Called me by name, and bade me quick return;And for my safety warned me that a ship’Twixt Ithaca and Samè lay in wait;Which if I would avoid I must sail round,Keeping the west of the isle; and for that voyageShe promised a fair wind. So the next mornWas I at Pylos; whence as I set forth,610I found the wind, and sailing day and night,With swift unbroken passage came to shoreLast evening north of the isle. Hither aloneI passed in the dark, and sent my ship about.Eum.That was well done: I praise the gods for that.I knew that they would save thee.Tel.But, Eumæus,What of the ship? What knowest thou? What means it?Were all agreed plotting my life together,Or whose deed is it?Eum.One rancorous spirit rules them,—Save Lord Amphinomus, who stands as ever620Within the bounds: of all the rest there’s noneThat would not take thy life by stealth, nor oneWho openly would dare.Tel.Who sailed the ship?Eum.Antinous.Tel.Ah!Eum.And if I die to avenge it,Son, he shall pay for it.Tel.Talk, I pray, of safety,Not of revenge. Shall I make bold to goStraight to the house, or must I hide me here?Eum.Bide, son, bide! ’Tis not safe. Let me go, son.When once ’tis known in the isle that thou’rt returned,Then thou mayst shew thyself. The cowards fear630The love the people bear thee. Let me go.Tel.Is all else well?Eum.All’s well where ill is well.Tel.Eumæus, I’ll not venture yet: but thouHaste to the house, and in my mother’s earWhisper I am here: but let none other guessThat thou hast tidings of me.Eum.Not to tellThy grandsire, son? He scarce hath eat or drunkWhile thou hast been away: ’twere well he knew,And quickly; for an hour is much to oneWhose life leans on the grave.Tel.My safe return640Can be no secret, but my hiding-placeMust not be known: therefore I would not haveThee for my herald. Thou mayst bid my motherSend one to comfort him; but go not thouWandering among the hills. My bidding done,Make swift return. I shall be here.Eum.I prayLet not that old man here come round thee, son,With idle stories of thy sire: he is fullOf tales of Troy: and if he win thine earHe hath a purpose.Tel.He! Nay, trust me, father.650Eum.Well, he will try.Tel.Fear not.Eum.He hath a tongue:He saith he fought at Ilion. Then, he saithHe knew Ulysses.Tel.Saith he so?Eum.And thenHe hath been in Lacedæmon too.Tel.His talkWhile thou’rt away may well beguile the time.Eum.Ay, and thee too. Thou hast not heard, I fear,Aught of thy father now, where thou hast been?Tel.Somewhat, but nothing recent. What I knowI’ll tell thee later. Thou couldst gather noughtFrom this old man?Eum.He is cunning: didst thou see660How he could counterfeit? I tell thee, son,He hath not been here an hour, and never knewAught of thy father; but he plucks from meThe story word by word, and then at onceBursts out,—he knew Ulysses: ay, he stayedEating to speak of him.Tel.What said he of him?Eum.I would not hear him, son: I would not hear him.Tel.Think you he lied?Eum.Ay, ay. Why, how believeThy father now is in Thesprotia,Where the king Pheidon hath a ship all storedTo bring him home?670Tel.Eumæus, good Eumæus!What if ’tis true?Eum.True! There, ’tis as I thought:I would not leave thee with him, son; he is quick:He will delude thee.Tel.I must hear his tale,Though it be false. Go thou: my ship will elseBe round before thee. Go, and never fearThat this old man will turn my head.Eum.Be warned.Trust him not, son. There is something strange about himI like not.Tel.Come: as far as to the gateI will go with thee.[Exeunt.Re-enter Ulysses as himself.Ul.Lo! now the sun in the mid goal of heavenHath climbed to view my fortunes, and my shade682On this well-trodden floor falls neither way:So towers my genius; so my future and pastLie gathered for the moment.—How oft in dreams,When longing hath forecast this hour, I have lovedThe rescuing tears that loosed my heart: and nowThe womanish water wells, I bid it back:For nature stammers in me, and I see689Imagination hath a grasp of joyFiner than sense; and my most passionate spirit,When most it should leap forth, hangs back unwillingTo officer the trembling instruments,By which delight is served. Back, then, my tears!Fate rules; reason should fashion me.—And welcomeEven this harshness of fate; for if my sonShall know me as I am, not as a merchantShould I return at ease, that men might askWhether Ulysses were returned or no;Rather in blood than doubt.—Here on this bench700I’ll wait him, nor myself be first to speak:And ’twill be tried for once how a man’s sonShall know his father, never having seen him.Re-enter Telemachus.Tel.Why, who art thou? Not he that on this benchSattest so late! In truth I much mistook thee,Or thou art changed. Thy hair was thin and white,Thy body rough and pinched with age, thy clothesWere meanest rags. Say art thou he, the same,Eumæus’ guest from the Thesprotian ship?Ul.Ay, son, I am.Tel.Surely thou art a god.Be gracious to our house![Kneels.710Ul.(rising).Nay, rise, my son.I am no god. Why wilt thou liken meTo those immortals? I am thy father, son,Ulysses to my home at last returned.[Kisses him.Tel.Alas, thou art a god, and thy words mock me.Ul.Thou knowest me not.[Sits.Tel.Say, if thou wert a man,How couldst thou put that change of semblance on,Which only gods may use?Ul.The wise AthenaUses me as she will: then was I oldThat none might know me; now I am myself720That thou mayst know.—’Tis I.Tel.Father! my father!O, happy day.[Weeps on his neck.Ul.Thy kisses, O, my son:Thy kisses and thy tears, my son, my son.Tel.O, thou art come. O, happy, happy day.Ul.I am come, Telemachus: but how to know’Tis I?Tel.O, I am sure; who could be like thee?I knew too thou wouldst come, dear father, and yetI never honoured thee enough: I thoughtI should be worthy of thee: now I fear ...Ul.I must be unlike thy thought, son; but in thee730I see myself again of twenty years:Nay, I was somewhat thicker, but maybeThat will make up; and thou hast got insteadThy mother’s grace. ’Tis true we mostly shapeLess to the father.Tel.How, sire, didst thou come?Ul.A good Phæacian ship brought me last night.I came to land in the dark: and all the spoilsI have brought with me are hidden in the cave,738Till we may fetch them forth.Tel.First come thou home.Ul.And would I might. The hope of twenty yearsIs gathered in this hour. Come home, thou sayst:Ah, son; and would I might; but what of themThat stop the way?Tel.The suitors of my mother?O, they will fly to hear of thy return.Ul.They must not fly. All, where they have done me wrong,Must with their lives atone. This is the causeOf my disguise, that none should know me hereBut thou, to whom alone I am revealed,That plotting with thee I may draw the netAbout them. This the goddess bids me, son;To slay thy mother’s wooers.750Tel.Father, I knowThou art unmatchable among the GreeksIn warriorship and wisdom, ay, and hereIs none would dare to face thee: yet by tensThey reckon, and I fear would overpower theeBy very number.Ul.Say: how many be they?Tel.Out of Dulichium there be two and fiftyPrinces and lords, each with his serving-man:From Samè, four and twenty: from ZakynthusA score; and even of Ithaca itself760Twelve of the best, with Phemius the bard,Medon, and many followers: ’gainst all theseWe are but two.Ul.I fear them not, my son.Tel.Seek other aid, I pray, ere ’gainst so manyWe venture.Ul.What, son, sayst thou, if AthenaAnd father Zeus aid us? will they, thou thinkest,Suffice, or must we cast about to findSome other champion?Tel.Truly they are the bestThou namest, father; tho’ among the cloudsTheir seat is, and their countenance withheldFrom mortal men.770Ul.They will not hold aloof,When once our spears are plunging in the breastsOf that vain rabble. Goes thy heart with mine?Tel.With thee and for thee, father, will I fight,Askest thou?Ul.Wilt thou bear to look on meAs late thou sawest me, and seeing me so,Find not the least diminishment of love?Tel.I never shall forget this godlike mien,Whence to disguise thou deignest as a god.Ul.But when thou seest me mocked and scorned, a slave,780A beggar where I am lord, wilt thou discoverNo indignation?Tel.I will hide my wrath.Ul.For I must be thy guest among my foes.Tel.To be my guest, if they should set upon theeTo drive thee forth, will force me to resist.Ul.Fear not the threatenings of those doomèd men.Tel.They all are armed, and thou wilt be unarmed.Ul.Tho’ they provoke me I will bide my time.Tel.But how if they assault thee unprepared?Ul.The goddess will withhold their impious hands.790Tel.Lurk rather here until the plot be ripe.Ul.Nay, son; and were the lure of home less strongTo me so long deprived, yet would I seeMyself the wrongs there done me, see the shameOf which men speak; and, once within the hall,I can take count and measure of my foes.A just cause, bold heart, and the aid of heavenShould still thy fear.Tel.Tell me thy bidding, father!Ul.Ay, so ’tis best: and thro’ thee I may comeTo see thy mother;—hark, the course is plain:800Go to the town; announce thine own return;Thence to the house, and to Eumæus sayThou wilt receive me; he must know no more:Bid him to-morrow fetch me to the hall.And when thou seest thy mother, tell her thus;Thou hast seen a stranger in Eumæus’ hut,Who having known thy father, carries newsThat he is near. As to confirm thy tale,Bring her to speech with me when none are by.Ourselves may meet at night, and then consult810In secret on what stratagem may growFrom that occasion, or what further thingThe goddess may command.Tel.Now thy disguiseIs my chief fear, father; I know these men:Their insolent assumption would not brookAny intruder, but against a beggarThey will make sport of outrage.Ul.Sayst thou so?Then shall we prove them thus: be they good menThey will show pity: if they mock my rags,Try if they honour thee; and bid them make,820Each of his own, a portion unto me.I then shall see their hearts: the more they rage,Force them the more with full authority.This canst thou well do. ’Tis thy harder taskNot to betray me. Youth is bold of heartAnd hot in battle, but to guard the tongueAnd to restrain the hand come with long years.Tel.Now let this trial prove me once for all,Whether in keeping counsel and in battleI am thy true son, or another man.830Ul.All hangs on thee; for none but thou must know,Not even thy mother. Tell me, I would learnIf in her thought I am alive or dead;And what thine own mind was, fear not to say.Tel.Truly ’twixt hope and hopelessness, we stoodIn blank uncertainty; and if not yetOur wishes wore the colour of our fears,Now was the turn.Ul.I come then not too soon?Tel.Nay, nor too late.Ul.’Tis well, but time is short;Tarry no longer. Get thee home, and there840Ordain a sacrifice, such as befitsThis day of days: such as may well contentThe favourable deities, and appeaseThe unfriendly. Guess, son, if thy heart is stirred,How ’tis with me. The ties of home are dear,And what a man is born to, both the place,Where’er it be, that hath received his beingOut of oblivion, and given his mindThe shapes and hues of earth, the sights of heaven,The place whence he sets forth to meet strange things,850Whither returns to find his own, himself;This bides, the harbour of his fancy,—and draws himSpite of all else from world’s end to world’s end.And more, more dear, are those whose place it was,Whose name he is called by, whom he calls his own,Whose love hath borne and nurtured him, whose lifeHe is offshoot of and diligent support.This love thou knowest, and being to-day returnedBut from short voyage, mayst in little gaugeMy joy returning after many years.860But what thou know’st not—mayst thou come to know!—I’ll tell thee. There be ties dearer than placeOr parents; there be bonds that break in piecesThe hearts that break them, and whose severanceIs more than banishment. Boy, ’tis thy motherThat makes this Ithaca the world to me;These tears are hers: and seeing thee, my son,Whose picture I have carried in my heart,And year by year have checked and altered stillWith vain imagination to thy growth870Since last I left thee fondled in her arms,I learn how dear art thou. Now on thy browI’ll set this kiss. Begone and do my bidding.The goddess calls me: I must take againThat shape which late thou saw’st me in. Farewell.Forget not when I am changèd what I am.Tel.Thy first commands are dear, sire; I obey.

The hut of EUMÆUS. (Same background as Act I.)Some swine seen thro’ pens.

EUMÆUS(who is cutting a thong for his sandal).

Letman serve God, but not for that requireAn answerable favour: there is noneOutside himself: but yet within himselfHe hath his guerdon and may be content.Some three and thirty years of servitudeHave taught me this; dependence on the gods300Wins independence of the gods and fate.I that was born a prince have lived a slave,—No fault of mine;—and still if Zeus so willedThat man might look for favour, I might hopeOnce more, ere I grow old, to make returnUnto my royal home and kingly sire,—If yet he lives,—and rule myself the realmI was born heir to: be good king Eumæus,So should it be, Eumæus, king of men.309Nay—I must play the king over these swine;This homestead for my kingdom, this hut for palace,This bench my throne, these crowded pens and styesMy city; and I will boast ’twere hard to findA commonwealth of men, whom equal justiceFlattered in distribution to this pitchOf general content, such fat well-beingAs holds among my folk, their laws regardantOf them they govern and their good alone.Ay, so: a king of beasts, no king at all.Swineherd Eumæus; who would call me king?Fool, fool! Serve God, Eumæus, and mend thy shoes.321And why complain? Had not Laertes tooA son that feared the gods? and where is he?Would he not now be glad to be alive,Were’t but to envy me who feed his swine,And guard his goods from robbers, and pretendThe hope of his return; which is less likeFor that Ulysses than for this Eumæus;—There too I best him,—since ’tis easierFor any living slave to climb a throne,330Than for a king once dead to step againUpon the joyous threshold of his house,And take the loving kisses from the lipsOf wife and child.—Hark to the hounds. What foeInvades my kingdom? O a piteous sight.Off, dogs;—why they will rend him—Mesaulius, ho!Cottus, call off the dogs! Will they not leave him?To kennel, curs!—Ye heavens! BeggaryIs beggared in this miserable beggar.

Letman serve God, but not for that require

An answerable favour: there is none

Outside himself: but yet within himself

He hath his guerdon and may be content.

Some three and thirty years of servitude

Have taught me this; dependence on the gods

Wins independence of the gods and fate.

I that was born a prince have lived a slave,—

No fault of mine;—and still if Zeus so willed

That man might look for favour, I might hope

Once more, ere I grow old, to make return

Unto my royal home and kingly sire,

—If yet he lives,—and rule myself the realm

I was born heir to: be good king Eumæus,

So should it be, Eumæus, king of men.

Nay—I must play the king over these swine;

This homestead for my kingdom, this hut for palace,

This bench my throne, these crowded pens and styes

My city; and I will boast ’twere hard to find

A commonwealth of men, whom equal justice

Flattered in distribution to this pitch

Of general content, such fat well-being

As holds among my folk, their laws regardant

Of them they govern and their good alone.

Ay, so: a king of beasts, no king at all.

Swineherd Eumæus; who would call me king?

Fool, fool! Serve God, Eumæus, and mend thy shoes.

And why complain? Had not Laertes too

A son that feared the gods? and where is he?

Would he not now be glad to be alive,

Were’t but to envy me who feed his swine,

And guard his goods from robbers, and pretend

The hope of his return; which is less like

For that Ulysses than for this Eumæus;—

There too I best him,—since ’tis easier

For any living slave to climb a throne,

Than for a king once dead to step again

Upon the joyous threshold of his house,

And take the loving kisses from the lips

Of wife and child.—Hark to the hounds. What foe

Invades my kingdom? O a piteous sight.

Off, dogs;—why they will rend him—Mesaulius, ho!

Cottus, call off the dogs! Will they not leave him?

To kennel, curs!—Ye heavens! Beggary

Is beggared in this miserable beggar.

Enter Ulysses(disguised).

How wast thou near, old man, to end thy daysBeside my gate, and bring me shame and sorrow:341And that no fault of mine, so suddenlyHast thou appeared. Come, come, sir; step within.Surely ’tis food thou needest. On this tableAre bread and wine, and I can bring thee meat:Sit and be satisfied.

How wast thou near, old man, to end thy days

Beside my gate, and bring me shame and sorrow:

And that no fault of mine, so suddenly

Hast thou appeared. Come, come, sir; step within.

Surely ’tis food thou needest. On this table

Are bread and wine, and I can bring thee meat:

Sit and be satisfied.

ULYSSES.

Now may the gods,Since thou this day giv’st me so good a welcome,Grant thee thy dearest wish, whate’er it be.

Now may the gods,

Since thou this day giv’st me so good a welcome,

Grant thee thy dearest wish, whate’er it be.

Eum.Thou art my guest, old man: and if there cameA meaner even than thou, I should not stint350To offer of my best. Strangers and beggarsAre sent from Zeus: and tho’ a poor man’s giftBe poor, a hearty welcome makes it rich.

Eum.Thou art my guest, old man: and if there came

A meaner even than thou, I should not stint

To offer of my best. Strangers and beggars

Are sent from Zeus: and tho’ a poor man’s gift

Be poor, a hearty welcome makes it rich.

Ul.I pray the gods reward thee.

Eum.Nay, there’s the meat;I’ll fetch it thee.[Exit.

Eum.Nay, there’s the meat;

I’ll fetch it thee.[Exit.

Ul.Was ever sound on earthSo musical as the remembered voiceThat welcomes home? By heaven, ’twas yesterdayThat I was here. No change at all: this bench,This board:—the very hogs might be the same.O my good bread and wine! And here’s his loaf,360The shape he ever made; and cut the same,Scooped to the thumb. Hail, grape of Ithaca!Good day to thee! (Drinks.)

Ul.Was ever sound on earth

So musical as the remembered voice

That welcomes home? By heaven, ’twas yesterday

That I was here. No change at all: this bench,

This board:—the very hogs might be the same.

O my good bread and wine! And here’s his loaf,

The shape he ever made; and cut the same,

Scooped to the thumb. Hail, grape of Ithaca!

Good day to thee! (Drinks.)

Eum.(re-entering). See, here is meat in plenty:Fall to and spare not.

Eum.(re-entering). See, here is meat in plenty:

Fall to and spare not.

Ul.Thank thee, sir; I thank thee.

Eum.Art thou of Ithaca, old man?

Ul.Nay, sir;Indeed I am not.

Ul.Nay, sir;

Indeed I am not.

Eum.When cam’st thou then among us?

Ul.With this day’s sun I first beheld your isle.

Eum.Eh! hath a ship arrived so late in harbour?Whence hails she?

Eum.Eh! hath a ship arrived so late in harbour?

Whence hails she?

Ul.From Thesprotia coasting south;But driven far out to sea in beating back370Put in for water; when the notion took meTo leave her, and pursue my own starvationWithout the risk of drowning.

Ul.From Thesprotia coasting south;

But driven far out to sea in beating back

Put in for water; when the notion took me

To leave her, and pursue my own starvation

Without the risk of drowning.

Eum.And how thenCam’st thou aboard a vessel so ill-found?

Eum.And how then

Cam’st thou aboard a vessel so ill-found?

Ul.My tale were long, sir, should I once begin:And since I have seen no food since yestermorn,Believe I’d lend thee ear rather than mouth.

Ul.My tale were long, sir, should I once begin:

And since I have seen no food since yestermorn,

Believe I’d lend thee ear rather than mouth.

Eum.Ay, so, no fool, and I was but a churlTo bid thee talk and eat: eat, sir, in peace.

Eum.Ay, so, no fool, and I was but a churl

To bid thee talk and eat: eat, sir, in peace.

Ul.I pray thee while I eat tell of thyself,380Whom here thou servest, and who rules this isle.

Ul.I pray thee while I eat tell of thyself,

Whom here thou servest, and who rules this isle.

Eum.I am a servant, sir, that hath no master:These swine I tend are no man’s: those I killI kill for any one; for on this isleWe pay our service to a gap betweenA grandsire and a grandchild. Dost thou take me?

Eum.I am a servant, sir, that hath no master:

These swine I tend are no man’s: those I kill

I kill for any one; for on this isle

We pay our service to a gap between

A grandsire and a grandchild. Dost thou take me?

Ul.Yes, friend: thy master is away or dead.

Eum.Both as I think. The while, for lack of tidings,We make believe he lives. His ancient father,Decrepit and despairing, lies aloof,—390We call him king no longer;—and his son,The old man’s grandchild, is away on questOf any tidings to be gleaned from thoseWho years agone fought with his sire at Troy.His widow keeps his house, and hath in handSome five or six score suitors. Judge from thisWhat hope hath beggary in Ithaca.

Eum.Both as I think. The while, for lack of tidings,

We make believe he lives. His ancient father,

Decrepit and despairing, lies aloof,—

We call him king no longer;—and his son,

The old man’s grandchild, is away on quest

Of any tidings to be gleaned from those

Who years agone fought with his sire at Troy.

His widow keeps his house, and hath in hand

Some five or six score suitors. Judge from this

What hope hath beggary in Ithaca.

Ul.In all my wanderings never have I foundA kinder host. But since thou sayest thy master,Whose absence makes thee masterless, was one400Who fought at Troy, I too was in that war;If thou wouldst tell his name, I may know somewhatTo cheer his wife and child.

Ul.In all my wanderings never have I found

A kinder host. But since thou sayest thy master,

Whose absence makes thee masterless, was one

Who fought at Troy, I too was in that war;

If thou wouldst tell his name, I may know somewhat

To cheer his wife and child.

Eum.Try not that talk,Old man. No more of him shall traveller hitherCome bringing tidings that may win their ear.Lightly indeed for welcome’s sake will vagrantsSpeak false, nor have they cause to wish for truth.Nay, and there’s none strays to this isle, but goesSeeking my mistress, and there spins his lie;While she with tender care asks of each thing,410And from her sorrowing eyes the tears fall fast,Hearing the name she doth not dare to speak.And soon enough wouldst thou too coin thy tale,Couldst thou but win a blanket for thy back:The while for him vultures and wolves are likeTo have stripped his bones of flesh—ay, ay, he is dead—Or fish have preyed upon him, and his ribsBleach on the sea-shore, sunk in drifting sand.Such fate is his, grievous to all who loved him,And most to me; who ne’er shall find again420So kind a lord, wherever I may go:Not even again if home to father and motherI should return, where I was bred and born.Nor are my tears for them, yearn as I doWith these eyes to behold them, and my country;But my desire is for Ulysses gone:Speaking whose name, stranger, tho’ far from hearingI do obeisance (towards Ul.); for he loved me well;And worshipful I call him, be he dead.

Eum.Try not that talk,

Old man. No more of him shall traveller hither

Come bringing tidings that may win their ear.

Lightly indeed for welcome’s sake will vagrants

Speak false, nor have they cause to wish for truth.

Nay, and there’s none strays to this isle, but goes

Seeking my mistress, and there spins his lie;

While she with tender care asks of each thing,

And from her sorrowing eyes the tears fall fast,

Hearing the name she doth not dare to speak.

And soon enough wouldst thou too coin thy tale,

Couldst thou but win a blanket for thy back:

The while for him vultures and wolves are like

To have stripped his bones of flesh—ay, ay, he is dead—

Or fish have preyed upon him, and his ribs

Bleach on the sea-shore, sunk in drifting sand.

Such fate is his, grievous to all who loved him,

And most to me; who ne’er shall find again

So kind a lord, wherever I may go:

Not even again if home to father and mother

I should return, where I was bred and born.

Nor are my tears for them, yearn as I do

With these eyes to behold them, and my country;

But my desire is for Ulysses gone:

Speaking whose name, stranger, tho’ far from hearing

I do obeisance (towards Ul.); for he loved me well;

And worshipful I call him, be he dead.

Ul.If ’tis Ulysses, friend, whom thou lamentest,I know he lives.

Ul.If ’tis Ulysses, friend, whom thou lamentest,

I know he lives.

430Eum.Try not that tale, I say.

Eum.Try not that tale, I say.

Ul.Now, sir, tho’ thou deny it and think I lie,Ulysses will return, and on that dayGive me my due; since I dare call on Zeus,First of the gods, and by this friendly tableSwear, and his dear home whither I be come,This thing shall be, and with the running yearHe shall return.

Ul.Now, sir, tho’ thou deny it and think I lie,

Ulysses will return, and on that day

Give me my due; since I dare call on Zeus,

First of the gods, and by this friendly table

Swear, and his dear home whither I be come,

This thing shall be, and with the running year

He shall return.

Eum.Nay, ’tis not I shall payThy recompense. Content thee, man, and drink.Why wouldst thou force persuasion? Tell me rather440Thy own true story, who thou art and whence.

Eum.Nay, ’tis not I shall pay

Thy recompense. Content thee, man, and drink.

Why wouldst thou force persuasion? Tell me rather

Thy own true story, who thou art and whence.

Ul.Would then that thou couldst give me food and wine,Ay, and the gods fair sunshine and no toil,The while my tale should last: for on this benchWould I take comfort of thee many a day.But of thy lord ...

Ul.Would then that thou couldst give me food and wine,

Ay, and the gods fair sunshine and no toil,

The while my tale should last: for on this bench

Would I take comfort of thee many a day.

But of thy lord ...

Eum.Wilt thou not cease from that!

Ul.With my own ships I fought at Ilion;And tho’ I look not now, in age and rags,A master among men, nay, nor a foeMany would fear, yet mayst thou see on me450The sign of what I have been, and I thinkStill from the gratten one may guess the grain.

Ul.With my own ships I fought at Ilion;

And tho’ I look not now, in age and rags,

A master among men, nay, nor a foe

Many would fear, yet mayst thou see on me

The sign of what I have been, and I think

Still from the gratten one may guess the grain.

Eum.(aside). How age and misery will brag! And thisTo me, who really am a king.

Eum.(aside). How age and misery will brag! And this

To me, who really am a king.

Ul.’Twas thenI knew Ulysses, and have since, like himAnd many a Greek, striven against destinyTo gain my home:—at length our ship was castOn mountainous Thesprotia, where the kingPheidon was kind to me, and there I heard—Nor yet are many weeks passed since that day—460Full tidings of Ulysses, and I sawWhat wealth his arm had gotten: he himselfWas travelled to Dodona, but by thisShould be returned.

Ul.’Twas then

I knew Ulysses, and have since, like him

And many a Greek, striven against destiny

To gain my home:—at length our ship was cast

On mountainous Thesprotia, where the king

Pheidon was kind to me, and there I heard—

Nor yet are many weeks passed since that day—

Full tidings of Ulysses, and I saw

What wealth his arm had gotten: he himself

Was travelled to Dodona, but by this

Should be returned.

Eum.Stranger, if all thy words,That grow in number, should outreach in taleThe moments of his absence, they were vainlyPoured in mine ears.

Eum.Stranger, if all thy words,

That grow in number, should outreach in tale

The moments of his absence, they were vainly

Poured in mine ears.

Ul.Nay, then, and if indeedUlysses came himself, here of his friendsHe would not be received.

Ul.Nay, then, and if indeed

Ulysses came himself, here of his friends

He would not be received.

Eum.Ay, that may be:And time will change a man so from himself,470That oft I wonder none have e’er contrivedTo make pretence to be Ulysses’ self.That were a game for thee, old man, if ageDid not so far belie thee. Nay, nay, nay!Signs there would be: and if these eyes should see him,And seeing know not, I would serve them soThat they should see no more.

Eum.Ay, that may be:

And time will change a man so from himself,

That oft I wonder none have e’er contrived

To make pretence to be Ulysses’ self.

That were a game for thee, old man, if age

Did not so far belie thee. Nay, nay, nay!

Signs there would be: and if these eyes should see him,

And seeing know not, I would serve them so

That they should see no more.

Ul.Now when he comes ...

Eum.Still harking back! I tell thee, friend, our thoughtIs rather for his son Telemachus,And his return; who when he promised well480To be his father’s match, went wandering henceTo Lacedæmon, seeking for his sire:An idle quest and perilous, for I say’Twould much increase the tender love of themThat woo the mother, could they kill the son,And quarrel for the inheritance: and nowThey have sent a ship to take him in the straits,As he comes home: but may the gods protect him.Tho’, till I see him safe, my heart is vexed.

Eum.Still harking back! I tell thee, friend, our thought

Is rather for his son Telemachus,

And his return; who when he promised well

To be his father’s match, went wandering hence

To Lacedæmon, seeking for his sire:

An idle quest and perilous, for I say

’Twould much increase the tender love of them

That woo the mother, could they kill the son,

And quarrel for the inheritance: and now

They have sent a ship to take him in the straits,

As he comes home: but may the gods protect him.

Tho’, till I see him safe, my heart is vexed.

Ul.Fear not; the gods will save him.

Eum.Thank thee, sir.Hast ever been in Sparta?

Eum.Thank thee, sir.

Hast ever been in Sparta?

490Ul.Ask me nought,If thou wilt credit nought; or shall I sayI have never lodged in Pitanè, nor drunkOut of Eurotas, nor on summer noonsGazed on the steep sun-checquered precipicesOf huge Taygetus?

Ul.Ask me nought,

If thou wilt credit nought; or shall I say

I have never lodged in Pitanè, nor drunk

Out of Eurotas, nor on summer noons

Gazed on the steep sun-checquered precipices

Of huge Taygetus?

Eum.Thy pardon, sir.Hast eaten well?

Eum.Thy pardon, sir.

Hast eaten well?

Ul.Ay, to content: but, friend,I shall not prey upon thee: an hour or twoI’ll rest me here; then, if thou shew the roadTo good Ulysses’ house, I’ll e’en be gone.500Food must be there in plenty: I make no doubtTo beg a meal till I may serve for hire.

Ul.Ay, to content: but, friend,

I shall not prey upon thee: an hour or two

I’ll rest me here; then, if thou shew the road

To good Ulysses’ house, I’ll e’en be gone.

Food must be there in plenty: I make no doubt

To beg a meal till I may serve for hire.

Eum.Why, man, what put this folly in thy head?’Twere the short way to end thy days, to goAmong that insolent and godless herd,To tempt their violence. Not such as thouTheir servants are: they that attend on themAre young and gaily clad and fair of face:And though the polished tables lack not food,’Tis not for such as thou the hot feast smokes510From morn till eve, and the red wine is poured.Bide here; for here thou vexest none, nor meNor any of my fellows. Bide awhile,And if Telemachus return, I warrantThou shalt have no complaint. Hark, I hear feet:Some one now comes.

Eum.Why, man, what put this folly in thy head?

’Twere the short way to end thy days, to go

Among that insolent and godless herd,

To tempt their violence. Not such as thou

Their servants are: they that attend on them

Are young and gaily clad and fair of face:

And though the polished tables lack not food,

’Tis not for such as thou the hot feast smokes

From morn till eve, and the red wine is poured.

Bide here; for here thou vexest none, nor me

Nor any of my fellows. Bide awhile,

And if Telemachus return, I warrant

Thou shalt have no complaint. Hark, I hear feet:

Some one now comes.

Ul.And ’tis a friend; the dogsBark not, but fawn around. (Aside.) If this be he!I dare not rise and look.

Ul.And ’tis a friend; the dogs

Bark not, but fawn around. (Aside.) If this be he!

I dare not rise and look.

Enter Telemachus.

Eum.Why he! ’tis he!Telemachus, my son Telemachus,Art thou returned in safety?

Eum.Why he! ’tis he!

Telemachus, my son Telemachus,

Art thou returned in safety?

Ul.(aside.) Praised be the gods! I see my son indeed!

TELEMACHUS(to Eum.).

520You see me, father.

You see me, father.

Eum.Light of mine eyes, thou’rt come, Telemachus;All shall go forward with us once again.

Eum.Light of mine eyes, thou’rt come, Telemachus;

All shall go forward with us once again.

Ul.(aside). He calls him father, and I may not speak.

Tel.Hath aught been wrong?

Eum.Nay, nought is changed for that.’Twas only lack of thee: and with the fearSome ill might hap to thee, what dost thou thinkMust old Eumæus feel?

Eum.Nay, nought is changed for that.

’Twas only lack of thee: and with the fear

Some ill might hap to thee, what dost thou think

Must old Eumæus feel?

Tel.What couldst thou fear?

Eum.Didst thou not know? The wooers sent a shipTo take thee, son. Thou didst not? Well, some god531Protected thee. Now let me look on thee.Come within. Sit thee down.

Eum.Didst thou not know? The wooers sent a ship

To take thee, son. Thou didst not? Well, some god

Protected thee. Now let me look on thee.

Come within. Sit thee down.

Tel.So will I gladly.Ere I would venture to the house, I cameTo talk with thee, and learn if aught has passed.My mother?...

Tel.So will I gladly.

Ere I would venture to the house, I came

To talk with thee, and learn if aught has passed.

My mother?...

Eum.All is well, prince, yet; she bidesPatient and brave, and weeps both day and night;Weeps too for thee. Give me thy spear, my son.Now sit thee down. I say we have feared for thee.

Eum.All is well, prince, yet; she bides

Patient and brave, and weeps both day and night;

Weeps too for thee. Give me thy spear, my son.

Now sit thee down. I say we have feared for thee.

Tel.(to Ul.). Nay, rise not, stranger; there be other seats,540And men to set them.—Pardon me that my joyO’erlooked thee. Thou hast guests, Eumæus?

Tel.(to Ul.). Nay, rise not, stranger; there be other seats,

And men to set them.—Pardon me that my joy

O’erlooked thee. Thou hast guests, Eumæus?

Eum.Nay,None but this ancient father.

Eum.Nay,

None but this ancient father.

Tel.And who is he?

Eum.To me is he a stranger as to thee.’Twas yesterday, he tells me, that his shipThesprotian, as he says, driven from her course,Put in for water: when for some mistrustOr weariness of voyage he remained.He hath fed with me, but thou being now returnedHe looks to be a suppliant at the house.He is thy man.

Eum.To me is he a stranger as to thee.

’Twas yesterday, he tells me, that his ship

Thesprotian, as he says, driven from her course,

Put in for water: when for some mistrust

Or weariness of voyage he remained.

He hath fed with me, but thou being now returned

He looks to be a suppliant at the house.

He is thy man.

550Tel.Eumæus, thou must knowI could not, whatsoe’er his claim, receive himWhere I myself am threatened: and even my motherHolds no sure mind, wavering from day to dayWho shall be master. No: there is no placeFor suppliants at the house: but as thy guestI still may treat him well: here he shall haveRaiment and all he needs, and I will give himA sword, and bid him fare where’er he will.But not to the house I bid him come, for fear560Violence befall him and I be accursed.

Tel.Eumæus, thou must know

I could not, whatsoe’er his claim, receive him

Where I myself am threatened: and even my mother

Holds no sure mind, wavering from day to day

Who shall be master. No: there is no place

For suppliants at the house: but as thy guest

I still may treat him well: here he shall have

Raiment and all he needs, and I will give him

A sword, and bid him fare where’er he will.

But not to the house I bid him come, for fear

Violence befall him and I be accursed.

Ul.Sir, since thy kindness makes me bold to speak,Thou hast my thanks; nor can I hear thy wrongs,Nor see thy shame unmoved, for thou art noble.Hast thou provoked this, tell me, or are thy peopleMoved by some god to hate, or is’t thy brethrenPlay thee false?

Ul.Sir, since thy kindness makes me bold to speak,

Thou hast my thanks; nor can I hear thy wrongs,

Nor see thy shame unmoved, for thou art noble.

Hast thou provoked this, tell me, or are thy people

Moved by some god to hate, or is’t thy brethren

Play thee false?

Tel.Nay, there is neither grudge nor hateBetwixt me and my folk, nor do my brethrenStand faithlessly aloof. ’Tis all to sayThat Zeus hath made our house of single heirs:570Arceisios gat one only son Laertes,And he one only son, Ulysses; I,Ulysses’ son, am too his only child:And he hath left his house the prey of foes.I cannot aid thee, stranger.

Tel.Nay, there is neither grudge nor hate

Betwixt me and my folk, nor do my brethren

Stand faithlessly aloof. ’Tis all to say

That Zeus hath made our house of single heirs:

Arceisios gat one only son Laertes,

And he one only son, Ulysses; I,

Ulysses’ son, am too his only child:

And he hath left his house the prey of foes.

I cannot aid thee, stranger.

Ul.O would that IWere young as thou, and in my present mood;That I were this Ulysses or his son:Far rather would I die slain in my hallsBy my thick foes, than see this reckless wrong;My good farms plundered, and my herds devoured,580My red wine wasted, and my handmaidensHither and thither haled about, at willOf such a rabble as fear not God nor man,Spoilers and robbers, who have set their heartsVainly upon a purpose, which I sayShall never be accomplished.

Ul.O would that I

Were young as thou, and in my present mood;

That I were this Ulysses or his son:

Far rather would I die slain in my halls

By my thick foes, than see this reckless wrong;

My good farms plundered, and my herds devoured,

My red wine wasted, and my handmaidens

Hither and thither haled about, at will

Of such a rabble as fear not God nor man,

Spoilers and robbers, who have set their hearts

Vainly upon a purpose, which I say

Shall never be accomplished.

Athena appears at the door to Ulysses.

Tel.I pray the godsIt never be, and thank thee well, my friend,For thy good will.

Tel.I pray the gods

It never be, and thank thee well, my friend,

For thy good will.

Eum.How art thou moved, old man.

Ul.The heart unmoved by others’ wrongs is dead:And yet maybe I am somewhat overwrought;If I may go within ...

Ul.The heart unmoved by others’ wrongs is dead:

And yet maybe I am somewhat overwrought;

If I may go within ...

590Eum.Ay, go within,And rest thee; thou hast need.

Eum.Ay, go within,

And rest thee; thou hast need.

Ul.I thank thee, friend.I’ll lay me down to sleep: here I but shackleYour private talk.

Ul.I thank thee, friend.

I’ll lay me down to sleep: here I but shackle

Your private talk.

Eum.Be at thy ease, I pray.

Tel.Go, father; rest thee well.

Ul.I thank thee, sir.[Exit.

Eum.How earnest thou, son? Where didst thou land?

Tel.Is’t trueThe wooers sent a ship?

Tel.Is’t true

The wooers sent a ship?

Eum.Didst thou not meet them?

Tel.Hark now, and hear in what strange manner warnedI knew their ambush, to avoid them.

Tel.Hark now, and hear in what strange manner warned

I knew their ambush, to avoid them.

Eum.Ah!Thou knewest it, thou knewest!

Eum.Ah!

Thou knewest it, thou knewest!

Tel.Wilt thou think600I was at Sparta but three days ago?There in my sleep the goddess, at whose wordI made this voyage, came and stood beside me,Called me by name, and bade me quick return;And for my safety warned me that a ship’Twixt Ithaca and Samè lay in wait;Which if I would avoid I must sail round,Keeping the west of the isle; and for that voyageShe promised a fair wind. So the next mornWas I at Pylos; whence as I set forth,610I found the wind, and sailing day and night,With swift unbroken passage came to shoreLast evening north of the isle. Hither aloneI passed in the dark, and sent my ship about.

Tel.Wilt thou think

I was at Sparta but three days ago?

There in my sleep the goddess, at whose word

I made this voyage, came and stood beside me,

Called me by name, and bade me quick return;

And for my safety warned me that a ship

’Twixt Ithaca and Samè lay in wait;

Which if I would avoid I must sail round,

Keeping the west of the isle; and for that voyage

She promised a fair wind. So the next morn

Was I at Pylos; whence as I set forth,

I found the wind, and sailing day and night,

With swift unbroken passage came to shore

Last evening north of the isle. Hither alone

I passed in the dark, and sent my ship about.

Eum.That was well done: I praise the gods for that.I knew that they would save thee.

Eum.That was well done: I praise the gods for that.

I knew that they would save thee.

Tel.But, Eumæus,What of the ship? What knowest thou? What means it?Were all agreed plotting my life together,Or whose deed is it?

Tel.But, Eumæus,

What of the ship? What knowest thou? What means it?

Were all agreed plotting my life together,

Or whose deed is it?

Eum.One rancorous spirit rules them,—Save Lord Amphinomus, who stands as ever620Within the bounds: of all the rest there’s noneThat would not take thy life by stealth, nor oneWho openly would dare.

Eum.One rancorous spirit rules them,—

Save Lord Amphinomus, who stands as ever

Within the bounds: of all the rest there’s none

That would not take thy life by stealth, nor one

Who openly would dare.

Tel.Who sailed the ship?

Eum.Antinous.

Tel.Ah!

Eum.And if I die to avenge it,Son, he shall pay for it.

Eum.And if I die to avenge it,

Son, he shall pay for it.

Tel.Talk, I pray, of safety,Not of revenge. Shall I make bold to goStraight to the house, or must I hide me here?

Tel.Talk, I pray, of safety,

Not of revenge. Shall I make bold to go

Straight to the house, or must I hide me here?

Eum.Bide, son, bide! ’Tis not safe. Let me go, son.When once ’tis known in the isle that thou’rt returned,Then thou mayst shew thyself. The cowards fear630The love the people bear thee. Let me go.

Eum.Bide, son, bide! ’Tis not safe. Let me go, son.

When once ’tis known in the isle that thou’rt returned,

Then thou mayst shew thyself. The cowards fear

The love the people bear thee. Let me go.

Tel.Is all else well?

Eum.All’s well where ill is well.

Tel.Eumæus, I’ll not venture yet: but thouHaste to the house, and in my mother’s earWhisper I am here: but let none other guessThat thou hast tidings of me.

Tel.Eumæus, I’ll not venture yet: but thou

Haste to the house, and in my mother’s ear

Whisper I am here: but let none other guess

That thou hast tidings of me.

Eum.Not to tellThy grandsire, son? He scarce hath eat or drunkWhile thou hast been away: ’twere well he knew,And quickly; for an hour is much to oneWhose life leans on the grave.

Eum.Not to tell

Thy grandsire, son? He scarce hath eat or drunk

While thou hast been away: ’twere well he knew,

And quickly; for an hour is much to one

Whose life leans on the grave.

Tel.My safe return640Can be no secret, but my hiding-placeMust not be known: therefore I would not haveThee for my herald. Thou mayst bid my motherSend one to comfort him; but go not thouWandering among the hills. My bidding done,Make swift return. I shall be here.

Tel.My safe return

Can be no secret, but my hiding-place

Must not be known: therefore I would not have

Thee for my herald. Thou mayst bid my mother

Send one to comfort him; but go not thou

Wandering among the hills. My bidding done,

Make swift return. I shall be here.

Eum.I prayLet not that old man here come round thee, son,With idle stories of thy sire: he is fullOf tales of Troy: and if he win thine earHe hath a purpose.

Eum.I pray

Let not that old man here come round thee, son,

With idle stories of thy sire: he is full

Of tales of Troy: and if he win thine ear

He hath a purpose.

Tel.He! Nay, trust me, father.

650Eum.Well, he will try.

Eum.Well, he will try.

Tel.Fear not.

Eum.He hath a tongue:He saith he fought at Ilion. Then, he saithHe knew Ulysses.

Eum.He hath a tongue:

He saith he fought at Ilion. Then, he saith

He knew Ulysses.

Tel.Saith he so?

Eum.And thenHe hath been in Lacedæmon too.

Eum.And then

He hath been in Lacedæmon too.

Tel.His talkWhile thou’rt away may well beguile the time.

Tel.His talk

While thou’rt away may well beguile the time.

Eum.Ay, and thee too. Thou hast not heard, I fear,Aught of thy father now, where thou hast been?

Eum.Ay, and thee too. Thou hast not heard, I fear,

Aught of thy father now, where thou hast been?

Tel.Somewhat, but nothing recent. What I knowI’ll tell thee later. Thou couldst gather noughtFrom this old man?

Tel.Somewhat, but nothing recent. What I know

I’ll tell thee later. Thou couldst gather nought

From this old man?

Eum.He is cunning: didst thou see660How he could counterfeit? I tell thee, son,He hath not been here an hour, and never knewAught of thy father; but he plucks from meThe story word by word, and then at onceBursts out,—he knew Ulysses: ay, he stayedEating to speak of him.

Eum.He is cunning: didst thou see

How he could counterfeit? I tell thee, son,

He hath not been here an hour, and never knew

Aught of thy father; but he plucks from me

The story word by word, and then at once

Bursts out,—he knew Ulysses: ay, he stayed

Eating to speak of him.

Tel.What said he of him?

Eum.I would not hear him, son: I would not hear him.

Tel.Think you he lied?

Eum.Ay, ay. Why, how believeThy father now is in Thesprotia,Where the king Pheidon hath a ship all storedTo bring him home?

Eum.Ay, ay. Why, how believe

Thy father now is in Thesprotia,

Where the king Pheidon hath a ship all stored

To bring him home?

670Tel.Eumæus, good Eumæus!What if ’tis true?

Tel.Eumæus, good Eumæus!

What if ’tis true?

Eum.True! There, ’tis as I thought:I would not leave thee with him, son; he is quick:He will delude thee.

Eum.True! There, ’tis as I thought:

I would not leave thee with him, son; he is quick:

He will delude thee.

Tel.I must hear his tale,Though it be false. Go thou: my ship will elseBe round before thee. Go, and never fearThat this old man will turn my head.

Tel.I must hear his tale,

Though it be false. Go thou: my ship will else

Be round before thee. Go, and never fear

That this old man will turn my head.

Eum.Be warned.Trust him not, son. There is something strange about himI like not.

Eum.Be warned.

Trust him not, son. There is something strange about him

I like not.

Tel.Come: as far as to the gateI will go with thee.[Exeunt.

Tel.Come: as far as to the gate

I will go with thee.[Exeunt.

Re-enter Ulysses as himself.

Ul.Lo! now the sun in the mid goal of heavenHath climbed to view my fortunes, and my shade682On this well-trodden floor falls neither way:So towers my genius; so my future and pastLie gathered for the moment.—How oft in dreams,When longing hath forecast this hour, I have lovedThe rescuing tears that loosed my heart: and nowThe womanish water wells, I bid it back:For nature stammers in me, and I see689Imagination hath a grasp of joyFiner than sense; and my most passionate spirit,When most it should leap forth, hangs back unwillingTo officer the trembling instruments,By which delight is served. Back, then, my tears!Fate rules; reason should fashion me.—And welcomeEven this harshness of fate; for if my sonShall know me as I am, not as a merchantShould I return at ease, that men might askWhether Ulysses were returned or no;Rather in blood than doubt.—Here on this bench700I’ll wait him, nor myself be first to speak:And ’twill be tried for once how a man’s sonShall know his father, never having seen him.

Ul.Lo! now the sun in the mid goal of heaven

Hath climbed to view my fortunes, and my shade

On this well-trodden floor falls neither way:

So towers my genius; so my future and past

Lie gathered for the moment.—How oft in dreams,

When longing hath forecast this hour, I have loved

The rescuing tears that loosed my heart: and now

The womanish water wells, I bid it back:

For nature stammers in me, and I see

Imagination hath a grasp of joy

Finer than sense; and my most passionate spirit,

When most it should leap forth, hangs back unwilling

To officer the trembling instruments,

By which delight is served. Back, then, my tears!

Fate rules; reason should fashion me.—And welcome

Even this harshness of fate; for if my son

Shall know me as I am, not as a merchant

Should I return at ease, that men might ask

Whether Ulysses were returned or no;

Rather in blood than doubt.—Here on this bench

I’ll wait him, nor myself be first to speak:

And ’twill be tried for once how a man’s son

Shall know his father, never having seen him.

Re-enter Telemachus.

Tel.Why, who art thou? Not he that on this benchSattest so late! In truth I much mistook thee,Or thou art changed. Thy hair was thin and white,Thy body rough and pinched with age, thy clothesWere meanest rags. Say art thou he, the same,Eumæus’ guest from the Thesprotian ship?

Tel.Why, who art thou? Not he that on this bench

Sattest so late! In truth I much mistook thee,

Or thou art changed. Thy hair was thin and white,

Thy body rough and pinched with age, thy clothes

Were meanest rags. Say art thou he, the same,

Eumæus’ guest from the Thesprotian ship?

Ul.Ay, son, I am.

Tel.Surely thou art a god.Be gracious to our house![Kneels.

Tel.Surely thou art a god.

Be gracious to our house![Kneels.

710Ul.(rising).Nay, rise, my son.I am no god. Why wilt thou liken meTo those immortals? I am thy father, son,Ulysses to my home at last returned.[Kisses him.

Ul.(rising).Nay, rise, my son.

I am no god. Why wilt thou liken me

To those immortals? I am thy father, son,

Ulysses to my home at last returned.[Kisses him.

Tel.Alas, thou art a god, and thy words mock me.

Ul.Thou knowest me not.[Sits.

Tel.Say, if thou wert a man,How couldst thou put that change of semblance on,Which only gods may use?

Tel.Say, if thou wert a man,

How couldst thou put that change of semblance on,

Which only gods may use?

Ul.The wise AthenaUses me as she will: then was I oldThat none might know me; now I am myself720That thou mayst know.—’Tis I.

Ul.The wise Athena

Uses me as she will: then was I old

That none might know me; now I am myself

That thou mayst know.—’Tis I.

Tel.Father! my father!O, happy day.[Weeps on his neck.

Tel.Father! my father!

O, happy day.[Weeps on his neck.

Ul.Thy kisses, O, my son:Thy kisses and thy tears, my son, my son.

Ul.Thy kisses, O, my son:

Thy kisses and thy tears, my son, my son.

Tel.O, thou art come. O, happy, happy day.

Ul.I am come, Telemachus: but how to know’Tis I?

Ul.I am come, Telemachus: but how to know

’Tis I?

Tel.O, I am sure; who could be like thee?I knew too thou wouldst come, dear father, and yetI never honoured thee enough: I thoughtI should be worthy of thee: now I fear ...

Tel.O, I am sure; who could be like thee?

I knew too thou wouldst come, dear father, and yet

I never honoured thee enough: I thought

I should be worthy of thee: now I fear ...

Ul.I must be unlike thy thought, son; but in thee730I see myself again of twenty years:Nay, I was somewhat thicker, but maybeThat will make up; and thou hast got insteadThy mother’s grace. ’Tis true we mostly shapeLess to the father.

Ul.I must be unlike thy thought, son; but in thee

I see myself again of twenty years:

Nay, I was somewhat thicker, but maybe

That will make up; and thou hast got instead

Thy mother’s grace. ’Tis true we mostly shape

Less to the father.

Tel.How, sire, didst thou come?

Ul.A good Phæacian ship brought me last night.I came to land in the dark: and all the spoilsI have brought with me are hidden in the cave,738Till we may fetch them forth.

Ul.A good Phæacian ship brought me last night.

I came to land in the dark: and all the spoils

I have brought with me are hidden in the cave,

Till we may fetch them forth.

Tel.First come thou home.

Ul.And would I might. The hope of twenty yearsIs gathered in this hour. Come home, thou sayst:Ah, son; and would I might; but what of themThat stop the way?

Ul.And would I might. The hope of twenty years

Is gathered in this hour. Come home, thou sayst:

Ah, son; and would I might; but what of them

That stop the way?

Tel.The suitors of my mother?O, they will fly to hear of thy return.

Tel.The suitors of my mother?

O, they will fly to hear of thy return.

Ul.They must not fly. All, where they have done me wrong,Must with their lives atone. This is the causeOf my disguise, that none should know me hereBut thou, to whom alone I am revealed,That plotting with thee I may draw the netAbout them. This the goddess bids me, son;To slay thy mother’s wooers.

Ul.They must not fly. All, where they have done me wrong,

Must with their lives atone. This is the cause

Of my disguise, that none should know me here

But thou, to whom alone I am revealed,

That plotting with thee I may draw the net

About them. This the goddess bids me, son;

To slay thy mother’s wooers.

750Tel.Father, I knowThou art unmatchable among the GreeksIn warriorship and wisdom, ay, and hereIs none would dare to face thee: yet by tensThey reckon, and I fear would overpower theeBy very number.

Tel.Father, I know

Thou art unmatchable among the Greeks

In warriorship and wisdom, ay, and here

Is none would dare to face thee: yet by tens

They reckon, and I fear would overpower thee

By very number.

Ul.Say: how many be they?

Tel.Out of Dulichium there be two and fiftyPrinces and lords, each with his serving-man:From Samè, four and twenty: from ZakynthusA score; and even of Ithaca itself760Twelve of the best, with Phemius the bard,Medon, and many followers: ’gainst all theseWe are but two.

Tel.Out of Dulichium there be two and fifty

Princes and lords, each with his serving-man:

From Samè, four and twenty: from Zakynthus

A score; and even of Ithaca itself

Twelve of the best, with Phemius the bard,

Medon, and many followers: ’gainst all these

We are but two.

Ul.I fear them not, my son.

Tel.Seek other aid, I pray, ere ’gainst so manyWe venture.

Tel.Seek other aid, I pray, ere ’gainst so many

We venture.

Ul.What, son, sayst thou, if AthenaAnd father Zeus aid us? will they, thou thinkest,Suffice, or must we cast about to findSome other champion?

Ul.What, son, sayst thou, if Athena

And father Zeus aid us? will they, thou thinkest,

Suffice, or must we cast about to find

Some other champion?

Tel.Truly they are the bestThou namest, father; tho’ among the cloudsTheir seat is, and their countenance withheldFrom mortal men.

Tel.Truly they are the best

Thou namest, father; tho’ among the clouds

Their seat is, and their countenance withheld

From mortal men.

770Ul.They will not hold aloof,When once our spears are plunging in the breastsOf that vain rabble. Goes thy heart with mine?

Ul.They will not hold aloof,

When once our spears are plunging in the breasts

Of that vain rabble. Goes thy heart with mine?

Tel.With thee and for thee, father, will I fight,Askest thou?

Tel.With thee and for thee, father, will I fight,

Askest thou?

Ul.Wilt thou bear to look on meAs late thou sawest me, and seeing me so,Find not the least diminishment of love?

Ul.Wilt thou bear to look on me

As late thou sawest me, and seeing me so,

Find not the least diminishment of love?

Tel.I never shall forget this godlike mien,Whence to disguise thou deignest as a god.

Tel.I never shall forget this godlike mien,

Whence to disguise thou deignest as a god.

Ul.But when thou seest me mocked and scorned, a slave,780A beggar where I am lord, wilt thou discoverNo indignation?

Ul.But when thou seest me mocked and scorned, a slave,

A beggar where I am lord, wilt thou discover

No indignation?

Tel.I will hide my wrath.

Ul.For I must be thy guest among my foes.

Tel.To be my guest, if they should set upon theeTo drive thee forth, will force me to resist.

Tel.To be my guest, if they should set upon thee

To drive thee forth, will force me to resist.

Ul.Fear not the threatenings of those doomèd men.

Tel.They all are armed, and thou wilt be unarmed.

Ul.Tho’ they provoke me I will bide my time.

Tel.But how if they assault thee unprepared?

Ul.The goddess will withhold their impious hands.

790Tel.Lurk rather here until the plot be ripe.

Tel.Lurk rather here until the plot be ripe.

Ul.Nay, son; and were the lure of home less strongTo me so long deprived, yet would I seeMyself the wrongs there done me, see the shameOf which men speak; and, once within the hall,I can take count and measure of my foes.A just cause, bold heart, and the aid of heavenShould still thy fear.

Ul.Nay, son; and were the lure of home less strong

To me so long deprived, yet would I see

Myself the wrongs there done me, see the shame

Of which men speak; and, once within the hall,

I can take count and measure of my foes.

A just cause, bold heart, and the aid of heaven

Should still thy fear.

Tel.Tell me thy bidding, father!

Ul.Ay, so ’tis best: and thro’ thee I may comeTo see thy mother;—hark, the course is plain:800Go to the town; announce thine own return;Thence to the house, and to Eumæus sayThou wilt receive me; he must know no more:Bid him to-morrow fetch me to the hall.And when thou seest thy mother, tell her thus;Thou hast seen a stranger in Eumæus’ hut,Who having known thy father, carries newsThat he is near. As to confirm thy tale,Bring her to speech with me when none are by.Ourselves may meet at night, and then consult810In secret on what stratagem may growFrom that occasion, or what further thingThe goddess may command.

Ul.Ay, so ’tis best: and thro’ thee I may come

To see thy mother;—hark, the course is plain:

Go to the town; announce thine own return;

Thence to the house, and to Eumæus say

Thou wilt receive me; he must know no more:

Bid him to-morrow fetch me to the hall.

And when thou seest thy mother, tell her thus;

Thou hast seen a stranger in Eumæus’ hut,

Who having known thy father, carries news

That he is near. As to confirm thy tale,

Bring her to speech with me when none are by.

Ourselves may meet at night, and then consult

In secret on what stratagem may grow

From that occasion, or what further thing

The goddess may command.

Tel.Now thy disguiseIs my chief fear, father; I know these men:Their insolent assumption would not brookAny intruder, but against a beggarThey will make sport of outrage.

Tel.Now thy disguise

Is my chief fear, father; I know these men:

Their insolent assumption would not brook

Any intruder, but against a beggar

They will make sport of outrage.

Ul.Sayst thou so?Then shall we prove them thus: be they good menThey will show pity: if they mock my rags,Try if they honour thee; and bid them make,820Each of his own, a portion unto me.I then shall see their hearts: the more they rage,Force them the more with full authority.This canst thou well do. ’Tis thy harder taskNot to betray me. Youth is bold of heartAnd hot in battle, but to guard the tongueAnd to restrain the hand come with long years.

Ul.Sayst thou so?

Then shall we prove them thus: be they good men

They will show pity: if they mock my rags,

Try if they honour thee; and bid them make,

Each of his own, a portion unto me.

I then shall see their hearts: the more they rage,

Force them the more with full authority.

This canst thou well do. ’Tis thy harder task

Not to betray me. Youth is bold of heart

And hot in battle, but to guard the tongue

And to restrain the hand come with long years.

Tel.Now let this trial prove me once for all,Whether in keeping counsel and in battleI am thy true son, or another man.

Tel.Now let this trial prove me once for all,

Whether in keeping counsel and in battle

I am thy true son, or another man.

830Ul.All hangs on thee; for none but thou must know,Not even thy mother. Tell me, I would learnIf in her thought I am alive or dead;And what thine own mind was, fear not to say.

Ul.All hangs on thee; for none but thou must know,

Not even thy mother. Tell me, I would learn

If in her thought I am alive or dead;

And what thine own mind was, fear not to say.

Tel.Truly ’twixt hope and hopelessness, we stoodIn blank uncertainty; and if not yetOur wishes wore the colour of our fears,Now was the turn.

Tel.Truly ’twixt hope and hopelessness, we stood

In blank uncertainty; and if not yet

Our wishes wore the colour of our fears,

Now was the turn.

Ul.I come then not too soon?

Tel.Nay, nor too late.

Ul.’Tis well, but time is short;Tarry no longer. Get thee home, and there840Ordain a sacrifice, such as befitsThis day of days: such as may well contentThe favourable deities, and appeaseThe unfriendly. Guess, son, if thy heart is stirred,How ’tis with me. The ties of home are dear,And what a man is born to, both the place,Where’er it be, that hath received his beingOut of oblivion, and given his mindThe shapes and hues of earth, the sights of heaven,The place whence he sets forth to meet strange things,850Whither returns to find his own, himself;This bides, the harbour of his fancy,—and draws himSpite of all else from world’s end to world’s end.And more, more dear, are those whose place it was,Whose name he is called by, whom he calls his own,Whose love hath borne and nurtured him, whose lifeHe is offshoot of and diligent support.This love thou knowest, and being to-day returnedBut from short voyage, mayst in little gaugeMy joy returning after many years.860But what thou know’st not—mayst thou come to know!—I’ll tell thee. There be ties dearer than placeOr parents; there be bonds that break in piecesThe hearts that break them, and whose severanceIs more than banishment. Boy, ’tis thy motherThat makes this Ithaca the world to me;These tears are hers: and seeing thee, my son,Whose picture I have carried in my heart,And year by year have checked and altered stillWith vain imagination to thy growth870Since last I left thee fondled in her arms,I learn how dear art thou. Now on thy browI’ll set this kiss. Begone and do my bidding.The goddess calls me: I must take againThat shape which late thou saw’st me in. Farewell.Forget not when I am changèd what I am.

Ul.’Tis well, but time is short;

Tarry no longer. Get thee home, and there

Ordain a sacrifice, such as befits

This day of days: such as may well content

The favourable deities, and appease

The unfriendly. Guess, son, if thy heart is stirred,

How ’tis with me. The ties of home are dear,

And what a man is born to, both the place,

Where’er it be, that hath received his being

Out of oblivion, and given his mind

The shapes and hues of earth, the sights of heaven,

The place whence he sets forth to meet strange things,

Whither returns to find his own, himself;

This bides, the harbour of his fancy,—and draws him

Spite of all else from world’s end to world’s end.

And more, more dear, are those whose place it was,

Whose name he is called by, whom he calls his own,

Whose love hath borne and nurtured him, whose life

He is offshoot of and diligent support.

This love thou knowest, and being to-day returned

But from short voyage, mayst in little gauge

My joy returning after many years.

But what thou know’st not—mayst thou come to know!—

I’ll tell thee. There be ties dearer than place

Or parents; there be bonds that break in pieces

The hearts that break them, and whose severance

Is more than banishment. Boy, ’tis thy mother

That makes this Ithaca the world to me;

These tears are hers: and seeing thee, my son,

Whose picture I have carried in my heart,

And year by year have checked and altered still

With vain imagination to thy growth

Since last I left thee fondled in her arms,

I learn how dear art thou. Now on thy brow

I’ll set this kiss. Begone and do my bidding.

The goddess calls me: I must take again

That shape which late thou saw’st me in. Farewell.

Forget not when I am changèd what I am.

Tel.Thy first commands are dear, sire; I obey.

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