BOOK IV

BOOK IVARGUMENTTelemachus, with Pisistratus, arrives at the palace of Menelaus, from whom he receives some fresh information concerning the return of the Greecians, and is in particular told on the authority of Proteus, that his father is detained by Calypso. The suitors, plotting against the life of Telemachus, lie in wait to intercept him in his return to Ithaca. Penelope being informed of his departure, and of their designs to slay him, becomes inconsolable, but is relieved by a dream sent to her from Minerva.In hollow Lacedæmon’s spacious valeArriving, to the house they drove directOf royal Menelaus; him they foundIn his own palace, all his num’rous friendsRegaling at a nuptial banquet giv’nBoth for his daughter and the prince his son.His daughter to renown’d Achilles’ heirHe sent, to whom he had at Troy engagedTo give her, and the Gods now made her his.With chariots and with steeds he sent her forth10To the illustrious city where the prince,Achilles’ offspring, ruled the Myrmidons.But to his son he gave a Spartan fair,Alector’s daughter; from an handmaid sprangThat son to Menelaus in his age,Brave Megapenthes; for the Gods no childTo Helen gave, made mother, once, of herWho vied in perfect loveliness of formWith golden Venus’ self, Hermione.Thus all the neighbour princes and the friends20Of noble Menelaus, feasting satWithin his spacious palace, among whomA sacred bard sang sweetly to his harp,While, in the midst, two dancers smote the groundWith measur’d steps responsive to his song.And now the Heroes, Nestor’s noble sonAnd young Telemachus arrived withinThe vestibule, whom, issuing from the hall,The noble Eteoneus of the trainOf Menelaus, saw; at once he ran30Across the palace to report the newsTo his Lord’s ear, and, standing at his side,In accents wing’d with haste thus greeted him.Oh Menelaus! Heav’n descended Chief!Two guests arrive, both strangers, but the raceOf Jove supreme resembling each in form.Say, shall we loose, ourselves, their rapid steeds,Or hence dismiss them to some other host?But Menelaus, Hero golden-hair’d,Indignant answer’d him. Boethe’s son!40Thou wast not, Eteoneus, heretofore,A babbler, who now pratest as a child.We have ourselves arrived indebted muchTo hospitality of other men,If Jove shall, even here, some pause at lastOf woe afford us. Therefore loose, at once,Their steeds, and introduce them to the feast.He said, and, issuing, Eteoneus call’dThe brisk attendants to his aid, with whomHe loos’d their foaming coursers from the yoke.50Them first they bound to mangers, which with oatsAnd mingled barley they supplied, then thrustThe chariot sidelong to the splendid wall.9Themselves he, next, into the royal houseConducted, who survey’d, wond’ring, the abodeOf the heav’n-favour’d King; for on all sidesAs with the splendour of the sun or moonThe lofty dome of Menelaus blazed.Satiate, at length, with wonder at that sight,They enter’d each a bath, and by the hands60Of maidens laved, and oil’d, and cloath’d againWith shaggy mantles and resplendent vests,Sat both enthroned at Menelaus’ side.And now a maiden charged with golden ew’r,And with an argent laver, pouring firstPure water on their hands, supplied them nextWith a bright table, which the maiden, chiefIn office, furnish’d plenteously with breadAnd dainties, remnants of the last regale.Then came the sew’r, who with delicious meats70Dish after dish, served them, and placed besideThe chargers cups magnificent of gold,When Menelaus grasp’d their hands, and said.Eat and rejoice, and when ye shall have sharedOur nuptial banquet, we will then inquireWho are ye both, for, certain, not from thoseWhose generation perishes are ye,But rather of some race of sceptred ChiefsHeav’n-born; the base have never sons like you.So saying, he from the board lifted his own80Distinguish’d portion, and the fatted chineGave to his guests; the sav’ry viands theyWith outstretch’d hands assail’d, and when the forceNo longer now of appetite they felt,Telemachus, inclining close his headTo Nestor’s son, lest others should his speechWitness, in whisper’d words him thus address’d.Dearest Pisistratus, observe, my friend!How all the echoing palace with the lightOf beaming brass, of gold and amber shines90Silver and ivory! for radiance suchTh’ interior mansion of Olympian JoveI deem. What wealth, how various, how immenseIs here! astonish’d I survey the sight!But Menelaus, golden-hair’d, his speechO’erhearing, thus in accents wing’d repliedMy children! let no mortal man pretendComparison with Jove; for Jove’s abodeAnd all his stores are incorruptible.But whether mortal man with me may vie100In the display of wealth, or whether not,This know, that after many toils endured,And perilous wand’rings wide, in the eighth yearI brought my treasures home. Remote I rovedTo Cyprus, to Phœnice, to the shoresOf Ægypt; Æthiopia’s land I reach’d,Th’ Erembi, the Sidonians, and the coastsOf Lybia, where the lambs their foreheads shewAt once with horns defended, soon as yean’d.There, thrice within the year the flocks produce,110Nor master, there, nor shepherd ever feelsA dearth of cheese, of flesh, or of sweet milkDelicious, drawn from udders never dry.While, thus, commodities on various coastsGath’ring I roam’d, another, by the artsOf his pernicious spouse aided, of lifeBereav’d my brother privily, and when leastHe fear’d to lose it. Therefore little joyTo me results from all that I possess.Your fathers (be those fathers who they may)120These things have doubtless told you; for immenseHave been my suff’rings, and I have destroy’dA palace well inhabited and storedWith precious furniture in ev’ry kind;Such, that I would to heav’n! I own’d at homeThough but the third of it, and that the GreeksWho perish’d then, beneath the walls of TroyFar from steed-pastured Argos, still survived.Yet while, sequester’d here, I frequent mournMy slaughter’d friends, by turns I sooth my soul130With tears shed for them, and by turns againI cease; for grief soon satiates free indulged.But of them all, although I all bewail,None mourn I so as one, whom calling backTo memory, I both sleep and food abhor.For, of Achaia’s sons none ever toiledStrenuous as Ulysses; but his lotWas woe, and unremitting sorrow mineFor his long absence, who, if still he live,We know not aught, or be already dead.140Him doubtless, old Laertes mourns, and himDiscrete Penelope, nor less his sonTelemachus, born newly when he sail’d.So saying, he kindled in him strong desireTo mourn his father; at his father’s nameFast fell his tears to ground, and with both handsHe spread his purple cloak before his eyes;Which Menelaus marking, doubtful satIf he should leave him leisure for his tears,Or question him, and tell him all at large.150While thus he doubted, Helen (as it chanced)Leaving her fragrant chamber, came, augustAs Dian, goddess of the golden bow.Adrasta, for her use, set forth a throne,Alcippe with soft arras cover’d it,And Philo brought her silver basket, giftOf fair Alcandra, wife of Polybus,Whose mansion in Ægyptian Thebes is richIn untold treasure, and who gave, himself,Ten golden talents, and two silver baths160To Menelaus, with two splendid tripodsBeside the noble gifts which, at the handOf his illustrious spouse, Helen receiv’d;A golden spindle, and a basket wheel’d,Itself of silver, and its lip of gold.That basket Philo, her own handmaid, placedAt beauteous Helen’s side, charged to the brimWith slender threads, on which the spindle layWith wool of purple lustre wrapp’d around.Approaching, on her foot-stool’d throne she sat,170And, instant, of her royal spouse enquired.Know we, my Menelaus, dear to Jove!These guests of ours, and whence they have arrived?Erroneous I may speak, yet speak I must;In man or woman never have I seenSuch likeness to another (wonder-fixtI gaze) as in this stranger to the sonOf brave Ulysses, whom that Hero leftNew-born at home, when (shameless as I was)For my unworthy sake the Greecians sailed180To Ilium, with fierce rage of battle fir’d.Then Menelaus, thus, the golden-hair’d.I also such resemblance find in himAs thou; such feet, such hands, the cast of eye10Similar, and the head and flowing locks.And even now, when I Ulysses named,And his great sufferings mention’d, in my cause,The bitter tear dropp’d from his lids, while broadBefore his eyes his purple cloak he spread.To whom the son of Nestor thus replied.190Atrides! Menelaus! Chief renown’d!He is in truth his son, as thou hast said,But he is modest, and would much himselfCondemn, if, at his first arrival here,He should loquacious seem and bold to thee,To whom we listen, captived by thy voice,As if some God had spoken. As for me,Nestor, my father, the Gerenian ChiefBade me conduct him hither, for he wish’dTo see thee, promising himself from thee200The benefit of some kind word or deed.For, destitute of other aid, he muchHis father’s tedious absence mourns at home.So fares Telemachus; his father straysRemote, and, in his stead, no friend hath heWho might avert the mischiefs that he feels.To whom the Hero amber-hair’d replied.Ye Gods! the offspring of indeed a friendHath reach’d my house, of one who hath enduredArduous conflicts num’rous for my sake;210And much I purpos’d, had Olympian JoveVouchsaf’d us prosp’rous passage o’er the Deep,To have receiv’d him with such friendship hereAs none beside. In Argos I had thenFounded a city for him, and had rais’dA palace for himself; I would have broughtThe Hero hither, and his son, with allHis people, and with all his wealth, some townEvacuating for his sake, of thoseRuled by myself, and neighb’ring close my own.220Thus situate, we had often interchangedSweet converse, nor had other cause at lastOur friendship terminated or our joys,Than death’s black cloud o’ershadowing him or me.But such delights could only envy moveEv’n in the Gods, who have, of all the Greeks,Amerc’dhimonly of his wish’d return.So saying, he kindled the desire to weepIn ev’ry bosom. Argive Helen weptAbundant, Jove’s own daughter; wept as fast230Telemachus and Menelaus both;Nor Nestor’s son with tearless eyes remain’d,Calling to mind Antilochus11by the son12Illustrious of the bright Aurora slain,Rememb’ring whom, in accents wing’d he said.Atrides! antient Nestor, when of lateConversing with him, we remember’d thee,Pronounced thee wise beyond all human-kind.Now therefore, let not even my adviceDisplease thee. It affords me no delight240To intermingle tears with my repast,And soon, Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Will tinge the orient. Not that I accountDue lamentation of a friend deceasedBlameworthy, since, to sheer the locks and weep,Is all we can for the unhappy dead.I also have my grief, call’d to lamentOne, not the meanest of Achaia’s sons,My brother; him I cannot but supposeTo thee well-known, although unknown to me250Who saw him never;13but report proclaimsAntilochus superior to the most,In speed superior, and in feats of arms.To whom, the Hero of the yellow locks.O friend belov’d! since nought which thou hast saidOr recommended now, would have disgracedA man of years maturer far than thine,(For wise thy father is, and such art thou,And easy is it to discern the sonOf such a father, whom Saturnian Jove260In marriage both and at his birth ordain’dTo great felicity; for he hath giv’nTo Nestor gradually to sink at homeInto old age, and, while he lives, to seeHis sons past others wise, and skill’d in arms)The sorrow into which we sudden fellShall pause. Come—now remember we the feast;Pour water on our hands, for we shall find,(Telemachus and I) no dearth of themesFor mutual converse when the day shall dawn.270He ended; then, Asphalion, at his word,Servant of glorious Menelaus, pouredPure water on their hands, and they the feastBefore them with keen appetite assail’d.But Jove-born Helen otherwise, meantime,Employ’d, into the wine of which they drankA drug infused, antidote to the painsOf grief and anger, a most potent charmFor ills of ev’ry name. Whoe’er his wineSo medicated drinks, he shall not pour280All day the tears down his wan cheek, althoughHis father and his mother both were dead,Nor even though his brother or his sonHad fall’n in battle, and before his eyes.Such drugs Jove’s daughter own’d, with skill prepar’d,And of prime virtue, by the wife of Thone,Ægyptian Polydamna, giv’n her.For Ægypt teems with drugs, yielding no fewWhich, mingled with the drink, are good, and manyOf baneful juice, and enemies to life.290There ev’ry man in skill medicinalExcels, for they are sons of Pæon all.That drug infused, she bade her servant pourThe bev’rage forth, and thus her speech resumed.Atrides! Menelaus! dear to Jove!These also are the sons of Chiefs renown’d,(For Jove, as pleases him, to each assignsOr good or evil, whom all things obey)Now therefore, feasting at your ease reclin’d,Listen with pleasure, for myself, the while,300Will matter seasonable interpose.I cannot all rehearse, nor even name,(Omitting none) the conflicts and exploitsOf brave Ulysses; but with what addressSuccessful, one atchievement he perform’dAt Ilium, where Achaia’s sons enduredSuch hardship, will I speak. Inflicting woundsDishonourable on himself, he tookA tatter’d garb, and like a serving-manEnter’d the spacious city of your foes.310So veil’d, some mendicant he seem’d, althoughNo Greecian less deserved that name than he.In such disguise he enter’d; all alikeMisdeem’d him; me alone he not deceivedWho challeng’d him, but, shrewd, he turn’d away.At length, however, when I had myselfBathed him, anointed, cloath’d him, and had swornNot to declare him openly in TroyTill he should reach again the camp and fleet,He told me the whole purpose of the Greeks.320Then, (many a Trojan slaughter’d,) he regain’dThe camp, and much intelligence he boreTo the Achaians. Oh what wailing thenWas heard of Trojan women! but my heartExulted, alter’d now, and wishing home;For now my crime committed under forceOf Venus’ influence I deplored, what timeShe led me to a country far remote,A wand’rer from the matrimonial bed,From my own child, and from my rightful Lord330Alike unblemish’d both in form and mind.Her answer’d then the Hero golden-hair’d.Helen! thou hast well spoken. All is true.I have the talents fathom’d and the mindsOf num’rous Heroes, and have travell’d farYet never saw I with these eyes in manSuch firmness as the calm Ulysses own’d;None such as in the wooden horse he proved,Where all our bravest sat, designing woeAnd bloody havoc for the sons of Troy.340Thou thither cam’st, impell’d, as it should seem,By some divinity inclin’d to giveVictory to our foes, and with thee cameGodlike Deiphobus. Thrice round aboutThe hollow ambush, striking with thy handIts sides thou went’st, and by his name didst callEach prince of Greece feigning his consort’s voice.Myself with Diomede, and with divineUlysses, seated in the midst, the callHeard plain and loud; we (Diomede and I)350With ardour burn’d either to quit the horseSo summon’d, or to answer from within.But, all impatient as we were, UlyssesControul’d the rash design; so there the sonsOf the Achaians silent sat and mute,And of us all Anticlus would aloneHave answer’d; but Ulysses with both handsCompressing close his lips, saved us, nor ceasedTill Pallas thence conducted thee again.Then thus, discrete, Telemachus replied.360Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d!Hard was his lot whom these rare qualitiesPreserved not, neither had his dauntless heartBeen iron, had he scaped his cruel doom.But haste, dismiss us hence, that on our bedsReposed, we may enjoy sleep, needful now.He ceas’d; then Argive Helen gave commandTo her attendant maidens to prepareBeds in the portico with purple rugsResplendent, and with arras, overspread,370And cover’d warm with cloaks of shaggy pile.Forth went the maidens, bearing each a torch,And spread the couches; next, the herald themLed forth, and in the vestibule the sonOf Nestor and the youthful Hero slept,Telemachus; but in the interior houseAtrides, with the loveliest of her sexBeside him, Helen of the sweeping stole.But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Glow’d in the East, then from his couch arose380The warlike Menelaus, fresh attir’d;His faulchion o’er his shoulders slung, he boundHis sandals fair to his unsullied feet,And like a God issuing, at the sideSat of Telemachus, to whom he spake.Hero! Telemachus! what urgent causeHath hither led thee, to the land far-famedOf Lacedæmon o’er the spacious Deep?Public concern or private? Tell me true.To whom Telemachus discrete replied.390Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d!News seeking of my Sire, I have arrived.My household is devour’d, my fruitful fieldsAre desolated, and my palace fill’dWith enemies, who while they mutual wageProud competition for my mother’s love,My flocks continual slaughter, and my beeves.For this cause, at thy knees suppliant, I begThat thou wouldst tell me his disastrous end,If either thou beheld’st with thine own eyes400His death, or from some wand’rer of the GreeksHast heard it; for no common woes, alas!Was he ordain’d to share ev’n from the womb.Neither through pity or o’erstrain’d respectFlatter me, but explicit all relateWhich thou hast witness’d. If my noble SireE’er gratified thee by performance justOf word or deed at Ilium, where ye fellSo num’rous slain in fight, oh recollectNow his fidelity, and tell me true!410Then Menelaus, sighing deep, replied.Gods! their ambition is to reach the bedOf a brave man, however base themselves.But as it chances, when the hart hath lay’dHer fawns new-yean’d and sucklings yet, to restWithin some dreadful lion’s gloomy den,She roams the hills, and in the grassy valesFeeds heedless, till the lion, to his lairReturn’d, destroys her and her little-ones,So them thy Sire shall terribly destroy.420Jove, Pallas and Apollo! oh that suchAs erst in well-built Lesbos, where he stroveWith Philomelides, and threw him flat,A sight at which Achaia’s sons rejoic’d,Such, now, Ulysses might assail them all!Short life and bitter nuptials should be theirs.But thy enquiries neither indirectWill I evade, nor give thee false reply,But all that from the Antient of the Deep14I have receiv’d will utter, hiding nought.430As yet the Gods on Ægypt’s shore detainedMe wishing home, angry at my neglectTo heap their altars with slain hecatombs.For they exacted from us evermoreStrict rev’rence of their laws. There is an isleAmid the billowy flood, Pharos by name,In front of Ægypt, distant from her shoreFar as a vessel by a sprightly galeImpell’d, may push her voyage in a day.The haven there is good, and many a ship440Finds wat’ring there from riv’lets on the coast.There me the Gods kept twenty days, no breezePropitious granting, that might sweep the waves,And usher to her home the flying bark.And now had our provision, all consumed,Left us exhausted, but a certain nymphPitying saved me. Daughter fair was sheOf mighty Proteus, Antient of the Deep,Idothea named; her most my sorrows moved;She found me from my followers all apart450Wand’ring (for they around the isle, with hooksThe fishes snaring roamed, by famine urged)And standing at my side, me thus bespake.Stranger! thou must be ideot born, or weakAt least in intellect, or thy delightIs in distress and mis’ry, who delay’stTo leave this island, and no egress henceCanst find, although thy famish’d people faint.So spake the Goddess, and I thus replied.I tell thee, whosoever of the Pow’rs460Divine thou art, that I am prison’d hereNot willingly, but must have, doubtless, sinn’dAgainst the deathless tenants of the skies.Yet say (for the Immortals all things know)What God detains me, and my course forbidsHence to my country o’er the fishy Deep?So I; to whom the Goddess all-divine.Stranger! I will inform thee true. A seerOracular, the Antient of the Deep,Immortal Proteus, the Ægyptian, haunts470These shores, familiar with all Ocean’s gulphs,And Neptune’s subject. He is by reportMy father; him if thou art able onceTo seize and bind, he will prescribe the courseWith all its measured distances, by whichThou shalt regain secure thy native shores.He will, moreover, at thy suit declare,Thou favour’d of the skies! what good, what illHath in thine house befall’n, while absent thouThy voyage difficult perform’st and long.480She spake, and I replied—Thyself revealBy what effectual bands I may secureThe antient Deity marine, lest, warn’dOf my approach, he shun me and escape.Hard task for mortal hands to bind a God!Then thus Idothea answer’d all-divine.I will inform thee true. Soon as the sunHath climb’d the middle heav’ns, the prophet old,Emerging while the breezy zephyr blows,And cover’d with the scum of ocean, seeks490His spacious cove, in which outstretch’d he lies.The phocæ15also, rising from the waves,Offspring of beauteous Halosydna, sleepAround him, num’rous, and the fishy scentExhaling rank of the unfathom’d flood.Thither conducting thee at peep of dayI will dispose thee in some safe recess,But from among thy followers thou shalt chuseThe bravest three in all thy gallant fleet.And now the artifices understand500Of the old prophet of the sea. The sumOf all his phocæ numb’ring duly first,He will pass through them, and when all by fivesHe counted hath, will in the midst reposeContent, as sleeps the shepherd with his flock.When ye shall see him stretch’d, then call to mindThat moment all your prowess, and prevent,Howe’er he strive impatient, his escape.All changes trying, he will take the formOf ev’ry reptile on the earth, will seem510A river now, and now devouring fire;But hold him ye, and grasp him still the more.And when himself shall question you, restoredTo his own form in which ye found him firstReposing, then from farther force abstain;Then, Hero! loose the Antient of the Deep,And ask him, of the Gods who checks thy courseHence to thy country o’er the fishy flood.So saying, she plunged into the billowy waste.I then, in various musings lost, my ships520Along the sea-beach station’d sought again,And when I reach’d my galley on the shoreWe supp’d, and sacred night falling from heav’n,Slept all extended on the ocean-side.But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Look’d rosy forth, pensive beside the shoreI walk’d of Ocean, frequent to the GodsPraying devout, then chose the fittest threeFor bold assault, and worthiest of my trust.Meantime the Goddess from the bosom wide530Of Ocean rising, brought us thence four skinsOf phocæ, and all newly stript, a snareContriving subtle to deceive her Sire.Four cradles in the sand she scoop’d, then satExpecting us, who in due time approach’d;She lodg’d us side by side, and over eachA raw skin cast. Horrible to ourselvesProved that disguise whom the pernicious scentOf the sea-nourish’d phocæ sore annoy’d;For who would lay him down at a whale’s side?540But she a potent remedy devisedHerself to save us, who the nostrils sooth’dOf each with pure ambrosia thither broughtOdorous, which the fishy scent subdued.All morning, patient watchers, there we lay;And now the num’rous phocæ from the DeepEmerging, slept along the shore, and heAt noon came also, and perceiving thereHis fatted monsters, through the flock his courseTook regular, and summ’d them; with the first550He number’d us, suspicion none of fraudConceiving, then couch’d also. We, at once,Loud-shouting flew on him, and in our armsConstrain’d him fast; nor the sea-prophet oldCall’d not incontinent his shifts to mind.First he became a long-maned lion grim,Then dragon, panther then, a savage boar,A limpid stream, and an o’ershadowing tree.We persevering held him, till at lengthThe Antient of the Deep, skill’d as he is560In wiles, yet weary, question’d me, and said.Oh Atreus’ son, by what confed’rate GodInstructed liest thou in wait for me,To seize and hold me? what is thy desire?So He; to whom thus answer I return’d.Old Seer! thou know’st; why, fraudful, should’st thou ask?It is because I have been prison’d longWithin this isle, whence I have sought in vainDeliv’rance, till my wonted courage fails.Yet say (for the Immortals all things know)570What God detains me, and my course forbidsHence to my country o’er the fishy Deep?So I; when thus the old one of the waves.But thy plain duty16was to have adoredJove, first, in sacrifice, and all the Gods,That then embarking, by propitious galesImpell’d, thou might’st have reach’d thy country soon.For thou art doom’d ne’er to behold againThy friends, thy palace, or thy native shores,Till thou have seen once more the hallow’d flood580Of Ægypt, and with hecatombs adoredDevout, the deathless tenants of the skies.Then will they speed thee whither thou desir’st.He ended, and my heart broke at his words,Which bade me pass again the gloomy gulphTo Ægypt; tedious course, and hard to atchieve!Yet, though in sorrow whelm’d, I thus replied.Old prophet! I will all thy will perform.But tell me, and the truth simply reveal;Have the Achaians with their ships arrived590All safe, whom Nestor left and I, at Troy?Or of the Chiefs have any in their barks,Or in their followers’ arms found a dire deathUnlook’d for, since that city’s siege we closed?I spake, when answer thus the God return’d.Atrides, why these questions? Need is noneThat thou should’st all my secrets learn, which onceReveal’d, thou would’st not long dry-eyed remain.Of those no few have died, and many live;But leaders, two alone, in their return600Have died (thou also hast had war to wage)And one, still living, roams the boundless sea.Ajax,17surrounded by his galleys, died.Him Neptune, first, against the bulky rocksThe Gyræ drove, but saved him from the Deep;Nor had he perish’d, hated as he wasBy Pallas, but for his own impious boastIn frenzy utter’d that he would escapeThe billows, even in the Gods’ despight.Neptune that speech vain-glorious hearing, grasp’d610His trident, and the huge Gyræan rockSmiting indignant, dash’d it half away;Part stood, and part, on which the boaster satWhen, first, the brainsick fury seiz’d him, fell,Bearing him with it down into the gulphsOf Ocean, where he drank the brine, and died.But thy own brother in his barks escapedThat fate, by Juno saved; yet when, at length,He should have gain’d Malea’s craggy shore,Then, by a sudden tempest caught, he flew620With many a groan far o’er the fishy DeepTo the land’s utmost point, where once his homeThyestes had, but where Thyestes’ sonDwelt then, Ægisthus. Easy lay his courseAnd open thence, and, as it pleased the Gods,The shifted wind soon bore them to their home.He, high in exultation, trod the shoreThat gave him birth, kiss’d it, and, at the sight,The welcome sight of Greece, shed many a tear.Yet not unseen he landed; for a spy,630One whom the shrewd Ægisthus had seducedBy promise of two golden talents, mark’dHis coming from a rock where he had watch’dThe year complete, lest, passing unperceived,The King should reassert his right in arms.Swift flew the spy with tidings to this Lord,And He, incontinent, this project framedInsidious. Twenty men, the boldest heartsOf all the people, from the rest he chose,Whom he in ambush placed, and others charged640Diligent to prepare the festal board.With horses, then, and chariots forth he droveFull-fraught with mischief, and conducting homeThe unsuspicious King, amid the feastSlew him, as at his crib men slay an ox.Nor of thy brother’s train, nor of his trainWho slew thy brother, one survived, but all,Welt’ring in blood together, there expired.He ended, and his words beat on my heartAs they would break it. On the sands I sat650Weeping, nor life nor light desiring more.But when I had in dust roll’d me, and weptTo full satiety, mine ear againThe oracle of Ocean thus address’d.Sit not, O son of Atreus! weeping hereLonger, for remedy can none be found;But quick arising, trial make, how bestThou shalt, and soonest, reach thy home again.For either him still living thou shalt find,Or ere thou come, Orestes shall have slain660The traytor, and thine eyes shall see his tomb.He ceas’d, and I, afflicted as I was,Yet felt my spirit at that word refresh’d,And in wing’d accents answer thus return’d.Of these I am inform’d; but name the thirdWho, dead or living, on the boundless DeepIs still detain’d; I dread, yet wish to hear.So I; to whom thus Proteus in return.Laertes’ son, the Lord of Ithaca—Him in an island weeping I beheld,670Guest of the nymph Calypso, by constraintHer guest, and from his native land withheldBy sad necessity; for ships well-oar’d,Or faithful followers hath he none, whose aidMight speed him safely o’er the spacious flood.But, Menelaus dear to Jove! thy fateOrdains not thee the stroke of death to meetIn steed-fam’d Argos, but far hence the GodsWill send thee to Elysium, and the earth’sExtremest bounds; (there Rhadamanthus dwells,680The golden-hair’d, and there the human kindEnjoy the easiest life; no snow is there,No biting winter, and no drenching show’r,But zephyr always gently from the seaBreathes on them to refresh the happy race)For that fair Helen is by nuptial bandsThy own, and thou art son-in-law of Jove.So saying, he plunged into the billowy waste,I then, with my brave comrades to the fleetReturn’d, deep-musing as I went, and sad.690No sooner had I reach’d my ship besideThe ocean, and we all had supp’d, than nightFrom heav’n fell on us, and, at ease reposedAlong the margin of the sea, we slept.But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Look’d rosy forth, drawing our galleys downInto the sacred Deep, we rear’d againThe mast, unfurl’d the sail, and to our seatsOn board returning, thresh’d the foamy flood.Once more, at length, within the hallow’d stream700Of Ægypt mooring, on the shore I slewWhole hecatombs, and (the displeasure thusOf the immortal Gods appeased) I rearedTo Agamemnon’s never-dying fameA tomb, and finishing it, sail’d againWith such a gale from heaven vouchsafed, as sentMy ships swift-scudding to the shores of Greece.But come—eleven days wait here, or twelveA guest with me, when I will send thee henceNobly, and honour’d with illustrious gifts,710With polish’d chariot, with three princely steeds,And with a gorgeous cup, that to the GodsLibation pouring ever while thou liv’stFrom that same cup, thou may’st remember me.Him, prudent, then answer’d Telemachus.Atrides, seek not to detain me hereLong time; for though contented I could sitThe year beside thee, nor regret my homeOr parents, (so delightful thy discourseSounds in my ear) yet, even now, I know,720That my attendants to the Pylian shoreWish my return, whom thou thus long detain’st.What boon soe’er thou giv’st me, be it suchAs I may treasur’d keep; but horses noneTake I to Ithaca; them rather farKeep thou, for thy own glory. Thou art LordOf an extended plain, where copious springsThe lotus, herbage of all savours, wheat,Pulse, and white barley of luxuriant growth.But Ithaca no level champaign owns,730A nursery of goats, and yet a landFairer than even pastures to the eye.No sea-encircled isle of ours affordsSmooth course commodious and expanse of meads,But my own Ithaca transcends them all!He said; the Hero Menelaus smiled,And stroaking tenderly his cheek, replied.Dear youth! thy speech proclaims thy noble blood.I can with ease supply thee from withinWith what shall suit thee better, and the gift740Of all that I possess which most excelsIn beauty, and the noblest shall be thine.I give thee, wrought elaborate, a cupItself all silver, bound with lip of gold.It is the work of Vulcan, which to meThe Hero Phædimus imparted, KingOf the Sidonians, when on my returnHis house received me. That shall be thy own.Thus they conferr’d; and now the busy trainOf menials culinary,18at the gate750Enter’d of Menelaus, Chief renown’d;They brought him sheep, with heart-ennobling wine,While all their wives, their brows with frontlets bound,Came charg’d with bread. Thus busy they preparedA banquet in the mansion of the King.Meantime, before Ulysses’ palace gateThe suitors sported with the quoit and spearOn the smooth area, customary sceneOf all their strife and angry clamour loud.There sat Antinoüs, and the godlike youth760Eurymachus, superior to the restAnd Chiefs among them, to whom Phronius’ sonNoëmon drawing nigh, with anxious mienQuestion’d Antinoüs, and thus began.Know we, Antinoüs! or know we not,When to expect Telemachus at homeAgain from Pylus? in my ship he went,Which now I need, that I may cross the seaTo Elis, on whose spacious plain I feedTwelve mares, each suckling a mule-colt as yet770Unbroken, but of which I purpose oneTo ferry thence, and break him into use.He spake, whom they astonish’d heard; for himThey deem’d not to Nelëian Pylus gone,But haply into his own fields, his flocksTo visit, or the steward of his swine.Then thus, Eupithes’ son, Antinoüs, spake.Say true. When sail’d he forth? of all our youth,Whom chose he for his followers? his own trainOf slaves and hirelings? hath he pow’r to effect780This also? Tell me too, for I would learn—Took he perforce thy sable bark away,Or gav’st it to him at his first demand?To whom Noëmon, Phronius’ son, replied.I gave it voluntary; what could’st thou,Should such a prince petition for thy barkIn such distress? Hard were it to refuse.Brave youths (our bravest youths except yourselves)Attend him forth; and with them I observedMentor embarking, ruler o’er them all,790Or, if not him, a God; for such he seem’d.But this much moves my wonder. Yester-mornI saw, at day-break, noble Mentor here,Whom shipp’d for Pylus I had seen before.He ceas’d; and to his father’s house return’d;They, hearing, sat aghast. Their games meantimeFinish’d, the suitors on their seats reposed,To whom Eupithes’ son, Antinoüs, next,Much troubled spake; a black storm overchargedHis bosom, and his vivid eyes flash’d fire.800Ye Gods, a proud exploit is here atchieved,This voyage of Telemachus, by usPronounced impracticable; yet the boyIn downright opposition to us all,Hath headlong launched a ship, and, with a bandSelected from our bravest youth, is gone.He soon will prove more mischievous, whose pow’rJove wither, ere we suffer its effects!But give me a swift bark with twenty rowers,That, watching his return within the streights810Of rocky Samos and of Ithaca,I may surprise him; so shall he have sail’dTo seek his Sire, fatally for himself.He ceased and loud applause heard in reply,With warm encouragement. Then, rising all,Into Ulysses’ house at once they throng’d.Nor was Penelope left uninformedLong time of their clandestine plottings deep,For herald Medon told her all, whose earTheir councils caught while in the outer-court820He stood, and they that project framed within.Swift to Penelope the tale he bore,Who as he pass’d the gate, him thus address’d.For what cause, herald! have the suitors sentThee foremost? Wou’d they that my maidens layTheir tasks aside, and dress the board for them?Here end their wooing! may they hence departNever, and may the banquet now prepared,This banquet prove your last!19who in such throngsHere meeting, waste the patrimony fair830Of brave Telemachus; ye never, sure,When children, heard how gracious and how goodUlysses dwelt among your parents, noneOf all his people, or in word or deedInjuring, as great princes oft are wont,By favour influenc’d now, now by disgust.He no man wrong’d at any time; but plainYour wicked purpose in your deeds appears,Who sense have none of benefits conferr’d.Then Medon answer’d thus, prudent, return’d.840Oh Queen! may the Gods grant this prove the worst.But greater far and heavier ills than thisThe suitors plan, whose counsels Jove confound!Their base desire and purpose are to slayTelemachus on his return; for he,To gather tidings of his Sire is goneTo Pylus, or to Sparta’s land divine.He said; and where she stood, her trembling kneesFail’d under her, and all her spirits went.Speechless she long remain’d, tears filled her eyes,850And inarticulate in its passage diedHer utt’rance, till at last with pain she spake.Herald! why went my son? he hath no needOn board swift ships to ride, which are to manHis steeds that bear him over seas remote.Went he, that, with himself, his very nameMight perish from among mankind for ever?Then answer, thus, Medon the wise return’d.I know not whether him some God impell’dOr his own heart to Pylus, there to hear860News of his Sire’s return, or by what fateAt least he died, if he return no more.He said, and traversing Ulysses’ courts,Departed; she with heart consuming woeO’erwhelm’d, no longer could endure to takeRepose on any of her num’rous seats,But on the threshold of her chamber-doorLamenting sat, while all her female trainAround her moan’d, the antient and the young,Whom, sobbing, thus Penelope bespake.870Hear me, ye maidens! for of women bornCoeval with me, none hath e’er receivedSuch plenteous sorrow from the Gods as I,Who first my noble husband lost, enduedWith courage lion-like, of all the GreeksThe Chief with ev’ry virtue most adorn’d,A prince all-excellent, whose glorious praiseThrough Hellas and all Argos flew diffused.And now, my darling son,—him storms have snatch’dFar hence inglorious, and I knew it not.880Ah treach’rous servants! conscious as ye wereOf his design, not one of you the thoughtConceived to wake me when he went on board.For had but the report once reach’d my ear,He either had not gone (how much soe’erHe wish’d to leave me) or had left me dead.But haste ye,—bid my antient servant come,Dolion, whom (when I left my father’s houseHe gave me, and whose office is to attendMy num’rous garden-plants) that he may seek890At once Laertes, and may tell him all,Who may contrive some remedy, perchance,Or fit expedient, and shall come abroadTo weep before the men who wish to slayEven the prince, godlike Ulysses’ son.Then thus the gentle Euryclea spake,Nurse of Telemachus. Alas! my Queen!Slay me, or spare, deal with me as thou wilt,I will confess the truth. I knew it all.I gave him all that he required from me.900Both wine and bread, and, at his bidding, sworeTo tell thee nought in twelve whole days to come,Or till, enquiry made, thou should’st thyselfLearn his departure, lest thou should’st impairThy lovely features with excess of grief.But lave thyself, and, fresh attired, ascendTo thy own chamber, there, with all thy train,To worship Pallas, who shall save, thenceforth,Thy son from death, what ills soe’er he meet.Add not fresh sorrows to the present woes910Of the old King, for I believe not yetArcesias’ race entirely by the GodsRenounced, but trust that there shall still be foundAmong them, who shall dwell in royal state,And reap the fruits of fertile fields remote.So saying, she hush’d her sorrow, and her eyesNo longer stream’d. Then, bathed and fresh attired,Penelope ascended with her trainThe upper palace, and a basket storedWith hallow’d cakes off’ring, to Pallas pray’d.920Hear matchless daughter of Jove Ægis-arm’d!If ever wise Ulysses offer’d hereThe thighs of fatted kine or sheep to thee,Now mindful of his piety, preserveHis darling son, and frustrate with a frownThe cruelty of these imperious guests!She said, and wept aloud, whose earnest suitPallas received. And now the spacious hallAnd gloomy passages with tumult rangAnd clamour of that throng, when thus, a youth,930Insolent as his fellows, dared to speak.Much woo’d and long, the Queen at length preparesTo chuse another mate,20and nought suspectsThe bloody death to which her son is doom’d.So he; but they, meantime, themselves remain’dUntaught, what course the dread concern elsewhereHad taken, whom Antinoüs thus address’d.Sirs! one and all, I counsel you, bewareOf such bold boasting unadvised; lest oneO’erhearing you, report your words within.940No—rather thus, in silence, let us moveTo an exploit so pleasant to us all.He said, and twenty chose, the bravest there,With whom he sought the galley on the shore,Which drawing down into the deep, they placedThe mast and sails on board, and, sitting, next,Each oar in order to its proper groove,Unfurl’d and spread their canvas to the gale.Their bold attendants, then, brought them their arms,And soon as in deep water they had moor’d950The ship, themselves embarking, supp’d on board,And watch’d impatient for the dusk of eve.But when Penelope, the palace stairsRemounting, had her upper chamber reach’d,There, unrefresh’d with either food or wine,She lay’d her down, her noble son the themeOf all her thoughts, whether he should escapeHis haughty foes, or perish by their hands.Num’rous as are the lion’s thoughts, who sees,Not without fear, a multitude with toils960Encircling him around, such num’rous thoughtsHer bosom occupied, till sleep at lengthInvading her, she sank in soft repose.Then Pallas, teeming with a new design,Set forth an airy phantom in the formOf fair Iphthima, daughter of the braveIcarius, and Eumelus’ wedded wifeIn Pheræ. Shaped like her the dream she sentInto the mansion of the godlike ChiefUlysses, with kind purpose to abate970The sighs and tears of sad Penelope.Ent’ring the chamber-portal, where the boltSecured it, at her head the image stood,And thus, in terms compassionate, began.Sleep’st thou, distress’d Penelope? The Gods,Happy in everlasting rest themselves,Forbid thy sorrows. Thou shalt yet beholdThy son again, who hath by no offenceIncurr’d at any time the wrath of heav’n.To whom, sweet-slumb’ring in the shadowy gate980By which dreams pass, Penelope replied.What cause, my sister, brings thee, who art seenUnfrequent here, for that thou dwell’st remote?And thou enjoin’st me a cessation tooFrom sorrows num’rous, and which, fretting, wearMy heart continual; first, my spouse I lostWith courage lion-like endow’d, a princeAll-excellent, whose never-dying praiseThrough Hellas and all Argos flew diffused;And now my only son, new to the toils990And hazards of the sea, nor less untaughtThe arts of traffic, in a ship is goneFar hence, for whose dear cause I sorrow moreThan for his Sire himself, and even shakeWith terror, lest he perish by their handsTo whom he goes, or in the stormy Deep;For num’rous are his foes, and all intentTo slay him, ere he reach his home again.Then answer thus the shadowy form return’d.Take courage; suffer not excessive dread1000To overwhelm thee, such a guide he hathAnd guardian, one whom many wish their friend,And ever at their side, knowing her pow’r,Minerva; she compassionates thy griefs,And I am here her harbinger, who speakAs thou hast heard by her own kind command.Then thus Penelope the wise replied.Oh! if thou art a goddess, and hast heardA Goddess’ voice, rehearse to me the lotOf that unhappy one, if yet he live1010Spectator of the cheerful beams of day,Or if, already dead, he dwell below.Whom answer’d thus the fleeting shadow vain.I will not now inform thee if thy LordLive, or live not. Vain words are best unspoken.So saying, her egress swift beside the boltShe made, and melted into air. UpsprangFrom sleep Icarius’ daughter, and her heartFelt heal’d within her, by that dream distinctVisited in the noiseless night serene.1020Meantime the suitors urged their wat’ry way,To instant death devoting in their heartsTelemachus. There is a rocky isleIn the mid sea, Samos the rude betweenAnd Ithaca, not large, named Asteris.It hath commodious havens, into whichA passage clear opens on either side,And there the ambush’d Greeks his coming watch’d.9Hesychius tells us, that the Greecians ornamented with much attention the front wall of their courts for the admiration of passengers.10Οφθαλμῶν τε βολαι.11Antilochus was his brother.12The son of Aurora, who slew Antilochus, was Memnon.13Because Pisistratus was born after Antilochus had sailed to Troy.14Proteus15Seals, or sea-calves.16From the abruptness of this beginning, Virgil, probably, who has copied the story, took the hint of his admired exordium.Nam quis te, juvenum confidentissime, nostras.Egit adire domos.17Son of Oïleus.18Δαιτυμων—generally signifies the founder of a feast; but we are taught by Eustathius to understand by it, in this place, the persons employed in preparing it.19This transition from the third to the second person belongs to the original, and is considered as a fine stroke of art in the poet, who represents Penelope in the warmth of her resentment, forgetting where she is, and addressing the suitors as if present.20Mistaking, perhaps, the sound of her voice, and imagining that she sang.—Vide Barnes in loco.

Telemachus, with Pisistratus, arrives at the palace of Menelaus, from whom he receives some fresh information concerning the return of the Greecians, and is in particular told on the authority of Proteus, that his father is detained by Calypso. The suitors, plotting against the life of Telemachus, lie in wait to intercept him in his return to Ithaca. Penelope being informed of his departure, and of their designs to slay him, becomes inconsolable, but is relieved by a dream sent to her from Minerva.

In hollow Lacedæmon’s spacious valeArriving, to the house they drove directOf royal Menelaus; him they foundIn his own palace, all his num’rous friendsRegaling at a nuptial banquet giv’nBoth for his daughter and the prince his son.His daughter to renown’d Achilles’ heirHe sent, to whom he had at Troy engagedTo give her, and the Gods now made her his.With chariots and with steeds he sent her forth10To the illustrious city where the prince,Achilles’ offspring, ruled the Myrmidons.But to his son he gave a Spartan fair,Alector’s daughter; from an handmaid sprangThat son to Menelaus in his age,Brave Megapenthes; for the Gods no childTo Helen gave, made mother, once, of herWho vied in perfect loveliness of formWith golden Venus’ self, Hermione.Thus all the neighbour princes and the friends20Of noble Menelaus, feasting satWithin his spacious palace, among whomA sacred bard sang sweetly to his harp,While, in the midst, two dancers smote the groundWith measur’d steps responsive to his song.And now the Heroes, Nestor’s noble sonAnd young Telemachus arrived withinThe vestibule, whom, issuing from the hall,The noble Eteoneus of the trainOf Menelaus, saw; at once he ran30Across the palace to report the newsTo his Lord’s ear, and, standing at his side,In accents wing’d with haste thus greeted him.Oh Menelaus! Heav’n descended Chief!Two guests arrive, both strangers, but the raceOf Jove supreme resembling each in form.Say, shall we loose, ourselves, their rapid steeds,Or hence dismiss them to some other host?But Menelaus, Hero golden-hair’d,Indignant answer’d him. Boethe’s son!40Thou wast not, Eteoneus, heretofore,A babbler, who now pratest as a child.We have ourselves arrived indebted muchTo hospitality of other men,If Jove shall, even here, some pause at lastOf woe afford us. Therefore loose, at once,Their steeds, and introduce them to the feast.He said, and, issuing, Eteoneus call’dThe brisk attendants to his aid, with whomHe loos’d their foaming coursers from the yoke.50Them first they bound to mangers, which with oatsAnd mingled barley they supplied, then thrustThe chariot sidelong to the splendid wall.9Themselves he, next, into the royal houseConducted, who survey’d, wond’ring, the abodeOf the heav’n-favour’d King; for on all sidesAs with the splendour of the sun or moonThe lofty dome of Menelaus blazed.Satiate, at length, with wonder at that sight,They enter’d each a bath, and by the hands60Of maidens laved, and oil’d, and cloath’d againWith shaggy mantles and resplendent vests,Sat both enthroned at Menelaus’ side.And now a maiden charged with golden ew’r,And with an argent laver, pouring firstPure water on their hands, supplied them nextWith a bright table, which the maiden, chiefIn office, furnish’d plenteously with breadAnd dainties, remnants of the last regale.Then came the sew’r, who with delicious meats70Dish after dish, served them, and placed besideThe chargers cups magnificent of gold,When Menelaus grasp’d their hands, and said.Eat and rejoice, and when ye shall have sharedOur nuptial banquet, we will then inquireWho are ye both, for, certain, not from thoseWhose generation perishes are ye,But rather of some race of sceptred ChiefsHeav’n-born; the base have never sons like you.So saying, he from the board lifted his own80Distinguish’d portion, and the fatted chineGave to his guests; the sav’ry viands theyWith outstretch’d hands assail’d, and when the forceNo longer now of appetite they felt,Telemachus, inclining close his headTo Nestor’s son, lest others should his speechWitness, in whisper’d words him thus address’d.Dearest Pisistratus, observe, my friend!How all the echoing palace with the lightOf beaming brass, of gold and amber shines90Silver and ivory! for radiance suchTh’ interior mansion of Olympian JoveI deem. What wealth, how various, how immenseIs here! astonish’d I survey the sight!But Menelaus, golden-hair’d, his speechO’erhearing, thus in accents wing’d repliedMy children! let no mortal man pretendComparison with Jove; for Jove’s abodeAnd all his stores are incorruptible.But whether mortal man with me may vie100In the display of wealth, or whether not,This know, that after many toils endured,And perilous wand’rings wide, in the eighth yearI brought my treasures home. Remote I rovedTo Cyprus, to Phœnice, to the shoresOf Ægypt; Æthiopia’s land I reach’d,Th’ Erembi, the Sidonians, and the coastsOf Lybia, where the lambs their foreheads shewAt once with horns defended, soon as yean’d.There, thrice within the year the flocks produce,110Nor master, there, nor shepherd ever feelsA dearth of cheese, of flesh, or of sweet milkDelicious, drawn from udders never dry.While, thus, commodities on various coastsGath’ring I roam’d, another, by the artsOf his pernicious spouse aided, of lifeBereav’d my brother privily, and when leastHe fear’d to lose it. Therefore little joyTo me results from all that I possess.Your fathers (be those fathers who they may)120These things have doubtless told you; for immenseHave been my suff’rings, and I have destroy’dA palace well inhabited and storedWith precious furniture in ev’ry kind;Such, that I would to heav’n! I own’d at homeThough but the third of it, and that the GreeksWho perish’d then, beneath the walls of TroyFar from steed-pastured Argos, still survived.Yet while, sequester’d here, I frequent mournMy slaughter’d friends, by turns I sooth my soul130With tears shed for them, and by turns againI cease; for grief soon satiates free indulged.But of them all, although I all bewail,None mourn I so as one, whom calling backTo memory, I both sleep and food abhor.For, of Achaia’s sons none ever toiledStrenuous as Ulysses; but his lotWas woe, and unremitting sorrow mineFor his long absence, who, if still he live,We know not aught, or be already dead.140Him doubtless, old Laertes mourns, and himDiscrete Penelope, nor less his sonTelemachus, born newly when he sail’d.So saying, he kindled in him strong desireTo mourn his father; at his father’s nameFast fell his tears to ground, and with both handsHe spread his purple cloak before his eyes;Which Menelaus marking, doubtful satIf he should leave him leisure for his tears,Or question him, and tell him all at large.150While thus he doubted, Helen (as it chanced)Leaving her fragrant chamber, came, augustAs Dian, goddess of the golden bow.Adrasta, for her use, set forth a throne,Alcippe with soft arras cover’d it,And Philo brought her silver basket, giftOf fair Alcandra, wife of Polybus,Whose mansion in Ægyptian Thebes is richIn untold treasure, and who gave, himself,Ten golden talents, and two silver baths160To Menelaus, with two splendid tripodsBeside the noble gifts which, at the handOf his illustrious spouse, Helen receiv’d;A golden spindle, and a basket wheel’d,Itself of silver, and its lip of gold.That basket Philo, her own handmaid, placedAt beauteous Helen’s side, charged to the brimWith slender threads, on which the spindle layWith wool of purple lustre wrapp’d around.Approaching, on her foot-stool’d throne she sat,170And, instant, of her royal spouse enquired.Know we, my Menelaus, dear to Jove!These guests of ours, and whence they have arrived?Erroneous I may speak, yet speak I must;In man or woman never have I seenSuch likeness to another (wonder-fixtI gaze) as in this stranger to the sonOf brave Ulysses, whom that Hero leftNew-born at home, when (shameless as I was)For my unworthy sake the Greecians sailed180To Ilium, with fierce rage of battle fir’d.Then Menelaus, thus, the golden-hair’d.I also such resemblance find in himAs thou; such feet, such hands, the cast of eye10Similar, and the head and flowing locks.And even now, when I Ulysses named,And his great sufferings mention’d, in my cause,The bitter tear dropp’d from his lids, while broadBefore his eyes his purple cloak he spread.To whom the son of Nestor thus replied.190Atrides! Menelaus! Chief renown’d!He is in truth his son, as thou hast said,But he is modest, and would much himselfCondemn, if, at his first arrival here,He should loquacious seem and bold to thee,To whom we listen, captived by thy voice,As if some God had spoken. As for me,Nestor, my father, the Gerenian ChiefBade me conduct him hither, for he wish’dTo see thee, promising himself from thee200The benefit of some kind word or deed.For, destitute of other aid, he muchHis father’s tedious absence mourns at home.So fares Telemachus; his father straysRemote, and, in his stead, no friend hath heWho might avert the mischiefs that he feels.To whom the Hero amber-hair’d replied.Ye Gods! the offspring of indeed a friendHath reach’d my house, of one who hath enduredArduous conflicts num’rous for my sake;210And much I purpos’d, had Olympian JoveVouchsaf’d us prosp’rous passage o’er the Deep,To have receiv’d him with such friendship hereAs none beside. In Argos I had thenFounded a city for him, and had rais’dA palace for himself; I would have broughtThe Hero hither, and his son, with allHis people, and with all his wealth, some townEvacuating for his sake, of thoseRuled by myself, and neighb’ring close my own.220Thus situate, we had often interchangedSweet converse, nor had other cause at lastOur friendship terminated or our joys,Than death’s black cloud o’ershadowing him or me.But such delights could only envy moveEv’n in the Gods, who have, of all the Greeks,Amerc’dhimonly of his wish’d return.So saying, he kindled the desire to weepIn ev’ry bosom. Argive Helen weptAbundant, Jove’s own daughter; wept as fast230Telemachus and Menelaus both;Nor Nestor’s son with tearless eyes remain’d,Calling to mind Antilochus11by the son12Illustrious of the bright Aurora slain,Rememb’ring whom, in accents wing’d he said.Atrides! antient Nestor, when of lateConversing with him, we remember’d thee,Pronounced thee wise beyond all human-kind.Now therefore, let not even my adviceDisplease thee. It affords me no delight240To intermingle tears with my repast,And soon, Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Will tinge the orient. Not that I accountDue lamentation of a friend deceasedBlameworthy, since, to sheer the locks and weep,Is all we can for the unhappy dead.I also have my grief, call’d to lamentOne, not the meanest of Achaia’s sons,My brother; him I cannot but supposeTo thee well-known, although unknown to me250Who saw him never;13but report proclaimsAntilochus superior to the most,In speed superior, and in feats of arms.To whom, the Hero of the yellow locks.O friend belov’d! since nought which thou hast saidOr recommended now, would have disgracedA man of years maturer far than thine,(For wise thy father is, and such art thou,And easy is it to discern the sonOf such a father, whom Saturnian Jove260In marriage both and at his birth ordain’dTo great felicity; for he hath giv’nTo Nestor gradually to sink at homeInto old age, and, while he lives, to seeHis sons past others wise, and skill’d in arms)The sorrow into which we sudden fellShall pause. Come—now remember we the feast;Pour water on our hands, for we shall find,(Telemachus and I) no dearth of themesFor mutual converse when the day shall dawn.270He ended; then, Asphalion, at his word,Servant of glorious Menelaus, pouredPure water on their hands, and they the feastBefore them with keen appetite assail’d.But Jove-born Helen otherwise, meantime,Employ’d, into the wine of which they drankA drug infused, antidote to the painsOf grief and anger, a most potent charmFor ills of ev’ry name. Whoe’er his wineSo medicated drinks, he shall not pour280All day the tears down his wan cheek, althoughHis father and his mother both were dead,Nor even though his brother or his sonHad fall’n in battle, and before his eyes.Such drugs Jove’s daughter own’d, with skill prepar’d,And of prime virtue, by the wife of Thone,Ægyptian Polydamna, giv’n her.For Ægypt teems with drugs, yielding no fewWhich, mingled with the drink, are good, and manyOf baneful juice, and enemies to life.290There ev’ry man in skill medicinalExcels, for they are sons of Pæon all.That drug infused, she bade her servant pourThe bev’rage forth, and thus her speech resumed.Atrides! Menelaus! dear to Jove!These also are the sons of Chiefs renown’d,(For Jove, as pleases him, to each assignsOr good or evil, whom all things obey)Now therefore, feasting at your ease reclin’d,Listen with pleasure, for myself, the while,300Will matter seasonable interpose.I cannot all rehearse, nor even name,(Omitting none) the conflicts and exploitsOf brave Ulysses; but with what addressSuccessful, one atchievement he perform’dAt Ilium, where Achaia’s sons enduredSuch hardship, will I speak. Inflicting woundsDishonourable on himself, he tookA tatter’d garb, and like a serving-manEnter’d the spacious city of your foes.310So veil’d, some mendicant he seem’d, althoughNo Greecian less deserved that name than he.In such disguise he enter’d; all alikeMisdeem’d him; me alone he not deceivedWho challeng’d him, but, shrewd, he turn’d away.At length, however, when I had myselfBathed him, anointed, cloath’d him, and had swornNot to declare him openly in TroyTill he should reach again the camp and fleet,He told me the whole purpose of the Greeks.320Then, (many a Trojan slaughter’d,) he regain’dThe camp, and much intelligence he boreTo the Achaians. Oh what wailing thenWas heard of Trojan women! but my heartExulted, alter’d now, and wishing home;For now my crime committed under forceOf Venus’ influence I deplored, what timeShe led me to a country far remote,A wand’rer from the matrimonial bed,From my own child, and from my rightful Lord330Alike unblemish’d both in form and mind.Her answer’d then the Hero golden-hair’d.Helen! thou hast well spoken. All is true.I have the talents fathom’d and the mindsOf num’rous Heroes, and have travell’d farYet never saw I with these eyes in manSuch firmness as the calm Ulysses own’d;None such as in the wooden horse he proved,Where all our bravest sat, designing woeAnd bloody havoc for the sons of Troy.340Thou thither cam’st, impell’d, as it should seem,By some divinity inclin’d to giveVictory to our foes, and with thee cameGodlike Deiphobus. Thrice round aboutThe hollow ambush, striking with thy handIts sides thou went’st, and by his name didst callEach prince of Greece feigning his consort’s voice.Myself with Diomede, and with divineUlysses, seated in the midst, the callHeard plain and loud; we (Diomede and I)350With ardour burn’d either to quit the horseSo summon’d, or to answer from within.But, all impatient as we were, UlyssesControul’d the rash design; so there the sonsOf the Achaians silent sat and mute,And of us all Anticlus would aloneHave answer’d; but Ulysses with both handsCompressing close his lips, saved us, nor ceasedTill Pallas thence conducted thee again.Then thus, discrete, Telemachus replied.360Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d!Hard was his lot whom these rare qualitiesPreserved not, neither had his dauntless heartBeen iron, had he scaped his cruel doom.But haste, dismiss us hence, that on our bedsReposed, we may enjoy sleep, needful now.He ceas’d; then Argive Helen gave commandTo her attendant maidens to prepareBeds in the portico with purple rugsResplendent, and with arras, overspread,370And cover’d warm with cloaks of shaggy pile.Forth went the maidens, bearing each a torch,And spread the couches; next, the herald themLed forth, and in the vestibule the sonOf Nestor and the youthful Hero slept,Telemachus; but in the interior houseAtrides, with the loveliest of her sexBeside him, Helen of the sweeping stole.But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Glow’d in the East, then from his couch arose380The warlike Menelaus, fresh attir’d;His faulchion o’er his shoulders slung, he boundHis sandals fair to his unsullied feet,And like a God issuing, at the sideSat of Telemachus, to whom he spake.Hero! Telemachus! what urgent causeHath hither led thee, to the land far-famedOf Lacedæmon o’er the spacious Deep?Public concern or private? Tell me true.To whom Telemachus discrete replied.390Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d!News seeking of my Sire, I have arrived.My household is devour’d, my fruitful fieldsAre desolated, and my palace fill’dWith enemies, who while they mutual wageProud competition for my mother’s love,My flocks continual slaughter, and my beeves.For this cause, at thy knees suppliant, I begThat thou wouldst tell me his disastrous end,If either thou beheld’st with thine own eyes400His death, or from some wand’rer of the GreeksHast heard it; for no common woes, alas!Was he ordain’d to share ev’n from the womb.Neither through pity or o’erstrain’d respectFlatter me, but explicit all relateWhich thou hast witness’d. If my noble SireE’er gratified thee by performance justOf word or deed at Ilium, where ye fellSo num’rous slain in fight, oh recollectNow his fidelity, and tell me true!410Then Menelaus, sighing deep, replied.Gods! their ambition is to reach the bedOf a brave man, however base themselves.But as it chances, when the hart hath lay’dHer fawns new-yean’d and sucklings yet, to restWithin some dreadful lion’s gloomy den,She roams the hills, and in the grassy valesFeeds heedless, till the lion, to his lairReturn’d, destroys her and her little-ones,So them thy Sire shall terribly destroy.420Jove, Pallas and Apollo! oh that suchAs erst in well-built Lesbos, where he stroveWith Philomelides, and threw him flat,A sight at which Achaia’s sons rejoic’d,Such, now, Ulysses might assail them all!Short life and bitter nuptials should be theirs.But thy enquiries neither indirectWill I evade, nor give thee false reply,But all that from the Antient of the Deep14I have receiv’d will utter, hiding nought.430As yet the Gods on Ægypt’s shore detainedMe wishing home, angry at my neglectTo heap their altars with slain hecatombs.For they exacted from us evermoreStrict rev’rence of their laws. There is an isleAmid the billowy flood, Pharos by name,In front of Ægypt, distant from her shoreFar as a vessel by a sprightly galeImpell’d, may push her voyage in a day.The haven there is good, and many a ship440Finds wat’ring there from riv’lets on the coast.There me the Gods kept twenty days, no breezePropitious granting, that might sweep the waves,And usher to her home the flying bark.And now had our provision, all consumed,Left us exhausted, but a certain nymphPitying saved me. Daughter fair was sheOf mighty Proteus, Antient of the Deep,Idothea named; her most my sorrows moved;She found me from my followers all apart450Wand’ring (for they around the isle, with hooksThe fishes snaring roamed, by famine urged)And standing at my side, me thus bespake.Stranger! thou must be ideot born, or weakAt least in intellect, or thy delightIs in distress and mis’ry, who delay’stTo leave this island, and no egress henceCanst find, although thy famish’d people faint.So spake the Goddess, and I thus replied.I tell thee, whosoever of the Pow’rs460Divine thou art, that I am prison’d hereNot willingly, but must have, doubtless, sinn’dAgainst the deathless tenants of the skies.Yet say (for the Immortals all things know)What God detains me, and my course forbidsHence to my country o’er the fishy Deep?So I; to whom the Goddess all-divine.Stranger! I will inform thee true. A seerOracular, the Antient of the Deep,Immortal Proteus, the Ægyptian, haunts470These shores, familiar with all Ocean’s gulphs,And Neptune’s subject. He is by reportMy father; him if thou art able onceTo seize and bind, he will prescribe the courseWith all its measured distances, by whichThou shalt regain secure thy native shores.He will, moreover, at thy suit declare,Thou favour’d of the skies! what good, what illHath in thine house befall’n, while absent thouThy voyage difficult perform’st and long.480She spake, and I replied—Thyself revealBy what effectual bands I may secureThe antient Deity marine, lest, warn’dOf my approach, he shun me and escape.Hard task for mortal hands to bind a God!Then thus Idothea answer’d all-divine.I will inform thee true. Soon as the sunHath climb’d the middle heav’ns, the prophet old,Emerging while the breezy zephyr blows,And cover’d with the scum of ocean, seeks490His spacious cove, in which outstretch’d he lies.The phocæ15also, rising from the waves,Offspring of beauteous Halosydna, sleepAround him, num’rous, and the fishy scentExhaling rank of the unfathom’d flood.Thither conducting thee at peep of dayI will dispose thee in some safe recess,But from among thy followers thou shalt chuseThe bravest three in all thy gallant fleet.And now the artifices understand500Of the old prophet of the sea. The sumOf all his phocæ numb’ring duly first,He will pass through them, and when all by fivesHe counted hath, will in the midst reposeContent, as sleeps the shepherd with his flock.When ye shall see him stretch’d, then call to mindThat moment all your prowess, and prevent,Howe’er he strive impatient, his escape.All changes trying, he will take the formOf ev’ry reptile on the earth, will seem510A river now, and now devouring fire;But hold him ye, and grasp him still the more.And when himself shall question you, restoredTo his own form in which ye found him firstReposing, then from farther force abstain;Then, Hero! loose the Antient of the Deep,And ask him, of the Gods who checks thy courseHence to thy country o’er the fishy flood.So saying, she plunged into the billowy waste.I then, in various musings lost, my ships520Along the sea-beach station’d sought again,And when I reach’d my galley on the shoreWe supp’d, and sacred night falling from heav’n,Slept all extended on the ocean-side.But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Look’d rosy forth, pensive beside the shoreI walk’d of Ocean, frequent to the GodsPraying devout, then chose the fittest threeFor bold assault, and worthiest of my trust.Meantime the Goddess from the bosom wide530Of Ocean rising, brought us thence four skinsOf phocæ, and all newly stript, a snareContriving subtle to deceive her Sire.Four cradles in the sand she scoop’d, then satExpecting us, who in due time approach’d;She lodg’d us side by side, and over eachA raw skin cast. Horrible to ourselvesProved that disguise whom the pernicious scentOf the sea-nourish’d phocæ sore annoy’d;For who would lay him down at a whale’s side?540But she a potent remedy devisedHerself to save us, who the nostrils sooth’dOf each with pure ambrosia thither broughtOdorous, which the fishy scent subdued.All morning, patient watchers, there we lay;And now the num’rous phocæ from the DeepEmerging, slept along the shore, and heAt noon came also, and perceiving thereHis fatted monsters, through the flock his courseTook regular, and summ’d them; with the first550He number’d us, suspicion none of fraudConceiving, then couch’d also. We, at once,Loud-shouting flew on him, and in our armsConstrain’d him fast; nor the sea-prophet oldCall’d not incontinent his shifts to mind.First he became a long-maned lion grim,Then dragon, panther then, a savage boar,A limpid stream, and an o’ershadowing tree.We persevering held him, till at lengthThe Antient of the Deep, skill’d as he is560In wiles, yet weary, question’d me, and said.Oh Atreus’ son, by what confed’rate GodInstructed liest thou in wait for me,To seize and hold me? what is thy desire?So He; to whom thus answer I return’d.Old Seer! thou know’st; why, fraudful, should’st thou ask?It is because I have been prison’d longWithin this isle, whence I have sought in vainDeliv’rance, till my wonted courage fails.Yet say (for the Immortals all things know)570What God detains me, and my course forbidsHence to my country o’er the fishy Deep?So I; when thus the old one of the waves.But thy plain duty16was to have adoredJove, first, in sacrifice, and all the Gods,That then embarking, by propitious galesImpell’d, thou might’st have reach’d thy country soon.For thou art doom’d ne’er to behold againThy friends, thy palace, or thy native shores,Till thou have seen once more the hallow’d flood580Of Ægypt, and with hecatombs adoredDevout, the deathless tenants of the skies.Then will they speed thee whither thou desir’st.He ended, and my heart broke at his words,Which bade me pass again the gloomy gulphTo Ægypt; tedious course, and hard to atchieve!Yet, though in sorrow whelm’d, I thus replied.Old prophet! I will all thy will perform.But tell me, and the truth simply reveal;Have the Achaians with their ships arrived590All safe, whom Nestor left and I, at Troy?Or of the Chiefs have any in their barks,Or in their followers’ arms found a dire deathUnlook’d for, since that city’s siege we closed?I spake, when answer thus the God return’d.Atrides, why these questions? Need is noneThat thou should’st all my secrets learn, which onceReveal’d, thou would’st not long dry-eyed remain.Of those no few have died, and many live;But leaders, two alone, in their return600Have died (thou also hast had war to wage)And one, still living, roams the boundless sea.Ajax,17surrounded by his galleys, died.Him Neptune, first, against the bulky rocksThe Gyræ drove, but saved him from the Deep;Nor had he perish’d, hated as he wasBy Pallas, but for his own impious boastIn frenzy utter’d that he would escapeThe billows, even in the Gods’ despight.Neptune that speech vain-glorious hearing, grasp’d610His trident, and the huge Gyræan rockSmiting indignant, dash’d it half away;Part stood, and part, on which the boaster satWhen, first, the brainsick fury seiz’d him, fell,Bearing him with it down into the gulphsOf Ocean, where he drank the brine, and died.But thy own brother in his barks escapedThat fate, by Juno saved; yet when, at length,He should have gain’d Malea’s craggy shore,Then, by a sudden tempest caught, he flew620With many a groan far o’er the fishy DeepTo the land’s utmost point, where once his homeThyestes had, but where Thyestes’ sonDwelt then, Ægisthus. Easy lay his courseAnd open thence, and, as it pleased the Gods,The shifted wind soon bore them to their home.He, high in exultation, trod the shoreThat gave him birth, kiss’d it, and, at the sight,The welcome sight of Greece, shed many a tear.Yet not unseen he landed; for a spy,630One whom the shrewd Ægisthus had seducedBy promise of two golden talents, mark’dHis coming from a rock where he had watch’dThe year complete, lest, passing unperceived,The King should reassert his right in arms.Swift flew the spy with tidings to this Lord,And He, incontinent, this project framedInsidious. Twenty men, the boldest heartsOf all the people, from the rest he chose,Whom he in ambush placed, and others charged640Diligent to prepare the festal board.With horses, then, and chariots forth he droveFull-fraught with mischief, and conducting homeThe unsuspicious King, amid the feastSlew him, as at his crib men slay an ox.Nor of thy brother’s train, nor of his trainWho slew thy brother, one survived, but all,Welt’ring in blood together, there expired.He ended, and his words beat on my heartAs they would break it. On the sands I sat650Weeping, nor life nor light desiring more.But when I had in dust roll’d me, and weptTo full satiety, mine ear againThe oracle of Ocean thus address’d.Sit not, O son of Atreus! weeping hereLonger, for remedy can none be found;But quick arising, trial make, how bestThou shalt, and soonest, reach thy home again.For either him still living thou shalt find,Or ere thou come, Orestes shall have slain660The traytor, and thine eyes shall see his tomb.He ceas’d, and I, afflicted as I was,Yet felt my spirit at that word refresh’d,And in wing’d accents answer thus return’d.Of these I am inform’d; but name the thirdWho, dead or living, on the boundless DeepIs still detain’d; I dread, yet wish to hear.So I; to whom thus Proteus in return.Laertes’ son, the Lord of Ithaca—Him in an island weeping I beheld,670Guest of the nymph Calypso, by constraintHer guest, and from his native land withheldBy sad necessity; for ships well-oar’d,Or faithful followers hath he none, whose aidMight speed him safely o’er the spacious flood.But, Menelaus dear to Jove! thy fateOrdains not thee the stroke of death to meetIn steed-fam’d Argos, but far hence the GodsWill send thee to Elysium, and the earth’sExtremest bounds; (there Rhadamanthus dwells,680The golden-hair’d, and there the human kindEnjoy the easiest life; no snow is there,No biting winter, and no drenching show’r,But zephyr always gently from the seaBreathes on them to refresh the happy race)For that fair Helen is by nuptial bandsThy own, and thou art son-in-law of Jove.So saying, he plunged into the billowy waste,I then, with my brave comrades to the fleetReturn’d, deep-musing as I went, and sad.690No sooner had I reach’d my ship besideThe ocean, and we all had supp’d, than nightFrom heav’n fell on us, and, at ease reposedAlong the margin of the sea, we slept.But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Look’d rosy forth, drawing our galleys downInto the sacred Deep, we rear’d againThe mast, unfurl’d the sail, and to our seatsOn board returning, thresh’d the foamy flood.Once more, at length, within the hallow’d stream700Of Ægypt mooring, on the shore I slewWhole hecatombs, and (the displeasure thusOf the immortal Gods appeased) I rearedTo Agamemnon’s never-dying fameA tomb, and finishing it, sail’d againWith such a gale from heaven vouchsafed, as sentMy ships swift-scudding to the shores of Greece.But come—eleven days wait here, or twelveA guest with me, when I will send thee henceNobly, and honour’d with illustrious gifts,710With polish’d chariot, with three princely steeds,And with a gorgeous cup, that to the GodsLibation pouring ever while thou liv’stFrom that same cup, thou may’st remember me.Him, prudent, then answer’d Telemachus.Atrides, seek not to detain me hereLong time; for though contented I could sitThe year beside thee, nor regret my homeOr parents, (so delightful thy discourseSounds in my ear) yet, even now, I know,720That my attendants to the Pylian shoreWish my return, whom thou thus long detain’st.What boon soe’er thou giv’st me, be it suchAs I may treasur’d keep; but horses noneTake I to Ithaca; them rather farKeep thou, for thy own glory. Thou art LordOf an extended plain, where copious springsThe lotus, herbage of all savours, wheat,Pulse, and white barley of luxuriant growth.But Ithaca no level champaign owns,730A nursery of goats, and yet a landFairer than even pastures to the eye.No sea-encircled isle of ours affordsSmooth course commodious and expanse of meads,But my own Ithaca transcends them all!He said; the Hero Menelaus smiled,And stroaking tenderly his cheek, replied.Dear youth! thy speech proclaims thy noble blood.I can with ease supply thee from withinWith what shall suit thee better, and the gift740Of all that I possess which most excelsIn beauty, and the noblest shall be thine.I give thee, wrought elaborate, a cupItself all silver, bound with lip of gold.It is the work of Vulcan, which to meThe Hero Phædimus imparted, KingOf the Sidonians, when on my returnHis house received me. That shall be thy own.Thus they conferr’d; and now the busy trainOf menials culinary,18at the gate750Enter’d of Menelaus, Chief renown’d;They brought him sheep, with heart-ennobling wine,While all their wives, their brows with frontlets bound,Came charg’d with bread. Thus busy they preparedA banquet in the mansion of the King.Meantime, before Ulysses’ palace gateThe suitors sported with the quoit and spearOn the smooth area, customary sceneOf all their strife and angry clamour loud.There sat Antinoüs, and the godlike youth760Eurymachus, superior to the restAnd Chiefs among them, to whom Phronius’ sonNoëmon drawing nigh, with anxious mienQuestion’d Antinoüs, and thus began.Know we, Antinoüs! or know we not,When to expect Telemachus at homeAgain from Pylus? in my ship he went,Which now I need, that I may cross the seaTo Elis, on whose spacious plain I feedTwelve mares, each suckling a mule-colt as yet770Unbroken, but of which I purpose oneTo ferry thence, and break him into use.He spake, whom they astonish’d heard; for himThey deem’d not to Nelëian Pylus gone,But haply into his own fields, his flocksTo visit, or the steward of his swine.Then thus, Eupithes’ son, Antinoüs, spake.Say true. When sail’d he forth? of all our youth,Whom chose he for his followers? his own trainOf slaves and hirelings? hath he pow’r to effect780This also? Tell me too, for I would learn—Took he perforce thy sable bark away,Or gav’st it to him at his first demand?To whom Noëmon, Phronius’ son, replied.I gave it voluntary; what could’st thou,Should such a prince petition for thy barkIn such distress? Hard were it to refuse.Brave youths (our bravest youths except yourselves)Attend him forth; and with them I observedMentor embarking, ruler o’er them all,790Or, if not him, a God; for such he seem’d.But this much moves my wonder. Yester-mornI saw, at day-break, noble Mentor here,Whom shipp’d for Pylus I had seen before.He ceas’d; and to his father’s house return’d;They, hearing, sat aghast. Their games meantimeFinish’d, the suitors on their seats reposed,To whom Eupithes’ son, Antinoüs, next,Much troubled spake; a black storm overchargedHis bosom, and his vivid eyes flash’d fire.800Ye Gods, a proud exploit is here atchieved,This voyage of Telemachus, by usPronounced impracticable; yet the boyIn downright opposition to us all,Hath headlong launched a ship, and, with a bandSelected from our bravest youth, is gone.He soon will prove more mischievous, whose pow’rJove wither, ere we suffer its effects!But give me a swift bark with twenty rowers,That, watching his return within the streights810Of rocky Samos and of Ithaca,I may surprise him; so shall he have sail’dTo seek his Sire, fatally for himself.He ceased and loud applause heard in reply,With warm encouragement. Then, rising all,Into Ulysses’ house at once they throng’d.Nor was Penelope left uninformedLong time of their clandestine plottings deep,For herald Medon told her all, whose earTheir councils caught while in the outer-court820He stood, and they that project framed within.Swift to Penelope the tale he bore,Who as he pass’d the gate, him thus address’d.For what cause, herald! have the suitors sentThee foremost? Wou’d they that my maidens layTheir tasks aside, and dress the board for them?Here end their wooing! may they hence departNever, and may the banquet now prepared,This banquet prove your last!19who in such throngsHere meeting, waste the patrimony fair830Of brave Telemachus; ye never, sure,When children, heard how gracious and how goodUlysses dwelt among your parents, noneOf all his people, or in word or deedInjuring, as great princes oft are wont,By favour influenc’d now, now by disgust.He no man wrong’d at any time; but plainYour wicked purpose in your deeds appears,Who sense have none of benefits conferr’d.Then Medon answer’d thus, prudent, return’d.840Oh Queen! may the Gods grant this prove the worst.But greater far and heavier ills than thisThe suitors plan, whose counsels Jove confound!Their base desire and purpose are to slayTelemachus on his return; for he,To gather tidings of his Sire is goneTo Pylus, or to Sparta’s land divine.He said; and where she stood, her trembling kneesFail’d under her, and all her spirits went.Speechless she long remain’d, tears filled her eyes,850And inarticulate in its passage diedHer utt’rance, till at last with pain she spake.Herald! why went my son? he hath no needOn board swift ships to ride, which are to manHis steeds that bear him over seas remote.Went he, that, with himself, his very nameMight perish from among mankind for ever?Then answer, thus, Medon the wise return’d.I know not whether him some God impell’dOr his own heart to Pylus, there to hear860News of his Sire’s return, or by what fateAt least he died, if he return no more.He said, and traversing Ulysses’ courts,Departed; she with heart consuming woeO’erwhelm’d, no longer could endure to takeRepose on any of her num’rous seats,But on the threshold of her chamber-doorLamenting sat, while all her female trainAround her moan’d, the antient and the young,Whom, sobbing, thus Penelope bespake.870Hear me, ye maidens! for of women bornCoeval with me, none hath e’er receivedSuch plenteous sorrow from the Gods as I,Who first my noble husband lost, enduedWith courage lion-like, of all the GreeksThe Chief with ev’ry virtue most adorn’d,A prince all-excellent, whose glorious praiseThrough Hellas and all Argos flew diffused.And now, my darling son,—him storms have snatch’dFar hence inglorious, and I knew it not.880Ah treach’rous servants! conscious as ye wereOf his design, not one of you the thoughtConceived to wake me when he went on board.For had but the report once reach’d my ear,He either had not gone (how much soe’erHe wish’d to leave me) or had left me dead.But haste ye,—bid my antient servant come,Dolion, whom (when I left my father’s houseHe gave me, and whose office is to attendMy num’rous garden-plants) that he may seek890At once Laertes, and may tell him all,Who may contrive some remedy, perchance,Or fit expedient, and shall come abroadTo weep before the men who wish to slayEven the prince, godlike Ulysses’ son.Then thus the gentle Euryclea spake,Nurse of Telemachus. Alas! my Queen!Slay me, or spare, deal with me as thou wilt,I will confess the truth. I knew it all.I gave him all that he required from me.900Both wine and bread, and, at his bidding, sworeTo tell thee nought in twelve whole days to come,Or till, enquiry made, thou should’st thyselfLearn his departure, lest thou should’st impairThy lovely features with excess of grief.But lave thyself, and, fresh attired, ascendTo thy own chamber, there, with all thy train,To worship Pallas, who shall save, thenceforth,Thy son from death, what ills soe’er he meet.Add not fresh sorrows to the present woes910Of the old King, for I believe not yetArcesias’ race entirely by the GodsRenounced, but trust that there shall still be foundAmong them, who shall dwell in royal state,And reap the fruits of fertile fields remote.So saying, she hush’d her sorrow, and her eyesNo longer stream’d. Then, bathed and fresh attired,Penelope ascended with her trainThe upper palace, and a basket storedWith hallow’d cakes off’ring, to Pallas pray’d.920Hear matchless daughter of Jove Ægis-arm’d!If ever wise Ulysses offer’d hereThe thighs of fatted kine or sheep to thee,Now mindful of his piety, preserveHis darling son, and frustrate with a frownThe cruelty of these imperious guests!She said, and wept aloud, whose earnest suitPallas received. And now the spacious hallAnd gloomy passages with tumult rangAnd clamour of that throng, when thus, a youth,930Insolent as his fellows, dared to speak.Much woo’d and long, the Queen at length preparesTo chuse another mate,20and nought suspectsThe bloody death to which her son is doom’d.So he; but they, meantime, themselves remain’dUntaught, what course the dread concern elsewhereHad taken, whom Antinoüs thus address’d.Sirs! one and all, I counsel you, bewareOf such bold boasting unadvised; lest oneO’erhearing you, report your words within.940No—rather thus, in silence, let us moveTo an exploit so pleasant to us all.He said, and twenty chose, the bravest there,With whom he sought the galley on the shore,Which drawing down into the deep, they placedThe mast and sails on board, and, sitting, next,Each oar in order to its proper groove,Unfurl’d and spread their canvas to the gale.Their bold attendants, then, brought them their arms,And soon as in deep water they had moor’d950The ship, themselves embarking, supp’d on board,And watch’d impatient for the dusk of eve.But when Penelope, the palace stairsRemounting, had her upper chamber reach’d,There, unrefresh’d with either food or wine,She lay’d her down, her noble son the themeOf all her thoughts, whether he should escapeHis haughty foes, or perish by their hands.Num’rous as are the lion’s thoughts, who sees,Not without fear, a multitude with toils960Encircling him around, such num’rous thoughtsHer bosom occupied, till sleep at lengthInvading her, she sank in soft repose.Then Pallas, teeming with a new design,Set forth an airy phantom in the formOf fair Iphthima, daughter of the braveIcarius, and Eumelus’ wedded wifeIn Pheræ. Shaped like her the dream she sentInto the mansion of the godlike ChiefUlysses, with kind purpose to abate970The sighs and tears of sad Penelope.Ent’ring the chamber-portal, where the boltSecured it, at her head the image stood,And thus, in terms compassionate, began.Sleep’st thou, distress’d Penelope? The Gods,Happy in everlasting rest themselves,Forbid thy sorrows. Thou shalt yet beholdThy son again, who hath by no offenceIncurr’d at any time the wrath of heav’n.To whom, sweet-slumb’ring in the shadowy gate980By which dreams pass, Penelope replied.What cause, my sister, brings thee, who art seenUnfrequent here, for that thou dwell’st remote?And thou enjoin’st me a cessation tooFrom sorrows num’rous, and which, fretting, wearMy heart continual; first, my spouse I lostWith courage lion-like endow’d, a princeAll-excellent, whose never-dying praiseThrough Hellas and all Argos flew diffused;And now my only son, new to the toils990And hazards of the sea, nor less untaughtThe arts of traffic, in a ship is goneFar hence, for whose dear cause I sorrow moreThan for his Sire himself, and even shakeWith terror, lest he perish by their handsTo whom he goes, or in the stormy Deep;For num’rous are his foes, and all intentTo slay him, ere he reach his home again.Then answer thus the shadowy form return’d.Take courage; suffer not excessive dread1000To overwhelm thee, such a guide he hathAnd guardian, one whom many wish their friend,And ever at their side, knowing her pow’r,Minerva; she compassionates thy griefs,And I am here her harbinger, who speakAs thou hast heard by her own kind command.Then thus Penelope the wise replied.Oh! if thou art a goddess, and hast heardA Goddess’ voice, rehearse to me the lotOf that unhappy one, if yet he live1010Spectator of the cheerful beams of day,Or if, already dead, he dwell below.Whom answer’d thus the fleeting shadow vain.I will not now inform thee if thy LordLive, or live not. Vain words are best unspoken.So saying, her egress swift beside the boltShe made, and melted into air. UpsprangFrom sleep Icarius’ daughter, and her heartFelt heal’d within her, by that dream distinctVisited in the noiseless night serene.1020Meantime the suitors urged their wat’ry way,To instant death devoting in their heartsTelemachus. There is a rocky isleIn the mid sea, Samos the rude betweenAnd Ithaca, not large, named Asteris.It hath commodious havens, into whichA passage clear opens on either side,And there the ambush’d Greeks his coming watch’d.

In hollow Lacedæmon’s spacious valeArriving, to the house they drove directOf royal Menelaus; him they foundIn his own palace, all his num’rous friendsRegaling at a nuptial banquet giv’nBoth for his daughter and the prince his son.His daughter to renown’d Achilles’ heirHe sent, to whom he had at Troy engagedTo give her, and the Gods now made her his.With chariots and with steeds he sent her forth10To the illustrious city where the prince,Achilles’ offspring, ruled the Myrmidons.But to his son he gave a Spartan fair,Alector’s daughter; from an handmaid sprangThat son to Menelaus in his age,Brave Megapenthes; for the Gods no childTo Helen gave, made mother, once, of herWho vied in perfect loveliness of formWith golden Venus’ self, Hermione.Thus all the neighbour princes and the friends20Of noble Menelaus, feasting satWithin his spacious palace, among whomA sacred bard sang sweetly to his harp,While, in the midst, two dancers smote the groundWith measur’d steps responsive to his song.And now the Heroes, Nestor’s noble sonAnd young Telemachus arrived withinThe vestibule, whom, issuing from the hall,The noble Eteoneus of the trainOf Menelaus, saw; at once he ran30Across the palace to report the newsTo his Lord’s ear, and, standing at his side,In accents wing’d with haste thus greeted him.Oh Menelaus! Heav’n descended Chief!Two guests arrive, both strangers, but the raceOf Jove supreme resembling each in form.Say, shall we loose, ourselves, their rapid steeds,Or hence dismiss them to some other host?But Menelaus, Hero golden-hair’d,Indignant answer’d him. Boethe’s son!40Thou wast not, Eteoneus, heretofore,A babbler, who now pratest as a child.We have ourselves arrived indebted muchTo hospitality of other men,If Jove shall, even here, some pause at lastOf woe afford us. Therefore loose, at once,Their steeds, and introduce them to the feast.He said, and, issuing, Eteoneus call’dThe brisk attendants to his aid, with whomHe loos’d their foaming coursers from the yoke.50Them first they bound to mangers, which with oatsAnd mingled barley they supplied, then thrustThe chariot sidelong to the splendid wall.9Themselves he, next, into the royal houseConducted, who survey’d, wond’ring, the abodeOf the heav’n-favour’d King; for on all sidesAs with the splendour of the sun or moonThe lofty dome of Menelaus blazed.Satiate, at length, with wonder at that sight,They enter’d each a bath, and by the hands60Of maidens laved, and oil’d, and cloath’d againWith shaggy mantles and resplendent vests,Sat both enthroned at Menelaus’ side.And now a maiden charged with golden ew’r,And with an argent laver, pouring firstPure water on their hands, supplied them nextWith a bright table, which the maiden, chiefIn office, furnish’d plenteously with breadAnd dainties, remnants of the last regale.Then came the sew’r, who with delicious meats70Dish after dish, served them, and placed besideThe chargers cups magnificent of gold,When Menelaus grasp’d their hands, and said.Eat and rejoice, and when ye shall have sharedOur nuptial banquet, we will then inquireWho are ye both, for, certain, not from thoseWhose generation perishes are ye,But rather of some race of sceptred ChiefsHeav’n-born; the base have never sons like you.So saying, he from the board lifted his own80Distinguish’d portion, and the fatted chineGave to his guests; the sav’ry viands theyWith outstretch’d hands assail’d, and when the forceNo longer now of appetite they felt,Telemachus, inclining close his headTo Nestor’s son, lest others should his speechWitness, in whisper’d words him thus address’d.Dearest Pisistratus, observe, my friend!How all the echoing palace with the lightOf beaming brass, of gold and amber shines90Silver and ivory! for radiance suchTh’ interior mansion of Olympian JoveI deem. What wealth, how various, how immenseIs here! astonish’d I survey the sight!But Menelaus, golden-hair’d, his speechO’erhearing, thus in accents wing’d repliedMy children! let no mortal man pretendComparison with Jove; for Jove’s abodeAnd all his stores are incorruptible.But whether mortal man with me may vie100In the display of wealth, or whether not,This know, that after many toils endured,And perilous wand’rings wide, in the eighth yearI brought my treasures home. Remote I rovedTo Cyprus, to Phœnice, to the shoresOf Ægypt; Æthiopia’s land I reach’d,Th’ Erembi, the Sidonians, and the coastsOf Lybia, where the lambs their foreheads shewAt once with horns defended, soon as yean’d.There, thrice within the year the flocks produce,110Nor master, there, nor shepherd ever feelsA dearth of cheese, of flesh, or of sweet milkDelicious, drawn from udders never dry.While, thus, commodities on various coastsGath’ring I roam’d, another, by the artsOf his pernicious spouse aided, of lifeBereav’d my brother privily, and when leastHe fear’d to lose it. Therefore little joyTo me results from all that I possess.Your fathers (be those fathers who they may)120These things have doubtless told you; for immenseHave been my suff’rings, and I have destroy’dA palace well inhabited and storedWith precious furniture in ev’ry kind;Such, that I would to heav’n! I own’d at homeThough but the third of it, and that the GreeksWho perish’d then, beneath the walls of TroyFar from steed-pastured Argos, still survived.Yet while, sequester’d here, I frequent mournMy slaughter’d friends, by turns I sooth my soul130With tears shed for them, and by turns againI cease; for grief soon satiates free indulged.But of them all, although I all bewail,None mourn I so as one, whom calling backTo memory, I both sleep and food abhor.For, of Achaia’s sons none ever toiledStrenuous as Ulysses; but his lotWas woe, and unremitting sorrow mineFor his long absence, who, if still he live,We know not aught, or be already dead.140Him doubtless, old Laertes mourns, and himDiscrete Penelope, nor less his sonTelemachus, born newly when he sail’d.So saying, he kindled in him strong desireTo mourn his father; at his father’s nameFast fell his tears to ground, and with both handsHe spread his purple cloak before his eyes;Which Menelaus marking, doubtful satIf he should leave him leisure for his tears,Or question him, and tell him all at large.150While thus he doubted, Helen (as it chanced)Leaving her fragrant chamber, came, augustAs Dian, goddess of the golden bow.Adrasta, for her use, set forth a throne,Alcippe with soft arras cover’d it,And Philo brought her silver basket, giftOf fair Alcandra, wife of Polybus,Whose mansion in Ægyptian Thebes is richIn untold treasure, and who gave, himself,Ten golden talents, and two silver baths160To Menelaus, with two splendid tripodsBeside the noble gifts which, at the handOf his illustrious spouse, Helen receiv’d;A golden spindle, and a basket wheel’d,Itself of silver, and its lip of gold.That basket Philo, her own handmaid, placedAt beauteous Helen’s side, charged to the brimWith slender threads, on which the spindle layWith wool of purple lustre wrapp’d around.Approaching, on her foot-stool’d throne she sat,170And, instant, of her royal spouse enquired.Know we, my Menelaus, dear to Jove!These guests of ours, and whence they have arrived?Erroneous I may speak, yet speak I must;In man or woman never have I seenSuch likeness to another (wonder-fixtI gaze) as in this stranger to the sonOf brave Ulysses, whom that Hero leftNew-born at home, when (shameless as I was)For my unworthy sake the Greecians sailed180To Ilium, with fierce rage of battle fir’d.Then Menelaus, thus, the golden-hair’d.I also such resemblance find in himAs thou; such feet, such hands, the cast of eye10Similar, and the head and flowing locks.And even now, when I Ulysses named,And his great sufferings mention’d, in my cause,The bitter tear dropp’d from his lids, while broadBefore his eyes his purple cloak he spread.To whom the son of Nestor thus replied.190Atrides! Menelaus! Chief renown’d!He is in truth his son, as thou hast said,But he is modest, and would much himselfCondemn, if, at his first arrival here,He should loquacious seem and bold to thee,To whom we listen, captived by thy voice,As if some God had spoken. As for me,Nestor, my father, the Gerenian ChiefBade me conduct him hither, for he wish’dTo see thee, promising himself from thee200The benefit of some kind word or deed.For, destitute of other aid, he muchHis father’s tedious absence mourns at home.So fares Telemachus; his father straysRemote, and, in his stead, no friend hath heWho might avert the mischiefs that he feels.To whom the Hero amber-hair’d replied.Ye Gods! the offspring of indeed a friendHath reach’d my house, of one who hath enduredArduous conflicts num’rous for my sake;210And much I purpos’d, had Olympian JoveVouchsaf’d us prosp’rous passage o’er the Deep,To have receiv’d him with such friendship hereAs none beside. In Argos I had thenFounded a city for him, and had rais’dA palace for himself; I would have broughtThe Hero hither, and his son, with allHis people, and with all his wealth, some townEvacuating for his sake, of thoseRuled by myself, and neighb’ring close my own.220Thus situate, we had often interchangedSweet converse, nor had other cause at lastOur friendship terminated or our joys,Than death’s black cloud o’ershadowing him or me.But such delights could only envy moveEv’n in the Gods, who have, of all the Greeks,Amerc’dhimonly of his wish’d return.So saying, he kindled the desire to weepIn ev’ry bosom. Argive Helen weptAbundant, Jove’s own daughter; wept as fast230Telemachus and Menelaus both;Nor Nestor’s son with tearless eyes remain’d,Calling to mind Antilochus11by the son12Illustrious of the bright Aurora slain,Rememb’ring whom, in accents wing’d he said.Atrides! antient Nestor, when of lateConversing with him, we remember’d thee,Pronounced thee wise beyond all human-kind.Now therefore, let not even my adviceDisplease thee. It affords me no delight240To intermingle tears with my repast,And soon, Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Will tinge the orient. Not that I accountDue lamentation of a friend deceasedBlameworthy, since, to sheer the locks and weep,Is all we can for the unhappy dead.I also have my grief, call’d to lamentOne, not the meanest of Achaia’s sons,My brother; him I cannot but supposeTo thee well-known, although unknown to me250Who saw him never;13but report proclaimsAntilochus superior to the most,In speed superior, and in feats of arms.To whom, the Hero of the yellow locks.O friend belov’d! since nought which thou hast saidOr recommended now, would have disgracedA man of years maturer far than thine,(For wise thy father is, and such art thou,And easy is it to discern the sonOf such a father, whom Saturnian Jove260In marriage both and at his birth ordain’dTo great felicity; for he hath giv’nTo Nestor gradually to sink at homeInto old age, and, while he lives, to seeHis sons past others wise, and skill’d in arms)The sorrow into which we sudden fellShall pause. Come—now remember we the feast;Pour water on our hands, for we shall find,(Telemachus and I) no dearth of themesFor mutual converse when the day shall dawn.270He ended; then, Asphalion, at his word,Servant of glorious Menelaus, pouredPure water on their hands, and they the feastBefore them with keen appetite assail’d.But Jove-born Helen otherwise, meantime,Employ’d, into the wine of which they drankA drug infused, antidote to the painsOf grief and anger, a most potent charmFor ills of ev’ry name. Whoe’er his wineSo medicated drinks, he shall not pour280All day the tears down his wan cheek, althoughHis father and his mother both were dead,Nor even though his brother or his sonHad fall’n in battle, and before his eyes.Such drugs Jove’s daughter own’d, with skill prepar’d,And of prime virtue, by the wife of Thone,Ægyptian Polydamna, giv’n her.For Ægypt teems with drugs, yielding no fewWhich, mingled with the drink, are good, and manyOf baneful juice, and enemies to life.290There ev’ry man in skill medicinalExcels, for they are sons of Pæon all.That drug infused, she bade her servant pourThe bev’rage forth, and thus her speech resumed.Atrides! Menelaus! dear to Jove!These also are the sons of Chiefs renown’d,(For Jove, as pleases him, to each assignsOr good or evil, whom all things obey)Now therefore, feasting at your ease reclin’d,Listen with pleasure, for myself, the while,300Will matter seasonable interpose.I cannot all rehearse, nor even name,(Omitting none) the conflicts and exploitsOf brave Ulysses; but with what addressSuccessful, one atchievement he perform’dAt Ilium, where Achaia’s sons enduredSuch hardship, will I speak. Inflicting woundsDishonourable on himself, he tookA tatter’d garb, and like a serving-manEnter’d the spacious city of your foes.310So veil’d, some mendicant he seem’d, althoughNo Greecian less deserved that name than he.In such disguise he enter’d; all alikeMisdeem’d him; me alone he not deceivedWho challeng’d him, but, shrewd, he turn’d away.At length, however, when I had myselfBathed him, anointed, cloath’d him, and had swornNot to declare him openly in TroyTill he should reach again the camp and fleet,He told me the whole purpose of the Greeks.320Then, (many a Trojan slaughter’d,) he regain’dThe camp, and much intelligence he boreTo the Achaians. Oh what wailing thenWas heard of Trojan women! but my heartExulted, alter’d now, and wishing home;For now my crime committed under forceOf Venus’ influence I deplored, what timeShe led me to a country far remote,A wand’rer from the matrimonial bed,From my own child, and from my rightful Lord330Alike unblemish’d both in form and mind.Her answer’d then the Hero golden-hair’d.Helen! thou hast well spoken. All is true.I have the talents fathom’d and the mindsOf num’rous Heroes, and have travell’d farYet never saw I with these eyes in manSuch firmness as the calm Ulysses own’d;None such as in the wooden horse he proved,Where all our bravest sat, designing woeAnd bloody havoc for the sons of Troy.340Thou thither cam’st, impell’d, as it should seem,By some divinity inclin’d to giveVictory to our foes, and with thee cameGodlike Deiphobus. Thrice round aboutThe hollow ambush, striking with thy handIts sides thou went’st, and by his name didst callEach prince of Greece feigning his consort’s voice.Myself with Diomede, and with divineUlysses, seated in the midst, the callHeard plain and loud; we (Diomede and I)350With ardour burn’d either to quit the horseSo summon’d, or to answer from within.But, all impatient as we were, UlyssesControul’d the rash design; so there the sonsOf the Achaians silent sat and mute,And of us all Anticlus would aloneHave answer’d; but Ulysses with both handsCompressing close his lips, saved us, nor ceasedTill Pallas thence conducted thee again.Then thus, discrete, Telemachus replied.360Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d!Hard was his lot whom these rare qualitiesPreserved not, neither had his dauntless heartBeen iron, had he scaped his cruel doom.But haste, dismiss us hence, that on our bedsReposed, we may enjoy sleep, needful now.He ceas’d; then Argive Helen gave commandTo her attendant maidens to prepareBeds in the portico with purple rugsResplendent, and with arras, overspread,370And cover’d warm with cloaks of shaggy pile.Forth went the maidens, bearing each a torch,And spread the couches; next, the herald themLed forth, and in the vestibule the sonOf Nestor and the youthful Hero slept,Telemachus; but in the interior houseAtrides, with the loveliest of her sexBeside him, Helen of the sweeping stole.But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Glow’d in the East, then from his couch arose380The warlike Menelaus, fresh attir’d;His faulchion o’er his shoulders slung, he boundHis sandals fair to his unsullied feet,And like a God issuing, at the sideSat of Telemachus, to whom he spake.Hero! Telemachus! what urgent causeHath hither led thee, to the land far-famedOf Lacedæmon o’er the spacious Deep?Public concern or private? Tell me true.To whom Telemachus discrete replied.390Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d!News seeking of my Sire, I have arrived.My household is devour’d, my fruitful fieldsAre desolated, and my palace fill’dWith enemies, who while they mutual wageProud competition for my mother’s love,My flocks continual slaughter, and my beeves.For this cause, at thy knees suppliant, I begThat thou wouldst tell me his disastrous end,If either thou beheld’st with thine own eyes400His death, or from some wand’rer of the GreeksHast heard it; for no common woes, alas!Was he ordain’d to share ev’n from the womb.Neither through pity or o’erstrain’d respectFlatter me, but explicit all relateWhich thou hast witness’d. If my noble SireE’er gratified thee by performance justOf word or deed at Ilium, where ye fellSo num’rous slain in fight, oh recollectNow his fidelity, and tell me true!410Then Menelaus, sighing deep, replied.Gods! their ambition is to reach the bedOf a brave man, however base themselves.But as it chances, when the hart hath lay’dHer fawns new-yean’d and sucklings yet, to restWithin some dreadful lion’s gloomy den,She roams the hills, and in the grassy valesFeeds heedless, till the lion, to his lairReturn’d, destroys her and her little-ones,So them thy Sire shall terribly destroy.420Jove, Pallas and Apollo! oh that suchAs erst in well-built Lesbos, where he stroveWith Philomelides, and threw him flat,A sight at which Achaia’s sons rejoic’d,Such, now, Ulysses might assail them all!Short life and bitter nuptials should be theirs.But thy enquiries neither indirectWill I evade, nor give thee false reply,But all that from the Antient of the Deep14I have receiv’d will utter, hiding nought.430As yet the Gods on Ægypt’s shore detainedMe wishing home, angry at my neglectTo heap their altars with slain hecatombs.For they exacted from us evermoreStrict rev’rence of their laws. There is an isleAmid the billowy flood, Pharos by name,In front of Ægypt, distant from her shoreFar as a vessel by a sprightly galeImpell’d, may push her voyage in a day.The haven there is good, and many a ship440Finds wat’ring there from riv’lets on the coast.There me the Gods kept twenty days, no breezePropitious granting, that might sweep the waves,And usher to her home the flying bark.And now had our provision, all consumed,Left us exhausted, but a certain nymphPitying saved me. Daughter fair was sheOf mighty Proteus, Antient of the Deep,Idothea named; her most my sorrows moved;She found me from my followers all apart450Wand’ring (for they around the isle, with hooksThe fishes snaring roamed, by famine urged)And standing at my side, me thus bespake.Stranger! thou must be ideot born, or weakAt least in intellect, or thy delightIs in distress and mis’ry, who delay’stTo leave this island, and no egress henceCanst find, although thy famish’d people faint.So spake the Goddess, and I thus replied.I tell thee, whosoever of the Pow’rs460Divine thou art, that I am prison’d hereNot willingly, but must have, doubtless, sinn’dAgainst the deathless tenants of the skies.Yet say (for the Immortals all things know)What God detains me, and my course forbidsHence to my country o’er the fishy Deep?So I; to whom the Goddess all-divine.Stranger! I will inform thee true. A seerOracular, the Antient of the Deep,Immortal Proteus, the Ægyptian, haunts470These shores, familiar with all Ocean’s gulphs,And Neptune’s subject. He is by reportMy father; him if thou art able onceTo seize and bind, he will prescribe the courseWith all its measured distances, by whichThou shalt regain secure thy native shores.He will, moreover, at thy suit declare,Thou favour’d of the skies! what good, what illHath in thine house befall’n, while absent thouThy voyage difficult perform’st and long.480She spake, and I replied—Thyself revealBy what effectual bands I may secureThe antient Deity marine, lest, warn’dOf my approach, he shun me and escape.Hard task for mortal hands to bind a God!Then thus Idothea answer’d all-divine.I will inform thee true. Soon as the sunHath climb’d the middle heav’ns, the prophet old,Emerging while the breezy zephyr blows,And cover’d with the scum of ocean, seeks490His spacious cove, in which outstretch’d he lies.The phocæ15also, rising from the waves,Offspring of beauteous Halosydna, sleepAround him, num’rous, and the fishy scentExhaling rank of the unfathom’d flood.Thither conducting thee at peep of dayI will dispose thee in some safe recess,But from among thy followers thou shalt chuseThe bravest three in all thy gallant fleet.And now the artifices understand500Of the old prophet of the sea. The sumOf all his phocæ numb’ring duly first,He will pass through them, and when all by fivesHe counted hath, will in the midst reposeContent, as sleeps the shepherd with his flock.When ye shall see him stretch’d, then call to mindThat moment all your prowess, and prevent,Howe’er he strive impatient, his escape.All changes trying, he will take the formOf ev’ry reptile on the earth, will seem510A river now, and now devouring fire;But hold him ye, and grasp him still the more.And when himself shall question you, restoredTo his own form in which ye found him firstReposing, then from farther force abstain;Then, Hero! loose the Antient of the Deep,And ask him, of the Gods who checks thy courseHence to thy country o’er the fishy flood.So saying, she plunged into the billowy waste.I then, in various musings lost, my ships520Along the sea-beach station’d sought again,And when I reach’d my galley on the shoreWe supp’d, and sacred night falling from heav’n,Slept all extended on the ocean-side.But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Look’d rosy forth, pensive beside the shoreI walk’d of Ocean, frequent to the GodsPraying devout, then chose the fittest threeFor bold assault, and worthiest of my trust.Meantime the Goddess from the bosom wide530Of Ocean rising, brought us thence four skinsOf phocæ, and all newly stript, a snareContriving subtle to deceive her Sire.Four cradles in the sand she scoop’d, then satExpecting us, who in due time approach’d;She lodg’d us side by side, and over eachA raw skin cast. Horrible to ourselvesProved that disguise whom the pernicious scentOf the sea-nourish’d phocæ sore annoy’d;For who would lay him down at a whale’s side?540But she a potent remedy devisedHerself to save us, who the nostrils sooth’dOf each with pure ambrosia thither broughtOdorous, which the fishy scent subdued.All morning, patient watchers, there we lay;And now the num’rous phocæ from the DeepEmerging, slept along the shore, and heAt noon came also, and perceiving thereHis fatted monsters, through the flock his courseTook regular, and summ’d them; with the first550He number’d us, suspicion none of fraudConceiving, then couch’d also. We, at once,Loud-shouting flew on him, and in our armsConstrain’d him fast; nor the sea-prophet oldCall’d not incontinent his shifts to mind.First he became a long-maned lion grim,Then dragon, panther then, a savage boar,A limpid stream, and an o’ershadowing tree.We persevering held him, till at lengthThe Antient of the Deep, skill’d as he is560In wiles, yet weary, question’d me, and said.Oh Atreus’ son, by what confed’rate GodInstructed liest thou in wait for me,To seize and hold me? what is thy desire?So He; to whom thus answer I return’d.Old Seer! thou know’st; why, fraudful, should’st thou ask?It is because I have been prison’d longWithin this isle, whence I have sought in vainDeliv’rance, till my wonted courage fails.Yet say (for the Immortals all things know)570What God detains me, and my course forbidsHence to my country o’er the fishy Deep?So I; when thus the old one of the waves.But thy plain duty16was to have adoredJove, first, in sacrifice, and all the Gods,That then embarking, by propitious galesImpell’d, thou might’st have reach’d thy country soon.For thou art doom’d ne’er to behold againThy friends, thy palace, or thy native shores,Till thou have seen once more the hallow’d flood580Of Ægypt, and with hecatombs adoredDevout, the deathless tenants of the skies.Then will they speed thee whither thou desir’st.He ended, and my heart broke at his words,Which bade me pass again the gloomy gulphTo Ægypt; tedious course, and hard to atchieve!Yet, though in sorrow whelm’d, I thus replied.Old prophet! I will all thy will perform.But tell me, and the truth simply reveal;Have the Achaians with their ships arrived590All safe, whom Nestor left and I, at Troy?Or of the Chiefs have any in their barks,Or in their followers’ arms found a dire deathUnlook’d for, since that city’s siege we closed?I spake, when answer thus the God return’d.Atrides, why these questions? Need is noneThat thou should’st all my secrets learn, which onceReveal’d, thou would’st not long dry-eyed remain.Of those no few have died, and many live;But leaders, two alone, in their return600Have died (thou also hast had war to wage)And one, still living, roams the boundless sea.Ajax,17surrounded by his galleys, died.Him Neptune, first, against the bulky rocksThe Gyræ drove, but saved him from the Deep;Nor had he perish’d, hated as he wasBy Pallas, but for his own impious boastIn frenzy utter’d that he would escapeThe billows, even in the Gods’ despight.Neptune that speech vain-glorious hearing, grasp’d610His trident, and the huge Gyræan rockSmiting indignant, dash’d it half away;Part stood, and part, on which the boaster satWhen, first, the brainsick fury seiz’d him, fell,Bearing him with it down into the gulphsOf Ocean, where he drank the brine, and died.But thy own brother in his barks escapedThat fate, by Juno saved; yet when, at length,He should have gain’d Malea’s craggy shore,Then, by a sudden tempest caught, he flew620With many a groan far o’er the fishy DeepTo the land’s utmost point, where once his homeThyestes had, but where Thyestes’ sonDwelt then, Ægisthus. Easy lay his courseAnd open thence, and, as it pleased the Gods,The shifted wind soon bore them to their home.He, high in exultation, trod the shoreThat gave him birth, kiss’d it, and, at the sight,The welcome sight of Greece, shed many a tear.Yet not unseen he landed; for a spy,630One whom the shrewd Ægisthus had seducedBy promise of two golden talents, mark’dHis coming from a rock where he had watch’dThe year complete, lest, passing unperceived,The King should reassert his right in arms.Swift flew the spy with tidings to this Lord,And He, incontinent, this project framedInsidious. Twenty men, the boldest heartsOf all the people, from the rest he chose,Whom he in ambush placed, and others charged640Diligent to prepare the festal board.With horses, then, and chariots forth he droveFull-fraught with mischief, and conducting homeThe unsuspicious King, amid the feastSlew him, as at his crib men slay an ox.Nor of thy brother’s train, nor of his trainWho slew thy brother, one survived, but all,Welt’ring in blood together, there expired.He ended, and his words beat on my heartAs they would break it. On the sands I sat650Weeping, nor life nor light desiring more.But when I had in dust roll’d me, and weptTo full satiety, mine ear againThe oracle of Ocean thus address’d.Sit not, O son of Atreus! weeping hereLonger, for remedy can none be found;But quick arising, trial make, how bestThou shalt, and soonest, reach thy home again.For either him still living thou shalt find,Or ere thou come, Orestes shall have slain660The traytor, and thine eyes shall see his tomb.He ceas’d, and I, afflicted as I was,Yet felt my spirit at that word refresh’d,And in wing’d accents answer thus return’d.Of these I am inform’d; but name the thirdWho, dead or living, on the boundless DeepIs still detain’d; I dread, yet wish to hear.So I; to whom thus Proteus in return.Laertes’ son, the Lord of Ithaca—Him in an island weeping I beheld,670Guest of the nymph Calypso, by constraintHer guest, and from his native land withheldBy sad necessity; for ships well-oar’d,Or faithful followers hath he none, whose aidMight speed him safely o’er the spacious flood.But, Menelaus dear to Jove! thy fateOrdains not thee the stroke of death to meetIn steed-fam’d Argos, but far hence the GodsWill send thee to Elysium, and the earth’sExtremest bounds; (there Rhadamanthus dwells,680The golden-hair’d, and there the human kindEnjoy the easiest life; no snow is there,No biting winter, and no drenching show’r,But zephyr always gently from the seaBreathes on them to refresh the happy race)For that fair Helen is by nuptial bandsThy own, and thou art son-in-law of Jove.So saying, he plunged into the billowy waste,I then, with my brave comrades to the fleetReturn’d, deep-musing as I went, and sad.690No sooner had I reach’d my ship besideThe ocean, and we all had supp’d, than nightFrom heav’n fell on us, and, at ease reposedAlong the margin of the sea, we slept.But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,Look’d rosy forth, drawing our galleys downInto the sacred Deep, we rear’d againThe mast, unfurl’d the sail, and to our seatsOn board returning, thresh’d the foamy flood.Once more, at length, within the hallow’d stream700Of Ægypt mooring, on the shore I slewWhole hecatombs, and (the displeasure thusOf the immortal Gods appeased) I rearedTo Agamemnon’s never-dying fameA tomb, and finishing it, sail’d againWith such a gale from heaven vouchsafed, as sentMy ships swift-scudding to the shores of Greece.But come—eleven days wait here, or twelveA guest with me, when I will send thee henceNobly, and honour’d with illustrious gifts,710With polish’d chariot, with three princely steeds,And with a gorgeous cup, that to the GodsLibation pouring ever while thou liv’stFrom that same cup, thou may’st remember me.Him, prudent, then answer’d Telemachus.Atrides, seek not to detain me hereLong time; for though contented I could sitThe year beside thee, nor regret my homeOr parents, (so delightful thy discourseSounds in my ear) yet, even now, I know,720That my attendants to the Pylian shoreWish my return, whom thou thus long detain’st.What boon soe’er thou giv’st me, be it suchAs I may treasur’d keep; but horses noneTake I to Ithaca; them rather farKeep thou, for thy own glory. Thou art LordOf an extended plain, where copious springsThe lotus, herbage of all savours, wheat,Pulse, and white barley of luxuriant growth.But Ithaca no level champaign owns,730A nursery of goats, and yet a landFairer than even pastures to the eye.No sea-encircled isle of ours affordsSmooth course commodious and expanse of meads,But my own Ithaca transcends them all!He said; the Hero Menelaus smiled,And stroaking tenderly his cheek, replied.Dear youth! thy speech proclaims thy noble blood.I can with ease supply thee from withinWith what shall suit thee better, and the gift740Of all that I possess which most excelsIn beauty, and the noblest shall be thine.I give thee, wrought elaborate, a cupItself all silver, bound with lip of gold.It is the work of Vulcan, which to meThe Hero Phædimus imparted, KingOf the Sidonians, when on my returnHis house received me. That shall be thy own.Thus they conferr’d; and now the busy trainOf menials culinary,18at the gate750Enter’d of Menelaus, Chief renown’d;They brought him sheep, with heart-ennobling wine,While all their wives, their brows with frontlets bound,Came charg’d with bread. Thus busy they preparedA banquet in the mansion of the King.Meantime, before Ulysses’ palace gateThe suitors sported with the quoit and spearOn the smooth area, customary sceneOf all their strife and angry clamour loud.There sat Antinoüs, and the godlike youth760Eurymachus, superior to the restAnd Chiefs among them, to whom Phronius’ sonNoëmon drawing nigh, with anxious mienQuestion’d Antinoüs, and thus began.Know we, Antinoüs! or know we not,When to expect Telemachus at homeAgain from Pylus? in my ship he went,Which now I need, that I may cross the seaTo Elis, on whose spacious plain I feedTwelve mares, each suckling a mule-colt as yet770Unbroken, but of which I purpose oneTo ferry thence, and break him into use.He spake, whom they astonish’d heard; for himThey deem’d not to Nelëian Pylus gone,But haply into his own fields, his flocksTo visit, or the steward of his swine.Then thus, Eupithes’ son, Antinoüs, spake.Say true. When sail’d he forth? of all our youth,Whom chose he for his followers? his own trainOf slaves and hirelings? hath he pow’r to effect780This also? Tell me too, for I would learn—Took he perforce thy sable bark away,Or gav’st it to him at his first demand?To whom Noëmon, Phronius’ son, replied.I gave it voluntary; what could’st thou,Should such a prince petition for thy barkIn such distress? Hard were it to refuse.Brave youths (our bravest youths except yourselves)Attend him forth; and with them I observedMentor embarking, ruler o’er them all,790Or, if not him, a God; for such he seem’d.But this much moves my wonder. Yester-mornI saw, at day-break, noble Mentor here,Whom shipp’d for Pylus I had seen before.He ceas’d; and to his father’s house return’d;They, hearing, sat aghast. Their games meantimeFinish’d, the suitors on their seats reposed,To whom Eupithes’ son, Antinoüs, next,Much troubled spake; a black storm overchargedHis bosom, and his vivid eyes flash’d fire.800Ye Gods, a proud exploit is here atchieved,This voyage of Telemachus, by usPronounced impracticable; yet the boyIn downright opposition to us all,Hath headlong launched a ship, and, with a bandSelected from our bravest youth, is gone.He soon will prove more mischievous, whose pow’rJove wither, ere we suffer its effects!But give me a swift bark with twenty rowers,That, watching his return within the streights810Of rocky Samos and of Ithaca,I may surprise him; so shall he have sail’dTo seek his Sire, fatally for himself.He ceased and loud applause heard in reply,With warm encouragement. Then, rising all,Into Ulysses’ house at once they throng’d.Nor was Penelope left uninformedLong time of their clandestine plottings deep,For herald Medon told her all, whose earTheir councils caught while in the outer-court820He stood, and they that project framed within.Swift to Penelope the tale he bore,Who as he pass’d the gate, him thus address’d.For what cause, herald! have the suitors sentThee foremost? Wou’d they that my maidens layTheir tasks aside, and dress the board for them?Here end their wooing! may they hence departNever, and may the banquet now prepared,This banquet prove your last!19who in such throngsHere meeting, waste the patrimony fair830Of brave Telemachus; ye never, sure,When children, heard how gracious and how goodUlysses dwelt among your parents, noneOf all his people, or in word or deedInjuring, as great princes oft are wont,By favour influenc’d now, now by disgust.He no man wrong’d at any time; but plainYour wicked purpose in your deeds appears,Who sense have none of benefits conferr’d.Then Medon answer’d thus, prudent, return’d.840Oh Queen! may the Gods grant this prove the worst.But greater far and heavier ills than thisThe suitors plan, whose counsels Jove confound!Their base desire and purpose are to slayTelemachus on his return; for he,To gather tidings of his Sire is goneTo Pylus, or to Sparta’s land divine.He said; and where she stood, her trembling kneesFail’d under her, and all her spirits went.Speechless she long remain’d, tears filled her eyes,850And inarticulate in its passage diedHer utt’rance, till at last with pain she spake.Herald! why went my son? he hath no needOn board swift ships to ride, which are to manHis steeds that bear him over seas remote.Went he, that, with himself, his very nameMight perish from among mankind for ever?Then answer, thus, Medon the wise return’d.I know not whether him some God impell’dOr his own heart to Pylus, there to hear860News of his Sire’s return, or by what fateAt least he died, if he return no more.He said, and traversing Ulysses’ courts,Departed; she with heart consuming woeO’erwhelm’d, no longer could endure to takeRepose on any of her num’rous seats,But on the threshold of her chamber-doorLamenting sat, while all her female trainAround her moan’d, the antient and the young,Whom, sobbing, thus Penelope bespake.870Hear me, ye maidens! for of women bornCoeval with me, none hath e’er receivedSuch plenteous sorrow from the Gods as I,Who first my noble husband lost, enduedWith courage lion-like, of all the GreeksThe Chief with ev’ry virtue most adorn’d,A prince all-excellent, whose glorious praiseThrough Hellas and all Argos flew diffused.And now, my darling son,—him storms have snatch’dFar hence inglorious, and I knew it not.880Ah treach’rous servants! conscious as ye wereOf his design, not one of you the thoughtConceived to wake me when he went on board.For had but the report once reach’d my ear,He either had not gone (how much soe’erHe wish’d to leave me) or had left me dead.But haste ye,—bid my antient servant come,Dolion, whom (when I left my father’s houseHe gave me, and whose office is to attendMy num’rous garden-plants) that he may seek890At once Laertes, and may tell him all,Who may contrive some remedy, perchance,Or fit expedient, and shall come abroadTo weep before the men who wish to slayEven the prince, godlike Ulysses’ son.Then thus the gentle Euryclea spake,Nurse of Telemachus. Alas! my Queen!Slay me, or spare, deal with me as thou wilt,I will confess the truth. I knew it all.I gave him all that he required from me.900Both wine and bread, and, at his bidding, sworeTo tell thee nought in twelve whole days to come,Or till, enquiry made, thou should’st thyselfLearn his departure, lest thou should’st impairThy lovely features with excess of grief.But lave thyself, and, fresh attired, ascendTo thy own chamber, there, with all thy train,To worship Pallas, who shall save, thenceforth,Thy son from death, what ills soe’er he meet.Add not fresh sorrows to the present woes910Of the old King, for I believe not yetArcesias’ race entirely by the GodsRenounced, but trust that there shall still be foundAmong them, who shall dwell in royal state,And reap the fruits of fertile fields remote.So saying, she hush’d her sorrow, and her eyesNo longer stream’d. Then, bathed and fresh attired,Penelope ascended with her trainThe upper palace, and a basket storedWith hallow’d cakes off’ring, to Pallas pray’d.920Hear matchless daughter of Jove Ægis-arm’d!If ever wise Ulysses offer’d hereThe thighs of fatted kine or sheep to thee,Now mindful of his piety, preserveHis darling son, and frustrate with a frownThe cruelty of these imperious guests!She said, and wept aloud, whose earnest suitPallas received. And now the spacious hallAnd gloomy passages with tumult rangAnd clamour of that throng, when thus, a youth,930Insolent as his fellows, dared to speak.Much woo’d and long, the Queen at length preparesTo chuse another mate,20and nought suspectsThe bloody death to which her son is doom’d.So he; but they, meantime, themselves remain’dUntaught, what course the dread concern elsewhereHad taken, whom Antinoüs thus address’d.Sirs! one and all, I counsel you, bewareOf such bold boasting unadvised; lest oneO’erhearing you, report your words within.940No—rather thus, in silence, let us moveTo an exploit so pleasant to us all.He said, and twenty chose, the bravest there,With whom he sought the galley on the shore,Which drawing down into the deep, they placedThe mast and sails on board, and, sitting, next,Each oar in order to its proper groove,Unfurl’d and spread their canvas to the gale.Their bold attendants, then, brought them their arms,And soon as in deep water they had moor’d950The ship, themselves embarking, supp’d on board,And watch’d impatient for the dusk of eve.But when Penelope, the palace stairsRemounting, had her upper chamber reach’d,There, unrefresh’d with either food or wine,She lay’d her down, her noble son the themeOf all her thoughts, whether he should escapeHis haughty foes, or perish by their hands.Num’rous as are the lion’s thoughts, who sees,Not without fear, a multitude with toils960Encircling him around, such num’rous thoughtsHer bosom occupied, till sleep at lengthInvading her, she sank in soft repose.Then Pallas, teeming with a new design,Set forth an airy phantom in the formOf fair Iphthima, daughter of the braveIcarius, and Eumelus’ wedded wifeIn Pheræ. Shaped like her the dream she sentInto the mansion of the godlike ChiefUlysses, with kind purpose to abate970The sighs and tears of sad Penelope.Ent’ring the chamber-portal, where the boltSecured it, at her head the image stood,And thus, in terms compassionate, began.Sleep’st thou, distress’d Penelope? The Gods,Happy in everlasting rest themselves,Forbid thy sorrows. Thou shalt yet beholdThy son again, who hath by no offenceIncurr’d at any time the wrath of heav’n.To whom, sweet-slumb’ring in the shadowy gate980By which dreams pass, Penelope replied.What cause, my sister, brings thee, who art seenUnfrequent here, for that thou dwell’st remote?And thou enjoin’st me a cessation tooFrom sorrows num’rous, and which, fretting, wearMy heart continual; first, my spouse I lostWith courage lion-like endow’d, a princeAll-excellent, whose never-dying praiseThrough Hellas and all Argos flew diffused;And now my only son, new to the toils990And hazards of the sea, nor less untaughtThe arts of traffic, in a ship is goneFar hence, for whose dear cause I sorrow moreThan for his Sire himself, and even shakeWith terror, lest he perish by their handsTo whom he goes, or in the stormy Deep;For num’rous are his foes, and all intentTo slay him, ere he reach his home again.Then answer thus the shadowy form return’d.Take courage; suffer not excessive dread1000To overwhelm thee, such a guide he hathAnd guardian, one whom many wish their friend,And ever at their side, knowing her pow’r,Minerva; she compassionates thy griefs,And I am here her harbinger, who speakAs thou hast heard by her own kind command.Then thus Penelope the wise replied.Oh! if thou art a goddess, and hast heardA Goddess’ voice, rehearse to me the lotOf that unhappy one, if yet he live1010Spectator of the cheerful beams of day,Or if, already dead, he dwell below.Whom answer’d thus the fleeting shadow vain.I will not now inform thee if thy LordLive, or live not. Vain words are best unspoken.So saying, her egress swift beside the boltShe made, and melted into air. UpsprangFrom sleep Icarius’ daughter, and her heartFelt heal’d within her, by that dream distinctVisited in the noiseless night serene.1020Meantime the suitors urged their wat’ry way,To instant death devoting in their heartsTelemachus. There is a rocky isleIn the mid sea, Samos the rude betweenAnd Ithaca, not large, named Asteris.It hath commodious havens, into whichA passage clear opens on either side,And there the ambush’d Greeks his coming watch’d.

9Hesychius tells us, that the Greecians ornamented with much attention the front wall of their courts for the admiration of passengers.10Οφθαλμῶν τε βολαι.11Antilochus was his brother.12The son of Aurora, who slew Antilochus, was Memnon.13Because Pisistratus was born after Antilochus had sailed to Troy.14Proteus15Seals, or sea-calves.16From the abruptness of this beginning, Virgil, probably, who has copied the story, took the hint of his admired exordium.Nam quis te, juvenum confidentissime, nostras.Egit adire domos.17Son of Oïleus.18Δαιτυμων—generally signifies the founder of a feast; but we are taught by Eustathius to understand by it, in this place, the persons employed in preparing it.19This transition from the third to the second person belongs to the original, and is considered as a fine stroke of art in the poet, who represents Penelope in the warmth of her resentment, forgetting where she is, and addressing the suitors as if present.20Mistaking, perhaps, the sound of her voice, and imagining that she sang.—Vide Barnes in loco.

9Hesychius tells us, that the Greecians ornamented with much attention the front wall of their courts for the admiration of passengers.

9Hesychius tells us, that the Greecians ornamented with much attention the front wall of their courts for the admiration of passengers.

10Οφθαλμῶν τε βολαι.

10Οφθαλμῶν τε βολαι.

11Antilochus was his brother.

11Antilochus was his brother.

12The son of Aurora, who slew Antilochus, was Memnon.

12The son of Aurora, who slew Antilochus, was Memnon.

13Because Pisistratus was born after Antilochus had sailed to Troy.

13Because Pisistratus was born after Antilochus had sailed to Troy.

14Proteus

14Proteus

15Seals, or sea-calves.

15Seals, or sea-calves.

16From the abruptness of this beginning, Virgil, probably, who has copied the story, took the hint of his admired exordium.Nam quis te, juvenum confidentissime, nostras.Egit adire domos.

16From the abruptness of this beginning, Virgil, probably, who has copied the story, took the hint of his admired exordium.

Nam quis te, juvenum confidentissime, nostras.Egit adire domos.

Nam quis te, juvenum confidentissime, nostras.Egit adire domos.

17Son of Oïleus.

17Son of Oïleus.

18Δαιτυμων—generally signifies the founder of a feast; but we are taught by Eustathius to understand by it, in this place, the persons employed in preparing it.

18Δαιτυμων—generally signifies the founder of a feast; but we are taught by Eustathius to understand by it, in this place, the persons employed in preparing it.

19This transition from the third to the second person belongs to the original, and is considered as a fine stroke of art in the poet, who represents Penelope in the warmth of her resentment, forgetting where she is, and addressing the suitors as if present.

19This transition from the third to the second person belongs to the original, and is considered as a fine stroke of art in the poet, who represents Penelope in the warmth of her resentment, forgetting where she is, and addressing the suitors as if present.

20Mistaking, perhaps, the sound of her voice, and imagining that she sang.—Vide Barnes in loco.

20Mistaking, perhaps, the sound of her voice, and imagining that she sang.—Vide Barnes in loco.

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