BOOK XIARGUMENTUlysses relates to Alcinoüs his voyage to the infernal regions, his conference there with the prophet Tiresias concerning his return to Ithaca, and gives him an account of the heroes, heroines, and others whom he saw there.Arriving on the shore, and launching, first,Our bark into the sacred Deep, we setOur mast and sails, and stow’d secure on boardThe ram and ewe, then, weeping, and with heartsSad and disconsolate, embark’d ourselves.And now, melodious Circe, nymph divine,Sent after us a canvas-stretching breeze,Pleasant companion of our course, and we(The decks and benches clear’d) untoiling sat,While managed gales sped swift the bark along.10All day, with sails distended, e’er the DeepShe flew, and when the sun, at length, declined,And twilight dim had shadow’d all the ways,Approach’d the bourn of Ocean’s vast profound.The city, there, of the Cimmerians standsWith clouds and darkness veil’d, on whom the sunDeigns not to look with his beam-darting eye,Or when he climbs the starry arch, or whenEarthward he slopes again his west’ring wheels,40But sad night canopies the woeful race.20We haled the bark aground, and, landing thereThe ram and sable ewe, journey’d besideThe Deep, till we arrived where Circe bade.Here, Perimedes’ son EurylochusHeld fast the destined sacrifice, while IScoop’d with my sword the soil, op’ning a trenchEll-broad on ev’ry side, then pour’d aroundLibation consecrate to all the dead,First, milk with honey mixt, then luscious wine,Then water, sprinkling, last, meal over all.30This done, adoring the unreal formsAnd shadows of the dead, I vow’d to slay,(Return’d to Ithaca) in my own abode,An heifer barren yet, fairest and bestOf all my herds, and to enrich the pileWith delicacies, such as please the shades.But, in peculiar, to the Theban seerI vow’d a sable ram, largest and bestOf all my flocks. When thus I had imploredWith vows and pray’r, the nations of the dead,40Piercing the victims next, I turn’d them bothTo bleed into the trench; then swarming cameFrom Erebus the shades of the deceased,Brides, youths unwedded, seniors long with woeOppress’d, and tender girls yet new to grief.Came also many a warrior by the spearIn battle pierced, with armour gore-distain’d,And all the multitude around the fossStalk’d shrieking dreadful; me pale horror seized.I next, importunate, my people urged,50Flaying the victims which myself had slain,To burn them, and to supplicate in pray’rIllustrious Pluto and dread Proserpine.Then down I sat, and with drawn faulchion chasedThe ghosts, nor suffer’d them to approach the blood,Till with Tiresias I should first confer.The spirit, first, of my companion came,Elpenor; for no burial honours yetHad he received, but we had left his corseIn Circe’s palace, tombless, undeplored,60Ourselves by pressure urged of other cares.Touch’d with compassion seeing him, I wept,And in wing’d accents brief him thus bespake.Elpenor! how cam’st thou into the realmsOf darkness? Hast thou, though on foot, so farOutstripp’d my speed, who in my bark arrived?So I, to whom with tears he thus replied.Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!Fool’d by some dæmon and the intemp’rate bowl,I perish’d in the house of Circe; there70The deep-descending steps heedless I miss’d,And fell precipitated from the roof.With neck-bone broken from the vertebræOutstretch’d I lay; my spirit sought the shades.But now, by those whom thou hast left at home,By thy Penelope, and by thy fire,The gentle nourisher of thy infant growth,And by thy only son TelemachusI make my suit to thee. For, sure, I knowThat from the house of Pluto safe return’d,80Thou shalt ere long thy gallant vessel moorAt the Ææan isle. Ah! there arrivedRemember me. Leave me not undeploredNor uninhumed, lest, for my sake, the GodsIn vengeance visit thee; but with my arms(What arms soe’er I left) burn me, and raiseA kind memorial of me on the coast,Heap’d high with earth; that an unhappy manMay yet enjoy an unforgotten name.Thus do at my request, and on my hill90Funereal, plant the oar with which I row’d,While yet I lived a mariner of thine.He spake, to whom thus answer I return’d.Poor youth! I will perform thy whole desire.Thus we, there sitting, doleful converse held,With outstretch’d faulchion, I, guarding the blood,And my companion’s shadowy semblance sadMeantime discoursing me on various themes.The soul of my departed mother, next,Of Anticleia came, daughter of brave100Autolycus; whom, when I sought the shoresOf Ilium, I had living left at home.Seeing her, with compassion touch’d, I wept,Yet even her, (although it pain’d my soul)Forbad, relentless, to approach the blood,Till with Tiresias I should first confer.Then came the spirit of the Theban seerHimself, his golden sceptre in his hand,Who knew me, and, enquiring, thus began.Why, hapless Chief! leaving the cheerful day,110Arriv’st thou to behold the dead, and thisUnpleasant land? but, from the trench awhileReceding, turn thy faulchion keen away,That I may drink the blood, and tell thee truth.He spake; I thence receding, deep infix’dMy sword bright-studded in the sheath again.The noble prophet then, approaching, drankThe blood, and, satisfied, address’d me thus.Thou seek’st a pleasant voyage home again,Renown’d Ulysses! but a God will make120That voyage difficult; for, as I judge,Thou wilt not pass by Neptune unperceiv’d,Whose anger follows thee, for that thou hastDeprived his son Cyclops of his eye.At length, however, after num’rous woesEndur’d, thou may’st attain thy native isle,If thy own appetite thou wilt controulAnd theirs who follow thee, what time thy barkWell-built, shall at Thrinacia’s shore arrive,41Escaped from perils of the gloomy Deep.130There shall ye find grazing the flocks and herdsOf the all-seeing and all-hearing Sun,Which, if attentive to thy safe return,Thou leave unharm’d, though after num’rous woes,Ye may at length arrive in Ithaca.But if thou violate them, I denounceDestruction on thy ship and all thy band,And though thyself escape, late shalt thou reachThy home and hard-bested,42in a strange bark,All thy companions lost; trouble beside140Awaits thee there, for thou shalt find withinProud suitors of thy noble wife, who wasteThy substance, and with promis’d spousal giftsCeaseless solicit her to wed; yet wellShalt thou avenge all their injurious deeds.That once perform’d, and ev’ry suitor slainEither by stratagem, or face to face,In thy own palace, bearing, as thou go’st,A shapely oar, journey, till thou hast foundA people who the sea know not, nor eat150Food salted; they trim galley crimson prow’dHave ne’er beheld, nor yet smooth-shaven oar,With which the vessel wing’d scuds o’er the waves.Well thou shalt know them; this shall be the sign—When thou shalt meet a trav’ler, who shall nameThe oar on thy broad shoulder borne, a van,43There, deep infixing it within the soil,Worship the King of Ocean with a bull,A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seekThy home again, and sacrifice at home160An hecatomb to the Immortal Gods,Adoring each duly, and in his course.So shalt thou die in peace a gentle death,Remote from Ocean; it shall find thee late,In soft serenity of age, the ChiefOf a blest people.—I have told thee truth.He spake, to whom I answer thus return’d.Tiresias! thou, I doubt not, hast reveal’dThe ordinance of heav’n. But tell me, Seer!And truly. I behold my mother’s shade;170Silent she sits beside the blood, nor wordNor even look vouchsafes to her own son.How shall she learn, prophet, that I am her’s?So I, to whom Tiresias quick replied.The course is easy. Learn it, taught by me.What shade soe’er, by leave of thee obtain’d,Shall taste the blood, that shade will tell thee truth;The rest, prohibited, will all retire.When thus the spirit of the royal SeerHad his prophetic mind reveal’d, again180He enter’d Pluto’s gates; but I unmovedStill waited till my mother’s shade approach’d;She drank the blood, then knew me, and in wordsWing’d with affection, plaintive, thus began.My son! how hast thou enter’d, still alive,This darksome region? Difficult it isFor living man to view the realms of death.Broad rivers roll, and awful floods between,But chief, the Ocean, which to pass on foot,Or without ship, impossible is found.190Hast thou, long wand’ring in thy voyage homeFrom Ilium, with thy ship and crew arrived,Ithaca and thy consort yet unseen?She spake, to whom this answer I return’d.My mother! me necessity constrain’dTo Pluto’s dwelling, anxious to consultTheban Tiresias; for I have not yetApproach’d Achaia, nor have touch’d the shoreOf Ithaca, but suff’ring ceaseless woeHave roam’d, since first in Agamemnon’s train200I went to combat with the sons of Troy.But speak, my mother, and the truth alone;What stroke of fate slewthee? Fell’st thou a preyTo some slow malady? or by the shaftsOf gentle Dian suddenly subdued?Speak to me also of my ancient Sire,And of Telemachus, whom I left at home;Possess I still unalienate and safeMy property, or hath some happier ChiefAdmittance free into my fortunes gain’d,210No hope subsisting more of my return?The mind and purpose of my wedded wifeDeclare thou also. Dwells she with our sonFaithful to my domestic interests,Or is she wedded to some Chief of Greece?I ceas’d, when thus the venerable shade.Not so; she faithful still and patient dwellsThy roof beneath; but all her days and nightsDevoting sad to anguish and to tears.Thy fortunes still are thine; Telemachus220Cultivates, undisturb’d, thy land, and sitsAt many a noble banquet, such as wellBeseems the splendour of his princely state,For all invite him; at his farm retiredThy father dwells, nor to the city comes,For aught; nor bed, nor furniture of bed,Furr’d cloaks or splendid arras he enjoys,But, with his servile hinds all winter sleepsIn ashes and in dust at the hearth-side,Coarsely attired; again, when summer comes,230Or genial autumn, on the fallen leavesIn any nook, not curious where, he findsThere, stretch’d forlorn, nourishing grief, he weepsThy lot, enfeebled now by num’rous years.So perish’d I; such fate I also found;Me, neither the right-aiming arch’ress struck,Diana, with her gentle shafts, nor meDistemper slew, my limbs by slow degreesBut sure, bereaving of their little life,240But long regret, tender solicitude,And recollection of thy kindness past,These, my Ulysses! fatal proved to me.She said; I, ardent wish’d to clasp the shadeOf my departed mother; thrice I sprangToward her, by desire impetuous urged,And thrice she flitted from between my arms,Light as a passing shadow or a dream.Then, pierced by keener grief, in accents wing’dWith filial earnestness I thus replied.250My mother, why elud’st thou my attemptTo clasp thee, that ev’n here, in Pluto’s realm,We might to full satiety indulgeOur grief, enfolded in each other’s arms?Hath Proserpine, alas! only dispatch’dA shadow to me, to augment my woe?Then, instant, thus the venerable form.Ah, son! thou most afflicted of mankind!On thee, Jove’s daughter, Proserpine, obtrudesNo airy semblance vain; but such the state260And nature is of mortals once deceased.For they nor muscle have, nor flesh, nor bone;All those (the spirit from the body onceDivorced) the violence of fire consumes,And, like a dream, the soul flies swift away.But haste thou back to light, and, taught thyselfThese sacred truths, hereafter teach thy spouse.Thus mutual we conferr’d. Then, thither came,Encouraged forth by royal Proserpine,Shades female num’rous, all who consorts, erst,270Or daughters were of mighty Chiefs renown’d.About the sable blood frequent they swarm’d.But I, consid’ring sat, how I might eachInterrogate, and thus resolv’d. My swordForth drawing from beside my sturdy thigh,Firm I prohibited the ghosts to drinkThe blood together; they successive came;Each told her own distress; I question’d all.There, first, the high-born Tyro I beheld;She claim’d Salmoneus as her sire, and wife280Was once of Cretheus, son of Æolus.Enamour’d of Enipeus, stream divine,Loveliest of all that water earth, besideHis limpid current she was wont to stray,When Ocean’s God, (Enipeus’ form assumed)Within the eddy-whirling river’s mouthEmbraced her; there, while the o’er-arching flood,Uplifted mountainous, conceal’d the GodAnd his fair human bride, her virgin zoneHe loos’d, and o’er her eyes sweet sleep diffused.290His am’rous purpose satisfied, he grasp’dHer hand, affectionate, and thus he said.Rejoice in this my love, and when the yearShall tend to consummation of its course,Thou shalt produce illustrious twins, for loveImmortal never is unfruitful love.Rear them with all a mother’s care; meantime,Hence to thy home. Be silent. Name it not.For I am Neptune, Shaker of the shores.So saying, he plunged into the billowy Deep.300She pregnant grown, Pelias and Neleus bore,Both, valiant ministers of mighty Jove.In wide-spread Iäolchus Pelias dwelt,Of num’rous flocks possess’d; but his abodeAmid the sands of Pylus Neleus chose.To Cretheus wedded next, the lovely nymphYet other sons, Æson and Pheres bore,And Amythaon of equestrian fame.I, next, the daughter of Asopus saw,Antiope; she gloried to have known310Th’ embrace of Jove himself, to whom she broughtA double progeny, Amphion namedAnd Zethus; they the seven-gated ThebesFounded and girded with strong tow’rs, because,Though puissant Heroes both, in spacious ThebesUnfenced by tow’rs, they could not dwell secure.Alcmena, next, wife of AmphitryonI saw; she in the arms of sov’reign JoveThe lion-hearted Hercules conceiv’d,And, after, bore to Creon brave in fight320His daughter Megara, by the noble sonUnconquer’d of Amphitryon espoused.The beauteous Epicaste44saw I then,Mother of Oedipus, who guilt incurr’dProdigious, wedded, unintentional,To her own son; his father first he slew,Then wedded her, which soon the Gods divulged.He, under vengeance of offended heav’n,In pleasant Thebes dwelt miserable, KingOf the Cadmean race; she to the gates330Of Ades brazen-barr’d despairing went,Self-strangled by a cord fasten’d aloftTo her own palace-roof, and woes bequeath’d(Such as the Fury sisters executeInnumerable) to her guilty son.There also saw I Chloris, loveliest fair,Whom Neleus woo’d and won with spousal giftsInestimable, by her beauty charm’dShe youngest daughter was of Iasus’ son,Amphion, in old time a sov’reign prince340In Minuëian Orchomenus,And King of Pylus. Three illustrious sonsShe bore to Neleus, Nestor, Chromius,And Periclymenus the wide-renown’d,And, last, produced a wonder of the earth,Pero, by ev’ry neighbour prince aroundIn marriage sought; but Neleus her on noneDeign’d to bestow, save only on the ChiefWho should from Phylace drive off the beeves(Broad-fronted, and with jealous care secured)350Of valiant Iphicles. One undertookThat task alone, a prophet high in fame,Melampus; but the Fates fast bound him thereIn rig’rous bonds by rustic hands imposed.At length (the year, with all its months and daysConcluded, and the new-born year begun)Illustrious Iphicles releas’d the seer,Grateful for all the oracles resolved,45Till then obscure. So stood the will of Jove.Next, Leda, wife of Tyndarus I saw,360Who bore to Tyndarus a noble pair,Castor the bold, and Pollux cestus-famed.They pris’ners in the fertile womb of earth,Though living, dwell, and even there from JoveHigh priv’lege gain; alternate they reviveAnd die, and dignity partake divine.The comfort of Aloëus, next, I view’d,Iphimedeia; she th’ embrace profess’dOf Neptune to have shared, to whom she boreTwo sons; short-lived they were, but godlike both,370Otus and Ephialtes far-renown’d.Orion sole except, all-bounteous EarthNe’er nourish’d forms for beauty or for sizeTo be admired as theirs; in his ninth yearEach measur’d, broad, nine cubits, and the heightWas found nine ells of each. Against the GodsThemselves they threaten’d war, and to exciteThe din of battle in the realms above.To the Olympian summit they essay’dTo heave up Ossa, and to Ossa’s crown380Branch-waving Pelion; so to climb the heav’ns.Nor had they failed, maturer grown in might,To accomplish that emprize, but them the son46Of radiant-hair’d Latona and of JoveSlew both, ere yet the down of blooming youthThick-sprung, their cheeks or chins had tufted o’er.Phædra I also there, and Procris saw,And Ariadne for her beauty praised,Whose sire was all-wise Minos. Theseus herFrom Crete toward the fruitful region bore390Of sacred Athens, but enjoy’d not there,For, first, she perish’d by Diana’s shaftsIn Dia, Bacchus witnessing her crime.47Mæra and Clymene I saw beside,And odious Eriphyle, who receivedThe price in gold of her own husband’s life.But all the wives of Heroes whom I saw,And all their daughters can I not relate;Night, first, would fail; and even now the hourCalls me to rest either on board my bark,400Or here; meantime, I in yourselves confide,And in the Gods to shape my conduct home.He ceased; the whole assembly silent sat,Charm’d into ecstacy by his discourseThroughout the twilight hall, till, at the last,Areta iv’ry arm’d them thus bespake.Phæacians! how appears he in your eyesThis stranger, graceful as he is in port,In stature noble, and in mind discrete?My guest he is, but ye all share with me410That honour; him dismiss not, therefore, henceWith haste, nor from such indigence withholdSupplies gratuitous; for ye are rich,And by kind heav’n with rare possessions blest.The Hero, next, Echeneus spake, a ChiefNow ancient, eldest of Phæacia’s sons.Your prudent Queen, my friends, speaks not besideHer proper scope, but as beseems her well.Her voice obey; yet the effect of allMust on Alcinoüs himself depend.420To whom Alcinoüs, thus, the King, replied.I ratify the word. So shall be done,As surely as myself shall live supremeO’er all Phæacia’s maritime domain.Then let the guest, though anxious to depart,Wait till the morrow, that I may completeThe whole donation. His safe conduct homeShall be the gen’ral care, but mine in Chief,To whom dominion o’er the rest belongs.Him answer’d, then, Ulysses ever-wise.430Alcinoüs! Prince! exalted high o’er allPhæacia’s sons! should ye solicit, kind,My stay throughout the year, preparing stillMy conduct home, and with illustrious giftsEnriching me the while, ev’n that requestShould please me well; the wealthier I return’d,The happier my condition; welcome moreAnd more respectable I should appearIn ev’ry eye to Ithaca restored.To whom Alcinoüs answer thus return’d.440Ulysses! viewing thee, no fears we feelLest thou, at length, some false pretender prove,Or subtle hypocrite, of whom no fewDisseminated o’er its face the earthSustains, adepts in fiction, and who frameFables, where fables could be least surmised.Thy phrase well turn’d, and thy ingenuous mindProclaimtheediff’rent far, who hast in strainsMusical as a poet’s voice, the woesRehears’d of all thy Greecians, and thy own.450But say, and tell me true. Beheld’st thou thereNone of thy followers to the walls of TroySlain in that warfare? Lo! the night is long—A night of utmost length; nor yet the hourInvites to sleep. Tell me thy wond’rous deeds,For I could watch till sacred dawn, could’st thouSo long endure to tell me of thy toils.Then thus Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.Alcinoüs! high exalted over allPhæacia’s sons! the time suffices yet460For converse both and sleep, and if thou wishTo hear still more, I shall not spare to unfoldMore pitiable woes than these, sustain’dBy my companions, in the end destroy’d;Who, saved from perils of disast’rous warAt Ilium, perish’d yet in their return,Victims of a pernicious woman’s crime.48Now, when chaste Proserpine had wide dispers’dThose female shades, the spirit sore distress’dOf Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, appear’d;470Encircled by a throng, he came; by allWho with himself beneath Ægisthus’ roofTheir fate fulfill’d, perishing by the sword.He drank the blood, and knew me; shrill he wail’dAnd querulous; tears trickling bathed his cheeks,And with spread palms, through ardour of desireHe sought to enfold me fast, but vigour none,Or force, as erst, his agile limbs inform’d.I, pity-moved, wept at the sight, and him,In accents wing’d by friendship, thus address’d.480Ah glorious son of Atreus, King of men!What hand inflicted the all-numbing strokeOf death on thee? Say, didst thou perish sunkBy howling tempests irresistibleWhich Neptune raised, or on dry land by forceOf hostile multitudes, while cutting offBeeves from the herd, or driving flocks away,Or fighting for Achaia’s daughters, shutWithin some city’s bulwarks close besieged?I ceased, when Agamemnon thus replied.490Ulysses, noble Chief, Laertes’ sonFor wisdom famed! I neither perish’d sunkBy howling tempests irresistibleWhich Neptune raised, nor on dry land receivedFrom hostile multitudes the fatal blow,But me Ægisthus slew; my woeful deathConfed’rate with my own pernicious wifeHe plotted, with a show of love sincereBidding me to his board, where as the oxIs slaughter’d at his crib, he slaughter’dme.500Such was my dreadful death; carnage ensuedContinual of my friends slain all around,Num’rous as boars bright-tusk’d at nuptial feast,Or feast convivial of some wealthy Chief.Thou hast already witness’d many a fieldWith warriors overspread, slain one by one,But that dire scene had most thy pity moved,For we, with brimming beakers at our side,And underneath full tables bleeding lay.Blood floated all the pavement. Then the cries510Of Priam’s daughter sounded in my earsMost pitiable of all. Cassandra’s cries,Whom Clytemnestra close beside me slew.Expiring as I lay, I yet essay’dTo grasp my faulchion, but the trayt’ress quickWithdrew herself, nor would vouchsafe to closeMy languid eyes, or prop my drooping chinEv’n in the moment when I sought the shades.So that the thing breathes not, ruthless and fellAs woman once resolv’d on such a deed520Detestable, as my base wife contrived,The murther of the husband of her youth.I thought to have return’d welcome to all,To my own children and domestic train;But she, past measure profligate, hath pouredShame on herself, on women yet unborn,And even on the virtuous of her sex.He ceas’d, to whom, thus, answer I return’d.Gods! how severely hath the thund’rer plaguedThe house of Atreus even from the first,530By female counsels! we for Helen’s sakeHave num’rous died, and Clytemnestra framed,While thou wast far remote, this snare for thee!So I, to whom Atrides thus replied.Thou, therefore, be not pliant overmuchTo woman; trust her not with all thy mind,But half disclose to her, and half conceal.Yet, from thy consort’s hand no bloody death,My friend, hast thou to fear; for passing wiseIcarius’ daughter is, far other thoughts,540Intelligent, and other plans, to frame.Her, going to the wars we left a brideNew-wedded, and thy boy hung at her breast,Who, man himself, consorts ere now with menA prosp’rous youth; his father, safe restoredTo his own Ithaca, shall see him soon,Andheshall clasp his father in his armsAs nature bids; but me, my cruel oneIndulged not with the dear delight to gazeOn my Orestes, for she slew me first.550But listen; treasure what I now impart.49Steer secret to thy native isle; avoidNotice; for woman merits trust no more.Now tell me truth. Hear ye in whose abodeMy son resides? dwells he in Pylus, say,Or in Orchomenos, or else beneathMy brother’s roof in Sparta’s wide domain?For my Orestes is not yet a shade.So he, to whom I answer thus return’d.Atrides, ask not me. Whether he live,560Or have already died, I nothing know;Mere words are vanity, and better spared.Thus we discoursing mutual stood, and tearsShedding disconsolate. The shade, meantime,Came of Achilles, Peleus’ mighty son;Patroclus also, and AntilochusAppear’d, with Ajax, for proportion justAnd stature tall, (Pelides sole except)Distinguish’d above all Achaia’s sons.The soul of swift Æacides at once570Knew me, and in wing’d accents thus began.Brave Laertiades, for wiles renown’d!What mightier enterprise than all the pastHath made thee here a guest? rash as thou art!How hast thou dared to penetrate the gloomOf Ades, dwelling of the shadowy dead,Semblances only of what once they were?He spake, to whom I, answ’ring, thus replied.O Peleus’ son! Achilles! bravest farOf all Achaia’s race! I here arrived580Seeking Tiresias, from his lips to learn,Perchance, how I might safe regain the coastOf craggy Ithaca; for tempest-toss’dPerpetual, I have neither yet approach’dAchaia’s shore, or landed on my own.But as for thee, Achilles! never manHath known felicity like thine, or shall,Whom living we all honour’d as a God,And who maintain’st, here resident, supremeControul among the dead; indulge not then,590Achilles, causeless grief that thou hast died.I ceased, and answer thus instant received.Renown’d Ulysses! think not death a themeOf consolation; I had rather liveThe servile hind for hire, and eat the breadOf some man scantily himself sustain’d,Than sov’reign empire hold o’er all the shades.But come—speak to me of my noble boy;Proceeds he, as he promis’d, brave in arms,Or shuns he war? Say also, hast thou heard600Of royal Peleus? shares he still respectAmong his num’rous Myrmidons, or scornIn Hellas and in Phthia, for that agePredominates in his enfeebled limbs?For help is none in me; the glorious sunNo longer sees me such, as when in aidOf the Achaians I o’erspread the fieldOf spacious Troy with all their bravest slain.Oh might I, vigorous as then, repair50For one short moment to my father’s house,610They all should tremble; I would shew an arm,Such as should daunt the fiercest who presumesTo injurehim, or to despise his age.Achilles spake, to whom I thus replied.Of noble Peleus have I nothing heard;But I will tell thee, as thou bidd’st, the truthUnfeign’d of Neoptolemus thy son;For him, myself, on board my hollow barkFrom Scyros to Achaia’s host convey’d.Oft as in council under Ilium’s walls620We met, he ever foremost was in speech,Nor spake erroneous; Nestor and myselfExcept, no Greecian could with him compare.Oft, too, as we with battle hemm’d aroundTroy’s bulwarks, from among the mingled crowdThy son sprang foremost into martial act,Inferior in heroic worth to none.Beneath him num’rous fell the sons of TroyIn dreadful fight, nor have I pow’r to nameDistinctly all, who by his glorious arm630Exerted in the cause of Greece, expired.Yet will I name Eurypylus, the sonOf Telephus, an Hero whom his swordOf life bereaved, and all around him strew’dThe plain with his Cetean warriors, wonTo Ilium’s side by bribes to women giv’n.51Save noble Memnon only, I beheldNo Chief at Ilium beautiful as he.Again, when we within the horse of woodFramed by Epeüs sat, an ambush chos’n640Of all the bravest Greeks, and I in trustWas placed to open or to keep fast-closedThe hollow fraud; then, ev’ry Chieftain thereAnd Senator of Greece wiped from his cheeksThe tears, and tremors felt in ev’ry limb;But never saw I changed to terror’s hueHisruddy cheek, no tears wipedheaway,But oft he press’d me to go forth, his suitWith pray’rs enforcing, griping hard his hiltAnd his brass-burthen’d spear, and dire revenge650Denouncing, ardent, on the race of Troy.At length, when we had sack’d the lofty townOf Priam, laden with abundant spoilsHe safe embark’d, neither by spear or shaftAught hurt, or in close fight by faulchion’s edge,As oft in war befalls, where wounds are dealtPromiscuous at the will of fiery Mars.So I; then striding large, the spirit thenceWithdrew of swift Æacides, alongThe hoary mead pacing,52with joy elate660That I had blazon’d bright his son’s renown.The other souls of men by death dismiss’dStood mournful by, sad uttering each his woes;The soul alone I saw standing remoteOf Telamonian Ajax, still incensedThat in our public contest for the armsWorn by Achilles, and by Thetis thrownInto dispute, my claim had strongest proved,Troy and Minerva judges of the cause.Disastrous victory! which I could wish670Not to have won, since for that armour’s sakeThe earth hath cover’d Ajax, in his formAnd martial deeds superior far to allThe Greecians, Peleus’ matchless son except.I, seeking to appease him, thus began.O Ajax, son of glorious Telamon!Canst thou remember, even after death,Thy wrath against me, kindled for the sakeOf those pernicious arms? arms which the GodsOrdain’d of such dire consequence to Greece,680Which caused thy death, our bulwark! Thee we mournWith grief perpetual, nor the death lamentOf Peleus’ son, Achilles, more than thine.Yet none is blameable; Jove evermoreWith bitt’rest hate pursued Achaia’s host,And he ordain’d thy death. Hero! approach,That thou may’st hear the words with which I seekTo sooth thee; let thy long displeasure cease!Quell all resentment in thy gen’rous breast!I spake; nought answer’d he, but sullen join’d690His fellow-ghosts; yet, angry as he was,I had prevail’d even on him to speak,Or had, at least, accosted him again,But that my bosom teem’d with strong desireUrgent, to see yet others of the dead.There saw I Minos, offspring famed of Jove;His golden sceptre in his hand, he satJudge of the dead; they, pleading each in turn,His cause, some stood, some sat, filling the houseWhose spacious folding-gates are never closed.700Orion next, huge ghost, engaged my view,Droves urging o’er the grassy mead, of beastsWhich he had slain, himself, on the wild hills,With strong club arm’d of ever-during brass.There also Tityus on the ground I sawExtended, offspring of the glorious earth;Nine acres he o’erspread, and, at his sideStation’d, two vultures on his liver prey’d,Scooping his entrails; nor sufficed his handsTo fray them thence; for he had sought to force710Latona, illustrious concubine of Jove,What time the Goddess journey’d o’er the rocksOf Pytho into pleasant Panopeus.Next, suff’ring grievous torments, I beheldTantalus; in a pool he stood, his chinWash’d by the wave; thirst-parch’d he seem’d, but foundNought to assuage his thirst; for when he bow’dHis hoary head, ardent to quaff, the floodVanish’d absorb’d, and, at his feet, adustThe soil appear’d, dried, instant, by the Gods.720Tall trees, fruit-laden, with inflected headsStoop’d to him, pomegranates, apples bright,The luscious fig, and unctuous olive smooth;Which when with sudden grasp he would have seized,Winds hurl’d them high into the dusky clouds.There, too, the hard-task’d Sisyphus I saw,Thrusting before him, strenuous, a vast rock.53With hands and feet struggling, he shoved the stoneUp to a hill-top; but the steep well-nighVanquish’d, by some great force repulsed,54the mass730Rush’d again, obstinate, down to the plain.Again, stretch’d prone, severe he toiled, the sweatBathed all his weary limbs, and his head reek’d.The might of Hercules I, next, survey’d;His semblance; for himself their banquet sharesWith the Immortal Gods, and in his armsEnfolds neat-footed Hebe, daughter fairOf Jove, and of his golden-sandal’d spouse.Around him, clamorous as birds, the deadSwarm’d turbulent; he, gloomy-brow’d as night,740With uncased bow and arrow on the stringPeer’d terrible from side to side, as oneEver in act to shoot; a dreadful beltHe bore athwart his bosom, thong’d with gold.There, broider’d shone many a stupendous form,Bears, wild boars, lions with fire-flashing eyes,Fierce combats, battles, bloodshed, homicide.The artist, author of that belt, none suchBefore, produced, or after. Me his eyeNo sooner mark’d, than knowing me, in words750By sorrow quick suggested, he began.Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!Ah, hapless Hero! thou art, doubtless, charged,Thou also, with some arduous labour, suchAs in the realms of day I once endured.Son was I of Saturnian Jove, yet woesImmense sustain’d, subjected to a KingInferior far to me, whose harsh commandsEnjoin’d me many a terrible exploit.He even bade me on a time lead hence760The dog, that task believing above allImpracticable; yet from Ades himI dragg’d reluctant into light, by aidOf Hermes, and of Pallas azure-eyed.So saying, he penetrated deep againThe abode of Pluto; but I still unmovedThere stood expecting, curious, other shadesTo see of Heroes in old time deceased.And now, more ancient worthies still, and whomI wish’d, I had beheld, Pirithoüs770And Theseus, glorious progeny of Gods,But nations, first, numberless of the deadCame shrieking hideous; me pale horror seized,Lest awful Proserpine should thither sendThe Gorgon-head from Ades, sight abhorr’d!I, therefore, hasting to the vessel, badeMy crew embark, and cast the hawsers loose.They, quick embarking, on the benches sat.Down the Oceanus55the current boreMy galley, winning, at the first, her way780With oars, then, wafted by propitious gales.40Milton.41The shore of Scilly commonly called Trinacria, butEuphonicèby Homer, Thrinacia.42The expression is used by Milton, and signifies—Beset with many difficulties.43Mistaking the oar for a corn-van. A sure indication of his ignorance of maritime concerns.44By the Tragedians called—Jocasta.45Iphicles had been informed by the Oracles that he should have no children till instructed by a prophet how to obtain them; a service which Melampus had the good fortune to render him.46Apollo.47Bacchus accused her to Diana of having lain with Theseus in his temple, and the Goddess punished her with death.48Probably meaning Helen.49This is surely one of the most natural strokes to be found in any Poet. Convinced, for a moment, by the virtues of Penelope, he mentioned her with respect; but recollecting himself suddenly, involves even her in his general ill opinion of the sex, begotten in him by the crimes of Clytemnestra.50Another most beautiful stroke of nature. Ere yet Ulysses has had opportunity to answer, the very thought that Peleus may possibly be insulted, fires him, and he takes the whole for granted. Thus is the impetuous character of Achilles sustained to the last moment!51Γυναίων εινεκα δώρων—Priam is said to have influenced by gifts the wife and mother of Eurypylus, to persuade him to the assistance of Troy, he being himself unwilling to engage. The passage through defect of history has long been dark, and commentators have adapted different senses to it, all conjectural. The Ceteans are said to have been a people of Mysia, of which Eurypylus was King.52Κατ’ ασφοδελον λειμωνα—Asphodel was planted on the graves and around the tombs of the deceased, and hence the supposition that the Stygian plain was clothed with asphodel. F.53Βασαζονταmust have this sense interpreted by what follows. To attempt to make the English numbers expressive as the Greek is a labour like that of Sisyphus. The Translator has done what he could.54It is now, perhaps, impossible to ascertain with precision what Homer meant by the wordκραταιίς, which he uses only here, and in the next book, where it is the name of Scylla’s dam.—Αναιδης—is also of very doubtful explication.55The two first lines of the following book seem to ascertain the true meaning of the conclusion of this, and to prove sufficiently that byὨκεανὸςhere Homer could not possibly intend any other than a river. In those lines he tells us in the plainest terms thatthe ship left the stream of the river Oceanus, and arrived in the open sea. Diodorus Siculus informs us thatὨκεανὸςhad been a name anciently given to the Nile. See Clarke.
Ulysses relates to Alcinoüs his voyage to the infernal regions, his conference there with the prophet Tiresias concerning his return to Ithaca, and gives him an account of the heroes, heroines, and others whom he saw there.
Arriving on the shore, and launching, first,Our bark into the sacred Deep, we setOur mast and sails, and stow’d secure on boardThe ram and ewe, then, weeping, and with heartsSad and disconsolate, embark’d ourselves.And now, melodious Circe, nymph divine,Sent after us a canvas-stretching breeze,Pleasant companion of our course, and we(The decks and benches clear’d) untoiling sat,While managed gales sped swift the bark along.10All day, with sails distended, e’er the DeepShe flew, and when the sun, at length, declined,And twilight dim had shadow’d all the ways,Approach’d the bourn of Ocean’s vast profound.The city, there, of the Cimmerians standsWith clouds and darkness veil’d, on whom the sunDeigns not to look with his beam-darting eye,Or when he climbs the starry arch, or whenEarthward he slopes again his west’ring wheels,40But sad night canopies the woeful race.20We haled the bark aground, and, landing thereThe ram and sable ewe, journey’d besideThe Deep, till we arrived where Circe bade.Here, Perimedes’ son EurylochusHeld fast the destined sacrifice, while IScoop’d with my sword the soil, op’ning a trenchEll-broad on ev’ry side, then pour’d aroundLibation consecrate to all the dead,First, milk with honey mixt, then luscious wine,Then water, sprinkling, last, meal over all.30This done, adoring the unreal formsAnd shadows of the dead, I vow’d to slay,(Return’d to Ithaca) in my own abode,An heifer barren yet, fairest and bestOf all my herds, and to enrich the pileWith delicacies, such as please the shades.But, in peculiar, to the Theban seerI vow’d a sable ram, largest and bestOf all my flocks. When thus I had imploredWith vows and pray’r, the nations of the dead,40Piercing the victims next, I turn’d them bothTo bleed into the trench; then swarming cameFrom Erebus the shades of the deceased,Brides, youths unwedded, seniors long with woeOppress’d, and tender girls yet new to grief.Came also many a warrior by the spearIn battle pierced, with armour gore-distain’d,And all the multitude around the fossStalk’d shrieking dreadful; me pale horror seized.I next, importunate, my people urged,50Flaying the victims which myself had slain,To burn them, and to supplicate in pray’rIllustrious Pluto and dread Proserpine.Then down I sat, and with drawn faulchion chasedThe ghosts, nor suffer’d them to approach the blood,Till with Tiresias I should first confer.The spirit, first, of my companion came,Elpenor; for no burial honours yetHad he received, but we had left his corseIn Circe’s palace, tombless, undeplored,60Ourselves by pressure urged of other cares.Touch’d with compassion seeing him, I wept,And in wing’d accents brief him thus bespake.Elpenor! how cam’st thou into the realmsOf darkness? Hast thou, though on foot, so farOutstripp’d my speed, who in my bark arrived?So I, to whom with tears he thus replied.Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!Fool’d by some dæmon and the intemp’rate bowl,I perish’d in the house of Circe; there70The deep-descending steps heedless I miss’d,And fell precipitated from the roof.With neck-bone broken from the vertebræOutstretch’d I lay; my spirit sought the shades.But now, by those whom thou hast left at home,By thy Penelope, and by thy fire,The gentle nourisher of thy infant growth,And by thy only son TelemachusI make my suit to thee. For, sure, I knowThat from the house of Pluto safe return’d,80Thou shalt ere long thy gallant vessel moorAt the Ææan isle. Ah! there arrivedRemember me. Leave me not undeploredNor uninhumed, lest, for my sake, the GodsIn vengeance visit thee; but with my arms(What arms soe’er I left) burn me, and raiseA kind memorial of me on the coast,Heap’d high with earth; that an unhappy manMay yet enjoy an unforgotten name.Thus do at my request, and on my hill90Funereal, plant the oar with which I row’d,While yet I lived a mariner of thine.He spake, to whom thus answer I return’d.Poor youth! I will perform thy whole desire.Thus we, there sitting, doleful converse held,With outstretch’d faulchion, I, guarding the blood,And my companion’s shadowy semblance sadMeantime discoursing me on various themes.The soul of my departed mother, next,Of Anticleia came, daughter of brave100Autolycus; whom, when I sought the shoresOf Ilium, I had living left at home.Seeing her, with compassion touch’d, I wept,Yet even her, (although it pain’d my soul)Forbad, relentless, to approach the blood,Till with Tiresias I should first confer.Then came the spirit of the Theban seerHimself, his golden sceptre in his hand,Who knew me, and, enquiring, thus began.Why, hapless Chief! leaving the cheerful day,110Arriv’st thou to behold the dead, and thisUnpleasant land? but, from the trench awhileReceding, turn thy faulchion keen away,That I may drink the blood, and tell thee truth.He spake; I thence receding, deep infix’dMy sword bright-studded in the sheath again.The noble prophet then, approaching, drankThe blood, and, satisfied, address’d me thus.Thou seek’st a pleasant voyage home again,Renown’d Ulysses! but a God will make120That voyage difficult; for, as I judge,Thou wilt not pass by Neptune unperceiv’d,Whose anger follows thee, for that thou hastDeprived his son Cyclops of his eye.At length, however, after num’rous woesEndur’d, thou may’st attain thy native isle,If thy own appetite thou wilt controulAnd theirs who follow thee, what time thy barkWell-built, shall at Thrinacia’s shore arrive,41Escaped from perils of the gloomy Deep.130There shall ye find grazing the flocks and herdsOf the all-seeing and all-hearing Sun,Which, if attentive to thy safe return,Thou leave unharm’d, though after num’rous woes,Ye may at length arrive in Ithaca.But if thou violate them, I denounceDestruction on thy ship and all thy band,And though thyself escape, late shalt thou reachThy home and hard-bested,42in a strange bark,All thy companions lost; trouble beside140Awaits thee there, for thou shalt find withinProud suitors of thy noble wife, who wasteThy substance, and with promis’d spousal giftsCeaseless solicit her to wed; yet wellShalt thou avenge all their injurious deeds.That once perform’d, and ev’ry suitor slainEither by stratagem, or face to face,In thy own palace, bearing, as thou go’st,A shapely oar, journey, till thou hast foundA people who the sea know not, nor eat150Food salted; they trim galley crimson prow’dHave ne’er beheld, nor yet smooth-shaven oar,With which the vessel wing’d scuds o’er the waves.Well thou shalt know them; this shall be the sign—When thou shalt meet a trav’ler, who shall nameThe oar on thy broad shoulder borne, a van,43There, deep infixing it within the soil,Worship the King of Ocean with a bull,A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seekThy home again, and sacrifice at home160An hecatomb to the Immortal Gods,Adoring each duly, and in his course.So shalt thou die in peace a gentle death,Remote from Ocean; it shall find thee late,In soft serenity of age, the ChiefOf a blest people.—I have told thee truth.He spake, to whom I answer thus return’d.Tiresias! thou, I doubt not, hast reveal’dThe ordinance of heav’n. But tell me, Seer!And truly. I behold my mother’s shade;170Silent she sits beside the blood, nor wordNor even look vouchsafes to her own son.How shall she learn, prophet, that I am her’s?So I, to whom Tiresias quick replied.The course is easy. Learn it, taught by me.What shade soe’er, by leave of thee obtain’d,Shall taste the blood, that shade will tell thee truth;The rest, prohibited, will all retire.When thus the spirit of the royal SeerHad his prophetic mind reveal’d, again180He enter’d Pluto’s gates; but I unmovedStill waited till my mother’s shade approach’d;She drank the blood, then knew me, and in wordsWing’d with affection, plaintive, thus began.My son! how hast thou enter’d, still alive,This darksome region? Difficult it isFor living man to view the realms of death.Broad rivers roll, and awful floods between,But chief, the Ocean, which to pass on foot,Or without ship, impossible is found.190Hast thou, long wand’ring in thy voyage homeFrom Ilium, with thy ship and crew arrived,Ithaca and thy consort yet unseen?She spake, to whom this answer I return’d.My mother! me necessity constrain’dTo Pluto’s dwelling, anxious to consultTheban Tiresias; for I have not yetApproach’d Achaia, nor have touch’d the shoreOf Ithaca, but suff’ring ceaseless woeHave roam’d, since first in Agamemnon’s train200I went to combat with the sons of Troy.But speak, my mother, and the truth alone;What stroke of fate slewthee? Fell’st thou a preyTo some slow malady? or by the shaftsOf gentle Dian suddenly subdued?Speak to me also of my ancient Sire,And of Telemachus, whom I left at home;Possess I still unalienate and safeMy property, or hath some happier ChiefAdmittance free into my fortunes gain’d,210No hope subsisting more of my return?The mind and purpose of my wedded wifeDeclare thou also. Dwells she with our sonFaithful to my domestic interests,Or is she wedded to some Chief of Greece?I ceas’d, when thus the venerable shade.Not so; she faithful still and patient dwellsThy roof beneath; but all her days and nightsDevoting sad to anguish and to tears.Thy fortunes still are thine; Telemachus220Cultivates, undisturb’d, thy land, and sitsAt many a noble banquet, such as wellBeseems the splendour of his princely state,For all invite him; at his farm retiredThy father dwells, nor to the city comes,For aught; nor bed, nor furniture of bed,Furr’d cloaks or splendid arras he enjoys,But, with his servile hinds all winter sleepsIn ashes and in dust at the hearth-side,Coarsely attired; again, when summer comes,230Or genial autumn, on the fallen leavesIn any nook, not curious where, he findsThere, stretch’d forlorn, nourishing grief, he weepsThy lot, enfeebled now by num’rous years.So perish’d I; such fate I also found;Me, neither the right-aiming arch’ress struck,Diana, with her gentle shafts, nor meDistemper slew, my limbs by slow degreesBut sure, bereaving of their little life,240But long regret, tender solicitude,And recollection of thy kindness past,These, my Ulysses! fatal proved to me.She said; I, ardent wish’d to clasp the shadeOf my departed mother; thrice I sprangToward her, by desire impetuous urged,And thrice she flitted from between my arms,Light as a passing shadow or a dream.Then, pierced by keener grief, in accents wing’dWith filial earnestness I thus replied.250My mother, why elud’st thou my attemptTo clasp thee, that ev’n here, in Pluto’s realm,We might to full satiety indulgeOur grief, enfolded in each other’s arms?Hath Proserpine, alas! only dispatch’dA shadow to me, to augment my woe?Then, instant, thus the venerable form.Ah, son! thou most afflicted of mankind!On thee, Jove’s daughter, Proserpine, obtrudesNo airy semblance vain; but such the state260And nature is of mortals once deceased.For they nor muscle have, nor flesh, nor bone;All those (the spirit from the body onceDivorced) the violence of fire consumes,And, like a dream, the soul flies swift away.But haste thou back to light, and, taught thyselfThese sacred truths, hereafter teach thy spouse.Thus mutual we conferr’d. Then, thither came,Encouraged forth by royal Proserpine,Shades female num’rous, all who consorts, erst,270Or daughters were of mighty Chiefs renown’d.About the sable blood frequent they swarm’d.But I, consid’ring sat, how I might eachInterrogate, and thus resolv’d. My swordForth drawing from beside my sturdy thigh,Firm I prohibited the ghosts to drinkThe blood together; they successive came;Each told her own distress; I question’d all.There, first, the high-born Tyro I beheld;She claim’d Salmoneus as her sire, and wife280Was once of Cretheus, son of Æolus.Enamour’d of Enipeus, stream divine,Loveliest of all that water earth, besideHis limpid current she was wont to stray,When Ocean’s God, (Enipeus’ form assumed)Within the eddy-whirling river’s mouthEmbraced her; there, while the o’er-arching flood,Uplifted mountainous, conceal’d the GodAnd his fair human bride, her virgin zoneHe loos’d, and o’er her eyes sweet sleep diffused.290His am’rous purpose satisfied, he grasp’dHer hand, affectionate, and thus he said.Rejoice in this my love, and when the yearShall tend to consummation of its course,Thou shalt produce illustrious twins, for loveImmortal never is unfruitful love.Rear them with all a mother’s care; meantime,Hence to thy home. Be silent. Name it not.For I am Neptune, Shaker of the shores.So saying, he plunged into the billowy Deep.300She pregnant grown, Pelias and Neleus bore,Both, valiant ministers of mighty Jove.In wide-spread Iäolchus Pelias dwelt,Of num’rous flocks possess’d; but his abodeAmid the sands of Pylus Neleus chose.To Cretheus wedded next, the lovely nymphYet other sons, Æson and Pheres bore,And Amythaon of equestrian fame.I, next, the daughter of Asopus saw,Antiope; she gloried to have known310Th’ embrace of Jove himself, to whom she broughtA double progeny, Amphion namedAnd Zethus; they the seven-gated ThebesFounded and girded with strong tow’rs, because,Though puissant Heroes both, in spacious ThebesUnfenced by tow’rs, they could not dwell secure.Alcmena, next, wife of AmphitryonI saw; she in the arms of sov’reign JoveThe lion-hearted Hercules conceiv’d,And, after, bore to Creon brave in fight320His daughter Megara, by the noble sonUnconquer’d of Amphitryon espoused.The beauteous Epicaste44saw I then,Mother of Oedipus, who guilt incurr’dProdigious, wedded, unintentional,To her own son; his father first he slew,Then wedded her, which soon the Gods divulged.He, under vengeance of offended heav’n,In pleasant Thebes dwelt miserable, KingOf the Cadmean race; she to the gates330Of Ades brazen-barr’d despairing went,Self-strangled by a cord fasten’d aloftTo her own palace-roof, and woes bequeath’d(Such as the Fury sisters executeInnumerable) to her guilty son.There also saw I Chloris, loveliest fair,Whom Neleus woo’d and won with spousal giftsInestimable, by her beauty charm’dShe youngest daughter was of Iasus’ son,Amphion, in old time a sov’reign prince340In Minuëian Orchomenus,And King of Pylus. Three illustrious sonsShe bore to Neleus, Nestor, Chromius,And Periclymenus the wide-renown’d,And, last, produced a wonder of the earth,Pero, by ev’ry neighbour prince aroundIn marriage sought; but Neleus her on noneDeign’d to bestow, save only on the ChiefWho should from Phylace drive off the beeves(Broad-fronted, and with jealous care secured)350Of valiant Iphicles. One undertookThat task alone, a prophet high in fame,Melampus; but the Fates fast bound him thereIn rig’rous bonds by rustic hands imposed.At length (the year, with all its months and daysConcluded, and the new-born year begun)Illustrious Iphicles releas’d the seer,Grateful for all the oracles resolved,45Till then obscure. So stood the will of Jove.Next, Leda, wife of Tyndarus I saw,360Who bore to Tyndarus a noble pair,Castor the bold, and Pollux cestus-famed.They pris’ners in the fertile womb of earth,Though living, dwell, and even there from JoveHigh priv’lege gain; alternate they reviveAnd die, and dignity partake divine.The comfort of Aloëus, next, I view’d,Iphimedeia; she th’ embrace profess’dOf Neptune to have shared, to whom she boreTwo sons; short-lived they were, but godlike both,370Otus and Ephialtes far-renown’d.Orion sole except, all-bounteous EarthNe’er nourish’d forms for beauty or for sizeTo be admired as theirs; in his ninth yearEach measur’d, broad, nine cubits, and the heightWas found nine ells of each. Against the GodsThemselves they threaten’d war, and to exciteThe din of battle in the realms above.To the Olympian summit they essay’dTo heave up Ossa, and to Ossa’s crown380Branch-waving Pelion; so to climb the heav’ns.Nor had they failed, maturer grown in might,To accomplish that emprize, but them the son46Of radiant-hair’d Latona and of JoveSlew both, ere yet the down of blooming youthThick-sprung, their cheeks or chins had tufted o’er.Phædra I also there, and Procris saw,And Ariadne for her beauty praised,Whose sire was all-wise Minos. Theseus herFrom Crete toward the fruitful region bore390Of sacred Athens, but enjoy’d not there,For, first, she perish’d by Diana’s shaftsIn Dia, Bacchus witnessing her crime.47Mæra and Clymene I saw beside,And odious Eriphyle, who receivedThe price in gold of her own husband’s life.But all the wives of Heroes whom I saw,And all their daughters can I not relate;Night, first, would fail; and even now the hourCalls me to rest either on board my bark,400Or here; meantime, I in yourselves confide,And in the Gods to shape my conduct home.He ceased; the whole assembly silent sat,Charm’d into ecstacy by his discourseThroughout the twilight hall, till, at the last,Areta iv’ry arm’d them thus bespake.Phæacians! how appears he in your eyesThis stranger, graceful as he is in port,In stature noble, and in mind discrete?My guest he is, but ye all share with me410That honour; him dismiss not, therefore, henceWith haste, nor from such indigence withholdSupplies gratuitous; for ye are rich,And by kind heav’n with rare possessions blest.The Hero, next, Echeneus spake, a ChiefNow ancient, eldest of Phæacia’s sons.Your prudent Queen, my friends, speaks not besideHer proper scope, but as beseems her well.Her voice obey; yet the effect of allMust on Alcinoüs himself depend.420To whom Alcinoüs, thus, the King, replied.I ratify the word. So shall be done,As surely as myself shall live supremeO’er all Phæacia’s maritime domain.Then let the guest, though anxious to depart,Wait till the morrow, that I may completeThe whole donation. His safe conduct homeShall be the gen’ral care, but mine in Chief,To whom dominion o’er the rest belongs.Him answer’d, then, Ulysses ever-wise.430Alcinoüs! Prince! exalted high o’er allPhæacia’s sons! should ye solicit, kind,My stay throughout the year, preparing stillMy conduct home, and with illustrious giftsEnriching me the while, ev’n that requestShould please me well; the wealthier I return’d,The happier my condition; welcome moreAnd more respectable I should appearIn ev’ry eye to Ithaca restored.To whom Alcinoüs answer thus return’d.440Ulysses! viewing thee, no fears we feelLest thou, at length, some false pretender prove,Or subtle hypocrite, of whom no fewDisseminated o’er its face the earthSustains, adepts in fiction, and who frameFables, where fables could be least surmised.Thy phrase well turn’d, and thy ingenuous mindProclaimtheediff’rent far, who hast in strainsMusical as a poet’s voice, the woesRehears’d of all thy Greecians, and thy own.450But say, and tell me true. Beheld’st thou thereNone of thy followers to the walls of TroySlain in that warfare? Lo! the night is long—A night of utmost length; nor yet the hourInvites to sleep. Tell me thy wond’rous deeds,For I could watch till sacred dawn, could’st thouSo long endure to tell me of thy toils.Then thus Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.Alcinoüs! high exalted over allPhæacia’s sons! the time suffices yet460For converse both and sleep, and if thou wishTo hear still more, I shall not spare to unfoldMore pitiable woes than these, sustain’dBy my companions, in the end destroy’d;Who, saved from perils of disast’rous warAt Ilium, perish’d yet in their return,Victims of a pernicious woman’s crime.48Now, when chaste Proserpine had wide dispers’dThose female shades, the spirit sore distress’dOf Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, appear’d;470Encircled by a throng, he came; by allWho with himself beneath Ægisthus’ roofTheir fate fulfill’d, perishing by the sword.He drank the blood, and knew me; shrill he wail’dAnd querulous; tears trickling bathed his cheeks,And with spread palms, through ardour of desireHe sought to enfold me fast, but vigour none,Or force, as erst, his agile limbs inform’d.I, pity-moved, wept at the sight, and him,In accents wing’d by friendship, thus address’d.480Ah glorious son of Atreus, King of men!What hand inflicted the all-numbing strokeOf death on thee? Say, didst thou perish sunkBy howling tempests irresistibleWhich Neptune raised, or on dry land by forceOf hostile multitudes, while cutting offBeeves from the herd, or driving flocks away,Or fighting for Achaia’s daughters, shutWithin some city’s bulwarks close besieged?I ceased, when Agamemnon thus replied.490Ulysses, noble Chief, Laertes’ sonFor wisdom famed! I neither perish’d sunkBy howling tempests irresistibleWhich Neptune raised, nor on dry land receivedFrom hostile multitudes the fatal blow,But me Ægisthus slew; my woeful deathConfed’rate with my own pernicious wifeHe plotted, with a show of love sincereBidding me to his board, where as the oxIs slaughter’d at his crib, he slaughter’dme.500Such was my dreadful death; carnage ensuedContinual of my friends slain all around,Num’rous as boars bright-tusk’d at nuptial feast,Or feast convivial of some wealthy Chief.Thou hast already witness’d many a fieldWith warriors overspread, slain one by one,But that dire scene had most thy pity moved,For we, with brimming beakers at our side,And underneath full tables bleeding lay.Blood floated all the pavement. Then the cries510Of Priam’s daughter sounded in my earsMost pitiable of all. Cassandra’s cries,Whom Clytemnestra close beside me slew.Expiring as I lay, I yet essay’dTo grasp my faulchion, but the trayt’ress quickWithdrew herself, nor would vouchsafe to closeMy languid eyes, or prop my drooping chinEv’n in the moment when I sought the shades.So that the thing breathes not, ruthless and fellAs woman once resolv’d on such a deed520Detestable, as my base wife contrived,The murther of the husband of her youth.I thought to have return’d welcome to all,To my own children and domestic train;But she, past measure profligate, hath pouredShame on herself, on women yet unborn,And even on the virtuous of her sex.He ceas’d, to whom, thus, answer I return’d.Gods! how severely hath the thund’rer plaguedThe house of Atreus even from the first,530By female counsels! we for Helen’s sakeHave num’rous died, and Clytemnestra framed,While thou wast far remote, this snare for thee!So I, to whom Atrides thus replied.Thou, therefore, be not pliant overmuchTo woman; trust her not with all thy mind,But half disclose to her, and half conceal.Yet, from thy consort’s hand no bloody death,My friend, hast thou to fear; for passing wiseIcarius’ daughter is, far other thoughts,540Intelligent, and other plans, to frame.Her, going to the wars we left a brideNew-wedded, and thy boy hung at her breast,Who, man himself, consorts ere now with menA prosp’rous youth; his father, safe restoredTo his own Ithaca, shall see him soon,Andheshall clasp his father in his armsAs nature bids; but me, my cruel oneIndulged not with the dear delight to gazeOn my Orestes, for she slew me first.550But listen; treasure what I now impart.49Steer secret to thy native isle; avoidNotice; for woman merits trust no more.Now tell me truth. Hear ye in whose abodeMy son resides? dwells he in Pylus, say,Or in Orchomenos, or else beneathMy brother’s roof in Sparta’s wide domain?For my Orestes is not yet a shade.So he, to whom I answer thus return’d.Atrides, ask not me. Whether he live,560Or have already died, I nothing know;Mere words are vanity, and better spared.Thus we discoursing mutual stood, and tearsShedding disconsolate. The shade, meantime,Came of Achilles, Peleus’ mighty son;Patroclus also, and AntilochusAppear’d, with Ajax, for proportion justAnd stature tall, (Pelides sole except)Distinguish’d above all Achaia’s sons.The soul of swift Æacides at once570Knew me, and in wing’d accents thus began.Brave Laertiades, for wiles renown’d!What mightier enterprise than all the pastHath made thee here a guest? rash as thou art!How hast thou dared to penetrate the gloomOf Ades, dwelling of the shadowy dead,Semblances only of what once they were?He spake, to whom I, answ’ring, thus replied.O Peleus’ son! Achilles! bravest farOf all Achaia’s race! I here arrived580Seeking Tiresias, from his lips to learn,Perchance, how I might safe regain the coastOf craggy Ithaca; for tempest-toss’dPerpetual, I have neither yet approach’dAchaia’s shore, or landed on my own.But as for thee, Achilles! never manHath known felicity like thine, or shall,Whom living we all honour’d as a God,And who maintain’st, here resident, supremeControul among the dead; indulge not then,590Achilles, causeless grief that thou hast died.I ceased, and answer thus instant received.Renown’d Ulysses! think not death a themeOf consolation; I had rather liveThe servile hind for hire, and eat the breadOf some man scantily himself sustain’d,Than sov’reign empire hold o’er all the shades.But come—speak to me of my noble boy;Proceeds he, as he promis’d, brave in arms,Or shuns he war? Say also, hast thou heard600Of royal Peleus? shares he still respectAmong his num’rous Myrmidons, or scornIn Hellas and in Phthia, for that agePredominates in his enfeebled limbs?For help is none in me; the glorious sunNo longer sees me such, as when in aidOf the Achaians I o’erspread the fieldOf spacious Troy with all their bravest slain.Oh might I, vigorous as then, repair50For one short moment to my father’s house,610They all should tremble; I would shew an arm,Such as should daunt the fiercest who presumesTo injurehim, or to despise his age.Achilles spake, to whom I thus replied.Of noble Peleus have I nothing heard;But I will tell thee, as thou bidd’st, the truthUnfeign’d of Neoptolemus thy son;For him, myself, on board my hollow barkFrom Scyros to Achaia’s host convey’d.Oft as in council under Ilium’s walls620We met, he ever foremost was in speech,Nor spake erroneous; Nestor and myselfExcept, no Greecian could with him compare.Oft, too, as we with battle hemm’d aroundTroy’s bulwarks, from among the mingled crowdThy son sprang foremost into martial act,Inferior in heroic worth to none.Beneath him num’rous fell the sons of TroyIn dreadful fight, nor have I pow’r to nameDistinctly all, who by his glorious arm630Exerted in the cause of Greece, expired.Yet will I name Eurypylus, the sonOf Telephus, an Hero whom his swordOf life bereaved, and all around him strew’dThe plain with his Cetean warriors, wonTo Ilium’s side by bribes to women giv’n.51Save noble Memnon only, I beheldNo Chief at Ilium beautiful as he.Again, when we within the horse of woodFramed by Epeüs sat, an ambush chos’n640Of all the bravest Greeks, and I in trustWas placed to open or to keep fast-closedThe hollow fraud; then, ev’ry Chieftain thereAnd Senator of Greece wiped from his cheeksThe tears, and tremors felt in ev’ry limb;But never saw I changed to terror’s hueHisruddy cheek, no tears wipedheaway,But oft he press’d me to go forth, his suitWith pray’rs enforcing, griping hard his hiltAnd his brass-burthen’d spear, and dire revenge650Denouncing, ardent, on the race of Troy.At length, when we had sack’d the lofty townOf Priam, laden with abundant spoilsHe safe embark’d, neither by spear or shaftAught hurt, or in close fight by faulchion’s edge,As oft in war befalls, where wounds are dealtPromiscuous at the will of fiery Mars.So I; then striding large, the spirit thenceWithdrew of swift Æacides, alongThe hoary mead pacing,52with joy elate660That I had blazon’d bright his son’s renown.The other souls of men by death dismiss’dStood mournful by, sad uttering each his woes;The soul alone I saw standing remoteOf Telamonian Ajax, still incensedThat in our public contest for the armsWorn by Achilles, and by Thetis thrownInto dispute, my claim had strongest proved,Troy and Minerva judges of the cause.Disastrous victory! which I could wish670Not to have won, since for that armour’s sakeThe earth hath cover’d Ajax, in his formAnd martial deeds superior far to allThe Greecians, Peleus’ matchless son except.I, seeking to appease him, thus began.O Ajax, son of glorious Telamon!Canst thou remember, even after death,Thy wrath against me, kindled for the sakeOf those pernicious arms? arms which the GodsOrdain’d of such dire consequence to Greece,680Which caused thy death, our bulwark! Thee we mournWith grief perpetual, nor the death lamentOf Peleus’ son, Achilles, more than thine.Yet none is blameable; Jove evermoreWith bitt’rest hate pursued Achaia’s host,And he ordain’d thy death. Hero! approach,That thou may’st hear the words with which I seekTo sooth thee; let thy long displeasure cease!Quell all resentment in thy gen’rous breast!I spake; nought answer’d he, but sullen join’d690His fellow-ghosts; yet, angry as he was,I had prevail’d even on him to speak,Or had, at least, accosted him again,But that my bosom teem’d with strong desireUrgent, to see yet others of the dead.There saw I Minos, offspring famed of Jove;His golden sceptre in his hand, he satJudge of the dead; they, pleading each in turn,His cause, some stood, some sat, filling the houseWhose spacious folding-gates are never closed.700Orion next, huge ghost, engaged my view,Droves urging o’er the grassy mead, of beastsWhich he had slain, himself, on the wild hills,With strong club arm’d of ever-during brass.There also Tityus on the ground I sawExtended, offspring of the glorious earth;Nine acres he o’erspread, and, at his sideStation’d, two vultures on his liver prey’d,Scooping his entrails; nor sufficed his handsTo fray them thence; for he had sought to force710Latona, illustrious concubine of Jove,What time the Goddess journey’d o’er the rocksOf Pytho into pleasant Panopeus.Next, suff’ring grievous torments, I beheldTantalus; in a pool he stood, his chinWash’d by the wave; thirst-parch’d he seem’d, but foundNought to assuage his thirst; for when he bow’dHis hoary head, ardent to quaff, the floodVanish’d absorb’d, and, at his feet, adustThe soil appear’d, dried, instant, by the Gods.720Tall trees, fruit-laden, with inflected headsStoop’d to him, pomegranates, apples bright,The luscious fig, and unctuous olive smooth;Which when with sudden grasp he would have seized,Winds hurl’d them high into the dusky clouds.There, too, the hard-task’d Sisyphus I saw,Thrusting before him, strenuous, a vast rock.53With hands and feet struggling, he shoved the stoneUp to a hill-top; but the steep well-nighVanquish’d, by some great force repulsed,54the mass730Rush’d again, obstinate, down to the plain.Again, stretch’d prone, severe he toiled, the sweatBathed all his weary limbs, and his head reek’d.The might of Hercules I, next, survey’d;His semblance; for himself their banquet sharesWith the Immortal Gods, and in his armsEnfolds neat-footed Hebe, daughter fairOf Jove, and of his golden-sandal’d spouse.Around him, clamorous as birds, the deadSwarm’d turbulent; he, gloomy-brow’d as night,740With uncased bow and arrow on the stringPeer’d terrible from side to side, as oneEver in act to shoot; a dreadful beltHe bore athwart his bosom, thong’d with gold.There, broider’d shone many a stupendous form,Bears, wild boars, lions with fire-flashing eyes,Fierce combats, battles, bloodshed, homicide.The artist, author of that belt, none suchBefore, produced, or after. Me his eyeNo sooner mark’d, than knowing me, in words750By sorrow quick suggested, he began.Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!Ah, hapless Hero! thou art, doubtless, charged,Thou also, with some arduous labour, suchAs in the realms of day I once endured.Son was I of Saturnian Jove, yet woesImmense sustain’d, subjected to a KingInferior far to me, whose harsh commandsEnjoin’d me many a terrible exploit.He even bade me on a time lead hence760The dog, that task believing above allImpracticable; yet from Ades himI dragg’d reluctant into light, by aidOf Hermes, and of Pallas azure-eyed.So saying, he penetrated deep againThe abode of Pluto; but I still unmovedThere stood expecting, curious, other shadesTo see of Heroes in old time deceased.And now, more ancient worthies still, and whomI wish’d, I had beheld, Pirithoüs770And Theseus, glorious progeny of Gods,But nations, first, numberless of the deadCame shrieking hideous; me pale horror seized,Lest awful Proserpine should thither sendThe Gorgon-head from Ades, sight abhorr’d!I, therefore, hasting to the vessel, badeMy crew embark, and cast the hawsers loose.They, quick embarking, on the benches sat.Down the Oceanus55the current boreMy galley, winning, at the first, her way780With oars, then, wafted by propitious gales.
Arriving on the shore, and launching, first,Our bark into the sacred Deep, we setOur mast and sails, and stow’d secure on boardThe ram and ewe, then, weeping, and with heartsSad and disconsolate, embark’d ourselves.And now, melodious Circe, nymph divine,Sent after us a canvas-stretching breeze,Pleasant companion of our course, and we(The decks and benches clear’d) untoiling sat,While managed gales sped swift the bark along.10All day, with sails distended, e’er the DeepShe flew, and when the sun, at length, declined,And twilight dim had shadow’d all the ways,Approach’d the bourn of Ocean’s vast profound.The city, there, of the Cimmerians standsWith clouds and darkness veil’d, on whom the sunDeigns not to look with his beam-darting eye,Or when he climbs the starry arch, or whenEarthward he slopes again his west’ring wheels,40But sad night canopies the woeful race.20We haled the bark aground, and, landing thereThe ram and sable ewe, journey’d besideThe Deep, till we arrived where Circe bade.Here, Perimedes’ son EurylochusHeld fast the destined sacrifice, while IScoop’d with my sword the soil, op’ning a trenchEll-broad on ev’ry side, then pour’d aroundLibation consecrate to all the dead,First, milk with honey mixt, then luscious wine,Then water, sprinkling, last, meal over all.30This done, adoring the unreal formsAnd shadows of the dead, I vow’d to slay,(Return’d to Ithaca) in my own abode,An heifer barren yet, fairest and bestOf all my herds, and to enrich the pileWith delicacies, such as please the shades.But, in peculiar, to the Theban seerI vow’d a sable ram, largest and bestOf all my flocks. When thus I had imploredWith vows and pray’r, the nations of the dead,40Piercing the victims next, I turn’d them bothTo bleed into the trench; then swarming cameFrom Erebus the shades of the deceased,Brides, youths unwedded, seniors long with woeOppress’d, and tender girls yet new to grief.Came also many a warrior by the spearIn battle pierced, with armour gore-distain’d,And all the multitude around the fossStalk’d shrieking dreadful; me pale horror seized.I next, importunate, my people urged,50Flaying the victims which myself had slain,To burn them, and to supplicate in pray’rIllustrious Pluto and dread Proserpine.Then down I sat, and with drawn faulchion chasedThe ghosts, nor suffer’d them to approach the blood,Till with Tiresias I should first confer.The spirit, first, of my companion came,Elpenor; for no burial honours yetHad he received, but we had left his corseIn Circe’s palace, tombless, undeplored,60Ourselves by pressure urged of other cares.Touch’d with compassion seeing him, I wept,And in wing’d accents brief him thus bespake.Elpenor! how cam’st thou into the realmsOf darkness? Hast thou, though on foot, so farOutstripp’d my speed, who in my bark arrived?So I, to whom with tears he thus replied.Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!Fool’d by some dæmon and the intemp’rate bowl,I perish’d in the house of Circe; there70The deep-descending steps heedless I miss’d,And fell precipitated from the roof.With neck-bone broken from the vertebræOutstretch’d I lay; my spirit sought the shades.But now, by those whom thou hast left at home,By thy Penelope, and by thy fire,The gentle nourisher of thy infant growth,And by thy only son TelemachusI make my suit to thee. For, sure, I knowThat from the house of Pluto safe return’d,80Thou shalt ere long thy gallant vessel moorAt the Ææan isle. Ah! there arrivedRemember me. Leave me not undeploredNor uninhumed, lest, for my sake, the GodsIn vengeance visit thee; but with my arms(What arms soe’er I left) burn me, and raiseA kind memorial of me on the coast,Heap’d high with earth; that an unhappy manMay yet enjoy an unforgotten name.Thus do at my request, and on my hill90Funereal, plant the oar with which I row’d,While yet I lived a mariner of thine.He spake, to whom thus answer I return’d.Poor youth! I will perform thy whole desire.Thus we, there sitting, doleful converse held,With outstretch’d faulchion, I, guarding the blood,And my companion’s shadowy semblance sadMeantime discoursing me on various themes.The soul of my departed mother, next,Of Anticleia came, daughter of brave100Autolycus; whom, when I sought the shoresOf Ilium, I had living left at home.Seeing her, with compassion touch’d, I wept,Yet even her, (although it pain’d my soul)Forbad, relentless, to approach the blood,Till with Tiresias I should first confer.Then came the spirit of the Theban seerHimself, his golden sceptre in his hand,Who knew me, and, enquiring, thus began.Why, hapless Chief! leaving the cheerful day,110Arriv’st thou to behold the dead, and thisUnpleasant land? but, from the trench awhileReceding, turn thy faulchion keen away,That I may drink the blood, and tell thee truth.He spake; I thence receding, deep infix’dMy sword bright-studded in the sheath again.The noble prophet then, approaching, drankThe blood, and, satisfied, address’d me thus.Thou seek’st a pleasant voyage home again,Renown’d Ulysses! but a God will make120That voyage difficult; for, as I judge,Thou wilt not pass by Neptune unperceiv’d,Whose anger follows thee, for that thou hastDeprived his son Cyclops of his eye.At length, however, after num’rous woesEndur’d, thou may’st attain thy native isle,If thy own appetite thou wilt controulAnd theirs who follow thee, what time thy barkWell-built, shall at Thrinacia’s shore arrive,41Escaped from perils of the gloomy Deep.130There shall ye find grazing the flocks and herdsOf the all-seeing and all-hearing Sun,Which, if attentive to thy safe return,Thou leave unharm’d, though after num’rous woes,Ye may at length arrive in Ithaca.But if thou violate them, I denounceDestruction on thy ship and all thy band,And though thyself escape, late shalt thou reachThy home and hard-bested,42in a strange bark,All thy companions lost; trouble beside140Awaits thee there, for thou shalt find withinProud suitors of thy noble wife, who wasteThy substance, and with promis’d spousal giftsCeaseless solicit her to wed; yet wellShalt thou avenge all their injurious deeds.That once perform’d, and ev’ry suitor slainEither by stratagem, or face to face,In thy own palace, bearing, as thou go’st,A shapely oar, journey, till thou hast foundA people who the sea know not, nor eat150Food salted; they trim galley crimson prow’dHave ne’er beheld, nor yet smooth-shaven oar,With which the vessel wing’d scuds o’er the waves.Well thou shalt know them; this shall be the sign—When thou shalt meet a trav’ler, who shall nameThe oar on thy broad shoulder borne, a van,43There, deep infixing it within the soil,Worship the King of Ocean with a bull,A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seekThy home again, and sacrifice at home160An hecatomb to the Immortal Gods,Adoring each duly, and in his course.So shalt thou die in peace a gentle death,Remote from Ocean; it shall find thee late,In soft serenity of age, the ChiefOf a blest people.—I have told thee truth.He spake, to whom I answer thus return’d.Tiresias! thou, I doubt not, hast reveal’dThe ordinance of heav’n. But tell me, Seer!And truly. I behold my mother’s shade;170Silent she sits beside the blood, nor wordNor even look vouchsafes to her own son.How shall she learn, prophet, that I am her’s?So I, to whom Tiresias quick replied.The course is easy. Learn it, taught by me.What shade soe’er, by leave of thee obtain’d,Shall taste the blood, that shade will tell thee truth;The rest, prohibited, will all retire.When thus the spirit of the royal SeerHad his prophetic mind reveal’d, again180He enter’d Pluto’s gates; but I unmovedStill waited till my mother’s shade approach’d;She drank the blood, then knew me, and in wordsWing’d with affection, plaintive, thus began.My son! how hast thou enter’d, still alive,This darksome region? Difficult it isFor living man to view the realms of death.Broad rivers roll, and awful floods between,But chief, the Ocean, which to pass on foot,Or without ship, impossible is found.190Hast thou, long wand’ring in thy voyage homeFrom Ilium, with thy ship and crew arrived,Ithaca and thy consort yet unseen?She spake, to whom this answer I return’d.My mother! me necessity constrain’dTo Pluto’s dwelling, anxious to consultTheban Tiresias; for I have not yetApproach’d Achaia, nor have touch’d the shoreOf Ithaca, but suff’ring ceaseless woeHave roam’d, since first in Agamemnon’s train200I went to combat with the sons of Troy.But speak, my mother, and the truth alone;What stroke of fate slewthee? Fell’st thou a preyTo some slow malady? or by the shaftsOf gentle Dian suddenly subdued?Speak to me also of my ancient Sire,And of Telemachus, whom I left at home;Possess I still unalienate and safeMy property, or hath some happier ChiefAdmittance free into my fortunes gain’d,210No hope subsisting more of my return?The mind and purpose of my wedded wifeDeclare thou also. Dwells she with our sonFaithful to my domestic interests,Or is she wedded to some Chief of Greece?I ceas’d, when thus the venerable shade.Not so; she faithful still and patient dwellsThy roof beneath; but all her days and nightsDevoting sad to anguish and to tears.Thy fortunes still are thine; Telemachus220Cultivates, undisturb’d, thy land, and sitsAt many a noble banquet, such as wellBeseems the splendour of his princely state,For all invite him; at his farm retiredThy father dwells, nor to the city comes,For aught; nor bed, nor furniture of bed,Furr’d cloaks or splendid arras he enjoys,But, with his servile hinds all winter sleepsIn ashes and in dust at the hearth-side,Coarsely attired; again, when summer comes,230Or genial autumn, on the fallen leavesIn any nook, not curious where, he findsThere, stretch’d forlorn, nourishing grief, he weepsThy lot, enfeebled now by num’rous years.So perish’d I; such fate I also found;Me, neither the right-aiming arch’ress struck,Diana, with her gentle shafts, nor meDistemper slew, my limbs by slow degreesBut sure, bereaving of their little life,240But long regret, tender solicitude,And recollection of thy kindness past,These, my Ulysses! fatal proved to me.She said; I, ardent wish’d to clasp the shadeOf my departed mother; thrice I sprangToward her, by desire impetuous urged,And thrice she flitted from between my arms,Light as a passing shadow or a dream.Then, pierced by keener grief, in accents wing’dWith filial earnestness I thus replied.250My mother, why elud’st thou my attemptTo clasp thee, that ev’n here, in Pluto’s realm,We might to full satiety indulgeOur grief, enfolded in each other’s arms?Hath Proserpine, alas! only dispatch’dA shadow to me, to augment my woe?Then, instant, thus the venerable form.Ah, son! thou most afflicted of mankind!On thee, Jove’s daughter, Proserpine, obtrudesNo airy semblance vain; but such the state260And nature is of mortals once deceased.For they nor muscle have, nor flesh, nor bone;All those (the spirit from the body onceDivorced) the violence of fire consumes,And, like a dream, the soul flies swift away.But haste thou back to light, and, taught thyselfThese sacred truths, hereafter teach thy spouse.Thus mutual we conferr’d. Then, thither came,Encouraged forth by royal Proserpine,Shades female num’rous, all who consorts, erst,270Or daughters were of mighty Chiefs renown’d.About the sable blood frequent they swarm’d.But I, consid’ring sat, how I might eachInterrogate, and thus resolv’d. My swordForth drawing from beside my sturdy thigh,Firm I prohibited the ghosts to drinkThe blood together; they successive came;Each told her own distress; I question’d all.There, first, the high-born Tyro I beheld;She claim’d Salmoneus as her sire, and wife280Was once of Cretheus, son of Æolus.Enamour’d of Enipeus, stream divine,Loveliest of all that water earth, besideHis limpid current she was wont to stray,When Ocean’s God, (Enipeus’ form assumed)Within the eddy-whirling river’s mouthEmbraced her; there, while the o’er-arching flood,Uplifted mountainous, conceal’d the GodAnd his fair human bride, her virgin zoneHe loos’d, and o’er her eyes sweet sleep diffused.290His am’rous purpose satisfied, he grasp’dHer hand, affectionate, and thus he said.Rejoice in this my love, and when the yearShall tend to consummation of its course,Thou shalt produce illustrious twins, for loveImmortal never is unfruitful love.Rear them with all a mother’s care; meantime,Hence to thy home. Be silent. Name it not.For I am Neptune, Shaker of the shores.So saying, he plunged into the billowy Deep.300She pregnant grown, Pelias and Neleus bore,Both, valiant ministers of mighty Jove.In wide-spread Iäolchus Pelias dwelt,Of num’rous flocks possess’d; but his abodeAmid the sands of Pylus Neleus chose.To Cretheus wedded next, the lovely nymphYet other sons, Æson and Pheres bore,And Amythaon of equestrian fame.I, next, the daughter of Asopus saw,Antiope; she gloried to have known310Th’ embrace of Jove himself, to whom she broughtA double progeny, Amphion namedAnd Zethus; they the seven-gated ThebesFounded and girded with strong tow’rs, because,Though puissant Heroes both, in spacious ThebesUnfenced by tow’rs, they could not dwell secure.Alcmena, next, wife of AmphitryonI saw; she in the arms of sov’reign JoveThe lion-hearted Hercules conceiv’d,And, after, bore to Creon brave in fight320His daughter Megara, by the noble sonUnconquer’d of Amphitryon espoused.The beauteous Epicaste44saw I then,Mother of Oedipus, who guilt incurr’dProdigious, wedded, unintentional,To her own son; his father first he slew,Then wedded her, which soon the Gods divulged.He, under vengeance of offended heav’n,In pleasant Thebes dwelt miserable, KingOf the Cadmean race; she to the gates330Of Ades brazen-barr’d despairing went,Self-strangled by a cord fasten’d aloftTo her own palace-roof, and woes bequeath’d(Such as the Fury sisters executeInnumerable) to her guilty son.There also saw I Chloris, loveliest fair,Whom Neleus woo’d and won with spousal giftsInestimable, by her beauty charm’dShe youngest daughter was of Iasus’ son,Amphion, in old time a sov’reign prince340In Minuëian Orchomenus,And King of Pylus. Three illustrious sonsShe bore to Neleus, Nestor, Chromius,And Periclymenus the wide-renown’d,And, last, produced a wonder of the earth,Pero, by ev’ry neighbour prince aroundIn marriage sought; but Neleus her on noneDeign’d to bestow, save only on the ChiefWho should from Phylace drive off the beeves(Broad-fronted, and with jealous care secured)350Of valiant Iphicles. One undertookThat task alone, a prophet high in fame,Melampus; but the Fates fast bound him thereIn rig’rous bonds by rustic hands imposed.At length (the year, with all its months and daysConcluded, and the new-born year begun)Illustrious Iphicles releas’d the seer,Grateful for all the oracles resolved,45Till then obscure. So stood the will of Jove.Next, Leda, wife of Tyndarus I saw,360Who bore to Tyndarus a noble pair,Castor the bold, and Pollux cestus-famed.They pris’ners in the fertile womb of earth,Though living, dwell, and even there from JoveHigh priv’lege gain; alternate they reviveAnd die, and dignity partake divine.The comfort of Aloëus, next, I view’d,Iphimedeia; she th’ embrace profess’dOf Neptune to have shared, to whom she boreTwo sons; short-lived they were, but godlike both,370Otus and Ephialtes far-renown’d.Orion sole except, all-bounteous EarthNe’er nourish’d forms for beauty or for sizeTo be admired as theirs; in his ninth yearEach measur’d, broad, nine cubits, and the heightWas found nine ells of each. Against the GodsThemselves they threaten’d war, and to exciteThe din of battle in the realms above.To the Olympian summit they essay’dTo heave up Ossa, and to Ossa’s crown380Branch-waving Pelion; so to climb the heav’ns.Nor had they failed, maturer grown in might,To accomplish that emprize, but them the son46Of radiant-hair’d Latona and of JoveSlew both, ere yet the down of blooming youthThick-sprung, their cheeks or chins had tufted o’er.Phædra I also there, and Procris saw,And Ariadne for her beauty praised,Whose sire was all-wise Minos. Theseus herFrom Crete toward the fruitful region bore390Of sacred Athens, but enjoy’d not there,For, first, she perish’d by Diana’s shaftsIn Dia, Bacchus witnessing her crime.47Mæra and Clymene I saw beside,And odious Eriphyle, who receivedThe price in gold of her own husband’s life.But all the wives of Heroes whom I saw,And all their daughters can I not relate;Night, first, would fail; and even now the hourCalls me to rest either on board my bark,400Or here; meantime, I in yourselves confide,And in the Gods to shape my conduct home.He ceased; the whole assembly silent sat,Charm’d into ecstacy by his discourseThroughout the twilight hall, till, at the last,Areta iv’ry arm’d them thus bespake.Phæacians! how appears he in your eyesThis stranger, graceful as he is in port,In stature noble, and in mind discrete?My guest he is, but ye all share with me410That honour; him dismiss not, therefore, henceWith haste, nor from such indigence withholdSupplies gratuitous; for ye are rich,And by kind heav’n with rare possessions blest.The Hero, next, Echeneus spake, a ChiefNow ancient, eldest of Phæacia’s sons.Your prudent Queen, my friends, speaks not besideHer proper scope, but as beseems her well.Her voice obey; yet the effect of allMust on Alcinoüs himself depend.420To whom Alcinoüs, thus, the King, replied.I ratify the word. So shall be done,As surely as myself shall live supremeO’er all Phæacia’s maritime domain.Then let the guest, though anxious to depart,Wait till the morrow, that I may completeThe whole donation. His safe conduct homeShall be the gen’ral care, but mine in Chief,To whom dominion o’er the rest belongs.Him answer’d, then, Ulysses ever-wise.430Alcinoüs! Prince! exalted high o’er allPhæacia’s sons! should ye solicit, kind,My stay throughout the year, preparing stillMy conduct home, and with illustrious giftsEnriching me the while, ev’n that requestShould please me well; the wealthier I return’d,The happier my condition; welcome moreAnd more respectable I should appearIn ev’ry eye to Ithaca restored.To whom Alcinoüs answer thus return’d.440Ulysses! viewing thee, no fears we feelLest thou, at length, some false pretender prove,Or subtle hypocrite, of whom no fewDisseminated o’er its face the earthSustains, adepts in fiction, and who frameFables, where fables could be least surmised.Thy phrase well turn’d, and thy ingenuous mindProclaimtheediff’rent far, who hast in strainsMusical as a poet’s voice, the woesRehears’d of all thy Greecians, and thy own.450But say, and tell me true. Beheld’st thou thereNone of thy followers to the walls of TroySlain in that warfare? Lo! the night is long—A night of utmost length; nor yet the hourInvites to sleep. Tell me thy wond’rous deeds,For I could watch till sacred dawn, could’st thouSo long endure to tell me of thy toils.Then thus Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.Alcinoüs! high exalted over allPhæacia’s sons! the time suffices yet460For converse both and sleep, and if thou wishTo hear still more, I shall not spare to unfoldMore pitiable woes than these, sustain’dBy my companions, in the end destroy’d;Who, saved from perils of disast’rous warAt Ilium, perish’d yet in their return,Victims of a pernicious woman’s crime.48Now, when chaste Proserpine had wide dispers’dThose female shades, the spirit sore distress’dOf Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, appear’d;470Encircled by a throng, he came; by allWho with himself beneath Ægisthus’ roofTheir fate fulfill’d, perishing by the sword.He drank the blood, and knew me; shrill he wail’dAnd querulous; tears trickling bathed his cheeks,And with spread palms, through ardour of desireHe sought to enfold me fast, but vigour none,Or force, as erst, his agile limbs inform’d.I, pity-moved, wept at the sight, and him,In accents wing’d by friendship, thus address’d.480Ah glorious son of Atreus, King of men!What hand inflicted the all-numbing strokeOf death on thee? Say, didst thou perish sunkBy howling tempests irresistibleWhich Neptune raised, or on dry land by forceOf hostile multitudes, while cutting offBeeves from the herd, or driving flocks away,Or fighting for Achaia’s daughters, shutWithin some city’s bulwarks close besieged?I ceased, when Agamemnon thus replied.490Ulysses, noble Chief, Laertes’ sonFor wisdom famed! I neither perish’d sunkBy howling tempests irresistibleWhich Neptune raised, nor on dry land receivedFrom hostile multitudes the fatal blow,But me Ægisthus slew; my woeful deathConfed’rate with my own pernicious wifeHe plotted, with a show of love sincereBidding me to his board, where as the oxIs slaughter’d at his crib, he slaughter’dme.500Such was my dreadful death; carnage ensuedContinual of my friends slain all around,Num’rous as boars bright-tusk’d at nuptial feast,Or feast convivial of some wealthy Chief.Thou hast already witness’d many a fieldWith warriors overspread, slain one by one,But that dire scene had most thy pity moved,For we, with brimming beakers at our side,And underneath full tables bleeding lay.Blood floated all the pavement. Then the cries510Of Priam’s daughter sounded in my earsMost pitiable of all. Cassandra’s cries,Whom Clytemnestra close beside me slew.Expiring as I lay, I yet essay’dTo grasp my faulchion, but the trayt’ress quickWithdrew herself, nor would vouchsafe to closeMy languid eyes, or prop my drooping chinEv’n in the moment when I sought the shades.So that the thing breathes not, ruthless and fellAs woman once resolv’d on such a deed520Detestable, as my base wife contrived,The murther of the husband of her youth.I thought to have return’d welcome to all,To my own children and domestic train;But she, past measure profligate, hath pouredShame on herself, on women yet unborn,And even on the virtuous of her sex.He ceas’d, to whom, thus, answer I return’d.Gods! how severely hath the thund’rer plaguedThe house of Atreus even from the first,530By female counsels! we for Helen’s sakeHave num’rous died, and Clytemnestra framed,While thou wast far remote, this snare for thee!So I, to whom Atrides thus replied.Thou, therefore, be not pliant overmuchTo woman; trust her not with all thy mind,But half disclose to her, and half conceal.Yet, from thy consort’s hand no bloody death,My friend, hast thou to fear; for passing wiseIcarius’ daughter is, far other thoughts,540Intelligent, and other plans, to frame.Her, going to the wars we left a brideNew-wedded, and thy boy hung at her breast,Who, man himself, consorts ere now with menA prosp’rous youth; his father, safe restoredTo his own Ithaca, shall see him soon,Andheshall clasp his father in his armsAs nature bids; but me, my cruel oneIndulged not with the dear delight to gazeOn my Orestes, for she slew me first.550But listen; treasure what I now impart.49Steer secret to thy native isle; avoidNotice; for woman merits trust no more.Now tell me truth. Hear ye in whose abodeMy son resides? dwells he in Pylus, say,Or in Orchomenos, or else beneathMy brother’s roof in Sparta’s wide domain?For my Orestes is not yet a shade.So he, to whom I answer thus return’d.Atrides, ask not me. Whether he live,560Or have already died, I nothing know;Mere words are vanity, and better spared.Thus we discoursing mutual stood, and tearsShedding disconsolate. The shade, meantime,Came of Achilles, Peleus’ mighty son;Patroclus also, and AntilochusAppear’d, with Ajax, for proportion justAnd stature tall, (Pelides sole except)Distinguish’d above all Achaia’s sons.The soul of swift Æacides at once570Knew me, and in wing’d accents thus began.Brave Laertiades, for wiles renown’d!What mightier enterprise than all the pastHath made thee here a guest? rash as thou art!How hast thou dared to penetrate the gloomOf Ades, dwelling of the shadowy dead,Semblances only of what once they were?He spake, to whom I, answ’ring, thus replied.O Peleus’ son! Achilles! bravest farOf all Achaia’s race! I here arrived580Seeking Tiresias, from his lips to learn,Perchance, how I might safe regain the coastOf craggy Ithaca; for tempest-toss’dPerpetual, I have neither yet approach’dAchaia’s shore, or landed on my own.But as for thee, Achilles! never manHath known felicity like thine, or shall,Whom living we all honour’d as a God,And who maintain’st, here resident, supremeControul among the dead; indulge not then,590Achilles, causeless grief that thou hast died.I ceased, and answer thus instant received.Renown’d Ulysses! think not death a themeOf consolation; I had rather liveThe servile hind for hire, and eat the breadOf some man scantily himself sustain’d,Than sov’reign empire hold o’er all the shades.But come—speak to me of my noble boy;Proceeds he, as he promis’d, brave in arms,Or shuns he war? Say also, hast thou heard600Of royal Peleus? shares he still respectAmong his num’rous Myrmidons, or scornIn Hellas and in Phthia, for that agePredominates in his enfeebled limbs?For help is none in me; the glorious sunNo longer sees me such, as when in aidOf the Achaians I o’erspread the fieldOf spacious Troy with all their bravest slain.Oh might I, vigorous as then, repair50For one short moment to my father’s house,610They all should tremble; I would shew an arm,Such as should daunt the fiercest who presumesTo injurehim, or to despise his age.Achilles spake, to whom I thus replied.Of noble Peleus have I nothing heard;But I will tell thee, as thou bidd’st, the truthUnfeign’d of Neoptolemus thy son;For him, myself, on board my hollow barkFrom Scyros to Achaia’s host convey’d.Oft as in council under Ilium’s walls620We met, he ever foremost was in speech,Nor spake erroneous; Nestor and myselfExcept, no Greecian could with him compare.Oft, too, as we with battle hemm’d aroundTroy’s bulwarks, from among the mingled crowdThy son sprang foremost into martial act,Inferior in heroic worth to none.Beneath him num’rous fell the sons of TroyIn dreadful fight, nor have I pow’r to nameDistinctly all, who by his glorious arm630Exerted in the cause of Greece, expired.Yet will I name Eurypylus, the sonOf Telephus, an Hero whom his swordOf life bereaved, and all around him strew’dThe plain with his Cetean warriors, wonTo Ilium’s side by bribes to women giv’n.51Save noble Memnon only, I beheldNo Chief at Ilium beautiful as he.Again, when we within the horse of woodFramed by Epeüs sat, an ambush chos’n640Of all the bravest Greeks, and I in trustWas placed to open or to keep fast-closedThe hollow fraud; then, ev’ry Chieftain thereAnd Senator of Greece wiped from his cheeksThe tears, and tremors felt in ev’ry limb;But never saw I changed to terror’s hueHisruddy cheek, no tears wipedheaway,But oft he press’d me to go forth, his suitWith pray’rs enforcing, griping hard his hiltAnd his brass-burthen’d spear, and dire revenge650Denouncing, ardent, on the race of Troy.At length, when we had sack’d the lofty townOf Priam, laden with abundant spoilsHe safe embark’d, neither by spear or shaftAught hurt, or in close fight by faulchion’s edge,As oft in war befalls, where wounds are dealtPromiscuous at the will of fiery Mars.So I; then striding large, the spirit thenceWithdrew of swift Æacides, alongThe hoary mead pacing,52with joy elate660That I had blazon’d bright his son’s renown.The other souls of men by death dismiss’dStood mournful by, sad uttering each his woes;The soul alone I saw standing remoteOf Telamonian Ajax, still incensedThat in our public contest for the armsWorn by Achilles, and by Thetis thrownInto dispute, my claim had strongest proved,Troy and Minerva judges of the cause.Disastrous victory! which I could wish670Not to have won, since for that armour’s sakeThe earth hath cover’d Ajax, in his formAnd martial deeds superior far to allThe Greecians, Peleus’ matchless son except.I, seeking to appease him, thus began.O Ajax, son of glorious Telamon!Canst thou remember, even after death,Thy wrath against me, kindled for the sakeOf those pernicious arms? arms which the GodsOrdain’d of such dire consequence to Greece,680Which caused thy death, our bulwark! Thee we mournWith grief perpetual, nor the death lamentOf Peleus’ son, Achilles, more than thine.Yet none is blameable; Jove evermoreWith bitt’rest hate pursued Achaia’s host,And he ordain’d thy death. Hero! approach,That thou may’st hear the words with which I seekTo sooth thee; let thy long displeasure cease!Quell all resentment in thy gen’rous breast!I spake; nought answer’d he, but sullen join’d690His fellow-ghosts; yet, angry as he was,I had prevail’d even on him to speak,Or had, at least, accosted him again,But that my bosom teem’d with strong desireUrgent, to see yet others of the dead.There saw I Minos, offspring famed of Jove;His golden sceptre in his hand, he satJudge of the dead; they, pleading each in turn,His cause, some stood, some sat, filling the houseWhose spacious folding-gates are never closed.700Orion next, huge ghost, engaged my view,Droves urging o’er the grassy mead, of beastsWhich he had slain, himself, on the wild hills,With strong club arm’d of ever-during brass.There also Tityus on the ground I sawExtended, offspring of the glorious earth;Nine acres he o’erspread, and, at his sideStation’d, two vultures on his liver prey’d,Scooping his entrails; nor sufficed his handsTo fray them thence; for he had sought to force710Latona, illustrious concubine of Jove,What time the Goddess journey’d o’er the rocksOf Pytho into pleasant Panopeus.Next, suff’ring grievous torments, I beheldTantalus; in a pool he stood, his chinWash’d by the wave; thirst-parch’d he seem’d, but foundNought to assuage his thirst; for when he bow’dHis hoary head, ardent to quaff, the floodVanish’d absorb’d, and, at his feet, adustThe soil appear’d, dried, instant, by the Gods.720Tall trees, fruit-laden, with inflected headsStoop’d to him, pomegranates, apples bright,The luscious fig, and unctuous olive smooth;Which when with sudden grasp he would have seized,Winds hurl’d them high into the dusky clouds.There, too, the hard-task’d Sisyphus I saw,Thrusting before him, strenuous, a vast rock.53With hands and feet struggling, he shoved the stoneUp to a hill-top; but the steep well-nighVanquish’d, by some great force repulsed,54the mass730Rush’d again, obstinate, down to the plain.Again, stretch’d prone, severe he toiled, the sweatBathed all his weary limbs, and his head reek’d.The might of Hercules I, next, survey’d;His semblance; for himself their banquet sharesWith the Immortal Gods, and in his armsEnfolds neat-footed Hebe, daughter fairOf Jove, and of his golden-sandal’d spouse.Around him, clamorous as birds, the deadSwarm’d turbulent; he, gloomy-brow’d as night,740With uncased bow and arrow on the stringPeer’d terrible from side to side, as oneEver in act to shoot; a dreadful beltHe bore athwart his bosom, thong’d with gold.There, broider’d shone many a stupendous form,Bears, wild boars, lions with fire-flashing eyes,Fierce combats, battles, bloodshed, homicide.The artist, author of that belt, none suchBefore, produced, or after. Me his eyeNo sooner mark’d, than knowing me, in words750By sorrow quick suggested, he began.Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!Ah, hapless Hero! thou art, doubtless, charged,Thou also, with some arduous labour, suchAs in the realms of day I once endured.Son was I of Saturnian Jove, yet woesImmense sustain’d, subjected to a KingInferior far to me, whose harsh commandsEnjoin’d me many a terrible exploit.He even bade me on a time lead hence760The dog, that task believing above allImpracticable; yet from Ades himI dragg’d reluctant into light, by aidOf Hermes, and of Pallas azure-eyed.So saying, he penetrated deep againThe abode of Pluto; but I still unmovedThere stood expecting, curious, other shadesTo see of Heroes in old time deceased.And now, more ancient worthies still, and whomI wish’d, I had beheld, Pirithoüs770And Theseus, glorious progeny of Gods,But nations, first, numberless of the deadCame shrieking hideous; me pale horror seized,Lest awful Proserpine should thither sendThe Gorgon-head from Ades, sight abhorr’d!I, therefore, hasting to the vessel, badeMy crew embark, and cast the hawsers loose.They, quick embarking, on the benches sat.Down the Oceanus55the current boreMy galley, winning, at the first, her way780With oars, then, wafted by propitious gales.
40Milton.41The shore of Scilly commonly called Trinacria, butEuphonicèby Homer, Thrinacia.42The expression is used by Milton, and signifies—Beset with many difficulties.43Mistaking the oar for a corn-van. A sure indication of his ignorance of maritime concerns.44By the Tragedians called—Jocasta.45Iphicles had been informed by the Oracles that he should have no children till instructed by a prophet how to obtain them; a service which Melampus had the good fortune to render him.46Apollo.47Bacchus accused her to Diana of having lain with Theseus in his temple, and the Goddess punished her with death.48Probably meaning Helen.49This is surely one of the most natural strokes to be found in any Poet. Convinced, for a moment, by the virtues of Penelope, he mentioned her with respect; but recollecting himself suddenly, involves even her in his general ill opinion of the sex, begotten in him by the crimes of Clytemnestra.50Another most beautiful stroke of nature. Ere yet Ulysses has had opportunity to answer, the very thought that Peleus may possibly be insulted, fires him, and he takes the whole for granted. Thus is the impetuous character of Achilles sustained to the last moment!51Γυναίων εινεκα δώρων—Priam is said to have influenced by gifts the wife and mother of Eurypylus, to persuade him to the assistance of Troy, he being himself unwilling to engage. The passage through defect of history has long been dark, and commentators have adapted different senses to it, all conjectural. The Ceteans are said to have been a people of Mysia, of which Eurypylus was King.52Κατ’ ασφοδελον λειμωνα—Asphodel was planted on the graves and around the tombs of the deceased, and hence the supposition that the Stygian plain was clothed with asphodel. F.53Βασαζονταmust have this sense interpreted by what follows. To attempt to make the English numbers expressive as the Greek is a labour like that of Sisyphus. The Translator has done what he could.54It is now, perhaps, impossible to ascertain with precision what Homer meant by the wordκραταιίς, which he uses only here, and in the next book, where it is the name of Scylla’s dam.—Αναιδης—is also of very doubtful explication.55The two first lines of the following book seem to ascertain the true meaning of the conclusion of this, and to prove sufficiently that byὨκεανὸςhere Homer could not possibly intend any other than a river. In those lines he tells us in the plainest terms thatthe ship left the stream of the river Oceanus, and arrived in the open sea. Diodorus Siculus informs us thatὨκεανὸςhad been a name anciently given to the Nile. See Clarke.
40Milton.
40Milton.
41The shore of Scilly commonly called Trinacria, butEuphonicèby Homer, Thrinacia.
41The shore of Scilly commonly called Trinacria, butEuphonicèby Homer, Thrinacia.
42The expression is used by Milton, and signifies—Beset with many difficulties.
42The expression is used by Milton, and signifies—Beset with many difficulties.
43Mistaking the oar for a corn-van. A sure indication of his ignorance of maritime concerns.
43Mistaking the oar for a corn-van. A sure indication of his ignorance of maritime concerns.
44By the Tragedians called—Jocasta.
44By the Tragedians called—Jocasta.
45Iphicles had been informed by the Oracles that he should have no children till instructed by a prophet how to obtain them; a service which Melampus had the good fortune to render him.
45Iphicles had been informed by the Oracles that he should have no children till instructed by a prophet how to obtain them; a service which Melampus had the good fortune to render him.
46Apollo.
46Apollo.
47Bacchus accused her to Diana of having lain with Theseus in his temple, and the Goddess punished her with death.
47Bacchus accused her to Diana of having lain with Theseus in his temple, and the Goddess punished her with death.
48Probably meaning Helen.
48Probably meaning Helen.
49This is surely one of the most natural strokes to be found in any Poet. Convinced, for a moment, by the virtues of Penelope, he mentioned her with respect; but recollecting himself suddenly, involves even her in his general ill opinion of the sex, begotten in him by the crimes of Clytemnestra.
49This is surely one of the most natural strokes to be found in any Poet. Convinced, for a moment, by the virtues of Penelope, he mentioned her with respect; but recollecting himself suddenly, involves even her in his general ill opinion of the sex, begotten in him by the crimes of Clytemnestra.
50Another most beautiful stroke of nature. Ere yet Ulysses has had opportunity to answer, the very thought that Peleus may possibly be insulted, fires him, and he takes the whole for granted. Thus is the impetuous character of Achilles sustained to the last moment!
50Another most beautiful stroke of nature. Ere yet Ulysses has had opportunity to answer, the very thought that Peleus may possibly be insulted, fires him, and he takes the whole for granted. Thus is the impetuous character of Achilles sustained to the last moment!
51Γυναίων εινεκα δώρων—Priam is said to have influenced by gifts the wife and mother of Eurypylus, to persuade him to the assistance of Troy, he being himself unwilling to engage. The passage through defect of history has long been dark, and commentators have adapted different senses to it, all conjectural. The Ceteans are said to have been a people of Mysia, of which Eurypylus was King.
51Γυναίων εινεκα δώρων—Priam is said to have influenced by gifts the wife and mother of Eurypylus, to persuade him to the assistance of Troy, he being himself unwilling to engage. The passage through defect of history has long been dark, and commentators have adapted different senses to it, all conjectural. The Ceteans are said to have been a people of Mysia, of which Eurypylus was King.
52Κατ’ ασφοδελον λειμωνα—Asphodel was planted on the graves and around the tombs of the deceased, and hence the supposition that the Stygian plain was clothed with asphodel. F.
52Κατ’ ασφοδελον λειμωνα—Asphodel was planted on the graves and around the tombs of the deceased, and hence the supposition that the Stygian plain was clothed with asphodel. F.
53Βασαζονταmust have this sense interpreted by what follows. To attempt to make the English numbers expressive as the Greek is a labour like that of Sisyphus. The Translator has done what he could.
53Βασαζονταmust have this sense interpreted by what follows. To attempt to make the English numbers expressive as the Greek is a labour like that of Sisyphus. The Translator has done what he could.
54It is now, perhaps, impossible to ascertain with precision what Homer meant by the wordκραταιίς, which he uses only here, and in the next book, where it is the name of Scylla’s dam.—Αναιδης—is also of very doubtful explication.
54It is now, perhaps, impossible to ascertain with precision what Homer meant by the wordκραταιίς, which he uses only here, and in the next book, where it is the name of Scylla’s dam.—Αναιδης—is also of very doubtful explication.
55The two first lines of the following book seem to ascertain the true meaning of the conclusion of this, and to prove sufficiently that byὨκεανὸςhere Homer could not possibly intend any other than a river. In those lines he tells us in the plainest terms thatthe ship left the stream of the river Oceanus, and arrived in the open sea. Diodorus Siculus informs us thatὨκεανὸςhad been a name anciently given to the Nile. See Clarke.
55The two first lines of the following book seem to ascertain the true meaning of the conclusion of this, and to prove sufficiently that byὨκεανὸςhere Homer could not possibly intend any other than a river. In those lines he tells us in the plainest terms thatthe ship left the stream of the river Oceanus, and arrived in the open sea. Diodorus Siculus informs us thatὨκεανὸςhad been a name anciently given to the Nile. See Clarke.