BOOK XIV

BOOK XIVARGUMENTUlysses arriving at the house of Eumæus, is hospitably entertained, and spends the night there.Leaving the haven-side, he turn’d his stepsInto a rugged path, which over hillsMantled with trees led him to the abodeBy Pallas mention’d of his noble friend61The swine-herd, who of all Ulysses’ trainWatch’d with most diligence his rural stores.Him sitting in the vestibule he foundOf his own airy lodge commodious, builtAmidst a level lawn. That structure neatEumæus, in the absence of his Lord,10Had raised, himself, with stones from quarries hewn,Unaided by Laertes or the Queen.With tangled thorns he fenced it safe around,And with contiguous stakes riv’n from the trunksOf solid oak black-grain’d hemm’d it without.Twelve penns he made within, all side by side,Lairs for his swine, and fast-immured in eachLay fifty pregnant females on the floor.The males all slept without, less num’rous far,Thinn’d by the princely wooers at their feasts20Continual, for to them he ever sentThe fattest of his saginated charge.Three hundred, still, and sixty brawns remained.Four mastiffs in adjoining kennels lay,Resembling wild-beasts nourish’d at the boardOf the illustrious steward of the styes.Himself sat fitting sandals to his feet,Carved from a stain’d ox-hide. Four hinds he kept,Now busied here and there; three in the pennsWere occupied; meantime, the fourth had sought30The city, whither, for the suitors’ use,With no good will, but by constraint, he droveA boar, that, sacrificing to the Gods,Th’ imperious guests might on his flesh regale.Soon as those clamorous watch-dogs the approachSaw of Ulysses, baying loud, they ranToward him; he, as ever, well-advised,Squatted, and let his staff fall from his hand.Yet foul indignity he had enduredEv’n there, at his own farm, but that the swain,40Following his dogs in haste, sprang through the porchTo his assistance, letting fall the hide.With chiding voice and vollied stones he soonDrove them apart, and thus his Lord bespake.Old man! one moment more, and these my dogsHad, past doubt, worried thee, who should’st have proved,So slain, a source of obloquy to me.But other pangs the Gods, and other woesTo me have giv’n, who here lamenting sitMy godlike master, and his fatted swine50Nourish for others’ use, while he, perchance,A wand’rer in some foreign city, seeksFit sustenance, and none obtains, if stillIndeed he live, and view the light of day.But, old friend! follow me into the house,That thou, at least, with plenteous food refresh’d,And cheer’d with wine sufficient, may’st discloseBoth who thou art, and all that thou hast borne.So saying, the gen’rous swine-herd introducedUlysses, and thick bundles spread of twigs60Beneath him, cover’d with the shaggy skinOf a wild goat, of which he made his couchEasy and large; the Hero, so received,Rejoiced, and thus his gratitude express’d.Jove grant thee and the Gods above, my host,For such beneficence thy chief desire!To whom, Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.My guest! I should offend, treating with scornThe stranger, though a poorer should arriveThan ev’n thyself; for all the poor that are,70And all the strangers are the care of Jove.Little, and with good will, is all that liesWithin my scope; no man can much expectFrom servants living in continual fearUnder young masters; for the Gods, no doubt,Have intercepted my own Lord’s return,From whom great kindness I had, else, received,With such a recompense as servants gainFrom gen’rous masters, house and competence,And lovely wife from many a wooer won,80Whose industry should have requited wellHis goodness, with such blessing from the GodsAs now attends me in my present charge.Much had I, therefore, prosper’d, had my LordGrown old at home; but he hath died—I wouldThat the whole house of Helen, one and all,Might perish too, for she hath many slainWho, like my master, went glory to winFor Agamemnon in the fields of Troy.So saying, he girdled, quick, his tunic close,90And, issuing, sought the styes; thence bringing twoOf the imprison’d herd, he slaughter’d both,Singed them, and slash’d and spitted them, and placedThe whole well-roasted banquet, spits and all,Reeking before Ulysses; last, with flourHe sprinkled them, and filling with rich wineHis ivy goblet, to his master satOpposite, whom inviting thus he said.Now, eat, my guest! such as a servant mayI set before thee, neither large of growth100Nor fat; the fatted—those the suitors eat,Fearless of heav’n, and pitiless of man.Yet deeds unjust as theirs the blessed GodsLove not; they honour equity and right.Even an hostile band when they invadeA foreign shore, which by consent of JoveThey plunder, and with laden ships depart,Even they with terrours quake of wrath divine.But these are wiser; these must sure have learn’dFrom some true oracle my master’s death,110Who neither deign with decency to woo,Nor yet to seek their homes, but boldly wasteHis substance, shameless, now, and sparing nought.Jove ne’er hath giv’n us yet the night or dayWhen with a single victim, or with twoThey would content them, and his empty jarsWitness how fast the squand’rers use his wine.Time was, when he was rich indeed; such wealthNo Hero own’d on yonder continent,Nor yet in Ithaca; no twenty Chiefs120Could match with all their treasures his alone;I tell thee their amount. Twelve herds of hisThe mainland graze;62as many flocks of sheep;As many droves of swine; and hirelings thereAnd servants of his own seed for his use,As many num’rous flocks of goats; his goats,(Not fewer than eleven num’rous flocks)Here also graze the margin of his fieldsUnder the eye of servants well-approved,And ev’ry servant, ev’ry day, brings home130The goat, of all his flock largest and best.But as for me, I have these swine in charge,Of which, selected with exactest careFrom all the herd, I send the prime to them.He ceas’d, meantime Ulysses ate and drankVoracious, meditating, mute, the deathOf those proud suitors. His repast, at length,Concluded, and his appetite sufficed,Eumæus gave him, charged with wine, the cupFrom which he drank himself; he, glad, received140The boon, and in wing’d accents thus began.My friend, and who was he, wealthy and braveAs thou describ’st the Chief, who purchased thee?Thou say’st he perish’d for the glory-sakeOf Agamemnon. Name him; I, perchance,May have beheld the Hero. None can sayBut Jove and the inhabitants of heav’nThat I ne’er saw him, and may not impartNews of him; I have roam’d through many a clime.To whom the noble swine-herd thus replied.150Alas, old man! no trav’ler’s tale of himWill gain his consort’s credence, or his son’s;For wand’rers, wanting entertainment, forgeFalsehoods for bread, and wilfully deceive.No wand’rer lands in Ithaca, but he seeksWith feign’d intelligence my mistress’ ear;She welcomes all, and while she questions eachMinutely, from her lids lets fall the tearAffectionate, as well beseems a wifeWhose mate hath perish’d in a distant land.160Thou could’st thyself, no doubt, my hoary friend!(Would any furnish thee with decent vestAnd mantle) fabricate a tale with ease;Yet sure it is that dogs and fowls, long since,His skin have stript, or fishes of the DeepHave eaten him, and on some distant shoreWhelm’d in deep sands his mould’ring bones are laid.So hath he perish’d; whence, to all his friends,But chiefly to myself, sorrow of heart;For such another Lord, gentle as he,170Wherever sought, I have no hope to find,Though I should wander even to the houseOf my own father. Neither yearns my heartSo feelingly (though that desiring too)To see once more my parents and my home,As to behold Ulysses yet again.Ah stranger; absent as he is, his nameFills me with rev’rence, for he lov’d me much,Cared for me much, and, though we meet no more,Holds still an elder brother’s part in me.180Him answer’d, then, the Hero toil-inured.My friend! since his return, in thy account,Is an event impossible, and thy mindAlways incredulous that hope rejects,I shall not slightly speak, but with an oath—Ulysses comes again; and I demandNo more, than that the boon such news deserves,Be giv’n me soon as he shall reach his home.Then give me vest and mantle fit to wear,Which, ere that hour, much as I need them both,190I neither ask, nor will accept from thee.For him whom poverty can force asideFrom truth—I hate him as the gates of hell.Be Jove, of all in heav’n, my witness first,Then, this thy hospitable board, and, last,The household Gods of the illustrious ChiefHimself, Ulysses, to whose gates I go,That all my words shall surely be fulfill’d.In this same year Ulysses shall arrive,Ere, this month closed, another month succeed,200He shall return, and punish all who dareInsult his consort and his noble son.To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.Old friend! that boon thou wilt ne’er earn from me;Ulysses comes no more. But thou thy wineDrink quietly, and let us find, at length,Some other theme; recall not this againTo my remembrance, for my soul is grievedOft as reminded of my honour’d Lord.Let the oath rest, and let Ulysses come210Ev’n as myself, and as Penelope,And as his ancient father, and his sonGodlike Telemachus, all wish he may.Ay—there I feel again—nor cease to mournHis son Telemachus; who, when the GodsHad giv’n him growth like a young plant, and IWell hoped that nought inferior he should proveIn person or in mind to his own sire,Hath lost, through influence human or divine,I know not how, his sober intellect,220And after tidings of his sire is goneTo far-famed Pylus; his return, meantime,In ambush hidden the proud suitors wait,That the whole house may perish of renown’dArcesias, named in Ithaca no more.But whether he have fallen or ’scaped, let himRest also, whom Saturnian Jove protect!But come, my ancient guest! now let me learnThy own afflictions; answer me in truth.Who, and whence art thou? in what city born?230Where dwell thy parents; in what kind of shipCam’st thou? the mariners, why brought they theeTo Ithaca? and of what land are they?For, that on foot thou found’st us not, is sure.Him answer’d, then, Ulysses, ever-wise.I will with truth resolve thee; and if hereWithin thy cottage sitting, we had wineAnd food for many a day, and business noneBut to regale at ease while others toiled,I could exhaust the year complete, my woes240Rehearsing, nor, at last, rehearse entireMy sorrows by the will of heav’n sustained.I boast me sprung from ancestry renown’dIn spacious Crete; son of a wealthy sire,Who other sons train’d num’rous in his house,Born of his wedded wife; but he begatMe on his purchased concubine, whom yetDear as his other sons in wedlock bornCastor Hylacides esteem’d and lov’d,For him I boast my father. Him in Crete,250While yet he liv’d, all reverenc’d as a God,So rich, so prosp’rous, and so blest was heWith sons of highest praise. But death, the doomOf all, him bore to Pluto’s drear abode,And his illustrious sons among themselvesPortion’d his goods by lot; to me, indeed,They gave a dwelling, and but little more,Yet, for my virtuous qualities, I wonA wealthy bride, for I was neither vainNor base, forlorn as thou perceiv’st me now.260But thou canst guess, I judge, viewing the strawWhat once was in the ear. Ah! I have borneMuch tribulation; heap’d and heavy woes.Courage and phalanx-breaking might had IFrom Mars and Pallas; at what time I drew,(Planning some dread exploit) an ambush forthOf our most valiant Chiefs, no boding fearsOf death seizedme, but foremost far of allI sprang to fight, and pierced the flying foe.Such was I once in arms. But household toils270Sustain’d for children’s sake, and carking caresT’ enrich a family, were not for me.My pleasures were the gallant bark, the dinOf battle, the smooth spear and glitt’ring shaft,Objects of dread to others, but which meThe Gods disposed to love and to enjoy.Thus diff’rent minds are diff’rently amused;For ere Achaia’s fleet had sailed to Troy,Nine times was I commander of an hostEmbark’d against a foreign foe, and found280In all those enterprizes great success.From the whole booty, first, what pleased me mostChusing, and sharing also much by lotI rapidly grew rich, and had thenceforthAmong the Cretans rev’rence and respect.But when loud-thund’ring Jove that voyage direOrdain’d, which loos’d the knees of many a Greek,Then, to Idomeneus and me they gaveThe charge of all their fleet, which how to avoidWe found not, so importunate the cry290Of the whole host impell’d us to the task.There fought we nine long years, and in the tenth(Priam’s proud city pillag’d) steer’d againOur galleys homeward, which the Gods dispersed.Then was it that deep-planning Jove devisedFor me much evil. One short month, no more,I gave to joys domestic, in my wifeHappy, and in my babes, and in my wealth,When the desire seiz’d me with sev’ral shipsWell-rigg’d, and furnish’d all with gallant crews,300To sail for Ægypt; nine I fitted forth,To which stout mariners assembled fast.Six days the chosen partners of my voyageFeasted, to whom I num’rous victims gaveFor sacrifice, and for their own regale.Embarking on the sev’nth from spacious Crete,Before a clear breeze prosp’rous from the NorthWe glided easily along, as downA river’s stream; nor one of all my shipsDamage incurr’d, but healthy and at ease310We sat, while gales well-managed urged us on.The fifth day thence, smooth-flowing Nile we reach’d,And safe I moor’d in the Ægyptian stream.Then, charging all my mariners to keepStrict watch for preservation of the ships,I order’d spies into the hill-tops; but theyUnder the impulse of a spirit rashAnd hot for quarrel, the well-cultur’d fieldsPillaged of the Ægyptians, captive ledTheir wives and little ones, and slew the men.320Soon was the city alarm’d, and at the cryDown came the citizens, by dawn of day,With horse and foot, and with the gleam of armsFilling the plain. Then Jove with panic dreadStruck all my people; none found courage moreTo stand, for mischiefs swarm’d on ev’ry side.There, num’rous by the glittering spear we fellSlaughter’d, while others they conducted thenceAlive to servitude. But Jove himselfMy bosom with this thought inspired, (I would330That, dying, I had first fulfill’d my fateIn Ægypt, for new woes were yet to come!)Loosing my brazen casque, and slipping offMy buckler, there I left them on the field,Then cast my spear away, and seeking, next,The chariot of the sov’reign, clasp’d his knees,And kiss’d them. He, by my submission moved,Deliver’d me, and to his chariot-seatRaising, convey’d me weeping to his home.With many an ashen spear his warriors sought340To slay me, (for they now grew fiery wroth)But he, through fear of hospitable Jove,Chief punisher of wrong, saved me alive.Sev’n years I there abode, and much amass’dAmong the Ægyptians, gifted by them all;But, in the eighth revolving year, arrivedA shrewd Phœnician, in all fraud adept,Hungry, and who had num’rous harm’d before,By whom I also was cajoled, and luredT’ attend him to Phœnicia, where his house350And his possessions lay; there I abodeA year complete his inmate; but (the daysAnd months accomplish’d of the rolling year,And the new seasons ent’ring on their course)To Lybia then, on board his bark, by wilesHe won me with him, partner of the freightProfess’d, but destin’d secretly to sale,That he might profit largely by my price.Not unsuspicious, yet constrain’d to go,With this man I embark’d. A cloudless gale360Propitious blowing from the North, our shipRan right before it through the middle sea,In the offing over Crete; but adverse JoveDestruction plann’d for them and death the while.For, Crete now left afar, and other landAppearing none, but sky alone and sea,Right o’er the hollow bark Saturnian JoveA cloud cærulean hung, dark’ning the Deep.Then, thund’ring oft, he hurl’d into the barkHis bolts; she smitten by the fires of Jove,370Quaked all her length; with sulphur fill’d she reek’d,And, o’er her sides precipitated, plungedLike gulls the crew, forbidden by that strokeOf wrath divine to hope their country more.But Jove himself, when I had cast awayAll hope of life, conducted to my armsThe strong tall mast, that I might yet escape.Around that beam I clung, driving beforeThe stormy blast. Nine days complete I drove,And, on the tenth dark night, the rolling flood380Immense convey’d me to Thesprotia’s shore.There me the Hero Phidon, gen’rous KingOf the Thesprotians, freely entertained;For his own son discov’ring me with toilExhausted and with cold, raised me, and thenceLed me humanely to his father’s house,Who cherish’d me, and gave me fresh attire.There heard I of Ulysses, whom himselfHad entertain’d, he said, on his returnTo his own land; he shew’d me also gold,390Brass, and bright steel elab’rate, whatsoe’erUlysses had amass’d, a store to feedA less illustrious family than hisTo the tenth generation, so immenseHis treasures in the royal palace lay.Himself, he said, was to Dodona gone,There, from the tow’ring oaks of Jove to askCounsel divine, if openly to land(After long absence) in his opulent realmOf Ithaca, be best, or in disguise.400To me the monarch swore, in his own hallPouring libation, that the ship was launch’d,And the crew ready for his conduct home.But me he first dismiss’d, for, as it chanced,A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, boundTo green Dulichium’s isle. He bade the crewBear me to King Acastus with all speed;But them far other thoughts pleased more, and thoughtsOf harm to me, that I might yet be plungedIn deeper gulphs of woe than I had known.410For, when the billow-cleaving bark had leftThe land remote, framing, combined, a plotAgainst my liberty, they stripp’d my vestAnd mantle, and this tatter’d raiment foulGave me instead, which thy own eyes behold.At even-tide reaching the cultur’d coastOf Ithaca, they left me bound on boardWith tackle of the bark, and quitting shipThemselves, made hasty supper on the shore.But me, meantime, the Gods easily loos’d420By their own pow’r, when, with wrapper vileAround my brows, sliding into the seaAt the ship’s stern, I lay’d me on the flood.With both hands oaring thence my course, I swamTill past all ken of theirs; then landing whereThick covert of luxuriant trees I mark’d,Close couchant down I lay; they mutt’ring loud,Paced to and fro, but deeming farther searchUnprofitable, soon embark’d again.Thus baffling all their search with ease, the Gods430Conceal’d and led me thence to the abodeOf a wise man, dooming me still to live.To whom, Eumæus, thou didst thus reply,Alas! my most compassionable guest!Thou hast much moved me by this tale minuteOf thy sad wand’rings and thy num’rous woes.But, speaking of Ulysses, thou hast pass’dAll credence; I at least can give thee none.Why, noble as thou art, should’st thou inventPalpable falsehoods? as for the return440Of my regretted Lord, myself I knowThat had he not been hated by the GodsUnanimous, he had in battle diedAt Troy, or (that long doubtful war, at last,Concluded,) in his people’s arms at home.Then universal Greece had raised his tomb,And he had even for his son atchiev’dImmortal glory; but alas! by beaksOf harpies torn, unseemly sight, he lies.Here is my home the while; I never seek450The city, unless summon’d by discretePenelope to listen to the newsBrought by some stranger, whencesoe’er arrived.Then, all, alike inquisitive, attend,Both who regret the absence of our King,And who rejoice gratuitous to gorgeHis property; but as for me, no joyFind I in list’ning after such reports,Since an Ætolian cozen’d me, who found(After long wand’ring over various lands460A fugitive for blood) my lone retreat.Him warm I welcom’d, and with open armsReceiv’d, who bold affirm’d that he had seenMy master with Idomeneus at CreteHis ships refitting shatter’d by a storm,And that in summer with his godlike bandHe would return, bringing great riches home,Or else in autumn. And thou ancient guestForlorn! since thee the Gods have hither led,Seek not to gratify me with untruths470And to deceive me, since for no such causeI shall respect or love thee, but aloneBy pity influenced, and the fear of Jove.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.Thou hast, in truth, a most incredulous mind,Whom even with an oath I have not moved,Or aught persuaded. Come then—let us makeIn terms express a cov’nant, and the GodsWho hold Olympus, witness to us both!If thy own Lord at this thy house arrive,480Thou shalt dismiss me decently attiredIn vest and mantle, that I may repairHence to Dulichium, whither I would go.But, if thy Lord come not, then, gath’ring allThy servants, headlong hurl me from a rock,That other mendicants may fear to lie.To whom the generous swine-herd in return.Yes, stranger! doubtless I should high renownObtain for virtue among men, both nowAnd in all future times, if, having first490Invited thee, and at my board regaled,I, next, should slay thee; then my pray’rs would mount,Past question, swiftly to Saturnian Jove.But the hour calls to supper, and, ere long,The partners of my toils will come preparedTo spread the board with no unsav’ry cheer.Thus they conferr’d. And now the swains arrived,Driving their charge, which fast they soon enclosedWithin their customary penns, and loudThe hubbub was of swine prison’d within.500Then call’d the master to his rustic train.Bring ye the best, that we may set him forthBefore my friend from foreign climes arrived,With whom ourselves will also feast, who findThe bright-tusk’d multitude a painful charge,While others, at no cost of theirs, consumeDay after day, the profit of our toils.So saying, his wood for fuel he prepared,And dragging thither a well-fatted brawnOf the fifth year his servants held him fast510At the hearth-side. Nor failed the master swainT’ adore the Gods, (for wise and good was he)But consecration of the victim, first,Himself performing, cast into the fireThe forehead bristles of the tusky boar,Then pray’d to all above, that, safe, at length,Ulysses might regain his native home.Then lifting an huge shive that lay besideThe fire, he smote the boar, and dead he fell,Next, piercing him, and scorching close his hair,520They carv’d him quickly, and Eumæus spreadThin slices crude taken from ev’ry limbO’er all his fat, then other slices cast,Sprinkling them first with meal, into the fire.The rest they slash’d and scored, and roasted well,And placed it, heap’d together, on the board.Then rose the good Eumæus to his taskOf distribution, for he understoodThe hospitable entertainer’s part.Sev’n-fold partition of the banquet made,530He gave, with previous pray’r, to Maia’s son63And to the nymphs one portion of the whole,Then served his present guests, honouring firstUlysses with the boar’s perpetual chine;By that distinction just his master’s heartHe gratified, and thus the Hero spake.Eumæus! be thou as belov’d of JoveAs thou art dear to me, whom, though attiredSo coarsely, thou hast served with such respect!To whom, Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.540Eat, noble stranger! and refreshment takeSuch as thou may’st; God64gives, and God deniesAt his own will, for He is Lord of all.He said, and to the everlasting GodsThe firstlings sacrificed of all, then madeLibation, and the cup placed in the handsOf city-spoiler LaertiadesSitting beside his own allotted share.Meantime, Mesaulius bread dispensed to all,Whom, in the absence of his Lord, himself550Eumæus had from Taphian traders boughtWith his own proper goods, at no expenceEither to old Laertes or the Queen.And now, all stretch’d their hands toward the feastReeking before them, and when hunger noneFelt more or thirst, Mesaulius clear’d the board.Then, fed to full satiety, in hasteEach sought his couch. Black came a moonless night,And Jove all night descended fast in show’rs,With howlings of the ever wat’ry West.560Ulysses, at that sound, for trial sakeOf his good host, if putting off his cloakHe would accommodate him, or requireThat service for him at some other hand,Addressing thus the family, began.Hear now, Eumæus, and ye other swainsHis fellow-lab’rers! I shall somewhat boast,By wine befool’d, which forces ev’n the wiseTo carol loud, to titter and to dance,And words to utter, oft, better suppress’d.570But since I have begun, I shall proceed,Prating my fill. Ah might those days returnWith all the youth and strength that I enjoy’d,When in close ambush, once, at Troy we lay!Ulysses, Menelaus, and myselfTheir chosen coadjutor, led the band.Approaching to the city’s lofty wallThrough the thick bushes and the reeds that girdThe bulwarks, down we lay flat in the marsh,Under our arms, then Boreas blowing loud,580A rueful night came on, frosty and chargedWith snow that blanch’d us thick as morning rime,And ev’ry shield with ice was crystall’d o’er.The rest with cloaks and vests well cover’d, sleptBeneath their bucklers; I alone my cloak,Improvident, had left behind, no thoughtConceiving of a season so severe;Shield and belt, therefore, and nought else had I.The night, at last, nigh spent, and all the starsDeclining in their course, with elbow thrust590Against Ulysses’ side I roused the Chief,And thus address’d him ever prompt to hear.Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!I freeze to death. Help me, or I am lost.No cloak have I; some evil dæmon, sure,Beguil’d me of all prudence, that I cameThus sparely clad; I shall, I must expire.So I; he, ready as he was in armsAnd counsel both, the remedy at onceDevised, and thus, low-whisp’ring, answer’d me.600Hush! lest perchance some other hear—He said,And leaning on his elbow, spake aloud.My friends! all hear—a monitory dreamHath reach’d me, for we lie far from the ships.Haste, therefore, one of you, with my requestTo Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, our Chief,That he would reinforce us from the camp.He spake, and at the word, Andræmon’s sonThoas arose, who, casting off his cloak,Ran thence toward the ships, and folded warm610Within it, there lay I till dawn appear’d.Oh for the vigour of such youth again!Then, some good peasant here, either for loveOr for respect, would cloak a man like me,Whom, now, thus sordid in attire ye scorn.To whom, Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.My ancient guest! I cannot but approveThy narrative, nor hast thou utter’d aughtUnseemly, or that needs excuse. No wantOf raiment, therefore, or of aught beside620Needful to solace penury like thine,Shall harm thee here; yet, at the peep of dawnGird thy own tatters to thy loins again;Forwehave no great store of cloaks to boast,Or change of vests, but singly one for each.But when Ulysses’ son shall once arrive,He will himself with vest and mantle bothCloath thee, and send thee whither most thou would’st.So saying, he rose, and nearer made his couchTo the hearth-side, spreading it thick with skins630Of sheep and goats; then lay the Hero down,O’er whom a shaggy mantle large he threw,Which oft-times served him with a change, when roughThe winter’s blast and terrible arose.So was Ulysses bedded, and the youthsSlept all beside him; but the master-swainChose not his place of rest so far remoteFrom his rude charge, but to the outer courtWith his nocturnal furniture, repair’d,Gladd’ning Ulysses’ heart that one so true640In his own absence kept his rural stores.Athwart his sturdy shoulders, first, he flungHis faulchion keen, then wrapp’d him in a cloakThick-woven, winter-proof; he lifted, next,The skin of a well-thriven goat, in bulkSurpassing others, and his javelin tookSharp-pointed, with which dogs he drove and men.Thus arm’d, he sought his wonted couch beneathA hollow rock where the herd slept, secureFrom the sharp current of the Northern blast.65061Δῖος ὑφορβος.—The swineherd’s was therefore in those days, and in that country, an occupation honourable as well as useful. Barnes deems the epithetδῖοςsignificant of his noble birth. Vide Clarke in loco.62It may be proper to suggest that Ulysses was lord of part of the continent opposite to Ithaca—viz.—of the peninsula Nericus or Leuca, which afterward became an island, and is now called Santa Maura. F.63Mercury.64Θεος—without a relative, and consequently signifyingGodin the abstract, is not unfrequently found in Homer, though fearing to give offence to serious minds unacquainted with the original, I have not always given it that force in the translation. But here, the sentiment is such as fixes the sense intended by the author with a precision that leaves no option. It is observable too, thatδυναται γαρ απαντα—is an ascription of power such as the poet never makes to his Jupiter.

Ulysses arriving at the house of Eumæus, is hospitably entertained, and spends the night there.

Leaving the haven-side, he turn’d his stepsInto a rugged path, which over hillsMantled with trees led him to the abodeBy Pallas mention’d of his noble friend61The swine-herd, who of all Ulysses’ trainWatch’d with most diligence his rural stores.Him sitting in the vestibule he foundOf his own airy lodge commodious, builtAmidst a level lawn. That structure neatEumæus, in the absence of his Lord,10Had raised, himself, with stones from quarries hewn,Unaided by Laertes or the Queen.With tangled thorns he fenced it safe around,And with contiguous stakes riv’n from the trunksOf solid oak black-grain’d hemm’d it without.Twelve penns he made within, all side by side,Lairs for his swine, and fast-immured in eachLay fifty pregnant females on the floor.The males all slept without, less num’rous far,Thinn’d by the princely wooers at their feasts20Continual, for to them he ever sentThe fattest of his saginated charge.Three hundred, still, and sixty brawns remained.Four mastiffs in adjoining kennels lay,Resembling wild-beasts nourish’d at the boardOf the illustrious steward of the styes.Himself sat fitting sandals to his feet,Carved from a stain’d ox-hide. Four hinds he kept,Now busied here and there; three in the pennsWere occupied; meantime, the fourth had sought30The city, whither, for the suitors’ use,With no good will, but by constraint, he droveA boar, that, sacrificing to the Gods,Th’ imperious guests might on his flesh regale.Soon as those clamorous watch-dogs the approachSaw of Ulysses, baying loud, they ranToward him; he, as ever, well-advised,Squatted, and let his staff fall from his hand.Yet foul indignity he had enduredEv’n there, at his own farm, but that the swain,40Following his dogs in haste, sprang through the porchTo his assistance, letting fall the hide.With chiding voice and vollied stones he soonDrove them apart, and thus his Lord bespake.Old man! one moment more, and these my dogsHad, past doubt, worried thee, who should’st have proved,So slain, a source of obloquy to me.But other pangs the Gods, and other woesTo me have giv’n, who here lamenting sitMy godlike master, and his fatted swine50Nourish for others’ use, while he, perchance,A wand’rer in some foreign city, seeksFit sustenance, and none obtains, if stillIndeed he live, and view the light of day.But, old friend! follow me into the house,That thou, at least, with plenteous food refresh’d,And cheer’d with wine sufficient, may’st discloseBoth who thou art, and all that thou hast borne.So saying, the gen’rous swine-herd introducedUlysses, and thick bundles spread of twigs60Beneath him, cover’d with the shaggy skinOf a wild goat, of which he made his couchEasy and large; the Hero, so received,Rejoiced, and thus his gratitude express’d.Jove grant thee and the Gods above, my host,For such beneficence thy chief desire!To whom, Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.My guest! I should offend, treating with scornThe stranger, though a poorer should arriveThan ev’n thyself; for all the poor that are,70And all the strangers are the care of Jove.Little, and with good will, is all that liesWithin my scope; no man can much expectFrom servants living in continual fearUnder young masters; for the Gods, no doubt,Have intercepted my own Lord’s return,From whom great kindness I had, else, received,With such a recompense as servants gainFrom gen’rous masters, house and competence,And lovely wife from many a wooer won,80Whose industry should have requited wellHis goodness, with such blessing from the GodsAs now attends me in my present charge.Much had I, therefore, prosper’d, had my LordGrown old at home; but he hath died—I wouldThat the whole house of Helen, one and all,Might perish too, for she hath many slainWho, like my master, went glory to winFor Agamemnon in the fields of Troy.So saying, he girdled, quick, his tunic close,90And, issuing, sought the styes; thence bringing twoOf the imprison’d herd, he slaughter’d both,Singed them, and slash’d and spitted them, and placedThe whole well-roasted banquet, spits and all,Reeking before Ulysses; last, with flourHe sprinkled them, and filling with rich wineHis ivy goblet, to his master satOpposite, whom inviting thus he said.Now, eat, my guest! such as a servant mayI set before thee, neither large of growth100Nor fat; the fatted—those the suitors eat,Fearless of heav’n, and pitiless of man.Yet deeds unjust as theirs the blessed GodsLove not; they honour equity and right.Even an hostile band when they invadeA foreign shore, which by consent of JoveThey plunder, and with laden ships depart,Even they with terrours quake of wrath divine.But these are wiser; these must sure have learn’dFrom some true oracle my master’s death,110Who neither deign with decency to woo,Nor yet to seek their homes, but boldly wasteHis substance, shameless, now, and sparing nought.Jove ne’er hath giv’n us yet the night or dayWhen with a single victim, or with twoThey would content them, and his empty jarsWitness how fast the squand’rers use his wine.Time was, when he was rich indeed; such wealthNo Hero own’d on yonder continent,Nor yet in Ithaca; no twenty Chiefs120Could match with all their treasures his alone;I tell thee their amount. Twelve herds of hisThe mainland graze;62as many flocks of sheep;As many droves of swine; and hirelings thereAnd servants of his own seed for his use,As many num’rous flocks of goats; his goats,(Not fewer than eleven num’rous flocks)Here also graze the margin of his fieldsUnder the eye of servants well-approved,And ev’ry servant, ev’ry day, brings home130The goat, of all his flock largest and best.But as for me, I have these swine in charge,Of which, selected with exactest careFrom all the herd, I send the prime to them.He ceas’d, meantime Ulysses ate and drankVoracious, meditating, mute, the deathOf those proud suitors. His repast, at length,Concluded, and his appetite sufficed,Eumæus gave him, charged with wine, the cupFrom which he drank himself; he, glad, received140The boon, and in wing’d accents thus began.My friend, and who was he, wealthy and braveAs thou describ’st the Chief, who purchased thee?Thou say’st he perish’d for the glory-sakeOf Agamemnon. Name him; I, perchance,May have beheld the Hero. None can sayBut Jove and the inhabitants of heav’nThat I ne’er saw him, and may not impartNews of him; I have roam’d through many a clime.To whom the noble swine-herd thus replied.150Alas, old man! no trav’ler’s tale of himWill gain his consort’s credence, or his son’s;For wand’rers, wanting entertainment, forgeFalsehoods for bread, and wilfully deceive.No wand’rer lands in Ithaca, but he seeksWith feign’d intelligence my mistress’ ear;She welcomes all, and while she questions eachMinutely, from her lids lets fall the tearAffectionate, as well beseems a wifeWhose mate hath perish’d in a distant land.160Thou could’st thyself, no doubt, my hoary friend!(Would any furnish thee with decent vestAnd mantle) fabricate a tale with ease;Yet sure it is that dogs and fowls, long since,His skin have stript, or fishes of the DeepHave eaten him, and on some distant shoreWhelm’d in deep sands his mould’ring bones are laid.So hath he perish’d; whence, to all his friends,But chiefly to myself, sorrow of heart;For such another Lord, gentle as he,170Wherever sought, I have no hope to find,Though I should wander even to the houseOf my own father. Neither yearns my heartSo feelingly (though that desiring too)To see once more my parents and my home,As to behold Ulysses yet again.Ah stranger; absent as he is, his nameFills me with rev’rence, for he lov’d me much,Cared for me much, and, though we meet no more,Holds still an elder brother’s part in me.180Him answer’d, then, the Hero toil-inured.My friend! since his return, in thy account,Is an event impossible, and thy mindAlways incredulous that hope rejects,I shall not slightly speak, but with an oath—Ulysses comes again; and I demandNo more, than that the boon such news deserves,Be giv’n me soon as he shall reach his home.Then give me vest and mantle fit to wear,Which, ere that hour, much as I need them both,190I neither ask, nor will accept from thee.For him whom poverty can force asideFrom truth—I hate him as the gates of hell.Be Jove, of all in heav’n, my witness first,Then, this thy hospitable board, and, last,The household Gods of the illustrious ChiefHimself, Ulysses, to whose gates I go,That all my words shall surely be fulfill’d.In this same year Ulysses shall arrive,Ere, this month closed, another month succeed,200He shall return, and punish all who dareInsult his consort and his noble son.To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.Old friend! that boon thou wilt ne’er earn from me;Ulysses comes no more. But thou thy wineDrink quietly, and let us find, at length,Some other theme; recall not this againTo my remembrance, for my soul is grievedOft as reminded of my honour’d Lord.Let the oath rest, and let Ulysses come210Ev’n as myself, and as Penelope,And as his ancient father, and his sonGodlike Telemachus, all wish he may.Ay—there I feel again—nor cease to mournHis son Telemachus; who, when the GodsHad giv’n him growth like a young plant, and IWell hoped that nought inferior he should proveIn person or in mind to his own sire,Hath lost, through influence human or divine,I know not how, his sober intellect,220And after tidings of his sire is goneTo far-famed Pylus; his return, meantime,In ambush hidden the proud suitors wait,That the whole house may perish of renown’dArcesias, named in Ithaca no more.But whether he have fallen or ’scaped, let himRest also, whom Saturnian Jove protect!But come, my ancient guest! now let me learnThy own afflictions; answer me in truth.Who, and whence art thou? in what city born?230Where dwell thy parents; in what kind of shipCam’st thou? the mariners, why brought they theeTo Ithaca? and of what land are they?For, that on foot thou found’st us not, is sure.Him answer’d, then, Ulysses, ever-wise.I will with truth resolve thee; and if hereWithin thy cottage sitting, we had wineAnd food for many a day, and business noneBut to regale at ease while others toiled,I could exhaust the year complete, my woes240Rehearsing, nor, at last, rehearse entireMy sorrows by the will of heav’n sustained.I boast me sprung from ancestry renown’dIn spacious Crete; son of a wealthy sire,Who other sons train’d num’rous in his house,Born of his wedded wife; but he begatMe on his purchased concubine, whom yetDear as his other sons in wedlock bornCastor Hylacides esteem’d and lov’d,For him I boast my father. Him in Crete,250While yet he liv’d, all reverenc’d as a God,So rich, so prosp’rous, and so blest was heWith sons of highest praise. But death, the doomOf all, him bore to Pluto’s drear abode,And his illustrious sons among themselvesPortion’d his goods by lot; to me, indeed,They gave a dwelling, and but little more,Yet, for my virtuous qualities, I wonA wealthy bride, for I was neither vainNor base, forlorn as thou perceiv’st me now.260But thou canst guess, I judge, viewing the strawWhat once was in the ear. Ah! I have borneMuch tribulation; heap’d and heavy woes.Courage and phalanx-breaking might had IFrom Mars and Pallas; at what time I drew,(Planning some dread exploit) an ambush forthOf our most valiant Chiefs, no boding fearsOf death seizedme, but foremost far of allI sprang to fight, and pierced the flying foe.Such was I once in arms. But household toils270Sustain’d for children’s sake, and carking caresT’ enrich a family, were not for me.My pleasures were the gallant bark, the dinOf battle, the smooth spear and glitt’ring shaft,Objects of dread to others, but which meThe Gods disposed to love and to enjoy.Thus diff’rent minds are diff’rently amused;For ere Achaia’s fleet had sailed to Troy,Nine times was I commander of an hostEmbark’d against a foreign foe, and found280In all those enterprizes great success.From the whole booty, first, what pleased me mostChusing, and sharing also much by lotI rapidly grew rich, and had thenceforthAmong the Cretans rev’rence and respect.But when loud-thund’ring Jove that voyage direOrdain’d, which loos’d the knees of many a Greek,Then, to Idomeneus and me they gaveThe charge of all their fleet, which how to avoidWe found not, so importunate the cry290Of the whole host impell’d us to the task.There fought we nine long years, and in the tenth(Priam’s proud city pillag’d) steer’d againOur galleys homeward, which the Gods dispersed.Then was it that deep-planning Jove devisedFor me much evil. One short month, no more,I gave to joys domestic, in my wifeHappy, and in my babes, and in my wealth,When the desire seiz’d me with sev’ral shipsWell-rigg’d, and furnish’d all with gallant crews,300To sail for Ægypt; nine I fitted forth,To which stout mariners assembled fast.Six days the chosen partners of my voyageFeasted, to whom I num’rous victims gaveFor sacrifice, and for their own regale.Embarking on the sev’nth from spacious Crete,Before a clear breeze prosp’rous from the NorthWe glided easily along, as downA river’s stream; nor one of all my shipsDamage incurr’d, but healthy and at ease310We sat, while gales well-managed urged us on.The fifth day thence, smooth-flowing Nile we reach’d,And safe I moor’d in the Ægyptian stream.Then, charging all my mariners to keepStrict watch for preservation of the ships,I order’d spies into the hill-tops; but theyUnder the impulse of a spirit rashAnd hot for quarrel, the well-cultur’d fieldsPillaged of the Ægyptians, captive ledTheir wives and little ones, and slew the men.320Soon was the city alarm’d, and at the cryDown came the citizens, by dawn of day,With horse and foot, and with the gleam of armsFilling the plain. Then Jove with panic dreadStruck all my people; none found courage moreTo stand, for mischiefs swarm’d on ev’ry side.There, num’rous by the glittering spear we fellSlaughter’d, while others they conducted thenceAlive to servitude. But Jove himselfMy bosom with this thought inspired, (I would330That, dying, I had first fulfill’d my fateIn Ægypt, for new woes were yet to come!)Loosing my brazen casque, and slipping offMy buckler, there I left them on the field,Then cast my spear away, and seeking, next,The chariot of the sov’reign, clasp’d his knees,And kiss’d them. He, by my submission moved,Deliver’d me, and to his chariot-seatRaising, convey’d me weeping to his home.With many an ashen spear his warriors sought340To slay me, (for they now grew fiery wroth)But he, through fear of hospitable Jove,Chief punisher of wrong, saved me alive.Sev’n years I there abode, and much amass’dAmong the Ægyptians, gifted by them all;But, in the eighth revolving year, arrivedA shrewd Phœnician, in all fraud adept,Hungry, and who had num’rous harm’d before,By whom I also was cajoled, and luredT’ attend him to Phœnicia, where his house350And his possessions lay; there I abodeA year complete his inmate; but (the daysAnd months accomplish’d of the rolling year,And the new seasons ent’ring on their course)To Lybia then, on board his bark, by wilesHe won me with him, partner of the freightProfess’d, but destin’d secretly to sale,That he might profit largely by my price.Not unsuspicious, yet constrain’d to go,With this man I embark’d. A cloudless gale360Propitious blowing from the North, our shipRan right before it through the middle sea,In the offing over Crete; but adverse JoveDestruction plann’d for them and death the while.For, Crete now left afar, and other landAppearing none, but sky alone and sea,Right o’er the hollow bark Saturnian JoveA cloud cærulean hung, dark’ning the Deep.Then, thund’ring oft, he hurl’d into the barkHis bolts; she smitten by the fires of Jove,370Quaked all her length; with sulphur fill’d she reek’d,And, o’er her sides precipitated, plungedLike gulls the crew, forbidden by that strokeOf wrath divine to hope their country more.But Jove himself, when I had cast awayAll hope of life, conducted to my armsThe strong tall mast, that I might yet escape.Around that beam I clung, driving beforeThe stormy blast. Nine days complete I drove,And, on the tenth dark night, the rolling flood380Immense convey’d me to Thesprotia’s shore.There me the Hero Phidon, gen’rous KingOf the Thesprotians, freely entertained;For his own son discov’ring me with toilExhausted and with cold, raised me, and thenceLed me humanely to his father’s house,Who cherish’d me, and gave me fresh attire.There heard I of Ulysses, whom himselfHad entertain’d, he said, on his returnTo his own land; he shew’d me also gold,390Brass, and bright steel elab’rate, whatsoe’erUlysses had amass’d, a store to feedA less illustrious family than hisTo the tenth generation, so immenseHis treasures in the royal palace lay.Himself, he said, was to Dodona gone,There, from the tow’ring oaks of Jove to askCounsel divine, if openly to land(After long absence) in his opulent realmOf Ithaca, be best, or in disguise.400To me the monarch swore, in his own hallPouring libation, that the ship was launch’d,And the crew ready for his conduct home.But me he first dismiss’d, for, as it chanced,A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, boundTo green Dulichium’s isle. He bade the crewBear me to King Acastus with all speed;But them far other thoughts pleased more, and thoughtsOf harm to me, that I might yet be plungedIn deeper gulphs of woe than I had known.410For, when the billow-cleaving bark had leftThe land remote, framing, combined, a plotAgainst my liberty, they stripp’d my vestAnd mantle, and this tatter’d raiment foulGave me instead, which thy own eyes behold.At even-tide reaching the cultur’d coastOf Ithaca, they left me bound on boardWith tackle of the bark, and quitting shipThemselves, made hasty supper on the shore.But me, meantime, the Gods easily loos’d420By their own pow’r, when, with wrapper vileAround my brows, sliding into the seaAt the ship’s stern, I lay’d me on the flood.With both hands oaring thence my course, I swamTill past all ken of theirs; then landing whereThick covert of luxuriant trees I mark’d,Close couchant down I lay; they mutt’ring loud,Paced to and fro, but deeming farther searchUnprofitable, soon embark’d again.Thus baffling all their search with ease, the Gods430Conceal’d and led me thence to the abodeOf a wise man, dooming me still to live.To whom, Eumæus, thou didst thus reply,Alas! my most compassionable guest!Thou hast much moved me by this tale minuteOf thy sad wand’rings and thy num’rous woes.But, speaking of Ulysses, thou hast pass’dAll credence; I at least can give thee none.Why, noble as thou art, should’st thou inventPalpable falsehoods? as for the return440Of my regretted Lord, myself I knowThat had he not been hated by the GodsUnanimous, he had in battle diedAt Troy, or (that long doubtful war, at last,Concluded,) in his people’s arms at home.Then universal Greece had raised his tomb,And he had even for his son atchiev’dImmortal glory; but alas! by beaksOf harpies torn, unseemly sight, he lies.Here is my home the while; I never seek450The city, unless summon’d by discretePenelope to listen to the newsBrought by some stranger, whencesoe’er arrived.Then, all, alike inquisitive, attend,Both who regret the absence of our King,And who rejoice gratuitous to gorgeHis property; but as for me, no joyFind I in list’ning after such reports,Since an Ætolian cozen’d me, who found(After long wand’ring over various lands460A fugitive for blood) my lone retreat.Him warm I welcom’d, and with open armsReceiv’d, who bold affirm’d that he had seenMy master with Idomeneus at CreteHis ships refitting shatter’d by a storm,And that in summer with his godlike bandHe would return, bringing great riches home,Or else in autumn. And thou ancient guestForlorn! since thee the Gods have hither led,Seek not to gratify me with untruths470And to deceive me, since for no such causeI shall respect or love thee, but aloneBy pity influenced, and the fear of Jove.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.Thou hast, in truth, a most incredulous mind,Whom even with an oath I have not moved,Or aught persuaded. Come then—let us makeIn terms express a cov’nant, and the GodsWho hold Olympus, witness to us both!If thy own Lord at this thy house arrive,480Thou shalt dismiss me decently attiredIn vest and mantle, that I may repairHence to Dulichium, whither I would go.But, if thy Lord come not, then, gath’ring allThy servants, headlong hurl me from a rock,That other mendicants may fear to lie.To whom the generous swine-herd in return.Yes, stranger! doubtless I should high renownObtain for virtue among men, both nowAnd in all future times, if, having first490Invited thee, and at my board regaled,I, next, should slay thee; then my pray’rs would mount,Past question, swiftly to Saturnian Jove.But the hour calls to supper, and, ere long,The partners of my toils will come preparedTo spread the board with no unsav’ry cheer.Thus they conferr’d. And now the swains arrived,Driving their charge, which fast they soon enclosedWithin their customary penns, and loudThe hubbub was of swine prison’d within.500Then call’d the master to his rustic train.Bring ye the best, that we may set him forthBefore my friend from foreign climes arrived,With whom ourselves will also feast, who findThe bright-tusk’d multitude a painful charge,While others, at no cost of theirs, consumeDay after day, the profit of our toils.So saying, his wood for fuel he prepared,And dragging thither a well-fatted brawnOf the fifth year his servants held him fast510At the hearth-side. Nor failed the master swainT’ adore the Gods, (for wise and good was he)But consecration of the victim, first,Himself performing, cast into the fireThe forehead bristles of the tusky boar,Then pray’d to all above, that, safe, at length,Ulysses might regain his native home.Then lifting an huge shive that lay besideThe fire, he smote the boar, and dead he fell,Next, piercing him, and scorching close his hair,520They carv’d him quickly, and Eumæus spreadThin slices crude taken from ev’ry limbO’er all his fat, then other slices cast,Sprinkling them first with meal, into the fire.The rest they slash’d and scored, and roasted well,And placed it, heap’d together, on the board.Then rose the good Eumæus to his taskOf distribution, for he understoodThe hospitable entertainer’s part.Sev’n-fold partition of the banquet made,530He gave, with previous pray’r, to Maia’s son63And to the nymphs one portion of the whole,Then served his present guests, honouring firstUlysses with the boar’s perpetual chine;By that distinction just his master’s heartHe gratified, and thus the Hero spake.Eumæus! be thou as belov’d of JoveAs thou art dear to me, whom, though attiredSo coarsely, thou hast served with such respect!To whom, Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.540Eat, noble stranger! and refreshment takeSuch as thou may’st; God64gives, and God deniesAt his own will, for He is Lord of all.He said, and to the everlasting GodsThe firstlings sacrificed of all, then madeLibation, and the cup placed in the handsOf city-spoiler LaertiadesSitting beside his own allotted share.Meantime, Mesaulius bread dispensed to all,Whom, in the absence of his Lord, himself550Eumæus had from Taphian traders boughtWith his own proper goods, at no expenceEither to old Laertes or the Queen.And now, all stretch’d their hands toward the feastReeking before them, and when hunger noneFelt more or thirst, Mesaulius clear’d the board.Then, fed to full satiety, in hasteEach sought his couch. Black came a moonless night,And Jove all night descended fast in show’rs,With howlings of the ever wat’ry West.560Ulysses, at that sound, for trial sakeOf his good host, if putting off his cloakHe would accommodate him, or requireThat service for him at some other hand,Addressing thus the family, began.Hear now, Eumæus, and ye other swainsHis fellow-lab’rers! I shall somewhat boast,By wine befool’d, which forces ev’n the wiseTo carol loud, to titter and to dance,And words to utter, oft, better suppress’d.570But since I have begun, I shall proceed,Prating my fill. Ah might those days returnWith all the youth and strength that I enjoy’d,When in close ambush, once, at Troy we lay!Ulysses, Menelaus, and myselfTheir chosen coadjutor, led the band.Approaching to the city’s lofty wallThrough the thick bushes and the reeds that girdThe bulwarks, down we lay flat in the marsh,Under our arms, then Boreas blowing loud,580A rueful night came on, frosty and chargedWith snow that blanch’d us thick as morning rime,And ev’ry shield with ice was crystall’d o’er.The rest with cloaks and vests well cover’d, sleptBeneath their bucklers; I alone my cloak,Improvident, had left behind, no thoughtConceiving of a season so severe;Shield and belt, therefore, and nought else had I.The night, at last, nigh spent, and all the starsDeclining in their course, with elbow thrust590Against Ulysses’ side I roused the Chief,And thus address’d him ever prompt to hear.Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!I freeze to death. Help me, or I am lost.No cloak have I; some evil dæmon, sure,Beguil’d me of all prudence, that I cameThus sparely clad; I shall, I must expire.So I; he, ready as he was in armsAnd counsel both, the remedy at onceDevised, and thus, low-whisp’ring, answer’d me.600Hush! lest perchance some other hear—He said,And leaning on his elbow, spake aloud.My friends! all hear—a monitory dreamHath reach’d me, for we lie far from the ships.Haste, therefore, one of you, with my requestTo Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, our Chief,That he would reinforce us from the camp.He spake, and at the word, Andræmon’s sonThoas arose, who, casting off his cloak,Ran thence toward the ships, and folded warm610Within it, there lay I till dawn appear’d.Oh for the vigour of such youth again!Then, some good peasant here, either for loveOr for respect, would cloak a man like me,Whom, now, thus sordid in attire ye scorn.To whom, Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.My ancient guest! I cannot but approveThy narrative, nor hast thou utter’d aughtUnseemly, or that needs excuse. No wantOf raiment, therefore, or of aught beside620Needful to solace penury like thine,Shall harm thee here; yet, at the peep of dawnGird thy own tatters to thy loins again;Forwehave no great store of cloaks to boast,Or change of vests, but singly one for each.But when Ulysses’ son shall once arrive,He will himself with vest and mantle bothCloath thee, and send thee whither most thou would’st.So saying, he rose, and nearer made his couchTo the hearth-side, spreading it thick with skins630Of sheep and goats; then lay the Hero down,O’er whom a shaggy mantle large he threw,Which oft-times served him with a change, when roughThe winter’s blast and terrible arose.So was Ulysses bedded, and the youthsSlept all beside him; but the master-swainChose not his place of rest so far remoteFrom his rude charge, but to the outer courtWith his nocturnal furniture, repair’d,Gladd’ning Ulysses’ heart that one so true640In his own absence kept his rural stores.Athwart his sturdy shoulders, first, he flungHis faulchion keen, then wrapp’d him in a cloakThick-woven, winter-proof; he lifted, next,The skin of a well-thriven goat, in bulkSurpassing others, and his javelin tookSharp-pointed, with which dogs he drove and men.Thus arm’d, he sought his wonted couch beneathA hollow rock where the herd slept, secureFrom the sharp current of the Northern blast.650

61Δῖος ὑφορβος.—The swineherd’s was therefore in those days, and in that country, an occupation honourable as well as useful. Barnes deems the epithetδῖοςsignificant of his noble birth. Vide Clarke in loco.62It may be proper to suggest that Ulysses was lord of part of the continent opposite to Ithaca—viz.—of the peninsula Nericus or Leuca, which afterward became an island, and is now called Santa Maura. F.63Mercury.64Θεος—without a relative, and consequently signifyingGodin the abstract, is not unfrequently found in Homer, though fearing to give offence to serious minds unacquainted with the original, I have not always given it that force in the translation. But here, the sentiment is such as fixes the sense intended by the author with a precision that leaves no option. It is observable too, thatδυναται γαρ απαντα—is an ascription of power such as the poet never makes to his Jupiter.

62It may be proper to suggest that Ulysses was lord of part of the continent opposite to Ithaca—viz.—of the peninsula Nericus or Leuca, which afterward became an island, and is now called Santa Maura. F.

63Mercury.

64Θεος—without a relative, and consequently signifyingGodin the abstract, is not unfrequently found in Homer, though fearing to give offence to serious minds unacquainted with the original, I have not always given it that force in the translation. But here, the sentiment is such as fixes the sense intended by the author with a precision that leaves no option. It is observable too, thatδυναται γαρ απαντα—is an ascription of power such as the poet never makes to his Jupiter.

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