BOOK XIXARGUMENTUlysses and Telemachus remove the arms from the hall to an upper-chamber. The Hero then confers with Penelope, to whom he gives a fictitious narrative of his adventures. Euryclea, while bathing Ulysses, discovers him by a scar on his knee, but he prevents her communication of that discovery to Penelope.They went, but left the noble Chief behindIn his own house, contriving by the aidOf Pallas, the destruction of them all,And thus, in accents wing’d, again he said.My son! we must remove and safe disposeAll these my well-forged implements of war;And should the suitors, missing them, enquireWhere are they? thou shalt answer smoothly thus—I have convey’d them from the reach of smoke,For they appear no more the same which erst10Ulysses, going hence to Ilium, left,So smirch’d and sullied by the breath of fire.This weightier reason (thou shalt also say)Some God suggested to me,—lest, inflamedWith wine, ye wound each other in your brawls,Shaming both feast and courtship; for the viewItself of arms incites to their abuse.He ceased, and, in obedience to his will,Calling the ancient Euryclea forth,His nurse, Telemachus enjoin’d her thus.20Go—shut the women in; make fast the doorsOf their apartment, while I safe disposeElsewhere, my father’s implements of war,Which, during his long absence, here have stoodTill smoke hath sullied them. For I have beenAn infant hitherto, but, wiser grown,Would now remove them from the breath of fire.Then thus the gentle matron in return.Yes truly—and I wish that now, at length,Thou would’st assert the privilege of thy years,30My son, thyself assuming charge of all,Both house and stores; but who shall bear the light?Since they, it seems, who would, are all forbidden.To whom Telemachus discrete replied.This guest; for no man, from my table fed,Come whence he may; shall be an idler here.He ended, nor his words flew wing’d away,But Euryclea bolted every door.Then, starting to the task, Ulysses caught,And his illustrious son, the weapons thence,40Helmet, and bossy shield, and pointed spear,While Pallas from a golden lamp illumedThe dusky way before them. At that sightAlarm’d, the Prince his father thus address’d.Whence—whence is this, my father? I beholdA prodigy! the walls of the whole house,The arches, fir-tree beams, and pillars tallShine in my view, as with the blaze of fire!Some Pow’r celestial, doubtless, is within.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.50Soft! ask no questions. Give no vent to thought,Such is the custom of the Pow’rs divine.Hence, thou, to bed. I stay, that I may yetBoth in thy mother and her maidens moveMore curiosity; yes—she with tearsShall question me of all that I have seen.He ended, and the Prince, at his command,Guided by flaming torches, sought the couchWhere he was wont to sleep, and there he sleptOn that night also, waiting the approach60Of sacred dawn. Thus was Ulysses leftAlone, and planning sat in solitude,By Pallas’ aid, the slaughter of his foes.At length, Diana-like, or like herself,All golden Venus, (her apartment left)Enter’d Penelope. Beside the hearthHer women planted her accustom’d seatWith silver wreathed and ivory. That throneIcmalius made, artist renown’d, and join’dA footstool to its splendid frame beneath,70Which ever with an ample fleece they spread.There sat discrete Penelope; then cameHer beautiful attendants from within,Who cleared the litter’d bread, the board, and cupsFrom which the insolent companions drank.They also raked the embers from the hearthsNow dim, and with fresh billets piled them high,Both for illumination and for warmth.Then yet again Melantho with rude speechOpprobrious, thus, assail’d Ulysses’ ear.80Guest—wilt thou trouble us throughout the nightRanging the house? and linger’st thou a spyWatching the women? Hence—get thee abroadGlad of such fare as thou hast found, or soonWith torches beaten we will thrust thee forth.To whom Ulysses, frowning stern, replied.Petulant woman! wherefore thus incensedInveigh’st thou against me? is it becauseI am not sleek? because my garb is mean?Because I beg? thanks to necessity—90I would not else. But such as I appear,Such all who beg and all who wander are.I also lived the happy owner onceOf such a stately mansion, and have giv’nTo num’rous wand’rers, whencesoe’er they came,All that they needed; I was also servedBy many, and enjoy’d all that denotesThe envied owner opulent and blest.But Jove (for so it pleas’d him) hath reducedMy all to nothing. Therefore well beware100Thou also, mistress, lest a day arriveWhen all these charms by which thou shin’st amongThy sister-menials, fade; fear, too, lest herThou should’st perchance irritate, whom thou serv’st,And lest Ulysses come, of whose returnHope yet survives; but even though the ChiefHave perish’d, as ye think, and comes no more,Consider yet his son, how bright the giftsShine of Apollo in the illustrious PrinceTelemachus; no woman, unobserved110By him, can now commit a trespass here;His days of heedless infancy are past.He ended, whom Penelope discreteO’erhearing, her attendant sharp rebuked.Shameless, audacious woman! known to meIs thy great wickedness, which with thy lifeThou shalt atone; for thou wast well aware,(Hearing it from myself) that I design’dTo ask this stranger of my absent Lord,For whose dear sake I never cease to mourn.120Then to her household’s governess she said.Bring now a seat, and spread it with a fleece,Eurynome! that, undisturb’d, the guestMay hear and answer all that I shall ask.She ended. Then the matron brought in hasteA polish’d seat, and spread it with a fleece,On which the toil-accustom’d Hero sat,And thus the chaste Penelope began.Stranger! my first enquiry shall be this—Who art thou? whence? where born? and sprung from whom?130Then answer thus Ulysses, wise, return’d.O Queen! uncensurable by the lipsOf mortal man! thy glory climbs the skiesUnrivall’d, like the praise of some great KingWho o’er a num’rous people and renown’dPresiding like a Deity, maintainsJustice and truth. The earth, under his sway,Her produce yields abundantly; the treesFruit-laden bend; the lusty flocks bring forth;The Ocean teems with finny swarms beneath140His just controul, and all the land is blest.Me therefore, question of what else thou wiltIn thy own palace, but forbear to askFrom whom I sprang, and of my native land,Lest thou, reminding me of those sad themes,Augment my woes; for I have much endured;Nor were it seemly, in another’s house,To pass the hours in sorrow and in tears,Wearisome when indulg’d with no regardTo time or place; thy train (perchance thyself)150Would blame me, and I should reproach incurAs one tear-deluged through excess of wine.Him answer’d then Penelope discrete.The immortal Gods, O stranger, then destroy’dMy form, my grace, my beauty, when the GreeksWhom my Ulysses follow’d, sail’d to Troy.Could he, returning, my domestic chargeHimself intend, far better would my fameBe so secured, and wider far diffused.But I am wretched now, such storms of woe160The Gods have sent me; for as many ChiefsAs hold dominion in the neighbour islesSamos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’dZacynthus; others, also, rulers hereIn pleasant Ithaca, me, loth to wed,Woo ceaseless, and my household stores consume.I therefore, neither guest nor suppliant heed,Nor public herald more, but with regretOf my Ulysses wear my soul away.They, meantime, press my nuptials, which by art170I still procrastinate. Some God the thoughtSuggested to me, to commence a robeOf amplest measure and of subtlest woof,Laborious task; which done, I thus address’d them.Princes, my suitors! since the noble ChiefUlysses is no more, enforce not nowMy nuptials; wait till I shall finish firstA fun’ral robe (lest all my threads be marr’d)Which for the ancient Hero I prepareLaertes, looking for the mournful hour180When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest.Else, I the censure dread of all my sex,Should he, so wealthy, want at last a shroud.Such was my speech; they, unsuspicious all,With my request complied. Thenceforth, all dayI wove the ample web, and, by the aidOf torches, ravell’d it again at night.Three years by artifice I thus their suitEluded safe; but when the fourth arrived,And the same season after many moons190And fleeting days return’d, passing my trainWho had neglected to release the dogs,They came, surprized and reprimanded me.Thus, through necessity, not choice, at lastI have perform’d it, in my own despight.But no escape from marriage now remains,Nor other subterfuge for me; meantimeMy parents urge my nuptials, and my son(Of age to note it) with disgust observesHis wealth consumed; for he is now become200Adult, and abler than myself to ruleThe house, a Prince distinguish’d by the Gods,Yet, stranger, after all, speak thy descent;Say whence thou art; for not of fabulous birthArt thou, nor from the oak, nor from the rock.Her answer’d then Ulysses, ever-wise.O spouse revered of Laertiades!Resolv’st thou still to learn from whom I sprang?Learn then; but know that thou shalt much augmentMy present grief, natural to a man210Who hath, like me, long exiled from his homeThrough various cities of the sons of menWander’d remote, and num’rous woes endured.Yet, though it pain me, I will tell thee all.There is a land amid the sable floodCall’d Crete; fair, fruitful, circled by the sea.Num’rous are her inhabitants, a raceNot to be summ’d, and ninety towns she boasts.Diverse their language is; Achaians some,And some indigenous are; Cydonians there,220Crest-shaking Dorians, and Pelasgians dwell.One city in extent the rest exceeds,Cnossus; the city in which Minos reign’d,Who, ever at a nine years’ close, conferr’dWith Jove himself; from him my father sprangThe brave Deucalion; for Deucalion’s sonsWere two, myself and King Idomeneus.To Ilium he, on board his gallant barks,Follow’d the Atridæ. I, the youngest-born,By my illustrious name, Æthon, am known,230But he ranks foremost both in worth and years.There I beheld Ulysses, and withinMy walls receiv’d him; for a violent windHad driv’n him from Malea (while he soughtThe shores of Troy) to Crete. The storm his barksBore into the Amnisus, for the caveOf Ilythia known, a dang’rous port,And which with difficulty he attain’d.He, landing, instant to the city went,Seeking Idomeneus; his friend of old,240As he affirm’d, and one whom much he lov’d.Buthewas far remote, ten days advanced,Perhaps eleven, on his course to Troy.Him, therefore, I conducted to my home,Where hospitably, and with kindest careI entertain’d him, (for I wanted nought)And for himself procured and for his band,—By public contribution, corn, and wine,And beeves for food, that all might be sufficed.Twelve days his noble Greecians there abode,250Port-lock’d by Boreas blowing with a forceResistless even on the land, some GodSo roused his fury; but the thirteenth dayThe wind all fell, and they embark’d again.With many a fiction specious, as he sat,He thus her ear amused; she at the soundMelting, with fluent tears her cheeks bedew’d;And as the snow by Zephyrus diffused,Melts on the mountain tops, when Eurus breathes,And fills the channels of the running streams,260So melted she, and down her lovely cheeksPour’d fast the tears, him mourning as remoteWho sat beside her. Soft compassion touch’dUlysses of his consort’s silent woe;His eyes as they had been of steel or horn,Moved not, yet artful, he suppress’d his tears,And she, at length with overflowing griefSatiate, replied, and thus enquired again.Now, stranger, I shall prove thee, as I judge,If thou, indeed, hast entertain’d in Crete270My spouse and his brave followers, as thou say’st.Describe his raiment and himself; his ownAppearance, and the appearance of his friends.Then her Ulysses answer’d, ever-wise.Hard is the task, O Queen! (so long a timeHath since elaps’d) to tell thee. Twenty yearsHave pass’d since he forsook my native isle,Yet, from my best remembrance, I will giveA likeness of him, such as now I may.A double cloak, thick-piled, Mœonian dyed,280The noble Chief had on; two fast’nings heldThe golden clasp, and it display’d in frontA well-wrought pattern with much art design’d.An hound between his fore-feet holding fastA dappled fawn, gaped eager on his prey.All wonder’d, seeing, how in lifeless goldExpress’d, the dog with open mouth her throatAttempted still, and how the fawn with hoofsThrust trembling forward, struggled to escape.That glorious mantle much I noticed, soft290To touch, as the dried garlick’s glossy film;Such was the smoothness of it, and it shoneSun-bright; full many a maiden, trust me, view’dThe splendid texture with admiring eyes.But mark me now; deep treasure in thy mindThis word. I know not if Ulysses woreThat cloak at home, or whether of his trainSome warrior gave it to him on his way,Or else some host of his; for many lovedUlysses, and with him might few compare.300I gave to him, myself, a brazen sword,A purple cloak magnificent, and vestOf royal length, and when he sought his bark,With princely pomp dismiss’d him from the shore.An herald also waited on the Chief,Somewhat his Senior; him I next describe.His back was bunch’d, his visage swarthy, curl’dHis poll, and he was named Eurybates;A man whom most of all his followers farUlysses honour’d, for their minds were one.310He ceased; she recognising all the proofsDistinctly by Ulysses named, was movedStill more to weep, till with o’erflowing griefSatiate, at length she answer’d him again.Henceforth, O stranger, thou who hadst beforeMy pity, shalt my rev’rence share and love,I folded for him (with thesehands)the cloakWhich thou describ’st, produced it when he went,And gave it to him; I that splendid claspAttach’d to it myself, more to adorn320My honour’d Lord, whom to his native landReturn’d secure I shall receive no more.In such an evil hour Ulysses wentTo that bad city never to be named.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.Consort revered of Laertiades!No longer let anxiety impairThy beauteous form, nor any grief consumeThy spirits more for thy Ulysses’ sake.And yet I blame thee not; a wife deprived330Of her first mate to whom she had producedFair fruit of mutual love, would mourn his loss,Although he were inferior far to thine,Whom fame affirms the semblance of the Gods.But cease to mourn. Hear me. I will relateA faithful tale, nor will from thee withholdSuch tidings of Ulysses living still,And of his safe return, as I have heardLately, in yon neighb’ring opulent landOf the Thesprotians. He returns enrich’d340With many precious stores from those obtain’dWhom he hath visited; but he hath lost,Departing from Thrinacia’s isle, his barkAnd all his lov’d companions in the Deep,For Jove was adverse to him, and the Sun,Whose beeves his followers slew. They perish’d allAmid the billowy flood; but Him, the keelBestriding of his bark, the waves at lengthCast forth on the Phæacian’s land, a raceAllied to heav’n, who rev’renced like a God350Thy husband, honour’d him with num’rous gifts,And willing were to have convey’d him home.Ulysses, therefore, had attained long sinceHis native shore, but that he deem’d it bestTo travel far, that he might still amassMore wealth; so much Ulysses all mankindExcels in policy, and hath no peer.This information from Thesprotia’s KingI gain’d, from Phidon; to myself he swore,Libation off’ring under his own roof,360That both the bark was launch’d, and the stout crewPrepared, that should conduct him to his home.But me he first dismiss’d; for, as it chanced,A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, boundTo corn-enrich’d Dulichium. All the wealthHe shew’d me by the Chief amass’d, a storeTo feed the house of yet another PrinceTo the tenth generation; so immenseHis treasures were within that palace lodg’d.Himself he said was to Dodona gone,370Counsel to ask from the oracular oaksSublime of Jove, how safest he might seek,After long exile thence, his native land,If openly were best, or in disguise.Thus, therefore, he is safe, and at his homeWell-nigh arrived, nor shall his country longWant him. I swear it with a solemn oath.First Jove be witness, King and Lord of all!Next these domestic Gods of the renown’dUlysses, in whose royal house I sit,380That thou shalt see my saying all fulfill’d.Ulysses shall this self-same year return,This self-same month, ere yet the next begin.Him answer’d then Penelope discrete.Grant heav’n, my guest, that this good word of thineFail not! then, soon shalt thou such bounty shareAnd friendship at my hands, that, at first sight,Whoe’er shall meet thee shall pronounce thee blest.But ah! my soul forebodes how it will prove;Neither Ulysses will return, nor thou390Receive safe conduct hence; for we have hereNone, such as once Ulysses was, to ruleHis household with authority, and to sendWith honourable convoy to his homeThe worthy guest, or to regale him here.Give him the bath, my maidens; spread his couchWith linen soft, with fleecy gaberdines82And rugs of splendid hue, that he may lieWaiting, well-warm’d, the golden morn’s return.Attend him also at the peep of day400With bath and unction, that, his seat resumedHere in the palace, he may be preparedFor breakfast with Telemachus; and woeTo him who shall presume to incommodeOr cause him pain; that man shall be cashier’dHence instant, burn his anger as it may.For how, my honour’d inmate! shalt thou learnThat I in wisdom œconomic aughtPass other women, if unbathed, unoiled,Ill-clad, thou sojourn here? man’s life is short,410Whoso is cruel, and to cruel artsAddict, on him all men, while yet he lives,Call plagues and curses down, and after deathScorn and proverbial mock’ries hunt his name.But men, humane themselves, and giv’n by choiceTo offices humane, from land to landAre rumour’d honourably by their guests,And ev’ry tongue is busy in their praise.Her answer’d then, Ulysses, ever-wise.Consort revered of Laertiades!420Warm gaberdines and rugs of splendid hueTo me have odious been, since first the sightOf Crete’s snow-mantled mountain-tops I lost,Sweeping the billows with extended oars.No; I will pass, as I am wont to passThe sleepless night; for on a sordid couchOutstretch’d, full many a night have I reposedTill golden-charioted Aurora dawn’d.Nor me the foot-bath pleases more; my footShall none of all thy ministring maidens touch,430Unless there be some ancient matron graveAmong them, who hath pangs of heart enduredNum’rous, and keen as I have felt myself;Her I refuse not. She may touch my feet.Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.Dear guest! for of all trav’llers here arrivedFrom distant regions, I have none receivedDiscrete as thou, or whom I more have lov’d,So just thy matter is, and with such graceExpress’d. I have an ancient maiden grave,440The nurse who at my hapless husband’s birthReceiv’d him in her arms, and with kind careMaternal rear’d him; she shall wash thy feet,Although decrepid. Euryclea, rise!Wash one coeval with thy Lord; for suchThe feet and hands, it may be, are becomeOf my Ulysses now; since man besetWith sorrow once, soon wrinkled grows and old.She said, then Euryclea with both handsCov’ring her face, in tepid tears profuse450Dissolved, and thus in mournful strains began.Alas! my son, trouble for thy dear sakeDistracts me. Jove surely of all mankindThee hated most, though ever in thy heartDevoutly giv’n; for never mortal manSo many thighs of fatted victims burn’d,And chosen hecatombs produced as thouTo Jove the Thund’rer, him entreating stillThat he would grant thee a serene old age,And to instruct, thyself, thy glorious son.460Yet thus the God requites thee, cutting offAll hope of thy return—oh ancient sir!Him too, perchance, where’er he sits a guestBeneath some foreign roof, the women taunt,As all these shameless ones have taunted thee,Fearing whose mock’ry thou forbidd’st their handsThis office, which Icarius’ daughter wiseTo me enjoins, and which I, glad perform.Yes, I will wash thy feet; both for her sakeAnd for thy own,—for sight of thee hath raised470A tempest in my mind. Hear now the cause!Full many a guest forlorn we entertain,But never any have I seen, whose size,The fashion of whose foot and pitch of voice,Such likeness of Ulysses show’d, as thine.To whom Ulysses, ever-shrewd, replied.Such close similitude, O ancient dame!As thou observ’st between thy Lord and me,All, who have seen us both, have ever found.He said; then taking the resplendent vase480Allotted always to that use, she firstInfused cold water largely, then, the warm.Ulysses (for beside the hearth he sat)Turn’d quick his face into the shade, alarm’dLest, handling him, she should at once remarkHis scar, and all his stratagem unveil.She then, approaching, minister’d the bathTo her own King, and at first touch discern’dThat token, by a bright-tusk’d boar of oldImpress’d, what time he to Parnassus went490To visit there Autolycus and his sons,His mother’s noble sire, who all mankindIn furtive arts and fraudful oaths excell’d.83For such endowments he by gift receiv’dFrom Hermes’ self, to whom the thighs of kidsHe offer’d and of lambs, and, in return,The watchful Hermes never left his side.Autolycus arriving in the isleOf pleasant Ithaca, the new-born sonOf his own daughter found, whom on his knees500At close of supper Euryclea placed,And thus the royal visitant address’d.Thyself, Autolycus! devise a nameFor thy own daughter’s son, by num’rous pray’rsOf thine and fervent, from the Gods obtained.Then answer thus Autolycus return’d.My daughter and my daughter’s spouse! the nameWhich I shall give your boy, that let him bear.Since after provocation and offenceTo numbers giv’n of either sex, I come,510Call him Ulysses;84and when, grown mature,He shall Parnassus visit, the abodeMagnificent in which his mother dwelt,And where my treasures lie, from my own storesI will enrich and send him joyful home.Ulysses, therefore, that he might obtainThose princely gifts, went thither. Him arrived,With right-hand gratulation and with wordsOf welcome kind, Autolycus received,Nor less his offspring; but the mother most520Of his own mother clung around his neck,Amphithea; she with many a fervent kissHis forehead press’d, and his bright-beaming eyes.Then bade Autolycus his noble sonsSet forth a banquet. They, at his command,Led in a fatted ox of the fifth year,Which slaying first, they spread him carved abroad,Then scored his flesh, transfixed it with the spits,And roasting all with culinary skillExact, gave each his portion. Thus they sat530Feasting all day, and till the sun declined,But when the sun declined, and darkness fell,Each sought his couch, and took the gift of sleep.Then, soon as day-spring’s daughter rosy-palm’dAurora look’d abroad, forth went the hounds,And, with the hounds Ulysses, and the youths,Sons of Autolycus, to chase the boar.Arrived at the Parnassian mount, they climb’dHis bushy sides, and to his airy heightsEre long attain’d. It was the pleasant hour540When from the gently-swelling flood profoundThe sun, emerging, first smote on the fields.The hunters reach’d the valley; foremost ran,Questing, the hounds; behind them, swift, the sonsCame of Autolycus, with whom advancedThe illustrious Prince Ulysses, pressing closeThe hounds, and brandishing his massy spear.There, hid in thickest shades, lay an huge boar.That covert neither rough winds blowing moistCould penetrate, nor could the noon-day sun550Smite through it, or fast-falling show’rs pervade,So thick it was, and underneath the groundWith litter of dry foliage strew’d profuse.Hunters and dogs approaching him, his earThe sound of feet perceived; upridging highHis bristly back and glaring fire, he sprangForth from the shrubs, and in defiance stoodNear and right opposite. Ulysses, first,Rush’d on him, elevating his long spearArdent to wound him; but, preventing quick560His foe, the boar gash’d him above the knee.Much flesh, assailing him oblique, he toreWith his rude tusk, but to the Hero’s bonePierced not; Ulysseshisright shoulder reach’d;And with a deadly thrust impell’d the pointOf his bright spear through him and far beyond.Loud yell’d the boar, sank in the dust, and died.Around Ulysses, then, the busy sonsThrong’d of Autolycus; expert they bracedThe wound of the illustrious hunter bold,570With incantation staunched the sable blood,And sought in haste their father’s house again,Whence, heal’d and gratified with splendid giftsThey sent him soon rejoicing to his home,Themselves rejoicing also. Glad their sonHis parents saw again, and of the scarEnquired, where giv’n, and how? He told them all,How to Parnassus with his friends he went,Sons of Autolycus to hunt, and howA boar had gash’d him with his iv’ry tusk.580That scar, while chafing him with open palms,The matron knew; she left his foot to fall;Down dropp’d his leg into the vase; the brassRang, and o’ertilted by the sudden shock,Poured forth the water, flooding wide the floor.Herspirit joy at once and sorrow seized;Tears fill’d her eyes; her intercepted voiceDied in her throat; but to Ulysses’ beardHer hand advancing, thus, at length, she spake.Thou art himself, Ulysses. Oh my son!590Dear to me, and my master as thou art,I knew thee not, till I had touch’d the scar.She said, and to Penelope her eyesDirected, all impatient to declareHer own Ulysses even then at home.But she, nor eye nor ear for aught that pass’dHad then, her fixt attention so entireMinerva had engaged. Then, darting forthHis arms, the Hero with his right-hand closeCompress’d her throat, and nearer to himself600Drawing her with his left, thus caution’d her.Why would’st thou ruin me? Thou gav’st me milkThyself from thy own breast. See me return’dAfter long suff’rings, in the twentieth year,To my own land. But since (some God the thoughtSuggesting to thee) thou hast learn’d the truth,Silence! lest others learn it from thy lips.For this I say, nor shall the threat be vain;If God vouchsafe to me to overcomeThe haughty suitors, when I shall inflict610Death on the other women of my house,Although my nurse, thyself shalt also die.Him answer’d Euryclea then, discrete.My son! oh how could so severe a wordEscape thy lips? my fortitude of mindThou know’st, and even now shalt prove me firmAs iron, secret as the stubborn rock.But hear and mark me well. Should’st thou prevail,Assisted by a Pow’r divine, to slayThe haughty suitors, I will then, myself,620Give thee to know of all the female trainWho have dishonour’d thee, and who respect.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.My nurse, it were superfluous; spare thy tongueThat needless task. I can distinguish wellMyself, between them, and shall know them all;But hold thy peace. Hush! leave it with the Gods.So he; then went the ancient matron forth,That she might serve him with a second bath,For the whole first was spilt. Thus, laved at length,630And smooth’d with oil, Ulysses nearer pull’dHis seat toward the glowing hearth to enjoyMore warmth, and drew his tatters o’er the scar.Then, prudent, thus Penelope began.One question, stranger, I shall yet propound,Though brief, for soon the hour of soft reposeGrateful to all, and even to the sadWhom gentle sleep forsakes not, will arrive.But heav’n to me immeasurable woeAssigns,—whose sole delight is to consume640My days in sighs, while here retired I sit,Watching my maidens’ labours and my own;But (night return’d, and all to bed retired)I press mine also, yet with deep regretAnd anguish lacerated, even there.As when at spring’s first entrance, her sweet songThe azure-crested nightingale renews,Daughter of Pandarus; within the grove’sThick foliage perch’d, she pours her echoing voiceNow deep, now clear, still varying the strain650With which she mourns her Itylus, her sonBy royal Zethus, whom she, erring, slew,85So also I, by soul-distressing doubtsToss’d ever, muse if I shall here remainA faithful guardian of my son’s affairs,My husband’s bed respecting, and not lessMy own fair fame, or whether I shall himOf all my suitors follow to his homeWho noblest seems, and offers richest dow’r.My son while he was infant yet, and own’d660An infant’s mind, could never give consentThat I should wed and leave him; but at length,Since he hath reached the stature of a man,He wishes my departure hence, the wasteViewing indignant by the suitors made.But I have dream’d. Hear, and expound my dream.My geese are twenty, which within my wallsI feed with sodden wheat; they serve to amuseSometimes my sorrow. From the mountains cameAn eagle, huge, hook-beak’d, brake all their necks,670And slew them; scatter’d on the palace-floorThey lay, and he soar’d swift into the skies.Dream only as it was, I wept aloud,Till all my maidens, gather’d by my voice,Arriving, found me weeping still, and stillComplaining, that the eagle had at onceSlain all my geese. But, to the palace-roofStooping again, he sat, and with a voiceOf human sound, forbad my tears, and said—Courage! O daughter of the far-renown’d680Icarius! no vain dream thou hast beheld,But, in thy sleep, a truth. The slaughter’d geeseDenote thy suitors. I who have appear’dAn eagle in thy sight, am yet indeedThy husband, who have now, at last, return’d,Death, horrid death designing for them all.He said; then waking at the voice, I castAn anxious look around, and saw my geeseBeside their tray, all feeding as before.Her then Ulysses answer’d, ever-wise.690O Queen! it is not possible to missThy dream’s plain import, since Ulysses’ selfHath told thee the event; thy suitors allMust perish; not one suitor shall escape.To whom Penelope discrete replied.Dreams are inexplicable, O my guest!And oft-times mere delusions that receiveNo just accomplishment. There are two gatesThrough which the fleeting phantoms pass; of hornIs one, and one of ivory.86Such dreams700As through the thin-leaf’d iv’ry portal comeSooth, but perform not, utt’ring empty sounds;But such as through the polish’d horn escape,If, haply seen by any mortal eye,Prove faithful witnesses, and are fulfill’d.But through those gates my wond’rous dream, I think,Came not; thrice welcome were it else to meAnd to my son. Now mark my words; attend.This is the hated morn that from the houseRemoves me of Ulysses. I shall fix,710This day, the rings for trial to them allOf archership; Ulysses’ custom wasTo plant twelve spikes, all regular arranged87Like galley-props, and crested with a ring,Then standing far remote, true in his aimHe with his whizzing shaft would thrid them all.This is the contest in which now I meanTo prove the suitors; him, who with most easeShall bend the bow, and shoot through all the rings,I follow, this dear mansion of my youth720Leaving, so fair, so fill’d with ev’ry good,Though still to love it even in my dreams.Her answer’d then Ulysses, ever-wise.Consort revered of Laertiades!Postpone not this contention, but appointForthwith the trial; for Ulysses hereWill sure arrive, ere they, (his polish’d bowLong tamp’ring) shall prevail to stretch the nerve,And speed the arrow through the iron rings.To whom Penelope replied discrete.730Would’st thou with thy sweet converse, O my guest!Here sooth me still, sleep ne’er should influenceThese eyes the while; but always to resistSleep’s pow’r is not for man, to whom the GodsEach circumstance of his condition hereFix universally. Myself will seekMy own apartment at the palace-top,And there will lay me down on my sad couch,For such it hath been, and with tears of mineCeaseless bedew’d, e’er since Ulysses went740To that bad city, never to be named.There will I sleep; but sleep thou here below,Either, thyself, preparing on the groundThy couch, or on a couch by these prepared.So saying, she to her splendid chamber thenceRetired, not sole, but by her female trainAttended; there arrived, she wept her spouse,Her lov’d Ulysses, till Minerva dropp’dThe balm of slumber on her weary lids.82A gaberdine is a shaggy cloak of coarse but warm materials. Such always make part of Homer’s bed-furniture.83Homer’s morals seem to allow to a good man dissimulation, and even an ambiguous oath, should they be necessary to save him from a villain. Thus in Book XX. Telemachus swears by Zeus, that he does not hinder his mother from marrying whom she pleases of the wooers, though at the same time he is plotting their destruction with his father. F.84In the GreekὈΔΥΣΣΕΥΣfrom the verbὀδυσσω—Irascor,I am angry.85She intended to slay the son of her husband’s brother Amphion, incited to it by the envy of his wife, who had six children, while herself had only two, but through mistake she slew her own son Itylus, and for her punishment was transformed by Jupiter into a nightingale.86The difference of the two substances may perhaps serve to account for the preference given in this case to the gate of horn; horn being transparent, and as such emblematical of truth, while ivory, from its whiteness, promises light, but is, in fact, opaque. F.87The translation here is somewhat pleonastic for the sake of perspicuity; the original is clear in itself, but not to us who have no such practice. Twelve stakes were fixt in the earth, each having a ring at the top; the order in which they stood was so exact, that an arrow sent with an even hand through the first ring, would pass them all.
Ulysses and Telemachus remove the arms from the hall to an upper-chamber. The Hero then confers with Penelope, to whom he gives a fictitious narrative of his adventures. Euryclea, while bathing Ulysses, discovers him by a scar on his knee, but he prevents her communication of that discovery to Penelope.
They went, but left the noble Chief behindIn his own house, contriving by the aidOf Pallas, the destruction of them all,And thus, in accents wing’d, again he said.My son! we must remove and safe disposeAll these my well-forged implements of war;And should the suitors, missing them, enquireWhere are they? thou shalt answer smoothly thus—I have convey’d them from the reach of smoke,For they appear no more the same which erst10Ulysses, going hence to Ilium, left,So smirch’d and sullied by the breath of fire.This weightier reason (thou shalt also say)Some God suggested to me,—lest, inflamedWith wine, ye wound each other in your brawls,Shaming both feast and courtship; for the viewItself of arms incites to their abuse.He ceased, and, in obedience to his will,Calling the ancient Euryclea forth,His nurse, Telemachus enjoin’d her thus.20Go—shut the women in; make fast the doorsOf their apartment, while I safe disposeElsewhere, my father’s implements of war,Which, during his long absence, here have stoodTill smoke hath sullied them. For I have beenAn infant hitherto, but, wiser grown,Would now remove them from the breath of fire.Then thus the gentle matron in return.Yes truly—and I wish that now, at length,Thou would’st assert the privilege of thy years,30My son, thyself assuming charge of all,Both house and stores; but who shall bear the light?Since they, it seems, who would, are all forbidden.To whom Telemachus discrete replied.This guest; for no man, from my table fed,Come whence he may; shall be an idler here.He ended, nor his words flew wing’d away,But Euryclea bolted every door.Then, starting to the task, Ulysses caught,And his illustrious son, the weapons thence,40Helmet, and bossy shield, and pointed spear,While Pallas from a golden lamp illumedThe dusky way before them. At that sightAlarm’d, the Prince his father thus address’d.Whence—whence is this, my father? I beholdA prodigy! the walls of the whole house,The arches, fir-tree beams, and pillars tallShine in my view, as with the blaze of fire!Some Pow’r celestial, doubtless, is within.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.50Soft! ask no questions. Give no vent to thought,Such is the custom of the Pow’rs divine.Hence, thou, to bed. I stay, that I may yetBoth in thy mother and her maidens moveMore curiosity; yes—she with tearsShall question me of all that I have seen.He ended, and the Prince, at his command,Guided by flaming torches, sought the couchWhere he was wont to sleep, and there he sleptOn that night also, waiting the approach60Of sacred dawn. Thus was Ulysses leftAlone, and planning sat in solitude,By Pallas’ aid, the slaughter of his foes.At length, Diana-like, or like herself,All golden Venus, (her apartment left)Enter’d Penelope. Beside the hearthHer women planted her accustom’d seatWith silver wreathed and ivory. That throneIcmalius made, artist renown’d, and join’dA footstool to its splendid frame beneath,70Which ever with an ample fleece they spread.There sat discrete Penelope; then cameHer beautiful attendants from within,Who cleared the litter’d bread, the board, and cupsFrom which the insolent companions drank.They also raked the embers from the hearthsNow dim, and with fresh billets piled them high,Both for illumination and for warmth.Then yet again Melantho with rude speechOpprobrious, thus, assail’d Ulysses’ ear.80Guest—wilt thou trouble us throughout the nightRanging the house? and linger’st thou a spyWatching the women? Hence—get thee abroadGlad of such fare as thou hast found, or soonWith torches beaten we will thrust thee forth.To whom Ulysses, frowning stern, replied.Petulant woman! wherefore thus incensedInveigh’st thou against me? is it becauseI am not sleek? because my garb is mean?Because I beg? thanks to necessity—90I would not else. But such as I appear,Such all who beg and all who wander are.I also lived the happy owner onceOf such a stately mansion, and have giv’nTo num’rous wand’rers, whencesoe’er they came,All that they needed; I was also servedBy many, and enjoy’d all that denotesThe envied owner opulent and blest.But Jove (for so it pleas’d him) hath reducedMy all to nothing. Therefore well beware100Thou also, mistress, lest a day arriveWhen all these charms by which thou shin’st amongThy sister-menials, fade; fear, too, lest herThou should’st perchance irritate, whom thou serv’st,And lest Ulysses come, of whose returnHope yet survives; but even though the ChiefHave perish’d, as ye think, and comes no more,Consider yet his son, how bright the giftsShine of Apollo in the illustrious PrinceTelemachus; no woman, unobserved110By him, can now commit a trespass here;His days of heedless infancy are past.He ended, whom Penelope discreteO’erhearing, her attendant sharp rebuked.Shameless, audacious woman! known to meIs thy great wickedness, which with thy lifeThou shalt atone; for thou wast well aware,(Hearing it from myself) that I design’dTo ask this stranger of my absent Lord,For whose dear sake I never cease to mourn.120Then to her household’s governess she said.Bring now a seat, and spread it with a fleece,Eurynome! that, undisturb’d, the guestMay hear and answer all that I shall ask.She ended. Then the matron brought in hasteA polish’d seat, and spread it with a fleece,On which the toil-accustom’d Hero sat,And thus the chaste Penelope began.Stranger! my first enquiry shall be this—Who art thou? whence? where born? and sprung from whom?130Then answer thus Ulysses, wise, return’d.O Queen! uncensurable by the lipsOf mortal man! thy glory climbs the skiesUnrivall’d, like the praise of some great KingWho o’er a num’rous people and renown’dPresiding like a Deity, maintainsJustice and truth. The earth, under his sway,Her produce yields abundantly; the treesFruit-laden bend; the lusty flocks bring forth;The Ocean teems with finny swarms beneath140His just controul, and all the land is blest.Me therefore, question of what else thou wiltIn thy own palace, but forbear to askFrom whom I sprang, and of my native land,Lest thou, reminding me of those sad themes,Augment my woes; for I have much endured;Nor were it seemly, in another’s house,To pass the hours in sorrow and in tears,Wearisome when indulg’d with no regardTo time or place; thy train (perchance thyself)150Would blame me, and I should reproach incurAs one tear-deluged through excess of wine.Him answer’d then Penelope discrete.The immortal Gods, O stranger, then destroy’dMy form, my grace, my beauty, when the GreeksWhom my Ulysses follow’d, sail’d to Troy.Could he, returning, my domestic chargeHimself intend, far better would my fameBe so secured, and wider far diffused.But I am wretched now, such storms of woe160The Gods have sent me; for as many ChiefsAs hold dominion in the neighbour islesSamos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’dZacynthus; others, also, rulers hereIn pleasant Ithaca, me, loth to wed,Woo ceaseless, and my household stores consume.I therefore, neither guest nor suppliant heed,Nor public herald more, but with regretOf my Ulysses wear my soul away.They, meantime, press my nuptials, which by art170I still procrastinate. Some God the thoughtSuggested to me, to commence a robeOf amplest measure and of subtlest woof,Laborious task; which done, I thus address’d them.Princes, my suitors! since the noble ChiefUlysses is no more, enforce not nowMy nuptials; wait till I shall finish firstA fun’ral robe (lest all my threads be marr’d)Which for the ancient Hero I prepareLaertes, looking for the mournful hour180When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest.Else, I the censure dread of all my sex,Should he, so wealthy, want at last a shroud.Such was my speech; they, unsuspicious all,With my request complied. Thenceforth, all dayI wove the ample web, and, by the aidOf torches, ravell’d it again at night.Three years by artifice I thus their suitEluded safe; but when the fourth arrived,And the same season after many moons190And fleeting days return’d, passing my trainWho had neglected to release the dogs,They came, surprized and reprimanded me.Thus, through necessity, not choice, at lastI have perform’d it, in my own despight.But no escape from marriage now remains,Nor other subterfuge for me; meantimeMy parents urge my nuptials, and my son(Of age to note it) with disgust observesHis wealth consumed; for he is now become200Adult, and abler than myself to ruleThe house, a Prince distinguish’d by the Gods,Yet, stranger, after all, speak thy descent;Say whence thou art; for not of fabulous birthArt thou, nor from the oak, nor from the rock.Her answer’d then Ulysses, ever-wise.O spouse revered of Laertiades!Resolv’st thou still to learn from whom I sprang?Learn then; but know that thou shalt much augmentMy present grief, natural to a man210Who hath, like me, long exiled from his homeThrough various cities of the sons of menWander’d remote, and num’rous woes endured.Yet, though it pain me, I will tell thee all.There is a land amid the sable floodCall’d Crete; fair, fruitful, circled by the sea.Num’rous are her inhabitants, a raceNot to be summ’d, and ninety towns she boasts.Diverse their language is; Achaians some,And some indigenous are; Cydonians there,220Crest-shaking Dorians, and Pelasgians dwell.One city in extent the rest exceeds,Cnossus; the city in which Minos reign’d,Who, ever at a nine years’ close, conferr’dWith Jove himself; from him my father sprangThe brave Deucalion; for Deucalion’s sonsWere two, myself and King Idomeneus.To Ilium he, on board his gallant barks,Follow’d the Atridæ. I, the youngest-born,By my illustrious name, Æthon, am known,230But he ranks foremost both in worth and years.There I beheld Ulysses, and withinMy walls receiv’d him; for a violent windHad driv’n him from Malea (while he soughtThe shores of Troy) to Crete. The storm his barksBore into the Amnisus, for the caveOf Ilythia known, a dang’rous port,And which with difficulty he attain’d.He, landing, instant to the city went,Seeking Idomeneus; his friend of old,240As he affirm’d, and one whom much he lov’d.Buthewas far remote, ten days advanced,Perhaps eleven, on his course to Troy.Him, therefore, I conducted to my home,Where hospitably, and with kindest careI entertain’d him, (for I wanted nought)And for himself procured and for his band,—By public contribution, corn, and wine,And beeves for food, that all might be sufficed.Twelve days his noble Greecians there abode,250Port-lock’d by Boreas blowing with a forceResistless even on the land, some GodSo roused his fury; but the thirteenth dayThe wind all fell, and they embark’d again.With many a fiction specious, as he sat,He thus her ear amused; she at the soundMelting, with fluent tears her cheeks bedew’d;And as the snow by Zephyrus diffused,Melts on the mountain tops, when Eurus breathes,And fills the channels of the running streams,260So melted she, and down her lovely cheeksPour’d fast the tears, him mourning as remoteWho sat beside her. Soft compassion touch’dUlysses of his consort’s silent woe;His eyes as they had been of steel or horn,Moved not, yet artful, he suppress’d his tears,And she, at length with overflowing griefSatiate, replied, and thus enquired again.Now, stranger, I shall prove thee, as I judge,If thou, indeed, hast entertain’d in Crete270My spouse and his brave followers, as thou say’st.Describe his raiment and himself; his ownAppearance, and the appearance of his friends.Then her Ulysses answer’d, ever-wise.Hard is the task, O Queen! (so long a timeHath since elaps’d) to tell thee. Twenty yearsHave pass’d since he forsook my native isle,Yet, from my best remembrance, I will giveA likeness of him, such as now I may.A double cloak, thick-piled, Mœonian dyed,280The noble Chief had on; two fast’nings heldThe golden clasp, and it display’d in frontA well-wrought pattern with much art design’d.An hound between his fore-feet holding fastA dappled fawn, gaped eager on his prey.All wonder’d, seeing, how in lifeless goldExpress’d, the dog with open mouth her throatAttempted still, and how the fawn with hoofsThrust trembling forward, struggled to escape.That glorious mantle much I noticed, soft290To touch, as the dried garlick’s glossy film;Such was the smoothness of it, and it shoneSun-bright; full many a maiden, trust me, view’dThe splendid texture with admiring eyes.But mark me now; deep treasure in thy mindThis word. I know not if Ulysses woreThat cloak at home, or whether of his trainSome warrior gave it to him on his way,Or else some host of his; for many lovedUlysses, and with him might few compare.300I gave to him, myself, a brazen sword,A purple cloak magnificent, and vestOf royal length, and when he sought his bark,With princely pomp dismiss’d him from the shore.An herald also waited on the Chief,Somewhat his Senior; him I next describe.His back was bunch’d, his visage swarthy, curl’dHis poll, and he was named Eurybates;A man whom most of all his followers farUlysses honour’d, for their minds were one.310He ceased; she recognising all the proofsDistinctly by Ulysses named, was movedStill more to weep, till with o’erflowing griefSatiate, at length she answer’d him again.Henceforth, O stranger, thou who hadst beforeMy pity, shalt my rev’rence share and love,I folded for him (with thesehands)the cloakWhich thou describ’st, produced it when he went,And gave it to him; I that splendid claspAttach’d to it myself, more to adorn320My honour’d Lord, whom to his native landReturn’d secure I shall receive no more.In such an evil hour Ulysses wentTo that bad city never to be named.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.Consort revered of Laertiades!No longer let anxiety impairThy beauteous form, nor any grief consumeThy spirits more for thy Ulysses’ sake.And yet I blame thee not; a wife deprived330Of her first mate to whom she had producedFair fruit of mutual love, would mourn his loss,Although he were inferior far to thine,Whom fame affirms the semblance of the Gods.But cease to mourn. Hear me. I will relateA faithful tale, nor will from thee withholdSuch tidings of Ulysses living still,And of his safe return, as I have heardLately, in yon neighb’ring opulent landOf the Thesprotians. He returns enrich’d340With many precious stores from those obtain’dWhom he hath visited; but he hath lost,Departing from Thrinacia’s isle, his barkAnd all his lov’d companions in the Deep,For Jove was adverse to him, and the Sun,Whose beeves his followers slew. They perish’d allAmid the billowy flood; but Him, the keelBestriding of his bark, the waves at lengthCast forth on the Phæacian’s land, a raceAllied to heav’n, who rev’renced like a God350Thy husband, honour’d him with num’rous gifts,And willing were to have convey’d him home.Ulysses, therefore, had attained long sinceHis native shore, but that he deem’d it bestTo travel far, that he might still amassMore wealth; so much Ulysses all mankindExcels in policy, and hath no peer.This information from Thesprotia’s KingI gain’d, from Phidon; to myself he swore,Libation off’ring under his own roof,360That both the bark was launch’d, and the stout crewPrepared, that should conduct him to his home.But me he first dismiss’d; for, as it chanced,A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, boundTo corn-enrich’d Dulichium. All the wealthHe shew’d me by the Chief amass’d, a storeTo feed the house of yet another PrinceTo the tenth generation; so immenseHis treasures were within that palace lodg’d.Himself he said was to Dodona gone,370Counsel to ask from the oracular oaksSublime of Jove, how safest he might seek,After long exile thence, his native land,If openly were best, or in disguise.Thus, therefore, he is safe, and at his homeWell-nigh arrived, nor shall his country longWant him. I swear it with a solemn oath.First Jove be witness, King and Lord of all!Next these domestic Gods of the renown’dUlysses, in whose royal house I sit,380That thou shalt see my saying all fulfill’d.Ulysses shall this self-same year return,This self-same month, ere yet the next begin.Him answer’d then Penelope discrete.Grant heav’n, my guest, that this good word of thineFail not! then, soon shalt thou such bounty shareAnd friendship at my hands, that, at first sight,Whoe’er shall meet thee shall pronounce thee blest.But ah! my soul forebodes how it will prove;Neither Ulysses will return, nor thou390Receive safe conduct hence; for we have hereNone, such as once Ulysses was, to ruleHis household with authority, and to sendWith honourable convoy to his homeThe worthy guest, or to regale him here.Give him the bath, my maidens; spread his couchWith linen soft, with fleecy gaberdines82And rugs of splendid hue, that he may lieWaiting, well-warm’d, the golden morn’s return.Attend him also at the peep of day400With bath and unction, that, his seat resumedHere in the palace, he may be preparedFor breakfast with Telemachus; and woeTo him who shall presume to incommodeOr cause him pain; that man shall be cashier’dHence instant, burn his anger as it may.For how, my honour’d inmate! shalt thou learnThat I in wisdom œconomic aughtPass other women, if unbathed, unoiled,Ill-clad, thou sojourn here? man’s life is short,410Whoso is cruel, and to cruel artsAddict, on him all men, while yet he lives,Call plagues and curses down, and after deathScorn and proverbial mock’ries hunt his name.But men, humane themselves, and giv’n by choiceTo offices humane, from land to landAre rumour’d honourably by their guests,And ev’ry tongue is busy in their praise.Her answer’d then, Ulysses, ever-wise.Consort revered of Laertiades!420Warm gaberdines and rugs of splendid hueTo me have odious been, since first the sightOf Crete’s snow-mantled mountain-tops I lost,Sweeping the billows with extended oars.No; I will pass, as I am wont to passThe sleepless night; for on a sordid couchOutstretch’d, full many a night have I reposedTill golden-charioted Aurora dawn’d.Nor me the foot-bath pleases more; my footShall none of all thy ministring maidens touch,430Unless there be some ancient matron graveAmong them, who hath pangs of heart enduredNum’rous, and keen as I have felt myself;Her I refuse not. She may touch my feet.Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.Dear guest! for of all trav’llers here arrivedFrom distant regions, I have none receivedDiscrete as thou, or whom I more have lov’d,So just thy matter is, and with such graceExpress’d. I have an ancient maiden grave,440The nurse who at my hapless husband’s birthReceiv’d him in her arms, and with kind careMaternal rear’d him; she shall wash thy feet,Although decrepid. Euryclea, rise!Wash one coeval with thy Lord; for suchThe feet and hands, it may be, are becomeOf my Ulysses now; since man besetWith sorrow once, soon wrinkled grows and old.She said, then Euryclea with both handsCov’ring her face, in tepid tears profuse450Dissolved, and thus in mournful strains began.Alas! my son, trouble for thy dear sakeDistracts me. Jove surely of all mankindThee hated most, though ever in thy heartDevoutly giv’n; for never mortal manSo many thighs of fatted victims burn’d,And chosen hecatombs produced as thouTo Jove the Thund’rer, him entreating stillThat he would grant thee a serene old age,And to instruct, thyself, thy glorious son.460Yet thus the God requites thee, cutting offAll hope of thy return—oh ancient sir!Him too, perchance, where’er he sits a guestBeneath some foreign roof, the women taunt,As all these shameless ones have taunted thee,Fearing whose mock’ry thou forbidd’st their handsThis office, which Icarius’ daughter wiseTo me enjoins, and which I, glad perform.Yes, I will wash thy feet; both for her sakeAnd for thy own,—for sight of thee hath raised470A tempest in my mind. Hear now the cause!Full many a guest forlorn we entertain,But never any have I seen, whose size,The fashion of whose foot and pitch of voice,Such likeness of Ulysses show’d, as thine.To whom Ulysses, ever-shrewd, replied.Such close similitude, O ancient dame!As thou observ’st between thy Lord and me,All, who have seen us both, have ever found.He said; then taking the resplendent vase480Allotted always to that use, she firstInfused cold water largely, then, the warm.Ulysses (for beside the hearth he sat)Turn’d quick his face into the shade, alarm’dLest, handling him, she should at once remarkHis scar, and all his stratagem unveil.She then, approaching, minister’d the bathTo her own King, and at first touch discern’dThat token, by a bright-tusk’d boar of oldImpress’d, what time he to Parnassus went490To visit there Autolycus and his sons,His mother’s noble sire, who all mankindIn furtive arts and fraudful oaths excell’d.83For such endowments he by gift receiv’dFrom Hermes’ self, to whom the thighs of kidsHe offer’d and of lambs, and, in return,The watchful Hermes never left his side.Autolycus arriving in the isleOf pleasant Ithaca, the new-born sonOf his own daughter found, whom on his knees500At close of supper Euryclea placed,And thus the royal visitant address’d.Thyself, Autolycus! devise a nameFor thy own daughter’s son, by num’rous pray’rsOf thine and fervent, from the Gods obtained.Then answer thus Autolycus return’d.My daughter and my daughter’s spouse! the nameWhich I shall give your boy, that let him bear.Since after provocation and offenceTo numbers giv’n of either sex, I come,510Call him Ulysses;84and when, grown mature,He shall Parnassus visit, the abodeMagnificent in which his mother dwelt,And where my treasures lie, from my own storesI will enrich and send him joyful home.Ulysses, therefore, that he might obtainThose princely gifts, went thither. Him arrived,With right-hand gratulation and with wordsOf welcome kind, Autolycus received,Nor less his offspring; but the mother most520Of his own mother clung around his neck,Amphithea; she with many a fervent kissHis forehead press’d, and his bright-beaming eyes.Then bade Autolycus his noble sonsSet forth a banquet. They, at his command,Led in a fatted ox of the fifth year,Which slaying first, they spread him carved abroad,Then scored his flesh, transfixed it with the spits,And roasting all with culinary skillExact, gave each his portion. Thus they sat530Feasting all day, and till the sun declined,But when the sun declined, and darkness fell,Each sought his couch, and took the gift of sleep.Then, soon as day-spring’s daughter rosy-palm’dAurora look’d abroad, forth went the hounds,And, with the hounds Ulysses, and the youths,Sons of Autolycus, to chase the boar.Arrived at the Parnassian mount, they climb’dHis bushy sides, and to his airy heightsEre long attain’d. It was the pleasant hour540When from the gently-swelling flood profoundThe sun, emerging, first smote on the fields.The hunters reach’d the valley; foremost ran,Questing, the hounds; behind them, swift, the sonsCame of Autolycus, with whom advancedThe illustrious Prince Ulysses, pressing closeThe hounds, and brandishing his massy spear.There, hid in thickest shades, lay an huge boar.That covert neither rough winds blowing moistCould penetrate, nor could the noon-day sun550Smite through it, or fast-falling show’rs pervade,So thick it was, and underneath the groundWith litter of dry foliage strew’d profuse.Hunters and dogs approaching him, his earThe sound of feet perceived; upridging highHis bristly back and glaring fire, he sprangForth from the shrubs, and in defiance stoodNear and right opposite. Ulysses, first,Rush’d on him, elevating his long spearArdent to wound him; but, preventing quick560His foe, the boar gash’d him above the knee.Much flesh, assailing him oblique, he toreWith his rude tusk, but to the Hero’s bonePierced not; Ulysseshisright shoulder reach’d;And with a deadly thrust impell’d the pointOf his bright spear through him and far beyond.Loud yell’d the boar, sank in the dust, and died.Around Ulysses, then, the busy sonsThrong’d of Autolycus; expert they bracedThe wound of the illustrious hunter bold,570With incantation staunched the sable blood,And sought in haste their father’s house again,Whence, heal’d and gratified with splendid giftsThey sent him soon rejoicing to his home,Themselves rejoicing also. Glad their sonHis parents saw again, and of the scarEnquired, where giv’n, and how? He told them all,How to Parnassus with his friends he went,Sons of Autolycus to hunt, and howA boar had gash’d him with his iv’ry tusk.580That scar, while chafing him with open palms,The matron knew; she left his foot to fall;Down dropp’d his leg into the vase; the brassRang, and o’ertilted by the sudden shock,Poured forth the water, flooding wide the floor.Herspirit joy at once and sorrow seized;Tears fill’d her eyes; her intercepted voiceDied in her throat; but to Ulysses’ beardHer hand advancing, thus, at length, she spake.Thou art himself, Ulysses. Oh my son!590Dear to me, and my master as thou art,I knew thee not, till I had touch’d the scar.She said, and to Penelope her eyesDirected, all impatient to declareHer own Ulysses even then at home.But she, nor eye nor ear for aught that pass’dHad then, her fixt attention so entireMinerva had engaged. Then, darting forthHis arms, the Hero with his right-hand closeCompress’d her throat, and nearer to himself600Drawing her with his left, thus caution’d her.Why would’st thou ruin me? Thou gav’st me milkThyself from thy own breast. See me return’dAfter long suff’rings, in the twentieth year,To my own land. But since (some God the thoughtSuggesting to thee) thou hast learn’d the truth,Silence! lest others learn it from thy lips.For this I say, nor shall the threat be vain;If God vouchsafe to me to overcomeThe haughty suitors, when I shall inflict610Death on the other women of my house,Although my nurse, thyself shalt also die.Him answer’d Euryclea then, discrete.My son! oh how could so severe a wordEscape thy lips? my fortitude of mindThou know’st, and even now shalt prove me firmAs iron, secret as the stubborn rock.But hear and mark me well. Should’st thou prevail,Assisted by a Pow’r divine, to slayThe haughty suitors, I will then, myself,620Give thee to know of all the female trainWho have dishonour’d thee, and who respect.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.My nurse, it were superfluous; spare thy tongueThat needless task. I can distinguish wellMyself, between them, and shall know them all;But hold thy peace. Hush! leave it with the Gods.So he; then went the ancient matron forth,That she might serve him with a second bath,For the whole first was spilt. Thus, laved at length,630And smooth’d with oil, Ulysses nearer pull’dHis seat toward the glowing hearth to enjoyMore warmth, and drew his tatters o’er the scar.Then, prudent, thus Penelope began.One question, stranger, I shall yet propound,Though brief, for soon the hour of soft reposeGrateful to all, and even to the sadWhom gentle sleep forsakes not, will arrive.But heav’n to me immeasurable woeAssigns,—whose sole delight is to consume640My days in sighs, while here retired I sit,Watching my maidens’ labours and my own;But (night return’d, and all to bed retired)I press mine also, yet with deep regretAnd anguish lacerated, even there.As when at spring’s first entrance, her sweet songThe azure-crested nightingale renews,Daughter of Pandarus; within the grove’sThick foliage perch’d, she pours her echoing voiceNow deep, now clear, still varying the strain650With which she mourns her Itylus, her sonBy royal Zethus, whom she, erring, slew,85So also I, by soul-distressing doubtsToss’d ever, muse if I shall here remainA faithful guardian of my son’s affairs,My husband’s bed respecting, and not lessMy own fair fame, or whether I shall himOf all my suitors follow to his homeWho noblest seems, and offers richest dow’r.My son while he was infant yet, and own’d660An infant’s mind, could never give consentThat I should wed and leave him; but at length,Since he hath reached the stature of a man,He wishes my departure hence, the wasteViewing indignant by the suitors made.But I have dream’d. Hear, and expound my dream.My geese are twenty, which within my wallsI feed with sodden wheat; they serve to amuseSometimes my sorrow. From the mountains cameAn eagle, huge, hook-beak’d, brake all their necks,670And slew them; scatter’d on the palace-floorThey lay, and he soar’d swift into the skies.Dream only as it was, I wept aloud,Till all my maidens, gather’d by my voice,Arriving, found me weeping still, and stillComplaining, that the eagle had at onceSlain all my geese. But, to the palace-roofStooping again, he sat, and with a voiceOf human sound, forbad my tears, and said—Courage! O daughter of the far-renown’d680Icarius! no vain dream thou hast beheld,But, in thy sleep, a truth. The slaughter’d geeseDenote thy suitors. I who have appear’dAn eagle in thy sight, am yet indeedThy husband, who have now, at last, return’d,Death, horrid death designing for them all.He said; then waking at the voice, I castAn anxious look around, and saw my geeseBeside their tray, all feeding as before.Her then Ulysses answer’d, ever-wise.690O Queen! it is not possible to missThy dream’s plain import, since Ulysses’ selfHath told thee the event; thy suitors allMust perish; not one suitor shall escape.To whom Penelope discrete replied.Dreams are inexplicable, O my guest!And oft-times mere delusions that receiveNo just accomplishment. There are two gatesThrough which the fleeting phantoms pass; of hornIs one, and one of ivory.86Such dreams700As through the thin-leaf’d iv’ry portal comeSooth, but perform not, utt’ring empty sounds;But such as through the polish’d horn escape,If, haply seen by any mortal eye,Prove faithful witnesses, and are fulfill’d.But through those gates my wond’rous dream, I think,Came not; thrice welcome were it else to meAnd to my son. Now mark my words; attend.This is the hated morn that from the houseRemoves me of Ulysses. I shall fix,710This day, the rings for trial to them allOf archership; Ulysses’ custom wasTo plant twelve spikes, all regular arranged87Like galley-props, and crested with a ring,Then standing far remote, true in his aimHe with his whizzing shaft would thrid them all.This is the contest in which now I meanTo prove the suitors; him, who with most easeShall bend the bow, and shoot through all the rings,I follow, this dear mansion of my youth720Leaving, so fair, so fill’d with ev’ry good,Though still to love it even in my dreams.Her answer’d then Ulysses, ever-wise.Consort revered of Laertiades!Postpone not this contention, but appointForthwith the trial; for Ulysses hereWill sure arrive, ere they, (his polish’d bowLong tamp’ring) shall prevail to stretch the nerve,And speed the arrow through the iron rings.To whom Penelope replied discrete.730Would’st thou with thy sweet converse, O my guest!Here sooth me still, sleep ne’er should influenceThese eyes the while; but always to resistSleep’s pow’r is not for man, to whom the GodsEach circumstance of his condition hereFix universally. Myself will seekMy own apartment at the palace-top,And there will lay me down on my sad couch,For such it hath been, and with tears of mineCeaseless bedew’d, e’er since Ulysses went740To that bad city, never to be named.There will I sleep; but sleep thou here below,Either, thyself, preparing on the groundThy couch, or on a couch by these prepared.So saying, she to her splendid chamber thenceRetired, not sole, but by her female trainAttended; there arrived, she wept her spouse,Her lov’d Ulysses, till Minerva dropp’dThe balm of slumber on her weary lids.
They went, but left the noble Chief behindIn his own house, contriving by the aidOf Pallas, the destruction of them all,And thus, in accents wing’d, again he said.My son! we must remove and safe disposeAll these my well-forged implements of war;And should the suitors, missing them, enquireWhere are they? thou shalt answer smoothly thus—I have convey’d them from the reach of smoke,For they appear no more the same which erst10Ulysses, going hence to Ilium, left,So smirch’d and sullied by the breath of fire.This weightier reason (thou shalt also say)Some God suggested to me,—lest, inflamedWith wine, ye wound each other in your brawls,Shaming both feast and courtship; for the viewItself of arms incites to their abuse.He ceased, and, in obedience to his will,Calling the ancient Euryclea forth,His nurse, Telemachus enjoin’d her thus.20Go—shut the women in; make fast the doorsOf their apartment, while I safe disposeElsewhere, my father’s implements of war,Which, during his long absence, here have stoodTill smoke hath sullied them. For I have beenAn infant hitherto, but, wiser grown,Would now remove them from the breath of fire.Then thus the gentle matron in return.Yes truly—and I wish that now, at length,Thou would’st assert the privilege of thy years,30My son, thyself assuming charge of all,Both house and stores; but who shall bear the light?Since they, it seems, who would, are all forbidden.To whom Telemachus discrete replied.This guest; for no man, from my table fed,Come whence he may; shall be an idler here.He ended, nor his words flew wing’d away,But Euryclea bolted every door.Then, starting to the task, Ulysses caught,And his illustrious son, the weapons thence,40Helmet, and bossy shield, and pointed spear,While Pallas from a golden lamp illumedThe dusky way before them. At that sightAlarm’d, the Prince his father thus address’d.Whence—whence is this, my father? I beholdA prodigy! the walls of the whole house,The arches, fir-tree beams, and pillars tallShine in my view, as with the blaze of fire!Some Pow’r celestial, doubtless, is within.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.50Soft! ask no questions. Give no vent to thought,Such is the custom of the Pow’rs divine.Hence, thou, to bed. I stay, that I may yetBoth in thy mother and her maidens moveMore curiosity; yes—she with tearsShall question me of all that I have seen.He ended, and the Prince, at his command,Guided by flaming torches, sought the couchWhere he was wont to sleep, and there he sleptOn that night also, waiting the approach60Of sacred dawn. Thus was Ulysses leftAlone, and planning sat in solitude,By Pallas’ aid, the slaughter of his foes.At length, Diana-like, or like herself,All golden Venus, (her apartment left)Enter’d Penelope. Beside the hearthHer women planted her accustom’d seatWith silver wreathed and ivory. That throneIcmalius made, artist renown’d, and join’dA footstool to its splendid frame beneath,70Which ever with an ample fleece they spread.There sat discrete Penelope; then cameHer beautiful attendants from within,Who cleared the litter’d bread, the board, and cupsFrom which the insolent companions drank.They also raked the embers from the hearthsNow dim, and with fresh billets piled them high,Both for illumination and for warmth.Then yet again Melantho with rude speechOpprobrious, thus, assail’d Ulysses’ ear.80Guest—wilt thou trouble us throughout the nightRanging the house? and linger’st thou a spyWatching the women? Hence—get thee abroadGlad of such fare as thou hast found, or soonWith torches beaten we will thrust thee forth.To whom Ulysses, frowning stern, replied.Petulant woman! wherefore thus incensedInveigh’st thou against me? is it becauseI am not sleek? because my garb is mean?Because I beg? thanks to necessity—90I would not else. But such as I appear,Such all who beg and all who wander are.I also lived the happy owner onceOf such a stately mansion, and have giv’nTo num’rous wand’rers, whencesoe’er they came,All that they needed; I was also servedBy many, and enjoy’d all that denotesThe envied owner opulent and blest.But Jove (for so it pleas’d him) hath reducedMy all to nothing. Therefore well beware100Thou also, mistress, lest a day arriveWhen all these charms by which thou shin’st amongThy sister-menials, fade; fear, too, lest herThou should’st perchance irritate, whom thou serv’st,And lest Ulysses come, of whose returnHope yet survives; but even though the ChiefHave perish’d, as ye think, and comes no more,Consider yet his son, how bright the giftsShine of Apollo in the illustrious PrinceTelemachus; no woman, unobserved110By him, can now commit a trespass here;His days of heedless infancy are past.He ended, whom Penelope discreteO’erhearing, her attendant sharp rebuked.Shameless, audacious woman! known to meIs thy great wickedness, which with thy lifeThou shalt atone; for thou wast well aware,(Hearing it from myself) that I design’dTo ask this stranger of my absent Lord,For whose dear sake I never cease to mourn.120Then to her household’s governess she said.Bring now a seat, and spread it with a fleece,Eurynome! that, undisturb’d, the guestMay hear and answer all that I shall ask.She ended. Then the matron brought in hasteA polish’d seat, and spread it with a fleece,On which the toil-accustom’d Hero sat,And thus the chaste Penelope began.Stranger! my first enquiry shall be this—Who art thou? whence? where born? and sprung from whom?130Then answer thus Ulysses, wise, return’d.O Queen! uncensurable by the lipsOf mortal man! thy glory climbs the skiesUnrivall’d, like the praise of some great KingWho o’er a num’rous people and renown’dPresiding like a Deity, maintainsJustice and truth. The earth, under his sway,Her produce yields abundantly; the treesFruit-laden bend; the lusty flocks bring forth;The Ocean teems with finny swarms beneath140His just controul, and all the land is blest.Me therefore, question of what else thou wiltIn thy own palace, but forbear to askFrom whom I sprang, and of my native land,Lest thou, reminding me of those sad themes,Augment my woes; for I have much endured;Nor were it seemly, in another’s house,To pass the hours in sorrow and in tears,Wearisome when indulg’d with no regardTo time or place; thy train (perchance thyself)150Would blame me, and I should reproach incurAs one tear-deluged through excess of wine.Him answer’d then Penelope discrete.The immortal Gods, O stranger, then destroy’dMy form, my grace, my beauty, when the GreeksWhom my Ulysses follow’d, sail’d to Troy.Could he, returning, my domestic chargeHimself intend, far better would my fameBe so secured, and wider far diffused.But I am wretched now, such storms of woe160The Gods have sent me; for as many ChiefsAs hold dominion in the neighbour islesSamos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’dZacynthus; others, also, rulers hereIn pleasant Ithaca, me, loth to wed,Woo ceaseless, and my household stores consume.I therefore, neither guest nor suppliant heed,Nor public herald more, but with regretOf my Ulysses wear my soul away.They, meantime, press my nuptials, which by art170I still procrastinate. Some God the thoughtSuggested to me, to commence a robeOf amplest measure and of subtlest woof,Laborious task; which done, I thus address’d them.Princes, my suitors! since the noble ChiefUlysses is no more, enforce not nowMy nuptials; wait till I shall finish firstA fun’ral robe (lest all my threads be marr’d)Which for the ancient Hero I prepareLaertes, looking for the mournful hour180When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest.Else, I the censure dread of all my sex,Should he, so wealthy, want at last a shroud.Such was my speech; they, unsuspicious all,With my request complied. Thenceforth, all dayI wove the ample web, and, by the aidOf torches, ravell’d it again at night.Three years by artifice I thus their suitEluded safe; but when the fourth arrived,And the same season after many moons190And fleeting days return’d, passing my trainWho had neglected to release the dogs,They came, surprized and reprimanded me.Thus, through necessity, not choice, at lastI have perform’d it, in my own despight.But no escape from marriage now remains,Nor other subterfuge for me; meantimeMy parents urge my nuptials, and my son(Of age to note it) with disgust observesHis wealth consumed; for he is now become200Adult, and abler than myself to ruleThe house, a Prince distinguish’d by the Gods,Yet, stranger, after all, speak thy descent;Say whence thou art; for not of fabulous birthArt thou, nor from the oak, nor from the rock.Her answer’d then Ulysses, ever-wise.O spouse revered of Laertiades!Resolv’st thou still to learn from whom I sprang?Learn then; but know that thou shalt much augmentMy present grief, natural to a man210Who hath, like me, long exiled from his homeThrough various cities of the sons of menWander’d remote, and num’rous woes endured.Yet, though it pain me, I will tell thee all.There is a land amid the sable floodCall’d Crete; fair, fruitful, circled by the sea.Num’rous are her inhabitants, a raceNot to be summ’d, and ninety towns she boasts.Diverse their language is; Achaians some,And some indigenous are; Cydonians there,220Crest-shaking Dorians, and Pelasgians dwell.One city in extent the rest exceeds,Cnossus; the city in which Minos reign’d,Who, ever at a nine years’ close, conferr’dWith Jove himself; from him my father sprangThe brave Deucalion; for Deucalion’s sonsWere two, myself and King Idomeneus.To Ilium he, on board his gallant barks,Follow’d the Atridæ. I, the youngest-born,By my illustrious name, Æthon, am known,230But he ranks foremost both in worth and years.There I beheld Ulysses, and withinMy walls receiv’d him; for a violent windHad driv’n him from Malea (while he soughtThe shores of Troy) to Crete. The storm his barksBore into the Amnisus, for the caveOf Ilythia known, a dang’rous port,And which with difficulty he attain’d.He, landing, instant to the city went,Seeking Idomeneus; his friend of old,240As he affirm’d, and one whom much he lov’d.Buthewas far remote, ten days advanced,Perhaps eleven, on his course to Troy.Him, therefore, I conducted to my home,Where hospitably, and with kindest careI entertain’d him, (for I wanted nought)And for himself procured and for his band,—By public contribution, corn, and wine,And beeves for food, that all might be sufficed.Twelve days his noble Greecians there abode,250Port-lock’d by Boreas blowing with a forceResistless even on the land, some GodSo roused his fury; but the thirteenth dayThe wind all fell, and they embark’d again.With many a fiction specious, as he sat,He thus her ear amused; she at the soundMelting, with fluent tears her cheeks bedew’d;And as the snow by Zephyrus diffused,Melts on the mountain tops, when Eurus breathes,And fills the channels of the running streams,260So melted she, and down her lovely cheeksPour’d fast the tears, him mourning as remoteWho sat beside her. Soft compassion touch’dUlysses of his consort’s silent woe;His eyes as they had been of steel or horn,Moved not, yet artful, he suppress’d his tears,And she, at length with overflowing griefSatiate, replied, and thus enquired again.Now, stranger, I shall prove thee, as I judge,If thou, indeed, hast entertain’d in Crete270My spouse and his brave followers, as thou say’st.Describe his raiment and himself; his ownAppearance, and the appearance of his friends.Then her Ulysses answer’d, ever-wise.Hard is the task, O Queen! (so long a timeHath since elaps’d) to tell thee. Twenty yearsHave pass’d since he forsook my native isle,Yet, from my best remembrance, I will giveA likeness of him, such as now I may.A double cloak, thick-piled, Mœonian dyed,280The noble Chief had on; two fast’nings heldThe golden clasp, and it display’d in frontA well-wrought pattern with much art design’d.An hound between his fore-feet holding fastA dappled fawn, gaped eager on his prey.All wonder’d, seeing, how in lifeless goldExpress’d, the dog with open mouth her throatAttempted still, and how the fawn with hoofsThrust trembling forward, struggled to escape.That glorious mantle much I noticed, soft290To touch, as the dried garlick’s glossy film;Such was the smoothness of it, and it shoneSun-bright; full many a maiden, trust me, view’dThe splendid texture with admiring eyes.But mark me now; deep treasure in thy mindThis word. I know not if Ulysses woreThat cloak at home, or whether of his trainSome warrior gave it to him on his way,Or else some host of his; for many lovedUlysses, and with him might few compare.300I gave to him, myself, a brazen sword,A purple cloak magnificent, and vestOf royal length, and when he sought his bark,With princely pomp dismiss’d him from the shore.An herald also waited on the Chief,Somewhat his Senior; him I next describe.His back was bunch’d, his visage swarthy, curl’dHis poll, and he was named Eurybates;A man whom most of all his followers farUlysses honour’d, for their minds were one.310He ceased; she recognising all the proofsDistinctly by Ulysses named, was movedStill more to weep, till with o’erflowing griefSatiate, at length she answer’d him again.Henceforth, O stranger, thou who hadst beforeMy pity, shalt my rev’rence share and love,I folded for him (with thesehands)the cloakWhich thou describ’st, produced it when he went,And gave it to him; I that splendid claspAttach’d to it myself, more to adorn320My honour’d Lord, whom to his native landReturn’d secure I shall receive no more.In such an evil hour Ulysses wentTo that bad city never to be named.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.Consort revered of Laertiades!No longer let anxiety impairThy beauteous form, nor any grief consumeThy spirits more for thy Ulysses’ sake.And yet I blame thee not; a wife deprived330Of her first mate to whom she had producedFair fruit of mutual love, would mourn his loss,Although he were inferior far to thine,Whom fame affirms the semblance of the Gods.But cease to mourn. Hear me. I will relateA faithful tale, nor will from thee withholdSuch tidings of Ulysses living still,And of his safe return, as I have heardLately, in yon neighb’ring opulent landOf the Thesprotians. He returns enrich’d340With many precious stores from those obtain’dWhom he hath visited; but he hath lost,Departing from Thrinacia’s isle, his barkAnd all his lov’d companions in the Deep,For Jove was adverse to him, and the Sun,Whose beeves his followers slew. They perish’d allAmid the billowy flood; but Him, the keelBestriding of his bark, the waves at lengthCast forth on the Phæacian’s land, a raceAllied to heav’n, who rev’renced like a God350Thy husband, honour’d him with num’rous gifts,And willing were to have convey’d him home.Ulysses, therefore, had attained long sinceHis native shore, but that he deem’d it bestTo travel far, that he might still amassMore wealth; so much Ulysses all mankindExcels in policy, and hath no peer.This information from Thesprotia’s KingI gain’d, from Phidon; to myself he swore,Libation off’ring under his own roof,360That both the bark was launch’d, and the stout crewPrepared, that should conduct him to his home.But me he first dismiss’d; for, as it chanced,A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, boundTo corn-enrich’d Dulichium. All the wealthHe shew’d me by the Chief amass’d, a storeTo feed the house of yet another PrinceTo the tenth generation; so immenseHis treasures were within that palace lodg’d.Himself he said was to Dodona gone,370Counsel to ask from the oracular oaksSublime of Jove, how safest he might seek,After long exile thence, his native land,If openly were best, or in disguise.Thus, therefore, he is safe, and at his homeWell-nigh arrived, nor shall his country longWant him. I swear it with a solemn oath.First Jove be witness, King and Lord of all!Next these domestic Gods of the renown’dUlysses, in whose royal house I sit,380That thou shalt see my saying all fulfill’d.Ulysses shall this self-same year return,This self-same month, ere yet the next begin.Him answer’d then Penelope discrete.Grant heav’n, my guest, that this good word of thineFail not! then, soon shalt thou such bounty shareAnd friendship at my hands, that, at first sight,Whoe’er shall meet thee shall pronounce thee blest.But ah! my soul forebodes how it will prove;Neither Ulysses will return, nor thou390Receive safe conduct hence; for we have hereNone, such as once Ulysses was, to ruleHis household with authority, and to sendWith honourable convoy to his homeThe worthy guest, or to regale him here.Give him the bath, my maidens; spread his couchWith linen soft, with fleecy gaberdines82And rugs of splendid hue, that he may lieWaiting, well-warm’d, the golden morn’s return.Attend him also at the peep of day400With bath and unction, that, his seat resumedHere in the palace, he may be preparedFor breakfast with Telemachus; and woeTo him who shall presume to incommodeOr cause him pain; that man shall be cashier’dHence instant, burn his anger as it may.For how, my honour’d inmate! shalt thou learnThat I in wisdom œconomic aughtPass other women, if unbathed, unoiled,Ill-clad, thou sojourn here? man’s life is short,410Whoso is cruel, and to cruel artsAddict, on him all men, while yet he lives,Call plagues and curses down, and after deathScorn and proverbial mock’ries hunt his name.But men, humane themselves, and giv’n by choiceTo offices humane, from land to landAre rumour’d honourably by their guests,And ev’ry tongue is busy in their praise.Her answer’d then, Ulysses, ever-wise.Consort revered of Laertiades!420Warm gaberdines and rugs of splendid hueTo me have odious been, since first the sightOf Crete’s snow-mantled mountain-tops I lost,Sweeping the billows with extended oars.No; I will pass, as I am wont to passThe sleepless night; for on a sordid couchOutstretch’d, full many a night have I reposedTill golden-charioted Aurora dawn’d.Nor me the foot-bath pleases more; my footShall none of all thy ministring maidens touch,430Unless there be some ancient matron graveAmong them, who hath pangs of heart enduredNum’rous, and keen as I have felt myself;Her I refuse not. She may touch my feet.Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.Dear guest! for of all trav’llers here arrivedFrom distant regions, I have none receivedDiscrete as thou, or whom I more have lov’d,So just thy matter is, and with such graceExpress’d. I have an ancient maiden grave,440The nurse who at my hapless husband’s birthReceiv’d him in her arms, and with kind careMaternal rear’d him; she shall wash thy feet,Although decrepid. Euryclea, rise!Wash one coeval with thy Lord; for suchThe feet and hands, it may be, are becomeOf my Ulysses now; since man besetWith sorrow once, soon wrinkled grows and old.She said, then Euryclea with both handsCov’ring her face, in tepid tears profuse450Dissolved, and thus in mournful strains began.Alas! my son, trouble for thy dear sakeDistracts me. Jove surely of all mankindThee hated most, though ever in thy heartDevoutly giv’n; for never mortal manSo many thighs of fatted victims burn’d,And chosen hecatombs produced as thouTo Jove the Thund’rer, him entreating stillThat he would grant thee a serene old age,And to instruct, thyself, thy glorious son.460Yet thus the God requites thee, cutting offAll hope of thy return—oh ancient sir!Him too, perchance, where’er he sits a guestBeneath some foreign roof, the women taunt,As all these shameless ones have taunted thee,Fearing whose mock’ry thou forbidd’st their handsThis office, which Icarius’ daughter wiseTo me enjoins, and which I, glad perform.Yes, I will wash thy feet; both for her sakeAnd for thy own,—for sight of thee hath raised470A tempest in my mind. Hear now the cause!Full many a guest forlorn we entertain,But never any have I seen, whose size,The fashion of whose foot and pitch of voice,Such likeness of Ulysses show’d, as thine.To whom Ulysses, ever-shrewd, replied.Such close similitude, O ancient dame!As thou observ’st between thy Lord and me,All, who have seen us both, have ever found.He said; then taking the resplendent vase480Allotted always to that use, she firstInfused cold water largely, then, the warm.Ulysses (for beside the hearth he sat)Turn’d quick his face into the shade, alarm’dLest, handling him, she should at once remarkHis scar, and all his stratagem unveil.She then, approaching, minister’d the bathTo her own King, and at first touch discern’dThat token, by a bright-tusk’d boar of oldImpress’d, what time he to Parnassus went490To visit there Autolycus and his sons,His mother’s noble sire, who all mankindIn furtive arts and fraudful oaths excell’d.83For such endowments he by gift receiv’dFrom Hermes’ self, to whom the thighs of kidsHe offer’d and of lambs, and, in return,The watchful Hermes never left his side.Autolycus arriving in the isleOf pleasant Ithaca, the new-born sonOf his own daughter found, whom on his knees500At close of supper Euryclea placed,And thus the royal visitant address’d.Thyself, Autolycus! devise a nameFor thy own daughter’s son, by num’rous pray’rsOf thine and fervent, from the Gods obtained.Then answer thus Autolycus return’d.My daughter and my daughter’s spouse! the nameWhich I shall give your boy, that let him bear.Since after provocation and offenceTo numbers giv’n of either sex, I come,510Call him Ulysses;84and when, grown mature,He shall Parnassus visit, the abodeMagnificent in which his mother dwelt,And where my treasures lie, from my own storesI will enrich and send him joyful home.Ulysses, therefore, that he might obtainThose princely gifts, went thither. Him arrived,With right-hand gratulation and with wordsOf welcome kind, Autolycus received,Nor less his offspring; but the mother most520Of his own mother clung around his neck,Amphithea; she with many a fervent kissHis forehead press’d, and his bright-beaming eyes.Then bade Autolycus his noble sonsSet forth a banquet. They, at his command,Led in a fatted ox of the fifth year,Which slaying first, they spread him carved abroad,Then scored his flesh, transfixed it with the spits,And roasting all with culinary skillExact, gave each his portion. Thus they sat530Feasting all day, and till the sun declined,But when the sun declined, and darkness fell,Each sought his couch, and took the gift of sleep.Then, soon as day-spring’s daughter rosy-palm’dAurora look’d abroad, forth went the hounds,And, with the hounds Ulysses, and the youths,Sons of Autolycus, to chase the boar.Arrived at the Parnassian mount, they climb’dHis bushy sides, and to his airy heightsEre long attain’d. It was the pleasant hour540When from the gently-swelling flood profoundThe sun, emerging, first smote on the fields.The hunters reach’d the valley; foremost ran,Questing, the hounds; behind them, swift, the sonsCame of Autolycus, with whom advancedThe illustrious Prince Ulysses, pressing closeThe hounds, and brandishing his massy spear.There, hid in thickest shades, lay an huge boar.That covert neither rough winds blowing moistCould penetrate, nor could the noon-day sun550Smite through it, or fast-falling show’rs pervade,So thick it was, and underneath the groundWith litter of dry foliage strew’d profuse.Hunters and dogs approaching him, his earThe sound of feet perceived; upridging highHis bristly back and glaring fire, he sprangForth from the shrubs, and in defiance stoodNear and right opposite. Ulysses, first,Rush’d on him, elevating his long spearArdent to wound him; but, preventing quick560His foe, the boar gash’d him above the knee.Much flesh, assailing him oblique, he toreWith his rude tusk, but to the Hero’s bonePierced not; Ulysseshisright shoulder reach’d;And with a deadly thrust impell’d the pointOf his bright spear through him and far beyond.Loud yell’d the boar, sank in the dust, and died.Around Ulysses, then, the busy sonsThrong’d of Autolycus; expert they bracedThe wound of the illustrious hunter bold,570With incantation staunched the sable blood,And sought in haste their father’s house again,Whence, heal’d and gratified with splendid giftsThey sent him soon rejoicing to his home,Themselves rejoicing also. Glad their sonHis parents saw again, and of the scarEnquired, where giv’n, and how? He told them all,How to Parnassus with his friends he went,Sons of Autolycus to hunt, and howA boar had gash’d him with his iv’ry tusk.580That scar, while chafing him with open palms,The matron knew; she left his foot to fall;Down dropp’d his leg into the vase; the brassRang, and o’ertilted by the sudden shock,Poured forth the water, flooding wide the floor.Herspirit joy at once and sorrow seized;Tears fill’d her eyes; her intercepted voiceDied in her throat; but to Ulysses’ beardHer hand advancing, thus, at length, she spake.Thou art himself, Ulysses. Oh my son!590Dear to me, and my master as thou art,I knew thee not, till I had touch’d the scar.She said, and to Penelope her eyesDirected, all impatient to declareHer own Ulysses even then at home.But she, nor eye nor ear for aught that pass’dHad then, her fixt attention so entireMinerva had engaged. Then, darting forthHis arms, the Hero with his right-hand closeCompress’d her throat, and nearer to himself600Drawing her with his left, thus caution’d her.Why would’st thou ruin me? Thou gav’st me milkThyself from thy own breast. See me return’dAfter long suff’rings, in the twentieth year,To my own land. But since (some God the thoughtSuggesting to thee) thou hast learn’d the truth,Silence! lest others learn it from thy lips.For this I say, nor shall the threat be vain;If God vouchsafe to me to overcomeThe haughty suitors, when I shall inflict610Death on the other women of my house,Although my nurse, thyself shalt also die.Him answer’d Euryclea then, discrete.My son! oh how could so severe a wordEscape thy lips? my fortitude of mindThou know’st, and even now shalt prove me firmAs iron, secret as the stubborn rock.But hear and mark me well. Should’st thou prevail,Assisted by a Pow’r divine, to slayThe haughty suitors, I will then, myself,620Give thee to know of all the female trainWho have dishonour’d thee, and who respect.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.My nurse, it were superfluous; spare thy tongueThat needless task. I can distinguish wellMyself, between them, and shall know them all;But hold thy peace. Hush! leave it with the Gods.So he; then went the ancient matron forth,That she might serve him with a second bath,For the whole first was spilt. Thus, laved at length,630And smooth’d with oil, Ulysses nearer pull’dHis seat toward the glowing hearth to enjoyMore warmth, and drew his tatters o’er the scar.Then, prudent, thus Penelope began.One question, stranger, I shall yet propound,Though brief, for soon the hour of soft reposeGrateful to all, and even to the sadWhom gentle sleep forsakes not, will arrive.But heav’n to me immeasurable woeAssigns,—whose sole delight is to consume640My days in sighs, while here retired I sit,Watching my maidens’ labours and my own;But (night return’d, and all to bed retired)I press mine also, yet with deep regretAnd anguish lacerated, even there.As when at spring’s first entrance, her sweet songThe azure-crested nightingale renews,Daughter of Pandarus; within the grove’sThick foliage perch’d, she pours her echoing voiceNow deep, now clear, still varying the strain650With which she mourns her Itylus, her sonBy royal Zethus, whom she, erring, slew,85So also I, by soul-distressing doubtsToss’d ever, muse if I shall here remainA faithful guardian of my son’s affairs,My husband’s bed respecting, and not lessMy own fair fame, or whether I shall himOf all my suitors follow to his homeWho noblest seems, and offers richest dow’r.My son while he was infant yet, and own’d660An infant’s mind, could never give consentThat I should wed and leave him; but at length,Since he hath reached the stature of a man,He wishes my departure hence, the wasteViewing indignant by the suitors made.But I have dream’d. Hear, and expound my dream.My geese are twenty, which within my wallsI feed with sodden wheat; they serve to amuseSometimes my sorrow. From the mountains cameAn eagle, huge, hook-beak’d, brake all their necks,670And slew them; scatter’d on the palace-floorThey lay, and he soar’d swift into the skies.Dream only as it was, I wept aloud,Till all my maidens, gather’d by my voice,Arriving, found me weeping still, and stillComplaining, that the eagle had at onceSlain all my geese. But, to the palace-roofStooping again, he sat, and with a voiceOf human sound, forbad my tears, and said—Courage! O daughter of the far-renown’d680Icarius! no vain dream thou hast beheld,But, in thy sleep, a truth. The slaughter’d geeseDenote thy suitors. I who have appear’dAn eagle in thy sight, am yet indeedThy husband, who have now, at last, return’d,Death, horrid death designing for them all.He said; then waking at the voice, I castAn anxious look around, and saw my geeseBeside their tray, all feeding as before.Her then Ulysses answer’d, ever-wise.690O Queen! it is not possible to missThy dream’s plain import, since Ulysses’ selfHath told thee the event; thy suitors allMust perish; not one suitor shall escape.To whom Penelope discrete replied.Dreams are inexplicable, O my guest!And oft-times mere delusions that receiveNo just accomplishment. There are two gatesThrough which the fleeting phantoms pass; of hornIs one, and one of ivory.86Such dreams700As through the thin-leaf’d iv’ry portal comeSooth, but perform not, utt’ring empty sounds;But such as through the polish’d horn escape,If, haply seen by any mortal eye,Prove faithful witnesses, and are fulfill’d.But through those gates my wond’rous dream, I think,Came not; thrice welcome were it else to meAnd to my son. Now mark my words; attend.This is the hated morn that from the houseRemoves me of Ulysses. I shall fix,710This day, the rings for trial to them allOf archership; Ulysses’ custom wasTo plant twelve spikes, all regular arranged87Like galley-props, and crested with a ring,Then standing far remote, true in his aimHe with his whizzing shaft would thrid them all.This is the contest in which now I meanTo prove the suitors; him, who with most easeShall bend the bow, and shoot through all the rings,I follow, this dear mansion of my youth720Leaving, so fair, so fill’d with ev’ry good,Though still to love it even in my dreams.Her answer’d then Ulysses, ever-wise.Consort revered of Laertiades!Postpone not this contention, but appointForthwith the trial; for Ulysses hereWill sure arrive, ere they, (his polish’d bowLong tamp’ring) shall prevail to stretch the nerve,And speed the arrow through the iron rings.To whom Penelope replied discrete.730Would’st thou with thy sweet converse, O my guest!Here sooth me still, sleep ne’er should influenceThese eyes the while; but always to resistSleep’s pow’r is not for man, to whom the GodsEach circumstance of his condition hereFix universally. Myself will seekMy own apartment at the palace-top,And there will lay me down on my sad couch,For such it hath been, and with tears of mineCeaseless bedew’d, e’er since Ulysses went740To that bad city, never to be named.There will I sleep; but sleep thou here below,Either, thyself, preparing on the groundThy couch, or on a couch by these prepared.So saying, she to her splendid chamber thenceRetired, not sole, but by her female trainAttended; there arrived, she wept her spouse,Her lov’d Ulysses, till Minerva dropp’dThe balm of slumber on her weary lids.
82A gaberdine is a shaggy cloak of coarse but warm materials. Such always make part of Homer’s bed-furniture.83Homer’s morals seem to allow to a good man dissimulation, and even an ambiguous oath, should they be necessary to save him from a villain. Thus in Book XX. Telemachus swears by Zeus, that he does not hinder his mother from marrying whom she pleases of the wooers, though at the same time he is plotting their destruction with his father. F.84In the GreekὈΔΥΣΣΕΥΣfrom the verbὀδυσσω—Irascor,I am angry.85She intended to slay the son of her husband’s brother Amphion, incited to it by the envy of his wife, who had six children, while herself had only two, but through mistake she slew her own son Itylus, and for her punishment was transformed by Jupiter into a nightingale.86The difference of the two substances may perhaps serve to account for the preference given in this case to the gate of horn; horn being transparent, and as such emblematical of truth, while ivory, from its whiteness, promises light, but is, in fact, opaque. F.87The translation here is somewhat pleonastic for the sake of perspicuity; the original is clear in itself, but not to us who have no such practice. Twelve stakes were fixt in the earth, each having a ring at the top; the order in which they stood was so exact, that an arrow sent with an even hand through the first ring, would pass them all.
82A gaberdine is a shaggy cloak of coarse but warm materials. Such always make part of Homer’s bed-furniture.
82A gaberdine is a shaggy cloak of coarse but warm materials. Such always make part of Homer’s bed-furniture.
83Homer’s morals seem to allow to a good man dissimulation, and even an ambiguous oath, should they be necessary to save him from a villain. Thus in Book XX. Telemachus swears by Zeus, that he does not hinder his mother from marrying whom she pleases of the wooers, though at the same time he is plotting their destruction with his father. F.
83Homer’s morals seem to allow to a good man dissimulation, and even an ambiguous oath, should they be necessary to save him from a villain. Thus in Book XX. Telemachus swears by Zeus, that he does not hinder his mother from marrying whom she pleases of the wooers, though at the same time he is plotting their destruction with his father. F.
84In the GreekὈΔΥΣΣΕΥΣfrom the verbὀδυσσω—Irascor,I am angry.
84In the GreekὈΔΥΣΣΕΥΣfrom the verbὀδυσσω—Irascor,I am angry.
85She intended to slay the son of her husband’s brother Amphion, incited to it by the envy of his wife, who had six children, while herself had only two, but through mistake she slew her own son Itylus, and for her punishment was transformed by Jupiter into a nightingale.
85She intended to slay the son of her husband’s brother Amphion, incited to it by the envy of his wife, who had six children, while herself had only two, but through mistake she slew her own son Itylus, and for her punishment was transformed by Jupiter into a nightingale.
86The difference of the two substances may perhaps serve to account for the preference given in this case to the gate of horn; horn being transparent, and as such emblematical of truth, while ivory, from its whiteness, promises light, but is, in fact, opaque. F.
86The difference of the two substances may perhaps serve to account for the preference given in this case to the gate of horn; horn being transparent, and as such emblematical of truth, while ivory, from its whiteness, promises light, but is, in fact, opaque. F.
87The translation here is somewhat pleonastic for the sake of perspicuity; the original is clear in itself, but not to us who have no such practice. Twelve stakes were fixt in the earth, each having a ring at the top; the order in which they stood was so exact, that an arrow sent with an even hand through the first ring, would pass them all.
87The translation here is somewhat pleonastic for the sake of perspicuity; the original is clear in itself, but not to us who have no such practice. Twelve stakes were fixt in the earth, each having a ring at the top; the order in which they stood was so exact, that an arrow sent with an even hand through the first ring, would pass them all.