BOOK XVIARGUMENTTelemachus dispatches Eumæus to the city to inform Penelope of his safe return from Pylus; during his absence, Ulysses makes himself known to his son. The suitors, having watched for Telemachus in vain, arrive again at Ithaca.It was the hour of dawn, when in the cotKindling fresh fire, Ulysses and his friendNoble Eumæus dress’d their morning fare,And sent the herdsmen with the swine abroad.Seeing Telemachus, the watchful dogsBark’d not, but fawn’d around him. At that sight,And at the sound of feet which now approach’d,Ulysses in wing’d accents thus remark’d.Eumæus! certain, either friend of thineIs nigh at hand, or one whom well thou know’st;10Thy dogs bark not, but fawn on his approachObsequious, and the sound of feet I hear.Scarce had he ceased, when his own son himselfStood in the vestibule. Upsprang at onceEumæus wonder-struck, and from his handLet fall the cups with which he was employ’dMingling rich wine; to his young Lord he ran,His forehead kiss’d, kiss’d his bright-beaming eyesAnd both his hands, weeping profuse the while,As when a father folds in his embrace20Arrived from foreign lands in the tenth yearHis darling son, the offspring of his age,His only one, for whom he long hath mourn’d,So kiss’d the noble peasant o’er and o’erGodlike Telemachus, as from death escaped,And in wing’d accents plaintive thus began.Light of my eyes, thou com’st; it is thyself,Sweetest Telemachus! I had no hopeTo see thee more, once told that o’er the DeepThou hadst departed for the Pylian coast.30Enter, my precious son; that I may soothMy soul with sight of thee from far arrived,For seldom thou thy feeders and thy farmVisitest, in the city custom’d muchTo make abode, that thou may’st witness thereThe manners of those hungry suitors proud.To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.It will be so. There is great need, my friend!But here, for thy sake, have I now arrived,That I may look on thee, and from thy lips40Learn if my mother still reside at home,Or have become spouse of some other Chief,Leaving untenanted Ulysses’ bedTo be by noisome spiders webb’d around.To whom the master swine-herd in return.Not so, she, patient still as ever, dwellsBeneath thy roof, but all her cheerless daysDespairing wastes, and all her nights in tears.So saying, Eumæus at his hand receivedHis brazen lance, and o’er the step of stone50Enter’d Telemachus, to whom his sireRelinquish’d, soon as he appear’d, his seat,But him Telemachus forbidding, said—Guest, keep thy seat; our cottage will affordSome other, which Eumæus will provide.He ceased, and he, returning at the word,Reposed again; then good Eumæus spreadGreen twigs beneath, which, cover’d with a fleece,Supplied Ulysses’ offspring with a seat.He, next, disposed his dishes on the board60With relicts charged of yesterday; with bread,Alert, he heap’d the baskets; with rich wineHis ivy cup replenish’d; and a seatTook opposite to his illustrious LordUlysses. They toward the plenteous feastStretch’d forth their hands, (and hunger now and thirstBoth satisfied) Telemachus, his speechAddressing to their gen’rous host, began.Whence is this guest, my father? How convey’dCame he to Ithaca? What country boast70The mariners with whom he here arrived?For, that on foot he found us not, is sure.To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.I will with truth answer thee, O my son!He boasts him sprung from ancestry renown’dIn spacious Crete, and hath the cities seenOf various lands, by fate ordain’d to roam.Ev’n now, from a Thesprotian ship escaped,He reach’d my cottage—but he is thy own;I yield him to thee; treat him as thou wilt;80He is thy suppliant, and depends on thee.Then thus, Telemachus, discrete, replied.Thy words, Eumæus, pain my very soul.For what security can I affordTo any in my house? myself am young,Nor yet of strength sufficient to repelAn offer’d insult, and my mother’s mindIn doubtful balance hangs, if, still with meAn inmate, she shall manage my concerns,Attentive only to her absent Lord90And her own good report, or shall espouseThe noblest of her wooers, and the bestEntitled by the splendour of his gifts.But I will give him, since I find him lodg’dA guest beneath thy roof, tunic and cloak,Sword double-edged, and sandals for his feet,With convoy to the country of his choice.Still, if it please thee, keep him here thy guest,And I will send him raiment, with suppliesOf all sorts, lest he burthen thee and thine.100But where the suitors come, there shall not heWith my consent, nor stand exposed to prideAnd petulance like theirs, lest by some sneerThey wound him, and through him, wound also me;For little is it that the boldest canAgainst so many; numbers will prevail.Him answer’d then Ulysses toil-inured.Oh amiable and good! since even IAm free to answer thee, I will avowMy heart within me torn by what I hear110Of those injurious suitors, who the houseInfest of one noble as thou appear’st.But say—submittest thou to their controulWillingly, or because the people, sway’dBy some response oracular, inclineAgainst thee? Thou hast brothers, it may chance,Slow to assist thee—for a brother’s aidIs of importance in whatever cause.For oh that I had youth as I have will,Or that renown’d Ulysses were my sire,120Or that himself might wander home again.Whereof hope yet remains! then might I loseMy head, that moment, by an alien’s hand,If I would fail, ent’ring Ulysses’ gate,To be the bane and mischief of them all.But if alone to multitudes opposedI should perchance be foiled; nobler it wereWith my own people, under my own roofTo perish, than to witness evermoreTheir unexampled deeds, guests shoved aside,130Maidens dragg’d forcibly from room to room,Casks emptied of their rich contents, and themIndulging glutt’nous appetite day by dayEnormous, without measure, without end.To whom, Telemachus, discrete, replied.Stranger! thy questions shall from me receiveTrue answer. Enmity or hatred noneSubsists the people and myself between,Nor have I brothers to accuse, whose aidIs of importance in whatever cause,140For Jove hath from of old with single heirsOur house supplied; Arcesias none begatExcept Laertes, and Laertes noneExcept Ulysses, and Ulysses meLeft here his only one, and unenjoy’d.Thence comes it that our palace swarms with foes;For all the rulers of the neighbour isles,Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’dZacynthus, others also rulers hereIn craggy Ithaca, my mother seek150In marriage, and my household stores consume.But neither she those nuptial rites abhorr’dRefuses absolute, nor yet consentsTo end them; they my patrimony wasteMeantime, and will destroy me also soon,As I expect, but heav’n disposes all.Eumæus! haste, my father! bear with speedNews to Penelope that I am safe,And have arrived from Pylus; I will waitTill thou return; and well beware that none160Hear thee beside, for I have many foes.To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.It is enough. I understand. Thou speak’stTo one intelligent. But say beside,Shall I not also, as I go, informDistress’d Laertes? who while yet he mourn’dUlysses only, could o’ersee the works,And dieted among his menials oftAs hunger prompted him, but now, they say,Since thy departure to the Pylian shore,170He neither eats as he was wont, nor drinks,Nor oversees his hinds, but sighing sitsAnd weeping, wasted even to the bone.Him then Telemachus answer’d discrete.Hard though it be, yet to his tears and sighsHim leave we now. We cannot what we would.For, were the ordering of all eventsReferr’d to our own choice, our first desireShould be to see my father’s glad return.But once thy tidings told, wander not thou180In quest of Him, but hither speed again.Rather request my mother that she sendHer household’s governess without delayPrivately to him; she shall best informThe ancient King that I have safe arrived.He said, and urged him forth, who binding onHis sandals, to the city bent his way.Nor went Eumæus from his home unmark’dBy Pallas, who in semblance of a fairDamsel, accomplish’d in domestic arts,190Approaching to the cottage’ entrance, stoodOpposite, by Ulysses plain discern’d,But to his son invisible; for the GodsAppear not manifest alike to all.The mastiffs saw her also, and with toneQuerulous hid themselves, yet bark’d they not.She beckon’d him abroad. Ulysses sawThe sign, and, issuing through the outer court,Approach’d her, whom the Goddess thus bespake.Laertes’ progeny, for wiles renown’d!200Disclose thyself to thy own son, that, deathConcerting and destruction to your foes,Ye may the royal city seek, nor longShall ye my presence there desire in vain,For I am ardent to begin the fight.Minerva spake, and with her rod of goldTouch’d him; his mantle, first, and vest she madePure as new-blanch’d; dilating, next, his form,She gave dimensions ampler to his limbs;Swarthy again his manly hue became,210Round his full face, and black his bushy chin.The change perform’d, Minerva disappear’d,And the illustrious Hero turn’d againInto the cottage; wonder at that sightSeiz’d on Telemachus; askance he look’d,Awe-struck, not unsuspicious of a God,And in wing’d accents eager thus began.Thou art no longer, whom I lately saw,Nor are thy cloaths, nor is thy port the same.Thou art a God, I know, and dwell’st in heav’n.220Oh, smile on us, that we may yield thee ritesAcceptable, and present thee golden giftsElaborate; ah spare us, Pow’r divine!To whom Ulysses, Hero toil-inured.I am no God. Why deem’st thou me divine?I am thy father, for whose sake thou lead’stA life of woe, by violence oppress’d.So saying, he kiss’d his son, while from his cheeksTears trickled, tears till then, perforce restrained.Telemachus, (for he believed him not230His father yet) thus, wond’ring, spake again.My father, said’st thou? no. Thou art not He,But some Divinity beguiles my soulWith mock’ries to afflict me still the more;For never mortal man could so have wroughtBy his own pow’r; some interposing GodAlone could render thee both young and old,For old thou wast of late, and foully clad,But wear’st the semblance, now, of those in heav’n!To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.240Telemachus! it is not well, my son!That thou should’st greet thy father with a faceOf wild astonishment, and stand aghast.Ulysses, save myself, none comes, be sure.Such as thou seest, after ten thousand woesWhich I have borne, I visit once againMy native country in the twentieth year.This wonder Athenæan Pallas wrought,She cloath’d me even with what form she would,For so she can. Now poor I seem and old,250Now young again, and clad in fresh attire.The Gods who dwell in yonder heav’n, with easeDignify or debase a mortal man.So saying, he sat. Then threw TelemachusHis arms around his father’s neck, and wept.Desire intense of lamentation seizedOn both; soft murmurs utt’ring, each indulgedHis grief, more frequent wailing than the bird,(Eagle, or hook-nail’d vulture) from whose nestSome swain hath stol’n her yet unfeather’d young.260So from their eyelids they big drops distill’dOf tend’rest grief, nor had the setting sunCessation of their weeping seen, had notTelemachus his father thus address’d.What ship convey’d thee to thy native shore,My father! and what country boast the crew?For, that on foot thou not arriv’dst, is sure.Then thus divine Ulysses toil-inured.My son! I will explicit all relate.Conducted by Phæacia’s maritime sons270I came, a race accustom’d to conveyStrangers who visit them across the Deep.Me, o’er the billows in a rapid barkBorne sleeping, on the shores of IthacaThey lay’d; rich gifts they gave me also, brass,Gold in full bags, and beautiful attire,Which, warn’d from heav’n, I have in caves conceal’d.By Pallas prompted, hither I repair’dThat we might plan the slaughter of our foes,Whose numbers tell me now, that I may know280How pow’rful, certainly, and who they are,And consultation with my dauntless heartMay hold, if we be able to contendOurselves with all, or must have aid beside.Then, answer thus his son, discrete, return’d.My father! thy renown hath ever rungIn thy son’s ears, and by report thy forceIn arms, and wisdom I have oft been told.But terribly thou speak’st; amazement-fixtI hear; can two a multitude oppose,290And valiant warriors all? for neither tenAre they, nor twenty, but more num’rous far.Learn, now, their numbers. Fifty youths and twoCame from Dulichium; they are chosen men,And six attendants follow in their train;From Samos twenty youths and four arrive,Zacynthus also of Achaia’s sonsSends twenty more, and our own island adds,Herself, her twelve chief rulers; Medon, too,Is there the herald, and the bard divine,300With other two, intendants of the board.Should we within the palace, we alone,Assail them all, I fear lest thy revengeUnpleasant to thyself and deadly prove,Frustrating thy return. But recollect—Think, if thou canst, on whose confed’rate armStrenuous on our behalf we may rely.To him replied his patient father bold.I will inform thee. Mark. Weigh well my words.Will Pallas and the everlasting Sire310Alone suffice? or need we other aids?Then answer thus Telemachus return’d.Good friends indeed are they whom thou hast named,Though throned above the clouds; for their controulIs universal both in earth and heav’n.To whom Ulysses, toil-worn Chief renown’d.Not long will they from battle stand aloof,When once, within my palace, in the strengthOf Mars, to sharp decision we shall urgeThe suitors. But thyself at early dawn320Our mansion seek, that thou may’st mingle thereWith that imperious throng; me in due timeEumæus to the city shall conduct,In form a miserable beggar old.But should they with dishonourable scornInsult me, thou unmov’d my wrongs endure,And should they even drag me by the feetAbroad, or smite me with the spear, thy wrathRefraining, gently counsel them to ceaseFrom such extravagance; but well I know330That cease they will not, for their hour is come.And mark me well; treasure what now I sayDeep in thy soul. When Pallas shall, herself,Suggest the measure, then, shaking my brows,I will admonish thee; thou, at the sign,Remove what arms soever in the hallRemain, and in the upper palace safeDispose them; should the suitors, missing them,Perchance interrogate thee, then replyGently—I have removed them from the smoke;340For they appear no more the arms which erstUlysses, going hence to Ilium, left,But smirch’d and sullied by the breath of fire.This weightier reason (thou shalt also say)Jove taught me; lest, intoxicate with wine,Ye should assault each other in your brawls,Shaming both feast and courtship; for the viewItself of arms incites to their abuse.Yet leave two faulchions for ourselves alone,Two spears, two bucklers, which with sudden force350Impetuous we will seize, and Jove all-wiseTheir valour shall, and Pallas, steal away.This word store also in remembrance deep—If mine in truth thou art, and of my blood,Then, of Ulysses to his home returnedLet none hear news from thee, no, not my sireLaertes, nor Eumæus, nor of allThe menials any, or ev’n Penelope,That thou and I, alone, may search the driftOf our domestic women, and may prove360Our serving-men, who honours and reveresAnd who contemns us both, but chiefly theeSo gracious and so worthy to be loved.Him then thus answer’d his illustrious son.Trust me, my father! thou shalt soon be taughtThat I am not of drowsy mind obtuse.But this I think not likely to availOr thee or me; ponder it yet again;For tedious were the task, farm after farmTo visit of those servants, proving each,370And the proud suitors merciless devourMeantime thy substance, nor abstain from aught.Learn, if thou wilt, (and I that course myselfAdvise) who slights thee of the female train,And who is guiltless; but I would not tryFrom house to house the men, far better provedHereafter, if in truth by signs from heav’nInform’d, thou hast been taught the will of Jove.Thus they conferr’d. The gallant bark, meantime,Reach’d Ithaca, which from the Pylian shore380Had brought Telemachus with all his band.Within the many-fathom’d port arrivedHis lusty followers haled her far aground,Then carried thence their arms, but to the houseOf Clytius the illustrious gifts convey’d.Next to the royal mansion they dispatch’dAn herald charg’d with tidings to the Queen,That her Telemachus had reach’d the cotOf good Eumæus, and the bark had sentHome to the city; lest the matchless dame390Should still deplore the absence of her son.They, then, the herald and the swine-herd, eachBearing like message to his mistress, met,And at the palace of the godlike ChiefArriving, compass’d by the female throngInquisitive, the herald thus began.Thy son, O Queen! is safe; ev’n now return’d.Then, drawing nigh to her, Eumæus toldHis message also from her son received,And, his commission punctually discharged,400Leaving the palace, sought his home again.Grief seized and anguish, at those tidings, allThe suitors; issuing forth, on the outsideOf the high wall they sat, before the gate,When Polybus’ son, Eurymachus, began.My friends! his arduous task, this voyage, deem’dBy us impossible, in our despightTelemachus hath atchieved. Haste! launch we forthA sable bark, our best, which let us manWith mariners expert, who, rowing forth410Swiftly, shall summon our companions home.Scarce had he said, when turning where he sat,Amphinomus beheld a bark arrivedJust then in port; he saw them furling sail,And seated with their oars in hand; he laugh’dThrough pleasure at that sight, and thus he spake.Our message may be spared. Lo! they arrive.Either some God inform’d them, or they saw,Themselves, the vessel of TelemachusToo swiftly passing to be reach’d by theirs.420He spake; they, rising, hasted to the shore.Alert they drew the sable bark aground,And by his servant each his arms dispatch’dTo his own home. Then, all, to council thoseAssembling, neither elder of the landNor youth allow’d to join them, and the restEupithes’ son, Antinoüs, thus bespake.Ah! how the Gods have rescued him! all dayPerch’d on the airy mountain-top, our spiesSuccessive watch’d; and, when the sun declined,430We never slept on shore, but all night longTill sacred dawn arose, plow’d the abyss,Hoping Telemachus, that we might seizeAnd slay him, whom some Deity hath led,In our despight, safe to his home again.But frame we yet again means to destroyTelemachus; ah—let not Him escape!For end of this our task, while he survives,None shall be found, such prudence he displaysAnd wisdom, neither are the people now440Unanimous our friends as heretofore.Come, then—prevent him, ere he call the GreeksTo council; for he will not long delay,But will be angry, doubtless, and will tellAmid them all, how we in vain devisedHis death, a deed which they will scarce applaud,But will, perhaps, punish and drive us forthFrom our own country to a distant land.—Prevent him, therefore, quickly; in the fieldSlay him, or on the road; so shall his wealth450And his possessions on ourselves devolveWhich we will share equally, but his houseShall be the Queen’s, and his whom she shall wed.Yet, if not so inclined, ye rather chuseThat he should live and occupy entireHis patrimony, then, no longer, hereAssembled, let us revel at his cost,But let us all with spousal gifts producedFrom our respective treasures, woo the Queen,Leaving her in full freedom to espouse460Who proffers most, and whom the fates ordain.He ceased; the assembly silent sat and mute.Then rose Amphinomus amid them all,Offspring renown’d of Nisus, son, himself,Of King Aretias. He had thither ledThe suitor train who from the pleasant isleCorn-clad of green Dulichium had arrived,And by his speech pleased far beyond them allPenelope, for he was just and wise,And thus, well-counselling the rest, began.470Not I, my friends! far be the thought from meTo slay Telemachus! it were a deedMomentous, terrible, to slay a prince.First, therefore, let us counsel ask of heav’n,And if Jove’s oracle that course approve,I will encourage you, and will myselfBe active in his death; but if the GodsForbid it, then, by my advice, forbear.So spake Amphinomus, whom all approved.Arising then, into Ulysses’ house480They went, where each his splendid seat resumed.A novel purpose occupied, meantime,Penelope; she purposed to appearBefore her suitors, whose design to slayTelemachus she had from Medon learn’d,The herald, for his ear had caught the sound.Toward the hall with her attendant trainShe moved, and when, most graceful of her sex,Where sat the suitors she arrived, betweenThe columns standing of the stately dome,490And covering with her white veil’s lucid foldsHer features, to Antinoüs thus she spake.Antinoüs, proud, contentious, evermoreTo mischief prone! the people deem thee wisePast thy compeers, and in all grace of speechPre-eminent, but such wast never thou.Inhuman! why is it thy dark designTo slay Telemachus? and why with scornRejectest thou the suppliant’s pray’r,72which JoveHimself hath witness’d? Plots please not the Gods.500Know’st not that thy own father refuge foundHere, when he fled before the people’s wrathWhom he had irritated by a wrongWhich, with a band of Taphian robbers joined,He offer’d to the Thesprots, our allies?They would have torn his heart, and would have laidAll his delights and his possessions waste,But my Ulysses slaked the furious heatOf their revenge, whom thou requitest nowWasting his goods, soliciting his wife,510Slaying his son, and filling me with woe.But cease, I charge thee, and bid cease the rest.To whom the son of Polybus replied,Eurymachus.—Icarius’ daughter wise!Take courage, fair Penelope, and chaceThese fears unreasonable from thy mind!The man lives not, nor shall, who while I live,And faculty of sight retain, shall harmTelemachus, thy son. For thus I say,And thus will I perform; his blood shall stream520A sable current from my lance’s pointThat moment; for the city-waster ChiefUlysses, oft, me placing on his knees,Hath fill’d my infant grasp with sav’ry food,And giv’n me ruddy wine. I, therefore, holdTelemachus of all men most my friend,Nor hath he death to fear from hand of ours.Yet, if the Gods shall doom him, die he must.So he encouraged her, who yet, himself,Plotted his death. She, re-ascending, sought530Her stately chamber, and, arriving there,Deplored with tears her long-regretted LordTill Athenæan Pallas azure-eyedDews of soft slumber o’er her lids diffused.And now, at even-tide, Eumæus reach’dUlysses and his son. A yearling swineJust slain they skilfully for food prepared,When Pallas, drawing nigh, smote with her wandUlysses, at the stroke rend’ring him old,And his apparel sordid as before,540Lest, knowing him, the swain at once should seekPenelope, and let the secret forth.Then foremost him Telemachus address’d.Noble Eumæus! thou art come; what newsBring’st from the city? Have the warrior bandOf suitors, hopeless of their ambush, reach’dThe port again, or wait they still for me?To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.No time for such enquiry, nor to range,Curious, the streets had I, but anxious wish’d550To make my message known, and to return.But, as it chanced, a nimble herald sentFrom thy companions, met me on the way,Who reach’d thy mother first. Yet this I know,For this I saw. Passing above the townWhere they have piled a way-side hill of stonesTo Mercury, I beheld a gallant barkEnt’ring the port; a bark she was of ours,The crew were num’rous, and I mark’d her deep-Laden with shields and spears of double edge.560Theirs I conjectured her, and could no more.He spake, and by Eumæus unperceived,Telemachus his father eyed and smiled.Their task accomplish’d, and the table spread,They ate, nor any his due portion miss’d,And hunger, now, and thirst both sated, allTo rest repair’d, and took the gift of sleep.72Alluding probably to entreaties made to him at some former time by herself and Telemachus, that he would not harm them. Clarke.
Telemachus dispatches Eumæus to the city to inform Penelope of his safe return from Pylus; during his absence, Ulysses makes himself known to his son. The suitors, having watched for Telemachus in vain, arrive again at Ithaca.
It was the hour of dawn, when in the cotKindling fresh fire, Ulysses and his friendNoble Eumæus dress’d their morning fare,And sent the herdsmen with the swine abroad.Seeing Telemachus, the watchful dogsBark’d not, but fawn’d around him. At that sight,And at the sound of feet which now approach’d,Ulysses in wing’d accents thus remark’d.Eumæus! certain, either friend of thineIs nigh at hand, or one whom well thou know’st;10Thy dogs bark not, but fawn on his approachObsequious, and the sound of feet I hear.Scarce had he ceased, when his own son himselfStood in the vestibule. Upsprang at onceEumæus wonder-struck, and from his handLet fall the cups with which he was employ’dMingling rich wine; to his young Lord he ran,His forehead kiss’d, kiss’d his bright-beaming eyesAnd both his hands, weeping profuse the while,As when a father folds in his embrace20Arrived from foreign lands in the tenth yearHis darling son, the offspring of his age,His only one, for whom he long hath mourn’d,So kiss’d the noble peasant o’er and o’erGodlike Telemachus, as from death escaped,And in wing’d accents plaintive thus began.Light of my eyes, thou com’st; it is thyself,Sweetest Telemachus! I had no hopeTo see thee more, once told that o’er the DeepThou hadst departed for the Pylian coast.30Enter, my precious son; that I may soothMy soul with sight of thee from far arrived,For seldom thou thy feeders and thy farmVisitest, in the city custom’d muchTo make abode, that thou may’st witness thereThe manners of those hungry suitors proud.To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.It will be so. There is great need, my friend!But here, for thy sake, have I now arrived,That I may look on thee, and from thy lips40Learn if my mother still reside at home,Or have become spouse of some other Chief,Leaving untenanted Ulysses’ bedTo be by noisome spiders webb’d around.To whom the master swine-herd in return.Not so, she, patient still as ever, dwellsBeneath thy roof, but all her cheerless daysDespairing wastes, and all her nights in tears.So saying, Eumæus at his hand receivedHis brazen lance, and o’er the step of stone50Enter’d Telemachus, to whom his sireRelinquish’d, soon as he appear’d, his seat,But him Telemachus forbidding, said—Guest, keep thy seat; our cottage will affordSome other, which Eumæus will provide.He ceased, and he, returning at the word,Reposed again; then good Eumæus spreadGreen twigs beneath, which, cover’d with a fleece,Supplied Ulysses’ offspring with a seat.He, next, disposed his dishes on the board60With relicts charged of yesterday; with bread,Alert, he heap’d the baskets; with rich wineHis ivy cup replenish’d; and a seatTook opposite to his illustrious LordUlysses. They toward the plenteous feastStretch’d forth their hands, (and hunger now and thirstBoth satisfied) Telemachus, his speechAddressing to their gen’rous host, began.Whence is this guest, my father? How convey’dCame he to Ithaca? What country boast70The mariners with whom he here arrived?For, that on foot he found us not, is sure.To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.I will with truth answer thee, O my son!He boasts him sprung from ancestry renown’dIn spacious Crete, and hath the cities seenOf various lands, by fate ordain’d to roam.Ev’n now, from a Thesprotian ship escaped,He reach’d my cottage—but he is thy own;I yield him to thee; treat him as thou wilt;80He is thy suppliant, and depends on thee.Then thus, Telemachus, discrete, replied.Thy words, Eumæus, pain my very soul.For what security can I affordTo any in my house? myself am young,Nor yet of strength sufficient to repelAn offer’d insult, and my mother’s mindIn doubtful balance hangs, if, still with meAn inmate, she shall manage my concerns,Attentive only to her absent Lord90And her own good report, or shall espouseThe noblest of her wooers, and the bestEntitled by the splendour of his gifts.But I will give him, since I find him lodg’dA guest beneath thy roof, tunic and cloak,Sword double-edged, and sandals for his feet,With convoy to the country of his choice.Still, if it please thee, keep him here thy guest,And I will send him raiment, with suppliesOf all sorts, lest he burthen thee and thine.100But where the suitors come, there shall not heWith my consent, nor stand exposed to prideAnd petulance like theirs, lest by some sneerThey wound him, and through him, wound also me;For little is it that the boldest canAgainst so many; numbers will prevail.Him answer’d then Ulysses toil-inured.Oh amiable and good! since even IAm free to answer thee, I will avowMy heart within me torn by what I hear110Of those injurious suitors, who the houseInfest of one noble as thou appear’st.But say—submittest thou to their controulWillingly, or because the people, sway’dBy some response oracular, inclineAgainst thee? Thou hast brothers, it may chance,Slow to assist thee—for a brother’s aidIs of importance in whatever cause.For oh that I had youth as I have will,Or that renown’d Ulysses were my sire,120Or that himself might wander home again.Whereof hope yet remains! then might I loseMy head, that moment, by an alien’s hand,If I would fail, ent’ring Ulysses’ gate,To be the bane and mischief of them all.But if alone to multitudes opposedI should perchance be foiled; nobler it wereWith my own people, under my own roofTo perish, than to witness evermoreTheir unexampled deeds, guests shoved aside,130Maidens dragg’d forcibly from room to room,Casks emptied of their rich contents, and themIndulging glutt’nous appetite day by dayEnormous, without measure, without end.To whom, Telemachus, discrete, replied.Stranger! thy questions shall from me receiveTrue answer. Enmity or hatred noneSubsists the people and myself between,Nor have I brothers to accuse, whose aidIs of importance in whatever cause,140For Jove hath from of old with single heirsOur house supplied; Arcesias none begatExcept Laertes, and Laertes noneExcept Ulysses, and Ulysses meLeft here his only one, and unenjoy’d.Thence comes it that our palace swarms with foes;For all the rulers of the neighbour isles,Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’dZacynthus, others also rulers hereIn craggy Ithaca, my mother seek150In marriage, and my household stores consume.But neither she those nuptial rites abhorr’dRefuses absolute, nor yet consentsTo end them; they my patrimony wasteMeantime, and will destroy me also soon,As I expect, but heav’n disposes all.Eumæus! haste, my father! bear with speedNews to Penelope that I am safe,And have arrived from Pylus; I will waitTill thou return; and well beware that none160Hear thee beside, for I have many foes.To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.It is enough. I understand. Thou speak’stTo one intelligent. But say beside,Shall I not also, as I go, informDistress’d Laertes? who while yet he mourn’dUlysses only, could o’ersee the works,And dieted among his menials oftAs hunger prompted him, but now, they say,Since thy departure to the Pylian shore,170He neither eats as he was wont, nor drinks,Nor oversees his hinds, but sighing sitsAnd weeping, wasted even to the bone.Him then Telemachus answer’d discrete.Hard though it be, yet to his tears and sighsHim leave we now. We cannot what we would.For, were the ordering of all eventsReferr’d to our own choice, our first desireShould be to see my father’s glad return.But once thy tidings told, wander not thou180In quest of Him, but hither speed again.Rather request my mother that she sendHer household’s governess without delayPrivately to him; she shall best informThe ancient King that I have safe arrived.He said, and urged him forth, who binding onHis sandals, to the city bent his way.Nor went Eumæus from his home unmark’dBy Pallas, who in semblance of a fairDamsel, accomplish’d in domestic arts,190Approaching to the cottage’ entrance, stoodOpposite, by Ulysses plain discern’d,But to his son invisible; for the GodsAppear not manifest alike to all.The mastiffs saw her also, and with toneQuerulous hid themselves, yet bark’d they not.She beckon’d him abroad. Ulysses sawThe sign, and, issuing through the outer court,Approach’d her, whom the Goddess thus bespake.Laertes’ progeny, for wiles renown’d!200Disclose thyself to thy own son, that, deathConcerting and destruction to your foes,Ye may the royal city seek, nor longShall ye my presence there desire in vain,For I am ardent to begin the fight.Minerva spake, and with her rod of goldTouch’d him; his mantle, first, and vest she madePure as new-blanch’d; dilating, next, his form,She gave dimensions ampler to his limbs;Swarthy again his manly hue became,210Round his full face, and black his bushy chin.The change perform’d, Minerva disappear’d,And the illustrious Hero turn’d againInto the cottage; wonder at that sightSeiz’d on Telemachus; askance he look’d,Awe-struck, not unsuspicious of a God,And in wing’d accents eager thus began.Thou art no longer, whom I lately saw,Nor are thy cloaths, nor is thy port the same.Thou art a God, I know, and dwell’st in heav’n.220Oh, smile on us, that we may yield thee ritesAcceptable, and present thee golden giftsElaborate; ah spare us, Pow’r divine!To whom Ulysses, Hero toil-inured.I am no God. Why deem’st thou me divine?I am thy father, for whose sake thou lead’stA life of woe, by violence oppress’d.So saying, he kiss’d his son, while from his cheeksTears trickled, tears till then, perforce restrained.Telemachus, (for he believed him not230His father yet) thus, wond’ring, spake again.My father, said’st thou? no. Thou art not He,But some Divinity beguiles my soulWith mock’ries to afflict me still the more;For never mortal man could so have wroughtBy his own pow’r; some interposing GodAlone could render thee both young and old,For old thou wast of late, and foully clad,But wear’st the semblance, now, of those in heav’n!To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.240Telemachus! it is not well, my son!That thou should’st greet thy father with a faceOf wild astonishment, and stand aghast.Ulysses, save myself, none comes, be sure.Such as thou seest, after ten thousand woesWhich I have borne, I visit once againMy native country in the twentieth year.This wonder Athenæan Pallas wrought,She cloath’d me even with what form she would,For so she can. Now poor I seem and old,250Now young again, and clad in fresh attire.The Gods who dwell in yonder heav’n, with easeDignify or debase a mortal man.So saying, he sat. Then threw TelemachusHis arms around his father’s neck, and wept.Desire intense of lamentation seizedOn both; soft murmurs utt’ring, each indulgedHis grief, more frequent wailing than the bird,(Eagle, or hook-nail’d vulture) from whose nestSome swain hath stol’n her yet unfeather’d young.260So from their eyelids they big drops distill’dOf tend’rest grief, nor had the setting sunCessation of their weeping seen, had notTelemachus his father thus address’d.What ship convey’d thee to thy native shore,My father! and what country boast the crew?For, that on foot thou not arriv’dst, is sure.Then thus divine Ulysses toil-inured.My son! I will explicit all relate.Conducted by Phæacia’s maritime sons270I came, a race accustom’d to conveyStrangers who visit them across the Deep.Me, o’er the billows in a rapid barkBorne sleeping, on the shores of IthacaThey lay’d; rich gifts they gave me also, brass,Gold in full bags, and beautiful attire,Which, warn’d from heav’n, I have in caves conceal’d.By Pallas prompted, hither I repair’dThat we might plan the slaughter of our foes,Whose numbers tell me now, that I may know280How pow’rful, certainly, and who they are,And consultation with my dauntless heartMay hold, if we be able to contendOurselves with all, or must have aid beside.Then, answer thus his son, discrete, return’d.My father! thy renown hath ever rungIn thy son’s ears, and by report thy forceIn arms, and wisdom I have oft been told.But terribly thou speak’st; amazement-fixtI hear; can two a multitude oppose,290And valiant warriors all? for neither tenAre they, nor twenty, but more num’rous far.Learn, now, their numbers. Fifty youths and twoCame from Dulichium; they are chosen men,And six attendants follow in their train;From Samos twenty youths and four arrive,Zacynthus also of Achaia’s sonsSends twenty more, and our own island adds,Herself, her twelve chief rulers; Medon, too,Is there the herald, and the bard divine,300With other two, intendants of the board.Should we within the palace, we alone,Assail them all, I fear lest thy revengeUnpleasant to thyself and deadly prove,Frustrating thy return. But recollect—Think, if thou canst, on whose confed’rate armStrenuous on our behalf we may rely.To him replied his patient father bold.I will inform thee. Mark. Weigh well my words.Will Pallas and the everlasting Sire310Alone suffice? or need we other aids?Then answer thus Telemachus return’d.Good friends indeed are they whom thou hast named,Though throned above the clouds; for their controulIs universal both in earth and heav’n.To whom Ulysses, toil-worn Chief renown’d.Not long will they from battle stand aloof,When once, within my palace, in the strengthOf Mars, to sharp decision we shall urgeThe suitors. But thyself at early dawn320Our mansion seek, that thou may’st mingle thereWith that imperious throng; me in due timeEumæus to the city shall conduct,In form a miserable beggar old.But should they with dishonourable scornInsult me, thou unmov’d my wrongs endure,And should they even drag me by the feetAbroad, or smite me with the spear, thy wrathRefraining, gently counsel them to ceaseFrom such extravagance; but well I know330That cease they will not, for their hour is come.And mark me well; treasure what now I sayDeep in thy soul. When Pallas shall, herself,Suggest the measure, then, shaking my brows,I will admonish thee; thou, at the sign,Remove what arms soever in the hallRemain, and in the upper palace safeDispose them; should the suitors, missing them,Perchance interrogate thee, then replyGently—I have removed them from the smoke;340For they appear no more the arms which erstUlysses, going hence to Ilium, left,But smirch’d and sullied by the breath of fire.This weightier reason (thou shalt also say)Jove taught me; lest, intoxicate with wine,Ye should assault each other in your brawls,Shaming both feast and courtship; for the viewItself of arms incites to their abuse.Yet leave two faulchions for ourselves alone,Two spears, two bucklers, which with sudden force350Impetuous we will seize, and Jove all-wiseTheir valour shall, and Pallas, steal away.This word store also in remembrance deep—If mine in truth thou art, and of my blood,Then, of Ulysses to his home returnedLet none hear news from thee, no, not my sireLaertes, nor Eumæus, nor of allThe menials any, or ev’n Penelope,That thou and I, alone, may search the driftOf our domestic women, and may prove360Our serving-men, who honours and reveresAnd who contemns us both, but chiefly theeSo gracious and so worthy to be loved.Him then thus answer’d his illustrious son.Trust me, my father! thou shalt soon be taughtThat I am not of drowsy mind obtuse.But this I think not likely to availOr thee or me; ponder it yet again;For tedious were the task, farm after farmTo visit of those servants, proving each,370And the proud suitors merciless devourMeantime thy substance, nor abstain from aught.Learn, if thou wilt, (and I that course myselfAdvise) who slights thee of the female train,And who is guiltless; but I would not tryFrom house to house the men, far better provedHereafter, if in truth by signs from heav’nInform’d, thou hast been taught the will of Jove.Thus they conferr’d. The gallant bark, meantime,Reach’d Ithaca, which from the Pylian shore380Had brought Telemachus with all his band.Within the many-fathom’d port arrivedHis lusty followers haled her far aground,Then carried thence their arms, but to the houseOf Clytius the illustrious gifts convey’d.Next to the royal mansion they dispatch’dAn herald charg’d with tidings to the Queen,That her Telemachus had reach’d the cotOf good Eumæus, and the bark had sentHome to the city; lest the matchless dame390Should still deplore the absence of her son.They, then, the herald and the swine-herd, eachBearing like message to his mistress, met,And at the palace of the godlike ChiefArriving, compass’d by the female throngInquisitive, the herald thus began.Thy son, O Queen! is safe; ev’n now return’d.Then, drawing nigh to her, Eumæus toldHis message also from her son received,And, his commission punctually discharged,400Leaving the palace, sought his home again.Grief seized and anguish, at those tidings, allThe suitors; issuing forth, on the outsideOf the high wall they sat, before the gate,When Polybus’ son, Eurymachus, began.My friends! his arduous task, this voyage, deem’dBy us impossible, in our despightTelemachus hath atchieved. Haste! launch we forthA sable bark, our best, which let us manWith mariners expert, who, rowing forth410Swiftly, shall summon our companions home.Scarce had he said, when turning where he sat,Amphinomus beheld a bark arrivedJust then in port; he saw them furling sail,And seated with their oars in hand; he laugh’dThrough pleasure at that sight, and thus he spake.Our message may be spared. Lo! they arrive.Either some God inform’d them, or they saw,Themselves, the vessel of TelemachusToo swiftly passing to be reach’d by theirs.420He spake; they, rising, hasted to the shore.Alert they drew the sable bark aground,And by his servant each his arms dispatch’dTo his own home. Then, all, to council thoseAssembling, neither elder of the landNor youth allow’d to join them, and the restEupithes’ son, Antinoüs, thus bespake.Ah! how the Gods have rescued him! all dayPerch’d on the airy mountain-top, our spiesSuccessive watch’d; and, when the sun declined,430We never slept on shore, but all night longTill sacred dawn arose, plow’d the abyss,Hoping Telemachus, that we might seizeAnd slay him, whom some Deity hath led,In our despight, safe to his home again.But frame we yet again means to destroyTelemachus; ah—let not Him escape!For end of this our task, while he survives,None shall be found, such prudence he displaysAnd wisdom, neither are the people now440Unanimous our friends as heretofore.Come, then—prevent him, ere he call the GreeksTo council; for he will not long delay,But will be angry, doubtless, and will tellAmid them all, how we in vain devisedHis death, a deed which they will scarce applaud,But will, perhaps, punish and drive us forthFrom our own country to a distant land.—Prevent him, therefore, quickly; in the fieldSlay him, or on the road; so shall his wealth450And his possessions on ourselves devolveWhich we will share equally, but his houseShall be the Queen’s, and his whom she shall wed.Yet, if not so inclined, ye rather chuseThat he should live and occupy entireHis patrimony, then, no longer, hereAssembled, let us revel at his cost,But let us all with spousal gifts producedFrom our respective treasures, woo the Queen,Leaving her in full freedom to espouse460Who proffers most, and whom the fates ordain.He ceased; the assembly silent sat and mute.Then rose Amphinomus amid them all,Offspring renown’d of Nisus, son, himself,Of King Aretias. He had thither ledThe suitor train who from the pleasant isleCorn-clad of green Dulichium had arrived,And by his speech pleased far beyond them allPenelope, for he was just and wise,And thus, well-counselling the rest, began.470Not I, my friends! far be the thought from meTo slay Telemachus! it were a deedMomentous, terrible, to slay a prince.First, therefore, let us counsel ask of heav’n,And if Jove’s oracle that course approve,I will encourage you, and will myselfBe active in his death; but if the GodsForbid it, then, by my advice, forbear.So spake Amphinomus, whom all approved.Arising then, into Ulysses’ house480They went, where each his splendid seat resumed.A novel purpose occupied, meantime,Penelope; she purposed to appearBefore her suitors, whose design to slayTelemachus she had from Medon learn’d,The herald, for his ear had caught the sound.Toward the hall with her attendant trainShe moved, and when, most graceful of her sex,Where sat the suitors she arrived, betweenThe columns standing of the stately dome,490And covering with her white veil’s lucid foldsHer features, to Antinoüs thus she spake.Antinoüs, proud, contentious, evermoreTo mischief prone! the people deem thee wisePast thy compeers, and in all grace of speechPre-eminent, but such wast never thou.Inhuman! why is it thy dark designTo slay Telemachus? and why with scornRejectest thou the suppliant’s pray’r,72which JoveHimself hath witness’d? Plots please not the Gods.500Know’st not that thy own father refuge foundHere, when he fled before the people’s wrathWhom he had irritated by a wrongWhich, with a band of Taphian robbers joined,He offer’d to the Thesprots, our allies?They would have torn his heart, and would have laidAll his delights and his possessions waste,But my Ulysses slaked the furious heatOf their revenge, whom thou requitest nowWasting his goods, soliciting his wife,510Slaying his son, and filling me with woe.But cease, I charge thee, and bid cease the rest.To whom the son of Polybus replied,Eurymachus.—Icarius’ daughter wise!Take courage, fair Penelope, and chaceThese fears unreasonable from thy mind!The man lives not, nor shall, who while I live,And faculty of sight retain, shall harmTelemachus, thy son. For thus I say,And thus will I perform; his blood shall stream520A sable current from my lance’s pointThat moment; for the city-waster ChiefUlysses, oft, me placing on his knees,Hath fill’d my infant grasp with sav’ry food,And giv’n me ruddy wine. I, therefore, holdTelemachus of all men most my friend,Nor hath he death to fear from hand of ours.Yet, if the Gods shall doom him, die he must.So he encouraged her, who yet, himself,Plotted his death. She, re-ascending, sought530Her stately chamber, and, arriving there,Deplored with tears her long-regretted LordTill Athenæan Pallas azure-eyedDews of soft slumber o’er her lids diffused.And now, at even-tide, Eumæus reach’dUlysses and his son. A yearling swineJust slain they skilfully for food prepared,When Pallas, drawing nigh, smote with her wandUlysses, at the stroke rend’ring him old,And his apparel sordid as before,540Lest, knowing him, the swain at once should seekPenelope, and let the secret forth.Then foremost him Telemachus address’d.Noble Eumæus! thou art come; what newsBring’st from the city? Have the warrior bandOf suitors, hopeless of their ambush, reach’dThe port again, or wait they still for me?To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.No time for such enquiry, nor to range,Curious, the streets had I, but anxious wish’d550To make my message known, and to return.But, as it chanced, a nimble herald sentFrom thy companions, met me on the way,Who reach’d thy mother first. Yet this I know,For this I saw. Passing above the townWhere they have piled a way-side hill of stonesTo Mercury, I beheld a gallant barkEnt’ring the port; a bark she was of ours,The crew were num’rous, and I mark’d her deep-Laden with shields and spears of double edge.560Theirs I conjectured her, and could no more.He spake, and by Eumæus unperceived,Telemachus his father eyed and smiled.Their task accomplish’d, and the table spread,They ate, nor any his due portion miss’d,And hunger, now, and thirst both sated, allTo rest repair’d, and took the gift of sleep.
It was the hour of dawn, when in the cotKindling fresh fire, Ulysses and his friendNoble Eumæus dress’d their morning fare,And sent the herdsmen with the swine abroad.Seeing Telemachus, the watchful dogsBark’d not, but fawn’d around him. At that sight,And at the sound of feet which now approach’d,Ulysses in wing’d accents thus remark’d.Eumæus! certain, either friend of thineIs nigh at hand, or one whom well thou know’st;10Thy dogs bark not, but fawn on his approachObsequious, and the sound of feet I hear.Scarce had he ceased, when his own son himselfStood in the vestibule. Upsprang at onceEumæus wonder-struck, and from his handLet fall the cups with which he was employ’dMingling rich wine; to his young Lord he ran,His forehead kiss’d, kiss’d his bright-beaming eyesAnd both his hands, weeping profuse the while,As when a father folds in his embrace20Arrived from foreign lands in the tenth yearHis darling son, the offspring of his age,His only one, for whom he long hath mourn’d,So kiss’d the noble peasant o’er and o’erGodlike Telemachus, as from death escaped,And in wing’d accents plaintive thus began.Light of my eyes, thou com’st; it is thyself,Sweetest Telemachus! I had no hopeTo see thee more, once told that o’er the DeepThou hadst departed for the Pylian coast.30Enter, my precious son; that I may soothMy soul with sight of thee from far arrived,For seldom thou thy feeders and thy farmVisitest, in the city custom’d muchTo make abode, that thou may’st witness thereThe manners of those hungry suitors proud.To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.It will be so. There is great need, my friend!But here, for thy sake, have I now arrived,That I may look on thee, and from thy lips40Learn if my mother still reside at home,Or have become spouse of some other Chief,Leaving untenanted Ulysses’ bedTo be by noisome spiders webb’d around.To whom the master swine-herd in return.Not so, she, patient still as ever, dwellsBeneath thy roof, but all her cheerless daysDespairing wastes, and all her nights in tears.So saying, Eumæus at his hand receivedHis brazen lance, and o’er the step of stone50Enter’d Telemachus, to whom his sireRelinquish’d, soon as he appear’d, his seat,But him Telemachus forbidding, said—Guest, keep thy seat; our cottage will affordSome other, which Eumæus will provide.He ceased, and he, returning at the word,Reposed again; then good Eumæus spreadGreen twigs beneath, which, cover’d with a fleece,Supplied Ulysses’ offspring with a seat.He, next, disposed his dishes on the board60With relicts charged of yesterday; with bread,Alert, he heap’d the baskets; with rich wineHis ivy cup replenish’d; and a seatTook opposite to his illustrious LordUlysses. They toward the plenteous feastStretch’d forth their hands, (and hunger now and thirstBoth satisfied) Telemachus, his speechAddressing to their gen’rous host, began.Whence is this guest, my father? How convey’dCame he to Ithaca? What country boast70The mariners with whom he here arrived?For, that on foot he found us not, is sure.To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.I will with truth answer thee, O my son!He boasts him sprung from ancestry renown’dIn spacious Crete, and hath the cities seenOf various lands, by fate ordain’d to roam.Ev’n now, from a Thesprotian ship escaped,He reach’d my cottage—but he is thy own;I yield him to thee; treat him as thou wilt;80He is thy suppliant, and depends on thee.Then thus, Telemachus, discrete, replied.Thy words, Eumæus, pain my very soul.For what security can I affordTo any in my house? myself am young,Nor yet of strength sufficient to repelAn offer’d insult, and my mother’s mindIn doubtful balance hangs, if, still with meAn inmate, she shall manage my concerns,Attentive only to her absent Lord90And her own good report, or shall espouseThe noblest of her wooers, and the bestEntitled by the splendour of his gifts.But I will give him, since I find him lodg’dA guest beneath thy roof, tunic and cloak,Sword double-edged, and sandals for his feet,With convoy to the country of his choice.Still, if it please thee, keep him here thy guest,And I will send him raiment, with suppliesOf all sorts, lest he burthen thee and thine.100But where the suitors come, there shall not heWith my consent, nor stand exposed to prideAnd petulance like theirs, lest by some sneerThey wound him, and through him, wound also me;For little is it that the boldest canAgainst so many; numbers will prevail.Him answer’d then Ulysses toil-inured.Oh amiable and good! since even IAm free to answer thee, I will avowMy heart within me torn by what I hear110Of those injurious suitors, who the houseInfest of one noble as thou appear’st.But say—submittest thou to their controulWillingly, or because the people, sway’dBy some response oracular, inclineAgainst thee? Thou hast brothers, it may chance,Slow to assist thee—for a brother’s aidIs of importance in whatever cause.For oh that I had youth as I have will,Or that renown’d Ulysses were my sire,120Or that himself might wander home again.Whereof hope yet remains! then might I loseMy head, that moment, by an alien’s hand,If I would fail, ent’ring Ulysses’ gate,To be the bane and mischief of them all.But if alone to multitudes opposedI should perchance be foiled; nobler it wereWith my own people, under my own roofTo perish, than to witness evermoreTheir unexampled deeds, guests shoved aside,130Maidens dragg’d forcibly from room to room,Casks emptied of their rich contents, and themIndulging glutt’nous appetite day by dayEnormous, without measure, without end.To whom, Telemachus, discrete, replied.Stranger! thy questions shall from me receiveTrue answer. Enmity or hatred noneSubsists the people and myself between,Nor have I brothers to accuse, whose aidIs of importance in whatever cause,140For Jove hath from of old with single heirsOur house supplied; Arcesias none begatExcept Laertes, and Laertes noneExcept Ulysses, and Ulysses meLeft here his only one, and unenjoy’d.Thence comes it that our palace swarms with foes;For all the rulers of the neighbour isles,Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’dZacynthus, others also rulers hereIn craggy Ithaca, my mother seek150In marriage, and my household stores consume.But neither she those nuptial rites abhorr’dRefuses absolute, nor yet consentsTo end them; they my patrimony wasteMeantime, and will destroy me also soon,As I expect, but heav’n disposes all.Eumæus! haste, my father! bear with speedNews to Penelope that I am safe,And have arrived from Pylus; I will waitTill thou return; and well beware that none160Hear thee beside, for I have many foes.To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.It is enough. I understand. Thou speak’stTo one intelligent. But say beside,Shall I not also, as I go, informDistress’d Laertes? who while yet he mourn’dUlysses only, could o’ersee the works,And dieted among his menials oftAs hunger prompted him, but now, they say,Since thy departure to the Pylian shore,170He neither eats as he was wont, nor drinks,Nor oversees his hinds, but sighing sitsAnd weeping, wasted even to the bone.Him then Telemachus answer’d discrete.Hard though it be, yet to his tears and sighsHim leave we now. We cannot what we would.For, were the ordering of all eventsReferr’d to our own choice, our first desireShould be to see my father’s glad return.But once thy tidings told, wander not thou180In quest of Him, but hither speed again.Rather request my mother that she sendHer household’s governess without delayPrivately to him; she shall best informThe ancient King that I have safe arrived.He said, and urged him forth, who binding onHis sandals, to the city bent his way.Nor went Eumæus from his home unmark’dBy Pallas, who in semblance of a fairDamsel, accomplish’d in domestic arts,190Approaching to the cottage’ entrance, stoodOpposite, by Ulysses plain discern’d,But to his son invisible; for the GodsAppear not manifest alike to all.The mastiffs saw her also, and with toneQuerulous hid themselves, yet bark’d they not.She beckon’d him abroad. Ulysses sawThe sign, and, issuing through the outer court,Approach’d her, whom the Goddess thus bespake.Laertes’ progeny, for wiles renown’d!200Disclose thyself to thy own son, that, deathConcerting and destruction to your foes,Ye may the royal city seek, nor longShall ye my presence there desire in vain,For I am ardent to begin the fight.Minerva spake, and with her rod of goldTouch’d him; his mantle, first, and vest she madePure as new-blanch’d; dilating, next, his form,She gave dimensions ampler to his limbs;Swarthy again his manly hue became,210Round his full face, and black his bushy chin.The change perform’d, Minerva disappear’d,And the illustrious Hero turn’d againInto the cottage; wonder at that sightSeiz’d on Telemachus; askance he look’d,Awe-struck, not unsuspicious of a God,And in wing’d accents eager thus began.Thou art no longer, whom I lately saw,Nor are thy cloaths, nor is thy port the same.Thou art a God, I know, and dwell’st in heav’n.220Oh, smile on us, that we may yield thee ritesAcceptable, and present thee golden giftsElaborate; ah spare us, Pow’r divine!To whom Ulysses, Hero toil-inured.I am no God. Why deem’st thou me divine?I am thy father, for whose sake thou lead’stA life of woe, by violence oppress’d.So saying, he kiss’d his son, while from his cheeksTears trickled, tears till then, perforce restrained.Telemachus, (for he believed him not230His father yet) thus, wond’ring, spake again.My father, said’st thou? no. Thou art not He,But some Divinity beguiles my soulWith mock’ries to afflict me still the more;For never mortal man could so have wroughtBy his own pow’r; some interposing GodAlone could render thee both young and old,For old thou wast of late, and foully clad,But wear’st the semblance, now, of those in heav’n!To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.240Telemachus! it is not well, my son!That thou should’st greet thy father with a faceOf wild astonishment, and stand aghast.Ulysses, save myself, none comes, be sure.Such as thou seest, after ten thousand woesWhich I have borne, I visit once againMy native country in the twentieth year.This wonder Athenæan Pallas wrought,She cloath’d me even with what form she would,For so she can. Now poor I seem and old,250Now young again, and clad in fresh attire.The Gods who dwell in yonder heav’n, with easeDignify or debase a mortal man.So saying, he sat. Then threw TelemachusHis arms around his father’s neck, and wept.Desire intense of lamentation seizedOn both; soft murmurs utt’ring, each indulgedHis grief, more frequent wailing than the bird,(Eagle, or hook-nail’d vulture) from whose nestSome swain hath stol’n her yet unfeather’d young.260So from their eyelids they big drops distill’dOf tend’rest grief, nor had the setting sunCessation of their weeping seen, had notTelemachus his father thus address’d.What ship convey’d thee to thy native shore,My father! and what country boast the crew?For, that on foot thou not arriv’dst, is sure.Then thus divine Ulysses toil-inured.My son! I will explicit all relate.Conducted by Phæacia’s maritime sons270I came, a race accustom’d to conveyStrangers who visit them across the Deep.Me, o’er the billows in a rapid barkBorne sleeping, on the shores of IthacaThey lay’d; rich gifts they gave me also, brass,Gold in full bags, and beautiful attire,Which, warn’d from heav’n, I have in caves conceal’d.By Pallas prompted, hither I repair’dThat we might plan the slaughter of our foes,Whose numbers tell me now, that I may know280How pow’rful, certainly, and who they are,And consultation with my dauntless heartMay hold, if we be able to contendOurselves with all, or must have aid beside.Then, answer thus his son, discrete, return’d.My father! thy renown hath ever rungIn thy son’s ears, and by report thy forceIn arms, and wisdom I have oft been told.But terribly thou speak’st; amazement-fixtI hear; can two a multitude oppose,290And valiant warriors all? for neither tenAre they, nor twenty, but more num’rous far.Learn, now, their numbers. Fifty youths and twoCame from Dulichium; they are chosen men,And six attendants follow in their train;From Samos twenty youths and four arrive,Zacynthus also of Achaia’s sonsSends twenty more, and our own island adds,Herself, her twelve chief rulers; Medon, too,Is there the herald, and the bard divine,300With other two, intendants of the board.Should we within the palace, we alone,Assail them all, I fear lest thy revengeUnpleasant to thyself and deadly prove,Frustrating thy return. But recollect—Think, if thou canst, on whose confed’rate armStrenuous on our behalf we may rely.To him replied his patient father bold.I will inform thee. Mark. Weigh well my words.Will Pallas and the everlasting Sire310Alone suffice? or need we other aids?Then answer thus Telemachus return’d.Good friends indeed are they whom thou hast named,Though throned above the clouds; for their controulIs universal both in earth and heav’n.To whom Ulysses, toil-worn Chief renown’d.Not long will they from battle stand aloof,When once, within my palace, in the strengthOf Mars, to sharp decision we shall urgeThe suitors. But thyself at early dawn320Our mansion seek, that thou may’st mingle thereWith that imperious throng; me in due timeEumæus to the city shall conduct,In form a miserable beggar old.But should they with dishonourable scornInsult me, thou unmov’d my wrongs endure,And should they even drag me by the feetAbroad, or smite me with the spear, thy wrathRefraining, gently counsel them to ceaseFrom such extravagance; but well I know330That cease they will not, for their hour is come.And mark me well; treasure what now I sayDeep in thy soul. When Pallas shall, herself,Suggest the measure, then, shaking my brows,I will admonish thee; thou, at the sign,Remove what arms soever in the hallRemain, and in the upper palace safeDispose them; should the suitors, missing them,Perchance interrogate thee, then replyGently—I have removed them from the smoke;340For they appear no more the arms which erstUlysses, going hence to Ilium, left,But smirch’d and sullied by the breath of fire.This weightier reason (thou shalt also say)Jove taught me; lest, intoxicate with wine,Ye should assault each other in your brawls,Shaming both feast and courtship; for the viewItself of arms incites to their abuse.Yet leave two faulchions for ourselves alone,Two spears, two bucklers, which with sudden force350Impetuous we will seize, and Jove all-wiseTheir valour shall, and Pallas, steal away.This word store also in remembrance deep—If mine in truth thou art, and of my blood,Then, of Ulysses to his home returnedLet none hear news from thee, no, not my sireLaertes, nor Eumæus, nor of allThe menials any, or ev’n Penelope,That thou and I, alone, may search the driftOf our domestic women, and may prove360Our serving-men, who honours and reveresAnd who contemns us both, but chiefly theeSo gracious and so worthy to be loved.Him then thus answer’d his illustrious son.Trust me, my father! thou shalt soon be taughtThat I am not of drowsy mind obtuse.But this I think not likely to availOr thee or me; ponder it yet again;For tedious were the task, farm after farmTo visit of those servants, proving each,370And the proud suitors merciless devourMeantime thy substance, nor abstain from aught.Learn, if thou wilt, (and I that course myselfAdvise) who slights thee of the female train,And who is guiltless; but I would not tryFrom house to house the men, far better provedHereafter, if in truth by signs from heav’nInform’d, thou hast been taught the will of Jove.Thus they conferr’d. The gallant bark, meantime,Reach’d Ithaca, which from the Pylian shore380Had brought Telemachus with all his band.Within the many-fathom’d port arrivedHis lusty followers haled her far aground,Then carried thence their arms, but to the houseOf Clytius the illustrious gifts convey’d.Next to the royal mansion they dispatch’dAn herald charg’d with tidings to the Queen,That her Telemachus had reach’d the cotOf good Eumæus, and the bark had sentHome to the city; lest the matchless dame390Should still deplore the absence of her son.They, then, the herald and the swine-herd, eachBearing like message to his mistress, met,And at the palace of the godlike ChiefArriving, compass’d by the female throngInquisitive, the herald thus began.Thy son, O Queen! is safe; ev’n now return’d.Then, drawing nigh to her, Eumæus toldHis message also from her son received,And, his commission punctually discharged,400Leaving the palace, sought his home again.Grief seized and anguish, at those tidings, allThe suitors; issuing forth, on the outsideOf the high wall they sat, before the gate,When Polybus’ son, Eurymachus, began.My friends! his arduous task, this voyage, deem’dBy us impossible, in our despightTelemachus hath atchieved. Haste! launch we forthA sable bark, our best, which let us manWith mariners expert, who, rowing forth410Swiftly, shall summon our companions home.Scarce had he said, when turning where he sat,Amphinomus beheld a bark arrivedJust then in port; he saw them furling sail,And seated with their oars in hand; he laugh’dThrough pleasure at that sight, and thus he spake.Our message may be spared. Lo! they arrive.Either some God inform’d them, or they saw,Themselves, the vessel of TelemachusToo swiftly passing to be reach’d by theirs.420He spake; they, rising, hasted to the shore.Alert they drew the sable bark aground,And by his servant each his arms dispatch’dTo his own home. Then, all, to council thoseAssembling, neither elder of the landNor youth allow’d to join them, and the restEupithes’ son, Antinoüs, thus bespake.Ah! how the Gods have rescued him! all dayPerch’d on the airy mountain-top, our spiesSuccessive watch’d; and, when the sun declined,430We never slept on shore, but all night longTill sacred dawn arose, plow’d the abyss,Hoping Telemachus, that we might seizeAnd slay him, whom some Deity hath led,In our despight, safe to his home again.But frame we yet again means to destroyTelemachus; ah—let not Him escape!For end of this our task, while he survives,None shall be found, such prudence he displaysAnd wisdom, neither are the people now440Unanimous our friends as heretofore.Come, then—prevent him, ere he call the GreeksTo council; for he will not long delay,But will be angry, doubtless, and will tellAmid them all, how we in vain devisedHis death, a deed which they will scarce applaud,But will, perhaps, punish and drive us forthFrom our own country to a distant land.—Prevent him, therefore, quickly; in the fieldSlay him, or on the road; so shall his wealth450And his possessions on ourselves devolveWhich we will share equally, but his houseShall be the Queen’s, and his whom she shall wed.Yet, if not so inclined, ye rather chuseThat he should live and occupy entireHis patrimony, then, no longer, hereAssembled, let us revel at his cost,But let us all with spousal gifts producedFrom our respective treasures, woo the Queen,Leaving her in full freedom to espouse460Who proffers most, and whom the fates ordain.He ceased; the assembly silent sat and mute.Then rose Amphinomus amid them all,Offspring renown’d of Nisus, son, himself,Of King Aretias. He had thither ledThe suitor train who from the pleasant isleCorn-clad of green Dulichium had arrived,And by his speech pleased far beyond them allPenelope, for he was just and wise,And thus, well-counselling the rest, began.470Not I, my friends! far be the thought from meTo slay Telemachus! it were a deedMomentous, terrible, to slay a prince.First, therefore, let us counsel ask of heav’n,And if Jove’s oracle that course approve,I will encourage you, and will myselfBe active in his death; but if the GodsForbid it, then, by my advice, forbear.So spake Amphinomus, whom all approved.Arising then, into Ulysses’ house480They went, where each his splendid seat resumed.A novel purpose occupied, meantime,Penelope; she purposed to appearBefore her suitors, whose design to slayTelemachus she had from Medon learn’d,The herald, for his ear had caught the sound.Toward the hall with her attendant trainShe moved, and when, most graceful of her sex,Where sat the suitors she arrived, betweenThe columns standing of the stately dome,490And covering with her white veil’s lucid foldsHer features, to Antinoüs thus she spake.Antinoüs, proud, contentious, evermoreTo mischief prone! the people deem thee wisePast thy compeers, and in all grace of speechPre-eminent, but such wast never thou.Inhuman! why is it thy dark designTo slay Telemachus? and why with scornRejectest thou the suppliant’s pray’r,72which JoveHimself hath witness’d? Plots please not the Gods.500Know’st not that thy own father refuge foundHere, when he fled before the people’s wrathWhom he had irritated by a wrongWhich, with a band of Taphian robbers joined,He offer’d to the Thesprots, our allies?They would have torn his heart, and would have laidAll his delights and his possessions waste,But my Ulysses slaked the furious heatOf their revenge, whom thou requitest nowWasting his goods, soliciting his wife,510Slaying his son, and filling me with woe.But cease, I charge thee, and bid cease the rest.To whom the son of Polybus replied,Eurymachus.—Icarius’ daughter wise!Take courage, fair Penelope, and chaceThese fears unreasonable from thy mind!The man lives not, nor shall, who while I live,And faculty of sight retain, shall harmTelemachus, thy son. For thus I say,And thus will I perform; his blood shall stream520A sable current from my lance’s pointThat moment; for the city-waster ChiefUlysses, oft, me placing on his knees,Hath fill’d my infant grasp with sav’ry food,And giv’n me ruddy wine. I, therefore, holdTelemachus of all men most my friend,Nor hath he death to fear from hand of ours.Yet, if the Gods shall doom him, die he must.So he encouraged her, who yet, himself,Plotted his death. She, re-ascending, sought530Her stately chamber, and, arriving there,Deplored with tears her long-regretted LordTill Athenæan Pallas azure-eyedDews of soft slumber o’er her lids diffused.And now, at even-tide, Eumæus reach’dUlysses and his son. A yearling swineJust slain they skilfully for food prepared,When Pallas, drawing nigh, smote with her wandUlysses, at the stroke rend’ring him old,And his apparel sordid as before,540Lest, knowing him, the swain at once should seekPenelope, and let the secret forth.Then foremost him Telemachus address’d.Noble Eumæus! thou art come; what newsBring’st from the city? Have the warrior bandOf suitors, hopeless of their ambush, reach’dThe port again, or wait they still for me?To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply.No time for such enquiry, nor to range,Curious, the streets had I, but anxious wish’d550To make my message known, and to return.But, as it chanced, a nimble herald sentFrom thy companions, met me on the way,Who reach’d thy mother first. Yet this I know,For this I saw. Passing above the townWhere they have piled a way-side hill of stonesTo Mercury, I beheld a gallant barkEnt’ring the port; a bark she was of ours,The crew were num’rous, and I mark’d her deep-Laden with shields and spears of double edge.560Theirs I conjectured her, and could no more.He spake, and by Eumæus unperceived,Telemachus his father eyed and smiled.Their task accomplish’d, and the table spread,They ate, nor any his due portion miss’d,And hunger, now, and thirst both sated, allTo rest repair’d, and took the gift of sleep.
72Alluding probably to entreaties made to him at some former time by herself and Telemachus, that he would not harm them. Clarke.
72Alluding probably to entreaties made to him at some former time by herself and Telemachus, that he would not harm them. Clarke.
72Alluding probably to entreaties made to him at some former time by herself and Telemachus, that he would not harm them. Clarke.