BOOK XXIV

BOOK XXIVARGUMENTMercury conducts the souls of the suitors down to Ades. Ulysses discovers himself to Laertes, and quells, by the aid of Minerva, an insurrection of the people resenting the death of the suitors.And now Cyllenian Hermes summon’d forthThe spirits of the suitors; waving wideThe golden wand of pow’r to seal all eyesIn slumber, and to ope them wide again,He drove them gibb’ring down into the shades,111As when the bats within some hallow’d caveFlit squeaking all around, for if but oneFall from the rock, the rest all follow him,In such connexion mutual they adhere,So, after bounteous Mercury, the ghosts,10Troop’d downward gibb’ring all the dreary way.111The Ocean’s flood and the Leucadian rock,The Sun’s gate also and the land of DreamsThey pass’d, whence, next, into the meads they cameOf Asphodel, by shadowy forms possess’d,Simulars of the dead. They found the soulsOf brave Pelides there, and of his friendPatroclus, of Antilochus renown’d,And of the mightier Ajax, for his formAnd bulk (Achilles sole except) of all20The sons of the Achaians most admired.These waited on Achilles. Then, appear’dThe mournful ghost of Agamemnon, sonOf Atreus, compass’d by the ghosts of allWho shared his fate beneath Ægisthus’ roof,And him the ghost of Peleus’ son bespake.Atrides! of all Heroes we esteem’dThee dearest to the Gods, for that thy swayExtended over such a glorious hostAt Ilium, scene of sorrow to the Greeks.30But Fate, whose ruthless force none may escapeOf all who breathe, pursued thee from the first.Thou should’st have perish’d full of honour, fullOf royalty, at Troy; so all the GreeksHad rais’d thy tomb, and thou hadst then bequeath’dGreat glory to thy son; but Fate ordain’dA death, oh how deplorable! for thee.To whom Atrides’ spirit thus replied.Blest son of Peleus, semblance of the Gods,At Ilium, far from Argos, fall’n! for whom40Contending, many a Trojan, many a ChiefOf Greece died also, while in eddies whelm’dOf dust thy vastness spread the plain,112nor theeThe chariot aught or steed could int’rest more!All day we waged the battle, nor at lastDesisted, but for tempests sent from Jove.At length we bore into the Greecian fleetThy body from the field; there, first, we cleansedWith tepid baths and oil’d thy shapely corse,Then placed thee on thy bier, while many a Greek50Around thee wept, and shore his locks for thee.Thy mother, also, hearing of thy deathWith her immortal nymphs from the abyssArose and came; terrible was the soundOn the salt flood; a panic seized the Greeks,And ev’ry warrior had return’d on boardThat moment, had not Nestor, ancient Chief,Illumed by long experience, interposed,His counsels, ever wisest, wisest provedThen also, and he thus address’d the host.60Sons of Achaia; fly not; stay, ye Greeks!Thetis arrives with her immortal nymphsFrom the abyss, to visit her dead son.So he; and, by his admonition stay’d,The Greeks fled not. Then, all around thee stoodThe daughters of the Ancient of the Deep,Mourning disconsolate; with heav’nly robesThey clothed thy corse, and all the Muses nineDeplored thee in full choir with sweetest tonesResponsive, nor one Greecian hadst thou seen70Dry-eyed, such grief the Muses moved in all.Full sev’nteen days we, day and night, deploredThy death, both Gods in heav’n and men below,But, on the eighteenth day, we gave thy corseIts burning, and fat sheep around thee slewNum’rous, with many a pastur’d ox moon-horn’d.We burn’d thee clothed in vesture of the Gods,With honey and with oil feeding the flamesAbundant, while Achaia’s Heroes arm’d,Both horse and foot, encompassing thy pile,80Clash’d on their shields, and deaf’ning was the din.But when the fires of Vulcan had at lengthConsumed thee, at the dawn we stored thy bonesIn unguent and in undiluted wine;For Thetis gave to us a golden vaseTwin-ear’d, which she profess’d to have receivedFrom Bacchus, work divine of Vulcan’s hand.Within that vase, Achilles, treasured lieThine and the bones of thy departed friendPatroclus, but a sep’rate urn we gave90To those of brave Antilochus, who mostOf all thy friends at Ilium shared thy loveAnd thy respect, thy friend Patroclus slain.Around both urns we piled a noble tomb,(We warriors of the sacred Argive host)On a tall promontory shooting farInto the spacious Hellespont, that allWho live, and who shall yet be born, may viewThy record, even from the distant waves.Then, by permission from the Gods obtain’d,100To the Achaian Chiefs in circus metThetis appointed games. I have beheldThe burial rites of many an Hero bold,When, on the death of some great Chief, the youthsGirding their loins anticipate the prize,But sight of those with wonder fill’d me most,So glorious past all others were the gamesBy silver-footed Thetis giv’n for thee,For thou wast ever favour’d of the Gods.Thus, hast thou not, Achilles! although dead,110Foregone thy glory, but thy fair reportIs universal among all mankind;But, as for me, what recompense had I,My warfare closed? for whom, at my return,Jove framed such dire destruction by the handsOf fell Ægisthus and my murth’ress wife.Thus, mutual, they conferr’d; meantime approach’d,Swift messenger of heav’n, the Argicide,Conducting thither all the shades of thoseSlain by Ulysses. At that sight amazed120Both moved toward them. Agamemnon’s shadeKnew well Amphimedon, for he had beenErewhile his father’s guest in Ithaca,And thus the spirit of Atreus’ son began.Amphimedon! by what disastrous chance,Coœvals as ye seem, and of an airDistinguish’d all, descend ye to the Deeps?For not the chosen youths of a whole townShould form a nobler band. Perish’d ye sunkAmid vast billows and rude tempests raised130By Neptune’s pow’r? or on dry land through forceOf hostile multitudes, while cutting offBeeves from the herd, or driving flocks away?Or fighting for your city and your wives?Resolve me? I was once a guest of yours.Remember’st not what time at your abodeWith godlike Menelaus I arrived,That we might win Ulysses with his fleetTo follow us to Troy? scarce we prevail’dAt last to gain the city-waster Chief,140And, after all, consumed a whole month moreThe wide sea traversing from side to side.To whom the spirit of Amphimedon.Illustrious Agamemnon, King of men!All this I bear in mind, and will rehearseThe manner of our most disastrous end.Believing brave Ulysses lost, we woo’dMeantime his wife; she our detested suitWould neither ratify nor yet refuse,But, planning for us a tremendous death,150This novel stratagem, at last, devised.Beginning, in her own recess, a webOf slend’rest thread, and of a length and breadthUnusual, thus the suitors she address’d.Princes, my suitors! since the noble ChiefUlysses is no more, enforce not yetMy nuptials; wait till I shall finish firstA fun’ral robe (lest all my threads decay)Which for the ancient Hero I prepare,Laertes, looking for the mournful hour160When 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.So spake the Queen; we, unsuspicious all,With her request complied. Thenceforth, all dayShe wove the ample web, and by the aidOf torches ravell’d it again at night.Three years she thus by artifice our suitEluded safe, but when the fourth arrived,And the same season, after many moons170And fleeting days, return’d, a damsel thenOf her attendants, conscious of the fraud,Reveal’d it, and we found her pulling looseThe splendid web. Thus, through constraint, at length,She finish’d it, and in her own despight.But when the Queen produced, at length, her workFinish’d, new-blanch’d, bright as the sun or moon,Then came Ulysses, by some adverse GodConducted, to a cottage on the vergeOf his own fields, in which his swine-herd dwells;180There also the illustrious Hero’s sonArrived soon after, in his sable barkFrom sandy Pylus borne; they, plotting bothA dreadful death for all the suitors, soughtOur glorious city, but Ulysses last,And first Telemachus. The father cameConducted by his swine-herd, and attiredIn tatters foul; a mendicant he seem’d,Time-worn, and halted on a staff. So clad,And ent’ring on the sudden, he escaped190All knowledge even of our eldest there,And we reviled and smote him; he althoughBeneath his own roof smitten and reproach’d,With patience suffer’d it awhile, but rousedBy inspiration of Jove Ægis-arm’dAt length, in concert with his son convey’dTo his own chamber his resplendent arms,There lodg’d them safe, and barr’d the massy doorsThen, in his subtlety he bade the QueenA contest institute with bow and rings200Between the hapless suitors, whence ensuedSlaughter to all. No suitor there had pow’rTo overcome the stubborn bow that mock’dAll our attempts; and when the weapon hugeAt length was offer’d to Ulysses’ hands,With clamour’d menaces we bade the swainWithhold it from him, plead he as he might;Telemachus alone with loud command,Bade give it him, and the illustrious ChiefReceiving in his hand the bow, with ease210Bent it, and sped a shaft through all the rings.Then, springing to the portal steps, he pour’dThe arrows forth, peer’d terrible around,Pierced King Antinoüs, and, aiming sureHis deadly darts, pierced others after him,Till in one common carnage heap’d we lay.Some God, as plain appear’d, vouchsafed them aid,Such ardour urged them, and with such dispatchThey slew us on all sides; hideous were heardThe groans of dying men fell’d to the earth220With head-strokes rude, and the floor swam with blood.Such, royal Agamemnon! was the fateBy which we perish’d, all whose bodies lieUnburied still, and in Ulysses’ house,For tidings none have yet our friends alarm’dAnd kindred, who might cleanse from sable goreOur clotted wounds, and mourn us on the bier,Which are the rightful privilege of the dead.Him answer’d, then, the shade of Atreus’ son.Oh happy offspring of Laertes! shrewd230Ulysses! matchless valour thou hast shewnRecov’ring thus thy wife; nor less appearsThe virtue of Icarius’ daughter wise,The chaste Penelope, so faithful foundTo her Ulysses, husband of her youth.His glory, by superior merit earn’d,Shall never die, and the immortal GodsShall make Penelope a theme of songDelightful in the ears of all mankind.Not such was Clytemnestra, daughter vile240Of Tyndarus; she shed her husband’s blood,And shall be chronicled in song a wifeOf hateful memory, by whose offenceEven the virtuous of her sex are shamed.Thus they, beneath the vaulted roof obscureOf Pluto’s house, conferring mutual stood.Meantime, descending from the city-gates,Ulysses, by his son and by his swainsFollow’d, arrived at the delightful farmWhich old Laertes had with strenuous toil250Himself long since acquired. There stood his houseEncompass’d by a bow’r in which the hindsWho served and pleased him, ate, and sat, and slept.An ancient woman, a Sicilian, dweltThere also, who in that sequester’d spotAttended diligent her aged Lord.Then thus Ulysses to his followers spake.Haste now, and, ent’ring, slay ye of the swineThe best for our regale; myself, the while,Will prove my father, if his eye hath still260Discernment of me, or if absence longHave worn the knowledge of me from his mind.He said, and gave into his servants’ careHis arms; they swift proceeded to the house,And to the fruitful grove himself as swiftTo prove his father. Down he went at onceInto the spacious garden-plot, but foundNor Dolius there, nor any of his sonsOr servants; they were occupied elsewhere,And, with the ancient hind himself, employ’d270Collecting thorns with which to fence the grove.In that umbrageous spot he found aloneLaertes, with his hoe clearing a plant;Sordid his tunic was, with many a patchMended unseemly; leathern were his greaves,Thong-tied and also patch’d, a frail defenceAgainst sharp thorns, while gloves secured his handsFrom briar-points, and on his head he boreA goat-skin casque, nourishing hopeless woe.No sooner then the Hero toil-inured280Saw him age-worn and wretched, than he pausedBeneath a lofty pear-tree’s shade to weep.There standing much he mused, whether, at once,Kissing and clasping in his arms his sire,To tell him all, by what means he had reach’dHis native country, or to prove him first.At length, he chose as his best course, with wordsOf seeming strangeness to accost his ear,And, with that purpose, moved direct toward him.He, stooping low, loosen’d the earth around290A garden-plant, when his illustrious sonNow, standing close beside him, thus began.Old sir! thou art no novice in these toilsOf culture, but thy garden thrives; I markIn all thy ground no plant, fig, olive, vine,Pear-tree or flow’r-bed suff’ring through neglect.But let it not offend thee if I sayThat thou neglect’st thyself, at the same timeOppress’d with age, sun-parch’d and ill-attired.Not for thy inactivity, methinks,300Thy master slights thee thus, nor speaks thy formOr thy surpassing stature servile aughtIn thee, but thou resemblest more a King.Yes—thou resemblest one who, bathed and fed,Should softly sleep; such is the claim of age.But tell me true—for whom labourest thou,And whose this garden? answer me beside,For I would learn; have I indeed arrivedIn Ithaca, as one whom here I metEv’n now assured me, but who seem’d a man310Not overwise, refusing both to hearMy questions, and to answer when I ask’dConcerning one in other days my guestAnd friend, if he have still his being here,Or have deceas’d and journey’d to the shades.For I will tell thee; therefore mark. Long sinceA stranger reach’d my house in my own land,Whom I with hospitality receiv’d,Nor ever sojourn’d foreigner with meWhom I lov’d more. He was by birth, he said,320Ithacan, and Laertes claim’d his sire,Son of Arcesias. Introducing himBeneath my roof, I entertain’d him well,And proved by gifts his welcome at my board.I gave him seven talents of wrought gold,A goblet, argent all, with flow’rs emboss’d,Twelve single cloaks, twelve carpets, mantles twelveOf brightest lustre, with as many vests,And added four fair damsels, whom he choseHimself, well born and well accomplish’d all.330Then thus his ancient sire weeping replied.Stranger! thou hast in truth attain’d the isleOf thy enquiry, but it is possess’dBy a rude race, and lawless. Vain, alas!Were all thy num’rous gifts; yet hadst thou foundHim living here in Ithaca, with giftsReciprocated he had sent thee hence,Requiting honourably in his turnThy hospitality. But give me quickAnswer and true. How many have been the years340Since thy reception of that hapless guestMy son? for mine, my own dear son was he.But him, far distant both from friends and home,Either the fishes of the unknown DeepHave eaten, or wild beasts and fowls of prey,Nor I, or she who bare him, was ordain’dTo bathe his shrouded body with our tears,Nor his chaste wife, well-dow’r’d PenelopeTo close her husband’s eyes, and to deploreHis doom, which is the privilege of the dead.350But tell me also thou, for I would learn,Who art thou? whence? where born? and sprung from whom?The bark in which thou and thy godlike friendsArrived, where is she anchor’d on our coast?Or cam’st thou only passenger on boardAnother’s bark, who landed thee and went?To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.I will with all simplicity relateWhat thou hast ask’d. Of Alybas am I,Where in much state I dwell, son of the rich360Apheidas royal Polypemon’s son,And I am named Eperitus; by stormsDriven from Sicily I have arrived,And yonder, on the margin of the fieldThat skirts your city, I have moor’d my bark.Five years have pass’d since thy Ulysses left,Unhappy Chief! my country; yet the birdsAt his departure hovered on the right,And in that sign rejoicing, I dismiss’dHim thence rejoicing also, for we hoped370To mix in social intercourse again,And to exchange once more pledges of love.He spake; then sorrow as a sable cloudInvolved Laertes; gath’ring with both handsThe dust, he pour’d it on his rev’rend headWith many a piteous groan. Ulysses’ heartCommotion felt, and his stretch’d nostrils throbb’dWith agony close-pent, while fixt he eyedHis father; with a sudden force he sprangToward him, clasp’d, and kiss’d him, and exclaim’d.380My father! I am he. Thou seest thy sonAbsent these twenty years at last return’d.But bid thy sorrow cease; suspend henceforthAll lamentation; for I tell thee true,(And the occasion bids me briefly tell thee)I have slain all the suitors at my home,And all their taunts and injuries avenged.Then answer thus Laertes quick return’d.If thou hast come again, and art indeedMy son Ulysses, give me then the proof390Indubitable, that I may believe.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.View, first, the scar which with his iv’ry tuskA wild boar gave me, when at thy commandAnd at my mother’s, to AutolycusHer father, on Parnassus, I repair’dSeeking the gifts which, while a guest of yours,He promis’d should be mine. Accept besideThis proof. I will enum’rate all the treesWhich, walking with thee in this cultured spot400(Boy then) I begg’d, and thou confirm’dst my own.We paced between them, and thou mad’st me learnThe name of each. Thou gav’st me thirteen pears,113Ten apples,113thirty figs,113and fifty ranksDidst promise me of vines, their alleys allCorn-cropp’d between. There, oft as sent from JoveThe influences of the year descend,Grapes of all hues and flavours clust’ring hang.He said; Laertes, conscious of the proofsIndubitable by Ulysses giv’n,410With fault’ring knees and fault’ring heart both armsAround him threw. The Hero toil-inuredDrew to his bosom close his fainting sire,Who, breath recov’ring, and his scatter’d pow’rsOf intellect, at length thus spake aloud.Ye Gods! oh then your residence is stillOn the Olympian heights, if punishmentAt last hath seized on those flagitious men.But terrour shakes me, lest, incensed, ere longAll Ithaca flock hither, and dispatch420Swift messengers with these dread tidings chargedTo ev’ry Cephallenian state around.Him answer’d then Ulysses ever-wise.Courage! fear nought, but let us to the houseBeside the garden, whither I have sentTelemachus, the herdsman, and the goodEumæus to prepare us quick repast.So they conferr’d, and to Laertes’ housePass’d on together; there arrived, they foundThose three preparing now their plenteous feast,430And mingling sable wine; then, by the handsOf his Sicilian matron, the old KingWas bathed, anointed, and attired afresh,And Pallas, drawing nigh, dilated moreHis limbs, and gave his whole majestic formEncrease of amplitude. He left the bath.His son, amazed as he had seen a GodAlighted newly from the skies, exclaim’d.My father! doubtless some immortal Pow’rHath clothed thy form with dignity divine.440Then thus replied his venerable sire.Jove! Pallas! Phœbus! oh that I possess’dSuch vigour now, as when in arms I tookNericus, continental city fair,With my brave Cephallenians! oh that suchAnd arm’d as then, I yesterday had stoodBeside thee in thy palace, combatingThose suitors proud, then had I strew’d the floorWith num’rous slain, to thy exceeding joy.Such was their conference; and now, the task450Of preparation ended, and the feastSet forth, on couches and on thrones they sat,And, ranged in order due, took each his share.Then, ancient Dolius, and with him, his sonsArrived toil-worn, by the Sicilian dameSummon’d, their cat’ress, and their father’s kindAttendant ever in his eve of life.They, seeing and recalling soon to mindUlysses, in the middle mansion stoodWond’ring, when thus Ulysses with a voice460Of some reproof, but gentle, them bespake.Old servant, sit and eat, banishing fearAnd mute amazement; for, although provokedBy appetite, we have long time abstain’d,Expecting ev’ry moment thy return.He said; then Dolius with expanded armsSprang right toward Ulysses, seized his hand,Kiss’d it, and in wing’d accents thus replied.Oh master ever dear! since thee the GodsThemselves in answer to our warm desires,470Have, unexpectedly, at length restored,Hail, and be happy, and heav’n make thee such!But say, and truly; knows the prudent QueenAlready thy return, or shall we sendOurselves an herald with the joyful news?To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.My ancient friend, thou may’st release thy mindFrom that solicitude; she knows it well.So he; then Dolius to his glossy seatReturn’d, and all his sons gath’ring around480Ulysses, welcom’d him and grasp’d his hand,Then sat beside their father; thus beneathLaertes’ roof they, joyful, took repast.But Fame with rapid haste the city roam’dIn ev’ry part, promulging in all earsThe suitors’ horrid fate. No sooner heardThe multitude that tale, than one and allGroaning they met and murmuring beforeUlysses’ gates. Bringing the bodies forth,They buried each his friend, but gave the dead490Of other cities to be ferried homeBy fishermen on board their rapid barks.All hasted then to council; sorrow wrungTheir hearts, and, the assembly now convened,Arising first Eupithes spake, for griefSat heavy on his soul, grief for the lossOf his Antinoüs by Ulysses slainForemost of all, whom mourning, thus he said.My friends! no trivial fruits the Greecians reapOf this man’s doings.Thosehe took with him500On board his barks, a num’rous train and bold,Then lost his barks, lost all his num’rous train,Andthese, our noblest, slew at his return.Come therefore—ere he yet escape by flightTo Pylus or to noble Elis, realmOf the Epeans, follow him; else shameAttends us and indelible reproach.If we avenge not on these men the bloodOf our own sons and brothers, farewell thenAll that makes life desirable; my wish510Henceforth shall be to mingle with the shades.Oh then pursue and seize them ere they fly.Thus he with tears, and pity moved in all.Then, Medon and the sacred bard whom sleepHad lately left, arriving from the houseOf Laertiades, approach’d; amidThe throng they stood; all wonder’d seeing them,And Medon, prudent senior, thus began.Hear me, my countrymen! Ulysses plann’dWith no disapprobation of the Gods520The deed that ye deplore. I saw, myself,A Pow’r immortal at the Hero’s side,In semblance just of Mentor; now the God,In front apparent, led him on, and now,From side to side of all the palace, urgedTo flight the suitors; heaps on heaps they fell.He said; then terrour wan seiz’d ev’ry cheek,And Halitherses, Hero old, the sonOf Mastor, who alone among them allKnew past, and future, prudent, thus began.530Now, O ye men of Ithaca! my wordsAttentive hear! by your own fault, my friends,This deed hath been perform’d; for when myselfAnd noble Mentor counsell’d you to checkThe sin and folly of your sons, ye would not.Great was their wickedness, and flagrant wrongThey wrought, the wealth devouring and the wifeDishonouring of an illustrious ChiefWhom they deem’d destined never to return.But hear my counsel. Go not, lest ye draw540Disaster down and woe on your own heads.He ended; then with boist’rous roar (althoughPart kept their seats) upsprang the multitude,For Halitherses pleased them not, they choseEupithes’ counsel rather; all at onceTo arms they flew, and clad in dazzling brassBefore the city form’d their dense array.Leader infatuate at their head appear’dEupithes, hoping to avenge his sonAntinoüs, but was himself ordain’d550To meet his doom, and to return no more.Then thus Minerva to Saturnian Jove.Oh father! son of Saturn! Jove supreme!Declare the purpose hidden in thy breast.Wilt thou that this hostility proceed,Or wilt thou grant them amity again?To whom the cloud-assembler God replied.Why asks my daughter? didst thou not designThyself, that brave Ulysses coming homeShould slay those profligates? act as thou wilt,560But thus I counsel, since the noble ChiefHath slain the suitors, now let peace ensueOath-bound, and reign Ulysses evermore!The slaughter of their brethren and their sonsTo strike from their remembrance, shall be ours.Let mutual amity, as at the first,Unite them, and let wealth and peace abound.So saying, he animated to her taskMinerva prompt before, and from the heightsOlympian down to Ithaca she flew.570Meantime Ulysses (for their hunger nowAnd thirst were sated) thus address’d his hinds.Look ye abroad, lest haply they approach.He said, and at his word, forth went a sonOf Dolius; at the gate he stood, and thenceBeholding all that multitude at hand,In accents wing’d thus to Ulysses spake.They come—they are already arrived—arm all!Then, all arising, put their armour on,Ulysses with his three, and the six sons580Of Dolius; Dolius also with the rest,Arm’d and Laertes, although silver-hair’d,Warriors perforce. When all were clad alikeIn radiant armour, throwing wide the gatesThey sallied, and Ulysses led the way.Then Jove’s own daughter Pallas, in the formAnd with the voice of Mentor, came in view,Whom seeing Laertiades rejoiced,And thus Telemachus, his son, bespake.Now, oh my son! thou shalt observe, untold590By me, where fight the bravest. Oh shame notThine ancestry, who have in all the earthProof given of valour in all ages past.To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.My father! if thou wish that spectacle,Thou shalt behold thy son, as thou hast said,In nought dishonouring his noble race.Then was Laertes joyful, and exclaim’d,What sun hath ris’n to-day?114oh blessed Gods!My son and grandson emulous dispute600The prize of glory, and my soul exults.He ended, and Minerva drawing nighTo the old King, thus counsell’d him. Oh friendWhom most I love, son of Arcesias! pray’rPreferring to the virgin azure-eyed,And to her father Jove, delay not, shakeThy lance in air, and give it instant flight.So saying, the Goddess nerved his arm anew.He sought in pray’r the daughter dread of Jove,And, brandishing it, hurl’d his lance; it struck610Eupithes, pierced his helmet brazen-cheek’dThat stay’d it not, but forth it sprang beyond,And with loud clangor of his arms he fell.Then flew Ulysses and his noble sonWith faulchion and with spear of double edgeTo the assault, and of them all had leftNone living, none had to his home return’d,But that Jove’s virgin daughter with a voiceOf loud authority thus quell’d them all.Peace, O ye men of Ithaca! while yet620The field remains undeluged with your blood.So she, and fear at once paled ev’ry cheek.All trembled at the voice divine; their armsEscaping from the grasp fell to the earth,And, covetous of longer life, each fledBack to the city. Then Ulysses sentHis voice abroad, and with an eagle’s forceSprang on the people; but Saturnian Jove,Cast down, incontinent, his smouldring boltAt Pallas’ feet, and thus the Goddess spake.630Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!Forbear; abstain from slaughter; lest thyselfIncur the anger of high thund’ring Jove.So Pallas, whom Ulysses, glad, obey’d.Then faithful covenants of peace betweenBoth sides ensued, ratified in the sightOf Pallas progeny of Jove, who seem’d,In voice and form, the Mentor known to all.111Τρίζουσαι—τετριγῦιαι—the ghostsDid squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.Shakspeare.112—Behemoth, biggest born of earth,Upheav’d his vastness.Milton.113The fruit is here used for the tree that bore it, as it is in the Greek; the Latins used the same mode of expression, neither is it uncommon in our own language.114Τίς νύ μοι ἡμέρη ἥδε;—So Cicero, who seems to translate it—Proh dii immortales! Quis hic illuxit dies! See Clarke in loco.END OF THE ODYSSEY

Mercury conducts the souls of the suitors down to Ades. Ulysses discovers himself to Laertes, and quells, by the aid of Minerva, an insurrection of the people resenting the death of the suitors.

And now Cyllenian Hermes summon’d forthThe spirits of the suitors; waving wideThe golden wand of pow’r to seal all eyesIn slumber, and to ope them wide again,He drove them gibb’ring down into the shades,111As when the bats within some hallow’d caveFlit squeaking all around, for if but oneFall from the rock, the rest all follow him,In such connexion mutual they adhere,So, after bounteous Mercury, the ghosts,10Troop’d downward gibb’ring all the dreary way.111The Ocean’s flood and the Leucadian rock,The Sun’s gate also and the land of DreamsThey pass’d, whence, next, into the meads they cameOf Asphodel, by shadowy forms possess’d,Simulars of the dead. They found the soulsOf brave Pelides there, and of his friendPatroclus, of Antilochus renown’d,And of the mightier Ajax, for his formAnd bulk (Achilles sole except) of all20The sons of the Achaians most admired.These waited on Achilles. Then, appear’dThe mournful ghost of Agamemnon, sonOf Atreus, compass’d by the ghosts of allWho shared his fate beneath Ægisthus’ roof,And him the ghost of Peleus’ son bespake.Atrides! of all Heroes we esteem’dThee dearest to the Gods, for that thy swayExtended over such a glorious hostAt Ilium, scene of sorrow to the Greeks.30But Fate, whose ruthless force none may escapeOf all who breathe, pursued thee from the first.Thou should’st have perish’d full of honour, fullOf royalty, at Troy; so all the GreeksHad rais’d thy tomb, and thou hadst then bequeath’dGreat glory to thy son; but Fate ordain’dA death, oh how deplorable! for thee.To whom Atrides’ spirit thus replied.Blest son of Peleus, semblance of the Gods,At Ilium, far from Argos, fall’n! for whom40Contending, many a Trojan, many a ChiefOf Greece died also, while in eddies whelm’dOf dust thy vastness spread the plain,112nor theeThe chariot aught or steed could int’rest more!All day we waged the battle, nor at lastDesisted, but for tempests sent from Jove.At length we bore into the Greecian fleetThy body from the field; there, first, we cleansedWith tepid baths and oil’d thy shapely corse,Then placed thee on thy bier, while many a Greek50Around thee wept, and shore his locks for thee.Thy mother, also, hearing of thy deathWith her immortal nymphs from the abyssArose and came; terrible was the soundOn the salt flood; a panic seized the Greeks,And ev’ry warrior had return’d on boardThat moment, had not Nestor, ancient Chief,Illumed by long experience, interposed,His counsels, ever wisest, wisest provedThen also, and he thus address’d the host.60Sons of Achaia; fly not; stay, ye Greeks!Thetis arrives with her immortal nymphsFrom the abyss, to visit her dead son.So he; and, by his admonition stay’d,The Greeks fled not. Then, all around thee stoodThe daughters of the Ancient of the Deep,Mourning disconsolate; with heav’nly robesThey clothed thy corse, and all the Muses nineDeplored thee in full choir with sweetest tonesResponsive, nor one Greecian hadst thou seen70Dry-eyed, such grief the Muses moved in all.Full sev’nteen days we, day and night, deploredThy death, both Gods in heav’n and men below,But, on the eighteenth day, we gave thy corseIts burning, and fat sheep around thee slewNum’rous, with many a pastur’d ox moon-horn’d.We burn’d thee clothed in vesture of the Gods,With honey and with oil feeding the flamesAbundant, while Achaia’s Heroes arm’d,Both horse and foot, encompassing thy pile,80Clash’d on their shields, and deaf’ning was the din.But when the fires of Vulcan had at lengthConsumed thee, at the dawn we stored thy bonesIn unguent and in undiluted wine;For Thetis gave to us a golden vaseTwin-ear’d, which she profess’d to have receivedFrom Bacchus, work divine of Vulcan’s hand.Within that vase, Achilles, treasured lieThine and the bones of thy departed friendPatroclus, but a sep’rate urn we gave90To those of brave Antilochus, who mostOf all thy friends at Ilium shared thy loveAnd thy respect, thy friend Patroclus slain.Around both urns we piled a noble tomb,(We warriors of the sacred Argive host)On a tall promontory shooting farInto the spacious Hellespont, that allWho live, and who shall yet be born, may viewThy record, even from the distant waves.Then, by permission from the Gods obtain’d,100To the Achaian Chiefs in circus metThetis appointed games. I have beheldThe burial rites of many an Hero bold,When, on the death of some great Chief, the youthsGirding their loins anticipate the prize,But sight of those with wonder fill’d me most,So glorious past all others were the gamesBy silver-footed Thetis giv’n for thee,For thou wast ever favour’d of the Gods.Thus, hast thou not, Achilles! although dead,110Foregone thy glory, but thy fair reportIs universal among all mankind;But, as for me, what recompense had I,My warfare closed? for whom, at my return,Jove framed such dire destruction by the handsOf fell Ægisthus and my murth’ress wife.Thus, mutual, they conferr’d; meantime approach’d,Swift messenger of heav’n, the Argicide,Conducting thither all the shades of thoseSlain by Ulysses. At that sight amazed120Both moved toward them. Agamemnon’s shadeKnew well Amphimedon, for he had beenErewhile his father’s guest in Ithaca,And thus the spirit of Atreus’ son began.Amphimedon! by what disastrous chance,Coœvals as ye seem, and of an airDistinguish’d all, descend ye to the Deeps?For not the chosen youths of a whole townShould form a nobler band. Perish’d ye sunkAmid vast billows and rude tempests raised130By Neptune’s pow’r? or on dry land through forceOf hostile multitudes, while cutting offBeeves from the herd, or driving flocks away?Or fighting for your city and your wives?Resolve me? I was once a guest of yours.Remember’st not what time at your abodeWith godlike Menelaus I arrived,That we might win Ulysses with his fleetTo follow us to Troy? scarce we prevail’dAt last to gain the city-waster Chief,140And, after all, consumed a whole month moreThe wide sea traversing from side to side.To whom the spirit of Amphimedon.Illustrious Agamemnon, King of men!All this I bear in mind, and will rehearseThe manner of our most disastrous end.Believing brave Ulysses lost, we woo’dMeantime his wife; she our detested suitWould neither ratify nor yet refuse,But, planning for us a tremendous death,150This novel stratagem, at last, devised.Beginning, in her own recess, a webOf slend’rest thread, and of a length and breadthUnusual, thus the suitors she address’d.Princes, my suitors! since the noble ChiefUlysses is no more, enforce not yetMy nuptials; wait till I shall finish firstA fun’ral robe (lest all my threads decay)Which for the ancient Hero I prepare,Laertes, looking for the mournful hour160When 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.So spake the Queen; we, unsuspicious all,With her request complied. Thenceforth, all dayShe wove the ample web, and by the aidOf torches ravell’d it again at night.Three years she thus by artifice our suitEluded safe, but when the fourth arrived,And the same season, after many moons170And fleeting days, return’d, a damsel thenOf her attendants, conscious of the fraud,Reveal’d it, and we found her pulling looseThe splendid web. Thus, through constraint, at length,She finish’d it, and in her own despight.But when the Queen produced, at length, her workFinish’d, new-blanch’d, bright as the sun or moon,Then came Ulysses, by some adverse GodConducted, to a cottage on the vergeOf his own fields, in which his swine-herd dwells;180There also the illustrious Hero’s sonArrived soon after, in his sable barkFrom sandy Pylus borne; they, plotting bothA dreadful death for all the suitors, soughtOur glorious city, but Ulysses last,And first Telemachus. The father cameConducted by his swine-herd, and attiredIn tatters foul; a mendicant he seem’d,Time-worn, and halted on a staff. So clad,And ent’ring on the sudden, he escaped190All knowledge even of our eldest there,And we reviled and smote him; he althoughBeneath his own roof smitten and reproach’d,With patience suffer’d it awhile, but rousedBy inspiration of Jove Ægis-arm’dAt length, in concert with his son convey’dTo his own chamber his resplendent arms,There lodg’d them safe, and barr’d the massy doorsThen, in his subtlety he bade the QueenA contest institute with bow and rings200Between the hapless suitors, whence ensuedSlaughter to all. No suitor there had pow’rTo overcome the stubborn bow that mock’dAll our attempts; and when the weapon hugeAt length was offer’d to Ulysses’ hands,With clamour’d menaces we bade the swainWithhold it from him, plead he as he might;Telemachus alone with loud command,Bade give it him, and the illustrious ChiefReceiving in his hand the bow, with ease210Bent it, and sped a shaft through all the rings.Then, springing to the portal steps, he pour’dThe arrows forth, peer’d terrible around,Pierced King Antinoüs, and, aiming sureHis deadly darts, pierced others after him,Till in one common carnage heap’d we lay.Some God, as plain appear’d, vouchsafed them aid,Such ardour urged them, and with such dispatchThey slew us on all sides; hideous were heardThe groans of dying men fell’d to the earth220With head-strokes rude, and the floor swam with blood.Such, royal Agamemnon! was the fateBy which we perish’d, all whose bodies lieUnburied still, and in Ulysses’ house,For tidings none have yet our friends alarm’dAnd kindred, who might cleanse from sable goreOur clotted wounds, and mourn us on the bier,Which are the rightful privilege of the dead.Him answer’d, then, the shade of Atreus’ son.Oh happy offspring of Laertes! shrewd230Ulysses! matchless valour thou hast shewnRecov’ring thus thy wife; nor less appearsThe virtue of Icarius’ daughter wise,The chaste Penelope, so faithful foundTo her Ulysses, husband of her youth.His glory, by superior merit earn’d,Shall never die, and the immortal GodsShall make Penelope a theme of songDelightful in the ears of all mankind.Not such was Clytemnestra, daughter vile240Of Tyndarus; she shed her husband’s blood,And shall be chronicled in song a wifeOf hateful memory, by whose offenceEven the virtuous of her sex are shamed.Thus they, beneath the vaulted roof obscureOf Pluto’s house, conferring mutual stood.Meantime, descending from the city-gates,Ulysses, by his son and by his swainsFollow’d, arrived at the delightful farmWhich old Laertes had with strenuous toil250Himself long since acquired. There stood his houseEncompass’d by a bow’r in which the hindsWho served and pleased him, ate, and sat, and slept.An ancient woman, a Sicilian, dweltThere also, who in that sequester’d spotAttended diligent her aged Lord.Then thus Ulysses to his followers spake.Haste now, and, ent’ring, slay ye of the swineThe best for our regale; myself, the while,Will prove my father, if his eye hath still260Discernment of me, or if absence longHave worn the knowledge of me from his mind.He said, and gave into his servants’ careHis arms; they swift proceeded to the house,And to the fruitful grove himself as swiftTo prove his father. Down he went at onceInto the spacious garden-plot, but foundNor Dolius there, nor any of his sonsOr servants; they were occupied elsewhere,And, with the ancient hind himself, employ’d270Collecting thorns with which to fence the grove.In that umbrageous spot he found aloneLaertes, with his hoe clearing a plant;Sordid his tunic was, with many a patchMended unseemly; leathern were his greaves,Thong-tied and also patch’d, a frail defenceAgainst sharp thorns, while gloves secured his handsFrom briar-points, and on his head he boreA goat-skin casque, nourishing hopeless woe.No sooner then the Hero toil-inured280Saw him age-worn and wretched, than he pausedBeneath a lofty pear-tree’s shade to weep.There standing much he mused, whether, at once,Kissing and clasping in his arms his sire,To tell him all, by what means he had reach’dHis native country, or to prove him first.At length, he chose as his best course, with wordsOf seeming strangeness to accost his ear,And, with that purpose, moved direct toward him.He, stooping low, loosen’d the earth around290A garden-plant, when his illustrious sonNow, standing close beside him, thus began.Old sir! thou art no novice in these toilsOf culture, but thy garden thrives; I markIn all thy ground no plant, fig, olive, vine,Pear-tree or flow’r-bed suff’ring through neglect.But let it not offend thee if I sayThat thou neglect’st thyself, at the same timeOppress’d with age, sun-parch’d and ill-attired.Not for thy inactivity, methinks,300Thy master slights thee thus, nor speaks thy formOr thy surpassing stature servile aughtIn thee, but thou resemblest more a King.Yes—thou resemblest one who, bathed and fed,Should softly sleep; such is the claim of age.But tell me true—for whom labourest thou,And whose this garden? answer me beside,For I would learn; have I indeed arrivedIn Ithaca, as one whom here I metEv’n now assured me, but who seem’d a man310Not overwise, refusing both to hearMy questions, and to answer when I ask’dConcerning one in other days my guestAnd friend, if he have still his being here,Or have deceas’d and journey’d to the shades.For I will tell thee; therefore mark. Long sinceA stranger reach’d my house in my own land,Whom I with hospitality receiv’d,Nor ever sojourn’d foreigner with meWhom I lov’d more. He was by birth, he said,320Ithacan, and Laertes claim’d his sire,Son of Arcesias. Introducing himBeneath my roof, I entertain’d him well,And proved by gifts his welcome at my board.I gave him seven talents of wrought gold,A goblet, argent all, with flow’rs emboss’d,Twelve single cloaks, twelve carpets, mantles twelveOf brightest lustre, with as many vests,And added four fair damsels, whom he choseHimself, well born and well accomplish’d all.330Then thus his ancient sire weeping replied.Stranger! thou hast in truth attain’d the isleOf thy enquiry, but it is possess’dBy a rude race, and lawless. Vain, alas!Were all thy num’rous gifts; yet hadst thou foundHim living here in Ithaca, with giftsReciprocated he had sent thee hence,Requiting honourably in his turnThy hospitality. But give me quickAnswer and true. How many have been the years340Since thy reception of that hapless guestMy son? for mine, my own dear son was he.But him, far distant both from friends and home,Either the fishes of the unknown DeepHave eaten, or wild beasts and fowls of prey,Nor I, or she who bare him, was ordain’dTo bathe his shrouded body with our tears,Nor his chaste wife, well-dow’r’d PenelopeTo close her husband’s eyes, and to deploreHis doom, which is the privilege of the dead.350But tell me also thou, for I would learn,Who art thou? whence? where born? and sprung from whom?The bark in which thou and thy godlike friendsArrived, where is she anchor’d on our coast?Or cam’st thou only passenger on boardAnother’s bark, who landed thee and went?To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.I will with all simplicity relateWhat thou hast ask’d. Of Alybas am I,Where in much state I dwell, son of the rich360Apheidas royal Polypemon’s son,And I am named Eperitus; by stormsDriven from Sicily I have arrived,And yonder, on the margin of the fieldThat skirts your city, I have moor’d my bark.Five years have pass’d since thy Ulysses left,Unhappy Chief! my country; yet the birdsAt his departure hovered on the right,And in that sign rejoicing, I dismiss’dHim thence rejoicing also, for we hoped370To mix in social intercourse again,And to exchange once more pledges of love.He spake; then sorrow as a sable cloudInvolved Laertes; gath’ring with both handsThe dust, he pour’d it on his rev’rend headWith many a piteous groan. Ulysses’ heartCommotion felt, and his stretch’d nostrils throbb’dWith agony close-pent, while fixt he eyedHis father; with a sudden force he sprangToward him, clasp’d, and kiss’d him, and exclaim’d.380My father! I am he. Thou seest thy sonAbsent these twenty years at last return’d.But bid thy sorrow cease; suspend henceforthAll lamentation; for I tell thee true,(And the occasion bids me briefly tell thee)I have slain all the suitors at my home,And all their taunts and injuries avenged.Then answer thus Laertes quick return’d.If thou hast come again, and art indeedMy son Ulysses, give me then the proof390Indubitable, that I may believe.To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.View, first, the scar which with his iv’ry tuskA wild boar gave me, when at thy commandAnd at my mother’s, to AutolycusHer father, on Parnassus, I repair’dSeeking the gifts which, while a guest of yours,He promis’d should be mine. Accept besideThis proof. I will enum’rate all the treesWhich, walking with thee in this cultured spot400(Boy then) I begg’d, and thou confirm’dst my own.We paced between them, and thou mad’st me learnThe name of each. Thou gav’st me thirteen pears,113Ten apples,113thirty figs,113and fifty ranksDidst promise me of vines, their alleys allCorn-cropp’d between. There, oft as sent from JoveThe influences of the year descend,Grapes of all hues and flavours clust’ring hang.He said; Laertes, conscious of the proofsIndubitable by Ulysses giv’n,410With fault’ring knees and fault’ring heart both armsAround him threw. The Hero toil-inuredDrew to his bosom close his fainting sire,Who, breath recov’ring, and his scatter’d pow’rsOf intellect, at length thus spake aloud.Ye Gods! oh then your residence is stillOn the Olympian heights, if punishmentAt last hath seized on those flagitious men.But terrour shakes me, lest, incensed, ere longAll Ithaca flock hither, and dispatch420Swift messengers with these dread tidings chargedTo ev’ry Cephallenian state around.Him answer’d then Ulysses ever-wise.Courage! fear nought, but let us to the houseBeside the garden, whither I have sentTelemachus, the herdsman, and the goodEumæus to prepare us quick repast.So they conferr’d, and to Laertes’ housePass’d on together; there arrived, they foundThose three preparing now their plenteous feast,430And mingling sable wine; then, by the handsOf his Sicilian matron, the old KingWas bathed, anointed, and attired afresh,And Pallas, drawing nigh, dilated moreHis limbs, and gave his whole majestic formEncrease of amplitude. He left the bath.His son, amazed as he had seen a GodAlighted newly from the skies, exclaim’d.My father! doubtless some immortal Pow’rHath clothed thy form with dignity divine.440Then thus replied his venerable sire.Jove! Pallas! Phœbus! oh that I possess’dSuch vigour now, as when in arms I tookNericus, continental city fair,With my brave Cephallenians! oh that suchAnd arm’d as then, I yesterday had stoodBeside thee in thy palace, combatingThose suitors proud, then had I strew’d the floorWith num’rous slain, to thy exceeding joy.Such was their conference; and now, the task450Of preparation ended, and the feastSet forth, on couches and on thrones they sat,And, ranged in order due, took each his share.Then, ancient Dolius, and with him, his sonsArrived toil-worn, by the Sicilian dameSummon’d, their cat’ress, and their father’s kindAttendant ever in his eve of life.They, seeing and recalling soon to mindUlysses, in the middle mansion stoodWond’ring, when thus Ulysses with a voice460Of some reproof, but gentle, them bespake.Old servant, sit and eat, banishing fearAnd mute amazement; for, although provokedBy appetite, we have long time abstain’d,Expecting ev’ry moment thy return.He said; then Dolius with expanded armsSprang right toward Ulysses, seized his hand,Kiss’d it, and in wing’d accents thus replied.Oh master ever dear! since thee the GodsThemselves in answer to our warm desires,470Have, unexpectedly, at length restored,Hail, and be happy, and heav’n make thee such!But say, and truly; knows the prudent QueenAlready thy return, or shall we sendOurselves an herald with the joyful news?To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.My ancient friend, thou may’st release thy mindFrom that solicitude; she knows it well.So he; then Dolius to his glossy seatReturn’d, and all his sons gath’ring around480Ulysses, welcom’d him and grasp’d his hand,Then sat beside their father; thus beneathLaertes’ roof they, joyful, took repast.But Fame with rapid haste the city roam’dIn ev’ry part, promulging in all earsThe suitors’ horrid fate. No sooner heardThe multitude that tale, than one and allGroaning they met and murmuring beforeUlysses’ gates. Bringing the bodies forth,They buried each his friend, but gave the dead490Of other cities to be ferried homeBy fishermen on board their rapid barks.All hasted then to council; sorrow wrungTheir hearts, and, the assembly now convened,Arising first Eupithes spake, for griefSat heavy on his soul, grief for the lossOf his Antinoüs by Ulysses slainForemost of all, whom mourning, thus he said.My friends! no trivial fruits the Greecians reapOf this man’s doings.Thosehe took with him500On board his barks, a num’rous train and bold,Then lost his barks, lost all his num’rous train,Andthese, our noblest, slew at his return.Come therefore—ere he yet escape by flightTo Pylus or to noble Elis, realmOf the Epeans, follow him; else shameAttends us and indelible reproach.If we avenge not on these men the bloodOf our own sons and brothers, farewell thenAll that makes life desirable; my wish510Henceforth shall be to mingle with the shades.Oh then pursue and seize them ere they fly.Thus he with tears, and pity moved in all.Then, Medon and the sacred bard whom sleepHad lately left, arriving from the houseOf Laertiades, approach’d; amidThe throng they stood; all wonder’d seeing them,And Medon, prudent senior, thus began.Hear me, my countrymen! Ulysses plann’dWith no disapprobation of the Gods520The deed that ye deplore. I saw, myself,A Pow’r immortal at the Hero’s side,In semblance just of Mentor; now the God,In front apparent, led him on, and now,From side to side of all the palace, urgedTo flight the suitors; heaps on heaps they fell.He said; then terrour wan seiz’d ev’ry cheek,And Halitherses, Hero old, the sonOf Mastor, who alone among them allKnew past, and future, prudent, thus began.530Now, O ye men of Ithaca! my wordsAttentive hear! by your own fault, my friends,This deed hath been perform’d; for when myselfAnd noble Mentor counsell’d you to checkThe sin and folly of your sons, ye would not.Great was their wickedness, and flagrant wrongThey wrought, the wealth devouring and the wifeDishonouring of an illustrious ChiefWhom they deem’d destined never to return.But hear my counsel. Go not, lest ye draw540Disaster down and woe on your own heads.He ended; then with boist’rous roar (althoughPart kept their seats) upsprang the multitude,For Halitherses pleased them not, they choseEupithes’ counsel rather; all at onceTo arms they flew, and clad in dazzling brassBefore the city form’d their dense array.Leader infatuate at their head appear’dEupithes, hoping to avenge his sonAntinoüs, but was himself ordain’d550To meet his doom, and to return no more.Then thus Minerva to Saturnian Jove.Oh father! son of Saturn! Jove supreme!Declare the purpose hidden in thy breast.Wilt thou that this hostility proceed,Or wilt thou grant them amity again?To whom the cloud-assembler God replied.Why asks my daughter? didst thou not designThyself, that brave Ulysses coming homeShould slay those profligates? act as thou wilt,560But thus I counsel, since the noble ChiefHath slain the suitors, now let peace ensueOath-bound, and reign Ulysses evermore!The slaughter of their brethren and their sonsTo strike from their remembrance, shall be ours.Let mutual amity, as at the first,Unite them, and let wealth and peace abound.So saying, he animated to her taskMinerva prompt before, and from the heightsOlympian down to Ithaca she flew.570Meantime Ulysses (for their hunger nowAnd thirst were sated) thus address’d his hinds.Look ye abroad, lest haply they approach.He said, and at his word, forth went a sonOf Dolius; at the gate he stood, and thenceBeholding all that multitude at hand,In accents wing’d thus to Ulysses spake.They come—they are already arrived—arm all!Then, all arising, put their armour on,Ulysses with his three, and the six sons580Of Dolius; Dolius also with the rest,Arm’d and Laertes, although silver-hair’d,Warriors perforce. When all were clad alikeIn radiant armour, throwing wide the gatesThey sallied, and Ulysses led the way.Then Jove’s own daughter Pallas, in the formAnd with the voice of Mentor, came in view,Whom seeing Laertiades rejoiced,And thus Telemachus, his son, bespake.Now, oh my son! thou shalt observe, untold590By me, where fight the bravest. Oh shame notThine ancestry, who have in all the earthProof given of valour in all ages past.To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.My father! if thou wish that spectacle,Thou shalt behold thy son, as thou hast said,In nought dishonouring his noble race.Then was Laertes joyful, and exclaim’d,What sun hath ris’n to-day?114oh blessed Gods!My son and grandson emulous dispute600The prize of glory, and my soul exults.He ended, and Minerva drawing nighTo the old King, thus counsell’d him. Oh friendWhom most I love, son of Arcesias! pray’rPreferring to the virgin azure-eyed,And to her father Jove, delay not, shakeThy lance in air, and give it instant flight.So saying, the Goddess nerved his arm anew.He sought in pray’r the daughter dread of Jove,And, brandishing it, hurl’d his lance; it struck610Eupithes, pierced his helmet brazen-cheek’dThat stay’d it not, but forth it sprang beyond,And with loud clangor of his arms he fell.Then flew Ulysses and his noble sonWith faulchion and with spear of double edgeTo the assault, and of them all had leftNone living, none had to his home return’d,But that Jove’s virgin daughter with a voiceOf loud authority thus quell’d them all.Peace, O ye men of Ithaca! while yet620The field remains undeluged with your blood.So she, and fear at once paled ev’ry cheek.All trembled at the voice divine; their armsEscaping from the grasp fell to the earth,And, covetous of longer life, each fledBack to the city. Then Ulysses sentHis voice abroad, and with an eagle’s forceSprang on the people; but Saturnian Jove,Cast down, incontinent, his smouldring boltAt Pallas’ feet, and thus the Goddess spake.630Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!Forbear; abstain from slaughter; lest thyselfIncur the anger of high thund’ring Jove.So Pallas, whom Ulysses, glad, obey’d.Then faithful covenants of peace betweenBoth sides ensued, ratified in the sightOf Pallas progeny of Jove, who seem’d,In voice and form, the Mentor known to all.

111Τρίζουσαι—τετριγῦιαι—the ghostsDid squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.Shakspeare.112—Behemoth, biggest born of earth,Upheav’d his vastness.Milton.113The fruit is here used for the tree that bore it, as it is in the Greek; the Latins used the same mode of expression, neither is it uncommon in our own language.114Τίς νύ μοι ἡμέρη ἥδε;—So Cicero, who seems to translate it—Proh dii immortales! Quis hic illuxit dies! See Clarke in loco.

111Τρίζουσαι—τετριγῦιαι—the ghostsDid squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.Shakspeare.

111

Τρίζουσαι—τετριγῦιαι—the ghostsDid squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.Shakspeare.

112—Behemoth, biggest born of earth,Upheav’d his vastness.Milton.

112

—Behemoth, biggest born of earth,Upheav’d his vastness.Milton.

113The fruit is here used for the tree that bore it, as it is in the Greek; the Latins used the same mode of expression, neither is it uncommon in our own language.

114Τίς νύ μοι ἡμέρη ἥδε;—So Cicero, who seems to translate it—Proh dii immortales! Quis hic illuxit dies! See Clarke in loco.

END OF THE ODYSSEY

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