THE ODYSSEY OF HOMERTRANSLATED INTOENGLISH BLANK VERSE

BOOK IARGUMENTIn a council of the Gods, Minerva calls their attention to Ulysses, still a wanderer. They resolve to grant him a safe return to Ithaca. Minerva descends to encourage Telemachus, and in the form of Mentes directs him in what manner to proceed. Throughout this book the extravagance and profligacy of the suitors are occasionally suggested.Muse make the man thy theme, for shrewdness famedAnd genius versatile, who far and wideA Wand’rer, after Ilium overthrown,Discover’d various cities, and the mindAnd manners learn’d of men, in lands remote.He num’rous woes on Ocean toss’d, endured,Anxious to save himself, and to conductHis followers to their home; yet all his carePreserved them not; they perish’d self-destroy’dBy their own fault; infatuate! who devoured10The oxen of the all-o’erseeing Sun,And, punish’d for that crime, return’d no more.Daughter divine of Jove, these things record,As it may please thee, even in our ears.The rest, all those who had perdition ’scapedBy war or on the Deep, dwelt now at home;Him only, of his country and his wifeAlike desirous, in her hollow grotsCalypso, Goddess beautiful, detainedWooing him to her arms. But when, at length,20(Many a long year elapsed) the year arrivedOf his return (by the decree of heav’n)To Ithaca, not even then had he,Although surrounded by his people, reach’dThe period of his suff’rings and his toils.Yet all the Gods, with pity moved, beheldHis woes, save Neptune; He alone with wrathUnceasing and implacable pursuedGodlike Ulysses to his native shores.But Neptune, now, the Æthiopians fought,30(The Æthiopians, utmost of mankind,These Eastward situate, those toward the West)Call’d to an hecatomb of bulls and lambs.There sitting, pleas’d he banqueted; the GodsIn Jove’s abode, meantime, assembled all,’Midst whom the Sire of heav’n and earth began.For he recall’d to mind Ægisthus slainBy Agamemnon’s celebrated sonOrestes, and retracing in his thoughtThat dread event, the Immortals thus address’d.40Alas! how prone are human-kind to blameThe Pow’rs of Heav’n! From us, they say, proceedThe ills which they endure, yet more than FateHerself inflicts, by their own crimes incur.So now Ægisthus, by no force constrainedOf Destiny, Atrides’ wedded wifeTook to himself, and him at his returnSlew, not unwarn’d of his own dreadful endBy us: for we commanded Hermes downThe watchful Argicide, who bade him fear50Alike, to slay the King, or woo the Queen.For that Atrides’ son Orestes, soonAs grown mature, and eager to assumeHis sway imperial, should avenge the deed.So Hermes spake, but his advice moved notÆgisthus, on whose head the whole arrearOf vengeance heap’d, at last, hath therefore fall’n.Whom answer’d then Pallas cærulean-eyed.Oh Jove, Saturnian Sire, o’er all supreme!And well he merited the death he found;60So perish all, who shall, like him, offend.But with a bosom anguish-rent I viewUlysses, hapless Chief! who from his friendsRemote, affliction hath long time enduredIn yonder wood-land isle, the central bossOf Ocean. That retreat a Goddess holds,Daughter of sapient Atlas, who the abyssKnows to its bottom, and the pillars highHimself upbears which sep’rate earth from heav’n.His daughter, there, the sorrowing Chief detains,70And ever with smooth speech insidious seeksTo wean his heart from Ithaca; meantimeUlysses, happy might he but beholdThe smoke ascending from his native land,Death covets. Canst thou not, Olympian Jove!At last relent? Hath not Ulysses oftWith victims slain amid Achaia’s fleetThee gratified, while yet at Troy he fought?How hath he then so deep incensed thee, Jove?To whom, the cloud-assembler God replied.80What word hath pass’d thy lips, Daughter belov’d?Can I forget Ulysses? Him forgetSo noble, who in wisdom all mankindExcels, and who hath sacrific’d so oftTo us whose dwelling is the boundless heav’n?Earth-circling Neptune—He it is whose wrathPursues him ceaseless for the Cyclops’ sakePolypheme, strongest of the giant race,Whom of his eye Ulysses hath deprived.For Him, Thoösa bore, Nymph of the sea90From Phorcys sprung, by Ocean’s mighty pow’rImpregnated in caverns of the Deep.E’er since that day, the Shaker of the shores,Although he slay him not, yet devious drivesUlysses from his native isle afar.Yet come—in full assembly his returnContrive we now, both means and prosp’rous end;So Neptune shall his wrath remit, whose pow’rIn contest with the force of all the GodsExerted single, can but strive in vain.100To whom Minerva, Goddess azure-eyed.Oh Jupiter! above all Kings enthroned!If the Immortals ever-blest ordainThat wise Ulysses to his home return,Dispatch we then Hermes the Argicide,Our messenger, hence to Ogygia’s isle,Who shall inform Calypso, nymph divine,Of this our fixt resolve, that to his homeUlysses, toil-enduring Chief, repair.Myself will hence to Ithaca, meantime,110His son to animate, and with new forceInspire, that (the Achaians all convenedIn council,) he may, instant, bid departThe suitors from his home, who, day by day,His num’rous flocks and fatted herds consume.And I will send him thence to Sparta forth,And into sandy Pylus, there to hear(If hear he may) some tidings of his Sire,And to procure himself a glorious name.This said, her golden sandals to her feet120She bound, ambrosial, which o’er all the earthAnd o’er the moist flood waft her fleet as air,Then, seizing her strong spear pointed with brass,In length and bulk, and weight a matchless beam,With which the Jove-born Goddess levels ranksOf Heroes, against whom her anger burns,From the Olympian summit down she flew,And on the threshold of Ulysses’ hallIn Ithaca, and within his vestibuleApparent stood; there, grasping her bright spear,130Mentes1she seem’d, the hospitable ChiefOf Taphos’ isle—she found the haughty throngThe suitors; they before the palace gateWith iv’ry cubes sported, on num’rous hidesReclined of oxen which themselves had slain.The heralds and the busy menials thereMinister’d to them; these their mantling cupsWith water slaked; with bibulous sponges thoseMade clean the tables, set the banquet on,And portioned out to each his plenteous share.140Long ere the rest Telemachus himselfMark’d her, for sad amid them all he sat,Pourtraying in deep thought contemplativeHis noble Sire, and questioning if yetPerchance the Hero might return to chaseFrom all his palace that imperious herd,To his own honour lord of his own home.Amid them musing thus, sudden he sawThe Goddess, and sprang forth, for he abhorr’dTo see a guest’s admittance long delay’d;150Approaching eager, her right hand he seized,The brazen spear took from her, and in wordsWith welcome wing’d Minerva thus address’d.Stranger, all hail! to share our cordial loveThou com’st; the banquet finish’d, thou shalt nextInform me wherefore thou hast here arrived.So saying, toward the spacious hall he moved,Follow’d by Pallas, and, arriving soonBeneath the lofty roof, placed her bright spearWithin a pillar’s cavity, long time160The armoury where many a spear had stood,Bright weapons of his own illustrious Sire.Then, leading her toward a footstool’d throneMagnificent, which first he overspreadWith linen, there he seated her, apartFrom that rude throng, and for himself disposedA throne of various colours at her side,Lest, stunn’d with clamour of the lawless band,The new-arrived should loth perchance to eat,And that more free he might the stranger’s ear170With questions of his absent Sire address,And now a maiden charg’d with golden ew’r,And with an argent laver, pouring firstPure water on their hands, supplied them, next,With a resplendent table, which the chasteDirectress of the stores furnish’d with breadAnd dainties, remnants of the last regale.Then, in his turn, the sewer2with sav’ry meats,Dish after dish, served them, of various kinds,And golden cups beside the chargers placed,180Which the attendant herald fill’d with wine.Ere long, in rush’d the suitors, and the thronesAnd couches occupied, on all whose handsThe heralds pour’d pure water; then the maidsAttended them with bread in baskets heap’d,And eager they assail’d the ready feast.At length, when neither thirst nor hunger moreThey felt unsatisfied, to new delightsTheir thoughts they turn’d, to song and sprightly dance,Enlivening sequel of the banquet’s joys.190An herald, then, to Phemius’ hand consign’dHis beauteous lyre; he through constraint regaledThe suitors with his song, and while the chordsHe struck in prelude to his pleasant strains,Telemachus his head inclining nighTo Pallas’ ear, lest others should his wordsWitness, the blue-eyed Goddess thus bespake.My inmate and my friend! far from my lipsBe ev’ry word that might displease thine ear!The song—the harp,—what can they less than charm200These wantons? who the bread unpurchased eatOf one whose bones on yonder continentLie mould’ring, drench’d by all the show’rs of heaven,Or roll at random in the billowy deep.Ah! could they see him once to his own isleRestored, both gold and raiment they would wishFar less, and nimbleness of foot instead.But He, alas! hath by a wretched fate,Past question perish’d, and what news soe’erWe hear of his return, kindles no hope210In us, convinced that he returns no more.But answer undissembling; tell me true;Who art thou? whence? where stands thy city? whereThy father’s mansion? In what kind of shipCam’st thou? Why steer’d the mariners their courseTo Ithaca, and of what land are they?For that on foot thou found’st us not, is sure.This also tell me, hast thou now arrivedNew to our isle, or wast thou heretoforeMy father’s guest? Since many to our house220Resorted in those happier days, for heDrew pow’rful to himself the hearts of all.Then Pallas thus, Goddess cærulean-eyed.I will with all simplicity of truthThy questions satisfy. Behold in meMentes, the offspring of a Chief renown’dIn war, Anchialus; and I rule, myself,An island race, the Taphians oar-expert.With ship and mariners I now arrive,Seeking a people of another tongue230Athwart the gloomy flood, in quest of brassFor which I barter steel, ploughing the wavesTo Temesa. My ship beneath the woodsOf Neïus, at yonder field that skirtsYour city, in the haven Rhethrus rides.We are hereditary guests; our SiresWere friends long since; as, when thou seest him next,The Hero old Laertes will avouch,Of whom, I learn, that he frequents no moreThe city now, but in sequester’d scenes240Dwells sorrowful, and by an antient dameWith food and drink supplied oft as he feelsRefreshment needful to him, while he creepsBetween the rows of his luxuriant vines.But I have come drawn hither by report,Which spake thy Sire arrived, though still it seemsThe adverse Gods his homeward course retard.For not yet breathless lies the noble Chief,But in some island of the boundless floodResides a prisoner, by barbarous force250Of some rude race detained reluctant there.And I will now foreshow thee what the GodsTeach me, and what, though neither augur skill’dNor prophet, I yet trust shall come to pass.He shall not, henceforth, live an exile longFrom his own shores, no, not although in bandsOf iron held, but will ere long contriveHis own return; for in expedients, framedWith wond’rous ingenuity, he abounds.But tell me true; art thou, in stature such,260Son of himself Ulysses? for thy faceAnd eyes bright-sparkling, strongly indicateUlysses in thee. Frequent have we bothConversed together thus, thy Sire and I,Ere yet he went to Troy, the mark to whichSo many Princes of Achaia steer’d.Him since I saw not, nor Ulysses me.To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.Stranger! I tell thee true; my mother’s voiceAffirms me his, but since no mortal knows270His derivation, I affirm it not.Would I had been son of some happier Sire,Ordain’d in calm possession of his ownTo reach the verge of life. But now, reportProclaims me his, whom I of all mankindUnhappiest deem.—Thy question is resolved.Then answer thus Pallas blue-eyed return’d.From no ignoble race, in future days,The Gods shall prove thee sprung, whom so endow’dWith ev’ry grace Penelope hath borne.280But tell me true. What festival is this?This throng—whence are they? wherefore hast thou needOf such a multitude? Behold I hereA banquet, or a nuptial? for theseMeet not by contribution3to regale,With such brutality and din they holdTheir riotous banquet! a wise man and goodArriving, now, among them, at the sightOf such enormities would much be wroth.To whom replied Telemachus discrete.290Since, stranger! thou hast ask’d, learn also this.While yet Ulysses, with his people dwelt,His presence warranted the hope that hereVirtue should dwell and opulence; but heav’nHath cast for us, at length, a diff’rent lot,And he is lost, as never man before.For I should less lament even his death,Had he among his friends at Ilium fall’n,Or in the arms of his companions died,Troy’s siege accomplish’d. Then his tomb the Greeks300Of ev’ry tribe had built, and for his son,He had immortal glory atchieved; but now,By harpies torn inglorious, beyond reachOf eye or ear he lies; and hath to meGrief only, and unceasing sighs bequeath’d.Nor mourn I for his sake alone; the GodsHave plann’d for me still many a woe beside;For all the rulers of the neighbour isles,Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’dZacynthus, others also, rulers here310In craggy Ithaca, my mother seekIn marriage, and my household stores consume.But neither she those nuptial rites abhorr’d,Refuses absolute, nor yet consentsTo end them; they my patrimony wasteMeantime, and will not long spare even me.To whom, with deep commiseration pang’d,Pallas replied. Alas! great need hast thouOf thy long absent father to avengeThese num’rous wrongs; for could he now appear320There, at yon portal, arm’d with helmet, shield,And grasping his two spears, such as when firstI saw him drinking joyous at our board,From Ilus son of Mermeris, who dweltIn distant Ephyre, just then return’d,(For thither also had Ulysses goneIn his swift bark, seeking some pois’nous drugWherewith to taint his brazen arrows keen,Which drug through fear of the eternal GodsIlus refused him, and my father free330Gave to him, for he loved him past belief)Could now, Ulysses, clad in arms as then,Mix with these suitors, short his date of lifeTo each, and bitter should his nuptials prove.But these events, whether he shall returnTo take just vengeance under his own roof,Or whether not, lie all in the Gods lap.Meantime I counsel thee, thyself to thinkBy what means likeliest thou shalt expelThese from thy doors. Now mark me: close attend.340To-morrow, summoning the Grecian ChiefsTo council, speak to them, and call the GodsTo witness that solemnity. Bid goThe suitors hence, each to his own abode.Thy mother—if her purpose be resolvedOn marriage, let her to the house returnOf her own potent father, who, himself,Shall furnish forth her matrimonial rites,And ample dow’r, such as it well becomesA darling daughter to receive, bestow.350But hear me now; thyself I thus advise.The prime of all thy ships preparing, mann’dWith twenty rowers, voyage hence to seekIntelligence of thy long-absent Sire.Some mortal may inform thee, or a word,4Perchance, by Jove directed (safest sourceOf notice to mankind) may reach thine ear.First voyaging to Pylus, there enquireOf noble Nestor; thence to Sparta tend,To question Menelaus amber-hair’d,360Latest arrived of all the host of Greece.There should’st thou learn that still thy father lives,And hope of his return, althoughDistress’d, thou wilt be patient yet a year.But should’st thou there hear tidings that he breathesNo longer, to thy native isle return’d,First heap his tomb; then with such pomp performHis funeral rites as his great name demands,And make thy mother’s spousals, next, thy care.These duties satisfied, delib’rate last370Whether thou shalt these troublers of thy houseBy stratagem, or by assault, destroy.For thou art now no child, nor longer may’stSport like one. Hast thou not the proud reportHeard, how Orestes hath renown acquiredWith all mankind, his father’s murthererÆgisthus slaying, the deceiver baseWho slaughter’d Agamemnon? Oh my friend!(For with delight thy vig’rous growth I view,And just proportion) be thou also bold,380And merit praise from ages yet to come.But I will to my vessel now repair,And to my mariners, whom, absent long,I may perchance have troubled. Weigh thou wellMy counsel; let not my advice be lost.To whom Telemachus discrete replied.Stranger! thy words bespeak thee much my friend,Who, as a father teaches his own son,Hast taught me, and I never will forget.But, though in haste thy voyage to pursue,390Yet stay, that in the bath refreshing firstThy limbs now weary, thou may’st sprightlier seekThy gallant bark, charged with some noble giftOf finish’d workmanship, which thou shalt keepAs my memorial ever; such a boonAs men confer on guests whom much they love.Then Pallas thus, Goddess cærulean-eyed.Retard me not, for go I must; the giftWhich liberal thou desirest to bestow,Give me at my return, that I may bear400The treasure home; and, in exchange, thyselfExpect some gift equivalent from me.She spake, and as with eagle-wings upborne,Vanish’d incontinent, but him inspiredWith daring fortitude, and on his heartDearer remembrance of his Sire impress’dThan ever. Conscious of the wond’rous change,Amazed he stood, and, in his secret thoughtRevolving all, believed his guest a God.The youthful Hero to the suitors then410Repair’d; they silent, listen’d to the songOf the illustrious Bard: he the returnDeplorable of the Achaian hostFrom Ilium by command of Pallas, sang.Penelope, Icarius’ daughter, mark’dMeantime the song celestial, where she satIn the superior palace; down she came,By all the num’rous steps of her abode;Not sole, for two fair handmaids follow’d her.She then, divinest of her sex, arrived420In presence of that lawless throng, beneathThe portal of her stately mansion stood,Between her maidens, with her lucid veilHer lovely features mantling. There, profuseShe wept, and thus the sacred bard bespake.Phemius! for many a sorrow-soothing strainThou know’st beside, such as exploits recordOf Gods and men, the poet’s frequent theme;Give them of those a song, and let themselvesTheir wine drink noiseless; but this mournful strain430Break off, unfriendly to my bosom’s peace,And which of all hearts nearest touches mine,With such regret my dearest Lord I mourn,Rememb’ring still an husband praised from sideTo side, and in the very heart of Greece.Then answer thus Telemachus return’d.My mother! wherefore should it give thee painIf the delightful bard that theme pursueTo which he feels his mind impell’d? the bardBlame not, but rather Jove, who, as he wills,440Materials for poetic art supplies.No fault is his, if the disastrous fateHe sing of the Achaians, for the songWins ever from the hearers most applauseThat has been least in use. Of all who foughtAt Troy, Ulysses hath not lost, alone,His day of glad return; but many a ChiefHath perish’d also. Seek thou then againThy own apartment, spindle ply and loom,And task thy maidens; management belongs450To men of joys convivial, and of menEspecially to me, chief ruler here.She heard astonish’d; and the prudent speechReposing of her son deep in her heart,Again with her attendant maidens soughtHer upper chamber. There arrived, she weptHer lost Ulysses, till Minerva bathedHer weary lids in dewy sleep profound.Then echoed through the palace dark-bedimm’dWith evening shades the suitors boist’rous roar,460For each the royal bed burn’d to partake,Whom thus Telemachus discrete address’d.All ye my mother’s suitors, though addictTo contumacious wrangling fierce, suspendYour clamour, for a course to me it seemsMore decent far, when such a bard as this,Godlike, for sweetness, sings, to hear his song.To-morrow meet we in full council all,That I may plainly warn you to departFrom this our mansion. Seek ye where ye may470Your feasts; consume your own; alternate feedEach at the other’s cost; but if it seemWisest in your account and best, to eatVoracious thus the patrimonial goodsOf one man, rend’ring no account of all,5Bite to the roots; but know that I will cryCeaseless to the eternal Gods, in hopeThat Jove, for retribution of the wrong,Shall doom you, where ye have intruded, thereTo bleed, and of your blood ask no account.5480He ended, and each gnaw’d his lip, aghastAt his undaunted hardiness of speech.Then thus Antinoüs spake, Eupithes’ son.Telemachus! the Gods, methinks, themselvesTeach thee sublimity, and to pronounceThy matter fearless. Ah forbid it, Jove!That one so eloquent should with the weightOf kingly cares in Ithaca be charged,A realm, by claim hereditary, thine.Then prudent thus Telemachus replied.490Although my speech Antinoüs may, perchance,Provoke thee, know that I am not averseFrom kingly cares, if Jove appoint me such.Seems it to thee a burthen to be fear’dBy men above all others? trust me, no,There is no ill in royalty; the manSo station’d, waits not long ere he obtainRiches and honour. But I grant that KingsOf the Achaians may no few be foundIn sea-girt Ithaca both young and old,500Of whom since great Ulysses is no more,Reign whoso may; but King, myself, I amIn my own house, and over all my ownDomestics, by Ulysses gained for me.To whom Eurymachus replied, the sonOf Polybus. What Grecian Chief shall reignIn sea-girt Ithaca, must be referr’dTo the Gods’ will, Telemachus! meantimeThou hast unquestionable right to keepThy own, and to command in thy own house.510May never that man on her shores arrive,While an inhabitant shall yet be leftIn Ithaca, who shall by violence wrestThine from thee. But permit me, noble Sir!To ask thee of thy guest. Whence came the man?What country claims him? Where are to be foundHis kindred and his patrimonial fields?Brings he glad tidings of thy Sire’s approachHomeward? or came he to receive a debtDue to himself? How swift he disappear’d!520Nor opportunity to know him gaveTo those who wish’d it; for his face and airHim speak not of Plebeian birth obscure.Whom answered thus Telemachus discrete.Eurymachus! my father comes no more.I can no longer now tidings believe,If such arrive; nor he’d I more the songOf sooth-sayers whom my mother may consult.But this my guest hath known in other daysMy father, and he came from Taphos, son530Of brave Anchialus, Mentes by name,And Chief of the sea-practis’d Taphian race.So spake Telemachus, but in his heartKnew well his guest a Goddess from the skies.Then they to dance and heart-enlivening songTurn’d joyous, waiting the approach of eve,And dusky evening found them joyous still.Then each, to his own house retiring, soughtNeedful repose. Meantime TelemachusTo his own lofty chamber, built in view540Of the wide hall, retired; but with a heartIn various musings occupied intense.Sage Euryclea, bearing in each handA torch, preceded him; her sire was Ops,Pisenor’s son, and, in her early prime,At his own cost Laertes made her his,Paying with twenty beeves her purchase-price,Nor in less honour than his spotless wifeHe held her ever, but his consort’s wrathFearing, at no time call’d her to his bed.550She bore the torches, and with truer heartLoved him than any of the female train,For she had nurs’d him in his infant years.He open’d his broad chamber-valves, and satOn his couch-side: then putting off his vestOf softest texture, placed it in the handsOf the attendant dame discrete, who firstFolding it with exactest care, besideHis bed suspended it, and, going forth,Drew by its silver ring the portal close,560And fasten’d it with bolt and brace secure.There lay Telemachus, on finest woolReposed, contemplating all night his coursePrescribed by Pallas to the Pylian shore.1We are told that Homer was under obligations to Mentes, who had frequently given him a passage in his ship to different countries which he wished to see, for which reason he has here immortalised him.2Milton uses the word—Sewers and seneschals.3Ἔρανος, a convivial meeting, at which every man paid his proportion, at least contributed something; but it seems to have been a meeting at which strict sobriety was observed, else Pallas would not have inferred from the noise and riot of this, that it was not such a one.4Οσσα—a word spoken, with respect to the speaker, casually; but with reference to the inquirer supposed to be sent for his information by the especial appointment and providential favour of the Gods.5There is in the Original an evident stress laid on the wordΝήποινοι, which is used in both places. It was a sort of Lex Talionis which Telemachus hoped might be put in force against them; and that Jove would demand no satisfaction for the lives of those who made him none for the waste of his property.

In a council of the Gods, Minerva calls their attention to Ulysses, still a wanderer. They resolve to grant him a safe return to Ithaca. Minerva descends to encourage Telemachus, and in the form of Mentes directs him in what manner to proceed. Throughout this book the extravagance and profligacy of the suitors are occasionally suggested.

Muse make the man thy theme, for shrewdness famedAnd genius versatile, who far and wideA Wand’rer, after Ilium overthrown,Discover’d various cities, and the mindAnd manners learn’d of men, in lands remote.He num’rous woes on Ocean toss’d, endured,Anxious to save himself, and to conductHis followers to their home; yet all his carePreserved them not; they perish’d self-destroy’dBy their own fault; infatuate! who devoured10The oxen of the all-o’erseeing Sun,And, punish’d for that crime, return’d no more.Daughter divine of Jove, these things record,As it may please thee, even in our ears.The rest, all those who had perdition ’scapedBy war or on the Deep, dwelt now at home;Him only, of his country and his wifeAlike desirous, in her hollow grotsCalypso, Goddess beautiful, detainedWooing him to her arms. But when, at length,20(Many a long year elapsed) the year arrivedOf his return (by the decree of heav’n)To Ithaca, not even then had he,Although surrounded by his people, reach’dThe period of his suff’rings and his toils.Yet all the Gods, with pity moved, beheldHis woes, save Neptune; He alone with wrathUnceasing and implacable pursuedGodlike Ulysses to his native shores.But Neptune, now, the Æthiopians fought,30(The Æthiopians, utmost of mankind,These Eastward situate, those toward the West)Call’d to an hecatomb of bulls and lambs.There sitting, pleas’d he banqueted; the GodsIn Jove’s abode, meantime, assembled all,’Midst whom the Sire of heav’n and earth began.For he recall’d to mind Ægisthus slainBy Agamemnon’s celebrated sonOrestes, and retracing in his thoughtThat dread event, the Immortals thus address’d.40Alas! how prone are human-kind to blameThe Pow’rs of Heav’n! From us, they say, proceedThe ills which they endure, yet more than FateHerself inflicts, by their own crimes incur.So now Ægisthus, by no force constrainedOf Destiny, Atrides’ wedded wifeTook to himself, and him at his returnSlew, not unwarn’d of his own dreadful endBy us: for we commanded Hermes downThe watchful Argicide, who bade him fear50Alike, to slay the King, or woo the Queen.For that Atrides’ son Orestes, soonAs grown mature, and eager to assumeHis sway imperial, should avenge the deed.So Hermes spake, but his advice moved notÆgisthus, on whose head the whole arrearOf vengeance heap’d, at last, hath therefore fall’n.Whom answer’d then Pallas cærulean-eyed.Oh Jove, Saturnian Sire, o’er all supreme!And well he merited the death he found;60So perish all, who shall, like him, offend.But with a bosom anguish-rent I viewUlysses, hapless Chief! who from his friendsRemote, affliction hath long time enduredIn yonder wood-land isle, the central bossOf Ocean. That retreat a Goddess holds,Daughter of sapient Atlas, who the abyssKnows to its bottom, and the pillars highHimself upbears which sep’rate earth from heav’n.His daughter, there, the sorrowing Chief detains,70And ever with smooth speech insidious seeksTo wean his heart from Ithaca; meantimeUlysses, happy might he but beholdThe smoke ascending from his native land,Death covets. Canst thou not, Olympian Jove!At last relent? Hath not Ulysses oftWith victims slain amid Achaia’s fleetThee gratified, while yet at Troy he fought?How hath he then so deep incensed thee, Jove?To whom, the cloud-assembler God replied.80What word hath pass’d thy lips, Daughter belov’d?Can I forget Ulysses? Him forgetSo noble, who in wisdom all mankindExcels, and who hath sacrific’d so oftTo us whose dwelling is the boundless heav’n?Earth-circling Neptune—He it is whose wrathPursues him ceaseless for the Cyclops’ sakePolypheme, strongest of the giant race,Whom of his eye Ulysses hath deprived.For Him, Thoösa bore, Nymph of the sea90From Phorcys sprung, by Ocean’s mighty pow’rImpregnated in caverns of the Deep.E’er since that day, the Shaker of the shores,Although he slay him not, yet devious drivesUlysses from his native isle afar.Yet come—in full assembly his returnContrive we now, both means and prosp’rous end;So Neptune shall his wrath remit, whose pow’rIn contest with the force of all the GodsExerted single, can but strive in vain.100To whom Minerva, Goddess azure-eyed.Oh Jupiter! above all Kings enthroned!If the Immortals ever-blest ordainThat wise Ulysses to his home return,Dispatch we then Hermes the Argicide,Our messenger, hence to Ogygia’s isle,Who shall inform Calypso, nymph divine,Of this our fixt resolve, that to his homeUlysses, toil-enduring Chief, repair.Myself will hence to Ithaca, meantime,110His son to animate, and with new forceInspire, that (the Achaians all convenedIn council,) he may, instant, bid departThe suitors from his home, who, day by day,His num’rous flocks and fatted herds consume.And I will send him thence to Sparta forth,And into sandy Pylus, there to hear(If hear he may) some tidings of his Sire,And to procure himself a glorious name.This said, her golden sandals to her feet120She bound, ambrosial, which o’er all the earthAnd o’er the moist flood waft her fleet as air,Then, seizing her strong spear pointed with brass,In length and bulk, and weight a matchless beam,With which the Jove-born Goddess levels ranksOf Heroes, against whom her anger burns,From the Olympian summit down she flew,And on the threshold of Ulysses’ hallIn Ithaca, and within his vestibuleApparent stood; there, grasping her bright spear,130Mentes1she seem’d, the hospitable ChiefOf Taphos’ isle—she found the haughty throngThe suitors; they before the palace gateWith iv’ry cubes sported, on num’rous hidesReclined of oxen which themselves had slain.The heralds and the busy menials thereMinister’d to them; these their mantling cupsWith water slaked; with bibulous sponges thoseMade clean the tables, set the banquet on,And portioned out to each his plenteous share.140Long ere the rest Telemachus himselfMark’d her, for sad amid them all he sat,Pourtraying in deep thought contemplativeHis noble Sire, and questioning if yetPerchance the Hero might return to chaseFrom all his palace that imperious herd,To his own honour lord of his own home.Amid them musing thus, sudden he sawThe Goddess, and sprang forth, for he abhorr’dTo see a guest’s admittance long delay’d;150Approaching eager, her right hand he seized,The brazen spear took from her, and in wordsWith welcome wing’d Minerva thus address’d.Stranger, all hail! to share our cordial loveThou com’st; the banquet finish’d, thou shalt nextInform me wherefore thou hast here arrived.So saying, toward the spacious hall he moved,Follow’d by Pallas, and, arriving soonBeneath the lofty roof, placed her bright spearWithin a pillar’s cavity, long time160The armoury where many a spear had stood,Bright weapons of his own illustrious Sire.Then, leading her toward a footstool’d throneMagnificent, which first he overspreadWith linen, there he seated her, apartFrom that rude throng, and for himself disposedA throne of various colours at her side,Lest, stunn’d with clamour of the lawless band,The new-arrived should loth perchance to eat,And that more free he might the stranger’s ear170With questions of his absent Sire address,And now a maiden charg’d with golden ew’r,And with an argent laver, pouring firstPure water on their hands, supplied them, next,With a resplendent table, which the chasteDirectress of the stores furnish’d with breadAnd dainties, remnants of the last regale.Then, in his turn, the sewer2with sav’ry meats,Dish after dish, served them, of various kinds,And golden cups beside the chargers placed,180Which the attendant herald fill’d with wine.Ere long, in rush’d the suitors, and the thronesAnd couches occupied, on all whose handsThe heralds pour’d pure water; then the maidsAttended them with bread in baskets heap’d,And eager they assail’d the ready feast.At length, when neither thirst nor hunger moreThey felt unsatisfied, to new delightsTheir thoughts they turn’d, to song and sprightly dance,Enlivening sequel of the banquet’s joys.190An herald, then, to Phemius’ hand consign’dHis beauteous lyre; he through constraint regaledThe suitors with his song, and while the chordsHe struck in prelude to his pleasant strains,Telemachus his head inclining nighTo Pallas’ ear, lest others should his wordsWitness, the blue-eyed Goddess thus bespake.My inmate and my friend! far from my lipsBe ev’ry word that might displease thine ear!The song—the harp,—what can they less than charm200These wantons? who the bread unpurchased eatOf one whose bones on yonder continentLie mould’ring, drench’d by all the show’rs of heaven,Or roll at random in the billowy deep.Ah! could they see him once to his own isleRestored, both gold and raiment they would wishFar less, and nimbleness of foot instead.But He, alas! hath by a wretched fate,Past question perish’d, and what news soe’erWe hear of his return, kindles no hope210In us, convinced that he returns no more.But answer undissembling; tell me true;Who art thou? whence? where stands thy city? whereThy father’s mansion? In what kind of shipCam’st thou? Why steer’d the mariners their courseTo Ithaca, and of what land are they?For that on foot thou found’st us not, is sure.This also tell me, hast thou now arrivedNew to our isle, or wast thou heretoforeMy father’s guest? Since many to our house220Resorted in those happier days, for heDrew pow’rful to himself the hearts of all.Then Pallas thus, Goddess cærulean-eyed.I will with all simplicity of truthThy questions satisfy. Behold in meMentes, the offspring of a Chief renown’dIn war, Anchialus; and I rule, myself,An island race, the Taphians oar-expert.With ship and mariners I now arrive,Seeking a people of another tongue230Athwart the gloomy flood, in quest of brassFor which I barter steel, ploughing the wavesTo Temesa. My ship beneath the woodsOf Neïus, at yonder field that skirtsYour city, in the haven Rhethrus rides.We are hereditary guests; our SiresWere friends long since; as, when thou seest him next,The Hero old Laertes will avouch,Of whom, I learn, that he frequents no moreThe city now, but in sequester’d scenes240Dwells sorrowful, and by an antient dameWith food and drink supplied oft as he feelsRefreshment needful to him, while he creepsBetween the rows of his luxuriant vines.But I have come drawn hither by report,Which spake thy Sire arrived, though still it seemsThe adverse Gods his homeward course retard.For not yet breathless lies the noble Chief,But in some island of the boundless floodResides a prisoner, by barbarous force250Of some rude race detained reluctant there.And I will now foreshow thee what the GodsTeach me, and what, though neither augur skill’dNor prophet, I yet trust shall come to pass.He shall not, henceforth, live an exile longFrom his own shores, no, not although in bandsOf iron held, but will ere long contriveHis own return; for in expedients, framedWith wond’rous ingenuity, he abounds.But tell me true; art thou, in stature such,260Son of himself Ulysses? for thy faceAnd eyes bright-sparkling, strongly indicateUlysses in thee. Frequent have we bothConversed together thus, thy Sire and I,Ere yet he went to Troy, the mark to whichSo many Princes of Achaia steer’d.Him since I saw not, nor Ulysses me.To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.Stranger! I tell thee true; my mother’s voiceAffirms me his, but since no mortal knows270His derivation, I affirm it not.Would I had been son of some happier Sire,Ordain’d in calm possession of his ownTo reach the verge of life. But now, reportProclaims me his, whom I of all mankindUnhappiest deem.—Thy question is resolved.Then answer thus Pallas blue-eyed return’d.From no ignoble race, in future days,The Gods shall prove thee sprung, whom so endow’dWith ev’ry grace Penelope hath borne.280But tell me true. What festival is this?This throng—whence are they? wherefore hast thou needOf such a multitude? Behold I hereA banquet, or a nuptial? for theseMeet not by contribution3to regale,With such brutality and din they holdTheir riotous banquet! a wise man and goodArriving, now, among them, at the sightOf such enormities would much be wroth.To whom replied Telemachus discrete.290Since, stranger! thou hast ask’d, learn also this.While yet Ulysses, with his people dwelt,His presence warranted the hope that hereVirtue should dwell and opulence; but heav’nHath cast for us, at length, a diff’rent lot,And he is lost, as never man before.For I should less lament even his death,Had he among his friends at Ilium fall’n,Or in the arms of his companions died,Troy’s siege accomplish’d. Then his tomb the Greeks300Of ev’ry tribe had built, and for his son,He had immortal glory atchieved; but now,By harpies torn inglorious, beyond reachOf eye or ear he lies; and hath to meGrief only, and unceasing sighs bequeath’d.Nor mourn I for his sake alone; the GodsHave plann’d for me still many a woe beside;For all the rulers of the neighbour isles,Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’dZacynthus, others also, rulers here310In craggy Ithaca, my mother seekIn marriage, and my household stores consume.But neither she those nuptial rites abhorr’d,Refuses absolute, nor yet consentsTo end them; they my patrimony wasteMeantime, and will not long spare even me.To whom, with deep commiseration pang’d,Pallas replied. Alas! great need hast thouOf thy long absent father to avengeThese num’rous wrongs; for could he now appear320There, at yon portal, arm’d with helmet, shield,And grasping his two spears, such as when firstI saw him drinking joyous at our board,From Ilus son of Mermeris, who dweltIn distant Ephyre, just then return’d,(For thither also had Ulysses goneIn his swift bark, seeking some pois’nous drugWherewith to taint his brazen arrows keen,Which drug through fear of the eternal GodsIlus refused him, and my father free330Gave to him, for he loved him past belief)Could now, Ulysses, clad in arms as then,Mix with these suitors, short his date of lifeTo each, and bitter should his nuptials prove.But these events, whether he shall returnTo take just vengeance under his own roof,Or whether not, lie all in the Gods lap.Meantime I counsel thee, thyself to thinkBy what means likeliest thou shalt expelThese from thy doors. Now mark me: close attend.340To-morrow, summoning the Grecian ChiefsTo council, speak to them, and call the GodsTo witness that solemnity. Bid goThe suitors hence, each to his own abode.Thy mother—if her purpose be resolvedOn marriage, let her to the house returnOf her own potent father, who, himself,Shall furnish forth her matrimonial rites,And ample dow’r, such as it well becomesA darling daughter to receive, bestow.350But hear me now; thyself I thus advise.The prime of all thy ships preparing, mann’dWith twenty rowers, voyage hence to seekIntelligence of thy long-absent Sire.Some mortal may inform thee, or a word,4Perchance, by Jove directed (safest sourceOf notice to mankind) may reach thine ear.First voyaging to Pylus, there enquireOf noble Nestor; thence to Sparta tend,To question Menelaus amber-hair’d,360Latest arrived of all the host of Greece.There should’st thou learn that still thy father lives,And hope of his return, althoughDistress’d, thou wilt be patient yet a year.But should’st thou there hear tidings that he breathesNo longer, to thy native isle return’d,First heap his tomb; then with such pomp performHis funeral rites as his great name demands,And make thy mother’s spousals, next, thy care.These duties satisfied, delib’rate last370Whether thou shalt these troublers of thy houseBy stratagem, or by assault, destroy.For thou art now no child, nor longer may’stSport like one. Hast thou not the proud reportHeard, how Orestes hath renown acquiredWith all mankind, his father’s murthererÆgisthus slaying, the deceiver baseWho slaughter’d Agamemnon? Oh my friend!(For with delight thy vig’rous growth I view,And just proportion) be thou also bold,380And merit praise from ages yet to come.But I will to my vessel now repair,And to my mariners, whom, absent long,I may perchance have troubled. Weigh thou wellMy counsel; let not my advice be lost.To whom Telemachus discrete replied.Stranger! thy words bespeak thee much my friend,Who, as a father teaches his own son,Hast taught me, and I never will forget.But, though in haste thy voyage to pursue,390Yet stay, that in the bath refreshing firstThy limbs now weary, thou may’st sprightlier seekThy gallant bark, charged with some noble giftOf finish’d workmanship, which thou shalt keepAs my memorial ever; such a boonAs men confer on guests whom much they love.Then Pallas thus, Goddess cærulean-eyed.Retard me not, for go I must; the giftWhich liberal thou desirest to bestow,Give me at my return, that I may bear400The treasure home; and, in exchange, thyselfExpect some gift equivalent from me.She spake, and as with eagle-wings upborne,Vanish’d incontinent, but him inspiredWith daring fortitude, and on his heartDearer remembrance of his Sire impress’dThan ever. Conscious of the wond’rous change,Amazed he stood, and, in his secret thoughtRevolving all, believed his guest a God.The youthful Hero to the suitors then410Repair’d; they silent, listen’d to the songOf the illustrious Bard: he the returnDeplorable of the Achaian hostFrom Ilium by command of Pallas, sang.Penelope, Icarius’ daughter, mark’dMeantime the song celestial, where she satIn the superior palace; down she came,By all the num’rous steps of her abode;Not sole, for two fair handmaids follow’d her.She then, divinest of her sex, arrived420In presence of that lawless throng, beneathThe portal of her stately mansion stood,Between her maidens, with her lucid veilHer lovely features mantling. There, profuseShe wept, and thus the sacred bard bespake.Phemius! for many a sorrow-soothing strainThou know’st beside, such as exploits recordOf Gods and men, the poet’s frequent theme;Give them of those a song, and let themselvesTheir wine drink noiseless; but this mournful strain430Break off, unfriendly to my bosom’s peace,And which of all hearts nearest touches mine,With such regret my dearest Lord I mourn,Rememb’ring still an husband praised from sideTo side, and in the very heart of Greece.Then answer thus Telemachus return’d.My mother! wherefore should it give thee painIf the delightful bard that theme pursueTo which he feels his mind impell’d? the bardBlame not, but rather Jove, who, as he wills,440Materials for poetic art supplies.No fault is his, if the disastrous fateHe sing of the Achaians, for the songWins ever from the hearers most applauseThat has been least in use. Of all who foughtAt Troy, Ulysses hath not lost, alone,His day of glad return; but many a ChiefHath perish’d also. Seek thou then againThy own apartment, spindle ply and loom,And task thy maidens; management belongs450To men of joys convivial, and of menEspecially to me, chief ruler here.She heard astonish’d; and the prudent speechReposing of her son deep in her heart,Again with her attendant maidens soughtHer upper chamber. There arrived, she weptHer lost Ulysses, till Minerva bathedHer weary lids in dewy sleep profound.Then echoed through the palace dark-bedimm’dWith evening shades the suitors boist’rous roar,460For each the royal bed burn’d to partake,Whom thus Telemachus discrete address’d.All ye my mother’s suitors, though addictTo contumacious wrangling fierce, suspendYour clamour, for a course to me it seemsMore decent far, when such a bard as this,Godlike, for sweetness, sings, to hear his song.To-morrow meet we in full council all,That I may plainly warn you to departFrom this our mansion. Seek ye where ye may470Your feasts; consume your own; alternate feedEach at the other’s cost; but if it seemWisest in your account and best, to eatVoracious thus the patrimonial goodsOf one man, rend’ring no account of all,5Bite to the roots; but know that I will cryCeaseless to the eternal Gods, in hopeThat Jove, for retribution of the wrong,Shall doom you, where ye have intruded, thereTo bleed, and of your blood ask no account.5480He ended, and each gnaw’d his lip, aghastAt his undaunted hardiness of speech.Then thus Antinoüs spake, Eupithes’ son.Telemachus! the Gods, methinks, themselvesTeach thee sublimity, and to pronounceThy matter fearless. Ah forbid it, Jove!That one so eloquent should with the weightOf kingly cares in Ithaca be charged,A realm, by claim hereditary, thine.Then prudent thus Telemachus replied.490Although my speech Antinoüs may, perchance,Provoke thee, know that I am not averseFrom kingly cares, if Jove appoint me such.Seems it to thee a burthen to be fear’dBy men above all others? trust me, no,There is no ill in royalty; the manSo station’d, waits not long ere he obtainRiches and honour. But I grant that KingsOf the Achaians may no few be foundIn sea-girt Ithaca both young and old,500Of whom since great Ulysses is no more,Reign whoso may; but King, myself, I amIn my own house, and over all my ownDomestics, by Ulysses gained for me.To whom Eurymachus replied, the sonOf Polybus. What Grecian Chief shall reignIn sea-girt Ithaca, must be referr’dTo the Gods’ will, Telemachus! meantimeThou hast unquestionable right to keepThy own, and to command in thy own house.510May never that man on her shores arrive,While an inhabitant shall yet be leftIn Ithaca, who shall by violence wrestThine from thee. But permit me, noble Sir!To ask thee of thy guest. Whence came the man?What country claims him? Where are to be foundHis kindred and his patrimonial fields?Brings he glad tidings of thy Sire’s approachHomeward? or came he to receive a debtDue to himself? How swift he disappear’d!520Nor opportunity to know him gaveTo those who wish’d it; for his face and airHim speak not of Plebeian birth obscure.Whom answered thus Telemachus discrete.Eurymachus! my father comes no more.I can no longer now tidings believe,If such arrive; nor he’d I more the songOf sooth-sayers whom my mother may consult.But this my guest hath known in other daysMy father, and he came from Taphos, son530Of brave Anchialus, Mentes by name,And Chief of the sea-practis’d Taphian race.So spake Telemachus, but in his heartKnew well his guest a Goddess from the skies.Then they to dance and heart-enlivening songTurn’d joyous, waiting the approach of eve,And dusky evening found them joyous still.Then each, to his own house retiring, soughtNeedful repose. Meantime TelemachusTo his own lofty chamber, built in view540Of the wide hall, retired; but with a heartIn various musings occupied intense.Sage Euryclea, bearing in each handA torch, preceded him; her sire was Ops,Pisenor’s son, and, in her early prime,At his own cost Laertes made her his,Paying with twenty beeves her purchase-price,Nor in less honour than his spotless wifeHe held her ever, but his consort’s wrathFearing, at no time call’d her to his bed.550She bore the torches, and with truer heartLoved him than any of the female train,For she had nurs’d him in his infant years.He open’d his broad chamber-valves, and satOn his couch-side: then putting off his vestOf softest texture, placed it in the handsOf the attendant dame discrete, who firstFolding it with exactest care, besideHis bed suspended it, and, going forth,Drew by its silver ring the portal close,560And fasten’d it with bolt and brace secure.There lay Telemachus, on finest woolReposed, contemplating all night his coursePrescribed by Pallas to the Pylian shore.

1We are told that Homer was under obligations to Mentes, who had frequently given him a passage in his ship to different countries which he wished to see, for which reason he has here immortalised him.2Milton uses the word—Sewers and seneschals.3Ἔρανος, a convivial meeting, at which every man paid his proportion, at least contributed something; but it seems to have been a meeting at which strict sobriety was observed, else Pallas would not have inferred from the noise and riot of this, that it was not such a one.4Οσσα—a word spoken, with respect to the speaker, casually; but with reference to the inquirer supposed to be sent for his information by the especial appointment and providential favour of the Gods.5There is in the Original an evident stress laid on the wordΝήποινοι, which is used in both places. It was a sort of Lex Talionis which Telemachus hoped might be put in force against them; and that Jove would demand no satisfaction for the lives of those who made him none for the waste of his property.

2Milton uses the word—Sewers and seneschals.

3Ἔρανος, a convivial meeting, at which every man paid his proportion, at least contributed something; but it seems to have been a meeting at which strict sobriety was observed, else Pallas would not have inferred from the noise and riot of this, that it was not such a one.

4Οσσα—a word spoken, with respect to the speaker, casually; but with reference to the inquirer supposed to be sent for his information by the especial appointment and providential favour of the Gods.

5There is in the Original an evident stress laid on the wordΝήποινοι, which is used in both places. It was a sort of Lex Talionis which Telemachus hoped might be put in force against them; and that Jove would demand no satisfaction for the lives of those who made him none for the waste of his property.

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