The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (83 page)

And all the shore shows as one eminent rock,

So near which ’tis so deep, that not a sand

Is there for any tired foot to stand,

Nor fly his death-fast-following miseries,

Lest, if he land, upon him fore-right flies

A churlish wave, to crush him ’gainst a cliff,

Worse than vain rend’ring all his landing strife.

And should I swim to seek a hav’n elsewhere,

Or land less way-beat, I may justly fear

I shall be taken with a gale again,

And cast a huge way off into the main;

And there the great Earth-shaker (having seen

My so near landing, and again his spleen

Forcing me to him) will some whale send out

(Of which a horrid number here about

His Amphitrite breeds) to swallow me.

I well have prov’d, with what malignity

He treads my steps.’ While this discourse he held,

A curs’d surge ’gainst a cutting rock impell’d

His naked body, which it gash’d and tore,

And had his bones broke, if but one sea more

Had cast him on it. But she prompted him,

That never fail’d, and bade him no more swim

Still off and on, but boldly force the shore,

And hug the rock that him so rudely tore;

Which he with both hands sigh’d and clasp’d, till past

The billow’s rage was; when ’scap’d, back so fast

The rock repuls’d it, that it reft his hold,

Sucking him from it, and far back he roll’d.

And as the polypus that (forc’d from home

Amidst the soft sea, and near rough land come

For shelter ’gainst the storms that beat on her

At open sea, as she abroad doth err)

A deal of gravel and sharp little stones

Needfully gathers in her hollow bones:

So he forc’d hither by the sharper ill,

Shunning the smoother, where he best hop’d, still

The worst succeeded; for the cruel friend,

To which he cling’d for succour, off did rend

From his broad hands the soaken flesh so sore,

That off he fell, and could sustain no more.

Quite under water fell he; and, past fate,

Hapless Ulysses there had lost the state

He held in life, if, still the grey-eyed Maid

His wisdom prompting, he had not assay’d

Another course, and ceas’d t’ attempt that shore,

Swimming and casting round his eye t’ explore

Some other shelter. Then the mouth he found

Of fair Callicoë’s flood, whose shores were crown’d

With most apt succours; rocks so smooth they seem’d

Polish’d of purpose; land that quite redeem’d

With breathless coverts th’ others’ blasted shores.

The flood he knew, and thus in heart implores:

‘King of this river, hear! Whatever name

Makes thee invok’d, to thee I humbly frame

My flight from Neptune’s furies. Reverend is

To all the ever-living deities

What erring man soever seeks their aid.

To thy both flood and knees a man dismay’d

With varied suf
f
’
rance sues. Yield then some rest

To him that is thy suppliant profess’d.’

This, though but spoke in thought, the godhead heard,

Her current straight stay’d, and her thick waves clear’d

Before him, smooth’d her waters, and, just where

He pray’d half-drown’d, entirely sav’d him there.

Then forth he came, his both knees falt’ring, both

His strong hands hanging down, and all with froth

His cheeks and nostrils flowing, voice and breath

Spent to all use, and down he sunk to death.

The sea had soak’d his heart through; all his veins

His toils had rack’d t’ a labouring woman’s pains.

Dead weary was he. But when breath did find

A pass reciprocal, and in his mind

His spirit was recollected, up he rose,

And from his neck did th’ amulet unloose,

That Ino gave him; which he hurl’d from him

To sea. It sounding fell, and back did swim

With th’ ebbing waters, till it straight arriv’d

Where Ino’s fair hand it again receiv’d.

Then kiss’d he th’ humble earth, and on he goes,

Till bulrushes show’d place for his repose;

Where laid, he sigh’d, and thus said to his soul:

‘O me, what strange perplexities control

The whole skill of thy pow’rs in this event!

What feel I? If till care-nurse night be spent

I watch amidst the flood, the sea’s chill breath

And vegetant dews I fear will be my death,

So low brought with my labours. Towards day

A passing sharp air ever breathes at sea.

If I the pitch of this next mountain scale,

And shady wood, and in some thicket fall

Into the hands of sleep, though there the cold

May well be check’d, and healthful slumbers hold

Her sweet hand on my pow’rs, all care allay’d,

Yet there will beasts devour me. Best appaid

Doth that course make me yet; for there some strife,

Strength, and my spirit, may make me make for life;

Which, though impair’d, may yet be fresh applied,

Where peril possible of escape is tried.

But he that fights with heav
’
n, or with the sea,

To indiscretion adds impiety.’

Thus to the woods he hasted; which he found

Not far from sea, but on far-seeing ground,

Where two twin underwoods he enter’d on,

With olive-trees and oil-trees overgrown;

Through which the moist force of the loud-voic
’
d wind

Did never beat, nor ever Phoebus shin’d,

Nor shower beat through, they grew so one in one,

And had, by turns, their pow’r t’ exclude the sun.

Here enter’d our Ulysses, and a bed

Of leaves huge, and of huge abundance, spread

With all his speed. Large he made it, for there

For two or three men ample coverings were,

Such as might shield them from the winter’s worst,

Though steel it breath’d, and blew as it would burst.

Patient Ulysses joy’d, that ever day

Show’d such a shelter. In the midst he lay,

Store of leaves heaping high on every side.

And as in some outfield a man doth hide

A kindled brand, to keep the seed of fire,

No neighbour dwelling near, and his desire

Serv’d with self store he else would ask of none,

But of his fore-spent sparks rakes th’ ashes on:

So this out-place Ulysses thus receives,

And thus nak’d, virtue’s seed lies hid in leaves.

Yet Pallas made him sleep as soon as men

Whom delicacies all their flatteries deign,

And all that all his labours could comprise

Quickly concluded in his closed eyes.

The end of the fifth book

Book 6

The Argument

Minerva in a vision stands

Before Nausicaa; and commands

She to the flood her weeds should bear,

For now her nuptial day was near.

Nausicaa her charge obeys,

And then with other virgins plays.

Their sports make wak’d Ulysses rise,

Walk to them, and beseech supplies

Of food and clothes. His naked sight

Puts th’ other maids, afraid, to flight;

Nausicaa only boldly stays,

And gladly his desire obeys.

He, furnished with her favours shown,

Attends her and the rest to town.

Another Argument

Zeta

Here olive leaves

T’ hide shame began.

The maid receives

The naked man.

Book 6

The much-sustaining, patient, heav
’
nly man,

Whom toil and sleep had worn so weak and wan,

Thus won his rest. In mean space Pallas went

To the Phaeacian city, and descent

That first did broad Hyperia’s lands divide,

Near the vast Cyclops, men of monstrous pride,

That prey’d on those Hyperians, since they were

Of greater power; and therefore longer there

Divine Nausithous dwelt not, but arose,

And did for Scheria all his pow’rs dispose,

Far from ingenious art-inventing men.

But there did he erect a city then,

First drew a wall round, then he houses builds,

And then a temple to the gods, the fields

Lastly dividing. But he, stoop’d by fate,

Div’d to th’ infernals; and Alcinous sate

In his command, a man the gods did teach

Commanding counsels. His house held the reach

Of grey Minerva’s project, to provide

That great-soul’d Ithacus might be supplied

With all things fitting his return. She went

Up to the chamber, where the fair descent

Of great Alcinous slept: a maid, whose parts

In wit and beauty wore divine deserts.

Well deck’d her chamber was; of which the door

Did seem to lighten, such a gloss it bore

Betwixt the posts, and now flew ope to find

The goddess entry. Like a puft of wind

She reach’d the virgin bed; near which there lay

Two maids, to whom the Graces did convey

Figure and manners. But above the head

Of bright Nausicaa did Pallas tread

The subtle air, and put the person on

Of Dymas’ daughter, from comparison

Exempt in business naval. Like his seed

Minerva look’d now; whom one year did breed

With bright Nausicaa, and who had gain’d

Grace in her love, yet on her thus complain’d:

‘Nausicaa, why bred thy mother one

So negligent in rites so stood upon

By other virgins? Thy fair garments lie

Neglected by thee, yet thy nuptials nigh;

When rich in all attire both thou shouldst be,

And garments give to others honouring thee,

That lead thee to the temple. Thy good name

Grows amongst men for these things; they inflame

Father and reverend mother with delight.

Come, when the day takes any wink from night,

Let’s to the river, and repurify

Thy wedding garments. My society

Shall freely serve thee for thy speedier aid,

Because thou shalt no more stand on the maid.

The best of all Phaeacia woo thy grace,

Where thou wert bred, and ow’st thyself a race.

Up, and stir up to thee thy honour’d sire,

To give thee mules and coach, thee and thy tire,

Veils, girdles, mantles, early to the flood

To bear in state. It suits thy high-born blood,

And far more fits thee, than to foot so far,

For far from town thou knowst the bath-founts are.’

This said, away blue-ey’d Minerva went

Up to Olympus, the firm continent

That bears in endless being the deified kind,

That’s neither sous’d with showers, nor shook with wind,

Nor chill’d with snow, but where serenity flies

Exempt from clouds, and ever-beamy skies

Circle the glittering hill, and all their days

Give the delights of blessed deity praise.

And hither Pallas flew, and left the maid,

When she had all that might excite her said.

Straight rose the lovely Morn, that up did raise

Fair-veil’d Nausicaa, whose dream her praise

To admiration took; who no time spent

To give the rapture of her vision vent

To her lov’d parents, whom she found within:

Her mother set at fire, who had to spin

A rock, whose tincture with sea-purple shin’d,

Her maids about her. But she chanced to find

Her father going abroad, to council call’d

By his grave Senate. And to him exhal’d

Her smother’d bosom was: ‘Lov’d sire,’ said she,

‘Will you not now command a coach for me,

Stately and complete, fit for me to bear

To wash at flood the weeds I cannot wear

Before repurified? Yourself it fits

To wear fair weeds, as every man that sit

In place of council. And five sons you have,

Two wed, three bachelors, that must be brave

In every day’s shift, that they may go dance;

For these three last with these things must advance

Their states in marriage, and who else but I,

Their sister, should their dancing rites supply?’

This general cause she show’d, and would not name

Her mind of nuptials to her sire, for shame.

He understood her yet, and thus replied:

‘Daughter! Nor these, nor any grace beside,

I either will deny thee, or defer,

Mules, nor a coach, of state and circular,

Fitting at all parts. Go, my servants shall

Serve thy desires, and thy command in all.’

The servants then commanded soon obey’d,

Fetch’d coach, and mules join’d in it. Then the maid

Brought from the chamber her rich weeds, and laid

All up in coach; in which her mother plac’d

A maund of victuals, varied well in taste,

And other junkets. Wine she likewise fill’d

Within a goat-skin bottle, and distill’d

Sweet and moist oil into a golden cruse,

Both for her daughter’s and her handmaids’ use,

To soften their bright bodies, when they rose

Cleans’d from their cold baths. Up to coach then goes

Th’ observed maid, takes both the scourge and reins,

And to her side her handmaid straight attains.

Nor these alone, but other virgins, grac’d

The nuptial chariot. The whole bevy plac’d,

Nausicaa scourg’d to make the coach-mules run,

That neigh’d, and pac’d their usual speed, and soon

Both maids and weeds brought to the river side,

Where baths for all the year their use supplied,

Whose waters were so pure they would not stain,

But still ran fair forth, and did more remain

Apt to purge stains, for that purg’d stain within,

Which by the water’s pure store was not seen.

These, here arriv’d, the mules uncoach’d, and drave

Up to the gulfy river’s shore, that gave

Sweet grass to them. The maids from coach then took

Their clothes, and steep’d them in the sable brook;

Then put them into springs, and trod them clean

With cleanly feet, adventuring wagers then,

Who should have soonest and most cleanly done.

When having throughly cleans’d, they spread them on

The flood’s shore, all in order. And then, where

The waves the pebbles wash’d, and ground was clear,

They bath’d themselves, and all with glittering oil

Smooth’d their white skins, refreshing then their toil

With pleasant dinner by the river’s side,

Yet still watch’d when the sun their clothes had dried.

Till which time, having din’d, Nausicaa

With other virgins did at stool-ball play,

Their shoulder-reaching head-tires laying by.

Nausicaa, with the wrists of ivory,

The liking stroke struck, singing first a song,

As custom order’d, and amidst the throng

Made such a show, and so past all was seen,

As when the chaste-born, arrow-loving queen,

Along the mountains gliding, either over

Spartan Taygetus, whose tops far discover,

Or Eurymanthus, in the wild boar’s chace,

Or swift-hoov’d hart, and with her Jove’s fair race,

The field nymphs, sporting; amongst whom, to see

How far Diana had priority,

Though all were fair, for fairness yet of all

As both by head and forehead being more tall,

Latona triumph’d, since the dullest sight

Might eas’ly judge whom her pains brought to light:

Nausicaa so, whom never husband tam’d,

Above them all in all the beauties flam’d.

But when they now made homewards, and array’d,

Ordering their weeds disorder’d as they play’d,

Mules and coach ready, then Minerva thought

What means to wake Ulysses might be wrought,

That he might see this lovely-sighted maid,

Whom she intended should become his aid,

Bring him to town, and his return advance.

Her mean was this, though thought a stool-ball chance:

The queen now, for the upstroke, struck the ball

Quite wide off th’ other maids, and made it fall

Amidst the whirlpools. At which out shriek’d all,

And with the shriek did wise Ulysses wake;

Who, sitting up, was doubtful who should make

That sudden outcry, and in mind thus striv’d:

‘On what a people am I now arriv’d?

At civil hospitable men, that fear

The gods? Or dwell injurious mortals here,

Unjust and churlish? Like the female cry

Of youth it sounds. What are they? Nymphs bred high

On tops of hills, or in the founts of floods,

In herby marshes, or in leafy woods?

Or are they high-spoke men I now am near?

I’ll prove, and see.’ With this, the wary peer

Crept forth the thicket, and an olive bough

Broke with his broad hand, which he did bestow

In covert of his nakedness, and then

Put hasty head out. Look how from his den

A mountain lion looks, that, all embru’d

With drops of trees, and weather-beaten-hu’d,

Bold of his strength, goes on, and in his eye

A burning furnace glows, all bent to prey

On sheep, or oxen, or the upland hart,

His belly charging him, and he must part

Stakes with the herdsman in his beast’s attempt,

Even where from rape their strengths are most exempt:

So wet, so weather-beat, so stung with need,

Even to the home-fields of the country’s breed

Ulysses was to force forth his access,

Though merely naked; and his sight did press

The eyes of soft-hair’d virgins. Horrid was

His rough appearance to them; the hard pass

He had at sea stuck by him. All in flight

The virgins scatter’d, frighted with this sight,

About the prominent windings of the flood.

All but Nausicaa fled; but she fast stood,

Pallas had put a boldness in her breast,

And in her fair limbs tender fear compress’d.

And still she stood him, as resolv’d to know

What man he was, or out of what should grow

His strange repair to them. And here was he

Put to his wisdom; if her virgin knee

He should be bold, but kneeling, to embrace,

Or keep aloof, and try with words of grace,

In humblest suppliance, if he might obtain

Some cover for his nakedness, and gain

Her grace to show and guide him to the town.

The last he best thought, to be worth his own,

In weighing both well: to keep still aloof,

And give with soft words his desires their proof,

Lest, pressing so near as to touch her knee,

He might incense her maiden modesty.

This fair and fil’d speech then shew’d this was he:

‘Let me beseech, O queen, this truth of thee:

Are you of mortal, or the deified, race?

If of the gods, that th’ ample heav
’
ns embrace,

I can resemble you to none above

So near as to the chaste-born birth of Jove,

The beamy Cynthia. Her you full present,

In grace of every godlike lineament,

Her goodly magnitude, and all th’ address

You promise of her very perfectness.

If sprung of humans, that inhabit earth,

Thrice blest are both the authors of your birth,

Thrice blest your brothers, that in your deserts

Must, even to rapture, bear delighted hearts,

To see, so like the first trim of a tree,

Your form adorn a dance. But most blest he,

Of all that breathe, that hath the gift t’ engage

Your bright neck in the yoke of marriage,

And deck his house with your commanding merit.

I have not seen a man of so much spirit –

Nor man, nor woman I did ever see –

At all parts equal to the parts in thee.

T’ enjoy your sight, doth admiration seize

My’ eyes, and apprehensive faculties.

Lately in Delos (with a charge of men

Arrived, that render’d me most wretched then,

Now making me thus naked) I beheld

The burthen of a palm, whose issue swell’d

About Apollo’s fane, and that put on

A grace like thee; for earth had never none

Of all her sylvan issue so adorn’d.

Into amaze my very soul was turn’d,

To give it observation: as now thee

To view, O virgin, a stupidity

Past admiration strikes me, join’d with fear

To do a suppliant’s due, and press so near,

As to embrace thy knees. Nor is it strange,

For one of fresh and firmest spirit would change

T’ embrace so bright an object. But, for me,

A cruel habit of calamity

Prepar’d the strong impression thou hast made;

For this last day did fly night’s twentieth shade

Since I, at length, escap’d the sable seas;

When in the mean time th’ unrelenting prease

Of waves and stern storms toss’d me up and down,

From th’ isle Ogygia. And now god hath thrown

My wrack on this shore, that perhaps I may

My miseries vary here; for yet their stay,

I fear, heav’n hath not order’d, though before

These late afflictions, it hath lent me store.

O queen, deign pity then, since first to you

My fate importunes my distress to vow.

No other dame, nor man, that this earth own,

And neighbour city, I have seen or known.