The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (90 page)

The
red-hot substance, that so fervent is

It makes the cold wave straight to seethe and hiss:

So sod and hiss’d his eye about the stake.

He roar’d withal, and all his cavern brake

In claps like thunder. We did frighted fly,

Dispers’d in corners. He from forth his eye

The fixed stake pluck’d; after which the blood

Flow’d freshly forth; and mad, he hurl’d the wood

About his hovel. Out he then did cry

For other Cyclops, that in caverns by

Upon a windy promontory dwell’d;

Who, hearing how impetuously he yell’d,

Rush’d every way about him, and inquir’d,

What ill afflicted him, that he exspir’d

Such horrid clamours, and in sacred night

To break their sleeps so? Ask’d him, if his fright

Came from some mortal that his flocks had driv’n?

Or if by craft or might his death were giv’n?

He answer’d from his den: ‘By craft, nor might,

No-Man hath giv’n me death.’ They then said right,

‘If no man hurt thee, and thyself alone,

That which is done to thee by Jove is done;

And what great Jove inflicts no man can fly.

Pray to thy father yet, a deity,

And prove, from him if thou canst help acquire.’

Thus spake they, leaving him; when all on fire

My heart with joy was, that so well my wit

And name deceiv’d him; whom now pain did split,

And groaning up and down he groping tried

To find the stone; which found, he put aside,

But in the door sat, feeling if he could

(As his sheep issu’d) on some man lay hold –

Esteeming me a fool, that could devise

No stratagem to ’scape his gross surprise.

But I, contending what I could invent

My friends and me from death so imminent

To get deliver’d, all my wiles I wove

(Life being the subject) and did this approve:

Fat fleecy rams, most fair and great, lay there,

That did a burden like a violet bear.

These, while this learn’d-in-villany did sleep,

I yok
’
d with osiers cut there, sheep to sheep,

Three in a rank, and still the mid sheep bore

A man about his belly; the two more

March’d on his each side for defence. I then,

Choosing myself the fairest of the den,

His fleecy belly under-crept, embrac’d

His back, and in his rich wool wrapt me fast

With both my hands, arm’d with as fast a mind.

And thus each man hung, till the morning shin’d;

Which come, he knew the hour, and let abroad

His male-flocks first; the females unmilk’d stood

Bleating and braying, their full bags so sore

With being unemptied, but their shepherd more

With being unsighted, which was cause his mind

Went not a-milking. He, to wreak inclin’d,

The backs felt, as they pass’d, of those male dams –

Gross fool, believing we would ride his rams!

Nor ever knew that any of them bore

Upon his belly any man before.

The last ram came to pass him, with his wool

And me together loaded to the full,

For there did I hang; and that ram he stay’d,

And me withal had in his hands, my head

Troubled the while, not causelessly, nor least.

This ram he grop’d, and talk’d to: ‘Lazy beast!

Why last art thou now? Thou hast never us’d

To lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruis’d

The tender blossom of a flower, and held

State in thy steps, both to the flood and field;

First still at fold at ev’n, now last remain?

Dost thou not wish I had mine eye again,

Which that abhorr’d man No-Man did put out,

Assisted by his execrable rout,

When he had wrought me down with wine? But he

Must not escape my wreak so cunningly.

I would to heav’n thou knew’st, and could but speak,

To tell me where he lurks now! I would break

His brain about my cave, strew’d here and there,

To ease my heart of those foul ills, that were

Th’ inflictions of a man I priz’d at nought.’

Thus let he him abroad; when I, once brought

A little from his hold, myself first loos’d,

And next my friends. Then drave we, and dispos’d,

His straight-legg’d fat fleece-bearers over land,

Ev
’
n till they all were in my ship’s command;

And to our lov’d friends show’d our pray’d-for sight,

Escap’d from death. But, for our loss, outright

They brake in tears; which with a look I stay’d,

And bade them take our boot in. They obey’d,

And up we all went, sat, and used our oars.

But having left as far the savage shores

As one might hear a voice, we then might see

The Cyclop at the hav’n; when instantly

I stay’d our oars, and this insultance us’d:

‘Cyclop! Thou shouldst not have so much abus’d

Thy monstrous forces, to oppose their least

Against a man immartial, and a guest,

And eat his fellows. Thou mightst know there were

Some ills behind, rude swain, for thee to bear,

That fear’d not to devour thy guests, and break

All laws of humans. Jove sends therefore wreak,

And all the gods, by me.’ This blew the more

His burning fury; when the top he tore

From off a huge rock, and so right a throw

Made at our ship, that just before the prow

It overflew and fell, miss’d mast and all

Exceeding little; but about the fall

So fierce a wave it rais’d, that back it bore

Our ship so far, it almost touch’d the shore.

A bead-hook then, a far-extended one,

I snatch’d up, thrust hard, and so set us gone

Some little way; and straight commanded all

To help me with their oars, on pain to fall

Again on our confusion. But a sign

I with my head made, and their oars were mine

In all performance. When we off were set

(Than first, twice further), my heart was so great,

It would again provoke him, but my men

On all sides rush’d about me, to contain,

And said: ‘Unhappy! Why will you provoke

A man so rude, that with so dead a stroke,

Giv’n with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back

Our ship so far, and near had forc’d our wrack?

Should he again but hear your voice resound,

And any word reach, thereby would be found

His dart’s direction, which would, in his fall,

Crush piece-meal us, quite split our ship and all,

So much dart wields the monster.’ Thus urg’d they

Impossible things, in fear; but I gave way

To that wrath which so long I held depress’d,

By great necessity conquer’d, in my breast:

‘Cyclop! If any ask thee, who impos’d

Th’ unsightly blemish that thine eye enclos’d,

Say that Ulysses, old Laertes’ son,

Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won

Surname of city-raser, bored it out.’

At this, he bray’d so loud, that round about

He drave affrighted echoes through the air,

And said: ‘O beast! I was premonish’d fair,

By aged prophecy, in one that was

A great and good man, this should come to pass;

And how ’tis prov
’
d now! Augur Telemus,

Surnam’d Eurymides (that spent with us

His age in augury, and did exceed

In all presage of truth) said all this deed

Should this event take, author’d by the hand

Of one Ulysses, who I thought was mann’d

With great and goodly personage, and bore

A virtue answerable; and this shore

Should shake with weight of such a conqueror;

When now a weakling came, a dwarfy thing,

A thing of nothing; who yet wit did bring,

That brought supply to all, and with his wine

Put out the flame where all my light did shine.

Come, land again, Ulysses, that my hand

May guest-rites give thee, and the great command,

That Neptune hath at sea, I may convert

To the deduction where abides thy heart,

With my solicitings; whose son I am,

And whose fame boasts to bear my father’s name.

Nor think my hurt offends me, for my sire

Can soon repose in it the visual
fire,

At his free pleasure; which no power beside

Can boast, of men, or of the deified.’

I answer’d: ‘Would to god I could compel

Both life and soul from thee, and send to hell

Those spoils of nature! Hardly Neptune then

Could cure thy hurt, and give thee all again.’

Then flew fierce vows to Neptune, both his hands

To star-born heav’n cast: ‘O thou that all lands

Gird’st in thy ambient circle, and in air

Shak’st the curl’d tresses of thy sapphire hair,

If I be thine, or thou mayst justly vaunt

Thou art my father, hear me now, and grant

That this Ulysses, old Laertes’ son,

That dwells in Ithaca, and name hath won

Of city-ruiner, may never reach

His natural region. Or if to fetch

That, and the sight of his fair roofs and friends,

Be fatal to him, let him that amends

For all his miseries, long time and ill,

Smart for, and fail of; nor that fate fulfill,

Till all his soldiers quite are cast away

In others’ ships. And when, at last, the day

Of his sole-landing shall his dwelling show,

Let detriment prepare him wrongs enow.’

Thus pray’d he Neptune; who, his sire, appear’d,

And all his pray
’
r to every syllable heard.

But then a rock, in size more amplified

Than first, he ravish’d to him, and implied

A dismal strength in it, when, wheel’d about,

He sent it after us; nor flew it out

From any blind aim, for a little pass

Beyond our fore-deck from the fall there was,

With which the sea our ship gave back upon,

And shrunk up into billows from the stone,

Our ship again repelling near as near

The shore as first. But then our rowers were,

Being warn’d, more arm’d, and stronglier stemm’d the flood

That bore back on us, till our ship made good

The other island, where our whole fleet lay,

In which our friends lay mourning for our stay,

And every minute look’d when we should land.

Where, now arriv’d, we drew up to the sand,

The Cyclops’ sheep dividing, that none there

Of all our privates might be wrung, and bear

Too much on pow’r. The ram yet was alone

By all my friends made all my portion

Above all others; and I made him then

A sacrifice for me and all my men

To cloud-compelling Jove that all commands,

To whom I burn’d the thighs; but my sad hands

Receiv’d no grace from him, who studied how

To offer men and fleet to overthrow.

All day, till sun-set, yet we sat and eat,

And liberal store took in of wine and meat.

The sun then down, anal place resign’d to shade,

We slept. Morn came, my men I rais’d, and made

All go aboard, weigh anchor, and away.

They boarded, sat, and beat the aged sea,

And forth we made sail, sad for loss before,

And yet had comfort since we lost no more.

The end of the ninth book

Book 10

The Argument

Ulysses now relates to us

The grace he had with Aeolus,

Great guardian of the hollow winds;

Which in a leather bag he binds,

And gives Ulysses; all but one,

Which Zephyr was, who fill’d alone

Ulysses’ sails. The bag once seen,

While he slept, by Ulysses’ men,

They thinking it did gold enclose,

To find it, all the winds did loose,

Who back flew to their guard again.

Forth sail’d he, and did next attain

To where the Laestrygonians dwell;

Where he elev
’
n ships lost, and fell

On the Aeaean coast, whose shore

He sends Eurylochus t’ explore,

Dividing with him half his men;

Who go, and turn no more again,

All, save Eurylochus, to swine

By Circe turn’d. Their stays incline

Ulysses to their search; who got

Of Mercury an antidote,

Which
moly
was,
’gainst Circe’s charms,

And so avoids his soldiers’ harms.

A year with Circe all remain,

And then their native forms regain.

On utter shores a time they dwell,

While Ithacus descends to hell.

Another Argument

Kappa

Great Aeolus

And Circe, friends

Finds Ithacus;

And hell descends.

Book 10

To t
h
e Aeolian
i
s
l
an
d we attain’d,

That swum about still on the sea, where reign’d

The god-lov’d Aeolus Hippotades.

A wall of steel it had, and in the seas

A wave-beat-smooth rock moved about the wall.

Twelve children in his house imperial

Were born to him; of which six daughters were,

And six were sons, that youth’s sweet flower did bear.

His daughters to his sons he gave as wives;

Who spent in feastful comforts all their lives,

Close seated by their sire and his grave spouse.

Past number were the dishes that the house

Made ever savour; and still full the hall

As long as day shin’d; in the night-time, all

Slept with their chaste wives, each his fair carv’d bed

Most richly furnish’d; and this life they led.

We reach’d the city and fair roofs of these,

Where, a whole month’s time, all things that might please

The king vouchsa
f
’
d us; of great Troy inquir’d,

The Grecian fleet, and how the Greeks retir’d.

To all which I gave answer as behov’d.

The fit time come when I dismission mov’d,

He nothing would deny me, but address’d

My pass with such a bounty, as might best

Teach me contentment; for he did enfold

Within an ox-hide, flay’d at nine years old,

All th’ airy blasts that were of stormy kinds.

Saturnius made him steward of his winds,

And gave him power to raise and to assuage.

And these he gave me, curb’d thus of their rage,

Which in a glittering silver band I bound,

And hung up in my ship, enclos’d so round

That no egression any breath could find;

Only he left abroad the Western wind,

To speed our ships and us with blasts secure.

But our securities made all unsure;

Nor could he consummate our course alone,

When all the rest had got egression;

Which thus succeeded: nine whole days and nights

We sail’d in safety; and the tenth, the lights

Borne on our country earth we might descry,

So near we drew; and yet even then fell I,

Being overwatch’d, into a fatal sleep,

For I would suffer no man else to keep

The foot that ruled my vessel’s course, to lead

The faster home. My friends then envy fed

About the bag I hung up, and suppos’d

That gold and silver I had there enclos’d,

As gift from Aeolus, and said: ‘O heav’n!

What grace and grave price is by all men giv’n

To our commander! Whatsoever coast

Or town he comes to, how much he engrost

Of fair and precious prey, and brought from Troy!

We the same voyage went, and yet enjoy

In our return these empty hands for all.

This bag, now, Aeolus was so liberal

To make a guest-gift to him; let us try

Of what consists the fair-bound treasury,

And how much gold and silver it contains.’

Ill counsel present approbation gains.

They op’d the bag, and out the vapours brake,

When instant tempest did our vessel take,

That bore us back to sea, to mourn anew

Our absent country. Up amaz’d I flew,

And desperate things discours’d: if I should cast

Myself to ruin in the seas, or taste

Amongst the living more moan, and sustain?

Silent, I did so, and lay hid again

Beneath the hatches, while an ill wind took

My ships back to Aeolia, my men strook

With woe enough. We pump’d and landed then,

Took food, for all this; and of all my men

I took a herald to me, and away

Went to the court of Aeolus, where they

Were feasting still: he, wife, and children, set

Together close. We would not at their meat

Thrust in, but humbly on the threshold sat.

He then, amaz’d, my presence wonder’d at,

And call’d to me: ‘Ulysses! How thus back

Art thou arriv’d here? What foul spirit brake

Into thy bosom, to retire thee thus?

We thought we had deduction curious

Given thee before, to reach thy shore and home.

Did it not like thee?’ I, ev’n overcome

With worthy sorrow, answer’d: ‘My ill men

Have done me mischief, and to them hath been

My sleep th’ unhappy motive; but do you,

Dearest of friends, deign succour to my vow.

Your pow’rs command it.’ Thus endeavour’d I

With soft speech to repair my misery.

The rest with ruth sat dumb. But thus spake he:

‘Avaunt, and quickly quit my land of thee,

Thou worst of all that breathe. It fits not me

To convoy, and take in, whom heav
’
ns expose.

Away, and with thee go the worst of woes,

That seek’st my friendship, and the gods thy foes.’

Thus he dismiss’d me sighing. Forth we sail’d,

At heart afflicted. And now wholly fail’d

The minds my men sustain’d, so spent they were

With toiling at their oars, and worse did bear

Their growing labours – and they caused their grought

By self-will’d follies – nor now ever thought

To see their country more. Six nights and days

We sail’d; the seventh we saw fair Lamos raise

Her lofty towers, the Laestrigonian state

That bears her ports so far disterminate;

Where shepherd shepherd calls out, he at home

Is call’d out by the other that doth come

From charge abroad, and then goes he to sleep,

The other issuing; he whose turn doth keep

The night observance hath his double hire,

Since day and night in equal length expire

About that region, and the night’s watch weigh’d

At twice the day’s ward, since the charge that’s laid

Upon the nights-man (besides breach of sleep)

Exceeds the days-man’s; for one oxen keep,

The other sheep. But when the hav’n we found

(Exceeding famous, and environ’d round

With one continuate rock, which so much bent

That both ends almost met, so prominent

They were, and made the hav’n’s mouth passing strait),

Our whole fleet in we got; in whose receit

Our ships lay anchor’d close. Nor needed we

Fear harm on any stays, tranquillity

So purely sat there, that waves great nor small

Did ever rise to any height at all.

And yet would I no entry make, but stay’d

Alone without the hav’n, and thence survey’d,

From out a lofty watch-tower raised there,

The country round about; nor anywhere

The work of man or beast appear’d to me,

Only a smoke from earth break I might see.

I then made choice of two, and added more,

A herald for associate, to explore

What sort of men liv’d there. They went, and saw

A beaten way, through which carts us’d to draw

Wood from the high hills to the town, and met

A maid without the port, about to get

Some near spring-water. She the daughter was

Of mighty Laestrigonian Antiphas,

And to the clear spring call’d Artacia went,

To which the whole town for their water sent.

To her they came, and ask’d who govern’d there,

And what the people whom he order’d were?

She answer’d not, but led them through the port,

As making haste to show her father’s court.

Where enter’d, they beheld, to their affright,

A woman like a mountain-top in height,

Who rush’d abroad, and from the counsel place

Call’d home her horrid husband Antiphas.

Who, deadly minded, straight he snatch’d up one,

And fell to supper. Both the rest were gone,

And to the fleet came. Antiphas a cry

Drave through the city; which heard, instantly

This way and that innumerable sorts,

Not men, but giants, issued through the ports,

And mighty flints from rocks tore, which they threw

Amongst our ships; through which an ill noise flew

Of shiver’d ships, and life-expiring men,

That were, like fishes, by the monsters slain,

And borne to sad feast. While they slaughter’d these,

That were engag’d in all th’ advantages

The close-mouth’d and most dead-calm hav’n could give,

I, that without lay, made some means to live,

My sword drew, cut my cables, and to oars

Set all my men; and, from the plagues those shores

Let fly amongst us, we made haste to fly,

My men close working as men loth to die.

My ship flew freely off; but theirs that lay

On heaps in harbours could enforce no way

Through these stern fates that had engag’d them there.

Forth our sad remnant sail’d, yet still retain’d

The joys of men, that our poor few remain’d.

Then to the isle Aeaea we attain’d,

Where fair-hair’d, dreadful, eloquent Circe reign’d,

Aeaeta’s sister both by dame and sire,

Both daughters to heav
’
n’s man-enlightning fire,

And Perse, whom Oceanus begat.

The ship-fit port here soon we landed at,

Some god directing us. Two days, two nights,

We lay here pining in the fatal spights

Of toil and sorrow; but the next third day

When fair Aurora had inform’d, quick way

I made out of my ship, my sword and lance

Took for my surer guide, and made advance

Up to a prospect; I assay to see

The works of men, or hear mortality

Expire a voice. When I had climb’d a height,

Rough and right hardly accessible, I might

Behold from Circe’s house, that in a grove

Set thick with trees stood, a bright vapour move.

I then grew curious in my thought to try

Some fit inquiry, when so spritely fly

I saw the yellow smoke; but my discourse

A first retiring to my ship gave force,

To give my men their dinner, and to send

(Before th’ adventure of mysel
f
) some friend.

Being near my ship, of one so desolate

Some god had pity, and would recreate

My woes a little, putting up to me

A great and high-palm’d hart, that (fatally,

Just in my way, itself to taste a flood)

Was then descending; the sun heat had sure

Importun’d him, besides the temperature

His natural heat gave. Howsoever, I

Made up to him, and let my javelin fly,

That struck him through the mid-part of his chine,

And made him, braying, in the dust confine

His flying forces. Forth his spirit flew;

When I stept in, and from the death’s wound drew

My shrewdly-bitten lance; there let him lie

Till I, of cut-up osiers, did imply

A withe a fathom long, with which his feet

I made together in a sure league meet,

Stoop’d under him, and to my neck I heav
’
d

The mighty burden, of which I receiv’d

A good part on my lance, for else I could

By no means with one hand alone uphold

(Join’d with one shoulder) such a deathful load.

And so, to both my shoulders, both hands stood

Needful assistants; for it was a deer

Goodly-well-grown. When (coming something near

Where rode my ships) I cast it down, and rear’d

My friends with kind words; whom by name I cheer’d,

In note particular, and said: ‘See friends,

We will not yet to Pluto’s house; our ends

Shall not be hasten’d, though we be declin’d

In cause of comfort, till the day design’d

By Fate’s fix’d finger. Come, as long as food

Or wine lasts in our ship, let’s spirit our blood,

And quit our care and hunger both in one.’

This said, they frolick’d, came, and look’d upon

With admiration the huge-bodied beast;

And when their first-serv’d eyes had done their feast,

They wash’d, and made a to-be-striv’d-for meal

In point of honour. On which all did dwell

The whole day long. And, to our venison’s store,

We added wine till we could wish no more.

Sun set, and darkness up, we slept till light

Put darkness down; and then did I excite

My friends to counsel, uttering this: ‘Now, friends,

Afford unpassionate ear; though ill fate lends

So good cause to your passion, no man knows

The reason whence and how the darkness grows;

The reason how the morn is thus begun;

The reason how the man-enlight’ning sun

Dives under earth; the reason how again

He rears his golden head. Those counsels, then,

That pass our comprehension, we must leave

To him that knows their causes, and receive

Direction from him in our acts, as far

As he shall please to make them regular,

And stoop them to our reason. In our state

What then behoves us? Can we estimate,

With all our counsels, where we are? Or know

(Without instruction, past our own skills) how,

Put off from hence, to steer our course the more?

I think we cannot. We must then explore

These parts for information; in which way

We thus far are: last morn I might display

(From off a high-rais’d clif
f
) an island lie

Girt with th’ unmeasur’d sea, and is so nigh

That in the midst I saw the smoke arise

Through tufts of trees. This rests then to advise,

Who shall explore this?’ This struck dead their hearts,

Rememb’ring the most execrable parts

That Laestrigonian Antiphas had play’d,

And that foul Cyclop that their fellows bray’d

Betwixt his jaws; which mov
’
d them so, they cried.

But idle tears had never wants supplied;