The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (95 page)

He with his bow, like Night, stalk’d up and down,

His shaft still nock’d, and hurling round his frown

At those vex’d hoverers, aiming at them still,

And still, as shooting out desire to still.

A horrid bawdrick wore he thwart his breast,

The thong all gold, in which were forms impress
’
d,

Where art and miracle drew equal breaths,

In bears, boars, lions, battles, combats, deaths.

Who wrought that work did never such before,

Nor so divinely will do ever more.

Soon as he saw, he knew me, and gave speech:

‘Son of Laertes, high in wisdom’s reach,

And yet unhappy wretch, for in this heart,

Of all exploits achiev’d by thy desert,

Thy worth but works out some sinister fate,

As I in earth did. I was generate

By Jove himself, and yet past mean oppress’d

By one my far inferior, whose proud hest

Impos’d abhorred labours on my hand.

Of all which one was, to descend this strand,

And hale the dog from thence. He could not think

An act that danger could make deeper sink.

And yet this depth I drew, and fetch’d as high,

As this was low, the dog. The deity

Of sleight and wisdom, as of downright pow’r,

Both stoop’d and raised, and made me conqueror.’

This said, he made descent again as low

As Pluto’s court; when I stood firm, for show

Of more heroës of the times before,

And might perhaps have seen my wish of more

(As Theseus and Pirithous, deriv’d

From roots of deity) but before th’ achiev
’
d

Rare sight of these, the rank-soul’d multitude

In infinite flocks rose, venting sounds so rude

That pale fear took me, lest the gorgon’s head

Rush’d in amongst them, thrust up, in my dread,

By grim Persephone. I therefore sent

My men before to ship, and after went.

Where, boarded, set, and launch’d, th’ ocean wave

Our oars and forewinds speedy passage gave.

The end of the eleventh book

Book 12

The Argument

He shows from Hell his safe retreat

To th’ isle Aeaea, Circe’s seat;

And how he scap’d the Sirens’ calls,

With th’ erring rocks, and waters’ falls,

That Scylla and Charybdis break;

The Sun’s stol’n herds, and his sad wreak

Both of Ulysses’ ship and men,

His own head ’scaping scarce the pain.

Another Argument

Mu

The rocks that err’d;

The Sirens’ call;

The Sun’s stol
’
n herd;

The soldiers’ fall.

Book 12

O
u
r s
hi
p now past the straits of th’ ocean flood,

She plow’d the broad sea’s billows, and made good

The isle Aeaea, where the palace stands

Of th’ early riser with the rosy hands,

Active Aurora, where she loves to dance,

And where the Sun doth his prime beams advance.

When here arrived, we drew her up to land,

And trod ourselves the re-saluted sand,

Found on the shore fit resting for the night,

Slept, and expected the celestial light.

Soon as the white-and-red-mix’d-finger’d dame

Had gilt the mountains with her saffron flame,

I sent my men to Circe’s house before,

To fetch deceas’d Elpenor to the shore.

Straight swell’d the high banks with fell’d heaps of trees,

And, full of tears, we did due exsequies

To our dead friend. Whose corse consum’d with fire

And honour’d arms, whose sepulchre entire

And over that a column rais
’
d, his oar,

Curiously carv’d to his desire before,

Upon the top of all his tomb we fix’d.

Of all rites fit his funeral pile was mix’d.

Nor was our safe ascent from hell conceal’d

From Circe’s knowledge; nor so soon reveal’d

But she was with us, with her bread and food,

And ruddy wine, brought by her sacred brood

Of woods and fountains. In the midst she stood,

And thus saluted us: ‘Unhappy men,

That have, inform’d with all your senses, been

In Pluto’s dismal mansion! You shall die

Twice now, where others, that mortality

In her fair arms holds, shall but once decease.

But eat and drink out all conceit of these,

And this day dedicate to food and wine,

The following night to sleep. When next shall shine

The cheerful morning, you shall prove the seas.

Your way, and every act ye must address,

My knowledge of their order shall design,

Lest with your own bad counsels ye incline

Events as bad against ye, and sustain,

By sea and shore, the woeful ends that reign

In wilful actions.’ Thus did she advise,

And, for the time, our fortunes were so wise

To follow wise directions. All that day

We sat and feasted. When his lower way

The sun had enter’d, and the ev
’
n the high,

My friends slept on their cables; she and I

(Led by her fair hand to a place apart,

By her well-sorted) did to sleep convert

Our timid powers; when all things fate let fall

In our affair she ask’d; I told her all.

To which she answer’d: ‘These things thus took end.

And now to those that I inform attend,

Which you rememb’ring, god himself shall be

The blessed author of your memory.

First to the Sirens ye shall come, that taint

The minds of all men, whom they can acquaint

With their attractions. Whomsoever shall,

For want of knowledge mov’d, but hear the call

Of any Siren, he will so despise

Both wife and children, for their sorceries,

That never home turns his affection’s stream,

Nor they take joy in him, nor he in them.

The Sirens will so soften with their song

(Shrill, and in sensual appetite so strong)

His loose affections, that he gives them head.

And then observe: they sit amidst a mead,

And round about it runs a hedge or wall

Of dead men’s bones, their wither’d skins and all

Hung all along upon it; and these men

Were such as they had fawn’d into their fen,

And then their skins hung on their hedge of bones.

Sail by them therefore, thy companions

Beforehand causing to stop every ear

With sweet soft wax, so close that none may hear

A note of all their charmings. Yet may you,

If you affect it, open ear allow

To try their motion; but presume not so

To trust your judgment, when your senses go

So loose about you, but give straight command

To all your men, to bind you foot and hand

Sure to the mast, that you may safe approve

How strong in instigation to their love

Their rapting tunes are. If so much they move,

That, spite of all your reason, your will stands

To be enfranchis’d both of feet and hands,

Charge all your men before to slight your charge,

And rest so far from fearing to enlarge

That much more sure they bind you. When your friends

Have outsail’d these, the danger that transcends

Rests not in any counsel to prevent,

Unless your own mind finds the tract and bent

Of that way that avoids it. I can say

That in your course there lies a twofold way,

The right of which your own, taught, present wit,

And grace divine, must prompt. In general yet

Let this inform you: near these Sirens’ shore

Move two steep rocks, at whose feet lie and roar

The black sea’s cruel billows; the bless’d gods

Call them the Rovers. Their abhorr’d abodes

No bird can pass – no, not the doves, whose fear

Sire Jove so loves that they are said to bear

Ambrosia to him, can their ravine ’scape,

But one of them falls ever to the rape

Of those sly rocks; yet Jove another still

Adds to the rest, that so may ever fill

The sacred number. Never ship could shun

The nimble peril wing’d there, but did run

With all her bulk, and bodies of her men,

To utter ruin. For the seas retain

Not only their outrageous testure there,

But fierce assistants of particular fear

And supernatural mischief they expire,

And those are whirlwinds of devouring fire

Whisking about still. Th’ Argive ship alone,

Which bore the care of all men, got her gone,

Come from Areta. Yet perhaps ev
’
n she

Had wrack’d at those rocks, if the deity

That lies by Jove’s side, had not lent her hand

To their transmission, since the man that mann’d

In chief that voyage, she in chief did love.

Of these two spiteful rocks, the one doth shove

Against the height of heav’n her pointed brow.

A black cloud binds it round, and never show

Lends to the sharp point; not the clear blue sky

Lets ever view it, not the summer’s eye,

Not fervent autumn’s. None that death could end

Could ever scale it, or, if up, descend,

Though twenty hands and feet he had for hold,

A polish’d ice-like glibness doth enfold

The rock so round, whose midst a gloomy cell

Shrouds so far westward that it sees to hell.

From this keep you as far as from his bow

An able young man can his shaft bestow.

For here the whuling Scylla shrouds her face,

That breathes a voice at all parts no more base

Than are a newly-kitten’d kitling’s cries,

Herself a monster yet of boundless size,

Whose sight would nothing please a mortal’s eyes –

No, nor the eyes of any god, if he

(Whom nought should fright) fell foul on her, and she

Her full shape show’d. Twelve foul feet bear about

Her ugly bulk. Six huge long necks look out

Of her rank shoulders; every neck doth let

A ghastly head out; every head three set,

Thick thrust together, of abhorred teeth,

And every tooth stuck with a sable death.

She lurks in midst of all her den, and streaks

From out a ghastly whirlpool all her necks;

Where, gloting round her rock, to fish she falls;

And up rush dolphins, dogfish, somewhiles whales,

If got within her when her rapine feeds;

For ever-groaning Amphitrite breeds

About her whirlpool an unmeasur
’
d store.

No sea-man ever boasted touch of shore

That there touch’d with his ship, but still she fed

Of him and his, a man for every head

Spoiling his ship of. You shall then descry

The other humbler rock, that moves so nigh

Your dart may mete the distance. It receives

A huge wild fig-tree, curl’d with ample leaves,

Beneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits,

Supping the black deeps – thrice a day her pits

She drinking all dry, and thrice a day again

All up she belches, baneful to sustain.

When she is drinking, dare not near her draught,

For not the force of Neptune, if once caught,

Can force your freedom. Therefore in your strife

To ’scape Charybdis, labour all for life

To row near Scylla, for she will but have

For her six heads six men; and better save

The rest, than all make of
f
’
rings to the wave.’

This need she told me of my loss, when I

Desir’d to know, if that Necessity,

When I had ’scaped Charybdis’ outrages,

My powers might not revenge, though not redress.

She answer’d: ‘O unhappy! Art thou yet

Enflam’d with war, and thirst to drink thy sweat?

Not to the gods give up both arms and will?

She deathless is, and that immortal ill

Grave, harsh, outrageous, not to be subdu’d,

That men must suffer till they be renew’d.

Nor lives there any virtue that can fly

The vicious outrage of their cruelty.

Shouldst thou put arms on, and approach the rock,

I fear six more must expiate the shock.

Six heads six men ask still. Hoise sail, and fly,

And, in thy flight, aloud on Cratis cry

(Great Scylla’s mother, who expos’d to light

The bane of men) and she will do such right

To thy observance, that she down will tread

Her daughter’s rage, nor let her show a head.

From thenceforth then, for ever past her care,

Thou shalt ascend the isle triangular,

Where many oxen of the Sun are fed,

And fatted flocks. Of oxen fifty head

In every herd feed, and their herds are seven;

And of his fat flocks is their number even.

Increase they yield not, for they never die.

There every shepherdess a deity –

Fair Phaëthusa and Lampetië

The lovely nymphs are that their guardians be,

Who to the daylight’s lofty-going flame

Had gracious birthright from the heav
’
nly dame,

Still-young Neaera; who (brought forth and bred)

Far off dismiss’d them, to see duly fed

Their father’s herds and flocks in Sicily.

These herds and flocks if to the deity

Ye leave, as sacred things, untouch’d, and on

Go with all fit care of your home, alone,

(Though through some suf
f
’
rance) you yet safe shall land

In wished Ithaca. But if impious hand

You lay on those herds to their hurts, I then

Presage sure ruin to thy ship and men.

If thou escap’st thyself, extending home

Thy long’d-for landing, thou shalt loaded come

With store of losses, most exceeding late,

And not consorted with a saved mate.’

This said, the golden-thron’d Aurora rose,

She her way went, and I did mine dispose

Up to my ship, weigh’d anchor, and away;

When reverend Circe help’d us to convey

Our vessel safe, by making well inclin’d

A seaman’s true companion, a forewind,

With which she fill’d our sails; when, fitting all

Our arms close by us, I did sadly fall

To grave relation what concern’d in fate

My friends to know, and told them that the state

Of our affairs’ success, which Circe had

Presag’d to me alone, must yet be made

To one nor only two known, but to all;

That, since their lives and deaths were left to fall

In their elections, they might life elect,

And give what would preserve it fit effect.

I first inform’d them, that we were to fly

The heav
’
nly-singing Sirens’ harmony,

And flow’r-adorned meadow; and that I

Had charge to hear their song, but fetter’d fast

In bands, unfavour’d, to th’ erected mast,

From whence, if I should pray, or use command,

To be enlarg’d, they should with much more band

Contain my strugglings. This I simply told

To each particular, nor would withhold

What most enjoin’d mine own affection’s stay,

That theirs the rather might be taught t’ obey.

In mean time flew our ships, and straight we fetch’d

The Sirens’ isle, a spleenless wind so stretch’d

Her wings to waft us, and so urg
’
d our keel.

But having reach’d this isle, we could not feel

The least gasp of it, it was stricken dead,

And all the sea in prostrate slumber spread,

The Sirens’ devil charm’d all. Up then flew

My friends to work, struck sail, together drew

And under hatches stow’d them, sat and plied

The polish’d oars, and did in curls divide

The white-head waters. My part then came on:

A mighty waxen cake I set upon,

Chopp’d it in fragments with my sword, and wrought

With strong hand every piece till all were soft.

The great power of the sun, in such a beam

As then flew burning from his diadem,

To liquefaction help’d us. Orderly

I stopp’d their ears; and they as fair did ply

My feet and hands with cords, and to the mast

With other halsers made me soundly fast.

Then took they seat, and forth our passage strook;

The foamy sea beneath their labour shook.

Row’d on in reach of an erected voice,

The Sirens soon took note, without, our noise,