The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (97 page)

A deed so
impious, I stand well assur’d,

That you will not forgive, though ye procur’d.’

Then flew Lampetië with the ample robe

Up to her father with the golden globe,

Ambassadress t’ inform him that my men

Had slain his oxen. Heart-incensed then,

He cried: ‘Revenge me, Father, and the rest

Both ever-living and for ever blest!

Ulysses’ impious men have drawn the blood

Of those my oxen that it did me good

To look on, walking all my starry round,

And when I trod earth all with meadows crown’d.

Without your full amends I’ll leave heav’n quite,

Dis and the dead adorning with my light.’

The Cloud-herd answer’d: ‘Son! Thou shalt be ours,

And light those mortals in that mine of flow
’
rs!

My red-hot flash shall graze but on their ship,

And eat it, burning, in the boiling deep.’

This by Calypso I was told, and she

Inform’d it from the verger Mercury.

Come to our ship, I chid and told by name

Each man how impiously he was to blame.

But chiding got no peace, the beeves were slain!

When straight the gods forewent their following pain

With dire ostents. The hides the flesh had lost

Crept all before them. As the flesh did roast,

It bellow’d like the ox itself alive.

And yet my soldiers did their dead beeves drive

Through all these prodigies in daily feasts.

Six days they banqueted and slew fresh beasts;

And when the seventh day Jove reduc’d, the wind

That all the month rag’d and so in did bind

Our ship and us, was turn’d and calmed, and we

Launch’d, put up masts, sails hoised, and to sea.

The island left so far that land nowhere

But only sea and sky had power t’ appear,

Jove fixed a cloud above our ship, so black

That all the sea it darken’d. Yet from wrack

She ran a good free time, till from the West

Came Zephyr ruffling forth, and put his breast

Out in a singing tempest, so most vast

It burst the cables that made sure our mast;

Our masts came tumbling down, our cattle down

Rush’d to the pump, and by our pilot’s crown

The main-mast pass’d his fall, pash’d all his skull,

And all this wrack but one flaw made at full;

Off from the stern the sternsman diving fell,

And from his sinews flew his soul to hell.

Together all this time Jove’s thunder chid,

And through and through the ship his lightning glid,

Till it embrac
’
d her round; her bulk was fill’d

With nasty sulphur, and her men were kill’d,

Tumbled to sea, like sea-mews swum about,

And there the date of their return was out.

I toss’d from side to side still, till all broke

Her ribs were with the storm, and she did choke

With let-in surges; for the mast torn down

Tore her up piecemeal, and for me to drown

Left little undissolv’d. But to the mast

There was a leather thong left, which I cast

About it and the keel, and so sat tost

With baneful weather, till the West had lost

His stormy tyranny. And then arose

The South, that bred me more abhorred woes;

For back again his blasts expell’d me quite

On ravenous Charybdis. All that night

I totter’d up and down, till light and I

At Scylla’s rock encounter’d, and the nigh

Dreadful Charybdis. As I drave on these,

I saw Charybdis supping up the seas,

And had gone up together, if the tree

That bore the wild figs had not rescu’d me;

To which I leap’d, and left my keel, and high

Clamb’ring upon it did as close imply

My breast about it as a reremouse could;

Yet might my feet on no stub fasten hold

To ease my hands, the roots were crept so low

Beneath the earth, and so aloft did grow

The far-spread arms that, though good height I gat,

I could not reach them. To the main bole flat

I, therefore, still must cling, till up again

She belch’d my mast, and after that amain

My keel came tumbling. So at length it chanc’d

To me, as to a judge that long advanc’d

To judge a sort of hot young fellows’ jars,

At length time frees him from their civil wars,

When glad he riseth and to dinner goes:

So time, at length, releas’d with joys my woes,

And from Charybdis’ mouth appear’d my keel.

To which, my hand now loos’d and now my heel,

I altogether with a huge noise dropp’d,

Just in her midst fell, where the mast was propp’d,

And there row’d off with owers of my hands.

god and man’s Father would not from her sands

Let Scylla see me, for I then had died

That bitter death that my poor friends supplied.

Nine days at sea I hover’d – the tenth night

In th’ isle Ogygia, where, about the bright

And right renown’d Calypso, I was cast

By pow
’
r of deity; where I lived embrac’d

With love and feasts. But why should I relate

Those kind occurrents? I should iterate

What I in part to your chaste queen and you

So late imparted. And, for me to grow

A talker-over of my tale again,

Were past my free contentment to sustain.’

The end of the twelfth book

Book 13

The Argument

Ulysses (shipp’d, but in the ev’n,

With all the presents he was giv’n,

And sleeping then) is set next morn

In full scope of his wish’d return,

And treads unknown his country shore,

Whose search so many winters wore.

The ship (returning, and arriv’d

Against the city) is depriv’d

Of form, and, all her motion gone,

Transform’d by Neptune to a stone.

Ulysses (let to know the strand

Where the Phaeacians made him land)

Consults with Pallas, for the life

Of every wooer of his wife.

His gifts she hides within a cave,

And him into a man more grave,

All hid in wrinkles, crooked, gray,

Transform’d; who so goes on his way.

Another Argument

Nu

Phaeacia

Ulysses leaves;

Whom Ithaca,

Unwares, receives.

Book 13

H
e
s
ai
d; and silence all their tongues contain’d

In admiration, when with pleasure chain’d

Their ears had long been to him. At last brake

Alcinous silence, and in this sort spake

To th’ Ithacensian, Laertes’ son:

‘O Ithacus! However over-run

With former suf
f
’
rings in your way for home,

Since ’twas, at last, your happy fate to come

To my high-roo
f
’
d and brass-foundation’d house,

I hope such speed and pass auspicious

Our loves shall yield you, that you shall no more

Wander, nor suffer, homewards, as before.

You then, whoever that are ever grac’d

With all choice of authoris’d pow
’
r to taste

Such wine with me as warms the sacred rage,

And is an honorary given to age,

With which ye likewise hear divinely sing,

In honour’s praise, the poet of the king,

I move, by way of my command, to this:

That where in an elaborate chest there lies

A present for our guest, attires of price,

And gold engrav’n with infinite device,

I wish that each of us should add beside

A tripod, and a cauldron, amplified

With size, and metal of most rate, and great;

For we, in council of taxation met,

Will from our subjects gain their worth again;

Since ’tis unequal one man should sustain

A charge so weighty, being the grace of all,

Which borne by many is a weight but small.’

Thus spake Alcinous, and pleas’d the rest;

When each man clos’d with home and sleep his feast.

But when the colour-giving light arose,

All to the ship did all their speeds dispose,

And wealth, that honest men makes, brought with them.

All which ev’n he that wore the diadem

Stow’d in the ship himself, beneath the seats

The rowers sat in, stooping, lest their lets

In any of their labours he might prove.

Then home he turn’d, and after him did move

The whole assembly to expected feast.

Among whom he a sacrifice address’d,

And slew an ox, to weather-wielding Jove,

Beneath whose empire all things are, and move.

The thighs then roasting, they made glorious cheer,

Delighted highly; and amongst them there

The honour’d-of-the-people us
’
d his voice,

Divine Demodocus. Yet, through this choice

Of cheer and music, had Ulysses still

An eye directed to the eastern hill,

To see him rising that illustrates all:

For now into his mind a fire did fall

Of thirst for home. And as in hungry vow

To needful food a man at fixed plow

(To whom the black ox all day long hath turn’d

The stubborn fallows up, his stomach burn’d

With empty heat and appetite to food,

His knees afflicted with his spirit-spent blood)

At length the long-expected sun-set sees,

That he may sit to food, and rest his knees:

So to Ulysses set the friendly light

The sun afforded, with as wish’d a sight.

Who straight bespake that oar-affecting state,

But did in chief his speech appropriate

To him by name, that with their rule was crown’d.

‘Alcinous, of all men most renown’d,

Dismiss me with as safe pass as you vow

(Your of
f
’
ring past), and may the gods to you

In all contentment use as full a hand;

For now my landing here and stay shall stand

In all perfection with my heart’s desire,

Both my so
safe deduction to aspire,

And loving gifts; which may the gods to me

As blest in use make as your acts are free,

Ev’n to the finding firm in love and life,

With all desir’d event, my friends and wife.

When, as myself shall live delighted there,

May you with your wives rest as happy here,

Your sons and daughters, in particular state,

With every virtue render’d consummate;

And, in your general empire, may ill never

Approach your land, but good your good quit ever.’

This all applauded, and all jointly cried:

‘Dismiss the stranger! He hath dignified

With fit speech his dismission.’ Then the king

Thus charg’d the herald: ‘Fill for offering

A bowl of wine; which through the whole large house

Dispose to all men, that, propitious

Our father Jove made with our pray’rs, we may

Give home our guest in full and wished way.’

This said, Pontonous commix’d a bowl

Of such sweet wine as did delight the soul.

Which making sacred to the blessed gods,

That hold in broad heav’n their supreme abodes,

godlike Ulysses from his chair arose,

And in the hands of th’ empress did impose

The all-round cup; to whom, fair spoke, he said:

‘Rejoice, O queen, and be your joys repaid

By heav
’
n, for me, till age and death succeed;

Both which inflict their most unwelcome need

On men and dames alike. And first, for me,

I must from hence, to both: live you here free,

And ever may all living blessings spring,

Your joy in children, subjects, and your king.’

This said, divine Ulysses took his way;

Before whom the unalterable sway

Of king Alcinous’ virtue did command

A herald’s fit attendance to the strand,

And ship appointed. With him likewise went

Handmaids, by Arete’s injunction sent.

One bore an out-and in-weed, fair and sweet,

The other an embroider’d cabinet,

The third had bread to bear, and ruddy wine;

All which, at sea and ship arriv’d, resign

Their freight conferr’d. With fair attendants then,

The sheets and bedding of the man of men –

Within a cabin of the hollow keel,

Spread and made soft, that sleep might sweetly seal

His restful eyes – he enter’d, and his bed

In silence took. The rowers ordered

Themselves in several seats, and then set gone

The ship, the cable from the hollow stone

Dissolv’d and weigh’d up, all together, close

Then beat the sea. His lids in sweet repose

Sleep bound so fast, it scarce gave way to breath,

Inexcitable, next of all to death.

And as amids a fair field four brave horse

Before a chariot, stung into their course

With fervent lashes of the smarting scourge,

That all their fire blows high, and makes them urge

To utmost speed the measure of their ground:

So bore the ship aloft her fiery bound;

About whom rush’d the billows black and vast,

In which the sea-roars burst. As firm as fast

She ply’d her course yet; nor her winged speed

The falcon-gentle could for pace exceed;

So cut she through the waves, and bore a man

Ev’n with the gods in counsels, that began

And spent his former life in all misease,

Battles of men, and rude waves of the seas,

Yet now securely slept, forgetting all.

And when heav
’
n’s brightest star, that first doth call

The early morning out, advanc’d her head,

Then near to Ithaca the billow-bred

Phaeacian ship approach’d. There is a port,

That th’ aged sea-god Phorcys makes his fort,

Whose earth the Ithacensian people own,

In which two rocks inaccessible are grown

Far forth into the sea, whose each strength binds

The boist’rous waves in from the high-flown winds

On both the out-parts so, that all within

The well-built ships, that once their harbour win

In his calm bosom, without anchor rest,

Safe, and unstirr’d. From forth the hav’n’s high crest

Branch the well-brawn’d arms of an olive-tree;

Beneath which runs a cave from all sun free,

Cool and delightsome, sacred to th’ access

Of nymphs whose surnames are the Naiades;

In which flew humming bees, in which lay thrown

Stone cups, stone vessels, shittles all of stone,

With which the nymphs their purple mantles wove,

In whose contexture art and wonder strove;

In which pure springs perpetually ran;

To which two entries were: the one for man,

On which the North breath’d; th’ other for the gods,

On which the South; and that bore no abodes

For earthy men, but only deathless feet

Had there free way. This port these men thought meet

To land Ulysses, being the first they knew;

Drew then their ship in, but no further drew

Than half her bulk reach’d, by such cunning hand

Her course was manag’d. Then her men took land,

And first brought forth Ulysses, bed, and all

That richly furnish’d it, he still in thrall

Of all-subduing sleep. Upon the sand

They set him softly down; and then the strand

They strew’d with all the goods he had, bestow’d

By the renown’d Phaeacians, since he show’d

So much Minerva. At the olive root

They drew them then in heap, most far from foot

Of any traveller, lest, ere his eyes

Resum’d their charge, they might be others’ prise.

These then turn’d home; nor was the sea’s supreme

Forgetful of his threats, for Polypheme

Bent at divine Ulysses, yet would prove

(Ere their performance) the decree of Jove:

‘Father! No more the gods shall honour me,

Since men despise me, and those men that see

The light in lineage of mine own lov’d race.

I vow’d Ulysses should, before the grace

Of his return, encounter woes enow

To make that purchase dear; yet did not vow

Simply against it, since thy brow had bent

To his reduction, in the fore-consent

Thou hadst vouchsa
f
’
d it; yet, before my mind

Hath full pow’r on him, the Phaeacians find

Their own minds’ satisfaction with his pass,

So far from suf
f
’
ring what my pleasure was,

That ease and softness now is habited

In his secure breast, and his careless head

Return’d in peace of sleep to Ithaca,

The brass and gold of rich Phaeacia

Rocking his temples, garments richly wov’n,

And worlds of prise, more than was ever strov’n

From all the conflicts he sustain’d at Troy,

If safe he should his full share there enjoy.’

The Shower-dissolver answer’d: ‘What a speech

Hath pass’d thy palate, O thou great in reach

Of wrackful empire! Far the gods remain

From scorn of thee, for ’twere a work of pain

To prosecute with ignominies one

That sways our ablest and most ancient throne.

For men, if any so beneath in pow
’
r

Neglect thy high will, now, or any hour

That moves hereafter, take revenge to thee,

Soothe all thy will, and be thy pleasure free.’

‘Why then,’ said he, ‘thou blacker of the fumes

That dim the sun, my licens’d pow
’
r resumes

Act from thy speech; but I observe so much

And fear thy pleasure, that I dare not touch

At any inclination of mine own,

Till thy consenting influence be known.

But now this curious-built Phaeacian ship,

Returning from her convoy, I will strip

Of all her fleeting matter, and to stone

Transform and fix it, just when she hath gone

Her full time home, and jets before their prease

In all her trim, amids the sable seas,

That they may cease to convoy strangers still,

When they shall see so like a mighty hill

Their glory stick before their city’s grace,

And my hands cast a mask before her face.’

‘O friend,’ said Jove, ‘it shows to me the best

Of all earth’s objects, that their whole prease, dress
’
d

In all their wonder, near their town shall stand,

And stare upon a stone, so near the land,

So like a ship, and dam up all their lights,

As if a mountain interpos’d their sights.’

When Neptune heard this, he for Scheria went,

Whence the Phaeacians took their first descent.

Which when he reach’d, and, in her swiftest pride,

The water-treader by the city’s side

Came cutting close, close he came swiftly on,

Took her in violent hand, and to a stone

Turn’d all her sylvan substance; all below

Firm’d her with roots, and left her. This strange show

When the Phaeacians saw, they stupid stood,

And ask’d each other, who amids the flood

Could fix their ship so in her full speed home,

And quite transparent make her bulk become?

Thus talk’d they; but were far from knowing how

These things had issue. Which their king did show,

And said: ‘O friends, the ancient prophecies

My father told to me, to all our eyes

Are now in proof. He said, the time would come

When Neptune, for our safe conducting home

All sorts of strangers, out of envy fir’d,

Would meet our fairest ship as she retir’d,

And all the goodly shape and speed we boast

Should like a mountain stand before us lost,

Amids the moving waters; which we see

Perform’d in full end to our prophecy.

Hear then my counsel, and obey me then:

Renounce henceforth our convoy home of men,

Whoever shall hereafter greet our town;

And to th’ offended deity’s renown

Twelve chosen oxen let us sacred make,

That he may pity us, and from us take