The Odyssey E-Book

Homer

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

A classic for the ages, „The Odyssey” recounts Odysseus’ (Ulysses) journey home after the Trojan War. After the end of the war, Ulysses and his companions decide to return home, but in the middle of the path a horrible storm deviates them from the original route. Just one more difficulty, they have to face monsters like Cyclops and Mermaids, always overcoming them with cleverness astuteness. During one of these confrontations, all his companions are murdered and Ulysses has to continue his journey alone, but a generous king and the goddess Athena helps him. He withstands the lure of the Sirens’ song and a trip to the Underworld, only to find his most difficult challenge at home, where treacherous suitors seek to steal his kingdom and his loyal wife, Penelope.

Leseprobe

Contents

BOOK I

BOOK II

BOOK III

BOOK IV

BOOK V

BOOK VI

BOOK VII

BOOK VIII

BOOK IX

BOOK X

BOOK XI

BOOK XII

BOOK XIII

BOOK XIV

BOOK XV

BOOK XVI

BOOK XVII

BOOK XVIII

BOOK XIX

BOOK XX

BOOK XXI

BOOK XXII

BOOK XXIII

BOOK XXIV

BOOK I

MINERVA’S DESCENT TO ITHACA

The poem opens within forty eight days of the arrival of Ulysses in his dominions. He had now remained seven years in the Island of Calypso, when the gods assembled in council, proposed the method of his departure from thence and his return to his native country. For this purpose it is concluded to send Mercury to Calypso, and Pallas immediately descends to Ithaca. She holds a conference with Telemachus, in the shape of Mantes, king of Taphians; in which she advises him to take a journey in quest of his father Ulysses, to Pylos and Sparta, where Nestor and Menelaus yet reigned; then, after having visibly displayed her divinity, disappears. The suitors of Penelope make great entertainments, and riot in her palace till night. Phemius sings to them the return of the Grecians, till Penelope puts a stop to the song. Some words arise between the suitors and Telemachus, who summons the council to meet the day following.

The man for wisdom’s various arts renown’d, Long exercised in woes, O Muse! resound; Who, when his arms had wrought the destined fall Of sacred Troy, and razed her heaven-built wall, Wandering from clime to clime, observant stray’d, Their manners noted, and their states survey’d, On stormy seas unnumber’d toils he bore, Safe with his friends to gain his natal shore: Vain toils! their impious folly dared to prey On herds devoted to the god of day; The god vindictive doom’d them never more (Ah, men unbless’d!) to touch that natal shore. Oh, snatch some portion of these acts from fate, Celestial Muse! and to our world relate.

Now at their native realms the Greeks arrived; All who the wars of ten long years survived; And ‘scaped the perils of the gulfy main. Ulysses, sole of all the victor train, An exile from his dear paternal coast, Deplored his absent queen and empire lost. Calypso in her caves constrain’d his stay, With sweet, reluctant, amorous delay; In vain-for now the circling years disclose The day predestined to reward his woes. At length his Ithaca is given by fate, Where yet new labours his arrival wait; At length their rage the hostile powers restrain, All but the ruthless monarch of the main. But now the god, remote, a heavenly guest, In AEthiopia graced the genial feast (A race divided, whom with sloping rays The rising and descending sun surveys); There on the world’s extremest verge revered With hecatombs and prayer in pomp preferr’d, Distant he lay: while in the bright abodes Of high Olympus, Jove convened the gods: The assembly thus the sire supreme address’d, AEgysthus’ fate revolving in his breast, Whom young Orestes to the dreary coast Of Pluto sent, a blood-polluted ghost.

“Perverse mankind! whose wills, created free, Charge all their woes on absolute degree; All to the dooming gods their guilt translate, And follies are miscall’d the crimes of fate. When to his lust AEgysthus gave the rein, Did fate, or we, the adulterous act constrain? Did fate, or we, when great Atrides died, Urge the bold traitor to the regicide? Hermes I sent, while yet his soul remain’d Sincere from royal blood, and faith profaned; To warn the wretch, that young Orestes, grown To manly years, should re-assert the throne. Yet, impotent of mind, and uncontroll’d, He plunged into the gulf which Heaven foretold.”

Here paused the god; and pensive thus replies Minerva, graceful with her azure eyes:

“O thou! from whom the whole creation springs, The source of power on earth derived to kings! His death was equal to the direful deed; So may the man of blood be doomed to bleed! But grief and rage alternate wound my breast For brave Ulysses, still by fate oppress’d. Amidst an isle, around whose rocky shore The forests murmur, and the surges roar, The blameless hero from his wish’d-for home A goddess guards in her enchanted dome; (Atlas her sire, to whose far-piercing eye The wonders of the deep expanded lie; The eternal columns which on earth he rears End in the starry vault, and prop the spheres). By his fair daughter is the chief confined, Who soothes to dear delight his anxious mind; Successless all her soft caresses prove, To banish from his breast his country’s love; To see the smoke from his loved palace rise, While the dear isle in distant prospect lies, With what contentment could he close his eyes! And will Omnipotence neglect to save The suffering virtue of the wise and brave? Must he, whose altars on the Phrygian shore With frequent rites, and pure, avow’d thy power, Be doom’d the worst of human ills to prove, Unbless’d, abandon’d to the wrath of Jove?”

“Daughter! what words have pass’d thy lips unweigh’d! (Replied the Thunderer to the martial maid;) Deem not unjustly by my doom oppress’d, Of human race the wisest and the best. Neptune, by prayer repentant rarely won, Afflicts the chief, to avenge his giant son, Whose visual orb Ulysses robb’d of light; Great Polypheme, of more than mortal might? Him young Thousa bore (the bright increase Of Phorcys, dreaded in the sounds and seas); Whom Neptune eyed with bloom of beauty bless’d, And in his cave the yielding nymph compress’d For this the god constrains the Greek to roam, A hopeless exile from his native home, From death alone exempt–but cease to mourn; Let all combine to achieve his wish’d return; Neptune atoned, his wrath shall now refrain, Or thwart the synod of the gods in vain.”

“Father and king adored!” Minerva cried, “Since all who in the Olympian bower reside Now make the wandering Greek their public care, Let Hermes to the Atlantic isle repair; Bid him, arrived in bright Calypso’s court, The sanction of the assembled powers report: That wise Ulysses to his native land Must speed, obedient to their high command. Meantime Telemachus, the blooming heir Of sea-girt Ithaca, demands my care; ‘Tis mine to form his green, unpractised years In sage debates; surrounded with his peers, To save the state, and timely to restrain The bold intrusion of the suitor-train; Who crowd his palace, and with lawless power His herds and flocks in feastful rites devour. To distant Sparta, and the spacious waste Of Sandy Pyle, the royal youth shall haste. There, warm with filial love, the cause inquire That from his realm retards his god-like sire; Delivering early to the voice of fame The promise of a green immortal name.”

She said: the sandals of celestial mould, Fledged with ambrosial plumes, and rich with gold, Surround her feet: with these sublime she sails The aerial space, and mounts the winged gales; O’er earth and ocean wide prepared to soar, Her dreaded arm a beamy javelin bore, Ponderous and vast: which, when her fury burns, Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o’erturns. From high Olympus prone her flight she bends, And in the realms of Ithaca descends, Her lineaments divine, the grave disguise Of Mentes’ form conceal’d from human eyes (Mentes, the monarch of the Taphian land); A glittering spear waved awful in her hand. There in the portal placed, the heaven-born maid Enormous riot and misrule survey’d. On hides of beeves, before the palace gate (Sad spoils of luxury), the suitors sate. With rival art, and ardour in their mien, At chess they vie, to captivate the queen; Divining of their loves. Attending nigh, A menial train the flowing bowl supply. Others, apart, the spacious hall prepare, And form the costly feast with busy care. There young Telemachus, his bloomy face Glowing celestial sweet, with godlike grace Amid the circle shines: but hope and fear (Painful vicissitude!) his bosom tear. Now, imaged in his mind, he sees restored In peace and joy the people’s rightful lord; The proud oppressors fly the vengeful sword. While his fond soul these fancied triumphs swell’d, The stranger guest the royal youth beheld; Grieved that a visitant so long should wait Unmark’d, unhonour’d, at a monarch’s gate; Instant he flew with hospitable haste, And the new friend with courteous air embraced. “Stranger, whoe’er thou art, securely rest, Affianced in my faith, a ready guest; Approach the dome, the social banquet share, And then the purpose of thy soul declare.”

Thus affable and mild, the prince precedes, And to the dome the unknown celestial leads. The spear receiving from the hand, he placed Against a column, fair with sculpture graced; Where seemly ranged in peaceful order stood Ulysses’ arms now long disused to blood. He led the goddess to the sovereign seat, Her feet supported with a stool of state (A purple carpet spread the pavement wide); Then drew his seat, familiar, to her side; Far from the suitor-train, a brutal crowd, With insolence, and wine, elate and loud: Where the free guest, unnoted, might relate, If haply conscious, of his father’s fate. The golden ewer a maid obsequious brings, Replenish’d from the cool, translucent springs; With copious water the bright vase supplies A silver laver of capacious size; They wash. The tables in fair order spread, They heap the glittering canisters with bread: Viands of various kinds allure the taste, Of choicest sort and savour, rich repast! Delicious wines the attending herald brought; The gold gave lustre to the purple draught. Lured with the vapour of the fragrant feast, In rush’d the suitors with voracious haste; Marshall’d in order due, to each a sewer Presents, to bathe his hands, a radiant ewer. Luxurious then they feast. Observant round Gay stripling youths the brimming goblets crown’d. The rage of hunger quell’d, they all advance And form to measured airs the mazy dance; To Phemius was consign’d the chorded lyre, Whose hand reluctant touch’d the warbling wire; Phemius, whose voice divine could sweetest sing High strains responsive to the vocal string.

Meanwhile, in whispers to his heavenly guest His indignation thus the prince express’d:

“Indulge my rising grief, whilst these (my friend) With song and dance the pompous revel end. Light is the dance, and doubly sweet the lays, When for the dear delight another pays. His treasured stores those cormarants consume, Whose bones, defrauded of a regal tomb And common turf, lie naked on the plain, Or doom’d to welter in the whelming main. Should he return, that troop so blithe and bold, With purple robes inwrought, and stiff with gold, Precipitant in fear would wing their flight, And curse their cumbrous pride’s unwieldy weight. But ah, I dream!-the appointed hour is fled. And hope, too long with vain delusion fed, Deaf to the rumour of fallacious fame, Gives to the roll of death his glorious name! With venial freedom let me now demand Thy name, thy lineage, and paternal land; Sincere from whence began thy course, recite, And to what ship I owe the friendly freight? Now first to me this visit dost thou deign, Or number’d in my father’s social train? All who deserved his choice he made his own, And, curious much to know, he far was known.”

“My birth I boast (the blue-eyed virgin cries) From great Anchialus, renown’d and wise; Mentes my name; I rule the Taphian race, Whose bounds the deep circumfluent waves embrace; A duteous people, and industrious isle, To naval arts inured, and stormy toil. Freighted with iron from my native land, I steer my voyage to the Brutian strand To gain by commerce, for the labour’d mass, A just proportion of refulgent brass. Far from your capital my ship resides At Reitorus, and secure at anchor rides; Where waving groves on airy Neign grow, Supremely tall and shade the deeps below. Thence to revisit your imperial dome, An old hereditary guest I come; Your father’s friend. Laertes can relate Our faith unspotted, and its early date; Who, press’d with heart-corroding grief and years, To the gay court a rural shed pretors, Where, sole of all his train, a matron sage Supports with homely fond his drooping age, With feeble steps from marshalling his vines Returning sad, when toilsome day declines.

“With friendly speed, induced by erring fame, To hail Ulysses’ safe return I came; But still the frown of some celestial power With envious joy retards the blissful hour. Let not your soul be sunk in sad despair; He lives, he breathes this heavenly vital air, Among a savage race, whose shelfy bounds With ceaseless roar the foaming deep surrounds. The thoughts which roll within my ravish’d breast, To me, no seer, the inspiring gods suggest; Nor skill’d nor studious, with prophetic eye To judge the winged omens of the sky. Yet hear this certain speech, nor deem it vain; Though adamantine bonds the chief restrain, The dire restraint his wisdom will defeat, And soon restore him to his regal seat. But generous youth! sincere and free declare, Are you, of manly growth, his royal heir? For sure Ulysses in your look appears, The same his features, if the same his years. Such was that face, on which I dwelt with joy Ere Greece assembled stemm’d the tides to Troy; But, parting then for that detested shore, Our eyes, unhappy never greeted more.”

“To prove a genuine birth (the prince replies) On female truth assenting faith relies. Thus manifest of right, I build my claim Sure-founded on a fair maternal fame, Ulysses’ son: but happier he, whom fate Hath placed beneath the storms which toss the great! Happier the son, whose hoary sire is bless’d With humble affluence, and domestic rest! Happier than I, to future empire born, But doom’d a father’s wretch’d fate to mourn!”

To whom, with aspect mild, the guest divine: “Oh true descendant of a sceptred line! The gods a glorious fate from anguish free To chaste Penelope’s increase decree. But say, yon jovial troops so gaily dress’d, Is this a bridal or a friendly feast? Or from their deed I rightlier may divine, Unseemly flown with insolence and wine? Unwelcome revellers, whose lawless joy Pains the sage ear, and hurts the sober eye.”

“Magnificence of old (the prince replied) Beneath our roof with virtue could reside; Unblamed abundance crowned the royal board, What time this dome revered her prudent lord; Who now (so Heaven decrees) is doom’d to mourn, Bitter constraint, erroneous and forlorn. Better the chief, on Ilion’s hostile plain, Had fall’n surrounded with his warlike train; Or safe return’d, the race of glory pass’d, New to his friends’ embrace, and breathed his last! Then grateful Greece with streaming eyes would raise, Historic marbles to record his praise; His praise, eternal on the faithful stone, Had with transmissive honour graced his son. Now snatch’d by harpies to the dreary coast. Sunk is the hero, and his glory lost; Vanish’d at once! unheard of, and unknown! And I his heir in misery alone. Nor for a dear lost father only flow The filial tears, but woe succeeds to woe To tempt the spouseless queen with amorous wiles Resort the nobles from the neighbouring isles; From Samos, circled with the Ionian main, Dulichium, and Zacynthas’ sylvan reign; Ev’n with presumptuous hope her bed to ascend, The lords of Ithaca their right pretend. She seems attentive to their pleaded vows, Her heart detesting what her ear allows. They, vain expectants of the bridal hour, My stores in riotous expense devour. In feast and dance the mirthful months employ, And meditate my doom to crown their joy.”

With tender pity touch’d, the goddess cried: “Soon may kind Heaven a sure relief provide, Soon may your sire discharge the vengeance due, And all your wrongs the proud oppressors rue! Oh! in that portal should the chief appear, Each hand tremendous with a brazen spear, In radiant panoply his limbs incased (For so of old my fathers court he graced, When social mirth unbent his serious soul, O’er the full banquet, and the sprightly bowl); He then from Ephyre, the fair domain Of Ilus, sprung from Jason’s royal strain, Measured a length of seas, a toilsome length, in vain. For, voyaging to learn the direful art To taint with deadly drugs the barbed dart; Observant of the gods, and sternly just, Ilus refused to impart the baneful trust; With friendlier zeal my father’s soul was fired, The drugs he knew, and gave the boon desired. Appear’d he now with such heroic port, As then conspicuous at the Taphian court; Soon should you boasters cease their haughty strife, Or each atone his guilty love with life. But of his wish’d return the care resign, Be future vengeance to the powers divine. My sentence hear: with stern distaste avow’d, To their own districts drive the suitor-crowd; When next the morning warms the purple east, Convoke the peerage, and the gods attest; The sorrows of your inmost soul relate; And form sure plans to save the sinking state. Should second love a pleasing flame inspire, And the chaste queen connubial rights require; Dismiss’d with honour, let her hence repair To great Icarius, whose paternal care Will guide her passion, and reward her choice With wealthy dower, and bridal gifts of price. Then let this dictate of my love prevail: Instant, to foreign realms prepare to sail, To learn your father’s fortunes; Fame may prove, Or omen’d voice (the messenger of Jove), Propitious to the search. Direct your toil Through the wide ocean first to sandy Pyle; Of Nestor, hoary sage, his doom demand: Thence speed your voyage to the Spartan strand; For young Atrides to the Achaian coast Arrived the last of all the victor host. If yet Ulysses views the light, forbear, Till the fleet hours restore the circling year. But if his soul hath wing’d the destined flight, Inhabitant of deep disastrous night; Homeward with pious speed repass the main, To the pale shade funereal rites ordain, Plant the fair column o’er the vacant grave, A hero’s honours let the hero have. With decent grief the royal dead deplored, For the chaste queen select an equal lord. Then let revenge your daring mind employ, By fraud or force the suitor train destroy, And starting into manhood, scorn the boy. Hast thou not heard how young Orestes, fired With great revenge, immortal praise acquired? His virgin-sword AEgysthus’ veins imbrued; The murderer fell, and blood atoned for blood. O greatly bless’d with every blooming grace! With equal steps the paths of glory trace; Join to that royal youth’s your rival name, And shine eternal in the sphere of fame. But my associates now my stay deplore, Impatient on the hoarse-resounding shore. Thou, heedful of advice, secure proceed; My praise the precept is, be thine the deed.

“The counsel of my friend (the youth rejoin’d) Imprints conviction on my grateful mind. So fathers speak (persuasive speech and mild) Their sage experience to the favourite child. But, since to part, for sweet refection due, The genial viands let my train renew; And the rich pledge of plighted faith receive, Worthy the air of Ithaca to give.”

“Defer the promised boon (the goddess cries, Celestial azure brightening in her eyes), And let me now regain the Reithrian port; From Temese return’d, your royal court I shall revisit, and that pledge receive; And gifts, memorial of our friendship, leave.”

Abrupt, with eagle-speed she cut the sky; Instant invisible to mortal eye. Then first he recognized the ethereal guest; Wonder and joy alternate fire his breast; Heroic thoughts, infused, his heart dilate; Revolving much his father’s doubtful fate. At length, composed, he join’d the suitor-throng; Hush’d in attention to the warbled song. His tender theme the charming lyrist chose. Minerva’s anger, and the dreadful woes Which voyaging from Troy the victors bore, While storms vindictive intercept the store. The shrilling airs the vaulted roof rebounds, Reflecting to the queen the silver sounds. With grief renew’d the weeping fair descends; Their sovereign’s step a virgin train attends: A veil, of richest texture wrought, she wears, And silent to the joyous hall repairs. There from the portal, with her mild command, Thus gently checks the minstrel’s tuneful hand:

“Phemius! let acts of gods, and heroes old, What ancient bards in hall and bower have told, Attemper’d to the lyre, your voice employ; Such the pleased ear will drink with silent joy. But, oh! forbear that dear disastrous name, To sorrow sacred, and secure of fame; My bleeding bosom sickens at the sound, And every piercing note inflicts a wound.”

“Why, dearest object of my duteous love, (Replied the prince,) will you the bard reprove? Oft, Jove’s ethereal rays (resistless fire) The chanters soul and raptured song inspire Instinct divine? nor blame severe his choice, Warbling the Grecian woes with heart and voice; For novel lays attract our ravish’d ears; But old, the mind with inattention hears: Patient permit the sadly pleasing strain; Familiar now with grief, your tears refrain, And in the public woe forget your own; You weep not for a perish’d lord alone. What Greeks new wandering in the Stygian gloom, Wish your Ulysses shared an equal doom! Your widow’d hours, apart, with female toil And various labours of the loom beguile; There rule, from palace-cares remote and free; That care to man belongs, and most to me.”

Mature beyond his years, the queen admires His sage reply, and with her train retires. Then swelling sorrows burst their former bounds, With echoing grief afresh the dome resounds; Till Pallas, piteous of her plaintive cries, In slumber closed her silver-streaming eyes.

Meantime, rekindled at the royal charms, Tumultuous love each beating bosom warms; Intemperate rage a wordy war began; But bold Telemachus assumed the man. “Instant (he cried) your female discord end, Ye deedless boasters! and the song attend; Obey that sweet compulsion, nor profane With dissonance the smooth melodious strain. Pacific now prolong the jovial feast; But when the dawn reveals the rosy east, I, to the peers assembled, shall propose The firm resolve, I here in few disclose; No longer live the cankers of my court; All to your several states with speed resort; Waste in wild riot what your land allows, There ply the early feast, and late carouse. But if, to honour lost, ’tis still decreed For you my bowl shall flow, my flock shall bleed; Judge and revenge my right, impartial Jove! By him and all the immortal thrones above (A sacred oath), each proud oppressor slain, Shall with inglorious gore this marble stain.”

Awed by the prince, thus haughty, bold, and young, Rage gnaw’d the lip, and wonder chain’d the tongue. Silence at length the gay Antinous broke, Constrain’d a smile, and thus ambiguous spoke: “What god to your untutor’d youth affords This headlong torrent of amazing words? May Jove delay thy reign, and cumber late So bright a genius with the toils of state!”

“Those toils (Telemachus serene replies) Have charms, with all their weight, t’allure the wise. Fast by the throne obsequious fame resides, And wealth incessant rolls her golden tides. Nor let Antinous rage, if strong desire Of wealth and fame a youthful bosom fire: Elect by Jove, his delegate of sway, With joyous pride the summons I’d obey. Whene’er Ulysses roams the realm of night, Should factious power dispute my lineal right, Some other Greeks a fairer claim may plead; To your pretence their title would precede. At least, the sceptre lost, I still should reign Sole o’er my vassals, and domestic train.”

To this Eurymachus: “To Heaven alone Refer the choice to fill the vacant throne. Your patrimonial stores in peace possess; Undoubted, all your filial claim confess: Your private right should impious power invade, The peers of Ithaca would arm in aid. But say, that stranger guest who late withdrew, What and from whence? his name and lineage shew. His grave demeanour and majestic grace Speak him descended of no vulgar race: Did he some loan of ancient right require, Or came forerunner of your sceptr’d sire?”

“Oh son of Polybus!” the prince replies, “No more my sire will glad these longing eyes; The queen’s fond hope inventive rumour cheers, Or vain diviners’ dreams divert her fears. That stranger-guest the Taphian realm obeys, A realm defended with encircling seas. Mentes, an ever-honour’d name, of old High in Ulysses’ social list enroll’d.”

Thus he, though conscious of the ethereal guest, Answer’d evasive of the sly request. Meantime the lyre rejoins the sprightly lay; Love-dittied airs, and dance, conclude the day But when the star of eve with golden light Adorn’d the matron brow of sable night, The mirthful train dispersing quit the court, And to their several domes to rest resort. A towering structure to the palace join’d; To this his steps the thoughtful prince inclined: In his pavilion there, to sleep repairs; The lighted torch, the sage Euryclea bears (Daughter of Ops, the just Pisenor’s son, For twenty beeves by great Laertes won; In rosy prime with charms attractive graced, Honour’d by him, a gentle lord and chaste, With dear esteem: too wise, with jealous strife To taint the joys of sweet connubial life. Sole with Telemachus her service ends, A child she nursed him, and a man attends). Whilst to his couch himself the prince address’d, The duteous dame received the purple vest; The purple vest with decent care disposed, The silver ring she pull’d, the door reclosed, The bolt, obedient to the silken cord, To the strong staple’s inmost depth restored, Secured the valves. There, wrapped in silent shade, Pensive, the rules the goddess gave he weigh’d; Stretch’d on the downy fleece, no rest he knows, And in his raptured soul the vision glows.

BOOK II

THE COUNCIL OF ITHACA

Telemachus in the assembly of the lords of Ithaca complains of the injustice done him by the suitors, and insists upon their departure from his palace; appealing to the princes, and exciting the people to declare against them. The suitors endeavour to justify their stay, at least till he shall send the queen to the court of Icarius her father; which he refuses. There appears a prodigy of two eagles in the sky, which an augur expounds to the ruin of the suitors. Telemachus the demands a vessel to carry him to Pylos and Sparta, there to inquire of his father’s fortunes. Pallas, in the shape of Mentor (an ancient friend of Ulysses), helps him to a ship, assists him in preparing necessaries for the voyage, and embarks with him that night; which concludes the second day from the opening of the poem. The scene continues in the palace of Ulysses, in Ithaca.

Now reddening from the dawn, the morning ray Glow’d in the front of heaven, and gave the day The youthful hero, with returning light, Rose anxious from the inquietudes of night. A royal robe he wore with graceful pride, A two-edged falchion threaten’d by his side, Embroider’d sandals glitter’d as he trod, And forth he moved, majestic as a god. Then by his heralds, restless of delay, To council calls the peers: the peers obey. Soon as in solemn form the assembly sate, From his high dome himself descends in state. Bright in his hand a ponderous javelin shined; Two dogs, a faithful guard, attend behind; Pallas with grace divine his form improves, And gazing crowds admire him as he moves,

His father’s throne he fill’d; while distant stood The hoary peers, and aged wisdom bow’d.

’Twas silence all. At last AEgyptius spoke; AEgyptius, by his age and sorrow broke; A length of days his soul with prudence crown’d, A length of days had bent him to the ground. His eldest hope in arms to Ilion came, By great Ulysses taught the path to fame; But (hapless youth) the hideous Cyclops tore His quivering limbs, and quaff’d his spouting gore. Three sons remain’d; to climb with haughty fires The royal bed, Eurynomus aspires; The rest with duteous love his griefs assuage, And ease the sire of half the cares of age. Yet still his Antiphus he loves, he mourns, And, as he stood, he spoke and wept by turns,

“Since great Ulysses sought the Phrygian plains, Within these walls inglorious silence reigns. Say then, ye peers! by whose commands we meet? Why here once more in solemn council sit? Ye young, ye old, the weighty cause disclose: Arrives some message of invading foes? Or say, does high necessity of state Inspire some patriot, and demand debate? The present synod speaks its author wise; Assist him, Jove, thou regent of the skies!”

He spoke. Telemachus with transport glows, Embraced the omen, and majestic rose (His royal hand the imperial sceptre sway’d); Then thus, addressing to AEgyptius, said:

“Reverend old man! lo here confess’d he stands By whom ye meet; my grief your care demands. No story I unfold of public woes, Nor bear advices of impending foes: Peace the blest land, and joys incessant crown: Of all this happy realm, I grieve alone. For my lost sire continual sorrows spring, The great, the good; your father and your king. Yet more; our house from its foundation bows, Our foes are powerful, and your sons the foes; Hither, unwelcome to the queen, they come; Why seek they not the rich Icarian dome? If she must wed, from other hands require The dowry: is Telemachus her sire? Yet through my court the noise of revel rings, And waste the wise frugality of kings. Scarce all my herds their luxury suffice; Scarce all my wine their midnight hours supplies. Safe in my youth, in riot still they grow, Nor in the helpless orphan dread a foe. But come it will, the time when manhood grants More powerful advocates than vain complaints. Approach that hour! insufferable wrong Cries to the gods, and vengeance sleeps too long. Rise then, ye peers! with virtuous anger rise; Your fame revere, but most the avenging skies. By all the deathless powers that reign above, By righteous Themis and by thundering Jove (Themis, who gives to councils, or denies Success; and humbles, or confirms the wise), Rise in my aid! suffice the tears that flow For my lost sire, nor add new woe to woe. If e’er he bore the sword to strengthen ill, Or, having power to wrong, betray’d the will, On me, on me your kindled wrath assuage, And bid the voice of lawless riot rage. If ruin to your royal race ye doom, Be you the spoilers, and our wealth consume. Then might we hope redress from juster laws, And raise all Ithaca to aid our cause: But while your sons commit the unpunish’d wrong, You make the arm of violence too strong.”

While thus he spoke, with rage and grief he frown’d, And dash’d the imperial sceptre to the ground. The big round tear hung trembling in his eye: The synod grieved, and gave a pitying sigh, Then silent sate–at length Antinous burns With haughty rage, and sternly thus returns:

“O insolence of youth! whose tongue affords Such railing eloquence, and war of words. Studious thy country’s worthies to defame, Thy erring voice displays thy mother’s shame. Elusive of the bridal day, she gives Fond hopes to all, and all with hopes deceives. Did not the sun, through heaven’s wide azure roll’d, For three long years the royal fraud behold? While she, laborious in delusion, spread The spacious loom, and mix’d the various thread: Where as to life the wondrous figures rise, Thus spoke the inventive queen, with artful sighs:

“Though cold in death Ulysses breathes no more, Cease yet awhile to urge the bridal hour: Cease, till to great Laertes I bequeath A task of grief, his ornaments of death. Lest when the Fates his royal ashes claim, The Grecian matrons taint my spotless fame; When he, whom living mighty realms obey’d, Shall want in death a shroud to grace his shade.’

“Thus she: at once the generous train complies, Nor fraud mistrusts in virtue’s fair disguise. The work she plied; but, studious of delay, By night reversed the labours of the day. While thrice the sun his annual journey made, The conscious lamp the midnight fraud survey’d; Unheard, unseen, three years her arts prevail; The fourth her maid unfolds the amazing tale. We saw, as unperceived we took our stand, The backward labours of her faithless hand. Then urged, she perfects her illustrious toils; A wondrous monument of female wiles!

“But you, O peers! and thou, O prince! give ear (I speak aloud, that every Greek may hear): Dismiss the queen; and if her sire approves Let him espouse her to the peer she loves: Bid instant to prepare the bridal train, Nor let a race of princes wait in vain. Though with a grace divine her soul is blest, And all Minerva breathes within her breast, In wondrous arts than woman more renown’d, And more than woman with deep wisdom crown’d; Though Tyro nor Mycene match her name, Not great Alemena (the proud boasts of fame); Yet thus by heaven adorn’d, by heaven’s decree She shines with fatal excellence, to thee: With thee, the bowl we drain, indulge the feast, Till righteous heaven reclaim her stubborn breast. What though from pole to pole resounds her name! The son’s destruction waits the mother’s fame: For, till she leaves thy court, it is decreed, Thy bowl to empty and thy flock to bleed.”

While yet he speaks, Telemachus replies: “Ev’n nature starts, and what ye ask denies. Thus, shall I thus repay a mother’s cares, Who gave me life, and nursed my infant years! While sad on foreign shores Ulysses treads. Or glides a ghost with unapparent shades; How to Icarius in the bridal hour Shall I, by waste undone, refund the dower? How from my father should I vengeance dread! How would my mother curse my hated head! And while In wrath to vengeful fiends she cries, How from their hell would vengeful fiends arise! Abhorr’d by all, accursed my name would grow, The earth’s disgrace, and human-kind my foe. If this displease, why urge ye here your stay? Haste from the court, ye spoilers, haste away: Waste in wild riot what your land allows, There ply the early feast, and late carouse. But if to honour lost, ’tis still decreed For you my bowl shall flow, my flocks shall bleed; Judge, and assert my right, impartial Jove! By him, and all the immortal host above (A sacred oath), if heaven the power supply, Vengeance I vow, and for your wrongs ye die.”

With that, two eagles from a mountain’s height By Jove’s command direct their rapid flight; Swift they descend, with wing to wing conjoin’d, Stretch their broad plumes, and float upon the wind. Above the assembled peers they wheel on high, And clang their wings, and hovering beat the sky; With ardent eyes the rival train they threat, And shrieking loud denounce approaching fate. They cuff, they tear; their cheeks and neck they rend, And from their plumes huge drops of blood descend; Then sailing o’er the domes and towers, they fly, Full toward the east, and mount into the sky.

The wondering rivals gaze, with cares oppress’d, And chilling horrors freeze in every breast, Till big with knowledge of approaching woes, The prince of augurs, Halitherses, rose: Prescient he view’d the aerial tracks, and drew A sure presage from every wing that flew.

“Ye sons (he cried) of Ithaca, give ear; Hear all! but chiefly you, O rivals! hear. Destruction sure o’er all your heads impends Ulysses comes, and death his steps attends. Nor to the great alone is death decreed; We and our guilty Ithaca must bleed. Why cease we then the wrath of heaven to stay? Be humbled all, and lead, ye great! the way. For lo my words no fancied woes relate; I speak from science and the voice of fate.

“When great Ulysses sought the Phrygian shores To shake with war proud Ilion’s lofty towers, Deeds then undone my faithful tongue foretold: Heaven seal’d my words, and you those deeds behold. I see (I cried) his woes, a countless train; I see his friends o’erwhelm’d beneath the main; How twice ten years from shore to shore he roams: Now twice ten years are past, and now he comes!”

To whom Eurymachus–”Fly, dotard fly, With thy wise dreams, and fables of the sky. Go prophesy at home, thy sons advise: Here thou art sage in vain–I better read the skies Unnumber’d birds glide through the aerial way; Vagrants of air, and unforeboding stray. Cold in the tomb, or in the deeps below, Ulysses lies; oh wert thou laid as low! Then would that busy head no broils suggest, For fire to rage Telemachus’ breast, From him some bribe thy venal tongue requires, And interest, not the god, thy voice inspires. His guideless youth, if thy experienced age Mislead fallacious into idle rage, Vengeance deserved thy malice shall repress. And but augment the wrongs thou would’st redress, Telemachus may bid the queen repair To great Icarius, whose paternal care Will guide her passion, and reward her choice With wealthy dower, and bridal gifts of price. Till she retires, determined we remain, And both the prince and augur threat in vain: His pride of words, and thy wild dream of fate, Move not the brave, or only move their hate, Threat on, O prince! elude the bridal day. Threat on, till all thy stores in waste decay. True, Greece affords a train of lovely dames, In wealth and beauty worthy of our flames: But never from this nobler suit we cease; For wealth and beauty less than virtue please.”

To whom the youth: “Since then in vain I tell My numerous woes, in silence let them dwell. But Heaven, and all the Greeks, have heard my wrongs; To Heaven, and all the Greeks, redress belongs; Yet this I ask (nor be it ask’d in vain), A bark to waft me o’er the rolling main, The realms of Pyle and Sparta to explore, And seek my royal sire from shore to shore; If, or to fame his doubtful fate be known, Or to be learn’d from oracles alone, If yet he lives, with patience I forbear, Till the fleet hours restore the circling year; But if already wandering in the train Of empty shades, I measure back the main, Plant the fair column o’er the mighty dead, And yield his consort to the nuptial bed.”

He ceased; and while abash’d the peers attend, Mentor arose, Ulysses’ faithful friend: (When fierce in arms he sought the scenes of war, “My friend (he cried), my palace be thy care; Years roll’d on years my godlike sire decay, Guard thou his age, and his behests obey.”) Stern as he rose, he cast his eyes around, That flash’d with rage; and as spoke, he frown’d,

“O never, never more let king be just, Be mild in power, or faithful to his trust! Let tyrants govern with an iron rod, Oppress, destroy, and be the scourge of God; Since he who like a father held his reign, So soon forgot, was just and mild in vain! True, while my friend is grieved, his griefs I share; Yet now the rivals are my smallest care: They for the mighty mischiefs they devise, Ere long shall pay–their forfeit lives the price. But against you, ye Greeks! ye coward train! Gods! how my soul is moved with just disdain! Dumb ye all stand, and not one tongue affords His injured prince the little aid of words.”

While yet he spoke, Leocritus rejoined: “O pride of words, and arrogance of mind! Would’st thou to rise in arms the Greeks advise? Join all your powers? in arms, ye Greeks, arise! Yet would your powers in vain our strength oppose. The valiant few o’ermatch a host of foes. Should great Ulysses stern appear in arms, While the bowl circles and the banquet warms; Though to his breast his spouse with transport flies, Torn from her breast, that hour, Ulysses dies. But hence retreating to your domes repair. To arm the vessel, Mentor! be thy care, And Halitherses! thine: be each his friend; Ye loved the father: go, the son attend. But yet, I trust, the boaster means to stay Safe in the court, nor tempt the watery way.”

Then, with a rushing sound the assembly bend Diverse their steps: the rival rout ascend The royal dome; while sad the prince explores The neighbouring main, and sorrowing treads the shores. There, as the waters o’er his hands he shed, The royal suppliant to Minerva pray’d:

“O goddess! who descending from the skies Vouchsafed thy presence to my wondering eyes, By whose commands the raging deeps I trace, And seek my sire through storms and rolling seas! Hear from thy heavens above, O warrior maid! Descend once more, propitious to my aid. Without thy presence, vain is thy command: Greece, and the rival train, thy voice withstand.”

Indulgent to his prayer, the goddess took Sage Mentor’s form, and thus like Mentor spoke:

“O prince, in early youth divinely wise, Born, the Ulysses of thy age to rise If to the son the father’s worth descends, O’er the wide wave success thy ways attends To tread the walks of death he stood prepared; And what he greatly thought, he nobly dared. Were not wise sons descendant of the wise, And did not heroes from brave heroes rise, Vain were my hopes: few sons attain the praise Of their great sires, and most their sires disgrace. But since thy veins paternal virtue fires, And all Penelope thy soul inspires, Go, and succeed: the rivals’ aims despise; For never, never wicked man was wise. Blind they rejoice, though now, ev’n now they fall; Death hastes amain: one hour o’erwhelms them all! And lo, with speed we plough the watery way; My power shall guard thee, and my hand convey: The winged vessel studious I prepare, Through seas and realms companion of thy care. Thou to the court ascend: and to the shores (When night advances) bear the naval stores; Bread, that decaying man with strength supplies, And generous wine, which thoughtful sorrow flies. Meanwhile the mariners, by my command, Shall speed aboard, a valiant chosen band. Wide o’er the bay, by vessel vessel rides; The best I choose to waft then o’er the tides.”

She spoke: to his high dome the prince returns, And, as he moves, with royal anguish mourns. ‘Twas riot all, among the lawless train; Boar bled by boar, and goat by goat lay slain. Arrived, his hand the gay Antinous press’d, And thus deriding, with a smile address’d:

“Grieve not, O daring prince! that noble heart; Ill suits gay youth the stern heroic part. Indulge the genial hour, unbend thy soul, Leave thought to age, and drain the flowing bowl. Studious to ease thy grief, our care provides The bark, to waft thee o’er the swelling tides.”

“Is this (returns the prince) for mirth a time? When lawless gluttons riot, mirth’s a crime; The luscious wines, dishonour’d, lose their taste; The song is noise, and impious is the feast. Suffice it to have spent with swift decay The wealth of kings, and made my youth a prey. But now the wise instructions of the sage, And manly thoughts inspired by manly age, Teach me to seek redress for all my woe, Here, or in Pyle–in Pyle, or here, your foe. Deny your vessels, ye deny in vain: A private voyager I pass the main. Free breathe the winds, and free the billows flow; And where on earth I live, I live your foe.”

He spoke and frown’d, nor longer deign’d to stay, Sternly his hand withdrew, and strode away.

Meantime, o’er all the dome, they quaff, they feast, Derisive taunts were spread from guest to guest, And each in jovial mood his mate address’d:

“Tremble ye not, O friends, and coward fly, Doom’d by the stern Telemachus to die? To Pyle or Sparta to demand supplies, Big with revenge, the mighty warrior flies; Or comes from Ephyre with poisons fraught, And kills us all in one tremendous draught!”

“Or who can say (his gamesome mate replies) But, while the danger of the deeps he tries He, like his sire, may sink deprived of breath, And punish us unkindly by his death? What mighty labours would he then create, To seize his treasures, and divide his state, The royal palace to the queen convey, Or him she blesses in the bridal day!”

Meantime the lofty rooms the prince surveys, Where lay the treasures of the Ithacian race: Here ruddy brass and gold refulgent blazed; There polished chests embroider’d vestures graced; Here jars of oil breathed forth a rich perfume; There casks of wine in rows adorn’d the dome (Pure flavorous wine, by gods in bounty given And worthy to exalt the feasts of heaven). Untouch’d they stood, till, his long labours o’er, The great Ulysses reach’d his native shore. A double strength of bars secured the gates; Fast by the door the wise Euryclea waits; Euryclea, who great Ops! thy lineage shared, And watch’d all night, all day, a faithful guard.

To whom the prince: “O thou whose guardian care Nursed the most wretched king that breathes the air; Untouch’d and sacred may these vessels stand, Till great Ulysses views his native land. But by thy care twelve urns of wine be fill’d; Next these in worth, and firm these urns be seal’d; And twice ten measures of the choicest flour Prepared, are yet descends the evening hour. For when the favouring shades of night arise, And peaceful slumbers close my mother’s eyes, Me from our coast shall spreading sails convey, To seek Ulysses through the watery way.”

While yet he spoke, she fill’d the walls with cries, And tears ran trickling from her aged eyes. “O whither, whither flies my son (she cried) To realms; that rocks and roaring seas divide? In foreign lands thy father’s days decay’d. And foreign lands contain the mighty dead. The watery way ill-fated if thou try, All, all must perish, and by fraud you die! Then stay, my, child! storms beat, and rolls the main, Oh, beat those storms, and roll the seas in vain!”

“Far hence (replied the prince) thy fears be driven: Heaven calls me forth; these counsels are of Heaven. But, by the powers that hate the perjured, swear, To keep my voyage from the royal ear, Nor uncompell’d the dangerous truth betray, Till twice six times descends the lamp of day, Lest the sad tale a mother’s life impair, And grief destroy what time awhile would spare.”

Thus he. The matron with uplifted eyes Attests the all-seeing sovereign of the skies. Then studious she prepares the choicest flour, The strength of wheat and wines an ample store. While to the rival train the prince returns, The martial goddess with impatience burns; Like thee, Telemachus, in voice and size, With speed divine from street to street she flies, She bids the mariners prepared to stand, When night descends, embodied on the strand. Then to Noemon swift she runs, she flies, And asks a bark: the chief a bark supplies.

And now, declining with his sloping wheels, Down sunk the sun behind the western hills The goddess shoved the vessel from the shores, And stow’d within its womb the naval stores, Full in the openings of the spacious main It rides; and now descends the sailor-train,

Next, to the court, impatient of delay. With rapid step the goddess urged her way; There every eye with slumberous chains she bound, And dash’d the flowing goblet to the ground. Drowsy they rose, with heavy fumes oppress’d, Reel’d from the palace, and retired to rest. Then thus, in Mentor’s reverend form array’d, Spoke to Telemachus the martial maid. “Lo! on the seas, prepared the vessel stands, The impatient mariner thy speed demands." Swift as she spoke, with rapid pace she leads; The footsteps of the deity he treads. Swift to the shore they move along the strand; The ready vessel rides, the sailors ready stand.

He bids them bring their stores; the attending train Load the tall bark, and launch into the main, The prince and goddess to the stern ascend; To the strong stroke at once the rowers bend. Full from the west she bids fresh breezes blow; The sable billows foam and roar below. The chief his orders gives; the obedient band With due observance wait the chief’s command; With speed the mast they rear, with speed unbind The spacious sheet, and stretch it to the wind. High o’er the roaring waves the spreading sails Bow the tall mast, and swell before the gales; The crooked keel the parting surge divides, And to the stern retreating roll the tides. And now they ship their oars, and crown with wine The holy goblet to the powers divine: Imploring all the gods that reign above, But chief the blue-eyed progeny of Jove.

Thus all the night they stem the liquid way, And end their voyage with the morning ray.

BOOK III

THE INTERVIEW OF TELEMACHUS AND NESTOR

Telemachus, guided by Pallas in the shape of Mentor, arrives in the morning at Pylos, where Nestor and his sons are sacrificing on the sea-shore to Neptune. Telemachus declares the occasion of his coming: and Nestor relates what passed in their return from Troy, how their fleets were separated, and he never since heard of Ulysses. They discourse concerning the death of Agamemnon, the revenge of Orestes, and the injuries of the suitors. Nestor advises him to go to Sparta, and inquire further of Menelaus. The sacrifice ending with the night, Minerva vanishes from them in the form of an eagle: Telemachus is lodged in the palace. The next morning they sacrifice a bullock to Minerva; and Telemachus proceeds on his journey to Sparta, attended by Pisistratus.

The scene lies on the sea-shore of Pylos.

The sacred sun, above the waters raised, Through heaven’s eternal brazen portals blazed; And wide o’er earth diffused his cheering ray, To gods and men to give the golden day. Now on the coast of Pyle the vessel falls, Before old Neleus’ venerable walls. There suppliant to the monarch of the flood, At nine green theatres the Pylians stood, Each held five hundred (a deputed train), At each, nine oxen on the sand lay slain. They taste the entrails, and the altars load With smoking thighs, an offering to the god. Full for the port the Ithacensians stand, And furl their sails, and issue on the land. Telemachus already press’d the shore; Not first, the power of wisdom march’d before, And ere the sacrificing throng he join’d, Admonish’d thus his well-attending mind:

“Proceed, my son! this youthful shame expel; An honest business never blush to tell. To learn what fates thy wretched sire detain, We pass’d the wide immeasurable main. Meet then the senior far renown’d for sense With reverend awe, but decent confidence: Urge him with truth to frame his fair replies; And sure he will; for wisdom never lies.”

“Oh tell me, Mentor! tell me, faithful guide (The youth with prudent modesty replied), How shall I meet, or how accost the sage, Unskill’d in speech, nor yet mature of age? Awful th’approach, and hard the task appears, To question wisely men of riper years.”

To whom the martial goddess thus rejoin’d: “Search, for some thoughts, thy own suggesting mind; And others, dictated by heavenly power, Shall rise spontaneous in the needful hour. For nought unprosperous shall thy ways attend, Born with good omens, and with heaven thy friend.”

She spoke, and led the way with swiftest speed; As swift, the youth pursued the way she led; and join’d the band before the sacred fire, Where sate, encompass’d with his sons, the sire. The youth of Pylos, some on pointed wood Transfix’d the fragments, some prepared the food: In friendly throngs they gather to embrace Their unknown guests, and at the banquet place, Pisistratus was first to grasp their hands, And spread soft hides upon the yellow sands; Along the shore the illustrious pair he led, Where Nestor sate with the youthful Thrasymed, To each a portion of the feast he bore, And held the golden goblet foaming o’er; Then first approaching to the elder guest, The latent goddess in these words address’d: “Whoe’er thou art, from fortune brings to keep These rites of Neptune, monarch of the deep, Thee first it fits, O stranger! to prepare The due libation and the solemn prayer; Then give thy friend to shed the sacred wine; Though much thy younger, and his years like mine, He too, I deem, implores the power divine; For all mankind alike require their grace, All born to want; a miserable race!" He spake, and to her hand preferr’d the bowl; A secret pleasure touch’d Athena’s soul, To see the preference due to sacred age Regarded ever by the just and sage. Of Ocean’s king she then implores the grace. “O thou! whose arms this ample globe embrace, Fulfil our wish, and let thy glory shine On Nestor first, and Nestor’s royal line; Next grant the Pylian states their just desires, Pleased with their hecatomb’s ascending fires; Last, deign Telemachus and me to bless, And crown our voyage with desired success.”

Thus she: and having paid the rite divine, Gave to Ulysses’ son the rosy wine. Suppliant he pray’d. And now the victims dress’d They draw, divide, and celebrate the feast. The banquet done, the narrative old man, Thus mild, the pleasing conference began:

“Now gentle guests! the genial banquet o’er, It fits to ask ye, what your native shore, And whence your race? on what adventure say, Thus far you wander through the watery way? Relate if business, or the thirst of gain, Engage your journey o’er the pathless main Where savage pirates seek through seas unknown The lives of others, venturous of their own.”

Urged by the precepts by the goddess given, And fill’d with confidence infused from Heaven, The youth, whom Pallas destined to be wise And famed among the sons of men, replies: “Inquir’st thou, father! from what coast we came? (Oh grace and glory of the Grecian name!) From where high Ithaca o’erlooks the floods, Brown with o’er-arching shades and pendent woods Us to these shores our filial duty draws, A private sorrow, not a public cause. My sire I seek, where’er the voice of fame Has told the glories of his noble name, The great Ulysses; famed from shore to shore For valour much, for hardy suffering more. Long time with thee before proud Ilion’s wall In arms he fought; with thee beheld her fall. Of all the chiefs, this hero’s fate alone Has Jove reserved, unheard of, and unknown; Whether in fields by hostile fury slain, Or sunk by tempests in the gulfy main? Of this to learn, oppress’d with tender fears, Lo, at thy knee his suppliant son appears. If or thy certain eye, or curious ear, Have learnt his fate, the whole dark story clear And, oh! whate’er Heaven destined to betide, Let neither flattery soothe, nor pity hide. Prepared I stand: he was but born to try The lot of man; to suffer, and to die. Oh then, if ever through the ten years’ war The wise, the good Ulysses claim’d thy care; If e’er he join’d thy council, or thy sword, True in his deed, and constant to his word; Far as thy mind through backward time can see Search all thy stores of faithful memory: ‘Tis sacred truth I ask, and ask of thee.”

To him experienced Nestor thus rejoin’d: “O friend! what sorrows dost thou bring to mind! Shall I the long, laborious scene review, And open all the wounds of Greece anew? What toils by sea! where dark in quest of prey Dauntless we roved; Achilles led the way; What toils by land! where mix’d in fatal fight Such numbers fell, such heroes sunk to night; There Ajax great, Achilles there the brave, There wise Patroclus, fill an early grave: There, too, my son–ah, once my best delight Once swift of foot, and terrible in fight; In whom stern courage with soft virtue join’d A faultless body and a blameless mind; Antilochus–What more can I relate? How trace the tedious series of our fate? Not added years on years my task could close, The long historian of my country’s woes; Back to thy native islands might’st thou sail, And leave half-heard the melancholy tale. Nine painful years on that detested shore; What stratagems we form’d, what toils we bore! Still labouring on, till scarce at last we found Great Jove propitious, and our conquest crown’d. Far o’er the rest thy mighty father shined, In wit, in prudence, and in force of mind. Art thou the son of that illustrious sire? With joy I grasp thee, and with love admire. So like your voices, and your words so wise, Who finds thee younger must consult his eyes. Thy sire and I were one; nor varied aught In public sentence, or in private thought; Alike to council or the assembly came, With equal souls, and sentiments the same. But when (by wisdom won) proud Ilion burn’d, And in their ships the conquering Greeks return’d, ‘Twas God’s high will the victors to divide, And turn the event, confounding human pride; Some be destroy’d, some scatter’d as the dust (Not all were prudent, and not all were just). Then Discord, sent by Pallas from above, Stern daughter of the great avenger Jove, The brother-kings inspired with fell debate; Who call’d to council all the Achaian state, But call’d untimely (not the sacred rite Observed, nor heedful of the setting light, Nor herald sword the session to proclaim), Sour with debauch, a reeling tribe the came. To these the cause of meeting they explain, And Menelaus moves to cross the main; Not so the king of men: be will’d to stay, The sacred rites and hecatombs to pay, And calm Minerva’s wrath. Oh blind to fate! The gods not lightly change their love, or hate. With ireful taunts each other they oppose, Till in loud tumult all the Greeks arose. Now different counsels every breast divide, Each burns with rancour to the adverse side; The unquiet night strange projects entertain’d (So Jove, that urged us to our fate, ordain’d). We with the rising morn our ships unmoor’d, And brought our captives and our stores aboard; But half the people with respect obey’d The king of men, and at his bidding stay’d. Now on the wings of winds our course we keep (For God had smooth’d the waters of the deep); For Tenedos we spread our eager oars, There land, and pay due victims to the powers; To bless our safe return, we join in prayer; But angry Jove dispersed our vows in air, And raised new discord. Then (so Heaven decreed) Ulysses first and Neator disagreed! Wise as he was, by various counsels away’d, He there, though late, to please the monarch, stay’d. But I, determined, stem the foamy floods, Warn’d of the coming fury of the gods. With us, Tydides fear’d, and urged his haste: And Menelaus came, but came the last, He join’d our vessels in the Lesbian bay, While yet we doubted of our watery way; If to the right to urge the pilot’s toil (The safer road), beside the Psyrian isle; Or the straight course to rocky Chios plough, And anchor under Mimas’ shaggy brow? We sought direction of the power divine: The god propitious gave the guiding sign; Through the mid seas he bid our navy steer, And in Euboea shun the woes we fear. The whistling winds already waked the sky; Before the whistling winds the vessels fly, With rapid swiftness cut the liquid way, And reach Gerestus at the point of day.