Chapter IV: Part 4

He, deeply sighing, answer’d him: “O shame, That such poor vassals should affect the fame To share the joys of such a worthy’s bed! As when a hind, her calves late farrowéd, To give suck, enters the bold lion’s den, He roots of hills and herby vallies then For food (there feeding) hunting; but at length Returning to his cavern, gives his strength The lives of both the mother and her brood In deaths indecent; so the Wooers’ blood Must pay Ulysses’ pow’rs as sharp an end. O would to Jove, Apollo, and thy friend The wise Minerva, that thy father were As once he was, when he his spirits did rear Against Philomelides, in a fight Perform’d in well-built Lesbos, where, down-right He strook the earth with him, and gat a shout Of all the Grecians! O, if now full out He were as then, and with the Wooers coped, Short-liv’d they all were, and their nuptials hoped Would prove as desp’rate. But, for thy demand Enforc’d with pray’rs, I’ll let thee understand The truth directly, nor decline a thought, Much less deceive, or sooth thy search in ought; But what the old and still-true-spoken God, That from the sea breathes oracles abroad, Disclos’d to me, to thee I’ll all impart, Nor hide one word from thy sollicitous heart.

I was in Ægypt, where a mighty time The Gods detain’d me, though my natural clime I never so desir’d, because their homes I did not greet with perfect hecatombs. For they will put men evermore in mind, How much their masterly commandments bind.

There is, besides, a certain island, call’d Pharos, that with the high-wav’d sea is wall’d, Just against Ægypt, and so much remote, As in a whole day, with a fore-gale smote, A hollow ship can sail. And this isle bears A port most portly, where sea-passengers Put in still for fresh water, and away To sea again. Yet here the Gods did stay My fleet full twenty days; the winds, that are Masters at sea, no prosp’rous puff would spare To put us off; and all my victuals here Had quite corrupted, as my men’s minds were, Had not a certain Goddess giv’n regard, And pitied me in an estate so hard; And ’twas Idothea, honour’d Proteus’ seed, That old sea-farer. Her mind I make bleed With my compassion, when (walk’d all alone, From all my soldiers, that were ever gone About the isle on fishing with hooks bent; Hunger their bellies on her errand sent) She came close to me, spake, and thus began:

‘Of all men thou art the most foolish man! Or slack in business, or stay’st here of choice, And dost in all thy suff’rances rejoice, That thus long liv’st detain’d here, and no end Canst give thy tarriance? Thou dost much offend The minds of all thy fellows.’ I replied:

‘Whoever thou art of the Deified, I must affirm, that no way with my will I make abode here; but, it seems, some ill The Gods, inhabiting broad heav’n, sustain Against my getting off. Inform me then, For Godheads all things know, what God is he That stays my passage from the fishy sea?’

‘Stranger,’ said she, ‘I’ll tell thee true: There lives An old sea-farer in these seas, that gives A true solution of all secrets here, Who deathless Proteus is, th’ Ægyptian peer, Who can the deeps of all the seas exquire, Who Neptune’s priest is, and, they say, the sire That did beget me. Him, if any way Thou couldst inveigle, he would clear display Thy course from hence, and how far off doth lie Thy voyage’s whole scope through Neptune’s sky. Informing thee, O God-preserv’d, beside, If thy desires would so be satisfied, Whatever good or ill hath got event, In all the time thy long and hard course spent, Since thy departure from thy house.’ This said; Again I answer’d: ‘Make the sleights display’d Thy father useth, lest his foresight see, Or his foreknowledge taking note of me, He flies the fixt place of his us’d abode. ’Tis hard for man to countermine with God.’

She straight replied: ‘I’ll utter truth in all: When heav’n’s supremest height the sun doth skall, The old Sea-tell-truth leaves the deeps, and hides Amidst a black storm, when the West Wind chides, In caves still sleeping. Round about him sleep (With short feet swimming forth the foamy deep) The sea-calves, lovely Halosydnes call’d, From whom a noisome odour is exhal’d, Got from the whirl-pools, on whose earth they lie. Here, when the morn illustrates all the sky, I’ll guide, and seat thee in the fittest place For the performance thou hast now in chace. In mean time, reach thy fleet, and choose out three Of best exploit, to go as aids to thee.

But now I’ll show thee all the old God’s sleights: He first will number, and take all the sights Of those his guard, that on the shore arrives. When having view’d, and told them forth by fives, He takes place in their midst, and there doth sleep, Like to a shepherd midst his flock of sheep. In his first sleep, call up your hardiest cheer, Vigour and violence, and hold him there, In spite of all his strivings to be gone. He then will turn himself to ev’ry one Of all things that in earth creep and respire, In water swim, or shine in heav’nly fire. Yet still hold you him firm, and much the more Press him from passing. But when, as before, When sleep first bound his pow’rs, his form ye see, Then cease your force, and th’ old heroë free, And then demand, which heav’n-born it may be That so afflicts you, hind’ring your retreat, And free sea-passage to your native seat.’

This said, she div’d into the wavy seas, And I my course did to my ships address, That on the sands stuck; where arriv’d, we made Our supper ready. Then th’ ambrosian shade Of night fell on us, and to sleep we fell. Rosy Aurora rose; we rose as well, And three of them on whom I most relied, For firm at ev’ry force, I choos’d, and hied Straight to the many-river-servéd seas; And all assistance ask’d the Deities.

Mean time Idothea the sea’s broad breast Embrac’d, and brought for me, and all my rest, Four of the sea-calves’ skins but newly flay’d, To work a wile which she had fashionéd Upon her father. Then, within the sand A covert digging, when these calves should land, She sat expecting. We came close to her; She plac’d us orderly, and made us wear Each one his calf’s skin. But we then must pass A huge exploit. The sea-calves’ savour was So passing sour, they still being bred at seas, It much afflicted us; for who can please To lie by one of these same sea-bred whales? But she preserves us, and to memory calls A rare commodity; she fetch’d to us Ambrosia, that an air most odorous Bears still about it, which she ‘nointed round Our either nosthrils, and in it quite drown’d The nasty whale-smell. Then the great event The whole morn’s date, with spirits patient, We lay expecting. When bright noon did flame, Forth from the sea in shoals the sea-calves came, And orderly, at last lay down and slept Along the sands. And then th’ old Sea-God crept From forth the deeps, and found his fat calves there, Survey’d, and number’d, and came never near The craft we us’d, but told us five for calves. His temples then dis-eas’d with sleep he salves; And in rush’d we, with an abhorréd cry, Cast all our hands about him manfully; And then th’ old Forger all his forms began: First was a lion with a mighty mane, Then next a dragon, a pied panther then, A vast boar next, and suddenly did strain All into water. Last he was a tree, Curl’d all at top, and shot up to the sky.

We, with resolv’d hearts, held him firmly still, When th’ old one (held too strait for all his skill To extricate) gave words, and question’d me:

‘Which of the Gods, O Atreus’ son,’ said he, ‘Advis’d and taught thy fortitude this sleight, To take and hold me thus in my despite?’ ‘What asks thy wish now?’ I replied. ‘Thou know’st. Why dost thou ask? What wiles are these thou show’st? I have within this isle been held for wind A wondrous time, and can by no means find An end to my retention. It hath spent The very heart in me. Give thou then vent To doubts thus bound in me, ye Gods know all, Which of the Godheads doth so foully fall On my addression home, to stay me here, Avert me from my way, the fishy clear Barr’d to my passage?’ He replied: ‘Of force, If to thy home thou wishest free recourse, To Jove, and all the other Deities, Thou must exhibit solemn sacrifice; And then the black sea for thee shall be clear, Till thy lov’d country’s settled reach. But where Ask these rites thy performance? ’Tis a fate To thee and thy affairs appropriate, That thou shalt never see thy friends, nor tread Thy country’s earth, nor see inhabited Thy so magnificent house, till thou make good Thy voyage back to the Ægyptian flood, Whose waters fell from Jove, and there hast giv’n To Jove, and all Gods housed in ample heav’n, Devoted hecatombs, and then free ways Shall open to thee, clear’d of all delays.’ This told he; and, methought, he brake my heart, In such a long and hard course to divert My hope for home, and charge my back retreat As far as Ægypt. I made answer yet: ‘Father, thy charge I’ll perfect; but before Resolve me truly, if their natural shore All those Greeks, and their ships, do safe enjoy, That Nestor and myself left, when from Troy We first rais’d sail? Or whether any died At sea a death unwish’d? Or, satisfied, When war was past, by friends embrac’d, in peace Resign’d their spirits? He made answer: ‘Cease To ask so far. It fits thee not to be So cunning in thine own calamity. Nor seek to learn what learn’d thou shouldst forget. Men’s knowledges have proper limits set, And should not prease into the mind of God. But ’twill not long be, as my thoughts abode, Before thou buy this curious skill with tears. Many of those, whose states so tempt thine ears, Are stoop’d by death, and many left alive, One chief of which in strong hold doth survive, Amidst the broad sea. Two, in their retreat, Are done to death. I list not to repeat Who fell at Troy, thyself was there in fight, But in return swift Ajax lost the light, In his long-oar’d ship. Neptune, yet, awhile Saft him unwrack’d, to the Gyræan isle, A mighty-rock removing from his way. And surely he had ‘scap’d the fatal day, In spite of Pallas, if to that foul deed He in her fane did, (when he ravishéd The Trojan prophetess) he had not here Adjoin’d an impious boast, that he would bear, Despite the Gods, his ship safe through the waves Then rais’d against him. These his impious braves When Neptune heard, in his strong hand he took His massy trident, and so soundly strook The rock Gyræan, that in two it cleft; Of which one fragment on the land he left, The other fell into the troubled seas; At which first rush’d Ajax Oïliades, And split his ship, and then himself afloat Swum on the rough waves of the world’s vast mote, Till having drunk a salt cup for his sin, There perish’d he. Thy brother yet did win The wreath from death, while in the waves they strove, Afflicted by the rev’rend wife of Jove. But when the steep mount of the Malian shore He seem’d to reach, a most tempestuous blore, Far to the fishy world that sighs so sore, Straight ravish’d him again as far away, As to th’ extreme bounds where the Agrians stay, Where first Thyestes dwelt, but then his son Ægisthus Thyestiades liv’d. This done, When his return untouch’d appear’d again, Back turn’d the Gods the wind, and set him then Hard by his house. Then, full of joy, he left His ship, and close t’ his country earth he cleft, Kiss’d it, and wept for joy, pour’d tear on tear, To set so wishedly his footing there. But see, a sentinel that all the year Crafty Ægisthus in a watchtow’r set To spy his landing, for reward as great As two gold talents, all his pow’rs did call To strict remembrance of his charge, and all Discharg’d at first sight, which at first he cast On Agamemnon, and with all his haste Inform’d Ægisthus. He an instant train Laid for his slaughter: Twenty chosen men Of his plebeians he in ambush laid; His other men he charg’d to see purvey’d A feast; and forth, with horse and chariots grac’d, He rode t’ invite him, but in heart embrac’d Horrible welcomes, and to death did bring, With treach’rous slaughter, the unwary king, Receiv’d him at a feast, and, like an ox Slain at his manger, gave him bits and knocks. No one left of Atrides’ train, nor one Sav’d to Ægisthus, but himself alone, All strew’d together there the bloody court.’ This said, my soul he sunk with his report, Flat on the sands I fell, tears spent their store, I light abhorr’d, my heart would live no more. When dry of tears, and tir’d of tumbling there, Th’ old Tell-truth thus my daunted spirits did cheer: ‘No more spend tears nor time, O Atreus’ son, With ceaseless weeping never wish was won, Use uttermost assay to reach thy home, And all unwares upon the murderer come, For torture, taking him thyself alive; Or let Orestes, that should far out-strive Thee in fit vengeance, quickly quit the light Of such a dark soul, and do thou the rite Of burial to him with a funeral feast.’

With these last words I fortified my breast, In which again a gen’rous spring began Of fitting comfort, as I was a man; But, as a brother, I must ever mourn. Yet forth I went, and told him the return Of these I knew; but he had nam’d a third, Held on the broad sea, still with life inspir’d, Whom I besought to know, though likewise dead, And I must mourn alike. He answeréd: ‘He is Laertes’ son; whom I beheld In nymph Calypso’s palace, who compell’d His stay with her, and, since he could not see His country earth, he mourn’d incessantly. For he had neither ship instruct with oars, Nor men to fetch him from those stranger shores. Where leave we him, and to thy self descend, Whom not in Argos Fate nor Death shall end, But the immortal ends of all the earth, So rul’d by them that order death by birth, The fields Elysian, Fate to thee will give; Where Rhadamanthus rules, and where men live A never-troubled life, where snow, nor show’rs, Nor irksome Winter spends his fruitless pow’rs, But from the ocean Zephyr still resumes A constant breath, that all the fields perfumes. Which, since thou marriedst Helen, are thy hire, And Jove himself is by her side thy sire.’ This said; he div’d the deepsome wat’ry heaps; I and my tried men took us to our ships, And worlds of thoughts I varied with my steps. Arriv’d and shipp’d, the silent solemn night And sleep bereft us of our visual light. At morn, masts, sails, rear’d, we sat, left the shores, And beat the foamy ocean with our oars. Again then we the Jove-fall’n flood did fetch, As far as Ægypt; where we did beseech The Gods with hecatombs; whose angers ceast, I tomb’d my brother that I might be blest. All rites perform’d, all haste I made for home, And all the prosp’rous winds about were come, I had the passport now of ev’ry God, And here clos’d all these labours’ period. Here stay then till th’ eleventh or twelfth day’s light, And I’ll dismiss thee well, gifts exquisite Preparing for thee, chariot, horses three, A cup of curious frame to serve for thee To serve th’ immortal Gods with sacrifice, Mindful of me while all suns light thy skies.” He answer’d: “Stay me not too long time here, Though I could sit attending all the year. Nor should my house, nor parents, with desire, Take my affections from you, so on fire With love to hear you are my thoughts; but so My Pylian friends I shall afflict with woe Who mourn ev’n this stay. Whatsoever be The gifts your grace is to bestow on me, Vouchsafe them such as I may bear and save For your sake ever. Horse, I list not have, To keep in Ithaca, but leave them here, To your soil’s dainties, where the broad fields bear Sweet cypers grass, where men-fed lote doth flow, Where wheat-like spelt, and wheat itself, doth grow, Where barley, white, and spreading like a tree; But Ithaca hath neither ground to be, For any length it comprehends, a race To try a horse’s speed, nor any place To make him fat in; fitter far to feed A cliff-bred goat, than raise or please a steed. Of all isles, Ithaca doth least provide Or meads to feed a horse, or ways to ride.” He, smiling, said: “Of good blood art thou, son. What speech, so young! What observatión Hast thou made of the world! I well am pleas’d To change my gifts to thee, as being confess’d Unfit indeed, my store is such I may. Of all my house-gifts then, that up I lay For treasure there, I will bestow on thee The fairest, and of greatest price to me. I will bestow on thee a rich carv’d cup, Of silver all, but all the brims wrought up With finest gold; it was the only thing That the heroical Sidonian king Presented to me, when we were to part At his receipt of me, and ’twas the art Of that great Artist that of heav’n is free; And yet ev’n this will I bestow on thee.” This speech thus ended, guests came, and did bring Muttons, for presents, to the God-like king, And spirit-prompting wine, that strenuous makes. Their riband-wreathed wives brought fruit and cakes. Thus in this house did these their feast apply; And in Ulysses’ house activity The Wooers practis’d; tossing of the spear, The stone, and hurling; thus delighted, where They exercis’d such insolence before, Ev’n in the court that wealthy pavements wore Antinous did still their strifes decide, And he that was in person deified Eurymachus; both ring-leaders of all, For in their virtues they were principal. These by Noëmon, son to Phronius, Were sided now, who made the question thus: “Antinous! Does any friend here know, When this Telemachus returns, or no, From sandy Pylos? He made bold to take My ship with him; of which, I now should make Fit use myself, and sail in her as far As spacious Elis, where of mine there are Twelve delicate mares, and under their sides go Laborious mules, that yet did never know The yoke, nor labour; some of which should bear The taming now, if I could fetch them there.” This speech the rest admir’d, nor dream’d that he Neleïan Pylos ever thought to see, But was at field about his flocks’ survey, Or thought his herdsmen held him so away. Eupitheus son, Antinous, then replied: “When went he, or with what train dignified? Of his selected Ithacensian youth? Prest men, or bond men, were they? Tell the truth. Could he effect this? Let me truly know. To gain thy vessel did he violence show, And us’d her ’gainst thy will? or had her free, When fitting question he had made with thee?” Noëmon answer’d: “I did freely give My vessel to him. Who deserves to live That would do other, when such men as he Did in distress ask? He should churlish be That would deny him. Of our youth the best Amongst the people, to the interest His charge did challenge in them, giving way, With all the tribute all their pow’rs could pay. Their captain, as he took the ship, I knew, Who Mentor was, or God. A Deity’s shew Mask’d in his likeness. But, to think ’twas he, I much admire, for I did clearly see, But yester-morning, God-like Mentor here; Yet th’ other ev’ning he took shipping there, And went for Pylos.” Thus went he for home, And left the rest with envy overcome; Who sat, and pastime left. Eupitheus son, Sad, and with rage his entrails overrun, His eyes like flames, thus interpos’d his speech: “Strange thing! An action of how proud a reach Is here committed by Telemachus! A boy, a child, and we, a sort of us, Vow’d ’gainst his voyage, yet admit it thus! With ship and choice youth of our people too! But let him on, and all his mischief do, Jove shall convert upon himself his pow’rs, Before their ill presum’d he brings on ours. Provide me then a ship, and twenty men To give her manage, that, against again He turns for home, on th’ Ithacensian seas, Or cliffy Samian, I may interprease, Way-lay, and take him, and make all his craft Sail with his ruin for his father saft.” This all applauded, and gave charge to do, Rose, and to greet Ulysses’ house did go. But long time past not, ere Penelope Had notice of their far-fetch’d treachery. Medon the herald told her, who had heard Without the hall how they within conferr’d, And hasted straight to tell it to the queen, Who, from the entry having Medon seen, Prevents him thus: “Now herald, what affair Intend the famous Wooers, in your repair? To tell Ulysses’ maids that they must cease From doing our work, and their banquets dress? I would to heav’n, that, leaving wooing me, Nor ever troubling other company, Here might the last feast be, and most extreme, That ever any shall address for them. They never meet but to consent in spoil, And reap the free fruits of another’s toil. O did they never, when they children were, What to their fathers was Ulysses, hear? Who never did ’gainst anyone proceed With unjust usage, or in word or deed? ’Tis yet with other kings another right, One to pursue with love, another spite; He still yet just, nor would, though might, devour, Nor to the worst did ever taste of pow’r. But their unrul’d acts show their minds’ estate. Good turns receiv’d once, thanks grow out of date.” Medon, the learn’d in wisdom, answer’d her: “I wish, O queen, that their ingratitudes were Their worst ill towards you; but worse by far, And much more deadly, their endeavours are, Which Jove will fail them in. Telemachus Their purpose is, as he returns to us, To give their sharp steels in a cruel death; Who now is gone to learn, if fame can breathe News of his sire, and will the Pylian shore, And sacred Sparta, in his search explore.” This news dissolv’d to her both knees and heart, Long silence held her ere one word would part, Her eyes stood full of tears, her small soft voice All late use lost; that yet at last had choice Of wonted words, which briefly thus she us’d: “Why left my son his mother? Why refus’d His wit the solid shore, to try the seas, And put in ships the trust of his distress, That are at sea to men unbridled horse, And run, past rule, their far-engagéd course, Amidst a moisture past all mean unstaid? No need compell’d this. Did he it, afraid To live and leave posterity his name?” “I know not,” he replied, “if th’ humour came From current of his own instinct, or flow’d From others’ instigations; but he vow’d Attempt to Pylos, or to see descried His sire’s return, or know what death he died.” This said, he took him to Ulysses’ house After the Wooers; the Ulyssean spouse, Run through with woes, let Torture seize her mind, Nor in her choice of state chairs stood inclin’d To take her seat, but th’ abject threshold chose Of her fair chamber for her loath’d repose, And mourn’d most wretch-like. Round about her fell Her handmaids, join’d in a continuate yell. From ev’ry corner of the palace, all Of all degrees tun’d to her comfort’s fall Their own dejections; to whom her complaint She thus enforc’d: “The Gods, beyond constraint Of any measure, urge these tears on me; Nor was there ever dame of my degree So past degree griev’d. First, a lord so good, That had such hardy spirits in his blood, That all the virtues was adorn’d withall, That all the Greeks did their superior call, To part with thus, and lose! And now a son, So worthily belov’d, a course to run Beyond my knowledge; whom rude tempests have Made far from home his most inglorious grave! Unhappy wenches, that no one of all (Though in the reach of ev’ry one must fall His taking ship) sustain’d the careful mind, To call me from my bed, who this design’d And most vow’d course in him had either stay’d, How much soever hasted, or dead laid He should have left me. Many a man I have, That would have call’d old Dolius my slave, (That keeps my orchard, whom my father gave At my departure) to have run, and told Laertes this; to try if he could hold From running through the people, and from tears, In telling them of these vow’d murderers; That both divine Ulysses’ hope, and his, Resolv’d to end in their conspiracies.” His nurse then, Euryclea, made reply: “Dear sov’reign, let me with your own hands die, Or cast me off here, I’ll not keep from thee One word of what I know. He trusted me With all his purpose, and I gave him all The bread and wine for which he pleas’d to call. But then a mighty oath he made me swear, Not to report it to your royal ear Before the twelfth day either should appear, Or you should ask me when you heard him gone. Impair not then your beauties with your moan, But wash, and put untear-stain’d garments on, Ascend your chamber with your ladies here, And pray the seed of goat-nurs’d Jupiter, Divine Athenia, to preserve your son, And she will save him from confusión, Th’ old king, to whom your hopes stand so inclin’d For his grave counsels, you perhaps may find Unfit affected, for his age’s sake. But heav’n-kings wax not old, and therefore make Fit pray’rs to them; for my thoughts never will Believe the heav’nly Pow’rs conceit so ill The seed of righteous Arcesiades, To end it utterly, but still will please In some place evermore some one of them To save, and deck him with a diadem, Give him possession of erected tow’rs, And far-stretch’d fields, crown’d all of fruits and flowr’s.” This eas’d her heart, and dried her humorous eyes, When having wash’d, and weeds of sacrifice Pure, and unstain’d with her distrustful tears, Put on, with all her women-ministers Up to a chamber of most height she rose, And cakes of salt and barley did impose Within a wicker basket; all which broke In decent order, thus she did invoke: “Great Virgin of the goat-preservéd God, If ever the inhabited abode Of wise Ulysses held the fatted thighs Of sheep and oxen, made thy sacrifice By his devotion, hear me, nor forget His pious services, but safe see set His dear son on these shores, and banish hence These Wooers past all mean in insolence.” This said, she shriek’d, and Pallas heard her pray’r. The Wooers broke with tumult all the air About the shady house; and one of them, Whose pride his youth had made the more extreme, Said: “Now the many-wooer-honour’d queen Will surely satiate her delayful spleen, And one of us in instant nuptials take. Poor dame, she dreams not, what design we make Upon the life and slaughter of her son.” So said he; but so said was not so done; Whose arrogant spirit in a vaunt so vain Antinous chid, and said: “For shame, contain These braving speeches. Who can tell who hears? Are we not now in reach of others’ ears? If our intentions please us, let us call Our spirits up to them, and let speeches fall. By watchful danger men must silent go. What we resolve on, let’s not say, but do.” This said, he choos’d out twenty men, that bore Best reckoning with him, and to ship and shore All hasted, reach’d the ship, launch’d, rais’d the mast, Put sails in, and with leather loops made fast The oars; sails hoisted, arms their men did bring, All giving speed and form to ev’rything. Then to the high deeps their rigg’d vessel driven, They supp’d, expecting the approaching even. Mean space, Penelope her chamber kept And bed, and neither eat, nor drank, nor slept, Her strong thoughts wrought so on her blameless son, Still in contention, if he should be done To death, or ‘scape the impious Wooers’ design. Look how a lion, whom men-troops combine To hunt, and close him in a crafty ring, Much varied thought conceives, and fear doth sting For urgent danger; so far’d she, till sleep All juncture of her joints and nerves did steep In his dissolving humour. When, at rest, Pallas her favours varied, when addrest An idol, that Iphthima did present In structure of her ev’ry lineament,[5] Great-soul’d Icarius’ daughter, whom for spouse Eumelus took, that kept in Pheris’ house. This to divine Ulysses’ house she sent, To try her best mean how she might content Mournful Penelope, and make relent The strict addiction in her to deplore. This idol, like a worm, that less or more[6] Contracts or strains her, did itself convey, Beyond the wards or windings of the key, Into the chamber, and, above her head Her seat assuming, thus she comforted Distress’d Penelope: “Doth sleep thus seize Thy pow’rs, affected with so much dis-ease? The Gods, that nothing troubles, will not see Thy tears nor griefs, in any least degree, Sustain’d with cause, for they will guard thy son Safe to his wish’d and native mansión. Since he is no offender of their states, And they to such are firmer than their fates.” The wise Penelope receiv’d her thus, Bound with a slumber most delicious, And in the port of dreams: “O sister, why Repair you hither, since so far off lie Your house and household? You were never here Before this hour, and would you now give cheer To my so many woes and miseries, Affecting fitly all the faculties My soul and mind hold, having lost before A husband, that of all the virtues bore The palm amongst the Greeks, and whose renown So ample was that Fame the sound hath blown Through Greece and Argos to her very heart? And now again, a son, that did convert My whole pow’rs to his love, by ship is gone; A tender plant, that yet was never grown To labour’s taste, nor the commerce of men; For whom more than my husband I complain, And lest he should at any suff’rance touch (Or in the sea, or by the men so much Estrang’d to him that must his consorts be) Fear and chill tremblings shake each joint of me. Besides, his danger sets on foes profess’d To way-lay his return, that have address’d Plots for his death.” The scarce-discernéd Dream, Said: “Be of comfort, nor fears so extreme Let thus dismay thee; thou hast such a mate Attending thee, as some at any rate Would wish to purchase, for her pow’r is great; Minerva pities thy delights’ defeat, Whose grace hath sent me to foretell thee these.” “If thou,” said she, “be of the Goddesses, And heardst her tell thee these, thou mayst as well From her tell all things else. Deign then to tell, If yet the man to all misfortunes born, My husband, lives, and sees the sun adorn The darksome earth, or hides his wretched head In Pluto’s house, and lives amongst the dead?” “I will not,” she replied, “my breath exhale In one continued and perpetual tale, Lives he or dies he. ’Tis a filthy use, To be in vain and idle speech profuse.” This said, she, through the key-hole of the door, Vanish’d again into the open blore. Icarius’ daughter started from her sleep, And Joy’s fresh humour her lov’d breast did steep, When now so clear, in that first watch of night, She saw the seen Dream vanish from her sight. The Wooers’ ship the sea’s moist waves did ply, And thought the prince a haughty death should die. There lies a certain island in the sea, Twixt rocky Samos and rough Ithaca, That cliffy is itself, and nothing great, Yet holds convenient havens that two ways let Ships in and out, call’d Asteris; and there The Wooers hop’d to make their massacre.

FINIS LIBRI QUARTI HOM. ODYSS.

[1] _Αακεδαἰμονα κητὠσσαν_ which is expounded _Spartam amplam,_ or _πεγἀλην magnam;_ where _κητὠεσσαν_ signifies properly _plurima cete nutrientem._

[2] _Μολπης ἐ ἄρχοντες Cantum auspicantes:_ of which place, the critics affirm that _saltatores motu suo indicant cantori quo genere cantus saltaturi forent._ The rapture of Eteoneus at sight of Telemachus and Pisistratus.

[3] Telemachus to Pisistratus, in observation of the house, not so much that he heartily admired it, as to please Menelaus, who he knew heard, though he seemed desirous he should not hear.

[4] Helen counterfeited the wives’ voices of those kings of Greece that were in the wooden horse, and calls their husbands.

[5] _Δἐμας, membrorum structura._

[6] _Παρἁ κληîδος ἱμἀντα. Ιμἀς, affectus curculionis significat quod longior et gracilior evaserit._

THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS

THE ARGUMENT

A second Court on Jove attends; Who Hermes to Calypso sends, Commanding her to clear the ways Ulysses sought; and she obeys. When Neptune saw Ulysses free, And so in safety plough the sea, Enrag’d, he ruffles up the waves, And splits his ship. Leucothea saves His person yet, as being a Dame Whose Godhead govern’d in the frame Of those seas’ tempers. But the mean, By which she curbs dread Neptune’s spleen, Is made a jewel, which she takes From off her head, and that she makes Ulysses on his bosom wear, About his neck, she ties it there, And, when he is with waves beset, Bids wear it as an amulet, Commanding him, that not before He touch’d upon Phæacia’s shore, He should not part with it, but then Return it to the sea again, And cast it from him. He performs; Yet, after this, bides bitter storms, And in the rocks sees death engrav’d, But on Phæacia’s shore is sav’d.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

E. Ulysses builds A ship; and gains The glassy fields; Pays Neptune pains.