Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

He not unconscious of the voice and tread,

  Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head;

  Bred by Ulysses, nourish'd at his board,

  But, ah! not fated long to please his lord;

  To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain;

  The voice of glory call'd him o'er the main.

  Till then in every sylvan chase renown'd,

  With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around;

  With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn,

  Or traced the mazy leveret o'er the lawn.

  Now left to man's ingratitude he lay,

  Unhoused, neglected in the public way;

  And where on heaps the rich manure was spread,

  Obscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed.

  He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet;

  In vain he strove to crawl and kiss his feet;

  Yet (all he could) his tail, his tears, his eyes,

  Salute his master, and confess his joys.

  Soft pity touch'd the mighty master's soul;

  Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole,

  Stole unperceived: he turn'd his head and dried

  The drop humane: then thus impassion'd cried:

  "What noble beast in this abandon'd state

  Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate?

  His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise:

  If, as he seems, he was in better days,

  Some care his age deserves; or was he prized

  For worthless beauty? therefore now despised;

  Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state;

  And always cherish'd by their friends, the great."

  "Not Argus so, (Eumaeus thus rejoin'd,)

  But served a master of a nobler kind,

  Who, never, never shall behold him more!

  Long, long since perish'd on a distant shore!

  Oh had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young,

  Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong:

  Him no fell savage on the plain withstood,

  None 'scaped him bosom'd in the gloomy wood;

  His eye how piercing, and his scent how true,

  To wind the vapour on the tainted dew!

  Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast:

  Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost!

  The women keep the generous creature bare,

  A sleek and idle race is all their care:

  The master gone, the servants what restrains?

  Or dwells humanity where riot reigns?

  Jove fix'd it certain, that whatever day

  Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away."

  This said, the honest herdsman strode before;

  The musing monarch pauses at the door:

  The dog, whom Fate had granted to behold

  His lord, when twenty tedious years had roll'd,

  Takes a last look, and having seen him, dies;

  So closed for ever faithful Argus' eyes!

  And now Telemachus, the first of all,

  Observed Eumaeus entering in the hall;

  Distant he saw, across the shady dome;

  Then gave a sign, and beckon'd him to come:

  There stood an empty seat, where late was placed,

  In order due, the steward of the feast,

  (Who now was busied carving round the board,)

  Eumaeus took, and placed it near his lord.

  Before him instant was the banquet spread,

  And the bright basket piled with loaves of bread.

  Next came Ulysses lowly at the door,

  A figure despicable, old, and poor.

  In squalid vests, with many a gaping rent,

  Propp'd or a staff, and trembling as he went.

  Then, resting on the threshold of the gate,

  Against a cypress pillar lean'd his weight

  Smooth'd by the workman to a polish'd plane);

  The thoughtful son beheld, and call'd his swain

  "These viands, and this bread, Eumaeus! bear,

  And let yon mendicant our plenty share:

  And let him circle round the suitors' board,

  And try the bounty of each gracious lord.

  Bold let him ask, encouraged thus by me:

  How ill, alas! do want and shame agree!"

  His lord's command the faithful servant bears:

  The seeming beggar answers with his prayers:

  "Bless'd be Telemachus! in every deed

  Inspire him. Jove! in every wish succeed!"

  This said, the portion from his son convey'd

  With smiles receiving on his scrip he laid.

  Long has the minstrel swept the sounding wire,

  He fed, and ceased when silence held the lyre.

  Soon as the suitors from the banquet rose,

  Minerva prompts the man of mighty woes

  To tempt their bounties with a suppliant's art,

  And learn the generous from the ignoble heart

  (Not but his soul, resentful as humane,

  Dooms to full vengeance all the offending train);

  With speaking eyes, and voice of plaintive sound,

  Humble he moves, imploring all around.

  The proud feel pity, and relief bestow,

  With such an image touch'd of human woe;

  Inquiring all, their wonder they confess,

  And eye the man, majestic in distress.

  While thus they gaze and question with their eyes,

  The bold Melanthius to their thought replies:

  "My lords! this stranger of gigantic port

  The good Eumaeus usher'd to your court.

  Full well I mark'd the features of his face,

  Though all unknown his clime, or noble race."

  "And is this present, swineherd! of thy band?

  Bring'st thou these vagrants to infest the land?

  (Returns Antinous with retorted eye)

  Objects uncouth, to check the genial joy.

  Enough of these our court already grace;

  Of giant stomach, and of famish'd face.

  Such guests Eumaeus to his country brings,

  To share our feast, and lead the life of kings."

  To whom the hospitable swain rejoins:

  "Thy passion, prince, belies thy knowing mind.

  Who calls, from distant nations to his own,

  The poor, distinguish'd by their wants alone?

  Round the wide world are sought those men divine

  Who public structures raise, or who design;

  Those to whose eyes the gods their ways reveal,

  Or bless with salutary arts to heal;

  But chief to poets such respect belongs,

  By rival nations courted for their songs;

  These states invite, and mighty kings admire,

  Wide as the sun displays his vital fire.

  It is not so with want! how few that feed

  A wretch unhappy, merely for his need!

  Unjust to me, and all that serve the state,

  To love Ulysses is to raise thy hate.

  For me, suffice the approbation won

  Of my great mistress, and her godlike son."

  To him Telemachus: "No more incense

  The man by nature prone to insolence:

  Injurious minds just answers but provoke" —

  Then turning to Antinous, thus he spoke:

  "Thanks to thy care! whose absolute command

  Thus drives the stranger from our court and land.

  Heaven bless its owner with a better mind!

  From envy free, to charity inclined.

  This both Penelope and I afford:

  Then, prince! be bounteous of Ulysses' board.

  To give another's is thy hand so slow?

  So much more sweet to spoil than to bestow?"

  "Whence, great Telemachus! this lofty strain?

  (Antinous cries with insolent disdain):

  Portions like mine if every suitor
gave,

  Our walls this twelvemonth should not see the slave."

  He spoke, and lifting high above the board

  His ponderous footstool, shook it at his lord.

  The rest with equal hand conferr'd the bread:

  He fill'd his scrip, and to the threshold sped;

  But first before Antinous stopp'd, and said:

  "Bestow, my friend! thou dost not seem the worst

  Of all the Greeks, but prince-like and the first;

  Then, as in dignity, be first in worth,

  And I shall praise thee through the boundless earth.

  Once I enjoy'd in luxury of state

  Whate'er gives man the envied name of great;

  Wealth, servants, friends, were mine in better days

  And hospitality was then my praise;

  In every sorrowing soul I pour'd delight,

  And poverty stood smiling in my sight.

  But Jove, all-governing, whose only will

  Determines fate, and mingles good with ill,

  Sent me (to punish my pursuit of gain)

  With roving pirates o'er the Egyptian main

  By Egypt's silver flood our ships we moor;

  Our spies commission'd straight the coast explore;

  But impotent of mind, the lawless will

  The country ravage, and the natives kill.

  The spreading clamour to their city flies,

  And horse and foot in mingled tumults rise:

  The reddening dawn reveals the hostile fields,

  Horrid with bristly spears, and gleaming shields:

  Jove thunder'd on their side: our guilty head

  We turn'd to flight; the gathering vengeance spread

  On all parts round, and heaps on heaps lay dead.

  Some few the foe in servitude detain;

  Death ill exchanged for bondage and for pain!

  Unhappy me a Cyprian took aboard,

  And gave to Dmetor, Cyprus' haughty lord:

  Hither, to 'scape his chains, my course I steer,

  Still cursed by Fortune, and insulted here!"

  To whom Antinous thus his rage express'd:

  "What god has plagued us with this gourmand guest?

  Unless at distance, wretch! thou keep behind,

  Another isle, than Cyprus more unkind,

  Another Egypt shalt thou quickly find.

  From all thou begg'st, a bold audacious slave;

  Nor all can give so much as thou canst crave.

  Nor wonder I, at such profusion shown;

  Shameless they give, who give what's not their own."

  The chief, retiring: "Souls, like that in thee,

  Ill suits such forms of grace and dignity.

  Nor will that hand to utmost need afford

  The smallest portion of a wasteful board,

  Whose luxury whole patrimonies sweeps,

  Yet starving want, amidst the riot, weeps."

  The haughty suitor with resentment burns,

  And, sourly smiling, this reply returns:

  "Take that, ere yet thou quit this princely throng;

  And dumb for ever be thy slanderous tongue!"

  He said, and high the whirling tripod flung.

  His shoulder-blade received the ungentle shock;

  He stood, and moved not, like a marble rock;

  But shook his thoughtful head, nor more complain'd,

  Sedate of soul, his character sustain'd,

  And inly form'd revenge; then back withdrew:

  Before his feet the well fill'd scrip he threw,

  And thus with semblance mild address'd the crew:

  "May what I speak your princely minds approve,

  Ye peers and rivals in this noble love!

  Not for the hurt I grieve, but for the cause.

  If, when the sword our country's quarrel draws,

  Or if, defending what is justly dear,

  From Mars impartial some broad wound we bear,

  The generous motive dignifies the scar.

  But for mere want, how hard to suffer wrong!

  Want brings enough of other ills along!

  Yet, if injustice never be secure,

  If fiends revenge, and gods assert the poor,

  Death shall lay low the proud aggressor's head,

  And make the dust Antinous' bridal bed."

  "Peace, wretch! and eat thy bread without offence

  (The suitor cried), or force shall drag thee hence,

  Scourge through the public street, and cast thee there,

  A mangled carcase for the hounds to tear."

  His furious deed the general anger moved,

  All, even the worst, condemn'd; and some reproved.

  "Was ever chief for wars like these renown'd?

  Ill fits the stranger and the poor to wound.

  Unbless'd thy hand! if in this low disguise

  Wander, perhaps, some inmate of the skies;

  They (curious oft of mortal actions) deign

  In forms like these to round the earth and main,

  Just and unjust recording in their mind,

  And with sure eyes inspecting all mankind."

  Telemachus, absorb'd in thought severe,

  Nourish'd deep anguish, though he shed no tear;

  But the dark brow of silent sorrow shook:

  While thus his mother to her virgins spoke:

  "On him and his may the bright god of day

  That base, inhospitable blow repay!"

  The nurse replies: "If Jove receives my prayer,

  Not one survives to breathe to-morrow's air."

  "All, all are foes, and mischief is their end;

  Antinous most to gloomy death a friend

  (Replies the queen): the stranger begg'd their grace,

  And melting pity soften'd every face;

  From every other hand redress he found,

  But fell Antinous answer'd with a wound."

  Amidst her maids thus spoke the prudent queen,

  Then bade Eumaeus call the pilgrim in.

  "Much of the experienced man I long to hear,

  If or his certain eye, or listening ear,

  Have learn'd the fortunes of my wandering lord?"

  Thus she, and good Eumaeus took the word:

  "A private audience if thy grace impart,

  The stranger's words may ease the royal heart.

  His sacred eloquence in balm distils,

  And the soothed heart with secret pleasure fills.

  Three days have spent their beams, three nights have run

  Their silent journey, since his tale begun,

  Unfinish'd yet; and yet I thirst to hear!

  As when some heaven-taught poet charms the ear

  (Suspending sorrow with celestial strain

  Breathed from the gods to soften human pain)

  Time steals away with unregarded wing,

  And the soul hears him, though he cease to sing

  "Ulysses late he saw, on Cretan ground

  (His fathers guest), for Minos' birth renown'd.

  He now but waits the wind to waft him o'er,

  With boundless treasure, from Thesprotia's shore."

  To this the queen: "The wanderer let me hear,

  While yon luxurious race indulge their cheer,

  Devour the grazing ox, and browsing goat,

  And turn my generous vintage down their throat.

  For where's an arm, like thine, Ulysses! strong,

  To curb wild riot, and to punish wrong?"

  She spoke. Telemachus then sneezed aloud;

  Constrain'd, his nostril echoed through the crowd.

  The smiling queen the happy omen bless'd:

  "So may these impious fall, by Fate oppress'd!"

  Then to Eumaeus: "Bring the stranger, fly!

  And if my questions meet a true reply,

  Graced with a decent robe he shall retire,

  A gift in season which his wants require."

  Thus spoke P
enelope. Eumaeus flies

  In duteous haste, and to Ulysses cries:

  "The queen invites thee, venerable guest!

  A secret instinct moves her troubled breast,

  Of her long absent lord from thee to gain

  Some light, and soothe her soul's eternal pain.

  If true, if faithful thou, her grateful mind

  Of decent robes a present has design'd:

  So finding favour in the royal eye,

  Thy other wants her subjects shall supply."

  "Fair truth alone (the patient man replied)

  My words shall dictate, and my lips shall guide.

  To him, to me, one common lot was given,

  In equal woes, alas! involved by Heaven.

  Much of his fates I know; but check'd by fear

  I stand; the hand of violence is here:

  Here boundless wrongs the starry skies invade,

  And injured suppliants seek in vain for aid.

  Let for a space the pensive queen attend,

  Nor claim my story till the sun descend;

  Then in such robes as suppliants may require,

  Composed and cheerful by the genial fire,

  When loud uproar and lawless riot cease,

  Shall her pleased ear receive my words in peace."

  Swift to the queen returns the gentle swain:

  "And say (she cries), does fear or shame detain

  The cautious stranger? With the begging kind

  Shame suits but ill." Eumaeus thus rejoin'd:

  "He only asks a more propitious hour,

  And shuns (who would not?) wicked men in power;

  At evening mild (meet season to confer)

  By turns to question, and by turns to hear."

  "Whoe'er this guest (the prudent queen replies)

  His every step and every thought is wise.

  For men like these on earth he shall not find

  In all the miscreant race of human kind."

  Thus she. Eumaeus all her words attends,

  And, parting, to the suitor powers descends;

  There seeks Telemachus, and thus apart

  In whispers breathes the fondness of his heart:

  "The time, my lord, invites me to repair

  Hence to the lodge; my charge demands my care.

  These sons of murder thirst thy life to take;

  O guard it, guard it, for thy servant's sake!"

  "Thanks to my friend (he cries): but now the hour

  Of night draws on, go seek the rural bower:

  But first refresh: and at the dawn of day

  Hither a victim to the gods convey.

  Our life to Heaven's immortal powers we trust,

  Safe in their care, for Heaven protects the just."

  Observant of his voice, Eumaeus sate

  And fed recumbent on a chair of state.

  Then instant rose, and as he moved along,

  'Twas riot all amid the suitor throng,