Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  So thick it was, and underneath the ground

  With litter of dry foliage strew'd profuse.

  Hunters and dogs approaching him, his ear

  The sound of feet perceived; upridging high

  His bristly back and glaring fire, he sprang

  Forth from the shrubs, and in defiance stood

  Near and right opposite. Ulysses, first,

  Rush'd on him, elevating his long spear

  Ardent to wound him; but, preventing quick 560

  His foe, the boar gash'd him above the knee.

  Much flesh, assailing him oblique, he tore

  With his rude tusk, but to the Hero's bone

  Pierced not; Ulysses _his_ right shoulder reach'd;

  And with a deadly thrust impell'd the point

  Of his bright spear through him and far beyond.

  Loud yell'd the boar, sank in the dust, and died.

  Around Ulysses, then, the busy sons

  Throng'd of Autolycus; expert they braced

  The wound of the illustrious hunter bold, 570

  With incantation staunched the sable blood,

  And sought in haste their father's house again,

  Whence, heal'd and gratified with splendid gifts

  They sent him soon rejoicing to his home,

  Themselves rejoicing also. Glad their son

  His parents saw again, and of the scar

  Enquired, where giv'n, and how? He told them all,

  How to Parnassus with his friends he went,

  Sons of Autolycus to hunt, and how

  A boar had gash'd him with his iv'ry tusk. 580

  That scar, while chafing him with open palms,

  The matron knew; she left his foot to fall;

  Down dropp'd his leg into the vase; the brass

  Rang, and o'ertilted by the sudden shock,

  Poured forth the water, flooding wide the floor.

  _Her_ spirit joy at once and sorrow seized;

  Tears fill'd her eyes; her intercepted voice

  Died in her throat; but to Ulysses' beard

  Her hand advancing, thus, at length, she spake.

  Thou art himself, Ulysses. Oh my son! 590

  Dear to me, and my master as thou art,

  I knew thee not, till I had touch'd the scar.

  She said, and to Penelope her eyes

  Directed, all impatient to declare

  Her own Ulysses even then at home.

  But she, nor eye nor ear for aught that pass'd

  Had then, her fixt attention so entire

  Minerva had engaged. Then, darting forth

  His arms, the Hero with his right-hand close

  Compress'd her throat, and nearer to himself 600

  Drawing her with his left, thus caution'd her.

  Why would'st thou ruin me? Thou gav'st me milk

  Thyself from thy own breast. See me return'd

  After long suff'rings, in the twentieth year,

  To my own land. But since (some God the thought

  Suggesting to thee) thou hast learn'd the truth,

  Silence! lest others learn it from thy lips.

  For this I say, nor shall the threat be vain;

  If God vouchsafe to me to overcome

  The haughty suitors, when I shall inflict 610

  Death on the other women of my house,

  Although my nurse, thyself shalt also die.

  Him answer'd Euryclea then, discrete.

  My son! oh how could so severe a word

  Escape thy lips? my fortitude of mind

  Thou know'st, and even now shalt prove me firm

  As iron, secret as the stubborn rock.

  But hear and mark me well. Should'st thou prevail,

  Assisted by a Pow'r divine, to slay

  The haughty suitors, I will then, myself, 620

  Give thee to know of all the female train

  Who have dishonour'd thee, and who respect.

  To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.

  My nurse, it were superfluous; spare thy tongue

  That needless task. I can distinguish well

  Myself, between them, and shall know them all;

  But hold thy peace. Hush! leave it with the Gods.

  So he; then went the ancient matron forth,

  That she might serve him with a second bath,

  For the whole first was spilt. Thus, laved at length, 630

  And smooth'd with oil, Ulysses nearer pull'd

  His seat toward the glowing hearth to enjoy

  More warmth, and drew his tatters o'er the scar.

  Then, prudent, thus Penelope began.

  One question, stranger, I shall yet propound,

  Though brief, for soon the hour of soft repose

  Grateful to all, and even to the sad

  Whom gentle sleep forsakes not, will arrive.

  But heav'n to me immeasurable woe

  Assigns,--whose sole delight is to consume 640

  My days in sighs, while here retired I sit,

  Watching my maidens' labours and my own;

  But (night return'd, and all to bed retired)

  I press mine also, yet with deep regret

  And anguish lacerated, even there.

  As when at spring's first entrance, her sweet song

  The azure-crested nightingale renews,

  Daughter of Pandarus; within the grove's

  Thick foliage perch'd, she pours her echoing voice

  Now deep, now clear, still varying the strain 650

  With which she mourns her Itylus, her son

  By royal Zethus, whom she, erring, slew,

  So also I, by soul-distressing doubts

  Toss'd ever, muse if I shall here remain

  A faithful guardian of my son's affairs,

  My husband's bed respecting, and not less

  My own fair fame, or whether I shall him

  Of all my suitors follow to his home

  Who noblest seems, and offers richest dow'r.

  My son while he was infant yet, and own'd 660

  An infant's mind, could never give consent

  That I should wed and leave him; but at length,

  Since he hath reached the stature of a man,

  He wishes my departure hence, the waste

  Viewing indignant by the suitors made.

  But I have dream'd. Hear, and expound my dream.

  My geese are twenty, which within my walls

  I feed with sodden wheat; they serve to amuse

  Sometimes my sorrow. From the mountains came

  An eagle, huge, hook-beak'd, brake all their necks, 670

  And slew them; scatter'd on the palace-floor

  They lay, and he soar'd swift into the skies.

  Dream only as it was, I wept aloud,

  Till all my maidens, gather'd by my voice,

  Arriving, found me weeping still, and still

  Complaining, that the eagle had at once

  Slain all my geese. But, to the palace-roof

  Stooping again, he sat, and with a voice

  Of human sound, forbad my tears, and said--

  Courage! O daughter of the far-renown'd 680

  Icarius! no vain dream thou hast beheld,

  But, in thy sleep, a truth. The slaughter'd geese

  Denote thy suitors. I who have appear'd

  An eagle in thy sight, am yet indeed

  Thy husband, who have now, at last, return'd,

  Death, horrid death designing for them all.

  He said; then waking at the voice, I cast

  An anxious look around, and saw my geese

  Beside their tray, all feeding as before.

  Her then Ulysses answer'd, ever-wise. 690

  O Queen! it is not possible to miss

  Thy dream's plain import, since Ulysses' self

  Hath told thee the event; thy suitors all

  Must perish; not one suitor shall escape.

  To whom Penelope discrete replied.

 
; Dreams are inexplicable, O my guest!

  And oft-times mere delusions that receive

  No just accomplishment. There are two gates

  Through which the fleeting phantoms pass; of horn

  Is one, and one of ivory. Such dreams 700

  As through the thin-leaf'd iv'ry portal come

  Sooth, but perform not, utt'ring empty sounds;

  But such as through the polish'd horn escape,

  If, haply seen by any mortal eye,

  Prove faithful witnesses, and are fulfill'd.

  But through those gates my wond'rous dream, I think,

  Came not; thrice welcome were it else to me

  And to my son. Now mark my words; attend.

  This is the hated morn that from the house

  Removes me of Ulysses. I shall fix, 710

  This day, the rings for trial to them all

  Of archership; Ulysses' custom was

  To plant twelve spikes, all regular arranged

  Like galley-props, and crested with a ring,

  Then standing far remote, true in his aim

  He with his whizzing shaft would thrid them all.

  This is the contest in which now I mean

  To prove the suitors; him, who with most ease

  Shall bend the bow, and shoot through all the rings,

  I follow, this dear mansion of my youth 720

  Leaving, so fair, so fill'd with ev'ry good,

  Though still to love it even in my dreams.

  Her answer'd then Ulysses, ever-wise.

  Consort revered of Laertiades!

  Postpone not this contention, but appoint

  Forthwith the trial; for Ulysses here

  Will sure arrive, ere they, (his polish'd bow

  Long tamp'ring) shall prevail to stretch the nerve,

  And speed the arrow through the iron rings.

  To whom Penelope replied discrete. 730

  Would'st thou with thy sweet converse, O my guest!

  Here sooth me still, sleep ne'er should influence

  These eyes the while; but always to resist

  Sleep's pow'r is not for man, to whom the Gods

  Each circumstance of his condition here

  Fix universally. Myself will seek

  My own apartment at the palace-top,

  And there will lay me down on my sad couch,

  For such it hath been, and with tears of mine

  Ceaseless bedew'd, e'er since Ulysses went 740

  To that bad city, never to be named.

  There will I sleep; but sleep thou here below,

  Either, thyself, preparing on the ground

  Thy couch, or on a couch by these prepared.

  So saying, she to her splendid chamber thence

  Retired, not sole, but by her female train

  Attended; there arrived, she wept her spouse,

  Her lov'd Ulysses, till Minerva dropp'd

  The balm of slumber on her weary lids.

  FOOTNOTES:

  A gaberdine is a shaggy cloak of coarse but warm materials. Such

  always make part of Homer's bed-furniture.

  Homer's morals seem to allow to a good man dissimulation, and even

  an ambiguous oath, should they be necessary to save him from a villain.

  Thus in Book XX. Telemachus swears by Zeus, that he does not hinder his

  mother from marrying whom she pleases of the wooers, though at the same

  time he is plotting their destruction with his father. F.

  In the Greek ὈΔΥΣΣΕΥΣ from the verb ὀδυσσω--Irascor, _I am angry_.

  She intended to slay the son of her husband's brother Amphion,

  incited to it by the envy of his wife, who had six children, while

  herself had only two, but through mistake she slew her own son Itylus,

  and for her punishment was transformed by Jupiter into a nightingale.

  The difference of the two substances may perhaps serve to account

  for the preference given in this case to the gate of horn; horn being

  transparent, and as such emblematical of truth, while ivory, from its

  whiteness, promises light, but is, in fact, opaque. F.

  The translation here is somewhat pleonastic for the sake of

  perspicuity; the original is clear in itself, but not to us who have no

  such practice. Twelve stakes were fixt in the earth, each having a ring

  at the top; the order in which they stood was so exact, that an arrow

  sent with an even hand through the first ring, would pass them all.

  BOOK XX

  ARGUMENT

  Ulysses, doubting whether he shall destroy or not the women servants who

  commit lewdness with the suitors, resolves at length to spare them for

  the present. He asks an omen from Jupiter, and that he would grant him

  also to hear some propitious words from the lips of one in the family.

  His petitions are both answered. Preparation is made for the feast.

  Whilst the suitors sit at table, Pallas smites them with a horrid frenzy.

  Theoclymenus, observing the strange effects of it, prophesies their

  destruction, and they deride his prophecy.

  But in the vestibule the Hero lay

  On a bull's-hide undress'd, o'er which he spread

  The fleece of many a sheep slain by the Greeks,

  And, cover'd by the household's governess

  With a wide cloak, composed himself to rest.

  Yet slept he not, but meditating lay

  Woe to his enemies. Meantime, the train

  Of women, wonted to the suitors' arms,

  Issuing all mirth and laughter, in his soul

  A tempest raised of doubts, whether at once 10

  To slay, or to permit them yet to give

  Their lusty paramours one last embrace.

  As growls the mastiff standing on the start

  For battle, if a stranger's foot approach

  Her cubs new-whelp'd--so growl'd Ulysses' heart,

  While wonder fill'd him at their impious deeds.

  But, smiting on his breast, thus he reproved

  The mutinous inhabitant within.

  Heart! bear it. Worse than this thou didst endure

  When, uncontroulable by force of man, 20

  The Cyclops thy illustrious friends devour'd.

  Thy patience then fail'd not, till prudence found

  Deliv'rance for thee on the brink of fate.

  So disciplined the Hero his own heart,

  Which, tractable, endured the rigorous curb,

  And patient; yet he turn'd from side to side.

  As when some hungry swain turns oft a maw

  Unctuous and sav'ry on the burning coals,

  Quick expediting his desired repast,

  So he from side to side roll'd, pond'ring deep 30

  How likeliest with success he might assail

  Those shameless suitors; one to many opposed.

  Then, sudden from the skies descending, came

  Minerva in a female form; her stand

  Above his head she took, and thus she spake.

  Why sleep'st thou not, unhappiest of mankind?

  Thou art at home; here dwells thy wife, and here

  Thy son; a son, whom all might wish their own.

  Then her Ulysses answer'd, ever-wise.

  O Goddess! true is all that thou hast said, 40

  But, not without anxiety, I muse

  How, single as I am, I shall assail

  Those shameless suitors who frequent my courts

  Daily; and always their whole multitude.

  This weightier theme I meditate beside;

  Should I, with Jove's concurrence and with thine

  Prevail to slay them, how shall I escape,

  Myself, at last? oh Goddess, weigh it well.

  Him answer'd then Pallas cærulean-eyed.

  Oh faithless man!
a man will in his friend 50

  Confide, though mortal, and in valour less

  And wisdom than himself; but I who keep

  Thee in all difficulties, am divine.

  I tell thee plainly. Were we hemm'd around

  By fifty troops of shouting warriors bent

  To slay thee, thou should'st yet securely drive

  The flocks away and cattle of them all.

  But yield to sleep's soft influence; for to lie

  All night thus watchful, is, itself, distress.

  Fear not. Deliv'rance waits, not far remote. 60

  So saying, she o'er Ulysses' eyes diffused

  Soft slumbers, and when sleep that sooths the mind

  And nerves the limbs afresh had seized him once,

  To the Olympian summit swift return'd.

  But his chaste spouse awoke; she weeping sat

  On her soft couch, and, noblest of her sex,

  Satiate at length with tears, her pray'r address'd

  First to Diana of the Pow'rs above.

  Diana, awful progeny of Jove!

  I would that with a shaft this moment sped 70

  Into my bosom, thou would'st here conclude

  My mournful life! or, oh that, as it flies,

  Snatching me through the pathless air, a storm

  Would whelm me deep in Ocean's restless tide!

  So, when the Gods their parents had destroy'd,

  Storms suddenly the beauteous daughters snatch'd

  Of Pandarus away; them left forlorn

  Venus with curds, with honey and with wine

  Fed duly; Juno gave them to surpass

  All women in the charms of face and mind, 80

  With graceful stature eminent the chaste

  Diana bless'd them, and in works of art

  Illustrious, Pallas taught them to excel.

  But when the foam-sprung Goddess to the skies

  A suitress went on their behalf, to obtain

  Blest nuptials for them from the Thund'rer Jove,

  (For Jove the happiness, himself, appoints,

  And the unhappiness of all below)

  Meantime, the Harpies ravishing away

  Those virgins, gave them to the Furies Three, 90

  That they might serve them. O that me the Gods

  Inhabiting Olympus so would hide

  From human eyes for ever, or bright-hair'd

  Diana pierce me with a shaft, that while

  Ulysses yet engages all my thoughts,

  My days concluded, I might 'scape the pain

  Of gratifying some inferior Chief!

  This is supportable, when (all the day

  To sorrow giv'n) the mourner sleeps at night;

  For sleep, when it hath once the eyelids veil'd, 100