Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  With agony close-pent, while fixt he eyed

  His father; with a sudden force he sprang

  Toward him, clasp'd, and kiss'd him, and exclaim'd. 380

  My father! I am he. Thou seest thy son

  Absent these twenty years at last return'd.

  But bid thy sorrow cease; suspend henceforth

  All lamentation; for I tell thee true,

  (And the occasion bids me briefly tell thee)

  I have slain all the suitors at my home,

  And all their taunts and injuries avenged.

  Then answer thus Laertes quick return'd.

  If thou hast come again, and art indeed

  My son Ulysses, give me then the proof 390

  Indubitable, that I may believe.

  To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.

  View, first, the scar which with his iv'ry tusk

  A wild boar gave me, when at thy command

  And at my mother's, to Autolycus

  Her father, on Parnassus, I repair'd

  Seeking the gifts which, while a guest of yours,

  He promis'd should be mine. Accept beside

  This proof. I will enum'rate all the trees

  Which, walking with thee in this cultured spot 400

  (Boy then) I begg'd, and thou confirm'dst my own.

  We paced between them, and thou mad'st me learn

  The name of each. Thou gav'st me thirteen pears,

  Ten apples, thirty figs, and fifty ranks

  Didst promise me of vines, their alleys all

  Corn-cropp'd between. There, oft as sent from Jove

  The influences of the year descend,

  Grapes of all hues and flavours clust'ring hang.

  He said; Laertes, conscious of the proofs

  Indubitable by Ulysses giv'n, 410

  With fault'ring knees and fault'ring heart both arms

  Around him threw. The Hero toil-inured

  Drew to his bosom close his fainting sire,

  Who, breath recov'ring, and his scatter'd pow'rs

  Of intellect, at length thus spake aloud.

  Ye Gods! oh then your residence is still

  On the Olympian heights, if punishment

  At last hath seized on those flagitious men.

  But terrour shakes me, lest, incensed, ere long

  All Ithaca flock hither, and dispatch 420

  Swift messengers with these dread tidings charged

  To ev'ry Cephallenian state around.

  Him answer'd then Ulysses ever-wise.

  Courage! fear nought, but let us to the house

  Beside the garden, whither I have sent

  Telemachus, the herdsman, and the good

  Eumæus to prepare us quick repast.

  So they conferr'd, and to Laertes' house

  Pass'd on together; there arrived, they found

  Those three preparing now their plenteous feast, 430

  And mingling sable wine; then, by the hands

  Of his Sicilian matron, the old King

  Was bathed, anointed, and attired afresh,

  And Pallas, drawing nigh, dilated more

  His limbs, and gave his whole majestic form

  Encrease of amplitude. He left the bath.

  His son, amazed as he had seen a God

  Alighted newly from the skies, exclaim'd.

  My father! doubtless some immortal Pow'r

  Hath clothed thy form with dignity divine. 440

  Then thus replied his venerable sire.

  Jove! Pallas! Phœbus! oh that I possess'd

  Such vigour now, as when in arms I took

  Nericus, continental city fair,

  With my brave Cephallenians! oh that such

  And arm'd as then, I yesterday had stood

  Beside thee in thy palace, combating

  Those suitors proud, then had I strew'd the floor

  With num'rous slain, to thy exceeding joy.

  Such was their conference; and now, the task 450

  Of preparation ended, and the feast

  Set forth, on couches and on thrones they sat,

  And, ranged in order due, took each his share.

  Then, ancient Dolius, and with him, his sons

  Arrived toil-worn, by the Sicilian dame

  Summon'd, their cat'ress, and their father's kind

  Attendant ever in his eve of life.

  They, seeing and recalling soon to mind

  Ulysses, in the middle mansion stood

  Wond'ring, when thus Ulysses with a voice 460

  Of some reproof, but gentle, them bespake.

  Old servant, sit and eat, banishing fear

  And mute amazement; for, although provoked

  By appetite, we have long time abstain'd,

  Expecting ev'ry moment thy return.

  He said; then Dolius with expanded arms

  Sprang right toward Ulysses, seized his hand,

  Kiss'd it, and in wing'd accents thus replied.

  Oh master ever dear! since thee the Gods

  Themselves in answer to our warm desires, 470

  Have, unexpectedly, at length restored,

  Hail, and be happy, and heav'n make thee such!

  But say, and truly; knows the prudent Queen

  Already thy return, or shall we send

  Ourselves an herald with the joyful news?

  To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.

  My ancient friend, thou may'st release thy mind

  From that solicitude; she knows it well.

  So he; then Dolius to his glossy seat

  Return'd, and all his sons gath'ring around 480

  Ulysses, welcom'd him and grasp'd his hand,

  Then sat beside their father; thus beneath

  Laertes' roof they, joyful, took repast.

  But Fame with rapid haste the city roam'd

  In ev'ry part, promulging in all ears

  The suitors' horrid fate. No sooner heard

  The multitude that tale, than one and all

  Groaning they met and murmuring before

  Ulysses' gates. Bringing the bodies forth,

  They buried each his friend, but gave the dead 490

  Of other cities to be ferried home

  By fishermen on board their rapid barks.

  All hasted then to council; sorrow wrung

  Their hearts, and, the assembly now convened,

  Arising first Eupithes spake, for grief

  Sat heavy on his soul, grief for the loss

  Of his Antinoüs by Ulysses slain

  Foremost of all, whom mourning, thus he said.

  My friends! no trivial fruits the Greecians reap

  Of this man's doings. _Those_ he took with him 500

  On board his barks, a num'rous train and bold,

  Then lost his barks, lost all his num'rous train,

  And _these_, our noblest, slew at his return.

  Come therefore--ere he yet escape by flight

  To Pylus or to noble Elis, realm

  Of the Epeans, follow him; else shame

  Attends us and indelible reproach.

  If we avenge not on these men the blood

  Of our own sons and brothers, farewell then

  All that makes life desirable; my wish 510

  Henceforth shall be to mingle with the shades.

  Oh then pursue and seize them ere they fly.

  Thus he with tears, and pity moved in all.

  Then, Medon and the sacred bard whom sleep

  Had lately left, arriving from the house

  Of Laertiades, approach'd; amid

  The throng they stood; all wonder'd seeing them,

  And Medon, prudent senior, thus began.

  Hear me, my countrymen! Ulysses plann'd

  With no disapprobation of the Gods 520

  The deed that ye deplore. I saw, myself,

  A Pow'r immortal at the Hero's side,

  In semblance just of Mentor; now the God,

  In front apparent,
led him on, and now,

  From side to side of all the palace, urged

  To flight the suitors; heaps on heaps they fell.

  He said; then terrour wan seiz'd ev'ry cheek,

  And Halitherses, Hero old, the son

  Of Mastor, who alone among them all

  Knew past, and future, prudent, thus began. 530

  Now, O ye men of Ithaca! my words

  Attentive hear! by your own fault, my friends,

  This deed hath been perform'd; for when myself

  And noble Mentor counsell'd you to check

  The sin and folly of your sons, ye would not.

  Great was their wickedness, and flagrant wrong

  They wrought, the wealth devouring and the wife

  Dishonouring of an illustrious Chief

  Whom they deem'd destined never to return.

  But hear my counsel. Go not, lest ye draw 540

  Disaster down and woe on your own heads.

  He ended; then with boist'rous roar (although

  Part kept their seats) upsprang the multitude,

  For Halitherses pleased them not, they chose

  Eupithes' counsel rather; all at once

  To arms they flew, and clad in dazzling brass

  Before the city form'd their dense array.

  Leader infatuate at their head appear'd

  Eupithes, hoping to avenge his son

  Antinoüs, but was himself ordain'd 550

  To meet his doom, and to return no more.

  Then thus Minerva to Saturnian Jove.

  Oh father! son of Saturn! Jove supreme!

  Declare the purpose hidden in thy breast.

  Wilt thou that this hostility proceed,

  Or wilt thou grant them amity again?

  To whom the cloud-assembler God replied.

  Why asks my daughter? didst thou not design

  Thyself, that brave Ulysses coming home

  Should slay those profligates? act as thou wilt, 560

  But thus I counsel, since the noble Chief

  Hath slain the suitors, now let peace ensue

  Oath-bound, and reign Ulysses evermore!

  The slaughter of their brethren and their sons

  To strike from their remembrance, shall be ours.

  Let mutual amity, as at the first,

  Unite them, and let wealth and peace abound.

  So saying, he animated to her task

  Minerva prompt before, and from the heights

  Olympian down to Ithaca she flew. 570

  Meantime Ulysses (for their hunger now

  And thirst were sated) thus address'd his hinds.

  Look ye abroad, lest haply they approach.

  He said, and at his word, forth went a son

  Of Dolius; at the gate he stood, and thence

  Beholding all that multitude at hand,

  In accents wing'd thus to Ulysses spake.

  They come--they are already arrived--arm all!

  Then, all arising, put their armour on,

  Ulysses with his three, and the six sons 580

  Of Dolius; Dolius also with the rest,

  Arm'd and Laertes, although silver-hair'd,

  Warriors perforce. When all were clad alike

  In radiant armour, throwing wide the gates

  They sallied, and Ulysses led the way.

  Then Jove's own daughter Pallas, in the form

  And with the voice of Mentor, came in view,

  Whom seeing Laertiades rejoiced,

  And thus Telemachus, his son, bespake.

  Now, oh my son! thou shalt observe, untold 590

  By me, where fight the bravest. Oh shame not

  Thine ancestry, who have in all the earth

  Proof given of valour in all ages past.

  To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.

  My father! if thou wish that spectacle,

  Thou shalt behold thy son, as thou hast said,

  In nought dishonouring his noble race.

  Then was Laertes joyful, and exclaim'd,

  What sun hath ris'n to-day? oh blessed Gods!

  My son and grandson emulous dispute 600

  The prize of glory, and my soul exults.

  He ended, and Minerva drawing nigh

  To the old King, thus counsell'd him. Oh friend

  Whom most I love, son of Arcesias! pray'r

  Preferring to the virgin azure-eyed,

  And to her father Jove, delay not, shake

  Thy lance in air, and give it instant flight.

  So saying, the Goddess nerved his arm anew.

  He sought in pray'r the daughter dread of Jove,

  And, brandishing it, hurl'd his lance; it struck 610

  Eupithes, pierced his helmet brazen-cheek'd

  That stay'd it not, but forth it sprang beyond,

  And with loud clangor of his arms he fell.

  Then flew Ulysses and his noble son

  With faulchion and with spear of double edge

  To the assault, and of them all had left

  None living, none had to his home return'd,

  But that Jove's virgin daughter with a voice

  Of loud authority thus quell'd them all.

  Peace, O ye men of Ithaca! while yet 620

  The field remains undeluged with your blood.

  So she, and fear at once paled ev'ry cheek.

  All trembled at the voice divine; their arms

  Escaping from the grasp fell to the earth,

  And, covetous of longer life, each fled

  Back to the city. Then Ulysses sent

  His voice abroad, and with an eagle's force

  Sprang on the people; but Saturnian Jove,

  Cast down, incontinent, his smouldring bolt

  At Pallas' feet, and thus the Goddess spake. 630

  Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd!

  Forbear; abstain from slaughter; lest thyself

  Incur the anger of high thund'ring Jove.

  So Pallas, whom Ulysses, glad, obey'd.

  Then faithful covenants of peace between

  Both sides ensued, ratified in the sight

  Of Pallas progeny of Jove, who seem'd,

  In voice and form, the Mentor known to all.

  THE ODYSSEY – Lang’s Translation

  Andrew Lang collaborated with S.H. Butcher to create this 1883 prose translation of Homer’s mature epic.

  Andrew Lang

  THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE.

  INTRODUCTION

  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

  THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER

  DONE INTO ENGLISH PROSE

  by S. H. BUTCHER, M.A.

  AND

  A. LANG, M.A.

  PREFACE.

  There would have been less controversy about the proper method of Homeric translation, if critics bad recognised that the question is a purely relative one, that of Homer there can be no final translation. The taste and the literary habits of each age demand different qualities in poetry, and therefore a different sort of rendering of Homer. To the men of the time of Elizabeth, Homer would have appeared bald, it seems, and lacking in ingenuity, if he had been presented in his antique simplicity. For the Elizabethan age, Chapman supplied what was then necessary, and the mannerisms that were then deemed of the essence of poetry, namely, daring and luxurious conceits. Thus in Chapman's verse Troy must 'shed her towers for tears of overthrow
,' and when the winds toss Odysseus about, their sport must be called 'the horrid tennis.'

  In the age of Anne, 'dignity' and 'correctness' had to be given to Homer, and Pope gave them by aid of his dazzling rhetoric, his antitheses, his nettete, his command of every conventional and favourite artifice. Without Chapman's conceits, Homer's poems would hardly have been what the Elizabethans took for poetry; without Pope's smoothness, and Pope's points, the Iliad and Odyssey would have seemed rude, and harsh in the age of Anne. These great translations must always live as English poems. As transcripts of Homer they are like pictures drawn from a lost point of view. Chaque siecle depuis le xvi a ue de ce cote son belveder different. Again, when Europe woke to a sense, an almost exaggerated and certainly uncritical sense, of the value of her songs of the people, of all the ballads that Herder, Scott, Lonnrot, and the rest collected, it was commonly said that Homer was a ballad-minstrel, that the translator must imitate the simplicity, and even adopt the formulae of the ballad. Hence came the renderings of Maginn, the experiments of Mr. Gladstone, and others. There was some excuse for the error of critics who asked for a Homer in ballad rhyme. The Epic poet, the poet of gods and heroes, did indeed inherit some of the formulae of the earlier Volks-lied. Homer, like the author of The Song of Roland, like the singers of the Kalevala, uses constantly recurring epithets, and repeats, word for word, certain emphatic passages, messages, and so on. That custom is essential in the ballad, it is an accident not the essence of the epic. The epic is a poem of complete and elaborate art, but it still bears some birthmarks, some signs of the early popular chant, out of which it sprung, as the garden-rose springs from the wild stock, When this is recognised the demand for ballad-like simplicity and 'ballad-slang' ceases to exist, and then all Homeric translations in the ballad manner cease to represent our conception of Homer. After the belief in the ballad manner follows the recognition of the romantic vein in Homer, and, as a result, came Mr. Worsley's admirable Odyssey. This masterly translation does all that can be done for the Odyssey in the romantic style. The smoothness of the verse, the wonderful closeness to the original, reproduce all of Homer, in music and in meaning, that can be rendered in English verse. There still, however, seems an aspect Homeric poems, and a demand in connection with Homer to be recognised, and to be satisfied.

  Sainte-Beuve says, with reference probably to M. Leconte de Lisle's prose version of the epics, that some people treat the epics too much as if the were sagas. Now the Homeric epics are sagas, but then they are the sagas of the divine heroic age of Greece, and thus are told with an art which is not the art of the Northern poets. The epics are stories about the adventures of men living in most respects like the men of our own race who dwelt in Iceland, Norway, Denmark, and Sweden. The epics are, in a way, and as far as manners and institutions are concerned, historical documents. Whoever regards them in this way, must wish to read them exactly as they have reached us, without modern ornament, with nothing added or omitted. He must recognise, with Mr. Matthew Arnold, that what he now wants, namely, the simple truth about the matter of the poem, can only be given in prose, 'for in a verse translation no original work is any longer recognisable.' It is for this reason that we have attempted to tell once more, in simple prose, the story of Odysseus. We have tried to transfer, not all the truth about the poem, but the historical truth, into English. In this process Homer must lose at least half his charm, his bright and equable speed, the musical current of that narrative, which, like the river of Egypt, flows from an indiscoverable source, and mirrors the temples and the palaces of unforgotten gods and kings. Without this music of verse, only a half truth about Homer can be told, but then it is that half of the truth which, at this moment, it seems most necessary to tell. This is the half of the truth that the translators who use verse cannot easily tell. They MUST be adding to Homer, talking with Pope about 'tracing the mazy lev'ret o'er the lawn,' or with Mr. Worsley about the islands that are 'stars of the blue Aegaean,' or with Dr. Hawtrey about 'the earth's soft arms,' when Homer says nothing at all about the 'mazy lev'ret,' or the 'stars of the blue Aegaean,' or the 'soft arms' of earth. It would be impertinent indeed to blame any of these translations in their place. They give that which the romantic reader of poetry, or the student of the age of Anne, looks for in verse; and without tags of this sort, a translation of Homer in verse cannot well be made to hold together.