Put out the flame where all my light did shine.
Come, land again, Ulysses! that my hand
May guest-rites give thee, and the great command,
That Neptune hath at sea, I may convert
To the deduction where abides thy heart,
With my solicitings, whose son I am,
And whose fame boasts to bear my father’s name.
Nor think my hurt offends me, for my sire
Can soon repose in it the visual fire,
At his free pleasure; which no pow’r beside
Can boast, of men, or of the Deified.’
I answer’d: ‘Would to God! I could compell
Both life and soul from thee, and send to hell
Those spoils of nature! Hardly Neptune then
Could cure thy hurt, and give thee all again.’
Then flew fierce vows to Neptune, both his hands
To star-born heav’n cast: ‘O thou that all lands
Gird’st in thy ambient circle, and in air
Shak’st the curl’d tresses of thy sapphire hair,
If I be thine, or thou mayst justly vaunt
Thou art my father, hear me now, and grant
That this Ulysses, old Laertes’ son,
That dwells in Ithaca, and name hath won
Of City-ruiner, may never reach
His natural region. Or if to fetch
That, and the sight of his fair roofs and friends,
Be fatal to him, let him that amends
For all his miseries, long time and ill,
Smart for, and fail of; nor that fate fulfill,
Till all his soldiers quite are cast away
In others’ ships. And when, at last, the day
Of his sole-landing shall his dwelling show,
Let Detriment prepare him wrongs enow.’
Thus pray’d he Neptune; who, his sire, appear’d,
And all his pray’r to ev’ry syllable heard.
But then a rock, in size more amplified
Than first, he ravish’d to him, and implied
A dismal strength in it, when, wheel’d about,
He sent it after us; nor flew it out
From any blind aim, for a little pass
Beyond our fore-deck from the fall there was,
With which the sea our ship gave back upon,
And shrunk up into billows from the stone,
Our ship again repelling near as near
The shore as first. But then our rowers were,
Being warn’d, more arm’d, and stronglier stemm’d the flood
That bore back on us, till our ship made good
The other island, where our whole fleet lay,
In which our friends lay mourning for our stay,
And ev’ry minute look’d when we should land.
Where, now arriv’d, we drew up to the sand,
The Cyclops’ sheep dividing, that none there
Of all our privates might be wrung, and bear
Too much on pow’r. The ram yet was alone
By all my friends made all my portion
Above all others; and I made him then
A sacrifice for me and all my men 10
To cloud-compelling Jove that all commands,
To whom I burn’d the thighs; but my sad hands
Receiv’d no grace from him, who studied how
To offer men and fleet to overthrow.
All day, till sun-set, yet, we sat and eat,
And lib’ral store took in of wine and meat.
The sun then down, and place resign’d to shade,
We slept. Morn came, my men I rais’d, and made
All go aboard, weigh anchor, and away.
They boarded, sat, and beat the aged sea;
And forth we made sail, sad for loss before,
Any yet had comfort since we lost no more.”
FINIS LIBRI NONI HOM. ODYSS.
ENDNOTES.
1 Εἰνοσίϕυλλον, quatientem seu agitantem frondes.
2 Quædam quibus corpus alitur et vita sustentatur ὕλη appellantur.
3 Amor patriœ.
4 After night, in the first of the morning.
5 The ancient custom of calling home the dead.
6 The description of all these countries have admirable allegories besides their artly and pleasing relation.
7 This his relation of Agamemnon, and his glory and theirs for Troy’s sack, with the piety of suppliants’ receipt, to him that was so barbarous and impious, must be intended spoken by Ulysses, with supposition that his hearers would note, still as he spake, how vain they would show to the Cyclops; who respected little Agamemnon, or their valiant exploit against Troy, or the Gods themselves. For otherwise, the serious observation of the words (though good and grave, if spoken to another) want their intentional sharpness and life.
8 Wool of a violet colour.
9 Ulysses’ continued insolence, no more to repeat what he said to the Cyclop, than to let his hearers know epithets, and estimation in the world.
10 No occasion let pass to Ulysses’ piety in our Poet’s singular wit and wisdom.
THE TENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS
THE ARGUMENT
Ulysses now relates to us
The grace he had with Æolus,
Great Guardian of the hollow Winds;
Which in a leather bag he binds,
And gives Ulysses; all but one,
Which Zephyr was, who fill’d alone
Ulysses’ sails. The bag once seen,
While he slept, by Ulysses’ men,
They thinking it did gold enclose,
To find it, all the winds did loose,
Who back flew to their Guard again.
Forth sail’d he; and did next attain
To where the Læstrygonians dwell.
Where he eleven ships lost, and fell
On the Ææan coast, whose shore
He sends Eurylochus t’ explore,
Dividing with him half his men.
Who go, and turn no more again,
All, save Eurylochus, to swine
By Circe turn’d. Their stays incline
Ulysses to their search; who got
Of Mercury an antidote,
Which moly was, ‘gainst Circe’s charms,
And so avoids his soldiers’ harms.
A year with Circe all remain,
And then their native forms regain.
On utter shores a time they dwell,
While Ithacus descends to hell.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Κάππα.
Great Æolus,
And Circe, friends
Finds Ithacus;
And hell descends.
“To the Æolian island we attain’d,
That swum about still on the sea, where reign’d
The God-lov’d Æolus Hippotades.
A wall of steel it had; and in the seas
A wave-beat-smooth rock mov’d about the wall.
Twelve children in his house imperial
Were born to him; of which six daughters were,
And six were sons, that youth’s sweet flow’r did bear.
His daughters to his sons he gave as wives;
Who spent in feastful comforts all their lives,
Close seated by their sire and his grave spouse.
Past number were the dishes that the house
Made ever savour; and still full the hall
As long as day shin’d; in the night-time, all
Slept with their chast
e wives, each his fair carv’d bed
Most richly furnish’d; and this life they led.
We reach’d the city and fair roofs of these,
Where, a whole month’s time, all things that might please
The king vouchsaf’d us; of great Troy inquir’d,
The Grecian fleet, and how the Greeks retir’d.
To all which I gave answer as behov’d.
The fit time come when I dismission mov’d,
He nothing would deny me, but addrest
My pass with such a bounty, as might best
Teach me contentment; for he did enfold
Within an ox-hide, flay’d at nine years old,
All th’ airy blasts that were of stormy kinds.
Saturnius made him Steward of his Winds,
And gave him pow’r to raise and to assuage.
And these he gave me, curb’d thus of their rage,
Which in a glitt’ring silver band I bound,
And hung-up in my ship, enclos’d so round
That no egression any breath could find;
Only he left abroad the Western Wind,
To speed our ships, and us with blasts secure.
But our securities made all unsure;
Nor could he consummate our course alone,
When all the rest had got egressión;
Which thus succeeded: Nine whole days and nights
We sail’d in safety; and the tenth, the lights
Borne on our country-earth we might descry,
So near we drew; and yet ev’n then fell I,
Being overwatch’d, into a fatal sleep,
For I would suffer no man else to keep
The foot that rul’d my vessel’s course, to lead 1
The faster home. My friends then Envy fed
About the bag I hung-up, and suppos’d
That gold and silver I had there enclos’d,
As gift from Æolus, and said: ‘O heav’n!
What grace and grave price is by all men giv’n
To our commander! Whatsoever coast
Or town he comes to, how much he engrost
Of fair and precious prey, and brought from Troy!
We the same voyage went, and yet enjoy
In our return these empty hands for all.
This bag, now, Æolus was so liberal
To make a guest-gift to him; let us try
Of what consists the fair-bound treasury,
And how much gold and silver it contains.’
Ill counsel present approbation gains.
They op’d the bag, and out the vapours brake,
When instant tempest did our vessel take,
That bore us back to sea, to mourn anew
Our absent country. Up amaz’d I flew,
And desp’rate things discours’d; if I should cast
Myself to ruin in the seas, or taste
Amongst the living more moan, and sustain?
Silent, I did so, and lay hid again
Beneath the hatches, while an ill wind took
My ships back to Æolia, my men strook
With woe enough. We pump’d and landed then,
Took food, for all this; and of all my men
I took a herald to me, and away
Went to the court of Æolus, where they
Were feasting still; he, wife, and children, set
Together close. We would not at their meat
Thrust in; but humbly on the threshold sat.
He then, amaz’d, my presence wonder’d at,
And call’d to me: ‘Ulysses! How thus back
Art thou arriv’d here? What foul spirit brake
Into thy bosom, to retire thee thus?
We thought we had deduction curious
Giv’n thee before, to reach thy shore and home;
Did it not like thee?’ I, ev’n overcome
With worthy sorrow, answer’d: ‘My ill men
Have done me mischief, and to them hath been
My sleep th’ unhappy motive; but do you,
Dearest of friends, deign succour to my vow.
Your pow’rs command it.’ Thus endeavour’d I
With soft speech to repair my misery.
The rest with ruth sat dumb. But thus spake he:
‘Avaunt, and quickly quit my land of thee,
Thou worst of all that breathe. It fits not me
To convoy, and take-in, whom Heav’ns expose.
Away, and with thee go the worst of woes,
That seek’st my friendship, and the Gods thy foes.’
Thus he dismiss’d me sighing. Forth we sail’d,
At heart afflicted. And now wholly fail’d
The minds my men sustain’d, so spent they were
With toiling at their oars, and worse did bear
Their growing labours; and they caus’d their grought
By self-will’d follies; nor now ever thought
To see their country more. Six nights and days
We sail’d; the seventh we saw fair Lamos raise
Her lofty tow’rs, the Læstrygonian state
That bears her ports so far disterminate;
Where shepherd shepherd calls out, he at home 2
Is call’d out by the other that doth come
From charge abroad, and then goes he to sleep,
The other issuing; he whose turn doth keep
The night observance hath his double hire,
Since day and night in equal length expire
About that region, and the night’s watch weigh’d
At twice the day’s ward, since the charge that’s laid
Upon the night’s-man (besides breach of sleep)
Exceeds the days-man’s; for one oxen keep,
The other sheep. But when the haven we found,
(Exceeding famous, and environ’d round
With one continuate rock, which so much bent
That both ends almost met, so prominent
They were, and made the haven’s mouth passing strait)
Our whole fleet in we got; in whose receit
Our ships lay anchor’d close. Nor needed we
Fear harm on any stays, Tranquillity 3
So purely sat there, that waves great nor small
Did ever rise to any height at all.
And yet would I no entry make, but stay’d
Alone without the haven, and thence survey’d,
From out a lofty watch-tow’r raised there,
The country round about; nor anywhere
The work of man or beast appear’d to me,
Only a smoke from earth break I might see.
I then made choice of two, and added more,
A herald for associate, to explore
What sort of men liv’d there. They went, and saw
A beaten way, through which carts us’d to draw
Wood from the high hills to the town, and met
A maid without the port, about to get
Some near spring-water. She the daughter was
Of mighty Læstrygonian Antiphas,
And to the clear spring call’d Artacia went,
To which the whole town for their water sent.
To her they came, and ask’d who govern’d there,
And what the people whom he order’d were?
She answer’d not, but led them through the port,
As making haste to show her father’s court.
Where enter’d, they beheld, to their affright,
A woman like a mounta
in-top in height,
Who rush’d abroad, and from the council-place
Call’d home her horrid husband Antiphas, 4
Who, deadly-minded, straight he snatch’d up one,
And fell to supper. Both the rest were gone;
And to the fleet came. Antiphas a cry
Drave through the city; which heard, instantly
This way and that innumerable sorts,
Not men, but giants, issued through the ports,
And mighty flints from rocks tore, which they threw
Amongst our ships; through which an ill noise flew
Of shiver’d ships, and life-expiring men,
That were, like fishes, by the monsters slain,
And borne to sad feast. While they slaughter’d these,
That were engag’d in all th’ advantages
The close-mouth’d and most dead-calm haven could give,
I, that without lay, made some means to live,
My sword drew, cut my gables, and to oars
Set all my men; and, from the plagues those shores
Let fly amongst us, we made haste to fly,
My men close working as men loth to die.
My ship flew freely off; but theirs that lay
On heaps in harbours could enforce no way
Through these stern fates that had engag’d them there.
Forth our sad remnant sail’d, yet still retain’d
The joys of men, that our poor few remain’d.
Then to the isle Ææa we attain’d,
Where fair-hair’d, dreadful, eloquent Circe reign’d,
Ææta’s sister both by dame and sire,
Both daughters to Heav’n’s man-enlight’ning Fire,
And Perse, whom Oceanus begat,
The ship-fit port here soon we landed at,
Some God directing us. Two days, two nights,
We lay here pining in the fatal spights
Of toil and sorrow; but the next third day
When fair Aurora had inform’d, quick way
I made out of my ship, my sword and lance
Took for my surer guide, and made advance
Up to a prospect; I assay to see
The works of men, or hear mortality
Exspire a voice. When I had climb’d a height,
Rough and right hardly accessible, I might
Behold from Circe’s house, that in a grove
Set thick with trees stood, a bright vapour move,
I then grew curious in my thought to try 5
Some fit inquiry, when so spritely fly
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 129