Observ’d their brutish form, and look’d for food;
When, with another med’cine, ev’ry one
All over smear’d, their bristles all were gone,
Produc’d by malice of the other bane,
And ev’ry one, afresh, look’d up a man,
Both younger than they were, of stature more,
And all their forms much goodlier than before.
All knew me, cling’d about me, and a cry
Of pleasing mourning flew about so high
The horrid roof resounded; and the queen
Herself was mov’d to see our kind so keen,
Who bad me now bring ship and men ashore,
Our arms, and goods in caves hid, and restore
Myself to her, with all my other men.
I granted, went, and op’d the weeping vein
In all my men; whose violent joy to see
My safe return was passing kindly free
Of friendly tears, and miserably wept.
You have not seen young heifers (highly kept,
Fill’d full of daisies at the field, and driv’n
Home to their hovels, all so spritely giv’n
That no room can contain them, but about
Bace by the dams, and let their spirits out
In ceaseless bleating) of more jocund plight
Than my kind friends, ev’n crying out with sight
Of my return so doubted; circled me
With all their welcomes, and as cheerfully
Dispos’d their rapt minds, as if there they saw
Their natural country, cliffy Ithaca,
And ev’n the roofs where they were bred and born,
And vow’d as much, with tears; ‘O your return
As much delights us as in you had come
Our country to us, and our natural home.
But what unhappy fate hath reft our friends?’
I gave unlook’d-for answer, that amends
Made for their mourning, bad them first of all
Our ship ashore draw, then in caverns stall
Our foody cattle, hide our mutual prize,
῾And then,᾿ said I, ῾attend me, that your eyes,
In Circe’s sacred house, may see each friend
Eating and drinking banquets out of end.᾿
They soon obey’d; all but Eurylochus,
Who needs would stay them all, and counsell’d thus:
῾O wretches! whither will ye? Why are you
Fond of your mischiefs, and such gladness show
For Circe’s house, that will transform ye all
To swine, or wolves, or lions? Never shall
Our heads get out, if once within we be,
But stay compell’d by strong necessity.
So wrought the Cyclop, when t’ his cave our friends
This bold one led on, and brought all their ends
By his one indiscretion.᾿ I for this
Thought with my sword (that desp’rate head of his
Hewn from his neck) to gash upon the ground
His mangled body, though my blood was bound
In near alliance to him. But the rest
With humble suit contain’d me, and request,
That I would leave him with my ship alone,
And to the sacred palace lead them on.
I led them; nor Eurylochus would stay
From their attendance on me, our late fray
Struck to his heart so. But mean time, my men,
In Circe’s house, were all, in sev’ral bain,
Studiously sweeten’d, smug’d with oil, and deck’d
With in and out weeds, and a feast secret
Serv’d in before them; at which close we found
They all were set, cheer’d, and carousing round,
When mutual sight had, and all thought on, then
Feast was forgotten, and the moan again 12
About the house flew, driv’n with wings of joy.
But then spake Circe: ‘Now, no more annoy,
I know myself what woes by sea, and shore,
And men unjust have plagued enough before
Your injur’d virtues. Here then feast as long,
And be as cheerful, till ye grow as strong
As when ye first forsook your country-earth.
Ye now fare all like exiles; not a mirth,
Flash’d in amongst ye, but is quench’d again
With still-renew’d tears, though the beaten vein
Of your distresses should, me think, be now
Benumb with suff’rance.’ We did well allow
Her kind persuasions, and the whole year stay’d
In varied feast with her. When, now array’d
The world was with the spring, and orby hours
Had gone the round again through herbs and flow’rs,
The months absolv’d in order, till the days
Had run their full race in Apollo’s rays;
My friends remember’d me of home, and said;
If ever fate would sign my pass, delay’d
It should be now no more. I heard them well,
Yet that day spent in feast, till darkness fell,
And sleep his virtues through our vapours shed.
When I ascended sacred Circe’s bed,
Implor’d my pass, and her performéd vow
Which now my soul urg’d, and my soldiers now
Afflicted me with tears to get them gone.
All these I told her, and she answer’d these:
“Much-skill’d Ulysses Laertiades!
Remain no more against your wills with me,
But take your free way; only this must be
Perform’d before you steer your course for home:
You must the way to Pluto overcome,
And stern Persephoné, to form your pass,
By th’ aged Theban soul Tiresias,
The dark-brow’d prophet, whose soul yet can see
Clearly, and firmly; grave Persephoné,
Ev’n dead, gave him a mind, that he alone
Might sing truth’s solid wisdom, and not one
Prove more than shade in his comparison.᾿
This broke my heart; I sunk into my bed,
Mourn’d, and would never more be comforted
With light, nor life. But having now exprest
My pains enough to her in my unrest,
That so I might prepare her ruth, and get
All I held fit for an affair so great,
I said: ‘O Circe, who shall steer my course
To Pluto’s kingdom? Never ship had force
To make that voyage.’ The divine-in-voice
Said; ‘Seek no guide, raise you your mast, and hoise
Your ship’s white sails, and then sit yon at peace,
The fresh North Spirit shall waft ye through the Seas.
But, having past the ocean, you shall see
A little shore, that to Persephoné
Puts up a consecrated wood, where grows
Tall firs, and sallows that their fruits soon lose.
Cast anchor in the gulfs, and go alone
To Pluto’s dark house, where, to Acheron
Cocytus runs, and Pyriphlegethon,
Cocytus born of Styx, and where a rock
Of both the met floods bears the roaring shock.
The dark heroë, great Tiresias,
Now coming near, to gain propitious pass,
Dig of a cubit ev’ry way a pit,
And pour to all that are deceas’d in it
A solemn sacrifice. For which, first take
Honey and wine, and their commixtion make;
Then sweet wine neat; and thirdly water pour;
And lastly add to these the whitest flour.
Then vow to all the weak necks of the dead
Off’rings a number; and, when thou shalt tread
The Ithacensian shore, to sacrifice
A heifer never-tam’d, and most of prize,
A pile of all thy most esteeméd goods
Enflaming to the dear streams of their bloods;
And, in secret rites, to Tiresias vow
A ram coal-black at all parts, that doth flow
With fat and fleece, and all thy flocks doth lead.
When the all-calling nation of the dead 13
Thou thus hast pray’d to, offer on the place
A ram and ewe all black being turn’d in face
To dreadful Erebus, thyself aside
The flood’s shore walking. And then, gratified
With flocks of souls of men and dames deceas’d
Shall all thy pious rites be. Straight address’d
See then the off’ring that thy fellows slew,
Flay’d, and impos’d in fire; and all thy crew
Pray to the state of either Deity,
Grave Pluto, and severe Persephoné.
Then draw thy sword, stand firm, nor suffer one
Of all the faint shades of the dead and gone
T’ approach the blood, till thou hast heard their king,
The wise Tiresias; who thy offering
Will instantly do honour, thy home-ways,
And all the measure of them by the seas,
Amply unfolding.’ This the Goddess told;
And then the Morning in her throne of gold
Survey’d the vast world; by whose orient light
The Nymph adorn’d me with attires as bright,
Her own hands putting on both shirt and weed,
Robes fine, and curious, and upon my head
An ornament that glitter’d like a flame,
Girt me in gold; and forth betimes I came
Amongst my soldiers, rous’d them all from sleep,
And bad them now no more observance keep
Of ease, and feast, but straight a-shipboard fall,
For now the Goddess had inform’d me all.
Their noble spirits agreed; nor yet so clear
Could I bring all off, but Elpenor there
His heedless life left. He was youngest man
Of all my company, and one that wan
Least fame for arms, as little for his brain;
Who (too much steep’d in wine, and so made fain
To get refreshing by the cool of sleep,
Apart his fellows, plung’d in vapours deep,
And they as high in tumult of their way)
Suddenly wak’d and (quite out of the stay
A sober mind had giv’n him) would descend
A huge long ladder, forward, and an end
Fell from the very roof, full pitching on
The dearest joint his head was plac’d upon,
Which, quite dissolv’d, let loose his soul to hell.
I to the rest, and Circe’s means did tell
Of our return, as crossing clean the hope
I gave them first, and said: ‘You think the scope
Of our endeavours now is straight for home;
No; Circe otherwise design’d, whose doom
Enjoin’d us first to greet the dreadful house
Of austere Pluto and his glorious spouse,
To take the counsel of Tiresias,
The rev’rend Theban, to direct our pass.’
This brake their hearts, and grief made tear their hair.
But grief was never good at great affair;
It would have way yet. We went woful on
To ship and shore, where was arriv’d as soon
Circe unseen, a black ewe and a ram
Binding for sacrifice, and, as she came,
Vanish’d again unwitness’d by our eyes;
Which griev’d not us, nor check’d our sacrifice,
For who would see God, loth to let us see,
This way or that bent; still his ways are free.
FINIS DECIMI LIBRI HOM. ODYSS.
ENDNOTES.
1 Πόδα νηὸς — He calls the stern the foot of the ship.
2 This place suffers different construction in all the Commentors: in which all err from the mind of the Poet, as in a hundred other places (which yet I want time to approve) especially about ἐγγὺς γὰρ νυκτός, etc. Prope enim noetis et diei sunt viœ (or similiter, which ἐγγὺς signifies) which they will have to be understood, that the days in that region are long, and the nights short; where Homer intends, that the equinoctial is there; for how else is the course of day and night near or equal? But therefore the night’s-man hath his double hire, being as long about his charge as the other; and the night being more dangerous, etc. And if the day were so long, why should the night’s-man be preferred in wages?
3 For being cast on the stays, as ships are by weather.
4 Antiphas was king there.
5 Μερμαίρω, curiosè cogito.
6 Αἴθοπα καπνόν. Αι͒θοψ signifying rutilus, by reason or the fire mixed with it. Fumus qui fit dut aliquid accenditur.
7 ᾿Ερικύδεα δαι̑τα.
8 The whole end of this counsel was to persuade his soldiers to explore those parts, which he knew would prove a most unpleasing motion to them: for their fellows’ terrible entertainment with Antiphas, and Polyph. and therefore he prepares the little he hath to say with this long circumstance; implying a necessity of that service, and necessary resolution to add the trial of the event to their other adventures.
9 Κεδνὸς, cujus animus curas prudentes versat.
10 Seeing them, he thought of his fellows.
11 The herb Moly, which, with Ulysses’ whole narration, hath in chief an allegorical exposition. Notwithstanding I say with our Spondanus, Credo in hoc vasto mundi ambitu extare res innumeras mirandæ facultatis: adeo, ut ne quidem ista quæ ad transformanda corpora pertinet, jure è mundo eximi possit, etc.
12 Φράσσαντό τε πάντα. Commemorabantque omnia. Intending all their miseries, escapes, and meetings.
13 Κλυτὰ ἕθνεα νεκρω̑ν. Which is expounded Inclyta examina mortuorum: but κλυτὸς is the epithet of Pluto; and by analogy belongs to the dead, quod ad se omnes advocat.
THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS
THE ARGUMENT
Ulysees’ way to Hell appears;
Where he the grave Tiresias hears;
Enquires his own and others’ fates;
His mother sees, and th’ after states
In which were held by sad decease
Heroës, and Heroesses,
A number, that at Troy wag’d war;
As Ajax that was still at jar
With Ithacus, for th’ arms he lost;
And with the great Achilles’ ghost.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Λάνβδα.
Ulysses here
Invokes the dead,
The lives appear
Hereafter led.
“Arriv’d now at our ship, we launch’d, and set
Our mast up, put forth sail, and in did get
Our late-got cattle. Up our sails, we went,
My wayward fellows mourning now th’ event. 1
A good compa
nion yet, a foreright wind,
Circe (the excellent utt’rer of her mind)
Supplied our murmuring consorts with, that was
Both speed and guide to our adventurous pass.
All day our sails stood to the winds, and made
Our voyage prosp’rous. Sun then set, and shade
All ways obscuring, on the bounds we fell
Of deep Oceanus, where people dwell
Whom a perpetual cloud obscures outright,
To whom the cheerful sun lends never light,
Nor when he mounts the star-sustaining heaven,
Nor when he stoops earth, and sets up the even,
But night holds fix’d wings, feather’d all with banes,
Above those most unblest Cimmerians.
Here drew we up our ship, our sheep withdrew,
And walk’d the shore till we attain’d the view,
Of that sad region Circe had foreshow’d;
And then the sacred off’rings to be vow’d
Eurylochus and Persimedes bore.
When I my sword drew, and earth’s womb did gore
Till I a pit digg’d of a cubit round,
Which with the liquid sacrifice we crown’d,
First honey mix’d with wine, then sweet wine neat,
Then water pour’d in, last the flour of wheat.
Much I importun’d then the weak-neck’d dead,
And vow’d, when I the barren soil should tread
Of clifty Ithaca, amidst my hall
To kill a heifer, my clear best of all,
And give in off’ring, on a pile compos’d
Of all the choice goods my whole house enclos’d.
And to Tiresias himself, alone,
A sheep coal-black, and the selectest one
Of all my flocks. When to the Pow’rs beneath,
The sacred nation that survive with death,
My pray’rs and vows had done devotions fit,
I took the off’rings, and upon the pit
Bereft their lives. Out gush’d the sable blood,
And round about me fled out of the flood
The souls of the deceas’d. There cluster’d then
Youths, and their wives, much-suff’ring aged men,
Soft tender virgins that but new came there
By timeless death, and green their sorrows were.
There men-at-arms, with armours all embrew’d,
Wounded with lances, and with faulchions hew’d,
In numbers, up and down the ditch, did stalk,
And threw unmeasur’d cries about their walk,
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 131