The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

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The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 141

by George Chapman


  ‭ This said, his sharp steel hew’d down wood, and they

  ‭ A passing fat swine hal’d out of the sty,

  ‭ Of five years old, which to the fire they put.

  ‭ When first Eumæus from the front did cut

  ‭ The sacred hair, and cast it in the fire,

  ‭ Then pray’d to heav’n; for still before desire

  ‭ Was serv’d with food, in their so rude abodes,

  ‭ Not the poor swine-herd would forget the Gods,

  ‭ Good souls they bore, how bad soever were

  ‭ The habits that their bodies’ parts did bear.

  ‭ When all the deathless Deities besought,

  ‭ That wise Ulysses might be safely brought

  ‭ Home to his house; then with a log of oak

  ‭ Left lying by, high lifting it, a stroke

  ‭ He gave so deadly it made life expire.

  ‭ Then cut the rest her throat, and all in fire

  ‭ They hid and sing’d her, cut her up; and then,

  ‭ The master took the office from the men,

  ‭ Who on the altar did the parts impose

  ‭ That serv’d for sacrifice; beginning close

  ‭ About the belly, thorough which he went.

  ‭ And (all the chief fat gath’ring) gave it vent

  ‭ (Part dredg’d with flour) into the sacred flame;

  ‭ Then cut they up the joints, and roasted them,

  ‭ Drew all from spit, and serv’d in dishes all.

  ‭ Then rose Eumæus (who was general

  ‭ In skill to guide each act his fit event)

  ‭ And, all in seven parts cut, the first part went

  ‭ To service of the Nymphs and Mercury,

  ‭ To whose names he did rites of piety

  ‭ In vows particular; and all the rest

  ‭ He shar’d to ev’ry one, but his lov’d guest

  ‭ He grac’d with all the chine, and of that king,

  ‭ To have his heart cheer’d, set up ev’ry string.

  ‭ Which he observing said: “I would to Jove,

  ‭ Eumæus, thou liv’dst in his worthy love

  ‭ As great as mine, that giv’st to such a guest

  ‭ As my poor self of all thy goods the best.”

  ‭ Eumæus answer’d: “Eat, unhappy wretch,

  ‭ And to what here is at thy pleasure reach.

  ‭ This I have, this thou want’st; thus God will give,

  ‭ Thus take away, in us, and all that live.

  ‭ To his will’s equal centre all things fall,

  ‭ His mind he must have, for he can do all.”

  ‭ Thus having eat, and to his wine descended,

  ‭ Before he serv’d his own thirst, he commended

  ‭ The first use of it in fit sacrifice

  ‭ (As of his meat) to all the Deities,

  ‭ And to the city-racer’s hand applied

  ‭ The second cup, whose place was next his side.

  ‭ Mesauliús did distribute the meat,

  ‭ (To which charge was Eumæus solely set,

  ‭ In absence of Ulysses, by the queen

  ‭ And old Laertes) and this man had been

  ‭ Bought by Eumæus, with his faculties,

  ‭ Employ’d then in the Taphian merchandise.

  ‭ But now, to food appos’d, and order’d thus,

  ‭ All fell. Desire suffic’d, Mesauliús

  ‭ Did take away. For bed then next they were,

  ‭ All thoroughly satisfied with cómplete cheer.

  ‭ The night then came, ill, and no taper shin’d;

  ‭ Jove rain’d her whole date; th’ ever-wat’ry wind

  ‭ Zephyr blew loud; and Laertiades

  ‭ (Approving kind Eumæus’ carefulness

  ‭ For his whole good) made far about assay,

  ‭ To get some cast-off cassock (lest he lay

  ‭ That rough night cold) of him, or anyone

  ‭ Of those his servants; when he thus begun:

  ‭ “Hear me, Eumæus, and my other friends,

  ‭ I’ll use a speech that to my glory tends,

  ‭ Since I have drunk wine past my usual guise.

  ‭ Strong wine commands the fool and moves the wise,

  ‭ Moves and impels him too to sing and dance,

  ‭ And break in pleasant laughters, and, perchance,

  ‭ Prefer a speech too that were better in.

  ‭ But when my spirits once to speak begin,

  ‭ I shall not then dissemble. Would to heav’n,

  ‭ I were as young, and had my forces driv’n

  ‭ As close together, as when once our pow’rs

  ‭ We led to ambush under th’ Ilion tow’rs!

  ‭ Where Ithacus and Menelaus were

  ‭ The two commanders, when it pleas’d them there

  ‭ To take myself for third, when to the town

  ‭ And lofty walls we led, we couch’d close down,

  ‭ All arm’d, amids the osiers and the reeds,

  ‭ Which oftentimes th’ o’er-flowing river feeds.

  ‭ The cold night came, and th’ icy northern gale

  ‭ Blew bleak upon us, after which did fall

  ‭ A snow so cold, it cut as in it beat

  ‭ A frozen water, which was all concrete

  ‭ About our shields like crystal. All made feign

  ‭ Above our arms to clothe, and clothe again.

  ‭ And so we made good shift, our shields beside

  ‭ Clapp’d close upon our clothes, to rest and hide

  ‭ From all discovery. But I, poor fool,

  ‭ Left my weeds with my men, because so cool

  ‭ I thought it could not prove; which thought my pride

  ‭ A little strengthen’d, being loth to hide

  ‭ A goodly glitt’ring garment I had on;

  ‭ And so I follow’d with my shield alone,

  ‭ And that brave weed. But when the night near ended

  ‭ Her course on earth, and that the stars descended,

  ‭ I jogg’d Ulysses, who lay passing near,

  ‭ And spake to him, that had a nimble ear,

  ‭ Assuring him, that long I could not lie

  ‭ Amongst the living, for the fervency

  ‭ Of that sharp night would kill me, since as then

  ‭ My evil angel made me with my men

  ‭ Leave all weeds but a fine one. But I know

  ‭ ’Tis vain to talk; here wants all remedy now.

  ‭ This said, he bore that understanding part

  ‭ In his prompt spirit that still show’d his art

  ‭ In fight and counsel, saying (in a word,

  ‭ And that low whisper’d) peace, lest you afford

  ‭ Some Greek note of your softness. No word more,

  ‭ But made as if his stern austerity bore

  ‭ My plight no pity; yet, as still he lay

  ‭ His head reposing on his hand, gave way

  ‭ To this invention: ‘Hear me friends, a dream

  ‭ (That was of some celestial light a beam)

  ‭ Stood in my sleep before me, prompting me

  ‭ With this fit notice: ‘We are far,’ said he,

  ‭ ‘From out our fleet. Let one go then, and try

  ‭ If Agamemnon will afford supply

  ‭ To what we now are strong.’ This stirr’d a speed

  ‭ In Thoas to th’ affair; whose purple weed

  ‭ He left for haste; which then I took, and lay

  ‭ In quiet after, till the dawn of day.

  ‭ This shift Ulysses made for one in need,

  ‭ And would to heav’n, that youth such spirit did feed

  ‭ Now in my nerves, and that my joints were knit

  ‭ With such a strength as made me then held fit

  ‭ To lead men with Ulysses! I should then

  ‭ Seem worth a weed that fits a herdsman’s men,

/>   ‭ For two respects, to gain a thankful friend,

  ‭ And to a good man’s need a good extend.”

  ‭ “O father,” said Eumæus “thou hast shown

  ‭ Good cause for us to give thee good renown,

  ‭ Not using any word that was not freed

  ‭ From all least ill. Thou, therefore, shalt not need

  ‭ Or coat, or other thing, that aptly may

  ‭ Beseem a wretched suppliant for defray

  ‭ Of this night’s need. But, when her golden throne

  ‭ The morn ascends, you must resume your own,

  ‭ For here you must not dream of many weeds,

  ‭ Or any change at all. We serve our needs

  ‭ As you do yours; one back, one coat. But when

  ‭ Ulysses’ lovéd son returns, he then

  ‭ Shall give you coat and cassock, and bestow

  ‭ Your person where your heart and soul is now,”

  ‭ This said, he rose, made near the fire his bed,

  ‭ Which all with goats’ and sheep skins he bespread.

  ‭ All which Ulysses with himself did line,

  ‭ With whom; besides, he chang’d a gaberdine,

  ‭ Thick lin’d, and soft, which still he made his shift

  ‭ When he would dress him ‘gainst the horrid drift

  ‭ Of tempest, when deep winter’s season blows.

  ‭ Nor pleas’d it him to lie there with his sows,

  ‭ But while Ulysses slept there, and close by

  ‭ The other younkers, he abroad would lie,

  ‭ And therefore arm’d him. Which set cheerful fare

  ‭ Before Ulysses’ heart, to see such care

  ‭ Of his goods taken, how far off soever

  ‭ His fate his person and his wealth should sever.

  ‭ First then, a sharp-edg’d sword he girt about

  ‭ His well-spread shoulders, and (to shelter out

  ‭ The sharp West wind that blew) he put him on

  ‭ A thick-lin’d jacket, and yet cast upon

  ‭ All that the large hide of a goat well-fed.

  ‭ A lance then took he, with a keen steel head,

  ‭ To be his keep-off both ‘gainst men and dogs.

  ‭ And thus went he to rest with his male hogs,

  ‭ That still abroad lay underneath a rock,

  ‭ Shield to the North wind’s ever-eager shock.

  THE END OF THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

  ENDNOTES.

  1 Πρόσυλος, materiæ adhærens: item, qui rebus mundanis ‭deditus est.

  2 ‘ϒλακόμωρος, ad latrandum fato quodam natus.

  3 Ανὴρ ἀπατήλια εἰδὼς, τρώκτης.

  4 ‘Ελελίχθη qui terram rapido motu concutit.

  5 ‘Απριάτην sine emptionis seu redemptionis pretio.

  6 At sunset.

  7 Περίϕρων.

  THE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS

  THE ARGUMENT

  Minerva to his native seat.

  ‭ Exhorts Ulysses’ son’s retreat,

  ‭ In bed, and waking. He receives

  ‭ Gifts of Atrides, and so leaves

  ‭ The Spartan court. And, going aboard,

  ‭ Doth favourable way afford

  ‭ To Theoclymenus, that was

  ‭ The Argive augur, and sought pass,

  ‭ Fled for a slaughter he had done.

  ‭ Eumæus tells Laertes’ son,

  ‭ How he became his father’s man,

  ‭ Being sold by the Phœnician

  ‭ For some agreed-on faculties,

  ‭ From forth the Syrian isle made prise.

  ‭ Telemachus, arrived at home,

  ‭ Doth to Eumæus’ cottage come.

  ANOTHER ARGUMENT

  O.

  ‭ From Sparta’s strand

  ‭ Makes safe access

  ‭ To his own land

  ‭ Ulyssides.

  In Lacedæmon, large, and apt for dances, 1

  ‭ Athenian Pallas her access advances

  ‭ Up to the great-in-soul Ulysses’ seed,

  ‭ Suggesting his return now fit for deed.

  ‭ She found both him and Nestor’s noble son

  ‭ In bed, in front of that fair mansión,

  ‭ Nestorides surpris’d with pleasing sleep,

  ‭ But on the watch Ulysses’ son did keep,

  ‭ Sleep could not enter, cares did so excite

  ‭ His soul, through all the solitary night,

  ‭ For his lov’d father. To him, near, she said:

  ‭ “Telemachus! ’Tis time that now were stay’d

  ‭ Thy foreign travels, since thy goods are free

  ‭ For those proud men that all will eat from thee,

  ‭ Divide thy whole possessións, and leave

  ‭ Thy too-late presence nothing to receive.

  ‭ Incite the shrill-voic’d Menelaus then,

  ‭ To send thee to thy native seat again,

  ‭ While thou mayst yet find in her honour strong

  ‭ Thy blameless mother, ‘gainst thy fathers’ wrong.

  ‭ For both the father, and the brothers too,

  ‭ Of thy lov’d mother, will not suffer so

  ‭ Extended any more her widow’s bed,

  ‭ But make her now her richest wooer wed,

  ‭ Eurymachus, who chiefly may augment

  ‭ Her gifts, and make her jointure eminent.

  ‭ And therefore haste thee, lest, in thy despite,

  ‭ Thy house stand empty of thy native right.

  ‭ For well thou know’st what mind a woman bears;

  ‭ The house of him, whoever she endears

  ‭ Herself in nuptials to, she sees increas’d,

  ‭ The issue of her first lov’d lord deceas’d

  ‭ Forgotten quite, and never thought on more.

  ‭ In thy return then, the re-counted store

  ‭ Thou find’st reserv’d, to thy most trusted maid

  ‭ Commit in guard, till Heav’n’s Pow’rs have purvey’d

  ‭ A wife, in virtue and in beauty’s grace,

  ‭ Of fit sort for thee, to supply her place.

  ‭ And this note more I’ll give thee, which repose

  ‭ In sure remembrance: The best sort of those

  ‭ That woo thy mother watchful scouts address

  ‭ Both in the straits of th’ Ithacensian seas,

  ‭ And dusty Samos, with intent t’ invade

  ‭ And take thy life, ere thy return be made.

  ‭ Which yet I think will fail, and some of them

  ‭ That waste thy fortunes taste of that extreme

  ‭ They plot for thee. But keep off far from shore,

  ‭ And day and night sail, for a fore-right blore,

  ‭ Whoever of th’ Immortals that vow guard

  ‭ And ‘scape to thy return, will see prepar’d.

  ‭ As soon as thou arriv’st, dismiss to town

  ‭ Thy ship and men, and first of all make down

  ‭ To him that keeps thy swine, and doth conceive

  ‭ A tender care to see thee well survive.

  ‭ There sleep; and send him to the town, to tell

  ‭ The chaste Penelopé, that safe and well

  ‭ Thou liv’st in his charge, and that Pylos’ sands

  ‭ The place contain’d from whence thy person lands.”

  ‭ Thus she to large Olympus made ascent.

  ‭ When with his heel a little touch he lent

  ‭ To Nestor’s son, whose sleep’s sweet chains he loos’d,

  ‭ Bad rise, and see in chariot inclos’d

  ‭ Their one-hoof’d horse, that they might straight be gone.

  ‭ “No such haste,” he replied, “Night holds her throne,

  ‭ And dims all way to course of chariot.

  ‭ The morn will soon get up. Nor see forgot

&n
bsp; ‭ The gifts with haste, that will, I know, be rich,

  ‭ And put into our coach with gracious speech

  ‭ By lance-fam’d Menelaus. Not a guest

  ‭ Shall touch at his house, but shall store his breast

  ‭ With fit mind of an hospitable man,

  ‭ To last as long as any daylight can

  ‭ His eyes recomfort, in such gifts as he

  ‭ Will proofs make of his hearty royalty.”

  ‭ He had no sooner said, but up arose

  ‭ Aurora, that the golden hills repose.

  ‭ And Menelaus, good-at-martial-cries,

  ‭ From Helen’s bed rais’d, to his guest applies

  ‭ His first appearance. Whose repair made known

  ‭ T’ Ulysses’ lov’d son, on his robe was thrown

  ‭ About his gracious body, his cloak cast

  ‭ Athwart his ample shoulders, and in haste

  ‭ Abroad he went, and did the king accost:

  ‭ “Atrides, guarded with heav’n’s deified host,

  ‭ Grant now remission to my native right,

  ‭ My mind now urging mine own house’s sight.”

  ‭ “Nor will I stay,” said he, “thy person long,

  ‭ Since thy desires to go are grown so strong.

  ‭ I should myself be angry to sustain

  ‭ The like detention urg’d by other men.

  ‭ Who loves a guest past mean, past mean will hate,

  ‭ The mean in all acts bears the best estate.

  ‭ A like ill ’tis, to thrust out such a guest

  ‭ As would not go, as to detain the rest.

  ‭ We should a guest love, while he loves to stay,

  ‭ And, when he likes not, give him loving way.

  ‭ Yet suffer so, that we may gifts impose

  ‭ In coach to thee; which ere our hands inclose,

  ‭ Thine eyes shall see, lest else our loves may glose.

  ‭ Besides, I’ll cause our women to prepare

  ‭ What our house yields, and merely so much fare

  ‭ As may suffice for health. Both well will do,

  ‭ Both for our honour and our profit too.

  ‭ And, serving strength with food, you after may

  ‭ As much earth measure as will match the clay.

  ‭ If you will turn your course from sea, and go

  ‭ Through Greece and Argos (that myself may so

  ‭ Keep kind way with thee) I’ll join horse, and guide

  ‭ T’ our human cities. Nor ungratified

  ‭ Will anyone remit us; some one thing

  ‭ Will each present us, that along may bring

  ‭ Our pass with love, and prove our virtues blaz’d:

  ‭ A caldron, or a tripod, richly-braz’d,

 

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