The breathing air, in bright Olympus move.
Divine Ulysses joy’d to hear it roar.
Report of which a woman-miller bore
Straight to his ears; for near to him there ground
Mills for his corn, that twice six women found
Continual motion, grinding barley-meal,
And wheat, man’s marrow. Sleep the eyes did seal
Of all the other women, having done
Their usual task; which yet this dame alone
Had scarce giv’n end to, being, of all the rest,
Least fit for labour. But when these sounds prest
Her ears, above the rumbling of her mill,
She let that stand, look’d out, and heav’n’s steep hill
Saw clear and temp’rate; which made her (unware
Of giving any comfort to his care
In that strange sign he pray’d for) thus, invoke:
“O King of men and Gods, a mighty stroke
Thy thund’ring hand laid on the cope of stars,
No cloud in all the air; and therefore wars
Thou bidst to some men in thy sure ostent!
Perform to me, poor wretch, the main event,
And make this day the last, and most extreme,
In which the Wooers’ pride shall solace them
With whorish banquets in Ulysses’ roof,
That, with sad toil to grind them meal enough,
Have quite dissolv’d my knees. Vouchsafe, then, now
Thy thunders may their latest feast foreshow.”
This was the boon Ulysses begg’d of Jove, 1
Which, with his thunder, through his bosom drove
A joy, that this vaunt breath’d: “Why now these men,
Despite their pride, will Jove make pay me pain.”
By this had other maids, than those that lay
Mix’d with the Wooers, made a fire like day
Amidst the hearth of the illustrious hall;
And then the Prince, like a Celestial,
Rose from his bed, to his embalm’d feet tied
Fair shoes, his sword about his breast applied,
Took to his hand his sharp-pil’d lance, and met,
Amidst the entry, his old nurse, that set
His haste at sudden stand; to whom he said:
“O, my lov’d nurse, with what grace have you laid
And fed my guest here? Could you so neglect
His age, to lodge him thus? Though all respect
I give my mother’s wisdom, I must yet
Affirm it fail’d in this; for she hath set
At much more price a man of much less worth,
Without his person’s note, and yet casts forth
With ignominious hands, for his form sake,
A man much better.” “Do not faulty make,
Good son, the faultless. He was giv’n his seat
Close to her side, and food till he would eat,
Wine till his wish was serv’d; for she requir’d
His wants, and will’d him all things he desir’d;
Commanded her chief maids to make his bed,
But he, as one whom sorrow only fed
And all infortune, would not take his rest
In bed, and cov’rings fit for any guest,
But in the entry, on an ox’s hide
Never at tanner’s, his old limbs implied,
In warm sheep-fells; yet over all we cast
A mantle, fitting for a man more grac’d.”
He took her answer, left the house, and went,
Attended with his dogs, to sift th’ event
Of private plots, betwixt him and his sire
In common counsel. Then the crew entire
Of all the household maids Euryclea bad
Bestir them through the house, and see it clad
In all best form; gave all their parts; and one
She set to furnish ev’ry seat and throne
With needle works, and purple clothes of state;
Another set to scour and cleanse the plate;
Another all the tables to make proud
With porous sponges; others she bestow’d
In all speed to the spring, to fetch from thence
Fit store of water; all at all expence
Of pains she will’d to be; for this to all
Should be a day of common festival,
And not a Wooer now should seek his home,
Elsewhere than there, but all were bid to come
Exceeding early, and be rais’d to heav’n
With all the entertainment could be giv’n.
They heard with greedy ears, and ev’rything
Put straight in practice. Twenty to the spring
Made speed for water; many in the house
Took pains; and all were both laborious
And skill’d in labour; many fell to fell
And cleave their wood; and all did more than well.
Then troop’d the lusty Wooers in; and then
Came all from spring; at their heels loaded men
With slaughter’d brawns, of all the herd the prize,
That had been long fed-up in sev’ral styes;
Eumæus and his men convey’d them there,
He, seeing now the king, began to cheer,
And thus saluted him: “How now, my guest?
Have yet your virtues found more interest
In these great Wooers’ good respects? Or still
Pursue they you with all their wonted ill?”
“I would to heav’n, Eumæus,” he replied,
“The Deities once would take in hand their pride,
That such unseemly fashions put in frame
In others’ roofs, as show no spark of shame.”
Thus these; and to these came Melanthius,
Great guardian of the most egregious
Rich Wooers’ herds, consisting all of goats;
Which he, with two more, drave, and made their cotes
The sounding porticos of that fair court.
Melanthius, seeing the king, this former sort
Of upland language gave: “What? Still stay here,
And dull these Wooers with thy wretched cheer?
Not gone for ever yet? Why now I see
This strife of cuffs betwixt the beggary,
That yesterday assay’d to get thee gone,
And thy more roguery, needs will fall upon
My hands to arbitrate. Thou wilt not hence
Till I set on thee; thy ragg’d impudence
Is so fast-footed. Are there not beside
Other great banquetants, but you must tide
At anchor still with us?” He nothing said,
But thought of ill enough, and shook his head.
Then came Philœtius, a chief of men,
That to the Wooers’ all-devouring den
A barren steer drave, and fat goats; for they
In custom were with traffickers by sea,
That who they would sent, and had utt’rance there.
And for these likewise the fair porches were
Hurdles and sheep-pens, as in any fair.
Philœtius took note in his repair
Of seen Ulysses, being a man as well
Giv’n to his mind’s use as to buy and sell,
Or do the drudg’ry that the blood desir’d,
And, standing near Eumæus, this enquir’d:
“What guest is this that makes our house of late
His e
ntertainer? Whence claims he the state
His birth in this life holds? What nation?
What race? What country stands his speech upon?
O’er hardly portion’d by the terrible Fates.
The structure of his lineaments relates
A king’s resemblance in his pomp of reign
Ev’n thus in these rags. But poor erring men,
That have no firm home, but range here and there
As need compels, God keeps in this earth’s sphere,
As under water, and this tune he sings,
When he is spinning ev’n the cares of kings.”
Thus coming to him, with a kind of fear
He took his hand, and, touch’d exceeding near
With mere imagination of his worth,
This salutation he sent loudly forth:
“Health! Father stranger! In another world
Be rich and happy, though thou here art hurl’d
At feet of never such insulting Need.
O Jove, there lives no one God of thy seed
More ill to man than thou. Thou tak’st no ruth —
When thou thyself hast got him in most truth —
To wrap him in the straits of most distress,
And in the curse of others’ wickedness.
My brows have swet to see it, and mine eyes
Broke all in tears, when this being still the guise
Of worthiest men, I have but only thought,
That down to these ills was Ulysses wrought,
And that, thus clad, ev’n he is error-driv’n,
If yet he live and sees the light of heav’n.
But, if now dead, and in the house of hell,
O me! O good Ulysses! That my weal
Did ever wish, and when, but half a man
Amongst the people Cephallenian,
His bounty to his oxen’s charge preferr’d
One in that youth; which now is grown a herd
Unspeakable for number, and feed there
With their broad heads, as thick as of his ear
A field of corn is to a man. Yet these
Some men advise me with this noted prease
Of Wooers may devour, and wish me drive
Up to their feasts with them, that neither give
His son respect, though in his own free roof,
Nor have the wit to fear th’ infallible proof
Of Heav’nly vengeance, but make offer now
The long-lack’d King’s possessions to bestow
In their self-shares. Methinks the mind in me
Doth turn as fast, as in a flood or sea
A raging whirlpit doth, to gather in
To fishy death those swimmers in their sin;
Or feeds a motion as circular
To drive my herds away. But while the son
Bears up with life, ‘twere heinous wrong to run
To other people with them, and to trust
Men of another earth. And yet more just
It were to venture their laws, the main right
Made still their masters, than at home lose quite
Their right and them, and sit and grieve to see
The wrong authoriz’d by their gluttony.
And I had long since fled, and tried th’ event
With other proud kings, since more insolent
These are than can be borne, but that ev’n still
I had a hope that this, though born to ill,
Would one day come from some coast, and their last
In his roofs strew with ruins red and vast.”
“Herdsman,” said he, “because thou art in show
Nor lewd nor indiscreet, and that I know
There rules in thee an understanding soul,
I’ll take an oath, that in thee shall control
All doubt of what I swear: Be witness, Jove,
That sway’st the first seat of the thron’d above,
This hospitable table, and this house,
That still hold title for the strenuous
Son of Laertes, that, if so you please,
Your eyes shall witness Laertiades
Arriv’d at home, and all these men that reign
In such excesses here shall here lie slain!”
He answer’d: “Stranger! Would just Jove would sign
What you have sworn! In your eyes’ beams should shine
What pow’rs I manage, and how these my hands
Would rise and follow where he first commands.”
So said Eumæus, praying all the Sky
That wise Ulysses might arrive and try.
Thus while they vow’d, the Wooers sat as hard
On his son’s death, but had their counsels scar’d,
For on their left hand did an eagle soar,
And in her seres a fearful pigeon bore.
Which seen, Amphinomus presag’d: “O friends,
Our counsels never will receive their ends
In this man’s slaughter. Let us therefore ply
Our bloody feast, and make his oxen die.”
Thus came they in, cast off on seats their cloaks,
And fell to giving sacrificing strokes
Of sheep and goats, the chiefly fat and great,
Slew fed-up swine, and from the herd a neat.
The inwards roasted they dispos’d bewixt
Their then observers, wine in flagons mixt.
The bowls Eumæus brought, Philœtius bread,
Melanthius fill’d the wine. Thus drank and fed
The feastful Wooers. Then the prince, in grace
Of his close project, did his father place
Amidst the pavéd entry, in a seat
Seemless and abject, a small board and meat
Of th’ only inwards; in a cup of gold
Yet sent him wine, and bade him now drink bold,
All his approaches he himself would free
‘Gainst all the Wooers, since he would not see
His court made popular, but that his sire
Built it to his use. Therefore all the fire
Blown in the Wooers’ spleens he bade suppress,
And that in hands nor words they should digress
From that set peace his speech did then proclaim.
They bit their lips and wonder’d at his aim
In that brave language; when Antinous said:
“Though this speech, Grecians, be a mere upbraid,
Yet this time give it pass. The will of Jove
Forbids the violence of our hands to move,
But of our tongues we keep the motion free,
And, therefore, if his further jollity
Tempt our encounter with his braves, let’s check
His growing insolence, though pride to speak
Fly passing high with him.” The wise prince made
No more spring of his speech, but let it fade.
And now the heralds bore about the town
The sacred hecatomb; to whose renown
The fair-hair’d Greeks assembled, and beneath
Apollo’s shady wood the holy death
They put to fire; which, made enough, they drew,
Divided all, that did in th’ end accrue
To glorious satisfaction. Those that were
Disposers of the feast did equal cheer
Bestow on wretched Laertiades,
With all the Wooers’ souls; it so did please
Telemachus to charge them. And for these
Minerva would n
ot see the malices
The Wooers bore too much contain’d, that so
Ulysses’ mov’d heart yet might higher flow
In wreakful anguish. There was wooing there,
Amongst the rest, a gallant that did bear
The name of one well-learn’d in jests profane,
His name Ctesippus, born a Samian;
Who, proud because his father was so rich,
Had so much confidence as did bewitch
His heart with hope to wed Ulysses’ wife;
And this man said: “Hear me, my lords, in strife
For this great widow. This her guest did share
Even feast with us, with very comely care
Of him that order’d it; for ’tis not good
Nor equal to deprive guests of their food,
And specially whatever guest makes way
To that house where Telemachus doth sway;
And therefore I will add to his receit
A gift of very hospitable weight,
Which he may give again to any maid
That bathes his grave feet, and her pains see paid,
Or any servant else that the divine
Ulysses’ lofty battlements confine.”
Thus snatch’d he with a valiant hand, from out
The poor folks’ common basket, a neat’s foot,
And threw it at Ulysses; who his head
Shrunk quietly aside, and let it shed
His malice on the wall; the suff’ring man
A laughter raising most Sardinian,
With scorn and wrath mix’d, at the Samian.
Whom thus the prince reprov’d: “Your valour wan
Much grace, Ctesippus, and hath eas’d your mind
With mighty profit, yet you see it find
No mark it aim’d at; the poor stranger’s part
Himself made good enough, to ‘scape your dart.
But should I serve thee worthily, my lance
Should strike thy heart through, and, in place t’ advance
Thyself in nuptials with his wealth, thy sire
Should make thy tomb here; that the foolish fire
Of all such valours may not dare to show
These foul indecencies to me. I now
Have years to understand my strength, and know
The good and bad of things, and am no more
At your large suff’rance, to behold my store
Consum’d with patience, see my cattle slain,
My wine exhausted, and my bread in vain
Spent on your license; for to one then young
So many enemies were match too strong.
But let me never more be witness to
Your hostile minds, nor those base deeds ye do;
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 154