For, should ye kill me in my offer’d wreak,
I wish it rather, and my death would speak
Much more good of me, than to live and see
Indignity upon indignity,
My guests provok’d with bitter words and blows,
My women-servants dragg’d about my house
To lust and rapture.” This made silence seize
The house throughout; till Damastorides
At length the calm brake, and said: “Friend, forbear
To give a just speech a disdainful ear;
The guest no more touch, nor no servant here.
Myself will to the Prince and Queen commend
A motion grateful, if they please to lend
Grateful receipt. As long as any hope
Left wise Ulysses any passage ope
To his return in our conceits, so long
The Queen’s delays to our demands stood strong
In cause and reason, and our quarrels thus
With guests, the Queen, or her Telemachus,
Set never foot amongst our lib’ral feast;
For should the King return, though thought deceas’d,
It had been gain to us, in finding him,
To lose his wife. But now, since nothing dim
The days break out that show he never more
Shall reach the dear touch of his country-shore,
Sit by your mother, in persuasion
That now it stands her honour much upon
To choose the best of us, and, who gives most,
To go with him home. For so, all things lost
In sticking on our haunt so, you shall clear
Recover in our no more concourse here,
Possess your birth-right wholly, eat and drink,
And never more on our disgraces think.”
“By Jove, no, Agelaus! For I swear
By all my father’s sorrows, who doth err
Far off from Ithaca, or rests in death,
I am so far from spending but my breath
To make my mother any more defer
Her wishéd nuptials, that I’ll counsel her
To make her free choice; and besides will give
Large gifts to move her. But I fear to drive
Or charge her hence; for God will not give way
To any such course, if I should assay.”
At this, Minerva made for foolish joy
The Wooers mad, and rous’d their late annoy
To such a laughter as would never down.
They laugh’d with others’ cheeks, ate meat o’erflown
With their own bloods, their eyes stood full of tears
For violent joys; their souls yet thought of fears,
Which Theoclymenus express’d, and said:
“O wretches! Why sustain ye, well apaid,
Your imminent ill? A night, with which death sees,
Your heads and faces hides beneath your knees;
Shrieks burn about you; your eyes thrust out tears;
These fixéd walls, and that main beam that bears
The whole house up, in bloody torrents fall;
The entry full of ghosts stands; full the hall
Of passengers to hell; and under all
The dismal shades; the sun sinks from the poles;
And troubled air pours bane about your souls.”
They sweetly laughed at this. Eurymachus
To mocks dispos’d, and said: “This new-come-t’-us
Is surely mad, conduct him forth to light
In th’ open market-place; he thinks ’tis night
Within the house.” “Eurymachus,” said he,
“I will not ask for any guide of thee,
I both my feet enjoy, have ears and eyes,
And no mad soul within me; and with these
Will I go forth the doors, because I know
That imminent mischief must abide with you,
Which not a man of all the Wooers here
Shall fly or ‘scape. Ye all too highly bear
Your uncurb’d heads. Impieties ye commit,
And ev’ry man affect with forms unfit.”
This said, he left the house, and took his way
Home to Piræus; who, as free as day,
Was of his welcome. When the Wooers’ eyes
Chang’d looks with one another, and, their guise
Of laughters still held on, still eas’d their breasts
Of will to set the Prince against his guests,
Affirming that of all the men alive
He worst luck had, and prov’d it worst to give
Guests entertainment; for he had one there
A wand’ring hunter-out of provender,
An errant beggar ev’ry way, yet thought
(He was so hungry) that he needed nought
But wine and victuals, nor knew how to do,
Nor had a spirit to put a knowledge to,
But liv’d an idle burthen to the earth.
Another then stepp’d up, and would lay forth
His lips in prophecy, thus: “But, would he hear
His friends’ persuasions, he should find it were
More profit for him to put both aboard
For the Sicilian people, that afford
These feet of men good price; and this would bring 2
Good means for better guests.” These, words made wing
To his ears idly, who had still his eye
Upon his father, looking fervently
When he would lay his long-withholding hand
On those proud Wooers. And, within command
Of all this speech that pass’d, Icarius’ heir,
The wise Penelope, her royal chair
Had plac’d of purpose. Their high dinner then
With all-pleas’d palates these ridiculous men
Fell sweetly to, as joying they had slain
Such store of banquet. But there did not reign
A bitterer banquet-planet in all heav’n
Than that which Pallas had to that day driv’n,
And, with her able friend now, meant t’ appose,
Since they till then were in deserts so gross.
THE END OF THE TWENTIETH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.
ENDNOTES.
1 Viz. That some from within might issue, and witness in his hearing some wreakful ostent to his enemies from heaven.
2 These feet of men, etc. ἀνδραποδισταί.
THE TWENTY-FIRST BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS
THE ARGUMENT
Penelope proposeth now
To him that draws Ulysses’ bow
Her instant nuptials. Ithacus
Eumæus and Philœtius
Gives charge for guarding of the gates;
And he his shaft shoots through the plates.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Φι̑.
The nuptial vow
And game rehears’d,
Drawn is the bow,
The steels are pierc’d.
Pallus, the Goddess with the sparkling eyes,
Excites Penelope t’ object the prize,
The bow and bright steels, to the Wooers’ strength
And here began the strife and blood at length.
She first ascended by a lofty stair
Her utmost chamber; of whose door her fair
And half transparent hand receiv’d the key,
Bright, brazen, bitted passing curiously,
And at it hung a knob of ivory.
And
this did lead her where was strongly kept
The treasure-royal; in whose store lay heapt
Gold, brass, and steel, engrav’n with infinite art;
The crooked bow, and arrowy quiver, part
Of that rich magazine. In the quiver were
Arrows a number, sharp and sighing gear.
The bow was giv’n by kind Eurytides
Iphitus, fashion’d like the Deities,
To young Ulysses, when within the roof
Of wise Orsilochus their pass had proof
Of mutual meeting in Messena; where
Ulysses claim’d a debt, to whose pay were
The whole Messenian people bound, since they
From Ithaca had forc’d a wealthy prey
Of sheep and shepherds. In their ships they thrust
Three hundred sheep together; for whose just
And instant rendry old Laertes sent
Ulysses his ambassador, that went
A long way in the ambassy, yet then
Bore but the foremost prime of youngest men;
His father sending first to that affair
His gravest counsellors, and then his heir.
Iphitus made his way there, having lost
Twelve female horse, and mules commended most
For use of burthen; which were after cause
Of death and fate to him; for, past all laws
Of hospitality, Jove’s mighty son,
Skill’d in great acts, was his confusion
Close by his house, though at that time his guest,
Respecting neither the apposéd feast,
And hospitable table, that in love
He set before him, nor the voice of Jove,
But, seizing first his mares, he after slew
His host himself. From those mares’ search now grew
Ulysses known t’ Iphitus; who that bow
At their encounter did in love bestow,
Which great Eurytus’ hand had borne before,
(Iphitus’ father) who, at death’s sad door,
In his steep turrets, left it to his son.
Ulysses gave him a keen falchion,
And mighty lance. And thus began they there
Their fatal loves; for after never were
Their mutual tables to each other known,
Because Jove’s son th’ unworthy part had shown
Of slaughtering this God-like loving man,
Eurytus’ son, who with that bow began
And ended love t’ Ulysses; who so dear
A gift esteem’d it, that he would not bear
In his black fleet that guest-rite to the war,
But, in fit memory of one so far
In his affection, brought it home, and kept
His treasure with it; where till now it slept.
And now the Queen of women had intent
To give it use, and therefore made ascent
Up all the stairs’ height to the chamber door,
Whose shining leaves two bright pilasters bore
To such a close when both together went
It would resist the air in their consent.
The ring she took then, and did draw aside
A bar that ran within, and then implied
The key into the lock, which gave a sound,
The bolt then shooting, as in pasture ground
A bull doth low, and make the valleys ring;
So loud the lock humm’d when it loos’d the spring,
And ope the doors flew. In she went, along
The lofty chamber, that was boarded strong
With heart of oak, which many years ago
The architect did smooth and polish so
That now as then he made it freshly shine,
And tried the evenness of it with a line.
There stood in this room presses that enclos’d
Robes odoriferous, by which repos’d
The bow was upon pins; nor from it far
Hung the round quiver glitt’ring like a star;
Both which her white extended hand took down.
Then sat she low, and made her lap a crown
Of both these relics, which she wept to see,
And cried quite out with loving memory
Of her dear lord; to whose worth paying then
Kind debts enow, she left, and, to the men
Vow’d to her wooing, brought the crooked bow,
And shaft-receiving quiver, that did flow
With arrows beating sighs up where they fell.
Then, with another chest, replete as well
With games won by the King, of steel and brass,
Her maids attended. Past whom making pass
To where her Wooers were, she made her stay
Amidst the fair hall door, and kept the ray
Of her bright count’nance hid with veils so thin,
That though they seem’d t’ expose, they let love in;
Her maids on both sides stood; and thus she spake:
“Hear me, ye Wooers, that a pleasure take
To do me sorrow, and my house invade
To eat and drink, as if ‘twere only made
To serve your rapines; my lord long away,
And you allow’d no colour for your stay
But his still absence; striving who shall frame
Me for his wife; and, since ’tis made a game,
I here propose divine Ulysses’ bow
For that great master-piece to which ye vow.
He that can draw it with least show to strive,
And through these twelve axe-heads an arrow drive,
Him will I follow, and this house forego
That nourish’d me a maid, now furnish’d so
With all things fit, and which I so esteem
That I shall still live in it in my dream.”
This said, she made Eumæus give it them.
He took and laid it by, and wept for woe;
And like him wept Philœtius, when the bow
Of which his king was bearer he beheld.
Their tears Antinous’ manhood much refell’d,
And said: “Ye rustic fools! that still each day
Your minds give over to this vain dismay,
Why weep ye, wretches, and the widow’s eyes
Tempt with renew’d thought, that would otherwise
Depose her sorrows, since her lord is dead,
And tears are idle? Sit, and eat your bread,
Nor whisper more a word; or get ye gone,
And weep without doors. Let this bow alone
To our out-match’d contention. For I fear
The bow will scarce yield draught to any here;
Here no such man lives as Laertes’ son
Amongst us all. I knew him; thought puts on
His look’s sight now, methinks, though then a child.”
Thus show’d his words doubt, yet his hopes instill’d
His strength the stretcher of Ulysses’ string,
And his steels’ piercer. But his shaft must sing
Through his pierc’d palate first; whom so he wrong’d
In his free roof, and made the rest ill-tongued
Against his virtues. Then the sacred heat
That spirited his son did further set
Their confidence on fire, and said: “O friends,
Jove hath bereft my wits. The Queen intends,
Though I must grant her wise, ere long to leave
Ulysses’ court, and to her
bed receive
Some other lord; yet, notwithstanding, I
Am forc’d to laugh, and set my pleasures high
Like one mad sick. But, Wooers, since ye have
An object for your trials now so brave,
As all the broad Achaian earth exceeds,
As sacred Pylos, as the Argive breeds,
As black Epirus, as Mycena’s birth,
And as the more fam’d Ithacensian earth,
All which, yourselves well know, and oft have said —
For what need hath my mother of my aid
In her advancement? — tender no excuse
For least delay, nor too much time profuse
In stay to draw this bow, but draw it straight,
Shoot, and the steels pierce; make all see how slight
You make these poor bars to so rich a prize.
No eag’rer yet? Come all. My faculties
Shall try the bow’s strength, and the piercéd steel.
I will not for my rev’rend mother feel
The sorrows that I know will seize my heart,
To see her follow any, and depart
From her so long-held home; but first extend
The bow and arrow to their tender’d end.
For I am only to succeed my sire
In guard of his games, and let none aspire
To their besides possession.” This said,
His purple robe he cast off; by he laid
His well-edg’d sword; and, first, a sev’ral pit
He digg’d for ev’ry axe, and strengthen’d it
With earth close ramm’d about it; on a rew
Set them, of one height, by a line he drew
Along the whole twelve; and so orderly
Did ev’ry deed belonging (yet his eye
Never before beholding how ’twas done)
That in amaze rose all his lookers-on.
Then stood he near the door, and prov’d to draw
The stubborn bow. Thrice tried, and thrice gave law
To his uncrown’d attempts; the fourth assay
With all force off’ring, which a sign gave stay
Giv’n by his father; though he show’d a mind
As if he stood right heartily inclin’d
To perfect the exploit, when all was done
In only drift to set the Wooers on.
His weakness yet confess’d, he said: “O shame!
I either shall be ever of no name,
But prove a wretch; or else I am too young,
And must not now presume on pow’rs so strong
As sinews yet more growing may engraft,
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 155