The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

  With news of his survival, he should bear

  No least belief off from my desperate love.

  Which if a sacred prophet should approve,

  Call’d by my mother for her care’s unrest,

  It should not move me. For my late fair guest,

  He was of old my father’s, touching here

  From sea-girt Taphos, and for name doth bear

  Mentas, the son of wise Anchialus,

  And governs all the Taphians studious

  Of navigation.’ This he said, but knew

  It was a goddess. These again withdrew

  To dances and attraction of the song;

  And while their pleasures did the time prolong,

  The sable ev’n descended, and did steep

  The lids of all men in desire of sleep.

  Telemachus into a room built high

  Of his illustrious court, and to the eye

  Of circular prospect, to his bed ascended,

  And in his mind much weighty thought contended.

  Before him Euryclea (that well knew

  All the observance of a handmaid’s due,

  Daughter to Opis Pisenorides)

  Bore two bright torches; who did so much please

  Laërtes in her prime, that for the price

  Of twenty oxen, he made merchandise

  Of her rare beauties; and love’s equal flame

  To her he felt as to his nuptial dame,

  Yet never durst he mix with her in bed,

  So much the anger of his wife he fled.

  She, now grown old, to young Telemachus

  Two torches bore, and was obsequious

  Past all his other maids, and did apply

  Her service to him from his infancy.

  His well-built chamber reach’d, she op’d the door,

  He on his bed sat, the soft weeds he wore

  Put off, and to the diligent old maid

  Gave all; who fitly all in thick folds laid,

  And hung them on a beam-pin near the bed,

  That round about was rich embroidered.

  Then made she haste forth from him, and did bring

  The door together with a silver ring,

  And by a string a bar to it did pull.

  He, laid, and cover’d well with curled wool

  Wov’n in silk quilts, all night employ’d his mind

  About the task that Pallas had design’d.

  The end of the first book

  Book 2

  The Argument

  Telemachus to court doth call

  The wooers, and commands them all

  To leave his house; and taking then

  From wise Minerva ship and men,

  And all things fit for him beside

  That Euryclea could provide

  For sea-rites, till he found his sire,

  He hoists sail; when heav’n stoops his fire.

  Another Argument

  Beta

  The old Maid’s store

  The voyage cheers.

  The ship leaves shore,

  Minerva steers.

  Book 2

  Now when with rosy fingers, th’ early born

  And thrown through all the air, appear’d the Morn,

  Ulysses’ lov’d son from his bed appear’d,

  His weeds put on, and did about him gird

  His sword that thwart his shoulders hung, and tied

  To his fair feet fair shoes, and all parts plied

  For speedy readiness; who, when he trod

  The open earth, to men show’d like a god.

  The heralds then he straight charg’d to consort

  The curl’d-head Greeks, with loud calls, to a court.

  They summon’d; th’ other came in utmost haste.

  Who all assembled, and in one heap plac’d,

  He likewise came to council, and did bear

  In his fair hand his iron-headed spear.

  Nor came alone, nor with men troops prepar’d,

  But two fleet dogs made both his train and guard.

  Pallas supplied with her high wisdom’s grace,

  That all men’s wants supplies, state’s painted face.

  His ent’ring presence all men did admire;

  Who took seat in the high throne of his sire,

  To which the grave peers gave him reverend way.

  Amongst whom, an Egyptian heroë

  (Crooked with age, and full of skill) begun

  The speech to all; who had a loved son

  That with divine Ulysses did ascend

  His hollow fleet to Troy; to serve which end,

  He kept fair horse, and was a man at arms,

  And in the cruel Cyclops’ stern alarms

  His life lost by him in his hollow cave,

  Whose entrails open’d his abhorred grave,

  And made of him, of all Ulysses’ train,

  His latest supper, being latest slain;

  His name was Antiphus. And this old man,

  This crooked-grown, this wise Egyptian,

  Had three sons more; of which one riotous

  A wooer was, and call’d Eurynomus;

  The other two took both his own wish’d course.

  Yet both the best fates weigh’d not down the worse,

  But left the old man mindful still of moan;

  Who, weeping, thus bespake the session:

  ‘Hear, Ithacensians, all I fitly say:

  Since our divine Ulysses’ parting day

  Never was council call’d, nor session,

  And now by whom is this thus undergone?

  Whom did necessity so much compel,

  Of young or old? Hath any one heard tell

  Of any coming army, that he now

  May openly take boldness to avow,

  First having heard it? Or will any here

  Some motion for the public good prefer?

  Some worth of note there is in this command;

  And, methinks, it must be some good man’s hand

  That’s put to it, that either hath direct

  Means to assist, or, for his good affect,

  Hopes to be happy in the proof he makes;

  And that Jove grant, whate’er he undertakes.’

  Telemachus (rejoicing much to hear

  The good hope and opinion men did bear

  Of his young actions) no longer sat,

  But long’d t’ approve what this man pointed at,

  And make his first proof in a cause so good;

  And in the council’s chief place up he stood;

  When straight Pisenor (herald to his sire,

  And learn’d in counsels) felt his heart on fire

  To hear him speak, and put into his hand

  The sceptre that his father did command;

  Then, to the old Egyptian turn’d, he spoke:

  ‘Father, not far he is that undertook

  To call this council; whom you soon shall know.

  Myself, whose wrongs my griefs will make me show,

  Am he that author’d this assembly here.

  Nor have I heard of any army near,

  Of which, being first told, I might iterate,

  Nor for the public good can aught relate,

  Only mine own affairs all this procure,

  That in my house a double ill endure:

  One, having lost a father so renown’d,

  Whose kind rule once with your command was crown’d;

  The other is, what much more
doth augment

  His weighty loss, the ruin imminent

  Of all my house by it, my goods all spent.

  And of all this the wooers, that are sons

  To our chief peers, are the confusions,

  Importuning my mother’s marriage

  Against her will; nor dares their blood’s bold rage

  Go to Icarius’, her father’s, court,

  That, his will ask’d in kind and comely sort,

  He may endow his daughter with a dow’r,

  And, she consenting, at his pleasure’s pow’r

  Dispose her to a man that, thus behav’d,

  May have fit grace, and see her honour sav’d;

  But these, in none but my house, all their lives

  Resolve to spend, slaught’ring my sheep and beeves,

  And with my fattest goats lay feast on feast,

  My generous wine consuming as they list.

  A world of things they spoil, here wanting one

  That, like Ulysses, quickly could set gone

  These peace-plagues from his house, that spoil like war;

  Whom my powers are unfit to urge so far,

  Myself immartial. But, had I the pow’r,

  My will should serve me to exempt this hour

  From out my life-time. For, past patience,

  Base deeds are done here, that exceed defence

  Of any honour. Falling is my house,

  Which you should shame to see so ruinous.

  Reverence the censures that all good men give,

  That dwell about you; and for fear to live

  Exposed to heaven’s wrath (that doth ever pay

  Pains for joys forfeit) even by Jove I pray,

  Or Themis, both which pow’rs have to restrain

  Or gather councils, that ye will abstain

  From further spoil, and let me only waste

  In that most wretched grief I have embrac’d

  For my lost father. And though I am free

  From meriting your outrage, yet if he,

  Good man, hath ever with a hostile heart

  Done ill to any Greek, on me convert

  Your like hostility, and vengeance take

  Of his ill on my life, and all these make

  Join in that justice; but to see abus’d

  Those goods that do none ill but being ill us’d,

  Exceeds all right. Yet better ’tis for me

  My whole possessions and my rents to see

  Consum’d by you, than lose my life and all;

  For on your rapine a revenge may fall,

  While I live; and so long I may complain

  About the city, till my goods again,

  Oft ask’d, may be with all amends repaid.

  But in the mean space your misrule hath laid

  Griefs on my bosom, that can only speak,

  And are denied the instant power of wreak.’

  This said, his sceptre ’gainst the ground he threw,

  And tears still’d from him; which mov’d all the crew,

  The court struck silent, not a man did dare

  To give a word that might offend his ear.

  Antinous only in this sort replied:

  ‘High spoken, and of spirit unpacified,

  How have you sham’d us in this speech of yours!

  Will you brand us for an offence not ours?

  Your mother, first in craft, is first in cause.

  Three years are past, and near the fourth now draws,

  Since first she mock’d the peers Achaian.

  All she made hope, and promis’d every man,

  Sent for us ever, left love’s show in nought,

  But in her heart conceal’d another thought

  Besides, as curious in her craft, her loom

  She with a web charg’d, hard to overcome,

  And thus bespake us: ‘Youths, that seek my bed,

  Since my divine spouse rests amongst the dead,

  Hold on your suits but till I end, at most,

  This funeral weed, lest what is done be lost.

  Besides, I purpose, that when th’ austere fate

  Of bitter death shall take into his state

  Laertes the heroë, it shall deck

  His royal corse, since I should suffer check

  In ill report of every common dame,

  If one so rich should show in death his shame.’

  This speech she used; and this did soon persuade

  Our gentle minds. But this a work she made

  So hugely long, undoing still in night,

  By torches, all she did by day’s broad light,

  That three years her deceit div’d past our view,

  And made us think that all she feign’d was true.

  But when the fourth year came, and those sly hours

  That still surprise at length dames’ craftiest pow’rs,

  One of her women, that knew all, disclos’d

  The secret to us, that she still unloos’d

  Her whole day’s fair affair in depth of night.

  And then no further she could force her sleight,

  But, of necessity, her work gave end.

  And thus by me doth every other friend,

  Professing love to her, reply to thee,

  That ev’n thyself, and all Greeks else, may see

  That we offend not in our stay, but she.

  To free thy house then, send her to her sire,

  Commanding that her choice be left entire

  To his election, and one settled will.

  Nor let her vex with her illusions still

  Her friends that woo her, standing on her wit,

  Because wise Pallas hath given wills to it

  So full of art, and made her understand

  All works in fair skill of a lady’s hand.

  But (for her working mind) we read of none

  Of all the old world, in which Greece hath shown

  Her rarest pieces, that could equal her:

  Tyro, Alcmena and Mycena were

  To hold comparison in no degree,

  For solid brain, with wise Penelope.

  And yet, in her delays of us, she shows

  No prophet’s skill with all the wit she owes;

  For all this time thy goods and victuals go

  To utter ruin; and shall ever so,

  While thus the gods her glorious mind dispose.

  Glory herself may gain, but thou shalt lose

  Thy longings ev’n for necessary food;

  For we will never go where lies our good,

  Nor any other where, till this delay

  She puts on all, she quits with th’ endless stay

  Of some one of us, that to all the rest

  May give free farewell with his nuptial feast.’

  The wise young prince replied: ‘Antinous!

  I may by no means turn out of my house

  Her that hath brought me forth and nourish’d me.

  Besides, if quick or dead my father be

  In any region, yet abides in doubt;

  And ’twill go hard, my means being so run out,

  To tender to Icarius again,

  If he again my mother must maintain

  In her retreat, the dow’r she brought with her.

  And then a double ill it will confer,

  Both from my father and from god on me,

  When, thrust out of her house, on her bent knee,

  My mother shall the horrid Furies raise

  With imprecat
ions, and all men dispraise

  My part in her exposure. Never then

  Will I perform this counsel. If your spleen

  Swell at my courses, once more I command

  Your absence from my house; some other’s hand

  Charge with your banquets; on your own goods eat,

  And either other mutually intreat,

  At either of your houses, with your feast.

  But if ye still esteem more sweet and best

  Another’s spoil, so you still wreakless live,

  Gnaw, vermin-like, things sacred, no laws give

  To your devouring; it remains that I

  Invoke each ever-living deity,

  And vow, if Jove shall deign in any date

  Pow’r of like pains for pleasure so past rate,

  From thenceforth look, where ye have revell’d so

  Unwreak’d, your ruins all shall undergo.’

  Thus spake Telemachus; t’ assure whose threat,

  Far-seeing Jove upon their pinions set

  Two eagles from the high brows of a hill,

  That, mounted on the winds, together still

  Their strokes extended; but arriving now

  Amidst the council, over every brow

  Shook their thick wings and, threat’ning death’s cold fears,

  Their necks and cheeks tore with their eager seres;

  Then, on the court’s right-hand away they flew,

  Above both court and city. With whose view,

  And study what events they might foretell,

  The council into admiration fell.

  The old heroë Halitherses then,

  The son of Nestor, that of all old men,

  His peers in that court, only could foresee

  By flight of fowls man’s fixed destiny,

  ’Twixt them and their amaze this interpos’d:

  ‘Hear, lthacensians, all your doubts disclos’d.

  The wooers most are touch’d in this ostent,

  To whom are dangers great and imminent;

  For now not long more shall Ulysses bear

  Lack of his most lov’d, but fills some place near,

  Addressing to these wooers fate and death.

  And many more this mischief menaceth

  Of us inhabiting this famous isle.

  Let us consult yet, in this long forewhile,

  How to ourselves we may prevent this ill.

  Let these men rest secure, and revel still,

  Though they might find it safer, if with us

  They would in time prevent what threats them thus,

  Since not without sure trial I foretell

  These coming storms, but know their issue well.