The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

Yet holds convenient havens that two ways let

  Ships in and out, call’d Asteris; and there

  The wooers hop’d to make their massacre.

  The end of the fourth book

  Book 5

  The Argument

  A second court on Jove attends;

  Who Hermes to Calypso sends,

  Commanding her to clear the ways

  Ulysses sought; and she obeys.

  When Neptune saw Ulysses free,

  And so in safety plough the sea,

  Enrag’d, he ruffles up the waves,

  And splits his ship. Leucothea saves

  His person yet, as being a dame

  Whose godhead govern’d in the frame

  Of those seas’ tempers. But the mean,

  By which she curbs dread Neptune’s spleen,

  Is made a jewel, which she takes

  From off her head, and that she makes

  Ulysses on his bosom wear;

  About his neck she ties it there,

  And, when he is with waves beset,

  Bids wear it as an amulet,

  Commanding him, that not before

  He touch’d upon Phaeacia’s shore

  He should not part with it, but then

  Return it to the sea again,

  And cast it from him. He performs,

  Yet after this bides bitter storms,

  And in the rocks sees death engrav’d,

  But on Phaeacia’s shore is sav’d.

  Another Argument

  Epsilon

  Ulysses builds

  A ship, and gains

  The glassy fields,

  Pays Neptune pains.

  Book 5

  Aurora rose from highborn Tithon’s bed,

  That men and gods might be illustrated,

  And then the deities sat. Imperial Jove,

  That makes the horrid murmur beat above,

  Took place past all, whose height for ever springs,

  And from whom flows th’ eternal power of things.

  Then Pallas, mindful of Ulysses, told

  The many cares that in Calypso’s hold

  He still sustain’d, when he had felt before

  So much affliction, and such dangers more.

  ‘O father,’ said she, ‘and ye ever-blest,

  Give never king hereafter interest

  In any aid of yours, by serving you,

  By being gentle, human, just, but grow

  Rude and for ever scornful of your rights,

  All justice ordering by their appetites,

  Since he that rul’d as it in right behov’d,

  That all his subjects as his children lov’d,

  Finds you so thoughtless of him and his birth.

  Thus, men begin to say, ye rule in earth,

  And grudge at what ye let him undergo,

  Who yet the least part of his suff’rance know:

  Thrall’d in an island, shipwrack’d in his tears,

  And in the fancies that Calypso bears,

  Bound from his birthright, all his shipping gone,

  And of his soldiers not retaining one.

  And now his most-lov’d son’s life doth inflame

  Their slaught’rous envies, since his father’s fame

  He puts in pursuit, and is gone as far

  As sacred Pylos, and the singular

  Dame-breeding Sparta.’ This, with this reply,

  The Cloud-assembler answer’d: ‘What words fly

  Thine own remembrance, daughter? Hast not thou

  The counsel giv’n thyself, that told thee how

  Ulysses shall with his return address

  His wooers’ wrongs? And, for the safe access

  His son shall make to his innative port,

  Do thou direct it, in as curious sort

  As thy wit serves thee – it obeys thy pow’rs –

  And in their ship return the speedless wooers.’

  Then turn’d he to his issue Mercury,

  And said: ‘Thou hast made good our embassy

  To th’ other statists. To the nymph then now,

  On whose fair head a tuft of gold doth grow,

  Bear our true-spoken counsel, for retreat

  Of patient Ulysses; who shall get

  No aid from us, nor any mortal man,

  But in a patch’d-up skiff (built as he can,

  And suffering woes enough) the twentieth day

  At fruitful Scheria let him breathe his way,

  With the Phaeacians, that half deities live,

  Who like a god will honour him, and give

  His wisdom clothes, and ship, and brass, and gold,

  More than for gain of Troy he ever told;

  Where, at the whole division of the prey,

  If he a saver were, or got away

  Without a wound, if he should grudge, ’twas well.

  But th’ end shall crown all; therefore fate will deal

  So well with him, to let him land, and see

  His native earth, friends, house and family.’

  Thus charg’d he; nor Argicides denied,

  But to his feet his fair wing’d shoes he tied,

  Ambrosian, golden, that in his command

  Put either sea or the unmeasur’d land

  With pace as speedy as a puft of wind.

  Then up his rod went, with which he declin’d

  The eyes of any waker, when he pleas’d,

  And any sleeper, when he wish’d, dis-eas’d.

  This took, he stoop’d Pieria, and thence

  Glid through the air, and Neptune’s confluence

  Kiss’d as he flew, and check’d the waves as light

  As any sea-mew in her fishing flight,

  Her thick wings sousing in the savory seas.

  Like her, he pass’d a world of wilderness;

  But when the far-off isle he touch’d, he went

  Up from the blue sea to the continent,

  And reach’d the ample cavern of the queen,

  Whom he within found – without seldom seen.

  A sun-like fire upon the hearth did flame,

  The matter precious, and divine the frame;

  Of cedar cleft and incense was the pile,

  That breathed an odour round about the isle.

  Herself was seated in an inner room,

  Whom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loom

  About a curious web, whose yarn she threw

  In with a golden shuttle. A grove grew

  In endless spring about her cavern round,

  With odorous cypress, pines and poplars, crown’d,

  Where hawks, sea-owls, and long-tongu’d bitterns bred,

  And other birds their shady pinions spread –

  All fowls maritimal; none roosted there

  But those whose labours in the waters were.

  A vine did all the hollow cave embrace,

  Still green, yet still ripe bunches gave it grace.

  Four fountains, one against another, pour’d

  Their silver streams, and meadows all enflower’d

  With sweet balm-gentle and blue violets hid,

  That deck’d the soft breasts of each fragrant mead.

  Should any one, though he immortal were,

  Arrive and see the sacred objects there,

  He would admire them, and be overjoy’d;

  And so stood Hermes’ ravish’d pow’rs employ’d.

  But having all admir’d, he enter’d on

 
; The ample cave, nor could be seen unknown

  Of great Calypso (for all deities are

  Prompt in each other’s knowledge, though so far

  Sever’d in dwellings) but he could not see

  Ulysses there within; without was he

  Set sad ashore, where ’twas his use to view

  Th’ unquiet sea, sigh’d, wept, and empty drew

  His heart of comfort. Plac’d here in her throne,

  That beams cast up to admiration,

  Divine Calypso question’d Hermes thus:

  ‘For what cause, dear and much-esteem’d by us,

  Thou golden-rod-adorned Mercury,

  Arriv’st thou here? Thou hast not used t’ apply

  Thy passage this way. Say, whatever be

  Thy heart’s desire, my mind commands it thee,

  If in my means it lie, or power of fact.

  But first, what hospitable rites exact,

  Come yet more near, and take.’ This said, she set

  A table forth, and furnish’d it with meat

  Such as the gods taste; and serv’d in with it

  Vermilion nectar. When with banquet fit

  He had confirm’d his spirits, he thus express’d

  His cause of coming: ‘Thou hast made request,

  Goddess of goddesses, to understand

  My cause of touch here; which thou shalt command,

  And know with truth: Jove caused my course to thee

  Against my will, for who would willingly

  Lackey along so vast a lake of brine,

  Near to no city that the pow’rs divine

  Receives with solemn rites and hecatombs?

  But Jove’s will ever all law overcomes –

  No other god can cross or make it void –

  And he affirms, that one the most annoy’d

  With woes and toils of all those men that fought

  For Priam’s city, and to end hath brought

  Nine years in the contention, is with thee.

  For in the tenth year, when the victory

  Was won to give the Greeks the spoil of Troy,

  Return they did profess, but not enjoy,

  Since Pallas they incens’d – and she the waves,

  By all the winds’ pow’r, that blew ope their graves.

  And there they rested. Only this poor one

  This coast both winds and waves have cast upon;

  Whom now forthwith he wills thee to dismiss,

  Affirming that th’ unaltered destinies

  Not only have decreed he shall not die

  Apart his friends, but of necessity

  Enjoy their sights before those fatal hours,

  His country earth reach, and erected tow’rs.’

  This struck a love-check’d horror through her pow’rs;

  When, naming him, she this reply did give:

  ‘Insatiate are ye gods, past all that live,

  In all things you affect; which still converts

  Your pow’rs to envies. It afflicts your hearts

  That any goddess should, as you obtain

  The use of earthly dames, enjoy the men,

  And most in open marriage. So ye far’d,

  When the delicious-finger’d Morning shar’d

  Orion’s bed; you easy-living states

  Could never satisfy your emulous hates,

  Till in Ortygia the precise-liv’d dame,

  Gold-thron’d Diana, on him rudely came,

  And with her swift shafts slew him. And such pains,

  When rich-hair’d Ceres pleas’d to give the reins

  To her affections, and the grace did yield

  Of love and bed amidst a three-cropp’d field,

  To her Iasion, he paid angry Jove,

  Who lost no long time notice of their love,

  But with a glowing lightning was his death.

  And now your envies labour underneath

  A mortal’s choice of mine, whose life I took

  To liberal safety when his ship Jove strook,

  With red-hot flashes, piecemeal in the seas,

  And all his friends and soldiers succourless

  Perish’d but he. Him, cast upon this coast

  With blasts and billows, I, in life given lost,

  Preserv’d alone, lov’d, nourish’d, and did vow

  To make him deathless, and yet never grow

  Crooked, or worn with age, his whole life long.

  But since no reason may be made so strong

  To strive with Jove’s will, or to make it vain –

  No not if all the other gods should strain

  Their pow’rs against it – let his will be law,

  So he afford him fit means to withdraw,

  As he commands him, to the raging main.

  But means from me he never shall obtain,

  For my means yield nor men, nor ship, nor oars,

  To set him off from my so envied shores.

  But if my counsel and good will can aid

  His safe pass home, my best shall be assay’d.’

  ‘Vouchsafe it so,’ said heav’n’s ambassador,

  ‘And deign it quickly. By all means abhor

  T’ incense Jove’s wrath against thee, that with grace

  He may hereafter all thy wish embrace.’

  Thus took the Argus-killing god his wings.

  And since the reverend nymph these awful things

  Receiv’d from Jove, she to Ulysses went;

  Whom she ashore found, drown’d in discontent,

  His eyes kept never dry he did so mourn,

  And waste his dear age for his wish’d return;

  Which still without the cave he us’d to do,

  Because he could not please the goddess so.

  At night yet, forc’d, together took their rest

  The willing goddess and th’ unwilling guest;

  But he all day in rocks, and on the shore,

  The vex’d sea view’d, and did his fate deplore.

  Him, now, the goddess coming near bespake:

  ‘Unhappy man, no more discomfort take

  For my constraint of thee, nor waste thine age;

  I now will passing freely disengage

  Thy irksome stay here. Come then, fell thee wood,

  And build a ship, to save thee from the flood.

  I’ll furnish thee with fresh wave, bread, and wine

  Ruddy and sweet, that will the piner pine,

  Put garments on thee, give thee winds foreright,

  That every way thy home-bent appetite

  May safe attain to it, if so it please

  At all parts all the heav’n-housed deities,

  That more in pow’r are, more in skill, than I,

  And more can judge what fits humanity.’

  He stood amaz’d at this strange change in her,

  And said: ‘O goddess, thy intents prefer

  Some other project than my parting hence,

  Commanding things of too high consequence

  For my performance, that myself should build

  A ship of power, my home-assays to shield

  Against the great sea of such dread to pass;

  Which not the best-built ship that ever was

  Will pass exulting, when such winds as Jove

  Can thunder up their trims and tacklings prove.

  But could I build one, I would ne’er aboard,

  Thy will oppos’d – nor, won, without thy word,

  Giv’n in the great oath of the g
ods to me,

  Not to beguile me in the least degree.’

  The goddess smil’d, held hard his hand, and said:

  ‘O y’ are a shrewd one, and so habited

  In taking heed, thou know’st not what it is

  To be unwary, nor use words amiss.

  How hast thou charm’d me, were I ne’er so sly!

  Let earth know then, and heav’n, so broad, so high,

  And th’ under-sunk waves of th’ infernal stream

  (Which is an oath as terribly supreme

  As any god swears) that I had no thought

  But stood with what I spake, nor would have wrought,

  Nor counsell’d, any act against thy good,

  But ever diligently weigh’d, and stood

  On those points in persuading thee, that I

  Would use myself in such extremity

  For my mind simple is, and innocent,

  Not given by cruel sleights to circumvent,

  Nor bear I in my breast a heart of steel,

  But with the sufferer willing suff’rance feel.’

  This said, the grace of goddesses led home,

  He trac’d her steps; and, to the cavern come,

  In that rich throne, whence Mercury arose,

  He sat. The nymph herself did then appose,

  For food and beverage, to him all best meat

  And drink, that mortals use to taste and eat.

  Then sat she opposite, and for her feast

  Was nectar and ambrosia address’d

  By handmaids to her. Both, what was prepar’d,

  Did freely fall to. Having fitly far’d,

  The nymph Calypso this discourse began:

  ‘Jove-bred Ulysses, many-witted man!

  Still is thy home so wish’d? So soon, away?

  Be still of cheer, for all the worst I say.

  But if thy soul knew what a sum of woes,

  For thee to cast up, thy stern fates impose,

  Ere to thy country earth thy hopes attain,

  Undoubtedly thy choice would here remain,

  Keep house with me, and be a liver ever.

  Which, methinks, should thy house and thee dissever,

  Though for thy wife there thou art set on fire,

  And all thy days are spent in her desire,

  And though it be no boast in me to say

  In form and mind I match her every way.

  Nor can it fit a mortal dame’s compare,

  T’ affect those terms with us that deathless are.’

  The great-in-counsels made her this reply:

  ‘Renown’d and to-be-reverenc’d deity!

  Let it not move thee, that so much I vow