by Homer
Name of your native, or of foreigners
That near us border, you are call’d in fame.
There’s no man living walks without a name,
Noble nor base, but had one from his birth
Impos’d as fit as to be borne. What earth,
People, and city, own you, give to know.
Tell but our ships all, that your way must show.
For our ships know th’ expressed minds of men,
And will so most intentively retain
Their scopes appointed, that they never err,
And yet use never any man to steer,
Nor any rudders have, as others need.
They know men’s thoughts and whither tends their speed,
And there will set them; for you cannot name
A city to them, nor fat soil, that fame
Hath any notice giv’n, but well they know,
And will fly to them, though they ebb and flow
In blackest clouds and nights; and never bear
Of any wrack or rock the slend’rest fear.
But this I heard my sire Nausithous say
Long since, that Neptune, seeing us convey
So safely passengers of all degrees,
Was angry with us; and upon our seas
A well-built ship we had, near harbour come
From safe deduction of some stranger home,
Made in his flitting billows stick stone still;
And dimm’d our city, like a mighty hill
With shade cast round about it. This report
The old king made; in which miraculous sort,
If god had done such things, or left undone,
At his good pleasure be it. But now, on,
And truth relate us, both from whence you err’d,
And to what clime of men would be transferr’d,
With all their fair towns, be they as they are,
If rude, unjust, and all irregular,
Or hospitable, bearing minds that please
The mighty deity. Which one of these
You would be set at, say, and you are there.
And therefore what afflicts you? Why, to hear
The fate of Greece and Ilion, mourn you so?
The gods have done it; as to all they do
Destine destruction, that from thence may rise
A poem to instruct posterities.
Fell any kinsman before Ilion?
Some worthy sire-in-law, or like-near son,
Whom next our own blood and self-race we love?
Or any friend perhaps, in whom did move
A knowing soul, and no unpleasing thing?
Since such a good one is no underling
To any brother; for, what fits true friends,
True wisdom is, that blood and birth transcends.
The end of the eighth book
Book 9
The Argument
Ulysses here is first made known;
Who tells the stern contention
His powers did ’gainst the Cicons try;
And thence to the Lotophagi
Extends his conquest; and from them
Assays the Cyclop Polypheme,
And, by the crafts his wits apply,
He puts him out his only eye.
Another Argument
Iota
The strangely fed
Lotophagi;
The Cicons fled;
The Cyclop’s eye.
Book 9
Ulysses thus resolv’d the king’s demands:
‘Alcinous, in whom this empire stands,
You should not of so natural right disherit
Your princely feast, as take from it the spirit.
To hear a poet, that in accent brings
The gods’ breasts down, and breathes them as he sings,
Is sweet, and sacred; nor can I conceive,
In any common-weal, what more doth give
Note of the just and blessed empery,
Than to see comfort universally
Cheer up the people, when in every roof
She gives observers a most human proof
Of men’s contents. To see a neighbour’s feast
Adorn it through; and thereat hear the breast
Of the divine muse; men in order set;
A wine-page waiting; tables crown’d with meat,
Set close to guests that are to use it skill’d;
The cup-boards furnish’d, and the cups still fill’d;
This shows, to my mind, most humanely fair.
Nor should you, for me, still the heav’nly air,
That stirr’d my soul so; for I love such tears
As fall from fit notes, beaten through mine ears
With repetitions of what heav’n hath done,
And break from hearty apprehension
Of god and goodness, though they show my ill.
And therefore doth my mind excite me still,
To tell my bleeding moan; but much more now,
To serve your pleasure, that to over-flow
My tears with such cause may by sighs be driv’n,
Though ne’er so much plagued I may seem by heav’n.
And now my name; which way shall lead to all
My miseries after, that their sounds may fall
Through your ears also, and show (having fled
So much affliction) first, who rests his head
In your embraces, when, so far from home,
I knew not where t’ obtain it resting room.
I am Ulysses Laertiades,
The fear of all the world for policies,
For which my facts as high as heav’n resound.
I dwell in Ithaca, earth’s most renown’d,
All over-shadow’d with the shake-leaf hill,
Tree-famed Neritus; whose near confines fill
Islands a-number, well inhabited,
That under my observance taste their bread:
Dulichius, Samos, and the full-of-food
Zacynthus, likewise grac’d with store of wood.
But Ithaca, though in the seas it lie,
Yet lies she so aloft she casts her eye
Quite over all the neighbour continent;
Far northward situate, and, being lent
But little favour of the morn and sun,
With barren rocks and cliffs is over-run,
And yet of hardy youths a nurse of name;
Nor could I see a soil, where’er I came,
More sweet and wishful. Yet, from hence was I
Withheld with horror by the deity,
Divine Calypso, in her cavy house,
Enflam’d to make me her sole lord and spouse.
Circe Aeaea too, that knowing dame,
Whose veins the like affections did enflame,
Detain’d me likewise. But to neither’s love
Could I be tempted; which doth well approve,
Nothing so sweet is as our country’s earth,
And joy of those from whom we claim our birth.
Though roofs far richer we far off possess,
Yet, from our native, all our more is less.
To which as I contended, I will tell
The much-distress-conferring facts that fell
By Jove’s divine prevention, since I set
From ruin’d Troy my first foot in retreat.
From Ilion ill winds cast me on the coast
The Cicons hold, where I employ’d mine host
For Ismarus, a city
built just by
My place of landing; of which victory
Made me expugner. I depeopled it,
Slew all the men, and did their wives remit,
With much spoil taken; which we did divide,
That none might need his part. I then applied
All speed for flight; but my command therein,
Fools that they were, could no observance win
Of many soldiers, who, with spoil fed high,
Would yet fill higher, and excessively
Fell to their wine, gave slaughter on the shore
Clov’n-footed beeves and sheep in mighty store.
In mean space, Cicons did to Cicons cry,
When, of their nearest dwellers, instantly
Many and better soldiers made strong head,
That held the continent, and managed
Their horse with high skill, on which they would fight,
When fittest cause serv’d, and again alight,
With soon seen vantage, and on foot contend.
Their concourse swift was, and had never end;
As thick and sudden ’twas, as flowers and leaves
Dark spring discovers, when she light receives.
And then began the bitter fate of Jove
To alter us unhappy, which ev’n strove
To give us suff’rance. At our fleet we made
Enforced stand; and there did they invade
Our thrust-up forces; darts encounter’d darts,
With blows on both sides, either making parts
Good upon either, while the morning shone,
And sacred day her bright increase held on –
Though much out-match’d in number; but as soon
As Phoebus westward fell, the Cicons won
Much hand of us; six proved soldiers fell
Of every ship; the rest they did compel
To seek of flight escape from death and fate.
Thence sad in heart we sail’d; and yet our state
Was something cheer’d, that (being o’er-match’d so much
In violent number) our retreat was such
As saved so many – our dear loss the less,
That they surviv’d, so like for like success.
Yet left we not the coast, before we call’d
Home to our country earth the souls exhal’d
Of all the friends the Cicons overcame.
Thrice call’d we on them by their several name,
And then took leave. Then from the angry North
Cloud-gathering Jove a dreadful storm call’d forth
Against our navy, cover’d shore and all
With gloomy vapours. Night did headlong fall
From frowning heav’n. And then hurl’d here and there
Was all our navy; the rude winds did tear
In three, in four parts, all their sails; and down
Driv’n under hatches were we, press’d to drown.
Up rush’d we yet again, and with tough hand
(Two days, two nights entoil’d) we gat near land,
Labours and sorrows eating up our minds.
The third clear day yet, to more friendly winds
We masts advanc’d, we white sails spread, and sate.
Forewinds and guides again did iterate
Our ease and home-hopes; which we clear had reach’d,
Had not, by chance, a sudden north-wind fetch’d,
With an extreme sea, quite about again
Our whole endeavours, and our course constrain
To giddy round, and with our bow’d sails greet
Dreadful Maleia, calling back our fleet
As far forth as Cythera. Nine days more
Adverse winds toss’d me; and the tenth the shore,
Where dwelt the blossom-fed Lotophagi,
I fetch’d, fresh water took in, instantly
Fell to our food a-shipboard, and then sent
Two of my choice men to the continent
(Adding a third, a herald) to discover
What sort of people were the rulers over
The land next to us; where the first they met
Were the Lotophagi, that made them eat
Their country diet, and no ill intent
Hid in their hearts to them; and yet th’ event
To ill converted it, for, having eat
Their dainty viands, they did quite forget
(As all men else that did but taste their feast)
Both countrymen and country, nor address’d
Any return t’ inform what sort of men
Made fix’d abode there, but would needs maintain
Abode themselves there, and eat that food ever.
I made out after, and was feign to sever
Th’ enchanted knot by forcing their retreat,
That striv’d, and wept, and would not leave their meat
For heav’n itself. But, dragging them to fleet,
I wrapt in sure bands both their hands and feet,
And cast them under hatches, and away
Commanded all the rest without least stay,
Lest they should taste the lote too, and forget
With such strange raptures their despis’d retreat.
All then aboard, we beat the sea with oars,
And still with sad hearts sail’d by out-way shores,
Till th’ out-law’d Cyclops’ land we fetch’d, a race
Of proud-liv’d loiterers, that never sow,
Nor put a plant in earth, nor use a plow,
But trust in god for all things; and their earth,
Unsown, unplow’d, gives every offspring birth
That other lands have: wheat and barley, vines
That bear in goodly grapes delicious wines;
And Jove sends showers for all. No counsels there,
Nor counsellors, nor laws; but all men bear
Their heads aloft on mountains, and those steep,
And on their tops too; and their houses keep
In vaulty caves, their households govern’d all
By each man’s law, impos’d in several,
Nor wife, nor child aw’d but as he thinks good,
None for another caring. But there stood
Another little isle, well stor’d with wood,
Betwixt this and the entry; neither nigh
The Cyclops’ isle, nor yet far off doth lie.
Men’s want it suffer’d, but the men’s supplies
The goats made with their inarticulate cries.
Goats beyond number this small island breeds,
So tame, that no access disturbs their feeds;
No hunters, that the tops of mountains scale,
And rub through woods with toil, seek them at all.
Nor is the soil with flocks fed down, nor plow’d,
Nor ever in it any seed was sow’d.
Nor place the neighbour Cyclops their delights
In brave vermilion-prow-deck’d ships, nor wrights
Useful, and skilful in such works as need
Perfection to those traffics that exceed
Their natural confines, to fly out and see
Cities of men, and take in mutually
The prease of others; to themselves they live,
And to their island that enough would give
A good inhabitant, and time of year
Observe to all things art could order there.
There, close upon the sea, sweet meadows spring,
That yet of fresh streams want no watering
To their soft burthens, but of special yield
Your vines would be there, and your common field
But gentle work make for your plow, yet bear
A lofty harvest when you came to shear;
For passing fat the soil is. In it lies
A harbour so opportune, that no ties,
Halsers, or cables need, nor anchors cast.
Whom storms put in there are with stay embrac’d,
Or to their full wills safe, or winds aspire
To pilots’ uses their more quick desire.
At entry of the hav’n, a silver ford
Is from a rock-impressing fountain pour’d,
All set with sable poplars. And this port
Were we arrived at, by the sweet resort
Of some god guiding us, for ’twas a night
So ghastly dark all port was past our sight,
Clouds hid our ships, and would not let the moon
Afford a beam to us, the whole isle won
By not an eye of ours. None thought the blore,
That then was up, shov’d waves against the shore,
That then to an unmeasured height put on;
We still at sea esteem’d us, till alone
Our fleet put in itself. And then were strook
Our gather’d sails; our rest ashore we took,
And day expected. When the morn gave fire,
We rose, and walk’d, and did the isle admire –
The nymphs, Jove’s daughters, putting up a herd
Of mountain goats to us, to render cheer’d
My fellow soldiers. To our fleet we flew,
Our crooked bows took, long-pil’d darts, and drew
Ourselves in three parts out; when, by the grace
That god vouchsaf’d, we made a gainful chace.
Twelve ships we had, and every ship had nine
Fat goats allotted [it], ten only mine.
Thus all that day, ev’n till the sun was set,
We sat and feasted, pleasant wine and meat
Plenteously taking; for we had not spent
Our ruddy wine a-shipboard; supplement
Of large sort each man to his vessel drew,
When we the sacred city overthrew
That held the Cicons. Now then saw we near
The Cyclops’ late-prais’d island, and might hear
The murmur of their sheep and goats, and see
Their smokes ascend. The sun then set, and we,
When night succeeded, took our rest ashore.
And when the world the morning’s favour wore,
I call’d my friends to council, charging them
To make stay there, while I took ship and stream,