The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

Pray to thy father yet, a deity,

  And prove, from him if thou canst help acquire.’

  Thus spake they, leaving him; when all on fire

  My heart with joy was, that so well my wit

  And name deceiv’d him; whom now pain did split,

  And groaning up and down he groping tried

  To find the stone; which found, he put aside,

  But in the door sat, feeling if he could

  (As his sheep issu’d) on some man lay hold –

  Esteeming me a fool, that could devise

  No stratagem to ’scape his gross surprise.

  But I, contending what I could invent

  My friends and me from death so imminent

  To get deliver’d, all my wiles I wove

  (Life being the subject) and did this approve:

  Fat fleecy rams, most fair and great, lay there,

  That did a burden like a violet bear.

  These, while this learn’d-in-villany did sleep,

  I yok’d with osiers cut there, sheep to sheep,

  Three in a rank, and still the mid sheep bore

  A man about his belly; the two more

  March’d on his each side for defence. I then,

  Choosing myself the fairest of the den,

  His fleecy belly under-crept, embrac’d

  His back, and in his rich wool wrapt me fast

  With both my hands, arm’d with as fast a mind.

  And thus each man hung, till the morning shin’d;

  Which come, he knew the hour, and let abroad

  His male-flocks first; the females unmilk’d stood

  Bleating and braying, their full bags so sore

  With being unemptied, but their shepherd more

  With being unsighted, which was cause his mind

  Went not a-milking. He, to wreak inclin’d,

  The backs felt, as they pass’d, of those male dams –

  Gross fool, believing we would ride his rams!

  Nor ever knew that any of them bore

  Upon his belly any man before.

  The last ram came to pass him, with his wool

  And me together loaded to the full,

  For there did I hang; and that ram he stay’d,

  And me withal had in his hands, my head

  Troubled the while, not causelessly, nor least.

  This ram he grop’d, and talk’d to: ‘Lazy beast!

  Why last art thou now? Thou hast never us’d

  To lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruis’d

  The tender blossom of a flower, and held

  State in thy steps, both to the flood and field;

  First still at fold at ev’n, now last remain?

  Dost thou not wish I had mine eye again,

  Which that abhorr’d man No-Man did put out,

  Assisted by his execrable rout,

  When he had wrought me down with wine? But he

  Must not escape my wreak so cunningly.

  I would to heav’n thou knew’st, and could but speak,

  To tell me where he lurks now! I would break

  His brain about my cave, strew’d here and there,

  To ease my heart of those foul ills, that were

  Th’ inflictions of a man I priz’d at nought.’

  Thus let he him abroad; when I, once brought

  A little from his hold, myself first loos’d,

  And next my friends. Then drave we, and dispos’d,

  His straight-legg’d fat fleece-bearers over land,

  Ev’n till they all were in my ship’s command;

  And to our lov’d friends show’d our pray’d-for sight,

  Escap’d from death. But, for our loss, outright

  They brake in tears; which with a look I stay’d,

  And bade them take our boot in. They obey’d,

  And up we all went, sat, and used our oars.

  But having left as far the savage shores

  As one might hear a voice, we then might see

  The Cyclop at the hav’n; when instantly

  I stay’d our oars, and this insultance us’d:

  ‘Cyclop! Thou shouldst not have so much abus’d

  Thy monstrous forces, to oppose their least

  Against a man immartial, and a guest,

  And eat his fellows. Thou mightst know there were

  Some ills behind, rude swain, for thee to bear,

  That fear’d not to devour thy guests, and break

  All laws of humans. Jove sends therefore wreak,

  And all the gods, by me.’ This blew the more

  His burning fury; when the top he tore

  From off a huge rock, and so right a throw

  Made at our ship, that just before the prow

  It overflew and fell, miss’d mast and all

  Exceeding little; but about the fall

  So fierce a wave it rais’d, that back it bore

  Our ship so far, it almost touch’d the shore.

  A bead-hook then, a far-extended one,

  I snatch’d up, thrust hard, and so set us gone

  Some little way; and straight commanded all

  To help me with their oars, on pain to fall

  Again on our confusion. But a sign

  I with my head made, and their oars were mine

  In all performance. When we off were set

  (Than first, twice further), my heart was so great,

  It would again provoke him, but my men

  On all sides rush’d about me, to contain,

  And said: ‘Unhappy! Why will you provoke

  A man so rude, that with so dead a stroke,

  Giv’n with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back

  Our ship so far, and near had forc’d our wrack?

  Should he again but hear your voice resound,

  And any word reach, thereby would be found

  His dart’s direction, which would, in his fall,

  Crush piece-meal us, quite split our ship and all,

  So much dart wields the monster.’ Thus urg’d they

  Impossible things, in fear; but I gave way

  To that wrath which so long I held depress’d,

  By great necessity conquer’d, in my breast:

  ‘Cyclop! If any ask thee, who impos’d

  Th’ unsightly blemish that thine eye enclos’d,

  Say that Ulysses, old Laertes’ son,

  Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won

  Surname of city-raser, bored it out.’

  At this, he bray’d so loud, that round about

  He drave affrighted echoes through the air,

  And said: ‘O beast! I was premonish’d fair,

  By aged prophecy, in one that was

  A great and good man, this should come to pass;

  And how ’tis prov’d now! Augur Telemus,

  Surnam’d Eurymides (that spent with us

  His age in augury, and did exceed

  In all presage of truth) said all this deed

  Should this event take, author’d by the hand

  Of one Ulysses, who I thought was mann’d

  With great and goodly personage, and bore

  A virtue answerable; and this shore

  Should shake with weight of such a conqueror;

  When now a weakling came, a dwarfy thing,

  A thing of nothing; who yet wit did bring,

  That brought supply to all, and with his wine

  Put out the flame where all my light did shine.

  Come, lan
d again, Ulysses, that my hand

  May guest-rites give thee, and the great command,

  That Neptune hath at sea, I may convert

  To the deduction where abides thy heart,

  With my solicitings; whose son I am,

  And whose fame boasts to bear my father’s name.

  Nor think my hurt offends me, for my sire

  Can soon repose in it the visual fire,

  At his free pleasure; which no power beside

  Can boast, of men, or of the deified.’

  I answer’d: ‘Would to god I could compel

  Both life and soul from thee, and send to hell

  Those spoils of nature! Hardly Neptune then

  Could cure thy hurt, and give thee all again.’

  Then flew fierce vows to Neptune, both his hands

  To star-born heav’n cast: ‘O thou that all lands

  Gird’st in thy ambient circle, and in air

  Shak’st the curl’d tresses of thy sapphire hair,

  If I be thine, or thou mayst justly vaunt

  Thou art my father, hear me now, and grant

  That this Ulysses, old Laertes’ son,

  That dwells in Ithaca, and name hath won

  Of city-ruiner, may never reach

  His natural region. Or if to fetch

  That, and the sight of his fair roofs and friends,

  Be fatal to him, let him that amends

  For all his miseries, long time and ill,

  Smart for, and fail of; nor that fate fulfill,

  Till all his soldiers quite are cast away

  In others’ ships. And when, at last, the day

  Of his sole-landing shall his dwelling show,

  Let detriment prepare him wrongs enow.’

  Thus pray’d he Neptune; who, his sire, appear’d,

  And all his pray’r to every syllable heard.

  But then a rock, in size more amplified

  Than first, he ravish’d to him, and implied

  A dismal strength in it, when, wheel’d about,

  He sent it after us; nor flew it out

  From any blind aim, for a little pass

  Beyond our fore-deck from the fall there was,

  With which the sea our ship gave back upon,

  And shrunk up into billows from the stone,

  Our ship again repelling near as near

  The shore as first. But then our rowers were,

  Being warn’d, more arm’d, and stronglier stemm’d the flood

  That bore back on us, till our ship made good

  The other island, where our whole fleet lay,

  In which our friends lay mourning for our stay,

  And every minute look’d when we should land.

  Where, now arriv’d, we drew up to the sand,

  The Cyclops’ sheep dividing, that none there

  Of all our privates might be wrung, and bear

  Too much on pow’r. The ram yet was alone

  By all my friends made all my portion

  Above all others; and I made him then

  A sacrifice for me and all my men

  To cloud-compelling Jove that all commands,

  To whom I burn’d the thighs; but my sad hands

  Receiv’d no grace from him, who studied how

  To offer men and fleet to overthrow.

  All day, till sun-set, yet we sat and eat,

  And liberal store took in of wine and meat.

  The sun then down, anal place resign’d to shade,

  We slept. Morn came, my men I rais’d, and made

  All go aboard, weigh anchor, and away.

  They boarded, sat, and beat the aged sea,

  And forth we made sail, sad for loss before,

  And yet had comfort since we lost no more.

  The end of the ninth book

  Book 10

  The Argument

  Ulysses now relates to us

  The grace he had with Aeolus,

  Great guardian of the hollow winds;

  Which in a leather bag he binds,

  And gives Ulysses; all but one,

  Which Zephyr was, who fill’d alone

  Ulysses’ sails. The bag once seen,

  While he slept, by Ulysses’ men,

  They thinking it did gold enclose,

  To find it, all the winds did loose,

  Who back flew to their guard again.

  Forth sail’d he, and did next attain

  To where the Laestrygonians dwell;

  Where he elev’n ships lost, and fell

  On the Aeaean coast, whose shore

  He sends Eurylochus t’ explore,

  Dividing with him half his men;

  Who go, and turn no more again,

  All, save Eurylochus, to swine

  By Circe turn’d. Their stays incline

  Ulysses to their search; who got

  Of Mercury an antidote,

  Which moly was, ’gainst Circe’s charms,

  And so avoids his soldiers’ harms.

  A year with Circe all remain,

  And then their native forms regain.

  On utter shores a time they dwell,

  While Ithacus descends to hell.

  Another Argument

  Kappa

  Great Aeolus

  And Circe, friends

  Finds Ithacus;

  And hell descends.

  Book 10

  To the Aeolian island we attain’d,

  That swum about still on the sea, where reign’d

  The god-lov’d Aeolus Hippotades.

  A wall of steel it had, and in the seas

  A wave-beat-smooth rock moved about the wall.

  Twelve children in his house imperial

  Were born to him; of which six daughters were,

  And six were sons, that youth’s sweet flower did bear.

  His daughters to his sons he gave as wives;

  Who spent in feastful comforts all their lives,

  Close seated by their sire and his grave spouse.

  Past number were the dishes that the house

  Made ever savour; and still full the hall

  As long as day shin’d; in the night-time, all

  Slept with their chaste wives, each his fair carv’d bed

  Most richly furnish’d; and this life they led.

  We reach’d the city and fair roofs of these,

  Where, a whole month’s time, all things that might please

  The king vouchsaf’d us; of great Troy inquir’d,

  The Grecian fleet, and how the Greeks retir’d.

  To all which I gave answer as behov’d.

  The fit time come when I dismission mov’d,

  He nothing would deny me, but address’d

  My pass with such a bounty, as might best

  Teach me contentment; for he did enfold

  Within an ox-hide, flay’d at nine years old,

  All th’ airy blasts that were of stormy kinds.

  Saturnius made him steward of his winds,

  And gave him power to raise and to assuage.

  And these he gave me, curb’d thus of their rage,

  Which in a glittering silver band I bound,

  And hung up in my ship, enclos’d so round

  That no egression any breath could find;

  Only he left abroad the Western wind,

  To speed our ships and us with blasts secure.

  But our securities made all unsure;

  Nor could he consummate our c
ourse alone,

  When all the rest had got egression;

  Which thus succeeded: nine whole days and nights

  We sail’d in safety; and the tenth, the lights

  Borne on our country earth we might descry,

  So near we drew; and yet even then fell I,

  Being overwatch’d, into a fatal sleep,

  For I would suffer no man else to keep

  The foot that ruled my vessel’s course, to lead

  The faster home. My friends then envy fed

  About the bag I hung up, and suppos’d

  That gold and silver I had there enclos’d,

  As gift from Aeolus, and said: ‘O heav’n!

  What grace and grave price is by all men giv’n

  To our commander! Whatsoever coast

  Or town he comes to, how much he engrost

  Of fair and precious prey, and brought from Troy!

  We the same voyage went, and yet enjoy

  In our return these empty hands for all.

  This bag, now, Aeolus was so liberal

  To make a guest-gift to him; let us try

  Of what consists the fair-bound treasury,

  And how much gold and silver it contains.’

  Ill counsel present approbation gains.

  They op’d the bag, and out the vapours brake,

  When instant tempest did our vessel take,

  That bore us back to sea, to mourn anew

  Our absent country. Up amaz’d I flew,

  And desperate things discours’d: if I should cast

  Myself to ruin in the seas, or taste

  Amongst the living more moan, and sustain?

  Silent, I did so, and lay hid again

  Beneath the hatches, while an ill wind took

  My ships back to Aeolia, my men strook

  With woe enough. We pump’d and landed then,

  Took food, for all this; and of all my men

  I took a herald to me, and away

  Went to the court of Aeolus, where they

  Were feasting still: he, wife, and children, set

  Together close. We would not at their meat

  Thrust in, but humbly on the threshold sat.

  He then, amaz’d, my presence wonder’d at,

  And call’d to me: ‘Ulysses! How thus back

  Art thou arriv’d here? What foul spirit brake

  Into thy bosom, to retire thee thus?

  We thought we had deduction curious

  Given thee before, to reach thy shore and home.

  Did it not like thee?’ I, ev’n overcome

  With worthy sorrow, answer’d: ‘My ill men

  Have done me mischief, and to them hath been