The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

  My sleep th’ unhappy motive; but do you,

  Dearest of friends, deign succour to my vow.

  Your pow’rs command it.’ Thus endeavour’d I

  With soft speech to repair my misery.

  The rest with ruth sat dumb. But thus spake he:

  ‘Avaunt, and quickly quit my land of thee,

  Thou worst of all that breathe. It fits not me

  To convoy, and take in, whom heav’ns expose.

  Away, and with thee go the worst of woes,

  That seek’st my friendship, and the gods thy foes.’

  Thus he dismiss’d me sighing. Forth we sail’d,

  At heart afflicted. And now wholly fail’d

  The minds my men sustain’d, so spent they were

  With toiling at their oars, and worse did bear

  Their growing labours – and they caused their grought

  By self-will’d follies – nor now ever thought

  To see their country more. Six nights and days

  We sail’d; the seventh we saw fair Lamos raise

  Her lofty towers, the Laestrigonian state

  That bears her ports so far disterminate;

  Where shepherd shepherd calls out, he at home

  Is call’d out by the other that doth come

  From charge abroad, and then goes he to sleep,

  The other issuing; he whose turn doth keep

  The night observance hath his double hire,

  Since day and night in equal length expire

  About that region, and the night’s watch weigh’d

  At twice the day’s ward, since the charge that’s laid

  Upon the nights-man (besides breach of sleep)

  Exceeds the days-man’s; for one oxen keep,

  The other sheep. But when the hav’n we found

  (Exceeding famous, and environ’d round

  With one continuate rock, which so much bent

  That both ends almost met, so prominent

  They were, and made the hav’n’s mouth passing strait),

  Our whole fleet in we got; in whose receit

  Our ships lay anchor’d close. Nor needed we

  Fear harm on any stays, tranquillity

  So purely sat there, that waves great nor small

  Did ever rise to any height at all.

  And yet would I no entry make, but stay’d

  Alone without the hav’n, and thence survey’d,

  From out a lofty watch-tower raised there,

  The country round about; nor anywhere

  The work of man or beast appear’d to me,

  Only a smoke from earth break I might see.

  I then made choice of two, and added more,

  A herald for associate, to explore

  What sort of men liv’d there. They went, and saw

  A beaten way, through which carts us’d to draw

  Wood from the high hills to the town, and met

  A maid without the port, about to get

  Some near spring-water. She the daughter was

  Of mighty Laestrigonian Antiphas,

  And to the clear spring call’d Artacia went,

  To which the whole town for their water sent.

  To her they came, and ask’d who govern’d there,

  And what the people whom he order’d were?

  She answer’d not, but led them through the port,

  As making haste to show her father’s court.

  Where enter’d, they beheld, to their affright,

  A woman like a mountain-top in height,

  Who rush’d abroad, and from the counsel place

  Call’d home her horrid husband Antiphas.

  Who, deadly minded, straight he snatch’d up one,

  And fell to supper. Both the rest were gone,

  And to the fleet came. Antiphas a cry

  Drave through the city; which heard, instantly

  This way and that innumerable sorts,

  Not men, but giants, issued through the ports,

  And mighty flints from rocks tore, which they threw

  Amongst our ships; through which an ill noise flew

  Of shiver’d ships, and life-expiring men,

  That were, like fishes, by the monsters slain,

  And borne to sad feast. While they slaughter’d these,

  That were engag’d in all th’ advantages

  The close-mouth’d and most dead-calm hav’n could give,

  I, that without lay, made some means to live,

  My sword drew, cut my cables, and to oars

  Set all my men; and, from the plagues those shores

  Let fly amongst us, we made haste to fly,

  My men close working as men loth to die.

  My ship flew freely off; but theirs that lay

  On heaps in harbours could enforce no way

  Through these stern fates that had engag’d them there.

  Forth our sad remnant sail’d, yet still retain’d

  The joys of men, that our poor few remain’d.

  Then to the isle Aeaea we attain’d,

  Where fair-hair’d, dreadful, eloquent Circe reign’d,

  Aeaeta’s sister both by dame and sire,

  Both daughters to heav’n’s man-enlightning fire,

  And Perse, whom Oceanus begat.

  The ship-fit port here soon we landed at,

  Some god directing us. Two days, two nights,

  We lay here pining in the fatal spights

  Of toil and sorrow; but the next third day

  When fair Aurora had inform’d, quick way

  I made out of my ship, my sword and lance

  Took for my surer guide, and made advance

  Up to a prospect; I assay to see

  The works of men, or hear mortality

  Expire a voice. When I had climb’d a height,

  Rough and right hardly accessible, I might

  Behold from Circe’s house, that in a grove

  Set thick with trees stood, a bright vapour move.

  I then grew curious in my thought to try

  Some fit inquiry, when so spritely fly

  I saw the yellow smoke; but my discourse

  A first retiring to my ship gave force,

  To give my men their dinner, and to send

  (Before th’ adventure of myself) some friend.

  Being near my ship, of one so desolate

  Some god had pity, and would recreate

  My woes a little, putting up to me

  A great and high-palm’d hart, that (fatally,

  Just in my way, itself to taste a flood)

  Was then descending; the sun heat had sure

  Importun’d him, besides the temperature

  His natural heat gave. Howsoever, I

  Made up to him, and let my javelin fly,

  That struck him through the mid-part of his chine,

  And made him, braying, in the dust confine

  His flying forces. Forth his spirit flew;

  When I stept in, and from the death’s wound drew

  My shrewdly-bitten lance; there let him lie

  Till I, of cut-up osiers, did imply

  A withe a fathom long, with which his feet

  I made together in a sure league meet,

  Stoop’d under him, and to my neck I heav’d

  The mighty burden, of which I receiv’d

  A good part on my lance, for else I could

  By no means with one hand alone uphold

  (Join’d with one shoulder) such a death
ful load.

  And so, to both my shoulders, both hands stood

  Needful assistants; for it was a deer

  Goodly-well-grown. When (coming something near

  Where rode my ships) I cast it down, and rear’d

  My friends with kind words; whom by name I cheer’d,

  In note particular, and said: ‘See friends,

  We will not yet to Pluto’s house; our ends

  Shall not be hasten’d, though we be declin’d

  In cause of comfort, till the day design’d

  By Fate’s fix’d finger. Come, as long as food

  Or wine lasts in our ship, let’s spirit our blood,

  And quit our care and hunger both in one.’

  This said, they frolick’d, came, and look’d upon

  With admiration the huge-bodied beast;

  And when their first-serv’d eyes had done their feast,

  They wash’d, and made a to-be-striv’d-for meal

  In point of honour. On which all did dwell

  The whole day long. And, to our venison’s store,

  We added wine till we could wish no more.

  Sun set, and darkness up, we slept till light

  Put darkness down; and then did I excite

  My friends to counsel, uttering this: ‘Now, friends,

  Afford unpassionate ear; though ill fate lends

  So good cause to your passion, no man knows

  The reason whence and how the darkness grows;

  The reason how the morn is thus begun;

  The reason how the man-enlight’ning sun

  Dives under earth; the reason how again

  He rears his golden head. Those counsels, then,

  That pass our comprehension, we must leave

  To him that knows their causes, and receive

  Direction from him in our acts, as far

  As he shall please to make them regular,

  And stoop them to our reason. In our state

  What then behoves us? Can we estimate,

  With all our counsels, where we are? Or know

  (Without instruction, past our own skills) how,

  Put off from hence, to steer our course the more?

  I think we cannot. We must then explore

  These parts for information; in which way

  We thus far are: last morn I might display

  (From off a high-rais’d cliff) an island lie

  Girt with th’ unmeasur’d sea, and is so nigh

  That in the midst I saw the smoke arise

  Through tufts of trees. This rests then to advise,

  Who shall explore this?’ This struck dead their hearts,

  Rememb’ring the most execrable parts

  That Laestrigonian Antiphas had play’d,

  And that foul Cyclop that their fellows bray’d

  Betwixt his jaws; which mov’d them so, they cried.

  But idle tears had never wants supplied;

  I in two parts divided all, and gave

  To either part his captain. I must have

  The charge of one; and one of godlike look,

  Eurylochus, the other. Lots we shook,

  Put in a casque together, which of us

  Should lead th’ attempt; and ’twas Eurylochus.

  He freely went, with two and twenty more;

  All which took leave with tears, and our eyes wore

  The same wet badge of weak humanity.

  These in a dale did Circe’s house descry,

  Of bright stone built, in a conspicuous way.

  Before her gates hill-wolves and lions lay;

  Which with her virtuous drugs so tame she made,

  That wolf nor lion would one man invade

  With any violence, but all arose,

  Their huge long tails wagg’d, and in fawns would close,

  As loving dogs, when masters bring them home

  Relics of feast, in all observance come,

  And soothe their entries with their fawns and bounds,

  All guests still bringing some scraps for their hounds:

  So on these men the wolves and lions ramp’d,

  Their horrid paws set up. Their spirits were damp’d

  To see such monstrous kindness, stay’d at gate,

  And heard within the goddess elevate

  A voice divine, as at her web she wrought,

  Subtle, and glorious, and past earthly thought,

  As all the housewif’ries of deities are.

  To hear a voice so ravishingly rare,

  Polites (one exceeding dear to me,

  A prince of men, and of no mean degree

  In knowing virtue, in all acts whose mind

  Discreet cares all ways us’d to turn and wind)

  Was yet surpris’d with it, and said: ‘O friends,

  Some one abides within here, that commends

  The place to us, and breathes a voice divine,

  As she some web wrought, or her spindle’s twine

  She cherish’d with her song; the pavement rings

  With imitation of the tunes she sings.

  Some woman, or some goddess, ’tis. Assay

  To see with knocking.’ Thus said he, and they

  Both knock’d, and call’d; and straight her shining gates

  She open’d, issuing, bade them in to cates.

  Led, and unwise, they follow’d – all but one,

  Which was Eurylochus, who stood alone

  Without the gates, suspicious of a sleight.

  They enter’d, she made sit; and her deceit

  She cloak’d with thrones, and goodly chairs of state;

  Set herby honey, and the delicate

  Wine brought from Smyrna, to them; meal and cheese;

  But harmful venoms she commix’d with these,

  That made their country vanish from their thought.

  Which eat, she touch’d them with a rod that wrought

  Their transformation far past human wonts;

  Swine’s snouts, swine’s bodies took they, bristles, grunts,

  But still retain’d the souls they had before,

  Which made them mourn their bodies’ change the more.

  She shut them straight in sties, and gave them meat:

  Oak-mast, and beech, and cornel fruit, they eat,

  Grovelling like swine on earth, in foulest sort.

  Eurylochus straight hasted the report

  Of this his fellows’ most remorseful fate;

  Came to the ships, but so excruciate

  Was with his woe, he could not speak a word,

  His eyes stood full of tears, which show’d how stor’d

  His mind with moan remain’d. We all admir’d,

  Ask’d what had chanc’d him, earnestly desir’d

  He would resolve us. At the last, our eyes

  Enflam’d in him his fellows’ memories,

  And out his grief burst thus: ‘You will’d; we went

  Through those thick woods you saw, when a descent

  Show’d us a fair house in a lightsome ground,

  Where, at some work, we heard a heavenly sound

  Breathed from a goddess’, or a woman’s, breast.

  They knock’d, she op’d her bright gates, each her guest

  Her fair invitement made; nor would they stay,

  Fools that they were, when she once led the way.

  I enter’d not, suspecting some deceit,

  When all together vanish’d, nor the sight

  Of any one (though long I look’d) m
ine eye

  Could any way discover.’ Instantly,

  My sword and bow reach’d, I bad show the place,

  When down he fell, did both my knees embrace,

  And pray’d with tears thus: ‘O thou kept of god,

  Do not thyself lose, nor to that abode

  Lead others rashly; both thyself and all

  Thou ventur’st thither, I know well must fall

  In one sure ruin. With these few then fly;

  We yet may shun the others’ destiny.’

  I answer’d him: ‘Eurylochus! Stay thou

  And keep the ship then, eat and drink; I now

  Will undertake th’ adventure; there is cause

  In great Necessity’s unalter’d laws.’

  This said, I left both ship and seas, and on

  Along the sacred valleys all alone

  Went in discovery, till at last I came

  Where of the main-medicine-making dame

  I saw the great house; where encounter’d me

  The golden-rod-sustaining Mercury,

  Even ent’ring Circe’s doors. He met me in

  A young man’s likeness, of the first-flower’d chin,

  Whose form hath all the grace of one so young.

  He first call’d to me, then my hand he wrung,

  And said: ‘Thou no-place-finding-for-repose,

  Whither, alone, by these hill-confines goes

  Thy erring foot? Th’ art entering Circe’s house,

  Where, by her med’cines, black and sorcerous,

  Thy soldiers all are shut in well-arm’d sties,

  And turn’d to swine. Art thou arrived with prize

  Fit for their ransoms? Thou com’st out no more,

  If once thou ent’rest, like thy men before

  Made to remain here. But I’ll guard thee free,

  And save thee in her spite. Receive of me

  This fair and good receipt; with which once arm’d,

  Enter her roofs, for th’ art to all proof charm’d

  Against the ill day. I will tell thee all

  Her baneful counsel: with a festival

  She’ll first receive thee, but will spice thy bread

  With flow’ry poisons; yet unaltered

  Shall thy firm form be, for this remedy

  Stands most approv’d ’gainst all her sorcery,

  Which thus particularly shun: when she

  Shall with her long rod strike thee, instantly

  Draw from thy thigh thy sword, and fly on her

  As to her slaughter. She, surpris’d with fear

  And love, at first will bid thee to her bed.

  Nor say the goddess nay, that welcomed