The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

Thou may’st with all respect be, and procure

  Thy fellows’ freedoms. But before, make sure

  Her favours to thee; and the great oath take

  With which the blessed gods assurance make

  Of all they promise, that no prejudice

  (By stripping thee of form and faculties)

  She may so much as once attempt on thee.’

  This said, he gave his antidote to me,

  Which from the earth he pluck’d, and told me all

  The virtue of it, with what deities call

  The name it bears; and moly they impose

  For name to it. The root is hard to loose

  From hold of earth by mortals, but god’s pow’r

  Can all things do. ’Tis black, but bears a flow’r

  As white as milk. And thus flew Mercury

  Up to immense Olympus, gliding by

  The sylvan island. I made back my way

  To Circe’s house, my mind of my assay

  Much thought revolving. At her gates I stay’d

  And call’d; she heard, and her bright doors display’d,

  Invited, led; I follow’d in, but trac’d

  With some distraction. In a throne she plac’d

  My welcome person; of a curious frame

  ’Twas, and so bright I sat as in a flame,

  A foot-stool added. In a golden bowl

  She then suborn’d a potion, in her soul

  Deform’d things thinking; for amidst the wine

  She mix’d her man-transforming medicine;

  Which when she saw I had devour’d, she then

  No more observ’d me with her soothing vein,

  But struck me with her rod, and to her sty

  Bad ‘Out, away, and with thy fellows lie.’

  I drew my sword, and charg’d her, as I meant

  To take her life. When out she cried, and bent

  Beneath my sword her knees, embracing mine,

  And, full of tears, said: ‘Who, of what high line,

  Art thou the issue? Whence? What shores sustain

  Thy native city? I amaz’d remain

  That, drinking these my venoms, th’ art not turn’d.

  Never drunk any this cup but he mourn’d

  In other likeness, if it once had pass’d

  The ivory bounders of his tongue and taste.

  All but thyself are brutishly declin’d.

  Thy breast holds firm yet, and unchanged thy mind.

  Thou canst be therefore none else but the man

  Of many virtues, Ithacensian,

  Deep-soul’d Ulysses, who, I oft was told

  By that sly god that bears the rod of gold,

  Was to arrive here in retreat from Troy.

  Sheathe then thy sword, and let my bed enjoy

  So much a man, that when the bed we prove,

  We may believe in one another’s love.’

  I then: ‘O Circe, why entreat’st thou me

  To mix in any human league with thee,

  When thou my friends hast beasts turn’d, and thy bed

  Tender’st to me, that I might likewise lead

  A beast’s life with thee, soften’d, naked stripp’d,

  That in my blood thy banes may more be steep’d?

  I never will ascend thy bed before

  I may affirm, that in heav’n’s sight you swore

  The great oath of the gods, that all attempt

  To do me ill is from your thoughts exempt.’

  I said, she swore, when, all the oath-rites said,

  I then ascended her adorned bed,

  But thus prepar’d: four handmaids serv’d her there

  That daughters to her silver fountains were,

  To her bright-sea-observing sacred floods,

  And to her uncut consecrated woods.

  One deck’d the throne-tops with rich cloths of state,

  And did with silks the foot-pace consecrate.

  Another silver tables set before

  The pompous throne, and golden dishes’ store

  Serv’d in with several feast. A third fill’d wine.

  The fourth brought water, and made fuel shine

  In ruddy fires beneath a womb of brass.

  Which heat, I bath’d; and odorous water was

  Disperpled lightly on my head and neck,

  That might my late heart-hurting sorrows check

  With the refreshing sweetness; and, for that,

  Men sometimes may be something delicate.

  Bath’d, and adorn’d, she led me to a throne

  Of massy silver, and of fashion

  Exceeding curious. A fair foot-stool set,

  Water appos’d, and every sort of meat

  Set on th’ elaborately-polish’d board,

  She wish’d my taste employ’d, but not a word

  Would my ears taste of taste; my mind had food

  That must digest, eye meat would do me good.

  Circe (observing that I put no hand

  To any banquet, having countermand

  From weightier cares the light cates could excuse)

  Bowing her near me, these wing’d words did use:

  ‘Why sits Ulysses like one dumb, his mind

  Lessening with languors? Nor to food inclin’d,

  Nor wine? Whence comes it? Out of any fear

  Of more illusion? You must needs forbear

  That wrongful doubt, since you have heard me swear.’

  ‘O Circe!’ I replied, ‘what man is he,

  Aw’d with the rights of true humanity,

  That dares taste food or wine, before he sees

  His friends redeem’d from their deformities?

  If you be gentle, and indeed incline

  To let me taste the comfort of your wine,

  Dissolve the charms that their forc’d forms enchain,

  And show me here my honour’d friends like men.’

  This said, she left her throne, and took her rod,

  Went to her sty, and let my men abroad,

  Like swine of nine years old. They opposite stood,

  Observ’d their brutish form, and look’d for food;

  When, with another med’cine, every one

  All over smear’d, their bristles all were gone,

  Produc’d by malice of the other bane,

  And every one, afresh, look’d up a man,

  Both younger than they were, of stature more,

  And all their forms much goodlier than before.

  All knew me, cling’d about me, and a cry

  Of pleasing mourning flew about so high

  The horrid roof resounded; and the queen

  Herself was mov’d to see our kind so keen,

  Who bad me now bring ship and men ashore,

  Our arms and goods in caves hid, and restore

  Myself to her, with all my other men.

  I granted, went, and op’d the weeping vein

  In all my men; whose violent joy to see

  My safe return was, passing kindly, free

  Of friendly tears, and miserably wept.

  You have not seen young heifers (highly kept,

  Fill’d full of daisies at the field, and driv’n

  Home to their hovels, all so spritely giv’n

  That no room can contain them, but about

  Bace by the dams, and let their spirits out

  In ceaseless bleating) of more jocund plight

  Than my kind friends, ev’n crying out with sight

  Of my r
eturn so doubted; circled me

  With all their welcomes, and as cheerfully

  Dispos’d their rapt minds, as if there they saw

  Their natural country, cliffy Ithaca,

  And even the roofs where they were bred and born,

  And vow’d as much, with tears: ‘O your return

  As much delights us as in you had come

  Our country to us, and our natural home.

  But what unhappy fate hath reft our friends?’

  I gave unlook’d for answer, that amends

  Made for their mourning, bad them first of all

  Our ship ashore draw, then in caverns stall

  Our foody cattle, hide our mutual prize,

  ‘And then,’ said I, ‘attend me, that your eyes

  In Circe’s sacred house may see each friend

  Eating and drinking banquets out of end.’

  They soon obey’d; all but Eurylochus,

  Who needs would stay them all, and counsell’d thus:

  ‘O wretches! Whither will ye? Why are you

  Fond of your mischiefs, and such gladness show

  For Circe’s house, that will transform ye all

  To swine, or wolves, or lions? Never shall

  Our heads get out, if once within we be,

  But stay compell’d by strong necessity.

  So wrought the Cyclop, when t’ his cave our friends

  This bold one led on, and brought all their ends

  By his one indiscretion.’ I for this

  Thought with my sword (that desperate head of his

  Hewn from his neck) to gash upon the ground

  His mangled body, though my blood was bound

  In near alliance to him. But the rest

  With humble suit contain’d me, and request,

  That I would leave him with my ship alone,

  And to the sacred palace lead them on.’

  I led them; nor Eurylochus would stay

  From their attendance on me, our late fray

  Struck to his heart so. But mean time, my men,

  In Circe’s house, were all, in several bain,

  Studiously sweeten’d, smug’d with oil, and deck’d

  With in and out weeds, and a feast secret

  Serv’d in before them; at which close we found

  They all were set, cheer’d, and carousing round.

  When mutual sight had, and all thought on, then

  Feast was forgotten, and the moan again

  About the house flew, driv’n with wings of joy.

  But then spake Circe: ‘Now, no more annoy.

  I know myself what woes by sea and shore,

  And men unjust, have plagu’d enough before

  Your injur’d virtues. Here then feast as long,

  And be as cheerful, till ye grow as strong

  As when ye first forsook your country earth.

  Ye now fare all like exiles; not a mirth

  Flash’d in amongst ye but is quench’d again

  With still-renew’d tears, though the beaten vein

  Of your distresses should, methink, be now

  Benumb with suff’rance.’ We did well allow

  Her kind persuasions, and the whole year stay’d

  In varied feast with her. When now array’d

  The world was with the spring, and orby hours

  Had gone the round again through herbs and flow’rs,

  The months absolv’d in order, till the days

  Had run their full race in Apollo’s rays,

  My friends remember’d me of home, and said,

  If ever fate would sign my pass, delay’d

  It should be now no more. I heard them well,

  Yet that day spent in feast, till darkness fell,

  And sleep his virtues through our vapours shed,

  When I ascended sacred Circe’s bed,

  Implored my pass, and her performed vow

  Which now my soul urg’d, and my soldiers now

  Afflicted me with tears to get them gone.

  All these I told her, and she answer’d these:

  ‘Much skill’d Ulysses Laertiades!

  Remain no more against your wills with me,

  But take your free way; only this must be

  Perform’d before you steer your course for home:

  You must the way to Pluto overcome,

  And stern Persephone, to form your pass,

  By th’ aged Theban soul Tiresias,

  The dark-brow’d prophet, whose soul yet can see

  Clearly and firmly; grave Persephone,

  Ev’n dead, gave him a mind, that he alone

  Might sing truth’s solid wisdom, and not one

  Prove more than shade in his comparison.’

  This broke my heart; I sunk into my bed,

  Mourn’d, and would never more be comforted

  With light, nor life. But having now express’d

  My pains enough to her in my unrest,

  That so I might prepare her ruth, and get

  All I held fit for an affair so great,

  I said: ‘O Circe, who shall steer my course

  To Pluto’s kingdom? Never ship had force

  To make that voyage.’ The divine-in-voice

  Said: ‘Seek no guide; raise you your mast, and hoise

  Your ship’s white sails, and then sit you at peace,

  The fresh North Spirit shall waft ye through the seas.

  But, having past the ocean, you shall see

  A little shore, that to Persephone

  Puts up a consecrated wood, where grows

  Tall firs, and sallows that their fruits soon loose.

  Cast anchor in the gulfs, and go alone

  To Pluto’s dark house, where to Acheron

  Cocytus runs, and Pyriphlegethon –

  Cocytus born of Styx, and where a rock

  Of both the met floods bears the roaring shock.

  The dark heroë, great Tiresias,

  Now coming near, to gain propitious pass,

  Dig of a cubit every way a pit,

  And pour, to all that are deceas’d, in it

  A solemn sacrifice. For which, first take

  Honey and wine, and their commixtion make,

  Then sweet wine neat, and thirdly water pour,

  And lastly add to these the whitest flour.

  Then vow to all the weak necks of the dead

  Offerings a-number; and, when thou shalt tread

  The Ithacensian shore, to sacrifice

  A heifer never-tam’d, and most of prize,

  A pile of all thy most esteemed goods

  Enflaming to the dear streams of their bloods;

  And, in secret rites, to Tiresias vow

  A ram coal-black at all parts, that doth flow

  With fat and fleece, and all thy flocks doth lead.

  When the all-calling nation of the dead

  Thou thus hast pray’d to, offer on the place

  A ram and ewe all black, being turn’d in face

  To dreadful Erebus, thyself aside

  The flood’s shore walking. And then, gratified

  With flocks of souls of men and dames deceas’d

  Shall all thy pious rites be. Straight address’d

  See then the offering that thy fellows slew,

  Flay’d, and impos’d in fire; and all thy crew

  Pray to the state of either deity,

  Grave Pluto, and severe Persephone.

  Then draw thy sword, stand firm, nor suffer one
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br />   Of all the faint shades of the dead and gone

  T’ approach the blood, till thou hast heard their king,

  The wise Tiresias, who thy offering

  Will instantly do honour, thy home ways,

  And all the measure of them by the seas,

  Amply unfolding.’ This the goddess told;

  And then the Morning in her throne of gold

  Survey’d the vast world; by whose orient light

  The nymph adorn’d me with attires as bright,

  Her own hands putting on both shirt and weed,

  Robes fine and curious, and upon my head

  An ornament that glitter’d like a flame,

  Girt me in gold; and forth betimes I came

  Amongst my soldiers, rous’d them all from sleep,

  And bad them now no more observance keep

  Of ease and feast, but straight a-shipboard fall,

  For now the goddess had inform’d me all.

  Their noble spirits agreed; nor yet so clear

  Could I bring all off, but Elpenor there

  His heedless life left. He was youngest man

  Of all my company, and one that won

  Least fame for arms, as little for his brain;

  Who (too much steep’d in wine, and so made fain

  To get refreshing by the cool of sleep,

  Apart his fellows, plung’d in vapours deep,

  And they as high in tumult of their way)

  Suddenly wak’d and (quite out of the stay

  A sober mind had given him) would descend

  A huge long ladder, forward, and on end

  Fell from the very roof, full pitching on

  The dearest joint his head was placed upon,

  Which quite dissolv’d, let loose his soul to hell.

  I to the rest, and Circe’s means did tell

  Of our return, as crossing clean the hope

  I gave them first, and said: ‘You think the scope

  Of our endeavours now is straight for home.

  No, Circe otherwise design’d, whose doom

  Enjoin’d us first to greet the dreadful house

  Of austere Pluto and his glorious spouse,

  To take the counsel of Tiresias,

  The reverend Theban, to direct our pass.’

  This brake their hearts, and grief made tear their hair.

  But grief was never good at great affair;

  It would have way yet. We went woeful on

  To ship and shore, where was arriv’d as soon

  Circe unseen, a black ewe and a ram

  Binding for sacrifice, and, as she came,

  Vanish’d again unwitness’d by our eyes;

  Which griev’d not us, nor check’d our sacrifice,