The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

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The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) Page 98

by Homer


  The minds of all men, whom they can acquaint

  With their attractions. Whomsoever shall,

  For want of knowledge mov’d, but hear the call

  Of any Siren, he will so despise

  Both wife and children, for their sorceries,

  That never home turns his affection’s stream,

  Nor they take joy in him, nor he in them.

  The Sirens will so soften with their song

  (Shrill, and in sensual appetite so strong)

  His loose affections, that he gives them head.

  And then observe: they sit amidst a mead,

  And round about it runs a hedge or wall

  Of dead men’s bones, their wither’d skins and all

  Hung all along upon it; and these men

  Were such as they had fawn’d into their fen,

  And then their skins hung on their hedge of bones.

  Sail by them therefore, thy companions

  Beforehand causing to stop every ear

  With sweet soft wax, so close that none may hear

  A note of all their charmings. Yet may you,

  If you affect it, open ear allow

  To try their motion; but presume not so

  To trust your judgment, when your senses go

  So loose about you, but give straight command

  To all your men, to bind you foot and hand

  Sure to the mast, that you may safe approve

  How strong in instigation to their love

  Their rapting tunes are. If so much they move,

  That, spite of all your reason, your will stands

  To be enfranchis’d both of feet and hands,

  Charge all your men before to slight your charge,

  And rest so far from fearing to enlarge

  That much more sure they bind you. When your friends

  Have outsail’d these, the danger that transcends

  Rests not in any counsel to prevent,

  Unless your own mind finds the tract and bent

  Of that way that avoids it. I can say

  That in your course there lies a twofold way,

  The right of which your own, taught, present wit,

  And grace divine, must prompt. In general yet

  Let this inform you: near these Sirens’ shore

  Move two steep rocks, at whose feet lie and roar

  The black sea’s cruel billows; the bless’d gods

  Call them the Rovers. Their abhorr’d abodes

  No bird can pass – no, not the doves, whose fear

  Sire Jove so loves that they are said to bear

  Ambrosia to him, can their ravine ’scape,

  But one of them falls ever to the rape

  Of those sly rocks; yet Jove another still

  Adds to the rest, that so may ever fill

  The sacred number. Never ship could shun

  The nimble peril wing’d there, but did run

  With all her bulk, and bodies of her men,

  To utter ruin. For the seas retain

  Not only their outrageous testure there,

  But fierce assistants of particular fear

  And supernatural mischief they expire,

  And those are whirlwinds of devouring fire

  Whisking about still. Th’ Argive ship alone,

  Which bore the care of all men, got her gone,

  Come from Areta. Yet perhaps ev’n she

  Had wrack’d at those rocks, if the deity

  That lies by Jove’s side, had not lent her hand

  To their transmission, since the man that mann’d

  In chief that voyage, she in chief did love.

  Of these two spiteful rocks, the one doth shove

  Against the height of heav’n her pointed brow.

  A black cloud binds it round, and never show

  Lends to the sharp point; not the clear blue sky

  Lets ever view it, not the summer’s eye,

  Not fervent autumn’s. None that death could end

  Could ever scale it, or, if up, descend,

  Though twenty hands and feet he had for hold,

  A polish’d ice-like glibness doth enfold

  The rock so round, whose midst a gloomy cell

  Shrouds so far westward that it sees to hell.

  From this keep you as far as from his bow

  An able young man can his shaft bestow.

  For here the whuling Scylla shrouds her face,

  That breathes a voice at all parts no more base

  Than are a newly-kitten’d kitling’s cries,

  Herself a monster yet of boundless size,

  Whose sight would nothing please a mortal’s eyes –

  No, nor the eyes of any god, if he

  (Whom nought should fright) fell foul on her, and she

  Her full shape show’d. Twelve foul feet bear about

  Her ugly bulk. Six huge long necks look out

  Of her rank shoulders; every neck doth let

  A ghastly head out; every head three set,

  Thick thrust together, of abhorred teeth,

  And every tooth stuck with a sable death.

  She lurks in midst of all her den, and streaks

  From out a ghastly whirlpool all her necks;

  Where, gloting round her rock, to fish she falls;

  And up rush dolphins, dogfish, somewhiles whales,

  If got within her when her rapine feeds;

  For ever-groaning Amphitrite breeds

  About her whirlpool an unmeasur’d store.

  No sea-man ever boasted touch of shore

  That there touch’d with his ship, but still she fed

  Of him and his, a man for every head

  Spoiling his ship of. You shall then descry

  The other humbler rock, that moves so nigh

  Your dart may mete the distance. It receives

  A huge wild fig-tree, curl’d with ample leaves,

  Beneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits,

  Supping the black deeps – thrice a day her pits

  She drinking all dry, and thrice a day again

  All up she belches, baneful to sustain.

  When she is drinking, dare not near her draught,

  For not the force of Neptune, if once caught,

  Can force your freedom. Therefore in your strife

  To ’scape Charybdis, labour all for life

  To row near Scylla, for she will but have

  For her six heads six men; and better save

  The rest, than all make off’rings to the wave.’

  This need she told me of my loss, when I

  Desir’d to know, if that Necessity,

  When I had ’scaped Charybdis’ outrages,

  My powers might not revenge, though not redress.

  She answer’d: ‘O unhappy! Art thou yet

  Enflam’d with war, and thirst to drink thy sweat?

  Not to the gods give up both arms and will?

  She deathless is, and that immortal ill

  Grave, harsh, outrageous, not to be subdu’d,

  That men must suffer till they be renew’d.

  Nor lives there any virtue that can fly

  The vicious outrage of their cruelty.

  Shouldst thou put arms on, and approach the rock,

  I fear six more must expiate the shock.

  Six heads six men ask still. Hoise sail, and fly,

  And, in thy flight, aloud on Cratis cry

  (Great Scylla’s mother, who expos’d to light


  The bane of men) and she will do such right

  To thy observance, that she down will tread

  Her daughter’s rage, nor let her show a head.

  From thenceforth then, for ever past her care,

  Thou shalt ascend the isle triangular,

  Where many oxen of the Sun are fed,

  And fatted flocks. Of oxen fifty head

  In every herd feed, and their herds are seven;

  And of his fat flocks is their number even.

  Increase they yield not, for they never die.

  There every shepherdess a deity –

  Fair Phaëthusa and Lampetië

  The lovely nymphs are that their guardians be,

  Who to the daylight’s lofty-going flame

  Had gracious birthright from the heav’nly dame,

  Still-young Neaera; who (brought forth and bred)

  Far off dismiss’d them, to see duly fed

  Their father’s herds and flocks in Sicily.

  These herds and flocks if to the deity

  Ye leave, as sacred things, untouch’d, and on

  Go with all fit care of your home, alone,

  (Though through some suff’rance) you yet safe shall land

  In wished Ithaca. But if impious hand

  You lay on those herds to their hurts, I then

  Presage sure ruin to thy ship and men.

  If thou escap’st thyself, extending home

  Thy long’d-for landing, thou shalt loaded come

  With store of losses, most exceeding late,

  And not consorted with a saved mate.’

  This said, the golden-thron’d Aurora rose,

  She her way went, and I did mine dispose

  Up to my ship, weigh’d anchor, and away;

  When reverend Circe help’d us to convey

  Our vessel safe, by making well inclin’d

  A seaman’s true companion, a forewind,

  With which she fill’d our sails; when, fitting all

  Our arms close by us, I did sadly fall

  To grave relation what concern’d in fate

  My friends to know, and told them that the state

  Of our affairs’ success, which Circe had

  Presag’d to me alone, must yet be made

  To one nor only two known, but to all;

  That, since their lives and deaths were left to fall

  In their elections, they might life elect,

  And give what would preserve it fit effect.

  I first inform’d them, that we were to fly

  The heav’nly-singing Sirens’ harmony,

  And flow’r-adorned meadow; and that I

  Had charge to hear their song, but fetter’d fast

  In bands, unfavour’d, to th’ erected mast,

  From whence, if I should pray, or use command,

  To be enlarg’d, they should with much more band

  Contain my strugglings. This I simply told

  To each particular, nor would withhold

  What most enjoin’d mine own affection’s stay,

  That theirs the rather might be taught t’ obey.

  In mean time flew our ships, and straight we fetch’d

  The Sirens’ isle, a spleenless wind so stretch’d

  Her wings to waft us, and so urg’d our keel.

  But having reach’d this isle, we could not feel

  The least gasp of it, it was stricken dead,

  And all the sea in prostrate slumber spread,

  The Sirens’ devil charm’d all. Up then flew

  My friends to work, struck sail, together drew

  And under hatches stow’d them, sat and plied

  The polish’d oars, and did in curls divide

  The white-head waters. My part then came on:

  A mighty waxen cake I set upon,

  Chopp’d it in fragments with my sword, and wrought

  With strong hand every piece till all were soft.

  The great power of the sun, in such a beam

  As then flew burning from his diadem,

  To liquefaction help’d us. Orderly

  I stopp’d their ears; and they as fair did ply

  My feet and hands with cords, and to the mast

  With other halsers made me soundly fast.

  Then took they seat, and forth our passage strook;

  The foamy sea beneath their labour shook.

  Row’d on in reach of an erected voice,

  The Sirens soon took note, without, our noise,

  Tun’d those sweet accents that made charms so strong,

  And these learn’d numbers made the Sirens’ song:

  ‘Come here, thou worthy of a world of praise,

  That dost so high the Grecian glory raise,

  Ulysses! Stay thy ship, and that song hear

  That none pass’d ever but it bent his ear,

  But left him ravish’d, and instructed more

  By us, than any ever heard before.

  For we know all things whatsoever were

  In wide Troy labour’d; whatsoever there

  The Grecians and the Trojans both sustain’d

  By those high issues that the gods ordain’d.

  And whatsoever all the earth can show

  T’ inform a knowledge of desert, we know.’

  This they gave accent in the sweetest strain

  That ever open’d an enamour’d vein;

  When my constrain’d heart needs would have mine ear

  Yet more delighted, force way forth, and hear.

  To which end I commanded with all sign

  Stern looks could make (for not a joint of mine

  Had pow’r to stir) my friends to rise, and give

  My limbs free way. They freely striv’d to drive

  Their ship still on; when, far from will to loose,

  Eurylochus and Perimedes rose

  To wrap me surer, and oppress’d me more

  With many a halser than had use before.

  When, rowing on without the reach of sound,

  My friends unstopp’d their cars, and me unbound,

  And that isle quite we quitted. But again

  Fresh fears employ’d us. I beheld a main

  Of mighty billows, and a smoke ascend,

  A horrid murmur hearing. Every friend

  Astonish’d sat; from every hand his oar

  Fell quite forsaken; with the dismal roar

  Were all things there made echoes; stone still stood

  Our ship itself, because the ghastly flood

  Took all men’s motions from her in their own.

  I through the ship went, labouring up and down

  My friends’ recover’d spirits. One by one

  I gave good words, and said: that well were known

  These ills to them before, I told them all,

  And that these could not prove more capital

  Than those the Cyclops block’d us up in, yet

  My virtue, wit, and heav’n-help’d counsels set

  Their freedoms open. I could not believe

  But they remember’d it, and wish’d them give

  My equal care and means now equal trust.

  The strength they had for stirring up they must

  Rouse and extend, to try if Jove had laid

  His pow’rs in theirs up, and would add his aid

  To ’scape ev’n that death. In particular then,

  I told our pilot, that past other men

  He most must bear firm spirits, since he sway’d
r />   The continent that all our spirits convey’d,

  In his whole guide of her. He saw there boil

  The fiery whirlpools that to all our spoil

  Inclos’d a rock, without which he must steer,

  Or all our ruins stood concluded there.

  All heard me and obey’d, and little knew

  That, shunning that rock, six of them should rue

  The wrack another hid. For I conceal’d

  The heavy wounds, that never would be heal’d,

  To be by Scylla open’d; for their fear

  Would then have robb’d all of all care to steer,

  Or stir an oar, and made them hide beneath,

  When they and all had died an idle death.

  But then ev’n I forgot to shun the harm

  Circe forewarn’d; who will’d I should not arm,

  Nor show myself to Scylla, lest in vain

  I ventur’d life. Yet could not I contain,

  But arm’d at all parts, and two lances took,

  Up to the foredeck went, and thence did look

  That rocky Scylla would have first appear’d,

  And taken my life with the friends I fear’d.

  From thence yet no place could afford her sight,

  Though through the dark rock mine eye threw her light,

  And ransack’d all ways. I then took a strait

  That gave myself, and some few more, receipt

  ’Twixt Scylla and Charybdis; whence we saw

  How horridly Charybdis’ throat did draw

  The brackish sea up, which when all abroad

  She spit again out, never cauldron sod

  With so much fervour, fed with all the store

  That could enrage it; all the rock did roar

  With troubled waters; round about the tops

  Of all the steep crags flew the foamy drops.

  But when her draught the sea and earth dissunder’d,

  The troubled bottoms turn’d up, and she thunder’d,

  Far under shore the swart sands naked lay;

  Whose whole stern sight the startled blood did bay

  From all our faces. And while we on her

  Our eyes bestow’d thus to our ruin’s fear,

  Six friends had Scylla snatch’d out of our keel,

  In whom most loss did force and virtue feel.

  When looking to my ship, and lending eye

  To see my friends’ estates, their heels turn’d high,

  And hands cast up, I might discern, and hear

  Their calls to me for help, when now they were

  To try me in their last extremities.

  And as an angler med’cine for surprise

 

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