by Homer
Of little fish sits pouring from the rocks,
From out the crook’d horn of a fold-bred ox,
And then with his long angle hoists them high
Up to the air, then slightly hurls them by,
When helpless sprawling on the land they lie:
So easily Scylla to her rock had rapt
My woeful friends, and so unhelp’d entrapp’d
Struggling they lay beneath her violent rape;
Who in their tortures, desp’rate of escape,
Shriek’d as she tore, and up their hands to me
Still threw for sweet life. I did never see,
In all my suff’rance ransacking the seas,
A spectacle so full of miseries.
Thus having fled these rocks (these cruel dames
Scylla, Charybdis), where the king of flames
Hath offerings burn’d to him our ship put in,
The island that from all the earth doth win
The epithet Faultless, where the broad-of-head
And famous oxen for the Sun are fed,
With many fat flocks of that high-gone god.
Set in my ship, mine ear reach’d where we rode
The bellowing of oxen, and the bleat
Of fleecy sheep, that in my memory’s seat
Put up the forms that late had been impress’d
By dread Aeaean Circe, and the best
Of souls and prophets, the blind Theban seer,
The wise Tiresias, who was grave decreer
Of my return’s whole means; of which this one
In chief he urg’d – that I should always shun
The island of the man-delighting Sun.
When, sad at heart for our late loss, I pray’d
My friends to hear fit counsel (though dismay’d
With all ill fortunes) which was giv’n to me
By Circe’s and Tiresias’ prophecy –
That I should fly the isle where was ador’d
The comfort of the world, for ills abhorr’d
Were ambush’d for us there; and therefore will’d
They should put off and leave the isle. This kill’d
Their tender spirits; when Eurylochus
A speech that vex’d me utter’d, answering thus:
‘Cruel Ulysses! Since thy nerves abound
In strength, the more spent, and no toils confound
Thy able limbs, as all beat out of steel,
Thou ablest us too, as unapt to feel
The teeth of labour and the spoil of sleep,
And therefore still wet waste us in the deep,
Nor let us land to eat, but madly now
In night put forth, and leave firm land to strow
The sea with errors. All the rabid flight
Of winds that ruin ships are bred in night.
Who is it that can keep off cruel death,
If suddenly should rush out th’ angry breath
Of Notus, or the eager-spirited West,
That cuff ships dead, and do the gods their best?
Serve black night still with shore, meat, sleep and ease,
And offer to the Morning for the seas.’
This all the rest approv’d, and then knew I
That past all doubt the devil did apply
His slaught’rous works. Nor would they be withheld;
I was but one, nor yielded but compell’d.
But all that might contain them I assay’d,
A sacred oath on all their powers I laid,
That if with herds or any richest flocks
We chanc’d t’ encounter, neither sheep nor ox
We once should touch, nor (for that constant ill
That follows folly) scorn advice and kill,
But quiet sit us down and take such food
As the immortal Circe had bestow’d.
They swore all this in all severest sort;
And then we anchor’d in the winding port
Near a fresh river, where the long’d-for shore
They all flew out to, took in victuals store,
And, being full, thought of their friends, and wept
Their loss by Scylla, weeping till they slept.
In night’s third part, when stars began to stoop,
The Cloud-assembler put a tempest up.
A boist’rous spirit he gave it, drave out all
His flocks of clouds, and let such darkness fall
That earth and seas, for fear, to hide were driv’n,
For with his clouds he thrust out night from heav’n.
At morn we drew our ships into a cave,
In which the nymphs that Phoebus’ cattle drave
Fair dancing-rooms had, and their seats of state.
I urged my friends then, that, to shun their fate,
They would observe their oath, and take the food
Our ship afforded, nor attempt the blood
Of those fair herds and flocks, because they were
The dreadful god’s that all could see and hear.
They stood observant, and in that good mind
Had we been gone; but so adverse the wind
Stood to our passage, that we could not go.
For one whole month perpetually did blow
Impetuous Notus, not a breath’s repair
But his and Eurus’ ruled in all the air.
As long yet as their ruddy wine and bread
Stood out amongst them, so long not a head
Of all those oxen fell in any strife
Amongst those students for the gut and life;
But when their victuals fail’d they fell to prey,
Necessity compell’d them then to stray
In rape of fish and fowl; whatever came
In reach of hand or hook, the belly’s flame
Afflicted to it. I then fell to pray’r,
And (making to a close retreat repair,
Free from both friends and winds) I wash’d my hands
And all the gods besought, that held commands
In liberal heav’n, to yield some mean to stay
Their desp’rate hunger, and set up the way
Of our return restrain’d. The gods, instead
Of giving what I pray’d for – power of deed –
A deedless sleep did on my lids distill,
For mean to work upon my friends their fill.
For whiles I slept there wak’d no mean to curb
Their headstrong wants; which he that did disturb
My rule in chief at all times, and was chief
To all the rest in counsel to their grief,
Knew well, and of my present absence took
His fit advantage, and their iron strook
At highest heat. For, feeling their desire
In his own entrails, to allay the fire
That famine blew in them, he thus gave way
To that affection: ‘Hear what I shall say,
Though words will staunch no hunger. Every death
To us poor wretches that draw temporal breath
You know is hateful; but, all know, to die
The death of famine is a misery
Past all death loathsome. Let us, therefore, take
The chief of this fair herd, and offerings make
To all the deathless that in broad heav’n live,
And in particular vow, if we arrive
In natural Ithaca, to straight erect
A temple to the haughty-in-aspect,
Rich and magn
ificent, and all within
Deck it with relics many and divine.
If yet he stands incens’d, since we have slain
His high-brow’d herd, and therefore will sustain
Desire to wrack our ship, he is but one,
And all the other gods that we atone
With our divine rites will their suffrage give
To our design’d return, and let us live.
If not, and all take part, I rather crave
To serve with one sole death the yawning wave,
Than in a desert island lie and starve,
And with one pin’d life many deaths observe.’
All cried ‘He counsels nobly,’ and all speed
Made to their resolute driving; for the feed
Of those coal-black, fair, broad-brow’d, sun-lov’d beeves
Had place close by our ships. They took the lives
Of sense, most eminent; about their fall
Stood round, and to the states celestial
Made solemn vows, but other rites their ship
Could not afford them; they did, therefore, strip
The curl’d-head oak of fresh young leaves, to make
Supply of service for their barley-cake.
And on the sacredly enflam’d, for wine,
Pour’d purest water, all the parts divine
Spitting and roasting, all the rites beside
Orderly using. Then did light divide
My low and upper lids; when, my repair
Made near my ship, I met the delicate air
Their roast exhal’d; out instantly I cried,
And said: ‘O Jove, and all ye deified,
Ye have oppress’d me with a cruel sleep,
While ye conferr’d on me a loss as deep
As death descends to. To themselves alone
My rude men left ungovern’d, they have done
A deed so impious, I stand well assur’d,
That you will not forgive, though ye procur’d.’
Then flew Lampetië with the ample robe
Up to her father with the golden globe,
Ambassadress t’ inform him that my men
Had slain his oxen. Heart-incensed then,
He cried: ‘Revenge me, Father, and the rest
Both ever-living and for ever blest!
Ulysses’ impious men have drawn the blood
Of those my oxen that it did me good
To look on, walking all my starry round,
And when I trod earth all with meadows crown’d.
Without your full amends I’ll leave heav’n quite,
Dis and the dead adorning with my light.’
The Cloud-herd answer’d: ‘Son! Thou shalt be ours,
And light those mortals in that mine of flow’rs!
My red-hot flash shall graze but on their ship,
And eat it, burning, in the boiling deep.’
This by Calypso I was told, and she
Inform’d it from the verger Mercury.
Come to our ship, I chid and told by name
Each man how impiously he was to blame.
But chiding got no peace, the beeves were slain!
When straight the gods forewent their following pain
With dire ostents. The hides the flesh had lost
Crept all before them. As the flesh did roast,
It bellow’d like the ox itself alive.
And yet my soldiers did their dead beeves drive
Through all these prodigies in daily feasts.
Six days they banqueted and slew fresh beasts;
And when the seventh day Jove reduc’d, the wind
That all the month rag’d and so in did bind
Our ship and us, was turn’d and calmed, and we
Launch’d, put up masts, sails hoised, and to sea.
The island left so far that land nowhere
But only sea and sky had power t’ appear,
Jove fixed a cloud above our ship, so black
That all the sea it darken’d. Yet from wrack
She ran a good free time, till from the West
Came Zephyr ruffling forth, and put his breast
Out in a singing tempest, so most vast
It burst the cables that made sure our mast;
Our masts came tumbling down, our cattle down
Rush’d to the pump, and by our pilot’s crown
The main-mast pass’d his fall, pash’d all his skull,
And all this wrack but one flaw made at full;
Off from the stern the sternsman diving fell,
And from his sinews flew his soul to hell.
Together all this time Jove’s thunder chid,
And through and through the ship his lightning glid,
Till it embrac’d her round; her bulk was fill’d
With nasty sulphur, and her men were kill’d,
Tumbled to sea, like sea-mews swum about,
And there the date of their return was out.
I toss’d from side to side still, till all broke
Her ribs were with the storm, and she did choke
With let-in surges; for the mast torn down
Tore her up piecemeal, and for me to drown
Left little undissolv’d. But to the mast
There was a leather thong left, which I cast
About it and the keel, and so sat tost
With baneful weather, till the West had lost
His stormy tyranny. And then arose
The South, that bred me more abhorred woes;
For back again his blasts expell’d me quite
On ravenous Charybdis. All that night
I totter’d up and down, till light and I
At Scylla’s rock encounter’d, and the nigh
Dreadful Charybdis. As I drave on these,
I saw Charybdis supping up the seas,
And had gone up together, if the tree
That bore the wild figs had not rescu’d me;
To which I leap’d, and left my keel, and high
Clamb’ring upon it did as close imply
My breast about it as a reremouse could;
Yet might my feet on no stub fasten hold
To ease my hands, the roots were crept so low
Beneath the earth, and so aloft did grow
The far-spread arms that, though good height I gat,
I could not reach them. To the main bole flat
I, therefore, still must cling, till up again
She belch’d my mast, and after that amain
My keel came tumbling. So at length it chanc’d
To me, as to a judge that long advanc’d
To judge a sort of hot young fellows’ jars,
At length time frees him from their civil wars,
When glad he riseth and to dinner goes:
So time, at length, releas’d with joys my woes,
And from Charybdis’ mouth appear’d my keel.
To which, my hand now loos’d and now my heel,
I altogether with a huge noise dropp’d,
Just in her midst fell, where the mast was propp’d,
And there row’d off with owers of my hands.
god and man’s Father would not from her sands
Let Scylla see me, for I then had died
That bitter death that my poor friends supplied.
Nine days at sea I hover’d – the tenth night
In th’ isle Ogygia, where, about the bright
And right renown’d Calypso, I was cast
<
br /> By pow’r of deity; where I lived embrac’d
With love and feasts. But why should I relate
Those kind occurrents? I should iterate
What I in part to your chaste queen and you
So late imparted. And, for me to grow
A talker-over of my tale again,
Were past my free contentment to sustain.’
The end of the twelfth book
Book 13
The Argument
Ulysses (shipp’d, but in the ev’n,
With all the presents he was giv’n,
And sleeping then) is set next morn
In full scope of his wish’d return,
And treads unknown his country shore,
Whose search so many winters wore.
The ship (returning, and arriv’d
Against the city) is depriv’d
Of form, and, all her motion gone,
Transform’d by Neptune to a stone.
Ulysses (let to know the strand
Where the Phaeacians made him land)
Consults with Pallas, for the life
Of every wooer of his wife.
His gifts she hides within a cave,
And him into a man more grave,
All hid in wrinkles, crooked, gray,
Transform’d; who so goes on his way.
Another Argument
Nu
Phaeacia
Ulysses leaves;
Whom Ithaca,
Unwares, receives.
Book 13
He said; and silence all their tongues contain’d
In admiration, when with pleasure chain’d
Their ears had long been to him. At last brake
Alcinous silence, and in this sort spake
To th’ Ithacensian, Laertes’ son:
‘O Ithacus! However over-run
With former suff’rings in your way for home,
Since ’twas, at last, your happy fate to come
To my high-roof’d and brass-foundation’d house,
I hope such speed and pass auspicious
Our loves shall yield you, that you shall no more
Wander, nor suffer, homewards, as before.
You then, whoever that are ever grac’d
With all choice of authoris’d pow’r to taste
Such wine with me as warms the sacred rage,
And is an honorary given to age,
With which ye likewise hear divinely sing,
In honour’s praise, the poet of the king,
I move, by way of my command, to this:
That where in an elaborate chest there lies
A present for our guest, attires of price,