by Homer
But, for her lord’s sad loss, sad nights and days
Obscure her beauties, and corrupt their rays.’
This said, Eumaeus took his brazen spear,
And in he went; when, being enter’d near
Within the stony threshold, from his seat
His father rose to him, who would not let
Th’ old man remove, but drew him back and press’d
With earnest terms his sitting, saying: ‘Guest,
Take here your seat again, we soon shall get
Within our own house here some other seat.
Here’s one will fetch it.’ This said, down again
His father sat, and to his son his swain
Strew’d fair green osiers, and impos’d thereon
A good soft sheepskin, which made him a throne.
Then he appos’d to them his last-left roast,
And in a wicker basket bread engross’d,
Fill’d luscious wine, and then took opposite seat
To the divine Ulysses. When, the meat
Set there before them, all fell to, and eat.
When they had fed, the prince said: ‘Pray thee say,
Whence comes this guest? What seaman gave him ray
To this our isle? I hope these feet of his
Could walk no water. Who boasts he he is?’
‘I’ll tell all truly, son: from ample Crete
He boasts himself, and says, his erring feet
Have many cities trod, and god was he
Whose finger wrought in his infirmity.
But, to my cottage, the last ’scape of his
Was from a Thesprot’s ship. Whate’er he is,
I’ll give him you, do what you please; his vaunt
Is, that he is, at most, a suppliant.’
‘Eumaeus,’ said the prince, ‘to tell me this,
You have afflicted my weak faculties,
For how shall I receive him to my house
With any safety, that suspicious
Of my young forces (should I be assay’d
With any sudden violence) may want aid
To shield myself? Besides, if I go home,
My mother is with two doubts overcome –
If she shall stay with me, and take fit care
For all such guests as there seek guestive fare,
Her husband’s bed respecting, and her fame
Amongst the people; or her blood may frame
A liking to some wooer, such as best
May bed her in his house, not giving least.
And thus am I unsure of all means free
To use a guest there, fit for his degree.
But, being thy guest, I’ll be his supply
For all weeds, such as mere necessity
Shall more than furnish, fit him with a sword,
And set him where his heart would have been shor’d;
Or, if so pleas’d, receive him in thy shed,
I’ll send thee clothes, I vow, and all the bread
His wish would eat, that to thy men and thee
He be no burthen. But that I should be
His mean to my house, where a company
Of wrong-professing wooers wildly live,
I will in no sort author, lest they give
Foul use to him, and me as gravely grieve.
For what great act can any one achieve
Against a multitude, although his mind
Retain a courage of the greatest kind?
For all minds have not force in one degree.’
Ulysses answer’d: ‘O friend, since ’tis free
For any man to change fit words with thee,
I’ll freely speak: methinks, a wolfish pow’r
My heart puts on to tear and to devour,
To hear your affirmation, that, in spite
Of what may fall on you, made opposite,
Being one of your proportion, birth, and age,
These wooers should in such injustice rage.
What should the cause be? Do you wilfully
Endure their spoil? Or hath your empery
Been such amongst your people, that all gather
In troop, and one voice (which ev’n god doth father)
And vow your hate so, that they suffer them?
Or blame your kinsfolk’s faiths, before th’ extreme
Of your first stroke hath tried them, whom a man,
When strifes to blows rise, trusts, though battle ran
In huge and high waves? Would to heav’n my spirit
Such youth breath’d, as the man that must inherit
Yet-never-touch’d Ulysses, or that he,
But wandering this way, would but come, and see
What my age could achieve (and there is fate
For hope yet left, that he may recreate
His eyes with such an object); this my head
Should any stranger strike off, if stark dead
I struck not all, the house in open force
Ent’ring with challenge! If their great concourse
Did over-lay me, being a man alone,
(Which you urge for yourself) be you that one,
I rather in mine own house wish to die
One death for all, than so indecently
See evermore deeds worse than death applied,
Guests wrong’d with vile words and blow-giving pride,
The women-servants dragg’d in filthy kind
About the fair house, and in corners blind
Made serve the rapes of ruffians, food devour’d
Idly and rudely, wine exhaust, and pour’d
Through throats profane; and all about a deed
That’s ever wooing, and will never speed.’
‘I’ll tell you, guest, most truly,’ said his son,
‘I do not think that all my people run
One hateful course against me; nor accuse
Kinsfolks that I in strifes of weight might use;
But Jove will have it so, our race alone
(As if made singular) to one and one
His hand confining. Only to the king,
Jove-bred Arcesius, did Laertes spring;
Only to old Laertes did descend
Ulysses; only to Ulysses’ end
Am I the adjunct, whom he left so young,
That from me to him never comfort sprung.
And to all these now, for their race, arise
Up in their house a brood of enemies.
As many as in these isles bow men’s knees,
Samos, Dulichius, and the rich-in-trees
Zacynthus, or in this rough isle’s command,
So many suitors for the nuptials stand,
That ask my mother, and, mean space, prefer
Their lusts to all spoil, that dishonour her.
Nor doth she, though she loathes, deny their suits,
Nor they denials take, though taste their fruits.
But all this time the state of all things there
Their throats devour, and I must shortly bear
A part in all. And yet the periods
Of these designs lie in the knees of gods.
Of all loves then, Eumaeus, make quick way
To wise Penelope, and to her say
My safe return from Pylos, and alone
Return thou hither, having made it known.
Nor let, besides my mother, any ear
Partake thy message, since a number bear
My safe return displeasure.’ He replied:
Your mind with one that understands you well.
But, all in one yet, may I not reveal
To th’ old hard-fated Arcesiades
Your safe return? Who, through his whole distress
Felt for Ulysses, did not yet so grieve,
But with his household he had will to live,
And serv’d his appetite with wine and food,
Survey’d his husbandry, and did his blood
Some comforts fitting life; but since you took
Your ship for Pylos, he would never brook
Or wine or food, they say, nor cast an eye
On any labour, but sits weeping by,
And sighing out his sorrows, ceaseless moans
Wasting his body, turn’d all skin and bones.’
‘More sad news still,’ said he, ‘yet, mourn he still;
For if the rule of all men’s works be will,
And his will his way goes, mine stands inclin’d
T’ attend the home-turn of my nearer kind.
Do then what I enjoin; which giv’n effect,
Err not to field to him, but turn direct,
Entreating first my mother, with most speed,
And all the secrecy that now serves need,
To send this way their store-house guardian,
And she shall tell all to the aged man.’
He took his shoes up, put them on, and went.
Nor was his absence hid from Jove’s descent,
Divine Minerva, who took straight to view
A goodly woman’s shape, that all works knew.
And, standing in the entry, did prefer
Her sight t’ Ulysses; but, though meeting her,
His son Telemachus nor saw nor knew.
The gods’ clear presences are known to few.
Yet, with Ulysses, ev’n the dogs did see,
And would not bark, but, whining lovingly,
Fled to the stall’s far side; when she her eyne
Mov’d to Ulysses. He knew her design,
And left the house, pass’d the great sheep-cote’s wall,
And stood before her. She bade utter all
Now to his son, nor keep the least unloos’d,
That, all the wooers’ deaths being now dispos’d,
They might approach the town, affirming she
Not long would fail t’ assist to victory.
This said, she laid her golden rod on him,
And with his late-worn weeds grac’d every limb,
His body straighten’d, and his youth instill’d,
His fresh blood call’d up, every wrinkle fill’d
About his broken eyes, and on his chin
The brown hair spread. When his whole trim wrought in,
She issu’d, and he enter’d to his son,
Who stood amaz’d, and thought some god had done
His house that honour, turn’d away his eyes,
And said: ‘Now guest, you grace another guise
Than suits your late show. Other weeds you wear,
And other person. Of the starry sphere
You certainly present some deathless god.
Be pleased, that to your here vouchsaf’d abode
We may give sacred rites, and offer gold,
To do us favour.’ He replied: ‘I hold
No deified state. Why put you thus on me
A god’s resemblance? I am only he
That bears thy father’s name; for whose lov’d sake
Thy youth so grieves, whose absence makes thee take
Such wrongs of men.’ Thus kiss’d he him, nor could
Forbear those tears that in such mighty hold
He held before, still held, still issuing ever;
And now, the shores once broke, the springtide never
Forbore earth from the cheeks he kiss’d. His son,
By all these violent arguments not won
To credit him his father, did deny
His kind assumpt, and said, some deity
Feign’d that joy’s cause, to make him grieve the more;
Affirming, that no man, whoever wore
The garment of mortality, could take,
By any utmost pow’r his soul could make,
Such change into it, since, at so much will,
Not Jove himself could both remove and fill
Old age with youth, and youth with age so spoil,
In such an instant. ‘You wore all the soil
Of age but now, and were old; and but now
You bear that young grace that the gods endow
Their heav’n-born forms withal.’ His father said:
‘Telemachus! Admire, nor stand dismay’d,
But know thy solid father; since within
He answers all parts that adorn his skin.
There shall no more Ulysseses come here.
I am the man, that now this twentieth year
(Still under suff’rance of a world of ill)
My country earth recover. ’Tis the will
The prey-professor Pallas puts in act,
Who put me thus together, thus distract
In aged pieces as ev’n now you saw,
This youth now rend’ring. ’Tis within the law
Of her free pow’r. Sometimes to show me poor,
Sometimes again thus amply to restore
My youth and ornaments, she still would please.
The gods can raise, and throw men down, with ease.’
This said, he sat; when his Telemachus pour’d
Himself about him; tears on tears he shower’d,
And to desire of moan increas’d the cloud.
Both wept and howl’d, and laid out shrieks more loud
Than or the bird-bone-breaking eagle rears,
Or brood-kind vulture with the crooked seres,
When rustic hands their tender eyries draw,
Before they give their wings their full-plum’d law.
But miserably pour’d they from beneath
Their lids their tears, while both their breasts did breathe
As frequent cries; and, to their fervent moan,
The light had left the skies, if first the son
Their dumb moans had not vented, with demand
What ship it was that gave the natural land
To his bless’d feet? He then did likewise lay
Hand on his passion, and gave these words way:
‘I’ll tell thee truth, my son: the men that bear
Much fame for shipping, my reducers were
To long-wish’d Ithaca, who each man else
That greets their shore give pass to where he dwells.
The Phaeacensian peers, in one night’s date,
While I fast slept, fetch’d th’ Ithacensian state,
Grac’d me with wealthy gifts, brass, store of gold,
And robes fair wrought; all which have secret hold
In caves that by the god’s advice I chus’d.
And now Minerva’s admonitions us’d
For this retreat, that we might here dispose
In close discourse the slaughters of our foes.
Recount the number of the wooers then,
And let me know what name they hold with men,
That my mind may cast over their estates
A curious measure, and confer the rates
Of our two pow’rs and theirs, to try if we
Alone may propagate to victory
Our bold e
ncounters of them all, or prove
The kind assistance of some others’ love.’
‘O father,’ he replied, ‘I oft have heard
Your counsels and your force of hand preferr’d
To mighty glory, but your speeches now
Your vent’rous mind exceeding mighty show.
Ev’n to amaze they move me; for, in right
Of no fit counsel, should be brought to fight
Two men ’gainst th’ able faction of a throng.
No one two, no one ten, no twice ten, strong
These wooers are, but more by much. For know,
That from Dulichius there are fifty two,
All choice young men; and every one of these
Six men attend. From Samos cross’d the seas
Twice twelve young gallants. From Zacynthus came
Twice ten. Of Ithaca, the best of name,
Twice six. Of all which all the state they take
A sacred poet and a herald make.
Their delicacies two, of special sort
In skill of banquets, serve. And all this port
If we shall dare t’ encounter, all thrust up
In one strong roof, have great care lest the cup
Your great mind thirsts exceeding bitter taste,
And your retreat commend not to your haste
Your great attempt, but make you say, you buy
Their pride’s revenges at a price too high.
And therefore, if you could, ’twere well you thought
Of some assistant. Be your spirit wrought
In such a man’s election, as may lend
His succours freely, and express a friend.’
His father answer’d: ‘Let me ask of thee;
Hear me, consider, and then answer me:
Think’st thou, if Pallas and the king of skies
We had to friend, would their sufficiencies
Make strong our part? Or that some other yet
My thoughts must work for?’ ‘These,’ said he, ‘are set
Aloft the clouds, and are found aids indeed,
As pow’rs not only that these men exceed,
But bear of all men else the high command,
And hold of gods an overruling hand.’
‘Well then,’ said he, ‘not these shall sever long
Their force and ours in fights assur’d and strong.
And then ’twixt us and them shall Mars prefer
His strength, to stand our great distinguisher,
When in mine own roofs I am forced to blows.
But when the day shall first her fires disclose,
Go thou for home, and troop up with the woo’rs,
Thy will with theirs join’d, pow’r with their rude pow’rs;