The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

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:
r />   ‘I know, and comprehend you. You divide

  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;