The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

The lovely truth I love, and must be plain.’

  ‘Alas, friend,’ said his father, ‘nor do I

  Desire at all your further charity.

  ’Tis better beg in cities than in fields,

  And take the worst a beggar’s fortune yields.

  Nor am I apt to stay in swine-sties more,

  However; ever the great chief before

  The poor ranks must to every step obey.

  But go; your man in my command shall sway,

  Anon yet too, by favour, when your fires

  Have comforted the cold heat age expires,

  And when the sun’s flame hath besides corrected

  The early air abroad, not being protected

  By these my bare weeds from the morning’s frost,

  Which (if so much ground is to be engross’d

  By my poor feet as you report) may give

  Too violent charge to th’ heat by which I live.’

  This said, his son went on with spritely pace,

  And to the wooers studied little grace.

  Arriv’d at home, he gave his javelin stay

  Against a lofty pillar, and bold way

  Made further in. When having so far gone

  That he transcended the fair porch of stone,

  The first by far that gave his entry eye

  Was nurse Euryclea: who th’ embrodery

  Of stools there set was giving cushions fair;

  Who ran upon him, and her rapt repair

  Shed tears for joy. About him gather’d round

  The other maids, his head and shoulders crown’d

  With kisses and embraces. From above

  The queen herself came, like the queen of love,

  Or bright Diana; cast about her son

  Her kind embraces, with effusion

  Of loving tears; kiss’d both his lovely eyes,

  His cheeks, and forehead; and gave all supplies

  With this entreaty: ‘Welcome, sweetest light!

  I never had conceit to set quick sight

  On thee thus soon, when thy lov’d father’s fame

  As far as Pylos did thy spirit inflame,

  In that search ventur’d all unknown to me.

  O say, by what pow’r cam’st thou now to be

  Mine eyes’ dear object?’ He return’d reply:

  ‘Move me not now, when you my ’scape descry

  From imminent death, to think me fresh entrapp’d,

  The fear’d wound rubbing, felt before I ’scap’d.

  Double not needless passion on a heart

  Whose joy so green is, and so apt t’ invert;

  But pure weeds putting on, ascend and take

  Your women with you, that ye all may make

  Vows of full hecatombs in sacred fire

  To all the godheads, if their only sire

  Vouchsafe revenge of guest-rites wrong’d, which he

  Is to protect as being their deity.

  My way shall be directed to the hall

  Of common concourse, that I thence may call

  A stranger, who from off the Pylian shore

  Came friendly with me; whom I sent before

  With all my soldiers, but in chief did charge

  Piraeus with him, wishing him t’ enlarge

  His love to him at home, in best affair,

  And utmost honours, till mine own repair.’

  Her son thus spoken, his words could not bear

  The wings too easily through her either ear,

  But putting pure weeds on, made vows entire

  Of perfect hecatombs in sacred fire

  To all the deities, if their only sire

  Vouchsaf’d revenge of guest-rites wrong’d, which he

  Was to protect as being their deity.

  Her son left house, in his fair hand his lance,

  His dogs attending, and, on every glance

  His looks cast from them, Pallas put a grace

  That made him seem of the celestial race.

  Whom, come to concourse, every man admir’d.

  About him throng’d the wooers, and desir’d

  All good to him in tongues, but in their hearts

  Most deep ills threaten’d to his most deserts.

  Of whose huge rout once free, he cast glad eye

  On some that, long before his infancy,

  Were with his father great and gracious,

  Grave Halitherses, Mentor, Antiphus;

  To whom he went, took seat by them, and they

  Inquir’d of all things since his parting day.

  To them Piraeus came, and brought his guest

  Along the city thither, whom not least

  The prince respected, nor was long before

  He rose and met him. The first word yet bore

  Piraeus from them both, whose haste besought

  The prince to send his women to see brought

  The gifts from his house that Atrides gave,

  Which his own roofs, he thought, would better save.

  The wise prince answer’d: ‘I can scarce conceive

  The way to these works. If the wooers reave

  By privy stratagem my life at home,

  I rather wish Piraeus may become

  The master of them, than the best of these.

  But, if I sow in their fields of excess

  Slaughter and ruin, then thy trust employ,

  And to me joying bring thou those with joy.’

  This said, he brought home his grief-practis’d guest;

  Where both put off, both oil’d, and did invest

  Themselves in rich robes, wash’d, and sate, and eat.

  His mother, in a fair chair taking seat

  Directly opposite, her loom applied;

  Who, when her son and guest had satisfied

  Their appetites with feast, said: ‘O my son,

  You know that ever since your sire was won

  To go in Agamemnon’s guide to Troy,

  Attempting sleep, I never did enjoy

  One night’s good rest, but made my quiet bed

  A sea blown up with sighs, with tears still shed

  Embrew’d and troubled; yet, though all your miss

  In your late voyage hath been made for this,

  That you might know th’ abode your father made,

  You shun to tell me what success you had.

  Now then, before the insolent access

  The wooers straight will force on us, express

  What you have heard.’ ‘I will,’ said he, ‘and true.

  We came to Pylos, where the studious due

  That any father could afford his son

  (But new arriv’d from some course he had run

  To an extreme length, in some voyage vow’d)

  Nestor, the pastor of the people, show’d

  To me arriv’d, in turrets thrust up high,

  Where not his brave sons were more lov’d than I.

  Yet of th’ unconquer’d ever-sufferer,

  Ulysses, never he could set his ear,

  Alive or dead, from any earthy man.

  But to the great Lacedaemonian,

  Atrides, famous for his lance, he sent,

  With horse and chariots, me, to learn th’ event

  From his relation; where I had the view

  Of Argive Helen, whose strong beauties drew,

  By wills of gods, so many Grecian states,

  And Trojans, under such laborious fates.

  Where Menelaus ask’d me, what affair


  To Lacedaemon render’d my repair.

  I told him all the truth, who made reply:

  ‘O deed of most abhorr’d indecency!

  A sort of impotents attempt his bed

  Whose strength of mind hath cities levelled!

  As to a lion’s den, when any hind

  Hath brought her young calves, to their rest inclin’d,

  When he is ranging hills and herby dales,

  To make of feeders there his festivals,

  But, turning to his luster, calves and dam

  He shows abhorr’d death, in his anger’s flame:

  So, should Ulysses find this rabble hous’d

  In his free turrets, courting his espous’d,

  Foul death would fall them. O, I would to Jove,

  Phoebus, and Pallas, that, when he shall prove

  The broad report of his exhausted store

  True with his eyes, his nerves and sinews wore

  That vigour then that in the Lesbian tow’rs,

  Provok’d to wrestle with the iron pow’rs

  Philomelides vaunted, he approv’d;

  When down he hurl’d his challenger, and mov’d

  Huge shouts from all the Achives then in view.

  If, once come home, he all those forces drew

  About him there to work, they all were dead,

  And should find bitter his attempted bed.

  But what you ask and sue for, I, as far

  As I have heard the true-spoke mariner,

  Will tell directly, nor delude your ear:

  He told me that an island did ensphere,

  In much discomfort, great Laertes’ son;

  And that the nymph Calypso, overrun

  With his affection, kept him in her caves,

  Where men, nor ship of pow’r to brook the waves,

  Were near his convoy to his country’s shore,

  And where herself importun’d evermore

  His quiet stay; which not obtain’d, by force

  She kept his person from all else recourse.’

  This told Atrides, which was all he knew.

  Nor stay’d I more, but from the gods there blew

  A prosperous wind, that set me quickly here.’

  This put his mother quite from all her cheer;

  When Theoclymenus the augur said:

  ‘O woman honour’d with Ulysses’ bed,

  Your son, no doubt, knows clearly nothing more;

  Hear me yet speak, that can the truth uncore,

  Nor will be curious. Jove then witness bear,

  And this thy hospitable table here,

  With this whole household of your blameless lord,

  That at this hour his royal feet are shor’d

  On his lov’d country earth, and that ev’n here

  Coming, or creeping, he will see the cheer

  These wooers make, and in his soul’s field sow

  Seeds that shall thrive to all their overthrow.

  This, set a-shipboard, I knew sorted thus,

  And cried it out to your Telemachus.’

  Penelope replied: ‘Would this would prove,

  You well should witness a most friendly love,

  And gifts such of me, as encount’ring Fame

  Should greet you with a blessed mortal’s name.’

  This mutual speech past, all the wooers were

  Hurling the stone, and tossing of the spear,

  Before the palace, in the paved court,

  Where otherwhiles their petulant resort

  Sat plotting injuries. But when the hour

  Of supper enter’d, and the feeding pow’r

  Brought sheep from field, that fill’d up every way

  With those that us’d to furnish that purvey,

  Medon, the herald (who of all the rest

  Pleas’d most the wooers, and at every feast

  Was ever near) said: ‘You whose kind consort

  Make the fair branches of the tree our court,

  Grace it within now, and your suppers take.

  You that for health, and fair contention’s sake,

  Will please your minds, know, bodies must have meat;

  Play’s worse than idleness in times to eat.’

  This said, all left, came in, cast by on thrones

  And chairs their garments. Their provisions

  Were sheep, swine, goats, the chiefly great and fat,

  Besides an ox that from the herd they gat.

  And now the king and herdsman, from the field,

  In good way were to town; ’twixt whom was held

  Some walking conference, which thus begun

  The good Eumaeus: ‘Guest, your will was won,

  Because the prince commanded, to make way

  Up to the city, though I wish’d your stay,

  And to have made you guardian of my stall;

  But I, in care and fear of what might fall

  In after-anger of the prince, forbore.

  The checks of princes touch their subjects sore.

  But make we haste, the day is nearly ended,

  And cold airs still are in the ev’n extended.’

  ‘I know’t,’ said he, ‘consider all; your charge

  Is giv’n to one that understands at large.

  Haste then. Hereafter, you shall lead the way;

  Afford your staff too, if it fit your stay,

  That I may use it, since you say our pass

  Is less friend to a weak foot than it was.’

  Thus cast he on his neck his nasty scrip,

  All patch’d and torn; a cord, that would not slip

  For knots and bracks about the mouth of it,

  Made serve the turn; and then his swain did fit

  His forc’d state with a staff. Then plied they hard

  Their way to town, their cottage left in guard

  To swains and dogs. And now Eumaeus led

  The king along, his garments to a thread

  All bare, and burn’d, and he himself hard bore

  Upon his staff, at all parts like a poor

  And sad old beggar. But when now they got

  The rough highway, their voyage wanted not

  Much of the city, where a fount they reach’d,

  From whence the town their choicest water fetch’d,

  That ever overflow’d, and curious art

  Was shown about it; in which three had part,

  Whose names Neritus and Polyctor were,

  And famous Ithacus. It had a sphere

  Of poplar, that ran round about the wall;

  And into it a lofty rock let fall

  Continual supply of cool clear stream.

  On whose top, to the nymphs that were supreme

  In those parts’ loves, a stately altar rose,

  Where every traveller did still impose

  Devoted sacrifice. At this fount found

  These silly travellers a man renown’d

  For guard of goats, which now he had in guide,

  Whose huge-stor’d herd two herdsmen kept beside,

  For all herds it excell’d, and bred a feed

  For wooers only. He was Dolius’ seed,

  And call’d Melanthius. Who casting eye

  On these two there, he chid them terribly,

  And so past mean, that ev’n the wretched fate

  Now on Ulysses he did irritate.

  His fume to this effect he did pursue:

  ‘Why so, ’tis now at all parts passing true,

  Tha
t ill leads ill, good evermore doth train

  With like his like. Why, thou unenvied swain,

  Whither dost thou lead this same victless leaguer,

  This bane of banquets, this most nasty beggar,

  Whose sight doth make one sad, it so abhors?

  Who, with his standing in so many doors,

  Hath broke his back; and all his beggary tends

  To beg base crusts, but to no manly ends,

  As asking swords, or with activity

  To get a cauldron. Wouldst thou give him me,

  To farm my stable, or to sweep my yard,

  And bring browse to my kids, and that preferr’d,

  He should be at my keeping for his pains

  To drink as much whey as his thirsty veins

  Would still be swilling (whey made all his fees);

  His monstrous belly would oppress his knees.

  But he hath learn’d to lead base life about,

  And will not work, but crouch among the rout

  For broken meat to cram his bursten gut.

  Yet this I’ll say, and he will find it put

  In sure effect, that if he enters where

  Ulysses’ roofs cast shade, the stools will there

  About his ears fly, all the house will throw,

  And rub his ragged sides with cuffs enow.’

  Past these reviles, his manless rudeness spurn’d

  Divine Ulysses; who at no part turn’d

  His face from him, but had his spirit fed

  With these two thoughts: if he should strike him dead

  With his bestowed staff, or at his feet

  Make his direct head and the pavement meet.

  But he bore all, and entertain’d a breast

  That in the strife of all extremes did rest.

  Eumaeus, frowning on him, chid him yet,

  And, lifting up his hands to heav’n, he set

  This bitter curse at him: ‘O you that bear

  Fair name to be the race of Jupiter,

  Nymphs of these fountains! If Ulysses ever

  Burn’d thighs to you, that, hid in fat, did never

  Fail your acceptance, of or lamb or kid,

  Grant this grace to me: let the man thus hid

  Shine through his dark fate, make some god his guide,

  That, to thee, goatherd, this same palate’s pride

  Thou driv’st afore thee, he may come and make

  The scatterings of the earth, and overtake

  Thy wrongs, with forcing thee to ever err

  About the city, hunted by his fear.

  And in the mean space may some slothful swains

  Let lousy sickness gnaw thy cattle’s veins.’

  ‘O gods!’ replied Melanthius. ‘What a curse