The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

  These feet of men good price; and this would bring

  Good means for better guests.’ These words made win

  To his ears idly, who had still his eye

  Upon his father, looking fervently

  When he would lay his long-withholding hand

  On those proud wooers. And, within command

  Of all this speech that pass’d, Icarius’ heir,

  The wise Penelope, her royal chair

  Had plac’d of purpose. Their high dinner then

  With all-pleas’d palates these ridiculous men

  Fell sweetly to, as joying they had slain

  Such store of banquet. But there did not reign

  A bitterer banquet-planet in all heav’n

  Than that which Pallas had to that day driv’n,

  And, with her able friend now, meant t’ appose,

  Since they till then were in deserts so gross.

  The end of the twentieth book

  Book 21

  The Argument

  Penelope proposeth now

  To him that draws Ulysses’ bow

  Her instant nuptials. Ithacus

  Eumaeus and Philoetius

  Gives charge for guarding of the gates;

  And he his shaft shoots through the plates.

  Another Argument

  Phi

  The nuptial vow

  And game rehears’d,

  Drawn is the bow,

  The steels are pierc’d.

  Book 21

  Pallas, the goddess with the sparkling eyes,

  Excites Penelope t’ object the prize,

  The bow and bright steels, to the wooers’ strength;

  And here began the strife and blood at length.

  She first ascended by a lofty stair

  Her utmost chamber; of whose door her fair

  And half-transparent hand receiv’d the key,

  Bright, brazen, bitted passing curiously,

  And at it hung a knob of ivory.

  And this did lead her where was strongly kept

  The treasure royal; in whose store lay heapt

  Gold, brass, and steel, engrav’n with infinite art –

  The crooked bow, and arrowy quiver part

  Of that rich magazine. In the quiver were

  Arrows a-number, sharp and sighing gear.

  The bow was giv’n by kind Eurytides –

  Iphitus, fashion’d like the deities –

  To young Ulysses, when within the roof

  Of wise Orsilochus their pass had proof

  Of mutual meeting in Messena; where

  Ulysses claim’d a debt, to whose pay were

  The whole Messenian people bound, since they

  From Ithaca had forc’d a wealthy prey

  Of sheep and shepherds. In their ships they thrust

  Three hundred sheep together; for whose just

  And instant rendry old Laertes sent

  Ulysses his ambassador, that went

  A long way in the ambassy, yet then

  Bore but the foremost prime of youngest men,

  His father sending first to that affair

  His gravest counsellors, and then his heir.

  Iphitus made his way there, having lost

  Twelve female horse, and mules, commended most

  For use of burthen; which were after cause

  Of death and fate to him; for, past all laws

  Of hospitality, Jove’s mighty son,

  Skill’d in great acts, was his confusion

  Close by his house, though at that time his guest,

  Respecting neither the apposed feast

  And hospitable table, that in love

  He set before him, nor the voice of Jove,

  But, seizing first his mares, he after slew

  His host himself. From those mares’ search now grew

  Ulysses known t’ Iphitus; who that bow

  At their encounter did in love bestow,

  Which great Eurytus’ hand had borne before

  (Iphitus’ father), who at death’s sad door,

  In his steep turrets, left it to his son.

  Ulysses gave him a keen falchion,

  And mighty lance. And thus began they there

  Their fatal loves; for after never were

  Their mutual tables to each other known,

  Because Jove’s son th’ unworthy part had shown

  Of slaughtering this god-like loving man,

  Eurytus’ son, who with that bow began

  And ended love t’ Ulysses; who so dear

  A gift esteem’d it, that he would not bear

  In his black fleet that guest-rite to the war,

  But, in fit memory of one so far

  In his affection, brought it home, and kept

  His treasure with it; where till now it slept.

  And now the queen of women had intent

  To give it use, and therefore made ascent

  Up all the stairs’ height to the chamber door,

  Whose shining leaves two bright pilasters bore

  To such a close when both together went

  It would resist the air in their consent.

  The ring she took then, and did draw aside

  A bar that ran within, and then implied

  The key into the lock, which gave a sound,

  The bolt then shooting, as in pasture ground

  A bull doth low, and make the valleys ring;

  So loud the lock humm’d when it loos’d the spring,

  And ope the doors flew. In she went, along

  The lofty chamber, that was boarded strong

  With heart of oak, which many years ago

  The architect did smooth and polish so

  That now as then he made it freshly shine,

  And tried the evenness of it with a line.

  There stood in this room presses that enclos’d

  Robes odoriferous, by which repos’d

  The bow was upon pins; nor from it far

  Hung the round quiver glittering like a star;

  Both which her white extended hand took down.

  Then sat she low, and made her lap a crown

  Of both those relics, which she wept to see,

  And cried quite out with loving memory

  Of her dear lord; to whose worth paying then

  Kind debts enow, she left, and to the men

  Vow’d to her wooing, brought the crooked bow

  And shaft-receiving quiver, that did flow

  With arrows beating sighs up where they fell.

  Then, with another chest, replete as well

  With games won by the king, of steel and brass,

  Her maids attended. Past whom making pass

  To where her wooers were, she made her stay

  Amids the fair hall door, and kept the ray

  Of her bright count’nance hid with veils so thin,

  That though they seem’d t’ expose, they let love in;

  Her maids on both sides stood; and thus she spake:

  ‘Hear me, ye wooers, that a pleasure take

  To do me sorrow, and my house invade

  To eat and drink, as if ’twere only made

  To serve your rapines: my lord long away,

  And you allow’d no colour for your stay

  But his still absence, striving who shall frame

  Me for his wife, and since ’tis made a game,

  I here propose divine Ulysses’ bow

  For that great masterp
iece to which ye vow.

  He that can draw it with least show to strive,

  And through these twelve axe-heads an arrow drive,

  Him will I follow, and this house forego

  That nourish’d me a maid, now furnish’d so

  With all things fit, and which I so esteem

  That I shall still live in it in my dream.’

  This said, she made Eumaeus give it them.

  He took and laid it by, and wept for woe;

  And like him wept Philoetius, when the bow

  Of which his king was bearer he beheld.

  Their tears Antinous’ manhood much refell’d,

  And said: ‘Ye rustic fools, that still each day

  Your minds give over to this vain dismay!

  Why weep ye, wretches, and the widow’s eyes

  Tempt with renew’d thought, that would otherwise

  Depose her sorrows, since her lord is dead,

  And tears are idle? Sit, and eat your bread,

  Nor whisper more a word; or get ye gone,

  And weep without doors. Let this bow alone

  To our out-match’d contention. For I fear

  The bow will scarce yield draught to any here;

  Here no such man lives as Laertes’ son

  Amongst us all. I knew him; thought puts on

  His look’s sight now, methinks, though then a child.’

  Thus show’d his words doubt, yet his hopes instill’d

  His strength the stretcher of Ulysses’ string,

  And his steels’ piercer. But his shaft must sing

  Through his pierc’d palate first; whom so he wrong’d

  In his free roof, and made the rest ill-tongu’d

  Against his virtues. Then the sacred heat

  That spirited his son did further set

  Their confidence on fire, and said: ‘O friends,

  Jove hath bereft my wits. The queen intends,

  Though I must grant her wise, ere long to leave

  Ulysses’ court, and to her bed receive

  Some other lord; yet, notwithstanding, I

  Am forced to laugh, and set my pleasures high

  Like one mad sick. But, wooers, since ye have

  An object for your trials now so brave

  As all the broad Achaian earth exceeds,

  As sacred Pylos, as the Argive breeds,

  As black Epirus, as Mycena’s birth,

  And as the more fam’d Ithacensian earth,

  All which, yourselves well know, and oft have said

  (For what need hath my mother of my aid

  In her advancement?) tender no excuse

  For least delay, nor too much time profuse

  In stay to draw this bow, but draw it straight,

  Shoot, and the steels pierce; make all see how slight

  You make these poor bars to so rich a prize.

  No eagerer yet? Come on. My faculties

  Shall try the bow’s strength, and the pierced steel.

  I will not for my rev’rend mother feel

  The sorrows that I know will seize my heart,

  To see her follow any, and depart

  From her so long-held home, but first extend

  The bow and arrow to their tender’d end.

  For I am only to succeed my sire

  In guard of his games, and let none aspire

  To their besides possession.’ This said,

  His purple robe he cast off; by he laid

  His well-edg’d sword; and first, a several pit

  He digg’d for every axe, and strengthen’d it

  With earth close ramm’d about it; on a row

  Set them, of one height, by a line he drew

  Along the whole twelve; and so orderly

  Did every deed belonging (yet his eye

  Never before beholding how ’twas done)

  That in amaze rose all his lookers-on.

  Then stood he near the door, and prov’d to draw

  The stubborn bow. Thrice tried, and thrice gave law

  To his uncrown’d attempts, the fourth assay

  With all force off’ring, which a sign gave stay

  Giv’n by his father; though he show’d a mind

  As if he stood right heartily inclin’d

  To perfect the exploit, when all was done

  In only drift to set the wooers on.

  His weakness yet confess’d, he said: ‘O shame!

  I either shall be ever of no name,

  But prove a wretch; or else I am too young,

  And must not now presume on pow’rs so strong

  As sinews yet more growing may engraft,

  To turn a man quite over with a shaft.

  Besides, to men whose nerves are best prepar’d,

  All great adventures at first proof are hard.

  But come, you stronger men, attempt this bow,

  And let us end our labour.’ Thus, below

  A well-join’d board he laid it, and close by

  The brightly-headed shaft; then thron’d his thigh

  Amidst his late-left seat. Antinous then

  Bade all arise, but first, who did sustain

  The cup’s state ever, and did sacrifice

  Before they ate still; and that man bade rise,

  Since on the other’s right hand he was plac’d,

  Because he held the right hand’s rising, grac’d

  With best success still. This discretion won

  Supreme applause; and first rose Oenops’ son,

  Liodes, that was priest to all the rest,

  Sat lowest with the cup still, and their jest

  Could never like, but ever was the man

  That check’d their follies; and he now began

  To taste the bow, the sharp shaft took, tugg’d hard

  And held aloft, and, till he quite had marr’d

  His delicate tender fingers, could not stir

  The churlish string; who therefore did refer

  The game to others, saying, that same bow,

  In his presage, would prove the overthrow

  Of many a chief man there; nor thought the fate

  Was any whit austere, since death’s short date

  Were much the better taken, than long life

  Without the object of their amorous strife,

  For whom they had burn’d out so many days

  To find still other, nothing but delays

  Obtaining in them; and affirm’d that now

  Some hop’d to have her, but when that tough bow

  They all had tried, and seen the utmost done,

  They must rest pleas’d to cease; and now some one

  Of all their other fair-veil’d Grecian dames

  With gifts, and dow’r, and hymeneal flames,

  Let her love light to him that most will give,

  And whom the nuptial destiny did drive.’

  Thus laid he on the well-join’d polish’d board

  The bow and bright-pil’d shaft, and then restor’d

  His seat his right. To him Antinous

  Gave bitter language, and reprov’d him thus:

  ‘What words, Liodes, pass thy speech’s guard –

  That ’tis a work to bear, and set so hard

  They set up my disdain! This bow must end

  The best of us, since thy arms cannot lend

  The string least motion? Thy mother’s throes

  Brought never forth thy arms to draught of bows,

  Or knitting shafts off. Though thou canst
not draw

  The sturdy plant, thou art to us no law.

  Melanthius! Light a fire, and set thereat

  A chair and cushions, and that mass of fat

  That lies within bring out, that we may set

  Our pages to this bow, to see it het

  And suppled with the suet, and then we

  May give it draught, and pay this great decree

  Utmost performance.’ He a mighty fire

  Gave instant flame, put into act th’ entire

  Command laid on him, chair and cushions set;

  Laid on the bow, which straight the pages het,

  Chaf’d, suppled with the suet to their most.

  And still was all their unctuous labour lost,

  All wooers’ strengths too indigent and poor

  To draw that bow; Antinous’ arms it tore,

  And great Eurymachus’, the both clear best,

  Yet both it tir’d, and made them glad to rest.

  Forth then went both the swains, and after them

  Divine Ulysses; when, being past th’ extreme

  Of all the gates, with winning words he tried

  Their loves, and this ask’d: ‘Shall my counsels hide

  Their depths from you? My mind would gladly know,

  If suddenly Ulysses had his vow

  Made good for home, and had some god to guide

  His steps and strokes to wreak these wooers’ pride,

  Would your aids join on his part, or with theirs?

  How stand your hearts affected?’ They made pray’rs

  That some god would please to return their lord,

  He then should see how far they would afford

  Their lives for his. He, seeing their truth, replied:

  ‘I am your lord, through many a suff’rance tried,

  Arriv’d now here, whom twenty years have held

  From forth my country. Yet are not conceal’d

  From my sure knowledge your desires to see

  My safe return. Of all the company

  Now serving here besides, not one but you

  Mine ear hath witness’d willing to bestow

  Their wishes of my life, so long held dead.

  I therefore vow, which shall be perfected,

  That if god please beneath my hand to leave

  These wooers lifeless, ye shall both receive

  Wives from that hand, and means, and near to me

  Have houses built to you, and both shall be

  As friends and brothers to my only son.

  And, that ye well may know me, and be won

  To that assurance, the infallible sign

  The white-tooth’d boar gave, this mark’d knee of mine,