The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

  The varied ornament, which show’d no want

  Of silver, gold, and polish’d elephant.

  An oxhide dyed in purple then I threw

  Above the cords. And thus to curious view

  I hope I have objected honest sign

  To prove I author nought that is not mine.

  But if my bed stand unremov’d or no,

  O woman, passeth human wit to know.’

  This sunk her knees and heart, to hear so true

  The signs she urg’d; and first did tears ensue

  Her rapt assurance; then she ran and spread

  Her arms about his neck, kiss’d oft his head,

  And thus the curious stay she made excus’d:

  ‘Ulysses! Be not angry that I us’d

  Such strange delays to this, since heretofore

  Your suff’ring wisdom hath the garland wore

  From all that breathe; and ’tis the gods that thus,

  With mutual miss so long afflicting us,

  Have caused my coyness; to our youths envied

  That wish’d society that should have tied

  Our youths and years together; and since now

  Judgment and duty should our age allow

  As full joys therein as in youth and blood,

  See all young anger and reproof withstood

  For not at first sight giving up my arms,

  My heart still trembling lest the false alarms

  That words oft strike up should ridiculize me.

  Had Argive Helen known credulity

  Would bring such plagues with it, and her again,

  As authoress of them all, with that foul stain

  To her and to her country, she had stay’d

  Her love and mixture from a stranger’s bed;

  But god impell’d her to a shameless deed

  Because she had not in herself decreed,

  Before th’ attempt, that such acts still were shent

  As simply in themselves as in th’ event.

  By which not only she herself sustains,

  But we, for her fault, have paid mutual pains.

  Yet now, since these signs of our certain bed

  You have discover’d, and distinguished

  From all earth’s others, no one man but you

  Yet ever getting of it th’ only show,

  Nor one of all dames but myself and she

  My father gave, old Actor’s progeny,

  Who ever guarded to ourselves the door

  Of that thick-shaded chamber, I no more

  Will cross your clear persuasion, though till now

  I stood too doubtful and austere to you.’

  These words of hers, so justifying her stay,

  Did more desire of joyful moan convey

  To his glad mind than if at instant sight

  She had allow’d him all his wishes’ right.

  He wept for joy, t’ enjoy a wife so fit

  For his grave mind, that knew his depth of wit,

  And held chaste virtue at a price so high.

  And as sad men at sea when shore is nigh,

  Which long their hearts have wish’d, their ship quite lost

  By Neptune’s rigour, and they vex’d and toss’d

  ’Twixt winds and black waves, swimming for their lives,

  A few escaped, and that few that survives

  All drench’d in foam and brine, crawl up to land,

  With joy as much as they did worlds command:

  So dear to this wife was her husband’s sight,

  Who still embrac’d his neck – and had, till light

  Display’d her silver ensign, if the dame

  That bears the blue sky intermix’d with flame

  In her fair eyes had not infix’d her thought

  On other joys, for loves so hardly brought

  To long’d-for meeting; who th’ extended night

  Withheld in long date, nor would let the light

  Her wing-hoov’d horse join – Lampus, Phaëton,

  Those ever colts that bring the morning on

  To worldly men – but, in her golden chair,

  Down to the ocean by her silver hair

  Bound her aspirings. Then Ulysses said:

  ‘O wife! Nor yet are my contentions stay’d.

  A most unmeasur’d labour long and hard

  Asks more performance – to it being prepared

  By grave Tiresias, when down to hell

  I made dark passage, that his skill might tell

  My men’s return and mine. But come, and now

  Enjoy the sweet rest that our fates allow.’

  ‘The place of rest is ready,’ she replied,

  ‘Your will at full serve, since the deified

  Have brought you where your right is to command.

  But since you know, god making understand

  Your searching mind, inform me what must be

  Your last set labour; since ’twill fall to me,

  I hope, to hear it after, tell me now.

  The greatest pleasure is before to know.’

  ‘Unhappy!’ said Ulysses. ‘To what end

  Importune you this labour? It will lend

  Nor you nor me delight, but you shall know

  I was commanded yet more to bestow

  My years in travel, many cities more

  By sea to visit; and when first for shore

  I left my shipping, I was will’d to take

  A naval oar in hand, and with it make

  My passage forth till such strange men I met

  As knew no sea, nor ever salt did eat

  With any victuals, who the purple beaks

  Of ships did never see, nor that which breaks

  The waves in curls, which is a fan-like oar,

  And serves as wings with which a ship doth soar.

  To let me know, then, when I was arriv’d

  On that strange earth where such a people liv’d,

  He gave me this for an unfailing sign:

  When any one, that took that oar of mine

  Borne on my shoulder, for a corn-cleanse fan,

  I met ashore, and show’d to be a man

  Of that land’s labour, there had I command

  To fix mine oar, and offer on that strand

  T’ imperial Neptune, whom I must implore,

  A lamb, a bull, and sow-ascending boar;

  And then turn home, where all the other gods

  That in the broad heav’n made secure abodes

  I must solicit – all my curious heed

  Giv’n to the several rites they have decreed –

  With holy hecatombs; and then, at home,

  A gentle death should seize me that would come

  From out the sea, and take me to his rest

  In full ripe age, about me living blest

  My loving people; to which, he presag’d,

  The sequel of my fortunes were engag’d.’

  ‘If then,’ said she, ‘the gods will please t’ impose

  A happier being to your fortune’s close

  Than went before, your hope gives comfort strength

  That life shall lend you better days at length.’

  While this discourse spent mutual speech, the bed

  Eurynome and nurse had made, and spread

  With richest furniture, while torches spent

  Their parcel-gilt thereon. To bed then went

  The aged nurse; and, where their sovereigns were,

  Eurynome, the cham
bermaid, did bear

  A torch, and went before them to their rest;

  To which she left them and for hers address’d.

  The king and queen then now, as newly wed,

  Resum’d the old laws of th’ embracing bed.

  Telemachus and both his herdsmen then

  Dissolv’d the dances both to maids and men;

  Who in their shady roofs took timely sleep.

  The bride and bridegroom having ceas’d to keep

  Observed love-joys, from their fit delight

  They turn’d to talk. The queen then did recite

  What she had suffer’d by the hateful rout

  Of harmful wooers, who had eat her out

  So many oxen and so many sheep,

  How many tun of wine their drinking deep

  Had quite exhausted. Great Ulysses then,

  Whatever slaughters he had made of men,

  Whatever sorrows he himself sustain’d,

  Repeated amply; and her ears remain’d

  With all delight attentive to their end,

  Nor would one wink sleep till he told her all,

  Beginning where he gave the Cicons fall;

  From thence his pass to the Lotophagi;

  The Cyclop’s acts, the putting out his eye,

  And wreak of all the soldiers he had eat,

  No least ruth shown to all they could entreat;

  His way to Aeolus; his prompt receipt

  And kind dismission; his enforc’d retreat

  By sudden tempest to the fishy main,

  And quite distraction from his course again;

  His landing at the Laestrigonian port,

  Where ships and men in miserable sort

  Met all their spoils, his ship and he alone

  Got off from the abhorr’d confusion;

  His pass to Circe, her deceits and arts;

  His thence descension to th’ infernal parts;

  His life’s course of the Theban prophet learn’d,

  Where all the slaughter’d Grecians he discern’d

  And loved mother; his astonish’d ear

  With what the Sirens’ voices made him hear;

  His ’scape from th’ erring rocks, which Scylla was,

  And rough Charybdis, with the dangerous pass

  Of all that touch’d there; his Sicilian

  Offence given to the Sun; his every man

  Destroy’d by thunder vollied out of heav’n,

  That split his ship; his own endeavours driv’n

  To shift for succours on th’ Ogygian shore,

  Where nymph Calypso such affection bore

  To him in his arrival, that with feast

  She kept him in her caves, and would have blest

  His welcome life with an immortal state

  Would he have stay’d and liv’d her nuptial mate –

  All which she never could persuade him to;

  His pass to the Phaeacians spent in woe;

  Their hearty welcome of him, as he were

  A god descended from the starry sphere;

  Their kind dismission of him home with gold,

  Brass, garments, all things his occasions would.

  This last word used, sleep seiz’d his weary eye

  That salves all care to all mortality.

  In mean space Pallas entertain’d intent

  That when Ulysses thought enough time spent

  In love-joys with his wife, to raise the day,

  And make his grave occasions call away.

  The Morning rose, and he; when thus he said:

  ‘O queen, now satiate with afflictions laid

  On both our bosoms – you oppressed here

  With cares for my return, I everywhere

  By Jove and all the other deities toss’d

  Ev’n till all hope of my return was lost –

  And both arriv’d at this sweet hav’n, our bed,

  Be your care us’d to see administ’red

  My house-possessions left. Those sheep that were

  Consum’d in surfeits by your wooers here,

  I’ll forage to supply with some; and more

  The suffering Grecians shall be made restore,

  Ev’n till our stalls receive their wonted fill.

  And now, to comfort my good father’s ill

  Long suffer’d for me, to the many-tree’d

  And ample vineyard grounds it is decreed

  In my next care that I must haste and see

  His long’d-for presence. In the mean time, be

  Your wisdom us’d, that since, the sun ascended,

  The fame will soon be through the town extended

  Of those I here have slain, yourself got close

  Up to your chamber, see you there repose,

  Cheer’d with your women, and nor look afford

  Without your court, nor any man a word.’

  This said, he arm’d, to arms both son and swain

  His pow’r commanding, who did entertain

  His charge with spirit, op’d the gates and out,

  He leading all. And now was hurl’d about

  Aurora’s ruddy fire, through all whose light

  Minerva led them through the town from sight.

  The end of the twenty-third book

  Book 24

  The Argument

  By Mercury the wooers’ souls

  Are usher’d to th’ infernal pools.

  Ulysses with Laertes met,

  The people are in uproar set

  Against them, for the wooers’ ends;

  Whom Pallas stays and renders friends.

  Another Argument

  Omega

  The uproar’s fire,

  The people’s fall:

  The grandsire, sire,

  And son, to all.

  Book 24

  Cyllenian Hermes with his golden rod

  The wooers’ souls, that yet retain’d abode

  Amidst their bodies, call’d in dreadful rout

  Forth to th’ infernals; who came murmuring out.

  And, as amidst the desolate retreat

  Of some vast cavern, made the sacred seat

  Of austere spirits, bats with breasts and wings

  Clasp fast the walls, and each to other clings,

  But, swept off from their coverts, up they rise

  And fly with murmurs in amazeful guise

  About the cavern: so these, grumbling, rose

  And flock’d together. Down before them goes

  None-hurting Mercury to Hell’s broad ways,

  And straight to those straits where the ocean stays

  His lofty current in calm deeps they flew.

  Then to the snowy rock they next withdrew,

  And to the close of Phoebus’ orient gates,

  The nation then of dreams, and then the states

  Of those souls’ idols that the weary dead

  Gave up in earth, which in a flow’ry mead

  Had habitable situation.

  And there they saw the soul of Thetis’ son,

  Of good Patroclus, brave Antilochus,

  And Ajax, the supremely strenuous

  Of all the Greek host next Peleïon;

  All which assembled about Maia’s son.

  And to them, after, came the mournful ghost

  Of Agamemnon, with all those he lost

  In false Aegisthus’ court. Achilles then

  Beholding there that mighty king of men,

  Deplor’d his pli
ght, and said: ‘O Atreus’ son!

  Of all heroës, all opinion

  Gave thee for Jove’s most lov’d, since most command

  Of all the Greeks he gave thy eminent hand

  At siege of Ilion, where we suffer’d so.

  And is the issue this, that first in woe

  Stern Fate did therefore set thy sequel down?

  None borne past others’ fates can pass his own.

  I wish to heav’n that in the height of all

  Our pomp at Ilion Fate had sign’d thy fall,

  That all the Greeks might have advanc’d to thee

  A famous sepulchre, and Fame might see

  Thy son giv’n honour in thy honour’d end!

  But now a wretched death did Fate extend

  To thy confusion and thy issue’s shame.’

  ‘O Thetis’ son,’ said he, ‘the vital flame

  Extinct at Ilion, far from th’ Argive fields,

  The style of “blessed” to thy virtue yields.

  About thy fall the best of Greece and Troy

  Were sacrific’d to slaughter – thy just joy

  Conceiv’d in battle with some worth forgot

  In such a death as great Apollo shot

  At thy encounters. Thy brave person lay

  Hid in a dusty whirlwind, that made way

  With human breaths spent in thy ruin’s state.

  Thou, great, wert greatly valued in thy fate.

  All day we fought about thee; nor at all

  Had ceas’d our conflict, had not Jove let fall

  A storm that forc’d off our unwilling feet.

  But, having brought thee from the fight to fleet,

  Thy glorious person, bath’d and balm’d, we laid

  Aloft a bed; and round about thee paid

  The Greeks warm tears to thy deplor’d decease,

  Quite daunted, cutting all their curls’ increase.

  Thy death drave a divine voice through the seas

  That started up thy mother from the waves;

  And all the marine godheads left their caves,

  Consorting to our fleet her rapt repair.

  The Greeks stood frighted to see sea and air

  And earth combine so in thy loss’s sense –

  Had taken ship and fled for ever thence,

  If old much-knowing-Nestor had not stay’d

  Their rushing off, his counsels having sway’d

  In all times former with such cause their courses;

  Who bade contain themselves, and trust their forces,

  For all they saw was Thetis come from sea,

  With others of the wat’ry progeny,