And each lock fast the well-compacted gate:
Close let them keep, whate’er invades their ear;
Tho’ arms, or shouts, or dying groans they hear. 255
To thy strict charge, Philætius, we consign
The court’s main gate; to guard that pass be thine.’
This said, he first return’d; the faithful swains
At distance follow, as their King ordains.
Before the flame Eurymachus now stands, 260
And turns the bow, and chafes it with his hands;
Still the tough bow unmov’d. The lofty man
Sigh’d from his mighty soul, and thus began:
‘I mourn the common cause: for, oh my friends!
On me, on all, what grief, what shame attends! 265
Not the lost nuptials can affect me more
(For Greece has beauteous dames on ev’ry shore),
But baffled thus! confess’d so far below
Ulysses’ strength, as not to bend his bow!
How shall all ages our attempt deride! 270
Our weakness scorn!’ Antinoüs thus replied:
‘Not so, Eurymachus: that no man draws
The wondrous bow, attend another cause.
Sacred to Phœbus is the solemn day,
Which thoughtless we in games would waste away; 275
Till the next dawn this ill-timed strife forego,
And here leave fix’d the ringlets in a row.
Now bid the sewer approach, then let us join
In due libations, and in rites divine;
So end our night; before the day shall spring, 280
The choicest off’rings let Melanthius bring;
Let then to Phœbus’ name the fatted thighs
Feed the rich smokes, high curling to the skies.
So shall the patron of these arts bestow
(For his the gift) the skill to bend the bow.’ 285
They heard well pleas’d; the ready heralds bring
The cleansing waters from the limpid spring;
The goblet high with rosy wine they crown’d,
In order circling to the peers around,
That rite complete, uprose the thoughtful man, 290
And thus his meditated scheme began;
‘If what I ask your noble minds approve,
Ye Peers and Rivals in the royal love!
Chief, if it hurt not great Antinoüs’ ear
(Whose sage decision I with wonder hear), 295
And if Eurymachus the motion please,
Give Heav’n this day, and rest the bow in peace.
To-morrow let your arms dispute the prize,
And take it he, the favour’d of the skies!
But, since till then this trial you delay, 300
Trust it one moment to my hands to-day:
Fain would I prove, before your judging eyes,
What once I was, whom wretched you despise;
If yet this arm its ancient force retain;
Or if my woes (a long-continued train) 305
And wants and insults, make me less than man.’
Rage flash’d in lightning from the suitors’ eyes,
Yet mix’d with terror at the bold emprise.
Antinoüs then: ‘O miserable guest!
Is common sense quite banish’d from thy breast? 310
Sufficed it not, within the palace placed,
To sit distinguish’d, with our presence graced,
Admitted here with Princes to confer,
A man unknown, a needy wanderer?
To copious wine this insolence we owe, 315
And much thy betters wine can overthrow:
The great Eurytion when this frenzy stung,
Pirithoüs’ roofs with frantic riot rung;
Boundless the Centaur raged; till one and all
The heroes rose, and dragg’d him from the hall: 320
His nose they shorten’d, and his ears they slit,
And sent him sober’d home, with better wit.
Hence with long war the double race was curs’d
Fatal to all, but to th’ aggressor first.
Such fate I prophesy our guest attends, 325
If here this interdicted bow he bends:
Nor shall these walls such insolence contain;
The first fair wind transports him o’er the main;
Where Echetus to death the guilty brings
(The worst of mortals, ev’n the worst of Kings). 330
Better than that, if thou approve our cheer,
Cease the mad strife, and share our bounty here.’
To this the Queen her just dislike express’d:
‘‘T is impious, Prince, to harm the stranger-guest;
Base to insult who bears a suppliant’s name, 335
And some respect Telemachus may claim.
What if th’ Immortals on the man bestow
Sufficient strength to draw the mighty bow?
Shall I, a Queen, by rival chiefs ador’d,
Accept a wand’ring stranger for my lord? 340
A hope so idle never touch’d his brain:
Then ease your bosom of a fear so vain.
Far be he banish’d from this stately scene
Who wrongs his Princess with a thought so mean.’
‘O Fair! and wisest of so fair a kind!’ 345
(Respectful thus Eurymachus rejoin’d)
‘Mov’d by no weak surmise, but sense of shame,
We dread the all-arraigning voice of Fame:
We dread the censure of the meanest slave,
The weakest woman: all can wrong the brave. 350
“Behold what wretches to the bed pretend
Of that brave Chief, whose bow they could not bend!
In came a beggar of the strolling crew,
And did what all those Princes could not do.”
Thus will the common voice our deed defame, 355
And thus posterity upbraid our name.’
To whom the Queen: ‘If Fame engage your views,
Forbear those acts which Infamy pursues;
Wrong and oppression no renown can raise;
Know, Friend! that virtue is the path to praise. 360
The stature of our guest, his port, his face,
Speak him descended from no vulgar race.
To him the bow, as he desires, convey;
And to his hand if Phœbus give the day,
Hence, to reward his merit, he shall bear 365
A two-edg’d faulchion and a shining spear,
Embroider’d sandals, a rich cloak and vest,
And safe conveyance to his port of rest.’
‘O royal Mother! ever-honour’d name!
Permit me’ (cries Telemachus) ‘to claim 370
A son’s just right. No Grecian Prince but I
Has power this bow to grant, or to deny!
Of all that Ithaca’s rough hills contain,
And all wide Elis’ courser-breeding plain,
To me alone my father’s arms descend; 375
And mine alone they are, to give or lend.
Retire, O Queen! thy household task resume,
Tend, with thy maids, the labours of thy loom;
The bow, the darts, and arms of chivalry,
These cares to man belong, and most to me.’ 380
Mature beyond his years, the Queen admired
His sage reply, and with her train retired;
There in her chamber as she sate apart,
Revolv’d his words, and placed them in her heart.
On her Ulysses then she fix’d her soul; 385
Down her fair cheek the tears abundant roll,
Till gentle Pallas, piteous of her cries,
In slumber closed her silver-streaming eyes.
Now thro’ the press the bow Eumæus bore,
And all was riot, noise, and wild uproar. 390
‘Hold! lawless rustic! whither wilt thou go?
To whom, insensate, dost th
ou bear the bow?
Exil’d for this to some sequester’d den,
Far from the sweet society of men,
To thy own dogs a prey thou shalt be made; 395
If Heav’n and Phœbus lend the suitors aid.’
Thus they. Aghast he laid the weapon down,
But bold Telemachus thus urged him on:
‘Proceed, false slave, and slight their empty words;
What! hopes the fool to please so many lords? 400
Young as I am, thy Prince’s vengeful hand
Stretch’d forth in wrath shall drive thee from the land.
Oh! could the vigour of this arm as well
Th’ oppressive suitors from my walls expel!
Then what a shoal of lawless men should go 405
To fill with tumult the dark courts below!’
The suitors with a scornful smile survey
The youth, indulging in the genial day.
Eumæus, thus encouraged, hastes to bring
The strifeful bow, and gives it to the King. 410
Old Euryclea calling then aside,
‘Hear what Telemachus enjoins’ (he cried):
‘At ev’ry portal let some matron wait,
And each lock fast the well-compacted gate;
And if unusual sounds invade their ear, 415
If arms, or shouts, or dying groans they hear,
Let none to call or issue forth presume,
But close attend the labours of the loom.’
Her prompt obedience on his order waits;
Closed in an instant were the palace gates. 420
In the same moment forth Philætius flies,
Secures the court, and with a cable ties
The utmost gate (the cable strongly wrought
Of Byblos’ reed, a ship from Egypt brought);
Then unperceiv’d and silent at the board 425
His seat he takes, his eyes upon his lord.
And now his well-known bow the Master bore,
Turn’d on all sides, and view’d it o’er and o’er;
Lest time or worms had done the weapon wrong,
Its owner absent, and untried so long. 430
While some deriding: ‘How he turns the bow!
Some other like it sure the man must know,
Or else would copy; or in bows he deals;
Perhaps he makes them, or perhaps he steals.’ —
‘Heav’n to this wretch’ (another cried) ‘be kind! 435
And bless, in all to which he stands inclin’d,
With such good fortune as he now shall find.’
Heedless he heard them: but disdain’d reply,
The bow perusing with exactest eye.
Then, as some heav’nly minstrel, taught to sing 440
High notes responsive to the trembling string,
To some new strain when he adapts the lyre,
Or the dumb lute refits with vocal wire,
Relaxes, strains, and draws them to and fro;
So the great master drew the mighty bow: 445
And drew with ease. One hand aloft display’d
The bending horns, and one the string essay’d.
From his essaying hand the string let fly
Twang’d short and sharp like the shrill swallow’s cry.
A gen’ral horror ran thro’ all the race, 450
Sunk was each heart, and pale was ev’ry face.
Signs from above ensued: th’ unfolding sky
In lightning burst; Jove thunder’d from on high.
Fired at the call of Heav’n’s almighty Lord,
He snatch’d the shaft that glitter’d on the board 455
(Fast by, the rest lay sleeping in the sheath,
But soon to fly, the messengers of Death).
Now, sitting as he was, the cord he drew,
Thro’ every ringlet levelling his view;
Then notch’d the shaft, releas’d, and gave it wing; 460
The whizzing arrow vanish’d from the string,
Sung on direct, and threaded ev’ry ring.
The solid gate its fury scarcely bounds;
Pierc’d thro’ and thro’, the solid gate resounds.
Then to the Prince: ‘Nor have I wrought thee shame; 465
Nor err’d this hand unfaithful to its aim;
Nor prov’d the toil too hard; nor have I lost
That ancient vigour once my pride and boast.
Ill I deserv’d these haughty Peers’ disdain;
Now let them comfort their dejected train, 470
In sweet repast their present hour employ
Nor wait till ev’ning for the genial joy:
Then to the lute’s soft voice prolong the night;
Music, the banquet’s most refin’d delight.’
He said, then gave a nod; and at the word 475
Telemachus girds on his shining sword.
Fast by his father’s side he takes his stand:
The beamy jav’lin lightens in his hand.
Odyssey Book XXII. The Death of the Suitors
THE ARGUMENT
Ulysses begins the slaughter of the suitors by the death of Antinoüs. He declares himself, and lets fly his arrows at the rest. Telemachus assists, and brings arms for his father, himself, Eumæus, and Philætius. Melanthius does the same for the wooers. Minerva encourages Ulysses in the shape of Mentor. The suitors are all slain, only Medon and Phemius are spared. Melanthius and the unfaithful servants are executed. The rest acknowledge their master with all demonstrations of joy.
THEN fierce the Hero o’er the threshold strode;
Stripp’d of his rags, he blazed out like a God.
Full in their face the lifted bow he bore,
And quiver’d deaths, a formidable store;
Before his feet the rattling shower he threw, 5
And thus, terrific, to the suitor-crew:
‘One venturous game this hand hath won to-day,
Another, Princes! yet remains to play;
Another mark our arrow must attain.
Phœbus, assist! nor be the labour vain.’ 10
Swift as the word the parting arrow sings,
And bears thy fate, Antinoüs, on its wings:
Wretch that he was, of unprophetic soul!
High in his hands he rear’d the golden bowl!
Ev’n then to drain it lengthen’d out his breath; 15
Changed to the deep, the bitter draught of death:
For Fate who fear’d amidst a feastful band?
And Fate to numbers, by a single hand?
Full thro’ his throat Ulysses’ weapon pass’d,
And pierc’d his neck. He falls, and breathes his last. 20
The tumbling goblet the wide floor o’erflows,
A stream of gore burst spouting from his nose;
Grim in convulsive agonies he sprawls:
Before him spurn’d the loaded table falls,
And spreads the pavement with a mingled flood 25
Of floating meats, and wine, and human blood.
Amazed, confounded, as they saw him fall,
Up rose the throngs tumultuous round the hall:
O’er all the dome they cast a haggard eye,
Each look’d for arms: in vain; no arms were nigh: 30
‘Aim’st thou at Princes?’ (all amazed they said)
‘Thy last of games unhappy hast thou play’d;
Thy erring shaft has made our bravest bleed,
And Death, unlucky guest, attends thy deed.
Vultures shall tear thee.’ Thus incens’d they spoke, 35
While each to chance ascribed the wondrous stroke,
Blind as they were; for Death even now invades
His destin’d prey, and wraps them all in shades.
Then, grimly frowning, with a dreadful look,
That wither’d all their hearts, Ulysses spoke: 40
‘Dogs, ye have had your day! ye fear’d no more
Ulysses vengeful from the Trojan
shore;
While, to your lust and spoil a guardless prey,
Our house, our wealth, our helpless handmaids lay:
Not so content, with bolder frenzy fired, 45
Ev’n to our bed presumptuous you aspired:
Laws or divine or human fail’d to move,
Or shame of men, or dread of Gods above;
Heedless alike of infamy or praise,
Or Fame’s eternal voice in future days, 50
The hour of vengeance, wretches, now is come;
Impending fate is yours, and instant doom.’
Thus dreadful he. Confused the suitors stood;
From their pale cheeks recedes the flying blood:
Trembling they sought their guilty heads to hide; 55
Alone the bold Eurymachus replied:
‘If, as thy words import’ (he thus began),
‘Ulysses lives, and thou the mighty man,
Great are thy wrongs, and much hast thou sustain’d
In thy spoil’d palace, and exhausted land; 60
The cause and author of those guilty deeds,
Lo! at thy feet unjust Antinoüs bleeds.
Not love, but wild ambition was his guide;
To slay thy son, thy kingdoms to divide,
These were his aims; but juster Jove denied. 65
Since cold in death th’ offender lies, oh spare
Thy suppliant people, and receive their prayer!
Brass, gold, and treasures, shall the spoil defray,
Two hundred oxen ev’ry Prince shall pay
The waste of years refunded in a day. 70
Till then thy wrath is just.’ Ulysses burn’d
With high disdain, and sternly thus return’d:
‘All, all the treasures that enrich’d our throne
Before your rapines, join’d with all your own,
If offer’d, vainly should for mercy call; 75
‘T is you that offer, and I scorn them all:
Your blood is my demand, your lives the prize,
Till pale as yonder wretch each suitor lies.
Hence with those coward terms; or fight or fly;
This choice is left you to resist or die; 80
And die I trust ye shall.’ He sternly spoke:
With guilty fears the pale assembly shook.
Alone Eurymachus exhorts the train:
‘Yon archer, comrades, will not shoot in vain;
But from the threshold shall his darts be sped 85
(Whoe’er he be), till ev’ry Prince lie dead?
Be mindful of yourselves, draw forth your swords,
And to his shafts obtend these ample boards
(So need compels). Then, all united, strive
The bold invader from his post to drive; 90
The city rous’d shall to our rescue haste,
And this mad archer soon have shot his last.’
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 141