Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series

by Alexander Pope

  Meanwhile Ulysses search’d the dome, to find

  If yet there live of all th’ offending kind.

  Not one! complete the bloody tale he found,

  All steep’d in blood, all gasping on the ground.

  So, when by hollow shores the fisher-train 425

  Sweep with their arching nets the hoary main,

  And scarce the meshy toils the copious draught contain,

  All naked of their element, and bare,

  The fishes pant, and gasp in thinner air;

  Wide o’er the sands are spread the stiff’ning prey, 430

  Till the warm sun exhales their soul away.

  And now the King commands his son to call

  Old Euryclea to the deathful hall:

  The son observant not a moment stays;

  The aged governess with speed obeys; 435

  The sounding portals instant they display;

  The matron moves, the Prince directs the way.

  On heaps of death the stern Ulysses stood,

  All black with dust, and cover’d thick with blood.

  So the grim lion from the slaughter comes, 440

  Dreadful he glares, and terribly he foams,

  His breast with marks of carnage painted o’er,

  His jaws all dropping with the bull’s black gore.

  Soon as her eyes the welcome object met,

  The guilty fall’n, the mighty deed complete, 445

  A scream of joy her feeble voice essay’d:

  The hero check’d her, and composedly said:

  ‘Woman, experienc’d as thou art, control

  Indecent joy, and feast thy secret soul.

  T’ insult the dead is cruel and unjust; 450

  Fate and their crime have sunk them to the dust.

  Nor heeded these the censure of mankind,

  The good and bad were equal in their mind.

  Justly the price of worthlessness they paid,

  And each now wails an unlamented shade. 455

  But thou sincere, O Euryclea, say,

  What maids dishonour us, and what obey?’

  Then she: ‘In these thy kingly walls remain

  (My son) full fifty of the handmaid train,

  Taught, by my care, to cull the fleece or weave, 460

  And servitude with pleasing tasks deceive;

  Of these, twice six pursue their wicked way,

  Nor me, nor chaste Penelope obey;

  Nor fits it that Telemachus command

  (Young as he is) his mother’s female band. 465

  Hence to the upper chambers let me fly,

  Where slumbers soft now close the royal eye;

  There wake her with the news’ — the matron cried.

  ‘Not so’ (Ulysses, more sedate, replied),

  ‘Bring first the crew who wrought these guilty deeds.’ 470

  In haste the matron parts; the King proceeds:

  ‘Now to dispose the dead, the care remains

  To you, my son, and you, my faithful swains;

  Th’ offending females to that task we doom,

  To wash, to scent, and purify the room: 475

  These (ev’ry table cleans’d, and ev’ry throne,

  And all the melancholy labour done),

  Drive to yon court, without the palace-wall.

  There the revenging sword shall smite them all;

  So with the suitors let them mix in dust, 480

  Stretch’d in a long oblivion of their lust.’

  He said: the lamentable train appear,

  Each vents a groan, and drops a tender tear:

  Each heav’d her mournful burden, and beneath

  The porch deposed the ghastly heap of death. 485

  The Chief severe, compelling each to move,

  Urged the dire task imperious from above:

  With thirsty sponge they rub the tables o’er

  (The swains unite their toil); the walls, the floor

  Wash’d with th’ effusive wave, are purged of gore. 490

  Once more the palace set in fair array,

  To the base court the females take their way:

  There compass’d close between the dome and wall

  (Their life’s last scene), they trembling wait their fall.

  Then thus the Prince: ‘To these shall we afford 495

  A fate so pure, as by the martial sword?

  To these, the nightly prostitutes to shame,

  And base revilers of our house and name?’

  Thus speaking, on the circling wall he strung

  A ship’s tough cable, from a column hung; 500

  Near the high top he strain’d it strongly round,

  Whence no contending foot could reach the ground.

  Their heads above connected in a row,

  They beat the air with quiv’ring feet below:

  Thus on some tree hung struggling in the snare, 505

  The doves or thrushes flap their wings in air.

  Soon fled the soul impure, and left behind

  The empty corse to waver with the wind.

  Then forth they led Melanthius, and began

  Their bloody work; they lopp’d away the man, 510

  Morsel for dogs! then trimm’d with brazen shears

  The wretch, and shorten’d of his nose and ears;

  His hands and feet last felt the cruel steel:

  He roar’d, and torments gave his soul to Hell.

  They wash, and to Ulysses take their way, 515

  So ends the bloody business of the day.

  To Euryclea then address’d the King:

  ‘Bring hither fire, and hither sulphur bring,

  To purge the palace: then the Queen attend,

  And let her with her matron-train descend; 520

  The matron-train, with all the virgin-band,

  Assemble here, to learn their lord’s command.’

  Then Euryclea: ‘Joyful I obey,

  But cast those mean dishonest rags away;

  Permit me first the royal robes to bring: 525

  Ill suits this garb the shoulders of a King.’

  ‘Bring sulphur straight, and fire’ (the Monarch cries).

  She hears, and at the word obedient flies.

  With fire and sulphur, cure of noxious fumes,

  He purged the walls, and blood-polluted rooms. 530

  Again the matron springs with eager pace,

  And spreads her lord’s return from place to place.

  They hear, rush forth, and instant round him stand,

  A gazing throng, a torch in every hand.

  They saw, they knew him, and with fond embrace 535

  Each humbly kiss’d his knee, or hand, or face;

  He knows them all; in all such truth appears,

  Ev’n he indulges the sweet joy of tears.

  Odyssey Book XXIV

  THE ARGUMENT

  The souls of the suitors are conducted by Mercury to the infernal shades. Ulysses in the country goes to the retirement of his father Laërtes; he finds him busied in his garden all alone: the manner of his discovery to him is beautifully described. They return together to his lodge, and the king is acknowledged by Dolius and the servants. The Ithacensians, led by Eupithes, the father of Antinoüs, rise against Ulysses, who gives them battle, in which Eupithes is killed by Laërtes: and the goddess Pallas makes a lasting peace between Ulysses and his subjects, which concludes the Odyssey.

  CYLLENIUS now to Pluto’s dreary reign

  Conveys the dead, a lamentable train!

  The golden wand, that causes sleep to fly,

  Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye,

  That drives the ghosts to realms of night or day, 5

  Points out the long uncomfortable way.

  Trembling the spectres glide, and plaintive vent

  Thin hollow screams, along the deep descent.

  As in the cavern of some rifted den,

  Where flock nocturnal bats, and birds obscene; 10

  Cluste
r’d they hang, till, at some sudden shock,

  They move, and murmurs run thro’ all the rock!

  So cow’ring fled the sable heaps of ghosts,

  And such a scream fill’d all the dismal coasts.

  And now they reach’d the earth’s remotest ends, 15

  And now the gates where ev’ning Sol descends,

  And Leucas’ rock, and Ocean’s utmost streams,

  And now pervade the dusky land of dreams,

  And rest at last, where souls unbodied dwell

  In ever-flow’ring meads of asphodel. 20

  The empty forms of men inhabit there,

  Impassive semblance, images of air!

  Not else are all that shined on earth before:

  Ajax and great Achilles are no more!

  Yet still a master-ghost, the rest he aw’d, 25

  The rest ador’d him, tow’ring as he trod;

  Still at his side is Nestor’s son survey’d,

  And loved Patroclus still attends his shade.

  New as they were to that infernal shore,

  The suitors stopp’d, and gazed the hero o’er. 30

  When, moving slow, the regal form they view’d

  Of great Atrides: him in pomp pursued

  And solemn sadness thro’ the gloom of Hell,

  The train of those who by Ægisthus fell:

  ‘O mighty Chief!’ (Pelides thus began) 35

  ‘Honour’d by Jove above the lot of man!

  King of a hundred Kings! to whom resign’d

  The strongest, bravest, greatest of mankind,

  Com’st thou the first, to view this dreary state?

  And was the noblest the first mark of Fate, 40

  Condemn’d to pay the great arrear so soon

  The lot, which all lament, and none can shun!

  Oh! better had’st thou sunk in Trojan ground,

  With all thy full-blown honours cover’d round;

  Then grateful Greece with streaming eyes might raise 45

  Historic marbles to record thy praise:

  Thy praise eternal on the faithful stone

  Had with transmissive glories graced thy son.

  But heavier fates were destin’d to attend:

  What man is happy, till he knows the end?’ 50

  ‘O son of Peleus! greater than mankind!’

  (Thus Agamemnon’s kingly shade rejoin’d)

  ‘Thrice happy thou, to press the martial plain

  ‘Midst heaps of heroes in thy quarrel slain:

  In clouds of smoke rais’d by the noble fray, 55

  Great and terrific ev’n in death you lay,

  And deluges of blood flow’d round you ev’ry way.

  Nor ceas’d the strife till Jove himself opposed,

  And all in tempests the dire ev’ning closed.

  Then to the fleet we bore thy honour’d load, 60

  And decent on the funeral bed bestow’d:

  Then unguents sweet, and tepid streams we shed;

  Tears flow’d from ev’ry eye, and o’er the dead

  Each clipp’d the curling honour of his head.

  Struck at the news, thy azure mother came; 65

  The sea-green sisters waited on the dame:

  A voice of loud lament thro’ all the main

  Was heard; and terror seiz’d the Grecian train:

  Back to their ships the frighted host had fled;

  But Nestor spoke, they listen’d and obey’d 70

  (From old experience Nestor’s counsel springs,

  And long vicissitudes of human things).

  ‘“Forbear your flight: fair Thetis from the main

  To mourn Achilles leads her azure train.”

  Around thee stand the daughters of the deep, 75

  Robe thee in heav’nly vests, and round thee weep:

  Round thee, the Muses, with alternate strain,

  In ever-consecrating verse, complain.

  Each warlike Greek the moving music hears,

  And iron-hearted heroes melt in tears. 80

  Till sev’nteen nights and sev’nteen days return’d,

  All that was mortal or immortal mourn’d,

  To flames we gave thee, the succeeding day,

  And fatted sheep and sable oxen slay;

  With oils and honey blaze th’ augmented fires, 85

  And, like a God adorn’d, thy earthly part expires.

  Unnumber’d warriors round the burning pile

  Urge the fleet courser’s or the racer’s toil;

  Thick clouds of dust o’er all the circle rise,

  And the mix’d clamour thunders in the skies. 90

  Soon as absorb’d in all-embracing flame

  Sunk what was mortal of thy mighty name,

  We then collect thy snowy bones, and place

  With wines and unguents in a golden vase

  (The vase to Thetis Bacchus gave of old, 95

  And Vulcan’s art enrich’d the sculptured gold);

  There we thy relics, great Achilles! blend

  With dear Patroclus, thy departed friend:

  In the same urn a sep’rate space contains

  Thy next belov’d, Antilochus’ remains. 100

  Now all the sons of warlike Greece surround

  Thy destin’d tomb, and cast a mighty mound:

  High on the shore the growing hill we raise,

  That wide th’ extended Hellespont surveys:

  Where all, from age to age, who pass the coast 105

  May point Achilles’ tomb, and hail the mighty ghost.

  Thetis herself to all our Peers proclaims

  Heroic prizes and exequial games;

  The Gods assented; and around thee lay

  Rich spoils and gifts that blazed against the day. 110

  Oft have I seen with solemn funeral games

  Heroes and Kings committed to the flames;

  But strength of youth, or valour of the brave,

  With nobler contest ne’er renown’d a grave.

  Such were the games by azure Thetis giv’n, 115

  And such the honours, O Belov’d of Heav’n!

  Dear to mankind thy fame survives, nor fades

  Its bloom eternal in the Stygian shades.

  But what to me avail my honours gone,

  Successful toils, and battles bravely won? 120

  Doom’d by stern Jove at home to end my life,

  By curs’d Ægisthus, and a faithless wife!’

  Thus they: while Hermes o’er the dreary plain

  Led the sad numbers by Ulysses slain.

  On each majestic form they cast a view, 125

  And tim’rous pass’d, and awfully withdrew.

  But Agamemnon, thro’ the gloomy shade,

  His ancient host Amphimedon survey’d:

  ‘Son of Melanthius!’ (he began) ‘O say!

  What cause compell’d so many, and so gay, 130

  To tread the downward melancholy way?

  Say, could one city yield a troop so fair?

  Were all these partners of one native air?

  Or did the rage of stormy Neptune sweep

  Your lives at once, and whelm beneath the deep? 135

  Did nightly thieves, or pirates’ cruel bands,

  Drench with your blood your pillaged country’s sands?

  Or, well-defending some beleaguer’d wall,

  Say, for the public did ye greatly fall?

  Inform thy guest: for such I was of yore 140

  When our triumphant navies touch’d your shore;

  Forc’d a long month the wintry seas to bear,

  To move the great Ulysses to the war.’

  ‘O King of Men! I faithful shall relate’

  (Replied Amphimedon) ‘our hapless fate. 145

  Ulysses absent, our ambitious aim

  With rival loves pursued his royal dame;

  Her coy reserve, and prudence mix’d with pride,

  Our common suit nor granted, nor denied:

  But close with
inward hate our deaths design’d; 150

  Vers’d in all arts of wily womankind,

  Her hand, laborious, in delusion spread

  A spacious loom, and mix’d the various thread.

  ‘“Ye Peers” (she cried), “who press to gain my heart,

  Where dead Ulysses claims no more a part, 155

  Yet a short space your rival suit suspend,

  Till this funereal web my labours end:

  Cease, till to good Laërtes I bequeath

  A task of grief, his ornaments of death:

  Lest, when the Fates his royal ashes claim, 160

  The Grecian matrons taint my spotless fame;

  Should he, long honour’d with supreme command,

  Want the last duties of a daughter’s hand.”

  ‘The fiction pleas’d: our gen’rous train complies,

  Nor fraud distrusts in virtue’s fair disguise. 165

  The work she plied, but, studious of delay,

  Each foll’wing night revers’d the toils of day.

  Unheard, unseen, three years her arts prevail;

  The fourth, her maid reveal’d th’ amazing tale,

  And show’d, as unperceiv’d we took our stand, 170

  The backward labours of her faithless hand.

  Forc’d, she completes it; and before us lay

  The mingled web, whose gold and silver ray

  Display’d the radiance of the night and day.

  ‘Just as she finish’d her illustrious toil 175

  Ill fortune led Ulysses to our isle.

  Far in a lonely nook, beside the sea,

  At an old swineherd’s rural lodge he lay:

  Thither his son from sandy Pyle repairs,

  And speedy lands, and secretly confers. 180

  They plan our future ruin, and resort

  Confed’rate to the city and the court.

  First came the son: the father next succeeds,

  Clad like a beggar, whom Eumæus leads;

  Propp’d on a staff, deform’d with age and care, 185

  And hung with rags that flutter’d in the air.

  Who could Ulysses in that form behold?

  Scorn’d by the young, forgotten by the old,

  Ill-used by all! to ev’ry wrong resign’d,

  Patient he suffer’d with a constant mind. 190

  But when, arising in his wrath t’ obey

  The will of Jove, he gave the vengeance way:

  The scatter’d arms that hung around the dome

  Careful he treasured in a private room;

  Then to her suitors bade his Queen propose 195

  The archer’s strife, the source of future woes,

  And omen of our death! In vain we drew

  The twanging string, and tried the stubborn yew:

  To none it yields but great Ulysses’ hands;

  In vain we threat; Telemachus commands: 200