The bow he snatch’d, and in an instant bent;
Thro’ ev’ry ring the victor arrow went.
Fierce on the threshold then in arms he stood;
Pour’d forth the darts that thirsted for our blood,
And frown’d before us, dreadful as a God; 205
First bleeds Antinoüs: thick the shafts resound;
And heaps on heaps the wretches strew the ground:
This way and that we turn, we fly, we fall;
Some God assisted, and unmann’d us all:
Ignoble cries precede the dying groans; 210
And batter’d brains and blood besmear the stones.
‘Thus, great Atrides! thus Ulysses drove
The shades thou seest from yon fair realms above;
Our mangled bodies now, deform’d with gore,
Cold and neglected, spread the marble floor. 215
No friend to bathe our wounds, or tears to shed
O’er the pale corse the honours of the dead.’
‘Oh bless’d Ulysses!’ (thus the King express’d
His sudden rapture) ‘in thy consort bless’d!
Not more thy wisdom than her virtue shined; 220
Not more thy patience than her constant mind.
Icarius’ daughter, glory of the past,
And model to the future age, shall last:
The Gods, to honour her fair fame, shall raise
(Their great reward) a Poet in her praise. 225
Not such, O Tyndarus! thy daughter’s deed,
By whose dire hand her King and Husband bled;
Her shall the Muse to infamy prolong,
Example dread, and theme of tragic song!
The gen’ral sex shall suffer in her shame, 230
And ev’n the best that bears a woman’s name.’
Thus in the regions of eternal shade
Conferr’d the mournful phantoms of the dead;
While from the town Ulysses and his band
Pass’d to Laërtes’ cultivated land. 235
The ground himself had purchas’d with his pain,
And labour made the rugged soil a plain.
There stood his mansion of the rural sort,
With useful buildings round the lowly court;
Where the few servants that divide his care, 240
Took their laborious rest, and homely fare:
And one Sicilian matron, old and sage,
With constant duty tends his drooping age.
Here now arriving, to his rustic band,
And martial son, Ulysses gave command. 245
‘Enter the house, and of the bristly swine
Select the largest to the Powers divine.
Alone, and unattended, let me try
If yet I share the old man’s memory:
If those dim eyes can yet Ulysses know 250
(Their light and dearest object long ago),
Now changed with time, with absence, and with woe.’
Then to his train he gives his spear and shield;
The house they enter: and he seeks the field
Thro’ rows of shade, with various fruitage crown’d, 255
And labour’d scenes of richest verdure round.
Nor aged Dolius, nor his sons were there,
Nor servants, absent on another care;
To search the woods for sets of flow’ry thorn,
Their orchard bounds to strengthen and adorn. 260
But all alone the hoary King he found;
His habit coarse, but warmly wrapp’d around;
His head, that bow’d with many a pensive care,
Fenc’d with a double cap of goatskin hair:
His buskins old, in former service torn, 265
But well repair’d; and gloves against the thorn.
In this array the kingly gard’ner stood,
And clear’d a plant, encumber’d with its wood.
Beneath a neighb’ring tree, the Chief divine
Gazed o’er his sire, retracing ev’ry line, 270
The ruins of himself! now worn away
With age, yet still majestic in decay!
Sudden his eyes releas’d their wat’ry store;
The much-enduring man could bear no more.
Doubtful he stood, if instant to embrace 275
His aged limbs, to kiss his rev’rend face,
With eager transport to disclose the whole,
And pour at once the torrent of his soul. —
Not so: his judgment takes the winding way
Of question distant, and of soft essay; 280
More gentle methods on weak age employs;
And moves the sorrows, to enhance the joys.
Then, to his sire with beating heart he moves
And with a tender pleasantry reproves;
Who, digging round the plant, still hangs his head, 285
Nor aught remits the work, while thus he said:
‘Great is thy skill, O Father! great thy toil,
Thy careful hand is stamp’d on all the soil;
Thy squadron’d vineyards well thy art declare,
The olive green, blue fig, and pendent pear; 290
And not one empty spot escapes thy care.
On ev’ry plant and tree thy cares are shown,
Nothing neglected, but thyself alone.
Forgive me, Father, if this fault I blame;
Age so advanc’d may some indulgence claim. 295
Not for thy sloth, I deem thy lord unkind:
Nor speaks thy form a mean or servile mind;
I read a Monarch in that princely air,
The same thy aspect, if the same thy care;
Soft sleep, fair garments, and the joys of wine, 300
These are the rights of age, and should be thine.
Who then thy master, say? and whose the land
So dress’d and managed by thy skilful hand?
But chief, oh tell me! (what I question most)
Is this the far-famed Ithacensian coast? 305
For so reported the first man I view’d
(Some surly islander, of manners rude),
Nor farther conference vouchsafed to stay;
Heedless he whistled, and pursued his way.
But thou, whom years have taught to understand, 310
Humanely hear, and answer my demand:
A friend I seek, a wise one and a brave:
Say, lives he yet, or moulders in the grave?
Time was (my fortunes then were at the best),
When at my house I lodg’d this foreign guest; 315
He said, from Ithaca’s fair isle he came,
And old Laërtes was his father’s name.
To him, whatever to a guest is owed
I paid, and hospitable gifts bestow’d:
To him sev’n talents of pure ore I told, 320
Twelve cloaks, twelve vests, twelve tunics stiff with gold;
A bowl, that rich with polish’d silver flames,
And, skill’d in female works, four lovely dames.’
At this the father, with a father’s fears
(His venerable eyes bedimm’d with tears): 325
‘This is the land; but ah! thy gifts are lost,
For godless men, and rude, possess the coast:
Sunk is the glory of this once-famed shore!
Thy ancient friend, O Stranger, is no more!
Full recompense thy bounty else had borne; 330
For ev’ry good man yields a just return:
So civil rights demand; and who begins
The track of friendship, not pursuing, sins.
But tell me, stranger, be the truth confess’d,
What years have circled since thou saw’st that guest? 335
That hapless guest, alas! for ever gone!
Wretch that he was! and that I am! my son!
If ever man to misery was born,
‘T was his to suffer and ‘t is mine to mourn!
Far from his friends, an
d from his native reign, 340
He lies a prey to monsters of the main;
Or savage beasts his mangled relics tear,
Or screaming vultures scatter thro’ the air:
Nor could his mother funeral unguents shed;
Nor wail’d his father o’er th’ untimely dead: 345
Nor his sad consort, on the mournful bier,
Seal’d his cold eyes, or dropp’d a tender tear!
‘But, tell me who thou art? and what thy race?
Thy town, thy parents, and thy native place?
Or, if a merchant in pursuit of gain, 350
What port receiv’d thy vessel from the main?
Or com’st thou single, or attend thy train?’
Then thus the son: ‘From Alybas I came,
My palace there; Eperitus my name.
Not vulgar born; from Aphidas, the King 355
Of Polypemon’s royal line, I spring.
Some adverse demon from Sicania bore
Our wand’ring course, and drove us on your shore;
Far from the town, an unfrequented bay
Reliev’d our wearied vessel from the sea. 360
Five years have circled since these eyes pursued
Ulysses parting thro’ the sable flood;
Prosp’rous he sail’d, with dexter auguries,
And all the wing’d good omens of the skies.
Well hoped we then to meet on this fair shore, 365
Whom Heav’n, alas! decreed to meet no more.’
Quick thro’ the father’s heart these accents ran;
Grief seiz’d at once, and wrapp’d up all the man:
Deep from his soul he sigh’d, and sorr’wing spread
A cloud of ashes on his hoary head. 370
Trembling with agonies of strong delight
Stood the great son, heart-wounded with the sight:
He ran, he seiz’d him with a strict embrace,
With thousand kisses wander’d o’er his face:
‘I, I am he; O Father, rise! behold 375
Thy son, with twenty winters now grown old;
Thy son, so long desired, so long detain’d,
Restor’d, and breathing in his native land:
These floods of sorrow, O my Sire, restrain!
The vengeance is complete; the suitor train, 380
Stretch’d in our palace, by these hands lie slain.’
Amazed, Laërtes: ‘Give some certain sign’
(If such thou art) ‘to manifest thee mine.’
‘Lo here the wound’ (he cries) ‘receiv’d of yore,
The scar indented by the tusky boar, 385
When, by thyself, and by Anticlea sent,
To old Autolycus’s realms I went.
Yet by another sign thy offspring know;
The sev’ral trees you gave me long ago,
While, yet a child, these fields I lov’d to trace, 390
And trod thy footsteps with unequal pace;
To ev’ry plant in order as we came,
Well-pleas’d, you told its nature and its name,
Whate’er my childish fancy ask’d, bestow’d:
Twelve pear-trees, bowing with their pendent load, 395
And ten, that red with blushing apples glow’d;
Full fifty purple figs; and many a row
Of various vines that then began to blow,
A future vintage! when the Hours produce
Their latent buds, and Sol exalts the juice.’ 400
Smit with the signs which all his doubts explain,
His heart within him melts; his knees sustain
Their feeble weight no more: his arms alone
Support him, round the lov’d Ulysses thrown;
He faints, he sinks, with mighty joys oppress’d: 405
Ulysses clasps him to his eager breast.
Soon as returning life regains its seat,
And his breath lengthens, and his pulses beat;
‘Yes, I believe’ (he cries) ‘almighty Jove!
Heav’n rules us yet, and Gods there are above. 410
‘T is so — the suitors for their wrongs have paid —
But what shall guard us, if the town invade?
If, while the news thro’ ev’ry city flies,
All Ithaca and Cephalenia rise?’
To this Ulysses: ‘As the Gods shall please 415
Be all the rest; and set thy soul at ease.
Haste to the cottage by this orchard’s side,
And take the banquet which our cares provide:
There wait thy faithful band of rural friends,
And there the young Telemachus attends.’ 420
Thus having said, they traced the garden o’er,
And stooping enter’d at the lowly door.
The swains and young Telemachus they found,
The victim portion’d, and the goblet crown’d.
The hoary King his old Sicilian maid 425
Perfumed and wash’d, and gorgeously array’d.
Pallas attending gives his frame to shine
With awful port, and majesty divine;
His gazing son admires the godlike grace,
And air celestial dawning o’er his face. 430
‘What God’ (he cried) ‘my father’s form improves?
How high he treads, and how enlarged he moves!’
‘Oh! would to all the deathless Powers on high,
Pallas and Jove, and him who gilds the sky!
(Replied the King, elated with his praise) 435
My strength were still as once in better days:
When the bold Cephaleus the leaguer form’d,
And proud Nericus trembled as I storm’d.
Such were I now, not absent from your deed
When the last sun beheld the suitors bleed, 440
This arm had aided yours, this hand bestrown
Our shores with death, and push’d the slaughter on;
Nor had the sire been sep’rate from the son.’
They communed thus; while homeward bent their way
The swains, fatigued with labours of the day: 445
Dolius the first, the venerable man;
And next his sons, a long succeeding train.
For due refection to the bower they came,
Call’d by the careful old Sicilian dame,
Who nurs’d the children, and now tends the sire; 450
They see their lord, they gaze, and they admire.
On chairs and beds in order seated round,
They share the gladsome board; the roofs resound.
While thus Ulysses to his ancient friend:
‘Forbear your wonder, and the feast attend: 455
The rites have waited long.’ The Chief commands
Their loves in vain; old Dolius spreads his hands,
Springs to his master with a warm embrace,
And fastens kisses on his hands and face;
Then thus broke out: ‘O long, O daily mourn’d! 460
Beyond our hopes, and to our wish return’d!
Conducted sure by Heav’n! for Heav’n alone
Could work this wonder: welcome to thy own!
And joys and happiness attend thy throne!
Who knows thy bless’d, thy wish’d return? oh say, 465
To the chaste Queen shall we the news convey?
Or hears she, and with blessings loads the day?’
‘Dismiss that care, for to the royal bride
Already is it known,’ the King replied,
And straight resumed his seat; while round him bows 470
Each faithful youth, and breathes out ardent vows:
Then all beneath their father take their place,
Rank’d by their ages, and the banquet grace.
Now flying Fame the swift report had spread
Thro’ all the city, of the suitors dead. 475
In throngs they rise, and to the palace crowd;
Their sighs were many, and the tumult loud.
Weeping they bear the mangled heaps of slain,
Inhume the natives in their native plain;
The rest in ships are wafted o’er the main. 480
Then sad in council all the seniors sate,
Frequent and full, assembled to debate:
Amid the circle first Eupithes rose,
Big was his eye with tears, his heart with woes:
The bold Antinoüs was his age’s pride, 485
The first who by Ulysses’ arrow died:
Down his wan cheek the trickling torrent ran,
As, mixing words with sighs, he thus began:
‘Great deeds, O Friends! this wondrous man has wrought,
And mighty blessings to his country brought! 490
With ships he parted, and a numerous train;
Those, and their ships, he buried in the main.
Now he returns, and first essays his hand
In the best blood of all his native land.
Haste then, and ere to neighb’ring Pyle he flies, 495
Or sacred Elis, to procure supplies;
Arise (or ye for ever fall), arise!
Shame to this age, and all that shall succeed!
If unrevenged your sons and brothers bleed.
Prove that we live, by vengeance on his head, 500
Or sink at once forgotten with the dead.’
Here ceas’d he, but indignant tears let fall
Spoke when he ceas’d: dumb sorrow touch’d them all.
When from the palace to the wond’ring throng
Sage Medon came, and Phemius came along 505
(Restless and early sleep’s soft bands they broke);
And Medon first th’ assembled Chiefs bespoke:
‘Hear me, ye Peers and Elders of the land,
Who deem this act the work of mortal hand;
As o’er the heaps of death Ulysses strode, 510
These eyes, these eyes beheld a present God,
Who now before him, now beside him stood,
Fought as he fought, and mark’d his way with blood:
In vain old Mentor’s form the God belied;
‘T was Heav’n that struck, and Heav’n was on his side.’ 515
A sudden horror all th’ assembly shook,
When, slowly rising, Halitherses spoke
(Rev’rend and wise, whose comprehensive view
At once the present and the future knew);
‘Me too, ye Fathers, hear! from you proceed 520
The ills ye mourn; your own the guilty deed.
Ye gave your sons, your lawless sons, the rein
(Oft warn’d by Mentor and myself in vain);
An absent hero’s bed they sought to soil,
An absent hero’s wealth they made their spoil; 525
Immod’rate riot, and intemp’rate lust!
Th’ offence was great, the punishment was just.
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 144