Weigh then my counsels in an equal scale,
Nor rush to ruin. Justice will prevail.’
His mod’rate words some better minds persuade: 530
They part, and join him; but the number stay’d.
They storm, they shout, with hasty frenzy fired,
And second all Eupithes’ rage inspired.
They case their limbs in brass; to arms they run;
The broad effulgence blazes in the sun. 535
Before the city, and in ample plain,
They meet: Eupithes heads the frantic train.
Fierce for his son, he breathes his threats in air;
Fate hears them not, and Death attends him there.
This pass’d on earth, while in the realms above 540
Minerva thus to cloud-compelling Jove:
‘May I presume to search thy secret soul?
O Power Supreme, O Ruler of the Whole!
Say, hast thou doom’d to this divided state
Or peaceful amity, or stern debate? 545
Declare thy purpose, for thy will is Fate.’
‘Is not thy thought my own?’ (the God replies
Who rolls the thunder o’er the vaulted skies)
‘Hath not long since thy knowing soul decreed
The Chief’s return should make the guilty bleed? 550
‘T is done, and at thy will the Fates succeed.
Yet hear the issue; since Ulysses’ hand
Has slain the suitors, Heav’n shall bless the land.
None now the kindred of th’ unjust shall own;
Forgot the slaughter’d brother and the son: 555
Each future day increase of wealth shall bring,
And o’er the past Oblivion stretch her wing.
Long shall Ulysses in his empire rest,
His people blessing, by his people bless’d.
Let all be peace.’ — He said, and gave the nod 560
That binds the Fates; the sanction of the God:
And, prompt to execute th’ eternal will,
Descended Pallas from th’ Olympian hill.
Now sat Ulysses at the rural feast,
The rage of hunger and of thirst repress’d: 565
To watch the foe a trusty spy he sent:
A son of Dolius on the message went,
Stood in the way, and at a glance beheld
The foe approach, embattled on the field.
With backward step he hastens to the bower, 570
And tells the news. They arm with all their power.
Four friends alone Ulysses’ cause embrace
And six were all the sons of Dolius’ race:
Old Dolius too his rusted arms put on;
And, still more old, in arms Laërtes shone. 575
Trembling with warmth, the hoary heroes stand,
And brazen panoply invests the band.
The opening gates at once their war display:
Fierce they rush forth: Ulysses leads the way.
That moment joins them with celestial aid, 580
In Mentor’s form, the Jove-descended Maid:
The suff’ring Hero felt his patient breast
Swell with new joy, and thus his son address’d:
‘Behold, Telemachus! (nor fear the sight)
The brave embattled, the grim front of fight! 585
The valiant with the valiant must contend:
Shame not the line whence glorious you descend;
Wide o’er the world their martial fame was spread:
Regard thyself, the living, and the dead.’
‘Thy eyes, great Father! on this battle cast, 590
Shall learn from me Penelope was chaste.’
So spoke Telemachus: the gallant boy
Good old Laërtes heard with panting joy;
And ‘Bless’d! thrice bless’d this happy day!’ (he cries)
‘The day that shows me, ere I close my eyes, 595
A son and grandson of th’ Arcesian name
Strive for fair virtue, and contest for fame!’
Then thus Minerva in Laërtes’ ear:
‘Son of Arcesius, rev’rend warrior, hear!
Jove and Jove’s Daughter first implore in prayer, 600
Then, whirling high, discharge thy lance in air.’
She said, infusing courage with the word.
Jove and Jove’s Daughter then the Chief implor’d,
And, whirling high, dismiss’d the lance in air.
Full at Eupithes drove the deathful spear: 605
The brass-cheek’d helmet opens to the wound;
He falls, earth thunders, and his arms resound.
Before the father and the conquering son
Heaps rush on heaps; they fight, they drop, they run.
Now by the sword, and now the jav’lin fall 610
The rebel race, and death had swallow’d all;
But from on high the blue-eyed Virgin cried
(Her awful voice detain’d the headlong tide):
‘Forbear, ye Nations, your made hands forbear
From mutual slaughter; Peace descends to spare.’ 615
Fear shook the Nations: at the voice divine
They drop their jav’lins, and their rage resign.
All scatter’d round their glitt’ring weapons lie;
Some fall to earth, and some confusedly fly.
With dreadful shouts Ulysses pour’d along, 620
Swift as an eagle, as an eagle strong.
But Jove’s red arm the burning thunder aims;
Before Minerva shot the livid flames;
Blazing they fell, and at her feet expired;
Then stopped the Goddess, trembled, and retired. 625
‘Descended from the Gods! Ulysses, cease;
Offend not Jove: obey, and give the peace.’
So Pallas spoke: the mandate from above
The King obey’d. The Virgin-seed of Jove,
In Mentor’s form, confirm’d the full accord, 630
And willing Nations knew their lawful lord.
Postscript
I CANNOT dismiss this work without a few observations on the true character and style of it. Whoever reads the Odyssey with an eye to the Iliad, expecting to find it of the same character, or of the same sort of spirit, will be grievously deceived, and err against the first principle of criticism, which is to consider the nature of the piece, and the intent of its author. The Odyssey is a moral and political work, instructive to all degrees of men and filled with images, examples, and precepts, of civil and domestic life. Homer is here a person
Qui didicit, patriæ quid debeat, et quid amicis,
Quo sit amore parens, quo frater amandus, et hospes:
Qui quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,
Plenius et melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit.
The Odyssey is the reverse of the Iliad, in moral, subject, manner, and style; to which it has no sort of relation, but as the story happens to follow in order of time, and as some of the same persons are actors in it. Yet from this incidental connexion many have been misled to regard it as a continuation or second part, and thence to expect a parity of character inconsistent with its nature. 1
It is no wonder that the common reader should fall into this mistake, when so great a critic as Longinus seems not wholly free from it; although what he has said has been generally understood to import a severer censure of the Odyssey than it really does, if we consider the occasion on which it is introduced, and the circumstances to which it is confined. 2
‘The Odyssey,’ says he, ‘is an instance, how natural it is to a great genius, when it begins to grow old and decline, to delight itself in Narrations and Fables. For, that Homer composed the Odyssey after the Iliad, many proofs may be given, etc. From hence in my judgment it proceeds, that as the Iliad was written while his spirit was in its greatest vigour, the whole structure of that work is dramatic and full of action; whereas the greater part of the Odyssey is employed in narration, which is the taste o
f old age: so that in this latter piece we may compare him to the setting sun, which has still the same greatness, but not the same ardour or force. He speaks not in the same strain: we see no more that Sublime of the Iliad which marches on with a constant pace, without ever being stopped, or retarded: there appears no more that hurry and that strong tide of motions and passions, pouring one after another: there is no more the same fury, or the same volubility of diction, so suitable to action, and all along drawing in such innumerable images of Nature. But Homer, like the ocean, is always great, even when he ebbs and retires; even when he is lowest, and loses himself most in narrations and incredible fictions: as instances of this, we cannot forget the descriptions of tempests, the adventures of Ulysses with the Cyclops, and many others. But though all this be age, it is the age of Homer. — And it may be said for the credit of these fictions that they are beautiful dreams, or, if you will, the dreams of Jupiter himself. I spoke of the Odyssey only to show, that the greatest poets, when their genius wants strength and warmth for the pathetic, for the most part employ themselves in painting the manners. This Homer has done, in characterizing the suitors, and describing their way of life; which is properly a branch of comedy, whose peculiar business it is to represent the manners of men.’ 3
We must first observe, it is the Sublime of which Longinus is writing: that, and not the nature of Homer’s poem, is his subject. After having highly extolled the sublimity and fire of the Iliad, he justly observes the Odyssey to have less of those qualities, and to turn more on the side of moral, and reflections on human life. Nor is it his business here to determine, whether the elevated spirit of the one, or the just moral of the other, be the greater excellence in itself. 4
Secondly, that fire and fury of which he is speaking, cannot well be meant of the general spirit and inspiration which is to run through a whole epic poem, but of that particular warmth and impetuosity necessary in some parts, to image or represent actions or passions, of haste, tumult, and violence. It is on occasion of citing some such particular passages in Homer, that Longinus breaks into this reflection; which seems to determine his meaning chiefly to that sense. 5
Upon the whole, he affirms the Odyssey to have less sublimity and fire than the Iliad, but he does not say it wants the Sublime or wants fire. He affirms it to be narrative, but not that the narration is defective. He affirms it to abound in fictions, not that those fictions are ill invented, or ill executed. He affirms it to be nice and particular in painting the manners, but not that those manners are ill painted. If Homer has fully in these points accomplished his own design, and done all that the nature of his poem demanded or allowed, it still remains perfect in its kind, and as much a master-piece as the Iliad. 6
The amount of the passage is this; that in his own particular taste, and with respect to the Sublime, Longinus preferred the Iliad: and because the Odyssey was less active and lofty, he judged it the work of the old age of Homer. 7
If this opinion be true, it will only prove, that Homer’s age might determine him in the choice of his subject, not that it affected him in the execution of it: and that which would be a very wrong instance to prove the decay of his imagination, is a very good one to evince the strength of his judgment. For had he, as Madam Dacier observes, composed the Odyssey in his youth, and the Iliad in his age, both must in reason have been exactly the same as they now stand. To blame Homer for his choice of such a subject, as did not admit the same incidents and the same pomp of style as his former, is to take offence at too much variety, and to imagine, that when a man has written one good thing, he must ever after only copy himself. 8
The Battle of Constantine, and the School of Athens, are both pieces of Raphael: shall we censure the School of Athens as faulty, because it has not the fury and fire of the other? or shall we say, that Raphael was grown grave and old, because he chose to represent the manners of old men and philosophers? There is all the silence, tranquillity, and composure in the one, and all the warmth, hurry, and tumult in the other, which the subject of either required: both of them had been imperfect, if they had not been as they are. And let the painter or poet be young or old, who designs and performs in this manner, it proves him to have made the piece at a time of life when he was master not only of his art, but of his discretion. 9
Aristotle makes no such distinction between the two poems: he constantly cites them with equal praise, and draws the rules and examples of epic writing equally from both. But it is rather to the Odyssey that Horace gives the preference, in the Epistle to Lollius, and in the Art of Poetry. It is remarkable how opposite his opinion is to that of Longinus; and that the particulars he chooses to extol, are those very fictions and pictures of the manners, which the other seems least to approve. Those fables and manners are of the very essence of the work: but even without that regard, the fables themselves have both more invention and more instruction, and the manners more moral and example, than those of the Iliad. 10
In some points (and those the most essential to the epic poem) the Odyssey is confessed to excel the Iliad; and principally in the great end of it, the Moral. The conduct, turn, and disposition of the Fable is also what the critics allow to be the better model for epic writers to follow: accordingly we find much more of the cast of this poem than of the other in the Æneid, and (what next to that is perhaps the greatest example) in the Telemachus. In the Manners, it is no way inferior: Longinus is so far from finding any defect in these, that he rather taxes Homer with painting them too minutely. As to the Narrations, although they are more numerous as the occasions are more frequent, yet they carry no more the marks of old age, and are neither more prolix nor more circumstantial, than the conversations and dialogues of the Iliad. Not to mention the length of those of Phœnix in the ninth book, and of Nestor in the eleventh (which may be thought in compliance to their characters), those of Glaucus in the sixth, of Æneas in the twentieth, and some others, must be allowed to exceed any in the whole Odyssey. And that the propriety of style, and the numbers, in the narrations of each are equal, will appear to any who compare them. 11
To form a right judgment, whether the genius of Homer had suffered any decay, we must consider, in both his poems, such parts as are of a similar nature, and will bear comparison. And it is certain we shall find in each the same vivacity and fecundity of invention, the same life and strength of imaging and colouring, the particular descriptions as highly painted, the figures as bold, the metaphors as animated, and the numbers as harmonious and as various. 12
The Odyssey is a perpetual source of poetry: the stream is not the less full for being gentle; though it is true (when we speak only with regard to the Sublime) that a river, foaming and thundering in cataracts from rocks and precipices, is what more strikes, amazes, and fills the mind, than the same body of water, flowing afterwards through peaceful vales and agreeable scenes of pasturage. 13
The Odyssey (as I have before said) ought to be considered according to its own nature and design, not with an eye to the Iliad. To censure Homer because it is unlike what it was never meant to resemble, is, as if a gardener who had purposely cultivated two beautiful trees of contrary natures, as a specimen of his skill in the several kinds, should be blamed for not bringing them into pairs; when in root, stem, leaf, and flower, each was so entirely different, that one must have been spoiled in the endeavour to match the other. 14
Longinus, who saw this poem was “partly of the nature of comedy,” ought not, for that very reason, to have considered it with a view to the Iliad. How little any such resemblance was the intention of Homer, may appear from hence, that although the character of Ulysses there was already drawn, yet here he purposely turns to another side of it, and shows him not in that full light of glory, but in the shade of common life, with a mixture of such qualities as are requisite to all the lowest accidents of it, struggling with misfortunes, and on a level with the meanest of mankind. As for the other persons, none of them are above what we call the higher comedy: Calypso, though a Godde
ss, is a character of intrigue; the suitors yet more approaching to it; the Phæacians are of the same cast; the Cyclops, Melanthius, and Irus, descend even to droll characters; and the scenes that appear throughout, are generally of the comic kind; banquets, revels, sports, loves, and the pursuit of a woman. 15
From the nature of the poem, we shall form an idea of the Style. The diction is to follow the images, and to take its colour from the complexion of the thoughts. Accordingly the Odyssey is not always clothed in the majesty of verse proper to tragedy, but sometimes descends into the plainer narrative, and sometimes even to that familiar dialogue essential to comedy. However, where it cannot support a sublimity, it always preserves a dignity, or at least a propriety. There is a real beauty in an easy, pure, perspicuous description even of a low action. There are numerous instances of this both in Homer and Virgil; and perhaps those natural passages are not the least pleasing of their works. It is often the same in history, where the representations of common, or even domestic things, in clear, plain, and natural words, are frequently found to make the liveliest impression on the reader. 16
The question is, how far a poet, in pursuing the description or image of an action, can attach himself to little circumstances, without vulgarity or trifling? what particulars are proper, and enliven the image; or what are impertinent, and clog it? In this matter painting is to be consulted, and the whole regard had to those circumstances which contribute to form a full, and yet not a confused, idea of a thing. Epithets are of vast service to this effect, and the right use of these is often the only expedient to render the narration poetical. The great point of judgment is to distinguish when to speak simply, and when figuratively: but whenever the poet is obliged by the nature of his subject to descend to the lower manner of writing, an elevated style would be affected, and therefore ridiculous; and the more he was forced upon figures and metaphors to avoid that lowness, the more the image would be broken, and consequently obscure. One may add, that the use of the grand style on little subjects, is not only ludicrous, but a sort of transgression against the rules of proportion and mechanics: it is using a vast force to lift a feather. 17
I believe, now I am upon this head, it will be found a just observation, that the low actions of life cannot be put into a figurative style without being ridiculous, but things natural can. Metaphors raise the latter into dignity, as we see in the Georgics; but throw the former into ridicule, as in the Lutrin. I think this may very well be accounted for: laughter implies censure; inanimate and irrational beings are not objects of censure: therefore these may be elevated as much as you please, and no ridicule follows: but when rational beings are represented above their real character, it becomes ridiculous in art, because it is vicious in morality. The bees in Virgil, were they rational beings, would be ridiculous by having their actions and manners represented on a level with creatures so superior as men; since it would imply folly or pride, which are the proper objects of ridicule. 18
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 145