William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works

by William Cowper

The sleepless night; for on a sordid couch

  Outstretch’d, full many a night have I reposed

  Till golden-charioted Aurora dawn’d.

  Nor me the foot-bath pleases more; my foot

  Shall none of all thy ministring maidens touch, 430

  Unless there be some ancient matron grave

  Among them, who hath pangs of heart endured

  Num’rous, and keen as I have felt myself;

  Her I refuse not. She may touch my feet.

  Him answer’d then prudent Penelope.

  Dear guest! for of all trav’llers here arrived

  From distant regions, I have none received

  Discrete as thou, or whom I more have lov’d,

  So just thy matter is, and with such grace

  Express’d. I have an ancient maiden grave, 440

  The nurse who at my hapless husband’s birth

  Receiv’d him in her arms, and with kind care

  Maternal rear’d him; she shall wash thy feet,

  Although decrepid. Euryclea, rise!

  Wash one coeval with thy Lord; for such

  The feet and hands, it may be, are become

  Of my Ulysses now; since man beset

  With sorrow once, soon wrinkled grows and old.

  She said, then Euryclea with both hands

  Cov’ring her face, in tepid tears profuse 450

  Dissolved, and thus in mournful strains began.

  Alas! my son, trouble for thy dear sake

  Distracts me. Jove surely of all mankind

  Thee hated most, though ever in thy heart

  Devoutly giv’n; for never mortal man

  So many thighs of fatted victims burn’d,

  And chosen hecatombs produced as thou

  To Jove the Thund’rer, him entreating still

  That he would grant thee a serene old age,

  And to instruct, thyself, thy glorious son. 460

  Yet thus the God requites thee, cutting off

  All hope of thy return — oh ancient sir!

  Him too, perchance, where’er he sits a guest

  Beneath some foreign roof, the women taunt,

  As all these shameless ones have taunted thee,

  Fearing whose mock’ry thou forbidd’st their hands

  This office, which Icarius’ daughter wise

  To me enjoins, and which I, glad perform.

  Yes, I will wash thy feet; both for her sake

  And for thy own, — for sight of thee hath raised 470

  A tempest in my mind. Hear now the cause!

  Full many a guest forlorn we entertain,

  But never any have I seen, whose size,

  The fashion of whose foot and pitch of voice,

  Such likeness of Ulysses show’d, as thine.

  To whom Ulysses, ever-shrewd, replied.

  Such close similitude, O ancient dame!

  As thou observ’st between thy Lord and me,

  All, who have seen us both, have ever found.

  He said; then taking the resplendent vase 480

  Allotted always to that use, she first

  Infused cold water largely, then, the warm.

  Ulysses (for beside the hearth he sat)

  Turn’d quick his face into the shade, alarm’d

  Lest, handling him, she should at once remark

  His scar, and all his stratagem unveil.

  She then, approaching, minister’d the bath

  To her own King, and at first touch discern’d

  That token, by a bright-tusk’d boar of old

  Impress’d, what time he to Parnassus went 490

  To visit there Autolycus and his sons,

  His mother’s noble sire, who all mankind

  In furtive arts and fraudful oaths excell’d.

  For such endowments he by gift receiv’d

  From Hermes’ self, to whom the thighs of kids

  He offer’d and of lambs, and, in return,

  The watchful Hermes never left his side.

  Autolycus arriving in the isle

  Of pleasant Ithaca, the new-born son

  Of his own daughter found, whom on his knees 500

  At close of supper Euryclea placed,

  And thus the royal visitant address’d.

  Thyself, Autolycus! devise a name

  For thy own daughter’s son, by num’rous pray’rs

  Of thine and fervent, from the Gods obtained.

  Then answer thus Autolycus return’d.

  My daughter and my daughter’s spouse! the name

  Which I shall give your boy, that let him bear.

  Since after provocation and offence

  To numbers giv’n of either sex, I come, 510

  Call him Ulysses; and when, grown mature,

  He shall Parnassus visit, the abode

  Magnificent in which his mother dwelt,

  And where my treasures lie, from my own stores

  I will enrich and send him joyful home.

  Ulysses, therefore, that he might obtain

  Those princely gifts, went thither. Him arrived,

  With right-hand gratulation and with words

  Of welcome kind, Autolycus received,

  Nor less his offspring; but the mother most 520

  Of his own mother clung around his neck,

  Amphithea; she with many a fervent kiss

  His forehead press’d, and his bright-beaming eyes.

  Then bade Autolycus his noble sons

  Set forth a banquet. They, at his command,

  Led in a fatted ox of the fifth year,

  Which slaying first, they spread him carved abroad,

  Then scored his flesh, transfixed it with the spits,

  And roasting all with culinary skill

  Exact, gave each his portion. Thus they sat 530

  Feasting all day, and till the sun declined,

  But when the sun declined, and darkness fell,

  Each sought his couch, and took the gift of sleep.

  Then, soon as day-spring’s daughter rosy-palm’d

  Aurora look’d abroad, forth went the hounds,

  And, with the hounds Ulysses, and the youths,

  Sons of Autolycus, to chase the boar.

  Arrived at the Parnassian mount, they climb’d

  His bushy sides, and to his airy heights

  Ere long attain’d. It was the pleasant hour 540

  When from the gently-swelling flood profound

  The sun, emerging, first smote on the fields.

  The hunters reach’d the valley; foremost ran,

  Questing, the hounds; behind them, swift, the sons

  Came of Autolycus, with whom advanced

  The illustrious Prince Ulysses, pressing close

  The hounds, and brandishing his massy spear.

  There, hid in thickest shades, lay an huge boar.

  That covert neither rough winds blowing moist

  Could penetrate, nor could the noon-day sun 550

  Smite through it, or fast-falling show’rs pervade,

  So thick it was, and underneath the ground

  With litter of dry foliage strew’d profuse.

  Hunters and dogs approaching him, his ear

  The sound of feet perceived; upridging high

  His bristly back and glaring fire, he sprang

  Forth from the shrubs, and in defiance stood

  Near and right opposite. Ulysses, first,

  Rush’d on him, elevating his long spear

  Ardent to wound him; but, preventing quick 560

  His foe, the boar gash’d him above the knee.

  Much flesh, assailing him oblique, he tore

  With his rude tusk, but to the Hero’s bone

  Pierced not; Ulysses his right shoulder reach’d;

  And with a deadly thrust impell’d the point

  Of his bright spear through him and far beyond.

  Loud yell’d the boar, sank in the dust, and died.

  Around Ulysses, then, the bu
sy sons

  Throng’d of Autolycus; expert they braced

  The wound of the illustrious hunter bold, 570

  With incantation staunched the sable blood,

  And sought in haste their father’s house again,

  Whence, heal’d and gratified with splendid gifts

  They sent him soon rejoicing to his home,

  Themselves rejoicing also. Glad their son

  His parents saw again, and of the scar

  Enquired, where giv’n, and how? He told them all,

  How to Parnassus with his friends he went,

  Sons of Autolycus to hunt, and how

  A boar had gash’d him with his iv’ry tusk. 580

  That scar, while chafing him with open palms,

  The matron knew; she left his foot to fall;

  Down dropp’d his leg into the vase; the brass

  Rang, and o’ertilted by the sudden shock,

  Poured forth the water, flooding wide the floor.

  Her spirit joy at once and sorrow seized;

  Tears fill’d her eyes; her intercepted voice

  Died in her throat; but to Ulysses’ beard

  Her hand advancing, thus, at length, she spake.

  Thou art himself, Ulysses. Oh my son! 590

  Dear to me, and my master as thou art,

  I knew thee not, till I had touch’d the scar.

  She said, and to Penelope her eyes

  Directed, all impatient to declare

  Her own Ulysses even then at home.

  But she, nor eye nor ear for aught that pass’d

  Had then, her fixt attention so entire

  Minerva had engaged. Then, darting forth

  His arms, the Hero with his right-hand close

  Compress’d her throat, and nearer to himself 600

  Drawing her with his left, thus caution’d her.

  Why would’st thou ruin me? Thou gav’st me milk

  Thyself from thy own breast. See me return’d

  After long suff’rings, in the twentieth year,

  To my own land. But since (some God the thought

  Suggesting to thee) thou hast learn’d the truth,

  Silence! lest others learn it from thy lips.

  For this I say, nor shall the threat be vain;

  If God vouchsafe to me to overcome

  The haughty suitors, when I shall inflict 610

  Death on the other women of my house,

  Although my nurse, thyself shalt also die.

  Him answer’d Euryclea then, discrete.

  My son! oh how could so severe a word

  Escape thy lips? my fortitude of mind

  Thou know’st, and even now shalt prove me firm

  As iron, secret as the stubborn rock.

  But hear and mark me well. Should’st thou prevail,

  Assisted by a Pow’r divine, to slay

  The haughty suitors, I will then, myself, 620

  Give thee to know of all the female train

  Who have dishonour’d thee, and who respect.

  To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.

  My nurse, it were superfluous; spare thy tongue

  That needless task. I can distinguish well

  Myself, between them, and shall know them all;

  But hold thy peace. Hush! leave it with the Gods.

  So he; then went the ancient matron forth,

  That she might serve him with a second bath,

  For the whole first was spilt. Thus, laved at length, 630

  And smooth’d with oil, Ulysses nearer pull’d

  His seat toward the glowing hearth to enjoy

  More warmth, and drew his tatters o’er the scar.

  Then, prudent, thus Penelope began.

  One question, stranger, I shall yet propound,

  Though brief, for soon the hour of soft repose

  Grateful to all, and even to the sad

  Whom gentle sleep forsakes not, will arrive.

  But heav’n to me immeasurable woe

  Assigns, — whose sole delight is to consume 640

  My days in sighs, while here retired I sit,

  Watching my maidens’ labours and my own;

  But (night return’d, and all to bed retired)

  I press mine also, yet with deep regret

  And anguish lacerated, even there.

  As when at spring’s first entrance, her sweet song

  The azure-crested nightingale renews,

  Daughter of Pandarus; within the grove’s

  Thick foliage perch’d, she pours her echoing voice

  Now deep, now clear, still varying the strain 650

  With which she mourns her Itylus, her son

  By royal Zethus, whom she, erring, slew,

  So also I, by soul-distressing doubts

  Toss’d ever, muse if I shall here remain

  A faithful guardian of my son’s affairs,

  My husband’s bed respecting, and not less

  My own fair fame, or whether I shall him

  Of all my suitors follow to his home

  Who noblest seems, and offers richest dow’r.

  My son while he was infant yet, and own’d 660

  An infant’s mind, could never give consent

  That I should wed and leave him; but at length,

  Since he hath reached the stature of a man,

  He wishes my departure hence, the waste

  Viewing indignant by the suitors made.

  But I have dream’d. Hear, and expound my dream.

  My geese are twenty, which within my walls

  I feed with sodden wheat; they serve to amuse

  Sometimes my sorrow. From the mountains came

  An eagle, huge, hook-beak’d, brake all their necks, 670

  And slew them; scatter’d on the palace-floor

  They lay, and he soar’d swift into the skies.

  Dream only as it was, I wept aloud,

  Till all my maidens, gather’d by my voice,

  Arriving, found me weeping still, and still

  Complaining, that the eagle had at once

  Slain all my geese. But, to the palace-roof

  Stooping again, he sat, and with a voice

  Of human sound, forbad my tears, and said —

  Courage! O daughter of the far-renown’d 680

  Icarius! no vain dream thou hast beheld,

  But, in thy sleep, a truth. The slaughter’d geese

  Denote thy suitors. I who have appear’d

  An eagle in thy sight, am yet indeed

  Thy husband, who have now, at last, return’d,

  Death, horrid death designing for them all.

  He said; then waking at the voice, I cast

  An anxious look around, and saw my geese

  Beside their tray, all feeding as before.

  Her then Ulysses answer’d, ever-wise. 690

  O Queen! it is not possible to miss

  Thy dream’s plain import, since Ulysses’ self

  Hath told thee the event; thy suitors all

  Must perish; not one suitor shall escape.

  To whom Penelope discrete replied.

  Dreams are inexplicable, O my guest!

  And oft-times mere delusions that receive

  No just accomplishment. There are two gates

  Through which the fleeting phantoms pass; of horn

  Is one, and one of ivory. Such dreams 700

  As through the thin-leaf’d iv’ry portal come

  Sooth, but perform not, utt’ring empty sounds;

  But such as through the polish’d horn escape,

  If, haply seen by any mortal eye,

  Prove faithful witnesses, and are fulfill’d.

  But through those gates my wond’rous dream, I think,

  Came not; thrice welcome were it else to me

  And to my son. Now mark my words; attend.

  This is the hated morn that from the house

  Removes me of Ulysses. I shall fix, 710

  This day,
the rings for trial to them all

  Of archership; Ulysses’ custom was

  To plant twelve spikes, all regular arranged

  Like galley-props, and crested with a ring,

  Then standing far remote, true in his aim

  He with his whizzing shaft would thrid them all.

  This is the contest in which now I mean

  To prove the suitors; him, who with most ease

  Shall bend the bow, and shoot through all the rings,

  I follow, this dear mansion of my youth 720

  Leaving, so fair, so fill’d with ev’ry good,

  Though still to love it even in my dreams.

  Her answer’d then Ulysses, ever-wise.

  Consort revered of Laertiades!

  Postpone not this contention, but appoint

  Forthwith the trial; for Ulysses here

  Will sure arrive, ere they, (his polish’d bow

  Long tamp’ring) shall prevail to stretch the nerve,

  And speed the arrow through the iron rings.

  To whom Penelope replied discrete. 730

  Would’st thou with thy sweet converse, O my guest!

  Here sooth me still, sleep ne’er should influence

  These eyes the while; but always to resist

  Sleep’s pow’r is not for man, to whom the Gods

  Each circumstance of his condition here

  Fix universally. Myself will seek

  My own apartment at the palace-top,

  And there will lay me down on my sad couch,

  For such it hath been, and with tears of mine

  Ceaseless bedew’d, e’er since Ulysses went 740

  To that bad city, never to be named.

  There will I sleep; but sleep thou here below,

  Either, thyself, preparing on the ground

  Thy couch, or on a couch by these prepared.

  So saying, she to her splendid chamber thence

  Retired, not sole, but by her female train

  Attended; there arrived, she wept her spouse,

  Her lov’d Ulysses, till Minerva dropp’d

  The balm of slumber on her weary lids.

  BOOK XX

  ARGUMENT

  Ulysses, doubting whether he shall destroy or not the women servants who

  commit lewdness with the suitors, resolves at length to spare them for

  the present. He asks an omen from Jupiter, and that he would grant him

  also to hear some propitious words from the lips of one in the family.

  His petitions are both answered. Preparation is made for the feast.

  Whilst the suitors sit at table, Pallas smites them with a horrid frenzy.

  Theoclymenus, observing the strange effects of it, prophesies their

  destruction, and they deride his prophecy.

  But in the vestibule the Hero lay

  On a bull’s-hide undress’d, o’er which he spread