Reciprocated he had sent thee hence,
Requiting honourably in his turn
Thy hospitality. But give me quick
Answer and true. How many have been the years 340
Since thy reception of that hapless guest
My son? for mine, my own dear son was he.
But him, far distant both from friends and home,
Either the fishes of the unknown Deep
Have eaten, or wild beasts and fowls of prey,
Nor I, or she who bare him, was ordain’d
To bathe his shrouded body with our tears,
Nor his chaste wife, well-dow’r’d Penelope
To close her husband’s eyes, and to deplore
His doom, which is the privilege of the dead. 350
But tell me also thou, for I would learn,
Who art thou? whence? where born? and sprung from whom?
The bark in which thou and thy godlike friends
Arrived, where is she anchor’d on our coast?
Or cam’st thou only passenger on board
Another’s bark, who landed thee and went?
To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.
I will with all simplicity relate
What thou hast ask’d. Of Alybas am I,
Where in much state I dwell, son of the rich 360
Apheidas royal Polypemon’s son,
And I am named Eperitus; by storms
Driven from Sicily I have arrived,
And yonder, on the margin of the field
That skirts your city, I have moor’d my bark.
Five years have pass’d since thy Ulysses left,
Unhappy Chief! my country; yet the birds
At his departure hovered on the right,
And in that sign rejoicing, I dismiss’d
Him thence rejoicing also, for we hoped 370
To mix in social intercourse again,
And to exchange once more pledges of love.
He spake; then sorrow as a sable cloud
Involved Laertes; gath’ring with both hands
The dust, he pour’d it on his rev’rend head
With many a piteous groan. Ulysses’ heart
Commotion felt, and his stretch’d nostrils throbb’d
With agony close-pent, while fixt he eyed
His father; with a sudden force he sprang
Toward him, clasp’d, and kiss’d him, and exclaim’d. 380
My father! I am he. Thou seest thy son
Absent these twenty years at last return’d.
But bid thy sorrow cease; suspend henceforth
All lamentation; for I tell thee true,
(And the occasion bids me briefly tell thee)
I have slain all the suitors at my home,
And all their taunts and injuries avenged.
Then answer thus Laertes quick return’d.
If thou hast come again, and art indeed
My son Ulysses, give me then the proof 390
Indubitable, that I may believe.
To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.
View, first, the scar which with his iv’ry tusk
A wild boar gave me, when at thy command
And at my mother’s, to Autolycus
Her father, on Parnassus, I repair’d
Seeking the gifts which, while a guest of yours,
He promis’d should be mine. Accept beside
This proof. I will enum’rate all the trees
Which, walking with thee in this cultured spot 400
(Boy then) I begg’d, and thou confirm’dst my own.
We paced between them, and thou mad’st me learn
The name of each. Thou gav’st me thirteen pears,
Ten apples, thirty figs, and fifty ranks
Didst promise me of vines, their alleys all
Corn-cropp’d between. There, oft as sent from Jove
The influences of the year descend,
Grapes of all hues and flavours clust’ring hang.
He said; Laertes, conscious of the proofs
Indubitable by Ulysses giv’n, 410
With fault’ring knees and fault’ring heart both arms
Around him threw. The Hero toil-inured
Drew to his bosom close his fainting sire,
Who, breath recov’ring, and his scatter’d pow’rs
Of intellect, at length thus spake aloud.
Ye Gods! oh then your residence is still
On the Olympian heights, if punishment
At last hath seized on those flagitious men.
But terrour shakes me, lest, incensed, ere long
All Ithaca flock hither, and dispatch 420
Swift messengers with these dread tidings charged
To ev’ry Cephallenian state around.
Him answer’d then Ulysses ever-wise.
Courage! fear nought, but let us to the house
Beside the garden, whither I have sent
Telemachus, the herdsman, and the good
Eumæus to prepare us quick repast.
So they conferr’d, and to Laertes’ house
Pass’d on together; there arrived, they found
Those three preparing now their plenteous feast, 430
And mingling sable wine; then, by the hands
Of his Sicilian matron, the old King
Was bathed, anointed, and attired afresh,
And Pallas, drawing nigh, dilated more
His limbs, and gave his whole majestic form
Encrease of amplitude. He left the bath.
His son, amazed as he had seen a God
Alighted newly from the skies, exclaim’d.
My father! doubtless some immortal Pow’r
Hath clothed thy form with dignity divine. 440
Then thus replied his venerable sire.
Jove! Pallas! Phœbus! oh that I possess’d
Such vigour now, as when in arms I took
Nericus, continental city fair,
With my brave Cephallenians! oh that such
And arm’d as then, I yesterday had stood
Beside thee in thy palace, combating
Those suitors proud, then had I strew’d the floor
With num’rous slain, to thy exceeding joy.
Such was their conference; and now, the task 450
Of preparation ended, and the feast
Set forth, on couches and on thrones they sat,
And, ranged in order due, took each his share.
Then, ancient Dolius, and with him, his sons
Arrived toil-worn, by the Sicilian dame
Summon’d, their cat’ress, and their father’s kind
Attendant ever in his eve of life.
They, seeing and recalling soon to mind
Ulysses, in the middle mansion stood
Wond’ring, when thus Ulysses with a voice 460
Of some reproof, but gentle, them bespake.
Old servant, sit and eat, banishing fear
And mute amazement; for, although provoked
By appetite, we have long time abstain’d,
Expecting ev’ry moment thy return.
He said; then Dolius with expanded arms
Sprang right toward Ulysses, seized his hand,
Kiss’d it, and in wing’d accents thus replied.
Oh master ever dear! since thee the Gods
Themselves in answer to our warm desires, 470
Have, unexpectedly, at length restored,
Hail, and be happy, and heav’n make thee such!
But say, and truly; knows the prudent Queen
Already thy return, or shall we send
Ourselves an herald with the joyful news?
To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.
My ancient friend, thou may’st release thy mind
From that solicitude; she knows it well.
So he; then Dolius to his glossy seat
Return’d, and all his sons gath’ring around 480
Ulysses, welcom’
d him and grasp’d his hand,
Then sat beside their father; thus beneath
Laertes’ roof they, joyful, took repast.
But Fame with rapid haste the city roam’d
In ev’ry part, promulging in all ears
The suitors’ horrid fate. No sooner heard
The multitude that tale, than one and all
Groaning they met and murmuring before
Ulysses’ gates. Bringing the bodies forth,
They buried each his friend, but gave the dead 490
Of other cities to be ferried home
By fishermen on board their rapid barks.
All hasted then to council; sorrow wrung
Their hearts, and, the assembly now convened,
Arising first Eupithes spake, for grief
Sat heavy on his soul, grief for the loss
Of his Antinoüs by Ulysses slain
Foremost of all, whom mourning, thus he said.
My friends! no trivial fruits the Greecians reap
Of this man’s doings. Those he took with him 500
On board his barks, a num’rous train and bold,
Then lost his barks, lost all his num’rous train,
And these, our noblest, slew at his return.
Come therefore — ere he yet escape by flight
To Pylus or to noble Elis, realm
Of the Epeans, follow him; else shame
Attends us and indelible reproach.
If we avenge not on these men the blood
Of our own sons and brothers, farewell then
All that makes life desirable; my wish 510
Henceforth shall be to mingle with the shades.
Oh then pursue and seize them ere they fly.
Thus he with tears, and pity moved in all.
Then, Medon and the sacred bard whom sleep
Had lately left, arriving from the house
Of Laertiades, approach’d; amid
The throng they stood; all wonder’d seeing them,
And Medon, prudent senior, thus began.
Hear me, my countrymen! Ulysses plann’d
With no disapprobation of the Gods 520
The deed that ye deplore. I saw, myself,
A Pow’r immortal at the Hero’s side,
In semblance just of Mentor; now the God,
In front apparent, led him on, and now,
From side to side of all the palace, urged
To flight the suitors; heaps on heaps they fell.
He said; then terrour wan seiz’d ev’ry cheek,
And Halitherses, Hero old, the son
Of Mastor, who alone among them all
Knew past, and future, prudent, thus began. 530
Now, O ye men of Ithaca! my words
Attentive hear! by your own fault, my friends,
This deed hath been perform’d; for when myself
And noble Mentor counsell’d you to check
The sin and folly of your sons, ye would not.
Great was their wickedness, and flagrant wrong
They wrought, the wealth devouring and the wife
Dishonouring of an illustrious Chief
Whom they deem’d destined never to return.
But hear my counsel. Go not, lest ye draw 540
Disaster down and woe on your own heads.
He ended; then with boist’rous roar (although
Part kept their seats) upsprang the multitude,
For Halitherses pleased them not, they chose
Eupithes’ counsel rather; all at once
To arms they flew, and clad in dazzling brass
Before the city form’d their dense array.
Leader infatuate at their head appear’d
Eupithes, hoping to avenge his son
Antinoüs, but was himself ordain’d 550
To meet his doom, and to return no more.
Then thus Minerva to Saturnian Jove.
Oh father! son of Saturn! Jove supreme!
Declare the purpose hidden in thy breast.
Wilt thou that this hostility proceed,
Or wilt thou grant them amity again?
To whom the cloud-assembler God replied.
Why asks my daughter? didst thou not design
Thyself, that brave Ulysses coming home
Should slay those profligates? act as thou wilt, 560
But thus I counsel, since the noble Chief
Hath slain the suitors, now let peace ensue
Oath-bound, and reign Ulysses evermore!
The slaughter of their brethren and their sons
To strike from their remembrance, shall be ours.
Let mutual amity, as at the first,
Unite them, and let wealth and peace abound.
So saying, he animated to her task
Minerva prompt before, and from the heights
Olympian down to Ithaca she flew. 570
Meantime Ulysses (for their hunger now
And thirst were sated) thus address’d his hinds.
Look ye abroad, lest haply they approach.
He said, and at his word, forth went a son
Of Dolius; at the gate he stood, and thence
Beholding all that multitude at hand,
In accents wing’d thus to Ulysses spake.
They come — they are already arrived — arm all!
Then, all arising, put their armour on,
Ulysses with his three, and the six sons 580
Of Dolius; Dolius also with the rest,
Arm’d and Laertes, although silver-hair’d,
Warriors perforce. When all were clad alike
In radiant armour, throwing wide the gates
They sallied, and Ulysses led the way.
Then Jove’s own daughter Pallas, in the form
And with the voice of Mentor, came in view,
Whom seeing Laertiades rejoiced,
And thus Telemachus, his son, bespake.
Now, oh my son! thou shalt observe, untold 590
By me, where fight the bravest. Oh shame not
Thine ancestry, who have in all the earth
Proof given of valour in all ages past.
To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.
My father! if thou wish that spectacle,
Thou shalt behold thy son, as thou hast said,
In nought dishonouring his noble race.
Then was Laertes joyful, and exclaim’d,
What sun hath ris’n to-day? oh blessed Gods!
My son and grandson emulous dispute 600
The prize of glory, and my soul exults.
He ended, and Minerva drawing nigh
To the old King, thus counsell’d him. Oh friend
Whom most I love, son of Arcesias! pray’r
Preferring to the virgin azure-eyed,
And to her father Jove, delay not, shake
Thy lance in air, and give it instant flight.
So saying, the Goddess nerved his arm anew.
He sought in pray’r the daughter dread of Jove,
And, brandishing it, hurl’d his lance; it struck 610
Eupithes, pierced his helmet brazen-cheek’d
That stay’d it not, but forth it sprang beyond,
And with loud clangor of his arms he fell.
Then flew Ulysses and his noble son
With faulchion and with spear of double edge
To the assault, and of them all had left
None living, none had to his home return’d,
But that Jove’s virgin daughter with a voice
Of loud authority thus quell’d them all.
Peace, O ye men of Ithaca! while yet 620
The field remains undeluged with your blood.
So she, and fear at once paled ev’ry cheek.
All trembled at the voice divine; their arms
Escaping from the grasp fell to the earth,
And, covetous of longer life, each fled
Back to the city. Then Ulysses sent
Sprang on the people; but Saturnian Jove,
Cast down, incontinent, his smouldring bolt
At Pallas’ feet, and thus the Goddess spake. 630
Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!
Forbear; abstain from slaughter; lest thyself
Incur the anger of high thund’ring Jove.
So Pallas, whom Ulysses, glad, obey’d.
Then faithful covenants of peace between
Both sides ensued, ratified in the sight
Of Pallas progeny of Jove, who seem’d,
In voice and form, the Mentor known to all.
The Biographies
Cowper’s final home in Weston Underwood, Buckinghamshire — Cowper moved from Olney to Weston Underwood in November 1786 as a resident guest of the Throckmorton family, staying with them until a few years before his death. The house is now known as Cowper’s Lodge and is situated in the High Street.
William Cowper by George Romney, 1792
Brief Life of William Cowper by Francis Storr
William Cowper was born on the 26th of November 1731, at Berkhampstead, Hertfordshire, of which village his father, the Rev. John Cowper, was rector. He was of noble ancestry, and many of his immediate relatives moved in the upper ranks of life. His mother, Ann Donne, a daughter of Roger Donne, Esq., of Ludham Hall in Norfolk, died when he was only six years of age, leaving two children, — William, the subject of this memoir, and a younger brother, John. Her affection and tenderness made a deep impression on his young mind. Fifty years afterwards, on receiving her picture, he dwells as fondly on the cherished features as if he had just mourned her death. He writes to his cousin, Mrs. Bodham, who had sent him the portrait— “I received it the night before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of nerves and spirits somewhat akin to what I should have felt had the dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object that I see at night, and, of course, the first on which I open my eyes in the morning.” His feelings, indeed, were all of the intense kind. “I never received a little pleasure from anything in my life,” he writes; “if I am pleased, it is in the extreme.”
Few incidents of his early life have been preserved, and much obscurity rests on the circumstances which made him a stranger from his father’s house almost immediately after his mother’s death. Though his father lived to the year 1756, Cowper appears never to have lived at home, excepting for a brief period of nine months, when he was eighteen years of age.
When only six years of age, he was sent to the school of Dr. Pitman, in Market Street, on the borders of Hertfordshire. Here he continued two years — a period embittered by the cruelty of a boy of fifteen years of age, “whose savage treatment,” says Cowper, “impressed such a dread of his figure upon my mind, that I well remember being afraid to lift up my eyes upon him higher than his knees; and that I knew him by his shoe-buckles better than any other part of his dress.” It is characteristic of the gentle spirit of the poet, that he refrains from mentioning the name of his persecutor.
William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works Page 188