  In a council of the Gods, Minerva calls their attention to Ulysses, still a wanderer. They resolve to grant him a safe return to Ithaca. Minerva descends to encourage Telemachus, and in the form of Mentes directs him in what manner to proceed. Throughout this book the extravagance and profligacy of the suitors are occasionally suggested. Muse make the man thy theme, for shrewdness famed And genius versatile, who far and wide A Wand’rer, after Ilium overthrown, Discover’d various cities, and the mind And manners learn’d of men, in lands remote. He num’rous woes on Ocean toss’d, endured, Anxious to save himself, and to conduct His followers to their home; yet all his care Preserved them not; they perish’d self-destroy’d By their own fault; infatuate! who devoured The oxen of the all-o’erseeing Sun, And, punish’d for that crime, return’d no more. Daughter divine of Jove, these things record, As it may please thee, even in our ears. The rest, all those who had perdition ’scaped By war or on the Deep, dwelt now at home; Him only, of his country and his wife Alike desirous, in her hollow grots Calypso, Goddess beautiful, detained Wooing him to her arms. But when, at length, (Many a long year elapsed) the year arrived Of his return (by the decree of heav’n) To Ithaca, not even then had he, The period of his suff’rings and his toils. Yet all the Gods, with pity moved, beheld His woes, save Neptune; He alone with wrath Unceasing and implacable pursued Godlike Ulysses to his native shores. But Neptune, now, the Æthiopians fought, (The Æthiopians, utmost of mankind, These Eastward situate, those toward the West) Call’d to an hecatomb of bulls and lambs. There sitting, pleas’d he banqueted; the Gods In Jove’s abode, meantime, assembled all, ’Midst whom the Sire of heav’n and earth began. For he recall’d to mind Ægisthus slain By Agamemnon’s celebrated son Orestes, and retracing in his thought That dread event, the Immortals thus address’d. Alas! how prone are human-kind to blame The Pow’rs of Heav’n! From us, they say, proceed The ills which they endure, yet more than Fate Herself inflicts, by their own crimes incur. So now Ægisthus, by no force constrained Of Destiny, Atrides’ wedded wife Took to himself, and him at his return Slew, not unwarn’d of his own dreadful end By us: for we commanded Hermes down The watchful Argicide, who bade him fear Alike, to slay the King, or woo the Queen. For that Atrides’ son Orestes, soon As grown mature, and eager to assume His sway imperial, should avenge the deed. So Hermes spake, but his advice moved not Ægisthus, on whose head the whole arrear Of vengeance heap’d, at last, hath therefore fall’n. Whom answer’d then Pallas cÆrulean-eyed. Oh Jove, Saturnian Sire, o’er all supreme! And well he merited the death he found; So perish all, who shall, like him, offend. But with a bosom anguish-rent I view Ulysses, hapless Chief! who from his friends Remote, affliction hath long time endured In yonder wood-land isle, the central boss Of Ocean. That retreat a Goddess holds, Knows to its bottom, and the pillars high Himself upbears which sep’rate earth from heav’n. His daughter, there, the sorrowing Chief detains, And ever with smooth speech insidious seeks To wean his heart from Ithaca; meantime Ulysses, happy might he but behold The smoke ascending from his native land, Death covets. Canst thou not, Olympian Jove! At last relent? Hath not Ulysses oft With victims slain amid Achaia’s fleet Thee gratified, while yet at Troy he fought? How hath he then so deep incensed thee, Jove? To whom, the cloud-assembler God replied. What word hath pass’d thy lips, Daughter belov’d? Can I forget Ulysses? Him forget So noble, who in wisdom all mankind Excels, and who hath sacrific’d so oft To us whose dwelling is the boundless heav’n? Earth-circling Neptune—He it is whose wrath Pursues him ceaseless for the Cyclops’ sake Polypheme, strongest of the giant race, Whom of his eye Ulysses hath deprived. For Him, ThoÖsa bore, Nymph of the sea From Phorcys sprung, by Ocean’s mighty pow’r Impregnated in caverns of the Deep. E’er since that day, the Shaker of the shores, Although he slay him not, yet devious drives Ulysses from his native isle afar. Yet come—in full assembly his return Contrive we now, both means and prosp’rous end; So Neptune shall his wrath remit, whose pow’r In contest with the force of all the Gods Exerted single, can but strive in vain. To whom Minerva, Goddess azure-eyed. Oh Jupiter! above all Kings enthroned! If the Immortals ever-blest ordain That wise Ulysses to his home return, Dispatch we then Hermes the Argicide, Our messenger, hence to Ogygia’s isle, Who shall inform Calypso, nymph divine, Of this our fixt resolve, that to his home Ulysses, toil-enduring Chief, repair. His son to animate, and with new force Inspire, that (the Achaians all convened In council,) he may, instant, bid depart The suitors from his home, who, day by day, His num’rous flocks and fatted herds consume. And I will send him thence to Sparta forth, And into sandy Pylus, there to hear (If hear he may) some tidings of his Sire, And to procure himself a glorious name. This said, her golden sandals to her feet She bound, ambrosial, which o’er all the earth And o’er the moist flood waft her fleet as air, Then, seizing her strong spear pointed with brass, In length and bulk, and weight a matchless beam, With which the Jove-born Goddess levels ranks Of Heroes, against whom her anger burns, From the Olympian summit down she flew, And on the threshold of Ulysses’ hall In Ithaca, and within his vestibule Apparent stood; there, grasping her bright spear, Mentes Of Taphos’ isle—she found the haughty throng The suitors; they before the palace gate With iv’ry cubes sported, on num’rous hides Reclined of oxen which themselves had slain. The heralds and the busy menials there Minister’d to them; these their mantling cups With water slaked; with bibulous sponges those Made clean the tables, set the banquet on, And portioned out to each his plenteous share. Long ere the rest Telemachus himself Mark’d her, for sad amid them all he sat, Pourtraying in deep thought contemplative His noble Sire, and questioning if yet Perchance the Hero might return to chase From all his palace that imperious herd, To his own honour lord of his own home. Amid them musing thus, sudden he saw The Goddess, and sprang forth, for he abhorr’d Approaching eager, her right hand he seized, The brazen spear took from her, and in words With welcome wing’d Minerva thus address’d. Stranger, all hail! to share our cordial love Thou com’st; the banquet finish’d, thou shalt next Inform me wherefore thou hast here arrived. So saying, toward the spacious hall he moved, Follow’d by Pallas, and, arriving soon Beneath the lofty roof, placed her bright spear Within a pillar’s cavity, long time The armoury where many a spear had stood, Bright weapons of his own illustrious Sire. Then, leading her toward a footstool’d throne Magnificent, which first he overspread With linen, there he seated her, apart From that rude throng, and for himself disposed A throne of various colours at her side, Lest, stunn’d with clamour of the lawless band, The new-arrived should loth perchance to eat, And that more free he might the stranger’s ear With questions of his absent Sire address, And now a maiden charg’d with golden ew’r, And with an argent laver, pouring first Pure water on their hands, supplied them, next, With a resplendent table, which the chaste Directress of the stores furnish’d with bread And dainties, remnants of the last regale. Then, in his turn, the sewer Dish after dish, served them, of various kinds, And golden cups beside the chargers placed, Which the attendant herald fill’d with wine. Ere long, in rush’d the suitors, and the thrones And couches occupied, on all whose hands The heralds pour’d pure water; then the maids Attended them with bread in baskets heap’d, And eager they assail’d the ready feast. At length, when neither thirst nor hunger more They felt unsatisfied, to new delights Their thoughts they turn’d, to song and sprightly dance, Enlivening sequel of the banquet’s joys. An herald, then, to Phemius’ hand consign’d The suitors with his song, and while the chords He struck in prelude to his pleasant strains, Telemachus his head inclining nigh To Pallas’ ear, lest others should his words Witness, the blue-eyed Goddess thus bespake. My inmate and my friend! far from my lips Be ev’ry word that might displease thine ear! The song—the harp,—what can they less than charm These wantons? who the bread unpurchased eat Of one whose bones on yonder continent Lie mould’ring, drench’d by all the show’rs of heaven, Or roll at random in the billowy deep. Ah! could they see him once to his own isle Restored, both gold and raiment they would wish Far less, and nimbleness of foot instead. But He, alas! hath by a wretched fate, Past question perish’d, and what news soe’er We hear of his return, kindles no hope In us, convinced that he returns no more. But answer undissembling; tell me true; Who art thou? whence? where stands thy city? where Thy father’s mansion? In what kind of ship Cam’st thou? Why steer’d the mariners their course To Ithaca, and of what land are they? For that on foot thou found’st us not, is sure. This also tell me, hast thou now arrived New to our isle, or wast thou heretofore My father’s guest? Since many to our house Resorted in those happier days, for he Drew pow’rful to himself the hearts of all. Then Pallas thus, Goddess cÆrulean-eyed. I will with all simplicity of truth Thy questions satisfy. Behold in me Mentes, the offspring of a Chief renown’d In war, Anchialus; and I rule, myself, An island race, the Taphians oar-expert. With ship and mariners I now arrive, Seeking a people of another tongue Athwart the gloomy flood, in quest of brass For which I barter steel, ploughing the waves To Temesa. My ship beneath the woods Of NeÏus, at yonder field that skirts We are hereditary guests; our Sires Were friends long since; as, when thou seest him next, The Hero old Laertes will avouch, Of whom, I learn, that he frequents no more The city now, but in sequester’d scenes Dwells sorrowful, and by an antient dame With food and drink supplied oft as he feels Refreshment needful to him, while he creeps Between the rows of his luxuriant vines. But I have come drawn hither by report, Which spake thy Sire arrived, though still it seems The adverse Gods his homeward course retard. For not yet breathless lies the noble Chief, But in some island of the boundless flood Resides a prisoner, by barbarous force Of some rude race detained reluctant there. And I will now foreshow thee what the Gods Teach me, and what, though neither augur skill’d Nor prophet, I yet trust shall come to pass. He shall not, henceforth, live an exile long From his own shores, no, not although in bands Of iron held, but will ere long contrive His own return; for in expedients, framed With wond’rous ingenuity, he abounds. But tell me true; art thou, in stature such, Son of himself Ulysses? for thy face And eyes bright-sparkling, strongly indicate Ulysses in thee. Frequent have we both Conversed together thus, thy Sire and I, Ere yet he went to Troy, the mark to which So many Princes of Achaia steer’d. Him since I saw not, nor Ulysses me. To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied. Stranger! I tell thee true; my mother’s voice Affirms me his, but since no mortal knows His derivation, I affirm it not. Would I had been son of some happier Sire, Ordain’d in calm possession of his own To reach the verge of life. But now, report Proclaims me his, whom I of all mankind Unhappiest deem.—Thy question is resolved. Then answer thus Pallas blue-eyed return’d. The Gods shall prove thee sprung, whom so endow’d With ev’ry grace Penelope hath borne. But tell me true. What festival is this? This throng—whence are they? wherefore hast thou need Of such a multitude? Behold I here A banquet, or a nuptial? for these Meet not by contribution With such brutality and din they hold Their riotous banquet! a wise man and good Arriving, now, among them, at the sight Of such enormities would much be wroth. To whom replied Telemachus discrete. Since, stranger! thou hast ask’d, learn also this. While yet Ulysses, with his people dwelt, His presence warranted the hope that here Virtue should dwell and opulence; but heav’n Hath cast for us, at length, a diff’rent lot, And he is lost, as never man before. For I should less lament even his death, Had he among his friends at Ilium fall’n, Or in the arms of his companions died, Troy’s siege accomplish’d. Then his tomb the Greeks Of ev’ry tribe had built, and for his son, He had immortal glory atchieved; but now, By harpies torn inglorious, beyond reach Of eye or ear he lies; and hath to me Grief only, and unceasing sighs bequeath’d. Nor mourn I for his sake alone; the Gods Have plann’d for me still many a woe beside; For all the rulers of the neighbour isles, Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’d Zacynthus, others also, rulers here In craggy Ithaca, my mother seek In marriage, and my household stores consume. But neither she those nuptial rites abhorr’d, Refuses absolute, nor yet consents To end them; they my patrimony waste Meantime, and will not long spare even me. Pallas replied. Alas! great need hast thou Of thy long absent father to avenge These num’rous wrongs; for could he now appear There, at yon portal, arm’d with helmet, shield, And grasping his two spears, such as when first I saw him drinking joyous at our board, From Ilus son of Mermeris, who dwelt In distant Ephyre, just then return’d, (For thither also had Ulysses gone In his swift bark, seeking some pois’nous drug Wherewith to taint his brazen arrows keen, Which drug through fear of the eternal Gods Ilus refused him, and my father free Gave to him, for he loved him past belief) Could now, Ulysses, clad in arms as then, Mix with these suitors, short his date of life To each, and bitter should his nuptials prove. But these events, whether he shall return To take just vengeance under his own roof, Or whether not, lie all in the Gods lap. Meantime I counsel thee, thyself to think By what means likeliest thou shalt expel These from thy doors. Now mark me: close attend. To-morrow, summoning the Grecian Chiefs To council, speak to them, and call the Gods To witness that solemnity. Bid go The suitors hence, each to his own abode. Thy mother—if her purpose be resolved On marriage, let her to the house return Of her own potent father, who, himself, Shall furnish forth her matrimonial rites, And ample dow’r, such as it well becomes A darling daughter to receive, bestow. But hear me now; thyself I thus advise. The prime of all thy ships preparing, mann’d With twenty rowers, voyage hence to seek Intelligence of thy long-absent Sire. Some mortal may inform thee, or a word, Perchance, by Jove directed (safest source First voyaging to Pylus, there enquire Of noble Nestor; thence to Sparta tend, To question Menelaus amber-hair’d, Latest arrived of all the host of Greece. There should’st thou learn that still thy father lives, And hope of his return, although Distress’d, thou wilt be patient yet a year. But should’st thou there hear tidings that he breathes No longer, to thy native isle return’d, First heap his tomb; then with such pomp perform His funeral rites as his great name demands, And make thy mother’s spousals, next, thy care. These duties satisfied, delib’rate last Whether thou shalt these troublers of thy house By stratagem, or by assault, destroy. For thou art now no child, nor longer may’st Sport like one. Hast thou not the proud report Heard, how Orestes hath renown acquired With all mankind, his father’s murtherer Ægisthus slaying, the deceiver base Who slaughter’d Agamemnon? Oh my friend! (For with delight thy vig’rous growth I view, And just proportion) be thou also bold, And merit praise from ages yet to come. But I will to my vessel now repair, And to my mariners, whom, absent long, I may perchance have troubled. Weigh thou well My counsel; let not my advice be lost. To whom Telemachus discrete replied. Stranger! thy words bespeak thee much my friend, Who, as a father teaches his own son, Hast taught me, and I never will forget. But, though in haste thy voyage to pursue, Yet stay, that in the bath refreshing first Thy limbs now weary, thou may’st sprightlier seek Thy gallant bark, charged with some noble gift Of finish’d workmanship, which thou shalt keep As my memorial ever; such a boon As men confer on guests whom much they love. Then Pallas thus, Goddess cÆrulean-eyed. Retard me not, for go I must; the gift Which liberal thou desirest to bestow, < /span> The treasure home; and, in exchange, thyself Expect some gift equivalent from me. She spake, and as with eagle-wings upborne, Vanish’d incontinent, but him inspired With daring fortitude, and on his heart Dearer remembrance of his Sire impress’d Than ever. Conscious of the wond’rous change, Amazed he stood, and, in his secret thought Revolving all, believed his guest a God. The youthful Hero to the suitors then Repair’d; they silent, listen’d to the song Of the illustrious Bard: he the return Deplorable of the Achaian host From Ilium by command of Pallas, sang. Penelope, Icarius’ daughter, mark’d Meantime the song celestial, where she sat In the superior palace; down she came, By all the num’rous steps of her abode; Not sole, for two fair handmaids follow’d her. She then, divinest of her sex, arrived In presence of that lawless throng, beneath The portal of her stately mansion stood, Between her maidens, with her lucid veil Her lovely features mantling. There, profuse She wept, and thus the sacred bard bespake. Phemius! for many a sorrow-soothing strain Thou know’st beside, such as exploits record Of Gods and men, the poet’s frequent theme; Give them of those a song, and let themselves Their wine drink noiseless; but this mournful strain Break off, unfriendly to my bosom’s peace, And which of all hearts nearest touches mine, With such regret my dearest Lord I mourn, Rememb’ring still an husband praised from side To side, and in the very heart of Greece. Then answer thus Telemachus return’d. My mother! wherefore should it give thee pain If the delightful bard that theme pursue To which he feels his mind impell’d? the bard Blame not, but rather Jove, who, as he wills, Materials for poetic art supplies. No fault is his, if the disastrous fate Wins ever from the hearers most applause That has been least in use. Of all who fought At Troy, Ulysses hath not lost, alone, His day of glad return; but many a Chief Hath perish’d also. Seek thou then again Thy own apartment, spindle ply and loom, And task thy maidens; management belongs To men of joys convivial, and of men Especially to me, chief ruler here. She heard astonish’d; and the prudent speech Reposing of her son deep in her heart, Again with her attendant maidens sought Her upper chamber. There arrived, she wept Her lost Ulysses, till Minerva bathed Her weary lids in dewy sleep profound. Then echoed through the palace dark-bedimm’d With evening shades the suitors boist’rous roar, For each the royal bed burn’d to partake, Whom thus Telemachus discrete address’d. All ye my mother’s suitors, though addict To contumacious wrangling fierce, suspend Your clamour, for a course to me it seems More decent far, when such a bard as this, Godlike, for sweetness, sings, to hear his song. To-morrow meet we in full council all, That I may plainly warn you to depart From this our mansion. Seek ye where ye may Your feasts; consume your own; alternate feed Each at the other’s cost; but if it seem Wisest in your account and best, to eat Voracious thus the patrimonial goods Of one man, rend’ring no account of all, Bite to the roots; but know that I will cry Ceaseless to the eternal Gods, in hope That Jove, for retribution of the wrong, Shall doom you, where ye have intruded, there To bleed, and of your blood ask no account.5 He ended, and each gnaw’d his lip, aghast Then thus AntinoÜs spake, Eupithes’ son. Telemachus! the Gods, methinks, themselves Teach thee sublimity, and to pronounce Thy matter fearless. Ah forbid it, Jove! That one so eloquent should with the weight Of kingly cares in Ithaca be charged, A realm, by claim hereditary, thine. Then prudent thus Telemachus replied. Although my speech AntinoÜs may, perchance, Provoke thee, know that I am not averse From kingly cares, if Jove appoint me such. Seems it to thee a burthen to be fear’d By men above all others? trust me, no, There is no ill in royalty; the man So station’d, waits not long ere he obtain Riches and honour. But I grant that Kings Of the Achaians may no few be found In sea-girt Ithaca both young and old, Of whom since great Ulysses is no more, Reign whoso may; but King, myself, I am In my own house, and over all my own Domestics, by Ulysses gained for me. To whom Eurymachus replied, the son Of Polybus. What Grecian Chief shall reign In sea-girt Ithaca, must be referr’d To the Gods’ will, Telemachus! meantime Thou hast unquestionable right to keep Thy own, and to command in thy own house. Ma |
|
