  Telemachus, with Pisistratus, arrives at the palace of Menelaus, from whom he receives some fresh information concerning the return of the Greecians, and is in particular told on the authority of Proteus, that his father is detained by Calypso. The suitors, plotting against the life of Telemachus, lie in wait to intercept him in his return to Ithaca. Penelope being informed of his departure, and of their designs to slay him, becomes inconsolable, but is relieved by a dream sent to her from Minerva. In hollow LacedÆmon’s spacious vale Arriving, to the house they drove direct Of royal Menelaus; him they found In his own palace, all his num’rous friends Regaling at a nuptial banquet giv’n Both for his daughter and the prince his son. His daughter to renown’d Achilles’ heir He sent, to whom he had at Troy engaged To give her, and the Gods now made her his. With chariots and with steeds he sent her forth To the illustrious city where the prince, Achilles’ offspring, ruled the Myrmidons. But to his son he gave a Spartan fair, Alector’s daughter; from an handmaid sprang That son to Menelaus in his age, Brave Megapenthes; for the Gods no child To Helen gave, made mother, once, of her Who vied in perfect loveliness of form With golden Venus’ self, Hermione. Thus all the neighbour princes and the friends Of noble Menelaus, feasting sat Within his spacious palace, among whom A sacred bard sang sweetly to his harp, While, in the midst, two dancers smote the ground With measur’d steps responsive to his song. And now the Heroes, Nestor’s noble son And young Telemachus arrived within The vestibule, whom, issuing from the hall, Of Menelaus, saw; at once he ran Across the palace to report the news To his Lord’s ear, and, standing at his side, In accents wing’d with haste thus greeted him. Oh Menelaus! Heav’n descended Chief! Two guests arrive, both strangers, but the race Of Jove supreme resembling each in form. Say, shall we loose, ourselves, their rapid steeds, Or hence dismiss them to some other host? But Menelaus, Hero golden-hair’d, Indignant answer’d him. Boethe’s son! Thou wast not, Eteoneus, heretofore, A babbler, who now pratest as a child. We have ourselves arrived indebted much To hospitality of other men, If Jove shall, even here, some pause at last Of woe afford us. Therefore loose, at once, Their steeds, and introduce them to the feast. He said, and, issuing, Eteoneus call’d The brisk attendants to his aid, with whom He loos’d their foaming coursers from the yoke. Them first they bound to mangers, which with oats And mingled barley they supplied, then thrust The chariot sidelong to the splendid wall. Themselves he, next, into the royal house Conducted, who survey’d, wond’ring, the abode Of the heav’n-favour’d King; for on all sides As with the splendour of the sun or moon The lofty dome of Menelaus blazed. Satiate, at length, with wonder at that sight, They enter’d each a bath, and by the hands Of maidens laved, and oil’d, and cloath’d again With shaggy mantles and resplendent vests, Sat both enthroned at Menelaus’ side. And now a maiden charged with golden ew’r, And with an argent laver, pouring first Pure water on their hands, supplied them next With a bright table, which the maiden, chief In office, furnish’d plenteously with bread And dainties, remnants of the last regale. Dish after dish, served them, and placed beside The chargers cups magnificent of gold, When Menelaus grasp’d their hands, and said. Eat and rejoice, and when ye shall have shared Our nuptial banquet, we will then inquire Who are ye both, for, certain, not from those Whose generation perishes are ye, But rather of some race of sceptred Chiefs Heav’n-born; the base have never sons like you. So saying, he from the board lifted his own Distinguish’d portion, and the fatted chine Gave to his guests; the sav’ry viands they With outstretch’d hands assail’d, and when the force No longer now of appetite they felt, Telemachus, inclining close his head To Nestor’s son, lest others should his speech Witness, in whisper’d words him thus address’d. Dearest Pisistratus, observe, my friend! How all the echoing palace with the light Of beaming brass, of gold and amber shines Silver and ivory! for radiance such Th’ interior mansion of Olympian Jove I deem. What wealth, how various, how immense Is here! astonish’d I survey the sight! But Menelaus, golden-hair’d, his speech O’erhearing, thus in accents wing’d replied My children! let no mortal man pretend Comparison with Jove; for Jove’s abode And all his stores are incorruptible. But whether mortal man with me may vie In the display of wealth, or whether not, This know, that after many toils endured, And perilous wand’rings wide, in the eighth year I brought my treasures home. Remote I roved To Cyprus, to Phoenice, to the shores Of Ægypt; Æthiopia’s land I reach’d, Th’ Erembi, the Sidonians, and the coasts Of Lybia, where the lambs their foreheads shew At once with horns defended, soon as yean’d. There, thrice within the year the flocks produce, Nor master, there, nor shepherd ever feels A dearth of cheese, of flesh, or of sweet milk While, thus, commodities on various coasts Gath’ring I roam’d, another, by the arts Of his pernicious spouse aided, of life Bereav’d my brother privily, and when least He fear’d to lose it. Therefore little joy To me results from all that I possess. Your fathers (be those fathers who they may) These things have doubtless told you; for immense Have been my suff’rings, and I have destroy’d A palace well inhabited and stored With precious furniture in ev’ry kind; Such, that I would to heav’n! I own’d at home Though but the third of it, and that the Greeks Who perish’d then, beneath the walls of Troy Far from steed-pastured Argos, still survived. Yet while, sequester’d here, I frequent mourn My slaughter’d friends, by turns I sooth my soul With tears shed for them, and by turns again I cease; for grief soon satiates free indulged. But of them all, although I all bewail, None mourn I so as one, whom calling back To memory, I both sleep and food abhor. For, of Achaia’s sons none ever toiled Strenuous as Ulysses; but his lot Was woe, and unremitting sorrow mine For his long absence, who, if still he live, We know not aught, or be already dead. Him doubtless, old Laertes mourns, and him Discrete Penelope, nor less his son Telemachus, born newly when he sail’d. So saying, he kindled in him strong desire To mourn his father; at his father’s name Fast fell his tears to ground, and with both hands He spread his purple cloak before his eyes; Which Menelaus marking, doubtful sat If he should leave him leisure for his tears, Or question him, and tell him all at large. While thus he doubted, Helen (as it chanced) Leaving her fragrant chamber, came, august As Dian, goddess of the golden bow. Adrasta, for her use, set forth a throne, Alcippe with soft arras cover’d it, Of fair Alcandra, wife of Polybus, Whose mansion in Ægyptian Thebes is rich In untold treasure, and who gave, himself, Ten golden talents, and two silver baths To Menelaus, with two splendid tripods Beside the noble gifts which, at the hand Of his illustrious spouse, Helen receiv’d; A golden spindle, and a basket wheel’d, Itself of silver, and its lip of gold. That basket Philo, her own handmaid, placed At beauteous Helen’s side, charged to the brim With slender threads, on which the spindle lay With wool of purple lustre wrapp’d around. Approaching, on her foot-stool’d throne she sat, And, instant, of her royal spouse enquired. Know we, my Menelaus, dear to Jove! These guests of ours, and whence they have arrived? Erroneous I may speak, yet speak I must; In man or woman never have I seen Such likeness to another (wonder-fixt I gaze) as in this stranger to the son Of brave Ulysses, whom that Hero left New-born at home, when (shameless as I was) For my unworthy sake the Greecians sailed To Ilium, with fierce rage of battle fir’d. Then Menelaus, thus, the golden-hair’d. I also such resemblance find in him As thou; such feet, such hands, the cast of eye Similar, and the head and flowing locks. And even now, when I Ulysses named, And his great sufferings mention’d, in my cause, The bitter tear dropp’d from his lids, while broad Before his eyes his purple cloak he spread. To whom the son of Nestor thus replied. Atrides! Menelaus! Chief renown’d! He is in truth his son, as thou hast said, But he is modest, and would much himself Condemn, if, at his first arrival here, He should loquacious seem and bold to thee, To whom we listen, captived by thy voice, As if some God had spoken. As for me, Bade me conduct him hither, for he wish’d To see thee, promising himself from thee The benefit of some kind word or deed. For, destitute of other aid, he much His father’s tedious absence mourns at home. So fares Telemachus; his father strays Remote, and, in his stead, no friend hath he Who might avert the mischiefs that he feels. To whom the Hero amber-hair’d replied. Ye Gods! the offspring of indeed a friend Hath reach’d my house, of one who hath endured Arduous conflicts num’rous for my sake; And much I purpos’d, had Olympian Jove Vouchsaf’d us prosp’rous passage o’er the Deep, To have receiv’d him with such friendship here As none beside. In Argos I had then Founded a city for him, and had rais’d A palace for himself; I would have brought The Hero hither, and his son, with all His people, and with all his wealth, some town Evacuating for his sake, of those Ruled by myself, and neighb’ring close my own. Thus situate, we had often interchanged Sweet converse, nor had other cause at last Our friendship terminated or our joys, Than death’s black cloud o’ershadowing him or me. But such delights could only envy move Ev’n in the Gods, who have, of all the Greeks, Amerc’d him only of his wish’d return. So saying, he kindled the desire to weep In ev’ry bosom. Argive Helen wept Abundant, Jove’s own daughter; wept as fast Telemachus and Menelaus both; Nor Nestor’s son with tearless eyes remain’d, Calling to mind Antilochus Illustrious of the bright Aurora slain, Rememb’ring whom, in accents wing’d he said. Atrides! antient Nestor, when of late Conversing with him, we remember’d thee, Pronounced thee wise beyond all human-kind. Displease thee. It affords me no delight To intermingle tears with my repast, And soon, Aurora, daughter of the dawn, Will tinge the orient. Not that I account Due lamentation of a friend deceased Blameworthy, since, to sheer the locks and weep, Is all we can for the unhappy dead. I also have my grief, call’d to lament One, not the meanest of Achaia’s sons, My brother; him I cannot but suppose To thee well-known, although unknown to me Who saw him never; Antilochus superior to the most, In speed superior, and in feats of arms. To whom, the Hero of the yellow locks. O friend belov’d! since nought which thou hast said Or recommended now, would have disgraced A man of years maturer far than thine, (For wise thy father is, and such art thou, And easy is it to discern the son Of such a father, whom Saturnian Jove In marriage both and at his birth ordain’d To great felicity; for he hath giv’n To Nestor gradually to sink at home Into old age, and, while he lives, to see His sons past others wise, and skill’d in arms) The sorrow into which we sudden fell Shall pause. Come—now remember we the feast; Pour water on our hands, for we shall find, (Telemachus and I) no dearth of themes For mutual converse when the day shall dawn. He ended; then, Asphalion, at his word, Servant of glorious Menelaus, poured Pure water on their hands, and they the feast Before them with keen appetite assail’d. But Jove-born Helen otherwise, meantime, Employ’d, into the wine of which they drank A drug infused, antidote to the pains Of grief and anger, a most potent charm For ills of ev’ry name. Whoe’er his wine So medicated drinks, he shall not pour His father and his mother both were dead, Nor even though his brother or his son Had fall’n in battle, and before his eyes. Such drugs Jove’s daughter own’d, with skill prepar’d, And of prime virtue, by the wife of Thone, Ægyptian Polydamna, giv’n her. For Ægypt teems with drugs, yielding no few Which, mingled with the drink, are good, and many Of baneful juice, and enemies to life. There ev’ry man in skill medicinal Excels, for they are sons of PÆon all. That drug infused, she bade her servant pour The bev’rage forth, and thus her speech resumed. Atrides! Menelaus! dear to Jove! These also are the sons of Chiefs renown’d, (For Jove, as pleases him, to each assigns Or good or evil, whom all things obey) Now therefore, feasting at your ease reclin’d, Listen with pleasure, for myself, the while, Will matter seasonable interpose. I cannot all rehearse, nor even name, (Omitting none) the conflicts and exploits Of brave Ulysses; but with what address Successful, one atchievement he perform’d At Ilium, where Achaia’s sons endured Such hardship, will I speak. Inflicting wounds Dishonourable on himself, he took A tatter’d garb, and like a serving-man Enter’d the spacious city of your foes. So veil’d, some mendicant he seem’d, although No Greecian less deserved that name than he. In such disguise he enter’d; all alike Misdeem’d him; me alone he not deceived Who challeng’d him, but, shrewd, he turn’d away. At length, however, when I had myself Bathed him, anointed, cloath’d him, and had sworn Not to declare him openly in Troy Till he should reach again the camp and fleet, He told me the whole purpose of the Greeks. Then, (many a Trojan slaughter’d,) he regain’d The camp, and much intelligence he bore To the Achaians. Oh what wailing then Exulted, alter’d now, and wishing home; For now my crime committed under force Of Venus’ influence I deplored, what time She led me to a country far remote, A wand’rer from the matrimonial bed, From my own child, and from my rightful Lord Alike unblemish’d both in form and mind. Her answer’d then the Hero golden-hair’d. Helen! thou hast well spoken. All is true. I have the talents fathom’d and the minds Of num’rous Heroes, and have travell’d far Yet never saw I with these eyes in man Such firmness as the calm Ulysses own’d; None such as in the wooden horse he proved, Where all our bravest sat, designing woe And bloody havoc for the sons of Troy. Thou thither cam’st, impell’d, as it should seem, By some divinity inclin’d to give Victory to our foes, and with thee came Godlike Deiphobus. Thrice round about The hollow ambush, striking with thy hand Its sides thou went’st, and by his name didst call Each prince of Greece feigning his consort’s voice. Myself with Diomede, and with divine Ulysses, seated in the midst, the call Heard plain and loud; we (Diomede and I) With ardour burn’d either to quit the horse So summon’d, or to answer from within. But, all impatient as we were, Ulysses Controul’d the rash design; so there the sons Of the Achaians silent sat and mute, And of us all Anticlus would alone Have answer’d; but Ulysses with both hands Compressing close his lips, saved us, nor ceased Till Pallas thence conducted thee again. Then thus, discrete, Telemachus replied. Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d! Hard was his lot whom these rare qualities Preserved not, neither had his dauntless heart Been iron, had he scaped his cruel doom. But haste, dismiss us hence, that on our beds Reposed, we may enjoy sleep, needful now. To her attendant maidens to prepare Beds in the portico with purple rugs Resplendent, and with arras, overspread, And cover’d warm with cloaks of shaggy pile. Forth went the maidens, bearing each a torch, And spread the couches; next, the herald them Led forth, and in the vestibule the son Of Nestor and the youthful Hero slept, Telemachus; but in the interior house Atrides, with the loveliest of her sex Beside him, Helen of the sweeping stole. But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, Glow’d in the East, then from his couch arose The warlike Menelaus, fresh attir’d; His faulchion o’er his shoulders slung, he bound His sandals fair to his unsullied feet, And like a God issuing, at the side Sat of Telemachus, to whom he spake. Hero! Telemachus! what urgent cause Hath hither led thee, to the land far-famed Of LacedÆmon o’er the spacious Deep? Public concern or private? Tell me true. To whom Telemachus discrete replied. Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d! News seeking of my Sire, I have arrived. My household is devour’d, my fruitful fields Are desolated, and my palace fill’d With enemies, who while they mutual wage Proud competition for my mother’s love, My flocks continual slaughter, and my beeves. For this cause, at thy knees suppliant, I beg That thou wouldst tell me his disastrous end, If either thou beheld’st with thine own eyes His death, or from some wand’rer of the Greeks Hast heard it; for no common woes, alas! Was he ordain’d to share ev’n from the womb. Neither through pity or o’erstrain’d respect Flatter me, but explicit all relate Which thou hast witness’d. If my noble Sire E’er gratified thee by performance just Of word or deed at Ilium, where ye fell So num’rous slain in fight, oh recollect Then Menelaus, sighing deep, replied. Gods! their ambition is to reach the bed Of a brave man, however base themselves. But as it chances, when the hart hath lay’d Her fawns new-yean’d and sucklings yet, to rest Within some dreadful lion’s gloomy den, She roams the hills, and in the grassy vales Feeds heedless, till the lion, to his lair Return’d, destroys her and her little-ones, So them thy Sire shall terribly destroy. Jove, Pallas and Apollo! oh that such As erst in well-built Lesbos, where he strove With Philomelides, and threw him flat, A sight at which Achaia’s sons rejoic’d, Such, now, Ulysses might assail them all! Short life and bitter nuptials should be theirs. But thy enquiries neither indirect Will I evade, nor give thee false reply, But all that from the Antient of the Deep I have receiv’d will utter, hiding nought. As yet the Gods on Ægypt’s shore detained Me wishing home, angry at my neglect To heap their altars with slain hecatombs. For they exacted from us evermore Strict rev’rence of their laws. There is an isle Amid the billowy flood, Pharos by name, In front of Ægypt, distant from her shore Far as a vessel by a sprightly gale Impell’d, may push her voyage in a day. The haven there is good, and many a ship Finds wat’ring there from riv’lets on the coast. There me the Gods kept twenty days, no breeze Propitious granting, that might sweep the waves, And usher to her home the flying bark. And now had our provision, all consumed, Left us exhausted, but a certain nymph Pitying saved me. Daughter fair was she Of mighty Proteus, Antient of the Deep, Idothea named; her most my sorrows moved; She found me from my followers all apart Wand’ring (for they around the isle, with hooks And standing at my side, me thus bespake. Stranger! thou must be ideot born, or weak At least in intellect, or thy delight Is in distress and mis’ry, who delay’st To leave this island, and no egress hence Canst find, although thy famish’d people faint. So spake the Goddess, and I thus replied. I tell thee, whosoever of the Pow’rs Divine thou art, that I am prison’d here Not willingly, but must have, doubtless, sinn’d Against the deathless tenants of the skies. Yet say (for the Immortals all things know) What God detains me, and my course forbids Hence to my country o’er the fishy Deep? So I; to whom the Goddess all-divine. Stranger! I will inform thee true. A seer Oracular, the Antient of the Deep, Immortal Proteus, the Ægyptian, haunts These shores, familiar with all Ocean’s gulphs, And Neptune’s subject. He is by report My father; him if thou art able once To seize and bind, he will prescribe the course With all its measured distances, by which Thou shalt regain secure thy native shores. He will, moreover, at thy suit declare, Thou favour’d of the skies! what good, what ill Hath in thine house befall’n, while absent thou Thy voyage difficult perform’st and long. She spake, and I replied—Thyself reveal By what effectual bands I may secure The antient Deity marine, lest, warn’d Of my approach, he shun me and escape. Hard task for mortal hands to bind a God! Then thus Idothea answer’d all-divine. I will inform thee true. Soon as the sun Hath climb’d the middle heav’ns, the prophet old, Emerging while the breezy zephyr blows, And cover’d with the scum of ocean, seeks His spacious cove, in which outstretch’d he lies. The phocÆ Offspring of beauteous Halosydna, sleep Exhaling rank of the unfathom’d flood. Thither conducting thee at peep of day I will dispose thee in some safe recess, But from among thy followers thou shalt chuse The bravest three in all thy gallant fleet. And now the artifices understand Of the old prophet of the sea. The sum Of all his phocÆ numb’ring duly first, He will pass through them, and when all by fives He counted hath, will in the midst repose Content, as sleeps the shepherd with his flock Whom shipp’d for Pylus I had seen before. He ceas’d; and to his father’s house return’d; They, hearing, sat aghast. Their games meantime Finish’d, the suitors on their seats reposed, To whom Eupithes’ son, AntinoÜs, next, Much troubled spake; a black storm overcharged His bosom, and his vivid eyes flash’d fire. Ye Gods, a proud exploit is here atchieved, This voyage of Telemachus, by us Pronounced impracticable; yet the boy In downright opposition to us all, Hath headlong launched a ship, and, with a band Selected from our bravest youth, is gone. He soon will prove more mischievous, whose pow’r Jove wither, ere we suffer its effects! But give me a swift bark with twenty rowers, That, watching his return within the streights Of rocky Samos and of Ithaca, I may surprise him; so shall he have sail’d To seek his Sire, fatally for himself. He ceased and loud applause heard in reply, With warm encouragement. Then, rising all, Into Ulysses’ house at once they throng’d. Nor was Penelope left uninformed Long time of their clandestine plottings deep, For herald Medon told her all, whose ear Their councils caught while in the outer-court He stood, and they that project framed within. Swift to Penelope the tale he bore, Who as he pass’d the gate, him thus address’d. For what cause, herald! have the suitors sent Thee foremost? Wou’d they that my maidens lay Their tasks aside, and dress the board for them? Here end their wooing! may they hence depart Never, and may the banquet now prepared, Here meeting, waste the patrimony fair Of brave Telemachus; ye never, sure, When children, heard how gracious and how good Ulysses dwelt among your parents, none Of all his people, or in word or deed Injuring, as great princes oft are wont, By favour influenc’d now, now by disgust. He no man wrong’d at any time; but plain Your wicked purpose in your deeds appears, Who sense have none of benefits conferr’d. Then Medon answer’d thus, prudent, return’d. Oh Queen! may the Gods grant this prove the worst. But greater far and heavier ills than this The suitors plan, whose counsels Jove confound! Their base desire and purpose are to slay Telemachus on his return; for he, To gather tidings of his Sire is gone To Pylus, or to Sparta’s land divine. He said; and where she stood, her trembling knees Fail’d under her, and all her spirits went. Speechless she long remain’d, tears filled her eyes, And inarticulate in its passage died Her utt’rance, till at last with pain she spake. Herald! why went my son? he hath no need On board swift ships to ride, which are to man His steeds that bear him over seas remote. Went he, that, with himself, his very name Might perish from among mankind for ever? Then answer, thus, Medon the wise return’d. I know not whether him some God impell’d Or his own heart to Pylus, there to hear News of his Sire’s return, or by what fate At least he died, if he return no more. He said, and traversing Ulysses’ courts, Departed; she with heart consuming woe O’erwhelm’d, no longer could endure to take Repose on any of her num’rous seats, But on the threshold of her chamber-door Lamenting sat, while all her female train Whom, sobbing, thus Penelope bespake. Hear me, ye maidens! for of women born Coeval with me, none hath e’er received Such plenteous sorrow from the Gods as I, Who first my noble husband lost, endued With courage lion-like, of all the Greeks The Chief with ev’ry virtue most adorn’d, A prince all-excellent, whose glorious praise Through Hellas and all Argos flew diffused. And now, my darling son,—him storms have snatch’d Far hence inglorious, and I knew it not. Ah treach’rous servants! conscious as ye were Of his design, not one of you the thought Conceived to wake me when he went on board. For had but the report once reach’d my ear, He either had not gone (how much soe’er He wish’d to leave me) or had left me dead. But haste ye,—bid my antient servant come, Dolion, whom (when I left my father’s house He gave me, and whose office is to attend My num’rous garden-plants) that he may seek At once Laertes, and may tell him all, Who may contrive some remedy, perchance, Or fit expedient, and shall come abroad To weep before the men who wish to slay Even the prince, godlike Ulysses’ son. Then thus the gentle Euryclea spake, Nurse of Telemachus. Alas! my Queen! Slay me, or spare, deal with me as thou wilt, I will confess the truth. I knew it all. I gave him all that he required from me. Both wine and bread, and, at his bidding, swore To tell thee nought in twelve whole days to come, Or till, enquiry made, thou should’st thyself Learn his de Nam quis te, juvenum confidentissime, nostras. Egit adire domos. |
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