  Ulysses arriving at the house of EumÆus, is hospitably entertained, and spends the night there. Leaving the haven-side, he turn’d his steps Into a rugged path, which over hills Mantled with trees led him to the abode By Pallas mention’d of his noble friend The swine-herd, who of all Ulysses’ train Watch’d with most diligence his rural stores. Him sitting in the vestibule he found Of his own airy lodge commodious, built Amidst a level lawn. That structure neat EumÆus, in the absence of his Lord, Had raised, himself, with stones from quarries hewn, Unaided by Laertes or the Queen. With tangled thorns he fenced it safe around, And with contiguous stakes riv’n from the trunks Of solid oak black-grain’d hemm’d it without. Twelve penns he made within, all side by side, Lairs for his swine, and fast-immured in each Lay fifty pregnant females on the floor. The males all slept without, less num’rous far, Thinn’d by the princely wooers at their feasts Continual, for to them he ever sent The fattest of his saginated charge. Three hundred, still, and sixty brawns remained. Four mastiffs in adjoining kennels lay, Resembling wild-beasts nourish’d at the board Of the illustrious steward of the styes. Himself sat fitting sandals to his feet, Carved from a stain’d ox-hide. Four hinds he kept, Now busied here and there; three in the penns The city, whither, for the suitors’ use, With no good will, but by constraint, he drove A boar, that, sacrificing to the Gods, Th’ imperious guests might on his flesh regale. Soon as those clamorous watch-dogs the approach Saw of Ulysses, baying loud, they ran Toward him; he, as ever, well-advised, Squatted, and let his staff fall from his hand. Yet foul indignity he had endured Ev’n there, at his own farm, but that the swain, Following his dogs in haste, sprang through the porch To his assistance, letting fall the hide. With chiding voice and vollied stones he soon Drove them apart, and thus his Lord bespake. Old man! one moment more, and these my dogs Had, past doubt, worried thee, who should’st have proved, So slain, a source of obloquy to me. But other pangs the Gods, and other woes To me have giv’n, who here lamenting sit My godlike master, and his fatted swine Nourish for others’ use, while he, perchance, A wand’rer in some foreign city, seeks Fit sustenance, and none obtains, if still Indeed he live, and view the light of day. But, old friend! follow me into the house, That thou, at least, with plenteous food refresh’d, And cheer’d with wine sufficient, may’st disclose Both who thou art, and all that thou hast borne. So saying, the gen’rous swine-herd introduced Ulysses, and thick bundles spread of twigs Beneath him, cover’d with the shaggy skin Of a wild goat, of which he made his couch Easy and large; the Hero, so received, Rejoiced, and thus his gratitude express’d. Jove grant thee and the Gods above, my host, For such beneficence thy chief desire! To whom, EumÆus, thou didst thus reply. My guest! I should offend, treating with scorn The stranger, though a poorer should arrive Than ev’n thyself; for all the poor that are, And all the strangers are the care of Jove. Little, and with good will, is all that lies From servants living in continual fear Under young masters; for the Gods, no doubt, Have intercepted my own Lord’s return, From whom great kindness I had, else, received, With such a recompense as servants gain From gen’rous masters, house and competence, And lovely wife from many a wooer won, Whose industry should have requited well His goodness, with such blessing from the Gods As now attends me in my present charge. Much had I, therefore, prosper’d, had my Lord Grown old at home; but he hath died—I would That the whole house of Helen, one and all, Might perish too, for she hath many slain Who, like my master, went glory to win For Agamemnon in the fields of Troy. So saying, he girdled, quick, his tunic close, And, issuing, sought the styes; thence bringing two Of the imprison’d herd, he slaughter’d both, Singed them, and slash’d and spitted them, and placed The whole well-roasted banquet, spits and all, Reeking before Ulysses; last, with flour He sprinkled them, and filling with rich wine His ivy goblet, to his master sat Opposite, whom inviting thus he said. Now, eat, my guest! such as a servant may I set before thee, neither large of growth Nor fat; the fatted—those the suitors eat, Fearless of heav’n, and pitiless of man. Yet deeds unjust as theirs the blessed Gods Love not; they honour equity and right. Even an hostile band when they invade A foreign shore, which by consent of Jove They plunder, and with laden ships depart, Even they with terrours quake of wrath divine. But these are wiser; these must sure have learn’d From some true oracle my master’s death, Who neither deign with decency to woo, Nor yet to seek their homes, but boldly waste His substance, shameless, now, and sparing nought. Jove ne’er hath giv’n us yet the night or day When with a single victim, or with two Witness how fast the squand’rers use his wine. Time was, when he was rich indeed; such wealth No Hero own’d on yonder continent, Nor yet in Ithaca; no twenty Chiefs Could match with all their treasures his alone; I tell thee their amount. Twelve herds of his The mainland graze; As many droves of swine; and hirelings there And servants of his own seed for his use, As many num’rous flocks of goats; his goats, (Not fewer than eleven num’rous flocks) Here also graze the margin of his fields Under the eye of servants well-approved, And ev’ry servant, ev’ry day, brings home The goat, of all his flock largest and best. But as for me, I have these swine in charge, Of which, selected with exactest care From all the herd, I send the prime to them. He ceas’d, meantime Ulysses ate and drank Voracious, meditating, mute, the death Of those proud suitors. His repast, at length, Concluded, and his appetite sufficed, EumÆus gave him, charged with wine, the cup From which he drank himself; he, glad, received The boon, and in wing’d accents thus began. My friend, and who was he, wealthy and brave As thou describ’st the Chief, who purchased thee? Thou say’st he perish’d for the glory-sake Of Agamemnon. Name him; I, perchance, May have beheld the Hero. None can say But Jove and the inhabitants of heav’n That I ne’er saw him, and may not impart News of him; I have roam’d through many a clime. To whom the noble swine-herd thus replied. Alas, old man! no trav’ler’s tale of him Will gain his consort’s credence, or his son’s; For wand’rers, wanting entertainment, forge Falsehoods for bread, and wilfully deceive. No wand’rer lands in Ithaca, but he seeks She welcomes all, and while she questions each Minutely, from her lids lets fall the tear Affectionate, as well beseems a wife Whose mate hath perish’d in a distant land. Thou could’st thyself, no doubt, my hoary friend! (Would any furnish thee with decent vest And mantle) fabricate a tale with ease; Yet sure it is that dogs and fowls, long since, His skin have stript, or fishes of the Deep Have eaten him, and on some distant shore Whelm’d in deep sands his mould’ring bones are laid. So hath he perish’d; whence, to all his friends, But chiefly to myself, sorrow of heart; For such another Lord, gentle as he, Wherever sought, I have no hope to find, Though I should wander even to the house Of my own father. Neither yearns my heart So feelingly (though that desiring too) To see once more my parents and my home, As to behold Ulysses yet again. Ah stranger; absent as he is, his name Fills me with rev’rence, for he lov’d me much, Cared for me much, and, though we meet no more, Holds still an elder brother’s part in me. Him answer’d, then, the Hero toil-inured. My friend! since his return, in thy account, Is an event impossible, and thy mind Always incredulous that hope rejects, I shall not slightly speak, but with an oath— Ulysses comes again; and I demand No more, than that the boon such news deserves, Be giv’n me soon as he shall reach his home. Then give me vest and mantle fit to wear, Which, ere that hour, much as I need them both, I neither ask, nor will accept from thee. For him whom poverty can force aside From truth—I hate him as the gates of hell. Be Jove, of all in heav’n, my witness first, Then, this thy hospitable board, and, last, The household Gods of the illustrious Chief Himself, Ulysses, to whose gates I go, That all my words shall surely be fulfill’d. Ere, this month closed, another month succeed, He shall return, and punish all who dare Insult his consort and his noble son. To whom EumÆus, thou didst thus reply. Old friend! that boon thou wilt ne’er earn from me; Ulysses comes no more. But thou thy wine Drink quietly, and let us find, at length, Some other theme; recall not this again To my remembrance, for my soul is grieved Oft as reminded of my honour’d Lord. Let the oath rest, and let Ulysses come Ev’n as myself, and as Penelope, And as his ancient father, and his son Godlike Telemachus, all wish he may. Ay—there I feel again—nor cease to mourn His son Telemachus; who, when the Gods Had giv’n him growth like a young plant, and I Well hoped that nought inferior he should prove In person or in mind to his own sire, Hath lost, through influence human or divine, I know not how, his sober intellect, And after tidings of his sire is gone To far-famed Pylus; his return, meantime, In ambush hidden the proud suitors wait, That the whole house may perish of renown’d Arcesias, named in Ithaca no more. But whether he have fallen or ’scaped, let him Rest also, whom Saturnian Jove protect! But come, my ancient guest! now let me learn Thy own afflictions; answer me in truth. Who, and whence art thou? in what city born? Where dwell thy parents; in what kind of ship Cam’st thou? the mariners, why brought they thee To Ithaca? and of what land are they? For, that on foot thou found’st us not, is sure. Him answer’d, then, Ulysses, ever-wise. I will with truth resolve thee; and if here Within thy cottage sitting, we had wine And food for many a day, and business none But to regale at ease while others toiled, I could exhaust the year complete, my woes Rehearsing, nor, at last, rehearse entire I boast me sprung from ancestry renown’d In spacious Crete; son of a wealthy sire, Who other sons train’d num’rous in his house, Born of his wedded wife; but he begat Me on his purchased concubine, whom yet Dear as his other sons in wedlock born Castor Hylacides esteem’d and lov’d, For him I boast my father. Him in Crete, While yet he liv’d, all reverenc’d as a God, So rich, so prosp’rous, and so blest was he With sons of highest praise. But death, the doom Of all, him bore to Pluto’s drear abode, And his illustrious sons among themselves Portion’d his goods by lot; to me, indeed, They gave a dwelling, and but little more, Yet, for my virtuous qualities, I won A wealthy bride, for I was neither vain Nor base, forlorn as thou perceiv’st me now. But thou canst guess, I judge, viewing the straw What once was in the ear. Ah! I have borne Much tribulation; heap’d and heavy woes. Courage and phalanx-breaking might had I From Mars and Pallas; at what time I drew, (Planning some dread exploit) an ambush forth Of our most valiant Chiefs, no boding fears Of death seized me, but foremost far of all I sprang to fight, and pierced the flying foe. Such was I once in arms. But household toils Sustain’d for children’s sake, and carking cares T’ enrich a family, were not for me. My pleasures were the gallant bark, the din Of battle, the smooth spear and glitt’ring shaft, Objects of dread to others, but which me The Gods disposed to love and to enjoy. Thus diff’rent minds are diff’rently amused; For ere Achaia’s fleet had sailed to Troy, Nine times was I commander of an host Embark’d against a foreign foe, and found In all those enterprizes great success. From the whole booty, first, what pleased me most Chusing, and sharing also much by lot I rapidly grew rich, and had thenceforth But when loud-thund’ring Jove that voyage dire Ordain’d, which loos’d the knees of many a Greek, Then, to Idomeneus and me they gave The charge of all their fleet, which how to avoid We found not, so importunate the cry Of the whole host impell’d us to the task. There fought we nine long years, and in the tenth (Priam’s proud city pillag’d) steer’d again Our galleys homeward, which the Gods dispersed. Then was it that deep-planning Jove devised For me much evil. One short month, no more, I gave to joys domestic, in my wife Happy, and in my babes, and in my wealth, When the desire seiz’d me with sev’ral ships Well-rigg’d, and furnish’d all with gallant crews, To sail for Ægypt; nine I fitted forth, To which stout mariners assembled fast. Six days the chosen partners of my voyage Feasted, to whom I num’rous victims gave For sacrifice, and for their own regale. Embarking on the sev’nth from spacious Crete, Before a clear breeze prosp’rous from the North We glided easily along, as down A river’s stream; nor one of all my ships Damage incurr’d, but healthy and at ease We sat, while gales well-managed urged us on. The fifth day thence, smooth-flowing Nile we reach’d, And safe I moor’d in the Ægyptian stream. Then, charging all my mariners to keep Strict watch for preservation of the ships, I order’d spies into the hill-tops; but they Under the impulse of a spirit rash And hot for quarrel, the well-cultur’d fields Pillaged of the Ægyptians, captive led Their wives and little ones, and slew the men. Soon was the city alarm’d, and at the cry Down came the citizens, by dawn of day, With horse and foot, and with the gleam of arms Filling the plain. Then Jove with panic dread Struck all my people; none found courage more To stand, for mischiefs swarm’d on ev’ry side. There, num’rous by the glittering spear we fell Alive to servitude. But Jove himself My bosom with this thought inspired, (I would That, dying, I had first fulfill’d my fate In Ægypt, for new woes were yet to come!) Loosing my brazen casque, and slipping off My buckler, there I left them on the field, Then cast my spear away, and seeking, next, The chariot of the sov’reign, clasp’d his knees, And kiss’d them. He, by my submission moved, Deliver’d me, and to his chariot-seat Raising, convey’d me weeping to his home. With many an ashen spear his warriors sought To slay me, (for they now grew fiery wroth) But he, through fear of hospitable Jove, Chief punisher of wrong, saved me alive. Sev’n years I there abode, and much amass’d Among the Ægyptians, gifted by them all; But, in the eighth revolving year, arrived A shrewd Phoenician, in all fraud adept, Hungry, and who had num’rous harm’d before, By whom I also was cajoled, and lured T’ attend him to Phoenicia, where his house And his possessions lay; there I abode A year complete his inmate; but (the days And months accomplish’d of the rolling year, And the new seasons ent’ring on their course) To Lybia then, on board his bark, by wiles He won me with him, partner of the freight Profess’d, but destin’d secretly to sale, That he might profit largely by my price. Not unsuspicious, yet constrain’d to go, With this man I embark’d. A cloudless gale Propitious blowing from the North, our ship Ran right before it through the middle sea, In the offing over Crete; but adverse Jove Destruction plann’d for them and death the while. For, Crete now left afar, and other land Appearing none, but sky alone and sea, Right o’er the hollow bark Saturnian Jove A cloud cÆrulean hung, dark’ning the Deep. Then, thund’ring oft, he hurl’d into the bark His bolts; she smitten by the fires of Jove, And, o’er her sides precipitated, plunged Like gulls the crew, forbidden by that stroke Of wrath divine to hope their country more. But Jove himself, when I had cast away All hope of life, conducted to my arms The strong tall mast, that I might yet escape. Around that beam I clung, driving before The stormy blast. Nine days complete I drove, And, on the tenth dark night, the rolling flood Immense convey’d me to Thesprotia’s shore. There me the Hero Phidon, gen’rous King Of the Thesprotians, freely entertained; For his own son discov’ring me with toil Exhausted and with cold, raised me, and thence Led me humanely to his father’s house, Who cherish’d me, and gave me fresh attire. There heard I of Ulysses, whom himself Had entertain’d, he said, on his return To his own land; he shew’d me also gold, Brass, and bright steel elab’rate, whatsoe’er Ulysses had amass’d, a store to feed A less illustrious family than his To the tenth generation, so immense His treasures in the royal palace lay. Himself, he said, was to Dodona gone, There, from the tow’ring oaks of Jove to ask Counsel divine, if openly to land (After long absence) i n his opulent realm Of Ithaca, be best, or in disguise. To me the monarch swore, in his own hall Pouring libation, that the ship was launch’d, And the crew ready for his conduct home. But me he first dismiss’d, for, as it chanced, A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, bound To green Dulichium’s isle. He bade the crew Bear me to King Acastus with all speed; But them far other thoughts pleased more, and thoughts Of harm to me, that I might yet be plunged In deeper gulphs of woe than I had known. For, when the billow-cleaving bark had left The land remote, framing, combined, a plot Against my liberty, they stripp’d my vest Gave me instead, which thy own eyes behold. At even-tide reaching the cultur’d coast Of Ithaca, they left me bound on board With tackle of the bark, and quitting ship Themselves, made hasty supper on the shore. But me, meantime, the Gods easily loos’d By their own pow’r, when, with wrapper vile Around my brows, sliding into the sea At the ship’s stern, I lay’d me on the flood. With both hands oaring thence my course, I swam Till past all ken of theirs; then landing where Thick covert of luxuriant trees I mark’d, Close couchant down I lay; they mutt’ring loud, Paced to and fro, but deeming farther search Unprofitable, soon embark’d again. Thus baffling all their search with ease, the Gods Conceal’d and led me thence to the abode Of a wise man, dooming me still to live. To whom, EumÆus, thou didst thus reply, Alas! my most compassionable guest! Thou hast much moved me by this tale minute Of thy sad wand’rings and thy num’rous woes. But, speaking of Ulysses, thou hast pass’d All credence; I at least can give thee none. Why, noble as thou art, should’st thou invent Palpable falsehoods? as for the return Of my regretted Lord, myself I know That had he not been hated by the Gods Unanimous, he had in battle died At Troy, or (that long doubtful war, at last, Concluded,) in his people’s arms at home. Then universal Greece had raised his tomb, And he had even for his son atchiev’d Immortal glory; but alas! by beaks Of harpies torn, unseemly sight, he lies. Here is my home the while; I never seek The city, unless summon’d by discrete Penelope to listen to the news Brought by some stranger, whencesoe’er arrived. Then, all, alike inquisitive, attend, Both who regret the absence of our King, And who rejoice gratuitous to gorge Find I in list’ning after such reports, Since an Ætolian cozen’d me, who found (After long wand’ring over various lands A fugitive for blood) my lone retreat. Him warm I welcom’d, and with open arms Receiv’d, who bold affirm’d that he had seen My master with Idomeneus at Crete His ships refitting shatter’d by a storm, And that in summer with his godlike band He would return, bringing great riches home, Or else in autumn. And thou ancient guest Forlorn! since thee the Gods have hither led, Seek not to gratify me with untruths And to deceive me, since for no such cause I shall respect or love thee, but alone By pity influenced, and the fear of Jove. To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. Thou hast, in truth, a most incredulous mind, Whom even with an oath I have not moved, Or aught persuaded. Come then—let us make In terms express a cov’nant, and the Gods Who hold Olympus, witness to us both! If thy own Lord at this thy house arrive, Thou shalt dismiss me decently attired In vest and mantle, that I may repair Hence to Dulichium, whither I would go. But, if thy Lord come not, then, gath’ring all Thy servants, headlong hurl me from a rock, That other mendicants may fear to lie. To whom the generous swine-herd in return. Yes, stranger! doubtless I should high renown Obtain for virtue among men, both now And in all future times, if, having first Invited thee, and at my board regaled, I, next, should slay thee; then my pray’rs would mount, Past question, swiftly to Saturnian Jove. But the hour calls to supper, and, ere long, The partners of my toils will come prepared To spread the board with no unsav’ry cheer. Thus they conferr’d. And now the swains arrived, Driving their charge, which fast they soon enclosed Within their customary penns, and loud Then call’d the master to his rustic train. Bring ye the best, that we may set him forth Before my friend from foreign climes arrived, With whom ourselves will also feast, who find The bright-tusk’d multitude a painful charge, While others, at no cost of theirs, consume Day after day, the profit of our toils. So saying, his wood for fuel he prepared, And dragging thither a well-fatted brawn Of the fifth year his servants held him fast At t |
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