  Telemachus dispatches EumÆus to the city to inform Penelope of his safe return from Pylus; during his absence, Ulysses makes himself known to his son. The suitors, having watched for Telemachus in vain, arrive again at Ithaca. It was the hour of dawn, when in the cot Kindling fresh fire, Ulysses and his friend Noble EumÆus dress’d their morning fare, And sent the herdsmen with the swine abroad. Seeing Telemachus, the watchful dogs Bark’d not, but fawn’d around him. At that sight, And at the sound of feet which now approach’d, Ulysses in wing’d accents thus remark’d. EumÆus! certain, either friend of thine Is nigh at hand, or one whom well thou know’st; Thy dogs bark not, but fawn on his approach Obsequious, and the sound of feet I hear. Scarce had he ceased, when his own son himself Stood in the vestibule. Upsprang at once EumÆus wonder-struck, and from his hand Let fall the cups with which he was employ’d Mingling rich wine; to his young Lord he ran, His forehead kiss’d, kiss’d his bright-beaming eyes And both his hands, weeping profuse the while, As when a father folds in his embrace Arrived from foreign lands in the tenth year His darling son, the offspring of his age, His only one, for whom he long hath mourn’d, So kiss’d the noble peasant o’er and o’er Godlike Telemachus, as from death escaped, And in wing’d accents plaintive thus began. Light of my eyes, thou com’st; it is thyself, Sweetest Telemachus! I had no hope To see thee more, once told that o’er the Deep Thou hadst departed for the Pylian coast. Enter, my precious son; that I may sooth For seldom thou thy feeders and thy farm Visitest, in the city custom’d much To make abode, that thou may’st witness there The manners of those hungry suitors proud. To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied. It will be so. There is great need, my friend! But here, for thy sake, have I now arrived, That I may look on thee, and from thy lips Learn if my mother still reside at home, Or have become spouse of some other Chief, Leaving untenanted Ulysses’ bed To be by noisome spiders webb’d around. To whom the master swine-herd in return. Not so, she, patient still as ever, dwells Beneath thy roof, but all her cheerless days Despairing wastes, and all her nights in tears. So saying, EumÆus at his hand received His brazen lance, and o’er the step of stone Enter’d Telemachus, to whom his sire Relinquish’d, soon as he appear’d, his seat, But him Telemachus forbidding, said— Guest, keep thy seat; our cottage will afford Some other, which EumÆus will provide. He ceased, and he, returning at the word, Reposed again; then good EumÆus spread Green twigs beneath, which, cover’d with a fleece, Supplied Ulysses’ offspring with a seat. He, next, disposed his dishes on the board With relicts charged of yesterday; with bread, Alert, he heap’d the baskets; with rich wine His ivy cup replenish’d; and a seat Took opposite to his illustrious Lord Ulysses. They toward the plenteous feast Stretch’d forth their hands, (and hunger now and thirst Both satisfied) Telemachus, his speech Addressing to their gen’rous host, began. Whence is this guest, my father? How convey’d Came he to Ithaca? What country boast The mariners with whom he here arrived? For, that on foot he found us not, is sure. To whom EumÆus, thou didst thus reply. I will with truth answer thee, O my son! In spacious Crete, and hath the cities seen Of various lands, by fate ordain’d to roam. Ev’n now, from a Thesprotian ship escaped, He reach’d my cottage—but he is thy own; I yield him to thee; treat him as thou wilt; He is thy suppliant, and depends on thee. Then thus, Telemachus, discrete, replied. Thy words, EumÆus, pain my very soul. For what security can I afford To any in my house? myself am young, Nor yet of strength sufficient to repel An offer’d insult, and my mother’s mind In doubtful balance hangs, if, still with me An inmate, she shall manage my concerns, Attentive only to her absent Lord And her own good report, or shall espouse The noblest of her wooers, and the best Entitled by the splendour of his gifts. But I will give him, since I find him lodg’d A guest beneath thy roof, tunic and cloak, Sword double-edged, and sandals for his feet, With convoy to the country of his choice. Still, if it please thee, keep him here thy guest, And I will send him raiment, with supplies Of all sorts, lest he burthen thee and thine. But where the suitors come, there shall not he With my consent, nor stand exposed to pride And petulance like theirs, lest by some sneer They wound him, and through him, wound also me; For little is it that the boldest can Against so many; numbers will prevail. Him answer’d then Ulysses toil-inured. Oh amiable and good! since even I Am free to answer thee, I will avow My heart within me torn by what I hear Of those injurious suitors, who the house Infest of one noble as thou appear’st. But say—submittest thou to their controul Willingly, or because the people, sway’d By some response oracular, incline Against thee? Thou hast brothers, it may chance, Slow to assist thee—for a brother’s aid For oh that I had youth as I have will, Or that renown’d Ulysses were my sire, Or that himself might wander home again. Whereof hope yet remains! then might I lose My head, that moment, by an alien’s hand, If I would fail, ent’ring Ulysses’ gate, To be the bane and mischief of them all. But if alone to multitudes opposed I should perchance be foiled; nobler it were With my own people, under my own roof To perish, than to witness evermore Their unexampled deeds, guests shoved aside, Maidens dragg’d forcibly from room to room, Casks emptied of their rich contents, and them Indulging glutt’nous appetite day by day Enormous, without measure, without end. To whom, Telemachus, discrete, replied. Stranger! thy questions shall from me receive True answer. Enmity or hatred none Subsists the people and myself between, Nor have I brothers to accuse, whose aid Is of importance in whatever cause, For Jove hath from of old with single heirs Our house supplied; Arcesias none begat Except Laertes, and Laertes none Except Ulysses, and Ulysses me Left here his only one, and unenjoy’d. Thence comes it that our palace swarms with foes; 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 destroy me also soon, As I expect, but heav’n disposes all. EumÆus! haste, my father! bear with speed News to Penelope that I am safe, And have arrived from Pylus; I will wait Till thou return; and well beware that none To whom EumÆus, thou didst thus reply. It is enough. I understand. Thou speak’st To one intelligent. But say beside, Shall I not also, as I go, inform Distress’d Laertes? who while yet he mourn’d Ulysses only, could o’ersee the works, And dieted among his menials oft As hunger prompted him, but now, they say, Since thy departure to the Pylian shore, He neither eats as he was wont, nor drinks, Nor oversees his hinds, but sighing sits And weeping, wasted even to the bone. Him then Telemachus answer’d discrete. Hard though it be, yet to his tears and sighs Him leave we now. We cannot what we would. For, were the ordering of all events Referr’d to our own choice, our first desire Should be to see my father’s glad return. But once thy tidings told, wander not thou In quest of Him, but hither speed again. Rather request my mother that she send Her household’s governess without delay Privately to him; she shall best inform The ancient King that I have safe arrived. He said, and urged him forth, who binding on His sandals, to the city bent his way. Nor went EumÆus from his home unmark’d By Pallas, who in semblance of a fair Damsel, accomplish’d in domestic arts, Approaching to the cottage’ entrance, stood Opposite, by Ulysses plain discern’d, But to his son invisible; for the Gods Appear not manifest alike to all. The mastiffs saw her also, and with tone Querulous hid themselves, yet bark’d they not. She beckon’d him abroad. Ulysses saw The sign, and, issuing through the outer court, Approach’d her, whom the Goddess thus bespake. Laertes’ progeny, for wiles renown’d! Disclose thyself to thy own son, that, death Concerting and destruction to your foes, Ye may the royal city seek, nor long For I am ardent to begin the fight. Minerva spake, and with her rod of gold Touch’d him; his mantle, first, and vest she made Pure as new-blanch’d; dilating, next, his form, She gave dimensions ampler to his limbs; Swarthy again his manly hue became, Round his full face, and black his bushy chin. The change perform’d, Minerva disappear’d, And the illustrious Hero turn’d again Into the cottage; wonder at that sight Seiz’d on Telemachus; askance he look’d, Awe-struck, not unsuspicious of a God, And in wing’d accents eager thus began. Thou art no longer, whom I lately saw, Nor are thy cloaths, nor is thy port the same. Thou art a God, I know, and dwell’st in heav’n. Oh, smile on us, that we may yield thee rites Acceptable, and present thee golden gifts Elaborate; ah spare us, Pow’r divine! To whom Ulysses, Hero toil-inured. I am no God. Why deem’st thou me divine? I am thy father, for whose sake thou lead’st A life of woe, by violence oppress’d. So saying, he kiss’d his son, while from his cheeks Tears trickled, tears till then, perforce restrained. Telemachus, (for he believed him not His father yet) thus, wond’ring, spake again. My father, said’st thou? no. Thou art not He, But some Divinity beguiles my soul With mock’ries to afflict me still the more; For never mortal man could so have wrought By his own pow’r; some interposing God Alone could render thee both young and old, For old thou wast of late, and foully clad, But wear’st the semblance, now, of those in heav’n! To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. Telemachus! it is not well, my son! That thou should’st greet thy father with a face Of wild astonishment, and stand aghast. Ulysses, save myself, none comes, be sure. Such as thou seest, after ten thousand woes Which I have borne, I visit once again This wonder AthenÆan Pallas wrought, She cloath’d me even with what form she would, For so she can. Now poor I seem and old, Now young again, and clad in fresh attire. The Gods who dwell in yonder heav’n, with ease Dignify or debase a mortal man. So saying, he sat. Then threw Telemachus His arms around his father’s neck, and wept. Desire intense of lamentation seized On both; soft murmurs utt’ring, each indulged His grief, more frequent wailing than the bird, (Eagle, or hook-nail’d vulture) from whose nest Some swain hath stol’n her yet unfeather’d young. So from their eyelids they big drops distill’d Of tend’rest grief, nor had the setting sun Cessation of their weeping seen, had not Telemachus his father thus address’d. What ship convey’d thee to thy native shore, My father! and what country boast the crew? For, that on foot thou not arriv’dst, is sure. Then thus divine Ulysses toil-inured. My son! I will explicit all relate. Conducted by PhÆacia’s maritime sons I came, a race accustom’d to convey Strangers who visit them across the Deep. Me, o’er the billows in a rapid bark Borne sleeping, on the shores of Ithaca They lay’d; rich gifts they gave me also, brass, Gold in full bags, and beautiful attire, Which, warn’d from heav’n, I have in caves conceal’d. By Pallas prompted, hither I repair’d That we might plan the slaughter of our foes, Whose numbers tell me now, that I may know How pow’rful, certainly, and who they are, And consultation with my dauntless heart May hold, if we be able to contend Ourselves with all, or must have aid beside. Then, answer thus his son, discrete, return’d. My father! thy renown hath ever rung In thy son’s ears, and by report thy force In arms, and wisdom I have oft been told. But terribly thou speak’st; amazement-fixt And valiant warriors all? for neither ten Are they, nor twenty, but more num’rous far. Learn, now, their numbers. Fifty youths and two Came from Dulichium; they are chosen men, And six attendants follow in their train; From Samos twenty youths and four arrive, Zacynthus also of Achaia’s sons Sends twenty more, and our own island adds, Herself, her twelve chief rulers; Medon, too, Is there the herald, and the bard divine, With other two, intendants of the board. Should we within the palace, we alone, Assail them all, I fear lest thy revenge Unpleasant to thyself and deadly prove, Frustrating thy return. But recollect— Think, if thou canst, on whose confed’rate arm Strenuous on our behalf we may rely. To him replied his patient father bold. I will inform thee. Mark. Weigh well my words. Will Pallas and the everlasting Sire Alone suffice? or need we other aids? Then answer thus Telemachus return’d. Good friends indeed are they whom thou hast named, Though throned above the clouds; for their controul Is universal both in earth and heav’n. To whom Ulysses, toil-worn Chief renown’d. Not long will they from battle stand aloof, When once, within my palace, in the strength Of Mars, to sharp decision we shall urge The suitors. But thyself at early dawn Our mansion seek, that thou may’st mingle there With that imperious throng; me in due time EumÆus to the city shall conduct, In form a miserable beggar old. But should they with dishonourable scorn Insult me, thou unmov’d my wrongs endure, And should they even drag me by the feet Abroad, or smite me with the spear, thy wrath Refraining, gently counsel them to cease From such extravagance; but well I know That cease they will not, for their hour is come. And mark me well; treasure what now I say Suggest the measure, then, shaking my brows, I will admonish thee; thou, at the sign, Remove what arms soever in the hall Remain, and in the upper palace safe Dispose them; should the suitors, missing them, Perchance interrogate thee, then reply Gently—I have removed them from the smoke; For they appear no more the arms which erst Ulysses, going hence to Ilium, left, But smirch’d and sullied by the breath of fire. This weightier reason (thou shalt also say) Jove taught me; lest, intoxicate with wine, Ye should assault each other in your brawls, Shaming both feast and courtship; for the view Itself of arms incites to their abuse. Yet leave two faulchions for ourselves alone, Two spears, two bucklers, which with sudden force Impetuous we will seize, and Jove all-wise Their valour shall, and Pallas, steal away. This word store also in remembrance deep— If mine in truth thou art, and of my blood, Then, of Ulysses to his home returned Let none hear news from thee, no, not my sire Laertes, nor EumÆus, nor of all The menials any, or ev’n Penelope, That thou and I, alone, may search the drift Of our domestic women, and may prove Our serving-men, who honours and reveres And who contemns us both, but chiefly thee So gracious and so worthy to be loved. Him then thus answer’d his illustrious son. Trust me, my father! thou shalt soon be taught That I am not of drowsy mind obtuse. But this I think not likely to avail Or thee or me; ponder it yet again; For tedious were the task, farm after farm To visit of those servants, proving each, And the proud suitors merciless devour Meantime thy substance, nor abstain from aught. Learn, if thou wilt, (and I that course myself Advise) who slights thee of the female train, And who is guiltless; but I would not try Hereafter, if in truth by signs from heav’n Inform’d, thou hast been taught the will of Jove. Thus they conferr’d. The gallant bark, meantime, Reach’d Ithaca, which from the Pylian shore Had brought Telemachus with all his band. Within the many-fathom’d port arrived His lusty followers haled her far aground, Then carried thence their arms, but to the house Of Clytius the illustrious gifts convey’d. Next to the royal mansion they dispatch’d An herald charg’d with tidings to the Queen, That her Telemachus had reach’d the cot Of good EumÆus, and the bark had sent Home to the city; lest the matchless dame Should still deplore the absence of her son. They, then, the herald and the swine-herd, each Bearing like message to his mistress, met, And at the palace of the godlike Chief Arriving, compass’d by the female throng Inquisitive, the herald thus began. Thy son, O Queen! is safe; ev’n now return’d. Then, drawing nigh to her, EumÆus told His message also from her son received, And, his commission punctually discharged, Leaving the palace, sought his home again. Grief seized and anguish, at those tidings, all The suitors; issuing forth, on the outside Of the high wall they sat, before the gate, When Polybus’ son, Eurymachus, began. My friends! his arduous task, this voyage, deem’d By us impossible, in our despight Telemachus hath atchieved. Haste! launch we forth A sable bark, our best, which let us man With mariners expert, who, rowing forth Swiftly, shall summon our companions home. Scarce had he said, when turning where he sat, Amphinomus beheld a bark arrived Just then in port; he saw them furling sail, And seated with their oars in hand; he laugh’d Through pleasure at that sight, and thus he spake. Our message may be spared. Lo! they arrive. Either some God inform’d them, or they saw, Too swiftly passing to be reach’d by theirs. He spake; they, rising, hasted to the shore. Alert they drew the sable bark aground, And by his servant each his arms dispatch’d To his own home. Then, all, to council those Assembling, neither elder of the land Nor youth allow’d to join them, and the rest Eupithes’ son, AntinoÜs, thus bespake. Ah! how the Gods have rescued him! all day Perch’d on the airy mountain-top, our spies Successive watch’d; and, when the sun declined, We never slept on shore, but all night long Till sacred dawn arose, plow’d the abyss, Hoping Telemachus, that we might seize And slay him, whom some Deity hath led, In our despight, safe to his home again. But frame we yet again means to destroy Telemachus; ah—let not Him escape! For end of this our task, while he survives, None shall be found, such prudence he displays And wisdom, neither are the people now Unanimous our friends as heretofore. Come, then—prevent him, ere he call the Greeks To council; for he will not long delay, But will be angry, doubtless, and will tell Amid them all, how we in vain devised His death, a deed which they will scarce applaud, But will, perhaps, punish and drive us forth From our own country to a distant land.— Prevent him, therefore, quickly; in the field Slay him, or on the road; so shall his wealth And his possessions on ourselves devolve Which we will share equally, but his house Shall be the Queen’s, and his whom she shall wed. Yet, if not so inclined, ye rather chuse That he should live and occupy entire His patrimony, then, no longer, here Assembled, let us revel at his cost, But let us all with spousal gifts produced From our respective treasures, woo the Queen, Leaving her in full freedom to espouse Who proffers most, and whom the fates ordain. Then rose Amphinomus amid them all, Offspring renown’d of Nisus, son, himself, Of King Aretias. He had thither led The suitor train who from the pleasant isle Corn-clad of green Dulichium had arrived, And by his speech pleased far beyond them all Penelope, for he was just and wise, And thus, well-counselling the rest, began. Not I, my friends! far be the thought from me To slay Telemachus! it were a deed Momentous, terrible, to slay a prince. First, therefore, let us counsel ask of heav’n, And if Jove’s oracle that course approve, I will encourage you, and will myself Be active in his death; but if the Gods Forbid it, then, by my advice, forbear. So spake Amphinomus, whom all approved. Arising then, into Ulysses’ house They went, where each his splendid seat resumed. A novel purpose occupied, meantime, Penelope; she purposed to appear Before her suitors, whose design to slay Telemachus she had from Medon learn’d, The herald, for his ear had caught the sound. Toward the hall with her attendant train She moved, and when, most graceful of her sex, Where sat the suitors she arrived, between The columns standing of the stately dome, And covering with her white veil’s lucid folds Her features, to AntinoÜs thus she spake. AntinoÜs, proud, contentious, evermore To mischief prone! the people deem thee wise Past thy compeers, and in all grace of speech Pre-eminent, but such wast never thou. Inhuman! why is it thy dark design To slay Telemachus? and why with scorn Rejectest thou the suppliant’s pray’r, Himself hath witness’d? Plots please not the Gods. Know’st not that thy own father refuge found Here, when he fled before the people’s wrath Which, with a band of Taphian robbers joined, He offer’d to the Thesprots, our allies? They would have torn his heart, and would have laid All his delights and his possessions waste, But my Ulysses slaked the furious heat Of their revenge, whom thou requitest now Wasting his goods, soliciting his wife, Slaying his son, and filling me with woe. But cease, I charge thee, and bid cease the rest. To whom the son of Polybus replied, Eurymachus.—Icarius’ daughter wise! Take courage, fair Penelope, and chace These fears unreasonable from thy mind! The man lives not, nor shall, who while I live, And faculty of sight retain, shall harm Telemac |
|
