  Ulysses, doubting whether he shall destroy or not the women servants who commit lewdness with the suitors, resolves at length to spare them for the present. He asks an omen from Jupiter, and that he would grant him also to hear some propitious words from the lips of one in the family. His petitions are both answered. Preparation is made for the feast. Whilst the suitors sit at table, Pallas smites them with a horrid frenzy. Theoclymenus, observing the strange effects of it, prophesies their destruction, and they deride his prophecy. But in the vestibule the Hero lay On a bull’s-hide undress’d, o’er which he spread The fleece of many a sheep slain by the Greeks, And, cover’d by the household’s governess With a wide cloak, composed himself to rest. Yet slept he not, but meditating lay Woe to his enemies. Meantime, the train Of women, wonted to the suitors’ arms, Issuing all mirth and laughter, in his soul A tempest raised of doubts, whether at once To slay, or to permit them yet to give Their lusty paramours one last embrace. As growls the mastiff standing on the start For battle, if a stranger’s foot approach Her cubs new-whelp’d—so growl’d Ulysses’ heart, While wonder fill’d him at their impious deeds. But, smiting on his breast, thus he reproved The mutinous inhabitant within. Heart! bear it. Worse than this thou didst endure When, uncontroulable by force of man, The Cyclops thy illustrious friends devour’d. Thy patience then fail’d not, till prudence found Deliv’rance for thee on the brink of fate. So disciplined the Hero his own heart, Which, tractable, endured the rigorous curb, And patient; yet he turn’d from side to side. As when some hungry swain turns oft a maw Quick expediting his desired repast, So he from side to side roll’d, pond’ring deep How likeliest with success he might assail Those shameless suitors; one to many opposed. Then, sudden from the skies descending, came Minerva in a female form; her stand Above his head she took, and thus she spake. Why sleep’st thou not, unhappiest of mankind? Thou art at home; here dwells thy wife, and here Thy son; a son, whom all might wish their own. Then her Ulysses answer’d, ever-wise. O Goddess! true is all that thou hast said, But, not without anxiety, I muse How, single as I am, I shall assail Those shameless suitors who frequent my courts Daily; and always their whole multitude. This weightier theme I meditate beside; Should I, with Jove’s concurrence and with thine Prevail to slay them, how shall I escape, Myself, at last? Him answer’d then Pallas cÆrulean-eyed. Oh faithless man! a man will in his friend Confide, though mortal, and in valour less And wisdom than himself; but I who keep Thee in all difficulties, am divine. I tell thee plainly. Were we hemm’d around By fifty troops of shouting warriors bent To slay thee, thou should’st yet securely drive The flocks away and cattle of them all. But yield to sleep’s soft influence; for to lie All night thus watchful, is, itself, distress. Fear not. Deliv’rance waits, not far remote. So saying, she o’er Ulysses’ eyes diffused Soft slumbers, and when sleep that sooths the mind And nerves the limbs afresh had seized him once, To the Olympian summit swift return’d. But his chaste spouse awoke; she weeping sat On her soft couch, and, noblest of her sex, Satiate at length with tears, her pray’r address’d First to Diana of the Pow’rs above. Diana, awful progeny of Jove! Into my bosom, thou would’st here conclude My mournful life! or, oh that, as it flies, Snatching me through the pathless air, a storm Would whelm me deep in Ocean’s restless tide! So, when the Gods their parents had destroy’d, Storms suddenly the beauteous daughters snatch’d Of Pandarus away; them left forlorn Venus with curds, with honey and with wine Fed duly; Juno gave them to surpass All women in the charms of face and mind, With graceful stature eminent the chaste Diana bless’d them, and in works of art Illustrious, Pallas taught them to excel. But when the foam-sprung Goddess to the skies A suitress went on their behalf, to obtain Blest nuptials for them from the Thund’rer Jove, (For Jove the happiness, himself, appoints, And the unhappiness of all below) Meantime, the Harpies ravishing away Those virgins, gave them to the Furies Three, That they might serve them. O that me the Gods Inhabiting Olympus so would hide From human eyes for ever, or bright-hair’d Diana pierce me with a shaft, that while Ulysses yet engages all my thoughts, My days concluded, I might ’scape the pain Of gratifying some inferior Chief! This is supportable, when (all the day To sorrow giv’n) the mourner sleeps at night; For sleep, when it hath once the eyelids veil’d, All reminiscence blots of all alike, Both good and ill; but me the Gods afflict Not seldom ev’n in dreams, and at my side, This night again, one lay resembling him; Such as my own Ulysses when he join’d Achaia’s warriors; my exulting heart No airy dream believed it, but a truth. While thus she spake, in orient gold enthroned Came forth the morn; Ulysses, as she wept, Heard plain her lamentation; him that sound Alarm’d; he thought her present, and himself His cov’ring, and the fleeces, them he placed Together on a throne within the hall, But bore the bull’s-hide forth into the air. Then, lifting high his hands to Jove, he pray’d. Eternal Sire! if over moist and dry Ye have with good-will sped me to my home After much suff’ring, grant me from the lips Of some domestic now awake, to hear Words of propitious omen, and thyself Vouchsafe me still some other sign abroad. Such pray’r he made, and Jove omniscient heard. Sudden he thunder’d from the radiant heights Olympian; glad, Ulysses heard the sound. A woman, next, a labourer at the mill Hard by, where all the palace-mills were wrought, Gave him the omen of propitious sound. Twelve maidens, day by day, toil’d at the mills, Meal grinding, some, of barley, some, of wheat, Marrow of man. All slept; she only from her task as yet Ceas’d not, for she was feeblest of them all; She rested on her mill, and thus pronounced The happy omen by her Lord desired. Jove, Father, Governor of heav’n and earth! Loud thou hast thunder’d from the starry skies By no cloud veil’d; a sign propitious, giv’n To whom I know not; but oh grant the pray’r Of a poor bond-woman! appoint their feast This day, the last that in Ulysses’ house The suitors shall enjoy, for whom I drudge, With aching heart and trembling knees their meal Grinding continual. Feast they here no more! She ended, and the list’ning Chief received With equal joy both signs; for well he hoped That he should punish soon those guilty men. And now the other maidens in the hall Assembling, kindled on the hearth again Th’ unwearied blaze; then, godlike from his couch Arose Telemachus, and, fresh-attired, Athwart his shoulders his bright faulchion slung, Bound his fair sandals to his feet, and took Advancing to the portal, there he stood, And Euryclea thus, his nurse, bespake. Nurse! have ye with respectful notice serv’d Our guest? or hath he found a sordid couch E’en where he might? for, prudent though she be, My mother, inattentive oft, the worse Treats kindly, and the better sends away. Whom Euryclea answer’d, thus, discrete. Blame not, my son! who merits not thy blame. The guest sat drinking till he would no more, And ate, till, question’d, he replied—Enough. But when the hour of sleep call’d him to rest, She gave commandment to her female train To spread his couch. Yet he, like one forlorn, And, through despair, indiff’rent to himself, Both bed and rugs refused, and in the porch On skins of sheep and on an undress’d hide Reposed, where we threw cov’ring over him. She ceas’d, and, grasping his bright-headed spear, Forth went the Prince attended, as he went, By his fleet hounds; to the assembled Greeks In council with majestic gait he moved, And Euryclea, daughter wise of Ops, Pisenor’s son, call’d to the serving-maids. Haste ye! be diligent! sweep the palace-floor And sprinkle it; then give the sumptuous seats Their purple coverings. Let others cleanse With sponges all the tables, wash and rince The beakers well, and goblets rich-emboss’d; Run others to the fountain, and bring thence Water with speed. The suitors will not long Be absent, but will early come to-day, For this day is a public festival. So she; whom all, obedient, heard; forth went Together, twenty to the crystal fount, While in their sev’ral provinces the rest Bestirr’d them brisk at home. Then enter’d all The suitors, and began cleaving the wood. Meantime, the women from the fountain came, Whom soon the swine-herd follow’d, driving three His fattest brawns; them in the spacious court Approaching, courteously bespake the Chief. Guest! look the Greecians on thee with respect At length, or still disdainful as before? Then, answer thus Ulysses wise return’d. Yes—and I would that vengeance from the Gods Might pay their insolence, who in a house Not theirs, dominion exercise, and plan Unseemly projects, shameless as they are! Thus they conferr’d; and now Melanthius came The goat-herd, driving, with the aid of two His fellow-swains, the fattest of his goats To feast the suitors. In the sounding porch The goats he tied, then, drawing near, in terms Reproachful thus assail’d Ulysses’ ear. How, stranger? persever’st thou, begging, still To vex the suitors? wilt thou not depart? Scarce shall we settle this dispute, I judge, Till we have tasted each the other’s fist; Thou art unreasonable thus to beg Here always—have the Greeks no feasts beside? He spake, to whom Ulysses answer none Return’d, but shook his brows, and, silent, framed Terrible purposes. Then, third, approach’d Chief o’er the herds, Philoetius; fatted goats He for the suitors brought, with which he drove An heifer; (ferry-men had pass’d them o’er, Carriers of all who on their coast arrive) He tied them in the sounding porch, then stood Beside the swine-herd, to whom thus he said. Who is this guest, EumÆus, here arrived So lately? from what nation hath he come? What parentage and country boasts the man? I pity him, whose figure seems to speak Royalty in him. Heav’n will surely plunge The race of common wand’rers deep in woe, If thus it destine even Kings to mourn. He ceas’d; and, with his right hand, drawing nigh, Welcom’d Ulysses, whom he thus bespake. Hail venerable guest! and be thy lot Prosp’rous at least hereafter, who art held At present in the bonds of num’rous ills. Thou, Jupiter, of all the Gods, art most Even on creatures from thyself derived. I had no sooner mark’d thee, than my eyes Swam, and the sweat gush’d from me at the thought Of dear Ulysses; for if yet he live And see the sun, such tatters, I suppose, He wears, a wand’rer among human-kind. But if already with the dead he dwell In Pluto’s drear abode, oh then, alas For kind Ulysses! who consign’d to me, While yet a boy, his Cephalenian herds, And they have now encreas’d to such a store Innumerable of broad-fronted beeves, As only care like mine could have produced. These, by command of others, I transport For their regale, who neither heed his son, Nor tremble at the anger of the Gods, But long have wish’d ardently to divide And share the substance of our absent Lord. Me, therefore, this thought occupies, and haunts My mind not seldom; while the heir survives It were no small offence to drive his herds Afar, and migrate to a foreign land; Yet here to dwell, suff’ring oppressive wrongs While I attend another’s beeves, appears Still less supportable; and I had fled, And I had served some other mighty Chief Long since, (for patience fails me to endure My present lot) but that I cherish still Some hope of my ill-fated Lord’s return, To rid his palace of those lawless guests. To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. Herdsman! since neither void of sense thou seem’st, Nor yet dishonest, but myself am sure That thou art owner of a mind discrete, Hear therefore, for I swear! bold I attest Jove and this hospitable board, and these The Lares Protects me now, that, ere thy going hence, Ulysses surely shall have reach’d his home, And thou shalt see him, if thou wilt, thyself, Him answer’d then the keeper of his beeves. Oh stranger! would but the Saturnian King Perform that word, thou should’st be taught (thyself Eye-witness of it) what an arm is mine. EumÆus also ev’ry power of heav’n Entreated, that Ulysses might possess His home again. Thus mutual they conferr’d. Meantime, in conf’rence close the suitors plann’d Death for Telemachus; but while they sat Consulting, on their left the bird of Jove An eagle soar’d, grasping a tim’rous dove. Then, thus, Amphinomus the rest bespake. Oh friends! our consultation how to slay Telemachus, will never smoothly run To its effect; but let us to the feast. So spake Amphinomus, whose counsel pleased. Then, all into the royal house repaired, And on the thrones and couches throwing off Their mantles, slew the fatted goats, the brawns, The sheep full-sized, and heifer of the herd. The roasted entrails first they shared, then fill’d The beakers, and the swine-herd placed the cups, Philoetius, chief intendant of the beeves, Served all with baskets elegant of bread, While all their cups Melanthius charged with wine, And they assail’d at once the ready feast. Meantime Telemachus, with forecast shrewd, Fast by the marble threshold, but within The spacious hall his father placed, to whom A sordid seat he gave and scanty board. A portion of the entrails, next, he set Before him, fill’d a golden goblet high, And thus, in presence of them all, began. There seated now, drink as the suitors drink. I will, myself, their biting taunts forbid, And violence. This edifice is mine, Not public property; my father first Possess’d it, and my right from him descends. Suitors! controul your tongues, nor with your hands Offend, lest contest fierce and war ensue. He ceas’d: they gnawing, sat, their lips, aghast With wonder that Telemachus in his speech AntinoÜs, and the assembly thus address’d. Let pass, ye Greeks! the language of the Prince, Harsh as it is, and big with threats to us. Had Jove permitted, his orations here, Although thus eloquent, ere now had ceased. So spake AntinoÜs, whom Ulysses’ son Heard unconcern’d. And now the heralds came In solemn pomp, conducting through the streets A sacred hecatomb, when in the grove Umbrageous of Apollo, King shaft-arm’d, The assembled Greecians met. The sav’ry roast Finish’d, and from the spits withdrawn, each shared His portion of the noble feast, and such As they enjoy’d themselves the attendants placed Before Ulysses, for the Hero’s son Himself, Telemachus, had so enjoined. But Pallas (that they might exasp’rate more Ulysses) suffer’d not the suitor Chiefs To banquet, guiltless of heart-piercing scoffs Malign. There was a certain suitor named Ctesippus, born in Samos; base of mind Was he and profligate, but, in the wealth Confiding of his father, woo’d the wife Of long-exiled Ulysses. From his seat The haughty suitors thus that man address’d. Ye noble suitors, I would speak; attend! The guest is served; he hath already shared Equal with us; nor less the laws demand Of hospitality; for neither just It were nor decent, that a guest, received Here by Telemachus, should be denied His portion of the feast. Come then—myself Will give to him, that he may also give To her who laved him in the bath, or else To whatsoever menial here he will. So saying, he from a basket near at hand Heav’d an ox-foot, and with a vig’rous arm Hurl’d it. Ulysses gently bow’d his head, Shunning the blow, but gratified his just Resentment with a broad sardonic smile Of dread significance. He smote the wall. Ctesippus, thou art fortunate; the bone Struck not the stranger, for he shunn’d the blow; Else, I had surely thrust my glitt’ring lance Right through thee; then, no hymenÆal rites Of thine should have employ’d thy father here, But thy funereal. No man therefore treat Me with indignity within these walls, For though of late a child, I can discern Now, and distinguish between good and ill. Suffice it that we patiently endure To be spectators daily of our sheep Slaughter’d, our bread consumed, our stores of wine Wasted; for what can one to all opposed? Come then—persist no longer in offence And hostile hate of me; or if ye wish To slay me, pause not. It were better far To die, and I had rather much be slain, Than thus to witness your atrocious deeds Day after day; to see our guests abused, With blows insulted, and the women dragg’d With a licentious violence obscene From side to side of all this fair abode. He said, and all sat silent, till at length Thus AgelaÜs spake, Diastor’s son. My friends! let none with contradiction thwart And rude reply, words rational and just; Assault no more the stranger, nor of all The servants of renown’d Ulysses here Harm any. My advice, both to the Queen And to Telemachus, shall gentle be, May it but please them. While the hope survived Within your bosoms of the safe return Of wise Ulysses to his native isle, So long good reason was that she should use Delay, and hold our wooing in suspence; For had Ulysses come, that course had proved Wisest and best; but that he comes no more Appears, now, manifest. Thou, therefore, Prince! Seeking thy mother, counsel her to wed The noblest, and who offers richest dow’r, That thou, for thy peculiar, may’st enjoy Thy own inheritance in peace and ease, To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied. I swear by Jove, and by my father’s woes, Who either hath deceased far from his home, Or lives a wand’rer, that I interpose No hindrance to her nuptials. Let her wed Who offers most, and even whom she will. But to dismiss her rudely were a deed Unfilial—That I dare not—God forbid! So spake Telemachus. Then Pallas struck The suitors with delirium; wide they stretch’d Their jaws with unspontaneous laughter loud; Their meat dripp’d blood; tears fill’d their eyes, and dire Presages of approaching woe, their hearts. Then thus the prophet Theoclymenus. Ah miserable men! what curse is this That takes you now? night wraps itself around Your faces, bodies, limbs; the palace shakes With peals of groans—and oh, what floods ye weep! I see the walls and arches dappled thick With gore; the vestibule is throng’d, the court On all sides throng’d with apparitions grim Of slaughter’d men sinking into the gloom Of Erebus; the sun is blotted out From heav’n, and midnight whelms you premature. He said, they, hearing, laugh’d; and thus the son Of Polybus, Eurymachus replied. This wand’rer from a distant shore hath left His wits behind. Hoa there! conduct him hence Into the forum; since he dreams it night Already, teach him there that it is day. Then answer’d godlike Theoclymenus. I have no need, Eurymachus, of guides To lead me hence, for I have eyes and ears, The use of both my feet, and of a mind In no respect irrational or wild. These shall conduct me forth, for well I know That evil threatens you, such, too, as none Shall ’scape of all the suitors, whose delight Is to insult the unoffending guest Received beneath this hospitable roof. PirÆus’ house, who gladly welcom’d him. Then all the suitors on each other cast A look significant, and, to provoke Telemachus the more, fleer’d at his guests. Of whom a youth thus, insolent began. No living wight, Telemachus, had e’er Guests such as thine. Witness, we know not who, This hungry vagabond, whose means of life Are none, and who hath neither skill nor force To earn them, a mere burthen on the ground. Witness the other also, who upstarts A prophet suddenly. Take my advice; I counsel wisely; send them both on board Some gallant bark to Sicily for sale; Thus shall they somewhat profit thee at last. So spake the suitors, whom Telemachus Heard unconcern’d, and, silent, look’d and look’d Toward his father, watching still the time When he should punish that licentious throng. Meantime, Icarius’ daughter, who had placed Her splendid seat opposite, heard distinct Their taunting speeches. They, with noisy mirth, Feasted deliciously, for they had slain Many a fat victim; but a sadder feast Than, soon, the Goddess and the warrior Chief Should furnish for them, none shall ever share. Of which their crimes had furnish’d first the cause. |
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