  Penelope proposes to the suitors a contest with the bow, herself the prize. They prove unable to bend the bow; when Ulysses having with some difficulty possessed himself of it, manages it with the utmost ease, and dispatches his arrow through twelve rings erected for the trial. Minerva, now, Goddess cÆrulean-eyed, Prompted Icarius’ daughter, the discrete Penelope, with bow and rings to prove Her suitors in Ulysses’ courts, a game Terrible in conclusion to them all. First, taking in her hand the brazen key Well-forged, and fitted with an iv’ry grasp, Attended by the women of her train She sought her inmost chamber, the recess In which she kept the treasures of her Lord, His brass, his gold, and steel elaborate. Here lay his stubborn bow, and quiver fill’d With num’rous shafts, a fatal store. That bow He had received and quiver from the hand Of godlike Iphitus Eurytides, Whom, in Messenia, Of brave Orsilochus. Ulysses came Demanding payment of arrearage due From all that land; for a Messenian fleet Had borne from Ithaca three hundred sheep, With all their shepherds; for which cause, ere yet Adult, he voyaged to that distant shore, Deputed by his sire, and by the Chiefs Of Ithaca, to make the just demand. But Iphitus had thither come to seek Twelve mares and twelve mule colts which he had lost, A search that cost him soon a bloody death. For, coming to the house of Hercules The valiant task-performing son of Jove, Who, heedless of heav’n’s wrath, and of the rights Of his own board, first fed, then slaughter’d him; For in his house the mares and colts were hidden. He, therefore, occupied in that concern, Meeting Ulysses there, gave him the bow Which, erst, huge Eurytus had borne, and which Himself had from his dying sire received. Ulysses, in return, on him bestowed A spear and sword, pledges of future love And hospitality; but never more They met each other at the friendly board, For, ere that hour arrived, the son of Jove Slew his own guest, the godlike Iphitus. Thus came the bow into Ulysses’ hands, Which, never in his gallant barks he bore To battle with him, (though he used it oft In times of peace) but left it safely stored At home, a dear memorial of his friend. Soon as, divinest of her sex, arrived At that same chamber, with her foot she press’d The oaken threshold bright, on which the hand Of no mean architect had stretch’d the line, Who had erected also on each side The posts on which the splendid portals hung, She loos’d the ring and brace, then introduced The key, and aiming at them from without, Struck back the bolts. The portals, at that stroke, Sent forth a tone deep as the pastur’d bull’s, And flew wide open. She, ascending, next, The elevated floor on which the chests That held her own fragrant apparel stood, With lifted hand aloft took down the bow In its embroider’d bow-case safe enclosed. Then, sitting there, she lay’d it on her knees, Weeping aloud, and drew it from the case. Thus weeping over it long time she sat, Till satiate, at the last, with grief and tears, Descending by the palace steps she sought Again the haughty suitors, with the bow Replete with pointed shafts, a deadly store. Her maidens, as she went, bore after her A coffer fill’d with prizes by her Lord, Much brass and steel; and when at length she came, Loveliest of women, where the suitors sat, Between the pillars of the stately dome Pausing, before her beauteous face she held Her lucid veil, and by two matrons chaste Supported, the assembly thus address’d. Ye noble suitors hear, who rudely haunt This palace of a Chief long absent hence, Whose substance ye have now long time consumed, Nor palliative have yet contrived, or could, Save your ambition to make me a bride— Attend this game to which I call you forth. Now suitors! prove yourselves with this huge bow Of wide-renown’d Ulysses; he who draws Easiest the bow, and who his arrow sends Through twice six rings, he takes me to his home, And I must leave this mansion of my youth Plenteous, magnificent, which, doubtless, oft I shall remember even in my dreams. So saying, she bade EumÆus lay the bow Before them, and the twice six rings of steel. He wept, received them, and obey’d; nor wept The herdsman less, seeing the bow which erst His Lord had occupied; when at their tears Indignant, thus, AntinoÜs began. Ye rural drones, whose purblind eyes see not Beyond the present hour, egregious fools! Why weeping trouble ye the Queen, too much Before afflicted for her husband lost? Either partake the banquet silently, Or else go weep abroad, leaving the bow, That stubborn test, to us; for none, I judge, None here shall bend this polish’d bow with ease, Since in this whole assembly I discern None like Ulysses, whom myself have seen And recollect, though I was then a boy. He said, but in his heart, meantime, the hope Cherish’d, that he should bend, himself, the bow, And pass the rings; yet was he destin’d first Of brave Ulysses’ shaft, whom in that house He had so oft dishonour’d, and had urged So oft all others to the like offence. Amidst them, then, the sacred might arose Of young Telemachus, who thus began. Saturnian Jove questionless hath deprived Me of all reason. My own mother, fam’d For wisdom as she is, makes known to all Her purpose to abandon this abode And follow a new mate, while, heedless, I Trifle and laugh as I were still a child. But come, ye suitors! since the prize is such, A woman like to whom none can be found This day in all Achaia; on the shores Of sacred Pylus; in the cities proud Of Argos or MycenÆ; or even here In Ithaca; or yet within the walls Of black Epirus; and since this yourselves Know also, wherefore should I speak her praise? Come then, delay not, waste not time in vain Excuses, turn not from the proof, but bend The bow, that thus the issue may be known. I also will, myself, that task essay; And should I bend the bow, and pass the rings, Then shall not my illustrious mother leave Her son forlorn, forsaking this abode To follow a new spouse, while I remain Disconsolate, although of age to bear, Successful as my sire, the prize away. So saying, he started from his seat, cast off His purple cloak, and lay’d his sword aside, Then fix’d, himself, the rings, furrowing the earth By line, and op’ning one long trench for all, And stamping close the glebe. Amazement seized All present, seeing with how prompt a skill He executed, though untaught, his task. Then, hasting to the portal, there he stood. Thrice, struggling, he essay’d to bend the bow, And thrice desisted, hoping still to draw The bow-string home, and shoot through all the rings. He had prevail’d to string it, but his sire Forbad his eager efforts by a sign. Then thus the royal youth to all around— Gods! either I shall prove of little force Hereafter, and for manly feats unapt, Or I am yet too young, and have not strength To quell the aggressor’s contumely. But come— (For ye have strength surpassing mine) try ye The bow, and bring this contest to an end. He ceas’d, and set the bow down on the floor, Reclining it against the shaven pannels smooth That lined the wall; the arrow next he placed, Leaning against the bow’s bright-polish’d horn, And to the seat, whence he had ris’n, return’d. Then thus Eupithes’ son, AntinoÜs spake. My friends! come forth successive from the right, Where he who ministers the cup begins. So spake AntinoÜs, and his counsel pleased. Then, first, Leiodes, Œnop’s son, arose. He was their soothsayer, and ever sat Beside the beaker, inmost of them all. To him alone, of all, licentious deeds Were odious, and, with indignation fired, He witness’d the excesses of the rest. He then took foremost up the shaft and bow, And, station’d at the portal, strove to bend But bent it not, fatiguing, first, his hands Delicate and uncustom’d to the toil. He ceased, and the assembly thus bespake. My friends, I speed not; let another try; For many Princes shall this bow of life Bereave, since death more eligible seems, Far more, than loss of her, for whom we meet Continual here, expecting still the prize. Some suitor, haply, at this moment, hopes That he shall wed whom long he hath desired, Ulysses’ wife, Penelope; let him Essay the bow, and, trial made, address His spousal offers to some other fair Among the long-stoled Princesses of Greece, Shall please her most, and whom the Fates ordain. He said, and set the bow down on the floor, Reclining it against the shaven pannels smooth That lined the wall; the arrow, next, he placed, Leaning against the bow’s bright-polish’d horn, And to the seat whence he had ris’n return’d. Then him AntinoÜs, angry, thus reproved. What word, Leiodes, grating to our ears Hath scap’d thy lips? I hear it with disdain. Shall this bow fatal prove to many a Prince, Because thou hast, thyself, too feeble proved To bend it? no. Thou wast not born to bend The unpliant bow, or to direct the shaft, But here are nobler who shall soon prevail. He said, and to Melanthius gave command, The goat-herd. Hence, Melanthius, kindle fire; Beside it place, with fleeces spread, a form Of length commodious; from within procure A large round cake of suet next, with which When we have chafed and suppled the tough bow Before the fire, we will again essay To bend it, and decide the doubtful strife. He ended, and Melanthius, kindling fire Beside it placed, with fleeces spread, a form Of length commodious; next, he brought a cake Ample and round of suet from within, With which they chafed the bow, then tried again To bend, but bent it not; superior strength To theirs that task required. Yet two, the rest In force surpassing, made no trial yet, AntinoÜs, and Eurymachus the brave. Then went the herdsman and the swine-herd forth Together; after whom, the glorious Chief Himself the house left also, and when all Without the court had met, with gentle speech Ulysses, then, the faithful pair address’d. Herdsman! and thou, EumÆus! shall I keep A certain secret close, or shall I speak Outright? my spirit prompts me, and I will. What welcome should Ulysses at your hands Receive, arriving suddenly at home, Some God his guide; would ye the suitors aid, Then thus the chief intendant of his herds. Would Jove but grant me my desire, to see Once more the Hero, and would some kind Pow’r, Restore him, I would shew thee soon an arm Strenuous to serve him, and a dauntless heart. EumÆus, also, fervently implored The Gods in pray’r, that they would render back Ulysses to his home. He, then, convinced Of their unfeigning honesty, began. Behold him! I am he myself, arrived After long suff’rings in the twentieth year! I know how welcome to yourselves alone Of all my train I come, for I have heard None others praying for my safe return. I therefore tell you truth; should heav’n subdue The suitors under me, ye shall receive Each at my hands a bride, with lands and house Near to my own, and ye shall be thenceforth Dear friends and brothers of the Prince my son. Lo! also this indisputable proof That ye may know and trust me. View it here. It is the scar which in Parnassus erst (Where with the sons I hunted of renown’d Autolycus) I from a boar received. So saying, he stripp’d his tatters, and unveil’d The whole broad scar; then, soon as they had seen And surely recognized the mark, each cast His arms around Ulysses, wept, embraced And press’d him to his bosom, kissing oft His brows and shoulders, who as oft their hands And foreheads kiss’d, nor had the setting sun Beheld them satisfied, but that himself Ulysses thus admonished them, and said. Cease now from tears, lest any, coming forth, Mark and report them to our foes within. Now, to the hall again, but one by one, Not all at once, I foremost, then yourselves, And this shall be the sign. Full well I know That, all unanimous, they will oppose Deliv’ry of the bow and shafts to me; But thou, (proceeding with it to my seat) EumÆus, noble friend! shalt give the bow The massy doors, and should they hear a groan Or other noise made by the Princes shut Within the hall, let none set step abroad, But all work silent. Be the palace-door Thy charge, my good Philoetius! key it fast Without a moment’s pause, and fix the brace. He ended, and, returning to the hall, Resumed his seat; nor stay’d his servants long Without, but follow’d their illustrious Lord. Eurymachus was busily employ’d Turning the bow, and chafing it before The sprightly blaze, but, after all, could find No pow’r to bend it. Disappointment wrung A groan from his proud heart, and thus he said. Alas! not only for myself I grieve, But grieve for all. Nor, though I mourn the loss Of such a bride, mourn I that loss alone, (For lovely Greecians may be found no few In Ithaca, and in the neighbour isles) But should we so inferior prove at last To brave Ulysses, that no force of ours Can bend his bow, we are for ever shamed. To whom AntinoÜs, thus, Eupithes’ son. Not so; (as even thou art well-assured Thyself, Eurymachus!) but Phoebus claims This day his own. Who then, on such a day, Would strive to bend it? Let it rather rest. And should we leave the rings where now they stand, I trust that none ent’ring Ulysses’ house Will dare displace them. Cup-bearer, attend! Serve all with wine, that, first, libation made, We may religiously lay down the bow. Command ye too Melanthius, that he drive Hither the fairest goats of all his flocks At dawn of day, that burning first, the thighs To the ethereal archer, we may make New trial, and decide, at length, the strife. So spake AntinoÜs, and his counsel pleased. The heralds, then, pour’d water on their hands, While youths crown’d high the goblets which they bore When each had made libation, and had drunk Till well sufficed, then, artful to effect His shrewd designs, Ulysses thus began. Hear, O ye suitors of the illustrious Queen, My bosom’s dictates. But I shall entreat Chiefly Eurymachus and the godlike youth AntinoÜs, whose advice is wisely giv’n. Tamper no longer with the bow, but leave The matter with the Gods, who shall decide The strife to-morrow, fav’ring whom they will. Meantime, grant me the polish’d bow, that I May trial make among you of my force, If I retain it still in like degree As erst, or whether wand’ring and defect Of nourishment have worn it all away. He said, whom they with indignation heard Extreme, alarm’d lest he should bend the bow, And sternly thus AntinoÜs replied. Desperate vagabond! ah wretch deprived Of reason utterly! art not content? Esteem’st it not distinction proud enough To feast with us the nobles of the land? None robs thee of thy share, thou witnessest Our whole discourse, which, save thyself alone, No needy vagrant is allow’d to hear. Thou art befool’d by wine, as many have been, Wide-throated drinkers, unrestrain’d by rule. Wine in the mansion of the mighty Chief PirithoÜs, made the valiant Centaur mad Eurytion, at the LapithÆan feast. He drank to drunkenness, and being drunk, Committed great enormities beneath PirithoÜs’ roof, and such as fill’d with rage The Hero-guests; who therefore by his feet Dragg’d him right through the vestibule, amerced Of nose and ears, and he departed thence Provoked to frenzy by that foul disgrace, Whence war between the human kind arose By his ebriety that mulct severe. Great evil, also, if thou bend the bow, To thee I prophesy; for thou shalt find Advocate or protector none in all This people, but we will dispatch thee hence Incontinent on board a sable bark To Echetus, the scourge of human kind, From whom is no escape. Drink then in peace, And contest shun with younger men than thou. Him answer’d, then, Penelope discrete. AntinoÜs! neither seemly were the deed Nor just, to maim or harm whatever guest Whom here arrived Telemachus receives. Canst thou expect, that should he even prove Stronger than ye, and bend the massy bow, He will conduct me hence to his own home, And make me his own bride? No such design His heart conceives, or hope; nor let a dread So vain the mind of any overcloud Who banquets here, since it dishonours me. So she; to whom Eurymachus reply’d, Offspring of Polybus. O matchless Queen! Icarius’ prudent daughter! none suspects That thou wilt wed with him; a mate so mean Should ill become thee; but we fear the tongues Of either sex, lest some Achaian say Hereafter, (one inferior far to us) Ah! how unworthy are they to compare With him whose wife they seek! to bend his bow Pass’d all their pow’r, yet this poor vagabond, Arriving from what country none can tell, Bent it with ease, and shot through all the rings. So will they speak, and so shall we be shamed. Then answer, thus, Penelope return’d. No fair report, Eurymachus, attends Their names or can, who, riotous as ye, The house disho nour, and consume the wealth Of such a Chief. Why shame ye thus yourselves? The guest is of athletic frame, well form’d, And large of limb; he boasts him also sprung From noble ancestry. Come then—consent— Give him the bow, that we may see the proof; Sure as he bends it, and Apollo gives To him that glory, tunic fair and cloak Shall be his meed from me, a javelin keen To guard him against men and dogs, a sword Of double edge, and sandals for his feet, And I will send him whither most he would. Her answer’d then prudent Telemachus. Mother—the bow is mine; and, save myself, No Greek hath right to give it, or refuse. None who in rock-bound Ithaca possess Dominion, none in the steed-pastured isles Of Elis, if I chose to make the bow His own for ever, should that choice controul. But thou into the house repairing, ply Spindle and loom, thy province, and enjoin Diligence to thy maidens; for the bow Is man’s concern alone, and shall be mine Especially, since I am master here. She heard astonish’d, and the prudent speech Reposing of her son deep in her heart, Withdrew; then mounting with her female train To her superior chamber, there she wept Her lost Ulysses, till Minerva bathed With balmy dews of sleep her weary lids. And now the noble swine-herd bore the bow Toward Ulysses, but with one voice all The suitors, clamorous, reproved the deed, Of whom a youth, thus, insolent exclaim’d. Thou clumsy swine-herd, whither bear’st the bow, Delirious wretch? the hounds that thou hast train’d Shall eat thee at thy solitary home Ere long, let but Apollo prove, at last, Propitious to us, and the Pow’rs of heav’n. So they, whom hearing he replaced the bow Where erst it stood, terrified at the sound Of such loud menaces; on the other side Telemachus as loud assail’d his ear. Friend! forward with the bow; or soon repent That thou obey’dst the many. I will else With huge stones drive thee, younger as I am, Back to the field. My strength surpasses thine. I would to heav’n that I in force excell’d So would I soon give rude dismission hence To some, who live but to imagine harm. He ceased, whose words the suitors laughing heard. And, for their sake, in part their wrath resign’d Against Telemachus; then through the hall EumÆus bore, and to Ulysses’ hand Consign’d the bow; next, summoning abroad The ancient nurse, he gave her thus in charge. It is the pleasure of Telemachus, Sage Euryclea! that thou key secure The doors; and should you hear, perchance, a groan Or other noise made by the Princes shut Within the hall, let none look, curious, forth, But each in quietness pursue her work. So he; nor flew his words useless away, But she, incontinent, shut fast the doors. Then, noiseless, sprang Philoetius forth, who closed The portals also of the palace-court. A ship-rope of Ægyptian reed, it chanced, Lay in the vestibule; with that he braced The doors securely, and re-entring fill’d Again his seat, but watchful, eyed his Lord. He, now, assaying with his hand the bow, Made curious trial of it ev’ry way, And turn’d it on all sides, lest haply worms Had in its master’s absence drill’d the horn. Then thus a suitor to his next remark’d. He hath an eye, methinks, exactly skill’d In bows, and steals them; or perhaps, at home, Hath such himself, or feels a strong desire To make them; so inquisitive the rogue Adept in mischief, shifts it to and fro! To whom another, insolent, replied. I wish him like prosperity in all His efforts, as attends his effort made On this same bow, which he shall never bend. So they; but when the wary Hero wise Had made his hand familiar with the bow Poising it and examining—at once— As when in harp and song adept, a bard Unlab’ring strains the chord to a new lyre, The twisted entrails of a sheep below With such facility Ulysses bent His own huge bow, and with his right hand play’d The nerve, which in its quick vibration sang Clear as the swallow’s voice. Keen anguish seized The suitors, wan grew ev’ry cheek, and Jove Gave him his rolling thunder for a sign. That omen, granted to him by the son Of wily Saturn, with delight he heard. He took a shaft that at the table-side Lay ready drawn; but in his quiver’s womb The rest yet slept, by those Achaians proud To be, ere long, experienced. True he lodg’d The arrow on the centre of the bow, And, occupying still his seat, drew home Nerve and notch’d arrow-head; with stedfast sight He aimed and sent it; right through all the rings From first to last the steel-charged weapon flew Issuing beyond, and to his son he spake. Thou need’st not blush, young Prince, to have received A guest like me; neither my arrow swerved, |
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