  Mercury conducts the souls of the suitors down to Ades. Ulysses discovers himself to Laertes, and quells, by the aid of Minerva, an insurrection of the people resenting the death of the suitors. And now Cyllenian Hermes summon’d forth The spirits of the suitors; waving wide The golden wand of pow’r to seal all eyes In slumber, and to ope them wide again, He drove them gibb’ring down into the shades, As when the bats within some hallow’d cave Flit squeaking all around, for if but one Fall from the rock, the rest all follow him, In such connexion mutual they adhere, So, after bounteous Mercury, the ghosts, Troop’d downward gibb’ring all the dreary way.111 The Ocean’s flood and the Leucadian rock, The Sun’s gate also and the land of Dreams They pass’d, whence, next, into the meads they came Of Asphodel, by shadowy forms possess’d, Simulars of the dead. They found the souls Of brave Pelides there, and of his friend Patroclus, of Antilochus renown’d, And of the mightier Ajax, for his form And bulk (Achilles sole except) of all The sons of the Achaians most admired. These waited on Achilles. Then, appear’d The mournful ghost of Agamemnon, son Of Atreus, compass’d by the ghosts of all Who shared his fate beneath Ægisthus’ roof, And him the ghost of Peleus’ son bespake. Atrides! of all Heroes we esteem’d Thee dearest to the Gods, for that thy sway At Ilium, scene of sorrow to the Greeks. But Fate, whose ruthless force none may escape Of all who breathe, pursued thee from the first. Thou should’st have perish’d full of honour, full Of royalty, at Troy; so all the Greeks Had rais’d thy tomb, and thou hadst then bequeath’d Great glory to thy son; but Fate ordain’d A death, oh how deplorable! for thee. To whom Atrides’ spirit thus replied. Blest son of Peleus, semblance of the Gods, At Ilium, far from Argos, fall’n! for whom Contending, many a Trojan, many a Chief Of Greece died also, while in eddies whelm’d Of dust thy vastness spread the plain, The chariot aught or steed could int’rest more! All day we waged the battle, nor at last Desisted, but for tempests sent from Jove. At length we bore into the Greecian fleet Thy body from the field; there, first, we cleansed With tepid baths and oil’d thy shapely corse, Then placed thee on thy bier, while many a Greek Around thee wept, and shore his locks for thee. Thy mother, also, hearing of thy death With her immortal nymphs from the abyss Arose and came; terrible was the sound On the salt flood; a panic seized the Greeks, And ev’ry warrior had return’d on board That moment, had not Nestor, ancient Chief, Illumed by long experience, interposed, His counsels, ever wisest, wisest proved Then also, and he thus address’d the host. Sons of Achaia; fly not; stay, ye Greeks! Thetis arrives with her immortal nymphs From the abyss, to visit her dead son. So he; and, by his admonition stay’d, The Greeks fled not. Then, all around thee stood The daughters of the Ancient of the Deep, Mourning disconsolate; with heav’nly robes They clothed thy corse, and all the Muses nine Deplored thee in full choir with sweetest tones Dry-eyed, such grief the Muses moved in all. Full sev’nteen days we, day and night, deplored Thy death, both Gods in heav’n and men below, But, on the eighteenth day, we gave thy corse Its burning, and fat sheep around thee slew Num’rous, with many a pastur’d ox moon-horn’d. We burn’d thee clothed in vesture of the Gods, With honey and with oil feeding the flames Abundant, while Achaia’s Heroes arm’d, Both horse and foot, encompassing thy pile, Clash’d on their shields, and deaf’ning was the din. But when the fires of Vulcan had at length Consumed thee, at the dawn we stored thy bones In unguent and in undiluted wine; For Thetis gave to us a golden vase Twin-ear’d, which she profess’d to have received From Bacchus, work divine of Vulcan’s hand. Within that vase, Achilles, treasured lie Thine and the bones of thy departed friend Patroclus, but a sep’rate urn we gave To those of brave Antilochus, who most Of all thy friends at Ilium shared thy love And thy respect, thy friend Patroclus slain. Around both urns we piled a noble tomb, (We warriors of the sacred Argive host) On a tall promontory shooting far Into the spacious Hellespont, that all Who live, and who shall yet be born, may view Thy record, even from the distant waves. Then, by permission from the Gods obtain’d, To the Achaian Chiefs in circus met Thetis appointed games. I have beheld The burial rites of many an Hero bold, When, on the death of some great Chief, the youths Girding their loins anticipate the prize, But sight of those with wonder fill’d me most, So glorious past all others were the games By silver-footed Thetis giv’n for thee, For thou wast ever favour’d of the Gods. Thus, hast thou not, Achilles! although dead, Foregone thy glory, but thy fair report Is universal among all mankind; My warfare closed? for whom, at my return, Jove framed such dire destruction by the hands Of fell Ægisthus and my murth’ress wife. Thus, mutual, they conferr’d; meantime approach’d, Swift messenger of heav’n, the Argicide, Conducting thither all the shades of those Slain by Ulysses. At that sight amazed Both moved toward them. Agamemnon’s shade Knew well Amphimedon, for he had been Erewhile his father’s guest in Ithaca, And thus the spirit of Atreus’ son began. Amphimedon! by what disastrous chance, Cooevals as ye seem, and of an air Distinguish’d all, descend ye to the Deeps? For not the chosen youths of a whole town Should form a nobler band. Perish’d ye sunk Amid vast billows and rude tempests raised By Neptune’s pow’r? or on dry land through force Of hostile multitudes, while cutting off Beeves from the herd, or driving flocks away? Or fighting for your city and your wives? Resolve me? I was once a guest of yours. Remember’st not what time at your abode With godlike Menelaus I arrived, That we might win Ulysses with his fleet To follow us to Troy? scarce we prevail’d At last to gain the city-waster Chief, And, after all, consumed a whole month more The wide sea traversing from side to side. To whom the spirit of Amphimedon. Illustrious Agamemnon, King of men! All this I bear in mind, and will rehearse The manner of our most disastrous end. Believing brave Ulysses lost, we woo’d Meantime his wife; she our detested suit Would neither ratify nor yet refuse, But, planning for us a tremendous death, This novel stratagem, at last, devised. Beginning, in her own recess, a web Of slend’rest thread, and of a length and breadth Unusual, thus the suitors she address’d. Princes, my suitors! since the noble Chief My nuptials; wait till I shall finish first A fun’ral robe (lest all my threads decay) Which for the ancient Hero I prepare, Laertes, looking for the mournful hour When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest; Else, I the censure dread of all my sex, Should he so wealthy, want at last a shroud. So spake the Queen; we, unsuspicious all, With her request complied. Thenceforth, all day She wove the ample web, and by the aid Of torches ravell’d it again at night. Three years she thus by artifice our suit Eluded safe, but when the fourth arrived, And the same season, after many moons And fleeting days, return’d, a damsel then Of her attendants, conscious of the fraud, Reveal’d it, and we found her pulling loose The splendid web. Thus, through constraint, at length, She finish’d it, and in her own despight. But when the Queen produced, at length, her work Finish’d, new-blanch’d, bright as the sun or moon, Then came Ulysses, by some adverse God Conducted, to a cottage on the verge Of his own fields, in which his swine-herd dwells; There also the illustrious Hero’s son Arrived soon after, in his sable bark From sandy Pylus borne; they, plotting both A dreadful death for all the suitors, sought Our glorious city, but Ulysses last, And first Telemachus. The father came Conducted by his swine-herd, and attired In tatters foul; a mendicant he seem’d, Time-worn, and halted on a staff. So clad, And ent’ring on the sudden, he escaped All knowledge even of our eldest there, And we reviled and smote him; he although Beneath his own roof smitten and reproach’d, With patience suffer’d it awhile, but roused By inspiration of Jove Ægis-arm’d At length, in concert with his son convey’d To his own chamber his resplendent arms, There lodg’d them safe, and barr’d the massy doors A contest institute with bow and rings Between the hapless suitors, whence ensued Slaughter to all. No suitor there had pow’r To overcome the stubborn bow that mock’d All our attempts; and when the weapon huge At length was offer’d to Ulysses’ hands, With clamour’d menaces we bade the swain Withhold it from him, plead he as he might; Telemachus alone with loud command, Bade give it him, and the illustrious Chief Receiving in his hand the bow, with ease Bent it, and sped a shaft through all the rings. Then, springing to the portal steps, he pour’d The arrows forth, peer’d terrible around, Pierced King AntinoÜs, and, aiming sure His deadly darts, pierced others after him, Till in one common carnage heap’d we lay. Some God, as plain appear’d, vouchsafed them aid, Such ardour urged them, and with such dispatch They slew us on all sides; hideous were heard The groans of dying men fell’d to the earth With head-strokes rude, and the floor swam with blood. Such, royal Agamemnon! was the fate By which we perish’d, all whose bodies lie Unburied still, and in Ulysses’ house, For tidings none have yet our friends alarm’d And kindred, who might cleanse from sable gore Our clotted wounds, and mourn us on the bier, Which are the rightful privilege of the dead. Him answer’d, then, the shade of Atreus’ son. Oh happy offspring of Laertes! shrewd Ulysses! matchless valour thou hast shewn Recov’ring thus thy wife; nor less appears The virtue of Icarius’ daughter wise, The chaste Penelope, so faithful found To her Ulysses, husband of her youth. His glory, by superior merit earn’d, Shall never die, and the immortal Gods Shall make Penelope a theme of song Delightful in the ears of all mankind. Not such was Clytemnestra, daughter vile Of Tyndarus; she shed her husband’s blood, Of hateful memory, by whose offence Even the virtuous of her sex are shamed. Thus they, beneath the vaulted roof obscure Of Pluto’s house, conferring mutual stood. Meantime, descending from the city-gates, Ulysses, by his son and by his swains Follow’d, arrived at the delightful farm Which old Laertes had with strenuous toil Himself long since acquired. There stood his house Encompass’d by a bow’r in which the hinds Who served and pleased him, ate, and sat, and slept. An ancient woman, a Sicilian, dwelt There also, who in that sequester’d spot Attended diligent her aged Lord. Then thus Ulysses to his followers spake. Haste now, and, ent’ring, slay ye of the swine The best for our regale; myself, the while, Will prove my father, if his eye hath still Discernment of me, or if absence long Have worn the knowledge of me from his mind. He said, and gave into his servants’ care His arms; they swift proceeded to the house, And to the fruitful grove himself as swift To prove his father. Down he went at once Into the spacious garden-plot, but found Nor Dolius there, nor any of his sons Or servants; they were occupied elsewhere, And, with the ancient hind himself, employ’d Collecting thorns with which to fence the grove. In that umbrageous spot he found alone Laertes, with his hoe clearing a plant; Sordid his tunic was, with many a patch Mended unseemly; leathern were his greaves, Thong-tied and also patch’d, a frail defence Against sharp thorns, while gloves secured his hands From briar-points, and on his head he bore A goat-skin casque, nourishing hopeless woe. No sooner then the Hero toil-inured Saw him age-worn and wretched, than he paused Beneath a lofty pear-tree’s shade to weep. There standing much he mused, whether, at once, Kissing and clasping in his arms his sire, His native country, or to prove him first. At length, he chose as his best course, with words Of seeming strangeness to accost his ear, And, with that purpose, moved direct toward him. He, stooping low, loosen’d the earth around A garden-plant, when his illustrious son Now, standing close beside him, thus began. Old sir! thou art no novice in these toils Of culture, but thy garden thrives; I mark In all thy ground no plant, fig, olive, vine, Pear-tree or flow’r-bed suff’ring through neglect. But let it not offend thee if I say That thou neglect’st thyself, at the same time Oppress’d with age, sun-parch’d and ill-attired. Not for thy inactivity, methinks, Thy master slights thee thus, nor speaks thy form Or thy surpassing stature servile aught In thee, but thou resemblest more a King. Yes—thou resemblest one who, bathed and fed, Should softly sleep; such is the claim of age. But tell me true—for whom labourest thou, And whose this garden? answer me beside, For I would learn; have I indeed arrived In Ithaca, as one whom here I met Ev’n now assured me, but who seem’d a man Not overwise, refusing both to hear My questions, and to answer when I ask’d Concerning one in other days my guest And friend, if he have still his being here, Or have deceas’d and journey’d to the shades. For I will tell thee; therefore mark. Long since A stranger reach’d my house in my own land, Whom I with hospitality receiv’d, Nor ever sojourn’d foreigner with me Whom I lov’d more. He was by birth, he said, Ithacan, and Laertes claim’d his sire, Son of Arcesias. Introducing him Beneath my roof, I entertain’d him well, And proved by gifts his welcome at my board. I gave him seven talents of wrought gold, A goblet, argent all, with flow’rs emboss’d, Twelve single cloaks, twelve carpets, mantles twelve And added four fair damsels, whom he chose Himself, well born and well accomplish’d all. Then thus his ancient sire weeping replied. Stranger! thou hast in truth attain’d the isle Of thy enquiry, but it is possess’d By a rude race, and lawless. Vain, alas! Were all thy num’rous gifts; yet hadst thou found Him living here in Ithaca, with gifts Reciprocated he had sent thee hence, Requiting honourably in his turn Thy hospitality. But give me quick Answer and true. How many have been the years Since thy reception of that hapless guest My son? for mine, my own dear son was he. But him, far distant both from friends and home, Either the fishes of the unknown Deep Have eaten, or wild beasts and fowls of prey, Nor I, or she who bare him, was ordain’d To bathe his shrouded body with our tears, Nor his chaste wife, well-dow’r’d Penelope To close her husband’s eyes, and to deplore His doom, which is the privilege of the dead. But tell me also thou, for I would learn, Who art thou? whence? where born? and sprung from whom? The bark in which thou and thy godlike friends Arrived, where is she anchor’d on our coast? Or cam’st thou only passenger on board Another’s bark, who landed thee and went? To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. I will with all simplicity relate What thou hast ask’d. Of Alybas am I, Where in much state I dwell, son of the rich Apheidas royal Polypemon’s son, And I am named Eperitus; by storms Driven from Sicily I have arrived, And yonder, on the margin of the field That skirts your city, I have moor’d my bark. Five years have pass’d since thy Ulysses left, Unhappy Chief! my country; yet the birds At his departure hovered on the right, And in that sign rejoicing, I dismiss’d To mix in social intercourse again, And to exchange once more pledges of love. He spake; then sorrow as a sable cloud Involved Laertes; gath’ring with both hands The dust, he pour’d it on his rev’rend head With many a piteous groan. Ulysses’ heart Commotion felt, and his stretch’d nostrils throbb’d With agony close-pent, while fixt he eyed His father; with a sudden force he sprang Toward him, clasp’d, and kiss’d him, and exclaim’d. My father! I am he. Thou seest thy son Absent these twenty years at last return’d. But bid thy sorrow cease; suspend henceforth All lamentation; for I tell thee true, (And the occasion bids me briefly tell thee) I have slain all the suitors at my home, And all their taunts and injuries avenged. Then answer thus Laertes quick return’d. If thou hast come again, and art indeed My son Ulysses, give me then the proof Indubitable, that I may believe. To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. View, first, the scar which with his iv’ry tusk A wild boar gave me, when at thy command And at my mother’s, to Autolycus Her father, on Parnassus, I repair’d Seeking the gifts which, while a guest of yours, He promis’d should be mine. Accept beside This proof. I will enum’rate all the trees Which, walking with the e in this cultured spot (Boy then) I begg’d, and thou confirm’dst my own. We paced between them, and thou mad’st me learn The name of each. Thou gav’st me thirteen pears, Ten apples,113 thirty figs,113 and fifty ranks Didst promise me of vines, their alleys all Corn-cropp’d between. There, oft as sent from Jove The influences of the year descend, Grapes of all hues and flavours clust’ring hang. He said; Laertes, conscious of the proofs With fault’ring knees and fault’ring heart both arms Around him threw. The Hero toil-inured Drew to his bosom close his fainting sire, Who, breath recov’ring, and his scatter’d pow’rs Of intellect, at length thus spake aloud. Ye Gods! oh then your residence is still On the Olympian heights, if punishment At last hath seized on those flagitious men. But terrour shakes me, lest, incensed, ere long All Ithaca flock hither, and dispatch Swift messengers with these dread tidings charged To ev’ry Cephallenian state around. Him answer’d then Ulysses ever-wise. Courage! fear nought, but let us to the house Beside the garden, whither I have sent Telemachus, the herdsman, and the good EumÆus to prepare us quick repast. So they conferr’d, and to Laertes’ house Pass’d on together; there arrived, they found Those three preparing now their plenteous feast, And mingling sable wine; then, by the hands Of his Sicilian matron, the old King Was bathed, anointed, and attired afresh, And Pallas, drawing nigh, dilated more His limbs, and gave his whole majestic form Encrease of amplitude. He left the bath. His son, amazed as he had seen a God Alighted newly from the skies, exclaim’d. My father! doubtless some immortal Pow’r Hath clothed thy form with dignity divine. Then thus replied his venerable sire. Jove! Pallas! Phoebus! oh that I possess’d Such vigour now, as when in arms I took Nericus, continental city fair, With my brave Cephallenians! oh that such And arm’d as then, I yesterday had stood Beside thee in thy palace, combating Those suitors proud, then had I strew’d the floor With num’rous slain, to thy exceeding joy. Such was their conference; and now, the task Of preparation ended, and the feast Set forth, on couches and on thrones they sat, Then, ancient Dolius, and with him, his sons Arrived toil-worn, by the Sicilian dame Summon’d, their cat’ress, and their father’s kind Attendant ever in his eve of life. They, seeing and recalling soon to mind Ulysses, in the middle mansion stood Wond’ring, when thus Ulysses with a voice Of some reproof, but gentle, them bespake. Old servant, sit and eat, banishing fear And mute amazement; for, although provoked By appetite, we have long time abstain’d, Expecting ev’ry moment thy return. He said; then Dolius with expanded arms Sprang right toward Ulysses, seized his hand, Kiss’d it, and in wing’d accents thus replied. Oh master ever dear! since thee the Gods Themselves in answer to our warm desires, Have, unexpectedly, at length restored, Hail, and be happy, and heav’n make thee such! But say, and truly; knows the prudent Queen Already thy return, or shall we send Ourselves an herald with the joyful news? To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. My ancient friend, thou may’st release thy mind From that solicitude; she knows it well. So he; then Dolius to his glossy seat Return’d, and all his sons gath’ring around Ulysses, welcom’d him and grasp’d his hand, Then sat beside their father; thus beneath Laertes’ roof they, joyful, took repast. But Fame with rapid haste the city roam’d In ev’ry part, promulging in all ears The suitors’ horrid fate. No sooner heard The multitude that tale, than one and all Groaning they met and murmuring before Ulysses’ gates. Bringing the bodies forth, They buried each his friend, but gave the dead Of other cities to be ferried home By fishermen on board their rapid barks. All hasted then to council; sorrow wrung Their hearts, and, the assembly now convened, Arising first Eupithes spake, for grief Of his AntinoÜs by Ulysses slain Foremost of all, whom mourning, thus he said. My friends! no trivial fruits the Greecians reap Of this man’s doings. Those he took with him On board his barks, a num’rous train and bold, Then lost his barks, lost all his num’rous train, And these, our noblest, slew at his return. Come therefore—ere he yet escape by flight To Pylus or to noble Elis, realm Of the Epeans, follow him; ??????sa?—tet?????a?—the ghosts Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. Shakspeare. —Behemoth, biggest born of earth, Upheav’d his vastness. Milton. END OF THE ODYSSEY |
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