The Odyssey · Homer
ARGUMENT. THE DEPARTURE OF ULYSSES FROM CALYPSO
Pallas in a council of the gods complains of the detention of Ulysses in the Island of Calypso: whereupon Mercury is sent to command his removal. The seat of Calypso described. She consents with much difficulty; and Ulysses builds a vessel with his own hands, in which he embarks. Neptune overtakes him with a terrible tempest, in which he is shipwrecked, and in the last danger of death; till Lencothea, a sea-goddess, assists him, and, after innumerable perils, he gets ashore on Phæacia. The saffron morn, with early blushes spread, Now rose refulgent from Tithonus’ bed; With new-born day to gladden mortal sight, And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light. Then met the eternal synod of the sky, Before the god, who thunders from on high, Supreme in might, sublime in majesty. Pallas, to these, deplores the unequal fates Of wise Ulysses and his toils relates: Her hero’s danger touch’d the pitying power, The nymph’s seducements, and the magic bower. Thus she began her plaint: “Immortal Jove! And you who fill the blissful seats above! Let kings no more with gentle mercy sway, Or bless a people willing to obey, But crush the nations with an iron rod, And every monarch be the scourge of God. If from your thoughts Ulysses you remove, Who ruled his subjects with a father’s love, Sole in an isle, encircled by the main, Abandon’d, banish’d from his native reign, Unbless’d he sighs, detained by lawless charms, And press’d unwilling in Calypso’s arms. Nor friends are there, nor vessels to convey, Nor oars to cut the immeasurable way. And now fierce traitors, studious to destroy His only son, their ambush’d fraud employ; Who, pious, following his great father’s fame, To sacred Pylos and to Sparta came.”
“What words are these? (replied the power who forms The clouds of night, and darkens heaven with storms;) Is not already in thy soul decreed, The chief’s return shall make the guilty bleed? What cannot Wisdom do? Thou may’st restore The son in safety to his native shore; While the fell foes, who late in ambush lay, With fraud defeated measure back their way.” Then thus to Hermes the command was given: “Hermes, thou chosen messenger of heaven! Go, to the nymph be these our orders borne ’Tis Jove’s decree, Ulysses shall return: The patient man shall view his old abodes, Nor helped by mortal hand, nor guiding gods In twice ten days shall fertile Scheria find, Alone, and floating to the wave and wind. The bold Phæacians there, whose haughty line Is mixed with gods, half human, half divine, The chief shall honour as some heavenly guest, And swift transport him to his place of rest, His vessels loaded with a plenteous store Of brass, of vestures, and resplendent ore (A richer prize than if his joyful isle Received him charged with Ilion’s noble spoil), His friends, his country, he shall see, though late: Such is our sovereign will, and such is fate.”
He spoke. The god who mounts the winged winds Fast to his feet the golden pinions binds, That high through fields of air his flight sustain O’er the wide earth, and o’er the boundless main: He grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly, Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye; Then shoots from heaven to high Pieria’s steep, And stoops incumbent on the rolling deep. So watery fowl, that seek their fishy food, With wings expanded o’er the foaming flood, Now sailing smooth the level surface sweep, Now dip their pinions in the briny deep; Thus o’er the world of waters Hermes flew, Till now the distant island rose in view: Then, swift ascending from the azure wave, He took the path that winded to the cave. Large was the grot, in which the nymph he found (The fair-hair’d nymph with every beauty crown’d). The cave was brighten’d with a rising blaze; Cedar and frankincense, an odorous pile, Flamed on the hearth, and wide perfumed the isle; While she with work and song the time divides, And through the loom the golden shuttle guides.
“God of the golden wand! on what behest Arrivest thou here, an unexpected guest? Loved as thou art, thy free injunctions lay; ’Tis mine with joy and duty to obey. Till now a stranger, in a happy hour Approach, and taste the dainties of my bower.” Thus having spoke, the nymph the table spread (Ambrosial cates, with nectar rosy-red); Hermes the hospitable rite partook, Divine refection! then, recruited, spoke: “What moves this journey from my native sky, A goddess asks, nor can a god deny. Hear then the truth. By mighty Jove’s command Unwilling have I trod this pleasing land: For who, self-moved, with weary wing would sweep Such length of ocean and unmeasured deep; A world of waters! far from all the ways Where men frequent, or sacred altars blaze! But to Jove’s will submission we must pay; What power so great to dare to disobey? A man, he says, a man resides with thee, Of all his kind most worn with misery. The Greeks, (whose arms for nine long year employ’d Their force on Ilion, in the tenth destroy’d,) At length, embarking in a luckless hour, With conquest proud, incensed Minerva’s power: Hence on the guilty race her vengeance hurl’d, With storms pursued them through the liquid world. There all his vessels sunk beneath the wave! There all his dear companions found their grave! Saved from the jaws of death by Heaven’s decree, The tempest drove him to these shores and thee. Him, Jove now orders to his native lands Straight to dismiss: so destiny commands: Impatient Fate his near return attends, And calls him to his country, and his friends.”
E’en to her inmost soul the goddess shook; Then thus her anguish, and her passion broke: “Ungracious gods! with spite and envy cursed! Still to your own ethereal race the worst! Ye envy mortal and immortal joy, And love, the only sweet of life destroy, Did ever goddess by her charms engage A favour’d mortal, and not feel your rage? So when Aurora sought Orion’s love, Her joys disturbed your blissful hours above, Till, in Ortygia Dian’s winged dart Had pierced the hapless hunter to the heart, So when the covert of the thrice-eared field Saw stately Ceres to her passion yield, Scarce could Iasion taste her heavenly charms, But Jove’s swift lightning scorched him in her arms. And is it now my turn, ye mighty powers! Am I the envy of your blissful bowers? A man, an outcast to the storm and wave, It was my crime to pity, and to save; When he who thunders rent his bark in twain, And sunk his brave companions in the main, Alone, abandon’d, in mid-ocean tossed, The sport of winds, and driven from every coast, Hither this man of miseries I led, Received the friendless, and the hungry fed; Nay promised (vainly promised) to bestow Immortal life, exempt from age and woe. ’Tis past-and Jove decrees he shall remove; Gods as we are, we are but slaves to Jove. Go then he must (he must, if he ordain, Try all those dangers, all those deeps, again); But never, never shall Calypso send To toils like these her husband and her friend. What ships have I, what sailors to convey, What oars to cut the long laborious way? Yet I’ll direct the safest means to go; That last advice is all I can bestow.”
To her the power who hears the charming rod; “Dismiss the man, nor irritate the god; Prevent the rage of him who reigns above, For what so dreadful as the wrath of Jove?” Thus having said, he cut the cleaving sky, And in a moment vanished from her eye, The nymph, obedient to divine command, To seek Ulysses, paced along the sand, Him pensive on the lonely beach she found, With streaming eyes in briny torrents drown’d, And inly pining for his native shore; For now the soft enchantress pleased no more; For now, reluctant, and constrained by charms, Absent he lay in her desiring arms, In slumber wore the heavy night away, On rocks and shores consumed the tedious day; There sate all desolate, and sighed alone, With echoing sorrows made the mountains groan. And roll’d his eyes o’er all the restless main, Till, dimmed with rising grief, they streamed again. Here, on his musing mood the goddess press’d, Approaching soft, and thus the chief address’d: “Unhappy man! to wasting woes a prey, No more in sorrows languish life away: Free as the winds I give thee now to rove: Go, fell the timber of yon lofty grove, And form a raft, and build the rising ship, Sublime to bear thee o’er the gloomy deep. To store the vessel let the care be mine, With water from the rock and rosy wine, And life-sustaining bread, and fair array, And prosperous gales to waft thee on the way. These, if the gods with my desire comply (The gods, alas, more mighty far than I, And better skill’d in dark events to come), In peace shall land thee at thy native home.”
“Ulysses! (with a sigh she thus began;) O sprung from gods! in wisdom more than man! Is then thy home the passion of thy heart? Thus wilt thou leave me, are we thus to part? Farewell! and ever joyful mayst thou be, Nor break the transport with one thought of me. But ah, Ulysses! wert thou given to know What Fate yet dooms thee, yet, to undergo, Thy heart might settle in this scene of ease. And e’en these slighted charms might learn to please. A willing goddess, and immortal life, Might banish from thy mind an absent wife. Am I inferior to a mortal dame? Less soft my feature less august my frame? Or shall the daughters of mankind compare Their earth born beauties with the heavenly fair?” “Alas! for this (the prudent man replies) Against Ulysses shall thy anger rise? Loved and adored, O goddess as thou art, Forgive the weakness of a human heart. Though well I see thy graces far above The dear, though mortal, object of my love, Of youth eternal well the difference know, And the short date of fading charms below; Yet every day, while absent thus I roam, I languish to return and die at home. Whate’er the gods shall destine me to bear; In the black ocean or the watery war, ’Tis mine to master with a constant mind; Inured to perils, to the worst resign’d, By seas, by wars, so many dangers run; Still I can suffer: their high will be done!”
Thus while he spoke, the beamy sun descends, And rising night her friendly shade extends, To the close grot the lonely pair remove, And slept delighted with the gifts of love. When rosy morning call’d them from their rest, Ulysses robed him in the cloak and vest. The nymph’s fair head a veil transparent graced, Her swelling loins a radiant zone embraced With flowers of gold; an under robe, unbound, In snowy waves flow’d glittering on the ground. Forth issuing thus, she gave him first to wield A weighty axe with truest temper steeled, And double-edged; the handle smooth and plain, Wrought of the clouded olive’s easy grain; And next, a wedge to drive with sweepy sway Then to the neighboring forest led the way. On the lone island’s utmost verge there stood Of poplars, pine, and firs, a lofty wood, Whose leafless summits to the skies aspire, Scorch’d by the sun, or seared by heavenly fire (Already dried). These pointing out to view, The nymph just show’d him, and with tears withdrew.
Now toils the hero: trees on trees o’erthrown Fall crackling round him, and the forests groan: Sudden, full twenty on the plain are strow’d, And lopp’d and lighten’d of their branchy load. At equal angles these disposed to join, He smooth’d and squared them by the rule and line, (The wimbles for the work Calypso found) With those he pierced them and with clinchers bound. Long and capacious as a shipwright forms Some bark’s broad bottom to out-ride the storms, So large he built the raft; then ribb’d it strong From space to space, and nail’d the planks along; These form’d the sides: the deck he fashion’d last; Then o’er the vessel raised the taper mast, With crossing sail-yards dancing in the wind; And to the helm the guiding rudder join’d (With yielding osiers fenced, to break the force Of surging waves, and steer the steady course). Thy loom, Calypso, for the future sails Supplied the cloth, capacious of the gales. With stays and cordage last he rigged the ship, And, roll’d on levers, launch’d her in the deep. Four days were pass’d, and now the work complete, Shone the fifth morn, when from her sacred seat The nymph dismiss’d him (odorous garments given), And bathed in fragrant oils that breathed of heaven: Then fill’d two goatskins with her hands divine, With water one, and one with sable wine: Of every kind, provisions heaved aboard; And the full decks with copious viands stored. The goddess, last, a gentle breeze supplies, To curl old Ocean, and to warm the skies.
And now, rejoicing in the prosperous gales, With beating heart Ulysses spreads his sails; Placed at the helm he sate, and mark’d the skies, Nor closed in sleep his ever-watchful eyes. There view’d the Pleiads, and the Northern Team, And great Orion’s more refulgent beam. To which, around the axle of the sky, The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye: Who shines exalted on the ethereal plain, Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main. Far on the left those radiant fires to keep The nymph directed, as he sail’d the deep. Full seventeen nights he cut the foaming way: The distant land appear’d the following day: Then swell’d to sight Phæacia’s dusky coast, And woody mountains, half in vapours lost; That lay before him indistinct and vast, Like a broad shield amid the watery waste. But him, thus voyaging the deeps below, From far, on Solyme’s aërial brow, The king of ocean saw, and seeing burn’d (From Æthiopia’s happy climes return’d); The raging monarch shook his azure head, And thus in secret to his soul he said: “Heavens! how uncertain are the powers on high! Is then reversed the sentence of the sky, In one man’s favour; while a distant guest I shared secure the Æthiopian feast? Behold how near Phæacia’s land he draws; The land affix’d by Fate’s eternal laws To end his toils. Is then our anger vain? No; if this sceptre yet commands the main.”
He spoke, and high the forky trident hurl’d, Rolls clouds on clouds, and stirs the watery world, At once the face of earth and sea deforms, Swells all the winds, and rouses all the storms. Down rushed the night: east, west, together roar; And south and north roll mountains to the shore. Then shook the hero, to despair resign’d, And question’d thus his yet unconquer’d mind; “Wretch that I am! what farther fates attend This life of toils, and what my destined end? Too well, alas! the island goddess knew On the black sea what perils should ensue. New horrors now this destined head inclose; Untill’d is yet the measure of my woes; With what a cloud the brows of heaven are crown’d; What raging winds! what roaring waters round! ’Tis Jove himself the swelling tempest rears; Death, present death, on every side appears. Happy! thrice happy! who, in battle slain, Press’d in Atrides’ cause the Trojan plain! Oh! had I died before that well-fought wall! Had some distinguish’d day renown’d my fall (Such as was that when showers of javelins fled From conquering Troy around Achilles dead), All Greece had paid me solemn funerals then, And spread my glory with the sons of men. A shameful fate now hides my hapless head, Unwept, unnoted, and for ever dead!”
A mighty wave rush’d o’er him as he spoke, The raft is cover’d, and the mast is broke; Swept from the deck and from the rudder torn, Far on the swelling surge the chief was borne; While by the howling tempest rent in twain Flew sail and sail-yards rattling o’er the main. Long-press’d, he heaved beneath the weighty wave, Clogg’d by the cumbrous vest Calypso gave; At length, emerging, from his nostrils wide And gushing mouth effused the briny tide; E’en then not mindless of his last retreat, He seized the raft, and leap’d into his seat, Strong with the fear of death. In rolling flood, Now here, now there, impell’d the floating wood As when a heap of gather’d thorns is cast, Now to, now fro, before the autumnal blast; Together clung, it rolls around the field; So roll’d the float, and so its texture held: And now the south, and now the north, bear sway, And now the east the foamy floods obey, And now the west wind whirls it o’er the sea. The wandering chief with toils on toils oppress’d, Leucothea saw, and pity touch’d her breast. (Herself a mortal once, of Cadmus’ strain, But now an azure sister of the main) Swift as a sea-mew springing from the flood, All radiant on the raft the goddess stood; Then thus address’d him: “Thou whom heaven decrees To Neptune’s wrath, stern tyrant of the seas! (Unequal contest!) not his rage and power, Great as he is, such virtue shall devour. What I suggest, thy wisdom will perform: Forsake thy float, and leave it to the storm; Strip off thy garments; Neptune’s fury brave With naked strength, and plunge into the wave. To reach Phæacia all thy nerves extend, There Fate decrees thy miseries shall end. This heavenly scarf beneath thy bosom bind, And live; give all thy terrors to the wind. Soon as thy arms the happy shore shall gain, Return the gift, and cast it in the main: Observe my orders, and with heed obey, Cast it far off, and turn thy eyes away.”
“What will ye next ordain, ye powers on high! And yet, ah yet, what fates are we to try? Here by the stream, if I the night out-wear, Thus spent already, how shall nature bear The dews descending, and nocturnal air; Or chilly vapours breathing from the flood When morning rises?—If I take the wood, And in thick shelter of innumerous boughs Enjoy the comfort gentle sleep allows; Though fenced from cold, and though my toil be pass’d, What savage beasts may wander in the waste? Perhaps I yet may fall a bloody prey To prowling bears, or lions in the way.” Thus long debating in himself he stood: At length he took the passage to the wood, Whose shady horrors on a rising brow Waved high, and frown’d upon the stream below. There grew two olives, closest of the grove, With roots entwined, the branches interwove; Alike their leaves, but not alike they smiled With sister-fruits; one fertile, one was wild. Nor here the sun’s meridian rays had power, Nor wind sharp-piercing, nor the rushing shower; The verdant arch so close its texture kept: Beneath this covert great Ulysses crept. Of gather’d leaves an ample bed he made (Thick strewn by tempest through the bowery shade); Where three at least might winter’s cold defy, Though Boreas raged along the inclement sky. This store with joy the patient hero found, And, sunk amidst them, heap’d the leaves around. As some poor peasant, fated to reside Remote from neighbours in a forest wide, Studious to save what human wants require, In embers heap’d, preserves the seeds of fire: Hid in dry foliage thus Ulysses lies, Till Pallas pour’d soft slumbers on his eyes; And golden dreams (the gift of sweet repose) Lull’d all his cares, and banish’d all his woes.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.