The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Wrath’s means for act, curb all the ways ye can, As loadstones draw the steel, so steel draws man._ Retain these words; nor what is good think, thus Receiv’d at second hand, superfluous.” The son, obeying, did Euryclea call, And bade her shut in th’ utter porches all The other women, till himself brought down His father’s arms, which all were overgrown By his neglect with rust, his father gone, And he too-childish to spend thoughts upon Those manly implements; but he would now Reform those young neglects, and th’ arms bestow Past reach of smoke. The loving nurse replied: “I wish, O son, your pow’rs would once provide For wisdom’s habit, see your household were In thrifty manage, and tend all things there. But if these arms must down, and ev’ry maid Be shut in utter rooms, who else should aid Your work with light?” He answer’d: “This my guest. There shall no one in my house taste my feast, Or join in my nave, that shall idly live,[1] However far hence he his home derive.” He said, and his words stood. The doors she shut Of that so well-fill’d house.
And th’ other put Their thoughts in act; best shields, helms, sharpen’d lances, Brought down; and Pallas before both advances A golden cresset, that did cast a light As if the Day sat in the throne of Night. When, half-amaz’d, the prince said: “O my father, Mine eyes my soul’s pow’rs all in wonder gather, For though the walls, and goodly wind-beams here, All all these pillars, that their heads so rear, And all of fir, they seem yet all of fire. Some God is surely with us.” His wise sire Bade peace, and keep the counsels of the Gods, Nor ask a word: “These Pow’rs, that use abodes Above the stars, have pow’r from thence to shine Through night and all shades to earth’s inmost mine. Go thou for sleep, and leave me here to wake The women, and the Queen whose heart doth ache To make inquiry for myself of me.” He went to sleep where lights did endlessly Burn in his night-rooms; where he feasted rest, Till day’s fair weed did all the world invest. Thus was divine Ulysses left alone With Pallas, plotting foul confusion To all the Wooers. Forth then came the Queen; Phœbe, with golden Cytherea seen, Her port presented.
Whom they set a chair Aside the fire, the fashion circular, The substance silver and rich elephant; Whose fabric did the cunning finger vaunt Of great Icmalius, who besides had done A footstool for her that did suit her throne, On which they cast an ample skin, to be The cushion for her other royalty. And there she sat; about whom came her maids, Who brought upon a table store of breads, And bowls that with the Wooers’ wine were crown’d. The embers then they cast upon the ground From out the lamps, and other fuel added, That still with cheerful flame the sad house gladded. Melantha seeing still Ulysses there, Thus she held out her spleen: “Still, stranger, here? Thus late in night? To see what ladies do? Avaunt you, wretch, hence, go without doors, go; And quickly, too, lest ye be singed away With burning firebrands.” He, thus seeing their fray Continued by her with such spleen, replied: “Minion! What makes your angry blood thus chide My presence still? Is it because you see I shine not in your wanton bravery, But wear these rags? It fits the needy fate That makes me beg thus of the common state.
Such poor souls, and such beggars, yet are men; And ev’n my mean means means had to maintain A wealthy house, and kept a manly press, Was counted blessed, and the poor access Of any beggar did not scorn, but feed, With often hand, and any man of need Reliev’d as fitted; kept my servants, too, Not few, but did with those additions go That call choice men _The Honest_, who are styl’d The rich, the great. But what such great ones build Jove oft pulls down, as thus he ruin’d me; His will was such, which is his equity. And therefore, woman, bear you fitting hand On your behaviour, lest your spirit thus mann’d, And cherish’d with your beauties, when they wane, Comes down, your pride now being then your bane; And in the mean space shun the present danger, Lest your bold fashion breed your sov’reign’s anger, Or lest Ulysses come, of whom ev’n yet Hope finds some life in Fate. Or, be his seat Amongst the merely ruin’d, yet his son, Whose life’s heat Phœbus saves, is such a one As can discover who doth well deserve Of any woman here his years now serve.”
The Queen gave ear, and thus suppress’d the flame: “Thou quite without a brow, past female shame, I hear thy monstrous boldness, which thy head Shall pay me pains for. Thou hast heard it said, And from myself too, and ev’ry part Thy knowledge serves thee, that, to ease my heart So punish’d in thy witness, my desire Dwelt on this stranger, that I might inquire My lost friend’s being. But ’tis ever tried, _Both man and God are still forgot with pride._ Eurynomé, bring here this guest a seat, And cushion on it, that we two may treat Of the affair in question. Set it near, That I may softly speak, yet he well hear.” She did this little freely; and he sat Close by the Queen, who ask’d him, Whence, and what He was himself? And what th’ inhabited place Where liv’d his parents? Whence he fetch’d his race? “O woman,” he replied, “with whom no man, That moves in earth’s unbounded circle, can Maintain contention for true honour giv’n, Whose fame hath reach’d the fairly-flowing heav’n, Who, like a never-ill-deserving king, That is well-spoke of, first, for worshipping, And striving to resemble God in empire; Whose equal hand impartially doth temper Greatness and Goodness; to whom therefore bears The black earth store of all grain, trees confers Cracking with burthen, long-liv’d herds creates, All which the sea with her sorts emulates; And all this feeds beneath his pow’rful hand Men, valiant, many, making strong his land With happy lives led; nothing else the cause Of all these blessings, but well-order’d laws; Like such a king are you, in love, in fame, And all the bliss that deifies a dame.
And therefore do not mix this with a moan So wretched as is now in question; Ask not my race nor country, lest you fill My heart yet fuller with repeated ill; For I must follow it with many tears, Though ’tis not seemly to sit wounding ears In public roofs with our particular life. _Time’s worst expense is still-repeated grief._ I should be irksome to your ladies here, And you yourself would say you urg’d your ear To what offends it, my still-broken eyne Supposing wounded with your too-much wine.” “Stranger,” said she, “you fear your own excess With giving me too great a nobleness. The Gods my person, beauty, virtue too, Long since subverted, when the Ilion woe The Greek design attempted; in which went My praise and honour. In his government Had I deserv’d your utmost grace, but now Sinister Deity makes dishonour woo, In show of grace, my ruin. All the peers Sylvan Zacynthus, and Dulichius, spheres, Samos and Ithaca, strange strifes have shown To win me, spending on me all mine own; Will wed me, in my spite; and these are those That take from me all virtue to dispose Or guest or suppliant, or take any course Amongst my heralds, that should all disburse, To order anything.
Though I need none To give me grief at home, abroad errs one That my veins shrink for, whom these holding gone, Their nuptials hasten, and find me as slow. Good spirits prompted me to make a show Of undertaking a most curious task, That an unmeasur’d space of time would ask; Which they enduring long would often say, When ends thy work? I soon had my delay, And pray’d their stay; for though my lord were dead, His father’s life yet matter ministred That must employ me; which, to tell them true, Was that great work I nam’d. For now near drew Laertes’ death, and on my hand did lie His funeral-robe, whose end, being now so nigh, I must not leave, and lose so much begun, The rather lest the Greek dames might be won To tax mine honour, if a man so great Should greet his grave without his winding sheet. Pride made them credulous, and I went on; When whatsoever all the day had done I made the night help to undo again, Though oil and watch it cost, and equal pain.
Three years my wit secur’d me undiscern’d, Yet, when the fourth came, by my maids discern’d, False careless wenches, how they were deluded; When, by my light discern’d, they all intruded, Used threat’ning words, and made me give it end; And then could I to no more length extend My linger’d nuptials; not a counsel more Was to be stood upon; my parents bore Continual hand on me to make me wed; My son grew angry that so ruinéd His goods were by them. He is now a man Wise in a great degree, and one that can Himself give order to his household fare; And Jove give equal glory to his care. But thus you must not pass me; I must know, It may be for more end, from whence doth grow Your race and you; for I suppose you none Sprung of old oak, or justled out of stone.” He answer’d: “O Ulysses’ rev’rend wife! Yet hold you purpose to inquire my life? I’ll tell you, though it much afflict me more Than all the sorrows I have felt before.
As worthily it may, since so long time As I have wander’d from my native clime, Through human cities, and in suff’rance still, To rip all wounds up, though of all their ill I touch but part, must actuate all their pain. But, ask you still, I’ll tell, though still sustain. In middle of the sable sea there lies An isle call’d Crete, a ravisher of eyes, Fruitful, and mann’d with many an infinite store; Where ninety cities crown the famous shore, Mix’d with all-languag’d men. There Greeks survive, There the great-minded Eteocretans live, There the Dorensians never out of war, The Cydons there, and there the singular Pelasgian people. There doth Cnossus stand, That mighty city, where had most command Great Jove’s disciple, Minos, who nine years Conferr’d with Jove, both great familiars In mutual counsels. And this Minos’ son, The mighty-minded king Deucalion, Was sire to me and royal Idomen, Who with Atrides went to Ilion then, My elder brother and the better man, My name Aethon. At that time began My knowledge of Ulysses, whom my home Receiv’d with guest-rites.
He was thither come By force of weather, from the Malean coast But new got off, where he the navy lost, Then under sail for Troy, and wind-bound lay Long in Amnisus; hardly got away From horrid storms, that made him anchor there, In havens that sacred to Lucina were, Dreadful and dang’rous, in whose bosom crept Lucina’s cavern. But in my roof slept Ulysses, shor’d in Crete; who first inquir’d For royal Idomen, and much desir’d To taste his guest-rites, since to him had been A welcome guest my brother Idomen. The tenth or ’leventh light on Ulysses shin’d In stay at Crete, attending then the wind For threaten’d Ilion. All which time my house With love and entertainments curious Embrac’d his person, though a number more My hospitable roofs receiv’d before, His men I likewise call’d, and from the store Allow’d them meal and heat-exciting wine, And oxen for their slaughter, to confine In my free hand the utmost of their need. Twelve days the Greeks stay’d, ere they got them freed, A gale so bitter blew out of the north, That none could stand on earth, being tumbled forth By some stern God. But on the thirteenth day The tempest ceas’d, and then went Greeks their way.”
Thus many tales Ulysses told his wife, At most but painting, yet most like the life; Of which her heart such sense took through her ears, It made her weep as she would turn to tears. And as from off the mountains melts the snow, Which Zephyr’s breath conceal’d, but was made flow By hollow Eurus, which so fast pours down, That with their torrent floods have overflown; So down her fair cheeks her kind tears did glide, Her miss’d lord mourning set so near her side. Ulysses much was mov’d to see her mourn, Whose eyes yet stood as dry as iron or horn In his untroubled lids, which in his craft Of bridling passion he from issue saft. When she had giv’n her moan so many tears, That now ’twas satiate, her yet loving fears Ask’d thus much further: “You have thus far tried My love’s credulity, but if gratified With so long stay he was with you, you can Describe what weed he wore, what kind of man Both he himself was, and what followers Observ’d him there.”
“Alas,” said he, “the years Have grown so many since—this making now Their twentieth revolution—that my show Of these slight notes will set my memory sore, But, to my now remembrance, this he wore: A double purple robe, drawn close before With golden buttons, plaited thick, and bore A facing where a hundred colours shin’d. About the skirts a hound a freckled hind In full course hunted; on the fore skirts, yet, He pinch’d and pull’d her down, when with her feet, And all her force, she struggled hard for flight. Which had such life in gold, that to the sight It seem’d the hind itself for ev’ry hue, The hound and all so answering the view, That all admir’d all. I observ’d beside His inner weed, so rarely beautified That dumb amaze it bred, and was as thin As any dry and tender onion skin; As soft ’twas, too, and glister’d like the sun. The women were to loving wonder won By him and by his weeds. But, by the way, You must excuse me, that I cannot say He brought this suit from home, or had it there Sent for some present, or, perhaps, elsewhere Receiv’d it for his guest-gift; for your lord Had friends not few, the fleet did not afford Many that had not fewer.
I bestow’d A well-edg’d sword on him, a robe that flow’d In folds and fulness, and did reach his feet, Of richest purple; brought him to his fleet With all my honour; and besides, to add To all this sifted circumstance, he had A herald there, in height a little more Put from the earth, that thicker shoulders wore, A swarth complexion and a curléd head, His name Eurybates; and much in stead He stood your king, employ’d in most command, Since most of all his mind could understand.” When all these signs she knew for chiefly true, Desire of moan upon her beauties grew, And yet, ev’n that desire suffic’d, she said: “Till this, my guest, a wretched state array’d Your ill-us’d person, but from this hour forth You shall be honour’d, and find all the worth That fits a friend. Those weeds these hands bestow’d From out my wardrobe; those gold buttons sew’d Before for closure and for ornament. But never more must his return present The person that gave those adornments state; And therefore, under an abhorréd fate, Was he induc’d to feed the common fame, To visit vile Troy, ay too vile to name.” “No more yet mourn,” said he, “nor thus see pin’d Your lovely person. _Weeping wastes the mind._ And yet I blame you not; for any dame That weds one young, and brings to him his name, Whatever man he is, will mourn his loss. Much more respectful then must show your woes That weep thus for Ulysses, who, Fame says, Was equal with the Gods in all his ways.
But where no cause is there must be no moan, And therefore hear me, my relation Shall lay the clear truth naked to your view: I heard amongst the Thesprots for most true, That lord Ulysses liv’d, and stood just now On his return for home; that wealth did flow In his possession, which he made not known, But begg’d amongst the people, since alone He quite was left, for all his men were lost In getting off from the Trinacrian coast; Jove and the Sun was wroth with them for rape Made of his oxen, and no man let ’scape The rugged deeps of Neptune; only he, The ship’s keel only keeping, was by sea Cast on the fair Phæacian continent, Where men survive that are the Gods’ descent, And like a God receiv’d him, gave him heaps Of wealthy gifts, and would conduct his steps Themselves safe home; which he might long ago His pleasure make, but profit would not so. He gather’d going, and had mighty store Of gold in safeguard; so beyond the shore That common sails kept, his high flood of wit Bore glorious top, and all the world for it Hath far exceeded.
All this Phædon told, That doth the sceptre of Thesprotia hold, Who swore to me, in household sacrifice, The ship was launch’d, and men to man the prise, That soon should set him on his country earth, Show’d me the goods, enough to serve the birth That in the tenth age of his seed should spring, Yet in his court contain’d. But then the king, Your husband, for Dodona was in way, That from th’ Oraculous Oak he might display Jove’s will what course for home would best prevail, To come in pomp, or bear a secret sail. But me the king dispatch’d in course before, A ship then bound for the Dulichian shore. So thus you see his safety whom you mourn; Who now is passing near, and his return No more will punish with delays, but see His friends and country. All which truth to thee I’ll seal with sacred oath. Be witness, Jove, Thou first and best of all the thron’d above! And thou house of the great Laertes’ heir, To whose high roofs I tender my repair, That what I tell the Queen event shall crown! This year Ulysses shall possess his own, Nay ere the next month ends shall here arrive, Nay, ere it enters, here abide alive!”
“O may this prove,” said she; “gifts, friendship, then Should make your name the most renown’d of men. But ’tis of me receiv’d, and must so sort, That nor my lord shall ever see his court, Nor you gain your deduction thence, for now The alter’d house doth no such man allow As was Ulysses, if he ever were, To entertain a rev’rend passenger, And give him fair dismission. But, maids, see Ye bathe his feet, and then with tapestry, Best sheets and blankets, make his bed, and lay Soft waistcoats by him, that, lodg’d warm, he may Ev’n till the golden-seated morning’s ray Enjoy good rest; and then, with her first light, Bathe, and give alms, that cherish’d appetite He may apply within our hall, and sit Safe by Telemachus. Or, if th’ unfit And harmful mind of any be so base To grieve his age again, let none give grace Of doing any deed he shall command, How wroth soever, to his barbarous hand.
For how shall you, guest, know me for a dame That pass so far, nay, turn and wind the fame Of other dames for wisdom, and the frame Of household usage, if your poor thin weeds I let draw on you want, and worser deeds, That may, perhaps, cause here your latest day? _The life of man is short and flies away._ And if the ruler’s self of households be Ungentle, studying inhumanity, The rest prove worse, but he bears all the blame; All men will, living, vow against his name Mischiefs and miseries, and, dead, supply With bitter epitaphs his memory. But if himself be noble—noble things Doing and knowing—all his underlings Will imitate his noblesse, and all guests Give it, in many, many interests.” “But, worthiest Queen,” said he, “where you command Baths and rich beds for me, I scorn to stand On such state now nor ever thought it yet, Since first I left the snowy hills of Crete. When once I fell a-shipboard those thoughts fled; I love to take now, as long since, my bed. Though I began the use with sleepless nights, I many a darkness with right homely rites Have spent ere this hour, and desir’d the morn Would come, and make sleep to the world a scorn.
Nor run these dainty baths in my rude head; Nor any handmaid, to your service bred, Shall touch my ill-kept feet, unless there live Some poor old drudge here, that hath learn’d to give Old men good usage, and no work will fly, As having suffer’d ill as much as I. But if there live one such in your command, I will not shame to give my foot her hand.” She gave this answer: “O my lovéd guest, There never enter’d these kind roofs for rest Stranger or friend that so much wisdom laid In gage for guest-rites, as your lips have paid. There lives an old maid in my charge that knows The good you speak of by her many woes; That nourish’d and brought up, with curious care, Th’ unhappy man; your old familiar, Ev’n since his mother let him view the light, And oft hath felt in her weak arms his weight; And she, though now much weaker, shall apply Her maiden service to your modesty.
Euryclea, rise, and wash the feet of one That is of one age with your sov’reign gone, Such hands, such feet hath, though of alter’d grace. _Much grief in men will bring on change apace.”_ She, from her aged slumber wak’d, did clear Her heavy eyes, and instantly, to hear Her sov’reign’s name, had work enough to dry Her cheeks from tears, and to his memory These moans did offer: “O my son,” said she, “I never can take grief enough for thee, Whom Goodness hurts, and whom ev’n Jove’s high spleen, Since thou art Jove-like, hates the most of men. For none hath offer’d him so many thighs, Nor such whole hecatombs of sacrifice, Fat and selected, as thy zeal hath done; For all, but praying that thy noble son, Thy happy age might see at state of man. And yet hath Jove with mists Cimmerian Put out the light of his returning day. And as yourself, O father, in your way Took these fair roofs for hospitable rites, Yet find, for them, our dogged women’s spites; So he, in like course, being driven to proof, Long time ere this, what such a royal roof Would yield his mis’ries, found such usage there.
And you, now flying the foul language here, And many a filthy fact of our fair dames, Fly me like them, and put on causeless shames To let me cleanse your feet. For not the cause The Queen’s command yields is the pow’r that draws My will to wash your feet, but what I do Proceeds from her charge and your rev’rence too; Since I in soul am stricken with a ruth Of your distresses, and past show of truth;[2] Your strangeness claiming little interest In my affections. And yet many a guest Of poor condition hath been harbour’d here, But never any did so right appear Like king Ulysses as yourself, for state Both of your stature, voice, and very gait.” “So all have said,” said he, “that ever yet Had the proportions of our figures met In their observance; so right your eye Proves in your soul your judging faculty.” Thus took she up a caldron brightly scour’d, To cleanse his feet in; and into it pour’d Store of cold wave, which on the fire she set; And therein bath’d, being temperately heat, Her sov’reign’s feet.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.