My country earth recover. ’Tis the will
The prey-professor Pallas puts in act,
Who put me thus together, thus distract
In aged pieces as ev’n now you saw,
This youth now rend’ring. ’Tis within the law
Of her free pow’r. Sometimes to show me poor,
Sometimes again thus amply to restore
My youth and ornaments, she still would please.
The gods can raise, and throw men down, with ease.’
This said, he sat; when his Telemachus pour’d
Himself about him; tears on tears he shower’d,
And to desire of moan increas’d the cloud.
Both wept and howl’d, and laid out shrieks more loud
Than or the bird-bone-breaking eagle rears,
Or brood-kind vulture with the crooked seres,
When rustic hands their tender eyries draw,
Before they give their wings their full-plum’d law.
But miserably pour’d they from beneath
Their lids their tears, while both their breasts did breathe
As frequent cries; and, to their fervent moan,
The light had left the skies, if first the son
Their dumb moans had not vented, with demand
What ship it was that gave the natural land
To his bless’d feet? He then did likewise lay
Hand on his passion, and gave these words way:
‘I’ll tell thee truth, my son: the men that bear
Much fame for shipping, my reducers were
To long-wish’d Ithaca, who each man else
That greets their shore give pass to where he dwells.
The Phaeacensian peers, in one night’s date,
While I fast slept, fetch’d th’ Ithacensian state,
Grac’d me with wealthy gifts, brass, store of gold,
And robes fair wrought; all which have secret hold
In caves that by the god’s advice I chus’d.
And now Minerva’s admonitions us’d
For this retreat, that we might here dispose
In close discourse the slaughters of our foes.
Recount the number of the wooers then,
And let me know what name they hold with men,
That my mind may cast over their estates
A curious measure, and confer the rates
Of our two pow’rs and theirs, to try if we
Alone may propagate to victory
Our bold encounters of them all, or prove
The kind assistance of some others’ love.’
‘O father,’ he replied, ‘I oft have heard
Your counsels and your force of hand preferr’d
To mighty glory, but your speeches now
Your vent’rous mind exceeding mighty show.
Ev’n to amaze they move me; for, in right
Of no fit counsel, should be brought to fight
Two men ’gainst th’ able faction of a throng.
No one two, no one ten, no twice ten, strong
These wooers are, but more by much. For know,
That from Dulichius there are fifty two,
All choice young men; and every one of these
Six men attend. From Samos cross’d the seas
Twice twelve young gallants. From Zacynthus came
Twice ten. Of Ithaca, the best of name,
Twice six. Of all which all the state they take
A sacred poet and a herald make.
Their delicacies two, of special sort
In skill of banquets, serve. And all this port
If we shall dare t’ encounter, all thrust up
In one strong roof, have great care lest the cup
Your great mind thirsts exceeding bitter taste,
And your retreat commend not to your haste
Your great attempt, but make you say, you buy
Their pride’s revenges at a price too high.
And therefore, if you could, ’twere well you thought
Of some assistant. Be your spirit wrought
In such a man’s election, as may lend
His succours freely, and express a friend.’
His father answer’d: ‘Let me ask of thee;
Hear me, consider, and then answer me:
Think’st thou, if Pallas and the king of skies
We had to friend, would their sufficiencies
Make strong our part? Or that some other yet
My thoughts must work for?’ ‘These,’ said he, ‘are set
Aloft the clouds, and are found aids indeed,
As pow’rs not only that these men exceed,
But bear of all men else the high command,
And hold of gods an overruling hand.’
‘Well then,’ said he, ‘not these shall sever long
Their force and ours in fights assur’d and strong.
And then ’twixt us and them shall Mars prefer
His strength, to stand our great distinguisher,
When in mine own roofs I am forced to blows.
But when the day shall first her fires disclose,
Go thou for home, and troop up with the woo’rs,
Thy will with theirs join’d, pow’r with their rude pow’rs;
And after shall the herdsman guide to town
My steps, my person wholly overgrown
With all appearance of a poor old swain,
Heavy, and wretched. If their high disdain
Of my vile presence make them my desert
Affect with contumelies, let thy lov’d heart
Beat in fix’d confines of thy bosom still,
And see me suffer, patient of their ill.
Ay, though they drag me by the heels about
Mine own free earth, and after hurl me out,
Do thou still suffer. Nay, though with their darts
They beat and bruise me, bear. But these foul parts
Persuade them to forbear, and by their names
Call all with kind words, bidding, for their shames,
Their pleasures cease. If yet they yield not way,
There breaks the first light of their fatal day.
In mean space, mark this: when the chiefly wise
Minerva prompts me, I’ll inform thine eyes
With some giv’n sign, and then all th’ arms that are
Aloft thy roof in some near room prepare
For speediest use. If those brave men inquire
Thy end in all, still rake up all thy fire
In fair cool words, and say: ‘I bring them down
To scour the smoke off, being so overgrown
That one would think all fumes that ever were
Breath’d since Ulysses’ loss, reflected here.
These are not like the arms he left behind,
In way for Troy. Besides, Jove prompts my mind
In their remove apart thus with this thought,
That if in height of wine there should be wrought
Some harsh contention ’twixt you, this apt mean
To mutual bloodshed may be taken clean
From out your reach, and all the spoil prevented
Of present feast, perhaps ev’n then presented
My mother’s nuptials to your long kind vows.
Steel itself, ready, draws a man to blows.’
Thus make their thoughts secure; to us alone
Two swords, two darts, two shields left; which see done
Within our readiest reach, that at our will
We may resume, and charge, and all their skill
Pallas and Jove, that all just counsels breathe,
May darken with secureness to their death.
And let me charge thee now, as thou art mine,
And as thy veins mine own true blood combine:
Let, after this, none know Ulysses near,
Not any one of all the household there,
Not here the herdsman, not Laertes be
Made privy, nor herself Penelope,
But only let thyself and me work out
The women’s thoughts of all things borne about
The wooers’ hearts; and then thy men approve,
To know who honours, who with rev’rence love,
Our well-weigh’d memories, and who is won
To fail thy fit right, though my only son.’
‘You teach,’ said he, ‘so punctually now
As I knew nothing, nor were sprung from you.
I hope, hereafter, you shall better know
What soul I bear, and that it doth not let
The least loose motion pass his natural seat.
But this course you propose will prove, I fear,
Small profit to us; and could wish your care
Would weigh it better, as too far about.
For time will ask much, to the sifting out
Of each man’s disposition by his deeds;
And, in the mean time, every wooer feeds
Beyond satiety, nor knows how to spare.
The women yet, since they more easy are
For our inquiry, I would wish you try,
Who right your state, who do it injury.
The men I would omit, and these things make
Your labour after. But, to undertake
The wooers’ war, I wish your utmost speed,
Especially if you could cheer the deed
With some ostent from Jove.’ Thus, as the sire
Consented to the son, did here expire
Their mutual speech. And now the ship was come,
That brought the young prince and his soldiers home.
The deep hav’n reach’d, they drew the ship ashore,
Took all their arms out, and the rich gifts bore
To Clitius’ house. But to Ulysses’ court
They sent a herald first, to make report
To wise Penelope, that safe at field
Her son was left; yet, since the ship would yield
Most haste to her, he sent that first, and them
To comfort with his utmost the extreme
He knew she suffer’d. At the court now met
The herald and the herdsman, to repeat
One message to the queen. Both whom arriv’d
Within the gates, both to be foremost striv’d
In that good news. The herald, he for haste
Amongst the maids bestow’d it, thinking plac’d
The queen amongst them. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘O queen,
Your lov’d son is arriv’d.’ And then was seen
The queen herself, to whom the herdsman told
All that Telemachus enjoin’d he should;
All which discharg’d, his steps he back bestows,
And left both court and city for his sows.
The wooers then grew sad, soul-vex’d, and all
Made forth the court; when by the mighty wall
They took their several seat, before the gates.
To whom Eurymachus initiates
Their utter’d grievance: ‘O,’ said he, ‘my friends,
A work right great begun, as proudly ends.
We said Telemachus should never make
His voyage good, nor this shore ever take
For his return’s receipt; and yet we fail,
And he performs it. Come, let’s man a sail,
The best in our election, and bestow
Such soldiers in her as can swiftest row,
To tell our friends that way-lay his retreat
’Tis safe perform’d, and make them quickly get
Their ship for Ithaca.’ This was not said
Before Amphinomus in port display’d
The ship arriv’d, her sails then under-stroke,
And oars resum’d; when, laughing, thus he spoke:
‘Move for no messenger. These men are come.
Some god hath either told his turning home,
Or they themselves have seen his ship gone by,
Had her in chase, and lost her.’ Instantly
They rose, and went to port; found drawn to land
The ship, the soldiers taking arms in hand.
The wooers themselves to council went in throng,
And not a man besides, or old or young,
Let sit amongst them. Then Eupitheus’ son,
Antinous, said: ‘See what the gods have done!
They only have deliver’d from our ill
The men we waylaid. Every windy hill
Hath been their watch-tower, where by turns they stood
Continual sentinel. And we made good
Our work as well, for, sun once set, we never
Slept wink ashore all night, but made sail ever,
This way and that, ev’n till the morning kept
Her sacred station, so to intercept
And take his life, for whom our ambush lay;
And yet hath god to his return giv’n way.
But let us prosecute with counsels here
His necessary death, nor any where
Let rest his safety; for if he survive,
Our sails will never in wish’d hav’ns arrive,
Since he is wise, hath soul and counsel too,
To work the people, who will never do
Our faction favour. What we then intend
Against his person, give we present end,
Before he call a council, which, believe,
His spirit will haste, and point where it doth grieve,
Stand up amongst them all, and urge his death
Decreed amongst us. Which complaint will breathe
A fire about their spleens, and blow no praise
On our ill labours. Lest they therefore raise
Pow’r to exile us from our native earth,
And force our lives’ societies to the birth
Of foreign countries, let our speeds prevent
His coming home to this austere complaint,
At field and far from town, or in some way
Of narrow passage, with his latest day
Shown to his forward youth, his goods and lands
Left to the free division of our hands,
The moveables made all his mother’s dow’r,
And his, whoever fate affords the pow’r
To celebrate with her sweet Hymen’s rites.
Or if this please not, but your appetites
Stand to his safety, and to give him seat
In his whole birthright, let us look to eat
At his cost never more, but every man
Haste to his home, and wed with whom he can
At home, and there lay first about for dow’r,
And then the woman give his second pow’r
Of nuptial liking, and, for last, apply
His purpose with most gifts and destiny.’
This silence caus’d; whose breach, at last, begun
Amphinomus, the much renowned son
Of Nisus surnam’d Aretiades,
Who from Dulichius full of flow’ry leas
Led all the wooers, and in chief did please
The queen with his discourse, because it grew
From roots of those good minds that did endue
His goodly person; who, exceeding wise,
Us’d this speech: ‘Friends, I never will advise
The prince’s death; for ’tis a damned thing
To put to death the issue of a king.
First, therefore, let’s examine, what applause
The gods will give it: if the equal laws