From forth my country. Yet are not conceal’d
From my sure knowledge your desires to see
My safe return. Of all the company
Now serving here besides, not one but you
Mine ear hath witness’d willing to bestow
Their wishes of my life, so long held dead.
I therefore vow, which shall be perfected,
That if god please beneath my hand to leave
These wooers lifeless, ye shall both receive
Wives from that hand, and means, and near to me
Have houses built to you, and both shall be
As friends and brothers to my only son.
And, that ye well may know me, and be won
To that assurance, the infallible sign
The white-tooth’d boar gave, this mark’d knee of mine,
When in Parnassus he was held in chase
By me, and by my famous grandsire’s race,
I’ll let you see.’ Thus sever’d he his weed
From that his wound; and every word had deed
In their sure knowledges. Which made them cast
Their arms about him, his broad breast embrac’d,
His neck and shoulders kiss’d. And him as well
Did those true pow’rs of human love compel
To kiss their heads and hands, and to their moan
Had set the free light of the cheerful sun,
Had not Ulysses broke the ruth, and said:
‘Cease tears and sorrows, lest we prove display’d
By some that issue from the house, and they
Relate to those within. Take each his way,
Not all together in, but one by one,
First I, then you; and then see this be done:
The envious wooers will by no means give
The offer of the bow and arrow leave
To come at me; ’spite then their pride, do thou,
My good Eumaeus, bring both shaft and bow
To my hand’s proof; and charge the maids before,
That instantly they shut in every door,
That they themselves (if any tumult rise
Beneath my roofs by any that envies
My will to undertake the game) may gain
No passage forth, but close at work contain
With all free quiet, or at least constrain’d.
And therefore, my Philoetius, see maintain’d,
When close the gates are shut, their closure fast,
To which end be it thy sole work to cast
Their chains before them.’ This said, in he led,
Took first his seat; and then they seconded
His entry with their own. Then took in hand
Eurymachus the bow, made close his stand
Aside the fire, at whose heat here and there
He warm’d and suppled it, yet could not steer
To any draught the string, with all his art;
And therefore swell’d in him his glorious heart,
Affirming, that himself and all his friends
Had cause to grieve, not only that their ends
They miss’d in marriage, since enough besides
Kind Grecian dames there lived to be their brides
In Ithaca, and other bordering towns,
But that to all times future their renowns
Would stand disparag’d, if Ulysses’ bow
They could not draw, and yet his wife would woo.
Antinous answer’d: that there could ensue
No shame at all to them, for well he knew
That this day was kept holy to the Sun
By all the city, and there should be done
No such profane act, therefore bade lay by
The bow for that day; but the mastery
Of axes that were set up still might stand,
Since that no labour was, nor any hand
Would offer to invade Ulysses’ house,
To take, or touch with surreptitious
Or violent hand, what there was left for use.
He therefore bade the cup-bearer infuse
Wine to the bowls, that so with sacrifice
They might let rest the shooting exercise,
And in the morning make Melanthius bring
The chief goats of his herd, that to the king
Of bows and archers they might burn the thighs
For good success, and then attempt the prize.
The rest sat pleas’d with this. The heralds straight
Pour’d water on their hands; each page did wait
With his crown’d cup of wine, serv’d every man
Till all were satisfied. And then began
Ulysses’ plot of his close purpose thus:
‘Hear me, ye much renown’d Eurymachus,
And king Antinous, in chief, who well,
And with decorum sacred, doth compel
This day’s observance, and to let lay down
The bow all this light, giving gods their own.
The morning’s labour god the more will bless,
And strength bestow where he himself shall please.
Against which time let me presume to pray
Your favours with the rest, that this assay
May my old arms prove, trying if there lie
In my poor pow’rs the same activity
That long since crown’d them, or if needy fare
And desolate wand’ring have the web worn bare
Of my life’s thread at all parts, that no more
Can furnish these affairs as heretofore.’
This het their spleens past measure, blown with fear
Lest his loath’d temples would the garland wear
Of that bow’s draught – Antinous using speech
To this sour purpose: ‘Thou most arrant wretch
Of all guests breathing, in no least degree
Grac’d with a human soul, it serves not thee
To feast in peace with us, take equal share
Of what we reach to, sit, and all things hear
That we speak freely – which no begging guest
Did ever yet – but thou must make request
To mix with us in merit of the queen.
But wine inflames thee, that hath ever been
The bane of men, whoever yet would take
Th’ excess it offers and the mean forsake.
Wine spoil’d the centaur, great Eurytion,
In guest-rites with the mighty-minded son
Of bold Ixion, in his way to war
Against the Lapithes; who, driv’n as far
As madness with the bold effects of wine,
Did outrage to his kind host, and decline
Other heroës from him feasted there
With so much anger that they left their cheer,
And dragg’d him forth the fore-court, slit his nose,
Cropp’d both his ears, and, in the ill-dispose
His mind then suffer’d, drew the fatal day
On his head with his host; for thence the fray
Betwixt the Centaurs and the Lapithes
Had mortal act. But he for his excess
In spoil of wine far’d worst himself, as thou
For thy large cups, if thy arms draw the bow,
My mind foretells shalt fear; for not a man
Of all our consort, that in wisdom can
Boast any fit share, will take prayers then,
But to Echetus, the most stern of men,
A black sail freight with thee, whose worst of ill,
Be sure, is past all ransom. Sit then still,
Drink temp’rately, and never more contend
With men your youngers.’ This the queen did end
With her defence of him, and told his foe
It was not fair nor equal t’ overcrow
The poorest guest her son pleas’d t’ entertain
In his free turrets with so proud a strain
Of threats and bravings; asking if he thought,
That if the stranger to his arms had brought
The stubborn bow down, he should marry her,
And bear her home? And said, himself should err
In no such hope; nor of them all the best
That griev’d at any good she did her guest
Should banquet there, since it in no sort show’d
Noblesse in them, nor paid her what she ow’d
Her own free rule there. This Eurymachus
Confirm’d and said: ‘Nor feeds it hope in us,
Icarius’ daughter, to solemnize rites
Of nuptials with thee, nor in noblest sights
It can show comely, but to our respects
The rumour both of sexes and of sects
Amongst the people would breed shame and fear,
Lest any worst Greek said: ‘See, men that were
Of mean deservings well presume t’ aspire
To his wife’s bed, whom all men did admire
For fame and merit, could not draw his bow,
And yet his wife had foolish pride to woo –
When straight an errant beggar comes and draws
The bow with ease, performing all the laws
The game besides contain’d.’ And this would thus
Prove both indignity and shame to us.’
The queen replied: ‘The fame of men, I see,
Bears much price in your great suppos’d degree;
Yet who can prove amongst the people great,
That of one so esteem’d of them the seat
Doth so defame and ruin? And beside,
With what right is this guest thus vilified
In your high censures, when the man in blood
Is well compos’d and great, his parents good?
And therefore give the bow to him, to try
His birth and breeding by his chivalry.
If his arms draw it, and that Phoebus stands
So great a glory to his strength, my hands
Shall add this guerdon: every sort of weed,
A two-edg’d sword, and lance to keep him freed
From dogs and men hereafter, and dismiss
His worth to what place tends that heart of his.’
Her son gave answer: that it was a wrong
To his free sway in all things that belong
To guard of that house, to demand the bow
Of any wooer, and the use bestow
Upon the stranger; for the bow was his
To give or to withhold; no masteries
Of her proposing giving any pow’r
T’ impair his right in things for any wooer,
Or any that rough Ithaca affords,
Any that Elis; of which no man’s words
Nor pow’rs should curb him, stood he so inclin’d,
To see the bow in absolute gift resign’d
To that his guest to bear and use at will,
And therefore bade his mother keep her still
Amongst her women at her rock and loom;
Bows were for men; and this bow did become
Past all men’s his disposure, since his sire
Left it to him, and all the house entire.’
She stood dismay’d at this, and in her mind
His wise words laid up, standing so inclin’d
As he had will’d, with all her women going
Up to her chamber, there her tears bestowing,
As every night she did, on her lov’d lord,
Till sleep and Pallas her fit rest restor’d.
The bow Eumaeus took, and bore away;
Which up in tumult, and almost in fray,
Put all the wooers, one enquiring thus:
‘Whither, rogue abject, wilt thou bear from us
That bow propos’d? Lay down, or I protest
Thy dogs shall eat thee, that thou nourishest
To guard thy swine; amongst whom, left of all,
Thy life shall leave thee, if the festival
We now observe to Phoebus, may our zeals
Grace with his aid, and all the deities else.’
This threat made good Eumaeus yield the bow
To his late place, not knowing what might grow
From such a multitude. And then fell on
Telemachus with threats, and said: ‘Set gone
That bow yet further; ’tis no servant’s part
To serve too many masters; raise your heart
And bear it off, lest, though your younger, yet
With stones I pelt you to the field with it.
If you and I close, I shall prove too strong.
I wish as much too hard for all this throng
The gods would make me, I should quickly send
Some after with just sorrow to their end,
They waste my victuals so, and ply my cup,
And do me such shrewd turns still.’ This put up
The wooers all in laughters, and put down
Their angers to him, that so late were grown
So grave and bloody; which resolved that fear
Of good Eumaeus, who did take and bear
The king the bow; call’d nurse, and bade her make
The doors all sure, that if men’s tumults take
The ears of some within, they may not fly,
But keep at work still close and silently.
These words put wings to her, and close she put
The chamber door. The court gates then were shut
By kind Philoetius, who straight did go
From out the hall, and in the portico
Found laid a cable of a ship, compos’d
Of spongy bulrushes; with which he clos’d,
In winding round about them, the court gates,
Then took his place again, to view the fates
That quickly follow’d. When he came, he saw
Ulysses viewing, ere he tried to draw,
The famous bow, which every way he mov’d,
Up and down turning it; in which he prov’d
The plight it was in, fearing, chiefly, lest
The horns were eat with worms in so long rest.
But what his thoughts intended turning so,
And keeping such a search about the bow,
The wooers little knowing fell to jest,
And said: ‘Past doubt he is a man profess’d
In bowyers’ craft, and sees quite through the wood;
Or something, certain, to be understood
There is in this his turning of it still.
A cunning rogue he is at any ill.’
Then spake another proud one: ‘Would to heav’n
I might, at will, get gold till he hath giv’n
That bow his draught!’ With these sharp jests did these
Delightsome woo’rs their fatal humours please.
But when the wise Ulysses once had laid
His fingers on it, and to proof survey’d
The still sound plight it held, as one of skill
In song and of the harp, doth at his will,
In tuning of his instrument, extend
A string out with his pin, touch all, and lend
To every well-wreath’d string his perfect sound,
Struck all together: with such ease drew round
The king the bow. Then twang’d he up the string,
That as a swallow in the air doth sing
With no continu’d tune, but, pausing still,
Twinks out her scatter’d voice in accents shrill: