To instant burial, while their deaths were spread
To other neighbour cities where they liv’d,
From whence in swiftest fisher-boats arriv’d
Men to transfer them home. In mean space here
The heavy nobles all in counsel were;
Where, met in much heap, up to all arose
Extremely griev’d Eupitheus so to lose
His son Antinous, who first of all
By great Ulysses’ hand had slaught’rous fall.
Whose father, weeping for him, said: ‘O friends,
This man hath author’d works of dismal ends,
Long since conveying in his guide to Troy
Good men, and many that did ships employ,
All which are lost, and all their soldiers dead;
And now the best men Cephallenia bred
His hand hath slaughter’d. Go we then (before
His ’scape to Pylos, or the Elian shore
Where rule the Epeans) ’gainst his horrid hand.
For we shall grieve, and infamy will brand
Our fames for ever, if we see our sons
And brothers end in these confusions,
Revenge left uninflicted. Nor will I
Enjoy one day’s life more, but grieve and die
With instant onset; nor should you survive
To keep a base and beastly name alive.
Haste, then, lest flight prevent us.’ This with tears
His griefs advis’d, and made all sufferers
In his affliction. But by this was come
Up to the council from Ulysses’ home –
When sleep had left them, which the slaughters there
And their self-dangers from their eyes in fear
Had two nights intercepted – those two men
That just Ulysses saved out of the slain,
Which Medon and the sacred singer were.
These stood amidst the council; and the fear
The slaughter had impress’d in either’s look
Stuck still so ghastly, that amaze it strook
Through every there beholder. To whose ears
One thus enforc’d, in his fright, cause of theirs:
‘Attend me, Ithacensians! This stern fact
Done by Ulysses was not put in act
Without the gods’ assistance. These self eyes
Saw one of the immortal deities
Close by Ulysses, Mentor’s form put on
At every part. And this sure deity shone
Now near Ulysses, setting on his bold
And slaught’rous spirit, now the points controll’d
Of all the wooers’ weapons, round about
The arm’d house whisking, in continual rout
Their party putting, till in heaps they fell.’
This news new fears did through their spirits impel,
When Halitherses (honour’d Mastor’s son,
Who of them all saw only what was done
Present and future), the much-knowing man
And aged heroë, this plain course ran
Amongst their counsels: ‘Give me likewise ear,
And let me tell ye, friends, that these ills bear
On your malignant spleens their sad effects,
Who not what I persuaded gave respects,
Nor what the people’s pastor, Mentor, said –
That you should see your issues’ follies stay’d
In those foul courses, by their petulant life
The goods devouring, scandalling the wife
Of no mean person, who, they still would say,
Could never more see his returning day.
Which yet appearing now, now give it trust,
And yield to my free counsels: do not thrust
Your own safe persons on the acts your sons
So dearly bought, lest their confusions
On your lov’d heads your like addictions draw.’
This stood so far from force of any law
To curb their loose attempts, that much the more
They rush’d to wreak, and made rude tumult roar.
The greater part of all the court arose;
Good counsel could not ill designs dispose.
Eupitheus was persuader of the course,
Which, complete arm’d, they put in present force;
The rest sat still in council. These men met
Before the broad town, in a place they set
All girt in arms, Eupitheus choosing chief
To all their follies, who put grief to grief,
And in his slaughter’d son’s revenge did burn.
But Fate gave never feet to his return,
Ordaining there his death. Then Pallas spake
To Jove her father, with intent to make
His will high arbiter of th’ act design’d,
And ask’d of him what his unsearched mind
Held undiscover’d? If with arms and ill
And grave encounter he would first fulfil
His sacred purpose, or both parts combine
In peaceful friendship? He ask’d: ‘Why incline
These doubts thy counsels? Hast not thou decreed
That Ithacus should come and give his deed
The glory of revenge on these and theirs?
Perform thy will; the frame of these affairs
Have this fit issue: when Ulysses’ hand
Hath reach’d full wreak, his then renown’d command
Shall reign for ever, faithful truces strook
’Twixt him and all; for every man shall brook
His sons’ and brothers’ slaughters, by our mean
To send Oblivion in, expunging clean
The character of enmity in them all,
As in best leagues before. Peace, festival,
And riches in abundance, be the state
That crowns the close of wise Ulysses’ fate.’
This spurr’d the free, who from heav’n’s continent
To th’ Ithacensian isle made straight descent.
Where, dinner past, Ulysses said: ‘Some one
Look out to see their nearness.’ Dolius’ son
Made present speed abroad, and saw them nigh,
Ran back and told, bade arm; and instantly
Were all in arms. Ulysses’ part was four,
And six more sons of Dolius; all his pow’r
Two only more, which were his aged sire
And like-year’d Dolius, whose lives’ slaked fire
All white had left their heads, yet, driv’n by need,
Made soldiers both of necessary deed.
And now, all girt in arms, the ports set wide,
They sallied forth, Ulysses being their guide;
And to them in the instant Pallas came,
In form and voice like Mentor, who a flame
Inspir’d of comfort in Ulysses’ heart
With her seen presence. To his son, apart,
He thus then spake: ‘Now, son, your eyes shall see,
Expos’d in slaughterous fight the enemy,
Against whom who shall best serve will be seen.
Disgrace not then your race, that yet hath been
For force and fortitude the foremost tried
Of all earth’s offsprings.’ His true son replied:
‘Yourself shall see, lov’d father, if you please,
That my deservings shall in nought digress
From best fame of our race’s foremost merit.’
The old king sprung for joy to hear his spirit,
And said: ‘O lov’d immortals, what a day
Do your clear bounties to my life display!
I joy, past measure, to behold my son
And nephew close in such contention
Of virtues martial.’ Pallas, standing near,
Said: ‘O my friend! Of all supremely dear,
Seed of Arcesius, pray to Jove and her
That rules in arms, his daughter, and a dart,
Spritefully brandish’d, hurl at th’ adverse part.’
This said, he pray’d; and she a mighty force
Inspir’d within him, who gave instant course
To his brave-brandish’d lance, which struck the brass
That cheek’d Eupitheus’ casque, and thrust his pass
Quite through his head; who fell, and sounded falling,
His arms the sound again from earth recalling.
Ulysses and his son rush’d on before,
And with their both-way-headed darts did gore
Their enemies’ breasts so thick, that all had gone
The way of slaughter, had not Pallas thrown
Her voice betwixt them, charging all to stay
And spare expense of blood. Her voice did fray
The blood so from their faces that it left
A greenish paleness; all their hands it reft
Of all their weapons, falling thence to earth;
And to the common mother of their birth,
The city, all fled, in desire to save
The lives yet left them. Then Ulysses gave
A horrid shout, and like Jove’s eagle flew
In fiery pursuit, till Saturnius threw
His smoking lightning ’twixt them, that had fall
Before Minerva, who then out did call
Thus to Ulysses: ‘Born of Jove! Abstain
From further bloodshed. Jove’s hand in the slain
Hath equall’d in their pains their prides to thee.
Abstain, then, lest you move the deity.’
Again then ’twixt both parts the seed of Jove,
Athenian Pallas, of all future love
A league compos’d, and for her form took choice
Of Mentor’s likeness both in limb and voice.
The end of the twenty-fourth book
So wrought divine Ulysses through his woes,
So crown’d the light with him his mother’s throes,
As through his great renowner I have wrought,
And my safe sail to sacred anchor brought.
Nor did the Argive ship more burthen feel,
That bore the care of all men in her keel,
Than my adventurous bark; the Colchian fleece
Not half so precious as this soul of Greece,
In whose songs I have made our shores rejoice,
And Greek itself vail to our English voice.
Yet this inestimable pearl will all
Our dunghill chanticleers but obvious call,
Each modern scraper this gem scratching by,
His oat preferring far. Let such let lie.
So scorn the stars the clouds, as true-soul’d men
Despise deceivers. For, as clouds would fain
Obscure the stars, yet (regions left below
With all their envies) bar them but of show,
For they shine ever, and will shine, when they
Dissolve in sinks, make mire, and temper clay:
So puf
f
’
d impostors (our muse-vapours) strive,
With their self-blown additions, to deprive
Men solid of their full, though infinite short
They come in their compare, and false report
Of levelling or touching at their light,
That still retain their radiance, and clear right,
And shall shine ever, when, alas, one blast
Of least disgrace tears down th’ impostor’s mast,
His tops and tacklings, his whole freight, and he
Confiscate to the fishy monarchy,
His trash, by foolish Fame brought now, from hence
Giv’n to serve mackerel forth, and frankincense.
Such then, and any too soft-eyed to see,
Through works so solid, any worth, so free
Of all the learn’d professions, as is fit
To praise at such price, let him think his wit
Too weak to rate it, rather than oppose
With his poor pow’rs ages and hosts of foes.
To the ruins of Troy and Greece
Troy rac’t, Greece wrack’t, who mourns? Ye both may boast,
Else th’ Iliads and Odysseys had been lost!
Ad Deum
The Only True God (betwixt Whom and me
I only bound my comfort, and agree
With all my actions) only truly knows,
And can judge truly, me, with all that goes
To all my faculties. In Whose free Grace
And Inspiration I only place
All means to know (with my means, study, prayer,
In and from His Word taken) stair by stair,
In all continual contentation, rising
To knowledge of His Truth, and practising
His Will in it, with my sole Saviour’s Aid,
Guide, and Enlight’ning; nothing done, nor said,
Nor thought, that good is, but acknowledg’d by
His Inclination, Skill, and Faculty.
By which, to find the way out to His Love
Past all the worlds, the sphere is where doth move
My studies, pray’rs, and pow’rs; no pleasure taken
But sign’d by His, for which, my blood forsaken,
My soul I cleave to, and what (in His Blood
That hath redeem’d, cleansed, taught her) fits her good.
Deo Opt. Max. gloria
Finis