Is Mentas, the commanding islander
Of all the Taphians studious in the art
Of navigation, having touch’d this part
With ship and men, of purpose to maintain
Course through the dark seas t’ other-languag’d men;
And Temesis sustains the city’s name
For which my ship is bound, made known by fame
For rich in brass, which my occasions need,
And therefore bring I shining steel in stead,
Which their use wants, yet makes my vessel’s freight,
That near a plough’d field rides at anchor’s weight,
Apart this city, in the harbour call’d
Rhethrus, whose waves with Neius’ woods are wall’d.
Thy sire and I were ever mutual guests,
At either’s house still interchanging feasts.
I glory in it. Ask, when thou shalt see
Laertes, th’ old heroë, these of me,
From the beginning. He, men say, no more
Visits the city, but will needs deplore
His son’s believed loss in a private field,
One old maid only at his hands to yield
Food to his life, as oft as labour makes
His old limbs faint – which, though he creeps, he takes
Along a fruitful plain, set all with vines,
Which husbandman-like, though a king, he proins.
But now I come to be thy father’s guest;
I hear he wanders, while these wooers feast.
And (as th’ immortals prompt me at this hour)
I’ll tell thee, out of a prophetic pow’r
(Not as profess’d a prophet, nor clear seen
At all times what shall after chance to men),
What I conceive, for this time, will be true:
The gods’ inflictions keep your sire from you.
Divine Ulysses yet abides, not dead
Above earth, nor beneath, nor buried
In any seas, as you did late conceive,
But, with the broad sea sieged, is kept alive
Within an isle by rude and upland men,
That in his spite his passage home detain.
Yet long it shall not be before he tread
His country’s dear earth, though solicited,
And held from his return, with iron chains;
For he hath wit to forge a world of trains,
And will, of all, be sure to make good one
For his return, so much relied upon.
But tell me, and be true: art thou indeed
So much a son, as to be said the seed
Of Ithacus himsel
f
? Exceeding much
Thy forehead and fair eyes at his form touch;
For oftentimes we met, as you and I
Meet at this hour, before he did apply
His pow’rs for Troy, when other Grecian states
In hollow ships were his associates.
But, since that time, mine eyes could never see
Renown’d Ulysses, nor met his with me.’
The wise Telemachus again replied:
‘You shall with all I know be satisfied.
My mother certain says I am his son;
I know not, nor was ever simply known
By any child the sure truth of his sire.
But would my veins had took in living fire
From some man happy, rather than one wise,
Whom age might see seiz’d of what youth made prize.
But he whoever of the mortal race
Is most unblest, he holds my father’s place.
This, since you ask, I answer.’ She, again:
‘The gods sure did not make the future strain
Both of thy race and days obscure to thee,
Since thou wert born so of Penelope.
The style may by thy after acts be won,
Of so great sire the high undoubted son.
Say truth in this then: what’s this feasting here?
What all this rout? Is all this nuptial cheer,
Or else some friendly banquet made by thee?
For here no shots are, where all sharers be.
Past measure contumeliously this crew
Fare through thy house; which should th’ ingenuous view
Of any good or wise man come and find
(Impiety seeing play’d in every kind),
He could not but through ev’ry vein be mov’d.’
Again Telemachus: ‘My guest much loved,
Since you demand and sift these sights so far,
I grant ’twere fit a house so regular,
Rich, and so faultless once in government,
Should still at all parts the same form present
That gave it glory while her lord was here.
But now the gods, that us displeasure bear,
Have otherwise appointed, and disgrace
My father most of all the mortal race.
For whom I could not mourn so were he dead,
Amongst his fellow captains slaughtered
By common enemies, or in the hands
Of his kind friends had ended his commands,
After he had egregiously bestow’d
His power and order in a war so
vow’d,
And to his tomb all Greeks their grace had done,
That to all ages he might leave his son
Immortal honour; but now Harpies have
Digg’d in their gorges his abhorred grave.
Obscure, inglorious, death hath made his end,
And me, for glories, to all griefs contend.
Nor shall I any more mourn him alone,
The gods have giv’n me other cause of moan.
For look how many optimates remain
In Samos, or the shores Dulichian,
Shady Zacynthus, or how many bear
Rule in the rough brows of this island here:
So many now my mother and this house
At all parts make defamed and ruinous;
And she her hateful nuptials nor denies
Nor will dispatch their importunities,
Though she beholds them spoil still as they feast
All my free house yields, and the little rest
Of my dead sire in me perhaps intend
To bring ere long to some untimely end.’
This Pallas sigh’d and answer’d: ‘O,’ said she,
‘Absent Ulysses is much miss’d by thee,
That on these shameless suitors he might lay
His wreakful hands. Should he now come, and stay
In thy court’s first gates, arm’d with helm and shield,
And two such darts as I have seen him wield,
When first I saw him in our Taphian court,
Feasting, and doing his desert’s disport;
When from Ephyrus he return’d by us
From Ilus, son to centaur Mermerus,
To whom he travell’d through the watery dreads,
For bane to poison his sharp arrows’ heads
That death, but touch’d, caus’d; which he would not give,
Because he fear’d the gods that ever live
Would plague such death with death; and yet their fear
Was to my father’s bosom not so dear
As was thy father’s love (for what he sought
My loving father found him to a thought);
If such as then Ulysses might but meet
With these proud wooers, all were at his feet
But instant dead men, and their nuptials
Would prove as bitter as their dying galls.
But these things in the gods’ knees are repos’d –
If his return shall see with wreak inclos’d
These in his house, or he return no more.
And therefore I advise thee to explore
All ways thyself, to set these wooers gone;
To which end give me fit attention:
Tomorrow into solemn council call
The Greek heroës, and declare to all
(The gods being witness) what thy pleasure is.
Command to towns of their nativity
These frontless wooers. If thy mother’s mind
Stands to her second nuptials so inclin’d,
Return she to her royal father’s tow’rs,
Where th’ one of these may wed her, and her dow’rs
Make rich, and such as may consort with grace
So dear a daughter of so great a race.
And thee I warn as well (if thou as well
Wilt hear and follow): take thy best-built sail,
With twenty oars mann’d, and haste t’ inquire
Where the abode is of thy absent sire,
If any can inform thee, or thine ear
From Jove the fame of his retreat may hear;
For chiefly Jove gives all that honours men.
To Pylos first be thy addression then,
To god-like Nestor; thence to Sparta haste,
To gold-lock’d Menelaus, who was last
Of all the brass-arm’d Greeks that sail’d from Troy;
And try from both these, if thou canst enjoy
News of thy sire’s return’d life anywhere,
Though sad thou suffer’st in his search a year.
If of his death thou hear’st, return thou home,
And to his memory erect a tomb,
Performing parent-rites of feast and game,
Pompous, and such as best may fit his fame;
And then thy mother a fit husband give.
These past, consider how thou mayst deprive
Of worthless life these wooers in thy house,
By open force or projects enginous.
Things childish fit not thee; th’ art so no more.
Hast thou not heard how all men did adore
Divine Orestes, after he had slain
Aegisthus murdering by a treacherous train
His famous father? Be then, my most lov’d,
Valiant and manly, every way approv’d
As great as he. I see thy person fit,
Noble thy mind, and excellent thy wit,
All given thee so to use and manage here
That even past death they may their memories bear.
In mean time I’ll descend to ship and men,
That much expect me. Be observant then
Of my advice, and careful to maintain
In equal acts thy royal father’s reign.’
Telemachus replied: ‘You ope, fair guest,
A friend’s heart in your speech, as well express’d
As might a father serve t’ inform his son;
All which sure place have in my memory won.
Abide yet, though your voyage calls away,
That, having bath’d, and dignified your stay
With some more honour, you may yet beside
Delight your mind by being gratified
With some rich present taken in your way,
That, as a jewel, your respect may lay
Up in your treasury, bestow’d by me,
As free friends use to guests of such degree.’
‘Detain me not,’ said she, ‘so much inclin’d
To haste my voyage. What thy loved mind
Commands to give at my return this way,
Bestow on me, that I directly may
Convey it home; which more of price to me
The more it asks my recompense to thee.’
This said, away grey-eyed Minerva flew,
Like to a mounting lark; and did endue
His mind with strength and boldness, and much more
Made him his father long for than before;
And weighing better who his guest might be,
He stood amaz’d, and thought a deity
Was there descended, to whose will he fram’d
His powers at all parts, and went so inflam’d
Amongst the wooers, who were silent set,
To hear a poet sing the sad retreat
The Greeks perform’d from Troy; which was from thence
Proclaim’d by Pallas, pain of her offence.
When which divine song was perceiv’d to bear
That mournful subject by the listening ear
Of wise Penelope, Icarius’ seed,
Who from an upper room had given it heed,
Down she descended by a winding stair,
Not solely, but the state in her repair
Two maids of honour made. And when this queen
Of women stoop’d so low, she might be seen
By all her wooers. In the door, aloof,
Entering the hall grac’d with a goodly roof,
She stood, in shade of graceful veils implied
About her beauties; on her either side,
Her honour’d women. When, to tears mov’d, thus
She chid the sacred singer: ‘Phemius,
You know a number more of these great deeds
Of gods and men, that are the sacred seeds
And proper subjects of a poet’s song,
And those due pleasures that to men belong,
Besides these facts that furnish Troy’s retreat.
Sing one of those to these, that round your seat
They may with silence sit, and taste their wine;
But cease this song, that through these ears of mine
Conveys deserv’d occasion to my heart
Of endless sorrows, of which the desert
In me unmeasur’d is past all these men,
So endless is the memory I retain,
And so desertful is that memory
Of such a man as hath a dignity
So broad it spreads itself through all the pride
Of Greece and Argos.’ To the queen replied
Inspired Telemachus: ‘Why thus envies
My mother him that fits societies
With so much harmony, to let him please
His own mind in his will to honour these?
For these ingenious and first sort of men,
That do immediately from Jove retain
Their singing raptures, are by Jove as well
Inspir’d with choice of what their songs impel;
Jove’s will is free in it, and therefore theirs.
Nor is this man to blame, that the repairs
The Greeks make homeward sings; for his fresh muse
Men still most celebrate that sings most news.
And therefore in his note your ears employ:
For not Ulysses only lost in Troy
The day of his return, but numbers more
The deadly ruins of his fortunes bore.
Go you then in, and take your work in hand,
Your web, and distaff; and your maids command
To ply their fit work. Words to men are due,
And those reproving counsels you pursue –
And most to me of all men, since I bear
The rule of all things that are manag’d here.’
She went amaz’d away, and in her heart
Laid up the wisdom Pallas did impart
To her lov’d son so lately, turn’d again
Up to her chamber, and no more would reign
In manly counsels. To her women she
Applied her sway, and to the wooers he
Began new orders, other spirits bewray’d
Than those in spite of which the wooers sway’d.
And (whiles his mother’s tears still wash’d her eyes,
Till grey Minerva did those tears surprise