Since so thy so much prophecy had spar’d
Thy wronging of our rights, which, for reward
Expected home with thee, hath summon’d us
Within the anger of Telemachus.
But this I will presage, which shall be true:
If any spark of anger chance t’ ensue
Thy much old art in these deep auguries,
In this young man incensed by thy lies,
Even to himself his anger shall confer
The greater anguish, and thine own ends err
From all their objects; and, besides, thine age
Shall feel a pain, to make thee curse presage
With worthy cause, for it shall touch thee near.
But I will soon give end to all our fear,
Preventing whatsoever chance can fall,
In my suit to the young prince for us all,
To send his mother to her father’s house,
That he may sort her out a worthy spouse,
And such a dow’r bestow, as may befit
One lov’d to leave her friends and follow it.
Before which course be, I believe that none
Of all the Greeks will cease th’ ambition
Of such a match. For, chance what can to us,
We no man fear, no not Telemachus,
Though ne’er so greatly spoken. Nor care we
For any threats of austere prophecy,
Which thou, old dotard, vaunt’st of so in vain.
And thus shalt thou in much more hate remain;
For still the gods shall bear their ill expense,
Nor ever be dispos’d by competence,
Till with her nuptials she dismiss our suits;
Our whole lives’ days shall sow hopes for such fruits.
Her virtues we contend to, nor will go
To any other, be she never so
Worthy of us, and all the worth we owe.’
He answer’d him: ‘Eurymachus, and all
Ye generous wooers, now, in general,
I see your brave resolves, and will no more
Make speech of these points – and much less implore.
It is enough, that all the Grecians here,
And all the gods besides, just witness bear
What friendly premonitions have been spent
On your forbearance, and their vain event.
Yet, with my other friends, let love prevail
To fit me with a vessel free of sail,
And twenty men, that may divide to me
My ready passage through the yielding sea.
For Sparta, and Amathoan Pylos’ shore,
I now am bound, in purpose to explore
My long-lack’d father, and to try if fame
Or Jove, most author of man’s honour’d name,
With his return and life may glad mine ear,
Though toil’d in that proof I sustain a year.
If dead I hear him, nor of more state, here
Retir’d to my lov’d country, I will rear
A sepulchre to him, and celebrate
Such royal parent-rites as fits his state –
And then my mother to a spouse dispose.’
This said, he sat; and to the rest arose
Mentor, that was Ulysses’ chosen friend,
To whom, when he set forth, he did commend
His complete family, and whom he will’d
To see the mind of his old sire fulfill’d,
All things conserving safe till his retreat.
Who, tender of his charge, and seeing so set
In slight care of their king his subjects there,
Suffering his son so much contempt to bear,
Thus gravely, and with zeal, to him began:
‘No more let any sceptre-bearing man
Benevolent or mild or human be,
Nor in his mind form acts of piety,
But ever feed on blood, and facts unjust
Commit, ev’n to the full swing of his lust,
Since of divine Ulysses no man now,
Of all his subjects, any thought doth show.
All whom he govern’d, and became to them,
Rather than one that wore a diadem,
A most indulgent father. But, for all
That can touch me, within no envy fall
These insolent wooers, that in violent kind
Commit things foul by th’ ill wit of the mind,
And with the hazard of their heads devour
Ulysses’ house, since his returning hour
They hold past hope. But it affects me much,
Ye dull plebeians, that all this doth touch
Your free states nothing; who, struck dumb, afford
These wooers not so much wreak as a word,
Though few, and you with only number might
Extinguish to them the profaned light.’
Evenor’s son, Leocritus, replied:
‘Mentor the railer, made a fool with pride,
What language giv’st thou that would quiet us
With putting us in storm, exciting thus
The rout against us? Who, though more than we,
Should find it is no easy victory
To drive men, habited in feast, from feasts –
No, not if Ithacus himself such guests
Should come and find so furnishing his court,
And hope to force them from so sweet a fort.
His wife should little joy in his arrive,
Though much she wants him; for, where she alive
Would hers enjoy, there death should claim his rights.
He must be conquer’d that with many fights.
Thou speak’st unfit things. To their labours then
Disperse these people; and let these two men,
Mentor and Halitherses, that so boast
From the beginning to have govern’d most
In friendship of the father, to the son
Confirm the course he now affects to run.
But my mind says, that if he would but use
A little patience, he should here hear news
Of all things that his wish would understand,
But no good hope for of the course in hand.’
This said, the council rose; when every peer
And all the people in dispersion were
To houses of their own, the wooers yet
Made to Ulysses’ house their old retreat.
Telemachus, apart from all the prease,
Prepar’d to shore, and, in the aged seas
His fair hands wash’d, did thus to Pallas pray:
‘Hear me, O goddess, that but yesterday
Didst deign access to me at home, and lay
Brave charge on me to take ship, and inquire
Along the dark seas for mine absent sire!
Which all the Greeks oppose; amongst whom most
Those that are proud still at another’s cost,
Past measure, and the civil rights of men,
My mother’s wooers, my repulse maintain.’
Thus spake he praying; when close to him came
Pallas, resembling Mentor both in flame
Of voice and person, and advis’d him thus :
‘Those wooers well might know, Telemachus,
Thou wilt not ever weak and childish be,
If to thee be instill’d the faculty
Of mind and body that thy father grac’d,
And if, like him, there be in thee enchas’d
Virtue to give words works, and works their end.
This voyage, that to them thou didst commend,
Shall not so quickly, as they idly ween,
Be vain, or giv’n up, for their opposite spleen.
But, if Ulysses nor Penelope
Were thy true parents, I then hope in thee
Of no more urging thy attempt in hand;
For few, that rightly bred on both sides stand,
Are like their parents, many that are worse –
And most few, better. Those then that the nurse
Or mother call true born, yet are not so,
Like worthy sires much less are like to grow.
But thou show’st now that in thee fades not quite
Thy father’s wisdom; and that future light
Shall therefore show thee far from being unwise,
Or touch’d with stain of bastard cowardice.
Hope therefore says, that thou wilt to the end
Pursue the brave act thou didst erst intend.
But for the foolish wooers, they bewray
They neither counsel have nor soul, since they
Are neither wise nor just, and so must needs
Rest ignorant how black above their heads
Fate hovers holding death, that one sole day
Will make enough to make them all away.
For thee, the way thou wishest shall no more
Fly thee a step; I, that have been before
Thy father’s friend, thine likewise now will be,
Provide thy ship myself, and follow thee.
Go thou then home, and soothe each wooer’s vein,
But under hand fit all things for the main:
Wine in as strong and sweet casks as you can,
And meal, the very marrow of a man,
Which put in good sure leather sacks, and see
That with sweet food sweet vessels still agree.
I from the people straight will press for you
Free voluntaries; and, for ships, enow
Sea-circled Ithaca contains, both new
And old-built; all which I’ll exactly view,
And choose what one soever most doth please;
Which rigg’d, we’ll straight launch, and assay the seas.’
This spake Jove’s daughter, Pallas; whose voice heard,
No more Telemachus her charge deferr’d,
But hasted home, and, sad at heart, did see
Amidst his hall th’ insulting wooers flea
Goats, and roast swine. ’Mongst whom Antinous,
Careless, discovering in Telemachus
His grudge to see them, laugh’d, met, took his hand,
And said: ‘High-spoken, with the mind so mann’d!
Come, do as we do, put not up your spirits
With these low trifles, nor our loving merits
In gall of any hateful purpose steep,
But eat egregiously, and drink as deep.
The things thou think’st on, all at full shall be
By th’ Achives thought on, and perform’d to thee:
Ship, and choice oars, that in a trice will land
Thy hasty fleet on heav’nly Pylos’ sand,
And at the fame of thy illustrous sire.’
He answer’d: ‘Men whom pride did so inspire,
Are not fit consorts for an humble guest;
Nor are constrain’d men merry at their feast.
Is’t not enough, that all this time ye have
Op’d in your entrails my chief goods a grave,
And, while I was a child, made me partake?
My now more growth more grown my mind doth make,
And, hearing speak more judging men than you,
Perceive how much I was misgovern’d now.
I now will try if I can bring ye home
An ill fate to consort you, if it come
From Pylos, or amongst the people here.
But thither I resolve, and know that there
I shall not touch in vain. Nor will I stay,
Though in a merchant’s ship I steer my way;
Which shows in your sights best, since me ye know
Incapable of ship, or men to row.’
This said, his hand he coyly snatch’d away
From forth Antinous’ hand. The rest the day
Spent through the house with banquets, some with jests,
And some with railings, dignifying their feasts.
To whom a jest-proud youth the wit began:
‘Telemachus will kill us every man.
From Sparta to the very Pylian sand,
He will raise aids to his impetuous hand.
O he affects it strangely! Or he means
To search Ephyra’s fat shores, and from thence
Bring deathful poisons, which amongst our bowls
Will make a general shipwrack of our souls.’
Another said: ‘Alas, who knows but he
Once gone, and erring like his sire at sea,
May perish like him, far from aid of friends,
And so he makes us work? For all the ends
Left of his goods here we shall share, the house
Left to his mother and her chosen spouse.’
Thus they; while he a room ascended, high
And large, built by his father, where did lie
Gold and brass heap’d up, and in coffers were
Rich robes, great store of odorous oils, and there
Stood tuns of sweet old wines along the wall,
Neat and divine drink, kept to cheer withall
Ulysses’ old heart, if he turn’d again
From labours fatal to him to sustain.
The doors of plank were, their close exquisite,
Kept with a double key, and day and night
A woman lock’d within; and that was she
Who all trust had for her sufficiency,
Old Euryclea, one of Opis’ race,
Son to Pisenor, and in passing grace
With grey Minerva; her the prince did call,
And said: ‘Nurse! Draw me the most sweet of all
The wine thou keep’st, next that which for my sire
Thy care reserves, in hope he shall retire.
Twelve vessels fill me forth, and stop them well.
Then into well-sew’d sacks of fine ground meal
Pour twenty measures. Nor to any one
But thee thyself let this design be known.
All this see got together; I it all
In night will fetch off, when my mother shall
Ascend her high room, and for sleep prepare.
Sparta and Pylos I must see, in care
To find my father.’ Out Euryclea cried,
And ask’d with tears: ‘Why is your mind applied,
Dear son, to this course? Whither will you go?
So far off leave us – and beloved so,
So only, and the sole hope of your race?
Royal Ulysses, far from the embrace
Of his kind country, in a land unknown
Is dead; and, you from your lov’d country gone,
The wooers will with some deceit assay
To your destruction, making then their prey
Of all your goods. Where in your own y’are strong,
Make sure abode. It fits not you so young
To suffer so much by the aged seas,
And err in such a wayless wilderness.’
‘Be cheer’d, lov’d nurse,’ said he, ‘for not without
The will of god go my attempts about.
Swear therefore, not to wound my mother’s ears
With word of this, before from heav’n appears
Th’ eleventh or twelfth light, or herself shall please
To ask of me, or hears me put to seas,
Lest her fair body with her woe be wore.’
To this the great oath of the gods she swore;
Which having sworn, and of it every due
Perform’d to full, to vessels wine she drew,