Who, pressing me with contumelies, dare
Such things as past the power of utt’rance are.
But heav’n’s great pow’rs have graced my destiny
With no such honour. Both my sire and I
Are born to suffer everlastingly.’
‘Because you name those wooers, friend,’ said he,
‘Report says many such, in spite of thee,
Wooing thy mother, in thy house commit
The ills thou nam’st. But say: proceedeth it
From will in thee to bear so foul a foil,
Or from thy subjects’ hate, that wish thy spoil,
And will not aid thee, since their spirits rely,
Against thy rule, on some grave augury?
What know they, but at length thy father may
Come, and with violence their violence pay –
Or he alone, or all the Greeks with him?
But if Minerva now did so esteem
Thee, as thy father in times past, whom past
All measure she with glorious favours grac’d
Amongst the Trojans, where we suffer’d so
(O, I did never see in such clear show,
The gods so grace a man, as she to him,
To all our eyes, appear’d in all her trim) –
If so, I say, she would be pleased to love,
And that her mind’s care thou so much couldst move,
As did thy father, every man of these
Would lose in death their seeking marriages.’
‘O father,’ answer’d he, ‘you make amaze
Seize me throughout. Beyond the height of phrase
You raise expression; but ’twill never be,
That I shall move in any deity
So blest an honour. Not by any means,
If hope should prompt me, or blind confidence
(The god of fools), or every deity
Should will it; for ’tis past my destiny.’
The burning-eyed dame answer’d: ‘What a speech
Hath pass’d the teeth-guard Nature gave to teach
Fit question of thy words before they fly!
god easily can (when to a mortal eye
He’s furthest of
f
) a mortal satisfy,
And does the more still. For thy car’d-for sire,
I rather wish that I might home retire,
After my suf
f
’
rance of a world of woes
Far off, and then my glad eyes might disclose
The day of my return, than straight retire,
And perish standing by my household fire
As Agamemnon did, that lost his life
By false Aegisthus, and his falser wife.
For death to come at length, ’tis due to all;
Nor can the gods themselves, when fate shall call
Their most lov’d man, extend his vital breath
Beyond the fix’d bounds of abhorred death.’
‘Mentor!’ said he, ‘let’s dwell no more on this,
Although in us the sorrow pious is.
No such return as we wish fates bequeath
My erring father, whom a present death
The deathless have decreed. I’ll now use speech
That tends to other purpose, and beseech
Instruction of grave Nestor, since he flows
Past shore in all experience, and knows
The sleights and wisdoms, to whose heights aspire
Others, as well as my commended sire,
Whom fame reports to have commanded three
Ages of men, and doth in sight to me
Show like th’ immortals: ‘Nestor, the renown
Of old Neleius, make the clear truth known,
How the most great in empire, Atreus’ son,
Sustain’d the act of his destruction.
Where then was Menelaus? How was it
That false Aegisthus, being so far unfit
A match for him, could his death so
enforce?
Was he not then in Argos, or his course
With men so left, to let a coward breathe
Spirit enough to dare his brother’s death?’
‘I’ll tell thee truth in all, fair son,’ said he:
‘Right well was this event conceiv’d by thee.
If Menelaus in his brother’s house
Had found the idle liver with his spouse,
Arriv’d from Troy, he had not liv’d, nor dead
Had the digg’d heap pour’d on his lustful head,
But fowls and dogs had torn him in the fields,
Far off of Argos; not a dame it yields
Had given him any tear, so foul his fact
Show’d even to women. Us Troy’s wars had rack’d
To every sinew’s sufferance, while he
In Argos’ uplands liv’d, from those works free,
And Agamemnon’s wife with force of word
Flatter’d and soften’d, who, at first, abhorr’d
A fact so infamous. The heav’nly dame
A good mind had, but was in blood to blame.
There was a poet, to whose care the king
His queen committed, and in every thing,
When he from Troy went, charg’d him to apply
Himself in all guard to her dignity.
But when strong Fate so wrapt-in her effects
That she resolv’d to leave her fit respects,
Into a desert isle her guardian led
(There left), the rapine of the vultures fed.
Then brought he willing home his will’s won prize,
On sacred altars offer’d many thighs,
Hung in the gods’ fanes many ornaments,
Garments and gold, that he the vast events
Of such a labour to his wish had brought,
As
neither fell into his hope nor thought.
At last, from Troy sail’d Sparta’s king and I,
Both holding her untouch’d. And, that his eye
Might see no worse of her, when both were blown
To sacred Sunium, of Minerva’s town
The goodly promontory, with his shafts severe
Augur Apollo slew him that did steer
Atrides’ ship, as he the stern did guide,
And she the full speed of her sail applied.
He was a man that nations of men
Excell’d in safe guide of a vessel, when
A tempest rush’d in on the ruffled seas;
His name was Phrontis Onetorides.
And thus was Menelaus held from home,
Whose way he thirsted so to overcome,
To give his friend the earth, being his pursuit,
And all his exsequies to execute.
But sailing still the wine-hued seas, to reach
Some shore for fit performance, he did fetch
The steep mount of the Malians; and there,
With open voice, offended Jupiter
Proclaim’d the voyage his repugnant mind,
And pour’d the puffs out of a shrieking wind,
That nourish’d billows heighten’d like to hills,
And with the fleet’s division fulfils
His hate proclaim’d, upon a part of Crete
Casting the navy, where the sea-waves meet
Rough Jardanus, and where the Cydons live.
There is a rock, on which the sea doth drive,
Bare, and all broken, on the confines set
Of Gortys, that the dark seas likewise fret;
And hither sent the South a horrid drift
Of waves against the top, that was the left
Of that torn cliff as far as Phaestus’ strand.
A little stone the great sea’s rage did stand.
The men here driven ’scap’d hard the ships’ sore shocks,
The ships themselves being wrack’d against the rocks,
Save only five, that blue forecastles bore,
Which wind and water cast on Egypt’s shore.
When he (there vict’ling well, and store of gold
Aboard his ships brought) his wild way did hold,
And t’ other-languag’d men was forced to roam.
Mean space Aegisthus made sad work at home,
And slew his brother, forcing to his sway
Atrides’ subjects, and did seven years lay
His yoke upon the rich Mycenian state.
But in the eighth, to his affrighting fate,
Divine Orestes home from Athens came,
And what his royal father felt, the same
He made the false Aegisthus groan beneath.
Death evermore is the reward of death.
Thus having slain him, a sepulchral feast
He made the Argives for his lustful guest,
And for his mother whom he did detest.
The selfsame day upon him stole the king
Good-at-a-martial-shout, and goods did bring,
As many as his freighted fleet could bear.
But thou, my son, too long by no means err,
Thy goods left free for many a spoilful guest,
Lest they consume some, and divide the rest,
And thou, perhaps, besides, thy voyage lose.
To Menelaus yet thy course dispose,
I wish and charge thee; who but late arriv’d
From such a shore and men, as to have liv’d
In a return from them he never thought,
And whom black whirlwinds violently brought
Within a sea so vast, that in a year
Not any fowl could pass it anywhere,
So huge and horrid was it. But go thou
With ship and men (or, if thou pleasest now
To pass by land, there shall be brought for thee
Both horse and chariot, and thy guides shall be
My sons themselves) to Sparta the divine,
And to the king whose looks like amber shine.
Intreat the truth of him, nor loves he lies;
Wisdom in truth is, and he’s passing wise.’
This said, the sun went down, and up rose night,
When Pallas spake: ‘O father, all good right
Bear thy directions. But divide we now
The sacrifices’ tongues, mix wines, and vow
To Neptune and the other ever-blest,
That, having sacrific’d, we may to rest.
The fit hour runs now, light dives out of date,
At sacred feasts we must not sit too late.’
She said; they heard; the herald water gave;
The youths crown’d cups with wine, and let all have
Their equal shares, beginning from the cup
Their parting banquet. All the tongues cut up,
The fire they gave them sacrific’d, and rose,
Wine, and divine rites us’d, to each dispose.
Minerva and Telemachus desir’d
They might to ship be, with his leave, retir’d.
He, mov’d with that, provok’d thus their abodes:
‘Now Jove forbid, and all the long-liv’d gods,
Your leaving me, to sleep aboard a ship –
As I had drunk of poor Penia’s whip,
Even to my nakedness, and had nor sheet
Nor covering in my house, that warm nor sweet
A guest nor I myself had means to sleep;
Where I both weeds and wealthy coverings keep
For all my guests. Nor shall fame ever say
The dear son of the man Ulysses lay
All night a-shipboard here while my days shine,
Or in my court whiles any son of mine
Enjoys survival, who shall guests receive,
Whomever my house hath a nook to leave.’
‘My much-lov’d father,’ said Minerva, ‘well
All this becomes thee. But persuade to dwell
This night with thee thy son Telemachus,
For more convenient is the course for us,
That he may follow to thy house and rest,
And I may board our black-sail, that address’d
At all parts I may make our men, and cheer
All with my presence, since of all men there
I boast myself the senior; th’ others are
Youths, that attend in free and friendly care
Great-soul’d Telemachus, and are his peers
In fresh similitude of form and years.
For their confirmance, I will therefore now
Sleep in our black bark. But when light shall show
Her silver forehead, I intend my way
Amongst the Caucons, men that are to pay
A debt to me, nor small, nor new. For this,
Take you him home; whom in the morn dismiss,
With chariot and your sons, and give him horse
Ablest in strength, and of the speediest course.’
This said, away she flew, form’d like the fowl
Men call the ossifrage; when every soul
Amaze invaded; even th’ old man admir’d,
The youth’s hand took, and said: ‘O most desir’d,
My hope says thy proof will no coward show,
Nor one unskill’d in war, when deities now
So young attend thee, and become thy guides –
Nor any of the heav’n-hous’d states besides
But Tritogeneia’s self, the seed of Jove,
The great-in-prey, that did in honour move
So much about thy father, amongst all
The Grecian army. Fairest queen, let fall
On me like favours! Give me good renown!
Which as on me, on my lov’d wife let down,
And all my children. I will burn to thee
An ox right bred, broad-headed and yoke-free,
To no man’s hand yet humbled. Him will I,
His horns in gold hid, give thy deity.’
Thus pray’d he, and she heard; and home he led
His sons, and all his heaps of kindered.
Who ent’ring his court royal, every one
He marshall’d in his several seat and throne.
And every one, so kindly come, he gave
His sweet-wine cup; which none was let to have
Before his ’leventh year landed him from Troy;
Which now the butleress had leave t’ employ,
Who therefore pierc’d it, and did give it vent.
Of this the old duke did a cup present
To every guest; made his Maid many a prayer
That wears the shield fring’d with his nurse’s hair,
And gave her sacrifice. With this rich wine
And food sufficed, sleep all eyes did decline,
And all for home went; but his court alone
Telemachus, divine Ulysses’ son,
Must make his lodging, or not please his heart.
A bed, all chequer’d with elaborate art,
Within a portico that rung like brass,
He brought his guest to; and his bedfere was
Pisistratus, the martial guide of men,
That liv’d, of all his sons, unwed till then.
Himself lay in a by-room, far above,
His bed made by his barren wife, his love.
The rosy-finger’d morn no sooner shone,
But up he rose, took air, and sat upon
A seat of white and goodly polish’d stone,
That such a gloss as richest ointments wore
Before his high gates; where the counsellor
That match’d the gods (his father) used to sit,