Who now, by fate forc’d, stoop’d as low as it.
And here sat Nestor, holding in his hand
A sceptre; and about him round did stand,
As early up, his sons’ troop: Perseus,
The god-like Thrasymed, and Aretus,
Echephron, Stratius, the sixth and last
Pisistratus, and by him (half embrac’d
Still as they came) divine Telemachus;
To these spake Nestor, old Gerenius.
‘Haste, loved sons, and do me a desire,
That, first of all the gods, I may aspire
To Pallas’ favour, who vouchsa
f
’
d to me
At Neptune’s feast her sight so openly.
Let one to field go, and an ox with speed
Cause hither brought, which let the herdsman lead;
Another to my dear guest’s vessel go,
And all his soldiers bring, save only two;
A third the smith that works in gold command
(Laertius) to attend, and lend his hand,
To plate the both horns round about with gold;
The rest remain here close. But first, see told
The maids within, that they prepare a feast,
Set seats through all the court, see straight address’d
The purest water, and get fuel fell’d.’
This said, not one but in the service held
Officious hand. The ox came led from field;
The soldiers troop’d from ship; the smith he came,
And those tools brought that serv’d the actual frame
His art conceiv’d; brought anvil, hammers brought,
Fair tongs, and all, with which the gold was wrought.
Minerva likewise came, to set the crown
On that kind sacrifice, and make ’t her own.
Then th’ old knight Nestor gave the smith the gold,
With which he straight did both the horns infold,
And trimm’d the offering so, the goddess joy’d.
About which thus were Nestor’s sons employ’d:
Divine Echephron and fair Stratius
Held both the horns. The water odorous,
In which they wash’d what to the rites was vow’d,
Aretus, in a cauldron all bestrow’d
With herbs and flow’rs, serv’d in from th’ holy room
Where all were drest, and whence the rites must come.
And after him a hallow’d virgin came,
That brought the barley-cake, and blew the flame.
The axe, with which the ox should both be fell’d
And cut forth, Thrasymed stood by and held.
Perseus the vessel held that should retain
The purple liquor of the of
f
’
ring slain.
Then wash’d the pious father, then the cake
(Of barley, salt and oil made) took, and brake,
Ask’d many a boon of Pallas, and the state
Of all the offering did initiate,
In three parts cutting off the hair, and cast
Amidst the flame. All th’ invocation past,
And all the cake broke, manly Thrasymed
Stood near and sure, and such a blow he laid
Aloft the offering, that to earth he sunk,
His neck-nerves sunder’d, and his spirits shrunk.
Out shriek’d the daughters, daughter-in-laws, and wife
Of three-aged Nestor, who had eldest life
Of Clymen’s daughters, chaste Eurydice.
The ox on broad earth then laid laterally
They held, while duke Pisistratus the throat
Dissolv’d, and set the sable blood afloat,
And then the life the bones left. Instantly
They cut him up; apart flew either thigh,
That with the fat they dubb’d, with art alone
The throat-brisk and the sweetbread pricking on.
Then Nestor broil’d them on the coal-turn’d wood,
Pour’d black wine on; and by him young men stood,
That spits fine-pointed held, on which, when burn’d
The solid thighs were, they transfix’d, and turn’d
The innards, cut in cantles; which, the meat
Vow’d to the gods consum’d, they roast and eat.
In mean space, Polycaste (call’d the fair,
Nestor’s young’st daughter) bath’d Ulysses’ heir;
Whom having cleans’d, and with rich balms bespread,
She cast a white shirt quickly o’er his head,
And then his weeds put on; when forth he went,
And did the person of a god present,
Came, and by Nestor took his honour’d seat,
This pastor of the people. Then, the meat
Of all the spare parts roasted, off they drew,
Sat, and fell to. But soon the temperate few
Rose, and in golden bowls fill’d others’ wine.
Till, when the rest felt thirst of feast decline,
Nestor his sons bad fetch his high-man’d horse,
And them in chariot join, to run the course
The prince resolv’d. Obey’d as soon as heard
Was Nestor by his sons, who straight prepar’d
Both horse and chariot. She that kept the store
Both bread and wine, and all such viands more
As should the feast of Jove-fed kings compose,
Purvey’d the voyage. To the rich coach rose
Ulysses’ son, and close to him ascended
The duke Pisistratus, the reins intended,
And scourg’d, to force to field; who freely flew,
And left the town that far her splendour threw,
Both holding yoke, and shook it all the day.
But now the sun set, dark’ning every way,
When they to Pheris came, and in the house
Of Diocles (the son t’ Orsilochus,
Whom flood Alpheus got) slept all that night;
Who gave them each due hospitable rite.
But when the rosy-finger’d morn arose,
They went to coach, and did their horse inclose,
Drave forth the forecourt, and the porch that yields
Each breath a sound, and to the fruitful fields
Rode scourging still their willing flying steeds,
Who strenuously perform’d their wonted speeds –
Their journey ending just when sun went down
And shadows all ways through the earth were thrown.
The end of the third book
Book 4
The Argument
Received now in the Spartan court,
Telemachus prefers report
To Menelaus of the throng
Of wooers with him, and their wrong.
Atrides tells the Greeks’ retreat,
And doth a prophecy repeat
That Proteus made, by which he knew
His brother’s death; and then doth show
How with Calypso lived the sire
Of his young guest. The wooers conspire
Their prince’s death; whose treach’ry known,
Penelope in tears doth drown.
Whom Pallas by a dream doth cheer,
And in similitude appear
Of fair Iphthima, known to be
The sister of Penelope.
Another Argument
Delta
Here of the sire
The son doth hear.
The wooers conspire,
The mother’s fear.
Book 4
In Lacedaemon now, the nurse of whales,
These two arriv’d, and found at festivals,
With mighty concourse, the renowned king,
His son and daughter jointly marrying.
Alector’s daughter he did give his son,
Strong Megapenthes, who his life begun
By Menelaus’ bondmaid, whom he knew
In years when Helen could no more renew
In issue like divine Hermione,
Who held in all fair form as high degree
As golden Venus. Her he married now
To great Achilles’ son, who was by vow
Betroth’d to her at Troy. And thus the gods
To constant loves give nuptial periods –
Whose state here past, the Myrmidons’ rich town
(Of which she shar’d in the imperial crown)
With horse and chariots he resign’d her to.
Mean space, the high huge house with feast did flow
Of friends and neighbours, joying with the king.
Amongst whom did a heavenly poet sing,
And touch his harp. Amongst whom likewise danc’d
Two who, in that dumb motion advanc’d,
Would prompt the singer what to sing and play.
All this time in the outer court did stay,
With horse and chariot, Telemachus
And Nestor’s noble son Pisistratus.
Whom Eteoneus, coming forth, descried,
And, being a servant to the king most tried
In care and his respect, he ran and cried:
‘Guests, Jove-kept Menelaus – two such men
As are for form of high Saturnius’ strain.
Inform your pleasure, if we shall unclose
Their horse from coach, or say they must dispose
Their way to some such house as may embrace
Their known arrival with more welcome grace?’
He, angry, answer’d: ‘Thou didst never show
Thyself a fool, Boethides, till now;
But now, as if turn’d child, a childish speech
Vents thy vain spirits. We ourselves now reach
Our home by much spent hospitality
Of other men, nor know if Jove will try
With other after-wants our state again;
And therefore from our feast no more detain
Those welcome guests, but take their steeds from coach,
And with attendance guide in their approach.’
This said, he rush’d abroad, and call’d some more
Tried in such service, that together bore
Up to the guests, and took their steeds that swet
Beneath their yokes from coach, at mangers set,
Wheat and white barley gave them mix’d, and plac’d
Their chariot by a wall so clear, it cast
A light quite thorough it. And then they led
Their guests to the divine house, which so fed
Their eyes at all parts with illustrious sights,
That admiration seized them. Like the lights
The sun and moon gave, all the palace threw
A lustre through it. Satiate with whose view,
Down to the king’s most-bright-kept baths they went,
Where handmaids did their services present,
Bath’d, balm’d them, shirts and well-napt weeds put on,
And by Atrides’ side set each his throne.
Then did the handmaid-royal water bring,
And to a laver, rich and glittering,
Of massy gold, pour’d; which she plac’d upon
A silver cauldron, into which might run
The water as they wash’d. Then set she near
A polish’d table, on which all the cheer
The present could afford a reverend dame,
That kept the larder, set. A cook then came,
And divers dishes borne thence serv’d again,
Furnish’d the board with bowls of gold. And then,
His right hand given the guests, Atrides said:
‘Eat, and be cheerful. Appetite allay’d,
I long to ask of what stock ye descend;
For not from parents whose race nameless end
We must derive your offspring. Men obscure
Could get none such as you. The portraiture
Of Jove-sustain’d and sceptre-bearing kings
Your either person in his presence brings.’
An ox’s fat chine then they up did lift,
And set before the guests; which was a gift,
Sent as an honour to the king’s own taste.
They saw yet ’twas but to be eaten plac’d,
And fell to it. But food and wine’s care past,
Telemachus thus prompted Nestor’s son
(His ear close laying, to be heard of none):
‘Consider, thou whom most my mind esteems,
The brass-work here, how rich it is in beams,
And how, besides, it makes the whole house sound;
What gold, and amber, silver, ivory, round
Is wrought about it. Out of doubt, the hall
Of Jupiter Olympius hath of all
This state the like. How many infinites
Take up to admiration all men’s sights!’
Atrides overheard, and said: ‘Lov’d son,
No mortal must affect contention
With Jove, whose dwellings are of endless date.
Perhaps of men some one may emulate,
Or none, my house or me; for I am one
That many a grave extreme have undergone,
Much error felt by sea, and till th’ eighth year
Had never stay, but wander’d far and near,
Cyprus, Phoenicia, and Sidonia,
And fetch’d the far-off Ethiopia,
Reach’d the Erembi of Arabia,
And Libya, where with horns ewes yean their lambs –
Which every full year ewes are three times dams –
Where neither king nor shepherd want comes near
Of cheese, or flesh, or sweet milk; all the year
They ever milk their ewes. And here while I
Err’d, gath’ring means to live, one murderously,
Unwares, unseen, bereft my brother’s life,
Chiefly betray’d by his abhorred wife.
So hold I, not enjoying, what you see.
And of your fathers, if they living be,
You must have heard this, since my sufferings were
So great and famous, from this palace here
(So rarely-well-built, furnished so well,
And substanced with such a precious deal
Of well-got treasure) banish’d by the doom
Of fate, and erring as I had no home.
And now I have, and use it, not to take
Th’ entire delight it offers, but to make
Continual wishes, that a triple part
Of all it holds were wanting, so my heart
Were eas’d of sorrows taken for their deaths
That fell at Troy, by their revived breaths.
And thus sit I here weeping, mourning still
Each least man lost; and sometimes make mine ill,
In paying just tears for their loss, my joy.
Sometimes I breathe my woes, for in annoy
The pleasure soon admits satiety.
But all these men’s wants wet not so mine eye,
Though much they move me, as one sole man’s miss,
For which my sleep and meat even loathsome is
In his renew’d thought, since no Greek hath won
Grace for such labours as Laërtes’ son
Hath wrought and suffer’d, to himself nought else
But future sorrows forging, to me hells
For his long absence, since I cannot know
If life or death detain him; since such woe
For his love, old Laërtes, his wise wife
And poor young son sustains, whom new with life
He left as sireless.’ This speech grief to tears –
Pour’d from the son’s lids on the earth, his ears
Told of the father – did excite; who kept
His cheeks dry with his red weed as he wept,
His both hands used therein. Atrides then
Began to know him, and did strife retain,
If he should let himself confess his sire,
Or with all fitting circumstance enquire
While this his thoughts disputed, forth did shine,
Like to the golden-distaff-deck’d divine,
From her bed’s high and odoriferous room,
Helen. To whom, of an elaborate loom,
Adresta set a chair; Alcippe brought
A piece of tapestry of fine wool wrought;
Phylo a silver cabinet conferr’d,
Given by Alcandra, nuptially endear’d
To lord Polybius, whose abode in Thebes
Th’ Egyptian city was, where wealth in heaps
His famous house held, out of which did go,
In gift t’ Atrides, silver bathtubs two,
Two tripods, and of fine gold talents ten.
His wife did likewise send to Helen then
Fair gifts, a distaff that of gold was wrought,
And that rich cabinet that Phylo brought,
Round, and with gold ribb’d, now of fine thread full,
On which extended (crown’d with finest wool,
Of violet gloss) the golden distaff lay.
She took her state-chair, and a footstool’s stay
Had for her feet; and of her husband thus
Ask’d to know all things: ‘Is it known to us,
King Menelaus, whom these men commend
Themselves for, that our court now takes to friend?
I must affirm, be I deceived or no,
I never yet saw man nor woman so
Like one another, as this man is like
Ulysses’ son. With admiration strike
His looks my thoughts, that they should carry now
Power to persuade me thus, who did but know,
When newly he was born, the form they bore.
But ’tis his father’s grace, whom more and more
His grace resembles, that makes me retain
Thought that he now is like Telemachus, then
Left by his sire, when Greece did undertake
Troy’s bold war for my impudency’s sake.’
He answer’d: ‘Now wife, what you think I know;
The true cast of his father’s eye doth show
In his eye’s order. Both his head and hair,
His hands and feet, his very father’s are.
Of whom, so well remember’d, I should now
Acknowledge for me his continual flow
Of cares and perils, yet still patient.
But I should too much move him, that doth vent
Such bitter tears for that which hath been spoke,
Which, shunning soft show, see how he would cloak,
And with his purple weed his weepings hide.’
Then Nestor’s son, Pisistratus, replied:
‘Great pastor of the people, kept of god,
He is Ulysses’ son, but his abode
Not made before here, and he modest too,
He holds it an indignity to do
A deed so vain, to use the boast of words,
Where your words are on wing; whose voice affords
Delight to us as if a god did break
The air amongst us, and vouchsafe to speak.
But me my father, old duke Nestor, sent
To be his consort hither, his content
Not to be heighten’d so as with your sight,
In hope that therewith words and actions might
Inform his comforts from you, since he is
Extremely grieved and injured by the miss
Of his great father; suffering even at home,
And few friends found to help him overcome
His too weak suf
f
’
rance, now his sire is gone –
Amongst the people not afforded one
To check the miseries that mate him thus.
And this the state is of Telemachus.’
‘O gods,’ said he, ‘how certain, now, I see
My house enjoys that friend’s son, that for me
Hath undergone so many willing fights!
Whom I resolved, past all the Grecian knights,
To hold in love, if our return by seas
The far-off Thunderer did ever please
To grant our wishes. And to his respect
A palace and a city to erect,
My vow had bound me; whither bringing then
His riches and his son and all his men
From barren Ithaca (some one sole town
Inhabited about him batter’d down),
All should in Argos live. And there would I
Ease him of rule, and take the empery
Of all on me. And often here would we,
Delighting, loving either’s company,
Meet and converse; whom nothing should divide
Till death’s black veil did each all over hide.
But this perhaps hath been a mean to take
Ev
’
n god himself with envy, who did make
Ulysses therefore only the unblest,
That should not reach his loved country’s rest.’
These woes made every one with woe in love.
Ev
’
n Argive Helen wept, the seed of Jove;
Ulysses’ son wept, Atreus’ son did weep,
And Nestor’s son his eyes in tears did steep –
But his tears fell not from the present cloud
That from Ulysses was exhaled, but flow’d
From brave Antilochus’ remember’d due,
Whom the renown’d son of the Morning slew;
Which yet he thus excus’d: ‘O Atreus’ son,
Old Nestor says, there lives not such a one
Amongst all mortals as Atrides is
For deathless wisdom. ’Tis a praise of his,
Still giv’n in your remembrance, when at home
Our speech concerns you. Since then overcome
You please to be with sorrow, ev’n to tears,
That are in wisdom so exempt from peers,
Vouchsafe the like effect in me excuse,
If it be lawful. I affect no use
Of tears thus after meals – at least at night;
But when the morn brings forth, with tears, her light,
It shall not then impair me to bestow
My tears on any worthy’s overthrow.
It is the only rite that wretched men
Can do dead friends, to cut hair, and complain.
But death my brother took, whom none could call
The Grecian coward, you best knew of all.
I was not there, nor saw, but men report
Antilochus excell’d the common sort
For footmanship, or for the chariot race,
Or in the fight for hardy hold of place.’
‘O friend,’ said he, ‘since thou hast spoken so,
At all parts as one wise should say and do,
And like one far beyond thyself in years,
Thy words shall bounds be to our former tears.
O he is questionless a right-born son,
That of his father hath not only won