Of those his guard, that on the shore arrives.
When having view’d, and told them forth by fives,
He takes place in their midst, and there doth sleep,
Like to a shepherd ’midst his flock of sheep.
In his first sleep, call up your hardiest cheer,
Vigour and violence, and hold him there,
In spite of all his strivings to be gone.
He then will turn himself to every one
Of all things that in earth creep and respire,
In water swim, or shine in heavenly fire.
Yet still hold you him firm, and much the more
Press him from passing. But when, as before,
When sleep first bound his pow’rs, his form ye see,
Then cease your force, and th’ old heroë free,
And then demand, which heav
’
n-born it may be
That so afflicts you, hindering your retreat
And free sea-passage to your native seat.”
This said, she div’d into the wavy seas,
And I my course did to my ships address,
That on the sands stuck; where arriv’d, we made
Our supper ready. Then th’ ambrosian shade
Of night fell on us, and to sleep we fell.
Rosy Aurora rose; we rose as well,
And three of them on whom I most relied
For firm at every force, I choos’d, and hied
Straight to the many-river-served seas,
And all assistance ask’d the deities.
Mean time Idothea the sea’s broad breast
Embrac’d, and brought for me, and all my rest,
Four of the sea-calves’ skins but newly flay’d,
To work a wile which she had fashioned
Upon her father. Then, within the sand
A covert digging, when these calves should land,
She sat expecting. We came close to her;
She plac’d us orderly, and made us wear
Each one his cal
f
’
s skin. But we then must pass
A huge exploit. The sea-calves’ savour was
So passing sour, they still being bred at seas,
It much afflicted us; for who can please
To lie by one of these same sea-bred whales?
But she preserves us, and to memory calls
A rare commodity; she fetch’d to us
Ambrosia, that an air most odorous
Bears still about it, which she ’nointed round
Our either nostrils, and in it quite drown’d
The nasty whale-smell. Then the great event
The whole morn’s date, with spirits patient,
We lay expecting. When bright noon did flame,
Forth from the sea in shoals the sea-calves came,
And orderly, at last lay down and slept
Along the sands. And then th’ old sea-god crept
From forth the deeps, and found his fat calves there,
Survey’d, and number’d, and came never near
The craft we used, but told us five for calves.
His temples then dis-eas’d with sleep he salves
And in rush’d we, with an abhorred cry,
Cast all our hands about him manfully;
And then th’ old forger all his forms began:
First was a lion with a mighty mane,
Then next a dragon, a pied panther then,
A vast boar next, and suddenly did strain
All into water. Last he was a tree,
Curl’d all at top, and shot up to the sky.
We, with resolv’d hearts, held him firmly still,
When th’ old one (held too straight for all his skill
To extricate) gave words, and question’d me:
“Which of the gods, O Atreus’ son,” said he,
“Advis’d and taught thy fortitude this sleight,
To take and hold me thus in my despite?
What asks thy wish now?” I replied. “Thou know’st.
Why dost thou ask? What wiles are these thou show’st?
I have within this isle been held for wind
A wondrous time, and can by no means find
An end to my retention. It hath spent
The very heart in me. Give thou then vent
To doubts thus bound in me. Ye gods know all –
Which of the godheads doth so foully fall
On my addression home, to stay me here,
Avert me from my way, the fishy clear
Barr’d to my passage?” He replied: “Of force,
If to thy home thou wishest free recourse,
To Jove and all the other deities
Thou must exhibit solemn sacrifice;
And then the black sea for thee shall be clear,
Till thy lov’d country’s settled reach. But where
Ask these rites thy performance? ’Tis a fate
To thee and thy affairs appropriate,
That thou shalt never see thy friends, nor tread
Thy country’s earth, nor see inhabited
Thy so magnificent house, till thou make good
Thy voyage back to the Egyptian flood,
Whose waters fell from Jove, and there hast giv
’
n
To Jove, and all gods hous’d in ample heav’n,
Devoted hecatombs, and then free ways
Shall open to thee, clear’d of all delays.”
This told he; and, methought, he brake my heart,
In such a long and hard course to divert
My hope for home, and charge my back retreat
As far as Egypt. I made answer yet:
“Father, thy charge I’ll perfect; but before,
Resolve me truly, if their natural shore
All those Greeks, and their ships, do safe enjoy,
That Nestor and myself left, when from Troy
We first raised sail? Or whether any died
At sea a death unwish’d? Or, satisfied,
When war was past, by friends embrac’d, in peace
Resign’d their spirits?” He made answer: “Cease
To ask so far. It fits thee not to be
So cunning in thine own calamity.
Nor seek to learn what learn’d thou shouldst forget.
Men’s knowledges have proper limits set,
And should not prease into the mind of god.
But ’twill not long be, as my thoughts abode,
Before thou buy this curious skill with tears.
Many of those, whose states so tempt thine ears,
Are stoop’d by death, and many left alive,
One chief of which in strong hold doth survive,
Amidst the broad sea. Two, in their retreat,
Are done to death. I list not to repeat
Who fell at Troy, thyself was there in fight.
But in return swift Ajax lost the light,
In his long-oar’d ship. Neptune, yet, awhile
Sav
’
d him unwrack’d to the Gyraean isle,
A mighty rock removing from his way.
And surely he had ’scap’d the fatal day,
In spite of Pallas, if to that foul deed
He in her fane did (when he ravished
The Trojan prophetess) he had not here
Adjoin’d an impious boast, that he would bear,
Despite the gods, his ship safe through the waves
Then rais’d against him. These his impious braves
When Neptune heard, in his strong hand he took
His massy trident, and so soundly strook
The rock Gyraean, that in two it cleft;
Of which one fragment on the land he left,
The other fell into the troubled seas,
At which first rush’d Ajax Oïliades,
And split his ship, and then himself afloat
Swum on the rough waves of the world’s vast moat,
Till having drunk a salt cup for his sin,
There perish’d he. Thy brother yet did win
The wreath from death, while in the waves they strove,
Afflicted by the reverend wife of Jove.
But when the steep mount of the Malian shore
He seem’d to reach, a most tempestuous blore,
Far to the fishy world that sighs so sore,
Straight ravish’d him again as far away
As to th’ extreme bounds where the Agrians stay,
Where first Thyestes dwelt, but then his son
Aegisthus Thyestiades liv’d. This done,
When his return untouch’d appear’d again,
Back turn’d the gods the wind, and set him then
Hard by his house. Then, full of joy, he left
His ship, and close t’ his country earth he cleft,
Kiss’d it, and wept for joy, pour’d tear on tear,
To set so wishedly his footing there.
But see, a sentinel that all the year
Crafty Aegisthus in a watchtow’r set
To spy his landing, for reward as great
As two gold talents, all his pow’rs did call
To strict remembrance of his charge, and all
Discharg’d at first sight, which at first he cast
On Agamemnon, and with all his haste
Inform’d Aegisthus. He an instant train
Laid for his slaughter: twenty chosen men
Of his plebeians he in ambush laid;
His other men he charged to see purvey’d
A feast; and forth, with horse and chariots grac’d,
He rode t’ invite him, but in heart embrac’d
Horrible welcomes, and to death did bring,
With treacherous slaughter, the unwary king,
Receiv’d him at a feast, and, like an ox
Slain at his manger, gave him bits and knocks.
No one left of Atrides’ train, nor one
Saved to Aegisthus, but himself alone,
All strew’d together there the bloody court.”
This said, my soul he sunk with his report;
Flat on the sands I fell, tears spent their store,
I light abhorr’d, my heart would live no more.
When dry of tears, and tired of tumbling there,
Th’ old Tell-truth thus my daunted spirits did cheer:
“No more spend tears nor time, O Atreus’ son;
With ceaseless weeping never wish was won.
Use uttermost assay to reach thy home,
And all unwares upon the murderer come,
For torture, taking him thyself alive;
Or let Orestes, that should far out-strive
Thee in fit vengeance, quickly quit the light
Of such a dark soul, and do thou the rite
Of burial to him with a funeral feast.”
With these last words I fortified my breast,
In which again a generous spring began
Of fitting comfort, as I was a man;
But, as a brother, I must ever mourn.
Yet forth I went, and told him the return
Of these I knew; but he had named a third,
Held on the broad sea, still with life inspir
’
d,
Whom I besought to know, though likewise dead,
And I must mourn alike. He answered:
“He is Laertes’ son; whom I beheld
In nymph Calypso’s palace, who compell’d
His stay with her, and, since he could not see
His country earth, he mourn’d incessantly.
For he had neither ship instruct with oars,
Nor men to fetch him from those stranger shores.
Where leave we him, and to thy self descend,
Whom not in Argos fate nor death shall end,
But the immortal ends of all the earth,
So ruled by them that order death by birth,
The fields Elysian, fate to thee will give,
Where Rhadamanthus rules, and where men live
A never-troubled life, where snow nor show
’
rs,
Nor irksome winter spends his fruitless pow’rs,
But from the ocean Zephyr still resumes
A constant breath, that all the fields perfumes.
Which, since thou marriedst Helen, are thy hire,
And Jove himself is by her side thy sire.”
This said, he dived the deepsome watery heaps;
I and my tried men took us to our ships,
And worlds of thoughts I varied with my steps.
Arriv’d and shipp’d, the silent solemn night
And sleep bereft us of our visual light.
At morn, masts, sails rear’d, we sat, left the shores,
And beat the foamy ocean with our oars.
Again then we the Jove-fall’n flood did fetch,
As far as Egypt, where we did beseech
The gods with hecatombs; whose angers ceas’d,
I tomb’d my brother that I might be blest.
All rites perform’d, all haste I made for home,
And all the prosp’rous winds about were come.
I had the passport now of every god,
And here clos
’
d all these labours’ period.
Here stay then till th’ eleventh or twelfth day’s light,
And I’ll dismiss thee well, gifts exquisite
Preparing for thee, chariot, horses three,
A cup of curious frame to serve for thee
To serve th’ immortal gods with sacrifice,
Mindful of me while all suns light thy skies.’
He answer’d: ‘Stay me not too long time here,
Though I could sit attending all the year.
Nor should my house, nor parents, with desire,
Take my affections from you, so on fire
With love to hear you are my thoughts; but so
My Pylian friends I shall afflict with woe,
Who mourn even this stay. Whatsoever be
The gifts your grace is to bestow on me,
Vouchsafe them such as I may bear and save
For your sake ever. Horse I list not have,
To keep in Ithaca, but leave them here,
To your soil’s dainties, where the broad fields bear
Sweet cypers grass, where men-fed lote doth flow,
Where wheat-like spelt, and wheat itself, doth grow,
Where barley, white and spreading like a tree;
But Ithaca hath neither ground to be,
For any length it comprehends, a race
To try a horse’s speed, nor any place
To make him fat in; fitter far to feed
A cliff-bred goat, than raise or please a steed.
Of all isles, Ithaca doth least provide
Or meads to feed a horse, or ways to ride.’
He, smiling, said: ‘Of good blood art thou, son.
What speech, so young! What observation
Hast thou made of the world! I well am pleas
’
d
To change my gifts to thee, as being confess’d
Unfit; indeed, my store is such I may.
Of all my house-gifts then, that up I lay
For treasure there, I will bestow on thee
The fairest, and of greatest price to me.
I will bestow on thee a rich carv’d cup,
Of silver all, but all the brims wrought up
With finest gold; it was the only thing