And in the port of dreams: ‘O sister, why
Repair you hither, since so far off lie
Your house and household? You were never here
Before this hour, and would you now give cheer
To my so many woes and miseries,
Affecting fitly all the faculties
My soul and mind hold, having lost before
A husband, that of all the virtues bore
The palm amongst the Greeks, and whose renown
So ample was that fame the sound hath blown
Through Greece and Argos to her very heart?
And now again, a son, that did convert
My whole pow’rs to his love, by ship is gone –
A tender plant, that yet was never grown
To labour’s taste, nor the commerce of men –
For whom more than my husband I complain,
And lest he should at any suf
f
’
rance touch
(Or in the sea, or by the men so much
Estrang’d to him that must his consorts be)
Fear and chill tremblings shake each joint of me.
Besides, his danger sets on foes profess’d
To way-lay his return, that have address’d
Plots for his death.’ The scarce-discerned dream
Said: ‘Be of comfort, nor fears so extreme
Let thus dismay thee; thou hast such a mate
Attending thee, as some at any rate
Would wish to purchase, for her pow’r is great;
Minerva pities thy delights’ defeat,
Whose grace hath sent me to foretell thee these.’
‘If thou,’ said she, ‘be of the goddess’s,
And heardst her tell thee these, thou mayst as well
From her tell all things else. Deign then to tell,
If yet the man to all misfortunes born,
My husband, lives, and sees the sun adorn
The darksome earth, or hides his wretched head
In Pluto’s house, and lives amongst the dead?’
‘I will not,’ she replied, ‘my breath exhale
In one continu
’
d and perpetual tale –
Lives he or dies he. ’Tis a filthy use,
To be in vain and idle speech profuse.’
This said, she through the keyhole of the door
Vanish’d again into the open blore.
Icarius’ daughter started from her sleep,
And Joy’s fresh humour her lov’d breast did steep,
When now so clear, in that first watch of night,
She saw the seen dream vanish from her sight.
The wooers’ ship the sea’s moist waves did ply,
And thought the prince a haughty death should die.
There lies a certain island in the sea,
’Twixt rocky Samos and rough Ithaca,
That cliffy is itself, and nothing great,
Yet holds convenient havens that two ways let
Ships in and out, call’d Asteris; and there
The wooers hop
’
d to make their massacre.
The end of the fourth book
Book 5
The Argument
A second court on Jove attends;
Who Hermes to Calypso sends,
Commanding her to clear the ways
Ulysses sought; and she obeys.
When Neptune saw Ulysses free,
And so in safety plough the sea,
Enrag’d, he ruffles up the waves,
And splits his ship. Leucothea saves
His person yet, as being a dame
Whose godhead govern’d in the frame
Of those seas’ tempers. But the mean,
By which she curbs dread Neptune’s spleen,
Is made a jewel, which she takes
From off her head, and that she makes
Ulysses on his bosom wear;
About his neck she ties it there,
And, when he is with waves beset,
Bids wear it as an amulet,
Commanding him, that not before
He touch’d upon Phaeacia’s shore
He should not part with it, but then
Return it to the sea again,
And cast it from him. He performs,
Yet after this bides bitter storms,
And in the rocks sees death engrav’d,
But on Phaeacia’s shore is sav’d.
Another Argument
Epsilon
Ulysses builds
A ship, and gains
The glassy fields,
Pays Neptune pains.
Book 5
A
urora rose from highborn Tithon’s bed,
That men and gods might be illustrated,
And then the deities sat. Imperial Jove,
That makes the horrid murmur beat above,
Took place past all, whose height for ever springs,
And from whom flows th’ eternal power of things.
Then Pallas, mindful of Ulysses, told
The many cares that in Calypso’s hold
He still sustain’d, when he had felt before
So much affliction, and such dangers more.
‘O father,’ said she, ‘and ye ever-blest,
Give never king hereafter interest
In any aid of yours, by serving you,
By being gentle, human, just, but grow
Rude and for ever scornful of your rights,
All justice ordering by their appetites,
Since he that rul’d as it in right behov’d,
That all his subjects as his children lov’d,
Finds you so thoughtless of him and his birth.
Thus, men begin to say, ye rule in earth,
And grudge at what ye let him undergo,
Who yet the least part of his suf
f
’
rance know:
Thrall’d in an island, shipwrack’d in his tears,
And in the fancies that Calypso bears,
Bound from his birthright, all his shipping gone,
And of his soldiers not retaining one.
And now his most-lov’d son’s life doth inflame
Their slaught’rous envies, since his father’s fame
He puts in pursuit, and is gone as far
As sacred Pylos, and the singular
Dame-breeding Sparta.’ This, with this reply,
The Cloud-assembler answer’d: ‘What words fly
Thine own remembrance, daughter? Hast not thou
The counsel giv’n thyself, that told thee how
Ulysses shall with his return address
His wooers’ wrongs? And, for the safe access
His son shall make to his innative port,
Do thou direct it, in as curious sort
As thy wit serves thee – it obeys thy pow’rs –
And in their ship return the speedless wooers.’
Then turn’d he to his issue Mercury,
And said: ‘Thou hast made good our embassy
To th’ other statists. To the nymph then now,
On whose fair head a tuft of gold doth grow,
Bear our true-spoken counsel, for retreat
Of patient Ulysses; who shall get
No aid from us, nor any mortal man,
But in a patch’d-up skiff (built as he can,
And suffering woes enough) the twentieth day
At fruitful Scheria let him breathe his way,
With the Phaeacians, that half deities live,
Who like a god will honour him, and give
His wisdom clothes, and ship, and brass, and gold,
More than for gain of Troy he ever told;
Where, at the whole division of the prey,
If he a saver were, or got away
Without a wound, if he should grudge, ’twas well.
But th’ end shall crown all; therefore fate will deal
So well with him, to let him land, and see
His native earth, friends, house and family.’
Thus charg’d he; nor Argicides denied,
But to his feet his fair wing’d shoes he tied,
Ambrosian, golden, that in his command
Put either sea or the unmeasur
’
d land
With pace as speedy as a puft of wind.
Then up his rod went, with which he declin’d
The eyes of any waker, when he pleas’d,
And any sleeper, when he wish’d, dis-eas’d.
This took, he stoop’d Pieria, and thence
Glid through the air, and Neptune’s confluence
Kiss’d as he flew, and check’d the waves as light
As any sea-mew in her fishing flight,
Her thick wings sousing in the savory seas.
Like her, he pass’d a world of wilderness;
But when the far-off isle he touch’d, he went
Up from the blue sea to the continent,
And reach’d the ample cavern of the queen,
Whom he within found – without seldom seen.
A sun-like fire upon the hearth did flame,
The matter precious, and divine the frame;
Of cedar cleft and incense was the pile,
That breathed an odour round about the isle.
Herself was seated in an inner room,
Whom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loom
About a curious web, whose yarn she threw
In with a golden shuttle. A grove grew
In endless spring about her cavern round,
With odorous cypress, pines and poplars, crown’d,
Where hawks, sea-owls, and long-tongu
’
d bitterns bred,
And other birds their shady pinions spread –
All fowls maritimal; none roosted there
But those whose labours in the waters were.
A vine did all the hollow cave embrace,
Still green, yet still ripe bunches gave it grace.
Four fountains, one against another, pour’d
Their silver streams, and meadows all enflower’d
With sweet balm-gentle and blue violets hid,
That deck’d the soft breasts of each fragrant mead.
Should any one, though he immortal were,
Arrive and see the sacred objects there,
He would admire them, and be overjoy’d;
And so stood Hermes’ ravish’d pow’rs employ’d.
But having all admir’d, he enter’d on
The ample cave, nor could be seen unknown
Of great Calypso (for all deities are
Prompt in each other’s knowledge, though so far
Sever’d in dwellings) but he could not see
Ulysses there within; without was he
Set sad ashore, where ’twas his use to view
Th’ unquiet sea, sigh’d, wept, and empty drew
His heart of comfort. Plac’d here in her throne,
That beams cast up to admiration,
Divine Calypso question’d Hermes thus:
‘For what cause, dear and much-esteem’d by us,
Thou golden-rod-adorned Mercury,
Arriv’st thou here? Thou hast not used t’ apply
Thy passage this way. Say, whatever be
Thy heart’s desire, my mind commands it thee,
If in my means it lie, or power of fact.
But first, what hospitable rites exact,
Come yet more near, and take.’ This said, she set
A table forth, and furnish’d it with meat
Such as the gods taste; and serv’d in with it
Vermilion nectar. When with banquet fit
He had confirm’d his spirits, he thus express’d
His cause of coming: ‘Thou hast made request,
Goddess of goddesses, to understand
My cause of touch here; which thou shalt command,
And know with truth: Jove caused my course to thee
Against my will, for who would willingly
Lackey along so vast a lake of brine,
Near to no city that the pow’rs divine
Receives with solemn rites and hecatombs?
But Jove’s will
ever all law overcomes –
No other god can cross or make it void –
And he affirms, that one the most annoy’d
With woes and toils of all those men that fought
For Priam’s city, and to end hath brought
Nine years in the contention, is with thee.
For in the tenth year, when the victory
Was won to give the Greeks the spoil of Troy,
Return they did profess, but not enjoy,
Since Pallas they incens’d – and she the waves,
By all the winds’ pow’r, that blew ope their graves.
And there they rested. Only this poor one
This coast both winds and waves have cast upon;
Whom now forthwith he wills thee to dismiss,
Affirming that th’ unaltered destinies
Not only have decreed he shall not die
Apart his friends, but of necessity
Enjoy their sights before those fatal hours,
His country earth reach, and erected tow’rs.’
This struck a love-check’d horror through her pow’rs;
When, naming him, she this reply did give:
‘Insatiate are ye gods, past all that live,
In all things you affect; which still converts
Your pow’rs to envies. It afflicts your hearts
That any goddess should, as you obtain
The use of earthly dames, enjoy the men,
And most in open marriage. So ye far’d,
When the delicious-finger’d Morning shar’d
Orion’s bed; you easy-living states
Could never satisfy your emulous hates,
Till in Ortygia the precise-liv’d dame,
Gold-thron’d Diana, on him rudely came,
And with her swift shafts slew him. And such pains,
When rich-hair’d Ceres pleas’d to give the reins
To her affections, and the grace did yield
Of love and bed amidst a three-cropp’d field,
To her Iasion, he paid angry Jove,
Who lost no long time notice of their love,
But with a glowing lightning was his death.
And now your envies labour underneath
A mortal’s choice of mine, whose life I took
To liberal safety when his ship Jove strook,
With red-hot flashes, piecemeal in the seas,
And all his friends and soldiers succourless
Perish’d but he. Him, cast upon this coast
With blasts and billows, I, in life given lost,
Preserv’d alone, lov’d, nourish’d, and did vow
To make him deathless, and yet never grow
Crooked, or worn with age, his whole life long.
But since no reason may be made so strong
To strive with Jove’s will, or to make it vain –
No not if all the other gods should strain
Their pow
’
rs against it – let his will be law,
So he afford him fit means to withdraw,
As he commands him, to the raging main.
But means from me he never shall obtain,
For my means yield nor men, nor ship, nor oars,
To set him off from my so envied shores.
But if my counsel and good will can aid
His safe pass home, my best shall be assay’d.’
‘Vouchsafe it so,’ said heav’n’s ambassador,
‘And deign it quickly. By all means abhor
T’ incense Jove’s wrath against thee, that with grace
He may hereafter all thy wish embrace.’
Thus took the Argus-killing god his wings.
And since the reverend nymph these awful things
Receiv’d from Jove, she to Ulysses went;
Whom she ashore found, drown’d in discontent,
His eyes kept never dry he did so mourn,
And waste his dear age for his wish’d return;
Which still without the cave he us
’
d to do,
Because he could not please the goddess so.
At night yet, forc’d, together took their rest
The willing goddess and th’ unwilling guest;
But he all day in rocks, and on the shore,
The vex’d sea view’d, and did his fate deplore.
Him, now, the goddess coming near bespake:
‘Unhappy man, no more discomfort take
For my constraint of thee, nor waste thine age;
I now will passing freely disengage
Thy irksome stay here. Come then, fell thee wood,
And build a ship, to save thee from the flood.
I’ll furnish thee with fresh wave, bread, and wine
Ruddy and sweet, that will the piner pine,
Put garments on thee, give thee winds foreright,
That every way thy home-bent appetite
May safe attain to it, if so it please
At all parts all the heav’n-housed deities,
That more in pow’r are, more in skill, than I,
And more can judge what fits humanity.’
He stood amaz’d at this strange change in her,
And said: ‘O goddess, thy intents prefer
Some other project than my parting hence,
Commanding things of too high consequence
For my performance, that myself should build
A ship of power, my home-assays to shield
Against the great sea of such dread to pass;
Which not the best-built ship that ever was
Will pass exulting, when such winds as Jove
Can thunder up their trims and tacklings prove.
But could I build one, I would ne’er aboard,
Thy will oppos’d – nor, won, without thy word,
Giv
’
n in the great oath of the gods to me,
Not to beguile me in the least degree.’
The goddess smil’d, held hard his hand, and said:
‘O y’ are a shrewd one, and so habited
In taking heed, thou know’st not what it is
To be unwary, nor use words amiss.
How hast thou charm’d me, were I ne’er so sly!
Let earth know then, and heav
’
n, so broad, so high,
And th’ under-sunk waves of th’ infernal stream
(Which is an oath as terribly supreme
As any god swears) that I had no thought
But stood with what I spake, nor would have wrought,
Nor counsell’d, any act against thy good,
But ever diligently weigh’d, and stood
On those points in persuading thee, that I
Would use myself in such extremity
For my mind simple is, and innocent,
Not given by cruel sleights to circumvent,
Nor bear I in my breast a heart of steel,
But with the sufferer willing suf
f
’
rance feel.’
This said, the grace of goddesses led home,
He trac’d her steps; and, to the cavern come,
In that rich throne, whence Mercury arose,
He sat. The nymph herself did then appose,
For food and beverage, to him all best meat
And drink, that mortals use to taste and eat.
Then sat she opposite, and for her feast
Was nectar and ambrosia address’d
By handmaids to her. Both, what was prepar’d,
Did freely fall to. Having fitly far’d,
The nymph Calypso this discourse began:
‘Jove-bred Ulysses, many-witted man!
Still is thy home so wish’d? So soon, away?
Be still of cheer, for all the worst I say.
But if thy soul knew what a sum of woes,
For thee to cast up, thy stern fates impose,
Ere to thy country earth thy hopes attain,