The Odyssey

by Homer

“‘Tis hard (he cries,) to bring to sudden sight
Ideas that have wing’d their distant flight;
Rare on the mind those images are traced,
Whose footsteps twenty winters have defaced:
But what I can, receive.—In ample mode,
A robe of military purple flow’d
O’er all his frame: illustrious on his breast,
The double-clasping gold the king confess’d.
In the rich woof a hound, mosaic drawn,
Bore on full stretch, and seized a dappled fawn;
Deep in the neck his fangs indent their hold;
They pant and struggle in the moving gold.
Fine as a filmy web beneath it shone
A vest, that dazzled like a cloudless sun:
The female train who round him throng’d to gaze,
In silent wonder sigh’d unwilling praise.
A sabre, when the warrior press’d to part,
I gave, enamell’d with Vulcanian art:
A mantle purple-tinged, and radiant vest,
Dimension’d equal to his size, express’d
Affection grateful to my honour’d guest.
A favourite herald in his train I knew,
His visage solemn, sad of sable hue:
Short woolly curls o’erfleeced his bending head,
O’er which a promontory shoulder spread;
Eurybates; in whose large soul alone
Ulysses view’d an image of his own.”

His speech the tempest of her grief restored;
In all he told she recognized her lord:
But when the storm was spent in plenteous showers,
A pause inspiriting her languish’d powers,
“O thou, (she cried,) whom first inclement Fate
Made welcome to my hospitable gate;
With all thy wants the name of poor shall end:
Henceforth live honour’d, my domestic friend!
The vest much envied on your native coast,
And regal robe with figured gold emboss’d,
In happier hours my artful hand employ’d,
When my loved lord this blissful bower enjoy’d:
The fall of Troy erroneous and forlorn
Doom’d to survive, and never to return!”

Then he, with pity touch’d: “O royal dame!
Your ever-anxious mind, and beauteous frame,
From the devouring rage of grief reclaim.
I not the fondness of your soul reprove
For such a lord! who crown’d your virgin love
With the dear blessing of a fair increase;
Himself adorn’d with more than mortal grace:
Yet while I speak the mighty woe suspend;
Truth forms my tale; to pleasing truth attend.
The royal object of your dearest care
Breathes in no distant clime the vital air:
In rich Thesprotia, and the nearer bound
Of Thessaly, his name I heard renown’d:
Without retinue, to that friendly shore
Welcomed with gifts of price, a sumless store!
His sacrilegious train, who dared to prey
On herds devoted to the god of day,
Were doom’d by Jove, and Phœbus’ just decree,
To perish in the rough Trinacrian sea.
To better fate the blameless chief ordain’d,
A floating fragment of the wreck regain’d,
And rode the storm; till, by the billows toss’d,
He landed on the fair Phæacian coast.
That race who emulate the life of gods,
Receive him joyous to their bless’d abodes;
Large gifts confer, a ready sail command,
To speed his voyage to the Grecian strand.
But your wise lord (in whose capacious soul
High schemes of power in just succession roll)
His Ithaca refused from favouring Fate,
Till copious wealth might guard his regal state.
Phedon the fact affirm’d, whose sovereign sway
Thesprotian tribes, a duteous race, obey;
And bade the gods this added truth attest
(While pure libations crown’d the genial feast),
That anchor’d in his port the vessels stand,
To waft the hero to his natal land.
I for Dulichium urge the watery way,
But first the Ulyssean wealth survey:
So rich the value of a store so vast
Demands the pomp of centuries to waste!
The darling object of your royal love
Was journey’d thence to Dodonean Jove;
By the sure precept of the sylvan shrine,
To form the conduct of his great design;
Irresolute of soul, his state to shroud
In dark disguise, or come, a king avow’d!
Thus lives your lord; nor longer doom’d to roam;
Soon will he grace this dear paternal dome.
By Jove, the source of good, supreme in power!
By the bless’d genius of this friendly bower!
I ratify my speech, before the sun
His annual longitude of heaven shall run;
When the pale empress of yon starry train
In the next month renews her faded wane,
Ulysses will assert his rightful reign.”

“What thanks! what boon! (replied the queen), are due,
When time shall prove the storied blessing true!
My lord’s return should fate no more retard,
Envy shall sicken at thy vast reward.
But my prophetic fears, alas! presage
The wounds of Destiny’s relentless rage.
I long must weep, nor will Ulysses come,
With royal gifts to send you honour’d home!—
Your other task, ye menial train forbear:
Now wash the stranger, and the bed prepare:
With splendid palls the downy fleece adorn:
Uprising early with the purple morn.
His sinews, shrunk with age, and stiff with toil,
In the warm bath foment with fragrant oil.
Then with Telemachus the social feast
Partaking free, my soul invited guest;
Whoe’er neglects to pay distinction due,
The breach of hospitable right may rue.
The vulgar of my sex I most exceed
In real fame, when most humane my deed;
And vainly to the praise of queen aspire,
If, stranger! I permit that mean attire
Beneath the feastful bower. A narrow space
Confines the circle of our destin’d race;
’Tis ours with good the scanty round to grace.
Those who to cruel wrong their state abuse,
Dreaded in life the mutter’d curse pursues;
By death disrobed of all their savage powers,
Then, licensed rage her hateful prey devours.
But he whose inborn worth his acts commend,
Of gentle soul, to human race a friend;
The wretched he relieves diffuse his fame,
And distant tongues extol the patron-name.”

“Princess? (he cried) in vain your bounties flow
On me, confirm’d and obstinate in woe.
When my loved Crete received my final view,
And from my weeping eyes her cliffs withdrew;
These tatter’d weeds (my decent robes resign’d)
I chose, the livery of a woful mind!
Nor will my heart-corroding care abate
With splendid palls, and canopies of state:
Low-couch’d on earth, the gift of sleep I scorn,
And catch the glances of the waking morn.
The delicacy of your courtly train
To wash a wretched wanderer would disdain;
But if, in tract of long experience tried,
And sad similitude of woes allied,
Some wretch reluctant views aërial light,
To her mean hand assign the friendly rite.”

Pleased with his wise reply, the queen rejoin’d:
“Such gentle manners, and so sage a mind,
In all who graced this hospitable bower
I ne’er discerned, before this social hour.
Such servant as your humble choice requires,
To light received the lord of my desires,
New from the birth; and with a mother’s hand
His tender bloom to manly growth sustain’d:
Of matchless prudence, and a duteous mind;
Though now to life’s extremest verge declined,
Of strength superior to the toil design’d—
Rise, Euryclea! with officious care
For the poor friend the cleansing bath prepare:
This debt his correspondent fortunes claim,
Too like Ulysses, and perhaps the same!
Thus old with woes my fancy paints him now!
For age untimely marks the careful brow.”

Instant, obsequious to the mild command,
Sad Euryclea rose: with trembling hand
She veils the torrent of her tearful eyes;
And thus impassion’d to herself replies:

“Son of my love, and monarch of my cares,
What pangs for thee this wretched bosom bears!
Are thus by Jove who constant beg his aid
With pious deed, and pure devotion, paid?
He never dared defraud the sacred fane
Of perfect hecatombs in order slain:
There oft implored his tutelary power,
Long to protract the sad sepulchral hour;
That, form’d for empire with paternal care,
His realm might recognize an equal heir.
O destined head! The pious vows are lost;
His God forgets him on a foreign coast!—
Perhaps, like thee, poor guest! in wanton pride
The rich insult him, and the young deride!
Conscious of worth reviled, thy generous mind
The friendly rite of purity declined;
My will concurring with my queen’s command,
Accept the bath from this obsequious hand.
A strong emotion shakes my anguish’d breast:
In thy whole form Ulysses seems express’d;
Of all the wretched harboured on our coast,
None imaged e’er like thee my master lost.”

Thus half-discover’d through the dark disguise,
With cool composure feign’d, the chief replies:
“You join your suffrage to the public vote;
The same you think have all beholders thought.”

He said: replenish’d from the purest springs,
The laver straight with busy care she brings:
In the deep vase, that shone like burnish’d gold,
The boiling fluid temperates the cold.
Meantime revolving in his thoughtful mind
The scar, with which his manly knee was sign’d;
His face averting from the crackling blaze,
His shoulders intercept the unfriendly rays:
Thus cautious in the obscure he hoped to fly
The curious search of Euryclea’s eye.
Cautious in vain! nor ceased the dame to find
This scar with which his manly knee was sign’d.