ARGUMENT.
THE ARRIVAL OF ULYSSES IN ITHACA.
Ulysses takes his leave of Alcinous and Arete, and embarks in the evening. Next morning the ship arrives at Ithaca; where the sailors, as Ulysses is yet sleeping, lay him on the shore with all his treasures. On their return, Neptune changes their ship into a rock. In the meantime Ulysses, awaking, knows not his native Ithaca, by reason of a mist which Pallas had cast around him. He breaks into loud lamentations; till the goddess appearing to him in the form of a shepherd, discovers the country to him, and points out the particular places. He then tells a feigned story of his adventures, upon which she manifests herself, and they consult together of the measures to be taken to destroy the suitors. To conceal his return, and disguise his person the more effectually, she changes him into the figure of an old beggar.
He ceased; but left so pleasing on their ear His voice, that listening still they seem'd to hear. A pause of silence hush'd the shady rooms: The grateful conference then the king resumes:
"Whatever toils the great Ulysses pass'd, Beneath this happy roof they end at last; No longer now from shore to shore to roam, Smooth seas and gentle winds invite him home. But hear me, princes! whom these walls inclose, For whom my chanter sings: and goblet flows With wine unmix'd (an honour due to age, To cheer the grave, and warm the poet's rage); Though labour'd gold and many a dazzling vest Lie heap'd already for our godlike guest; Without new treasures let him not remove, Large, and expressive of the public love: Each peer a tripod, each a vase bestow, A general tribute, which the state shall owe."
This sentence pleased: then all their steps address'd To separate mansions, and retired to rest.
Now did the rosy-finger'd morn arise, And shed her sacred light along the skies. Down to the haven and the ships in haste They bore the treasures, and in safety placed. The king himself the vases ranged with care; Then bade his followers to the feast prepare. A victim ox beneath the sacred hand Of great Alcinous falls, and stains the sand. To Jove the Eternal (power above all powers! Who wings the winds, and darkens heaven with showers) The flames ascend: till evening they prolong The rites, more sacred made by heavenly song; For in the midst, with public honours graced, Thy lyre divine, Demodocus! was placed. All, but Ulysses, heard with fix'd delight; He sate, and eyed the sun, and wish'd the night; Slow seem'd the sun to move, the hours to roll, His native home deep-imaged in his soul. As the tired ploughman, spent with stubborn toil, Whose oxen long have torn the furrow'd soil, Sees with delight the sun's declining ray, When home with feeble knees he bends his way To late repast (the day's hard labour done); So to Ulysses welcome set the sun; Then instant to Alcinous and the rest (The Scherian states) he turn'd, and thus address'd:
"O thou, the first in merit and command! And you the peers and princes of the land! May every joy be yours! nor this the least, When due libation shall have crown'd the feast, Safe to my home to send your happy guest. Complete are now the bounties you have given, Be all those bounties but confirm'd by Heaven! So may I find, when all my wanderings cease, My consort blameless, and my friends in peace. On you be every bliss; and every day, In home-felt joys, delighted roll away; Yourselves, your wives, your long-descending race, May every god enrich with every grace! Sure fix'd on virtue may your nation stand, And public evil never touch the land!"
His words well weigh'd, the general voice approved Benign, and instant his dismission moved, The monarch to Pontonus gave the sign. To fill the goblet high with rosy wine; "Great Jove the Father first (he cried) implore;' Then send the stranger to his native shore."
The luscious wine the obedient herald brought; Around the mansion flow'd the purple draught; Each from his seat to each immortal pours, Whom glory circles in the Olympian bowers Ulysses sole with air majestic stands, The bowl presenting to Arete's hands; Then thus: "O queen, farewell! be still possess'd Of dear remembrance, blessing still and bless'd! Till age and death shall gently call thee hence, (Sure fate of every mortal excellence!) Farewell! and joys successive ever spring To thee, to thine, the people, and the king!"
Thus he: then parting prints the sandy shore To the fair port: a herald march'd before, Sent by Alcinous; of Arete's train Three chosen maids attend him to the main; This does a tunic and white vest convey, A various casket that, of rich inlay, And bread and wine the third. The cheerful mates Safe in the hollow poop dispose the cates; Upon the deck soft painted robes they spread With linen cover'd, for the hero's bed. He climbed the lofty stern; then gently press'd The swelling couch, and lay composed to rest.
Now placed in order, the Phaeacian train Their cables loose, and launch into the main; At once they bend, and strike their equal oars, And leave the sinking hills and lessening shores. While on the deck the chief in silence lies, And pleasing slumbers steal upon his eyes. As fiery coursers in the rapid race Urged by fierce drivers through the dusty space, Toss their high heads, and scour along the plain, So mounts the bounding vessel o'er the main. Back to the stern the parted billows flow, And the black ocean foams and roars below.
Thus with spread sails the winged galley flies; Less swift an eagle cuts the liquid skies; Divine Ulysses was her sacred load, A man, in wisdom equal to a god! Much danger, long and mighty toils he bore, In storms by sea, and combats on the shore; All which soft sleep now banish'd from his breast, Wrapp'd in a pleasing, deep, and death-like rest.
But when the morning-star with early ray Flamed in the front of heaven, and promised day; Like distant clouds the mariner descries Fair Ithaca's emerging hills arise. Far from the town a spacious port appears, Sacred to Phorcys' power, whose name it bears; Two craggy rocks projecting to the main, The roaring wind's tempestuous rage restrain; Within the waves in softer murmurs glide, And ships secure without their halsers ride. High at the head a branching olive grows, And crowns the pointed cliffs with shady boughs. Beneath, a gloomy grotto's cool recess Delights the Nereids of the neighbouring seas, Where bowls and urns were form'd of living stone, And massy beams in native marble shone, On which the labours of the nymphs were roll'd, Their webs divine of purple mix'd with gold. Within the cave the clustering bees attend Their waxen works, or from the roof depend. Perpetual waters o'er the pavement glide; Two marble doors unfold on either side; Sacred the south, by which the gods descend; But mortals enter at the northern end. Thither they bent, and haul'd their ship to land (The crooked keel divides the yellow sand). Ulysses sleeping on his couch they bore, And gently placed him on the rocky shore. His treasures next, Alcinous' gifts, they laid In the wild olive's unfrequented shade, Secure from theft; then launch'd the bark again, Resumed their oars, and measured back the main, Nor yet forgot old Ocean's dread supreme, The vengeance vow'd for eyeless Polypheme. Before the throne of mighty Jove lie stood, And sought the secret counsels of the god.
"Shall then no more, O sire of gods! be mine The rights and honours of a power divine? Scorn'd e'en by man, and (oh severe disgrace!) By soft Phaeacians, my degenerate race! Against yon destined head in vain I swore, And menaced vengeance, ere he reach'd his shore; To reach his natal shore was thy decree; Mild I obey'd, for who shall war with thee? Behold him landed, careless and asleep, From all the eluded dangers of the deep; Lo where he lies, amidst a shining store Of brass, rich garments, and refulgent ore; And bears triumphant to his native isle A prize more worth than Ilion's noble spoil."
To whom the Father of the immortal powers, Who swells the clouds, and gladdens earth with showers, "Can mighty Neptune thus of man complain? Neptune, tremendous o'er the boundless main! Revered and awful e'en in heaven's abodes, Ancient and great! a god above the gods! If that low race offend thy power divine (Weak, daring creatures!) is not vengeance thine? Go, then, the guilty at thy will chastise." He said. The shaker of the earth replies:
"This then, I doom: to fix the gallant ship, A mark of vengeance on the sable deep; To warn the thoughtless, self-confiding train, No more unlicensed thus to brave the main. Full in their port a Shady hill shall rise, If such thy will."--" We will it (Jove replies). E'en when with transport blackening all the strand, The swarming people hail their ship to land, Fix her for ever, a memorial stone: Still let her seem to sail, and seem alone. The trembling crowds shall see the sudden shade Of whelming mountains overhang their head!"
With that the god whose earthquakes rock the ground Fierce to Phaeacia cross'd the vast profound. Swift as a swallow sweeps the liquid way, The winged pinnace shot along the sea. The god arrests her with a sudden stroke, And roots her down an everlasting rock. Aghast the Scherians stand in deep surprise; All press to speak, all question with their eyes. What hands unseen the rapid bark restrain! And yet it swims, or seems to swim, the main! Thus they, unconscious of the deed divine; Till great Alcinous, rising, own'd the sign.
"Behold the long predestined day I (he cries;) O certain faith of ancient prophecies These ears have heard my royal sire disclose A dreadful story, big with future woes; How, moved with wrath, that careless we convey Promiscuous every guest to every bay, Stern Neptune raged; and how by his command Firm rooted in the surge a ship should stand (A monument of wrath); and mound on mound Should hide our walls, or whelm beneath the ground.
"The Fates have follow'd as declared the seer. Be humbled, nations! and your monarch hear. No more unlicensed brave the deeps, no more With every stranger pass from shore to shore; On angry Neptune now for mercy call; To his high name let twelve black oxen fall. So may the god reverse his purposed will, Nor o'er our city hang the dreadful hill."
The monarch spoke: they trembled and obey'd, Forth on the sands the victim oxen led; The gathered tribes before the altars stand, And chiefs and rulers, a majestic band. The king of ocean all the tribes implore; The blazing altars redden all the shore.
Meanwhile Ulysses in his country lay, Released from sleep, and round him might survey The solitary shore and rolling sea. Yet had his mind through tedious absence lost The dear resemblance of his native coast; Besides, Minerva, to secure her care, Diffused around a veil of thickened air; For so the gods ordain'd to keep unseen His royal person from his friends and queen; Till the proud suitors for their crimes afford An ample vengeance to their injured lord.
Now all the land another prospect bore, Another port appear'd, another shore. And long-continued ways, and winding floods, And unknown mountains, crown'd with unknown woods Pensive and slow, with sudden grief oppress'd, The king arose, and beat his careful breast, Cast a long look o'er all the coast and main, And sought, around, his native realm in vain; Then with erected eyes stood fix'd in woe, And as he spoke, the tears began to flow.
"Ye gods (he cried), upon what barren coast, In what new region, is Ulysses toss'd? Possess'd by wild barbarians, fierce in arms? Or men whose bosom tender pity warms? Where shall this treasure now in safely be? And whither, whither its sad owner fly? Ah, why did I Alcinous' grace implore? Ah, why forsake Phaeacia's happy shore? Some juster prince perhaps had entertain'd, And safe restored me to my native land. Is this the promised, long-expected coast, And this the faith Phaeacia's rulers boast? O righteous gods! of all the great, how few Are just to Heaven, and to their promise true! But he, the power to whose all-seeing eyes The deeds of men appear without disguise, 'Tis his alone to avenge the wrongs I bear; For still the oppress'd are his peculiar care. To count these presents, and from thence to prove, Their faith is mine; the rest belongs to Jove."
Then on the sands he ranged his wealthy store, The gold, the vests, the tripods number'd o'er: All these he found, but still in error lost, Disconsolate he wanders on the coast, Sighs for his country, and laments again To the deaf rocks, and hoarse-resounding main. When lo! the guardian goddess of the wise, Celestial Pallas, stood before his eyes; In show a youthful swain, of form divine, Who seem'd descended from some princely line. A graceful robe her slender body dress'd; Around her shoulders flew the waving vest; Her decent hand a shining javelin bore, And painted sandals on her feet she wore. To whom the king: "Whoe'er of human race Thou art, that wanderest in this desert place, With joy to thee, as to some god I bend, To thee my treasures and myself commend. O tell a wretch in exile doom'd to stray, What air I breathe, what country I survey? The fruitful continent's extremest bound, Or some fair isle which Neptune's arms surround?