"O thou! that dost thy happy course prepare With pure libations and with solemn prayer: By that dread power to whom thy vows are paid; By all the lives of these; thy own dear head, Declare sincerely to no foe's demand Thy name, thy lineage, and paternal land."
"Prepare, then (said Telemachus), to know A tale from falsehood free, not free from woe. From Ithaca, of royal birth I came, And great Ulysses (ever honour'd name!) Once was my sire, though now, for ever lost, In Stygian gloom he glides a pensive ghost! Whose fate inquiring through the world we rove; The last, the wretched proof of filial love."
The stranger then: "Nor shall I aught conceal, But the dire secret of my fate reveal. Of my own tribe an Argive wretch I slew; Whose powerful friends the luckless deed pursue With unrelenting rage, and force from home The blood-stain'd exile, ever doom'd to roam. But bear, oh bear me o'er yon azure flood; Receive the suppliant! spare my destined blood!"
"Stranger (replied the prince) securely rest Affianced in our faith; henceforth our guest." Thus affable, Ulysses' godlike heir Takes from the stranger's hand the glittering spear: He climbs the ship, ascends the stern with haste And by his side the guest accepted placed. The chief his order gives: the obedient band, With due observance wait the chief's command: With speed the mast they rear, with speed unbind The spacious sheet, and stretch it to the wind. Minerva calls; the ready gales obey With rapid speed to whirl them o'er the sea. Crunus they pass'd, next Chalcis roll'd away, With thickening darkness closed the doubtful day; The silver Phaea's glittering rills they lost, And skimm'd along by Elis' sacred coast. Then cautious through the rocky reaches wind, And turning sudden, shun the death design'd.
Meantime, the king, Eumaeus, and the rest, Sate in the cottage, at their rural feast: The banquet pass'd, and satiate every man, To try his host, Ulysses thus began:
"Yet one night more, my friends, indulge your guest; The last I purpose in your walls to rest: To-morrow for myself I must provide, And only ask your counsel, and a guide; Patient to roam the street, by hunger led, And bless the friendly hand that gives me bread. There in Ulysses' roof I may relate Ulysses' wanderings to his royal mate; Or, mingling with the suitors' haughty train, Not undeserving some support obtain. Hermes to me his various gifts imparts. Patron of industry and manual arts: Few can with me in dexterous works contend, The pyre to build, the stubborn oak to rend; To turn the tasteful viand o'er the flame; Or foam the goblet with a purple stream. Such are the tasks of men of mean estate, Whom fortune dooms to serve the rich and great."
"Alas! (Eumaeus with a sigh rejoin'd). How sprung a thought so monstrous in thy mind? If on that godless race thou would'st attend, Fate owes thee sure a miserable end! Their wrongs and blasphemies ascend the sky, And pull descending vengeance from on high. Not such, my friend, the servants of their feast: A blooming train in rich embroidery dress'd, With earth's whole tribute the bright table bends, And smiling round celestial youth attends. Stay, then: no eye askance beholds thee here; Sweet is thy converse to each social ear; Well pleased, and pleasing, in our cottage rest, Till good Telemachus accepts his guest With genial gifts, and change of fair attires, And safe conveys thee where thy soul desires."
To him the man of woes; "O gracious Jove! Reward this stranger's hospitable love! Who knows the son of sorrow to relieve, Cheers the sad heart, nor lets affliction grieve. Of all the ills unhappy mortals know, A life of wanderings is the greatest woe; On all their weary ways wait care and pain, And pine and penury, a meagre train. To such a man since harbour you afford, Relate the farther fortunes of your lord; What cares his mother's tender breast engage, And sire forsaken on the verge of age; Beneath the sun prolong they yet their breath, Or range the house of darkness and of death?"
To whom the swain: "Attend what you enquire; Laertes lives, the miserable sire, Lives, but implores of every power to lay The burden down, and wishes for the day. Torn from his offspring in the eve of life, Torn from the embraces of his tender wife, Sole, and all comfortless, he wastes away Old age, untimely posting ere his day. She too, sad mother! for Ulysses lost Pined out her bloom, and vanish'd to a ghost; (So dire a fate, ye righteous gods! avert From every friendly, every feeling heart!) While yet she was, though clouded o'er with grief. Her pleasing converse minister'd relief: With Climene, her youngest daughter, bred, One roof contain'd us, and one table fed. But when the softly-stealing pace of time Crept on from childhood into youthful prime, To Samos' isle she sent the wedded fair; Me to the fields; to tend the rural care; Array'd in garments her own hands had wove, Nor less the darling object of her love. Her hapless death my brighter days o'ercast, Yet Providence deserts me not at last; My present labours food and drink procure, And more, the pleasure to relieve the poor. Small is the comfort from the queen to hear Unwelcome news, or vex the royal ear; Blank and discountenanced the servants stand, Nor dare to question where the proud command; No profit springs beneath usurping powers; Want feeds not there where luxury devours, Nor harbours charity where riot reigns: Proud are the lords, and wretched are the swains."
The suffering chief at this began to melt; And, "O Eumaeus! thou (he cries) hast felt The spite of fortune too! her cruel hand Snatch'd thee an infant from thy native land! Snatch'd from thy parents' arms, thy parents' eyes, To early wants! a man of miseries! The whole sad story, from its first, declare: Sunk the fair city by the rage of war, Where once thy parents dwelt? or did they keep, In humbler life, the lowing herds and sheep? So left perhaps to tend the fleecy train, Rude pirates seized, and shipp'd thee o'er the main? Doom'd a fair prize to grace some prince's board, The worthy purchase of a foreign lord."
"If then my fortunes can delight my friend, A story fruitful of events attend: Another's sorrow may thy ears enjoy, And wine the lengthen'd intervals employ. Long nights the now declining year bestows; A part we consecrate to soft repose, A part in pleasing talk we entertain; For too much rest itself becomes a pain. Let those, whom sleep invites, the call obey, Their cares resuming with the dawning day: Here let us feast, and to the feast be join'd Discourse, the sweeter banquet of the mind; Review the series of our lives, and taste The melancholy joy of evils pass'd: For he who much has suffer'd, much will know, And pleased remembrance builds delight on woe.
"Above Ortygia lies an isle of fame, Far hence remote, and Syria is the name (There curious eyes inscribed with wonder trace The sun's diurnal, and his annual race); Not large, but fruitful; stored with grass to keep The bellowing oxen and the bleating sheep; Her sloping hills the mantling vines adorn, And her rich valleys wave with golden corn. No want, no famine, the glad natives know, Nor sink by sickness to the shades below; But when a length of years unnerves the strong, Apollo comes, and Cynthia comes along. They bend the silver bow with tender skill, And, void of pain, the silent arrows kill. Two equal tribes this fertile land divide, Where two fair cities rise with equal pride. But both in constant peace one prince obey, And Ctesius there, my father, holds the sway. Freighted, it seems, with toys of every sort, A ship of Sidon anchor'd in our port; What time it chanced the palace entertain'd, Skill'd in rich works, a woman of their land: This nymph, where anchor'd the Phoenician train, To wash her robes descending to the main, A smooth tongued sailor won her to his mind (For love deceives the best of womankind). A sudden trust from sudden liking grew; She told her name, her race, and all she knew, 'I too (she cried) from glorious Sidon came, My father Arybas, of wealthy fame: But, snatch'd by pirates from my native place, The Taphians sold me to this man's embrace.'
"'Haste then (the false designing youth replied), Haste to thy country; love shall be thy guide; Haste to thy father's house, thy father's breast, For still he lives, and lives with riches blest.'
"'Swear first (she cried), ye sailors! to restore A wretch in safety to her native shore.' Swift as she ask'd, the ready sailors swore. She then proceeds: 'Now let our compact made Be nor by signal nor by word betray'd, Nor near me any of your crew descried, By road frequented, or by fountain side. Be silence still our guard. The monarch's spies (For watchful age is ready to surmise) Are still at hand; and this, revealed, must be Death to yourselves, eternal chains to me. Your vessel loaded, and your traffic pass'd, Despatch a wary messenger with haste; Then gold and costly treasures will I bring, And more, the infant offspring of the king. Him, child-like wandering forth, I'll lead away (A noble prize!) and to your ship convey.'
"Thus spoke the dame, and homeward took the road. A year they traffic, and their vessel load. Their stores complete, and ready now to weigh, A spy was sent their summons to convey: An artist to my father's palace came, With gold and amber chains, elaborate frame: Each female eye the glittering links employ; They turn, review, and cheapen every toy. He took the occasion, as they stood intent, Gave her the sign, and to his vessel went. She straight pursued, and seized my willing arm; I follow'd, smiling, innocent of harm. Three golden goblets in the porch she found (The guests not enter'd, but the table crown'd); Hid in her fraudful bosom these she bore: Now set the sun, and darken'd all the shore. Arriving then, where tilting on the tides Prepared to launch the freighted vessel rides, Aboard they heave us, mount their decks, and sweep With level oar along the glassy deep. Six calmy days and six smooth nights we sail, And constant Jove supplied the gentle gale. The seventh, the fraudful wretch (no cause descried), Touch'd by Diana's vengeful arrow, died. Down dropp'd the caitiff-corse, a worthless load, Down to the deep; there roll'd, the future food Of fierce sea-wolves, and monsters of the flood. An helpless infant I remain'd behind; Thence borne to Ithaca by wave and wind; Sold to Laertes by divine command, And now adopted to a foreign land."
To him the king: "Reciting thus thy cares, My secret soul in all thy sorrow shares; But one choice blessing (such is Jove's high will) Has sweeten'd all thy bitter draught of ill: Torn from thy country to no hapless end, The gods have, in a master, given a friend. Whatever frugal nature needs is thine (For she needs little), daily bread and wine. While I, so many wanderings past, and woes, Live but on what thy poverty bestows."
So passed in pleasing dialogue away The night; then down to short repose they lay; Till radiant rose the messenger of day. While in the port of Ithaca, the band Of young Telemachus approach'd the land; Their sails they loosed, they lash'd the mast aside, And cast their anchors, and the cables tied: Then on the breezy shore, descending, join In grateful banquet o'er the rosy wine. When thus the prince: "Now each his course pursue; I to the fields, and to the city you. Long absent hence, I dedicate this day My swains to visit, and the works survey. Expect me with the morn, to pay the skies Our debt of safe return in feast and sacrifice."
Then Theoclymenus: "But who shall lend, Meantime, protection to thy stranger friend? Straight to the queen and palace shall I fly, Or yet more distant, to some lord apply?"
The prince return'd: "Renown'd in days of yore Has stood our father's hospitable door; No other roof a stranger should receive, No other hands than ours the welcome give. But in my absence riot fills the place, Nor bears the modest queen a stranger's face; From noiseful revel far remote she flies, But rarely seen, or seen with weeping eyes. No--let Eurymachus receive my guest, Of nature courteous, and by far the best; He woos the queen with more respectful flame, And emulates her former husband's fame, With what success, 'tis Jove's alone to know, And the hoped nuptials turn to joy or woe."
Thus speaking, on the right up-soar'd in air The hawk, Apollo's swift-wing'd messenger: His dreadful pounces tore a trembling dove; The clotted feathers, scatter'd from above, Between the hero and the vessel pour Thick plumage mingled with a sanguine shower.
The observing augur took the prince aside, Seized by the hand, and thus prophetic cried: "Yon bird, that dexter cuts the aerial road, Rose ominous, nor flies without a god: No race but thine shall Ithaca obey, To thine, for ages, Heaven decrees the sway."
"Succeed the omens, gods! (the youth rejoin'd:) Soon shall my bounties speak a grateful mind, And soon each envied happiness attend The man who calls Telemachus his friend." Then to Peiraeus: "Thou whom time has proved A faithful servant, by thy prince beloved! Till we returning shall our guest demand, Accept this charge with honour, at our hand."
To this Peiraeus: "Joyful I obey, Well pleased the hospitable rites to pay. The presence of thy guest shall best reward (If long thy stay) the absence of my lord."
With that, their anchors he commands to weigh, Mount the tall bark, and launch into the sea. All with obedient haste forsake the shores, And, placed in order, spread their equal oars. Then from the deck the prince his sandals takes; Poised in his hand the pointed javelin shakes. They part; while, lessening from the hero's view Swift to the town the well-row'd galley flew: The hero trod the margin of the main, And reach'd the mansion of his faithful swain.