The Odyssey. Homer

the purple vest;

       The purple vest with decent care disposed,

       The silver ring she pull'd, the door reclosed,

       The bolt, obedient to the silken cord,

       To the strong staple's inmost depth restored,

       Secured the valves. There, wrapped in silent shade,

       Pensive, the rules the goddess gave he weigh'd;

       Stretch'd on the downy fleece, no rest he knows,

       And in his raptured soul the vision glows.

BOOK II.—THE COUNCIL OF ITHACA.

       Table of Contents

      Telemachus in the assembly of the lords of Ithaca complains of the injustice done him by the suitors, and insists upon their departure from his palace; appealing to the princes, and exciting the people to declare against them. The suitors endeavour to justify their stay, at least till he shall send the queen to the court of Icarius her father; which he refuses. There appears a prodigy of two eagles in the sky, which an augur expounds to the ruin of the suitors. Telemachus then demands a vessel to carry him to Pylos and Sparta, there to inquire of his father's fortunes. Pallas, in the shape of Mentor (an ancient friend of Ulysses), helps him to a ship, assists him in preparing necessaries for the voyage, and embarks with him that night; which concludes the second day from the opening of the poem. The scene continues in the palace of Ulysses, in Ithaca.

      Now reddening from the dawn, the morning ray

       Glow'd in the front of heaven, and gave the day

       The youthful hero, with returning light,

       Rose anxious from the inquietudes of night.

       A royal robe he wore with graceful pride,

       A two-edged falchion threaten'd by his side,

       Embroider'd sandals glitter'd as he trod,

       And forth he moved, majestic as a god.

       Then by his heralds, restless of delay,

       To council calls the peers: the peers obey.

       Soon as in solemn form the assembly sate,

       From his high dome himself descends in state.

       Bright in his hand a ponderous javelin shined;

       Two dogs, a faithful guard, attend behind;

       Pallas with grace divine his form improves,

       And gazing crowds admire him as he moves,

       His father's throne he fill'd; while distant stood

       The hoary peers, and aged wisdom bow'd.

       'Twas silence all. At last AEgyptius spoke;

       AEgyptius, by his age and sorrow broke;

       A length of days his soul with prudence crown'd,

       A length of days had bent him to the ground.

       His eldest hope in arms to Ilion came,

       By great Ulysses taught the path to fame;

       But (hapless youth) the hideous Cyclops tore

       His quivering limbs, and quaff'd his spouting gore.

       Three sons remain'd; to climb with haughty fires

       The royal bed, Eurynomus aspires;

       The rest with duteous love his griefs assuage,

       And ease the sire of half the cares of age.

       Yet still his Antiphus he loves, he mourns,

       And, as he stood, he spoke and wept by turns,

       "Since great Ulysses sought the Phrygian plains,

       Within these walls inglorious silence reigns.

       Say then, ye peers! by whose commands we meet?

       Why here once more in solemn council sit?

       Ye young, ye old, the weighty cause disclose:

       Arrives some message of invading foes?

       Or say, does high necessity of state

       Inspire some patriot, and demand debate?

       The present synod speaks its author wise;

       Assist him, Jove, thou regent of the skies!"

       He spoke. Telemachus with transport glows,

       Embraced the omen, and majestic rose

       (His royal hand the imperial sceptre sway'd);

       Then thus, addressing to AEgyptius, said:

       "Reverend old man! lo here confess'd he stands

       By whom ye meet; my grief your care demands.

       No story I unfold of public woes,

       Nor bear advices of impending foes:

       Peace the blest land, and joys incessant crown:

       Of all this happy realm, I grieve alone.

       For my lost sire continual sorrows spring,

       The great, the good; your father and your king.

       Yet more; our house from its foundation bows,

       Our foes are powerful, and your sons the foes;

       Hither, unwelcome to the queen, they come;

       Why seek they not the rich Icarian dome?

       If she must wed, from other hands require

       The dowry: is Telemachus her sire?

       Yet through my court the noise of revel rings,

       And waste the wise frugality of kings.

       Scarce all my herds their luxury suffice;

       Scarce all my wine their midnight hours supplies.

       Safe in my youth, in riot still they grow,

       Nor in the helpless orphan dread a foe.

       But come it will, the time when manhood grants

       More powerful advocates than vain complaints.

       Approach that hour! insufferable wrong

       Cries to the gods, and vengeance sleeps too long.

       Rise then, ye peers! with virtuous anger rise;

       Your fame revere, but most the avenging skies.

       By all the deathless powers that reign above,

       By righteous Themis and by thundering Jove

       (Themis, who gives to councils, or denies

       Success; and humbles, or confirms the wise),

       Rise in my aid! suffice the tears that flow

       For my lost sire, nor add new woe to woe.

       If e'er he bore the sword to strengthen ill,

       Or, having power to wrong, betray'd the will,

       On me, on me your kindled wrath assuage,

       And bid the voice of lawless riot rage.

       If ruin to your royal race ye doom,

       Be you the spoilers, and our wealth consume.

       Then might we hope redress from juster laws,

       And raise all Ithaca to aid our cause:

       But while your sons commit the unpunish'd wrong,

       You make the arm of violence too strong."

       While thus he spoke, with rage and grief he frown'd,

       And dash'd the imperial sceptre to the ground.

       The big round tear hung trembling in his eye: