The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems. Homer

and then himself afloat

       ‭ Swum on the rough waves of the world’s vast mote,

       ‭ Till having drunk a salt cup for his sin,

       ‭ There perish’d he. Thy brother yet did win

       ‭ The wreath from death, while in the waves they strove,

       ‭ Afflicted by the rev’rend wife of Jove.

       ‭ But when the steep mount of the Malian shore

       ‭ He seem’d to reach, a most tempestuous blore,

       ‭ Far to the fishy world that sighs so sore,

       ‭ Straight ravish’d him again as far away,

       ‭ As to th’ extreme bounds where the Agrians stay,

       ‭ Where first Thyestes dwelt, but then his son

       ‭ Ægisthus Thyestiades liv’d. This done,

       ‭ When his return untouch’d appear’d again,

       ‭ Back turn’d the Gods the wind, and set him then

       ‭ Hard by his house. Then, full of joy, he left

       ‭ His ship, and close t’ his country earth he cleft,

       ‭ Kiss’d it, and wept for joy, pour’d tear on tear,

       ‭ To set so wishedly his footing there.

       ‭ But see, a sentinel that all the year

       ‭ Crafty Ægisthus in a watchtow’r set

       ‭ To spy his landing, for reward as great

       ‭ As two gold talents, all his pow’rs did call

       ‭ To strict remembrance of his charge, and all

       ‭ Discharg’d at first sight, which at first he cast

       ‭ On Agamemnon, and with all his haste

       ‭ Inform’d Ægisthus. He an instant train

       ‭ Laid for his slaughter: Twenty chosen men

       ‭ Of his plebeians he in ambush laid;

       ‭ His other men he charg’d to see purvey’d

       ‭ A feast; and forth, with horse and chariots grac’d,

       ‭ He rode t’ invite him, but in heart embrac’d

       ‭ Horrible welcomes, and to death did bring,

       ‭ With treach’rous slaughter, the unwary king,

       ‭ Receiv’d him at a feast, and, like an ox

       ‭ Slain at his manger, gave him bits and knocks.

       ‭ No one left of Atrides’ train, nor one

       ‭ Sav’d to Ægisthus, but himself alone,

       ‭ All strew’d together there the bloody court.’

       ‭ This said, my soul he sunk with his report,

       ‭ Flat on the sands I fell, tears spent their store,

       ‭ I light abhorr’d, my heart would live no more.

       ‭ When dry of tears, and tir’d of tumbling there,

       ‭ Th’ old Tell-truth thus my daunted spirits did cheer:

       ‭ ‘No more spend tears nor time, O Atreus’ son,

       ‭ With ceaseless weeping never wish was won,

       ‭ Use uttermost assay to reach thy home,

       ‭ And all unwares upon the murderer come,

       ‭ For torture, taking him thyself alive;

       ‭ Or let Orestes, that should far out-strive

       ‭ Thee in fit vengeance, quickly quit the light

       ‭ Of such a dark soul, and do thou the rite

       ‭ Of burial to him with a funeral feast.’

       ‭ With these last words I fortified my breast,

       ‭ In which again a gen’rous spring began

       ‭ Of fitting comfort, as I was a man;

       ‭ But, as a brother, I must ever mourn.

       ‭ Yet forth I went, and told him the return

       ‭ Of these I knew; but he had nam’d a third,

       ‭ Held on the broad sea, still with life inspir’d,

       ‭ Whom I besought to know, though likewise dead,

       ‭ And I must mourn alike. He answeréd:

       ‭ ‘He is Laertes’ son; whom I beheld

       ‭ In nymph Calypso’s palace, who compell’d

       ‭ His stay with her, and, since he could not see

       ‭ His country earth, he mourn’d incessantly.

       ‭ For he had neither ship instruct with oars,

       ‭ Nor men to fetch him from those stranger shores.

       ‭ Where leave we him, and to thy self descend,

       ‭ Whom not in Argos Fate nor Death shall end,

       ‭ But the immortal ends of all the earth,

       ‭ So rul’d by them that order death by birth,

       ‭ The fields Elysian, Fate to thee will give;

       ‭ Where Rhadamanthus rules, and where men live

       ‭ A never-troubled life, where snow, nor show’rs,

       ‭ Nor irksome Winter spends his fruitless pow’rs,

       ‭ But from the ocean Zephyr still resumes

       ‭ A constant breath, that all the fields perfumes.

       ‭ Which, since thou marriedst Helen, are thy hire,

       ‭ And Jove himself is by her side thy sire.’

       ‭ This said; he div’d the deepsome wat’ry heaps;

       ‭ I and my tried men took us to our ships,

       ‭ And worlds of thoughts I varied with my steps.

       ‭ Arriv’d and shipp’d, the silent solemn night

       ‭ And sleep bereft us of our visual light.

       ‭ At morn, masts, sails, rear’d, we sat, left the shores,

       ‭ And beat the foamy ocean with our oars.

       ‭ Again then we the Jove-fall’n flood did fetch,

       ‭ As far as Ægypt; where we did beseech

       ‭ The Gods with hecatombs; whose angers ceast,

       ‭ I tomb’d my brother that I might be blest.

       ‭ All rites perform’d, all haste I made for home,

       ‭ And all the prosp’rous winds about were come,

       ‭ I had the passport now of ev’ry God,

       ‭ And here clos’d all these labours’ period.

       ‭ Here stay then till th’ eleventh or twelfth day’s light,

       ‭ And I’ll dismiss thee well, gifts exquisite

       ‭ Preparing for thee, chariot, horses three,

       ‭ A cup of curious frame to serve for thee

       ‭ To serve th’ immortal Gods with sacrifice,

       ‭ Mindful of me while all suns light thy skies.”

       ‭ He answer’d: “Stay me not too long time here,

       ‭ Though I could sit attending all the year.

       ‭ Nor should my house, nor parents, with desire,

       ‭ Take my affections from you, so on fire