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

Earth-shaker did not kill

       ‭ Erring Ulysses, but reserves him still

       ‭ In life for more death. But use we our pow’rs,

       ‭ And round about us cast these cares of ours,

       ‭ All to discover how we may prefer

       ‭ His wish’d retreat, and Neptune make forbear

       ‭ His stern eye to him, since no one God can,

       ‭ In spite of all, prevail, but ’gainst a man.”

       ‭ To this, this answer made the grey-eyed Maid:

       ‭ “Supreme of rulers, since so well apaid

       ‭ The blesséd Gods are all then, now, in thee,

       ‭ To limit wise Ulysses’ misery,

       ‭ And that you speak as you referr’d to me

       ‭ Prescription for the means, in this sort be

       ‭ Their sacred order: Let us now address

       ‭ With utmost speed our swift Argicides,

       ‭ To tell the nymph that bears the golden tress

       ‭ In th’ isle Ogygia, that ’tis our will

       ‭ She should not stay our lov’d Ulysses still,

       ‭ But suffer his return; and then will I

       ‭ To Ithaca, to make his son apply

       ‭ His sire’s inquest the more; infusing force

       ‭ Into his soul, to summon the concourse

       ‭ Of curl’d-head Greeks to council, and deter

       ‭ Each wooer, that hath been the slaughterer

       ‭ Of his fat sheep and crooked-headed beeves.

       ‭ From more wrong to his mother, and their leaves

       ‭ Take in such terms as fit deserts so great.

       ‭ To Sparta then, and Pylos, where doth beat

       ‭ Bright Amathus, the flood, and epithet

       ‭ To all that kingdom, my advice shall send

       ‭ The spirit-advanc’d Prince, to the pious end

       ‭ Of seeking his lost father, if he may

       ‭ Receive report from Fame where rests his stay;

       ‭ And make, besides, his own successive worth

       ‭ Known to the world, and set in action forth.”

       ‭ This said, her wing’d shoes to her feet she tied,

       ‭ Form’d all of gold, and all eternified,

       ‭ That on the round earth or the sea sustain’d

       ‭ Her ravish’d substance swift as gusts of wind.

       ‭ Then took she her strong lance with steel made keen,

       ‭ Great, massy, active, that whole hosts of men,

       ‭ Though all heroës, conquers, if her ire

       ‭ Their wrongs inflame, back’d by so great a Sire.

       ‭ Down from Olympus’ tops she headlong div’d,

       ‭ And swift as thought in Ithaca arriv’d,

       ‭ Close at Ulysses’ gates; in whose first court

       ‭ She made her stand, and, for her breast’s support,

       ‭ Lean’d on her iron lance; her form imprest

       ‭ With Mentas’ likeness, come as being a guest.

       ‭ There found she those proud wooers, that were then

       ‭ Set on those ox-hides that themselves had slain,

       ‭ Before the gates, and all at dice were playing.

       ‭ To them the heralds, and the rest obeying,

       ‭ Fill’d wine and water; some, still as they play’d,

       ‭ And some, for solemn supper’s state, purvey’d,

       ‭ With porous sponges cleansing tables, serv’d

       ‭ With much rich feast; of which to all they kerv’d.

       ‭ God-like Telemachus amongst them sat,

       ‭ Griev’d much in mind; and in his heart begat

       ‭ All representment of his absent sire,

       ‭ How, come from far-off parts, his spirits would fire

       ‭ With those proud wooers’ sight, with slaughter parting

       ‭ Their bold concourse, and to himself converting

       ‭ The honours they usurp’d, his own commanding.

       ‭ In this discourse, he first saw Pallas standing,

       ‭ Unbidden entry; up rose, and addrest

       ‭ His pace right to her, angry that a guest

       ‭ Should stand so long at gate; and, coming near,

       ‭ Her right hand took, took in his own her spear,

       ‭ And thus saluted: “Grace to your repair,

       ‭ Fair guest, your welcome shall be likewise fair.

       ‭ Enter, and, cheer’d with feast, disclose th’ intent

       ‭ That caus’d your coming.” This said, first he went,

       ‭ And Pallas follow’d. To a room they came,

       ‭ Steep, and of state; the jav’lin of the Dame

       ‭ He set against a pillar vast and high,

       ‭ Amidst a large and bright-kept armory,

       ‭ Which was, besides, with woods of lances grac’d

       ‭ Of his grave father’s. In a throne he plac’d

       ‭ The man-turn’d Goddess, under which was spread

       ‭ A carpet, rich and of deviceful thread;

       ‭ A footstool staying her feet; and by her chair

       ‭ Another seat (all garnish’d wondrous fair,

       ‭ To rest or sleep on in the day) he set,

       ‭ Far from the prease of wooers, lest at meat

       ‭ The noise they still made might offend his guest,

       ‭ Disturbing him at banquet or at rest,

       ‭ Ev’n to his combat with that pride of theirs,

       ‭ That kept no noble form in their affairs.

       ‭ And these he set far from them, much the rather

       ‭ To question freely of his absent father.

       ‭ A table fairly-polish’d then was spread,

       ‭ On which a rev’rend officer set bread,

       ‭ And other servitors all sorts of meat

       ‭ (Salads, and flesh, such as their haste could get)

       ‭ Serv’d with observance in. And then the sewer

       ‭ Pour’d water from a great and golden ewer,

       ‭ That from their hands t’ a silver caldron ran.

       ‭ Both wash’d, and seated close, the voiceful man

       ‭ Fetch’d cups of gold, and set by them, and round

       ‭ Those cups with wine with all endeavour crown’d.

       ‭ Then rush’d in the rude wooers, themselves plac’d;

       ‭ The heralds water gave; the maids in haste

       ‭ Serv’d bread from baskets. When, of all prepar’d