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

hungers and their thirsts allay’d,

       ‭ They call’d for songs and dances; those, they said,

       ‭ Were th’ ornaments of feast. The herald straight

       ‭ A harp, carv’d full of artificial sleight,

       ‭ Thrust into Phemius’, a learn’d singer’s, hand,

       ‭ Who, till he much was urg’d, on terms did stand,

       ‭ But, after, play’d and sung with all his art.

       ‭ Telemachus to Pallas then (apart,

       ‭ His ear inclining close, that none might hear)

       ‭ In this sort said: “My guest, exceeding dear,

       ‭ Will you not sit incens’d with what I say?

       ‭ These are the cares these men take; feast and play.

       ‭ Which eas’ly they may use, because they eat,

       ‭ Free and unpunish’d, of another’s meat;

       ‭ And of a man’s, whose white bones wasting lie

       ‭ In some far region; with th’ incessancy

       ‭ Of show’rs pour’d down upon them, lying ashore,

       ‭ Or in the seas wash’d nak’d. Who, if he wore

       ‭ Those bones with flesh and life and industry,

       ‭ And these might here in Ithaca set eye

       ‭ On him return’d, they all would wish to be

       ‭ Either past other in celerity

       ‭ Of feet and knees, and not contend t’ exceed

       ‭ In golden garments. But his virtues feed

       ‭ The fate of ill death; nor is left to me

       ‭ The least hope of his life’s recovery,

       ‭ No, not if any of the mortal race

       ‭ Should tell me his return; the cheerful face

       ‭ Of his return’d day never will appear.

       ‭ But tell me, and let Truth your witness bear,

       ‭ Who, and from whence you are? What city’s birth?

       ‭ What parents? In what vessel set you forth?

       ‭ And with what mariners arriv’d you here?

       ‭ I cannot think you a foot passenger.

       ‭ Recount then to me all, to teach me well

       ‭ Fit usage for your worth. And if it fell

       ‭ In chance now first that you thus see us here,

       ‭ Or that in former passages you were

       ‭ My father’s guest? For many men have been

       ‭ Guests to my father. Studious of men

       ‭ His sociable nature ever was.”

       ‭ On him again the grey-eyed Maid did pass

       ‭ This kind reply: “I’ll answer passing true

       ‭ All thou hast ask’d: My birth his honour drew

       ‭ From wise Anchialus. The name I bear

       ‭ Is Mentas, the commanding islander

       ‭ Of all the Taphians studious in the art

       ‭ Of navigation; having touch’d this part

       ‭ With ship and men, of purpose to maintain

       ‭ Course through the dark seas t’ other-languag’d men;

       ‭ And Temesis sustains the city’s name

       ‭ For which my ship is bound, made known by fame

       ‭ For rich in brass, which my occasions need,

       ‭ And therefore bring I shining steel in stead,

       ‭ Which their use wants, yet makes my vessel’s freight,

       ‭ That near a plough’d field rides at anchor’s weight,

       ‭ Apart this city, in the harbour call’d

       ‭ Rhethrus, whose waves with Neius’ woods are wall’d.

       ‭ Thy sire and I were ever mutual guests,

       ‭ At either’s house still interchanging feasts.

       ‭ I glory in it. Ask, when thou shalt see

       ‭ Laertes, th’ old heroë, these of me,

       ‭ From the beginning. He, men say, no more

       ‭ Visits the city, but will needs deplore

       ‭ His son’s believ’d loss in a private field;

       ‭ One old maid only at his hands to yield

       ‭ Food to his life, as oft as labour makes

       ‭ His old limbs faint; which, though he creeps, he takes

       ‭ Along a fruitful plain, set all with vines,

       ‭ Which husbandman-like, though a king, he proins.

       ‭ But now I come to be thy father’s guest;

       ‭ I hear he wanders, while these wooers feast.

       ‭ And (as th’ Immortals prompt me at this hour)

       ‭ I’ll tell thee, out of a prophetic pow’r,

       ‭ (Not as profess’d a prophet, nor clear seen

       ‭ At all times what shall after chance to men)

       ‭ What I conceive, for this time, will be true:

       ‭ The Gods’ inflictions keep your sire from you.

       ‭ Divine Ulysses, yet, abides not dead

       ‭ Above earth, nor beneath, nor buried

       ‭ In any seas, as you did late conceive,

       ‭ But, with the broad sea sieg’d, is kept alive

       ‭ Within an isle by rude and upland men,

       ‭ That in his spite his passage home detain.

       ‭ Yet long it shall not be before he tread

       ‭ His country’s dear earth, though solicited,

       ‭ And held from his return, with iron chains;

       ‭ For he hath wit to forge a world of trains,

       ‭ And will, of all, be sure to make good one

       ‭ For his return, so much relied upon.

       ‭ But tell me, and be true: Art thou indeed

       ‭ So much a son, as to be said the seed [8]

       ‭ Of Ithacus himself? Exceeding much

       ‭ Thy forehead and fair eyes at his form touch;

       ‭ For oftentimes we met, as you and I

       ‭ Meet at this hour, before he did apply

       ‭ His pow’rs for Troy, when other Grecian states

       ‭ In hollow ships were his associates.

       ‭ But, since that time, mine eyes could never see

       ‭ Renown’d Ulysses, nor met his with me.”

       ‭ The wise Telemachus again replied:

       ‭ “You shall with all I know be satisfied.

       ‭ My mother certain says I am his son;

       ‭ I know not; nor was ever simply known

       ‭ By any child the sure truth of his sire.

       ‭ But would my veins had took in living fire

       ‭ From some man happy, rather than one wise,