The Odyssey (Wisehouse Classics Edition). Homer

he close his eyes!

      And will Omnipotence neglect to save

      The suffering virtue of the wise and brave?

      Must he, whose altars on the Phrygian shore

      With frequent rites, and pure, avow’d thy power,

      Be doom’d the worst of human ills to prove,

      Unbless’d, abandon’d to the wrath of Jove?”

      “Daughter! what words have pass’d thy lips unweigh’d!

      (Replied the Thunderer to the martial maid;)

      Deem not unjustly by my doom oppress’d,

      Of human race the wisest and the best.

      Neptune, by prayer repentant rarely won,

      Afflicts the chief, to avenge his giant son,

      Whose visual orb Ulysses robb’d of light;

      Great Polypheme, of more than mortal might?

      Him young Thousa bore (the bright increase

      Of Phorcys, dreaded in the sounds and seas);

      Whom Neptune eyed with bloom of beauty bless’d,

      And in his cave the yielding nymph compress’d

      For this the god constrains the Greek to roam,

      A hopeless exile from his native home,

      From death alone exempt — but cease to mourn;

      Let all combine to achieve his wish’d return;

      Neptune atoned, his wrath shall now refrain,

      Or thwart the synod of the gods in vain.”

      “Father and king adored!” Minerva cried,

      “Since all who in the Olympian bower reside

      Now make the wandering Greek their public care,

      Let Hermes to the Atlantic isle repair;

      Bid him, arrived in bright Calypso’s court,

      The sanction of the assembled powers report:

      That wise Ulysses to his native land

      Must speed, obedient to their high command.

      Meantime Telemachus, the blooming heir

      Of sea-girt Ithaca, demands my care;

      ’Tis mine to form his green, unpractised years

      In sage debates; surrounded with his peers,

      To save the state, and timely to restrain

      The bold intrusion of the suitor-train;

      Who crowd his palace, and with lawless power

      His herds and flocks in feastful rites devour.

      To distant Sparta, and the spacious waste

      Of Sandy Pyle, the royal youth shall haste.

      There, warm with filial love, the cause inquire

      That from his realm retards his god-like sire;

      Delivering early to the voice of fame

      The promise of a green immortal name.”

      She said: the sandals of celestial mould,

      Fledged with ambrosial plumes, and rich with gold,

      Surround her feet: with these sublime she sails

      The aerial space, and mounts the winged gales;

      O’er earth and ocean wide prepared to soar,

      Her dreaded arm a beamy javelin bore,

      Ponderous and vast: which, when her fury burns,

      Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o’erturns.

      From high Olympus prone her flight she bends,

      And in the realms of Ithaca descends,

      Her lineaments divine, the grave disguise

      Of Mentes’ form conceal’d from human eyes

      (Mentes, the monarch of the Taphian land);

      A glittering spear waved awful in her hand.

      There in the portal placed, the heaven-born maid

      Enormous riot and misrule survey’d.

      On hides of beeves, before the palace gate

      (Sad spoils of luxury), the suitors sate.

      With rival art, and ardour in their mien,

      At chess they vie, to captivate the queen;

      Divining of their loves. Attending nigh,

      A menial train the flowing bowl supply.

      Others, apart, the spacious hall prepare,

      And form the costly feast with busy care.

      There young Telemachus, his bloomy face

      Glowing celestial sweet, with godlike grace

      Amid the circle shines: but hope and fear

      (Painful vicissitude!) his bosom tear.

      Now, imaged in his mind, he sees restored

      In peace and joy the people’s rightful lord;

      The proud oppressors fly the vengeful sword.

      While his fond soul these fancied triumphs swell’d,

      The stranger guest the royal youth beheld;

      Grieved that a visitant so long should wait

      Unmark’d, unhonour’d, at a monarch’s gate;

      Instant he flew with hospitable haste,

      And the new friend with courteous air embraced.

      “Stranger, whoe’er thou art, securely rest,

      Affianced in my faith, a ready guest;

      Approach the dome, the social banquet share,

      And then the purpose of thy soul declare.”

      Thus affable and mild, the prince precedes,

      And to the dome the unknown celestial leads.

      The spear receiving from the hand, he placed

      Against a column, fair with sculpture graced;

      Where seemly ranged in peaceful order stood

      Ulysses’ arms now long disused to blood.

      He led the goddess to the sovereign seat,

      Her feet supported with a stool of state

      (A purple carpet spread the pavement wide);

      Then drew his seat, familiar, to her side;

      Far from the suitor-train, a brutal crowd,

      With insolence, and wine, elate and loud:

      Where the free guest, unnoted, might relate,

      If haply conscious, of his father’s fate.

      The golden ewer a maid obsequious brings,

      Replenish’d from the cool, translucent springs;

      With copious water the bright vase supplies

      A silver laver of capacious size;

      They wash. The tables in fair order spread,

      They heap the glittering canisters with bread:

      Viands of various kinds allure the taste,

      Of choicest sort and