The Odyssey of Homer. Homer

Then, seizing her strong spear pointed with brass,

       In length and bulk, and weight a matchless beam,

       With which the Jove-born Goddess levels ranks

       Of Heroes, against whom her anger burns,

       From the Olympian summit down she flew,

       And on the threshold of Ulysses’ hall

       In Ithaca, and within his vestibule

       Apparent stood; there, grasping her bright spear, 130

Mentes1 she seem’d, the hospitable Chief Of Taphos’ isle—she found the haughty throng The suitors; they before the palace gate With iv’ry cubes sported, on num’rous hides Reclined of oxen which themselves had slain. The heralds and the busy menials there Minister’d to them; these their mantling cups With water slaked; with bibulous sponges those Made clean the tables, set the banquet on, And portioned out to each his plenteous share. 140 Long ere the rest Telemachus himself Mark’d her, for sad amid them all he sat, Pourtraying in deep thought contemplative His noble Sire, and questioning if yet Perchance the Hero might return to chase From all his palace that imperious herd, To his own honour lord of his own home. Amid them musing thus, sudden he saw The Goddess, and sprang forth, for he abhorr’d To see a guest’s admittance long delay’d; 150 Approaching eager, her right hand he seized, The brazen spear took from her, and in words With welcome wing’d Minerva thus address’d. Stranger, all hail! to share our cordial love Thou com’st; the banquet finish’d, thou shalt next Inform me wherefore thou hast here arrived. So saying, toward the spacious hall he moved, Follow’d by Pallas, and, arriving soon Beneath the lofty roof, placed her bright spear Within a pillar’s cavity, long time 160 The armoury where many a spear had stood, Bright weapons of his own illustrious Sire. Then, leading her toward a footstool’d throne Magnificent, which first he overspread With linen, there he seated her, apart From that rude throng, and for himself disposed A throne of various colours at her side, Lest, stunn’d with clamour of the lawless band, The new-arrived should loth perchance to eat, And that more free he might the stranger’s ear 170 With questions of his absent Sire address, And now a maiden charg’d with golden ew’r, And with an argent laver, pouring first Pure water on their hands, supplied them, next, With a resplendent table, which the chaste Directress of the stores furnish’d with bread And dainties, remnants of the last regale. Then, in his turn, the sewer2 with sav’ry meats, Dish after dish, served them, of various kinds, And golden cups beside the chargers placed, 180 Which the attendant herald fill’d with wine. Ere long, in rush’d the suitors, and the thrones And couches occupied, on all whose hands The heralds pour’d pure water; then the maids Attended them with bread in baskets heap’d, And eager they assail’d the ready feast. At length, when neither thirst nor hunger more They felt unsatisfied, to new delights Their thoughts they turn’d, to song and sprightly dance, Enlivening sequel of the banquet’s joys. 190 An herald, then, to Phemius’ hand consign’d His beauteous lyre; he through constraint regaled The suitors with his song, and while the chords He struck in prelude to his pleasant strains, Telemachus his head inclining nigh To Pallas’ ear, lest others should his words Witness, the blue-eyed Goddess thus bespake. My inmate and my friend! far from my lips Be ev’ry word that might displease thine ear! The song—the harp—what can they less than charm 200 These wantons? who the bread unpurchased eat Of one whose bones on yonder continent Lie mould’ring, drench’d by all the show’rs of heaven, Or roll at random in the billowy deep. Ah! could they see him once to his own isle Restored, both gold and raiment they would wish Far less, and nimbleness of foot instead. But He, alas! hath by a wretched fate, Past question perish’d, and what news soe’er We hear of his return, kindles no hope 210 In us, convinced that he returns no more. But answer undissembling; tell me true; Who art thou? whence? where stands thy city? where Thy father’s mansion? In what kind of ship Cam’st thou? Why steer’d the mariners their course To Ithaca, and of what land are they? For that on foot thou found’st us not, is sure. This also tell me, hast thou now arrived New to our isle, or wast thou heretofore My father’s guest? Since many to our house 220 Resorted in those happier days, for he Drew pow’rful to himself the hearts of all. Then Pallas thus, Goddess cærulean-eyed. I will with all simplicity of truth Thy questions satisfy. Behold in me Mentes, the offspring of a Chief renown’d In war, Anchialus; and I rule, myself, An island race, the Taphians oar-expert. With ship and mariners I now arrive, Seeking a people of another tongue 230 Athwart the gloomy flood, in quest of brass For which I barter steel, ploughing the waves To Temesa. My ship beneath the woods Of Neïus, at yonder field that skirts Your city, in the haven Rhethrus rides. We are hereditary guests; our Sires Were friends long since; as, when thou seest him next, The Hero old Laertes will avouch, Of whom, I learn, that he frequents no more The city now, but in sequester’d scenes 240 Dwells sorrowful, and by an antient dame With food and drink supplied oft as he feels Refreshment needful to him, while he creeps Between the rows of his luxuriant vines. But I have come drawn hither by report, Which spake thy Sire arrived, though still it seems The adverse Gods his homeward course retard. For not yet breathless lies the noble Chief, But in some island of the boundless flood Resides a prisoner, by barbarous force 250 Of some rude race detained reluctant there. And I will now foreshow thee what the Gods Teach me, and what, though neither augur skill’d Nor prophet, I yet trust shall come to pass. He shall not, henceforth, live an exile long From his own shores, no, not although in bands Of iron held, but will ere long contrive His own return; for in expedients, framed With wond’rous ingenuity, he abounds. But tell me true; art thou, in stature such, 260 Son of himself Ulysses? for thy face And eyes bright-sparkling, strongly indicate Ulysses in thee. Frequent have we both Conversed together thus, thy Sire and I, Ere yet he went to Troy, the mark to which So many Princes of Achaia steer’d. Him since I saw not, nor Ulysses me. To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied. Stranger! I tell thee true; my mother’s voice Affirms me his, but since no mortal knows 270 His derivation, I affirm it not. Would I had been son of some happier Sire, Ordain’d in calm possession of his own To reach the verge of life. But now, report Proclaims me his, whom I of all mankind Unhappiest deem.—Thy question is resolved. Then answer thus Pallas blue-eyed return’d. From no ignoble race, in future days, The Gods shall prove thee sprung, whom so endow’d With ev’ry grace Penelope hath borne. 280 But tell me true. What festival is this? This throng—whence are they? wherefore hast thou need Of such a multitude? Behold I here A banquet, or a nuptial? for these Meet not by contribution3 to regale, With such brutality and din they hold Their riotous banquet! a wise man and good Arriving, now, among them, at the sight Of such enormities would much be wroth. To whom replied Telemachus discrete. 290 Since, stranger! thou hast ask’d, learn also this. While yet Ulysses, with his people dwelt, His presence warranted the hope that here Virtue should dwell and opulence; but heav’n Hath cast for us, at length, a diff’rent lot, And he is lost, as never man before. For I should less lament even his death, Had he among his friends at Ilium fall’n, Or in the arms of his companions died, Troy’s siege accomplish’d. Then his tomb the Greeks 300 Of ev’ry tribe had built, and for his son, He had immortal glory atchieved; but now, By harpies torn inglorious, beyond reach Of eye or ear he lies; and hath to me Grief only, and unceasing sighs bequeath’d. Nor mourn I for his sake alone; the Gods Have plann’d for me still many a woe beside; For all the rulers of the neighbour isles, Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown’d Zacynthus, others also, rulers here 310 In craggy Ithaca, my mother seek In marriage, and my household stores consume. But neither she those nuptial rites abhorr’d, Refuses absolute, nor yet consents To end them; they my patrimony waste Meantime, and will not long spare even me. To whom, with deep commiseration pang’d, Pallas replied. Alas! great need hast thou Of thy long absent father to avenge These num’rous wrongs; for could he now appear 320 There, at yon portal, arm’d with helmet, shield, And grasping his two spears, such as when first I saw him drinking joyous at our board, From Ilus son of Mermeris, who dwelt In distant Ephyre, just then return’d, (For thither also had Ulysses gone In his swift bark, seeking some pois’nous drug Wherewith to