The Odyssey of Homer. Homer

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ARGUMENT

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      In a council of the Gods, Minerva calls their attention to Ulysses, still a wanderer. They resolve to grant him a safe return to Ithaca. Minerva descends to encourage Telemachus, and in the form of Mentes directs him in what manner to proceed. Throughout this book the extravagance and profligacy of the suitors are occasionally suggested.

      Muse make the man thy theme, for shrewdness famed

       And genius versatile, who far and wide

       A Wand’rer, after Ilium overthrown,

       Discover’d various cities, and the mind

       And manners learn’d of men, in lands remote.

       He num’rous woes on Ocean toss’d, endured,

       Anxious to save himself, and to conduct

       His followers to their home; yet all his care

       Preserved them not; they perish’d self-destroy’d

       By their own fault; infatuate! who devoured 10

       The oxen of the all-o’erseeing Sun,

       And, punish’d for that crime, return’d no more.

       Daughter divine of Jove, these things record,

       As it may please thee, even in our ears.

       The rest, all those who had perdition ’scaped

       By war or on the Deep, dwelt now at home;

       Him only, of his country and his wife

       Alike desirous, in her hollow grots

       Calypso, Goddess beautiful, detained

       Wooing him to her arms. But when, at length, 20

       (Many a long year elapsed) the year arrived

       Of his return (by the decree of heav’n)

       To Ithaca, not even then had he,

       Although surrounded by his people, reach’d

       The period of his suff’rings and his toils.

       Yet all the Gods, with pity moved, beheld

       His woes, save Neptune; He alone with wrath

       Unceasing and implacable pursued

       Godlike Ulysses to his native shores.

       But Neptune, now, the Æthiopians fought, 30

       (The Æthiopians, utmost of mankind,

       These Eastward situate, those toward the West)

       Call’d to an hecatomb of bulls and lambs.

       There sitting, pleas’d he banqueted; the Gods

       In Jove’s abode, meantime, assembled all,

       ’Midst whom the Sire of heav’n and earth began.

       For he recall’d to mind Ægisthus slain

       By Agamemnon’s celebrated son

       Orestes, and retracing in his thought

       That dread event, the Immortals thus address’d. 40

       Alas! how prone are human-kind to blame

       The Pow’rs of Heav’n! From us, they say, proceed

       The ills which they endure, yet more than Fate

       Herself inflicts, by their own crimes incur.

       So now Ægisthus, by no force constrained

       Of Destiny, Atrides’ wedded wife

       Took to himself, and him at his return

       Slew, not unwarn’d of his own dreadful end

       By us: for we commanded Hermes down

       The watchful Argicide, who bade him fear 50

       Alike, to slay the King, or woo the Queen.

       For that Atrides’ son Orestes, soon

       As grown mature, and eager to assume

       His sway imperial, should avenge the deed.

       So Hermes spake, but his advice moved not

       Ægisthus, on whose head the whole arrear

       Of vengeance heap’d, at last, hath therefore fall’n.

       Whom answer’d then Pallas cærulean-eyed.

       Oh Jove, Saturnian Sire, o’er all supreme!

       And well he merited the death he found; 60

       So perish all, who shall, like him, offend.

       But with a bosom anguish-rent I view

       Ulysses, hapless Chief! who from his friends

       Remote, affliction hath long time endured

       In yonder wood-land isle, the central boss

       Of Ocean. That retreat a Goddess holds,

       Daughter of sapient Atlas, who the abyss

       Knows to its bottom, and the pillars high

       Himself upbears which sep’rate earth from heav’n.

       His daughter, there, the sorrowing Chief detains, 70

       And ever with smooth speech insidious seeks

       To wean his heart from Ithaca; meantime

       Ulysses, happy might he but behold

       The smoke ascending from his native land,

       Death covets. Canst thou not, Olympian Jove!

       At last relent? Hath not Ulysses oft

       With victims slain amid Achaia’s fleet

       Thee gratified, while yet at Troy he fought?

       How hath he then so deep incensed thee, Jove?

       To whom, the cloud-assembler God replied. 80

       What word hath pass’d thy lips, Daughter belov’d?

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