University of Virginia Library



THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK OF THE ODYSSEY.



The ARGUMENT. The Fight of Ulysses and Irus.

The Beggar Irus insults Ulysses; the Suitors promote the Quarrel, in which Irus is worsted, and miserably handled. Penelope descends, and receives the Presents of the Suitors. The Dialogue of Ulysses with Eurymachus.


155

While fix'd in thought the pensive Heroe sate;
A Mendicant approach'd the royal gate;
A surly vagrant of the giant kind,
The stain of manhood, of a coward mind:

156

From feast to feast, insatiate to devour
He flew, attendant on the genial hour;
When on his mother's knees a babe he lay,
She nam'd Arnæus on his natal day,

157

But Irus his associates call'd the Boy,
Practis'd, the common messenger to fly,
Irus, a name expressive of th' employ.
From his own roof with meditated blows
He strove to drive the Man of mighty woes.
Hence dotard, hence! and timely speed thy way,
Lest dragg'd in vengeance, thou repent thy stay;
See how with nods assent yon princely train!
But honouring age, in mercy I refrain;
In peace away! lest if persuasions fail,
This arm with blows more eloquent prevail.
To whom with stern regards: O insolence,
Indecently to rail without offence!
What bounty gives, without a rival share,
I ask, what harms not thee, to breathe this air:
Alike on alms we both precarious live:
And canst thou envy, when the great relieve?
Know from the bounteous heav'ns all riches flow,
And what man gives, the Gods by man bestow;
Proud as thou art, henceforth no more be proud,
Lest I imprint my vengeance in thy blood;

158

Old as I am, should once my fury burn,
How wouldst thou fly, nor ev'n in thought return?
Mere woman-glutton! (thus the churl reply'd)
A tongue so flippant, with a throat so wide!
Why cease I, Gods! to dash those teeth away,
Like some vile swine's, that greedy of his prey
Uproots the bearded corn? rise, try the fight,
Gird well the loins, approach, and feel my might:

159

Sure of defeat, before the Peers engage;
Unequal fight! when youth contends with age!
Thus in a wordy war their tongues display
More fierce intents, preluding to the fray;
Antinous hears, and in a jovial vein,
Thus with loud laughter to the Suitor-train.
This happy day in mirth, my friends employ,
And lo! the Gods conspire to crown our joy.
See ready for the fight, and hand to hand,
Yon surly mendicants contentious stand;
Why urge we not to blows? Well-pleas'd they spring
Swift from their seats, and thick'ning form a ring.
To whom Antinous. Lo! enrich'd with blood
A kid's well-fatted entrails (tasteful food!)
On glowing embers lie; on him bestow
The choicest portion who subdues his foe;
Grant him unrival'd in these walls to stay,
The sole attendant on the genial day.
The Lords applaud: Ulysses then with art,
And fears well-feign'd, disguis'd his dauntless heart:
Worn as I am with age, decay'd with woe,
Say is it baseness, to decline the foe?
Hard conflict! when calamity and age
With vigorous youth, unknown to cares, engage!

160

Yet fearful of disgrace, to try the day
Imperious hunger bids, and I obey;
But swear, impartial arbiters of right,
Swear, to stand neutral while we cope in fight.
The Peers assent: when strait his sacred head
Telemachus uprais'd, and sternly said.
Stranger, if prompted to chastise the wrong
Of this bold insolent, confide, be strong!
Th' injurious Greek that dares attempt a blow,
That instant makes Telemachus his foe;
And these my friends shall guard the sacred ties
Of hospitality, for they are wise.

161

Then girding his strong loins, the King prepares
To close in combat, and his body bares;
Broad spread his shoulders, and his nervous thighs
By just degrees like well-turn'd columns rise:
Ample his chest, his arms are round and long,
And each strong joint Minerva knits more strong,
(Attendant on her chief:) the Suitor-crowd
With wonder gaze, and gazing speak aloud;
Irus, alas! shall Irus be no more,
Black fate impends, and this th' avenging hour!
Gods! how his nerves a matchless strength proclaim:
Swell o'er his well-strung limbs, and brace his frame!
Then pale with fears, and sick'ning at the sight,
They dragg'd the unwilling Irus to the fight;
From his blank visage fled the coward blood,
And his flesh trembled as aghast he stood:

162

O that such baseness should disgrace the light!
O hide it, death, in everlasting night!
(Exclaims Antinous) can a vigorous foe
Meanly decline to combat age and woe?
But hear me, wretch! if recreant in the fray,
That huge bulk yield this ill-contested day,
Instant thou sail'st, to Echetus resign'd,
A tyrant, fiercest of the tyrant kind,

163

Who casts thy mangled ears and nose a prey
To hungry dogs, and lops the man away.
While with indignant scorn he sternly spoke,
In ev'ry joint the trembling Irus shook;
Now front to front each frowning champion stands,
And poises high in air his adverse hands.
The Chief yet doubts, or to the shades below
To fell the Giant at one vengeful blow,
Or save his life; and soon his life to save
The King resolves, for mercy sways the brave.
That instant Irus his huge arm extends,
Full on the shoulder the rude weight descends:
The sage Ulysses, fearful to disclose
The Heroe latent in the man of woes,
Check'd half his might: yet rising to the stroke,
His jaw-bone dash'd; the crashing jaw-bone broke:

164

Down drop'd he stupid from the stunning wound,
His feet extended, quivering beat the ground,
His mouth and nostrils spout a purple flood,
His teeth all shatter'd rush immix'd with blood.
The Peers transported, as outstretch'd he lies,
With bursts of laughter rend the vaulted skies:
Then dragg'd along, all bleeding from the wound,
His length of carcass trailing prints the ground;
Rais'd on his feet, again he reels, he falls,
'Till propp'd reclining on the palace walls;
Then to his hand a staff the victor gave,
And thus with just reproach address'd the slave.
There terrible, affright the dogs, and reign
A dreaded tyrant o'er the bestial train!
But mercy to the poor and stranger show,
Lest heav'n in vengeance send some mightier woe.
Scornful he spoke, and o'er his shoulder flung
The broad-patch'd scrip; the scrip in tatters hung
Ill joyn'd, and knotted to a twisted thong.
Then turning short, disdain'd a further stay,
But to the palace measur'd back the way.
There as he rested, gathering in a ring
The Peers with smiles addrest their unknown King:

165

Stranger may Jove and all th' aereal pow'rs,
With ev'ry blessing crown thy happy hours!
Our freedom to thy prowess'd arm we owe
From bold intrusion of thy coward foe;
Instant the flying sail the slave shall wing
To Echetus, the monster of a King.
While pleas'd he hears, Antinous bears the food,
A kid's well fatted entrails, rich with blood:
The bread from canisters of shining mold
Amphinomus! and wines that laugh in gold,
And oh! (he mildly cries) may heaven display
A beam of glory o'er thy future day!
Alas the brave too oft is doom'd to bear
The gripes of poverty, and stings of care.
To whom with thought mature the King replies:
The tongue speaks wisely, when the soul is wise;
Such was thy father! in imperial state,
Great without vice, that oft attends the great:

166

Nor from the sire art thou the son declin'd;
Then hear my words, and grave them in thy mind!
Of all that breathes or groveling creeps on earth,
Most vain is Man! calamitous by birth.
To-day with pow'r elate, in strength he blooms;
The haughty creature on that pow'r presumes:
Anon from heav'n a sad reverse he feels;
Untaught to bear, 'gainst heav'n the wretch rebels.

167

For man is changeful as his bliss or woe,
Too high when prosp'rous, when distrest too low.
There was a day, when with the scornful Great
I swell'd in pomp, and arrogance of state;
Proud of the pow'r that to high birth belongs;
And us'd that pow'r to justify my wrongs.
Then let not man be proud: but firm of mind,
Bear the best humbly, and the worst resign'd;

168

Be dumb when heav'n afflicts! unlike yon train
Of haughty spoilers, insolently vain;
Who make their Queen and all her wealth a prey:
But Vengeance and Ulysses wing their way.
O may'st thou, favour'd by some guardian pow'r,
Far, far be distant in that deathful hour?
For sure I am, if stern Ulysses breathe,
These lawless riots end in blood and death.
Then to the Gods the rosy juice he pours,
And the drain'd goblet to the Chief restores.
Stung to the soul, o'ercast with holy dread,
He shook the graceful honours of his head;
His boding mind the future woe forestalls,
In vain! by great Telemachus he falls,
For Pallas seals his doom: All sad he turns
To joyn the Peers, resumes his throne, and mourns.
Mean-while Minerva with instinctive fires
Thy soul, Penelope, from heav'n inspires;
With flatt'ring hopes the Suitors to betray,
And seem to meet, yet fly, the bridal day,

169

Thy husband's wonder, and thy son's, to raise,
And crown the mother and the wife with praise.

170

Then, while the streaming sorrow dims her eyes,
Thus with a transient smile the matron cries.
Eurynomè! to go where riot reigns
I feel an impulse, tho' my soul disdains;
To my lov'd son the snares of death to show,
And in the traytor friend unmask the foe;
Who smooth of tongue, in purpose insincere,
Hides fraud in smiles, while death is ambush'd there.
Go warn thy son, nor be the warning vain,
(Reply'd the sagest of the royal train)
But bath'd, anointed, and adorn'd descend;
Pow'rful of charms, bid ev'ry grace attend;
The tyde of flowing tears a-while suppress;
Tears but indulge the sorrow, not repress.
Some joy remains: To thee a son is giv'n,
Such as in fondness parents ask of heav'n.

171

Ah me! forbear, returns the Queen, forbear;
Oh! talk not, talk not of vain beauty's care!
No more I bathe, since he no longer sees
Those charms, for whom alone I wish'd to please.
The day that bore Ulysses from this coast,
Blasted the little bloom these cheeks could boast.
But instant bid Autonoè descend,
Instant Hippodamè our steps attend;
Ill suits it, female virtue to be seen
Alone indecent, in the walks of men.
Then while Eurynomè the mandate bears,
From heav'n Minerva shoots with guardian cares;

172

O'er all her senses, as the couch she prest,
She pours a pleasing, deep, and death-like rest,
With ev'ry beauty ev'ry feature arms,
Bids her cheeks glow, and lights up all her charms,
In her love-darting eyes awakes the fires,
(Immortal gifts! to kindle soft Desires)
From limb to limb an air majestick sheds,
And the pure ivory o'er her bosom spreads,
Such Venus shines, when with a measur'd bound
She smoothly gliding swims th' harmonious round,
When with the graces in the dance she moves,
And fires the gazing Gods with ardent loves.
Then to the skies her flight Minerva bends,
And to the Queen the damsel train descends:

173

Wak'd at their steps, her flowing eyes unclose;
The tear she wipes, and thus renews her woes.
Howe'er 'tis well! that Sleep a-while can free
With soft forgetfulness, a wretch like me;
Oh! were it giv'n to yield this transient breath,
Send, oh! Diana, send the sleep of death!
Why must I waste a tedious life in tears,
Nor bury in the silent grave my cares?
O my Ulysses! ever honour'd name!
For thee I mourn till death dissolves my frame.
Thus wailing, slow and sadly she descends,
On either hand a damsel train attends:
Full where the dome its shining valves expands,
Radiant before the gazing Peers she stands;
A vail translucent o'er her brow display'd,
Her beauty seems, and only seems, to shade:
Sudden she lightens in their dazled eyes,
And sudden flames in ev'ry bosom rise;

174

They send their eager souls with ev'ry look,
'Till silence thus th' imperial matron broke;
O why! my son, why now no more appears
That warmth of soul that urg'd thy younger years?
Thy riper days no growing worth impart,
A man in stature, still a boy in heart!
Thy well-knit frame unprofitably strong,
Speaks thee an Heroe from an Heroe sprung:
But the just Gods in vain those gifts bestow,
O wise alone in form, and brave in show!
Heav'ns! could a stranger feel oppression's hand
Beneath thy roof, and could'st thou tamely stand?
If thou the stranger's righteous cause decline,
His is the suff'rance, but the shame is thine.
To whom with filial awe, the Prince returns:
That gen'rous soul with just resentment burns,
Yet taught by time, my heart has learn'd to glow
For others good, and melt at others woe:
But impotent these riots to repel,
I bear their outrage, tho' my soul rebel:
Helpless amid the snares of death I tread,
And numbers leagu'd in impious union dread:

175

But now no crime is theirs: this wrong proceeds
From Irus, and the guilty Irus bleeds.
O would to Jove! or her whose arms display
The shield of Jove, or him who rules the day!
That yon proud Suitors, who licentious tread
These courts, within these courts like Irus bled:
Whose loose head tottering as with wine opprest,
Obliquely drops, and nodding knocks his breast;
Pow'rless to move, his stagg'ring feet deny
The coward wretch the privilege to fly.
Then to the Queen Eurymachus replies:
O justly lov'd, and not more fair than wise!
Should Greece thro' all her hundred states survey
Thy finish'd charms, all Greece would own thy sway,

176

In rival crouds contest the glorious prize,
Dispeopling realms to gaze upon thy eyes:
O woman! loveliest of the lovely kind,
In body perfect, and compleat in mind!
Ah me! returns the Queen, when from this shore
Ulysses sail'd, then beauty was no more!
The Gods decreed these eyes no more should keep
Their wonted grace, but only serve to weep.
Should he return, whate'er my beauties prove,
My virtues last; my brightest charm is love.
Now, Grief, thou all art mine! the Gods o'ercast
My soul with woes, that long, ah long must last!

177

Too faithfully my heart retains the day
That sadly tore my royal Lord away:
He grasp'd my hand, and oh my spouse! I leave
Thy arms, (he cry'd) perhaps to find a Grave:
Fame speaks the Trojans bold; they boast the skill
To give the feather'd arrow wings to kill,
To dart the spear, and guide the rushing car
With dreadful inroad thro' the walks of war.
My sentence is gone forth, and 'tis decreed
Perhaps by righteous heav'n that I must bleed!
My father, mother, all, I trust to thee;
To them, to them transfer the love of me:
But when my son grows man, the royal sway
Resign, and happy be thy bridal day!

178

Such were his words; and Hymen now prepares
To light his torch, and give me up to cares;
Th' afflictive hand of wrathful Jove to bear:
A wretch the most compleat that breathes the air!
Fall'n ev'n below the rights to woman due!
Careless to please, with insolence ye wooe!
The gen'rous lovers, studious to succeed,
Bid their whole herds and flocks in banquets bleed;

179

By precious gifts the vow sincere display:
You, only you, make her ye love your prey.
Well-pleas'd Ulysses hears his Queen deceive
The Suitor-train, and raise a thirst to give:

180

False hopes she kindles, but those hopes betray,
And promise, yet elude the bridal day.

181

While yet she speaks, the gay Antinous cries,
Offspring of Kings, and more than woman wise!
'Tis right; 'tis man's prerogative to give,
And custom bids thee without shame receive;
Yet never, never from thy dome we move,
'Till Hymen lights the torch of spousal love.
The Peers dispatch their heralds to convey
The gifts of love; with speed they take the way.
A robe Antinous gives of shining dyes,
The varying hues in gay confusion rise
Rich from the artist's hand! twelve clasps of gold
Close to the less'ning waist the vest infold;
Down from the swelling loins, the vest unbound
Floats in bright waves redundant o'er the ground.
A bracelet rich with gold, with amber gay,
That shot effulgence like the solar ray,
Eurymachus presents: and ear-rings bright,
With triple stars, that cast a trembling light.
Pisander bears a necklace, wrought with art;
And ev'ry Peer, expressive of his heart,
A gift bestows: This done, the Queen ascends,
And slow behind her damsel train attends.
Then to the dance they form the vocal strain,
'Till Hesporus leads forth the starry train;

182

And now he raises, as the day-light fades,
His golden circlet in the deep'ning shades:
Three vases heap'd with copious fires display
O'er all the palace a fictitious day;
From space to space the torch wide-beaming burns,
And sprightly damsels trim the rays by turns.
To whom the King: Ill suits your sex to stay
Alone with men! ye modest maids, away!
Go, with the Queen the spindle guide or cull
(The partners of her cares) the silver wool;

183

Be it my task the torches to supply
Ev'n till the morning lamp adorns the sky;
Ev'n till the morning, with unwearied care,
Sleepless I watch; for I have learn'd to bear.
Scornful they heard: Melantho, fair and young,
(Melantho, from the loins of Dolius sprung,
Who with the Queen her years an infant led,
With the soft fondness of a daughter bred)
Chiefly derides: regardless of the cares
Her Queen endures, polluted joys she shares
Nocturnal with Eurymachus: With eyes
That speak disdain, the wanton thus replies.
Oh! whether wanders thy distemper'd brain,
Thou bold intruder on a princely train?
Hence to the vagrant's rendezvous repair;
Or shun in some black forge the midnight air.

184

Proceeds this boldness from a turn of soul,
Or flows licentious from the copious bowl?
Is it that vanquish'd Irus swells thy mind?
A foe may meet thee of a braver kind,
Who shortning with a storm of blows thy stay,
Shall send thee howling all in blood away!
To whom with frowns: O impudent in wrong!
Thy Lord shall curb that insolence of tongue;
Know to Telemachus I tell th' offence:
The scourge, the scourge shall lash thee into sense.

185

With conscious shame they hear the stern rebuke,
Nor longer durst sustain the sovereign look.
Then to the servile task the Monarch turns
His royal hands; Each torch refulgent burns
With added day: mean-while in museful mood,
Absorpt in thought, on vengeance fix'd he stood.
And now the Martial Maid, by deeper wrongs
To rouze Ulysses, points the Suitors' tongues:
Scornful of age, to taunt the virtuous man,
Thoughtless and gay, Eurymachus began.
Hear me (he cries) confederates and friends!
Some God no doubt this stranger kindly sends;

186

The shining baldness of his head survey,
It aids our torch-light, and reflects the ray.
Then to the King that levell'd haughty Troy.
Say, if large hire can tempt thee to employ
Those hands in work? to tend the rural trade,
To dress the walk, and form th' embow'ring shade.

187

So food and rayment constant will I give:
But idly thus thy soul prefers to live,
And starve by strolling, not by work to thrive.
To whom incens'd: Should we, O Prince, engage
In rival tasks beneath the burning rage
Of summer suns, were both constrain'd to wield
Foodless, the scythe along the burthen'd field;

188

Or should we labour while the plowshare wounds
With steers of equal strength, the allotted grounds;
Beneath my labours how thy wond'ring eyes
Might see the sable field at once arise!
Should Jove dire war unloose, with spear and shield
And nodding helm, I tread th' ensanguin'd field,
Fierce in the van: Then wou'dst thou, wou'dst thou say,
Misname me glutton in that glorious day?

189

No, thy ill-judging thoughts the brave disgrace;
'Tis thou injurious art, not I am base.
Proud, to seem brave among a coward train!
But know thou art not valorous, but vain.
Gods! should the stern Ulysses rise in might,
These gates would seem too narrow for thy flight.
While yet he speaks, Eurymachus replies,
With indignation flashing from his eyes.
Slave, I with justice might deserve the wrong,
Should I not punish that opprobrious tongue;
Irreverent to the Great, and uncontroul'd,
Art thou from wine, or innate folly, bold?
Perhaps, these outrages from Irus flow,
A worthless triumph o'er a worthless foe!
He said, and with full force a footstool threw:
Whirl'd from his arm with erring rage it flew;
Ulysses, cautious of the vengeful foe,
Stoops to the ground, and disappoints the blow.
Not so a youth who deals the goblet round,
Full on his shoulder it inflicts a wound,
Dash'd from his hand the sounding goblet flies,
He shrieks, he reels, he falls, and breathless lies.
Then wild uproar and clamour mounts the sky,
'Till mutual thus the Peers indignant cry;

190

O had this stranger sunk to realms beneath,
To the black realms of darkness and of death,
Ere yet he trod these shores! to strife he draws
Peer against Peer; and what the weighty cause?
A vagabond! for him the great destroy
In vile ignoble jars, the feast of joy.
To whom the stern Telemachus uprose!
Gods! what wild folly from the goblet flows?
Whence this unguarded openness of soul,
But from the licence of the copious bowl?
Or heav'n delusion sends. But hence, away!
Force I forbear, and without force obey.
Silent, abash'd, they hear the stern rebuke,
'Till thus Amphinomus the silence broke.
True are his words, and he whom truth offends
Not with Telemachus, but truth contends;

191

Let not the hand of violence invade
The rev'rend stranger, or the spotless maid;
Retire we hence! but crown with rosy wine
The flowing goblet to the pow'rs divine;
Guard he his guest beneath whose roof he stands:
This justice, this the social right demands.
The Peers assent; the goblet Mulius crown'd
With purple juice, and bore in order round;
Each Peer successive his libation pours
To the blest Gods that fill th'aereal bow'rs;

192

Then swill'd with wine, with noise the crowds obey,
And rushing forth tumultuous reel away.
 

Homer has been severely blam'd for describing Ulysses, a King, entring the lists with a beggar: Rapin affirms, that he demeans himself by engaging with an unequal adversary. The objection would be unanswerable, if Ulysses appear'd in his royal character: But it is as necessary in Epic Poetry as on the Theatre, to adapt the behaviour of every person to the character he is to represent, whether real or imaginary. Would it not have been ridiculous to have represented him, while he was disguis'd in the garb of a beggar, refusing the combat, because he knew himself to be a King? and would not such a conduct have endanger'd a discovery? Ought we not rather to look upon this Episode as an instance of the greatness of the calamities of Ulysses, who is reduced to such uncommon extremities as to be set upon a level with the meanest of wretches?

It seems probable from this passage, that the mother gave the name to the child in the days of Homer; tho' perhaps not without the concurrence of the father: Thus in the scriptures it is said of Leah, that she bare a son and called his name Reuben; and again, she called his name Simeon; and the same is frequently repeated both of Leah and Rachael. In the age of Aristophanes, the giving a name to the child seems to have been a divided prerogative between the father and mother: For in his Νεφαλαι there is dispute between Strepsiades and his wife, concerning the name of their son: The wife was of noble birth, and would therefore give him a noble name; the husband was a plain villager, and was rather for a name that denoted frugality: but the woman not waving the least branch of her prerogative, they compromis'd the affair, by giving the child a compounded name that imply'd both frugality and chivalry, derived from φειδω to spare, and ιππος an horse; and the young Cavalier's name was Phidippides. Eustathius affirms, that antiently the mother nam'd the child; and the Scholiast upon Aristophanes in avib. quotes a fragment from Euripides to this purpose, from a Play call'd Ægeus.

Τι σε ματερ εν δεκατα τεκον ωνομασε.

What was the name given on the tenth day by the mother to the child? Dacier tells us, that the name of Arnæus was prophetic υπο των αρνων, from the sheep the glutton would devour when he came to manhood; but this is mere fancy, and it is no reason because he proved a glutton, that therefore the name foretold it: One might rather think the fondness of the mother toward her infant, suggested a very different view: She gave the name according to her wishes, and flatter'd her self that he would prove a very rich man, a man of many flocks and herds; and therefore she call'd him Αρναιος: and this is the more probable, because all riches originally consisted in flocks and herds.

To understand this, we must have recourse to the derivation of the word Irus; it comes from ειρω, which signifies nuntio; Irus was therefore so call'd, because he was a public messenger; and Iris bears that name, as the messenger of the Gods; Ιρος, απαγγελλων;; Ιρις Αγγελος. Hesychius.

These words refer to a custom that prevailed in former ages; it was allow'd to strike out the teeth of any beast which the owner found in his grounds: Eustathius informs us, that this was a custom or law among the people of Cyprus; but from what Homer here speaks, it seems to have been a general practice; at least it was in use amongst the Ithacans.

We may gather from hence the manner of the single combat; the champions fought naked, and only made use of a cincture round the loins out of decency. Homer directly affirms it, when Ulysses prepares for the fight.

Then girding his strong loins, the King prepares
To close in combat, and his body bares;
Broad spread his shoulders, and his nervous thighs
By just degrees like well-turn'd columns rise;
Ample his chest, his arms are round and long,
And each strong joint Minerva knits more strong.

Thus Diomed in the Iliad girds his friend Euryalus when he engages Epæus.

Officious with the cincture girds him round.

The speeches here are short, and the periods remarkably concise, suitable to the nature of anger. The Reader may consult the Annotations on the 20th book, concerning the Goat's entrails mention'd by Antinous.

This is a very necessary precaution: Ulysses had reason to apprehend that the Suitors would interest themselves in the cause of Irus, who was their daily attendant, rather than in that of a perfect stranger. Homer takes care to point out the prudence of Ulysses upon every emergence: Besides, he raises this fray between two beggars into some dignity, by requiring the sanction of an oath to regulate the laws of the combat. It is the same solemnity used in the Iliad between Paris and Menelaus, and represents these combatants engaging with the formality of two Heroes.

Antinous and Eurymachus.

When Telemachus speaks these words, he is to be supposed to turn to Eurymachus and Antinous, to whom he directs his discourse. It must be allow'd that this is an artful piece of flattery in Telemachus, and he makes use of it to engage these two Princes, who were the chief of the Suitors, on his side.

This is literally translated: I confess I wish Homer had omitted these little collusions of words: he sports with Ιρος αιρος. It is a low conceit, alluding to the derivation of Irus, and means that he shall never more be a messenger. The translation, tho' it be verbal, yet is free from ambiguity, and the joke conceal'd in αιρος: this will be evident if we substitute another name in the place of Irus; we may say Achilles shall be no longer Achilles, without descending from the gravity of Epic Poetry.

Eustathius gives us an instance of the deep penetration of some Critics, in their comments upon these words; they have found in them the Philosophy of Pythagoras, and the transmigration of Souls. The verse stands thus in Homer.

Νυν μεν μητ' ειης βουγαιε, μητε γενοιο,

which they imagine is to be understood after this manner; I wish thou hadst never been born! and mayst thou never exist again, or have a second being! To recite such an absurdity, it is to refute it. The verse when literally render'd bears this import; I wish thou wert now dead, or hadst never been born! an imprecation very natural to persons in anger, who seldom give themselves time to speak with profound allusions to Philosophy.

The tradition concerning Echetus stands thus: he was King of Epirus, the son of Euchenor and Phlogea; he had a daughter call'd Metopè, or as others affirm Amphissa; she being corrupted by Echmodicus, Echetus put out her eyes, and condemned her to grind pieces of iron made in the resemblance of corn; and told her she should recover her sight when she had ground the iron into flour. He invited Æchmodicus to an entertainment, and cut off the extremities from all parts of his body, and cast them to the dogs; at length being seiz'd with madness, he fed upon his own flesh and dy'd. This History is confirm'd, lib. 4. of Apollonius.

Υβριστης Εχετος γληναις ενι χαλκεα κεντρα
Πηξε θυγατρος εης στονοεντι δε καρφεται οιτω,
Ορφναι ενι χαλκον αλετρευουσα καλιη.

I wonder how this last quotation escap'd the diligence of Eustathius. Dacier affirms, that no mention is made of Echetus by any of the Greek Historians, and therefore she has recourse to another tradition, preserv'd by Eustathius, who tells us, that Echetus was contemporary with Homer, that the Poet had been ill us'd by him, and therefore took this revenge for his inhumanity.

The word in the Greek is αναλτον γαστερα αναλτον is a voracious appetite, a stomach that nothing can satisfy: Hesychius thus explains it: αναλτον αναυξεσς, τουτ' εστιν ικανον, η απληρωτον παρα την αλσιν. But there is undoubtedly an error in Hesychius; instead of ικασιν we should read ισχνον, that is, meager, or a stomach that appears always unfill'd. The general moral that we are to gather from the behaviour of Ulysses and Irus, is that insolence and boasting are signs of cowardice.

There never was a finer lecture of Morality read in any of the schools of the Philosophers, than this which Ulysses delivers to Amphinomus; he ushers it in with great solemnity, and speaks to all mankind in the person of Amphinomus. It is quoted by a variety of Authors; Pliny in his Preface to his natural History, lib. 7. has wrote a dissertation on this sentence.

Of all that breathes or grov'ling creeps on earth
Must vain is Man, &c.

Aristotle and Maximus Tyrius quote it; and Plutarch twice refers to it. Homer considers Man both with respect to the errors of the mind, and the calamities incident to the body; and upon a review of all mortal creatures, he attributes to man the unhappy superiority in miseries. But indeed Homer is so plain that he needs no interpretation, and any words but his own must disgrace him. Besides, this speech is beautiful in another view, and excellently sets forth the forgiving temper of Ulysses: He saw that all the sparks of virtue and humanity were not extinguished in Amphinomus; he therefore warns him with great solemnity to forsake the Suitors; he imprints conviction upon his mind, tho' ineffectually, and shews by it that when he falls by the hand of Ulysses in the succeeding parts of the Odyssey, his death is not a revenge but a punishment.

Most of the interpreters have greatly misrepresented these words,

Τοιος γαρ νοος εστιν επιχθονιων ανθρωπων
Οιον επ' ημαρ αγησι.

They thus translate it, talis mens hominum, qualem deus suggerit; or, “Such is the mind of man, as Heav'n inspires:” but this is an error, for οιον cannot refer to νοος, but to ημαρ, and the sentence is thus to be render'd, Talis mens hominum, qualem diem deus inducit; that is, “The mind of man changes with the complexion of the day, as heaven sends happiness or misery;” or as in the translation,

For man is changeful as his bliss or woe,
Too high when prosp'rous, when distress'd too low.

The Reader will be convinc'd that the construction requires this sense, by joyning the preposition with the verb, επι with αγησι, and rendring it, οιον ημαρ επαγησι; nothing being more frequent than such a division of the preposition from the verb amongst the Greeks. It must be allow'd, that Homer gives a very unhappy, yet too just a picture, of human nature: Man is too apt to be proud and insolent in prosperity, and mean and abject in adversity; and those men who are most overbearing in an happy state, are always most base and mean in the day of affliction.

The Greek is very concise, and the expression uncommon, οπως πετασειε θομον μνηστηρων; that is, Penelope thus acted that she might dilate the heart of the Suitors; meaning (as Eustathius observes) that she might give them false hopes by appearing in their company; for the heart shrinks and is contracted by sorrow and despair, and is again dilated by hope or joy. This is I believe literally true, the spirits flow briskly when we are in joy, and a new pulse is given to the blood, which necessarily must dilate the heart: On the contrary, when we are in sorrow the spirits are languid, and the blood moves less actively; and therefore the heart shrinks and contracts, the blood wanting vigour to dilate and expand it.

This is solely the act of Minerva; for Penelope is ignorant that she is to appear before her husband. This interview is excellently managed by Homer: Ulysses is to be convinced of his wife's fidelity; to bring this about, he introduces her upon the public stage, where her husband stands as a common unconcerned spectator, and hears her express her love for him in the warmest terms: here is no room for art or design, because she is ignorant that she speaks before Ulysses; and therefore her words must be suppos'd to proceed from the heart. This gives us a reason why Homer makes her dwell at large upon her passion for Ulysses, and paint it in the strongest colours, viz. to evidence her chastity, and urge Ulysses to hasten the destruction of the Suitors, by convincing him that she is able no longer to delude the marriage hour. But then it may be objected, if Penelope's sole design was to give a false hope to the Suitors, does she not take a very wrong method, by speaking so very tenderly of Ulysses? is not this a more probable reason for despair, than hope? It is true, it would have been so, if in the conclusion of her speech she had not artfully added,

But when my son grows man, the royal sway
Resign, and happy be thy bridal day!

So that Telemachus being now grown up to maturity, the Suitors concluded that the nuptial hour was at hand. If then we consider the whole conduct of Penelope in this book, it must be allow'd to be very refin'd and artful; she observes a due regard towards Ulysses, by shewing she is not to be persuaded to marry; and yet by the same words she gives the Suitors hopes that the day is almost come when she intends to celebrate her nuptials; she manages so dextrously, as to persuade without a promise; and for this reason the words are put into the mouth of Ulysses, and it is Ulysses who gives the hopes, rather than Penelope.

Homer gives us a very beautiful and just image in these words. In the Iliad he used a similar expression concerning Andromache, δακρυοεν γελασασα; a smile chastis'd with tears. Αχρειον δ' εγελασσεν here bears the same import.

I am not certain that this is the exact sense of Homer; Dacier understands him very differently. Eurynome (observes that Author) is not endeavouring to comfort Penelope because her son is now come to years of maturity; her purpose is, to shew the necessity she has to have recourse to art, to assist her beauty: For (adds she) your son is grown a man; meaning that a Lady who has a son twenty years old, must have lost her natural beauty, and has occasion to be obliged to art to give her an artificial one. This I confess is too true, but it seems a little too ludicrous for Epic Poetry; I have follow'd a different sense, that gives us a far nobler image; conformable to that verse of Horace.

Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno,
Quam sapere, &c.

This agrees with the tenour of Euryclea's speech, and is a foundation of great comfort to Penelope.

This is an admirable stroke of art, to shew the determin'd resolution of Penelope, to forbear the endeavour of making her person agreeable in any eyes but those of Ulysses: A Goddess is obliged to cast her into an involuntary repose, and to supply an adventitious grace while she sleeps.

We see Penelope is a woman of so much wisdom, as to be the favourite of Minerva. She acts in every point with the highest discretion, and is inconsolable for her husband; yet the Poet forbears to let her into the secret that Ulysses is return'd: This is undoubtedly an intended satyr, and Homer means, that a woman in every point discreet, is still to be suspected of loquacity: This seems to have been the real sentiment of Homer, which he more fully declares in the eleventh Odyssey.

When earnest to explore thy secret breast,
Unfold some trifle, but conceal the rest;
For since of womankind so few are just,
Think all are false, nor ev'n the faithful trust.

Eustathius informs us, that we are here to understand the fray between Irus and Ulysses. Penelope refers to the violence intended to be offer'd to Ulysses, when the footstool was thrown at him by Antinous; we find that she was acquainted with that assault from her speech in the preceding book. In reality, the Queen was ignorant of the combat between Irus and Ulysses; but Telemachus misunderstands her with design, and makes an Apology for the Suitors, fearing to raise a further disorder, or provoke them to some more violent act of resentment.

Homer expresses Greece by Ιασον Αργος Iäsian Argos. The word properly (as Eustathius observes) denotes the Morea or Peloponnesus, so call'd from Iäsus the son of Argus, and Io King of that Country; Strabo agrees with Eustathius. Chapman wonderfully mistakes Homer, and explains his own mistake in a paraphrase of six lines.

Most wise Icarius' daughter, if all those
That did for Colchos vent'rous sail dispose,
For that rich purchase; had before but seen
Earth's richer prize, in th' Ithacensian Queen,
They had not made that voyage; but to you
Would all their virtues, all their beings vow.

I need not say how foreign this is to the original. In reality Argos with different epithets, signifies different countries; Αχαικον Αργος means Thessaly, and Ιασον Αργος Peloponnesus; but here it denotes Greece universally; for it would appear absurd to tell Penelope, that all the Morea would admire her beauty, this would lessen the compliment; nor is any reason to be asab why Peloponnesus should admire her more than the rest of the Greeks.

The original says, resign the Palace to Telemachus: this is spoken according to the customs of Antiquity: The wife, upon her second marriage, being obliged to resign the house to the heir of the family. This circumstance is inserted with great judgment: the Suitors were determined to seize it upon marriage with Penelope, as appears from the second Odyssey.

What mighty labours would he then create,
To seize his treasures, and divide his state,
The royal Palace to the Queen convey,
Or him she blesses in the bridal day?

Penelope therefore by this declaration gives the Suitors to understand, that the Palace belong'd not to her, but Telemachus. This assertion has a double effect; it is intended to make the Suitors less warm in their addresses; or if they persist, to set the injustice done to Telemachus in open view. The beauty of all the speeches of Penelope in this book is so obvious that it needs no explanation; Homer gives a very amiable character, she is good in every relation of life, merciful to the poor and stranger, a tender mother, and an affectionate wife; every period is almost a lecture of morality.

My father, mother, all, I trust to thee;
To them, to them transfer the love of me.

This shews the duty of the child to the parent; it may be extended to all persons to whom we owe any duty; and humanity requires that we should endeavour to ease the burthen of our friends in proportion to their calamities; we should at all times consult their happiness, but chiefly in the hour of adversity. A friend should be a support to lean upon in all our infirmities.

Horace, lib. 2. Sat. 5. makes a very severe reflexion upon Penelope, and in her person (I say not how justly) upon the whole sex; he gives the avarice of the Suitors as the sole reason of Penelope's chastity; and insinuates that women would sell their virtue, if men would be at the expence to buy.

Venit enim magnum donandi parca juventus,
Nec tantum Veneris, quantum studiosa culinæ.
Sic tibi Penelope frugi est: Qua si semel uno
De sene gustârit, tecum partita lucellum;
Ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto.

Horace had this passage in view, and imputes the coldness of Penelope to a want of generosity in her admirers. Diodorus assures us, that Venus had a Temple in Ægŷpt dedicated to her under the title of χρυση Αφροδιτη; or golden Venus; and it is her usual epithet throughout all Homer. Near Memphis there was an allotment of ground call'd the field of golden Venus: but it ought not to be conceal'd, that some persons believe she bears that name from the golden colour of her hair. Horace, to give his satyr the greater strength, puts the words into the mouth of the prophet Tiresias, a person of unerring veracity.

This conduct may appear somewhat extraordinary both in Penelope and Ulysses; she not only takes, but asks presents from persons whom she never intends to marry: Is not this a sign either of avarice or falshood? and is not Ulysses equally guilty, who rejoices at it? But in reality, Penelope is no way faulty; she deceives the Suitors with hopes of marriage by accepting these presents, but it is for this sole reason that she accepts them; she intends to give them false hopes, and by that method to defer the nuptial hour: It is not injustice, but an equitable reprisal; they had violently wasted her treasures, and she artfully recovers part of them by a piece of refin'd management. Dacier defends her after another method: she believes that Penelope thus acts, not out of interest but honour; it was a disgrace to so great a Princess to have so many admirers, and never to receive from their hands such presents as custom not only allows, but commands; neither is Ulysses blameable, who rejoices at his wife's policy. He understood her intent, and being artful himself, smiles to see her artfulness.

Plutarch in his treatise of reading Poems, vindicates Ulysses very much in the same way: If (says that Author) Ulysses rejoiced at Penelope's art in drawing presents from the Suitors out of avarice, he discovers himself to be a sordid prostitutor of his wife; but if thro' a wise foresight he hop'd by her acceptance of the presents, to get the Suitors more into his power, by lulling them into security, and laying all their suspicions asleep, thro' a sudden prospect of marriage; if this occasion'd his joy, this joy arising from her artful management, and from a full confidence in his wife, is no way blameable, but proceeds from a sufficient and laudable cause. In short, the Suitors were enemies, and nothing could be practis'd dishonourably against them, that either Ulysses, or Penelope could act consistently with their own honour.

It is certain that the words in the Greek will bear a double construction, and θελ γε θυμον μειλιχιοις επεσσι may refer either to Penelope or Ulysses. Eustathius thinks they are spoken of Ulysses; then the meaning is, that Ulysses comforted himself with her amusing words, while he form'd a design very different from what her words expressed; but Dacier refers them to Penelope, perhaps with better reason: θελγε depends upon FA/TO in the preceding line, and by thus understanding it the construction becomes easy and natural: and the sentence means, that Penelope's words flattered the Suitors into hopes of marriage, while her thoughts were very distant from complying with their inclinations: This interpretation best agrees with the general design of Penelope, which was to act an artful part, and neither comply, nor absolutely refuse their addresses.

The word in the Greek is λαμπτηρ, or a vase which was plac'd upon a tripod, upon which the Antients burnt dry and oftentimes odoriferous wood, to give at once both perfume and light. Eustathius explains it by χυτροπους, or a vessel rais'd on feet in the nature of an hearth. Hesychius explains λαμπτηρ, an hearth placed in the middle of the house or hall, on which they burnt dry wood with intermingled torches to enlighten it. It is strange that there is no mention of lamps, but only torches, in Homer; undoubtedly lamps were not in use in Greece, although much earlier found out by the Hebrews: Thus Exod. xxv. 6. oil is mentioned, and injoin'd to be used in giving light to the sanctuary.

Homer is perpetually giving us lessons of decency and morality. It may be thought that this interlude between Ulysses and the damsels of Penelope is foreign to the action of the Odyssey; but in reality it is far from it: the Poet undertook to describe the disorders which the absence of a Prince occasions in his family; this passage is an instance of it; and Homer with good judgment makes these wantons declare their contempt of Ulysses, and their favour to their Suitors, that we may acknowledge the justice of their punishment in the subsequent parts of the Odyssey.

I flatter my self that I have given the true sense of χαλκηιος δομος, and λεσχη. In Greece the beggars in winter retir'd by night to public forges for their warmth, or to some rendezvous where they entertain'd themselves as it were in a common assembly. Eustathius explains λεσχη to be a public place without any doors, where beggars were used to lodge. Hesychius gives us several interpretations of the word that it signifies an assembly, a conversation; it implies also public stoves or baths; and Eustathius informs us from Aristophanes, that beggars used to take up their lodgings in the public baths, as well as in these places mentioned by Homer; χαλκηιος δομος is an office of men that work in brass. He further observes that these two places are used after the same manner in Hesiod.

Παρ δ' ιθι χαλκειον θωκον, και επ' αλλεα λεσχην
)/ωρη χειμεριη, οποτε κρυος ανερας ειργον
Ισχανει. ------

It may not be improper to observe, that παρ δ' ιθι θωκον χαλκειον is very ill translated by Accede Æneam sedem in the Latin version; it should be fuge officinam Ærariam.

The word in Homer is αλυης, which is used in various places; sometimes (observes Plutarch in his treatise upon reading Poems) it signifies being disquieted in mind,

Ως εφατ'. η αλυουσ' απεβησατο, τειρετο δ' αινως.

In other places it implies an insolent joy, or boasting; and then he quotes this verse,

Η αλυης οτι Ιρον ενικησας..

It may be thought very unjustifiable in Homer, to introduce Minerva exciting the Suitors to violence. Dacier defends the Poet, by shewing that the sentiment is conformable to true Theology: and the all-wise Author of our being is pleas'd sometimes to harden the hearts of the wicked, (or rather to permit them to harden their own hearts) that they may fill up the measure of their crimes, and be ripe for judgment: Yet we are not to imagine, that any person is necessitated to be wicked: It is not the hardening the heart that originally makes men impious, but they are first impious, and then they are delivered over to an hardness of heart.

But Homer may be justify'd another way; and Minerva may be understood to act thus in favour of Ulysses: The Goddess of Wisdom infatuates the Suitors to insult that Heroe, and hasten their own destruction.

Aristotle affirms that Homer is the father of Poetry; not only of the Epic, but also of the Dramatick; that he taught how to write Tragedy in the Iliad, and Comedy by several short sketches in the Odyssey. Eustathius here remarks, that he likewise gave a model for Satyr, of which the Cyclops of Euripides, still extant, is an example; (which is a satyric Poem founded upon the story of Polypheme in Homer.) I confess my eye is not sharp enough to see the dignity of these railleries; and it may be thought that Homer is the father of another kind of Poetry, I mean the Farce, and that these low conceits are no way to be justify'd, but by being put into the mouths of the Suitors, persons of no dignity or character. Longinus brings such descriptions of the Suitors, as instances of the decay of Homer's genius. When that declines (observes that Author) Poets commonly please themselves with painting Manners; such is Homer's description of the lives led by the Suitors in the Palace of Ulysses: for in reality all that description is a kind of Comedy, wherein the different characters of men are painted.

This in Dacier's judgment is a raillery purely satyrical; it is drawn from the shining glass of an old man's bald head. But if this be purely satyrical, to be a satyrist is to be a bad man: To rally natural infirmities is inhumanity: Old age is venerable, and the bald head as well as the gray hair is an honour, and ought not to be the subject of raillery. I doubt not but Homer put it into the mouth of Eurymachus to make him more odious, and to shew us that the same man who invades his Prince's property, insults the stranger, and outrages the poor, pays no deference to old age, but is base enough to contemn what he ought to honour. Vice and folly are the province of Satyr, not human infirmity.

I doubt not but such employments as these, now only suitable to low life, will seem mean to many Readers, and unworthy of the dignity of Epic Poetry: It is no defence to say that they are mention'd by a beggar, and therefore agreeable to his character: The words are address'd to a Prince, and suppose that a skill in such works was not unusual to persons of eminent stations; otherwise the challenge of Ulysses is ridiculously absurd. Who could forbear laughing, if he should hear one of our beggars challenge a Peer, to plow or mow with him all day without eating? The truth is, the greatest persons follow'd such employments without any diminution of their dignities; nay, a skill in such works as Agriculture was a glory even to a King: Homer here places it upon a level with military science, and the knowledge of the cultivation of the ground is equall'd to glory in war. In the preface to the Pastorals of Virgil (but not written by Mr. Dryden) there is a passage that shews that the same simplicity of manners prevail'd amongst the Antient Latins, as amongst the Antient Greeks: It ought not (says that Author) to surprize a modern writer, that Kings laid down their first rudiments of government in tending their mute subjects, their herds and flocks: Nor ought it to seem strange that the master of the horse to King Latinus in the ninth Æneid was found in the homely employment of cleaving blocks, when news of the first skirmish between the Trojans and Latins was brought to him.” This passage fully vindicates Homer, and shews that such employments were no dishonour to the greatest persons; but there are two errors in the quotation; it is not taken from the ninth, but the seventh Æneid; nor is Tyrrheus, who cleaves the blocks, master of the horse to King Latinus, but the intendant of his flocks; or as Dryden translates it,

Tyrrheus, chief ranger to the Latian King.
------ Tyrrheusque pater, cui regia parent
Armenta, & latè custodia creaita campi.

Tyrrheus is no otherwise a warrior, than as a deer under his charge, being kill'd, engages him in a quarrel, and he arms the rustics to encounter the Trojans who slew it.

------ vocat agmina Tyrrheus
Quadrifidem quercum cuneis ut forte coactis
Scindebat ------
Tyrrheus, the foster-father of the beast,
Then clench'd an hatchet in his horny fist;
But held his hand from the descending stroke,
And left his wedge within the cloven oak.

'Tis true, tho' Tyrrheus was not master of the horse to the King, yet his office was a post of dignity, otherwise it had been very easy for Virgil to have given him a more noble employment.

This is very artful in Telemachus; he had spoken warmly in defence of Ulysses, and he apprehends lest he should have provoked the Suitors too far; he therefore softens his expression, to avoid suspicions of a latent cause, why he interests himself so vigorously in vindication of a beggar, against the Princes of the country. Besides, too obstinate an opposition might have provoked the Suitors to have continued all night in the Palace, which would have hinder'd Ulysses and Telemachus from concerting their measures to bring about their destruction: Telemachus therefore to induce them to withdraw uses menaces, but menaces approaching to persuasion; if he had used violence, matters must immediately have come to extremities.

We have already observed that libations were made to the Gods before and after meals; here we see the Suitors offer their libation before they retire to repose. We are not to ascribe this religious act to the piety of these debauchees, but to the customs of the times; they practise not true religion, but only the exteriors of it; they are not pious, but fashionable.

The action of this book is comprehended in a very short duration of time; it begins towards the close of the day, and ends at the time when the Suitors withdraw to repose; this is the evening and part of the night of the thirty-ninth day.

In general, this book is in the Greek very beautiful: The combat between Irus and Ulysses is naturally described; it is indeed between beggars, but yet not without dignity, it being almost of the same nature with the single combats practis'd amongst Heroes in their most solemn games; as is evident from that in the Iliad, at the funeral of Patroclus. I could wish Homer had not condescended to those low jests and mean railleries towards the conclusion: 'Tis true, they are not without effect, as they agree with the characters of the Suitors, and make Ulysses a spectator of the disorders of his own family, and provoke him to a speedy vengeance: But might not more serious provocations have been found out, such as might become the gravity and majesty of Epic Poetry? or if gaiety was essential to his characters, are quibbles so too? These may be thought to be of the same level with Those conceits which Milton puts into the mouth of the Devil, and which disgrace his Poem. But the dignity, the tenderness, and justness of the sentiments, in all the speeches of Penelope, more than atone for the low railleries of Eurymachus.