University of Virginia Library



THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF THE ODYSSEY.



The ARGUMENT. The Conversation with Eumæus .

Ulysses arrives in disguise at the house of Eumæus, where he is received, entertained, and lodged, with the utmost hospitality. The several discourses of that faithful old Servant, with the feign'd story told by Ulysses to conceal himself, and other Conversations on various subjects, take up this entire book.


227

But he, deep-musing, o'er the mountains stray'd
Thro' mazy thickets of the woodland shade,
And cavern'd ways, the shaggy coast along,
With cliffs. and nodding forests over-hung.

228

Eumæus at his Sylvan lodge he sought,
A faithful servant, and without a fault.

229

Ulysses found him, busied as he sate
Before the threshold of his rustic gate;

230

Around the mansion in a circle shone
A rural Portico of rugged stone:

231

(In absence of his Lord, with honest toil
His own industrious hands had rais'd the pile)
The wall was stone from neighbouring quarries born,
Encircled with a fence of native thorn,
And strong with pales, by many a weary stroke
Of stubborn labour hewn from heart of oak;
Frequent and thick. Within the space were rear'd
Twelve ample cells, the lodgments of his herd.
Full fifty pregnant females each contain'd;
The males without (a smaller race) remain'd;
Doom'd to supply the Suitors wastful feast,
A stock by daily luxury decreast;
Now scarce four hundred left. These to defend,
Four savage dogs, a watchful guard, attend.

232

Here sate Eumæus, and his cares apply'd
To form strong buskins of well-season'd hyde.

233

Of four assistants who his labours share,
Three now were absent on the rural care;
The fourth drove victims to the suitor-train:
But he, of antient faith, a simple swain,
Sigh'd, while he furnish'd the luxurious board,
And wearied heav'n with wishes for his Lord.
Soon as Ulysses near th'enclosure drew,
With open mouths the furious mastives flew:
Down sate the Sage; and cautious to withstand,
Let fall th'offensive truncheon from his hand.

234

Sudden, the master runs; aloud he calls;
And from his hasty hand the leather falls;
With show'rs of stones he drives them far away;
The scatt'ring dogs around at distance bay.
Unhappy stranger! (thus the faithful swain
Began with accent gracious and humane)

235

What sorrow had been mine, if at my gate
Thy rev'rend age had met a shameful fate?
Enough of woes already have I known;
Enough my master's sorrows, and my own.
While here, (ungrateful task!) his herds I feed,
Ordain'd for lawless rioters to bleed;
Perhaps supported at another's board,
Far from his country roams my hapless Lord!
Or sigh'd in exile forth his latest breath,
Now cover'd with th'eternal shade of death!

236

But enter this my homely roof, and see
Our woods not void of hospitality.
Then tell me whence thou art? and what the share
Of woes and wand'rings thou wert born to bear?
He said, and seconding the kind request,
With friendly step precedes his unknown guest.
A shaggy goat's soft hyde beneath him spread,
And with fresh rushes heap'd an ample bed.
Joy touch'd the Hero's tender soul, to find
So just reception from a heart so kind:
And oh, ye Gods! with all your blessings grace
(He thus broke forth) this Friend of Human race!
The swain reply'd. It never was our guise
To slight the poor, or aught humane despise.
For Jove unfolds our hospitable door,
'Tis Jove that sends the stranger and the poor.

237

Little, alas! is all the good I can,
A man opprest, dependant, yet a man:
Accept such treatment as a swain affords,
Slave to the insolence of youthful Lords!
Far hence is by unequal Gods remov'd
That man of bounties, loving and belov'd!
To whom whate'er his slave enjoys is ow'd,
And more, had Fate allow'd, had been bestow'd:

238

But Fate condemn'd him to a foreign shore!
Much have I sorrow'd, but my master more.
Now cold he lies, to death's embrace resign'd:
Ah perish Helen! perish all her kind!
For whose curs'd cause, in Agamemnon's name,
He trod so fatally the paths of Fame.
His vest succinct then girding round his waste,
Forth rush'd the swain with hospitable haste,
Strait to the lodgments of his herd he run,
Where the fat porkers slept beneath the sun;
Of two, his cutlace launch'd the spouting blood;
These quarter'd, sing'd, and fix'd on forks of wood,
All hasty on the hissing coals he threw;
And smoaking back the tasteful viands drew,
Broachers and all; then on the board display'd
The ready meal before Ulysses lay'd.
(With flour imbrown'd) next mingled wine yet new,
And luscious as the Bee's nectareous dew:
Then sate companion of the friendly feast,
With open look, and thus bespoke his guest.

239

Take with free welcome what our hands prepare,
Such food as falls to simple servant's share;
The best our Lords consume; those thoughtless Peers,
Rich without bounty, guilty without fears!
Yet sure the Gods their impious acts detest,
And honour justice and the righteous breast.
Pyrates and conquerors, of harden'd mind,
The foes of peace, and scourges of mankind,
To whom offending men are made a prey
When Jove in vengeance gives a land away;
Ev'n these, when of their ill-got spoils possess'd,
Find sure tormentors in the guilty breast;
Some voice of God close whisp'ring from within,
“Wretch! this is villany, and this is sin.”
But these, no doubt, some oracle explore,
That tells, the great Ulysses is no more.
Hence springs their confidence, and from our sighs
Their rapine strengthens, and their riots rise:
Constant as Jove the night and day bestows,
Bleeds a whole hecatomb, a vintage flows.
None match'd this hero's wealth, of all who reign
O'er the fair Islands of the neighb'ring main,
Nor all the monarchs whose far-dreaded sway
The wide-extended continents obey:

240

First on the main land, of Ulysses' breed
Twelve herds, twelve flocks, on Ocean's margin feed;
As many stalls for shaggy goats are rear'd;
As many lodgments for the tusky herd;

241

Those foreign keepers guard: and here are seen
Twelve herds of goats that graze our utmost green;
To native pastors is their charge assign'd,
And mine the care to feed the bristly kind:
Each day the fattest bleeds of either herd,
All to the suitors wastful board preferr'd.
Thus he, benevolent; his unknown guest
With hunger keen devours the sav'ry feast;
While schemes of vengeance ripen in his breast.
Silent and thoughtful while the board he ey'd,
Eumæus pours on high the purple tide;
The King with smiling looks his joy exprest,
And thus the kind inviting host addrest,
Say now, what man is he, the man deplor'd,
So rich, so potent, whom you stile your Lord?
Late with such affluence and possessions blest,
And now in honor's glorious bed at rest.
Whoever was the warrior, he must be
To Fame no stranger, nor perhaps to me;
Who (so the Gods, and so the Fates ordain'd)
Have wander'd many a sea, and many a land.
Small is the faith, the Prince and Queen ascribe
(Reply'd Eumæus) to the wand'ring tribe.
For needy strangers still to flatt'ry fly,
And want too oft betrays the tongue to lye.

242

Each vagrant traveller that touches here,
Deludes with fallacies the royal ear,
To dear remembrance makes his image rise,
And calls the springing sorrows from her eyes.
Such thou may'st be. But he whose name you crave
Moulders in earth, or welters on the wave,
Or food for fish, or dogs, his reliques lie,
Or torn by birds are scatter'd thro' the sky.
So perish'd he: and left (for ever lost)
Much woe to all, but sure to me the most.
So mild a master never shall I find:
Less dear the parents whom I left behind,
Less soft my mother, less my father kind.
Not with such transport wou'd my eyes run o'er,
Again to hail them in their native shore,
As lov'd Ulysses once more to embrace,
Restor'd and breathing in his natal place.
That name, for ever dread, yet ever dear,
Ev'n in his absence I pronounce with fear;

243

In my respect he bears a Prince's part,
But lives a very Brother in my heart.
Thus spoke the faithful swain, and thus rejoin'd
The Master of his grief, the man of patient mind.
Ulysses, friend! shall view his old abodes,
(Distrustful as thou art) nor doubt the Gods.
Nor speak I rashly but with faith averr'd,
And what I speak attesting heav'n has heard.
If so, a cloak and vesture be my meed;
'Till his return, no title shall I plead,
Tho' certain be my news, and great my need.
Whom Want itself can force untruths to tell,
My soul detests him as the gates of hell.
Thou first be witness, hospitable Jove!
And ev'ry God inspiring social love!
And witness ev'ry houshold pow'r that waits
Guard of these fires, and angel of these gates!

244

Ere the next moon increase, or this decay,
His antient realms Ulysses shall survey,

245

In blood and dust each proud oppressor mourn,
And the lost glories of his house return.
Nor shall that meed be thine, nor ever more
Shall lov'd Ulysses hail this happy shore,
(Reply'd Eumæus:) To the present hour
Now turn thy thought, and joys within our pow'r.
From sad reflection let my soul repose;
The name of him awakes a thousand woes.
But guard him Gods! and to these arms restore!
Not his true consort can desire him more;
Not old Laertes, broken with despair;
Not young Telemachus, his blooming heir.
Alas, Telemachus! my sorrows flow
Afresh for thee, my second cause of woe!
Like some fair plant set by a heav'nly hand,
He grew, he flourish'd, and he blest the land;
In all the youth his father's image shin'd,
Bright in his person, brighter in his mind.
What man, or God, deceiv'd his better sense,
Far on the swelling seas to wander hence?
To distant Pylos hapless is he gone,
To seek his father's fate, and find his own!
For traytors wait his way, with dire design
To end at once the great Arcesian line.

246

But let us leave him to their wills above;
The fates of men are in the hand of Jove.
And now, my venerable guest! declare
Your name, your parents, and your native air?
Sincere from whence begun your course relate,
And to what ship I owe the friendly freight?
Thus he: and thus (with prompt invention bold)
The cautious Chief his ready story told.
On dark reserve what better can prevail,
Or from the fluent tongue produce the tale,
Than when two friends, alone, in peaceful place
Confer, and wines and cates the table grace;
But most, the kind inviter's chearful face?
Thus might we sit, with social goblets crown'd,
'Till the whole circle of the year goes round;
Not the whole circle of the year wou'd close
My long narration of a life of woes.
But such was Heav'n's high will! Know then I came
From sacred Crete, and from a Sire of Fame:

247

Castor Hylacides (that name he bore)
Belov'd and honour'd in his native shore;
Blest in his riches, in his children more.

248

Sprung of a handmaid, from a bought embrace,
I shar'd his kindness with his lawful race;
But when that Fate which all must undergo
From earth remov'd him to the shades below,

249

The large domain his greedy sons divide,
And each was portion'd as the lots decide.
Little alas! was left my wretched share,
Except a house, a covert from the air:
But what by niggard Fortune was deny'd
A willing widow's copious wealth supply'd.
My valour was my plea, a gallant mind
That, true to honour, never lagg'd behind,
(The sex is ever to a soldier kind.)
Now wasting years my former strength confound,
And added woes have bow'd me to the ground:
Yet by the stubble you may guess the grain,
And mark the ruins of no vulgar man.
Me Pallas gave to lead the martial storm,
And the fair ranks of battle to deform:
Me, Mars inspir'd to turn the foe to flight,
And tempt the secret ambush of the night.
Let ghastly Death in all his forms appear,
I saw him not; it was not mine to fear.
Before the rest I rais'd my ready steel;
The first I met, he yielded, or he fell!

250

But works of peace my soul disdain'd to bear,
The rural labour or domestick care.
To raise the mast, the missile dart to wing,
And send swift arrows from the bounding string,
Were arts the Gods made grateful to my mind;
Those Gods, who turn (to various ends design'd)
The various thoughts and talents of mankind.
Before the Grecians touch'd the Trojan plain,
Nine times Commander, or by land or main,
In foreign fields I spread my glory far,
Great in the praise, rich in the spoils of war:
Thence charg'd with riches, as increas'd in fame,
To Crete return'd, an honourable name.

251

But when great Jove that direful war decreed,
Which rouz'd all Greece and made the mighty bleed;
Our states my self and Idomen employ
To lead their fleets, and carry death to Troy.
Nine years we warr'd; the tenth saw Ilion fall;
Homeward we sail'd, but Heav'n dispers'd us all.
One only month my wife enjoy'd my stay;
So will'd the God who gives and takes away.
Nine ships I mann'd equipp'd with ready stores,
Intent to voyage to th'Egyptian shores;
In feast and sacrifice my chosen train
Six days consum'd; the sev'nth we plow'd the main.
Crete's ample fields diminish to our eye;
Before the Boreal blasts the vessels fly;
Safe through the level seas we sweep our way;
The steer-man governs, and the ships obey.
The fifth fair morn we stem th'Egyptian tide,
And tilting o'er the bay the vessels ride:
To anchor there my fellows I command,
And spies commission to explore the land.
But sway'd by lust of gain, and headlong will,
The coasts they ravage, and the natives kill.
The spreading clamour to their city flies,
And horse and foot in mingled tumult rise.

252

The red'ning dawn reveals the circling fields
Horrid with bristly spears, and glancing shields.
Jove thunder'd on their side. Our guilty head
We turn'd to flight; the gath'ring vengeance spread
On all parts round, and heaps on heaps lie dead.
I then explor'd my thought, what course to prove?
(And sure the thought was dictated by Jove,
Oh had he left me to that happier doom,
And sav'd a life of miseries to come!)
The radiant helmet from my brows unlac'd,
And low on earth my shield and javelin cast,
I meet the Monarch with a suppliant's face,
Approach his chariot, and his knees embrace.
He heard, he sav'd, he plac'd me at his side;
My state he pity'd, and my tears he dry'd,
Restrain'd the rage the vengeful foe exprest,
And turn'd the deadly weapons from my breast.
Pious! to guard the hospitable rite,
And fearing Jove, whom mercy's works delight.
In Egypt thus with peace and plenty blest,
I liv'd (and happy still had liv'd) a guest.
On sev'n bright years successive blessings wait;
The next chang'd all the colour of my Fate.

253

A false Phœnician of insidious mind,
Vers'd in vile arts, and foe to humankind,
With semblance fair invites me to his home:
I seiz'd the proffer (ever fond to roam)
Domestic in his faithless roof I stay'd,
'Till the swift sun his annual circle made.
To Lybia then he meditates the way;
With guileful art a stranger to betray,
And sell to bondage in a foreign land:
Much doubting, yet compell'd, I quit the strand.
Thro' the mid seas the nimble pinnace sails,
Aloof from Crete, before the northern gales:
But when remote her chalky cliffs we lost,
And far from ken of any other coast,
When all was wild expanse of sea and air;
Then doom'd high Jove due vengeance to prepare.
He hung a night of horrors o'er their head,
(The shaded Ocean blacken'd as it spread)
He launch'd the fiery bolt; from pole to pole
Broad burst the lightnings, deep the thunders roll;
In giddy rounds the whirling ship is tost,
And all in clouds of smoth'ring sulphur lost.
As from a hanging rock's tremendous height,
The sable crows with intercepted flight

254

Drop endlong; scarr'd, and black with sulph'rous hue,
So from the deck are hurl'd the ghastly crew.
Such end the wicked found! But Jove's intent
Was yet to save th'opprest and innocent.
Plac'd on the mast (the last recourse of life)
With winds and waves I held unequal strife;
For nine long days the billows tilting o'er,
The tenth soft wafts me to Thesprotia's shore.
The Monarch's son a shipwrackt wretch reliev'd,
The Sire with hospitable rites receiv'd,
And in his palace like a brother plac'd,
With gifts of price and gorgeous garments grac'd.
While here I sojourn'd, oft I heard the fame
How late Ulysses to the country came,
How lov'd, how honour'd in this court he stay'd,
And here his whole collected treasure lay'd;
I saw my self the vast unnumber'd store
Of steel elab'rate, and refulgent ore,
And brass high-heap'd amidst the regal dome;
Immense supplies for ages yet to come!

255

Mean-time he voyag'd to explore the will
Of Jove, on high Dodona's holy hill,
What means might best his safe return avail,
To come in pomp, or bear a secret sail?

256

Full oft has Phidon, whilst he pour'd the wine,
Attesting solemn all the pow'rs divine,
That soon Ulysses would return, declar'd,
The sailors waiting, and the ships prepar'd.
But first the King dismiss'd me from his shores,
For fair Dulichium crown'd with fruitful stores;
To good Acastus' friendly care consign'd:
But other counsels pleas'd the sailor's mind:

257

New frauds were plotted by the faithless train,
And misery demands me once again.
Soon as remote from shore they plow the wave,
With ready hands they rush to seize their slave;
Then with these tatter'd rags they wrapt me round,
(Stripp'd of my own) and to the vessel bound.
At eve, at Ithaca's delightful land
The ship arriv'd: Forth-issuing on the sand,
They sought repast; while to th'unhappy kind,
The pitying Gods themselves my chains unbind.
Soft I descended, to the sea apply'd
My nak'd breast, and shot along the tide.
Soon past beyond their sight, I left the flood,
And took the spreading shelter of the wood.
Their prize escap'd the faithless pyrates mourn'd;
But deem'd enquiry vain, and to their ship return'd.
Screen'd by protecting Gods from hostile eyes,
They led me to a good man and a wise;

258

To live beneath thy hospitable care,
And wait the woes heav'n dooms me yet to bear.
Unhappy guest! whose sorrows touch my mind!
(Thus good Eumæus with a sigh rejoin'd)

259

For real suff'rings since I grieve sincere,
Check not with fallacies the springing tear;
Nor turn the passion into groundless joy
For him, whom Heav'n has destin'd to destroy.
Oh! had he perisht on some well-fought day,
Or in his friend's embraces dy'd away!
That grateful Greece with streaming eyes might raise
Historic marbles, to record his praise:
His praise, eternal on the faithful stone,
Had with transmissive honours grac'd his son.
Now snatch'd by Harpies to the dreary coast;
Sunk is the Heroe, and his glory lost!
While pensive in his solitary den,
Far from gay cities, and the ways of men,
I linger life; nor to the court repair,
But when the constant Queen commands my care;

260

Or when, to taste her hospitable board,
Some guest arrives, with rumours of her Lord;
And these indulge their want, and those their woe,
And here the tears, and there the goblets flow.

261

By many such have I been warn'd; but chief
By one Ætolian robb'd of all belief,
Whose hap it was to this our roof to roam,
For murder banish'd from his native home.
He swore, Ulysses on the coast of Crete
Staid but a season to refit his fleet;
A few revolving months shou'd waft him o'er,
Fraught with bold warriors and a boundless store.
O thou! whom Age has taught to understand,
And Heav'n has guided with a fav'ring hand!
On God or mortal to obtrude a lie
Forbear, and dread to flatter, as to die.
Not for such ends my house and heart are free,
But dear respect to Jove, and charity.
And why, oh swain of unbelieving mind!
(Thus quick reply'd the wisest of mankind)
Doubt you my oath? yet more my faith to try,
A solemn compact let us ratify,
And witness every pow'r that rules the sky!
If here Ulysses from his labours rest,
Be then my prize a tunic and a vest;
And, where my hopes invite me, strait transport
In safety to Dulichium's friendly court.

262

But if he greets not thy desiring eye,
Hurl me from yon dread precipice on high;
The due reward of fraud and perjury.
Doubtless, oh guest! great laud and praise were mine
(Reply'd the swain for spotless faith divine)
If, after social rites and gifts bestow'd,
I stain'd my hospitable hearth with blood.
How would the Gods my righteous toils succeed,
And bless the hand that made a stranger bleed?
No more—th'approaching hours of silent night
First claim refection, then to rest invite;
Beneath our humble cottage let us haste,
And here, unenvy'd, rural dainties taste.
Thus commun'd these; while to their lowly dome
The full-fed swine return'd with evening home;
Compell'd, reluctant, to their sev'ral styes,
With din obstrep'rous, and ungrateful cries.

263

Then to the slaves—Now from the herd the best
Select, in honour of our foreign guest:
With him, let us the genial banquet share,
For great and many are the griefs we bear;
While those who from our labours heap their board,
Blaspheme their feeder, and forget their Lord.
Thus speaking, with dispatchful hand he took
A weighty ax, and cleft the solid oak;
This on the earth he pil'd; a boar full fed
Of five years age, before the pile was led:
The swain, whom acts of piety delight,
Observant of the Gods, begins the rite;
First shears the forehead of the bristly boar,
And suppliant stands, invoking every pow'r
To speed Ulysses to his native shore.

264

A knotty stake then aiming at his head,
Down drop'd he groaning, and the spirit fled.
The scorching flames climb round on ev'ry side:
Then the sing'd members they with skill divide;
On these, in rolls of fat involv'd with art,
The choicest morsels lay from ev'ry part.
Some in the flames, bestrow'd with flour, they threw;
Some cut in fragments, from the forks they drew:
These while on sev'ral tables they dispose,
As priest himself, the blameless rustic rose;
Expert the destin'd victim to dis-part
In sev'n just portions, pure of hand and heart.

265

One sacred to the Nymphs apart they lay;
Another to the winged son of May:
The rural tribe in common share the rest,
The King the chine, the honour of the feast.
Who sate delighted at his servant's board;
The faithful servant joy'd his unknown Lord.

266

Oh be thou dear (Ulysses cry'd) to Jove,
As well thou claim'st a grateful stranger's love!
Be then thy thanks, (the bounteous swain reply'd)
Enjoyment of the good the Gods provide.
From God's own hand descend our joys and woes;
These he decrees, and he but suffers those:
All pow'r is his, and whatsoe'er he wills
The Will it self, Omnipotent, fulfills.
This said, the first-fruits to the Gods he gave;
Then pour'd of offer'd wine the sable wave:
In great Ulysses' hand he plac'd the bowl,
He sate, and sweet refection cheer'd his soul.
The bread from canisters Mesaulius gave,
(Eumæus' proper treasure bought this slave,
And led from Taphos, to attend his board,
A servant added to his absent Lord)

267

His task it was the wheaten loaves to lay,
And from the banquet take the bowls away.

268

And now the rage of hunger was represt,
And each betakes him to his couch to rest.
Now came the night, and darkness cover'd o'er
The face of things; the winds began to roar;

269

The driving storm the wat'ry west-wind pours,
And Jove descends in deluges of show'rs.
Studious of rest and warmth, Ulysses lies,
Foreseeing from the first the storm wou'd rise;
In meer necessity of coat and cloak,
With artful preface to his host he spoke.
Hear me, my friends! who this good banquet grace;
'Tis sweet to play the fool in time and place,
And wine can of their wits the wise beguile,
Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile,
The grave in merry measures frisk about,
And many a long-repented word bring out,

270

Since to be talkative I now commence,
Let wit cast off the sullen yoke of sense.
Once I was strong (wou'd heav'n restore those days)
And with my betters claim'd a share of praise.
Ulysses, Menelas led forth a band,
And joyn'd me with them, ('twas their own command)
A deathful ambush for the foe to lay,
Beneath Troy walls by night we took our way:
There, clad in arms, along the marshes spread,
We made the ozier-fringed bank our bed.
Full soon th'inclemency of Heav'n I feel,
Nor had these shoulders cov'ring, but of steel.
Sharp blew the North; snow whitening all the fields
Froze with the blast, and gath'ring glaz'd our shields.
There all but I, well fenc'd with cloak and vest,
Lay cover'd by their ample shields at rest.
Fool that I was! I left behind my own;
The skill of weather and of winds unknown,
And trusted to my coat and shield alone!

271

When now was wasted more than half the night,
And the stars faded at approaching light;
Sudden I jogg'd Ulysses, who was laid
Fast by my side, and shiv'ring thus I said.
Here longer in this field I cannot lie,
The winter pinches, and with cold I die,
And die asham'd (oh wisest of mankind)
The only fool who left his cloak behind.
He thought, and answer'd: hardly waking yet,
Sprung in his mind the momentary wit;
(That wit, which or in council, or in fight,
Still met th'emergence, and determin'd right)
Hush thee, he cry'd, (soft-whisp'ring in my ear)
Speak not a word, lest any Greek may hear—
And then (supporting on his arm his head)
Hear me, companions! (thus aloud he said)

272

Methinks too distant from the fleet we lye:
Ev'n now a Vision stood before my eye,
And sure the warning Vision was from high:
Let from among us some swift Courier rise,
Haste to the Gen'ral, and demand supplies.
Upstarted Thoas strait, Andræmon's son,
Nimbly he rose, and cast his garment down;
Instant, the racer vanish'd off the ground;
That instant, in his cloak I wrapt me round:
And safe I slept, till brightly-dawning shone
The Morn, conspicuous on her golden throne.
Oh were my strength as then, as then my age!
Some friend would fence me from the winter's rage.
Yet tatter'd as I look, I challeng'd then
The honors, and the offices of men:
Some master, or some servant would allow
A cloak and vest—but I am nothing now!
Well hast thou spoke (rejoin'd th'attentive swain)
Thy lips let fall no idle word or vain!
Nor garment shalt thou want, nor ought beside,
Meet, for the wand'ring suppliant to provide.

273

But in the morning take thy cloaths again,
For here one vest suffices ev'ry swain;

274

No change of garments to our hinds is known:
But when return'd, the good Ulysses' son
With better hand shall grace with fit attires
His guest, and send thee where thy soul desires.
The honest herdsman rose, as this he said,
And drew before the hearth the stranger's bed:
The fleecy spoils of sheep, a goat's rough hide
He spreads; and adds a mantle thick and wide;
With store to heap above him, and below,
And guard each quarter as the tempests blow.
There lay the King, and all the rest supine;
All, but the careful master of the swine:
Forth hasted he to tend his bristly care:
Well arm'd, and fenc'd against nocturnal air;

275

His weighty faulchion o'er his shoulder ty'd:
His shaggy cloak a mountain goat supply'd:
With his broad spear, the dread of dogs and men,
He seeks his lodging in the rocky den.
There to the tusky herd he bends his way,
Where screen'd from Boreas, high-o'erarch'd, they lay.
 

We see in this book the character of a faithful, wise, benevolent old man in Eumæus; one happily innocent, unambitious, and wholly employ'd in rural affairs. The whole interview between Ulysses and Eumæus has fallen into ridicule; Eumæus has been judg'd to be of the same rank and condition with our modern swineherds. But herds and flocks were then kept and attended by the sons of Kings; thus Paris watch'd the flocks of Priam in the groves of Ida, and the same is said of many of the Heroes in the Iliad; these offices were places of dignity, and fill'd by persons of birth; and such was Eumæus, descended from a Prince, named Ctesius: Thus the Master of the Horse is a post of Honour in modern ages.

It is in Poetry, as in Painting; where the artist does not confine himself to draw only Gods or Heroes, Palaces and Princes; but he frequently employs his pencil in representing Landschapes, rural scenes, groves, cottages, and shepherds tending their flocks.

There is a passage in Monsieur Boileau's reflections upon Longinus, which fully vindicates all the places of Homer that have been censur'd as low and too familiar. “There is nothing, (observes that Author) that more disgraces a composition than the use of vulgar words: A mean thought expressed in noble terms, is generally more taking than a noble thought debased by mean terms: The reason is, every person cannot judge of the justness and strength of a thought, but there are very few, especially in living languages, who are not shock'd at mean words: and yet almost all writers fall into this fault. Longinus accuses Herodotus, the most polite of all the Greek Historians, of this defect; and Livy, Sallust, and Virgil have fall'n under the same imputation. Is it not then very surprizing that no reproach upon this account has fall'n upon Homer? especially, though he has composed two large Poems, and though no Author has descended more frequently into the detail of little particularities; yet he never uses terms which are not noble, or if he uses humble words or phrases it is with so much art, that as Dionysius Halicarnassus observes, they become noble and harmonious. We may learn from hence the ignorance of those modern Criticks, who judge of the Greek without the knowledge of it; and having never read Homer but in low and inelegant translations, impute the Meanesses of the Translator to the Poet. Besides, the words of different languages are not exactly correspondent, and it often happens, that an expression which is noble in the Greek cannot be render'd in a version but by words that are either mean in the sound or usage. Thus ass, and asinus in Latin, are mean to the last degree; tho' ονος in the Greek be used in the most magnificent descriptions, and has nothing mean in it; in like manner the terms Hogherd and Cowkeeper, are not to be used in our Poetry; but there are no finer words in the Greek language than βουκολος and συβωτης: And Virgil, who entitles his Eclogues Bucolics in the Roman tongue, would have been ashamed to have call'd them in our language the Dialogues of Cowkeepers.

Homer himself convinces us of the truth of this Observation; nay, one would imagine that he intended industriously to force it upon our notice: for he frequently calls Eumæus Ορχαμος ανδρων, or Prince of men; and his common epithet is θειος or διος υφορβος. Homer would not have apply'd these appellations to him, if he had not been a person of dignity; it being the same title that he bestows upon his greatest Heroes, Ulysses or Achilles.

I shall transcribe the observation of Dionysius of Halicarnassus upon the first verses in this book: The same method, remarks that Author, makes both prose and verse beautiful; which consists in these three things, the judicious coaptation and ranging of the words, the position of the members and parts of the verse, and the various measure of the periods. Whoever would write elegantly, must have regard to the different turn and juncture of every period, there must be proper distances and pauses; every verse must be a compleat sentence, but broken and interrupted, and the parts made unequal, some longer, some shorter, to give a variety of cadence to it. Neither the turn of the parts of the verse, nor the length, ought to be alike. This is absolutely necessary: For the Epic or Heroic verse is of a fix'd determinate length, and we cannot, as in the Lyric, make one longer, and another shorter; therefore to avoid an identity of cadence, and a perpetual return of the same periods, it is requisite to contract, lengthen, and interrupt the pause and structure of the members of the verses, to create an harmonious inequality, and out of a fix'd number of syllables to raise a perpetual diversity. For instance,

Αυταρ ο εκ λιμενος προσεβη τρηχειαν αταρπον.

Here one line makes one sentence; the next is shorter,

Χωρον αν' υληεντα ------

The next is still shorter,

------ δι' ακριας ------

The next sentence composes two Hemystics,

------ Η οι Αθηνη
Πεφραδε διον υφορβον ------

and is entirely unlike any of the preceding periods.

------ Ο οι βιοτοιο μαλιστα
Κηδετο οικηων ους κτησατο διος Οδυσσευς.

Here again the sentence is not finish'd with the former verse, but breaks into the fourth line; and lest we should be out of breath with the length of the sentence, the period and the verse conclude together at the end of it.

Then Homer begins a new sentence, and makes it pause differently from any of the former.

Τον δ' αρ' ενι προδρομω ευρ' ημενον ------

Then he adds,

------ Ενθα οι αυλη
Υψηλη δεδμητο ------

This is perfectly unequal to the foregoing period, and the pause of the sentence is carry'd forward into the second verse; and what then follows is neither distinguished by the pauses nor parts periodically, but almost at every word there is a stop.

------ Περισκεπτω ενι χωρω,
Καλητε, μεγαλητε.

No doubt but Homer was a perfect master of numbers; a man can no more be a Poet than a Musician, without a good ear, as we usually express it. 'Tis true, that versification is but the Mechanism of Poetry, but it sets off good sense to the best advantage, 'tis a colouring that enlivens the portrait, and makes even a beauty more agreeable.

I will conclude this note, with observing what Mr. Dryden says of these two lines from Cowper's Hill,

Tho' deep, yet clear, tho' gentle, yet not dull,
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.

“There are few (says he) who make verses, that have observ'd the sweetness of these lines, and fewer who can find the reason of it.” But I believe no one will be at a loss to solve the difficulty who considers this observation of Dionysius: and I doubt not but the chief sweetness arises from the judicious and harmonious pauses of the several periods of the verses; not to mention the happy choice of the words, in which there is scarce one rough consonant, many liquids, and those liquids soften'd with a multitude of vowels.

I doubt not but this employment of Eumæus has been another cause of the mean character that has been form'd of his condition: But this mistake arises from our judging of the dignity of men from the employments they follow'd three thousand years past, by the notions we have of those employments at present; and because they are now only the occupation of the vulgar, we imagine that they were so formerly: Kings and Princes in the earlier ages of the world labour'd in arts and occupations, and were above nothing that tended to promote the conveniencies of life; they perform'd that with their own hands, which we now perform by those of our servants: If this were not so, the cookery of Achilles in the Iliad would equally disparage that Heroe, as this employment would disgrace Eumæus in the Odyssey: Arts were then in their infancy, and were honourable to the practisers: Thus Ulysses builds a vessel with his own hands, as skilfully as a Shipwright.

Besides, even at this day Arts are in high esteem in the oriental world, and are practis'd by the greatest personages. Every man in Turky is of some trade; Sultan Achmet was a maker of Ivory Rings, which the Turks wear upon their thumbs when they shoot their arrows, and in this occupation he work'd several hours daily; and another of their Emperors was depos'd, because he refus'd to work in his occupation.

It must be confessed that our Translations have contributed to give those who are unacquainted with the Greek, a mean Idea of Eumæus. This place is thus render'd by two of his Translators.

Himself there sate ord'ring a pair of brogues,
Of a py'd bullock's skin—
Himself was leather to his foot applying,
Made of a good cow-hide well coloured.

Whereas Homer is as lofty and harmonious, as these are flat and inelegant.

Αυτος δ' αμφι ποδεσσιν εοις αραρισκε πεδιλα
Ταμνων δερμα βοειον, ευχροες.

'Tis true, a Translator in such places as these has an hard task; a language like the Greek, which is always flowing, musical, and sonorous, is very difficult to be imitated in other tongues, especially where the corresponding words are not equally significant and graceful.

In short, the Reader is to consider this whole description as a true picture of antient life; and then he will not sail of the pleasure of knowing how the great men of antient times passed their lives, and how those Heroes, who perform'd such noble parts on the publick stage of life, acted in private when withdrawn from notice and observation. Those ages retain'd an universal simplicity of manners: Telemachus and Eumæus have both dogs for their attendants; nay, and in later times, before luxury prevail'd among the Romans, we read of a Dictator brought from the plough, to lead the bravest soldiers in the world to conquer it.

Homer has been censur'd for representing his Heroe unworthily: Is it probable that he who had met whole armies in battle, should now throw away his staff out of fear of a dog? that he should abandon his defence by casting himself on the ground, and leave himself to his mercy? But Eustathius fully vindicates Ulysses. It is a natural defence to avert the fury of a dog, to cast away our weapons, to show that we intend him no violence. Pliny has the like observation in the eighth book of his Natural History: Impetus canum & sævitia mitigatur ab homine, humi considente.

All that Homer says of the dogs, is imitated by Theocritus, Idyll. 25. v. 68.

Θεσπεσιον δ' υλαοντει επεδραμον αλλοθεν αλλος
Τους μεν ογε λαεσσιν απο χθονος οσσον αειρων
Φευγεμεν αψ' οπισω δειδεσσετο, &c.

What Homer speaks of Ulysses, Theocritus applies to Hercules; a demonstration that he thought it to be a picture of Nature, and therefore inferred it in that Heroic Idyllium.

This is thought to be an adventure that really happen'd to the Poet himself; it is related in the life of Homer ascrib'd to Herodotus. Thestorides having persuaded Homer to permit him to transcribe his verses, he immediately remov'd to Chios, and proclaim'd himself the Author: Homer being inform'd of it, set sail for Chios, and landing near it, he was in danger of being torn in pieces by the dogs of Glaucus, who protected him, and received him hospitably: The Poet in return labour'd to reward his kindness, by relating to him the most curious of his adventures that had happen'd in the course of his voyages. When therefore (adds Dacier) we see Ulysses entertain'd by Eumæus, we have the satisfaction of imagining we see Homer himself in discourse with his courteous friend Glaucus.

The words in the Greek are διος υφορβος, literally render'd, the divine swineherd, which are Burlesque in modern languages, and would have been no less in Greek, if the person of Eumæus had not been honourable, and his office a station of dignity: For the sole reason why such a translation would now be ridiculous, is because such employments are now fall'n into contempt. Let any person ask this question, Would Homer have apply'd the epithet divine to a modern swineherd? If he would not, it is an evidence that Eumæus was a man of consequence, and his post a place of honour; otherwise Homer would have been guilty of burlesquing his own Poetry.

Dacier very well remarks, that the words Eumæus here speaks, and indeed his whole conversation, shew him to be a person of a good education, and of noble and pious sentiments: he discovers a natural and flowing Eloquence, and appears to be a man of great humanity and wisdom.

There is a peculiarity in Homer's manner of apostrophizing Eumæus, and speaking of him in the second person; it is generally apply'd by that Poet only to men of account and distinction, and by it the Poet, as it were, addresses them with respect; thus in the Iliad he introduces Menelaus.

Ουδε σεθεν, Μενελαε, θεοι ελαθοντο.
------ Τονδε τροσεφης Πατροκλε.

This enlivens the diction, and awakens the attention of the Reader. Eustathius observes that Eumæus is the only person of whom Homer thus speaks in the whole Odyssey: No doubt (continues that Author) he does it out of love of this benevolent old servant of Ulysses, and to honour and distinguish his fidelity.

This passage contains an admirable lecture of Morality and Humanity. The person who best understood the beauty of it, and best explain'd the precepts it comprehends, was Epictetus, from whom Monsieur Dacier furnishes us with this explication from Arrian: “Keep (says that Author) continually in thy memory, what Eumæus speaks in Homer to the disguis'd Ulysses.” O friend, it is unlawful to despise the stranger; speak thus to thy brother, father, and neighbour: It is my duty to use you with benevolence, tho' your circumstances were meaner than they are; for you come from God. Here we see Epictetus borrowing his Morality from Homer; and Philosophy embellish'd with the ornaments of Poetry. Indeed there is scarce any writer of name among all the Antients that has not been obliged to Homer, whether Moralists, Poets, Philosophers, or Legislators.

This passage has been greatly mistaken by almost all who have translated Homer: the words at first view seem to imply that Ulysses had given Eumæus a wife, a house, and an inheritance; but this is not the meaning. The words are thus to be render'd, “Ulysses (says Eumæus) greatly loved me, and gave me a possession, and such things as an indulgent Master gives a faithful servant; namely a wife, inheritance, and an house:” These gifts are to be apply'd to Αναξ ευθυμος, and not to Ulysses, and the sentence means that it is the custom of good Kings in that manner to reward their faithful servants. It is very evident from Homer, that Ulysses had not yet given a Wife to Eumæus, for he promises him and Philætius all these rewards, lib. 21. of the Odyssey.

Αξομαι αμφοτεροις αλοχους, και κτηματ' οπασσω,
Οικια τ' εγγυς εμειο τετυγμενα, και μοι επειτα
Τηλεμαχου εταρω τε, κασιγνητω τε εσεσθον.

It appears therefore that Eumæus was not married, and therefore this whole period is to be apply'd to the word αναξ, and not to Ulysses. Eustathius.

I will only add that in the above-mentioned verses Ulysses promises that Eumæus shall be the companion and brother of Telemachus; an instance, that he was not a vulgar person whom Ulysses thus honours, by making him ally'd to the Royal Family.

We find here a custom of Antiquity: This flour was made of parch'd corn; when the Antients fed upon any thing that had not been offer'd in sacrifice, they sprinkled it with flour, which was used instead of the hallow'd barley, with which they consecrated their victims. I doubt not, (since some honours were paid to the Gods in all feasts) but that this sprinkling of flour by Eumæus was an act of religion. Dacier.

I have already remark'd that Ulysses was a wealthy King, and this place is an instance of it. He is master of twelve herds of Oxen, which probably amounted to fourteen thousand four hundred head; for if we count the herds by the same way of computation as the droves of swine, they will make that number, each drove consisting of twelve hundred: for tho' Homer mentions but three hundred and sixty boars, yet he tells us, the reason why they were inferior to the females was because of the luxury of the Suitors. If this be allow'd, then he had likewise the same number of sheep, and as many hogs: for Eumæus had the charge only of one herd, eleven more were under the care of other officers: Ulysses likewise had thirteen thousand two hundred goats. This will appear to be a true calculation from the words of Homer, who tells us that twenty of the greatest Heroes of the age were not so wealthy as Ulysses.

The old Poets and Historians to express a person of great riches gave him the epithet of πολυμηλων, πολυαρνων, or πολυρρηνος; that is, “a person that had a great number of sheep or cattle, or a person of great wealth.” This is likewise evident from the holy Scriptures: David had his Officers, like Ulysses, to attend his flocks and herds: Thus I Chron. xxvii. Jehonathan was set over his treasures in the field, cities and villages; Shimei over his vineyards; Zabdi over his wines; Baal hanan over his olive trees, and Joash over his oil: He had herdsmen that had charge over his cattle, sheep, camels and asses. It was by cattle that the antient Kings enrich'd themselves from the earliest ages: Thus no less a person than Pharaoh, a powerful King of Ægypt, gave Joseph leave to appoint his brethren to be Rulers over his cattle; and we read in all the Greek Poets, that the wealth of Kings originally consisted in herds and flocks. They lose much of the pleasure of Homer who read him only as a Poet: he gives us an exact Image of antient life, their manners, customs, laws, and Politics; and it must double our satisfaction, when we consider that in reading Homer we are reading the most antient Author in the world, except the great Lawgiver Moses.

Eustathius excellently explains the sentiment of Eumæus, which is full of tenderness and humanity. I will not call Ulysses, cries Eumæus, by the name of Ulysses, for from strangers he receives that appellation; I will not call him my Master, for as such he never was toward me; I will then call him Brother, for he always used me with the tenderness of a brother. Ηθειος properly signifies an elder brother.

What I would further observe is the wonderful art of Homer in exalting the character of his Heroe: He is the bravest and the best of men, good in every circumstance of life: Valiant in war, patient in adversity, a kind father, husband, and master, as well as a mild and merciful King: By this conduct the Poet deeply engages our affections in the good or ill fortune of the Heroe: He makes himself master of our passions, and we rejoice or grieve at his success or calamity through the whole Odyssey.

These verses have been thought to be used ænigmatically by Ulysses.

Του δ' αυτου λυκαβαντος ελευσεται ενθαδ' Οδυσσ/ευς,
Του μεν φθινοντος μηνος, του δ' ισταμενοιο.

In the former verse Eustathius tells us there is a various reading, and judges that it ought to be written του δ' αν του, and not του δ' αντου; and it must be allow'd that the repetition of του gives a greater emphasis to the words, and agrees better with the vehemence of the speaker in making his asseveration.

The latter verse in the obvious sense seems to mean that Ulysses would return in the space of a month, and so Eumæus understood it; but in reality it means in the compass of a day. Solon was the first who discover'd the latent sense of it, as Plutarch informs us; “Solon, says that Author, observing the inequality of the months, and that the Moon neither agreed with the rising or setting of the Sun, but that often in the same day she overtook and went before it, nam'd that same day ενη και νεα, the old and new Moon; and allotted that part of the day that preceded the Conjunction, to the old Moon, and the other part of it to the new: from hence we may judge that he was the first that comprehended the sense of this verse of Homer,

Του μεν φθινοντος μηνος, του δ' ισταμενοιο.

Accordingly he nam'd the following day, the day of the new Moon. Ulysses then means that he will return on the last day of the month, for on that day the Moon is both old and new; that is, she finishes one month, and begins another.” This is taken from the life of Solon; but whether the obvious sense in which Eumæus is suppos'd to understand it, or the latent meaning of Solon be preferable, is submitted to the Reader's judgment; I confess I see no occasion to have recourse to that mysterious explication: What Ulysses intended was to certifie Eumæus, that Ulysses would assuredly return very speedily; and the verse will have this effect, if it be understood literally and plainly; besides, Ulysses is to continue in an absolute disguise, why then should he endanger a discovery, by using an ambiguous sentence, which might possibly be understood? but if it was so dark that it was utterly unintelligible to Eumæus, then it is used in vain, and a needless ambiguity.

This whole narration is a notable instance of that artful dissimulation so remarkable in the character of Ulysses, and an evidence that Homer excellently sustains it thro' the whole Poem; for Ulysses appears to be πολυτροπος, as he is represented in the first line, throughout the Odyssey. This narrative has been both prais'd and censur'd by the Critics, especially by Rapin; I will lay his observations before the reader.

Homer is guilty of verbosity, and of a tedious prolix manner of speaking: he is the greatest talker of all Antiquity: The very Greeks, tho' chargeable with an excess this way above all Nations, have reprehended Homer for his intemperance of words; he is ever upon his Rehearsals, and not only of the same words, but of the same things, and consequently is in a perpetual circle of repetitions. 'Tis true he always speaks naturally, but then he always speaks too much: His adventures in Ægypt, which he relates to Eumæus, are truly idle impertinent stories, purely for amusement: there is no thread in his discourse, nor does it seem to tend to any propos'd end, but exceeds all bounds: that vast fluency of speech, and those mighty overflowings of fancy, make him shoot beyond the mark. Hence his draughts are too accurate, and leave nothing to be perform'd by the imagination of the Reader, a fault which (as Cicero observes) Apelles found in the antient Painters.” This objection is intended only against the fulness of Homer's expression, not against the subject of the Narration: for Rapin in another place speaking of the beauties of Homer, gives this very Story as an instance of his excellency: these are his words,

“I shall say nothing of all the Relations which Ulysses makes to Eumæus upon his return to his Country, and his wonderful management to bring about his Re-establishment; that whole story is drest in colours so decent, and at the same time so noble, that Antiquity can hardly match any part of the Narration.

If what Rapin remarks in the latter Period be true, Homer will easily obtain a pardon for the fault of prolixity, imputed to him in the aforemention'd objection. For who would be willing to retrench one of the most decent and noble narrations of Antiquity, meerly for the length of it? But it may, perhaps, be true that this story is not impertinent, but well suited to carry on the design of Ulysses, and consequently tends to a propos'd End: for in this consists the strength of Rapin's objection.

Nothing is more evident than that the whole success of Ulysses depends upon his disguise; a discovery would be fatal to him, and at once give a single unassisted person into the power of his enemies. How then is this Disguise to be carried on? especially when Ulysses in person is required to give an account of his own story? Must it not be by assuming the name of another person, and giving a plausible relation of his life, fortunes, and calamities, that brought him to a strange country, where he has no acquaintance or friend? This obliges him to be circumstantial, nothing giving a greater air of probability than descending to particularities, and this necessitates his prolixity. The whole relation is comprehended in the compass of an hundred and seventy lines: and an Episode of no greater length may not perhaps deserve to be called verbose, if compar'd with the length of the Odyssey: Nay, there may be a reason given why it ought to be of a considerable length: There is a pause in the action, while Minerva passes from Ithaca, to Telemachus in Lacedæmon: This interval is to be fill'd up with some incident relating to Ulysses, until Telemachus is prepar'd to return; for his assistance is necessary to re-establish the affairs of Ulysses. This then is a time of leisure, and the Poet fills it up with the narrations of Ulysses till the return of Telemachus, and consequently there is room for a long relation. Besides (remarks Eustathius) Homer interests all men of all ages in the story, by giving us pieces of true history, antient customs, and exact descriptions of persons and places, instructive and delightful to all the world, and these incidents are adorn'd with all the embellishments of Eloquence and Poetry.

Ulysses says he was the son of a Concubine; this was not a matter of disgrace among the Antients, Concubinage being allow'd by the laws.

The Sons cast lots for their patrimony, an evidence that this was the practice of the antient Greeks. Hence an inheritance had the name of κληρονομια, that is from the Lots; Parents put it to the decision of the Lot, to avoid the Envy and Imputation of Partiality in the distribution of their estates. It has been judg'd that the Poet writes according to the Athenian laws, at least this custom prevail'd in the days of Solon; for he forbad parents who had several legitimate Sons to make a will, but ordain'd that all the legitimate Sons should have an equal share of their Father's effects.

Eustathius.

Plutarch, in his comparison of Aristides and Cato, cites these verses,

------ εργαν δεμοι ουφιλον εσκεν,
Ουδ' οικωφελιη, &c.

and tells us, that they who neglect their private and domestic concerns, usually draw their subsistence from violence and rapine. This is certainly a truth, Men are apt to supply their wants, occasion'd by idleness, by plunder and injustice: but it is as certain that no reflection is intended to be cast upon this way of living by Ulysses, for in his age Piracy was not only allowable but glorious, and sudden inroads and incursions were practis'd by the greatest Heroes. Homer therefore only intends to shew that the disposition of Ulysses inclin'd him to pursue the more dangerous, but more glorious, way of living by War, than the more lucrative, but more secure method of life, by Agriculture and husbandry.

These Oaks of Dodona were held to be oraculous, and to be endued with speech, by the Antients; and Pigeons were supposed to be the Priestesses of the Deity. Herodotus in Euterpe gives a full account of what belongs to this Oracle, who tells us, that he was inform'd by the Priestesses of Dodona, that two black Pigeons flew away from Thebes in Egypt, and one of them perching upon a Tree in Dodona, admonish'd the Inhabitants with an human voice to erect an Oracle in that place to Jupiter. But Herodotus solves this Fable after the following manner. “There were two Priestesses carried away from Ægypt, and one of them was sold by the Phœnicians in Greece, where she in her servitude consecrated an Altar to Jupiter under an oak; the Dodonæans gave her the name of a Pigeon, because she was a Barbarian, and her speech at first no more understood than the chattering of a Bird or Pigeon; but as soon as she had learn'd the Greek tongue, it was presently reported that the Pigeon spoke with an human Voice. She had the Epithet Black, because she was an Ægyptian.

Eustathius informs us, that Dodona was antiently a City of Thesprotia, and in process of time the limits of it being chang'd, it became of the country of the Molossians, that is, it lay between Thessaly and Epirus: Near this city was a mountain nam'd Tmarus or Timourus; on this mountain there stood a Temple, and within the precincts of it were these oraculous Oaks of Jupiter: This was the most antient Temple of Greece, according to Herodotus, founded by the Pelasgians, and at first serv'd by Priests call'd Selli; and the Goddess Dione being join'd with Jupiter in the worship, the service was perform'd by three aged Priestesses, call'd in the Molossian tongue πελειαι, as old men were called πελειοι (perhaps from the corrupted word παλαιοι or Antients) and the same word πελειαι signifying also Pigeons, gave occasion to the fable of the Temple of Dodona having Doves for Priestesses. But if, as Herodotus affirms, the Phœnicians sold this Priestess of Jupiter originally to the Greeks, it is probable they were called Doves, after the Phœnician language, in which the same word with a small alteration signifies both a Dove and a Priestess. See Note on Odyssey 12.

Eustathius gives us another solution of this difficulty, and tells us that as there were κορακομαντεις, or Augurs, who drew predictions from the flight and gestures of Crows; so there were others who predicted from observations made upon Doves: and from hence these Doves were call'd the Prophetesses of Dodona, that being the way by which the decrees of the Gods were discover'd by the Augurs.

I have remark'd that the Temple of Dodona stood upon the mountain Timourus, hence the word τιμουραι came to signify those Oracles, and thus τιμουρος is used by Lycophron. Now Homer in another place writes,

Ει γε μεν αινησουσι Διος μεγαλοιο θεμιστες.

Strabo therefore instead of θεμιστες reads τιμουραι; for, observes that Author, the Oracles, not the Laws, of Jupiter are preserv'd at Dodona.

Eustathius.

But whence arose the Fable of these oaks being vocal? I doubt not but this was an illusion of those who gave out the oracles to the people: They conceal'd themselves within the cavities or hollow of the oaks, and from thence deliver'd their Oracles; and imposing by this method upon the superstition and credulity of those ages, persuaded the world that the Gods gave a voice and utterance to the Oaks.

I refer the Reader for a larger account of these Dodonæan Oracles to the annotations upon book 16, verse 285. of the Iliad.

This is a very artful compliment which Ulysses pays to Eumæus, The Gods guided me to the habitation of a person of wisdom, and names not Eumæus, leaving it to him to apply it.

I doubt not but the Reader agrees with Ulysses as to the character of Eumæus; there is an air of piety to the Gods in all he speaks, and benevolence to mankind; he is faithful to his King, upright in his trust, and hospitable to the stranger.

Dacier is of opinion that ανδρος επισταμενοιο takes in Virtue as well as Wisdom; and indeed Homer frequently joins νοημονες ηδε δικαιοι, and αδαηκονες ουδε δικαιοι; that is, Wisdom and Virtue, Folly and Impiety, throughout the Odyssey. For never, never wicked man was wise. Virtue in a great measure depends upon education: it is a Science, and may be learn'd like other Sciences; in reality there is no Knowledge that deserves the name, without Virtue; if Virtue be wanting, Science becomes artifice: as Plato demonstrates from Homer; who, though he is an enemy to this Poet, has enrich'd his writings with his sentiments.

It may not perhaps be unsatisfactory to see how Ulysses keeps in sight of truth thro' this whole fabulous story.

He gives a true account of his being at the war of Troy; he stays seven years in Ægypt, so long he continu'd with Calypso; the King of Ægypt, whose name Eustathius tells us was Sethon, according to the Antients, entertains him hospitably like that Goddess; a Phœnician detains him a whole year, the same has been observ'd of Circe; the vessel of this Phœnician is lost by a storm, and all the crew perishes except Ulysses; the same is true of the companions of Ulysses: He is thrown upon the land of the Thesprotians by that tempest, and receiv'd courteously by Phidon the King of that country; this represents his being cast upon the Phæacian shore by the storm, and the hospitable Phidon means Alcinous, King of the Phæacians: the manner likewise of his being introduced to Phidon, agrees with his introduction to Alcinous; the daughter introduces him to Alcinous, and the son to Phidon. Thus we see there is a concordia discors thro' the whole narration, the Poet only changing the names of persons and places. Ulysses lay under an absolute necessity thus to falsify his true History, and represent himself as a stranger to the whole Island of Ithaca, otherwise it would have been natural for Eumæus to offer to guide him to his friends, upon which a discovery must inevitably have follow'd, which would have prov'd fatal to that Heroe.

This place seems to evince that the expression of being torn by the Harpies, means that the dead person is depriv'd of the rites of Sepulture; and not as Dacier understands it, that he is disappear'd, or that it is unknown what is become of him: for the whole lamentation of Eumæus turns upon this point, namely, that Ulysses is dead, and depriv'd of the funeral Ceremonies.

It may appear at first view as if Eumæus thought his absence from the court an aggravation to his calamities, but this is not his meaning: He speaks thus to prevent Ulysses from asking him to introduce him immediately to Penelope; and this is the reason why he enlarges upon the story of the Ætolian, who had deceiv'd him by raising his expectations of the immediate return of Ulysses.

It is remarkable that almost all these fictions are made by Cretans, or have some relation to the Island of the Cretans; Thus Ulysses feigns himself to be of Crete, and this Ætolian lays the Scene of his falshood in the same Island: which, as Eustathius observes, may possibly be a latent Satyr upon that people, who were become a reproach and proverb for their remarkable lying. This agrees exactly with the character given them by St. Paul from Epimenides.

Κρητες αει ψευσται.

And κρητιζειν signifies to lie.

St. Chrysostom fills up the broken verese thus

------ και γαρ ταφον, ω ανα, σειο
Κρητες ετεκτηναντο, συ δ' ου θανες εσσι γαρ αιει..

But this is added from Callimachus in his Hymn to Jupiter, thus translated by Mr. Prior,

The Cretan boasts thy natal place: but oft
He meets reproof deserv'd: for he presumptuous
Has built a tomb for thee, who never know'st
To die, but liv'st the same to day and ever.

That the latter part of these verses belongs to Epimenides, is evident, for St. Paul quotes the verse thus:

Κρητες αει ψευσται, κακα θηρια.

The two last words are not in Callimachus, and consequently the rest is only a conjectural and erroneous addition.

There is scarce a more sonorous verse in the whole Odyssey.

Κλαγγη δ' ασπετος ωρτο συων αυλιζομεναων.

The word Swine is what debases our Idea: which is evident if we substitute Shepherd in the room of Hogherd, and apply to it the most pompous Epithet given by Homer to Eumæus: For instance, to say διος, or the Illustrious, Hogherd, is mean enough: but the image is more tolerable when we say, the Illustrious Shepherd; the office of a Shepherd (especially as it is familiariz'd and dignify'd in Poetry by the frequent use of it) being in repute. The Greeks have magnificent words to express the most common objects; we want words of equal dignity, and have the disadvantage of being oblig'd to endeavour to raise a Subject that is now in the utmost contempt, so as to guard it from meanness and ignominy.

I have already observ'd that every meal among the Antients was a kind of Sacrifice of thanksgiving to the Gods; and the table as it were an Altar.

This Sacrifice being different from any other in Homer, I will fully describe the particulars of it from Eustathius. It is a Rural Sacrifice; we have before seen Sacrifices in Camps, in Courts, and in Cities, in the Iliad; but this is the only one of this nature in all Homer.

They cut off the hair of the Victim; in commemoration of the original way of cloathing, which was made of hair, and the skins of beasts.

Eumæus strows flour upon it; in remembrance that before Incense was in use, this was the antient manner of offering to the Gods, or as Dacier observes, of consecrating the Victim, instead of the Barley mix'd with Salt, which had the name of Immolation.

Eumæus cut a piece from every part of the Victim, by this he made it an Holocaust, or an entire Sacrifice.

Eumæus divides the rest at Supper; which was always the office of the most honourable person, and thus we see Achilles and other Heroes employ'd throughout the Iliad. He portions it into seven parts: one he allots to Mercury and the Nymphs, and the rest he reserves for himself, Ulysses, and his four Servants. He gives the Chine to Ulysses, which was ever reputed an honour and distinction; thus Ajax after a victory over Hector is rewarded in the same manner.

Νωτοισι δ' Αιαντα διηνεκεεσσι γεραιρεν
Ατρειδης.

It may be ask'd why Eumæus allots part of the Victim to Mercury and the Nymphs, since there is nothing of the like nature to be found in the whole Iliad and Odyssey? This is done in compliance to the place and person of Eumæus, whose employment lies in the Country, and who has the care of the Herds of Ulysses; he therefore offers to the Nymphs, as they are the Presidents of the Fountains, Rivers, Groves, and furnish sustenance and food for Cattle. And Mercury was held by the Antients to be the Patron of Shepherds: thus Simonides,

Θυειν Νυμφαις και Μαιαδος τοκω
Ουτοι γαρ ανδρων αιμα εχουσι ποιμαινων.

Eustathius adds (from whom this is taken) that Mercury was a lucrative God, and therefore Eumæus sacrifices to him for increase of his herds: or because he was δολιος ερμης, and like Ulysses, Master of all the arts of Cunning and Dissimulation, and then Eumæus may be understood to offer to him for the safety of Ulysses, that he might furnish him with artifice to bring him in security to his Country; and we see this agrees with his prayer.

What Dacier adds is yet more to the purpose: Eumæus joyns Mercury with the Nymphs because he was Patron of Flocks, and the Antients generally plac'd the figure of a Ram at the base of his Images; sometimes he is represented carrying a Ram upon his Arms, sometimes upon his Shoulders: In short, it suffices that he was esteem'd a rural Deity, to make the Sacrifice proper to be offer'd to him by a person whose occupation lay in the Country.

This custom of purchasing Slaves prevail'd over all, the World, as appears not only from many places of Homer, but of the Holy Scripture, in which mention is made of Slaves bought with Money. The Taphians liv'd in a small Island adjacent to Ithaca; Mentes was King of it, as appears from the first of the Odyssey: They were generally Pirates, and are suppos'd to have had their name from their way of living, which in the Phœnician tongue (as Bochart observes) signifies Rapine; Hataph, and by contraction Taph, bearing that signification.

Frequent use has been made of Phœnician interpretations thro' the course of these Notes, and perhaps it may be judg'd necessary to say something why they may be suppos'd to give names to Countries and Persons, more than any other Nation.

They are reported to be the inventors of Letters, Lucan lib. 3.

Phœnices primi, fame si creditur, ausi
Mansuram rudibus vocem signare figuris.

and were the greatest Navigators in the World, Dionysius says they were the first,

Οι πρωτοι νηεσσι επειρησαντο θαλασσης
Πρωτοι δ' εμποριης αλιδινεος εμνησαντο.

The first who used Navigation, the first who traffick'd by the Ocean. If we put these two qualities together, it is no wonder that a great number of places were call'd by Phœnician Names: for they being the first Navigators, must necessarily discover a multitude of Islands, Countries and Cities, to which they would be oblig'd to give names when they describ'd them: And nothing is so probable as that they gave those names according to the observations they made upon the Nature of the several Countries, or employment of the Inhabitants. In the present instance, the Taphians being remarkable Pirates, (as appears from Homer,

------ Ταφιοι ληιστορες ανδρες,
------ ληιστηρσιν επισπομενος Ταφιοισι.)

the Phœnicians, who first discover'd this Island, call'd it Taph, the Island of Pirates. Places receive appellations according to the language of the Discoverer, and generally from observations made upon the People. It will add a weight to his supposition, if we remember that Homer was well acquainted with the traditions and customs of the Phœnicians, for he speaks frequently of that People through the course of the Odyssey.

Eustathius observes that Homer introduces the following story by a very artful connection, and makes it as it were grow out of the subject: the coldness of the present Season brings to his mind a time like it, when he lay before Troy.

It is remarkable that almost all Poets have taken an opportunity to give long descriptions of the night; Virgil, Statius, Apollonius, Tasso, and Dryden, have enlarg'd upon this Subject: Homer seems industriously to have avoided it: perhaps he judg'd such descriptions to be no more than excrescencies, and at best but beautiful superfluities. A modern Hypercritick thinks Mr. Dryden to have excell'd all the Poets in this point.

All things are hush'd as Nature's self lay dead,
The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head, &c.

The last verse is translated from Statius,

Et simulant fessos curvata cacumina somnos.

which I mention only to propose it to consideration, whether cacumina must in this place of necessity signify the Tops of Mountains; why may it not be apply'd, as it is frequently, to the Tops of the Trees? I question whether the nodding of a Mountain, or the appearance of its nodding, be a natural Image: whereas if we understand it of the Trees, the difficulty vanishes, and the meaning will be much more easy, that the very Trees seem to nod, as in sleep.

I beg the Reader's patience to mention another Verse of Statius, that has undoubtedly been mistaken.

Qualis ubi audito venantum murmure Tigris,
Horruit in maculas.

Which Cowley renders,

------ he swells with angry pride,
And calls forth all his spots on every side.

In which sense also the Author of the Spectator quotes it from Cowley. But it is impossible to imagine that the hair of any creature can change into spots; and if any creature could change it by anger, would not the spots remain when the passion was over? The assertion is absolutely against nature, and matter of fact; and as absurd as to affirm that the hair of a Tiger blushes. This mistake arises from the double sense of the word Maculæ, which signifies also the Meshes of a Net, as any common Dictionary will inform us. So Tully, Reticulum minutis maculis; Columella, Rete grandi macula; Ovid, Distinctum maculis rete. This way the sense is obvious: no wonder that a Tiger when enclosed in the toils should horrere in maculas, or erect his hair when he flies against the Meshes, endeavouring to escape; and it agrees with the nature of that animal, to roughen his hair when he is angry. I beg the Reader's pardon for all this, but the mention of a Hypercritick was infecting, and led me into it unawares.

To understand this passage, we must remember that in those eastern regions, after very hot days an extream cold night would sometimes succeed, even with frost and snow, contrary to the usual order of the season: If it had been winter, no doubt Ulysses would have arm'd himself against the nocturnal cold, and not have been reduc'd to such an extremity.

There is one incident in this story that seems extraordinary, Ulysses and Menelaus are said to form an ambush under the very walls of Troy, and yet are describ'd to be sleeping while they thus form it: The words are ευδον ευκηλοι Ευδον does not necessarily signify to be asleep, as is already prov'd from the conclusion of the first Iliad: But here it must have that import, for Ulysses tells his companions that he has had an extraordinary dream. Besides, even a tendency towards sleep should be avoided by soldiers in an ambuscade, especially by the leaders of it: The only answer that occurs to me, is that perhaps they had Centinels waking while they slept; but even this would be unsoldier-like in our ages.

This is not spoken in vain, it was necessary for Ulysses to appear in the form of a beggar to prevent discovery.

The word in the Greek is δνοπαλιξεις, which it is impossible to translate without a circumlocution: It paints (observes Eustathius) exactly the dress of a beggar, and the difficulty he labours under in drawing his rags to cover one part of his body that is naked, and while he covers that, leaving the other part bare: δνοπαλιξεις is ταις παλαμαις δονησεις or δινησεις, and expresses how a beggar is embarrassed in the act of covering his body, by reason of the rents in his cloaths.

It is not at first view evident why Ulysses requests a change of raiment from Eumæus, for a better dress would only have exposed him to the danger of a discovery. Besides, this would have been a direct opposition to the injunctions of the Goddess of Wisdom, who had not only disguis'd him in the habit of a beggar, but chang'd his features to a conformity with it. Why then should he make this petition? The answer is, to carry on his disguise the better before Eumæus; he has already told him that he was once a person of dignity, tho' now reduc'd to poverty by calamities: and consequently a person who had once known better fortunes would be uneasy under such mean circumstances, and desire to appear like himself; therefore he asks a better dress, that Eumæus may believe his former story.

What Eumæus speaks of not having many changes of garments, is not a sign of poverty, but of the simplicity of the manners of those ages. It is the character of the luxurious, vain Phæacians, to delight in changes of dress, and agrees not with this plain, sincere, industrious Ithacan, Eumæus.

I wonder this last part of the relation of Ulysses has escap'd the censure of the Critics: The circumstance of getting the Cloak of Thoas in the cold Night, tho' it shows the artifice of Ulysses essential to his Character, yet perhaps may be thought unworthy the Majesty of Epic Poetry, where every thing ought to be great and magnificent. It is of such a nature as to raise a smile, rather than admiration, and Virgil has utterly rejected such levities. Perhaps it may be thought that Ulysses adapts himself to Eumæus, and endeavours to engage his favour by that piece of pleasantry; yet this does not solve the objection, for Eumæus is not a person of a low Character: no one in the Odyssey speaks with better Sense, or better Morality. One would almost imgine that Homer was sensible of the weakness of this Story, he introduces it so artfully: He tells us in a short Preface, that Wine unbends the most serious and wise Person, and makes him laugh, dance, and speak without his usual caution: And then he proceeds to the fable of his ambush before Troy. But no introduction can reconcile it to those who think such Comic relations should not at all be introduc'd into Epic Poetry.

A French Critic has been very severe upon this conduct of Eumæus, The Divine Hogherd, says he, having given the Divine Ulysses his Supper, sends him to sleep with his Hogs, that had white Teeth. When Critics find fault, they ought to take care that they impute nothing to an Author but what the Author really speaks, otherwise it is not Criticism, but Calumny and Ignorance. Monsieur Perault is here guilty of both, for Ulysses sleeps in the house of Eumæus, and Eumæus retires to take care of his charge, not to sleep but to watch with them.

This and the preceding Book take up no more than the space of one day. Ulysses lands in the morning, which is spent in consultation with Minerva how to bring about his restoration: About noon he comes to Eumæus, for immediately after his arrival they dine: They pass the afternoon and evening in conference: So that thirty five days are exactly compleated since the beginning of the Odyssey.