University of Virginia Library



THE TWENTY-FOURTH BOOK OF THE ODYSSEY.



The ARGUMENT.

The souls of the Suitors are conducted by Mercury to the infernal shades. Ulysses in the country goes to the retirement of his father Laertes; he finds him busyed in his garden all alone: The manner of his discovery to him is beautifully described. They return together to his lodge, and the King is acknowledged by Dolius and the servants. The Ithacensians, led by Eupithes the father of Antinous, rise against Ulysses, who gives them battle, in which Eupithes is killed by Laertes: And the Goddess Pallas makes a lasting peace between Ulysses and his subjects, which concludes the Odyssey.


179

Cyllenius now to Pluto's dreary reign
Conveys the dead, a lamentable train!
The golden wand, that causes sleep to fly,
Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye,

180

That drives the ghosts to realms of night or day,
Points out the long, uncomfortable way.

181

Trembling the Spectres glide, and plaintive vent
Thin, hollow screams, along the deep descent.

182

As in the cavern of some rifted den,
Where flock nocturnal bats, and birds obscene;
Cluster'd they hang, till at some sudden shock,
They move, and murmurs run thro' all the rock:
So cow'ring fled the sable heaps of ghosts,
And such a scream fill'd all the dismal coasts.
And now they reach'd the Earth's remotest ends,
And now the gates where ev'ning Sol descends,
And Leucas' rock, and Ocean's utmost streams,
And now pervade the dusky land of Dreams,

183

And rest at last, where souls unbodied dwell
In ever-flow'ring meads of Asphodel.
The empty Forms of men inhabit there,
Impassive semblance, Images of air!
Nought else are all that shin'd on earth before;
Ajax, and great Achilles, are no more!
Yet still a master ghost, the rest he aw'd,
The rest ador'd him, tow'ring as he trod;

184

Still at his side is Nestor's son survey'd,
And lov'd Patroclus still attends his shade.
New as they were to that infernal shore,
The Suitors stopp'd, and gaz'd the Heroe o'er.
When, moving slow, the regal form they view'd
Of great Atrides: Him in pomp pursu'd
And solemn sadness thro' the gloom of hell,
The train of those who by Ægysthus fell.
O mighty chief! (Pelides thus began)
Honour'd by Jove above the lot of man!

185

King of a hundred Kings! to whom resign'd
The strongest, bravest, greatest of mankind.
Com'st thou the first, to view this dreary state?
And was the noblest the first mark of fate?
Condemn'd to pay the great arrear so soon,
The lot, which all lament, and none can shun;

186

Oh! better hadst thou sunk in Trojan ground,
With all thy full-blown honours cover'd round!
Then grateful Greece with streaming eyes might raise
Historic marbles to record thy praise:
Thy praise eternal on the faithful stone
Had with transmissive glories grac'd thy son.
But heavier fates were destin'd to attend:
What man is happy, till he knows his end?
O son of Peleus! greater than mankind!
(Thus Agamemnon's kingly shade rejoin'd)
Thrice happy thou! to press the martial plain
Midst heaps of heroes in thy quarrel slain:
In clouds of smoke, rais'd by the noble fray,
Great, and terrific ev'n in death you lay,
And deluges of blood flow'd round you ev'ry way.
Nor ceas'd the strife, 'till Jove himself oppos'd,
And all in tempests the dire evening clos'd.

187

Then to the fleet we bore thy honour'd load,
And decent on the fun'ral bed bestow'd.
Then unguents sweet and tepid streams we shed;
Tears flow'd from ev'ry eye, and o'er the dead
Each clipt the curling honours of his head.
Struck at the news, thy azure mother came;
The sea-green sisters waited on the dame.
A voice of loud lament thro' all the main
Was heard, and terror seiz'd the Grecian train:

188

Back to their ships the frighted host had fled;
But Nestor spoke, they listen'd, and obey'd.
(From old experience Nestor's counsel springs,
And long vicissitudes of human things)
“Forbear your flight: Fair Thetis from the main
“To mourn Achilles leads her azure train.
Around thee stand the daughters of the deep,
Robe thee in heav'nly vests, and round thee weep,
Round thee, the Muses, with alternate strain,
In ever-consecrating verse, complain.

189

Each warlike Greek the moving music hears,
And iron-hearted Heroes melt in tears.
'Till sev'nteen nights and sev'nteen days return'd,
All that was mortal or immortal mourn'd.
To flames we gave thee, the succeeding day,
And fatted sheep and sable oxen slay;
With oils and honey blaze th' augmented fires,
And like a God adorn'd, thy earthly part expires.
Unnumber'd warriors round the burning pyle
Urge the fleet courser's or the racer's toil;
Thick clouds of dust o'er all the circle rise,
And the mixt clamour thunders in the skies.
Soon as absorpt in all-embracing flame
Sunk what was mortal of thy mighty name.
We then collect thy snowy bones, and place
With wines and unguents in a golden vase.

190

(The vase to Thetis Bacchus gave of old,
And Vulcan's art enrich'd the sculptur'd gold)
There we thy relicks, great Achilles! blend
With dear Patroclus, thy departed friend:
In the same urn a sep'rate space contains
Thy next belov'd, Antilochus' remains.

191

Now all the sons of warlike Greece surround
Thy destin'd tomb, and cast a mighty mound:
High on the shore the growing hill we raise,
That wide th' extended Hellespont surveys;
Where all, from age to age who pass the coast,
May point Achilles' tomb, and hail the mighty ghost.
Thetis her self to all our peers proclaims
Heroic prizes and exequial games;
The Gods assented; and around thee lay
Rich spoils and gifts that blaz'd against the day.
Oft have I seen with solemn fun'ral games
Heroes and Kings committed to the flames;
But strength of youth, or valour of the brave
With nobler contest ne'er renown'd a grave.
Such were the games by azure Thetis given,
And such thy honours, oh belov'd of heaven!
Dear to mankind thy fame survives, nor fades
Its bloom eternal in the Stygian shades.
But what to me avail my honours gone,
Successful toils, and battles bravely won?
Doom'd by stern Jove, at home to end my life,
By curst Ægysthus, and a faithless wife!
Thus they; while Hermes o'er the dreary plain
Led the sad numbers by Ulysses slain.

192

On each majestic form they cast a view,
And tim'rous pass'd, and awfully withdrew.
But Agamemnon, thro' the gloomy shade,
His antient host Amphimedon survey'd;
Son of Melanthus! (he began) O say!
What cause compell'd so many, and so gay,
To tread the downward, melancholy way?
Say, could one city yield a troop so fair?
Were all the partners of one native air?
Or did the rage of stormy Neptune sweep
Your lives at once, and whelm beneath the deep?
Did nightly thieves, or Pyrates cruel bands,
Drench with your blood your pillag'd country's sands?
Or well-defending some beleaguer'd wall,
Say, for the publick did ye greatly fall?
Inform thy guest; for such I was of yore
When our triumphant navies touch'd your shore;

193

Forc'd a long month the wintry seas to bear,
To move the great Ulysses to the war.

194

O King of men! I faithful shall relate
(Reply'd Amphimedon) our hapless fate.
Ulysses absent, our ambitious aim
With rival loves pursu'd his royal Dame;
Her coy reserve, and prudence mixt with pride,
Our common suit nor granted, nor deny'd;
But close with inward hate our deaths design'd;
Vers'd in all arts of wily womankind.
Her hand, laborious in delusion, spread
A spacious loom, and mix'd the various thread;
Ye Peers (she cry'd) who press to gain my heart
Where dead Ulysses claims no more a part,
Yet a short space, your rival suit suspend,
'Till this funereal web my labours end:
Cease, till to good Laertes I bequeath
A task of grief, his ornaments of death:
Lest, when the Fates his royal ashes claim,
The Grecian matrons taint my spotless fame;
Should he, long honour'd with supreme command,
Want the last duties of a daughter's hand.
The fiction pleas'd: our gen'rous train complies,
Nor fraud mistrusts in virtue's fair disguise.
The work she ply'd; but studious of delay,
Each following night revers'd the toils of day.

195

Unheard, unseen, three years her arts prevail;
The fourth, her maid reveal'd th' amazing tale,
And show'd, as unperceiv'd we took our stand,
The backward labours of her faithless hand.
Forc'd, she compleats it; and before us lay
The mingled web, whose gold and silver ray
Display'd the radiance of the night and day,
Just as she finish'd her illustrious toil,
Ill fortune led Ulysses to our isle.
Far in a lonely nook, beside the sea,
At an old swineherd's rural lodge he lay:
Thither his son from sandy Pyle repairs,
And speedy lands, and secretly confers.
They plan our future ruin, and resort
Confed'rate, to the city and the court.
First came the son; the father next succeeds,
Clad like a beggar, whom Eumæus leads;
Propt on a staff, deform'd with age and care,
And hung with rags, that flutter'd in the air.
Who could Ulysses in that form behold?
Scorn'd by the young, forgotten by the old,
Ill-us'd by all! to ev'ry wrong resign'd,
Patient he suffer'd with a constant mind.

196

But when, arising in his wrath t'obey
The will of Jove, he gave the vengeance way;
The scatter'd arms that hung around the dome
Careful he treasur'd in a private room:
Then, to her Suitors bade his Queen propose
The Archer's strife: the source of future woes,

197

And Omen of our death! In vain we drew
The twanging string, and try'd the stubborn yew:
To none it yields but great Ulysses' hands;
In vain we threat; Telemachus commands:
The Bow he snatch'd, and in an instant bent;
Thro' ev'ry ring the victor arrow went.
Fierce on the threshold then in arms he stood;
Pour'd forth the darts, that thirsted for our blood,
And frown'd before us, dreadful as a God!

198

First bleeds Antinous: thick the shafts resound;
And heaps on heaps the wretches strow the ground;
This way, and that, we turn, we fly, we fall;
Some God assisted, and unmann'd us all:
Ignoble cries precede thy dying groans;
And batter'd brains and blood besmear the stones.
Thus great Atrides! thus Ulysses drove
The shades thou seest, from yon' fair realms above.
Our mangled bodies now deform'd with gore,
Cold and neglected, spread the marble floor.
No friend to bathe our wounds! or tears to shed
O'er the pale corse! the honours of the dead.
Oh blest Ulysses (thus the King exprest
His sudden rapture) in thy Consort blest!
Not more thy wisdom, than her virtue, shin'd;
Not more thy patience, than her constant mind.
Icarius' daughter, glory of the past,
And model to the future age, shall last:
The Gods, to honour her fair fame, shall raise
(Their great reward) a Poet in her praise.
Not such, oh Tyndarus! thy daughter's deed,
By whose dire hand her King and husband bled:
Her shall the Muse to infamy prolong,
Example dread! and theme of tragic song!

199

The gen'ral sex shall suffer in her shame,
And ev'n the best that bears a Woman's name.
Thus in the regions of eternal shade
Conferr'd the mournful Phantoms of the dead.

200

While from the town, Ulysses, and his band,
Past to Laertes' cultivated land.
The ground himself had purchas'd with his pain,
And labour made the rugged soil a plain.

201

There stood his mansion of the rural sort,
With useful buildings round the lowly court:
Where the few servants that divide his care,
Took their laborious rest, and homely fare;
And one Sicilian matron, old and sage,
With constant duty tends his drooping age.
Here now arriving, to his rustic band
And martial son, Ulysses gave command.
Enter the house, and of the bristly swine
Select the largest to the pow'rs divine.
Alone, and unattended, let me try
If yet I share the old man's memory:
If those dim eyes can yet Ulysses know,
(Their light and dearest object long ago)
Now chang'd with time, with absence, and with woe?

202

Then to his train he gives his spear and shield;
The house they enter, and he seeks the field;
Thro' rows of shade with various fruitage crown'd,
And labour'd scenes of richest verdure round.
Nor aged Dolius, nor his sons were there,
Nor servants, absent on another care;
To search the woods for sets of flow'ry thorn,
Their orchard-bounds to strengthen and adorn.
But all alone the hoary King he found;
His habit coarse, but warmly wrapt around;
His head, that bow'd with many a pensive care,
Fenc'd with a double cap of goatskin hair:
His buskins old, in former service torn,
But well repair'd; and gloves against the thorn.

203

In this array the kingly Gard'ner stood,
And clear'd a Plant, encumber'd with its wood.

204

Beneath a neighb'ring tree, the chief divine
Gaz'd o'er his Sire, retracing ev'ry line,
The ruins of himself! now worn away
With age, yet still majestic in decay!
Sudden his eyes releas'd their wat'ry store;
The much-enduring man could bear no more.
Doubtful he stood, if instant to embrace
His aged limbs, to kiss his rev'rend face,
With eager transport to disclose the whole,
And pour at once the torrent of his soul?
Not so: his judgment takes the winding way
Of question distant, and of soft essay,

205

More gentle methods on weak age employs,
And moves the sorrows to enhance the joys.
Then to his Sire with beating heart he moves,
And with a tender pleasantry reproves:
Who digging round the plant still hangs his head,
Nor ought remits the work, while thus he said.
Great is thy skill, oh father! great thy toil,
Thy careful hand is stamp'd on all the soil,
Thy squadron'd vineyards well thy art declare,
The olive green, blue fig, and pendent pear;
And not one empty spot escapes thy care.
On ev'ry plant and tree thy cares are shown,
Nothing neglected, but thy self alone.

206

Forgive me, father, if this fault I blame;
Age so advanc'd may some indulgence claim.
Not for thy sloth, I deem thy Lord unkind;
Nor speaks thy form a mean or servile mind:
I read a Monarch in that princely air,
The same thy aspect, if the same thy care;
Soft sleep, fair garments, and the joys of wine,
These are the rights of age, and should be thine.
Who then thy master, say? and whose the land
So dress'd and manag'd by thy skilful hand?
But chief, oh tell me! (what I question most)
Is this the far-fam'd Ithacensian coast?
For so reported the first man I view'd,
(Some surly Islander, of manners rude)
Nor farther conference vouchsaf'd to stay;
Heedless he whistled, and pursu'd his way.

207

But thou! whom years have taught to understand,
Humanely hear, and answer my demand:
A friend I seek, a wise one and a brave,
Say, lives he yet, or moulders in the grave?
Time was (my fortunes then were at the best)
When at my house I lodg'd this foreign guest;
He said, from Ithaca's fair isle he came,
And old Laertes was his father's name.
To him, whatever to a guest is ow'd
I paid, and hospitable gifts bestow'd;
To him sev'n talents of pure ore I told,
Twelve cloaks, twelve vests, twelve tunicks stiff with gold,
A bowl, that rich with polish'd silver flames,
And, skill'd in female works, four lovely dames.
At this the Father, with a father's fears:
(His venerable eyes bedimm'd with tears)
This is the land; but ah! thy gifts are lost,
For godless men, and rude, possess the coast:
Sunk is the glory of this once-fam'd shore!
Thy antient friend, oh stranger, is no more!
Full recompence thy bounty else had born;
For ev'ry good man yields a just return:
So civil rights demand; and who begins
The track of friendship, not pursuing, sins.

208

But tell me, stranger, be the truth confest,
What years have circled since thou saw'st that guest?
That hapless guest, alas! for ever gone!
Wretch that he was! and that I am! my son!
If ever man to misery was born,
'Twas his to suffer, and 'tis mine to mourn!
Far from his friends, and from his native reign,
He lies a prey to monsters of the main,
Or savage beasts his mangled reliques tear,
Or screaming vulturs scatter thro' the air:
Nor could his mother fun'ral unguents shed,
Nor wail'd his father o'er th' untimely dead,
Nor his sad consort, on the mournful bier,
Seal'd his cold eyes, or drop'd a tender tear!
But tell me, who thou art? and what thy race?
Thy town, thy parents, and thy native place?
Or if a merchant in pursuit of gain,
What port receiv'd thy vessel from the main:
Or com'st thou single, or attend thy train?
Then thus the Son. From Alybas I came,
My palace there; Eperitus my name.

209

Not vulgar born, from Aphidas the King
Of Polyphemon's royal line I spring.
Some adverse Dæmon from Sicania bore
Our wandring course, and drove us on your shore:
Far from the town, an unfrequented bay
Reliev'd our weary'd vessel from the sea.
Five years have circled since these eyes pursu'd
Ulysses parting thro' the sable flood;
Prosp'rous he sail'd, with dexter Auguries,
And all the wing'd good omens of the skies.
Well hop'd we then to meet on this fair shore,
Whom heav'n, alas! decreed to meet no more.
Quick thro' the father's heart these accents ran;
Grief seiz'd at once, and wrapt up all the man;
Deep from his soul he sigh'd, and sorrowing spread
A cloud of ashes on his hoary head.

210

Trembling with agonies of strong delight
Stood the great son, heart-wounded with the sight:

211

He ran, he seiz'd him with a strict embrace,
With thousand kisses wander'd o'er his face,
I, I am he; oh father rise! behold
Thy son, with twenty winters now grown old;
Thy son, so long desir'd, so long detain'd,
Restor'd, and breathing in his native land.
These floods of sorrow, oh my Sire, restrain!
The vengeance is compleat; the Suitor-train,
Stretch'd in our palace, by these hands lie slain.
Amaz'd, Laertes. “Give some certain sign,
“(If such thou art) to manifest thee mine.”
Lo here the wound (he cries) receiv'd of yore,
The scar indented by the tusky boar,
Whereby thy self and by Anticlia sent,
To old Autolychus's realms I went.
Yet by another sign thy offspring know;
The sev'ral trees you gave me long ago,
While, yet a child, these fields I lov'd to trace,
And trod thy footsteps with unequal pace:

212

To ev'ry plant in order as we came,
Well-pleas'd you told its nature, and its name,
Whate'er my childish fancy ask'd, bestow'd;
Twelve pear-trees bowing with their pendent load,
And ten, that red with blushing apples glow'd;
Full fifty purple figs; and many a row
Of various vines that then began to blow,
A future vintage! when the Hours produce
Their latent buds, and Sol exalts the juice.
Smit with the signs which all his doubts explain,
His heart within him melts; his knees sustain
Their feeble weight no more; his arms alone
Support him, round the lov'd Ulysses thrown;
He faints, he sinks, with mighty joys opprest:
Ulysses clasps him to his eager breast.
Soon as returning life regains its seat,
And his breath lengthens, and his pulses beat;

213

Yes, I believe (he cries) almighty Jove!
Heav'n rules us yet, and Gods there are above.
'Tis so—the Suitors for their wrongs have paid—
But what shall guard us, if the town invade?
If, while the news thro' ev'ry city flies,
All Ithaca and Cephalenia rise?
To this Ulysses. As the Gods shall please
Be all the rest; and set thy soul at ease.
Haste to the cottage by this orchard side,
And take the banquet which our cares provide:
There wait thy faithful band of rural friends,
And there the young Telemachus attends.
Thus having said, they trac'd the garden o'er,
And stooping enter'd at the lowly door.
The swains and young Telemachus they found,
The victim portion'd, and the goblet crown'd.
The hoary King his old Sicilian maid
Perfum'd and wash'd, and gorgeously array'd.
Pallas attending gives his frame to shine
With awful port, and majesty divine;
His gazing son admires the god-like grace,
And air celestial dawning o'er his face.
What God, he cry'd, my father's form improves?
How high he treads, and how enlarg'd he moves?

214

Oh! Would to all the deathless pow'rs on high,
Pallas and Jove, and him who gilds the sky!
(Reply'd the King elated with his praise)
My strength were still, as once in better days:
When the bold Cephalens the leaguer form'd,
And proud Nericus trembled as I storm'd.
Such were I now, not absent from your deed
When the last sun beheld the Suitors bleed,
This arm had aided yours; this hand bestrown
Our floors with death, and push'd the slaughter on;
Nor had the Sire been sep'rate from the Son.

215

They commun'd thus; while homeward bent their way
The swains, fatigu'd with labours of the day;
Dolius the first, the venerable man,
And next his sons, a long-succeeding train,
For due refection to the bow'r they came,
Call'd by the careful old Sicilian dame,
Who nurs'd the children, and now tends the sire;
They see their Lord, they gaze, and they admire.
On chairs and beds in order seated round,
They share the gladsome board; the roofs resound.
While thus Ulysses to his antient friend:
“Forbear your wonder, and the feast attend;
“The rites have waited long.” The chief commands
Their loves in vain; old Dolius spreads his hands,
Springs to his master with a warm embrace,
And fastens kisses on his hands and face:
Then thus broke out. Oh long, oh daily mourn'd!
Beyond our hopes, and to our wish, return'd!

216

Conducted sure by heav'n! for heav'n alone
Could work this wonder: welcome to thy own!
And joys and happiness attend thy throne!
Who knows thy blest, thy wish'd return? oh say,
To the chast Queen shall we the news convey?
Or hears she, and with blessings loads the day?
Dismiss that care, for to the royal bride
Already is it known (the King reply'd,
And strait resum'd his seat) while round him bows
Each faithful youth, and breathes out ardent vows:
Then all beneath their father take their place,
Rank'd by their ages, and the banquet grace.
Now flying Fame the swift report had spread
Thro' all the city, of the Suitors dead.
In throngs they rise, and to the palace crowd;
Their sighs were many, and the tumult loud.
Weeping they bear the mangled heaps of slain,
Inhume the natives in their native plain,
The rest in ships are wafted o'er the main.

217

Then sad in council all the Seniors sate,
Frequent and full, assembled to debate.
Amid the circle first Eupithes rose,
Big was his eye with tears, his heart with woes:
The bold Antinous was his age's pride,
The first who by Ulysses' arrow dy'd.
Down his wan cheek the trickling torrent ran,
As mixing words with sighs, he thus began.
Great deeds, oh friends! this wond'rous man has wrought,
And mighty blessings to his country brought.
With ships he parted and a num'rous train,
Those, and their ships he bury'd in the main.
Now he returns, and first essays his hand
In the best blood of all his native land.
Haste then, and ere to neighb'ring Pyle he flies,
Or sacred Elis, to procure supplies;
Arise (or ye for ever fall) arise!
Shame to this age, and all that shall succeed!
If unreveng'd your sons and brothers bleed.
Prove that we live, by vengeance on his head,
Or sink at once forgotten with the dead.
Here ceas'd he, but indignant tears let fall
Spoke when he ceas'd: dumb sorrow touch'd them all.

218

When from the Palace to the wond'ring throng
Sage Medon came, and Phemius came along;
(Restless and early sleep's soft bands they broke)
And Medon first th' assembled chiefs bespoke.
Hear me, ye Peers and Elders of the land,
Who deem this act the work of mortal hand;
As o'er the heaps of death Ulysses strode,
These eyes, these eyes beheld a present God,
Who now before him, now beside him stood,
Fought as he fought, and mark'd his way with blood:
In vain old Mentor's form the God bely'd,
'Twas heav'n that struck, and heav'n was on his side.
A sudden horror all th' assembly shook,
When slowly rising, Halitherses spoke:

219

(Rev'rend and wise, whose comprehensive view
At once the present and the future knew)
Me to ye fathers hear! from you proceed
The ills ye mourn; your own the guilty deed.
Ye gave your sons, your lawless sons the rein,
(Oft warn'd by Mentor and my self in vain)
An absent Heroe's bed they sought to soil,
An absent Heroe's wealth they made their spoil:
Immod'rate riot, and intemp'rate lust!
Th' offence was great, the punishment was just.
Weigh then my counsels in an equal scale,
Nor rush to ruin. Justice will prevail.
His mod'rate words some better minds persuade:
They part, and join him; but the number stay'd.

220

They storm, they shout, with hasty frenzy fir'd,
And second all Eupithes' rage inspir'd.
They case their limbs in brass; to arms they run;
The broad effulgence blazes in the sun.
Before the city, and in ample plain,
They meet: Eupithes heads the frantic train.
Fierce for his son, he breathes his threats in air;
Fate hears them not, and Death attends him there.
This past on earth, while in the realms above
Minerva thus to cloud-compelling Jove.
May I presume to search thy secret soul?
Oh Pow'r supreme, oh ruler of the whole!
Say, hast thou doom'd to this divided state
Or peaceful amity, or stern debate?
Declare thy purpose; for thy will is Fate.

221

Is not thy thought my own? (the God replies
Who rolls the thunder o'er the vaulted skies)
Had not long since thy knowing soul decreed,
The Chief's return should make the guilty bleed?
'Tis done, and at thy will the Fates succeed.
Yet hear the issue: Since Ulysses' hand
Has slain the Suitors, heav'n shall bless the land.
None now the kindred of th' unjust shall own;
Forgot the slaughter'd brother, and the son:
Each future day to increase of wealth shall bring,
And o'er the past, Oblivion stretch her wing.
Long shall Ulysses in his empire rest,
His people blessing, by his people blest.
Let all be peace.—He said, and gave the nod
That binds the Fates; the sanction of the God:

222

And prompt to execute th' eternal will,
Descended Pallas from th' Olympian hill.
Now sate Ulysses at the rural feast,
The rage of hunger and of thirst represt:
To watch the foe a trusty spy he sent:
A son of Dolius on the message went,
Stood in the way, and at a glance beheld
The foe approach'd, embattel'd on the field.
With backward step he hastens to the bow'r,
And tells the news. They arm with all their pow'r
Four friends alone Ulysses' cause embrace,
And six were all the sons of Dolius' race:
Old Dolius too his rusted arms put on;
And, still more old, in arms Laertes shone.

223

Trembling with warmth, the hoary heroes stand,
And brazen Panoply invests the band.
The opening gates at once their war display:
Fierce they rush forth: Ulysses leads the way.
That moment joins them with celestial aid,
In Mentor's form, the Jove-descended maid:
The suff'ring Heroe felt his patient breast
Swell with new joy, and thus his son addrest.
Behold, Telemachus! (nor fear the sight)
The brave embattel'd; the grim front of fight!
The valiant with the valiant must contend:
Shame not the line whence glorious you descend,
Wide o'er the world their martial fame was spread;
Regard thy self, the living, and the dead.
Thy eyes, great father! on this battle cast,
Shall learn from me Penelope was chast.
So spoke Telemachus: the gallant boy
Good old Laertes heard with panting joy;
And, blest! thrice blest this happy day! he cries,
The day that shows me, ere I close my eyes,
A son and grandson of th' Arcesian name
Strive for fair Virtue, and contest for Fame!
Then thus Minerva in Laertes' ear:
Son of Arcesius, rev'rend warrior, hear!

224

Jove and Jove's daughter first implore in pray'r,
Then whirling high, discharge thy lance in air.
She said, infusing courage with the word.
Jove and Jove's daughter then the Chief implor'd,
And whirling high, dismist the lance in air.
Full at Eupithes drove the deathful spear:
The brass-cheek'd helmet opens to the wound;
He falls, earth thunders, and his arms resound.
Before the father and the conqu'ring son
Heaps rush on heaps; they fight, they drop, they run.
Now by the sword and now the jav'lin fall
The rebel race, and death had swallow'd all;
But from on high the blue-ey'd Virgin cry'd,
Her awful voice detain'd the headlong tyde.
“Forbear ye nations! your mad hands forbear
“From mutual slaughter: Peace descends to spare.
Fear shook the nations. At the voice divine
They drop their jav'lins, and their rage resign.

225

All scatter'd round their glitt'ring weapons lie;
Some fall to earth, and some confus'dly fly.
With dreadful shouts Ulysses pour'd along,
Swift as an eagle, as an eagle strong.
But Jove's red arm the burning thunder aims;
Before Minerva shot the livid flames:
Blazing they fell, and at her feet expir'd:
Then stopt the Goddess, trembled, and retir'd.
Descended from the Gods! Ulysses, cease;
Offend not Jove: Obey, and give the peace.
So Pallas spoke: The mandate from above
The King obey'd. The Virgin-seed of Jove
In Mentor's form, confirm'd the full accord,
“And willing nations knew their lawful Lord.

I must observe with what dignity Homer concludes the Odyssey: To honour his Heroe, he introduces two Deities, Jupiter and Pallas, who interest themselves in his cause: He then paints Ulysses in the boldest colours, as he rushes upon the enemy with the utmost intrepidity, and his courage is so ungovernable, that Jupiter is forc'd to restrain it with his thunder. It is usual for Orators to reserve the strongest arguments for the


226

conclusion, that they may leave them fresh upon the Reader's memory; Homer uses the same conduct, he represents his Heroe in all his terror, he shews him to be irresistible, and by this method leaves us fully possest with a noble idea of his magnanimity.

It has been already observ'd, that the End of the action of the Odyssey is the re-establishment of Ulysses in full peace and tranquillity, this is not effected, till the defeat of the Suitors' friends: and therefore if the Poet had concluded before this event, the Odyssey had been imperfect. It was necessary that the Reader should not only be inform'd of the return of Ulysses to his country, and the punishment of the Suitors, but of his re-establishment by a peaceful possession of his regal authority; which is not executed, till these last disorders rais'd by Eupithes are settled by the victory of Ulysses, and therefore this is the natural conclusion of the action.

This book opens with the morning, and ends before night, so that the whole story of the Odyssey is comprehended in the compass of one and forty days. Monsieur Dacier upon Aristotle remarks, that an Epic-Poem ought not to be too long: we should be able to retain all the several parts of it at once in our memory: If we lose the idea of the beginning when we come to the conclusion, it is an argument that it is of too large an extent, and its Length destroys its Beauty. What seems to favour this decision is, that the Æneid, Iliad, and Odyssey are conformable to this rule of Aristotle, and every one of those Poems may be read in the compass of a single day.

 

It has been already proved, that this book is the genuine work of Homer; but perhaps the Reader may not be displeas'd to see the reasons why it was rejected by so great a Critic as Aristarchus: I shall therefore lay them before him from Didymus and Spondanus.

Aristarchus affirms, that this is the only place in Homer, where Mercury performs the office of conducting the souls of the dead; and that there is no proof he was known so early by the title of ψυχοπομπος; that this is the only passage where he is called Cyllenius; that the ceremony of his guiding the souls is contrary to other descriptions of Homer, where they all descend without a guide into the mansions of the dead, even before the funeral rites. That it is absurd to imagine a white rock in these kingdoms of darkness, &c. To these Didymus thus replies. If a single mention of any incident in Homer were a reason for its objection, abundance of passages must be rejected. He thinks it a sufficient argument, that Mercury was called ψυχοπομπος, and Cyllenius in the days of Homer, that he is here mentioned under these titles; but this is begging the question. He adds, that altho' the souls of the dead descend without a guide in other places, this hinders not but they may descend with one; for they are in other places only said in general to descend, whereas here the manner of their descent is particularized. Neither is it any objection against this book, to say that it is contrary to the manner of Homer to describe the shades of the dead received immediately into the state of Achilles, Agamemnon, &c. before the performance of their funeral ceremonies; this (says he) is a favour granted by Mercury to Ulysses, who was descended from that Deity, he being the father of Arcisius, and consequently great grandfather to Ulysses. It was the opinion of the antients, that the shades of the deceased could visit the earth before the obsequies were finished, but not afterwards; this is evident from the words of Patroclus, Iliad 23.

------ To the further shore,
When once we pass, the soul returns no more.

It is therefore out of favour to Ulysses, that Mercury introduces these shades into the region where Agamemnon resided, before the funeral ceremonies, that they might not return to earth and disquiet Ulysses. But there may be a stronger objection made against the former part of this book; namely, that this is an Episode which has no relation to the principal subject, and that we may retrench it without destroying any part of the Action essential to the Odyssey: But it may be answered, that tho' it makes no part of the principal Action, yet it has a sufficient connection with it: it is the sequel of the death of the Suitors, and consequently the principal Action is the cause of it; it is drawn and deduc'd from it, and Homer makes a very happy use of it to adorn and diversify his Poem, with the history of what happen'd before Troy, after the conclusion of the Iliad; and in particular, with the death of Achilles, and a description of his funeral ceremonies. Didymus, Dacier.

Plato in the beginning of his third Dialogue, de Repub brings an heavy charge against Homer, for the disadvantageous character he gives of a future state. He quotes the similitude of the Bats, and affirms that the dreadful description of the condition of the dead, must deter mankind from hazarding their lives, even in the cause of their country. “Let us then (says that Author) with the permission of Homer and other Poets, reject such relations, not because they are unpoetical, not because they are unpleasant to read, but because by how much they are more pleasant and poetical, by so much they are more dangerous, and to be kept from our youth, and men, who are born to assert their liberty with the hazard of their lives, and prefer death to slavery.” It must be allowed that this is strong reasoning, and 'tis not easy to guard the Doctrine of Homer from such unhappy consequences; for why should men chuse to die, rather than be slaves, when by death they fall into a worse condition? It will not be an answer to say that Homer asserts a threefold state in futurity, viz. of the soul, the ειδωλον, or vehicle, and the body: and that while the vehicle is in this condition of horrors, the soul may be happy; for still the state of the dead is represented as a state of horror, and man is in part (namely, in his ειδωλον) miserable after death: Nay, so miserable, that even Hercules, who was a God and received amongst the Deities, is yet tormented in Hell; lib. XI.

Here hov'ring ghosts, like fowl, his shade surround,
And clang their pinions with terrific sound,
Gloomy as night he stands, in act to throw
Th' aerial arrow from the twanging bow.

It will indeed be a vindication of Homer as a Poet, to say, that he wrote according to the opinion of his age; and that such as was the notion of the Antients of a future state, such is his description of it. I will only add, that we may collect from Plato, that he judg'd this book genuine, for he quotes this passage as Homer's.

This description of the descent into hell is more particular than that in the XIth Odyssey; and each particular is well suited to the subject; the descent is fabled to be by the Ocean, because the sun seems to descend thro' it into Night or the region of darkness, in the western parts of Heaven. Milton fables the Sun to rise through the gates of light, after the manner of the Antients.

------ 'Till morn,
Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand
Unbarr'd the gates of light ------

The circumstance likewise of going through the region of dreams is well chosen; Dreams are the attendants of sleep, the brother of death; they come by night, and are therefore well imagined to have relation to the kingdom of death, and to be introductory to it; Virgil in the descent of Æneas into hell, has borrow'd this image,

------ Quam sedem somnia vulgo
Vana tenere serunt ------
The God of sleep there hides his heavy head,
And empty dreams on every leaf are spread.

The only circumstance liable to objection is, the Leucadian, or white rock, which Aristarchus thought improperly placed in the road to the realms of darkness; but (replies Eustathius) this is only meant of a rock standing on the extremities of the earth, or a rock on which the last rays of the Sun fall. Dacier imagines, that there is a further meaning in the expression: “There is an Island over-against Acarnania, on the west of Ithaca, called Leucas, from a white rock standing in it; this rock was famous in antiquity, because lovers in despair threw themselves from the top of it into the ocean; it was called the Lover's leap, and being thus remarkable for the deaths of numbers of people, Homer places it here.” This is no ill explication; for a rock may well be feign'd to stand at the entrance of the region of death, by which so many persons had enter'd into it.

Ovid in his Epistles mentions this Leucadian rock.

------ O you that love in vain,
Fly hence, and seek the far Leucadian main:
There stands a rock from whose impending steep,
Apollo's fame surveys the rolling deep;
There injur'd lovers, leaping from above,
Their flames extinguish, and forget to love.

This appears to be introduced somewhat unnaturally: Achilles had now been dead about ten years, and Agamemnon almost as long; it can therefore scarce be reconciled to probability, to imagine that they should not have met before this time, and mutually have satisfyed their curiosities, by relating their several stories at some former interview: Dacier indeed remarks, that we are not to imagine this conference was held at the time when the Suitors descended, but upon some preceding occasion, immediately after the death of Agamemnon. If this be allowed, yet the objection remains, that the introduction is forced and unnatural, for then the descent of Mercury and the shades of the Suitors will be no reason why this conference should be here repeated: for so, neither Mercury nor the Suitors hear it. But Dacier is undoubtedly in an error; for υρον in the original is the third person plural, and absolutely refers to Mercury and the shades of the Suitors; and therefore it follows that this conference happen'd at the time of their entrance.

The shades of the Suitors (observes Dacier) when they are summoned by Mercury out of the Palace of Ulysses, emit a feeble plaintive, inarticulate sound, τριζουσι strident: Whereas Agamemnon and the shades that have long been in the state of the dead speak articulately. I doubt not but Homer intended to shew by the former description, that when the soul is separated from the organs of the body, it ceases to act after the same manner, as while it was join'd to it; but how the dead recover their voices afterwards is not easy to understand. In other respects Virgil paints after Homer.

------ pars tollere vocem
Exiguam: inceptus clamor frustratur hiantes.
They rais'd a feeble cry, with trembling notes,
But the weak voice deceiv'd their gasping throats,
Dryden.

But why should we suppose with Dacier, that these shades of the Suitors have lost the faculty of speaking? I rather imagine, that the sounds they uttered were signs of complaint and discontent, and proceeded not from an inability to speak: After Patroclus was slain, he appears to Achilles, and speaks very articulately to him; yet to express his sorrow at his departure he acts like these Suitors: for Achilles

Like a thin smoke beholds the spirit fly,
And hears a feeble, lamentable cry.

Dacier conjectures, that the power of speech ceases in the dead, till they are admitted into a state of rest; but Patroclus is an instance to the contrary in the Iliad, and Elpenor in the Odyssey, for they both speak before their funeral rites are performed, and consequently before they enter into a state of repose amongst the shades of the happy.

There is a very peculiar beauty in the versification of Homer in this place:

------ συ δε στροφαλιγγι κονιης
Κεισο μεγας μεγαλωστι.

The words μεγας μεγαλωστι set the largeness of the body of Achilles stretched out upon the ground full before our eyes; we see him in the description; the repetition forces it upon our observation, so that the mind has time to dwell upon it, and admire the extent of the limbs of that Heroe.

This description furnish'd Aristarchus with another objection to this book: He thought it improbable that the appearance of Thetis and her Sea-nymphs should terrify the whole Grecian army; they say in answer, that all the ocean was in a great commotion as Thetis ascended, or as Homer expresses it,

------ βοη δ' επι ποντον ορωρει
Θεσπεσιη. ------

This uproar occasion'd their fear; the Greeks were ignorant of the cause of it, and consequently apprehended some dreadful event; this is evident, for Nestor appeases their consternation by unfolding the reason of the tumult, and shewing them that it was occasion'd by the ascent of Thetis.

The Reader has undoubtedly observed how excellently Homer sustains his characters; Nestor is the wisest man, both in the Iliad and Odyssey: he has the experience of a very great age, and may therefore be supposed to be acquainted with all the most uncommon appearances in nature: The Poet accordingly describes him as the only person not afraid in the Grecian army; there were others undoubtedly as brave as Nestor, but no one so wise; his intrepidity is therefore to be imputed to his wisdom, not bravery, and this furnishes us with an excellent moral; That ignorance is usually the source of fear.

The character of Achilles is no less happily supported; the same love of glory is visible in all he speaks, that distinguished his character thro' the Iliad: he still prefers a short life with fame, before old age without it.

Ως οφελες τιμης απονημενος ης, περ ανασσες,
Δημω ενι Τρωων θανατον και ποτμον επισπειν.

The sentiment is truly heroic; dishonour is worse than death, the happiness or misery of which is not to be measured by time, but glory; long life is but lengthen'd mortality, and they who live the longest have but the small privilege of creeping more leisurely than others to their graves.

It is impossible (observes Dacier) not to be struck with the noble fictions of Homer in honour of Achilles; every circumstance is great. A whole army is in tears; the Muses celebrate his glory; a Goddess and her Nymphs ennoble it with their presence and lamentations. At the funerals of other Heroes, women and captives are the mourners; here the Muses personally appear. Heaven and Earth, Men and Gods interest themselves in the obsequies of so great an Heroe! Yet from this place Aristarchus draws an argument for rejecting this book: Homer (says he) no where else gives the number of the nine Muses, insinuating that their number was not fix'd in his age; but Homer frequently invokes the Muses, why then should he be ignorant of the number? and if not ignorant of it, why might he not mention it? Aristarchus further adds, that it is absurd to imagine the body of Achilles could be preserv'd seventeen days without burial; but this may be ascribed to the power of Thetis, who may easily be supposed to preserve it. Besides, why might not the body be embalm'd? and then there will be no occasion for a miracle, and the interposition of a Goddess: We must remember what she did to the body of Patroclus in the Iliad.

This is agreeable to the request made to Achilles by the ghost of Patroclus, in the Iliad,

Hear then! and as in fate and love we joyn,
Ah suffer that my bones may rest with thine!
That golden Urn thy Goddess mother gave,
May mix our ashes in one common grave!

It is likewise asserted by Homer, that the bones of Antilochus were reposited in the same urn with those of Patroclus and Achilles; where then is the peculiar honour paid to Patroclus, if Antilochus was partaker of it? The difference is, the bones of Achilles and Patroclus were mix'd in the urn, those of Antilochus lay separately.

Homer adds, that the whole army rais'd a monument to Achilles; this is done according to his own injunctions in the Iliad, for speaking of the tomb of Patroclus, he thus proceeds;

Mean-time erect the tomb with pious hands,
A common structure on the humble sands;
Hereafter Greece, some nobler work may raise,
And late posterity record our praise.

Achilles means, that when he is dead the Greeks should raise one common monument to himself and Patroclus, which we see here effected.

An objection has been rais'd against this passage, and it has been thought an absurdity that Agamemnon should be the guest of Amphimedon, and not of Ulysses, when he came to make an address to him, and was within his territories. Didymus answers, that this conduct in Agamemnon was occasion'd by the refusal of Ulysses to assist in the war of Troy: Agamemnon resented his denial, and went to the house of Amphimedon.

It is not obvious why Ulysses, who was a person of the greatest bravery, should be unwilling to engage in such an action of glory, as the war of Troy: Was it because he foresaw that it would be a work of danger, (as Eustathius imagines) or was he dissatisfy'd in the ground of it, which was only to revenge the rape of Helen, and nothing but a private injury? the former is a reason unworthy of his heroic character, the latter is no more than a conjecture. It may possibly be a truer reason that he was unwilling to forsake his wife, of whom he was very fond, and whom he newly had married; but then it must be allow'd, that he prefers his love to his glory. Eustathius recites the manner how he was drawn to engage in the war of Troy: Ulysses, to deliver himself from the importunities of his friends to assist Agamemnon, pretended madness, and yok'd two animals of a different kind to a plough, and began to work with them; Palamedes, who suspected the imposture, took his son Telemachus, an infant, and laid him in the furrow before the plough; Ulysses turn'd aside not to hurt his child, and this discovered the imposition. Aristotle takes notice of the great judgment of Homer in suppressing this incident concerning Ulysses, it being unworthy of the bravery of an Heroe: He is proving, Chap. 8. of his Poetics, that all the actions of an Heroe's life are not to be inserted in an Epic Poem, for the actions of the same man are so many and different, that we can never reduce them to unity: For this reason Homer mentions not all the adventures of Ulysses, but only such as have relation to the subject of the Odyssey; he knew that this counterfeit madness had no connexion either in truth or probability with the subject of his Poem, and therefore he forbears the mention of it. The Reader will understand the meaning of Aristotle, if he considers that the subject of the Odyssey is the story of a person who suffers great calamities in the return to his country, before he establishes himself in his dominions: Now the counterfeited madness of Ulysses has no connection with these sufferings, and consequently is judiciously omitted by Homer as foreign to the design of the Poem, and contrary to the unity of the action. A detail of all the adventures of an Heroe's life is the province of History; the relation of one single, great, and surprizing action is the subject of Epic Poetry.

We have already seen, that it was the contrivance of Penelope to propose the Bow, to gain time to defer the marriage hour; how then comes Amphimedon to ascribe it to the art of Ulysses? Eustathius answers that Amphimedon is in an error, and that tho' the contrivance was from Penelope, yet Amphimedon could not come to the knowledge of it; and such stratagems being agreeable to the character of Ulysses, he imputes this action to him rather than Penelope.

It is impossible not to take notice that Homer makes repetition after repetition: Agamemnon speaks the same words as in the eleventh Odyssey: Amphimedon the same as in the second; and the whole account of the Suitors' destruction is no more than a recital of what the Reader already knows. Was Homer tir'd at the end of his work, and would not give himself the labour of invention? I confess we may lose our appetite to see the same entertainment thus continually serv'd up in the very same manner, without so much as a new garnishment. I fear the words of Ulysses may sometimes be applicable to Homer.

And what so tedious as a twice-told tale?

Besides, this whole infernal interview is merely ornamental, which the Poet was at liberty to insert or omit according to his judgment, without breaking the thread of the principal action; it might therefore be wish'd that he had substituted some other incident in the room of it, and given a greater diversity to the story: If by laying the scene in Hell, he design'd to raise the wonder and curiosity of the Reader, (who cannot fail of having his attention awaken'd to see a prospect open'd beyond the bounds of nature, and to look into the state of departed Heroes) yet it must be confess'd that this design has already been fully executed in the eleventh of the Odyssey. But the Poet seems to introduce the descent for the information of the dead rather than the living; Agamemnon is told how the Suitors were destroyed by Ulysses; and Achilles how nobly the Greeks perform'd his funeral obsequies; incidents that very little contribute to the story of the Odyssey. In short, the main action stands still during this whole Episode, which takes up almost half the book, and the latter part of the Episode presents no new object to amuse and entertain us. But,

------ Cynthius aurem
Vellit ------

I betray my own want of judgment, rather than discover Homer's errors. I will only add, that the Reader will be fully convinc'd that this whole Episode may be omitted, by observing how well the story will be carried on with a regular connection by beginning the book with these words,

Ο δ' επει εκ πολοις κατεβαν, τακα' δ' αγρον ικοντο, &c.

So that if I could in any part subscribe to the opinion of Aristarchus for the rejection of this book, it should be only for the former part of it, but I am persuaded from the nobleness of the verses, that the whole is genuine.

I think it will not be improper here to particularize from whence Antiquity rais'd the fictions concerning Hell, and the nature of it, as we have it in Diodorus Siculus.

Pluto (observes that Author) was the first that introduced the rites of sepulture, and other ceremonies bestow'd on the dead: This is the reason why the Antients imagin'd him to be the King of the dead.

Rhadamanthus is said to have been the most just man in the world, he severely punish'd robbers and other notorious offenders, and from his singular reputation for integrity was feign'd to be the judge of the good and bad after death; and for the same reason Minos was joyn'd with him in the same dignity.

Homer borrow'd his fictions from Orpheus, Orpheus from the Ægyptians: it was Orpheus who introduc'd the opinion of the pains of the damn'd, and of the Elysian fields, and taught that the souls of the dead were conducted by Mercury into the infernal mansions: (a proof that he was call'd ψυχοπομπος before the days of Homer.) Diodorus proceeds and mentions the beginning of this book, how Homer feigns that Mercury leads the shades of the dead by the Ocean, the Leucadian rock, and the gates of the sun: A plain instance that he look'd upon this book as the genuine work of Homer. All these fables (continues Diodorus) are of Ægyptian extract; by the Ocean, Homer means Nilus; by the gates of the sun, he means Heliopolis, a city sacred to the Sun; the meadow into which the shades are conducted, denotes the pleasant meadows full of canes adjoining to Memphis; and the dead are feign'd to reside there, because it was the general burial place amongst the Ægyptians. Concerning Cocytus, Acheron, &c. the Reader may consult the first Note upon the eleventh Odyssey.

Plutarch in his treatise of Isis and Osyris agrees with Diodorus concerning the extraction of these fables from Ægypt, and mentions at Memphis the gates of lamentation and oblivion; that is, of Lethe, and Cocytus; which being open'd at the burial of the dead, give a doleful and groaning sound. From hence they are thus describ'd by Homer in the tenth Odyssey.

And where slow rolling from the Stygian bed
Cocytus' lamentable waters spread,
Where the dark rock o'erhangs th' infernal lake,
And mingling streams eternal murmurs make.

These observations give light to most of Homer's fictions concerning hell, and shew that his Poetry is built upon the customs of Antiquity.

Macrobius explains all these particulars after a different manner: This solution supposes a state of pre-existence of the soul: If (says that Author) “To die, be the same as to go to the infernal regions; to enjoy the supernal, is then to live; and therefore before Philosophy prevail'd, the body it self was suppos'd to be the infernal receptacle of the Soul, into which she descended as into a prison, from above; this was thought the sepulchre of the Soul, and the cave of Pluto. The river of Oblivion denotes the error of the soul, which forgets the majesty of the former state she enjoy'd before she enter'd the body: Phlegethon, the ardor of our desires, and flames of anger; Acheron all our words and actions that bring us into sorrows; so likewise, Styx implies our hatred, Cocytus our grief and lamentation. Thus also the punishments in hell are verify'd upon earth: the Vultur which preys upon the liver of Tityus, is the sting of a guilty conscience; the ambitious man is the Sisyphus, who is eternally aspiring, and yet always disappointed; the avaritious man is the Tantalus who starves amidst his plenty, &c.

By joining these two interpretations together, we have at once the double pleasure of a beautiful fable and instructive moral; from the whole we may collect, that altho' the antients were ignorant of the true nature of a future state, yet that they believed it, and expected there would be punishments and rewards in it. This note is of use to explain several passages in the eleventh Odyssey.

Eustathius very well explains these words, in which the Greek may be construed to signify that Laertes had purchased this place of his retirement by his labour and industry: But probably Homer intends to express an allotment or portion of ground which was assign'd Laertes by the public, as a reward for his heroic labours in war, and bravery in conquering his enemies, like that mentioned in the Iliad.

The Lycians grant a chosen space of ground,
With woods, with vineyards, and with harvests crown'd.

It may either be so, or Homer intending solely to paint the laborious life of Laertes, added this circumstance of his encreasing his rural cell by his industry, as an instance of it; tho' the latter is more suitable to the character of a King.

Casaubon in his Remarks upon Athenæus, lib. 12. cap. 2. affirms, that anciently neither the Greeks nor the Romans ever wore any covering on their hands, which are now used so universally, that they are worn by the meanest people; but this place is an instance of Casaubon's mistake: 'Tis true, Xenophon gives this practice as an argument of the luxury and delicacy of the Persians, who suffered no part of the body to be expos'd to the air, but wore και περι ακραις ταις χερσι χειριδας, καο δακτυληθρας εχουσι, “gloves upon their hands, and coverings on their very fingers.” Pliny the Younger mentions the same custom amongst the Romans, Manus Hieme manicis muniebantur! ut ne cœli quidem asperitas ullum studiis tempus eriperet. This then is the difference; the Persians wore these hand-coverings out of effeminacy and delicacy: whereas in Greece they were used only out of necessity, as a defence in rural labour, as appears from Laertes, they being never mention'd upon any other occasion, either in the Iliad or Odyssey. Dacier.

This is the first appearance of Laertes, he is the very picture of melancholy, his dress, his employ, and solitary life all discover a fix'd sorrow and contempt of the world. It has been a dispute whether we are to ascribe this retreat of Laertes to a meanness of spirit, who forsakes his station, and is unequal to adversity; or to wisdom, and a noble neglect of the pomp and splendor of the world, by which he prefers a little rural retreat to all the magnificence of a Palace, and a small garden to all the dominions of a King. Plutarch severely censures his conduct: “A person (observes that writer) who wastes his age in his bed, or in trivial affairs, makes himself an object of contempt, as Homer teaches by the examples of Nestor and Laertes: Nestor, by engaging in the war of Troy, obtain'd the utmost veneration; while Laertes, who abandon'd himself to solitude, was despis'd universally.” I am unwilling to subscribe to this observation, being of opinion that the silent virtues of a good man in solitude are more amiable than all the noisy honours of active life. The picture of Laertes is undoubtedly drawn very naturally; a tender father is afflicted for the loss of a brave and beloved son, this bitter ingredient gives a disrelish to all the vanities of life; he is depriv'd of an object that he valued above the world, he therefore neglects it as having nothing worthy of his cares, and abandons it for privacy and tranquillity. Menodemus in Terence is the very copy of Laertes in Homer; an instance that he thought Homer's an exact representation of human nature: and the applause with which that Comedy was received, shews that all Rome was of the same judgment. Sorrow loves to be alone, rather seeks for amusements than business and glory; and it may perhaps be true, that it shews more greatness of soul to resign a kingdom than to conquer it. Pride, ambition, and guilty passions have rais'd many to the top of human glory; but it evidences that a person is not influenc'd by vicious sentiments, who knows how to moderate his desires, and is able to retire from the splendor of a Crown into obscurity. Tully mentions the manner of life in Laertes, without condemnation; the place is to be found in his Cato Major, where he speaks of the innocent amusements of old age, and illustrates his assertions by the example of Laertes. Homerus Laertem lenientem desiderium, quod capiebat e filio, colentem agrum & stercorantem facit. But Tully mistakes Homer, for Laertes is not found dunging his ground.

Perhaps instead of λιστρευοντα, he read κοπρησοντα, as it is used in the seventeenth Odyssey.

------ Οδυσσηος τεμενος μεγα κοπρησοντες.

Or perhaps he quoted by memory. I will only add, that Tully in his retirement at Tusculum, used to write to his friends, that he there led the life of Laertes: and Tully was too sensible of his own worth, to speak any thing to the disparagement of it.

It has been objected, that Ulysses here acts contrary to filial piety, and permits a tender father to continue in his sorrows, when it was in his power immediately to make him happy, by a discovery of his person; they likewise condemn the κερτομεα επεα, which Homer puts into the mouth of Ulysses. It must be allow'd, that those words are frequently us'd by the Poet in a bad sense, and signify heart-wounding, or reproachful words; but here they are not so to be understood; they only imply, that Ulysses blamed Laertes out of tenderness for taking no more care of his person: This is not a reproach, but the language of fondness and affection: or perhaps the Poet meant to express that this enquiry rais'd images of sorrow in the soul of Laertes, and wounded his heart by naming the lost Ulysses. Eustathius solves the former objection by saying that Ulysses delayed the discovery, lest the suddenness of joy should prove fatal to Laertes. But Homer undoubtedly paints according to nature; Ulysses bursts into tears at the sight of his father, yet restrains them, and tries if after twenty years absence he was known by him; this delay raises the Reader's curiosity, makes him, as it were, present at the interview, and impatient to hear the manner of the discovery: Besides, this procedure excellently agrees with the general character of Ulysses, who is upon all emergencies master of his passions, and remarkable for disguise and an artful dissimulation; this disguise has a very happy effect in this place, it holds us in a pleasing suspence, and makes us wait with attention to see the issue of the interview.

The words in the Greek are not without obscurity, and Eustathius explains them two ways; they may either signify, that Laertes appears to be a person of such distinction that he ought to live with more delicacy and dignity, viz. to bath, and after a due repast to sleep in state; or they imply, that Laertes shews the dignity of a King in his person, who comes from the bath, and dines in state. Ulysses cannot compare Laertes to a King who is fresh from the bath, and drest royally, for he tells us, he is cover'd with sweat and dust; he therefore means that his personage is noble, and like a King, that therefore he ought to live like a King, with respect to his food and his bath, and to indulge his age by allowing it ease and refreshment.

Ulysses is inexhaustible in his fictions; he here accommodates the names of persons and places to his fortunes: Alybas is suppos'd to be a city of Italy, afterwards call'd Metapontium. It is plac'd by others in Thrace. It is here introduc'd to denote, the wandrings of Ulysses by the sea, or αλη: the word Aphidas denotes his generosity, which spares nothing towards his friends. He feigns himself to be the grandson of Πολυπημων, to represent the multitude of his sufferings; his name is Eperitus, from επηριστος, the same with περιμαχητος from εριζω, to shew the struggle that he has met with in all his adventures, as well as the toils in the war of Troy, and against other enemies. Eustathius.

This was a common practice amongst the antient orientals, in token of the extremity of sorrow; it was used amongst the Hebrews as well as Greeks; thus Ezek. xxvii. 30. They shall cast dust upon their heads. Job ii. 12. They rent every one his mantle, and sprinkled dust upon their heads. Thus also Achilles in the eighteenth of the Iliad;

His purple garments, and his golden hairs,
Those he deforms in dust, and these he tears.

Homer calls it κονιν αιθαλοεσσαν, which does not mean that Laertes threw glowing embers on his head, for he was in his garden, where such ashes were not to be found, but he means ξηραν, or dry dust, such as arises from substances consum'd by fire, or resembling ashes.

Eustathius.

The Greek expression is remarkable,

------ ανα ρινας δε οι ηδη
Δριμυ μενος προυτυψε ------

A sharp sensation struck his nostrils. Eustathius judges, that the meaning is, that Ulysses perceived himself ready to burst into tears; a kind of a pricking sharp sensation being felt in the nostrils before the erruption of tears. Casaubon more fully explains it; he observes that all violent passions cause a sensation in the nostrils, arising from the ebullition of the spirits, which mount toward the brain, and endeavouring to free themselves from restraint find a vent by the nostril, and crouding thro' it, dilate it in their passage; this is evident from animals, and the nobler kinds of them, as the bull, the horse, the lion, whose nostrils always dilate when mov'd to anger. A similar expression is found in the first Idyllium of Theocritus.

Και οι αει δριμεια χολα ποτι ρινι καθεται.

He speaks of the anger of the God Pan, but it is applicable to all violence of passion. Aristotle (observes Dacier) quotes this verse as apply'd by Homer to express anger, Cap. 8. of his morals to Nicomachus, but he is evidently in an error; for there is here no mention of anger: he undoudtedly trusted to his memory, it being sorrow arising from filial tenderness which moves Ulysses.

Dacier.

The word in the original is παιδνος, which signifies a very young boy: Homer uses it to express the age, when out of a childish simplicity Ulysses ask'd his father to grant him such trees. Such requests are very natural in children, and we see (says Dacier) the same practis'd every day; Parents out of fondness indulge the requests of their children in such little particularities, and a bird, an horse, &c. continues the child's favourite for many years. It must be allow'd, that no Poet ever follow'd nature so faithfully as Homer. Virgil perhaps has reach'd his noblest elevations and sublimities, but there is a greater variety of natural incidents, more exact pictures of human life in Homer than in all other Poets. Some Painters excel in the boldness of their figures, and know how to draw a Heroe or a God, but are less happy in lower subjects; but Homer draws universally, and is excellent upon all occasions; he paints the largest figures or the least sketches equally natural, and with equal beauty.

I doubt not but the Reader has observ'd, that Laertes uses the very turn of language and manner of self-condemnation so remarkable in almost all the speeches of Nestor: this is to be ascribed to the nature of old age in general, which loves a little to boast, and relates the exploits of youth with the utmost satisfaction; or as Horace describes it,

------ Laudator temporis acti
Se puero ------

I will only add, that the reason why Homer describes Laertes enlarg'd with strength and majesty by Minerva is to reconcile the future story to probability; Laertes acts the Heroe, engages at the head of his friends, and kills the leader of his enemies; this might appear to be an exploit too great for a weak old man wasted away with sorrows: the Poet therefore knowing that he had lost his natural vigour thro' age supplies the defect with preternatural strength, and by this method renders him equal to his future actions.

We are not to imagine that this Sicilian was the wife of Dolius; Homer gives her the title of mother to his children, because she had the care of their education; for he adds, η σθεας τρεφε, she was their nurse, not their mother. Dacier.

To understand this we must remember, that many of the Suitors came from the neighbouring Islands, Samos, Zacynthus, &c. and therefore they are said to be transported by sea, to be buried in their native countries: this custom prevail'd over all the oriental world: But there may be a particular reason why this is done by the Ithacans; they might intend to raise those several Islands to engage against Ulysses, and draw them to arms by such moving spectacles. Dacier.

There is great art in the speeches of Medon and Eupithes: Eupithes said that Ulysses had slain the bravest of the Greeks; Medon allows it, but adds, that it was done by the will of the Gods: the consequence therefore is, that to fight against Ulysses upon this account, is to fight against the Gods. Eupithes applies to their revenge, Medon to their fears; Eupithes sheds tears to move their compassion, Medon intimidates them by averring that the assistance of the Gods was visible on the side of Ulysses. The persons likewise whom Homer employs to plead against Eupithes are well chosen; Halitherses is a Prophet, Medon an Herald, and both persons esteem'd sacred by their offices; this is the reason why the Greeks are said to be struck with awe at their appearance. Dacier, &c.

The speech of Medon had a good effect upon the audience; for Homer adds, that the whole assembly grew afraid; Halitherses perceived it, and seconds it. He insists upon a new head of persuasion, and sets forth the justice of the late action of Ulysses: the Suitors were slain (says he) for their crimes, and you are guilty for not restraining their outrages; and then to deter them from their present designs, he represents their danger in engaging against their King. From these speeches (observes Eustathius) Homer draws the probability of the future part of the story; he divides the enemy, and wins over almost half of their numbers; whereas, had they proceeded unanimously, Ulysses must necessarily have perish'd by their power.

It is observable, that tho' Phemius accompanies Medon, yet he is silent; the reason is, he as it were speaks by the mouth of Medon, he was witness to the assistance of heav'n on the part of Ulysses, and approves and confirms by his presence the truth of his testimony. It is thus on the stage where the whole Chorus was antiently suppos'd to speak by the mouth of their Prolocutor.

Dacier, &c.

Homer, to give importance to the conclusive action of his Poem, introduces Jupiter and Minerva in debate about the event of it. At the beginning of the Odyssey he describes the Gods in consultation for the re-establishment of Ulysses: In the conclusion of it, we see Jupiter himself rewarding the virtue and bravery of Ulysses, and decreeing him to reign in peace and tranquillity. This is carry'd on with great judgment: we are fully satisfy'd that the action of the Odyssey is compleated in the happiness of the Heroe, when we hear Jupiter giving his sanction to it. Besides, it leaves a noble image of the greatness of Ulysses, and of the whole story of the Odyssey, upon the Reader's mind, when we see it is of such weight as to engage Jupiter in its favour. Thus in imitation of Homer, toward the conclusion of the Æneid, Virgil describes Jupiter and Juno in debate concerning the decisive action between Turnus and Æneas.

The design of the Odyssey is to shew virtue rewarded, and vice punish'd; here to introduce this act of justice with the greater solemnity, Jupiter is represented giving his assent to it: “Let there be peace (says that Deity) but let justice be done, and the guilty punished;” the Reader must necessarily be satisfy'd with the equity of the cause of Ulysses, when he hears Jupiter himself directing in it. Besides, this conduct of Homer presents us with an excellent moral; it shews us that the Deity is the governour of human affairs, and arbiter of peace and war; as he directs, the scenes of blood are open'd or clos'd, and the words of Homer, διος δ' ετελειετο βουλη, may be apply'd to the Odyssey as well as the Iliad.

The Poet tells us the exact number of the party of Ulysses, which consisted of ten persons under the direction of Dolius, Laertes, and Ulysses: How many were under Eupithes is uncertain, we therefore are at liberty to suppose them more or less superior in number; Medon and Halitherses had withdrawn almost half of his assistants, and by that method reduc'd the enemy to a greater equality: it is probable that they had no very extraordinary inequality, for the onset is so sudden, that the friends of the dead Suitors could not have time to embody; besides, it appears from the sixteenth Odyssey, that of the whole band of Suitors, twelve only were Ithacans, the rest came from the adjacent Islands, and therefore none of their friends could as yet be arrived to assist Eupithes, and consequently this party consisted solely of Ithacans, and were not perhaps greatly superior to Ulysses. This observation likewise furnishes us with a reason why the enemy was so easily defeated, by so small a body of men as engaged for Ulysses.

Eustathius calls this an admirable incident, or change of fortune in favour of Ulysses. The son of Antinous is slain by the son of Laertes, and the father of Antinous by the father of Ulysses. We now see Ulysses happy in his wife, his son, and his father; vicctorious over his enemies, and his subjects submitting to his authority; and therefore the action is now compleat, and terminates with the Odyssey.

The meaning of the passage is no more than this, when stript of its poetical ornaments: Mentor, a person of great wisdom, acts as a mediator between the King and his subjects, he regulates the conditions of peace, and ratifies it with sacrifices to the Gods; this being an act of wisdom, Poetry ascribes it to Minerva.