Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn :: :: University of Virginia Library

Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn

edited by Dr. Shelton Mackenzie

Maginn, William (1793-1842)

Vol. I.

II.

Vol. II

IV.

Vol. IV.

HOMERIC BALLADS.

Vol. V.

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IV. Vol. IV.

Homeric Ballads and Translations, AND Comedies of Lucian.

HOMERIC BALLADS.

I. The Bath of Odysseus.

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY.—Book XIX. 386–507.

I

A caldron bright the old woman bore,
To wash the stranger's feet;
Of water cold she poured in store—
Then, to temper the bath, she filled it o'er
With a stream of boiling heat.

II

By the fire Odysseus took his place;
But he quickly turned him round
In the darksome shadow to hide his face,
For he thought that his nurse's hand would trace
The scar of an ancient wound.

III

And he feared that she might with outcry rash
His presence there betray;
And scarcely had she begun to wash,
Ere she was aware of the grisly gash
Above his knee that lay.

IV

It was a wound from a wild boar's tooth,
All on Parnassus' slope,
Where he went to hunt in the days of his youth
With his mother's sire, with whom, in sooth,
In craft could no man cope.

V

By Hermes' grace, with oaths and lies
His fraudful game he played;
And the god, for the blazing sacrifice
Of kids' and lambkins' savory thighs,
Lent him his ready aid.

VI

From Parnassus erst on a journey gone,
To Ithaca's isle he came;
There he found that his daughter had borne a son,
Whom they placed his grandsire's knees upon,
As he sate at the board, his supper done,
And they asked him the boy to name.

VII

And thus spoke out Euryclea fair,
The infant's nurse was she—
“Autolycus, name thy daughter's heir,
Whom thou long hast sought with many a prayer,
Now lying upon thy knee.”

VIII

“Daughter and son,” the old man said,
“What name I bestow, receive;
As many a man, o'er earth wide-spread,
Was odious to me when I hither sped,
Be Odysseus the name I give.

IX

“By such a surname my grandson call;
And when manhood's years shall come,
Send him to visit the ample hall,
Where his mother was born, in Parnassus tall,
And there I shall give him share of all,
And send him rejoicing home.”

X

Seeking these treasures rich and rare,
Odysseus left his land;
To Autolycus' castle he made repair,
And his grandsire, and his uncles there,
Hailed him with friendly hand.

XI

And the heart of his mother's mother was blest
With her dear grandson's sight;
Closely she clasped him to her breast,
And many a kiss on his cheek she prest,
And on his eyes so bright.

XII

Then Autolycus told his sons to spread
A table for the feast;
And willing they did as their father said,
And a five-year-old steer was to slaughter led
In honor of their guest.

XIII

They flay off its hide, they dress the inside,
They cut it up joint by joint;
With skill well tried, the flesh they divide,
And, sliced into steaks, to the fire applied,
Pierced on the toaster's point.

XIV

And when at the fire it was fully done,
Due portions they gave to all;
They sate at the meal until set of sun,
And when they rose, complaint was there none
Of the well-shared festival.

XV

When the sun in night had hid his ray,
They sank in slumber sound;
Until the rose-fingered queen of day
Sprang from the dawn where her birthplace lay,
And wakened man and hound.

XVI

And all at once the chase pursued
Grandson, and son, and sire;
They climbed the mountain crowned with wood,
And soon in the windswept lawns they stood,
Whence Parnassus' heights aspire.

XVII

Uprose the sun from the deep, deep stream
Of ocean's gentle swell,
And the fields were warmed by his genial gleam,
When the huntsmen, by light of the matin beam,
Entered the woody dell.

XVIII

First through the covert burst the pack,
Fast following on the trace;
Came the Autolyci at their back,
Nor did they find Odysseus slack,
With spear in hand, to join the attack,
Or urge along the chase.

XIX

There 'neath thick covering branches laid,
A huge boar had his lair;

So dense the foliage of that glade,
No wind had ever pierced its shade,
On moist wing wafted there.

XX

There never in the midday heat
Was the warm sunbeam seen;
So sheltered was that close retreat,
That never did a rain-storm beat
Athwart its leafy screen.

XXI

And deep all round, the thick-strew ground
With leaves was covered o'er;
But the trampling sound of man and hound,
All bursting in with sudden bound,
Aroused the couchant boar.

XXII

With bristling back, and eye of flame,
In the brake he took his stand;
To the onset first Odysseus came,
Raising his spear with steady aim,
Poised in his sinewy hand.

XXIII

Ready he stood right valiantly
But, ere he had time to strike,
The tusk of the boar, more prompt than he,
Deep through his flesh, above the knee,
Ripped with a stroke oblique.

XXIV

Sharp was the wound, but it touched no bone;
Odysseus then made a thrust;
Through the right shoulder his spear has gone,
Through the off side piercing its point has shone;
And the slaughtered beast, with bellowing moan,
Sunk dead into the dust.

XXV

The Autolyci looked to the boar that was slain,
And their nephew's gash they bound.
They stanched the black blood by a magic strain,
And brought him home to their sire again,
And they healed him of his wound.

XXVI

With presents rich he was sent away,
When his cure was all complete;
Joyful they parted, both he and they,
And to Ithaca's isle he bent his way,
His parents glad to greet.

XXVII

And much of his wound they wished to know,
And his manner he did recount,
How a white-tusked boar had dealt the blow,
While hunting he chanced with his uncles to go,
Upon Parnassus' mount.

XXVIII

Well was it known by that woman old,
The instant she touched the scar;

Down dropped his foot from her slackened hold,
Upset was the laver, and over it roll'd,
Clanging with brazen jar.

XXIX

All on the floor did the water pour.
The old woman's heart beat high;
With joy at once, and with sorrow sore,
Her soul was filled, and, brimming o'er,
Tears dimmed her aged eye.

XXX

And her voice in her throat was prisoned fast,
But ere long the words outburst;
Her suppliant hand to his chin she passed,
And she said, “Thou art he—I know thee at last—
The darling boy I nurst!

XXXI

“I knew thee not, Odysseus, till
Thy skin my hand had pressed.”
Then where the queen was seated still
Cast she her eyes, with eager will,
To tell who was the guest—

XXXII

To say that her husband home returned,
Now sate within her bower.
But her looks Penelope nought discerned,
For the thoughts of her mind elsewhere were turned,
By Athené's watchful power.

XXXIII

Odysseus checked her tongue's career;
Her throat his right hand caught;
Then with his left he drew her near,
And “Nurse,” said he, in tone severe,
“Dost thou my ruin plot?

XXXIV

“Thou plot my ruin! by whose teat
My infancy was fed;
When homeward to my native seat,
After twenty years of toil and sweat,
My wandering course has led!

XXXV

“Now, since to thee my coming here
By a god's aid is known,
Breathe it to none that I am near;
For, mark me, with attentive ear,
Threatening what shall be done—

XXXVI

“If, by Heaven's help, beneath me die
The suitors whom I hate,
Not even to thee, my nurse, shall I
Yield quarter, while around me lie
The handmaids, slain unpityingly,
Within my palace gate.”

XXXVII

Him answered thus Euryclea good:
“What hast thou said, my son?

Firm and inflexible of mood,
I hold thy secret, unsubdued,
As steel or solid stone,

XXXVIII

“But, heed my words. If Heaven should tame
The suitors b'neath thy hand,
Then throughout the household shall I name
The handmaids who wrought disgrace and shame,
And those who blameless stand.”

XXXIX

“Needless, my nurse,” the king replied,
“That this should to me be told;
They all shall be noted, and duly tried.
As for the rest, let the gods provide:
But do thou deep silence hold.”

XL

She went to prepare the bath anew,
For the first was split all round:
He was bathed and anointed in manner due;
To the fire then closer the stool he drew,
And over his knee his rags he threw,
In order to hide the wound.

II. The Song of the Trojan Horse.

SUNG TO ULYSSES BY THE MINSTREL DEMODOCUS.

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY.—Book VIII. 477–534.

I

“Here, herald,” he said, “take this portion of meat,
And bear it from me, that the minstrel may eat;
Although sad is my heart, yet I gladly will give
The honor that bards should from all men receive;
For honor and reverence should ever belong
To the loved of the Muses, the framers of song.”
So spoke forth Odysseus—the herald obeyed,
And his gift was at once by Demodocus laid.

II

The minstrel received it, rejoicing in heart,
Then the feast was begun, and they all took a part;
And when sated with meat and with wine was each guest,
By Odysseus the singer again was addressed:
“The lot of no other I honor as thine;
For the Muse taught thy lay, or Apollo divine;
Thy song of th' Achivi tells truly and well,
How they toiled in the wars, how they fought and they fell.

III

We would think 'mid those deeds that thou present hast been
Or hast heard them from one who the combat had seen.
Be the famed Horse of Wood now renowned in thy lays,
Which Athené assisted Epéus to raise.

How brought by Odysseus, with stratagem bold,
It was placed, full of men, within Ilion's stronghold.
This tale truly sing; and my tongue shall maintain,
O'er the earth, that a god has inspired thy sweet strain.”

IV

The minstrel began as the godhead inspired,
He sang how their tents the Argives had fired,
And over the sea in trim barks bent their course,
While their chiefs with Odysseus were closed in the horse,
Mid the Trojans, who had that fell engine of wood
Dragged on, till in Troy's inmost turret it stood;
There long did they ponder in anxious debate,
What to do with the steed, as around it they sate.

V

Then before them three several counsels were laid,
Into pieces to hew it by edge of the blade;
Or to draw it forth thence to the brow of a rock,
And downward to fling it with shivering shock;
Or, shrined in the tower, let it there make abode,
As an offering to ward off the anger of God.
The last counsel prevailed, for the moment of doom,
When the town held the horse, upon Ilion had come.

VI

The Argives in ambush awaited the hour,
When slaughter and death on their foes they should shower.
When it came from their hollow retreat rushing down,
The sons of the Achivi smote sorely the town.
Then scattered, on blood and on ravaging bent,
Through all parts of the city chance-guided they went,

And he sang how Odysseus at once made his way
To where the proud domes of Deiphobus lay.

VII

With bold Menelaus he thitherward strode,
In valor an equal to war's fiery god.
There fierce was the fight, dread the deeds that were done,
Till, aided by Pallas, the battle he won.
So sang the rapt minstrel the blood-stirring tale,
But the cheek of Odysseus waxed deathly and pale;
While the song warbled on of the days that were past,
His eyelids were wet with the tears falling fast.

VIII

As wails the lorn bride, with her arms clasping round
Her own beloved husband, laid low on the ground;
From the town, with his people, he sallied out brave,
His country, his children, from insult to save.
She sees his last gasping, life ready to part,
And she flings herself on him, pressed close to her heart.
Shrill she screams o'er the dying, while enemies near
Beat her shoulders and back with the pitiless spear.

IX

They bear her away—as a slave she must go;
For ever a victim of toil and of wo.
Soon wastes her sad cheek with the traces of grief:
Sad as hers showed the face of famed Ithaca's chief.
But none saw the tear-drops which fell from his eye,
Save the king at the board who was seated close by;
And Alcinous watched him, and noted alone,
How deep from his breast came the heavy-sent groan.

III. The Return of the Chiefs from Troy.

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY—Book III. 66–200.

I

The tables were set where the salt-sea shore
Was washed by the flowing brine,
And all the guests, when the feast was o'er,
Were filled with meat and wine.

II

Then the Knight of Gerene said, “'Tis fit
That we should truly hear
Who are the guests that among us sit,
Since now they are full of cheer.

III

“Strangers, who are ye? whence and why
Sail ye along the sea?
Do you your course as merchants ply,
Or as roving wanderers free?

IV

“As pirates who over the waters spread,
On desperate venture boune,
Putting other men's lives in peril and dread,
All careless of their own?”

V

Then Telemachus answered the chieftain old,
With courage at his heart;
For Athené herself a bearing bold
Did to the youth impart,

VI

That he might ask for his absent sire,
And win for himself high fame:
“King Nestor,” said he, “as thou dost inquire,
Great pride of th' Achaian name,
Our business and course, at thy desire,
I tell thee whence we came.

VII

“From Ithaca's land we hither steer,
All under Neion's head;
No public care has brought us here,
But private feeling led.

VIII

“My father I seek, if his wide renown,
I may find as I take my way;
Odysseus the bold, to thee well known,
Thy partner in war, till Ilion town
Before ye in ruin lay.

IX

“The fate of every chief beside
Who fought at Troy is known;
It is the will of Jove to hide
His untold death alone.

X

“And how he fell can no man tell;
We know not was he slain
In fight on land by hostile hand,
Or plunged beneath the main.

XI

“And here I pray, before thy knee,
To tell my sire's sad fate;
What thou hast seen, or else to thee
Did wayfarers' tongues relate:
Because for sorrow marked was he,
Even from his birth-hour's date.

XII

“No pitying word, no tale to soothe,
From thee do I require;
I only pray thee tell me truth,
If thou hast seen my sire.

XIII

“I pray thee by his words well said,
His deeds right bravely done;
By many a gallant promise made,
And broken never a one.

XIV

“Be the woes and toils which he and thou,
And all the host went through
In Troy's long war, remembered now,
And tell me the story true.”

XV

Answered Gerene's knight: “Why call
My memory back again,
To griefs, there destined to befall
Achaia's tameless men?

XVI

“Whether their course o'er the dark blue sea
Our wandering vessels sped,
Scouring the coast for spoil and prey
Where'er Achilles led;

XVII

“Or fighting around King Priam's hold
Proud Ilion's turrets high;
Brave Aias there in death lies cold,
There does Achilles lie;

XVIII

“There has Patroclus found his grave,
In council sager none;
There lies the blameless and the brave,
Antilochus, my son.

XIX

“My swift of foot, my bold of fight,
My dear, dear boy, lies low;
But living wight can ne'er recite
Our endless tale of wo.

XX

“Wert thou here to abide, for a twelvemonth's tide
Told five or six times o'er,

Question on question might still be tried
Of the ills the Achavi bore,

XXI

“Ere home thou wouldst sail, fatigued with the tale
Of our nine years' constant toil
While we wrought for our foemen grief and bale,
With many a varied wile.

XXII

“Till the weary siege, by Jove's high will,
Was brought to an end at last:
In warrior craft and wily skill
No chief thy sire surpassed.

XXIII

“If great Odysseus be thy sire—
And as on thee I gaze
Wondering, the likeness I admire
Thy speech to his betrays.

XXIV

“Thou must be his. How else suppose
That ever man so young,
Could speak in accents like to those
Of wise Odysseus' tongue?

XXV

“And he and I, in friendship bound,
Often in council state;
Oft, 'mid the Greeks assembled round,
We mingled in debate:

XXVI

“We never differed, felt no jar,
Our counsels still were one,
Planning what should throughout the war
Be best for the Argives done.

XXVII

“But when o'erthrown was Priam's town,
And we sought the ships again,
Then the Achaian host, into discord thrown,
Were scattered upon the main.

XXVIII

“Their home return had Jove designed
To fill with sorrow sad,
To punish the men of reckless mind,
And of feelings base and bad.

XXIX

“Through high-born Pallas' deadly ire
Many an ill death died;
For, 'twixt the Atridæ of quarrel dire
She had the source supplied.

XXX

“They assembled the host of the Argives all,
And a rash hour they set;
As the shades of night began to fall,
The unruly soldiers met.

XXXI

“For heavily laden they came with wine,
And by both chiefs were told,

In several speech, with what design
Did they that meeting hold.

XXXII

“And Sparta's king wished across the seas
They should straight return again;
But this counsel did not his brother please,
Who would the host detain,

XXXIII

“Till they had made the offering due
Of sacred hecatomb;
By sacrifice hoping to subdue
Athené's wrathful gloom.

XXXIV

“Fool! that his vows were thrown away
Unthanked—he should have known;
For the heart of the gods who live for aye
Is not to changing prone.

XXXV

“Fierce were the angry words they spoke,
These jarring brothers proud;
And the Achivi up from the meeting broke
Rising in clamor loud.

XXXVI

“And as seemed best in each man's sight,
Each different side he sought;
And we lay down to rest that night
With bitter and hostile thought;

For Jove had willed that foul despite
Should be to the Danai wrought.

XXXVII

“And we launched our ships when the morning came,
With our well-won treasure stored;
And many a fair, deep-girdled dame
We took with us on board.

XXXVIII

“And half of the men desired to stay,
As Agamemnon bade;
The other half we sailed away,
And a rapid voyage we made.
A god the vasty sea-deep spray
Smooth as a plain had laid.

XXXIX

“When we had come to Tenedos' isle,
We made our offerings there—
Hoping, now danger passed and toil,
We soon should homeward bear.

XL

“But Jove was sternly minded still
To lengthen out our woes;
And by his will of strife the ill
Again among us rose.

XLI

“For some retraced again the seas,
Plying back the laboring oar,

Thinking their ancient chief to please
Whom they left on the Ilian shore;
And, led by king Odysseus, these
Sought the coast of Troy once more.

XLII

“But when I saw the evils dread
Some angry power had planned,
With the crowded galleys I there had led
Beneath mine own command,
Away I fled—away with me fled
Bold Diomed and his band.

XLIII

“By Menelaus, at evening tide,
We were in Lesbos joined;
While pondering how, through the waters wide,
We best our path might find.

XLIV

“Whether we should over Chios hold
Our course, and toward Psyria go,
Leaving Chios and all its headlands bold
Under our larboard bow;

XLV

“Or under Chios, where Mimas' head
Is swept by many a gale.
To the gods for a guiding sign we prayed
To point our course to sail.

XLVI

“They gave the sign, and bade us steer
Right over the sea across,

Making Eubœa in full career,
So shunning wreck and loss.

XLVII

“Shrill did the wind begin to blow,
As through the fishy deep,
Cleft by our vessel's rapid prow
Onward our way we keep.

XLVIII

“Geræstus' haven by night we made,
And the thigh of many a bull
We there on Posidon's altar laid,
Of grateful reverence full.

XLIX

“Grateful that we a track so vast
Safe crossed of the ocean blue;
And ere the fourth day was gone and passed
Came Argos' towers in view,
And Diomed's men his ships at last
Into his harbor drew.

L

“I held on to Pylos, mine own abode,
And never flagged the gale
From the hour that it was the will of the God
That it should fill my sail.

LI

“So came I hither knowing naught,
Which of the Achaian host
Were back, my son, in safety brought,
And which of them were lost.

LII

“But what, since I have dwelt at home,
Hath chanced to reach my ear,
Of all my old companions' doom,
'Tis fit that thou shouldst hear.

LIII

‘Well did the spear-famed Myrmidon
Homeward return, 'tis said,
Beneath Achilles' glorious son,
Back to his country led.

LIV

“Well, also, Pœas' ancient seat
Did Philoctetes gain;
Well did Idomeneus, of Crete,
Bring back of his warrior train
Those who chanced not death in fight to meet;
None perished on the main.

LV

“Though far off ye may dwell, ye have heard men tell,
How, by a hapless doom,
King Agamemnon murdered fell,
On his returning home;
But upon false Ægisthus well
Did fierce avenging come.

LVI

“For a slaughtered man it is always good
A son to leave behind,
As he this traitor, in the blood

Of his noble father all imbued,
Has to cruel death consigned.

LVII

“So thou, my son, whom I behold
A handsome youth, and strong,
Give, in thy bearing brave and bold,
Matter for future song.”

IV. The Cloak.

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY.—Book XIV. 462–533.

I

Now, Eumæus, give ear and my other friends near; a tale
somewhat vaunting I pray you to hear:
For you know heady wine will the sagest incline, like a fool
out of season, in singing to join;
Or unwisely to laugh, or to skip in a dance, and to say what
were best left unspoken perchance.

II

But now 'tis too late, since to talk is my fate, for my tongue to
keep back what it means to relate.
Oh! were I as young, and as fresh, and as strong, as when,
under Troy, brother soldiers among,
In ambush as captains were chosen to lie,
Odysseus, and King Menelaus, and I.

III

They called me as third, and I came at the word, and reached
the high walls that the citadel gird,
Where under the town, we in armor lay down by a brake in
the marshes with weeds overgrown;
The night came on sharp, bleak the north wind did blow,
And frostily cold fell a thick shower of snow.

IV

Soon with icicles hoar every shield was frozen o'er; but they
who their cloaks and their body-clothes wore
The night lightly passed, secure from the blast, asleep with
their shields o'er their broad shoulders cast;
But I, like a fool, had my cloak left behind,
Not expecting to shake in so piercing a wind.

V

My buckler and zone, nothing more had I on; but when the
third part of the night-watch was gone,
And the stars left the sky, with my elbow then I touched Odys-
seus, and spoke to him lying close by—
“Noble son of Laertes, Odysseus the wise,
I fear that alive I shall never arise.

VI

“In this night so severe but one doublet I wear, deceived by a
god; and my cloak is not here;
And no way I see from destruction to flee.” But soon to relieve
me a project had he.
In combat or council still prompt was his head,
And into my ear thus low-whispering he said:

VII

“Let none of the band this your need understand: keep silent.”
Then, resting his head on his hand,
“Friends and comrades of mine!” he exclaimed, “as a sign,
while I slept has come o'er me a dream all divine:
It has warned me how far from the vessels we lie,
And that some one should go for fresh force to apply.

VIII

“And his footsteps should lead, disclosing our need, to King
Agamemnon, our chieftain, with speed.”
Thoas rose as he spoke, flung off his red cloak, and, running,
his way with the message he took;
While, wrapt in his garment, I pleasantly lay
Till the rise of the golden-throned queen of the day.

IX

If I now were as young, and as fresh, and as strong, perhaps
here in the stables you swineherds among
Some a mantle would lend, as the act of a friend, or from the
respect that on worth should attend:
But small is the honor, I find, that is paid
To one who, like me, is so meanly arrayed.

X

Then, keeper of swine, this answer was thine: “The manner,
old man, of thy story is fine,
For there was not a word out of place or absurd: thy request
shall be granted as soon as preferred.
Not a cloak, or aught else, shalt thou want at my hand,
That is fit for a beggar in need to demand;

XI

“Till the night shall pass o'er—in the morning once more, thy
rags must thou don, for we here have no store.
Among cloaks to go range, or of doublets for change—had we
more than one garment a-piece 'twould be strange.
But when the dear son of Odysseus comes back,
Of cloak or of doublet thou never wilt lack.

XII

“Those will he bestow, and send thee to go, wherever thy
thoughts and thy wishes may flow.”
He rose as he said, and laid out a bed—and sheepskins and
goats' upon it he spread;
And next, stretched by the fireside, Odysseus on these,
Lay in cloak large and thick, as he might at his ease.

XIII

To cover his form, at approach of a storm: or to wrap him in
sleep as he there lay down warm—
The young men close by in the couch came to lie, but Eumæus
refusing to stay from the sty,
Was girt to sleep out; while Odysseus was glad
That his herd in his absence such vigilance had.

XIV

His sharp sword around his strong shoulders he wound, and
then his thick cloak, wind-defying, he bound;
Next, he put on his coat made of skin of she-goat—of a she-
goat well fed, and of size worthy note.
And he took a sharp spear, with which he might weir the at-
tack or of men or of dogs coming near;
And to lie with the white-toothed porkers went forth,
In a cave of the rock, safely screened from the north.

V. The Dog Argus.

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY.—Book XVII. 290–327.

I

Then as they spake, upraised his head,
Pricked up his listening ear,
The dog, whom erst Odysseus bred,
Old Argus lying near.

II

He bred him, but his fostering skill
To himself had naught availed;
For Argus joined not the chase, until
The king had to Ilion sailed.

III

To hunt the wild-goat, hart, and hare,
Him once young huntsmen sped;
But now he lay an outcast there,
Absent his lord, to none a care,
Upon a dunghill bed,

IV

Where store of dung, profusely flung
By mules and oxen, lay;
Before the gates it was spread along
For the hinds to bear away,

V

As rich manure for the lands they tilled
Of their prince beyond the sea;
There was Argus stretched, his flesh all filled
With the dog-worrying flea.

VI

But when by the hound his king was known,
Wagged was the fawning tail,
Backward his close-clapped ears were thrown,
And up to his master's side had he flown;
But his limbs he felt to fail.

VII

Odysseus saw, and turned aside
To wipe away the tear;

From Eumæus he chose his grief to hide,
And “Strange, passing strange, is the sight,” he cried,
“Of such a dog laid here!

100

VIII

“Noble his shape, but I can not tell
If his worth with that shape may suit;
If a hound he be in the chase to excel,
For fleetness of his foot:

101

IX

“Or worthless as a household hound,
Whom men by their boards will place,
For no merit of strength or speed renowned,
But admired for shapely grace.”

X

“He is the dog of one now dead,
In a far land away;
But if you had seen,” the swineherd said,
“This dog in his better day,
When Odysseus hence his warriors led
To join in the Trojan fray,

XI

“His strength, his plight, his speed so light,
You had with wonder viewed;
No beast that once had crossed his sight,
In the depths of the darkest wood,
'Scaped him, as, tracking sure and right,
He on its trace pursued.

102

XII

“But now all o'er in sorrows sore
He pines in piteous wise;
The king upon some distant shore
In death has closed his eyes;
And the careless women here no more
Tend Argus as he lies.

XIII

“For slaves who find their former lord
No longer holds the sway,
No fitting service will afford,
Or just obedience pay.

XIV

“Far-seeing Jove's resistless power
Takes half away the soul
From him, who of one servile hour
Has felt the dire control.”

103

XV

This said, the swineherd passed the gate,
And entered the dwelling tall,
Where proud in state the suitors sate
Within the palace hall.

XVI

And darksome death checked Argus' breath
When he saw his master dear;
For he died his master's eye beneath,
Coming back in the twentieth year.

105

VI. The Funeral of Achilles.

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY.—Book XXIV. 11–97.

107

I

The ghosts by Leucas' rock had gone,
Over the ocean streams;
And they had passed on through the gates of the Sun,
And the slumberous land of Dreams.

II

And onward thence to the verdant mead,
Flowering with asphodel,
Their course was led, where the tribes of dead,
The shadows of mankind, dwell.

III

Achilles and Patroclus there
They found with Nestor's son,
And Aias, with whom could as match compare
Of the host of the Danai none,
For manly form, and gallant air,
Save the faultless Peleion.

IV

Around Achilles pressed the throng
Of ghosts in the world below;
Soon passed Atrides' shade along,
And full was that shade of wo.

108

V

About the king came crowding all
Who, by a murderous stroke,
With him were slain in Ægisthus' hall;
And first Achilles spoke.

VI

“'Twas once, Atrides, our belief,
That thunder-joying Jove
Ne'er honored other hero-chief
With equal share of love.

VII

“Thy rule a mighty host obeyed,
And valiant was the array,
When outside Troy was our leaguer laid,
For many a woful day.

VIII

“Yet did the gloom of dismal doom
First on thy head alight;
From the fate that a birth is marked to come
Scaped never living wight.

IX

“Would that in honor on the ground,
Where high thou hadst held command,
Thy fallen body had been found,
Slain upon Trojan land.

X

“Where all the men of Achaian blood
Their chieftain's tomb might raise—

109

A tomb, in after-times to have stood,
For thy son proud mark of praise:
But 'twas fate that, by piteous death subdued,
Thou shouldst end thy glorious days.”

XI

“How blest,” then said Atrides' shade,
“Thy lot, who fell in war,
Godlike Achilles, lowly laid,
In Troy, from Argos far.

XII

“We round thy corse, as slain it lay,
The bravest and the best
Of either host, the livelong day
In slaughterous combat pressed.

XIII

“Mid clouds of dust, that o'er the dead,
In whirlwind fierce arose,
On the battle field, all vastly spread,
Did thy vast limbs repose;
The skill forgot, which whilome sped
Thy steed amid the foes.

110

XIV

“All day we fought, and no one thought
Of holding of the hand;
Till a storm to an end the contest brought,
Sent by high Jove's command.

XV

“From the field of fight thy corse we bore,
And for the ships we made;
We washed away the stains of gore,
And thy body fair anointed o'er,
Upon its last bed laid.

111

XVI

“Hot tears did the eyes of the Danai rain,
And they cut their flowing hair;
Uprose thy mother from the main,
With all the immortal sea-nymph train,
At the tidings of despair.

XVII

“Loud over the sea rose the voice of wail,
And the host was filled with dread;
And homeward they would, with hasty sail,
In their hollow ships have fled,

XVIII

“Had not a man, to whom was known
The wisdom of days of eld,
Who in council ever was wisest shown,
Nestor, their flight withheld:
For he spoke to them thus in sagest tone,
And their panic fear dispelled.

XIX

“‘Argives,’ he said, ‘your steps restrain,
Achaia's sons do not flee;
His mother is rising from out the main,
With all the immortal sea-nymph train,
The corse of her son to see.’

XX

“The flight was checked—and round thee came
The maids of the sea-god old;
Sad weeping as they wrapt thy frame
In vesture of heavenly fold.

112

XXI

“A mournful dirge the Muses nine
In strains alternate sung,
And from every eye the tearful brine
Through the Argive host was wrung;
For none could withstand the lay divine
Of the Muse's dulcet tongue.

XXII

“By day and night for ten days' space—
For ten days' space and seven,
Wept we the men of mortal race,
And the deathless gods of heaven.

XXIII

“And when the eighteenth morning came,
To the pile thy corse was borne;
And many fat sheep were slain at the flame,
And steers of twisted horn.

XXIV

“With ointment rich upon the pyre,
And honey covered o'er,
There didst thou burn in rich attire,
Such as immortals wore.

XXV

“And many a hero-chief renowned
Rushed forward, foot and horse,
The blazing death-pile to surround
Where burnt thine honored corse.

113

XXVI

“The tumult was loud of that martial crowd,
Till the flame had consumed thee quite;
And then, when the dawn of morning glowed,
We gathered thy bones so white.

XXVII

“In waterless wine, and ointment fine,
When the fire had ceased to burn,
We laid those relics prized of thine
All in a golden urn.

XXVIII

“This costly gift thy mother brought;
And she said it was bestowed
By the god of Wine—a vessel wrought
By the Fire-working god.

XXIX

“And there are laid thy bones so white,
Mingled, illustrious chief,
With his, thy friend, whose fall in fight
Wrought thee such mickle grief.

XXX

“Those of Antilochus apart
Are stored—for, of all the host,
After Patroclus slain, thy heart
Him loved and honored most.

XXXI

“And the Argive spearmen, gathering round,
Upraised a mighty heap,

114

For thy tomb, a large and lofty mound,
Upon a jutting steep.

XXXII

“Landmark conspicuous there for aye,
By Helle's waters wide,
For men who may sail on a future day,
As for those of the present tide.

XXXIII

“Thy mother then the gods besought,
And they gave what she chose to ask;
And many a glorious prize she brought,
To be won by manly task.

XXXIV

“I oft before, when heroes died,
Have joined beside their tomb
The youths of pride, who there to have tried
The feats of strength have come.

XXXV

“But such store of prize ne'er met my eyes
As there that day was seen,
Which Thetis brought for thine obsequies,
The silver-footed queen.

115

XXXVI

“Dear wert thou to the gods; and now,
Even in the world beneath,
Thy endless glory lies not low,
Achilles, with thy death.

XXXVII

“For ever shall that deathless name
Among all mankind live;
For ever meed of glorious fame
Shall from all the world receive.”

119

VII. The Introduction of Penelope.

I

Soon as Athené spoke the word,
She took the likeness of a bird.
And, skyward soaring, fled.
The counsels of the heavenly guest
Within Telemachus's breast
New strength and spirit bred.

II

His absent father to his thought
Was by his wakened memory brought
More freshly than of old:
But when Athené's flight he saw,
A feeling deep of reverend awe
His inmost heart controlled.

III

He knew the stranger was a god;
And hastening to his own abode,
He joined the suitor train.
A far-famed minstrel in the hall

120

Sang to the peers, who listened all
In silence to his strain.

IV

As subject of his lay he chose
The mournful story of the woes
Borne by the Achaian host,
When, under Pallas' vengeful wrath,
Homeward returning was their path
Bent from the Trojan coast.

V

The song Icarius' daughter heard,
And all thine inmost soul was stirred,
Penelope the chaste!
Straight did she from her bower repair
And passing down the lofty stair,
The festal hall she graced.

121

VI

Alone she went not—in her train
She took with her handmaidens twain;
And when the peerless queen
Came where the suitors sate, aloof
Close by a post that propped the roof,
She stood with face unseen.

VII

A veil concealed her cheeks from view,
And by each side a handmaid true
In seemly order stood;
With tears fast bursting from her eyne,
Addressing thus the bard divine,
She her discourse pursued:

VIII

“Phemius! for men's delight thy tongue
Can many another flowing song
In soothing measure frame;
Can tell of many a deed, which done
By God or man in days bygone,
Bards have consigned to fame.

IX

“Take one of those, and all around,
Silent, will hear the dulcet sound,
Drinking the blood-red wine;
But cease that melancholy lay
That wears my very heart away—
A heavy wo is mine!

122

X

“How can I check the tide of grief,
Remembering still that far-famed chief,
Whose fame all Hellas fills?”
Answered her son, “Oh! mother mine!
Why dost thou blame the bard divine,
For singing as he wills?

XI

“Blame not the poet—blame to Heaven,
Which to poor struggling men has given
What weight of wo it chose.
How can we charge the bard with wrong,
If the sad burden of his song
Turns on the Danaan woes?

XII

“Men, ever with delighted ear,
The newest song desire to hear.
Then firmly to the strain
Listen, which tells of perils done:
My sire is not the only one
Who of the chiefs to Ilion gone
Has not returned again.

XIII

“For many, to that fatal shore
Who sailed away, came back no more:
Thy business is at home,
Thy servant-maidens to command,
And ply, with an industrious hand,
The distaff, and the loom.

123

XIV

“To men, the guiding power must be,
At all times, in these halls to me;
For here my will is law.”
The queen went homeward, as he bade,
And felt the words her son had said
Inspired her soul with awe.

XV

Soon did she, with her handmaids twain,
Her lofty seated chamber gain.
And there, with many a tear,
Until Athené came to steep
Her weary lids in balmy sleep,
Did chaste Penelope be-weep
Her absent husband dear.
While, seated still at festival,
The suitors, in the dusky hall,
Revelled with noisy cheer.

125

VIII. The Last Appearance of Penelope.

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY—Book XXIII. 289–343.

127

I

A bed of texture soft and fine
The nurse and the handmaiden spread;
The couch was decked by torchlight shine,
And homeward then the old woman sped.
While Eurynome, as a chamber-groom,
With lamp in hand, to the nuptial room
The new-met partners led.

II

Thither she led them, and withdrew,
And left them, as in days of old,
Their former dalliance to renew
In joyous passion uncontrolled.
And the herd of swine, and the herd of kine,
With the heir of Ithaca's royal line,
Bade the house its peace to hold.

III

The dance was checked as they desired,
The sound of woman's voice repressed;
In silence then they all retired
Within the darkening halls to rest.
And when was done love's dearest rite,
Husband and wife with calm delight
Their mutual thoughts expressed.

128

IV

She told him of the scorn and wrong
She long had suffered in her house,
From the detested suitor throng,
Each wooing her to be his spouse.
How, for their feasts, her sheep and kine
Were slaughtered, while they quaffed her wine
In plentiful carouse.

V

And he, the noble wanderer, spoke
Of many a deed of peril sore—
Of men who fell beneath his stroke—
Of all the sorrowing tasks he bore.
She listened, with delighted ear—
Sleep never came her eyelids near,
Till all the tale was o'er.

VI

First told he how the Cicones
He had subdued with valiant hand,
And how he reached across the seas,
The Lotus-eaters' lovely land;
The crimes by Polyphemus done,
And of the well-earned vengeance won,
For slaughter of his band.

VII

Vengeance for gallant comrades slain,
And by the Cyclops made a prey;
And how it was his lot to gain
The isle where Æolus holds sway;

129

And how the Monarch of the wind
Received him with a welcome kind,
And would have sent away,

VIII

Home to his native isle to sail;
But vainly against fate he strove,
By whom unroused a desperate gale
Over the fishy ocean drove,
And sent him wandering once again,
The toils and dangers of the main
With many a groan to prove.

IX

And how he wandered to the coast
Where dwells the distant Læstrygon;
How there his ships and friends he lost,
Escaping in his bark alone;
He spoke of Circe's magic guile,
And told the art and deep-skilled wile
By the enchantress shown.

X

Then how to Hades' grisly hall
He went to seek the Theban seer,
In his swift ship; how there with all
The partners of his long career
He met; and how his mother mild,
Who bore, and reared him from a child,
He saw while wandering there.

XI

And how the dangerous strain he heard,
Sung by the Sirens' thrilling tongue;

130

And how with dexterous skill he steered
His course the justling rocks among;
How he—what none had done before—
Unscathed through dread Charybdis bore,
And Scylla sailed along.

XII

And how the oxen of the sun
With impious hand his comrades slew;
How their devoted bark upon
High thundering Jove his lightning threw;
How by the bolt of life bereft,
Perished his friends, he only left
Remaining of the crew.

XIII

And how, in the Ogygian isle,
He visited Calypso fair;
And how she sought, with many a wile,
To keep him still sojourning there:
With fond desire 'twas hers to crave,
That he, within her hollow cave,
Her nuptial bed should share.

XIV

Each hospitable art she tried,
His heart to win—his hopes to soothe;
She promised him, were she his bride
Immortal life, and ceaseless youth.
But all her promise, all her art,
Changed not the temper of his heart,
Nor shook his steadfast truth.

131

XV

How, after many a year of toil,
When on Phæacian land he trod,
The king and people of the isle
Hailed him with honors of a god;
And sent him full of presents fair,
Of gold, and brass, and garments rare,
Back to his own abode.

XVI

So closed the tale. Then balmy sleep,
The healer of all human woes,
Did their relaxing members steep
In soft oblivion of repose. [OMITTED]

139

IX. The Prophecy of Theoclymenus the Seer.

I

As Pallas bade, the suitor train
Into mad fits of mirth are thrown;
You scarce had deemed the jaws they strain—
So fierce the laughter—were their own.

II

The flesh they eat with blood o'erflows,
With gushing tears are filled their eyne;

140

And, while each heart impending woes
Presaged, uprose the seer divine.

III

“What is the fate of evil doom
Now threatening you, unhappy race?
I see that night in thickest gloom
Wraps every limb, and form, and face.

IV

“Outbursts like fire the voice of moan,
Drowned are your cheeks with sorrow's flood;
And every wall and pillared stone
Is soaked and dabbled in your blood.

V

“Through hall and porch, full many a ghost
Crowds toward the mansion of the dead;
The sun from out the heavens is lost,
And clouds of darkness rushing spread.”

VI

He ceased, and they with jocund cheer
Into glad peals of laughter broke.
Eurymachus addressed the seer,
And thus in taunting accents spoke:

VII

“Mad is the new-come guest. 'Tis meet
Instant to chase him from our sight;

141

To turn toward haunts of men his feet,
Since he mistakes the day for night.”

VIII

Then thus replied the seer divine:
“From thee no guide shall I request,
For eyes, and ears, and feet, are mine,
And no weak soul inspires my breast.

IX

“Then from this fated house I go;
Swift comes the destined vengeance on;
None shall escape the deadly blow
Of all the suitors—no, not one.

X

“Not one of those, who now so long
Have in this mansion held control,
With words of insult on the tongue,
And schemes of baseness in the soul.”

XI

He went; and as a welcome guest,
Piræus' friendly halls he found.

142

The suitors, at the dizzy feast,
Each on the other glanced around;
And turned the stranger into jest,
Telemachus's heart to wound.

143

X. The Story of the Swineherd.

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY.—Book XV. 389–483.

145

I

O stranger, if it be thy will
My life's whole course to know,
Listen in silence seated still,
While with my tale the hours I fill,
Over the goblet's flow.

II

The long and tedious night's career
Leaves time enough for sleep,
Enough a pleasant tale to hear,
Which those who lend attentive ear
From slumber dull will keep.

III

Repose not till the hour assigned;
Harm by much sleep is done.
Let him who feels of drowsier mind,
Departing outward, lie reclined,
Till the up-dawning sun.

IV

When, with the porkers of his lord,
He from his meal may go;
We, seated here beside the board,
Eating and drinking, will record
Each other's tales of wo.

146

V

Sweet is, of perils past and o'er,
The story, treasured well—
Of all the sufferings that we bore:
Our wanderings on a foreign shore—
Such as I now shall tell.

VI

Where turns the sun to set and rise,
All to Ortygia's north,
Thou may'st have heard that Syria lies,
An island of no passing size,
But excellent of worth.

VII

In flocks and kine, in corn and wine,
Abundant is its soil;
There never famine makes to pine,
No maladies to wo consign
The dwellers of the soil.

VIII

When to the years that suit the tomb
Its aged sons attain,
Then Artemis and Phœbus come,
The Archer-gods, to seal their doom,
By painless arrows slain.

IX

Two are its cities, and the land
'Twixt them is parted free;

147

O'er both my sire with regal hand,
Ctesius, the godlike, held command;
Of Ormenus son was he.

X

And often the Phœnicians sought
This island o'er the main.
And their ship-famed men of wily thought
Many curious toys in the galleys brought,
To barter them there for gain.

XI

There chanced in my father's house to be
A woman of their land;
And tall was she, and fair to see,
And in works of art right skilfully
Practised was she of hand.

XII

Her beauty made her fall a prey
To sailor arts ere long;
To bathe when she had ta'en her away,
In a seaman's arms in the ship she lay,
Won by his glozing tongue.

XIII

Women are weak: the deftest dame
By like deceit may fall.
He asked, Who was she? Whence she came?
And at once did she as her dwelling name
My father's high-roofed hall.

148

XIV

“Rich Sidon is my native source,
Rich Arybas my sire;
As from the fields I bent my course,
I by a Taphian pirate-force
Was seized, and here, without remorse,
Sold for the stated hire.”

XV

Spoke then the man, in whose embrace
She secretly had lain:
“Wilt thou with us thy path retrace,
To see once more thy natal place,
Thy father's halls again?

XVI

“Them to see? they still survive,
Rich in abundant store.”
“Be it so; your offer I receive,”
She said; “but ye some pledge must give
To bring me safe to shore.

XVII

“Swear this with solemn oath and true,
And, sailors, yours am I.”
Then, as she bade, did all the crew
Take the firm oath in manner due,
And duly ratify.

XVIII

“Be secret now,” the woman cried;
“Should any from the ship

149

Henceforth to meet with me betide,
In market wide, or at fountain side,
Be closed to me his lip;

XIX

“Lest some one to my master old
Should our discourse betray;
And he, suspecting from what is told,
Should bind me fast in fetters fold,
And plot your crew to slay.

XX

“But keep the secret safely stored,
And your purchase of victuals ply:
When your full stock is laid on board,
Let some one to me, with speedy word,
At yonder mansion hie.

XXI

“And gold with me I shall surely bear,
Whatever to hand may come;
And with willing mind, as a passage fare,
Shall bring you the boy whom as nurse I rear
In that rich man's house at home.

XXII

“He now can run abroad by my side,
And the child is sharp and smart;
Him then shall I to your vessel guide,
And a handsome price he will sure provide,
When sold at a foreign mart.”

150

XXIII

She said, and then the house she sought:
In the isle for a year they staid.
Provision in store for their ship they bought,
And when the vessel was fully fraught,
Their messenger was sped.

XXIV

Crafty was he whom the sailors sent
To take the message sure;
To my father's house his way he bent,
And a necklace of gold with amber blent
He brought with him as a lure.

XXV

With favoring hand and longing eye,
My venerated dame
Did with her household maidens try,
The trinket, which they fain would buy.
Whate'er the price he would name.

XXVI

He winked at the woman, and went his way;
In silence he gave the sign.
With my hand in hers, I was led away,
Through the porch where many a goblet lay
Left where they had met to dine.

XXVII

My father had gone with every guest,
The public court to keep;

151

And she hid three goblets under her vest,
And I, with a foolish mind possessed,
Followed her to the deep.

XXVIII

Down sank the sun, and dark was the street,
And soon we came to the bay,
Where lay the Phœnician galley fleet;
They put us on board, and at once we beat
Fast over the watery way.

XXIX

Fair was the wind, vouchsafed by Jove;
Six days before the blast,
Day and night, in constant course, we drove;
The seventh day was doomed to prove
That Phœnician woman's last.

XXX

Her Artemis' fatal arrows slew;
And with a noisy force,
She fell as plump as sea-coots do,
Into the sink, and then they threw
To the seals and fish her corse.

XXXI

And sadly I was left behind;
But soon to Ithaca's shore
Wafted were we by wave and wind;
To Laertes by sale was I consigned;—
And now my tale is o'er.

153

XI. The Beaten Beggarman.

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY—Book XVIII. 1– 116.

157

I

There came the public beggarman, who all throughout the town
Of Ithaca, upon his quest for alms, begged up and down;
Huge was his stomach, without cease for meat and drink craved he:
No strength, no force his body had, though vast it was to see.

II

He got as name from parent dame, Arnæus, at his birth,
But Irus was the nickname given by gallants in their mirth;
For he, where'er they chose to send, their speedy errands bore,
And now he thought to drive away Odysseus from his door.

III

“Depart, old man! and quit the porch,” he cried with insult coarse,
“Else quickly by the foot thou shalt be dragged away by force:
Dost thou not see, how here on me, their eyes are turned by all,
In sign to bid me stay no more, but fling thee from the hall?

IV

“Tis only shame that holds me back; so get thee up and go!
Or ready stand with hostile hand to combat blow for blow.”
Odysseus said, as stern he looked with angry glance, “My friend,
Nothing of wrong in deed or tongue do I to thee intend.

158

V

“I grudge not whatsoe'er is given, how great may be the dole,
The threshold is full large for both; be not of envious soul.
It seems 'tis thine, as well as mine, a wanderer's life to live,
And to the gods alone belongs, a store of wealth to give.

VI

“But do not dare me to the blow, nor rouse my angry mood;—
Old as I am, thy breast and lips might stain my hands with blood.
To-morrow free I then from thee the day in peace would spend,
For never more to gain these walls thy beaten limbs would bend.”

VII

“Heavens! how this glutton glibly talks,” the vagrant Irus cried;
“Just as an old wife loves to prate, smoked at the chimney side.
If I should smite him, from his mouth the shattered teeth were torn,
As from the jaws of plundering swine, caught rooting up the corn.

159

VIII

“Come, gird thee for the fight, that they our contest may behold.
If thou'lt expose to younger arms thy body frail and old.”
So in debate engaged they sate upon the threshold stone,
Before Odysseus' lofty gate wrangling in angry tone.

IX

Antinous marked, and with a laugh the suitors he addressed:
“Never, I ween, our gates have seen so gay a cause of jest;
Some god, intent on sport, has sent this stranger to our hall,
And he and Irus mean to fight: so set we on the brawl.”

X

Gay laughed the guests, and straight arose, on frolic errand bound,
About the ragged beggarmen a ring they made around.
Antinous cries, “A fitting prize for the combat I require,
Paunches of goat you see are here now lying on the fire;

XI

‘This dainty food all full of blood, and fat of savory taste,
Intended for our evening's meal, there to be cooked we placed.
Which ever of these champions bold may chance to win the day,
Be he allowed which paunch he will to choose and bear away.

160

And he shall at our board henceforth partake our genial cheer,
No other beggarman allowed the table to come near.”

XII

They all agreed, and then upspoke the chief of many a wile:
“Hard is it when ye match with youth age overrun with toil;
The belly, counseller of ill, constrains me now to go,
Sure to be beaten in the fight with many a heavy blow.

161

XIII

“But plight your troth with solemn oath, that none will raise his hand
My foe to help with aid unfair, while I before him stand.”
They took the covenant it had pleased Odysseus to propose;
And his word to plight the sacred might of Telemachus arose.

162

XIV

“If,” he exclaimed, “thy spirit bold, and thy courageous heart
Should urge thee from the palace gate to force this man to part,
Thou needst not fear that any here will strike a fraudful blow;
Who thus would dare his hand to rear must fight with many a foe.

XV

“Upon me falls within these halls the stranger's help to be;
Antinous and Eurymachus, both wise, will join with me.”
All gave assent, and round his loins his rags Odysseus tied:
Then was displayed each shoulder-blade of ample form and wide.

XVI

His shapely thighs of massive size were all to sight confessed,
So were his arms of muscle strong, so was his brawny breast;
Athene close at hand each limb to nobler stature swelled;
In much amaze did the suitors gaze, when they his form beheld.

163

XVII

“Irus un-Irused now,” they said, “will catch his sought-for wo,
Judge by the hips which from his rags this old man stripped can show.”
And Irus trembled in his soul; but soon the servants came,
Girt him by force, and to the fight dragged on his quivering frame.

XVIII

There as he shook in every limb, Antinous spoke in scorn:
“'Twere better, bullying boaster, far, that thou hadst ne'er been born,
If thus thou quake and trembling shake, o'ercome with coward fear,
Of meeting with this aged man, worn down with toil severe.

XIX

“I warn thee thus, and shall perform full surely what I say,
If, conqueror in the fight, his arm shall chance to win the day,
Epirus-ward thou hence shalt sail, in sable bark, consigned
To charge of Echetus the king, terror of all mankind.

164

XX

“He'll soon deface all manly trace with unrelenting steel,
And make thy sliced-off nose and ears for hungry dogs a meal.”
He spoke, and with those threatening words filled Irus with fresh dread;
And trembling more in every limb, he to the midst was led.

XXI

Both raised their hands, and then a doubt passed through Odysseus' brain
Should he strike him so, that a single blow would lay him with the slain,
Or stretch him with a gentler touch prostrate upon the ground;
On pondering well, this latter course the wiser one he found.

165

XXII

For if his strength was fully shown, he knew that all men's eyes
The powerful hero would detect, despite his mean disguise.
Irus the king's right shoulder hit; then he with smashing stroke
Returned a blow beneath the ear, and every bone was broke.

XXIII

Burst from his mouth the gushing blood; down to the dust he dashed,
With bellowing howl, and in the fall his teeth to pieces crashed.
There lay he, kicking on the earth; meanwhile, the suitors proud,
Lifting their hands as fit to die, shouted in laughter loud.

XXIV

Odysseus seized him by the foot, and dragged him through the hall,
To porch and gate, and left him laid against the boundary wall.
He placed a wand within his hand, and said, “The task is thine,
There seated with this staff, to drive away the dogs and swine;

XXV

“But on the stranger and the poor never again presume
To act as lord, else, villain base, thine may be heavier doom.”
So saying, o'er his back he flung his cloak, to tatters rent,
Then bound it with a twisted rope, and back to his seat he went,

166

XXVI

Back to the threshold, while within uprose the laughter gay.
And with kind words was hailed the man who conquered in the fray.
“May Zeus and all the other gods, O stranger! grant thee still
Whate'er to thee most choice may be, whatever suits thy will.

XXVII

“Thy hand has checked the beggar bold, ne'er to return again
To Ithaca, for straight shall he be sped across the main,
Epirus-ward, to Echetus, terror of all mankind,”
So spoke they, and the king received the omen glad of mind.

167

XII. The First Appearance of Helen

[_]

FROM THE ODYSSEY.—Book IV. 121–234.

179

I

From her perfumed chamber wending,
Did the high-born Helen go:
Artemis she seemed descending,
Lady of the golden bow;
Then Adrasta, bent on duty,
Placed for her the regal chair;
Carpet for the feet of beauty
Spread Alcippe soft and fair.

II

Phylo came the basket holding,
Present of Alcandra's hand.
Fashioned was its silvery moulding
In old Egypt's wealthy land;
She, in famous Thebè living,
Was of Polybus the spouse,
He with soul of generous giving
Shared the wealth that stored his house.

III

Ten gold talents from his coffer,
Lavers twain of silver wrought,
With two tripods at his offer,
Had he to Atrides brought;
While his lady came bestowing
Gifts to Helen rich of price,
Gave a distaff, golden, glowing,
Gave this work of rare device.

180

IV

Shaped was it in fashion rounded,
All of silver but the brim,
Where by skilful hand 'twas bounded,
With a golden-guarded rim.
Now to Helen Phylo bore it,
Of its well-spun labor full,
And the distaff laid she o'er it,
Wrapt in violet-tinted wool.

V

Throned, then, and thus attended,
Helena the king addressed:
“Menelaus, Jove-descended,
Know'st thou who is here thy guest?
Shall I tell thee, as I ponder,
What I think, or false or true;
Gazing now with eyes of wonder
On the stranger whom I view?

VI

“Shape of male or female creature,
Like to bold Odysseus' son;
Young Telemachus in feature,
As this youth I seen have none.
From the boy his sire departed.
And to Ilion's coast he came
When to valiant war ye started
All for me—a thing of shame.”

VII

And Atrides spake, replying,
“Lady, so I think as thou,

181

Such the glance from eyeball flying,
Such his hands, his feet, his brow;
Such the locks his forehead gracing;
And I marked how, as I told
Of Odysseus' deeds retracing,
Down his cheek the tear-drop rolled.

VIII

“While he wiped the current straying
With his robe of purple hue.”
Nestor's son then answered, saying—
“What thou speakest, king, is true.
He who at thy board is sitting
Is of wise Odysseus sprung;
Modest thoughts, his age befitting,
Hitherto have stilled his tongue.

IX

“To address thee could he venture,
While thy winning accents flowed,
In our ravished ears to enter,
As if uttered by a god!
At Gerenian Nestor's sending
Comes beneath my guidance he,
In the hope thy well intending
To his guest of help may be.

X

Many a son feels sorrow try him
While his sire is far away,
And no faithful comrade by him,
In his danger prop or stay.
So, my friend, now vainly sighing,
O'er his father absent long,

182

Finds no hand, on which relying,
He may meet attempted wrong.”

XI

Kindly Menelaus spake him,
Praised his sire in grateful strain,
Told his whilome hope to take him
As a partner in his reign;
All were softened at his telling
Of the days now past and gone;
Wept Telemachus, wept Helen,
Fell the tears from Nestor's son.

XII

Gushing came they for his brother,
Slain by Dawn-born Memnon's sword;
But his grief he strove to smother,
As unfit for festal board.
Ceased the tears for wo and slaughter,
And again began the feast;
Bore Asphalion round the water,
Tendered to each noble guest.]

XIII

Then to banish gloomy thinking,
Helen on gay fancy bent,
In the wine her friends were drinking,
Flung a famed medicament:

183

Grief-dispelling, wrath-restraining,
Sweet oblivion of all wo;
He the bowl thus tempered draining
Never felt a tear to flow.

XIV

Not if she whose bosom bore him
Or his sire in death were laid;
Were his brother slain before him,
Or his son with gory blade.
In such drugs was Helen knowing;
Egypt had supplied her skill,
Where these potent herbs are growing,
Some for good, and some for ill.

185

XIII. The Genealogy of Glaucus.

[_]

FROM THE ILIAD.—Book VI. 145–211.

191

I

Why do you ask, bold Tydeus' son,
Why do you ask, what race am I?
As forest-leaves have come and gone,
So does the race of mankind hie:
The wind outblows, and straightway strows
The scattered leaves upon the ground;
But soon the wood blooms green in bud,
When again the spring-tide hours come round.

II

Such, and no more, the race of man;
One flowers, and another fades apace.
But if you truly wish to scan
How runs the lineage of our race,
What many know I straight will show:
Within a nook of Argos land,
The land which breeds such gallant steeds,
Doth Ephyra's ancient city stand.

III

And there dwelt Sisyphus, the son
Of Œolus, the tempest lord

192

And through all the earth a wilier one
Could not the sons of men afford.
To Glaucus his heir, did his lady bear
The gallant youth, Bellerophon,
To whom high Heaven had fine form given,
And strength in kindly valor shown.

IV

But Prœtus, in his evil soul,
Felt toward him foul and felon thought
(And under King Prœtus' stern control
Had Jove the men of Argos brought),
His queenly dame of lofty name
Had felt sharp passion's fiercest sting,
And to his breast, with love unblest,
Desired in stolen joy to cling.

V

But wise, and all averse to wrong,
He would not with her wish comply.
Then spoke she with a traitorous tongue
Her husband in a ready lie:
“Do slaughter on Bellerophón,
Or let thyself, O Prœtus! die,
Because he strove with shameless love
Within my arms by force to lie.”

VI

She spoke: and when the king had heard,
All through his soul fierce anger flew;
To slay his youthful guest he feared.
Much scrupling such a deed to do,

193

By his command to Lycian land
The unsuspecting youth was sent.
But many a mark of import dark
He bore off with him as he went.

VII

In tablets of the closest fold,
Prœtus' life-killing mandates lay—
There was his lady's father told
Bellerophón at once to slay.
But heavenly led to Lycia sped,
My favored grandsire on his way;
And when he came to Xanthus' stream,
Much honor did its monarch pay.

VIII

Nine days they held the constant feast,
Nine oxen for the board they slew;
When on the tenth day in the East,
Blushed forth the dawn of rosy hue,
The king addressed his honored guest,
And spoke his wish that should be shown
With what intent there had been sent
To Lycian land Bellerophón.

194

IX

Now when the message met his eye—
And Prœtus' felt intent he knew—
He sent him, and one doomed to die,
The dire Chimæra to subdue.
From heavenly seed, not human breed,
That yet unconquered monster came.
Dreadful, I ween, her throat was seen
Fierce breathing forth the fiery flame.

X

In head a lion, in the tail
A dragon, and a goat in loin;
Yet did his valor there prevail,
Upheld by portents all divine.
And next his glaive the Solymi brave
Did with their blood in battle wet:
Oft did he say such desperate fray
As theirs in fight he never met.

XI

Thirdly, he smote with mortal scar
The Amazons who warred on man;
And back returning from that war
'Gainst him a plot the Lycians plan.
Through Lycia wide, the flower and pride
Of all her warriors have they ta'en,
And with them laid an ambuscade;
But not a man returned again.

XII

They perished by his hand subdued;
And then, as Lycia's king knew well

195

That he was born of godlike blood,
He kept him in the land to dwell.
His daughter as bride he gave, and, beside,
Shared with him half his reign;
And of land which there is most rich and rare
Was chosen as his domain.

XIII

Fit land the clustering vine to raise,
Fit land to ply the spade;
But even on him in latter days
The wrath of Heaven was laid.
And all alone he wandered on
The Aleian plain apart;
From human path, in wo or wrath,
Devouring his own heart.

XIV

Two sons, one daughter, to his love
Were by his lady given;
Laodamia, lofty Jove,
Whose guidance rules o'er Heaven,
Clasped in his arms, and of her charms
Is brave Sarpedon sprung;
But Artemis' bow soon laid her low,
By fiery anger stung.

XV

Isander against the Solymi
In glorious battle stood;
And Ares doomed him there to die,
The sateless god of blood.

196

The second son as sire I own,
Hippolochus he hight;
And from Lycia far, to the field of war,
Hath he sent me here to fight.

XVI

And much was the counsel my father gave
At Troy to bear me well:
Ever to show myself bold and brave,
And all others to excel;
And not to disgrace the ancient race,
Which still mid the best did shine
Or in Lycia wide, or by Ephyra-side.
Such, Diomede, is my line.

197

XIV. The Arming of Achilles.

[_]

FROM THE ILIAD.—Book XIX. 357 to the end.

199

I

As snow-flakes are driven through the wintry heaven,
When Boreas fiercely blows,
So thick and so fast, helms beaming bright,
And bossy shields, and corslets tight,
And ash-spears ready for the fight,
Out from the ships arose.

II

And their brilliant beam, in dazzling stream,
Skyward ascending soared,

200

And the shine which their armor shed around
Lit with a laugh the kindling ground,
While their trampling feet raised a thunder sound,
As they closed about their lord.

III

His teeth he gnashed, and his eyeballs flashed
Like the flame of a burning brand;
His soul with grief and rage was fraught;
And wrapping his heart in vengeful thought,
He harnessed himself in the armor wrought
And given by Hephæstos' hand.

IV

First, with the grasp of silver clasp,
His greaves did he buckle on;
Then he armed his breast with a bright cuirass,
Flung round his shoulders his sword of brass,
Uplifted his shield, a ponderous mass,
Like the moon from afar it shone.

201

V

As when sailors, who keep on the storm-vexed deep
Their way with unwilling oar,
The blaze of a distant fire espy
From some lonely fold in the mountains high,
When forced by the blast their course they ply,
Driven away from their native shore;

VI

So to heaven shot the light from the buckler bright
That guarded Achilles' breast.
Next lifted he up to sheath his head
His helmet of strength fit for combat dread,
Around like a star was its lustre shed
Beneath the horse-hair crest.

VII

And the golden thread so thickly spread
By Hephæstos the cone around,
Waved in the air, as the chief essayed
If close to his shape were the armor laid,

202

If his shapely limbs in free motion played,
Within its harness bound.

VIII

With the lightsome spring of a bird's fleet wing
Buoyant they bore him on;
And next from the spear-case he went to take
His father's spear, huge, massy, of make
Which no other hand in the host could shake
Save his good right hand alone.

IX

[An ash-tree spear for his father dear
Hewed down by Chiron's stroke
From Pelion's summits where waves the wood,
He sent it to drip in warriors' blood.]
Meanwhile the squires by the horses stood
As they set them beneath the yoke.

X

They fasten the trace, and they firmly place
In the bending jaws the bit;
Back to the car the reins are thrown,
And seizing the whip to his hand well known,
Sprung to his seat Automedōn,
Where long he had loved to sit.

XI

And behind that seat in arms complete,
Stood Achilles girt for war;

203

He glowed like the sun in his noon-day gyre,
And his chiding voice sounded fierce and dire,
As thus to the chargers of his sire
He shouted from the car.

XII

“My bright bay horse—my fleet of course,
Podargé's far-famed brood,—
Yours be it your master back to bear
From the battle-field now with surer care,
Leave me not as you left Patroclus there,
All weltering in his blood.”

204

XIII

Then out upspoke from beneath the yoke
His dapple-foot steed of bay,
Low stooped his head, and the yoke around
His mane encircling swept over the ground,
For Heré had given him vocal sound
Achilles' fate to say.

XIV

“Once yet again from the battle-plain,
Safe back we bear thee home.
But thy hour of death is hastening nigh,
All blameless are we, yet thou must die,
Slain by the hand of a godhead high,
Such is Fate's relentless doom.

XV

“By no lack of speed, no sloth of steed,
Patroclus' arms were lost;
It was he, most glorious god of light,
The son of fair Leto, of tresses bright,
Who slew him amid the foremost fight,
And gave Hector the fame to boast.

XVI

“By our flight as fast as Zephyrus' blast
Was thy chariot whirled along,
Yet here it is fated thy bones be laid,
By a god's strong power and a mortal's blade!”
Mute was the horse when these words were said,
For the Furies chained his tongue.

205

XVII

Then with angry word the swift-foot lord,
Thus spoke his prophetic horse:—
“Why, Xanthus, in boding tone,
Hast thou my coming death fore-shown?
Needless to tell what so well is known,
That here I lay my corse.

XVIII

“It is fixed by Fate that I end my date
From my father's land afar:
But still, ere my day of life runs out,
No war shall the Trojans lack or rout.”
So said he; and, with a thundering shout,
Drove his steeds to the thickest war.

207

XV. The Genealogy of Aeneas.

[_]

FROM THE ILIAD.—Book III. 200–259.

211

I

Idle the thoughts, my soul to daunt,
Like a weak boy's with angry tongue;
I could return, with scoffing taunt,
Words of reviling, wrath, and wrong.
I know thy line, and thou knowest mine,
What need it that the tale be told?
Spreads over the earth our lofty birth
In legends of days of old.

II

The face of my parents thou ne'er hast viewed.
To my eyes thine were never shown,
But that thou art of King Peleus' blood
To all mankind is known;
And of Thetis the fair, with flowing hair,
Who dwells 'neath the ocean wave.
To Anchises' arms, me, the Queen of Charms,
Pledge of love, Aphrodite gave.

III

One pair to-day for offspring slain
In loud lament must weep;
No longer shall this childish strain
Our spears from the conflict keep.

212

But if I must tell, what to most men well
Is known, my lineage proud,
In days long since gone, was Dardanus, son
Of Zeus, who compels the cloud.

IV

And he built Dardania, for not as yet
On the plain sacred Ilion stood;
But their dwellings at foot of Ida they set
With many a fountain dewed.
Next the heir of his race filled his lordly place,
Erichthonius, richest of men,
For of thousands three brood-mares had he,
Feeding upon the fen.

V

Loose in the marsh were they turned to feed;
And, as Boreas whirled along,
He was seized with desire, while in flowery mead
They frolicked amid their young.
With passion warm, in a dark steed's form,
He veiled his godlike mould;
And from his embrace, a wondrous race
Of twelve she-colts was foaled.

VI

Over waving corn was their fleet career,
On its topmost beard it were sped;
So rapid and light their touch, no ear
Would bend beneath their tread.

213

If their bounding track coursed over the back
Of ocean spreading wide;
On the unscattered spray of the waters gray,
They skimmed along the tide.

VII

And from Tros, his son, who the Troës swayed
After his sire as king,
Did Ilus, Assaracus, Ganymede,
Three gallant princes, spring.
And in grace the last all men surpassed,
So far that the admiring gods
To Heaven caught him up to bear Jove's cup,
And dwell in their blest abodes.

214

VIII

To the son of Ilus Laomedon
Were the bridegroom of the Morn,
Tithonus, and Priam, who fills the throne,
Lampus and Clytius born;
And as sturdy a branch, Hicetaon stanch,
As Ares ever had grown.
Through Assaracus we join this princely tree,
My grandsire was his son.

IX

Capys, Anchises' sire; he mine.
Such is my lineage high.
As Hector is head of Priam's line,
So of my father's, I.
But deem not that worth will follow birth,
They come not at mortal call;
But in varying degrees, as Zeus may please,
They are given by the Lord of all.

X

But let us no more, like silly boys,
Wrangle here in idle strain,
While all around the fight's fierce noise
Is sounding over the plain.
For both and each of slanderous speech
Might choose a ponderous load;
Far more in weight, than a galley's freight,
By five-score rowers rowed.

XI

The tongue is a weapon nimble to wield,
For which ample task is found,

215

And of words is a wide and open field,
All spreading round and round.
Whatever is said, soon back is sped,
So why should we jarring here,
Like women in rage, contentious wage
This poor and wordy war?

XII

Women hurrying on to the public path,
Careless of false or true,
At each other rail, as swelling wrath
Inspires each scolding shrew.
By your right arm strong—not your angry tongue—
Must I from the field be chased;
No longer I stay, without more delay
Let our spears of the battle taste.

217

XVI. Nestor's First Essay in Arms.

WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY THE TEMPLAR.

[_]

FROM THE ILIAD—Book XI. 670–761.

223

I

Oh! was I as erst in my youthful day,
In vigor and strength the same,
When we and the Eleans about a prey
Of cattle to combat came;
When by my hand Itymones fell
To the rescue rushing on;
(Of Hypirochus who was wont to dwell
In Elis, gallant son.)

II

In the foremost line as he guarded his kine,
I stretched him amid the dead;
While with fear and amaze did the wild troops gaze
Whom he from his farm-lands led
Fifty flocks of goats, as many sheep,
And fifty drove of swine;
Fifty lowing herds at one night's sweep
I drove from the plain as mine.

III

And thrice fifty mares of yellow main,
And with them many a foal,
And we drove them to Neleus who held his reign
In those olden times o'er the Pylian plain,
And rejoiced was he in his soul
That to me, so young in my first essay,
Should so rich a booty fall;

224

And by heralds at dawn of the breaking day,
It was proclaimed to all.

IV

To whom debt was due all Elis through
Should meet in the spoils to share;
And together the Pylian chieftains drew,
And made a division fair;
For many a score of ancient date
Was to poor Pylos owed,
For we were reduced to low estate
By the strength of a demigod.

V

For Hercules came in years gone by,
And by him were our best men slain;
Twelve gallant sons had Neleus, and I
Did then the last remain;
The Epeians, therefore, thought they might dare
In their haughty meanness strong;
To a people so weak they refused to spare
Insults of deed, or tongue.

VI

A lowing herd and a fleecy flock,
In number of hundreds three,
As his share with the shepherds old Neleus took,
For the heaviest claim had he.
Four horses famed for glories won
When contending for the prize,
As for a tripod they went to run,
Were seized in a shameful wise.

225

VII

King Augias stopped them travelling on,
And back the driver came,
His race not run, his coursers gone,
With anger filled and shame.
Large, therefore, the share might my father choose,
To the people he gave the rest,
That none might his fairness in dolling accuse,
To divide as it pleased him best.

VIII

And now our various labors done,
Due sacrificial cheer
We offered the gods outside the town,
Free from the pressing fear;
But on the third morn, of foot and horse
A mighty gathering came;
The Molians armed them with the force,
Though but boys unknown to fame.

IX

A distant town Thryoessa stands
Where Alpheus' waters sweep
At the edge remote of Pylos' sands,
Perched on the rocky steep.
This far-off town they sought to gain,
And to use it at their need;
But when they had traversed all the plain
Athene came with speed

X

By night; and the Pylians to arms she bid,
And they answered with delight;

226

But my steeds of war old Neleus hid,
To keep me from the fight.
He said I knew not the works of war,
And yet to the field I sped,
Where I fought, though on foot, the horsemen near,
By Athene's orders led.

XI

Close by Arene the Minyas flows,
And falls into the sea,
Where the Pylian horsemen, till morning rose,
Awaited our infantry.
Then full of force our armor shine,
By Alpheus' banks we stood,
And we sacrificed there to the powers divine,
And first to the Olympian God.

XII

To Alpheus a steer—to Posidon a steer,
And a heifer all unbroke
To Pallas—and then our festal cheer
Throughout the ranks we took.
And the livelong night in our arms we lay,
Close by the rushing tide,
While to Pylos the Epeians made their way,
Camping its walls beside.

XIII

And soon as morning's dawn was seen,
Scattering its light around,
Praying to Jove, and Wisdom's Queen,
We for the fight were bound;

227

When we fairly joined us in the fray,
By me was the first man slain;
No horses longer I needed that day,
And my father's scheme was vain.

XIV

Brave Moleus, whom I made to bleed,
Had chosen as a bride
King Augias' daughter, fair Agamede,
By whom the virtues of plant and weed,
Wherever grown, were tried.
And I slew him there with my brazen spear,
And as in the dust he rolled,
In his chariot I drove in hot career
To the foremost warriors bold.

XV

And hither and thither the Epeians fled,
When they saw that warrior fall,
Their horse to the fight who had always led,
And was foremost in valor's call.
But on I rushed, like a darksome blast,
And from fifty chariots soon,
To bite the dust two riders were cast,
By my right arm alone.

XVI

And the Molian twins I there had slain
But for the pitchy cloud
In which their father, who rules the main,
Did them from danger shroud.
Then Jove assisting across the field,
We made the Epeians fly,

228

The men we slay, and their corses yield
Of armor a rich supply.

XVII

Till we came to Buprasium, rich in wheat,
Our horse rode conquering still,
Under Olenia's rocky retreat
And Alicium's distant hill.
And there their last man low I laid;
And much honor we lavished free,
First 'mong the gods to Jove they paid,
'Mong mankind first to me.