Book I: Visit of Pallas to Telemachus

Lyrics

A council of the gods⁠—Deliberations concerning Ulysses⁠—Mercury despatched to Calypso, to bid her send Ulysses to Ithaca⁠—Visit of Pallas, in the shape of Mentor, to Telemachus, advising him to repair to Pylos and Sparta in quest of his father, Ulysses⁠—Revels of the suitors of Penelope⁠—Phemius, the minstrel, and his song of the return of the Grecians⁠—The suitors rebuked by Telemachus. Tell me, O Muse, of that sagacious man Who, having overthrown thе sacred town Of Ilium, wandered far and visitеd The capitals of many nations, learned The customs of their dwellers, and endured Great suffering on the deep: his life was oft In peril, as he labored to bring back His comrades to their homes. He saved them not, Though earnestly he strove; they perished all, Through their own folly; for they banqueted, Madmen! upon the oxen of the Sun⁠— The all-o'erlooking Sun, who cut them off From their return. O goddess, virgin-child Of Jove, relate some part of this to me. Now all the rest, as many as escaped The cruel doom of death, were at their homes Safe from the perils of the war and sea, While him alone, who pined to see his home And wife again, Calypso, queenly nymph, Great among goddesses, detained within Her spacious grot, in hope that he might yet Become her husband. Even when the years Brought round the time in which the gods decreed That he should reach again his dwelling-place In Ithaca, though he was with his friends, His toils were not yet ended. Of the gods All pitied him save Neptune, who pursued With wrath implacable the godlike chief, Ulysses, even to his native land. Among the Ethiopians was the god Far off⁠—the Ethiopians most remote Of men. Two tribes there are; one dwells beneath The rising, one beneath the setting sun. He went to grace a hecatomb of beeves And lambs, and sat delighted at the feast; While in the palace of Olympian Jove The other gods assembled, and to them The father of immortals and of men Was speaking. To his mind arose the thought Of that Aegisthus whom the famous son Of Agamemnon, Prince Orestes, slew. Of him he thought and thus bespake the gods:⁠— "How strange it is that mortals blame the gods And say that we inflict the ills they bear, When they, by their own folly and against The will of fate, bring sorrow on themselves! As late Aegisthus, unconstrained by fate, Married the queen of Atreus' son and slew The husband just returned from war. Yet well He knew the bitter penalty, for we Warned him. We sent the herald Argicide, Bidding him neither slay the chief nor woo His queen, for that Orestes, when he came To manhood and might claim his heritage, Would take due vengeance for Atrides slain. So Hermes said; his prudent words moved not The purpose of Aegisthus who now pays The forfeit of his many crimes at once." Pallas, the blue-eyed goddess, thus replied:⁠— "O father, son of Saturn, king of kings! Well he deserved his death. So perish all Guilty of deeds like his! But I am grieved For sage Ulysses, that most wretched man, So long detained, repining, and afar From those he loves, upon a distant isle Girt by the waters of the central deep⁠— A forest isle, where dwells a deity The daughter of wise Atlas, him who knows The ocean to its utmost depths, and holds Upright the lofty columns which divide The earth from heaven. The daughter there detains The unhappy chieftain, and with flattering words Would win him to forget his Ithaca. Meanwhile, impatient to behold the smokes That rise from hearths in his own land, he pines And willingly would die. Is not thy heart, Olympics, touched by this? And did he not Pay grateful sacrifice to thee beside The Argive fleet in the broad realm of Troy? Why then, O Jove, art thou so wroth with him?" Then answered cloud-compelling Jove: "My child, What words have passed thy lips? Can I forget Godlike Ulysses, who in gifts of mind Excels all other men, and who has brought Large offerings to the gods that dwell in heaven? Yet he who holds the earth in his embrace, Neptune, pursues him with perpetual hate Because of Polypheme, the Cyclops, strong Beyond all others of his giant race, Whose eye Ulysses had put out. The nymph Thoosa brought him forth⁠—a daughter she Of Phorcys, ruling in the barren deep⁠— And in the covert of o'erhanging rocks She met with Neptune. For this cause the god Who shakes the shores, although he slay him not, Sends forth Ulysses wandering far away From his own country. Let us now consult Together and provide for his return, And Neptune will lay by his wrath, for vain It were for one like him to strive alone Against the might of all the immortal gods." And then the blue-eyed Pallas spake again:⁠— "O father! son of Saturn, king of kings! If such the pleasure of the blessed gods That now the wise Ulysses shall return To his own land, let us at once despatch Hermes, the Argicide, our messenger, Down to Ogygia, to the bright-haired nymph, And make our steadfast purpose known to bring The sufferer Ulysses to his home, And I will haste to Ithaca, and move His son, that with a resolute heart he call The long-haired Greeks together and forbid The excesses of the suitor train, who slay His flocks and slow-paced beeves with crooked horns. To Sparta I will send him and the sands Of Pylos, to inquire for the return Of his dear father. So a glorious fame Shall gather round him in the eyes of men." She spake, and fastened underneath her feet The fair, ambrosial golden sandals worn To bear her over ocean like the wind, And o'er the boundless land. In hand she took, Well tipped with trenchant brass, the mighty spear, Heavy and huge and strong, with which she bears Whole phalanxes of heroes to the earth, When she, the daughter of a mighty sire, Is angered. From the Olympian heights she plunged, And stood among the men of Ithaca, Just at the porch and threshold of their chief, Ulysses. In her hand she bore the spear, And seemed the stranger Mentes, he who led The Taphians. There before the gate she found The haughty suitors. Some beguiled the time With draughts, while sitting on the hides of beeves Which they had slaughtered. Heralds were with them, And busy menials: some who in the bowls Tempered the wine with water, some who cleansed The tables with light sponges, and who set The banquet forth and carved the meats for all. Telemachus the godlike was the first To see the goddess as he sat among The crowd of suitors, sad at heart, and thought Of his illustrious father, who might come And scatter those who filled his palace halls, And win new honor, and regain the rule Over his own. As thus he sat and mused Among the suitors, he beheld where stood Pallas, and forth he sprang; he could not bear To keep a stranger waiting at his door. He came, and taking her right hand received The brazen spear, and spake these winged words:⁠— "Hail, stranger! thou art truly welcome here, First come and share our feast and be refreshed, Then say what thou requirest at our hands." He spake and led the way, and in his steps Pallas Athenè followed. Entering then The lofty halls, he set the spear upright By a tall column, in the armory With polished walls, where rested many a lance Of the large-souled Ulysses. Then he placed His guest upon a throne, o'er which he spread A covering many-hued and beautiful, And gave her feet a footstool. Near to her He drew his parti-colored seat, aloof From where the suitors sat; that so his guest Might not amid those haughty revellers Be wearied with the tumult and enjoy His meal the less, and that himself might ask News of his absent father. In a bowl Of silver, from a shapely ewer of gold, A maid poured water for the hands, and set A polished table near them. Then approached A venerable matron bringing bread And delicacies gathered from the board; And he who served the feast before them placed Chargers with various meats, and cups of gold; While round the board a herald moved, and poured Wine for the guests. The haughty suitors now Came in, and took their places on the thrones And couches; heralds poured upon their hands The water; maidens heaped the canisters With bread, and all put forth their hands to share The banquet on the board, while to the brim Boys filled the beakers. When the calls of thirst And hunger were appeased, the suitors thought Of other things that well become a feast⁠— Song and the dance. And then a herald brought A shapely harp, and gave it to the hands Of Phemius, who had only by constraint Sung to the suitors. On the chords he struck A prelude to his lay, while, as he played, Telemachus, that others might not hear, Leaned forward, and to blue-eyed Pallas spake:⁠— "My friend and guest, wilt thou take no offence At what I say? These revellers enjoy The harp and song, for at no cost of theirs They waste the substance of another man, Whose white bones now are mouldering in the rain Upon some mainland, or are tossed about By ocean billows. Should they see him once In Ithaca, their prayers would rather rise For swifter feet than richer stores of gold And raiment. But an evil fate is his, And he has perished. Even should we hear From any of the dwellers upon earth That he is near at hand, we could not hope. For him is no return. But now, I pray, Tell me, and frankly tell me, who thou art, And of what race of men, and where thy home, And who thy parents; how the mariners Brought thee to Ithaca, and who they claim To be, for well I deem thou couldst not come Hither on foot. All this, I pray, relate Truly, that I may know the whole. Art thou For the first time arrived, or hast thou been My father's guest? for many a stranger once Resorted to our palace, and he knew The way to win the kind regard of men." Pallas, the blue-eyed goddess, answered thus:⁠— "I will tell all and truly. I am named Mentes; my father was the great in war Anchialus. I rule a people skilled To wield the oar, the Taphians, and I come With ship and crew across the dark blue deep To Temesè, and to a race whose speech Is different from my own, in quest of brass, And bringing bright steel with me. I have left Moored at the field behind the town my barque, Within the bay of Reithrus, and beneath The woods of Neius. We claim to be Guests by descent, and from our fathers' time, As thou wilt learn if thou shouldst meet and ask Laertes, the old hero. It is said He comes no more within the city walls, But in the fields dwells sadly by himself, Where an old handmaid sets upon his board His food and drink when weariness unnerves His limbs in creeping o'er the fertile soil Of his rich vineyard. I am come because I heard thy father had at last returned, And now am certain that the gods delay His journey hither; for the illustrious man Cannot have died, but is detained alone Somewhere upon the ocean, in some spot Girt by the waters. There do cruel men And savage keep him, pining to depart. Now let me speak of what the gods reveal, And what I deem will surely come to pass, Although I am no seer and have no skill In omens drawn from birds. Not long the chief Will be an exile from his own dear land, Though fettered to his place by links of steel; For he has large invention, and will plan A way for his escape. Now tell me this, And truly; tall in stature as thou art, Art thou in fact Ulysses' son? In face And glorious eyes thou dost resemble him Exceedingly; for he and I of yore Were oftentimes companions, ere he sailed For Ilium, whither also went the best Among the Argives in their roomy ships, Nor have we seen each other since that day." Telemachus, the prudent, spake: "O guest, True answer shalt thou have. My mother says I am his son; I know not; never man Knew his own father. Would I were the son Of one whose happier lot it was to meet Amidst his own estates the approach of age. Now the most wretched of the sons of men Is he to whom they say I owe my birth. Thus is thy question answered." Then again Spake blue-eyed Pallas: "Of a truth, the gods Ordain not that thy race, in years to come, Should be inglorious, since Penelope Hath borne thee such as I behold thee now. But frankly answer me⁠—what feast is here, And what is this assembly? What may be The occasion? is a banquet given? is this A wedding? A collation, where the guests Furnish the meats, I think it cannot be, So riotously goes the revel on Throughout the palace. A well-judging man, If he should come among them, would be moved With anger at the shameful things they do." Again Telemachus, the prudent, spake:⁠— "Since thou dost ask me, stranger, know that once Rich and illustrious might this house be called While yet the chief was here. But now the gods Have grown unkind and willed it otherwise, They make his fate a mystery beyond The fate of other men. I should not grieve So deeply for his loss if he had fallen With his companions on the field of Troy, Or midst his kindred when the war was o'er. Then all the Greeks had built his monument, And he had left his son a heritage Of glory. Now has he become the prey Of Harpies, perishing ingloriously, Unseen, his fate unheard of, and has left Mourning and grief, my portion. Not for him Alone I grieve; the gods have cast on me Yet other hardships. All the chiefs who rule The isles, Dulichium, Samos, and the groves That shade Zacynthus, and who bear the sway In rugged Ithaca, have come to woo My mother, and from day to day consume My substance. She rejects not utterly Their hateful suit, and yet she cannot bear To end it by a marriage. Thus they waste My heritage, and soon will seek my life." Again in grief and anger Pallas spake:⁠— "Yea, greatly dost thou need the absent chief Ulysses here, that he might lay his hands Upon these shameless suitors. Were he now To come and stand before the palace gate With helm and buckler and two spears, as first I saw him in our house, when drinking wine And feasting, just returned from Ephyrè Where Ilus dwelt, the son of Mermerus⁠— For thither went Ulysses in a barque, To seek a deadly drug with which to taint His brazen arrows; Ilus gave it not; He feared the immortal gods; my father gave The poison, for exceedingly he loved His guest⁠—could now Ulysses, in such guise, Once meet the suitors, short would be their lives And bitter would the marriage banquet be. Yet whether he return or not to take Vengeance, in his own palace, on this crew Of wassailers, rests only with the gods. Now let me counsel thee to think betimes How thou shalt thrust them from thy palace gates. Observe me, and attend to what I say: Tomorrow thou shalt call the Achaian chiefs To an assembly; speak before them all, And be the gods thy witnesses. Command The suitors all to separate for their homes; And if thy mother's mind be bent to wed, Let her return to where her father dwells, A mighty prince, and there they will appoint Magnificent nuptials, and an ample dower Such as should honor a beloved child. And now, if thou wilt heed me, I will give A counsel for thy good. Man thy best ship With twenty rowers, and go forth to seek News of thy absent father. Thou shalt hear Haply of him from someone of the sons Of men, or else some word of rumor sent By Jove, revealing what mankind should know. First shape thy course for Pylos, and inquire Of noble Nestor; then, at Sparta, ask Of fair-haired Menelaus, for he came Last of the mailed Achaians to his home. And shouldst thou learn that yet thy father lives, And will return, have patience yet a year, However hard it seem. But shouldst thou find That he is now no more, return forthwith To thy own native land, and pile on high His monument, and let the funeral rites Be sumptuously performed as may become The dead, and let thy mother wed again. And when all this is fully brought to pass, Take counsel with thy spirit and thy heart How to destroy the suitor crew that haunt Thy palace, whether by a secret snare Or open force. No longer shouldst thou act As if thou wert a boy; thou hast outgrown The age of childish sports. Hast thou not heard What honor the divine Orestes gained With all men, when he slew the murderer, The crafty wretch Aegisthus, by whose hand The illustrious father of Orestes died? And then, my friend⁠—for I perceive that thou Art of a manly and a stately growth⁠— Be also bold, that men hereafter born May give thee praise. And now must I depart To my good ship, and to my friends who wait, Too anxiously perhaps, for my return. Act wisely now, and bear my words in mind." The prudent youth Telemachus rejoined:⁠— "Well hast thou spoken, and with kind intent, O stranger! like a father to a son; And ne'er shall I forget what thou hast said. Yet stay, I pray thee, though in haste, and bathe And be refreshed, and take to thy good ship Some gift with thee, such as may please thee well, Precious and rare, which thou mayst ever keep In memory of me⁠—a gift like those Which friendly hosts bestow upon their guests." Then spake the blue-eyed Pallas: "Stay me not, For now would I depart. Whatever gift Thy heart may prompt thee to bestow, reserve Till I come back, that I may bear it home, And thou shalt take some precious thing in turn." So spake the blue-eyed Pallas, and withdrew, Ascending like a bird. She filled his heart With strength and courage, waking vividly His father's memory. Then the noble youth Went forth among the suitors. Silent all They sat and listened to the illustrious bard, Who sang of the calamitous return Of the Greek host from Troy, at the command Of Pallas. From her chamber o'er the hall The daughter of Icarius, the sage queen Penelope, had heard the heavenly strain, And knew its theme. Down by the lofty stairs She came, but not alone; there followed her Two maidens. When the glorious lady reached The threshold of the strong-built hall, where sat The suitors, holding up a delicate veil Before her face, and with a gush of tears, The queen bespake the sacred minstrel thus:⁠— "Phemius! thou knowest many a pleasing theme⁠— The deeds of gods and heroes, such as bards Are wont to celebrate. Take then thy place And sing of one of these, and let the guests In silence drink the wine; but cease this strain; It is too sad; it cuts me to the heart, And wakes a sorrow without bounds⁠—such grief I bear for him, my lord, of whom I think Continually; whose glory is abroad Through Hellas and through Argos, everywhere." And then Telemachus, the prudent, spake:⁠— "Why, O my mother! canst thou not endure That thus the well-graced poet should delight His hearers with a theme to which his mind Is inly moved? The bards deserve no blame; Jove is the cause, for he at will inspires The lay that each must sing. Reprove not, then, The minstrel who relates the unhappy fate Of the Greek warriors. All men most applaud The song that has the newest theme; and thou⁠— Strengthen thy heart to hear it. Keep in mind That not alone Ulysses is cut off From his return, but that with him at Troy Have many others perished. Now withdraw Into thy chamber; ply thy household tasks, The loom, the spindle; bid thy maidens speed Their work. To say what words beseem a feast Belongs to man, and most to me; for here Within these walls the authority is mine." The matron, wondering at his words, withdrew To her own place, but in her heart laid up Her son's wise sayings. When she now had reached, With her attendant maids, the upper rooms, She mourned Ulysses, her beloved spouse, And wept, till blue-eyed Pallas closed her lids In gentle slumbers. Noisily, meanwhile, The suitors revelled in the shadowy halls; And thus Telemachus, the prudent, spake:⁠— "Ye suitors of my mother, insolent And overbearing; cheerful be our feast, Not riotous. It would become us well To listen to the lay of such a bard, So like the gods in voice. I bid you all Meet in full council with the morrow morn, That I may give you warning to depart From out my palace, and to seek your feasts Elsewhere at your own charge⁠—haply to hold Your daily banquets at each other's homes. But if it seem to you the better way To plunder one man's goods, go on to waste My substance; I will call the immortal gods To aid me, and if Jupiter allow Fit retribution for your deeds, ye die, Within this very palace, unavenged." He spake; the suitors bit their close-pressed lips, Astonished at the youth's courageous words. And thus Antinoüs, Eupeithes' son, Made answer: "Most assuredly the gods, Telemachus, have taught thee how to frame Grand sentences and gallantly harangue. Ne'er may the son of Saturn make thee king Over the seagirt Ithaca, whose isle Is thy inheritance by claim of birth." Telemachus, the prudent, thus rejoined:⁠— "Wilt thou be angry at the word I speak, Antinoüs? I would willingly accept The kingly station if conferred by Jove. Dost thou indeed regard it as the worst Of all conditions of mankind? Not so For him who reigns; his house grows opulent, And he the more is honored. Many kings Within the bounds of seagirt Ithaca There are, both young and old, let anyone Bear rule, since great Ulysses is no more; But I will be the lord of mine own house, And o'er my servants whom the godlike chief, Ulysses, brought from war, his share of spoil." Eurymachus, the son of Polybus, Addressed the youth in turn: "Assuredly, What man hereafter, of the Achaian race, Shall bear the rule o'er seagirt Ithaca Rests with the gods. But thou shalt keep thy wealth, And may no son of violence come to make A spoil of thy possessions while men dwell In Ithaca. And now, my friend, I ask Who was thy guest; whence came he, of what land Claims he to be, where do his kindred dwell, And where his patrimonial acres lie? With tidings of thy father's near return Came he, or to receive a debt? How swift Was his departure, waiting not for us To know him! yet in aspect and in air He seemed to be no man of vulgar note." Telemachus, the prudent, answered thus:⁠— "My father's coming, O Eurymachus, Is to be hoped no more; nor can I trust Tidings from whatsoever part they come, Nor pay regard to oracles, although My mother send to bring a soothsayer Within the palace, and inquire of him. But this man was my father's guest; he comes From Taphos; Mentes is his name, a son Of the brave chief Anchialus; he reigns Over the Taphians, men who love the sea." He spake, but in his secret heart he knew The immortal goddess. Then the suitors turned. Delighted, to the dance and cheerful song, And waited for the evening. On their sports The evening with its shadowy blackness came; Then each to his own home withdrew to sleep, While to his lofty chamber, in full view, Built high in that magnificent palace home, Telemachus went up, and sought his couch, Intent on many thoughts. The chaste and sage Dame Eurycleia by his side went up With lighted torches⁠—she a child of Ops, Pisenor's son. Her, in her early bloom, Laertes purchased for a hundred beeves, And in his palace honored equally With his chaste wife; yet never sought her bed. He would not wrong his queen. 'Twas she who bore The torches with Telemachus. She loved Her young lord more than all the other maids, And she had nursed him in his tender years. He opened now the chamber door and sat Upon the couch, put his soft tunic off And placed it in the prudent matron's hands. She folded it and smoothed it, hung it near To that fair bed, and, going quickly forth, Pulled at the silver ring to close the door, And drew the thong that moved the fastening bolt. He, lapped in the soft fleeces, all night long. Thought of the voyage Pallas had ordained.