Book IV: Conference of Telemachus and Menelaus

Lyrics

Arrival of Telemachus and his companion at Sparta⁠—A wedding; the marriage of the daughter of Menelaus⁠—Helen in Sparta⁠—Entertainment of the guests⁠—Helen's account of her return to her husband⁠—The Trojan horse⁠—Narrative of the visit of Menelaus to Egypt, in order to consult the sea-god, Proteus⁠—Menelaus informed by him that Ulysses is detained by Calypso in her island⁠—Plot of the suitors to lie in wait for Telemachus on his voyage and dеstroy him⁠—Penelope visitеd and consoled by Pallas in a dream. They came to Lacedaemon's valley, seamed With dells, and to the palace of its king, The glorious Menelaus, whom they found Within, and at a wedding banquet, made Both for his blameless daughter and his son, And many guests. Her he must send away, Bride of the son of that invincible chief, Achilles. He betrothed her while in Troy, And gave his kingly word, and now the gods Fulfilled it by the marriage. He was now Sending her forth, with steeds and cars, to reach The noble city of the Myrmidons, Where ruled her consort. From the Spartan coast He brought Alector's daughter for his son, The gallant Megapenthes, borne to him By a handmaiden in his later years. For not to Helen had the gods vouchsafed Yet other offspring, after she had brought A lovely daughter forth, Hermione, Like golden Venus both in face and form. So banqueting the neighbors and the friends Of glorious Menelaus sat beneath The lofty ceiling of those spacious halls, Delighted with the feast. A sacred bard Amidst them touched the harp and sang to them While, as the song began, two dancers sprang Into the midst and trod the measure there But they⁠—the hero-youth Telemachus And Nestor's eminent son⁠—were at the gate, And standing in the entrance with their steeds. The worthy Eteoneus, coming forth⁠— The trusty servant of the glorious son Of Atreus⁠—saw, and hastening thence to tell The shepherd of the people, through the hall He came to him, and spake these winged words:⁠— "O Menelaus, foster-child of Jove, Two strangers have arrived, two men who seem Descended from almighty Jupiter. Shall we then loose the harness from their steeds, Or bid them elsewhere seek a friendly host?" The fair-haired king indignantly replied:⁠— "Nay, Eteoneus, thou hast not been wont. Son of Boëthus, thus to play the fool. Thou pratest idly, like a child. Ourselves Have sat, as guests, at generous banquets given By other men, when journeying hitherward In hope that Jove might grant a respite here From our disasters. Hasten, then, to loose The steeds, and bring the strangers to the feast." He spake; the attendant hastened forth and called The other trusty servitors, with charge To follow. They unyoked the sweaty steeds, And bound them to the stalls, and gave them oats, With which they mingled the white barley-grains, And close against the shining wall they placed The car, and then they led the guests within The sumptuous palace. Entering, these admired The palace of the foster-child of Jove, For like the splendor of the sun and moon Its glory was. They with delighted eyes Gazed, and, descending to the polished baths, They bathed. The attendant maids who at the bath Had ministered, anointing them with oil, Arrayed the stranger guests in fleecy cloaks And tunics. Each sat down upon a throne Near to Atrides. Now a handmaid brought A beautiful ewer of gold, and laver wrought Of silver, and poured water for their hands, And spread a polished table near their seat; The reverend matron of the household came With bread, and set before them many a dish Gathered from all the feast. The carver next Brought chargers lifted high, and in them meats Of every flavor, and before them placed Beakers of gold. The fair-haired monarch gave His hand to each, and then bespake them thus:⁠— "Now taste our banquet and rejoice, and when Ye are refreshed with food we will inquire Who ye may be; for ye are not of those Whose race degenerates, ye are surely born Of sceptred kings, the favorites of Jove. Ignoble men have never sons like you." Thus having said, and taking in his hands A fatling bullock's chine, which menials brought Roasted, and placed beside the king in sign Of honor, this he laid before his guests. And they put forth their hands and banqueted; And when the calls of hunger and of thirst At length were stilled, Telemachus inclined His head toward Nestor's son, that no one else Might listen to his words, and thus he said:⁠— "See, son of Nestor, my beloved friend, In all these echoing rooms the sheen of brass, Of gold, of amber, and of ivory; Such is the palace of Olympian Jove Within its walls. How many things are here Of priceless worth! I wonder as I gaze." The fair-haired Menelaus heard him speak, And thus accosted both with winged words:⁠— "Dear sons, no mortal man may vie with Jove, Whose palace and possessions never know Decay, but other men may vie or not In wealth with me. 'Twas after suffering And wandering long that in my fleet I brought My wealth with me, and landed on this coast In the eighth year. For I had roamed afar To Cyprus and to Phoenicè, and where The Egyptians dwell, and Ethiopia's sons, And the Sidonians, and the Erembian race, And to the coast of Lybia, where the lambs Are yeaned with budding horns. There do the ewes Thrice in the circle of the year bring forth Their young. There both the master of the herd And herdsman know no lack of cheese, or flesh, Or of sweet milk; for there the herds yield milk The whole year round. While I was roaming thus, And gathering store of wealth, another slew My brother, unforewarned, and through the fraud Of his own guilty consort. Therefore small Is the content I find in bearing rule O'er these possessions. Ye have doubtless heard This from your parents, be they who they may; For much have I endured, and I have lost A palace, a most noble dwelling-place, Full of things rare and precious. Even now Would I possessed within my palace here But the third part of these; and would that they Were yet alive who perished on the plain Of Troy afar from Argos and its steeds! Yet while I grieve and while I mourn them all, Here, sitting in my palace, I by turns Indulge my heart in weeping, and by turns I pause, for with continual sorrow comes A weariness of spirit. Yet, in truth, For none of all those warriors, though their fate Afflicts me sorely, do I so much grieve As for one hero. When I think of him, The feast and couch are joyless, since, of all The Achaian chiefs, none brought so much to pass As did Ulysses, both in what he wrought And what he suffered. Great calamities Fell to his lot in life, and to my own Grief for his sake that cannot be consoled. Long has he been divided from his friends, And whether he be living now or dead We know not. Old Laertes, the sage queen Penelope, and young Telemachus, Whom, when he went to war he left newborn At home, are sorrowing somewhere for his sake." He spake, and woke anew the young man's grief For his lost father. From his eyelids fell Tears at the hearing of his father's name, And with both hands he held before his eyes The purple mantle. Menelaus saw His tears, and pondered, doubting which were best⁠— To let the stranger of his own accord Speak of his father, or to question him At first, and then to tell him all he knew. As thus he pondered, Helen, like in form To Dian of the golden distaff, left Her high-roofed chamber, where the air was sweet With perfumes, and approached. Adrasta placed A seat for her of costly workmanship; Alcippè brought a mat of soft light wool, And Phylo with a silver basket came, Given by Alcandra, wife of Polybus, Who dwelt at Thebes, in Egypt, and whose house Was rich in things of price. Two silver baths He gave to Menelaus, tripods two, And talents ten of gold. His wife bestowed Beautiful gifts on Helen⁠—one of gold, A distaff; one a silver basket edged With gold and round in form. This Phylo brought Heaped with spun yarn and placed before the queen; Upon it lay the distaff, wrapped in wool Of color like the violet. Helen there Sat down, a footstool at her feet, and straight Questioned with earnest words her husband thus:⁠— "Say, Menelaus, foster-child of Jove, Is it yet known what lineage these men claim⁠— These visitants? And what I now shall say, Will it be false or true? Yet must I speak. Woman or man I think I never saw So like another as this youth, on whom I look with deep astonishment, is like Telemachus, the son whom our great chief Ulysses left at home a tender babe When ye Achaians for my guilty sake Went forth to wage the bloody war with Troy." And fair-haired Menelaus answered her:⁠— "Yea, wife, so deem I as it seems to thee. Such are his feet, his hands, the cast of the eye, His head, the hair upon his brow. Just now, In speaking of Ulysses, as I told How he had toiled and suffered for my sake, The stranger held the purple cloak before His eyes, and from the lids dropped bitter tears." Peisistratus, the son of Nestor, spake In answer: "Menelaus, foster-child Of Jove and son of Atreus! sovereign king! He is, as thou hast said, that hero's son; But he is modest, and he deems that ill It would become him, on arriving here, If he should venture in discourse while thou Art present, in whose voice we take delight As if it were the utterance of a god. The knight Gerenian Nestor sent me forth To guide him hither⁠—for he earnestly Desired to see thee, that thou mightest give Counsel in what he yet should say or do. For bitterly a son, who finds at home No others to befriend him, must lament The absence of a father. So it is With young Telemachus; for far away His father is, and in the land are none Who have the power to shelter him from wrong." The fair-haired Menelaus answered thus:⁠— "O wonder! Then the son of one most dear, Who for my sake so oft has braved and borne The conflicts of the battlefield, hath come Beneath my roof. I thought that I should greet His father with a warmer welcome here Than any other of the Argive race, When Jove the Olympian Thunderer should grant A safe return to us across the deep In our good ships. I would have founded here For him a city in Argos, and have built Dwellings, and would have brought from Ithaca Him and his son, and all his wealth and all His people. To this end I would have caused Some neighboring district where my sway is owned To be dispeopled. Dwelling here we oft Should then have met each other, and no cause Would e'er have parted us, two faithful friends Delighting in each other, till at last Came Death's black cloud to wrap us in its shade. A god, no doubt, hath seen in this a good Too great for us, and thus to him alone, Unhappy man! denied a safe return." He spake; his words awoke in every heart Grief for the absent hero's sake. Then wept The Argive Helen, child of Jove; then wept Telemachus; nor tearless were the eyes Of Nestor's son, for to his mind arose The memory of the good Antilochus, Slain by the bright Aurora's eminent son; Of him he thought, and spake these winged words:⁠— "O son of Atreus! aged Nestor saith, When in his palace we discourse of thee And ask each other's thought, that thou art wise Beyond all other men. Now, if thou mayst, Indulge me, for not willingly I weep Thus at the evening feast, and soon will Morn, Child of the Dawn, appear. I do not blame This sorrow for whoever meets his fate And dies; the only honors we can pay To those unhappy mortals is to shred Our locks away, and wet our cheeks with tears. I lost a brother, not the least in worth Among the Argives, whom thou must have seen. I knew him not: I never saw his face; Yet is it said Antilochus excelled The others; swift of foot, and brave in war." The fair-haired Menelaus answered him:⁠— "Since thou my friend hast spoken thus, as one Discreet in word and deed, of riper years Than thou, might speak and act⁠—for thou art born Of such a father, and thy words are wise⁠— And easy is it to discern the son Of one on whom Saturnius has bestowed Both at the birth-hour and in wedded life His blessing; as he gives to Nestor now A calm old age that lapses pleasantly, Within his palace-halls, from day to day, And sons wise-minded, mighty with the spear⁠— Then let us lay aside this sudden grief That has o'ertaken us, and only think Of banqueting. Let water now be poured Upon our hands; there will be time enough Tomorrow for discourse; Telemachus And I will then engage in mutual talk." He spake, Asphalion, who with diligent heed Served the great Menelaus, on their hands Poured water, and they shared the meats that lay Upon the board. But Helen, Jove-born dame, Had other thoughts, and with the wine they drank Mingled a drug, an antidote to grief And anger, bringing quick forgetfulness Of all life's evils. Whoso drinks, when once It is infused and in the cup, that day Shall never wet his cheeks with tears, although His father and his mother lie in death, Nor though his brother or beloved son Fall butchered by the sword before his eyes. Such sovereign drugs she had, that child of Jove, Given her by Polydamna, wife of Thon, A dame of Egypt, where the bounteous soil Brings forth abundantly its potent herbs, Of healing some and some of bane, and where Dwell the physicians who excel in skill All other men, for they are of the race Of Paeon. Now when Helen in the cups Had placed the drug, and bidden them to pour The wine upon it, thus she spake again:⁠— "Atrides Menelaus, reared by Jove, And ye the sons of heroes!⁠—Jupiter The sovereign, gives, at pleasure, good and ill To one or to another, for his power Is infinite⁠—now sitting in these halls, Feast and enjoy free converse. I will speak What suits the occasion. I could not relate, I could not even name, the many toils Borne by Ulysses, stout of heart. I speak Only of what that valiant warrior did And suffered once in Troy, where ye of Greece Endured such hardships. He had given himself Unseemly stripes, and o'er his shoulders flung Vile garments like a slave's, and entered thus The enemy's town, and walked its spacious streets. Another man he seemed in that disguise⁠— A beggar, though when at the Achaian fleet So different was the semblance that he wore. He entered Ilium thus transformed, and none Knew who it was that passed, but I perceived, And questioned him; he turned my quest aside With crafty answers. After I had seen The bath administered, anointed him And clothed him, and had sworn a solemn oath Not to reveal his visit to the men Of Ilium till he reached again the tents And galleys, then he opened to me all The plans of the Achaians. Leaving me, On his return he slew with his long spear Full many a Trojan, and in safety reached The Argive camp with tidings for the host. Then wept aloud the Trojan dames, but I Was glad at heart, for I already longed For my old home, and deeply I deplored The evil fate that Venus brought on me, Who led me thither from my own dear land, And from my daughter and my marriage-bower, And from my lawful spouse, in whom I missed No noble gift of person or of mind." Then fair-haired Menelaus said to her:⁠— "All thou hast spoken, woman, is most true. Of many a valiant warrior I have known The counsels and the purposes, and far Have roamed in many lands, but never yet My eyes have looked on such another man As was Ulysses, of a heart so bold And such endurance. Witness what he did And bore, the heroic man, what time we sat, The bravest of the Argives, pent within The wooden horse, about to bring to Troy Slaughter and death. Thou earnest to the place, Moved, as it seemed, by some divinity Who thought to give the glory of the day To Troy. Deiphobus, the godlike chief, Was with thee. Thrice about the hollow frame That held the ambush thou didst walk and touch Its sides, and call the Achaian chiefs by name, And imitate the voices of the wives Of all the Argives. Diomed and I Sat with the great Ulysses in the midst, And with him heard thy call, and rose at once To sally forth or answer from within; But he forbade, impatient as we were, And so restrained us. All the Achaian chiefs Kept silence save Anticlus, who alone Began to speak, when, with his powerful hands, Ulysses pressed together instantly The opening lips, and saved us all, and thus Held them till Pallas lured thee from the spot." Then spake discreet Telemachus again:⁠— "Atrides Menelaus, reared by Jove, Ruler of tribes! the harder was his lot, Since even thus he could not shun the stroke Of death, not though a heart of steel were his. But now dismiss us to our beds, that there, Couched softly, we may welcome balmy sleep." He spake, and Argive Helen called her maids To make up couches in the portico, And throw fair purple blankets over them, And tapestry above, and cover all With shaggy cloaks. Forth from the palace halls They went with torches, and made ready soon The couches; thither heralds led the guests. There in the vestibule Telemachus, The hero, and with him the eminent son Of Nestor, took their rest. Meanwhile the son Of Atreus lay within an inner room Of that magnificent pile, and near to him The glorious lady, long-robed Helen, slept. But when at length the daughter of the Dawn, The rosy-fingered Morning, brought her light, Then Menelaus, great in battle, rose, Put on his garments, took his trenchant sword, And, having hung it on his shoulder, laced The shapely sandals to his shining feet, And issued from his chamber like a god In aspect. Near Telemachus he took His seat, and calling him by name he spake:⁠— "What urgent cause, my brave Telemachus, Brings thee to sacred Lacedaemon o'er The breast of the great ocean? Frankly say, Is it a private or a public need?" And thus discreet Telemachus replied:⁠— "Atrides Menelaus, reared by Jove, Ruler of nations! I am come to ask News of my father, if thou knowest aught. My heritage is wasting; my rich fields Are made a desolation. Enemies Swarm in my palace, and from day to day Slaughter my flocks and slow-paced horned herds; My mother's suitors they, and measureless Their insolence. And therefore am I come To clasp thy knees, and pray thee to relate The manner of my father's sorrowful death As thou hast seen it with thine eyes, or heard Its story from some wandering man⁠—for sure His mother brought him forth to wretchedness Beyond the common lot. I ask thee not To soften aught in the sad history Through tenderness to me, or kind regard, But tell me plainly all that thou dost know; And I beseech thee, if at any time My father, good Ulysses, brought to pass Aught that he undertook for thee in word Or act while ye were in the realm of Troy, Where the Greeks suffered sorely, bear it now In mind, and let me have the naked truth." Then Menelaus of the amber locks Drew a deep sigh, and thus in answer said:⁠— "Heavens! they would climb into a brave man's bed, These craven weaklings. But as when a hart Has hid her newborn suckling fawns within The lair of some fierce lion, and gone forth Herself to range the mountainsides and feed Among the grassy lawns, the lion comes Back to the place and brings them sudden death, So will Ulysses bring a bloody fate Upon the suitor crew. O father Jove, And Pallas, and Apollo! I could wish That now, with prowess such as once was his When he, of yore, in Lesbos nobly built, Rising to strive with Philomela's son, In wrestling threw him heavily, and all The Greeks rejoiced, Ulysses might engage The suitors. Short were then their term of life, And bitter would the nuptial banquet be. Now for the questions thou hast put, and craved From me a true reply, I will not seek To pass them by with talk of other things, Nor yet deceive thee, but of all that once Was told me by the Ancient of the Deep, Whose words are truth, I shall keep nothing back. "In Egypt still, though longing to come home, The gods detained me; for I had not paid The sacrifice of chosen hecatombs, And ever do the gods require of us Remembrance of their laws. There is an isle Within the billowy sea before you reach The coast of Egypt⁠—Pharos is its name⁠— At such a distance as a ship could pass In one whole day with a shrill breeze astern. A sheltered haven lies within that isle, Whence the good ships go forth with fresh supplies Of water. There the gods constrained my stay For twenty days, and never in that time Blew favoring winds across the waters, such As bear the galley over the great deep. Now would our stores of food have been consumed, Now would the courage of my men have died, Had not a goddess pitied me, and come To my relief, by name Eidothea, born To the great Proteus, Ancient of the Deep. For she was moved by my distress, and came To me while I was wandering alone, Apart from all the rest. They through the isle Roamed everywhere from place to place, and, pinched With hunger, threw the hook for fish. She came, And, standing near, accosted me and said:⁠— " 'Stranger, thou art an idiot, or at least Of careless mood, or else art willingly Neglectful, and art pleased with suffering, That thou dost linger in this isle so long And find no means to leave it, while the hearts Of thy companions faint with the delay.' "She spake, and I replied: 'Whoe'er thou art, goddess, let me say, not willingly I linger here. I surely must have sinned Against the immortal dwellers of high heaven; But tell me⁠—for the gods know all things⁠—who Of all the immortals holds me windbound here, Hindering my voyage; tell me also how To reach my home across the fishy deep.' "I ended, and the glorious goddess said In answer: 'Stranger, I will truly speak; The deathless Ancient of the Deep, whose words Are ever true, Egyptian Proteus, oft Here makes his haunt. To him are fully known⁠— For he is Neptune's subject⁠—all the depths Of the great ocean. It is said I owe To him my birth. If him thou canst insnare And seize, he will disclose to thee thy way And all its distances, and tell thee how To reach thy home across the fishy deep; And further will reveal, if so he choose, O foster-child of Jove, whate'er of good Or ill has in thy palace come to pass, While thou wert wandering long and wearily.' "So said the goddess, and I spake again:⁠— 'Explain by what device to snare and hold The aged deity, lest he foreknow Or else suspect our purpose and escape. 'Twere hard for mortals to constrain a god.' "I ended, and the glorious goddess thus Made answer: 'When the climbing sun has reached The middle heaven, the Ancient of the Deep, Who ne'er deceives, emerges from the waves, And, covered with the dark scum of the sea, Walks forth, and in a cavern vault lies down. Thither fair Halosydna's progeny, The sea-calves from the hoary ocean, throng, Rank with the bitter odor of the brine, And slumber near him. With the break of day I will conduct thee thither and appoint Thy place, but thou shalt choose to go with thee Three of the bravest men in thy good ships. And let me now relate the stratagems Of the old prophet. He at first will count The sea-calves, going o'er them all by fives; And when he has beheld and numbered all, Amidst them all will he lie down, as lies A shepherd midst his flock. And then, as soon As ye behold him stretched at length, exert Your utmost strength to hold him there, although He strive and struggle to escape your hands; For he will try all stratagems, and take The form of every reptile on the earth, And turn to water and to raging flame⁠— Yet hold him firmly still, and all the more Make fast the bands. When he again shall take The form in which thou sawest him asleep, Desist from force, and loose the bands that held The ancient prophet. Ask of him what god Afflicts thee thus, and by what means to cross The fishy deep and find thy home again.' "Thus having said, the goddess straightway sprang Into the billowy ocean, while I sought The galleys, where they rested on the sand, With an uneasy spirit. When I reached The ship and shore we made our evening meal. The hallowed night came down; we lay and slept Upon the sea-beach. When the Morning came, The rosy-fingered daughter of the Dawn, Forth on the border of the mighty main I went, and prayed the immortals fervently. I led three comrades, whom I trusted most In all adventures. Entering the depths Of the great sea, the goddess brought us thence Four skins of sea-calves newly flayed, that thus We might deceive her father. Then she scooped Beds for us in the sea-sand, and sat down To wait his coming. We were near to her, And there she laid us duly down, and threw A skin o'er each. Now did our ambush seem Beyond endurance, for the noisome smell Of those sea-nourished creatures sickened us; And who could bear to sleep beside a whale? But she bethought her of an antidote, A sovereign one, and so relieved us all. To each she brought ambrosia, placing it Beneath his nostrils, and the sweets it breathed O'ercame the animal odor. All the morn We waited patiently. The sea-calves came From ocean in a throng, and laid themselves In rows along the margin of the sea. At noon emerged the aged seer, and found His well-fed sea-calves. Going o'er them all He counted them, ourselves among the rest, With no misgiving of the fraud, and then He laid him down to rest. We rushed with shouts Upon him suddenly, and in our arms Caught him; nor did the aged seer forget His stratagems; and first he took the shape Of a maned lion, of a serpent next, Then of a panther, then of a huge boar, Then turned to flowing water, then became A tall tree full of leaves. With resolute hearts We held him fast, until the aged seer Was wearied out, in spite of all his wiles. And questioned me in speech at last and said:⁠— " 'O son of Atreus! who of all the gods Hath taught thee how to take me in this snare, Unwilling as I am? What wouldst thou have?' "He spake; I answered: 'Aged prophet, well Thou knowest. Why deceitfully inquire? It is that I am held a prisoner long Within this isle, and vainly seek the means Of my escape, and grief consumes my heart. Now⁠—since the gods know all things⁠—tell me this, What deity it is, that, hindering thus My voyage, keeps me here, and tell me how To cross the fishy deep and reach my home.' "Such were my words, and he in answer said:⁠— 'But thou to Jove and to the other gods Shouldst first have paid acceptable sacrifice, And shouldst have then embarked to reach with speed Thy native land across the dark-blue deep. Now it is not thy fate to see again Thy friends, thy stately palace, and the land That saw thy birth, until thou stand once more Beside the river that through Egypt flows From Jove, and offer sacred hecatombs To the ever-living gods inhabiting The boundless heaven, and they will speed thee forth Upon the voyage thou dost long to make.' "He spake. My heart was broken as I heard His bidding to recross the shadowy sea To Egypt, for the way was difficult And long; and yet I answered him and said:⁠— " 'Duly will I perform, O aged seer, What thou commandest. But I pray thee tell, And truly, whether all the sons of Greece Whom Nestor and myself, in setting sail, Left on the Trojan coast, have since returned Safe with their galleys, or have any died Untimely in their ships or in the arms Of their companions since the war was closed?' "I spake; again he answered me and said:⁠— 'Why dost thou ask, Atrides, since to know Thou needest not, nor is it well to explore The secrets of my mind? Thou canst not, sure, Refrain from tears when thou shalt know the whole. Many are dead, and many left in Troy. Two leaders only of the well-armed Greeks Were slain returning; in that combat thou Didst bear a part; one, living yet, is kept, Far in the mighty main, from his return. " 'Amid his well-oared galleys Ajax died. For Neptune first had driven him on the rocks Of Gyrae, yet had saved him from the sea; And he, though Pallas hated him, had yet Been rescued, but for uttering boastful words, Which drew his fate upon him. He had said That he, in spite of all the gods, would come Safe from those mountain waves. When Neptune heard The boaster's challenge, instantly he laid His strong hand on the trident, smote the rock And cleft it to the base. Part stood erect, Part fell into the deep. There Ajax sat, And felt the shock, and with the falling mass Was carried headlong to the billowy depths Below, and drank the brine and perished there. Thy brother in his roomy ships escaped The danger, for imperial Juno's aid Preserved him. But when near Meleia's heights About to land, a tempest seized and swept The hero thence across the fishy deep, Lamenting his hard lot, to that far cape Where once abode Thyestes, and where now His son Aegisthus dwelt. But when the gods Sent other winds, and safe at last appeared The voyage, they returned, and reached their home. With joy he stepped upon his native soil, And kissed the earth that bore him, while his tears At that most welcome sight flowed fast and warm. Him from a lofty perch a spy beheld, Whom treacherous Aegisthus planted there, Bribed by two golden talents. He had watched The whole year through, lest, coming unobserved, The king might make his prowess felt. The spy Flew to the royal palace with the news, And instantly Aegisthus planned a snare. He chose among the people twenty men, The bravest, whom he stationed out of sight, And gave command that others should prepare A banquet. Then with chariots and with steeds, And with a deadly purpose in his heart, He went, and, meeting Agamemnon, bade The shepherd of the people to the feast, And slew him at the board as men might slay A bullock at the crib. Of all who went With Agamemnon thither, none survived, And of the followers of Aegisthus none, But all were slaughtered in the banquet-hall' "He spake; my heart was breaking, and I wept, While sitting on the sand, nor in my heart Cared I to live, or longer to behold The sweet light of the sun. But when there came Respite from tears and writhing on the ground, The Ancient of the Deep, who ne'er deceives, Spake yet again: 'Atrides, lose no time In tears; they profit nothing. Rather seek The means by which thou mayst the soonest reach Thy native land. There thou perchance mayst find Aegisthus yet alive, or haply first Orestes may have slain him, and thyself Arrive to see the funeral rites performed.' "He spake, and though afflicted still, my heart Was somewhat comforted; my spirit rose, And thus I answered him with winged words:⁠— " 'These men I know; name now the third, who still Is kept from his return afar within The mighty main⁠—alive, perchance, or dead; For, though I dread to hear, I long to know.' "I spake, and Proteus answered me again:⁠— 'It is Laertes' son, whose dwelling stands In Ithaca. I saw him in an isle, And in the cavern-palace of the nymph Calypso, weeping bitterly, for she Constrains his stay. He cannot leave the isle For his own country; ship arrayed with oars And seamen has he none to bear him o'er The breast of the great ocean. But for thee, 'Tis not decreed that thou shalt meet thy fate And die, most noble Menelaus, where The steeds of Argos in her pastures graze. The gods will send thee to the Elysian plain, And to the end of earth, the dwelling-place Of fair-haired Rhadamanthus. There do men Lead easiest lives. No snow, no bitter cold, No beating rains, are there; the ocean-deeps With murmuring breezes from the West refresh The dwellers. Thither shalt thou go; for thou Art Helen's spouse, and son-in-law of Jove.' "He spake, and plunged into the billowy deep. I to the fleet returned in company With my brave men, revolving, as I went, A thousand projects in my thought. I reached My galley by the sea, and we prepared Our evening meal. The hallowed night came down, And there upon the ocean-beach we slept. But when the rosy-fingered Morn appeared, The daughter of the Dawn, we drew our ships To the great deep, and raised the masts and spread The sails; the crews, all entering, took their seats Upon the benches, ranged in order due, And beat the foaming water with their oars. Again to Egypt's coast I brought the fleet, And to the river that descends from Jove, And there I offered chosen hecatombs; And having thus appeased the gods, I reared A tomb to Agamemnon, that his fame Might never die. When this was done I sailed For home; the gods bestowed a favoring wind. But now remain thou till the eleventh day, Or till the twelfth, beneath my roof, and then Will I dismiss thee with munificent gifts⁠— Three steeds, a polished chariot, and a cup Of price, with which to pour, from day to day, Wine to the gods in memory of me." Then spake discreet Telemachus again:⁠— "Atrides, seek not to detain me long, Though I could sit contentedly a year Beside thee, never longing for my home, Nor for my parents, such delight I find In listening to thy words; but even now, In hallowed Pylos, my companions grow Weary, while thou delayest my return. The gifts⁠—whate'er thou choosest to bestow⁠— Let them be such as I can treasure up. The steeds to Ithaca I may not take, I leave them to adorn thy retinue; For thou art ruler o'er a realm of plains, Where grows much lotus, and sweet grasses spring, And wheat and rye, and the luxuriant stalks Of the white barley. But in Ithaca Are no broad grounds for coursing, meadows none. Goats graze amid its fields, a fairer land Than those where horses feed. No isle that lies Within the deep has either roads for steeds Or meadows, least of all has Ithaca." He spake; the valiant Menelaus smiled, And kindly touched him with his hand and said:⁠— "Dear son, thou comest of a generous stock; Thy words declare it. I will change my gifts, As well I may. Of all that in my house Are treasured up, the choicest I will give, And the most precious. I will give a cup Wrought all of silver save its brim of gold. It is the work of Vulcan. Phaedimus The hero, King of Sidon, gave it me, When I was coming home, and underneath His roof was sheltered. Now it shall be thine." So talked they with each other. Meantime came Those who prepared the banquet to the halls Of the great monarch. Bringing sheep they came And strengthening wine. Their wives, who on their brows Wore showy fillets, brought the bread, and thus Within the house of Menelaus all Was bustle, setting forth the evening meal. But in the well-paved court which lay before The palace of Ulysses, where of late Their insolence was shown, the suitor train Amused themselves with casting quoits and spears, While by themselves Antinoüs, and the youth Of godlike mien, Eurymachus, who both Were eminent above the others, sat. To them Noëmon, son of Phronius, went, Drew near, bespake Antinoüs and inquired:⁠— "Is it among us known, or is it not, Antinoüs, when Telemachus returns From sandy Pylos? Thither he is gone And in my galley, which I need to cross To spacious Elis. There I have twelve mares And hardy mule-colts with them yet untamed, And some I must subdue to take the yoke." He spake, and they were both amazed; for they Had never thought of him as visiting Neleian Pylos, deeming that the youth Was somewhere in his fields, among the flocks, Or haply with the keeper of the swine. Then did Antinoüs, Eupeithes' son, Make answer: "Tell me truly when he sailed, And what young men of Ithaca he chose To go with him. Were they his slaves, or hired To be his followers? Tell, for I would know The whole. Took he thy ship against thy will? Or didst thou yield it at his first request?" Noëmon, son of Phornius, thus replied:⁠— "Most willingly I gave it, for what else Would anyone have done when such a man Desired it in his need? It would have been Hard to deny it. For the band of youths Who followed him, they are the bravest here Of all our people; and I saw embark, As their commander, Mentor, or some god Like Mentor altogether. One thing moves My wonder. Only yesterday, at dawn, I met with Mentor here, whom I before Had seen embarking for the Pylian coast." Noëmon spake, and to his father's house Departed. Both were troubled at his words, And all the suitors took at once their seats, And ceased their pastimes. Then Antinoüs spake, Son of Eupeithes, greatly vexed; his heart Was darkened with blind rage; his eyes shot fire. "Strange doings these! a great and proud exploit Performed⁠—this voyage of Telemachus, Which we had called impossible! The boy, In spite of us, has had his will and gone, And carried off a ship, and for his crew Chosen the bravest of the people here. He yet will prove a pest. May Jupiter Crush him ere he can work us further harm! Now give me a swift barque and twenty men That I may lie in ambush and keep watch For his return within the straits between This isle and rugged Samos; then, I deem, He will have sought his father to his cost." He spake; they praised his words and bade him act, And rose and left their places, entering The palace of Ulysses. Brief the time That passed before Penelope was warned Of what the suitors treacherously planned. The herald Medon told her all. He heard In the outer court their counsels while within They plotted, and he hastened through the house To bring the tidings to Penelope. Penelope perceived him as he stepped Across the threshold, and bespake him thus:⁠— "Why, herald, have the suitor princes sent Thee hither? comest thou to bid the maids Of great Ulysses leave their tasks and make A banquet ready? Would their wooing here And elsewhere were but ended, and this feast Were their last feast on earth! Ye who in throngs Come hither and so wastefully consume The substance of the brave Telemachus, Have ye not from your parents, while ye yet Were children, heard how once Ulysses lived Among them, never wronging any man In all the realm by aught he did or said⁠— As mighty princes often do, through hate Of some and love of others? Never man Endured injustice at his hands, but you⁠— Your vile designs and acts are known; ye bear No grateful memory of a good man's deeds." And then, in turn, experienced Medon spake:⁠— "O queen, I would this evil were the worst! The suitors meditate a greater still, And a more heinous far. May Jupiter Never permit the crime! Their purpose is To meet Telemachus, on his return, And slay him with the sword; for thou must know That on a voyage to the Pylian coast And noble Lacedaemon he has sailed, To gather tidings of his father's fate." He spake, and her knees failed her and her heart Sank as she heard. Long time she could not speak; Her eyes were filled with tears, and her clear voice Was choked; yet, finding words at length, she said:⁠— "O herald! wherefore should my son have gone? There was no need that he should trust himself To the swift ships, those horses of the sea, With which men traverse its unmeasured waste. Was it that he might leave no name on earth?" And then again experienced Medon spake:⁠— "I know not whether prompted by some god Or moved by his own heart thy son has sailed For Pylos, hoping there to hear some news Of his returning father, or his fate." Thus having said, the herald, traversing The palace of Ulysses, went his way, While a keen anguish overpowered the queen, Nor could she longer bear to keep her place Upon her seat⁠—and many seats were there⁠— But on the threshold of her gorgeous rooms Lay piteously lamenting. Round her came Her maidens wailing⁠—all, both old and young, Who formed her household. These Penelope, Sobbing in her great sorrow, thus bespake:⁠— "Hear me, my friends, the heavens have cast on me Griefs heavier than on any others born And reared with me⁠—me, who had lost by death Already a most gracious husband, one Who bore a lion heart and who was graced With every virtue, greatly eminent Among the Greeks, and widely famed abroad Through Hellas and all Argos. Now my son, He whom I loved, is driven before the storms From home, inglorious, and I was not told Of his departure. Ye too, worthless crew! Ye took no thought, not one of you, to call Me from my sleep, although ye must have known Full well when he embarked in his black ship. And if it had been told me that he planned This voyage, then, impatient as he was To sail, he would have certainly remained, Or else have left me in these halls a corpse. And now let one of my attendants call The aged Dolius, whom, when first I came To this abode, my father gave to me To be my servant, and who has in charge My orchards. Let him haste and take his place Beside Laertes, and to him declare All that has happened, that he may devise Some fitting remedy, or go among The people, to deplore the dark designs Of those who now are plotting to destroy The heir of great Ulysses and his own." Then Eurycleia, the beloved nurse, Answered: "Dear lady, slay me with the sword, Or leave me here alive; I will conceal Nothing that has been done or said. I gave All that he asked, both bread and delicate wine, And took a solemn oath, which he required, To tell thee naught of this till twelve days passed, Or till thou shouldst thyself inquire and hear Of his departure, that those lovely cheeks Might not be stained with tears. Now bathe and put Fresh garments on, and to the upper rooms Ascending, with thy handmaids offer prayer To Pallas, daughter of the god who bears The aegis. She will then protect thy son, Even from death. Grieve not the aged man, Already much afflicted. Sure I am The lineage of Arcesius has not lost The favor of the gods, but someone yet Surviving will possess its lofty halls And its rich acres, stretching far away." She spake; the queen repressed her grief, and held Her eyes from tears. She took the bath and put Fresh garments on, and, to the upper rooms Ascending with her maidens, heaped with cakes A canister, and prayed to Pallas thus:⁠— "Daughter invincible of Jupiter The Aegis-bearer, hear me. If within Thy courts the wise Ulysses ever burned Fat thighs of beeves or sheep, remember it, And rescue my dear son, and bring to naught The wicked plots of the proud suitor-crew." She spake, and wept aloud. The goddess heard Her prayer. Meantime the suitors filled with noise The shadowy palace-halls, and there were some Among that throng of arrogant youths who said:⁠— "Truly the queen, whom we have wooed so long, Prepares for marriage; little does she know The bloody death we destine for her son." So spake they, unaware of what was done Elsewhere. Antinoüs then stood forth and said:⁠— "Good friends, I warn you all that ye refrain From boasts like these, lest someone should report Your words within. Now let us silently Rise up, and all conspire to put in act The counsel all so heartily approve." He spake, and chose a crew of twenty men, The bravest. To the seaside and the ship They went, and down to the deep water drew The ship, and put the mast and sails on board, And fitted duly to their leathern rings The oars, and spread the white sail overhead. Their nimble-handed servants brought them arms, And there they moored the galley, went on board, And supped and waited for the evening star. Now in the upper chamber the chaste queen, Penelope, lay fasting; food or wine She had not tasted, and her thoughts were still Fixed on her blameless son. Would he escape The threatened death, or perish by the hands Of the insolent suitors? As a lion's thoughts, When, midst a crowd of men, he sees with dread The hostile circle slowly closing round, Such were her thoughts, when balmy sleep at length Came creeping over her as on her couch She lay reclined, her limbs relaxed in rest. Now Pallas framed a new device; she called A phantom up, in aspect like the dame Iphthime, whom Eumelus had espoused In Pherae, daughter of the high-souled chief Icarius. Her she sent into the halls Of great Ulysses, that she might beguile The sorrowful Penelope from tears And lamentations. By the thong that held The bolt she slid into the royal bower And standing by her head bespake the queen:⁠— "Penelope, afflicted as thou art, Art thou asleep? The ever-blessed gods Permit thee not to grieve and weep; thy son, Who has not sinned against them, shall return." And then discreet Penelope replied, Still sweetly slumbering at the Gate of Dreams:⁠— "Why, sister, art thou here, who ne'er before Hast come to me? The home is far away In which thou dwellest. Thou exhortest me To cease from grieving, and to lay aside The painful thoughts that crowd into my mind, And torture me who have already lost A noble-minded, lionhearted spouse, One eminent among Achaia's sons For every virtue, and whose fame was spread Through Hellas and through Argos. Now my son, My best beloved, goes to sea⁠—a boy, Unused to hardships, and unskilled to deal With strangers. More I sorrow for his sake Than for his father's. I am filled with fear, And tremble lest he suffer wrong from those Among whom he has gone, or on the deep, Where he has enemies who lie in wait To slay him ere he reach his home again." And then the shadowy image spake again:⁠— "Be of good courage; let not fear o'ercome Thy spirit, for there goes with him a guide Such as all others would desire to have Beside them ever, trusting in her power⁠— Pallas Athene, and she looks on thee With pity. From her presence I am sent, Her messenger, declaring this to thee." Again discreet Penelope replied:⁠— "If then thou be a goddess and hast heard A goddess speak these words, declare, I pray, Of that ill-fated one, if yet he live And look upon the sun, or else have died And passed to the abodes beneath the earth." Once more the shadowy image spake: "Of him Will I say nothing, whether living yet Or dead; no time is this for idle words." She said, and from the chamber glided forth Beside the bolt, and mingled with the winds. Then quickly from her couch of sleep arose The daughter of Icarius, for her heart Was glad, so plainly had the dream conveyed Its message in the stillness of the night. Meanwhile the suitors on their ocean-path Went in their galley, plotting cruelly To slay Telemachus. A rocky isle Far in the middle sea, between the coast Of Ithaca and craggy Samos, lies, Named Asteris; of narrow bounds, yet there A sheltered haven is to which two straits Give entrance. There the Achaians lay in wait.