Book XI: Visit of Ulysses to the Land of the Dead

Lyrics

Voyage to the land of the dead⁠—Interview with Tiresias, the seer⁠—The heroes and heroines whom Ulysses saw there⁠—Interview with his mother, and with Agamemnon, Achilles, and others⁠—Occupations of the dead⁠—Punishments of the guilty. "Now, when we reached our galley by the shore, We drew it first into the mighty deep, And set the mast and sails, and led on board The sheep, and sorrowfully and in tears Embarked oursеlves. The fair-haired and august Circè, еxpert in music, sent with us A kindly fellow-voyager⁠—a wind That breathed behind the dark-prowed barque, and swelled The sails; and now, with all things in their place Throughout the ship, we sat us down⁠—the breeze And helmsman guiding us upon our way. All day our sails were stretched, as o'er the deep Our vessel ran; the sun went down; the paths Of the great sea were darkened, and our barque Reached the far confines of Océanus. "There lies the land, and there the people dwell Of the Cimmerians, in eternal cloud And darkness. Never does the glorious sun Look on them with his rays, when he goes up Into the starry sky, nor when again He sinks from heaven to earth. Unwholesome night O'erhangs the wretched race. We touched the land, And, drawing up our galley on the beach, Took from on board the sheep, and followed on Beside the ocean-stream until we reached The place of which the goddess Circè spake. "Here Perimedes and Eurylochus Held in their grasp the victims, while I drew The trusty sword upon my thigh, and scooped A trench in earth, a cubit long and wide, Round which we stood, and poured to all the dead Libations⁠—milk and honey first, and next Rich wine, and lastly water, scattering White meal upon them. Then I offered prayer Fervently to that troop of airy forms, And made a vow that I would sacrifice, When I at last should come to Ithaca, A heifer without blemish, barren yet, In my own courts, and heap the altar-pyre With things of price, and to the seer alone, Tiresias, by himself, a ram whose fleece Was wholly black, the best of all my flocks. "When I had worshipped thus with praver and vows The nations of the dead, I took the sheep And pierced their throats above the hollow trench. The blood flowed dark; and thronging round me came Souls of the dead from Erebus⁠—young wives And maids unwedded, men worn out with years And toil, and virgins of a tender age In their new grief, and many a warrior slain In battle, mangled by the spear, and clad In bloody armor, who about the trench Flitted on every side, now here, now there, With gibbering cries, and I grew pale with fear. Then calling to my friends, I bade them flay The victims lying slaughtered by the knife, And, burning them with fire, invoke the gods⁠— The mighty Pluto and dread Proserpine. Then from my thigh I drew the trusty sword, And sat me down, and suffered none of all Those airy phantoms to approach the blood Until I should bespeak the Theban seer. "And first the soul of my companion came, Elpenor, for he was not buried yet In earth's broad bosom. We had left him dead In Circè's halls, unwept and unentombed. We had another task. But when I now Beheld I pitied him, and, shedding tears, I said these winged words: 'How earnest thou, Elpenor, hither into these abodes Of night and darkness? Thou hast made more speed, Although on foot, than I in my good ship.' "I spake; the phantom sobbed and answered me:⁠— 'Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise, Ulysses! 'twas the evil doom decreed By some divinity, and too much wine, That wrought my death. I laid myself to sleep In Circè's palace, and, remembering not The way to the long stairs that led below, Fell from the roof, and by the fall my neck Was broken at the spine; my soul went down To Hades. I conjure thee now, by those Whom thou hast left behind and far away, Thy consort and thy father⁠—him by whom Thou when a boy wert reared⁠—and by thy son Telemachus, who in thy palace-halls Is left alone⁠—for well I know that thou, In going hence from Pluto's realm, wilt moor Thy gallant vessel in the Aeaean isle⁠— That there, O king, thou wilt remember me, And leave me not when thou departest thence Unwept, unburied, lest I bring on thee The anger of the gods. But burn me there With all the armor that I wore, and pile, Close to the hoary deep, a mound for me⁠— A hapless man of whom posterity Shall hear. Do this for me, and plant upright Upon my tomb the oar with which I rowed, While yet a living man, among thy friends.' "He spake and I replied: 'Unhappy youth, All this I duly will perform for thee.' "And then the soul of Anticleia came⁠— My own dead mother, daughter of the king Autolycus, large-minded. Her I left Alive, what time I sailed for Troy, and now I wept to see her there, and pitied her, And yet forbade her, though with grief, to come Near to the blood till I should first accost Tiresias. He too came, the Theban seer, Tiresias, bearing in his hand a wand Of gold; he knew me and bespake me thus:⁠— " 'Why, O unhappy mortal, hast thou left The light of day to come among the dead And to this joyless land? Go from the trench And turn thy sword away, that I may drink The blood, and speak the word of prophecy.' "He spake; withdrawing from the trench, I thrust Into its sheath my silver-studded sword, And after drinking of the dark red blood The blameless prophet turned to me and said:⁠— " 'Illustrious chief Ulysses, thy desire Is for a happy passage to thy home, Yet will a god withstand thee. Not unmarked By Neptune shalt thou, as I deem, proceed Upon thy voyage. He hath laid up wrath Against thee in his heart, for that thy hand Deprived his son of sight. Yet may ye still Return, though after many hardships borne, If thou but hold thy appetite in check, And that of thy companions, when thou bring Thy gallant barque to the Trinacrian isle, Safe from the gloomy deep. There will ye find The beeves and fading wethers of the Sun⁠— The all-beholding and all-hearing Sun. If these ye leave unharmed, and keep in mind The thought of your return, ye may go back, Though sufferers, to your home in Ithaca; But if thou do them harm, the event will be Destruction to thy ship and to its crew; And thou, if thou escape it, wilt return Late to thy country, all thy comrades lost, And in a foreign barque, and thou shalt find Wrong in thy household⁠—arrogant men who waste Thy substance, wooers of thy noble wife, And offering bridal gifts. On thy return Thou shalt avenge thee of their violent deeds; And when thou shalt have slain them in thy halls, Whether by stratagem or by the sword In open fight, then take a shapely oar And journey on, until thou meet with men Who have not known the sea nor eaten food Seasoned with salt, nor ever have beheld Galleys with crimson prows, nor shapely oars, Which are the wings of ships. I will declare A sign by which to know them, nor canst thou Mistake it. When a traveller, meeting thee, Shalt say that thou dost bear a winnowing-fan Upon thy sturdy shoulder, stop and plant Thy shapely oar upright in earth, and there Pay to King Neptune solemn sacrifice⁠— A ram, a bull, and from his herd of swine A boar. And then returning to thy home, See that thou offer hallowed hecatombs To all the ever-living ones who dwell In the broad heaven, to each in order due. So at the last thy death shall come to thee Far from the sea, and gently take thee off In a serene old age that ends among A happy people. I have told thee true.' "He spake, and thus I answered him: 'The gods, Tiresias, have decreed as thou hast said. But tell, and tell me truly⁠—I behold The soul of my dead mother; there she sits In silence by the blood, and will not deign To look upon her son nor speak to him. Instruct me, mighty prophet, by what means To make my mother know me for her son.' "I spake, and instantly the seer replied:⁠— 'Easily that is told; I give it thee To bear in mind. Whoever of the dead Thou sufferest to approach and drink the blood Will speak the truth; those whom thou dost forbid To taste the blood will silently withdraw.' "The soul of King Tiresias, saying this, Passed to the abode of Pluto; he had given The oracle I asked. I waited still Until my mother, drawing near again, Drank the dark blood; she knew me suddenly, And said in piteous tones these winged words:⁠— " 'How didst thou come, my child, a living man, Into this place of darkness? Difficult It is for those who breathe the breath of life To visit these abodes, through which are rolled Great rivers, fearful floods⁠—the first of these Océanus, whose waters none can cross On foot, or save on board a trusty barque. Hast thou come hither on thy way from Troy, A weary wanderer with thy ship and friends? And hast thou not been yet at Ithaca, Nor in thine island palace seen thy wife?' "She spake, I answered: ' 'Tis necessity, Dear mother, that has brought me to the abode Of Pluto, to consult the Theban seer, Tiresias. Not to the Achaian coast Have I returned, nor reached our country, yet Continually I wander; everywhere I meet misfortune⁠—even from the time When, in the noble Agamemnon's train, I came to Ilium, famed for steeds, and made War on its dwellers. Tell me now, I pray, And truly, how it was that fate on thee Brought the long sleep of death? by slow disease? Or, stealing on thee, did the archer-queen, Diana, slay thee with her silent shafts? And tell me of my father, and the son Left in my palace. Rests the sway I bore On them, or has another taken it, Since men believe I shall return no more? And tell me of my wedded wife, her thoughts And purposes, and whether she remains Yet with my son. Is she the guardian still Of my estates, or has the noblest chief Of those Achaians led her thence a bride?' "I spake; my reverend mother answered thus:⁠— 'Most certain is it that she sadly dwells Still in thy palace. Weary days and nights And tears are hers. No man has taken yet Thy place as ruler, but Telemachus Still has the charge of thy domain, and gives The liberal feasts which it befits a prince To give, for all invite him. In the fields Thy father dwells, and never in the town Is seen; nor beds nor cloaks has he, nor mats Of rich device, but, all the winter through, He sleeps where sleep the laborers, on the hearth, Amid the dust, and wears a wretched garb; And when the summer comes, or autumn days Ripen the fruit, his bed is on the ground, And made of leaves, that everywhere are shed In the rich vineyards. There he lies and grieves, And, cherishing his sorrow, mourns thy fate, And keenly feels the miseries of age. And thus I underwent my fate and died; For not the goddess of the unerring bow Stealing upon me smote me in thy halls With silent arrows, nor did slow disease Come o'er me, such as, wasting cruelly The members, takes at last the life away; But constant longing for thee, anxious thoughts Of thee, and memory of thy gentleness, Ulysses, made an end of my sweet life.' "She spake; I longed to take into my arms The soul of my dead mother. Thrice I tried, Moved by a strong desire, and thrice the form Passed through them like a shadow or a dream. And then did the great sorrow in my heart Grow sharper, and in winged words I said:⁠— " 'Beloved mother, why wilt thou not keep Thy place, that I may clasp thee, so that here, In Pluto's realm and in each other's arms, We each might in the other soothe the sense Of misery? Hath mighty Proserpine Sent but an empty shade to meet me here, That I might only grieve and sigh the more?' "I spake, and then my reverend mother said:⁠— 'Believe not that Jove's daughter Proserpine Deceives thee. 'Tis the lot of all our race When they are dead. No more the sinews bind The bones and flesh, when once from the white bones The life departs. Then like a dream the soul Flies off, and flits about from place to place. But haste thou to the light again, and mark What I have said, that thou in after days Mayst tell it to thy wife on thy return.' "Thus we conferred. Meantime the women came Around me, moved by mighty Proserpine; In throngs they gathered to the dark red blood. Then, as I pondered how to question each, This seemed the wisest⁠—from my sturdy thigh I plucked the trenchant sword, and suffered not All that were there to taste the blood at once; So one by one they came, and each in turn Declared her lineage. Thus I questioned all. "Then saw I highborn Tyro first, who claimed To be the daughter of that blameless man Salmoneus, and who called herself the wife Of Cretheus, son of Aeolus. She loved Enipeus, hallowed river, fairest stream Of all that flow on earth, and often walked Beside its pleasant waters. He whose arms Surround the islands, Neptune, once put on The river's form, and at its gulfy mouth Met her; the purple waters stood upright Around them like a wall, and formed an arch, And hid the god and woman. There he loosed The virgin zone of Tyro, shedding sleep Upon her. Afterward he took her hand And said: 'Rejoice, O maiden, in our love, For with the year's return shalt thou bring forth Illustrious sons; the embraces of the gods Are not unfruitful. Rear them carefully. And now return to thy abode, and watch Thy words, and keep thy secret. Thou must know That I am Neptune, he who shakes the earth.' "He spake, and plunged into the billowy deep. And she became a mother, and brought forth Pelias and Neleus, valiant ministers Of mighty Jupiter. On the broad lands Of Iäolchos Pelias dwelt, and reared Vast flocks of sheep, while Neleus made his home In Pylos midst the sands. The queenly dame, His mother, meanwhile brought forth other sons To Cretheus⁠—Aeson first, and Pheres next, And Amythaon, great in horsemanship. "And after her I saw Antiopè, The daughter of Asopus⁠—her who made A boast that she had slumbered in the arms Of Jove. Two sons she bore⁠—Amphion one, The other Zethus⁠—and they founded Thebes With its seven gates, and girt it round with towers; For, valiant as they were, they could not dwell Safely in that great town unfenced by towers. "And after her I saw Amphitryon's wife, Alcmena, her who brought forth Hercules, The dauntless hero of the lion-heart⁠— For she had given herself into the arms Of mighty Jupiter. I also saw Megara there, a daughter of the house Of laughty Creion. Her Amphitryon's son, Unamable in strength, had made his wife. "The mother, too, of Oedipus I saw, Beautiful Epicastè, who in life Had done unwittingly a heinous deed⁠— Had married her own son, who, having slain Her father first, espoused her; but the gods Published abroad the rumor of the crime. He in the pleasant town of Thebes bore sway O'er the Cadmeians; yet in misery He lived, for so the offended gods ordained. And she went down to Hades and the gates That stand forever barred; for, wild with grief, She slung a cord upon a lofty beam And perished by it, leaving him to bear Woes without measure, such as on a son The furies of a mother might inflict. "And there I saw the dame supremely fair, Chloris, whom Neleus with large marriage-gifts Wooed, and brought home a bride; the youngest she Among the daughters of Iäsus' son, Amphion, ruler o'er Orchomenus, The Minyeian town, and o'er the realm Of Pylos. Three illustrious sons she bore To Neleus⁠—Nestor, Chromius, and a chief Of lofty bearing, Periclymenus. She brought forth Pero also, marvellous In beauty, wooed by all the region round; but Neleus would bestow the maid on none Save him who should drive off from Phylacè The beeves, broad-fronted and with crooked horns, Of valiant Iphicles⁠—a difficult task. One man alone, a blameless prophet, dared Attempt it; but he found himself withstood By fate, and rigid fetters, and a force Of rustic herdsmen. Months and days went by, And the full year, led by the hours, came round. The valiant Iphicles, who from the seer Had heard the oracles explained, took off The shackles, and the will of Jove was done. "Then saw I Leda, wife of Tyndarus, Who bore to Tyndarus two noble sons, Castor the horseman, Pollux skilled to wield The cestus. Both of them have still a place Upon the fruitful earth; for Jupiter Gave them such honor that they live by turns Each one a day, and then are with the dead Each one by turns; they rank among the gods. "The wife of Aloëus next appeared, Iphidameia, who, as she declared, Had won the love of Neptune. She brought forth Two short-lived sons⁠—one like a god in form, Named Otus; and the other, far renowned, Named Ephialtes. These the bounteous earth Nourished to be the tallest of mankind, And goodliest, save Orion. When the twain Had seen but nine years of their life, they stood In breadth of frame nine cubits, and in height Nine fathoms. They against the living gods Threatened to wage, upon the Olympian height, Fierce and tumultuous battle, and to fling Ossa upon Olympus, and to pile Pelion, with all its growth of leafy woods, On Ossa, that the heavens might thus be scaled. And they, if they had reached their prime of youth, Had made their menace good. The son of Jove And amber-haired Latona took their lives Ere yet beneath their temples sprang the down And covered with its sprouting tufts the chin. "Phaedra I saw, and Procris, and the child Of the wise Minos, Ariadne, famed For beauty, whom the hero Theseus once From Crete to hallowed Athens' fertile coast Led, but possessed her not. Diana gave Ear to the tale which Bacchus brought to her, And in the isle of Dia slew the maid. "And Maera I beheld, and Clymenè, And Eriphylè, hateful in her guilt, Who sold her husband for a price in gold. But vainly might I think to name them all⁠— The wives and daughters of heroic men Whom I beheld⁠—for first the ambrosial night Would wear away. And now for me the hour Of sleep is come, at my good ship among My friends, or haply here. Meantime the care For my return is with the gods and you." He spake, and all were silent: all within The shadows of those palace-halls were held Motionless by the charm of what he said. And thus the white-armed Queen Aretè spake:⁠— "Phaeacians, how appears this man to you In form, in stature, and well-judging mind? My guest he is, but each among you shares The honor of the occasion. Now, I pray, Dismiss him not in haste, nor sparingly Bestow your gifts on one in so much need; For in your dwellings is much wealth, bestowed Upon you by the bounty of the gods." Then also Echeneüs, aged chief, The oldest man of the Phaeacians, spake:⁠— "My friends, the word of our sagacious queen Errs not, nor is ill-timed, and yours it is To hearken and obey: but all depends Upon Alcinoüs⁠—both the word and deed." And then in turn Alcinoüs spake: "That word Shall be fulfilled, if I am ruler here O'er the Phaeacians, skilled in seamanship. But let the stranger, though he long for home, Bear to remain till morning, that his store Of gifts may be complete. To send him home Shall be the charge of all, but mostly mine, Since mine it is to hold the sovereign power." And then the wise Ulysses said: "O King Alcinoüs, eminent o'er all thy race! Shouldst thou command me to remain with thee Even for a twelvemonth, and at length provide For my return, and give me princely gifts, Even that would please me; for with fuller hands, The happier were my lot on my return To my own land. I should be honored then, And meet a kinder welcome there from all Who see me in my Ithaca once more." And then again in turn Alcinoüs spake:⁠— "Ulysses, when we look on thee, we feel No fear that thou art false, or one of those, The many, whom the dark earth nourishes, Wandering at large, and forging lies, that we May not suspect them. Thou hast grace of speech And noble thoughts, and fitly hast thou told, Even as a minstrel might, the history Of all thy Argive brethren and thy own. Now say, and frankly, didst thou also see Any of those heroic men who went With thee to Troy, and in that region met Their fate? A night immeasurably long Is yet before us. Let us have thy tale Of wonders. I could listen till the break Of hallowed morning, if thou canst endure So long to speak of hardships thou hast borne." He spake, and wise Ulysses answered thus:⁠— "O King Alcinoüs, eminent beyond All others of thy people. For discourse There is a time; there is a time for sleep. If more thou yet wouldst hear, I will not spare To give the story of the greater woes Of my companions, who were afterward Cut off from life; and though they had escaped The cruel Trojan war, on their return They perished by a woman's fraud and guilt. "When chaste Proserpina had made the ghosts Of women scatter right and left, there came The soul of Agamemnon, Atreus' son. He came attended by a throng of those Who in the palace of Aegisthus met A fate like his and died. When he had drunk The dark red blood, he knew me at a look, And wailed aloud, and, bursting into tears, Stretched out his hands to touch me; but no power Was there of grasp or pressure, such as once Dwelt in those active limbs. I could not help But weep at sight of him, for from my heart I pitied him, and spake these winged words:⁠— " 'Most glorious son of Atreus, king of men! How, Agamemnon, has the fate that brings To man the everlasting sleep of death O'ertaken thee? Did Neptune, calling up The winds in all their fury, make thy fleet A wreck, or did thine enemies on land Smite thee, as thou wert driving off their beeves And their fair flocks, or fighting to defend Some city, and the helpless women there?' "I spake, and Agamemnon thus replied:⁠— 'Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise, 'Twas not that Neptune calling up the winds In all their fury wrecked me in my fleet, Nor hostile warriors smote me on the land, But that Aegisthus, bent upon my death, Plotted against me with my guilty wife, And bade me to his house and slew me there, Even at the banquet, as a hind might slay A bullock at the stall. With me they slew My comrades, as a herd of white-toothed swine Are slaughtered for some man of large estates, Who makes a wedding or a solemn feast. Thou hast seen many perish by the sword In the hard battle, one by one, and yet Thou wouldst have pitied us, hadst thou beheld The slain beside the wine-jar, and beneath The loaded tables, while the pavement swam With blood. I heard Cassandra's piteous cry, The cry of Priam's daughter, stricken down By treacherous Clytemnestra at my side. And there I lay, and, dying, raised my hands To grasp my sword. The shameless woman went Her way, nor stayed to close my eyes, nor press My mouth into its place, although my soul Was on its way to Hades. There is naught That lives more horrible, more lost to shame, Than is the woman who has brought her mind To compass deeds like these⁠—the wretch who plans So foul a crime⁠—the murder of the man Whom she a virgin wedded. I had looked For a warm welcome from my children here, And all my household in my ancient home. This woman, deep in wickedness, hath brought Disgrace upon herself and all her sex, Even those who give their thoughts to doing good.' "He spake, and I replied: 'O, how the God Who wields the thunder, Jupiter, must hate The house of Atreus for the women's sake! At first we fell by myriads in the cause Of Helen; Clytemnestra now hath planned This guile against thee while thou wert afar.' "I spake, and instantly his answer came:⁠— 'Therefore be not compliant to thy wife, Nor let her hear from thee whatever lies Within thy knowledge. Tell her but a part, And keep the rest concealed. Yet is thy life, Ulysses, in no danger from thy spouse; For wise and well instructed in the rules Of virtuous conduct is Penelope, The daughter of Icarius. When we went To war, we left her a young bride; a babe Was at her breast, a boy, who now must sit Among grown men; and fortunate is he, For certainly his father will behold The youth on his return, and he embrace His father, as is meet. But as for me, My consort suffered not my eyes to feed Upon the sight of my own son; for first She slew me. This, then, I admonish thee⁠— Heed thou my words. Bring not thy ship to land Openly in thy country, but by stealth, Since now no longer can we put our trust In woman. Meantime, tell me of my son, And faithfully, if thou hast heard of him As living, whether in Orchomenus, Or sandy Pylos, or in the broad realm Of Menelaus, Sparta; for not yet Has my Orestes passed from earth and life.' "He spake, and I replied: 'Why ask of me That question, O Atrides? I know not Whether thy son be living or be dead, And this is not a time for idle words.' "Thus in sad talk we stood, and freely flowed Our tears. Meanwhile the ghosts of Peleus' son Achilles, and Patroclus, excellent Antilochus, and Ajax, all drew near⁠— Ajax for form and stature eminent O'er all the Greeks save Peleus' faultless son. Then did the soul of fleet Aeacides Know me, and thus in winged words he said:⁠— " 'Ulysses! what hath moved thee to attempt This greatest of thy labors? How is it That thou hast found the courage to descend To Hades, where the dead, the bodiless forms Of those whose work is done on earth, abide?' "He spake; I answered: 'Greatest of the Greeks! Achilles, son of Peleus! 'Twas to hear The counsel of Tiresias that I came, If haply he might tell me by what means To reach my rugged Ithaca again; For yet have I not trod my native coast, Nor even have drawn nigh to Greece. I meet Misfortunes everywhere. But as for thee, Achilles, no man lived before thy time, Nor will hereafter live, more fortunate Than thou⁠—for while alive we honored thee As if thou wert a god, and now again In these abodes thou rulest o'er the dead; Therefore, Achilles, shouldst thou not be sad.' "I spake; Achilles quickly answered me:⁠— 'Noble Ulysses, speak not thus of death, As if thou couldst console me. I would be A laborer on earth, and serve for hire Some man of mean estate, who makes scant cheer, Rather than reign o'er all who have gone down To death. Speak rather of my noble son, Whether or not he yet has joined the wars To fight among the foremost of the host. And tell me also if thou aught hast heard Of blameless Peleus⁠—whether he be yet Honored among his many Myrmidons, Or do they hold him now in small esteem In Hellas and in Phthia, since old age Unnerves his hands and feet, and I no more Am there, beneath the sun, to give him aid, Strong as I was on the wide plain of Troy, When warring for the Achaian cause I smote That valiant people. Could I come again, But for a moment, with my former strength, Into my father's palace, I would make That strength and these unconquerable hands A terror to the men who do him wrong, And rob him of the honor due a king.' "He spake; I answered: 'Nothing have I heard Of blameless Peleus, but I will relate The truth concerning Neoptolemus, Thy son, as thou requirest. Him I took From Scyros in a gallant barque to join The well-armed Greeks. Know, then, that when we sat In council, planning to conduct the war Against the city of Troy, he always rose The first to speak, nor were his words unwise. The godlike Nestor and myself alone Rivalled him in debate. And when we fought About the city walls, he loitered not Among the others in the numerous host, But hastened on before them, giving place To no man there in valor. Many men He slew in desperate combat, whom to name Were past my power, so many were they all Whom in the cause of Greece he struck to earth. Yet one I name, Eurypylus, the son Of Telephus, who perished by his sword With many of his band, Citeians, led To war because of liberal gifts bestowed Upon their chieftain's wife; the noblest he Of men, in form, whom I have ever seen, Save Memnon. When into the wooden steed, Framed by Epeius, we the chiefs of Greece Ascended, and to me was given the charge Of all things there, to open and to shut The close-built fraud, while others of high rank Among the Greeks were wiping off their tears, And their limbs shook, I never saw thy son Turn pale in his fine face, or brush away A tear, but he besought me earnestly That he might leave our hiding-place, and grasped His falchion's hilt, and lifted up his spear Heavy with brass, for in his mind he smote The Trojan crowd already. When at last We had o'erthrown and sacked the lofty town Of Priam, he embarked upon a ship, With all his share of spoil⁠—a large reward⁠— Unhurt, not touched in combat hand to hand, Nor wounded from afar, as oftentimes Must be the fortune of a fight, for Mars Is wont to rage without regard to men.' "I spake. The soul of swift Aeacides Over the meadows thick with asphodel Departed with long strides, well pleased to hear From me the story of his son's renown. "The other ghosts of those who lay in death Stood sorrowing by, and each one told his griefs; But that of Ajax, son of Telamon, Kept far aloof, displeased that I had won The victory contending at the fleet Which should possess the arms of Peleus' son. His goddess-mother laid them as a prize Before us, and the captive sons of Troy And Pallas were the umpires to award The victory. And now how much I wish I had not conquered in a strife like that, Since for that cause the dark earth hath received The hero Ajax, who in nobleness Of form and greatness of exploits excelled All other Greeks, except the blameless son Of Peleus. Then I spake in soothing words:⁠— " 'O Ajax, son of blameless Telamon! Wilt thou not even in death forget the wrath Caused by the strife for those accursed arms? The gods have made them fatal to the Greeks, For thou, the bulwark of our host, didst fall, And we lamented thee as bitterly When thou wert dead as we had mourned the son Of Peleus. Nor was any man to blame; 'Twas Jupiter who held in vehement hate The army of the warlike Greeks, and laid This doom upon thee. Now, O king, draw near, And hear our voice and words, and check, I pray, The anger rising in thy generous breast.' "I spake; he answered not, but moved away To Erebus, among the other souls Of the departed. Yet would I have had Speech of him, angry as he was, or else Have spoken to him further, but my wish Was strong to see yet others of the dead. "Then I beheld the illustrious son of Jove, Minos, a golden sceptre in his hand, Sitting to judge the dead, who round the king Pleaded their causes. There they stood or sat In Pluto's halls⁠—a pile with ample gates. "And next I saw the huge Orion drive, Across the meadows green with asphodel, The savage beast whom he had slain; he bore The brazen mace, which no man's power could break. "And Tityus there I saw⁠—the mighty earth His mother⁠—overspreading, as he lay, Nine acres, with two vultures at his side, That, plucking at his liver, plunged their beaks Into the flesh; nor did his hands avail To drive them off, for he had offered force To Jove's proud wife Latona, as she went To Pytho, through the pleasant Panopeus. "And next I looked on Tantalus, a prey To grievous torments, standing in a lake That reached his chin. Though painfully athirst, He could not drink; as often as he bowed His aged head to take into his lips The water, it was drawn away, and sank Into the earth, and the dark soil appeared Around his feet; a god had dried it up. And lofty trees drooped o'er him, hung with fruit⁠— Pears and pomegranates, apples fair to sight, And luscious figs, and olives green of hue. And when that ancient man put forth his hands To pluck them from their stems, the wind arose And whirled them far among the shadowy clouds. "There I beheld the shade of Sisyphus Amid his sufferings. With both hands he rolled A huge stone up a hill. To force it up, He leaned against the mass with hands and feet; But, ere it crossed the summit of the hill A power was felt that sent it rolling back, And downward plunged the unmanageable rock Before him to the plain. Again he toiled To heave it upward, while the sweat in streams Ran down his limbs, and dust begrimed his brow. "Then I beheld the mighty Hercules⁠— The hero's image⁠—for he sits himself Among the deathless gods, well pleased to share Their feasts, and Hebe of the dainty feet⁠— A daughter of the mighty Jupiter And golden-sandalled Juno⁠—is his wife. Around his image flitted to and fro The ghosts with noise, like fear-bewildered birds. His look was dark as night. He held in hand A naked bow, a shaft upon the string, And fiercely gazed, like one about to send The arrow forth. Upon his breast he wore The formidable baldric, on whose band Of gold were sculptured marvels⁠—forms of bears, Wild boars, grim lions, battles, skirmishings, And death by wounds, and slaughter. He who wrought That band had never done the like before, Nor could thereafter. As I met his eye, The hero knew me, and, beholding me With pity, said to me in winged words:⁠— " 'Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise, And yet unhappy; surely thou dost bear A cruel fate, like that which I endured While yet I saw the brightness of the sun. The offspring of Saturnian Jupiter Am I, and yet was I compelled to serve One of a meaner race than I, who set Difficult tasks. He sent me hither once To bring away the guardian hound; he deemed No harder task might be. I brought him hence, I led him up from Hades, with such aid As Hermes and the blue-eyed Pallas gave.' "Thus having spoken, he withdrew again Into the abode of Pluto. I remained And kept my place, in hope there yet might come Heroes who perished in the early time, And haply I might look on some of those⁠— The ancients, whom I greatly longed to see⁠— On Theseus and Pirithoüs, glorious men, The children of the gods. But now there flocked Already round me, with a mighty noise, The innumerable nations of the dead; And I grew pale with fear, lest from the halls Of Pluto the stern Proserpine should send The frightful visage of the monster-maid, The Gorgon. Hastening to my ship, I bade The crew embark, and cast the hawsers loose. Quickly they went on board, and took their seats Upon the benches. Through Océanus The current bore my galley, aided first By oars and then by favorable gales."