Book XII: The Sirens, Scylla, and Charybdis

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Return of Ulysses to the island of Circè⁠—Her counsels respecting his homeward voyage⁠—The sirens⁠—Escape from Scylla and Charybdis⁠—His arrival at Trinacria⁠—Slaughter of the oxen of the Sun by his companions⁠—A tempest, in consequence, by which his companions all perish, and he only escapes by swimming to the island of Calypso. "Now when our barque had left Océanus And entered the great deep, we reached the isle Aeaea, wherе the Morning, child of Dawn, Abides, and holds her dancеs, and the Sun Goes up from earth. We landed there and drew Our galley up the beach; we disembarked And laid us down to sleep beside the sea, And waited for the holy Morn to rise. "Then when the rosy-fingered Morn appeared, The child of Dawn, I sent my comrades forth To bring from Circè's halls Elpenor's corse. And where a headland stretched into the deep We hewed down trees, and held the funeral rites With many tears; and having there consumed The body and the arms with fire, we built A tomb, and reared a column to the dead, And on its summit fixed a tapering oar. "All this was duly done; yet was the news Of our return from Hades not concealed From Circè. She attired herself in haste And came; her maids came with her, bringing bread And store of meats and generous wine; and thus Spake the wise goddess, standing in the midst:⁠— " 'Ah, daring ones! who, yet alive, have gone Down to the abode of Pluto; twice to die Is yours, while others die but once. Yet now Take food, drink wine, and hold a feast today, And with the dawn of morning ye shall sail; And I will show the way, and teach you all Its dangers, so that ye may not lament False counsels followed, either on the land Or on the water, to your grievous harm.' "She spake, and our confiding minds were swayed Easily by her counsels. All that day Till set of sun we sat and banqueted Upon the abundant meats and generous wines; And when the Sun went down, and darkness came, The crew beside the fastenings of our barque Lay down to sleep, while Circè took my hand, Led me apart, and made me sit, and took Her seat before me, and inquired of all That I had seen. I told her faithfully, And then the mighty goddess Circè said:⁠— " 'Thus far is well; now needfully attend To what I say, and may some deity Help thee remember it! Thou first wilt come To where the Sirens haunt. They throw a spell O'er all who pass that way. If unawares One finds himself so nigh that he can hear Their voices, round him nevermore shall wife And lisping children gather, welcoming His safe return with joy. The Sirens sit In a green field, and charm with mellow notes The comer, while beside them lie in heaps The bones of men decaying underneath The shrivelled skins. Take heed and pass them by. First fill with wax well kneaded in the palm The ears of thy companions, that no sound May enter. Hear the music, if thou wilt, But let thy people bind thee, hand and foot, To the good ship, upright against the mast, And round it wind the cord, that thou mayst hear The ravishing notes. But shouldst thou then entreat Thy men, commanding them to set thee free, Let them be charged to bind thee yet more fast With added bands. And when they shall have passed The Sirens by, I will not judge for thee Which way to take; consider for thyself; I tell thee of two ways. There is a pile Of beetling rocks, where roars the mighty surge Of dark-eyed Amphitritè; these are called The Wanderers by the blessed gods. No birds Can pass them safe, not even the timid doves, Which bear ambrosia to our father Jove, But ever doth the slippery rock take off Someone, whose loss the God at once supplies, To keep their number full. To these no barque Guided by man has ever come, and left The spot unwrecked; the billows of the deep And storms of fire in air have scattered wide Timbers of ships and bodies of drowned men. One only of the barques that plough the deep Has passed them safely⁠—Argo, known to all By fame, when coming from Aeaeta home⁠— And her the billows would have dashed against The enormous rocks, if Juno, for the sake Of Jason, had not come to guide it through. " 'Two are the rocks; one lifts to the broad heaven Its pointed summit, where a dark gray cloud Broods, and withdraws not; never is the sky Clear o'er that peak, not even in summer days Or autumn; nor can man ascend its steeps, Or venture down⁠—so smooth the sides, as if Man's art had polished them. There in the midst Upon the western side toward Erebus There yawns a shadowy cavern; thither thou, Noble Ulysses, steer thy barque, yet keep So far aloof that, standing on the deck, A youth might send an arrow from a bow Just to the cavern's mouth. There Scylla dwells, And fills the air with fearful yells; her voice The cry of whelps just littered, but herself A frightful prodigy⁠—a sight which none Would care to look on, though he were a god. Twelve feet are hers, all shapeless; six long necks, A hideous head on each, and triple rows Of teeth, close set and many, threatening death. And half her form is in the cavern's womb, And forth from that dark gulf her heads are thrust, To look abroad upon the rocks for prey⁠— Dolphin, or dogfish, or the mightier whale, Such as the murmuring Amphitritè breeds In multitudes. No mariner can boast That he has passed by Scylla with a crew Unharmed; she snatches from the deck, and bears Away in each grim mouth, a living man. " 'Another rock, Ulysses, thou wilt see, Of lower height, so near her that a spear, Cast by the hand, might reach it. On it grows A huge wild fig-tree with luxuriant leaves. Below, Charybdis, of immortal birth, Draws the dark water down; for thrice a day She gives it forth, and thrice with fearful whirl She draws it in. O, be it not thy lot To come while the dark water rushes down! Even Neptune could not then deliver thee. Then turn thy course with speed toward Scylla's rock, And pass that way; 'twere better far that six Should perish from the ship than all be lost' "She spake, and I replied: 'O goddess, deign To tell me truly, cannot I at once Escape Charybdis and defend my friends Against the rage of Scylla when she strikes?' "I spake; the mighty goddess answered me:⁠— 'Rash man! dost thou still think of warlike deeds, And feats of strength? And wilt thou not give way Even to the deathless gods? That pest is not Of mortal mould; she cannot die, she is A thing to tremble and to shudder at, And fierce, and never to be overcome. There is no room for courage; flight is best. And if thou shouldst delay beside the rock To take up arms, I fear lest once again She fall on thee with all her heads, and seize As many men. Pass by the monster's haunt With all the speed that thou canst make, and call Upon Crataeis, who brought Scylla forth To be the plague of men, and who will calm Her rage, that she assault thee not again. " 'Then in thy voyage shalt thou reach the isle Trinacria, where, in pastures of the Sun, His many beeves and fading sheep are fed⁠— Seven herds of oxen, and as many flocks Of sheep, and fifty in each flock and herd. They never multiply; they never die. Two shepherdesses tend them, goddesses, Nymphs with redundant locks⁠—Lampelia one, The other Phaëthusa. These the nymph Naeëra to the overgoing Sun Brought forth, and when their queenly mother's care Had reared them, she appointed them to dwell In far Trinacria, there to keep the flocks And oxen of their father. If thy thoughts Be fixed on thy return, so that thou leave These flocks and herds unharmed, ye all will come To Ithaca, though after many toils. But if thou rashly harm them, I foretell Destruction to thy ship and all its crew; And if thyself escape, thou wilt return Late and in sorrow, all thy comrades lost.' "She spake; the Morning on her golden throne Looked forth; the glorious goddess went her way Into the isle, I to my ship, and bade The men embark and cast the hawsers loose. And straight they went on board, and duly manned The benches, smiting as they sat with oars The hoary waters. Circè, amber-haired, The mighty goddess of the musical voice, Sent a fair wind behind our dark-prowed ship That gayly bore us company, and filled The sails. When we had fairly ordered all On board our galley, we sat down, and left The favoring wind and helm to bear us on, And thus in sadness I bespake the crew:⁠— " 'My friends! it were not well that one or two Alone should know the oracles I heard From Circè, great among the goddesses; And now will I disclose them, that ye all, Whether we are to die or to escape The doom of death, may be forewarned. And first Against the wicked Sirens and their song And flowery bank she warns us. I alone May hear their voice, but ye must bind me first With bands too strong to break, that I may stand Upright against the mast; and let the cords Be fastened round it. If I then entreat And bid you loose me, make the bands more strong.' "Thus to my crew I spake, and told them all That they should know, while our good ship drew near The island of the Sirens, prosperous gales Wafting it gently onward. Then the breeze Sank to a breathless calm; some deity Had hushed the winds to slumber. Straightway rose The men and furled the sails and laid them down Within the ship, and sat and made the sea White with the beating of their polished blades, Made of the fir-tree. Then I took a mass Of wax and cut it into many parts, And kneaded each with a strong hand. It grew Warm with the pressure, and the beams of him Who journeys round the earth, the monarch Sun. With this I filled the ears of all my men From first to last. They bound me, in their turn, Upright against the mast-tree, hand and foot, And tied the cords around it. Then again They sat and threshed with oars the hoary deep. And when, in running rapidly, we came So near the Sirens as to hear a voice From where they sat, our galley flew not by Unseen by them, and sweetly thus they sang:⁠— " 'O world-renowned Ulysses! thou who art The glory of the Achaians, turn thy barque Landward, that thou mayst listen to our lay No man has passed us in his galley yet, Ere he has heard our warbled melodies. He goes delighted hence a wiser man; For all that in the spacious realm of Troy The Greeks and Trojans by the will of Heaven Endured we know, and all that comes to pass In all the nations of the fruitful earth.' " 'Twas thus they sang, and sweet the strain. I longed To listen, and with nods I gave the sign To set me free; they only plied their oars The faster. Then upsprang Eurylochus And Perimedes, and with added cords Bound me, and drew the others still more tight. And when we now had passed the spot, and heard No more the melody the Sirens sang, My comrades hastened from their ears to take The wax, and loosed the cords and set me free. "As soon as we had left the isle, I saw Mist and a mountain billow, and I heard The thunder of the waters. From the hands Of my affrighted comrades flew the oars, The deep was all in uproar; but the ship Stopped there, for all the rowers ceased their task. I went through all the ship exhorting them With cheerful words, man after man, and said:⁠— " 'Reflect, my friends, that we are not untried In evil fortunes, nor in sadder plight Are we than when within his spacious cave The brutal Cyclops held us prisoners; Yet through my valor we escaped, and through My counsels and devices, and I think That ye will live to bear this day's events In memory like those. Now let us act. Do all as I advise; go to your seats Upon the benches, smiting with your oars These mighty waves, and haply Jove will grant That we escape the death which threatens us. Thee, helmsman, I adjure⁠—and heed my words, Since to thy hands alone is given in charge Our gallant vessel's rudder⁠—steer thou hence From mist and tumbling waves, and well observe The rock, lest where it juts into the sea Thou heed it not, and bring us all to wreck.' "I spake, and quickly all obeyed my words. Yet said I naught of Scylla⁠—whom we now Could not avoid⁠—lest all the crew in fear Should cease to row, and crowd into the hold. And then did I forget the stern command Which Circè gave me, not to arm myself For combat. In my shining arms I cased My limbs, and took in hand two ponderous spears, And went on deck, and stood upon the prow⁠— For there it seemed to me that Scylla first Would show herself⁠—that monster of the rocks⁠— To seize my comrades. Yet I saw her not, Though weary grew my eyes with looking long And eagerly upon those dusky cliffs. "Sadly we sailed into the strait, where stood On one hand Scylla, and the dreaded rock Charybdis on the other, drawing down Into her horrid gulf the briny flood; And as she threw it forth again, it tossed And murmured as upon a glowing fire The water in a cauldron, while the spray, Thrown upward, fell on both the summit-rocks; And when once more she swallowed the salt sea, It whirled within the abyss, while far below The bottom of blue sand was seen. My men Grew pale with fear; we looked into the gulf And thought our end was nigh. Then Scylla snatched Six of my comrades from our hollow barque, The best in valor and in strength of arm. I looked to my good ship; I looked to them, And saw their hands and feet still swung in air Above me, while for the last time on earth They called my name in agony of heart. As when an angler on a jutting rock Sits with his taper rod, and casts his bait To snare the smaller fish, he sends the horn Of a wild bull that guards his line afar Into the water, and jerks out a fish, And throws it gasping shoreward; so were they Uplifted gasping to the rocks, and there Scylla devoured them at her cavern's mouth, Stretching their hands to me with piercing cries Of anguish. 'Twas in truth the saddest sight, Whatever I have suffered and where'er Have roamed the waters, that mine eyes have seen. "Escaping thus the rocks, the dreaded haunt Of Scylla and Charybdis, we approached The pleasant island of the Sun, where grazed The oxen with broad foreheads, beautiful, And flocks of sheep, the fatlings of the god Who makes the round of heaven. While yet at sea I heard from my black ship the low of herds In stables, and the bleatings of the flocks, And straightway came into my thought the words Of the blind seer Tiresias, him of Thebes, And of Aeaean Circè, who had oft Warned me to shun the island of the god Whose light is sweet to all. And then I said To my companions with a sorrowing heart:⁠— " 'My comrades, sufferers as ye are, give ear. I shall disclose the oracles which late Tiresias and Aeaean Circè gave. The goddess earnestly admonished me Not to approach the island of the Sun, Whose light is sweet to all, for there she said Some great misfortune lay in wait for us. Now let us speed the ship and pass the isle.' "I spake; their hearts were broken as they heard, And bitterly Eurylochus replied:⁠— " 'Austere art thou, Ulysses; thou art strong Exceedingly; no labor tires thy limbs; They must be made of iron, since thy will Denies thy comrades, overcome with toil And sleeplessness, to tread the land again, And in that isle amid the waters make A generous banquet. Thou wouldst have us sail Into the swiftly coming night, and stray Far from the island, through the misty sea. By night spring up the mighty winds that make A wreck of ships, and how can one escape Destruction, should a sudden hurricane Rise from the south or the hard-blowing west, Such as, in spite of all the sovereign gods, Will cause a ship to founder in the deep? Let us obey the dark-browed Night, and take Our evening meal, remaining close beside Our gallant barque, and go on board again When morning breaks, and enter the wide sea.' "So spake Eurylochus; the rest approved. And then I knew that some divinity Was meditating evil to our band, And I bespake him thus in winged words:⁠— " 'Eurylochus, ye force me to your will, Since I am only one. Now all of you Bind yourselves to me firmly, by an oath, That if ye haply here shall meet a herd Of beeves or flock of sheep, ye will not dare To slay a single ox or sheep, but feed Contented on the stores that Circè gave.' "I spake, and readily my comrades swore As I required; and when that solemn oath Was taken, to the land we brought and moored Our galley in a winding creek, beside A fountain of sweet water. From the deck Stepped my companions and made ready there Their evening cheer. They ate and drank till thirst And hunger were appeased, and then they thought Of those whom Scylla from our galley's deck Snatched and devoured; they thought and wept till sleep Stole softly over them amid their tears. Now came the third part of the night; the stars Were sinking when the Cloud-compeller Jove Sent forth a violent wind with eddying gusts, And covered both the earth and sky with clouds, And darkness fell from heaven. When Morning came, The rosy-fingered daughter of the Dawn, We drew the ship into a spacious grot. There were the seats of nymphs, and there we saw The smooth fair places where they danced. I called A council of my men, and said to them:⁠— " 'My friends, in our good ship are food and drink; Abstain we from these beeves, lest we be made To suffer; for these herds and these fair flocks Are sacred to a dreaded god, the Sun⁠— The all-beholding and all-hearing Sun.' "I spake, and all were swayed by what I said Full easily. A month entire the gales Blew from the south, and after that no wind Save east and south. While yet we had our bread And ruddy wine, my comrades spared the beeves, Moved by the love of life. But when the stores On board our galley were consumed, they roamed The island in their need, and sought for prey, And snared with barbed hooks the fish and birds⁠— Whatever came to hand⁠—till they were gaunt With famine. Meantime I withdrew alone Into the isle, to supplicate the gods, If haply one of them might yet reveal The way of my return. As thus I strayed Into the land, apart from all the rest, I found a sheltered nook where no wind came, And prayed with washen hands to all the gods Who dwell in heaven. At length they bathed my lids In a soft sleep. Meantime, Eurylochus With fatal counsels thus harangued my men:⁠— " 'Hear, my companions, sufferers as ye are, The words that I shall speak. All modes of death Are hateful to the wretched race of men; But this of hunger, thus to meet our fate, Is the most fearful. Let us drive apart The best of all the oxen of the Sun, And sacrifice them to the immortal ones Who dwell in the broad heaven. And if we come To Ithaca, our country, we will there Build to the Sun, whose path is o'er our heads, A sumptuous temple, and endow its shrine With many gifts and rare. But if it be His will, approved by all the other gods, To sink our barque in anger, for the sake Of these his high-horned oxen, I should choose Sooner to gasp my life away amid The billows of the deep, than pine to death By famine in this melancholy isle.' "So spake Eurylochus; the crew approved. Then from the neighboring herd they drove the best Of all the beeves; for near the dark-prowed ship The fair broad-fronted herd with crooked horns Were feeding. Round the victims stood my crew, And, offering their petitions to the gods, Held tender oak-leaves in their hands, just plucked From a tall tree, for in our good ship's hold Was no white barley now. When they had prayed, And slain and dressed the beeves, they hewed away The thighs and covered them with double folds Of caul, and laid raw slices over these. Wine had they not to pour in sacrifice Upon the burning flesh; they poured instead Water, and roasted all the entrails thus. Now when the thighs were thoroughly consumed, And entrails tasted, all the rest was carved Into small portions, and transfixed with spits. "Just then the gentle slumber left my lids. I hurried to the shore and my good ship, And, drawing near, perceived the savory steam From the burnt-offering. Sorrowfully then I called upon the ever-living gods:⁠— " 'O Father Jove, and all ye blessed gods, Who live forever, 'twas a cruel sleep In which ye lulled me to my grievous harm; My comrades here have done a fearful wrong.' "Lampetia, of the trailing robes, in haste Flew to the Sun, who journeys round the earth, To tell him that my crew had slain his beeves, And thus in anger he bespake the gods:⁠— " 'O Father Jove, and all ye blessed gods Who never die, avenge the wrong I bear Upon the comrades of Laertes' son, Ulysses, who have foully slain my beeves, In which I took delight whene'er I rose Into the starry heaven, and when again I sank from heaven to earth. If for the wrong They make not large amends, I shall go down To Hades, there to shine among the dead.' "The cloud-compelling Jupiter replied:⁠— 'Still shine, O Sun! among the deathless gods And mortal men, upon the nourishing earth. Soon will I cleave, with a white thunderbolt, Their galley in the midst of the black sea.' "This from Calypso of the radiant hair I heard thereafter; she herself, she said, Had heard it from the herald Mercury. "When to the ship I came, beside the sea, I sternly chid them all, man after man, Yet could we think of no redress; the beeves Were dead; and now with prodigies the gods Amazed my comrades⁠—the skins moved and crawled, The flesh both raw and roasted on the spits Lowed with the voice of oxen. Six whole days My comrades feasted, taking from the herd The Sun's best oxen. When Saturnian Jove Brought the seventh day, the tempest ceased; the wind Fell, and we straightway went on board. We set The mast upright, and, spreading the white sails, We ventured on the great wide sea again. "When we had left the isle, and now appeared No other land, but only sea and sky, The son of Saturn caused a lurid cloud To gather o'er the galley, and to cast Its darkness on the deep. Not long our ship Ran onward, ere the furious west-wind rose And blew a hurricane. A strong blast snapped Both ropes that held the mast; the mast fell back; The tackle dropped entangled to the hold; The mast, in falling on the galley's stern, Dashed on the pilot's head and crushed the bones, And from the deck he plunged like one who dives Into the deep; his gallant spirit left The limbs at once. Jove thundered from on high, And sent a thunderbolt into the ship, That, quaking with the fearful blow, and filled With stifling sulphur, shook my comrades off Into the deep. They floated round the ship Like seamews; Jupiter had cut them off From their return. I moved from place to place, Still in the ship, until the tempest's force Parted the sides and keel. Before the waves The naked keel was swept. The mast had snapped Just at the base, but round it was a thong Made of a bullock's hide; with this I bound The mast and keel together, took my seat Upon them, and the wild winds bore me on. "The west-wind ceased to rage; but in its stead The south-wind blew, and brought me bitter grief. I feared lest I must measure back my way To grim Charybdis. All night long I rode The waves, and with the rising sun drew near The rock of Scylla and the terrible Charybdis as her gulf was drawing down The waves of the salt sea. There as I came I raised myself on high till I could grasp The lofty fig-tree, and I clung to it As clings a bat⁠—for I could neither find A place to plant my feet, nor could I climb, So distant were the roots, so far apart The long huge branches overshadowing Charybdis. Yet I firmly kept my hold Till she should throw the keel and mast again Up from the gulf. They, as I waited long, Came up again, though late⁠—as late as one Who long has sat adjudging strifes between Young suitors pleading in the marketplace Rises and goes to take his evening meal; So late the timbers of my barque returned, Thrown from Charybdis. Then I dropped amid The dashing waves, and came with hands and feet On those long timbers in the midst, that they Might bear my weight. I sat on them and rowed With both my hands. The father of the gods And mortals suffered not that I should look On Scylla's rock again, else had I not Escaped a cruel death. For nine long days I floated on the waters; on the tenth The gods at nightfall bore me to an isle⁠— Ogygia, where Calypso, amber-haired, A mighty goddess, skilled in song, abides, Who kindly welcomed me, and cherished me. Why should I speak of this? Here in these halls I gave the history yesterday to thee And to thy gracious consort, and I hate To tell again a tale once fully told."