His task it was the wheaten loves to lay,
And from the banquet take the bowls away.
And now the rage of hunger was repress'd,
And each betakes him to his couch to rest.
Now came the night, and darkness cover'd o'er
The face of things; the winds began to roar:
The driving storm the watery west-winds pours,
And Jove descends in deluges of showers.
Studious of rest and warmth, Ulysses lies,
Foreseeing from the first the storm would rise;
In mere necessity of coat and cloak,
With artful preface to his host he spoke:
Hear me, my friends! who this good banquet grace,
'Tis sweet to play the fool in time and place,
And wine can of their wits the wise beguile,
Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile,
The grave in merry measures frisk about,
And many a long repented word bring out;
Since to be talkative I now commence,
Let wit cast off the sullen yoke of sense.
Once I was strong (would heaven restore those
days)
And with my betters claim'd a share of praise.
Ulysses, Menelaus led forth a band,
And join'd me with them, (twas their own command;)
A deathful ambush for the foe to lay,
Beneath Troy walls by night we took our way:
There clad in arms along the marshes spread,
We made the osier-fringed bank our bed.
Full soon th' inclemency of heaven I feel,
Nor had these shoulders covering, but of steel.
Sharp blew the north; snow whitening all the fields
Froze with the blast, and gathering glaz'd our
shields,
There all but I, well fenc'd with cloak and vest,
Lay cover'd by their ample shields at rest.
Fool that I was! I left behind my own;
The skill of weather, and of winds unknown,
And trusted to my coat and shield alone!
When now was wasted more than half the night,
And the stars faded at approaching light;
Sudden I jogg'd Ulysses, who was laid
Fast by my side, and shivering thus I said.
Here longer in this field I can not lie,
The winter pinches, and with cold I die,
And die asham'd (O wisest of mankind)
The only fool who left his cloak behind.
He thought, and answer'd: hardly waking yet,
Sprung in his mind the momentary wit;
(That wit, which or in council, or in fight,
Still met th' emergence, and determin'd right)
Hush thee, he cried, (soft whispering in my ear)
Speak not a word, lest any Greek may hear-
And then (supporting on his arm his head)
Hear me, companions! (thus aloud he said)
Methinks too distant from the fleet we lie:
E'en now a vision stood before my eye,
And sure the warning vision was from high:
Let from among us some swift courier rise,
Haste to the general and demand supplies.
Upstarted Thoas straight, Andremon's son,
Nimbly he rose, and cast his garment down;
Instant the racer vanish'd off the ground:
That instant, in his cloak I wrapt me round:
And safe I slept, till brightly-dawning shone
The morn, conspicuous on her golden throne.
Oh were my strength as then, as then my age! Some friend would fence me from the winter's rage.
Yet tattter'd as I look, I challeng'd then
The honours, and the offices of men:
Some master, or some servant would allow
A cloak and vest-but I am nothing now!
Well hast thou spoke (rejoin'd th' attentive
swain)
Thy lips let fall no idle word or vain!
Nor garment shalt thou want, nor aught beside,
Meet, for the wandering suppliant to provide.
But in the morning take thy clothes again,
For here one vest suffices
every swain;
No change of garment to our hinds is known:
But when return'd, the good Ulysses son
With better hands shall grace with fit attires
His guest, and send thee where thy soul desires.
The honest herdsman rose, as this he said,
And drew before the hearth the stranger's bed:
The fleecy spoils of sheep, a goat's rough hide
He spreads and adds a mantle thick and wide;
With store to heap above him, and below,
And guard each quarter as the tempests blow.
There lay the king, and all the rest supine;
All, but the careful master of the swine:
Forth hasted he to tend his bristly care,
Well arm'd, and fenc'd against nocturnal air;
His weighty falchion o'er his shoulder tied:
His shaggy cloak a mountain goat supplied:
With his broad spear, the dread of dogs and men,
He seeks his lodging in the rocky den.
There to the tusky herd he bends his way,
Where, screen'd from Boreas, high o'er arch'd
they lay.
THE RETURN OF TELEMACHUS.
The Goddess Minerva commands Telemachus in a vision to return to Ithaca. Pisistratus and he take leave of Menelaus, and arrive at Pylos, where they part; and Telemachus sets sail, after having received on board Theoclymenus the soothsayer. The scene then changes to the cottage of Eumæus, who entertains Ulysses with a recital of his adventures. In the meantime Telemachus arrives on the coast, and sending the vessel to the town, proceeds by himself to the lodge of Eumæus.
Now had Minerva reach'd those ample plains,
Fam'd for the dance, where Menelaus reigns;
Anxious she flies to great Ulysses' heir;
His instant voyage challeng'd all her care.
Beneath the royal portico display'd,
With Nestor's son, Telemachus was laid:
In sleep profound the son of Nestor lies:
Not thine, Ulysses! Care unseal'd his eyes.
Restless he griev'd, with various fears oppress'd,
And all thy fortunes roll'd within his breast.
When, O Telemachus (the goddess said)
Too long in vain, too widely hast thou stray'd.
Thus leaving careless thy paternal right
The robber's prize, the prey to lawless might.
On fond pursuits neglectful while you roam,
E'en now, the hand of rapine sacks the dome.
Hence to Atrides: and his leave implore
To launch thy vessel for thy natal shore:
Fly, whilst thy mother virtuous yet withstands
Her kindred's wishes, and her sire's commands;
Through both, Eurymachus pursues the dame,
And with the noblest gifts asserts his claim.
Hence, therefore, while thy stores thy own remain,
Thou know'st the practice of the female train,
Lost in the children of the present spouse
They slight the pledges of their fomer vows;
Their love is always with the lover past;
Still the succeeding flame expels the last.
Let o'er thy house some chosen maid preside,
Till heaven decrees to bless thee with a bride.
But now thy more attentive ears incline,
Observe the warnings of a power divine.
For thee their snares the suitor lords shall lay
In Samos' sands, or straits of Ithaca,
To seize thy life shall lurk the murderous band,
E'er yet thy footsteps press thy native land.
No sooner far their riot and their lust
All covering earth shall bury deep in dust!
Then distant from the scatter'd islands steer,
Nor let the night retard thy full career;
Thy heavenly guardian shall instruct the gales
To smooth thy passage, and supply thy sails;
And when at Ithaca thy labour ends,
Send to the town thy vessel with thy friends;
But seek thou first the master of the swine,
(For still to thee his loyal thoughts incline)
There pass the night: while he his course pursues
To bring Penelope the wish'd-for news,
That thou, safe sailing from the Pylian strand,
Art come to bless her in thy native land.
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