"Thus, great Atrides! thus Ulysses drove
The shades thou seest, from yon fair realms above;
Our mangled bodies now deform'd with gore,
Cold and neglected, spread the marble floor.
No friend to bathe our wounds! or tears to shed
O'er the pale corse! the honours of the dead."
"Oh bless'd Ulysses!" thus the king express'd
His sudden rapture, "in thy consort bless'd!
Not more thy wisdom than her virtue shined; 220
Not more thy patience than her constant mind.
Icarius' daughter, glory of the past,
And model to the future age, shall last:
The gods, to honour her fair fame, shall raise
(Their great reward) a poet in her praise.
Not such, oh Tyndarus! thy daughter's deed,
By whose dire hand her king and husband bled;
Her shall the muse to infamy prolong,
Example dread, and theme of tragic song!
The general sex shall suffer in her shame,
And ev'n the best that bears a woman's name."
Thus in the regions of eternal shade
Conferr'd the mournful phantoms of the dead;
While from the town, Ulysses and his band
Pass'd to Laertes' cultivated land.
The ground himself had purchased with his pain,
And labour made the rugged soil a plain.
There stood his mansion of the rural sort,
With useful buildings round the lowly court;
Where the few servants that divide his care
Took their laborious rest, and homely fare;
And one Sicilian matron, old and sage,
With constant duty tends his drooping age.
Here now arriving, to his rustic band
And martial son, Ulysses gave command.
"Enter the house, and of the bristly swine
Select the largest to the powers divine.
Alone, and unattended, let me try
If yet I share the old man's memory :
If those dim eyes can yet Ulysses know,
(Their light and dearest object long ago,)
Now changed with time, with absence, and with wo."
Then to his train he gives his spear and shield;
The house they enter; and he seeks the field,
Through rows of shade, with various fruitage
crown'd,
And labour'd scenes of richest verdure round.
Nor aged Dolius, nor his sons were there,
Nor servants, absent on another care;
To search the woods for sets of flowery thorn,
Their orchard bounds to strengthen and adorn. 260
But all alone the hoary king he found;
His habit coarse, but warmly wrapp'd around;
His head that bow'd with many a pensive care,
Fenced with a double cap of goatskin hair :
His buskins old, in former service torn,
But well repair'd; and gloves against the thorn.
In this array the kingly gardener stood,
And clear'd a plant, encumber'd with its wood. Beneath a neighbouring tree, the chief divine 270 Gazed o'er his sire, retracing every line,
The ruins of himself! now worn away
With age, yet still majestic in decay !
Sudden his eyes released their watery store;
The much-enduring man could bear no more.
Doubtful he stood, if instant to embrace
His aged limbs, to kiss his reverend face,
With eager transport to disclose the whole,
And pour at once the torrent of his soul.
Not so: his judgment takes the winding way
Of question distant, and of soft essay;
More gentle methods on weak age employs;
And moves the sorrows, to enhance the joys.
Then, to his sire with beating heart he moves,
And with a tender pleasantry reproves;
Who digging round the plant still hangs his head, 285 Nor aught remits the work, while thus he said: "Great is thy skill, oh father! great thy toil,
Thy careful hand is stamp'd on all the soil,
Thy squadron'd vineyards well thy art declare,
The olive green, blue fig, and pendant pear;
And not one empty spot escapes thy care.
On every plant and tree thy cares are shown,
Nothing neglected, but thyself alone.
Forgive me, father, if this fault I blame;
Age so advanced may some indulgence claim.
Not for thy sloth, I deem thy lord unkind :
Nor speaks thy form a mean or servile mind;
I read a monarch in that princely air,
The same thy aspect, if the same thy care;
Soft sleep, fair garments, and the joys of wine, 300
These are the rights of age, and should be thine.
Who then thy master, say? and whose the land
So dress'd and managed by the skilful hand?
But chief, oh tell me! (what I question most,)
Is this the far-famed Ithacensian coast?
For so reported the first man I view'd,
(Some surly islander, of manners rude,)
No further conference vouchsafed to say;
Heedless he whistled, and pursued his way.
But thou, whom years have taught to understand,
Humanely hear, and answer my demand:
A friend I seek, a wise one and a brave;
Say, lives he yet, or moulders in the grave?
Time was (my fortunes then were at the best)
When at my house I lodged this foreign guest; 315
He said, from Ithaca's fair isle he came,
And old Laertes was his father's name.
To him, whatever to a guest is owed
I paid, and hospitable gifts bestow'd:
To him seven talents of pure ore I told,
Twelve cloaks, twelve vests, twelve tunics stiff with
A bowl, that rich with polish'd silver flames,
And, skill'd in female works, four lovely dames."
At this the father, with a father's fears:
(His venerable eyes bedimm'd with tears:)
"This is the land; but ah! thy gifts are lost,
For godless men, and rude, possess the coast :
Sunk is the glory of this once-famed shore!
Thy ancient friend, oh stranger, is no more!
Full recompense thy bounty else had borne;
For every good man yields a just return:
So civil rights demand; and who begins
The track of friendship, not pursuing, sins.
But tell me, stranger, be the truth confess'd,
What years have circled since thou saw'st that
guest?
That hapless guest, alas! for ever gone!
Wretch that he was! and that I am! my son!
If ever man to misery was born,
'Twas his to suffer and 'tis mine to mourn!
Far from his friends, and from his native reign, 340
He lies a prey to monsters of the main;
Or savage beasts his mangled relics tear,
Or screaming vultures scatter through the air:
Nor could his mother funeral unguents shed;
Nor wail'd his father o'er the untimely dead:
Nor his sad consort, on the mournful bier,
Seal'd his cold eyes, or dropp'd a tender tear!
"But, tell me who thou art? and what thy race?
Thy town, thy parents, and thy native place?
Or, if a merchant in pursuit of gain,
What port received thy vessel from the main ?
Or comest thou single, or attend thy train ?"
Then thus the son: From Alybas I came,
My palace there; Eperitus my name.
Not vulgar born; from Aphidas, the king
Of Polyphemon's royal line, I spring.
Some adverse demon from Sicania bore
Our wandering course, and drove us on your shore; Far from the town, an unfrequented bay
Relieved our wearied vessel from the sea.
Five years have circled since these eyes pursued Ulysses parting through the sable flood;
Prosperous he sail'd with dexter auguries,
And all the wing'd good omen's of the skies.
Well hoped we then to meet on this fair shore, 365
Whom Heaven, alas! decreed to meet no more.'
Quick through the father's heart these accents ran;
Grief seized at once, and wrapp'd up all the man :
Deep from his soul he sigh'd, and sorrowing spread
A cloud of ashes on his hoary head.
370
Trembling with agonies of strong delight
Stood the great son, heart-wounded with the sight:
He ran, he seized him with a quick embrace,
With thousand kisses wander'd o'er his face.
"I, I am he; oh father, rise! behold
Thy son, with twenty winters now grown old;
Thy son, so long desired, so long detain'd,
Restored, and breathing in his native land:
These floods of sorrow, oh my sire, restrain!
The vengeance is complete; the suitor train,
Stretch'd in our palace, by these hands lie slain."
Amazed, Laertes: "Give some certain sign,
If such thou art, to manifest thee mine."
"Lo here the wound," he cries, "received of yore,
The scar indented by the tusky boar,
When, by thyself, and by Anticlea sent,
To old Autolycus's realms I went.
Yet by another sign thy offspring know;
The several trees you gave me long ago,
While, yet a child, these fields I loved to trace, 390
And trod thy footsteps with unequal pace;
To every plant in order as we came,
Well-pleased, you told its nature and its name,
Whate'er my childish fancy ask'd, bestow'd;
Twelve pear-trees, bowing with their pendant load,
And ten, that red with blushing apples glow'd; 396
Full fifty purple figs; and many a row
Of various vines that then began to blow,
A future vintage! when the hours produce
Their latent buds, and Sol exalts the juice."
|