The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (96 page)

Tun’d those sweet accents that made charms so strong,

And these learn’d numbers made the Sirens’ song:

‘Come here, thou worthy of a world of praise,

That dost so high the Grecian glory raise,

Ulysses! Stay thy ship, and that song hear

That none pass’d ever but it bent his ear,

But left him ravish
’
d, and instructed more

By us, than any ever heard before
.

For we know all things whatsoever were

In wide Troy labour
’
d; whatsoever there

The Grecians and the Trojans both sustain
’
d

By those high issues that the gods ordain
’
d
.

And whatsoever all the earth can show

T
’ inform a knowledge of desert, we know
.’

This they gave accent in the sweetest strain

That ever open’d an enamour’d vein;

When my constrain’d heart needs would have mine ear

Yet more delighted, force way forth, and hear.

To which end I commanded with all sign

Stern looks could make (for not a joint of mine

Had pow
’
r to stir) my friends to rise, and give

My limbs free way. They freely striv’d to drive

Their ship still on; when, far from will to loose,

Eurylochus and Perimedes rose

To wrap me surer, and oppress’d me more

With many a halser than had use before.

When, rowing on without the reach of sound,

My friends unstopp’d their cars, and me unbound,

And that isle quite we quitted. But again

Fresh fears employ’d us. I beheld a main

Of mighty billows, and a smoke ascend,

A horrid murmur hearing. Every friend

Astonish’d sat; from every hand his oar

Fell quite forsaken; with the dismal roar

Were all things there made echoes; stone still stood

Our ship itself, because the ghastly flood

Took all men’s motions from her in their own.

I through the ship went, labouring up and down

My friends’ recover’d spirits. One by one

I gave good words, and said: that well were known

These ills to them before, I told them all,

And that these could not prove more capital

Than those the Cyclops block’d us up in, yet

My virtue, wit, and heav’n-help’d counsels set

Their freedoms open. I could not believe

But they remember’d it, and wish’d them give

My equal care and means now equal trust.

The strength they had for stirring up they must

Rouse and extend, to try if Jove had laid

His pow’rs in theirs up, and would add his aid

To ’scape ev’n that death. In particular then,

I told our pilot, that past other men

He most must bear firm spirits, since he sway’d

The continent that all our spirits convey’d,

In his whole guide of her. He saw there boil

The fiery whirlpools that to all our spoil

Inclos’d a rock, without which he must steer,

Or all our ruins stood concluded there.

All heard me and obey’d, and little knew

That, shunning that rock, six of them should rue

The wrack another hid. For I conceal’d

The heavy wounds, that never would be heal’d,

To be by Scylla open’d; for their fear

Would then have robb’d all of all care to steer,

Or stir an oar, and made them hide beneath,

When they and all had died an idle death.

But then ev
’
n I forgot to shun the harm

Circe forewarn’d; who will’d I should not arm,

Nor show myself to Scylla, lest in vain

I ventur’d life. Yet could not I contain,

But arm’d at all parts, and two lances took,

Up to the foredeck went, and thence did look

That rocky Scylla would have first appear’d,

And taken my life with the friends I fear’d.

From thence yet no place could afford her sight,

Though through the dark rock mine eye threw her light,

And ransack’d all ways. I then took a strait

That gave myself, and some few more, receipt

’Twixt Scylla and Charybdis; whence we saw

How horridly Charybdis’ throat did draw

The brackish sea up, which when all abroad

She spit again out, never cauldron sod

With so much fervour, fed with all the store

That could enrage it; all the rock did roar

With troubled waters; round about the tops

Of all the steep crags flew the foamy drops.

But when her draught the sea and earth dissunder’d,

The troubled bottoms turn’d up, and she thunder’d,

Far under shore the swart sands naked lay;

Whose whole stern sight the startled blood did bay

From all our faces. And while we on her

Our eyes bestow’d thus to our ruin’s fear,

Six friends had Scylla snatch’d out of our keel,

In whom most loss did force and virtue feel.

When looking to my ship, and lending eye

To see my friends’ estates, their heels turn’d high,

And hands cast up, I might discern, and hear

Their calls to me for help, when now they were

To try me in their last extremities.

And as an angler med’cine for surprise

Of little fish sits pouring from the rocks,

From out the crook’d horn of a fold-bred ox,

And then with his long angle hoists them high

Up to the air, then slightly hurls them by,

When helpless sprawling on the land they lie:

So easily Scylla to her rock had rapt

My woeful friends, and so unhelp’d entrapp’d

Struggling they lay beneath her violent rape;

Who in their tortures, desp’rate of escape,

Shriek’d as she tore, and up their hands to me

Still threw for sweet life. I did never see,

In all my suf
f
’
rance ransacking the seas,

A spectacle so full of miseries.

Thus having fled these rocks (these cruel dames

Scylla, Charybdis), where the king of flames

Hath offerings burn’d to him our ship put in,

The island that from all the earth doth win

The epithet
Faultless,
where the broad-of-head

And famous oxen for the Sun are fed,

With many fat flocks of that high-gone god.

Set in my ship, mine ear reach’d where we rode

The bellowing of oxen, and the bleat

Of fleecy sheep, that in my memory’s seat

Put up the forms that late had been impress’d

By dread Aeaean Circe, and the best

Of souls and prophets, the blind Theban seer,

The wise Tiresias, who was grave decreer

Of my return’s whole means; of which this one

In chief he urg’d – that I should always shun

The island of the man-delighting Sun.

When, sad at heart for our late loss, I pray’d

My friends to hear fit counsel (though dismay’d

With all ill fortunes) which was giv
’
n to me

By Circe’s and Tiresias’ prophecy –

That I should fly the isle where was ador’d

The comfort of the world, for ills abhorr’d

Were ambush’d for us there; and therefore will’d

They should put off and leave the isle. This kill’d

Their tender spirits; when Eurylochus

A speech that vex’d me utter’d, answering thus:

‘Cruel Ulysses! Since thy nerves abound

In strength, the more spent, and no toils confound

Thy able limbs, as all beat out of steel,

Thou ablest us too, as unapt to feel

The teeth of labour and the spoil of sleep,

And therefore still wet waste us in the deep,

Nor let us land to eat, but madly now

In night put forth, and leave firm land to strow

The sea with errors. All the rabid flight

Of winds that ruin ships are bred in night.

Who is it that can keep off cruel death,

If suddenly should rush out th’ angry breath

Of Notus, or the eager-spirited West,

That cuff ships dead, and do the gods their best?

Serve black night still with shore, meat, sleep and ease,

And offer to the Morning for the seas.’

This all the rest approv’d, and then knew I

That past all doubt the devil did apply

His slaught’rous works. Nor would they be withheld;

I was but one, nor yielded but compell’d.

But all that might contain them I assay’d,

A sacred oath on all their powers I laid,

That if with herds or any richest flocks

We chanc’d t’ encounter, neither sheep nor ox

We once should touch, nor (for that constant ill

That follows folly) scorn advice and kill,

But quiet sit us down and take such food

As the immortal Circe had bestow’d.

They swore all this in all severest sort;

And then we anchor’d in the winding port

Near a fresh river, where the long’d-for shore

They all flew out to, took in victuals store,

And, being full, thought of their friends, and wept

Their loss by Scylla, weeping till they slept.

In night’s third part, when stars began to stoop,

The Cloud-assembler put a tempest up.

A boist’rous spirit he gave it, drave out all

His flocks of clouds, and let such darkness fall

That earth and seas, for fear, to hide were driv’n,

For with his clouds he thrust out night from heav’n.

At morn we drew our ships into a cave,

In which the nymphs that Phoebus’ cattle drave

Fair dancing-rooms had, and their seats of state.

I urged my friends then, that, to shun their fate,

They would observe their oath, and take the food

Our ship afforded, nor attempt the blood

Of those fair herds and flocks, because they were

The dreadful god’s that all could see and hear.

They stood observant, and in that good mind

Had we been gone; but so adverse the wind

Stood to our passage, that we could not go.

For one whole month perpetually did blow

Impetuous Notus, not a breath’s repair

But his and Eurus’ ruled in all the air.

As long yet as their ruddy wine and bread

Stood out amongst them, so long not a head

Of all those oxen fell in any strife

Amongst those students for the gut and life;

But when their victuals fail’d they fell to prey,

Necessity compell’d them then to stray

In rape of fish and fowl; whatever came

In reach of hand or hook, the belly’s flame

Afflicted to it. I then fell to pray’r,

And (making to a close retreat repair,

Free from both friends and winds) I wash’d my hands

And all the gods besought, that held commands

In liberal heav’n, to yield some mean to stay

Their desp’rate hunger, and set up the way

Of our return restrain’d. The gods, instead

Of giving what I pray’d for – power of deed –

A deedless sleep did on my lids distill,

For mean to work upon my friends their fill.

For whiles I slept there wak’d no mean to curb

Their headstrong wants; which he that did disturb

My rule in chief at all times, and was chief

To all the rest in counsel to their grief,

Knew well, and of my present absence took

His fit advantage, and their iron strook

At highest heat. For, feeling their desire

In his own entrails, to allay the fire

That famine blew in them, he thus gave way

To that affection: ‘Hear what I shall say,

Though words will staunch no hunger. Every death

To us poor wretches that draw temporal breath

You know is hateful; but, all know, to die

The death of famine is a misery

Past all death loathsome. Let us, therefore, take

The chief of this fair herd, and offerings make

To all the deathless that in broad heav’n live,

And in particular vow, if we arrive

In natural Ithaca, to straight erect

A temple to the haughty-in-aspect,

Rich and magnificent, and all within

Deck it with relics many and divine.

If yet he stands incens’d, since we have slain

His high-brow’d herd, and therefore will sustain

Desire to wrack our ship, he is but one,

And all the other gods that we atone

With our divine rites will their suffrage give

To our design’d return, and let us live.

If not, and all take part, I rather crave

To serve with one sole death the yawning wave,

Than in a desert island lie and starve,

And with one pin’d life many deaths observe.’

All cried ‘He counsels nobly,’ and all speed

Made to their resolute driving; for the feed

Of those coal-black, fair, broad-brow’d, sun-lov’d beeves

Had place close by our ships. They took the lives

Of sense, most eminent; about their fall

Stood round, and to the states celestial

Made solemn vows, but other rites their ship

Could not afford them; they did, therefore, strip

The curl’d-head oak of fresh young leaves, to make

Supply of service for their barley-cake.

And on the sacredly enflam’d, for wine,

Pour’d purest water, all the parts divine

Spitting and roasting, all the rites beside

Orderly using. Then did light divide

My low and upper lids; when, my repair

Made near my ship, I met the delicate air

Their roast exhal’d; out instantly I cried,

And said: ‘O Jove, and all ye deified,

Ye have oppress’d me with a cruel sleep,

While ye conferr’d on me a loss as deep

As death descends to. To themselves alone

My rude men left ungovern’d, they have done