Nor murder him; for thou shalt buy his life
‭ With ransom of thine own, impos’d on thee
‭ By his Orestes, when in him shall be
‭ Atrides’-self renew’d, and but the prime
‭ Of youth’s spring put abroad, in thirst to climb
‭ His haughty father’s throne by his high acts.’
‭ These words of Hermes wrought not into facts
‭ Ægisthus’ powers; good counsel he despis’d,
‭ And to that good his ill is sacrific’d.”
‭ Pallas, whose eyes did sparkle like the skies,
‭ Answer’d: “O Sire! Supreme of Deities,
‭ Ægisthus pass’d his fate, and had desert
‭ To warrant our infliction; and convert
‭ May all the pains such impious men inflict
‭ On innocent suff’rers to revenge as strict,
‭ Their own hearts eating. But, that Ithacus,
‭ Thus never meriting, should suffer thus,
‭ I deeply suffer. His more pious mind
‭ Divides him from these fortunes. Though unkind
‭ Is piety to him, giving him a fate
‭ More suff’ring than the most unfortunate,
‭ So long kept friendless in a sea-girt soil,
‭ Where the sea’s navel is a sylvan isle,
‭ In which the Goddess dwells that doth derive
‭ Her birth from Atlas, who of all alive
‭ The motion and the fashion doth command
‭ With his wise mind, whose forces understand [4]
‭ The inmost deeps and gulfs of all the seas,
‭ Who (for his skill of things superior) stays
‭ The two steep columns that prop earth and heav’n.
‭ His daughter ‘tis, who holds this homeless-driv’n [5]
‭ Still mourning with her; evermore profuse
‭ Of soft and winning speeches, that abuse
‭ And make so languishingly, and possest [6]
‭ With so remiss a mind her loved guest,
‭ Manage the action of his way for home.
‭ Where he, though in affection overcome,
‭ In judgment yet more longs to show his hopes
‭ His country’s smoke leap from her chimney tops,
‭ And death asks in her arms. Yet never shall
‭ Thy lov’d heart be converted on his thrall,
‭ Austere Olympius. Did not ever he,
‭ In ample Troy, thy altars gratify,
‭ And Grecians’ fleet make in thy off’rings swim?
‭ Jove, why still then burns thy wrath to him?”
‭ The Cloud-assembler answer’d: “What words fly,
‭ Bold daughter, from thy pale of ivory? [7]
‭ As if I ever could cast from my care
‭ Divine Ulysses, who exceeds so far
‭ All men in wisdom, and so oft hath giv’n
‭ To all th’ Immortals thron’d in ample heav’n
‭ So great and sacred gifts? But his decrees,
‭ That holds the earth in with his nimble knees,
‭ Stand to Ulysses’ longings so extreme,
‭ For taking from the God-foe Polypheme
‭ His only eye; a Cyclop, that excell’d
‭ All other Cyclops, with whose burden swell’d
‭ The nymph Thoosa, the divine increase
‭ Of Phorcys’ seed, a great God of the seas.
‭ She mix’d with Neptune in his hollow caves,
‭ And bore this Cyclop to that God of waves.
‭ For whose lost eye, th’ Earth-shaker did not kill
‭ Erring Ulysses, but reserves him still
‭ In life for more death. But use we our pow’rs,
‭ And round about us cast these cares of ours,
‭ All to discover how we may prefer
‭ His wish’d retreat, and Neptune make forbear
‭ His stern eye to him, since no one God can,
‭ In spite of all, prevail, but ’gainst a man.”
‭ To this, this answer made the grey-eyed Maid:
‭ “Supreme of rulers, since so well apaid
‭ The blesséd Gods are all then, now, in thee,
‭ To limit wise Ulysses’ misery,
‭ And that you speak as you referr’d to me
‭ Prescription for the means, in this sort be
‭ Their sacred order: Let us now address
‭ With utmost speed our swift Argicides,
‭ To tell the nymph that bears the golden tress
‭ In th’ isle Ogygia, that ’tis our will
‭ She should not stay our lov’d Ulysses still,
‭ But suffer his return; and then will I
‭ To Ithaca, to make his son apply
‭ His sire’s inquest the more; infusing force
‭ Into his soul, to summon the concourse
‭ Of curl’d-head Greeks to council, and deter
‭ Each wooer, that hath been the slaughterer
‭ Of his fat sheep and crooked-headed beeves.
‭ From more wrong to his mother, and their leaves
‭ Take in such terms as fit deserts so great.
‭ To Sparta then, and Pylos, where doth beat
‭ Bright Amathus, the flood, and epithet
‭ To all that kingdom, my advice shall send
‭ The spirit-advanc’d Prince, to the pious end
‭ Of seeking his lost father, if he may
‭ Receive report from Fame where rests his stay;
‭ And make, besides, his own successive worth
‭ Known to the world, and set in action forth.”
‭ This said, her wing’d shoes to her feet she tied,
‭ Form’d all of gold, and all eternified,
‭ That on the round earth or the sea sustain’d
‭ Her ravish’d substance swift as gusts of wind.
‭ Then took she her strong lance with steel made keen,
‭ Great, massy, active, that whole hosts of men,
‭ Though all heroës, conquers, if her ire
‭ Their wrongs inflame, back’d by so great a Sire.
‭ Down from Olympus’ tops she headlong div’d,
‭ And swift as thought in Ithaca arriv’d,
‭ Close at Ulysses’ gates; in whose first court
‭ She made her stand, and, for her breast’s support,
‭ Lean’d on her iron lance; her form imprest
‭ With Mentas’ likeness, come as being a guest.
‭ There found she those proud wooers, that were then
‭ Set on those ox-hides that themselves had slain,
‭ Before the gates, and all at dice were playing.
‭ To them the heralds, and the rest obeying,
‭ Fill’d wine and water; some, still as they play’d,
‭ And some, for solemn supper’s state, purvey’d,
‭ With porous sponges cleansing tables, serv’d
‭ With much rich feast; of which to all they kerv’d.
‭ God-like Telemachus amongst them sat,
‭ Griev’d much in mind; and in his heart begat
‭ All representment of his absent sire,
‭ How, come from far-off parts, his spirits would fire
‭ With those proud wooers’ sight, with slaughter parting
‭ Their bold concourse, and to himself converting
‭ The honours they usurp’d, his own commanding.
‭ In this discourse, he first saw Pallas standing,
‭ Unbidden entry; up rose, and addrest
‭ His pace right to her, angry that a guest
‭ Should stand so long at gate; and, coming near,
‭ Her right hand took, took in his own her spear,
‭ And thus saluted: “Grace to your repair,
‭ Fair guest, your welcome shall be likewise fair.
‭ Enter, and, cheer’d with feast, disclose th’ intent
‭ That caus’d your coming.” This said, first he went,
‭ And Pallas follow’d. To a room they came,
‭ Steep, and of state; the jav’lin of the Dame
‭ He set against a pillar vast and high,
‭ Amidst a large and bright-kept armory,
‭ Which was, besides, with woods of lances grac’d
‭ Of his grave father’s. In a throne he plac’d
‭ The man-turn’d Goddess, under which was spread
‭ A carpet, rich and of deviceful thread;
‭ A footstool staying her feet; and by her chair
‭ Another seat (all garnish’d wondrous fair,
‭ To rest or sleep on in the day) he set,
‭ Far from the prease