of wooers, lest at meat
‭ The noise they still made might offend his guest,
‭ Disturbing him at banquet or at rest,
‭ Ev’n to his combat with that pride of theirs,
‭ That kept no noble form in their affairs.
‭ And these he set far from them, much the rather
‭ To question freely of his absent father.
‭ A table fairly-polish’d then was spread,
‭ On which a rev’rend officer set bread,
‭ And other servitors all sorts of meat
‭ (Salads, and flesh, such as their haste could get)
‭ Serv’d with observance in. And then the sewer
‭ Pour’d water from a great and golden ewer,
‭ That from their hands t’ a silver caldron ran.
‭ Both wash’d, and seated close, the voiceful man
‭ Fetch’d cups of gold, and set by them, and round
‭ Those cups with wine with all endeavour crown’d.
‭ Then rush’d in the rude wooers, themselves plac’d;
‭ The heralds water gave; the maids in haste
‭ Serv’d bread from baskets. When, of all prepar’d
‭ And set before them, the bold wooers shar’d,
‭ Their pages plying their cups past the rest.
‭ But lusty wooers must do more than feast;
‭ For now, their hungers and their thirsts allay’d,
‭ They call’d for songs and dances; those, they said,
‭ Were th’ ornaments of feast. The herald straight
‭ A harp, carv’d full of artificial sleight,
‭ Thrust into Phemius’, a learn’d singer’s, hand,
‭ Who, till he much was urg’d, on terms did stand,
‭ But, after, play’d and sung with all his art.
‭ Telemachus to Pallas then (apart,
‭ His ear inclining close, that none might hear)
‭ In this sort said: “My guest, exceeding dear,
‭ Will you not sit incens’d with what I say?
‭ These are the cares these men take; feast and play.
‭ Which eas’ly they may use, because they eat,
‭ Free and unpunish’d, of another’s meat;
‭ And of a man’s, whose white bones wasting lie
‭ In some far region; with th’ incessancy
‭ Of show’rs pour’d down upon them, lying ashore,
‭ Or in the seas wash’d nak’d. Who, if he wore
‭ Those bones with flesh and life and industry,
‭ And these might here in Ithaca set eye
‭ On him return’d, they all would wish to be
‭ Either past other in celerity
‭ Of feet and knees, and not contend t’ exceed
‭ In golden garments. But his virtues feed
‭ The fate of ill death; nor is left to me
‭ The least hope of his life’s recovery,
‭ No, not if any of the mortal race
‭ Should tell me his return; the cheerful face
‭ Of his return’d day never will appear.
‭ But tell me, and let Truth your witness bear,
‭ Who, and from whence you are? What city’s birth?
‭ What parents? In what vessel set you forth?
‭ And with what mariners arriv’d you here?
‭ I cannot think you a foot passenger.
‭ Recount then to me all, to teach me well
‭ Fit usage for your worth. And if it fell
‭ In chance now first that you thus see us here,
‭ Or that in former passages you were
‭ My father’s guest? For many men have been
‭ Guests to my father. Studious of men
‭ His sociable nature ever was.”
‭ On him again the grey-eyed Maid did pass
‭ This kind reply: “I’ll answer passing true
‭ All thou hast ask’d: My birth his honour drew
‭ From wise Anchialus. The name I bear
‭ Is Mentas, the commanding islander
‭ Of all the Taphians studious in the art
‭ Of navigation; having touch’d this part
‭ With ship and men, of purpose to maintain
‭ Course through the dark seas t’ other-languag’d men;
‭ And Temesis sustains the city’s name
‭ For which my ship is bound, made known by fame
‭ For rich in brass, which my occasions need,
‭ And therefore bring I shining steel in stead,
‭ Which their use wants, yet makes my vessel’s freight,
‭ That near a plough’d field rides at anchor’s weight,
‭ Apart this city, in the harbour call’d
‭ Rhethrus, whose waves with Neius’ woods are wall’d.
‭ Thy sire and I were ever mutual guests,
‭ At either’s house still interchanging feasts.
‭ I glory in it. Ask, when thou shalt see
‭ Laertes, th’ old heroë, these of me,
‭ From the beginning. He, men say, no more
‭ Visits the city, but will needs deplore
‭ His son’s believ’d loss in a private field;
‭ One old maid only at his hands to yield
‭ Food to his life, as oft as labour makes
‭ His old limbs faint; which, though he creeps, he takes
‭ Along a fruitful plain, set all with vines,
‭ Which husbandman-like, though a king, he proins.
‭ But now I come to be thy father’s guest;
‭ I hear he wanders, while these wooers feast.
‭ And (as th’ Immortals prompt me at this hour)
‭ I’ll tell thee, out of a prophetic pow’r,
‭ (Not as profess’d a prophet, nor clear seen
‭ At all times what shall after chance to men)
‭ What I conceive, for this time, will be true:
‭ The Gods’ inflictions keep your sire from you.
‭ Divine Ulysses, yet, abides not dead
‭ Above earth, nor beneath, nor buried
‭ In any seas, as you did late conceive,
‭ But, with the broad sea sieg’d, is kept alive
‭ Within an isle by rude and upland men,
‭ That in his spite his passage home detain.
‭ Yet long it shall not be before he tread
‭ His country’s dear earth, though solicited,
‭ And held from his return, with iron chains;
‭ For he hath wit to forge a world of trains,
‭ And will, of all, be sure to make good one
‭ For his return, so much relied upon.
‭ But tell me, and be true: Art thou indeed
‭ So much a son, as to be said the seed [8]
‭ Of Ithacus himself? Exceeding much
‭ Thy forehead and fair eyes at his form touch;
‭ For oftentimes we met, as you and I
‭ Meet at this hour, before he did apply
‭ His pow’rs for Troy, when other Grecian states
‭ In hollow ships were his associates.
‭ But, since that time, mine eyes could never see
‭ Renown’d Ulysses, nor met his with me.”
‭ The wise Telemachus again replied:
‭ “You shall with all I know be satisfied.
‭ My mother certain says I am his son;
‭ I know not; nor was ever simply known
‭ By any child the sure truth of his sire.
‭ But would my veins had took in living fire
‭ From some man happy, rather than one wise,
‭ Whom age might see seis’d of what youth made prise.
‭ But he whoever of the mortal race
‭ Is most unblest, he holds my father’s place.
‭ This, since you ask, I answer.” She, again:
‭ “The Gods sure did not make the future strain
‭ Both of thy race and days obscure to thee,
‭ Since thou wert born so of Penelope.
‭ The style may by thy after acts be won,
‭ Of so great sire the high undoubted son.
‭ Say truth in this then: What’s this feasting here?
‭ What all this rout? Is all this nuptial cheer?
‭ Or else some friendly banquet made by thee?
‭ For here no shots are, where all sharers be.
‭ Past measure contumeliously this crew
‭ Fare through thy house; which should th’ ingenuous view
‭ Of any good or wise man come and find,
‭ (Impiety seeing play’d in ev’ry kind)
‭ He could not but through ev’ry vein be mov’d.”