‭ Again Telemachus: “My guest much lov’d.
‭ Since you demand and sift these sights so far,
‭ I grant ’twere fit a house so regular,
‭ Rich, and so faultless once in government,
‭ Should still at all parts the same form present
‭ That gave it glory while her lord was here.
‭ But now the Gods, that us displeasure bear,
‭ Have otherwise appointed, and disgrace
‭ My father most of all the mortal race.
‭ For whom I could not mourn so were he dead,
‭ Amongst his fellow-captains slaughteréd
‭ By common enemies, or in the hands
‭ Of his kind friends had ended his commands,
‭ After he had egregiously bestow’d
‭ His pow’r and order in a war so vow’d,
‭ And to his tomb all Greeks their grace had done,
‭ That to all ages he might leave his son
‭ Immortal honour; but now Harpies have
‭ Digg’d in their gorges his abhorréd grave.
‭ Obscure, inglorious, death hath made his end,
‭ And me, for glories, to all griefs contend.
‭ Nor shall I any more mourn him alone,
‭ The Gods have giv’n me other cause of moan.
‭ For look how many optimates remain
‭ In Samos, or the shores Dulichian,
‭ Shady Zacynthus, or how many bear
‭ Rule in the rough brows of this island here;
‭ So many now my mother and this house
‭ At all parts make defam’d and ruinous;
‭ And she her hateful nuptials nor denies,
‭ Nor will despatch their importunities,
‭ Though she beholds them spoil still as they feast
‭ All my free house yields, and the little rest
‭ Of my dead sire in me perhaps intend
‭ To bring ere long to some untimely end.”
‭ This Pallas sigh’d and answer’d: “O,” said she,
‭ “Absent Ulysses is much miss’d by thee,
‭ That on these shameless suitors he might lay
‭ His wreakful hands. Should he now come, and stay
‭ In thy court’s first gates, arm’d with helm and shield,
‭ And two such darts as I have seen him wield,
‭ When first I saw him in our Taphian court,
‭ Feasting, and doing his desert’s disport;
‭ When from Ephyrus he return’d by us
‭ From Ilus, son to Centaur Mermerus,
‭ To whom he travell’d through the wat’ry dreads,
‭ For bane to poison his sharp arrows’ heads,
‭ That death, but touch’d, caus’d; which he would not give,
‭ Because he fear’d the Gods that ever live
‭ Would plague such death with death; and yet their fear
‭ Was to my father’s bosom not so dear
‭ As was thy father’s love; (for what he sought
‭ My loving father found him to a thought.)
‭ If such as then Ulysses might but meet
‭ With these proud wooers, all were at his feet
‭ But instant dead men, and their nuptialls
‭ Would prove as bitter as their dying galls.
‭ But these things in the Gods’ knees are repos’d,
‭ If his return shall see with wreak inclos’d,
‭ These in his house, or he return no more;
‭ And therefore I advise thee to explore
‭ All ways thyself, to set these wooers gone;
‭ To which end give me fit attentión:
‭ To-morrow into solemn council call
‭ The Greek heroës, and declare to all
‭ (The Gods being witness) what thy pleasure is.
‭ Command to towns of their nativity
‭ These frontless wooers. If thy mother’s mind
‭ Stands to her second nuptials so inclin’d,
‭ Return she to her royal father’s tow’rs,
‭ Where th’ one of these may wed her, and her dow’rs
‭ Make rich, and such as may consort with grace
‭ So dear a daughter of so great a race
‭ And thee I warn as well (if thou as well
‭ Wilt hear and follow) take thy best-built sail,
‭ With twenty oars mann’d, and haste t’ inquire
‭ Where the abode is of thy absent sire,
‭ If any can inform thee, or thine ear
‭ From Jove the fame of his retreat may hear,
‭ For chiefly Jove gives all that honours men.
‭ To Pylos first be thy addression then,
‭ To god-like Nestor; thence to Sparta haste,
‭ To gold-lock’d Menelaus, who was last
‭ Of all the brass-arm’d Greeks that sail’d from Troy;
‭ And try from both these, if thou canst enjoy
‭ News of thy sire’s return’d life anywhere,
‭ Though sad thou suffer’st in his search a year.
‭ If of his death thou hear’st, return thou home,
‭ And to his memory erect a tomb,
‭ Performing parent-rites, of feast and game,
‭ Pompous, and such as best may fit his fame;
‭ And then thy mother a fit husband give.
‭ These past, consider how thou mayst deprive
‭ Of worthless life these wooers in thy house,
‭ By open force, or projects enginous.
‭ Things childish fit not thee; th’ art so no more.
‭ Hast thou not heard, how all men did adore
‭ Divine Orestes, after he had slain
‭ Ægisthus murd’ring by a treach’rous train
‭ His famous father? Be then, my most lov’d,
‭ Valiant and manly, ev’ry way approv’d
‭ As great as he. I see thy person fit,
‭ Noble thy mind, and excellent thy wit,
‭ All giv’n thee so to use and manage here
‭ That ev’n past death they may their memories bear.
‭ In meantime I’ll descend to ship and men,
‭ That much expect me. Be observant then
‭ Of my advice, and careful to maintain
‭ In equal acts thy royal father’s reign.”
‭ Telemachus replied: “You ope, fair guest,
‭ A friend’s heart in your speech, as well exprest
‭ As might a father serve t’ inform his son;
‭ All which sure place have in my memory won.
‭ Abide yet, though your voyage calls away,
‭ That, having bath’d, and dignified your stay
‭ With some more honour, you may yet beside
‭ Delight your mind by being gratified
‭ With some rich present taken in your way,
‭ That, as a jewel, your respect may lay
‭ Up in your treasury, bestow’d by me,
‭ As free friends use to guests of such degree.”
‭ “Detain me not,” said she, “so much inclin’d
‭ To haste my voyage. What thy loved mind
‭ Commands to give, at my return this way,
‭ Bestow on me, that I directly may
‭ Convey it home; which more of price to me
‭ The more it asks my recompense to thee.”
‭ This said, away grey-eyed Minerva flew,
‭ Like to a mounting lark; and did endue
‭ His mind with strength and boldness, and much more
‭ Made him his father long for than before;
‭ And weighing better who his guest might be,
‭ He stood amaz’d, and thought a Deity
‭ Was there descended; to whose will he fram’d
‭ His pow’rs at all parts, and went so inflam’d
‭ Amongst the wooers, who were silent set,
‭ To hear a poet sing the sad retreat
‭ The Greeks perform’d from Troy; which was from thence
‭ Proclaim’d by Pallas, pain of her offence.
‭ When which divine song was perceiv’d to bear
‭ That mournful subject by the list’ning ear
‭ Of wise Penelope, Icarius’ seed,
‭ Who from an upper room had giv’n it heed,
‭ Down she descended by a winding stair,
‭ Not solely, but the state in her repair
‭ Two maids of honour made. And when this queen
‭ Of women stoop’d so low, she might be seen
‭ By all her wooers. In the door, aloof,
‭ Ent’ring the hall grac’d with a goodly roof,
‭ She stood, in shade of graceful veils,