Proclaim’d the voyage his repugnant mind,
And pour’d the puffs out of a shrieking wind,
That nourish’d billows heighten’d like to hills;
And with the fleet’s division fulfills
His hate proclaim’d; upon a part of Crete
Casting the navy, where the sea-waves meet
Rough Jardanus, and where the Cydons live.
There is a rock, on which the sea doth drive,
Bare, and all broken, on the confines set
Of Gortys, that the dark seas likewise fret;
And hither sent the South a horrid drift
Of waves against the top, that was the left
Of that torn cliff as far as Phæstus’ strand.
A little stone the great sea’s rage did stand.
The men here driv’n ‘scap’d hard the ship’s sore shocks,
The ships themselves being wrack’d against the rocks,
Save only five, that blue fore-castles bore,
Which wind and water cast on Egypt’s shore.
When he (there victling well, and store of gold
Aboard his ships brought) his wild way did hold,
And t’ other languag’d men was forc’d to roam.
Mean space Ægisthus made sad work at home,
And slew his brother, forcing to his sway
Atrides’ subjects, and did sev’n years lay
His yoke upon the rich Mycenian state.
But in the eighth, to his affrighting fate,
Divine Orestes home from Athens came,
And what his royal father felt, the same
He made the false Ægisthus groan beneath.
Death evermore is the reward of death. Thus having slain him, a sepulchral feast He made the Argives for his lustful guest, And for his mother whom he did detest. The self-same day upon him stole the king Good-at-a-martial-shout, and goods did bring, As many as his freighted fleet could bear. But thou, my son, too long by no means err, Thy goods left free for many a spoilful guest, Lest they consume some, and divide the rest, And thou, perhaps, besides, thy voyage lose. To Menelaus yet thy course dispose I wish and charge thee; who but late arriv’d From such a shore and men, as to have liv’d In a return from them he never thought, And whom black whirlwinds violently brought Within a sea so vast, that in a year Not any fowl could pass it anywhere, So huge and horrid was it. But go thou With ship and men (or, if thou pleasest now To pass by land, there shall be brought for thee Both horse and chariot, and thy guides shall be My sons themselves) to Sparta the divine, And to the king whose locks like amber shine. Intreat the truth of him, nor loves he lies, Wisdom in truth is, and he’s passing wise.” This said, the Sun went down, and up rose Night, When Pallas spake: “O father, all good right Bear thy directions. But divide we now The sacrifices’ tongues, mix wines, and vow To Neptune, and the other Ever-Blest, That, having sacrific’d, we may to rest. The fit hour runs now, light dives out of date, At sacred feasts we must not sit too late.” She said; they heard; the heralds water gave; The youths crown’d cups with wine, and let all have Their equal shares, beginning from the cup Their parting banquet. All the tongues cut up, The fire they gave them, sacrific’d, and rose, Wine, and divine rites us’d, to each dispose; Minerva and Telemachus desir’d They might to ship be, with his leave, retir’d. He, mov’d with that, provok’d thus their abodes: “Now Jove forbid, and all the long-liv’d Gods, Your leaving me, to sleep aboard a ship; As I had drunk of poor Penia’s whip, Even to my nakedness, and had nor sheet Nor cov’ring in my house; that warm nor sweet A guest, nor I myself, had means to sleep; Where I, both weeds and wealthy cov’rings keep For all my guests. Nor shall Fame ever say, The dear son of the man Ulysses lay All night a-ship-board here while my days shine, Or in my court whiles any son of mine Enjoys survival, who shall guests receive, Whomever my house hath a nook to leave.” “My much-lov’d father,” said Minerva, “well All this becomes thee. But persuade to dwell This night with thee thy son Telemachus, For more convenient is the course for us, That he may follow to thy house and rest, And I may board our black-sail, that addrest At all parts I may make our men, and cheer All with my presence, since of all men there I boast myself the senior, th’ others are Youths, that attend in free and friendly care Great-soul’d Telemachus, and are his peers In fresh similitude of form and years. For their confirmance, I will therefore now Sleep in our black bark. But, when light shall show Her silver forehead, I intend my way Amongst the Caucons, men that are to pay A debt to me, nor small, nor new. For this, Take you him home; whom in the morn dismiss, With chariot and your sons, and give him horse Ablest in strength, and of the speediest course” This said, away she flew, form’d like the fowl Men call the ossifrage; when ev’ry soul Amaze invaded; even th’ old man admir’d, The youth’s hand took, and said: “O most desir’d, My hope says thy proof will no coward show, Nor one unskill’d in war, when Deities now So young attend thee, and become thy guides; Nor any of the heav’n-hous’d States besides, But Tritogenia’s self, the Seed of Jove, The great-in-prey, that did in honour move So much about thy father, amongst all The Grecian army. Fairest queen, let fall On me like favours! Give me good renown! Which, as on me, on my lov’d wife let down, And all my children. I will burn to thee An ox right bred, broad-headed, and yoke-free, To no man’s hand yet humbled. Him will I, His horns in gold hid, give thy Deity.” Thus pray’d he, and she heard; and home he led His sons, and all his heaps of kindered. Who ent’ring his court royal, ev’ry one He marshall’d in his sev’ral seat and throne; And ev’ry one, so kindly come, he gave His sweet-wine cup; which none was let to have Before his ‘leventh year landed him from Troy; Which now the butleress had leave t’ employ, Who therefore pierc’d it, and did give it vent. Of this the old duke did a cup present To ev’ry guest; made his Maid many a pray’r That wears the shield fring’d with his nurse’s hair, And gave her sacrifice. With this rich wine And food suffic’d, sleep all eyes did decline, And all for home went; but his court alone Telemachus, divine Ulysses’ son, Must make his lodging, or not please his heart. A bed, all chequer’d with elaborate art, Within a portico that rung like brass, He brought his guest to; and his bedfere was Pisistratus, the martial guide of men, That liv’d, of all his sons, unwed till then. Himself lay in a by-room, far above, His bed made by his barren wife, his love. The rosy-finger’d Morn no sooner shone, But up he rose, took air, and sat upon A seat of white and goodly polish’d stone, That such a gloss as richest ointments wore, Before his high gates; where the counsellor That match’d the Gods (his father) us’d to sit, Who now, by fate forc’d, stoop’d as low as it. And here sat Nestor, holding in his hand A sceptre; and about him round did stand, As early up, his sons’ troop; Perseus, The god-like Thrasymed, and Aretus, Echephron, Stratius, and sixth and last Pisistratus, and by him (half embrac’d Still as they came) divine Telemachus; To these spake Nestor, old Gerenius: “Haste, lovéd sons, and do me a desire, That, first of all the Gods, I may aspire To Pallas’ favour, who vouchsaf’d to me