Swum on the rough waves of the world’s vast mote,
Till having drunk a salt cup for his sin,
There perish’d he. Thy brother yet did win
The wreath from death, while in the waves they strove,
Afflicted by the rev’rend wife of Jove.
But when the steep mount of the Malian shore
He seem’d to reach, a most tempestuous blore,
Far to the fishy world that sighs so sore,
Straight ravish’d him again as far away,
As to th’ extreme bounds where the Agrians stay,
Where first Thyestes dwelt, but then his son
Ægisthus Thyestiades liv’d. This done,
When his return untouch’d appear’d again,
Back turn’d the Gods the wind, and set him then
Hard by his house. Then, full of joy, he left
His ship, and close t’ his country earth he cleft,
Kiss’d it, and wept for joy, pour’d tear on tear,
To set so wishedly his footing there.
But see, a sentinel that all the year
Crafty Ægisthus in a watchtow’r set
To spy his landing, for reward as great
As two gold talents, all his pow’rs did call
To strict remembrance of his charge, and all
Discharg’d at first sight, which at first he cast
On Agamemnon, and with all his haste
Inform’d Ægisthus. He an instant train
Laid for his slaughter: Twenty chosen men
Of his plebeians he in ambush laid;
His other men he charg’d to see purvey’d
A feast; and forth, with horse and chariots grac’d,
He rode t’ invite him, but in heart embrac’d
Horrible welcomes, and to death did bring,
With treach’rous slaughter, the unwary king,
Receiv’d him at a feast, and, like an ox
Slain at his manger, gave him bits and knocks.
No one left of Atrides’ train, nor one
Sav’d to Ægisthus, but himself alone,
All strew’d together there the bloody court.’
This said, my soul he sunk with his report,
Flat on the sands I fell, tears spent their store,
I light abhorr’d, my heart would live no more.
When dry of tears, and tir’d of tumbling there,
Th’ old Tell-truth thus my daunted spirits did cheer:
‘No more spend tears nor time, O Atreus’ son,
With ceaseless weeping never wish was won,
Use uttermost assay to reach thy home,
And all unwares upon the murderer come,
For torture, taking him thyself alive;
Or let Orestes, that should far out-strive
Thee in fit vengeance, quickly quit the light
Of such a dark soul, and do thou the rite
Of burial to him with a funeral feast.’
With these last words I fortified my breast,
In which again a gen’rous spring began
Of fitting comfort, as I was a man;
But, as a brother, I must ever mourn.
Yet forth I went, and told him the return
Of these I knew; but he had nam’d a third,
Held on the broad sea, still with life inspir’d,
Whom I besought to know, though likewise dead,
And I must mourn alike. He answeréd:
‘He is Laertes’ son; whom I beheld
In nymph Calypso’s palace, who compell’d
His stay with her, and, since he could not see
His country earth, he mourn’d incessantly.
For he had neither ship instruct with oars,
Nor men to fetch him from those stranger shores.
Where leave we him, and to thy self descend,
Whom not in Argos Fate nor Death shall end,
But the immortal ends of all the earth,
So rul’d by them that order death by birth,
The fields Elysian, Fate to thee will give;
Where Rhadamanthus rules, and where men live
A never-troubled life, where snow, nor show’rs,
Nor irksome Winter spends his fruitless pow’rs,
But from the ocean Zephyr still resumes
A constant breath, that all the fields perfumes.
Which, since thou marriedst Helen, are thy hire,
And Jove himself is by her side thy sire.’
This said; he div’d the deepsome wat’ry heaps;
I and my tried men took us to our ships,
And worlds of thoughts I varied with my steps.
Arriv’d and shipp’d, the silent solemn night
And sleep bereft us of our visual light.
At morn, masts, sails, rear’d, we sat, left the shores,
And beat the foamy ocean with our oars.
Again then we the Jove-fall’n flood did fetch,
As far as Ægypt; where we did beseech
The Gods with hecatombs; whose angers ceast,
I tomb’d my brother that I might be blest.
All rites perform’d, all haste I made for home,
And all the prosp’rous winds about were come,
I had the passport now of ev’ry God,
And here clos’d all these labours’ period.
Here stay then till th’ eleventh or twelfth day’s light,
And I’ll dismiss thee well, gifts exquisite
Preparing for thee, chariot, horses three,
A cup of curious frame to serve for thee
To serve th’ immortal Gods with sacrifice,
Mindful of me while all suns light thy skies.”
He answer’d: “Stay me not too long time here,
Though I could sit attending all the year.
Nor should my house, nor parents, with desire,
Take my affections from you, so on fire