Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant Part 42

So pa.s.sed her life, a long and blameless life, And far and near her name was named with love And reverence. Still she kept, as age came on, Her stately presence; still her eyes looked forth From under their calm brows as brightly clear As the transparent wells by which she sat So oft in childhood. Still she kept her fair Unwrinkled features, though her locks were white.

A hundred times had summer, since her birth, Opened the water-lily on the lakes, So old traditions tell, before she died.

A hundred cities mourned her, and her death Saddened the pastoral valleys. By the brook, That bickering ran beside the cottage-door Where she was born, they reared her monument.

Ere long the current parted and flowed round The marble base, forming a little isle, And there the flowers that love the running stream, Iris and orchis, and the cardinal-flower, Crowded and hung caressingly around The stone engraved with Sella's honored name.

THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEY.

TRANSLATED.

Aurora, rising from her couch beside The famed t.i.thonus, brought the light of day To men and to immortals. Then the G.o.ds Came to their seats in council. With them came High-thundering Jupiter, among them all The mightiest. Pallas, mindful of the past, Spoke of Ulysses and his many woes, Grieved that he still was with the island-nymph.

"Oh, father Jove, and all ye blessed ones Who live forever! let not sceptred king, Henceforth, be gracious, mild, and merciful, And righteous; rather be he deaf to prayer, And p.r.o.ne to deeds of wrong, since no one now Remembers the divine Ulysses more Among the people over whom he ruled, Benignly, like a father. Still he lies, Weighed down by many sorrows, in the isle And dwelling of Calypso, who so long Constrains his stay. To his dear native land Depart he cannot; s.h.i.+p, arrayed with oars, And seamen has he none, to bear him o'er The breast of the broad ocean. Nay, even now, Against his well-beloved son a plot Is laid, to slay him as he journeys home From Pylos the divine, and from the walls Of famous Sparta, whither he had gone To gather tidings of his father's fate."

Then answered her the ruler of the storms: "My child, what words are these that pa.s.s thy lips?

Was not thy long-determined counsel this, That, in good time, Ulysses should return, To be avenged? Guide, then, Telemachus, Wisely, for thou canst, that, all unharmed, He reach his native land, and, in their barks, Homeward the suitor-train retrace their way."

He spake, and turned to Hermes, his dear son: "Hermes, for thou, in this, my messenger Art, as in all things, to the bright-haired nymph Make known my steadfast purpose, the return Of suffering Ulysses. Neither G.o.ds Nor men shall guide his voyage. On a raft, Made firm with bands, he shall depart and reach, After long hards.h.i.+ps, on the twentieth day, The fertile sh.o.r.e of Scheria, on whose isle Dwell the Pheacians, kinsmen of the G.o.ds.

They like a G.o.d shall honor him, and thence Send him to his loved country in a s.h.i.+p, With ample gifts of bra.s.s and gold, and store Of raiment--wealth like which he ne'er had brought From conquered Ilion, had he reached his home Safely, with all his portion of the spoil.

So is it preordained, that he behold His friends again, and stand once more within His high-roofed palace, on his native soil."

He spake; the herald Argicide obeyed, And hastily beneath his feet he bound The fair, ambrosial, golden sandals, worn To bear him over ocean like the wind, And o'er the boundless land. His wand he took, Wherewith he softly seals the eyes of men, And opens them at will from sleep. With this In hand, the mighty Argos-queller flew, And lighting on Pieria, from the sky Plunged downward to the deep, and skimmed its face Like hovering sea-mew, that on the broad gulfs Of the unfruitful ocean seeks her prey, And often dips her pinions in the brine.

So Hermes flew along the waste of waves.

But when he reached that island, far away, Forth from the dark-blue ocean-swell he stepped Upon the sea-beach, walking till he came To the vast cave in which the bright-haired nymph Made her abode. He found the nymph within.

A fire blazed brightly on the hearth, and far Was wafted o'er the isle the fragrant smoke Of cloven cedar, burning in the flame, And cypress-wood. Meanwhile, in her recess, She sweetly sang, as busily she threw The golden shuttle through the _web _she wove.

And all about the grotto alders grew, And poplars, and sweet-smelling cypresses, In a green forest, high among whose boughs Birds of broad wing, wood-owls and falcons, built Their nests, and crows, with voices sounding far, All haunting for their food the ocean-side.

A vine, with downy leaves and cl.u.s.tering grapes, Crept over all the cavern-rock. Four springs Poured forth their glittering waters in a row, And here and there went wandering side by side.

Around were meadows of soft green, o'ergrown With violets and parsley. 'Twas a spot Where even an Immortal might, awhile, Linger, and gaze with wonder and delight.

The herald Argos-queller stood, and saw, And marvelled: but as soon as he had viewed The wonders of the place, he turned his steps, Entering the broad-roofed cave. Calypso there, The glorious G.o.ddess, saw him as he came, And knew him, for the ever-living G.o.ds Are to each other known, though one may dwell Far from the rest. Ulysses, large of heart, Was not within. Apart, upon the sh.o.r.e, He sat and sorrowed, where he oft, in tears And sighs and vain repinings, pa.s.sed the hours, Gazing with wet eyes on the barren deep.

Now, placing Hermes on a s.h.i.+ning seat Of state, Calypso, glorious G.o.ddess, said: "Thou of the golden wand, revered and loved, What, Hermes, brings thee hither? Pa.s.sing few Have been thy visits. Make thy pleasure known, My heart enjoins me to obey, if aught That thou commandest be within my power.

But first accept the offerings due a guest."

The G.o.ddess, speaking thus, before him placed A table where the heaped ambrosia lay, And mingled the red nectar. Ate and drank The herald Argos-queller, and, refreshed, Answered the nymph, and made his message known: "Art thou a G.o.ddess, and dost ask of me, A G.o.d, why came I hither? Yet, since thou Requirest, I will truly tell the cause.

I came unwillingly at Jove's command, For who, of choice, would traverse the wide waste Of the salt ocean, with no city near, Where men adore the G.o.ds with solemn rites And chosen hecatombs? No G.o.d has power To elude or to resist the purposes Of aegis-bearing Jove. With thee abides, He bids me say, the most unhappy man Of all who round the city of Priam waged The battle through nine years, and, in the tenth, Laying it waste, departed for their homes.

But in their voyage, they provoked the wrath Of Pallas, who called up the furious winds And angry waves against them. By his side Sank all his gallant comrades in the deep.

Him did the winds and waves drive hither. Him Jove bids thee send away with speed, for here He must not perish, far from all he loves.

So is it preordained that he behold His friends again, and stand once more within His high-roofed palace, on his native soil."

He spoke; Calypso, glorious G.o.ddess, heard, And shuddered, and with winged words replied: "Ye are unjust, ye G.o.ds, and, envious far Beyond all other beings, cannot bear That ever G.o.ddess openly should make A mortal man her consort. Thus it was When once Aurora, rosy-fingered, took Orion for her husband; ye were stung, Amid your blissful lives, with envious hate, Till chaste Diana, of the golden throne, Smote him with silent arrows from her bow, And slew him in Ortygia. Thus, again, When bright-haired Ceres, swayed by her own heart, In fields which bore three yearly harvests, met Iasion as a lover, this was known Ere long to Jupiter, who flung from high A flaming thunderbolt, and laid him dead.

And now ye envy me, that with me dwells A mortal man. I saved him, as he clung, Alone, upon his floating keel, for Jove Had cloven, with a bolt of fire from heaven, His galley in the midst of the black sea, And all his gallant comrades perished there.

Him kindly I received; I cherished him, And promised him a life that ne'er should know Decay or death. But, since no G.o.d has power To elude or to withstand the purposes Of aegis-bearing Jove, let him depart, If so the sovereign moves him and commands, Over the barren deep. I send him not; For neither s.h.i.+p arrayed with oars have I, Nor seamen, o'er the boundless waste of waves To bear him hence. My counsel I will give, And nothing will I hide that he should know, To place him safely on his native sh.o.r.e."

The herald Argos-queller answered her: "Dismiss him thus, and bear in mind the wrath Of Jove, lest it be kindled against thee."

Thus having said, the mighty Argicide Departed, and the nymph, who now had heard The doom of Jove, sought the great-hearted man, Ulysses. Him she found beside the deep, Seated alone, with eyes from which the tears Were never dried, for now no more the nymph Delighted him; he wasted his sweet life In yearning for his home. Night after night He slept constrained within the hollow cave, The unwilling by the fond, and, day by day, He sat upon the rocks that edged the sh.o.r.e, And in continual weeping and in sighs And vain repinings, wore the hours away, Gazing through tears upon the barren deep.

The glorious G.o.ddess stood by him and spoke: "Unhappy! sit no longer sorrowing here, Nor waste life thus. Lo! I most willingly Dismiss thee hence. Rise, hew down trees, and bind Their trunks, with brazen clamps, into a raft, And fasten planks above, a lofty floor, That it may bear thee o'er the dark-blue deep.

Bread will I put on board, water, and wine, Red wine, that cheers the heart, and wrap thee well In garments, and send after thee the wind, That safely thou attain thy native sh.o.r.e; If so the G.o.ds permit thee, who abide In the broad heaven above, and better know By far than I, and far more wisely judge."

Ulysses, the great sufferer, as she spoke, Shuddered, and thus with winged words replied: "Some other purpose than to send me home Is in thy heart, oh G.o.ddess, bidding me To cross this frightful sea upon a raft, This perilous sea, where never even s.h.i.+ps Pa.s.s with their rapid keels, though Jove bestow The wind that glads the seamen. Nay, I climb No raft, against thy wish, unless thou swear The great oath of the G.o.ds, that thou, in this, Dost meditate no other harm to me."

He spake; Calypso, glorious G.o.ddess, smiled, And smoothed his forehead with her hand, and said: "Perverse! and slow to see where guile is not!

How could thy heart permit thee thus to speak?

Now bear me witness, Earth, and ye broad Heavens Above us, and ye waters of the Styx That flow beneath us, mightiest oath of all, And most revered by all the blessed G.o.ds, That I design no other harm to thee; But that I plan for thee and counsel thee What I would do were I in need like thine.

I bear a juster mind; my bosom holds A pitying heart, and not a heart of steel."

Thus having said, the glorious G.o.ddess moved Away with hasty steps, and where she trod He followed, till they reached the vaulted cave, The G.o.ddess and the hero. There he took The seat whence Hermes had just risen. The nymph Brought forth whatever mortals eat and drink To set before him. She, right opposite To that of Ulysses, took her seat, Ambrosia there her maidens laid, and there Poured nectar. Both put forth their hands, and took The ready viands, till at length the calls Of hunger and of thirst were satisfied; Calypso, glorious G.o.ddess, then began: "Son of Laertes, man of many wiles, High-born Ulysses! Thus wilt thou depart Home to thy native country? Then farewell; But, couldst thou know the sufferings Fate ordains For thee ere yet thou landest on its sh.o.r.e, Thou wouldst remain to keep this home with me, And be immortal, strong as is thy wish To see thy wife--a wish that, day by day, Possesses thee. I cannot deem myself In form or face less beautiful than she; For never with immortals can the race Of mortal dames in form or face compare."

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered her: "Bear with me, gracious G.o.ddess; well I know All thou couldst say. The sage Penelope In feature and in stature comes not nigh To thee; for she is mortal, deathless thou And ever young; yet, day by day, I long To be at home once more, and pine to see The hour of my return. Even though some G.o.d Smite me on the black ocean, I shall bear The stroke, for in my bosom dwells a mind Patient of suffering; much have I endured, And much survived, in tempests on the deep, And in the battle; let this happen too."

He spoke; the sun went down; the night came on, And now the twain withdrew to a recess Deep in the vaulted cave, where, side by side, They took their rest. But when the child of dawn, Aurora, rosy-fingered, looked abroad, Ulysses put his vest and mantle on; The nymph too, in a robe of silver white, Ample, and delicate, and beautiful, Arrayed herself, and round about her loins Wound a fair golden girdle, drew a veil Over her head, and planned to send away Magnanimous Ulysses. She bestowed A heavy axe, of steel, and double-edged, Well fitted to the hand, the handle wrought Of olive-wood, firm set and beautiful.

A polished adze she gave him next, and led The way to a far corner of the isle, Where lofty trees, alders and poplars, stood, And firs that reach the clouds, sapless and dry Long since, and fitter thus to ride the waves.

Then, having shown where grew the tallest trees, Calypso, glorious G.o.ddess, sought her home.

Trees then he felled, and soon the task was done.

Twenty in all he brought to earth, and squared Their trunks with the sharp steel, and carefully He smoothed their sides, and wrought them by a line.

Calypso, gracious G.o.ddess, having brought Wimbles, he bored the beams, and, fitting them Together, made them fast with nails and clamps.

As when some builder, skillful in his art, Frames, for a s.h.i.+p of burden, the broad keel, Such ample breadth Ulysses gave the raft.

Upon the ma.s.sy beams he reared a deck, And floored it with long planks from end to end.

On this a mast he raised, and to the mast Fitted a yard; he shaped a rudder next, To guide the raft along her course, and round With woven work of willow-boughs he fenced Her sides against the das.h.i.+ngs of the sea.

Calypso, gracious G.o.ddess, brought him store Of canvas, which he fitly shaped to sails, And, rigging her with cords, and ropes, and stays, Heaved her with levers into the great deep.

'Twas the fourth day; his labors now were done, And, on the fifth, the G.o.ddess from her isle Dismissed him, newly from the bath, arrayed In garments given by her, that shed perfumes.

A skin of dark-red wine she put on board, A larger one of water, and for food A basket, stored with viands such as please The appet.i.te. A friendly wind and soft She sent before. The great Ulysses spread His canvas joyfully, to catch the breeze, And sat and guided with nice care the helm, Gazing with fixed eye on the Pleiades, Bootes setting late, and the Great Bear, By others called the Wain, which, wheeling round, Looks ever toward Orion, and alone Dips not into the waters of the deep.

For so Calypso, glorious G.o.ddess, bade That, on his ocean journey, he should keep That constellation ever on his left.

Now seventeen days were in the voyage past, And on the eighteenth shadowy heights appeared, The nearest point of the Pheacian land, Lying on the dark ocean like a s.h.i.+eld.

But mighty Neptune, coming from among The Ethiopians, saw him. Far away He saw, from mountain-heights of Solyma, The voyager, and burned with fiercer wrath, And shook his head, and said within himself: "Strange! now I see the G.o.ds have new designs For this Ulysses, formed while I was yet In Ethiopia. He draws near the land Of the Pheacians, where it is decreed He shall o'erpa.s.s the boundary of his woes; But first, I think, he will have much to bear."

He spoke, and round about him called the clouds And roused the ocean, wielding in his hand The trident, summoned all the hurricanes Of all the winds, and covered earth and sky At once with mists, while from above, the night Fell suddenly. The east wind and the south Rushed forth at once, with the strong-blowing west, And the clear north rolled up his mighty waves.

Ulysses trembled in his knees and heart, And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said: "What will become of me? unhappy man!

I fear that all the G.o.ddess said was true, Foretelling what disasters should o'ertake My voyage, ere I reach my native land.

Now are her words fulfilled. Now Jupiter Wraps the great heaven in clouds and stirs the deep To tumult! Wilder grow the hurricanes Of all the winds, and now my fate is sure.

Thrice happy, four times happy they, who fell On Troy's wide field, warring for Atreus' sons: O, had I met my fate and perished there, That very day on which the Trojan host, Around the dead Achilles, hurled at me Their brazen javelins! I had then received Due burial and great glory with the Greeks; Now must I die a miserable death."

As thus he spoke, upon him, from on high, A huge and frightful billow broke; it whirled The raft around, and far from it he fell.

His hands let go the rudder; a fierce rush Of all the winds together snapped in twain The mast; far off the yard and canvas flew Into the deep; the billow held him long Beneath the waters, and he strove in vain Quickly to rise to air from that huge swell Of ocean, for the garments weighed him down Which fair Calypso gave him. But, at length, Emerging, he rejected from his throat The bitter brine that down his forehead streamed.

Even then, though hopeless with dismay, his thought Was on the raft, and, struggling through the waves, He seized it, sprang on board, and seated there Escaped the threatened death. Still to and fro The rolling billows drove it. As the wind In autumn sweeps the thistles o'er the field, Clinging together, so the blasts of heaven Hither and thither drove it o'er the sea.

And now the south wind flung it to the north To buffet; now the east wind to the west.

Ino Leucothea saw him clinging there, The delicate-footed child of Cadmus, once A mortal, speaking with a mortal voice; Though now within the ocean-gulfs, she shares The honors of the G.o.ds. With pity she Beheld Ulysses struggling thus distressed, And, rising from the abyss below, in form A cormorant, the sea-nymph took her perch On the well-banded raft, and thus she said: "Ah, luckless man, how hast thou angered thus Earth-shaking Neptune, that he visits thee With these disasters? Yet he cannot take, Although he seek it earnestly, thy life.

Now do my bidding, for thou seemest wise.

Laying aside thy garments, let the raft Drift with the winds, while thou, by strength of arm, Makest thy way in swimming to the land Of the Pheacians, where thy safety lies.

Receive this veil and bind its heavenly woof Beneath thy breast, and have no further fear Of hards.h.i.+p or of danger. But, as soon As thou shalt touch the island, take it off, And turn away thy face, and fling it far From where thou standest, into the black deep."

The G.o.ddess gave the veil as thus she spoke, And to the tossing deep went down, in form A cormorant; the black wave covered her.

But still Ulysses, mighty sufferer, Pondered, and thus to his great soul he said: "Ah me! perhaps some G.o.d is planning here Some other fraud against me, bidding me Forsake my raft. I will not yet obey, For still far off I see the land in which 'Tis said my refuge lies. This will I do, For this seems wisest. While the fastenings last That hold these timbers, I will keep my place And bide the tempest here. But when the waves Shall dash my raft in pieces, I will swim, For nothing better will remain to do."

As he revolved this purpose in his mind, Earth-shaking Neptune sent a mighty wave, Horrid, and huge, and high, and where he sat It smote him. As a violent wind uplifts The dry chaff heaped upon a thres.h.i.+ng-floor, And sends it scattered through the air abroad, So did that wave fling loose the ponderous beams.

To one of these, Ulysses, clinging fast, Bestrode it, like a horseman on his steed; And now he took the garments off, bestowed By fair Calypso, binding round his breast The veil, and forward plunged into the deep, With palms outspread, prepared to swim. Meanwhile, Neptune beheld him, Neptune, mighty king, And shook his head, and said within himself: "Go thus, and, laden with mischances, roam The waters, till thou come among the race Cherished by Jupiter; but well I deem Thou wilt not find thy share of suffering light."

Thus having spoke, he urged his coursers on, With their fair-flowing manes, until he came To aegae, where his glorious palace stands.

But Pallas, child of Jove, had other thoughts.

She stayed the course of every wind beside, And bade them rest, and lulled them into sleep, But summoned the swift north to break the waves, That so Ulysses, the high-born, escaped From death and from the fates, might be the guest Of the Pheacians, men who love the sea.

Two days and nights, among the mighty waves He floated, oft his heart foreboding death, But when the bright-haired Eos had fulfilled The third day's course, and all the winds were laid, And calm was on the watery waste, he saw The land was near, as, lifted on the crest Of a huge swell, he looked with sharpened sight; And as a father's life preserved makes glad His children's hearts, when long time he has lain Sick, wrung with pain, and wasting by the power Of some malignant genius, till, at length, The gracious G.o.ds bestow a welcome cure; So welcome to Ulysses was the sight Of woods and fields. By swimming on he thought To climb and tread the sh.o.r.e, but when he drew So near that one who shouted could be heard From land, the sound of ocean on the rocks Came to his ear, for there huge breakers roared And spouted fearfully, and all around Was covered with the sea-foam. Haven here Was none for s.h.i.+ps, nor sheltering creek, but sh.o.r.es Beetling from high, and crags and walls of rock.

Ulysses trembled both in knees and heart, And thus, to his great soul, lamenting, said: "Now woe is me! as soon as Jove has shown What I had little hoped to see, the land, And I through all these waves have ploughed my way, I find no issue from the h.o.a.ry deep.

For sharp rocks border it, and all around Roar the wild surges; slippery cliffs arise Close to deep gulfs, and footing there is none, Where I might plant my steps and thus escape.

All effort now were fruitless to resist The mighty billow hurrying me away To dash me on the pointed rocks. If yet I strive, by swimming further, to descry Some sloping sh.o.r.e or harbor of the isle, I fear the tempest, lest it hurl me back, Heavily groaning, to the fishy deep, Or huge sea-monster, from the mult.i.tude Which sovereign Amphitrite feeds, be sent Against me by some G.o.d, for well I know The power who shakes the sh.o.r.es is wroth with me."

While he revolved these doubts within his mind, A huge wave hurled him toward the rugged coast.

Then had his limbs been flayed, and all his bones Broken at once, had not the blue-eyed maid, Minerva, prompted him. Borne toward the rock, He clutched it instantly, with both his hands, And panting clung till that huge wave rolled by, And so escaped its fury. But it came, And smote him once again, and flung him far Seaward. As to the claws of polypus, Plucked from its bed, the pebbles thickly cling, So flakes of skin, from off his powerful hands, Were left upon the rock. The mighty surge O'erwhelmed him; he had perished ere his time, Hapless Ulysses, but the blue-eyed maid, Pallas, informed his mind with forecast. Straight Emerging from the wave that sh.o.r.eward rolled, He swam along the coast and eyed it well, In hope of sloping beach or sheltered creek.

But when, in swimming, he had reached the mouth Of a soft-flowing river, here appeared The spot he wished for, smooth, without a rock, And here was shelter from the wind. He felt The current's flow, and thus devoutly prayed: "Hear me, oh sovereign power, whoe'er thou art!

To thee, the long-desired, I come. I seek Escape from Neptune's threatenings on the sea.

The deathless G.o.ds respect the prayer of him Who looks to them for help, a fugitive, As I am now, when to thy stream I come, And to thy knees, from many a hards.h.i.+p past, Oh thou that here art ruler, I declare Myself thy suppliant; be thou merciful."

He spoke; the river stayed his current, checked The billows, smoothed them, to a calm, and gave The swimmer a safe landing at his mouth.

Then dropped his knees and sinewy arms, at once Unstrung, for faint with struggling was his heart.

His body was all swoln; the brine gushed forth From mouth and nostrils; all unnerved he lay, Breathless and speechless; utter weariness O'ermastered him. But when he breathed again, And his flown senses had returned, he loosed The veil that Ino gave him from his breast, And to the salt flood cast it. A great wave Bore it far down the stream; the G.o.ddess there In her own hands received it. He, meanwhile, Withdrawing from the brink, lay down among The reeds, and kissed the harvest-bearing earth, And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said: "Ah me! what must I suffer more! what yet Will happen to me? If, by the river's side, I pa.s.s the unfriendly watches of the night, The cruel cold and dews that steep the bank May, in this weakness, end me utterly, For chilly blows the river-air at dawn.

But should I climb this hill, to sleep within The shadowy wood, among their shrubs, if cold And weariness allow me, then I fear, That, while the pleasant slumbers o'er me steal, I may become the prey of savage beasts."

Yet, as he longer pondered, this seemed best.

He rose and sought the wood, and found it near The water, on a height, o'erlooking far The region round. Between two shrubs, that sprung Both from one spot, he entered--olive-trees, One wild, one fruitful. The damp-blowing wind Ne'er pierced their covert; never blazing sun Darted his beams within, nor pelting shower Beat through, so closely intertwined they grew.

Here entering, Ulysses heaped a bed Of leaves with his own hands; he made it broad And high, for thick the leaves had fallen around.