Copious diffused, and o’er his manly brows.
He, godlike, stepping from the bath, resumed
His former seat magnificent, and sat
Opposite to the Queen, to whom he said.
Of all thy sex, the most obdurate heart.
Another wife lives not who could endure
Such distance from her husband new-return’d
To his own country in the twentieth year,
After such hardship. But prepare me, nurse,
A bed, for solitary I must sleep,
Since she is iron, and feels not for me.
I neither magnify thee, sir! nor yet
Depreciate thee, nor is my wonder such
As hurries me at once into thy arms,
Though my remembrance perfectly retains,
Such as he was, Ulysses, when he sail’d
On board his bark from Ithaca—Go, nurse,
Prepare his bed, but not within the walls
Of his own chamber built with his own bands.
Spread it without, and spread it well with warm
Mantles, with fleeces, and with richest rugs.
With anger at that word, thus he replied.
Who hath displaced my bed? The task were hard
E’en to an artist; other than a God
None might with ease remove it; as for man,
It might defy the stoutest in his prime
Of youth, to heave it to a different spot.
For in that bed elaborate, a sign,
A special sign consists; I was myself
The artificer; I fashion’d it alone.
Within the court a leafy olive grew
Lofty, luxuriant, pillar-like in girth.
Around this tree I built, with massy stones
Cemented close, my chamber, roof’d it o’er,
And hung the glutinated portals on.
I lopp’d the ample foliage and the boughs,
And sev’ring near the root its solid bole,
Smooth’d all the rugged stump with skilful hand,
And wrought it to a pedestal well squared
And modell’d by the line. I wimbled, next,
The frame throughout, and from the olive-stump
Beginning, fashion’d the whole bed above
Till all was finish’d, plated o’er with gold,
With silver, and with ivory, and beneath
Close interlaced with purple cordage strong.
Such sign I give thee. But if still it stand
Unmoved, or if some other, sev’ring sheer
The olive from its bottom, have displaced
My bed—that matter is best known to thee.
Giv’n by Ulysses, heard with flutt’ring heart
And fault’ring knees that proof. Weeping she ran
Direct toward him, threw her arms around
The Hero, kiss’d his forehead, and replied.
Thou, who at other times hast ever shewn
Superior wisdom! all our griefs have flow’d
From the Gods’ will; they envied us the bliss
Of undivided union sweet enjoy’d
Through life, from early youth to latest age.
No. Be not angry now; pardon the fault
That I embraced thee not as soon as seen,
For horror hath not ceased to overwhelm
My soul, lest some false alien should, perchance,
Beguile me, for our house draws num’rous such.
Jove’s daughter, Argive Helen, ne’er had given
Free entertainment to a stranger’s love,
Had she foreknown that the heroic sons
Of Greece would bring her to her home again.
But heav’n incited her to that offence,
Who never, else, had even in her thought
Harbour’d the foul enormity, from which
Originated even our distress.
But now, since evident thou hast described
Our bed, which never mortal yet beheld,
Ourselves except and Actoris my own
Attendant, giv’n me when I left my home
By good Icarius, and who kept the door,
Though hard to be convinced, at last I yield.
Pity and grief; and folding in his arms
His blameless consort beautiful, he wept.
Welcome as land appears to those who swim,
Whose gallant bark Neptune with rolling waves
And stormy winds hath sunk in the wide sea,
A mariner or two, perchance, escape
The foamy flood, and, swimming, reach the land,
Weary indeed, and with incrusted brine
All rough, but oh, how glad to climb the coast!
So welcome in her eyes Ulysses seem’d,
Around whose neck winding her snowy arms,
She clung as she would loose him never more.
Thus had they wept till rosy-finger’d morn
Had found them weeping, but Minerva check’d
Night’s almost finish’d course, and held, meantime,
The golden dawn close pris’ner in the Deep,
Forbidding her to lead her coursers forth,
Lampus and Phaëton that furnish light
To all the earth, and join them to the yoke.
Then thus, Ulysses to Penelope.
Of all our sufferings, but unmeasured toil
Arduous remains, which I must still atchieve.
For so the spirit of the Theban seer
Inform’d me, on that day, when to enquire
Of
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