AND Pallas now, to raise the rivals' fires,
With her own art Penelope inspires.
Who now can bend Ulysses' bow, and wing
The well-aim'd arrow through the distant ring,
Shall end the strife, and win th' imperial dame; 5
But discord and black death await the game!
The prudent queen the lofty stair ascends; At distance due a virgin-train attends: A brazen key she held, the handle turn'd, With steel and polish'd elephant adorn'd: Swift to the inmost room she bent her way, Where safe repos'd the royal treasures lay; There shone high-heap'd the labour'd brass and
And there the bow which great Ulysses bore, And there the quiver, where now guiltless slept 15 Those winged deaths that many a matron wept.
This gift, long since, when Sparta's shores he
On young Ulysses Iphitus bestow'd:
Beneath Orsilochus's roof they met;
One loss was private, one a public debt:
Messena's state from Ithaca detains
Three hundred sheep, and all the shepherd-swains;
And to the youthful prince to urge the laws,
The king and elders trust their common cause.
But Iphitus employ'd on other cares,
Search'd the wide country for his wand'ring mares,
And mules, the strongest of the lab'ring kind;
Hapless to search! more hapless still to find!
For journeying on to Hercules, at length
That lawless wretch, that man of brutal strength,
Deaf to heav'n's voice, the social rite transgrest;
And for the beauteous mares destroy'd his guest:
He gave the bow; and on Ulysses' part
Receiv'd a pointed sword and missile dart:
Of luckless friendship on a foreign shore
Their first, last pledges! for they met no more.
The bow, bequeath'd by this unhappy hand,
Ulysses bore not from his native land;
Nor in the front of battle taught to bend;
But kept, in dear memorial of his friend.
Now gently winding up the fair ascent,
By many an easy step the matron went;
Then o'er the pavements glides with grace divine:
(With polish'd oak the level pavements shine)
The folding gates a dazzling light display'd, 45
With pomp of various architrave o'erlaid.
The bolt, obedient to the silken string,
Forsakes the staple as she pulls the ring;
The wards respondent to the key turn round;
The bars fall back; the flying valves resound: 50
Loud as a bull makes hill and valley ring,
So roar'd the lock when it releas'd the spring.
She moves majestic through the wealthy room,
Where treasur'd garments cast a rich perfume;
There from the column where aloft it hung, 55
Reach'd, in its splendid case, the bow unstrung:
Across her knees she laid the well-known bow,
And pensive sat, and tears began to flow.
To full satiety of grief she mourns;
Then silent, to the joyous hall returns,
To the proud suitors bears in pensive state
Th' unbended bow, and arrows wing'd with fate.
Behind, her train the polish'd coffer brings, Which held th' alternate brass and silver rings. Full in the portal the chaste queen appears, And with her veil conceals the coming tears:
On either side awaits a virgin fair;
While thus the matron, with majestic air:
Say you, whom these forbidden walls inclose,
For whom my victims bleed, my vintage flows; 70
If these neglected, faded charms can move?
Or is it but a vain pretence, you love?
If I the prize, if me you seek to wife,
Hear the conditions, and commence the strife:
Who first Ulysses' wond'rous bow shall bend, 75
And through twelve ringlets the fleet arrow send,
Him will I follow, and forsake my home;-
For him forsake this lov'd, this wealthy dome,
Long, long the scene of all my past delight,
And still to last, the vision of my night!
Graceful she said; and bade Eumæus show
The rival peers the ringlets and the bow.
From his full eyes the tears unbidden spring,
Touch'd at the dear memorials of his king.
Philætius too relents; but secret shed
The tender drops. Antinous saw, and said:
Hence to your fields, ye rustics! hence, away; Nor stain with grief the pleasures of the day: Nor to the royal heart recall in vain
The sad remembrance of a perish'd man.
Enough her precious tears already flow-
Or share the feast with due respect, or go
To weep abroad, and leave to us the bow:
No vulgar task! Ill suits this courtly crew
That stubborn horn which brave Ulysses drew. 95
I well remember (for I gaz'd him o'er
While yet a child) what majesty he bore!
And still (all infant as I was) retain
The port, the strength, the grandeur of the man.
He said, but in his soul fond joys arise; 100
And his proud hopes already win the prize.
To speed the flying shaft through ev'ry ring,
Wretch is not thine!-the arrows of the king
Shall end those hopes, and fate is on the wing!
Then thus Telemachus: Some god I find 105 With pleasing phrenzy has possest my mind; When a lov'd mother threatens to depart, Why with this ill-tim'd gladness leaps my Come then, ye suitors! and dispute a prize Richer than all th' Achaian state supplies; Than all proud Argos, or Mycæna knows, Than all our isles or continents enclose: A woman matchless, and almost divine: Fit for the praise of ev'ry tongue but mine.
|