THE ODYSSEY (Completed)

BOOK 24

ARGUMENT.

The souls of the suitors are conducted by Mercury to the infernal shades. Ulysses in the country goes to the retirement of his father, Laertes; he finds him busied in his garden all alone; the manner of his discovery to him is beautifully described. They return together to his lodge, and the king is acknowledged by Dolius and the servants. The Ithacensians, led by Eupithes, the father of Antinous, rise against Ulysses, who gives them battle in which Eupithes is killed by Laertes: and the goddess Pallas makes a lasting peace between Ulysses and his subjects, which concludes the Odyssey.

Cylenius now to Pluto's dreary reign Conveys the dead, a lamentable train! The golden wand, that causes sleep to fly, Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye, That drives the ghosts to realms of night or day, Points out the long uncomfortable way. Trembling the spectres glide, and plaintive vent Thin, hollow screams, along the deep descent. As in the cavern of some rifted den, Where flock nocturnal bats, and birds obscene; Cluster'd they hang, till at some sudden shock They move, and murmurs run through all the rock! So cowering fled the sable heaps of ghosts, And such a scream fill'd all the dismal coasts. And now they reach'd the earth's remotest ends, And now the gates where evening Sol descends, And Leucas' rock, and Ocean's utmost streams, And now pervade the dusky land of dreams, And rest at last, where souls unbodied dwell In ever-flowing meads of asphodel. The empty forms of men inhabit there, Impassive semblance, images of air! Naught else are all that shined on earth before: Ajax and great Achilles are no more! Yet still a master ghost, the rest he awed, The rest adored him, towering as he trod; Still at his side is Nestor's son survey'd, And loved Patroclus still attends his shade.

New as they were to that infernal shore, The suitors stopp'd, and gazed the hero o'er. When, moving slow, the regal form they view'd Of great Atrides: him in pomp pursued And solemn sadness through the gloom of hell, The train of those who by AEgysthus fell:

"O mighty chief! (Pelides thus began) Honour'd by Jove above the lot of man! King of a hundred kings! to whom resign'd The strongest, bravest, greatest of mankind Comest thou the first, to view this dreary state? And was the noblest, the first mark of Fate, Condemn'd to pay the great arrear so soon, The lot, which all lament, and none can shun! Oh! better hadst thou sunk in Trojan ground, With all thy full-blown honours cover'd round; Then grateful Greece with streaming eyes might raise Historic marbles to record thy praise: Thy praise eternal on the faithful stone Had with transmissive glories graced thy son. But heavier fates were destined to attend: What man is happy, till he knows his end?"

"O son of Peleus! greater than mankind! (Thus Agamemnon's kingly shade rejoin'd) Thrice happy thou, to press the martial plain 'Midst heaps of heroes in thy quarrel slain: In clouds of smoke raised by the noble fray, Great and terrific e'en in death you lay, And deluges of blood flow'd round you every way. Nor ceased the strife till Jove himself opposed, And all in Tempests the dire evening closed. Then to the fleet we bore thy honour'd load, And decent on the funeral bed bestow'd; Then unguents sweet and tepid streams we shed; Tears flow'd from every eye, and o'er the dead Each clipp'd the curling honours of his head. Struck at the news, thy azure mother came, The sea-green sisters waited on the dame: A voice of loud lament through all the main Was heard; and terror seized the Grecian train: Back to their ships the frighted host had fled; But Nestor spoke, they listen'd and obey'd (From old experience Nestor's counsel springs, And long vicissitudes of human things): 'Forbear your flight: fair Thetis from the main To mourn Achilles leads her azure train.' Around thee stand the daughters of the deep, Robe thee in heavenly vests, and round thee weep: Round thee, the Muses, with alternate strain, In ever-consecrating verse, complain. Each warlike Greek the moving music hears, And iron-hearted heroes melt in tears. Till seventeen nights and seventeen days return'd All that was mortal or immortal mourn'd, To flames we gave thee, the succeeding day, And fatted sheep and sable oxen slay; With oils and honey blazed the augmented fires, And, like a god adorn'd, thy earthly part expires. Unnumber'd warriors round the burning pile Urge the fleet coursers or the racer's toil; Thick clouds of dust o'er all the circle rise, And the mix'd clamour thunders in the skies. Soon as absorb'd in all-embracing flame Sunk what was mortal of thy mighty name, We then collect thy snowy bones, and place With wines and unguents in a golden vase (The vase to Thetis Bacchus gave of old, And Vulcan's art enrich'd the sculptured gold). There, we thy relics, great Achilles! blend With dear Patroclus, thy departed friend: In the same urn a separate space contains Thy next beloved, Antilochus' remains. Now all the sons of warlike Greece surround Thy destined tomb and cast a mighty mound; High on the shore the growing hill we raise, That wide the extended Hellespont surveys; Where all, from age to age, who pass the coast, May point Achilles' tomb, and hail the mighty ghost. Thetis herself to all our peers proclaims Heroic prizes and exequial games; The gods assented; and around thee lay Rich spoils and gifts that blazed against the day. Oft have I seen with solemn funeral games Heroes and kings committed to the flames; But strength of youth, or valour of the brave, With nobler contest ne'er renown'd a grave. Such were the games by azure Thetis given, And such thy honours, O beloved of Heaven! Dear to mankind thy fame survives, nor fades Its bloom eternal in the Stygian shades. But what to me avail my honours gone, Successful toils, and battles bravely won? Doom'd by stern Jove at home to end my life, By cursed Aegysthus, and a faithless wife!" Thus they: while Hermes o'er the dreary plain Led the sad numbers by Ulysses slain. On each majestic form they cast a view, And timorous pass'd, and awfully withdrew. But Agamemnon, through the gloomy shade, His ancient host Amphimedon survey'd: "Son of Melanthius! (he began) O say! What cause compell'd so many, and so gay, To tread the downward, melancholy way? Say, could one city yield a troop so fair? Were all these partners of one native air? Or did the rage of stormy Neptune sweep Your lives at once, and whelm beneath the deep? Did nightly thieves, or pirates' cruel bands, Drench with your blood your pillaged country's sands? Or well-defending some beleaguer'd wall, Say,--for the public did ye greatly fall? Inform thy guest: for such I was of yore When our triumphant navies touch'd your shore; Forced a long month the wintry seas to bear, To move the great Ulysses to the war."