What was it? Some say music, history, and philosophy; and there indeed is in them-especially in music-a charm, which you may call Nepenthes. Plutarch, in a Symposiac, says it was discourse well suiting the present passions and conditions of the hearers; and it was very pretty in Plutarch to say so in a Symposiac. Macrobius (we are using one of Pope's notes) says, Delinimentum illud quod Helena vino miscuit, non herba fuit, non ex India succus, sed narrandi opportunitas, quæ hospitem mororis oblitum Hexit ad gaudium." We know Plutarch well-Macrobius not at allnor the other moralizers; but wishing to be wise, they are foolish—and so thought Milton. You remember the unforgetable lines in Comus "Behold this cordial julep here That flames and dances in his crystal bounds! Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena, Is of such power as this to stir up joy, To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst." Egypt was the land of wonders, and that drug did an Egyptian to bright Helen give. "What drugs, what charms, what conjurations, and what mighty magic," had not the daughter of Leda! Some in boxes, but many more in her bosom. And, "Oh, father! what a hell of witchcraft lay In the small orb of each particular tear!" Now she used the best of all-smiles, tears, sighs, "thoughts that breathed and words that burned;" these roes and then she dropped in the soothed the souls of the young hedrug-they drank and were in Elysium. Was it opium? Perhaps. For the youths soon grow drowsy; and Helen and Menelaus have all the conversation to themselves about Ulysses and the wooden horse. Telemachus, at the close of Menelaus's tale of Helen's mimicry of the voices of the wives of the Greek heroes enclosed in that Hobby, abruptly exclaims, "But haste, and with dismission to re "But Jove-loved Menelaus! not thy doom To die at Argos, and there have thy tomb. Thee, where the earth's extremest bounds extend, The powers immortal to Elysium send, Where gold-hair'd Rhadamanthus ever dwells, And blissful life, all bliss of man excels. There hail nor snow earth's beauteous face deform, Nor winter's bitter blast, nor pelting storm, But, in sweet murmurs heard, the western wind Breathes o'er the ocean, to refresh man kind; There shalt thou, blissful as the Gods above, Live, Helen's husband, and the son of Jove." A beautiful belief-(pardon the expression)-almost as beautiful in Sotheby as in Homer! Yet must Helen drink the drug of forgetfulness-that she may not walk up and fixed eyes wringing her hands-such down the palace in her sleep-with in the sinful is the indestructible power of Conscience. the continent in search of his father Telemachus might have gone to -without Minerva-said Rapinand why, asked the same sapient sir, go for information to Menelaus ? There he is without Minerva-and Menelaus tells him that Proteus said Ulysses was detained in an island by a Goddess. True, that was long ago; but he may be there still; and Telemachus is prepared to believe it by his trust in his heavenly guide, who disappeared in an Eagle. But was his visit to "Lacedemon's hollow vale" thrown away upon him by Homer? He is finishing his education. His whole soul is kindled by tales of the heroes-" tales of tears and tragic stories"-but pity and terror instruct the heart-and he feels that he too-like Oresteswill be an Avenger. Were some God to divulge to Ulysses weeping on the sea-shore, that his Telemachus is now listening to the Tale of the "Returns" from the lips of the Hero with the auburn hair, and that no name falls so honoured from those lips as that of him the Castaway--the joy in his heart would diffuse over all Calypso's Isle a brighter light and a sweeter fragrance than are now burning and breathing there from that enchanted cedar-fire. Menelaus and Helen will not let Telemachus go-yet he is impatient to be gone to-morrow! "Twelve days you must stay;" but hear HoOur literal line-by-line prose mer. will not do here-and Sotheby here beats Fenton black and blue, and takes the shine even out of Cowper. "But thou, beneath my roof, thrice welcome, stay, That, henceforth, when thou pour'st to heaven the wine, "The Prince replied, 'Bid me no longer here with thee abide : Yet, the whole year, full gladly could I rest, Thoughts of my home, my parents still repress'd, Urge me to Pylos, and my native isle. Whate'er thou givest in hospitable proof Of thy kind heart, be treasured 'neath my roof : "He spake: his hand the admiring monarch press'd, Of all my treasured stores-whatever mine The prime the most renown'd-most costly-thine. Its rim, all gold, by art celestial graced, The work of Vulcan: this, when hast'ning home I left the monarch's hospitable dome, The king of Sidon deign'd to me consign This bowl, the prime of all my treasures, thine.' "Thus they and while the menials served the feast, lie in ambush for him on his return -She-but now that we have given so many fine specimens of Sotheby, let us see if we can touch your hearts-as we have done ere now But how the while fares Penelope? Had the old nurse kept her secret? Close as a toad in a stone. But when the twelfth morn comes, Noëmon tells the Suitors that the bird-the young eagle-had flown; and Me--by our prose. don tells Penelope. They swear to Thus he spoke and there her knees and heart were relaxed With tears were filled, and her blooming (clear, Saλ) voice was restrained: At length, however, answering in words, she addressed him; Are to men, and pass over the vast moist (deep). Is it that not even his name should be left among men?" "I know not if any god hath stirred-him-up, or if his own But she sat down on the threshold of her elaborately-built chamber, Piteously wailing-aloud, and around her her maidens moaned All, all throughout the house, young and old, Whom Penelope, incessantly groaning, addressed: "Listen to me, my friends, for the gods have given sorrows to me Above all who were born and brought up with me ;, Who first lost my brave, lion-hearted husband, Adorned with every kind of virtue among the Greeks, (My) brave (lord)-whose glory was wide throughout Hellas, and the midst of Argos. And now again have the tempests hurried away my beloved son Ingloriously from his home, nor heard I of his-hastening-away, Cruel ones, ye thought not,-no one (thought) Of rousing me from my couch, although ye knew it well, When he went on board the hollow, dark ship: For had I learned that he was hurrying-away on such a journey, Yea, truly he would have remained, how great soever his haste to go away; Or had left me dead in the house." But let some trusty one summon the aged Dolius, 07 My slave, (whom my father gave to me when setting-out hither, And who tends my many-tree'd garden)—that with the utmost speed He may sit by, Laërtes, and tell him all these things, o If peradventure he may devise any plan in his mind, And going out among the people may wail (the crime of those) who long Her loved nurse Euryclea in turn addressed her: "Lady beloved, slay me indeed with the merciless sword, Or leave me in the house but I will not conceal from thee a single (thing :) Bread and luscious wine; and he exacted from me a great oath, Not to tell thee until the twelfth day had come, Or (till) thou thy self shouldst desire it, and hadst heard of his hastening-away, In order that thou mightest not by weeping mar the beauty of thy person. But do thou, having bathed thyself, put on clean vestments on thy body, For she may be inclined to save him from death. Nor evilly-afflict an old man evilly-afflicted; for methinks not The lofty-roofed palaces, and far-lying rich lands." Thus she spoke, and lulled her lamentation, and restrained her from weeping, And having washed-herself, and taken clean vestments for her person, She went up to an upper-room with her attendant women; And in a basket placed a bread-offering, and prayed Minerva, "Hear me, invincible one,-daughter of Ægis-bearing Jove, If at any time Ulysses fertile-in-expedients has in the palace to thee Burned the fat thighs either of ox or sheep, Call to mind these things for me, and save my beloved son, And repel the wooers (who are) wickedly overbearing." Thus speaking, she wailed-aloud, and the goddess heard her prayer. He shall elude the ambush. But what if he were to fall into it? Antinous is fierce and strong-but hand to hand, Telemachus would hew. him down, cleaving the head of the beautiful Scorner. Antinous takes with him twenty men-and Telemachus has twenty; but are they armed? Most likely-but if not, they can use their oars. Telemachus has two spears in his hand-as Flaxman shews him landing on the Pylian shore and he was not his father's son if he left behind him his sword. "Follow me my lads-our cry is Ulysses;" and leading the boarders, in three minutes he would have taken the Ambuscade. Not so willed Jove and the blue-eyed daughter of Jove. 3 "Numerous as are the lion's thoughts Not without fear, a multitude of toils People always sleep sound for some hours the night before they are hanged-dreaming either not at all or of a reprieve-or of themselves on the scaffold asking for water. Penelope was doomed to die-of grief for Telemachus. The sorrow of twenty years may be a profound, but it is a still sorrow, One's life may not unpainfully float down it as on a gloomy but not roaring riverand there are gleams of beauty on its banks. So felt Penelope, sorrowing for Ulysses. But all at once she missed my son-my son." She then knew what is anguish; yether body-her senses-not her spirit In her upper room lies the mourner. Food or wine she will have none-her waking-dreams are of murder. To what does Homer liken her? To a lion wounded by the hunters? No. But he likens her thoughts to the thoughts of a lion wounded by the hunters and no other man that ever lived would % 90' to,falle gat Per* TO not herself-slept. Minerva saw her the childless widow-for so Penelope was in her mind-soulheart-and sent a comforter. 100 T There then did the blue-eyed Minerva devise another plan; The gods who live in ease permit thee not To weep, nor to be sorrowful,-since about to return is Your son for to the gods he is sinless." Her then answered the discreet Penelope, Most sweetly slumbering in the gates of dreams! "Why, sister, comest thou hither? by no means formerly indeed Adorned with every kind of virtue among the Greeks, (My) brave (lord) whose glory was wide throughout Hellas, and the midst of Argos. And now again hath my beloved son gone in a hollow ship, A child, neither acquainted with labours, nor commerce. On his account I the more lament, than on his (the father's): For him I tremble and fear, lest any thing suffer Should he among the people among whom he hath gone, or on the sea: For many enraged foes plot against him, Longing to slay him, before he come to his father-land." Her the pale shade answering addressed : "Be-of-good-cheer, and not at all fear too much in thy mind: For such an attendant goes along with (him), as other Men would choose to go alone with (them)-for powerful (is she) (Namely) Pallas Minerva: thee she pities in thy lamentations: And me hath she sent forward to tell thee so.' Her addressed the discreet Penelope : "If thou art indeed a goddess, and hast heard the voice of a goddess, If so, come, tell to me with respect to that hapless one, If any where he live, and look on the light of the sun, Her the pale shade answering addressed: "With respect to him I will not answer thee directly Whether he be alive, or dead: for it is a bad thing to answer the things may-be-borne-away-by-the-wind. that (The shade), thus having spoken through the lock of the door, withdrew Into a breath of wind: but from sleep roused-herself-up The daughter of Icarius, and her heart was delighted That a manifest dream had come upon her in the hours of midnight. Is this an IDEA of the First Four Books of the Odyssey? And would you wish them all away? If you would, then it would surely be by gently disengaging then from the Twenty, and giving them an asylum in some secret and sacred cell in your heart. But what to you would be the Twenty, were these four buried in dust! They would be much; for a deep human interest overflows one and all, among the wonderful and wild that seem to belong but to imagination's sphere. You would sympathize with Ulysses longing for rugged Ithaca even in Ogygia's enchanted isle; for home-sickness is the malady of a noble heart, and conjugal affection its most endearing virtue. But on the first sight you now have of Ulysses weeping to the waves, you know, better far than he does, a thousand reasons in nature for his tears. The Muse has told you far more than Minerva told him-and all your love and admiration of his Penelope and his Telemachus-insensibly changed into a profound pity-are poured on the majestic mourner's head. Your heart burns within you to think that he will return to that home, to redress, to vindicate, to avenge, and to enjoy. Here is "the sea-mark of his utmost sail." Happiness enough here by his presence made to emerge from misery-to compensate all the woes of the much-enduring man, and leave him deep in debt to Heaven. And do you grudge Telemachus his visit to Nestor and to Menelaus, "In life's morning march, when his spirit is young ?" Joy tempers his grief-till it smiles -as sunshine will seek out and not suffer a flower to be sad in mists and storms. And how pure those courts of kings! The manners there how virtuous in their simplicity-the morning air how bright-and the evening air how still-in religious service duly done to the Gods! The whole life we see-the whole life of which we hear-heroic; and Poetry shedding over it, generally, a gentle lustre-sometimes, as in the narration of the adventures of Menelaus by himself, a gloomy light that seems strangely to darken and illumine a hardly human world. You have been made to feel that Penelope is worthy of the love of Ulysses-and you long for the REALIZATION OF HER DREAM. |