Part 8

There is, besides, a certain island, call’d Pharos, that with the high-wav’d sea is wall’d, Just against Ægypt, and so much remote, As in a whole day, with a fore-gale smote, A hollow ship can sail. And this isle bears A port most portly, where sea-passengers Put in still for fresh water, and away To sea again. Yet here the Gods did stay My fleet full twenty days; the winds, that are Masters at sea, no prosp’rous puff would spare To put us off; and all my victuals here Had quite corrupted, as my men’s minds were, Had not a certain Goddess giv’n regard, And pitied me in an estate so hard; And ’twas Idothea, honour’d Proteus’ seed, That old sea-farer. Her mind I make bleed With my compassion, when (walk’d all alone, From all my soldiers, that were ever gone About the isle on fishing with hooks bent; Hunger their bellies on her errand sent) She came close to me, spake, and thus began:

‘Of all men thou art the most foolish man! Or slack in business, or stay’st here of choice, And dost in all thy suff’rances rejoice, That thus long liv’st detain’d here, and no end Canst give thy tarriance? Thou dost much offend The minds of all thy fellows.’ I replied:

‘Whoever thou art of the Deified, I must affirm, that no way with my will I make abode here; but, it seems, some ill The Gods, inhabiting broad heav’n, sustain Against my getting off. Inform me then, For Godheads all things know, what God is he That stays my passage from the fishy sea?’

‘Stranger,’ said she, ‘I’ll tell thee true: There lives An old sea-farer in these seas, that gives A true solution of all secrets here, Who deathless Proteus is, th’ Ægyptian peer, Who can the deeps of all the seas exquire, Who Neptune’s priest is, and, they say, the sire That did beget me. Him, if any way Thou couldst inveigle, he would clear display Thy course from hence, and how far off doth lie Thy voyage’s whole scope through Neptune’s sky. Informing thee, O God-preserv’d, beside, If thy desires would so be satisfied, Whatever good or ill hath got event, In all the time thy long and hard course spent, Since thy departure from thy house.’ This said; Again I answer’d: ‘Make the sleights display’d Thy father useth, lest his foresight see, Or his foreknowledge taking note of me, He flies the fixt place of his us’d abode. ’Tis hard for man to countermine with God.’

She straight replied: ‘I’ll utter truth in all: When heav’n’s supremest height the sun doth skall, The old Sea-tell-truth leaves the deeps, and hides Amidst a black storm, when the West Wind chides, In caves still sleeping. Round about him sleep (With short feet swimming forth the foamy deep) The sea-calves, lovely Halosydnes call’d, From whom a noisome odour is exhal’d, Got from the whirl-pools, on whose earth they lie. Here, when the morn illustrates all the sky, I’ll guide, and seat thee in the fittest place For the performance thou hast now in chace. In mean time, reach thy fleet, and choose out three Of best exploit, to go as aids to thee.

But now I’ll show thee all the old God’s sleights: He first will number, and take all the sights Of those his guard, that on the shore arrives. When having view’d, and told them forth by fives, He takes place in their midst, and there doth sleep, Like to a shepherd midst his flock of sheep. In his first sleep, call up your hardiest cheer, Vigour and violence, and hold him there, In spite of all his strivings to be gone. He then will turn himself to ev’ry one Of all things that in earth creep and respire, In water swim, or shine in heav’nly fire. Yet still hold you him firm, and much the more Press him from passing. But when, as before, When sleep first bound his pow’rs, his form ye see, Then cease your force, and th’ old heroë free, And then demand, which heav’n-born it may be That so afflicts you, hind’ring your retreat, And free sea-passage to your native seat.’

This said, she div’d into the wavy seas, And I my course did to my ships address, That on the sands stuck; where arriv’d, we made Our supper ready. Then th’ ambrosian shade Of night fell on us, and to sleep we fell. Rosy Aurora rose; we rose as well, And three of them on whom I most relied, For firm at ev’ry force, I choos’d, and hied Straight to the many-river-servéd seas; And all assistance ask’d the Deities.

Mean time Idothea the sea’s broad breast Embrac’d, and brought for me, and all my rest, Four of the sea-calves’ skins but newly flay’d, To work a wile which she had fashionéd Upon her father. Then, within the sand A covert digging, when these calves should land, She sat expecting. We came close to her; She plac’d us orderly, and made us wear Each one his calf’s skin. But we then must pass A huge exploit. The sea-calves’ savour was So passing sour, they still being bred at seas, It much afflicted us; for who can please To lie by one of these same sea-bred whales? But she preserves us, and to memory calls A rare commodity; she fetch’d to us Ambrosia, that an air most odorous Bears still about it, which she ‘nointed round Our either nosthrils, and in it quite drown’d The nasty whale-smell. Then the great event The whole morn’s date, with spirits patient, We lay expecting. When bright noon did flame, Forth from the sea in shoals the sea-calves came, And orderly, at last lay down and slept Along the sands. And then th’ old Sea-God crept From forth the deeps, and found his fat calves there, Survey’d, and number’d, and came never near The craft we us’d, but told us five for calves. His temples then dis-eas’d with sleep he salves; And in rush’d we, with an abhorréd cry, Cast all our hands about him manfully; And then th’ old Forger all his forms began: First was a lion with a mighty mane, Then next a dragon, a pied panther then, A vast boar next, and suddenly did strain All into water. Last he was a tree, Curl’d all at top, and shot up to the sky.

We, with resolv’d hearts, held him firmly still, When th’ old one (held too strait for all his skill To extricate) gave words, and question’d me:

‘Which of the Gods, O Atreus’ son,’ said he, ‘Advis’d and taught thy fortitude this sleight, To take and hold me thus in my despite?’ ‘What asks thy wish now?’ I replied. ‘Thou know’st. Why dost thou ask? What wiles are these thou show’st? I have within this isle been held for wind A wondrous time, and can by no means find An end to my retention. It hath spent The very heart in me. Give thou then vent To doubts thus bound in me, ye Gods know all, Which of the Godheads doth so foully fall On my addression home, to stay me here, Avert me from my way, the fishy clear Barr’d to my passage?’ He replied: ‘Of force, If to thy home thou wishest free recourse, To Jove, and all the other Deities, Thou must exhibit solemn sacrifice; And then the black sea for thee shall be clear, Till thy lov’d country’s settled reach. But where Ask these rites thy performance? ’Tis a fate To thee and thy affairs appropriate, That thou shalt never see thy friends, nor tread Thy country’s earth, nor see inhabited Thy so magnificent house, till thou make good Thy voyage back to the Ægyptian flood, Whose waters fell from Jove, and there hast giv’n To Jove, and all Gods housed in ample heav’n, Devoted hecatombs, and then free ways Shall open to thee, clear’d of all delays.’ This told he; and, methought, he brake my heart, In such a long and hard course to divert My hope for home, and charge my back retreat As far as Ægypt. I made answer yet: ‘Father, thy charge I’ll perfect; but before Resolve me truly, if their natural shore All those Greeks, and their ships, do safe enjoy, That Nestor and myself left, when from Troy We first rais’d sail? Or whether any died At sea a death unwish’d? Or, satisfied, When war was past, by friends embrac’d, in peace Resign’d their spirits? He made answer: ‘Cease To ask so far. It fits thee not to be So cunning in thine own calamity. Nor seek to learn what learn’d thou shouldst forget. Men’s knowledges have proper limits set, And should not prease into the mind of God. But ’twill not long be, as my thoughts abode, Before thou buy this curious skill with tears. Many of those, whose states so tempt thine ears, Are stoop’d by death, and many left alive, One chief of which in strong hold doth survive, Amidst the broad sea. Two, in their retreat, Are done to death. I list not to repeat Who fell at Troy, thyself was there in fight, But in return swift Ajax lost the light, In his long-oar’d ship. Neptune, yet, awhile Saft him unwrack’d, to the Gyræan isle, A mighty-rock removing from his way. And surely he had ‘scap’d the fatal day, In spite of Pallas, if to that foul deed He in her fane did, (when he ravishéd The Trojan prophetess) he had not here Adjoin’d an impious boast, that he would bear, Despite the Gods, his ship safe through the waves Then rais’d against him. These his impious braves When Neptune heard, in his strong hand he took His massy trident, and so soundly strook The rock Gyræan, that in two it cleft; Of which one fragment on the land he left, The other fell into the troubled seas; At which first rush’d Ajax Oïliades, And split his ship, and then himself afloat Swum on the rough waves of the world’s vast mote, Till having drunk a salt cup for his sin, There perish’d he. Thy brother yet did win The wreath from death, while in the waves they strove, Afflicted by the rev’rend wife of Jove. But when the steep mount of the Malian shore He seem’d to reach, a most tempestuous blore, Far to the fishy world that sighs so sore, Straight ravish’d him again as far away, As to th’ extreme bounds where the Agrians stay, Where first Thyestes dwelt, but then his son Ægisthus Thyestiades liv’d. This done, When his return untouch’d appear’d again, Back turn’d the Gods the wind, and set him then Hard by his house. Then, full of joy, he left His ship, and close t’ his country earth he cleft, Kiss’d it, and wept for joy, pour’d tear on tear, To set so wishedly his footing there. But see, a sentinel that all the year Crafty Ægisthus in a watchtow’r set To spy his landing, for reward as great As two gold talents, all his pow’rs did call To strict remembrance of his charge, and all Discharg’d at first sight, which at first he cast On Agamemnon, and with all his haste Inform’d Ægisthus. He an instant train Laid for his slaughter: Twenty chosen men Of his plebeians he in ambush laid; His other men he charg’d to see purvey’d A feast; and forth, with horse and chariots grac’d, He rode t’ invite him, but in heart embrac’d Horrible welcomes, and to death did bring, With treach’rous slaughter, the unwary king, Receiv’d him at a feast, and, like an ox Slain at his manger, gave him bits and knocks. No one left of Atrides’ train, nor one Sav’d to Ægisthus, but himself alone, All strew’d together there the bloody court.’ This said, my soul he sunk with his report, Flat on the sands I fell, tears spent their store, I light abhorr’d, my heart would live no more. When dry of tears, and tir’d of tumbling there, Th’ old Tell-truth thus my daunted spirits did cheer: ‘No more spend tears nor time, O Atreus’ son, With ceaseless weeping never wish was won, Use uttermost assay to reach thy home, And all unwares upon the murderer come, For torture, taking him thyself alive; Or let Orestes, that should far out-strive Thee in fit vengeance, quickly quit the light Of such a dark soul, and do thou the rite Of burial to him with a funeral feast.’