And by a sign vouchsafed he bade us cut
The wide sea to Eubœa sheer athwart,
So soonest to escape the threat’ned harm.
Shrill sang the rising gale, and with swift prows
Cleaving the fishy flood, we reach’d by night
Geræstus, where arrived, we burn’d the thighs
Of num’rous bulls to Neptune, who had safe
Conducted us through all our perilous course.
The fleet of Diomede in safety moor’d
On the fourth day at Argos, but myself
Held on my course to Pylus, nor the wind
One moment thwarted us, or died away,
When Jove had once commanded it to blow.
Nor of the Greecians, who are saved have heard,
Or who have perish’d; but what news soe’er
I have obtain’d, since my return, with truth
I will relate, nor aught conceal from thee.
By Neoptolemus, illustrious son
Of brave Achilles led, have safe arrived;
Safe, Philoctetes, also son renown’d
Of Pæas; and Idomeneus at Crete
Hath landed all his followers who survive
The bloody war, the waves have swallow’d none.
Ye have yourselves doubtless, although remote,
Of Agamemnon heard, how he return’d,
And how Ægisthus cruelly contrived
For him a bloody welcome, but himself
Hath with his own life paid the murth’rous deed.
Good is it, therefore, if a son survive
The slain, since Agamemnon’s son hath well
Avenged his father’s death, slaying, himself,
Ægisthus, foul assassin of his Sire.
Young friend! (for pleas’d thy vig’rous youth I view,
And just proportion) be thou also bold,
That thine like his may be a deathless name.
Oh Nestor, Neleus’ son, glory of Greece!
And righteous was that vengeance; his renown
Achaia’s sons shall far and wide diffuse,
To future times transmitting it in song.
Ah! would that such ability the Gods
Would grant to me, that I, as well, the deeds
Might punish of our suitors, whose excess
Enormous, and whose bitter taunts I feel
Continual, object of their subtle hate.
But not for me such happiness the Gods
Have twined into my thread; no, not for me
Or for my father. Patience is our part.
Young friend! (since thou remind’st me of that theme)
Fame here reports that num’rous suitors haunt
Thy palace for thy mother’s sake, and there
Much evil perpetrate in thy despight.
But say, endur’st thou willing their controul
Imperious, or because the people, sway’d
By some response oracular, incline
Against thee? But who knows? the time may come
When to his home restored, either alone,
Or aided by the force of all the Greeks,
Ulysses may avenge the wrong; at least,
Should Pallas azure-eyed thee love, as erst
At Troy, the scene of our unnumber’d woes,
She lov’d Ulysses (for I have not known
The Gods assisting so apparently
A mortal man, as him Minerva there)
Should Pallas view thee also with like love
And kind solicitude, some few of those
Should dream, perchance, of wedlock never more.
That word’s accomplishment I cannot hope;
It promises too much; the thought alone
O’erwhelms me; an event so fortunate
Would, unexpected on my part, arrive,
Although the Gods themselves should purpose it.
Telemachus! what word was that which leap’d
The iv’ry guard that should have fenced it in?
A God, so willing, could with utmost ease
Save any man, howe’er remote. Myself,
I had much rather, many woes endured,
Revisit home, at last, happy and safe,
Than, sooner coming, die in my own house,
As Agamemnon perish’d by the arts
Of base Ægisthus and the subtle Queen.
Yet not the Gods themselves can save from death
All-levelling, the man whom most they love,
When Fate ordains him once to his last sleep.
Howe’er it interest us, let us leave
This question, Mentor! He, I am assured,
Returns no more, but hath already found
A sad, sad fate by the decree of heav’n.
But I would now interrogate again
Nestor, and on a different theme, for him
In human rights I judge, and laws expert,
And in all knowledge beyond other men;
For he hath govern’d, as report proclaims,
Three generations; therefore in my eyes
He wears the awful impress of a God.
Oh Nestor, son of Neleus, tell me true;
What was the manner of Atrides’ death,
Wide-ruling Agamemnon? Tell me where
Was Menelaus? By what means
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