Then, come the man whose courage prompts him forth
To box, to wrestle with me, or to run;
For ye have chafed me much, and I decline
No strife with any here, but challenge all
Phæacia, save Laodamas alone.
He is mine host. Who combats with his friend?
To call to proof of hardiment the man
Who entertains him in a foreign land,
Would but evince the challenger a fool,
Who, so, would cripple his own interest there.
As for the rest, I none refuse, scorn none,
But wish for trial of you, and to match
In opposition fair my force with yours.
There is no game athletic in the use
Of all mankind, too difficult for me;
I handle well the polish’d bow, and first
Amid a thousand foes strike whom I mark,
Although a throng of warriors at my side
Imbattled, speed their shafts at the same time.
Of all Achaia’s sons who erst at Troy
Drew bow, the sole who bore the prize from me
Was Philoctetes; I resign it else
To none now nourish’d with the fruits of earth.
Yet mean I no comparison of myself
With men of antient times, with Hercules,
Or with Oechalian Eurytus, who, both,
The Gods themselves in archery defied.
Soon, therefore, died huge Eurytus, ere yet
Old age he reach’d; him, angry to be call’d
To proof of archership, Apollo slew.
But if ye name the spear, mine flies a length
By no man’s arrow reach’d; I fear no foil
From the Phæacians, save in speed alone;
For I have suffer’d hardships, dash’d and drench’d
By many a wave, nor had I food on board
At all times, therefore I am much unstrung.
He spake; and silent the Phæacians sat,
Of whom alone Alcinoüs thus replied.
Since, stranger, not ungraceful is thy speech,
Who hast but vindicated in our ears
Thy question’d prowess, angry that this youth
Reproach’d thee in the presence of us all,
That no man qualified to give his voice
In public, might affront thy courage more;
Now mark me, therefore, that in time to come,
While feasting with thy children and thy spouse,
Thou may’st inform the Heroes of thy land
Even of our proficiency in arts
By Jove enjoin’d us in our father’s days.
We boast not much the boxer’s skill, nor yet
The wrestler’s; but light-footed in the race
Are we, and navigators well-inform’d.
Our pleasures are the feast, the harp, the dance,
Garments for change; the tepid bath; the bed.
Come, ye Phæacians, beyond others skill’d
To tread the circus with harmonious steps,
Come, play before us; that our guest, arrived
In his own country, may inform his friends
How far in seamanship we all excel,
In running, in the dance, and in the song.
Haste! bring ye to Demodocus his lyre
Clear-toned, left somewhere in our hall at home.
So spake the godlike King, at whose command
The herald to the palace quick return’d
To seek the charming lyre. Meantime arose
Nine arbiters, appointed to intend
The whole arrangement of the public games,
To smooth the circus floor, and give the ring
Its compass, widening the attentive throng.
Ere long the herald came, bearing the harp,
With which Demodocus supplied, advanced
Into the middle area, around whom
Stood blooming youths, all skilful in the dance.
With footsteps justly timed all smote at once
The sacred floor; Ulysses wonder-fixt,
The ceaseless play of twinklingfeet admired.
Then, tuning his sweet chords, Demodocus
A jocund strain began, his theme, the loves
Of Mars and Cytherea chaplet-crown’d;
How first, clandestine, they embraced beneath
The roof of Vulcan, her, by many a gift
Seduced, Mars won, and with adult’rous lust
The bed dishonour’d of the King of fire.
The sun, a witness of amorous sport,
Bore swift the tale to Vulcan; he, apprized
Of that foul deed, at once his smithy sought,
In secret darkness of his inmost soul
Contriving vengeance; to the stock he heav’d
His anvil huge, on which he forged a snare
Of bands indissoluble, by no art
To be untied, durance for ever firm.
The net prepared, he bore it, fiery-wroth,
To his own chamber and his nuptial couch,
Where, stretching them from post to post, he wrapp’d
With those fine meshes all his bed around,
And hung them num’rous from the roof, diffused
Like spiders’ filaments, which not the Gods
Themselves could see, so subtle were the toils.
When thus he had encircled all his bed
On ev’ry side, he feign’d a journey thence
To Lemnos, of all cities that adorn
The earth, the city that he favours most.
Nor kept the God of the resplendent reins
Mars, drowsy watch, but seeing that the famed
Artificer of heav’n had left his home,
Flew to the house of Vulcan, hot to enjoy
The Goddess with the wreath-encircled brows.
She, newly from her potent Sire return’d
The son of Saturn, sat. Mars, ent’ring, seiz’d
Her hand, hung on it, and thus urg’d his suit.
Glance their many-twinkling feet.’’
Thine husband is from home, to Lemnos gone,
And to the Sintians, men of barb’rous speech.
He spake, nor she was loth, but bedward too
Like him inclined; so then, to bed they went,
And as they lay’d them down, down stream’d the net
Around them, labour exquisite of hands
By ingenuity divine inform’d.
Small room they found, so prison’d; not a limb
Could either lift, or move, but felt at once
Entanglement from which was no escape.
And now the glorious artist, ere he yet
Had reach’d the Lemnian isle, limping, return’d
From his feign’d journey, for his spy the sun
Had told him all. With aching heart he sought
His home, and, standing in the vestibule,
Frantic with indignation roar’d to heav’n,
And
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