ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems. Homer
Читать онлайн.Название The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems
Год выпуска 0
isbn 4057664634764
Автор произведения Homer
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
And in the council’s chief place up he stood;
When straight Pisenor (herald to his sire,
And learn’d in counsels) felt his heart on fire
To hear him speak, and put into his hand
The sceptre that his father did command;
Then, to the old Egyptian turn’d, he spoke:
“Father, not far he is that undertook
To call this Council; whom you soon shall know.
Myself, whose wrongs my griefs will make me show,
Am he that author’d this assembly here.
Nor have I heard of any army near,
Of which, being first told, I might iterate,
Nor for the public good can aught relate,
Only mine own affairs all this procure,
That in my house a double ill endure;
One, having lost a father so renown’d,
Whose kind rule once with’ your command was crown’d;
The other is, what much more doth augment
His weighty loss, the ruin imminent
Of all my house by it, my goods all spent.
And of all this the wooers, that are sons
To our chief peers, are the confusións,
Importuning my mother’s marriáge
Against her will; nor dares their blood’s bold rage
Go to Icarius’, her father’s, court,
That, his will ask’d in kind and comely sort,
He may endow his daughter with a dow’r,
And, she consenting, at his pleasure’s pow’r
Dispose her to a man, that, thus behav’d,
May have fit grace, and see her honour sav’d.
But these, in none but my house, all their lives
Resolve to spend; slaught’ring my sheep and beeves,
And with my fattest goats lay feast on feast,
My gen’rous wine consuming as they list.
A world of things they spoil, here wanting one,
That, like Ulysses, quickly could set gone
These peace-plagues from his house, that spoil like war;
Whom my pow’rs are unfit to urge so far,
Myself immartial. But, had I the pow’r,
My will should serve me to exempt this hour
From out my life-time. For, past patience,
Base deeds are done here, that exceed defence
Of any honour. Falling is my house,
Which you should shame to see so ruinous.
Rev’rence the censures that all good men give,
That dwell about you; and for fear to live
Expos’d to heav’n’s wrath (that doth ever pay
Pains for joys forfeit) even by Jove I pray,
Or Themis, both which pow’rs have to restrain,
Or gather, councils, that ye will abstain
From further spoil, and let me only waste
In that most wretched grief I have embrac’d
For my lost father. And though I am free
From meriting your outrage, yet, if he,
Good man, hath ever with a hostile heart
Done ill to any Greek, on me convert
Your like hostility, and vengeance take
Of his ill on my life, and all these make
Join in that justice; but, to see abus’d
Those goods that do none ill but being ill-us’d,
Exceeds all right. Yet better ’tis for me,
My whole possessions and my rents to see
Consum’d by you, than lose my life and all;
For on your rapine a revenge may fall,
While I live; and so long I may complain
About the city, till my goods again,
Oft ask’d, may be with all amends repaid.
But in the mean space your misrule hath laid
Griefs on my bosom, that can only speak,
And are denied the instant pow’r of wreak.”
This said, his sceptre ’gainst the ground he threw,
And tears still’d from him; which mov’d all the crew,
The court struck silent, not a man did dare
To give a word that might offend his ear.
Antinous only in this sort replied:
“High spoken, and of spirit unpacified,
How have you sham’d us in this speech of yours!
Will you brand us for an offence not ours?
Your mother, first in craft, is first in cause.
Three years are past, and near the fourth now draws,
Since first she mock’d the peers Achaian.
All she made hope, and promis’d ev’ry man,
Sent for us ever, left love’s show in nought,
But in her heart conceal’d another thought.
Besides, as curious in her craft, her loom
She with a web charg’d, hard to overcome,
And thus bespake us: ‘Youths, that seek my bed,
Since my divine spouse rests amongst the dead,
Hold on your suits but till I end, at most,
This funeral weed, lest what is done be lost.
Besides, I purpose, that when th’ austere fate
Of bitter death shall take into his state
Laertes the heroë, it shall deck
His royal corse, since I should suffer check
In ill report of ev’ry common dame,
If one so rich should show in death his shame.’
This speech she us’d; and this did soon persuade
Our gentle minds. But this a work she made
So hugely long, undoing still in night,
By torches, all she did by day’s broad light,
That three years her deceit div’d past our view,
And made us think that all she feign’d was true.
But when the fourth year came, and those sly hours
That still surprise at length dames’ craftiest powers,
One of her women, that