Six days and nights the brass-clad chief abode Pent up in caverns by the straitening seas,And fed on ferns and limpets;but the dawn,Before the strong sun of the seventh,brought A fume of fire and smells of savoury meat And much rejoicing,as from neighbouring feasts;At which the hunter,seized with sudden lust,Sprang up the crags,and,like a dream of Fear,Leapt,shouting,at a huddled host of hinds Amongst the fragments of their steaming food;And as the hoarse wood-wind in Autumn sweeps To every zone the hissing latter leaves,So fleet Telegonus,by dint of spear And strain of thunderous voice,did scatter these East,South,and North:'twas then the chief had rest,Hard by the outer coast of Ithaca,Unknown to him who ate the spoil and slept.
Nor stayed he hand thereafter;but when noon Burned dead on misty hills of stunted fir,This man shook slumber from his limbs,and sped Against hoar beaches and the kindled cliffs Of falling waters;these he waded through,Beholding,past the forests of the West,A break of light and homes of many men,And shining corn,and flowers,and fruits of flowers.
Yea,seeing these,the facile-footed chief Grasped by the knot the huge lean lance And fell upon the farmers;wherefore they Left hoe and plough,and crouched in heights remote,Companioned with the grey-winged fogs;but he Made waste their fields and throve upon their toil -As throve the boar,the fierce four-footed curse Which Artemis did raise in Calydon To make stern mouths wax white with foreign fear,All in the wild beginning of the World.
So one went down and told Laertes'son Of what the brass-clad stranger from the straits Had worked in Ithaca:whereat the King Rose,like a god,and called his mighty heir,Telemachus,the wisest of the wise;And these two,having counsel,strode without,And armed them with the arms of warlike days -
The helm,the javelin,and the sun-like shield,And glancing greaves and quivering stars of steel!
Yea,stern Ulysses,rusted not with rest,But dread as Ares,gleaming on his car Gave out the reins;and straightway all the lands Were struck by noise of steed and shouts of men,And furious dust,and splendid wheels of flame.
Meanwhile the hunter (starting from a sleep In which the pieces of a broken dream Had shown him Circe with most tearful face),Caught at his spear,and stood like one at bay When Summer brings about Arcadian horns And headlong horses mixt with maddened hounds;Then huge Ulysses,like a fire of fight,Sprang sideways on the flying car,and drave Full at the brass-clad warrior of the North His massive spear;but fleet Telegonus Stooped from the death,but heard the speedy lance Sing like a thin wind through the steaming air;Yet he,dismayed not by the dreadful foe -
Unknown to him -dealt out his strength,and aimed A strenuous stroke at great Laertes'son,Which missed the shield,but bit through flesh and bone,And drank the blood,and dragged the soul from thence.
So fell the King!And one cried "Ithaca!
Ah,Ithaca!''and turned his face and wept.
Then came another -wise Telemachus -
Who knelt beside the man of many days And pored upon the face;but lo,the life Was like bright water spilt in sands of thirst,A wasted splendour swiftly drawn away.
Yet held he by the dead:he heeded not The moaning warrior who had learnt his sin -Who waited now,like one in lairs of pain,Apart with darkness hungry for his fate;For had not wise Telemachus the lore Which makes the pale-mouthed seer content to sleep Amidst the desolations of the world?
So therefore he,who knew Telegonus,The child of Circe by Laertes'son,Was set to be a scourge of Zeus,smote not,But rather sat with moody eyes,and mused,And watched the dead.For who may brave the gods?
Yet,O my fathers,when the people came,And brought the holy oils and perfect fire,And built the pile,and sang the tales of Troy -Of desperate travels in the olden time,By shadowy mountains and the roaring sea,Near windy sands and past the Thracian snows -The man who crossed them all to see his sire,And had a loyal heart to give the King,Instead of blows -this man did little more Than moan outside the fume of funeral rites,All in a rushing twilight full of rain,And clap his palms for sharper pains than swords.
Yea,when the night broke out against the flame,And lonely noises loitered in the fens,This man nor stirred nor slept,but lay at wait,With fastened mouth.For who may brave the gods?
