Homer, Laertes, Agatha

HOMER.
Is this Laertes who embraces me
Ere a word spoken ? his the hand I grasp ?

LAERTES.
Zeus help thee, and restore to thee thy sight,
My guest of old ! I am of years as many,
And of calamities, as thou thyself,
I, wretched man ! who have outlived my son
Odysseus, him thou knewest in this house,
A stripling fond of quoits and archery,
Thence to be call'd for counsel mid the chiefs
Who storm'd that city past the farther sea,
Built by two Gods, by more than two defended.

HOMER.
Hither I came to visit thee, and sing
His wanderings and his wisdom, tho' my voice
Be not the voice it was ; yet thoughts come up.
And words to thoughts, which others may recite
When I am mute, and deaf as is my grave,
If any grave in any land be mine.

LAERTES.
Men will contend for it in after times.
And cities claim it as the ground whereon
A temple stood, and worshippers yet stand.
Long hast thou travell'd since we met, and far.

HOMER.
I have seen many cities, and the best
And wisest of the men who dwelt therein.
The children and their children now adult,
Nor childless they. Some have I chided, some
Would soothe, who, mounted on the higher sod,
Wept as the pebbles tinkled, dropping o'er
A form outstretcht below ; they would not hear
Story of mine, which told them there were fields
Fresher, and brighter skies, but slapping me,
Cried worse, and ran away.

LAERTES.
Here sits aside thee
A child grey-headed who will hear thee out.
Here shalt thou arm my son again, in mail
No enemy, no time, can strip from him,
But first I counsel thee to try the strength
Of my old prisoner in the cave below :
The wine will sparkle at the sight of thee.
If there be any virtue left in it.
Bread there is, fitter for young teeth than ours,
But wine can soften its obduracy.
At hand is honey in the honeycomb.
And melon, and those blushing pouting buds
That fain would hide them under crisped leaves.
Soon the blue dove and particolor'd hen
Shall quit the stable-rafter, caught at roost,
And goat shall miss her suckling in the morn ;
Supper will want them ere the day decline.

HOMER.
So be it : I sing best when hearty cheer
Refreshes me, and hearty friend beside.

LAERTES.
Voyagers, who have heard thee, carried home
Strange stories ; whether all be thy device
I know not : surely thou hadst been afraid
Some God or Goddess would have twitcht thine ear.

HOMER.
They often came about me while I slept,
And brought me dreams, and never lookt morose.

They loved thy son and for his sake loved me.

LAERTES.
Apollo, I well know, was much thy friend.

HOMER.
He never harried me as Marsyas
Was harried by him ; lest he should, I sang
His praise in my best hymn : the Gods love praise.

LAERTES.
I should have thought the Gods would more approve
Good works than glossy words, for well they know
All we can tell them of themselves or us.
Have they enricht thee ? for I see thy cloak
Is ragged.

HOMER.
Ragged cloak is songster's garb.

LAERTES.
I have two better ; one of them for thee.
Penelope, who died five years ago.
Spun it, her husband wore it only once,
And 'twas upon the anniversary
Of their espousal.

HOMER.
Wear it I will not,
But I will hang it on the brightest nail
Of the first temple where Apollo sits,
Golden hair'd, in his glory.

LAERTES.
So thou shalt
If so it please thee : yet we first will quaff"
The gifts of Bakkos, for methinks his gifts
Are quite as welcome to the sons of song
And cheer them oftener.

(Agatha enters with a cup of wine.)
Maiden! come thou nigh,
And seat thee there, and thou shalt hear him sing,
After a while, what Gods might listen to :
But place that cup upon the board, and wait
Until the stranger hath assuaged his thirst,
For songmen, grasshoppers, and nightingales
Sing cheerily but when the throat is moist.

HOMER.
I sang to maidens in my prime ; again,
But not before the morrow, will I sing ;

Let me repose this noontide, since in sooth
Wine, a sweet solacer of weariness,
Helps to unload the burden,

LAERTES.
Lie then down
Along yon mat bestrown with rosemary,
Basil, and mint, and thyme.

She knows them all
And has her names for them, some strange enough.
Sound and refreshing then be thy repose !
Well may weak mortal seek the balm of sleep
When even the Gods require it, when the stars
Droop in their courses, and the Sun himself
Sinks on the swelling bosom of the sea.

Take heed there be no knot on any sprig ;
After, bring store of rushes and long leaves
Of cane sweet-smelling from the inland bank
Of yon wide-wandering river over-sea
Famed for its swans ; then open and take out
From the black chest the linen, never used
These many years, which thou (or one before)
Spreadst for the Sun to bleach it ; and be sure.

Be sure, thou smoothen with both hands his couch
Who has the power to make both young and old
Live throughout ages.

AGATHA.
And look well through all ?

LAERTES.
Aye, and look better than they lookt before.

AGATHA.
I wish he could make me so, and without
My going for it anywhere below.
I am content to stay in Ithaca,
Where the dogs know me, and the ferryman
Asks nothing from me, and the rills are full
After the rain, and flowers grow everywhere,
And bees grudge not their honey, and the grape
Grows within reach, and figs, blue, yellow, green,
Without my climbing ; boys, too come at call ;
And, if they hide the ripest, I know where
To find it, twist and struggle as they may ;

Impudent boys ! to make me bring it out,
Saying I shall not have it if I don't !

LAERTES.
How the child babbles ! pardon her ! behold
Her strength and stature have outgrown her wits !
In fourteen years thou thyself wast not wise.

HOMER.
My heart is freshened by a fount so pure
At its springhead ; let it run on in light.
Most girls are wing'd with wishes, and can ill
Keep on their feet against the early gale
That blows impetuous on unguarded breast ;
But this young maiden, I can prophecy,
Will be thy staff when other staff hath fail'd.

AGATHA.
May the Gods grant it ! but not grant it yet !
Blessings upon thy head !

HOMER.
May they bestow
Their choicest upon thine ! may they preserve
Thy comeliness of virtue many years
For him whose hand thy master joins to thine !

AGATHA.
O might I smoothen that mild wrinkled brow
With but one kiss !

LAERTES.
Take it. Now leave us, child,
And bid our good Metampos to prepare
That brazen bath wherein my rampant boy
Each morning lay full-length, struggling at first.
Then laughing as he splasht the water up
Against his mother's face bent over him.
Is this the Odysseus first at quoit and bar ?
Is this the Odysseus call'd to counsel kings.
He whose name sounds beyond our narrow sea?

AGATHA.
O how I always love to hear that name!

LAERTES.
But linger not ; pursue the task at hand :
Bethink thee 'tis for one who has the power
To give thee many days beyond old-age.

AGATHA.
O ! tell him not to do it if he can :

He cannot make youth stay : the swallows come
And go, youth goes, but never comes again.

LAERTES.
He can make heroes greater than they were.

AGATHA.
By making them lay by the wicked sword ?
How I shall love him when he has done that !

LAERTES.
No, but lie gives them strength by magic song.

AGATHA.
The strength of constancy to love but one ?
As did Odysseus while he lived on earth,
And when he waited for her in the shades,

LAERTES.
The little jay ! go, chatterer.

Agatha to Homer,
Do not think,
O stranger, he is wroth ; he never is
With Agatha, albeit he stamps and frowns
And shakes three fingers at her, and forbears
To do the like to any one beside.
Hark ! the brass sounds, the bath is now pre- pared.

LAERTES.
More than the water shall her hand assuage
Thy weary feet, and lead thee back, now late.

In the Morning,

HOMER.
Whose is the soft and pulpy hand that lies
Athwart the ridges of my craggy one
Out of the bed ? can it be Agatha's ?

AGATHA.
I come to bring thee, while yet warm and frothy,
A draught of milk. Rise now, rise just half-up,
And drink it. Hark ! the birds, two at a time,
Are singing in the terebinth. Our king-
Hath taken down his staff and gone afield
To see the men begin their daily work.

HOMER.
Go thon to thine : I will arise. How sweet
Was that goat's milk !

AGATHA.
We have eleven below.
All milchers. Wouldst thou now the tepid bath ?

HOMER.
Rather when thou hast laid on the left-hand
My sandals within reach ; bring colder lymph
To freshen more the frame-work of mine eyes.
For eyes there are, altho their orbs be dark.

AGATHA.
'Tis here ; let me apply it.

HOMER.
Bravely done !
Why standest thou so still and taciturn ?

AGATHA.
The king my master hath forbidden me
Ever to ask a question : if I might,
And were not disobedience such a sin,
I would ask thee so gentle and so wise,
Whether the story of that bad Calypso
Can be all true, for it would grieve me sorely
To think thou wouldst repeat it were it false.
And some ill-natured God (such Gods there are)
Would punish thee, already too afflicted.

HOMER.
My child ! the Muses sang the tale I told.
And they know more about that wanton Nymph
Than they have uttered into mortal ear.
I do rejoice to find thee fond of truth.

AGATHA.
I was not always truthful. I have smarted
For falsehood, under Queen Penelope,
When I was little. I should hate to hear
More of that wicked creature who detained
Her lord from her, and tried to win his love.
I know 'twas very wrong in me to listen.

HOMER.
A pardonable fault : we wish for listeners
Whether we speak or sing, the young and old
Alike are weak in this, unwise and wise.
Cheerful and sorrowful.

AGATHA.
0 1 look up yonder !
Why dost thou smile? everything makes thee smile
At silly Agatha, but why just now ?

HOMER.
What was the sight ?

AGATHA.
ii O inconsiderate !

O worse than inconsiderate ! cruel ! cruel!

HOMER.
Tell me, what was it ? I can see thro' speech.

AGATHA.
A tawny bird above ; he prowls for hours,
Sailing on wilful wings that never flag
Until they drop headlong to seize the prey.
The hinds shout after him and make him soar
Eastward : our little birds are safe from kites
And idler boys.

'Tis said (can it be true ?)
In other parts men catch the nightingale
To make it food.

HOMER.
Nay, men eat men.

AGATHA.
Ye Gods!
But men hurt one another, nightingales
Console the weary with unwearied song.

Until soft slumber on the couch descends.
The king my master and Penelope
Forbade the slaughter or captivity
Of the poor innocents who trusted them,
Nor robbed them even of the tiniest grain.

HOMER.
Generous and tender is thy master's heart,
Warm as the summer, open as the sky.

AGATHA.
How true ! how I do love thee for these words !
Stranger, didst thou not hear him wail aloud,
Groan after groan, broken, but ill supprest.
When thou recitedst in that plaintive tone
How Anticleia met her son again
Amid the shades below ?

Thou shouldst have stopt
Before that tale was told by thee ; that one
At least was true, if none were true before.
In vain, O how in vain, I smote my breast
To keep more quiet what would beat within !
Never were words so sweet, so sad, as those.
I sobb'd apart, I could not check my tears :
Laertes too, tho' stronger, could not his.
They glistened in their channels and would run,
Nor could he stop them with both hands: he heard
My sobs, and call'd me little fool for them;
Then did he catch and hold me to his bosom.
And bid me never do the like again.

HOMER.
The rains in their due season will descend.
And so will tears ; they sink into the heart
To soften, not to hurt it. The best men
Have most to weep for, whether foren lands
Receive them (or stil worse !) a home estranged.

AGATHA.
Listen. I hear the merry yelp of dogs,
And now the ferrel'd staff drops in the hall.
And now the master's short and hurried step
Advances : here he is : turn round, turn round.

LAERTES.
Hast thou slept well, Maeonides ?

HOMER.
I slept
Three hours ere sunrise, 'tis my wont, at night
I lie awake for nearly twice as long.

LAERTES.
Ay ; singing birds wake early, shake their plumes.
And carol ere they feed. Sound was thy sleep ?

HOMER.
I felt again, but felt it undisturb'd.
The pelting of the little curly waves.
The slow and heavy stretch of rising billows,
i And the rapidity of their descent.

LAERTES.
Marvellous things are dreams ! methinks we live
An age in one of them, we traverse lands
A lifetime could not reach, bring from the grave
Inhabitants who never met before,
And vow we will not leave an absent friend
We long have left, and who leaves us ere morn.

Apollo, who deprived thee of thy light
When youth was fresh and nature bloom'd around.

Bestowed on thee gifts never dim with age.

And rarely granted to impatient youth.

The crown thou wearest reddens not the brow
Of him who wears it worthily ; but some
Are snatcht by violence, some purloin'd by fraud,
Some dripping blood, not by the Gods unseen.

To thee, O wise Moeonides, to thee
Worthless is all that glitters and attracts
The buzzing insects of a summer hour.

The Gods have given thee what themselves enjoy.

And they alone, glory through endless days.

The Lydian king Sarpedon never swayed
Such sceptre, nor did Glaucos his compeer,
Nor Priam. Priam was about my age.

He had more sorrows than I ever had;

I lost one son, some fifty Priam lost ;

This is a comfort, I may rub my palms
Thinking of this, and bless the Powers above.

HOMER.
One wicked son brought down their vengeance on him,
And his wide realms invited numerous foes.

LAERTES.
Alas ! alas ! are ther not cares enow
In ruling nearly those five thousand heads,
Men, women, children ; arbitrating right
And wrong, and hearing maids and mothers wail ;
For flax blown off the cliff when almost bleacht,
And curlew tamed in vain and fled away.
Albeit one wing was shortened ; then approach
To royal ear the whisper that the bird
Might peradventure have alighted nigh.
And hist upon the charcoal, skinn'd and split.
Bounteous as are the Gods, where is the wealth
To stop these lamentations with a. gift
Adequate to such losses ? words are light,
And words come opposite, with heavy groans.

HOMER.
The pastor of the people may keep watch,
Yet cares as wakeful creep into the fold.

LAERTES.
Beside these city griefs, what mortal knows
The anxieties about my scattered sheep ?
Some bleeting for lost offspring, some for food,
Scanty in winter, scantier in the drought
Of Sirius ; then again the shrubs in spring ;
Crept close, ere barely budded, by the goats.
Methinks these animals are over-nice
About their food, else might they pick sea-weeds,
But these foresooth they trample on, nor deign
To taste even samphire, which their betters cull.
There also are some less solicitudes
About those rocks, when plunderers from abroad
Would pilfer eggs and nestlings ; my own folk
Are abstinent, without their king's decree.

HOMER.
To help thee in such troubles, and in worse,
Where is thy brave Telemakos ?

LAERTES.
That youth
Is gone to rule Dulikeon, where the soil
Tho' fitter than our Ithaca for tilth,
Bears only turbulence and idleness.
He with his gentle voice and his strong arm,
Will bring into due train the restive race.

HOMER.
Few will contend with gentleness and youth ,
Even of those who strive against the Laws,
But some subvert them who could best defend.
And in whose hands the Gods have placed the sword.
On the mainland there are, unless report
Belie them, princes who, possessing realms
Wider than sight from mountain-head can reach.
Would yet invade a neighbour's stony croft.
Pretending danger to their citadels
From fishermen ashore, and shepherd boys
Who work for daily and but scanty bread,
And wax the reeds to pipe at festivals.
Where the dogs snarl at them above the bones.

LAERTES.
What ! would the cloth'd in purple, as are some,
Rip off the selvage from a ragged coat ?
Accursed be the wretch, and whosoe'er
Upholds him, or connives at his misdeeds.
Away with thoughts that sadden even this hour !

HOMER.
I would indeed away with 'em, but wrath
Rings on the lyre and swells above the song.
It shall be heard by those who stand on high.
But shall not rouse the lowlier, long opprest.
Who might be madden'd at his broken sleep.
And wrenching out the timbers of his gate
Batter the prince's down.

LAERTES.
Ye Gods forbid !
Thou makest the skin creep upon my flesh.
Albeit the danger lies from me afar.
Now surely this is but' a songman's tale,
Yet songman never liere discourst like thee,
Or whispered in low voice what thou hast sung,
Striking the lyre so that the strings all trembled.
Are people anywhere grown thus unruly ?

HOMER.
More are they who would rule than would be ruled,
Yet one must govern, else all run astray.
The strongest are the calm and equitable.
And kings at best are men, nor always that.

LAERTES.
I have known many who have call'd me friend,
Yet would not warn me tho' they saw ten skiffs
Grating the strand with three score thieves in each.

Curse on that chief across the narrow sea,
Who drives whole herds and flocks innumerable.
And whose huge presses groan with oil and wine .
Year after year, yet fain would carry off
The crying kid, and strangle it for crying.

Now art thou not, from such long talk, athirst ?
Split this pomegranate then, and stoop the jar.
Hold ! I can stoop it : take this cup. .'tis fill'd.

HOMER.
Zeus ! God of hospitality ! vouchsafe
To hear my prayer, as thou hast often done.
That, when thy lightnings spring athwart the sea.
And when thy thunders shake from brow to base
The Acrokerauneans, thy right hand protect
This Ithaca, this people, and this king !