And now, if we gaze from our native shores over the vast ocean of human speech, with its waves rolling on from continent to continent, rising under the fresh breezes of the morning of history, and slowly heaving in our own more sultry atmosphere, with sails gliding over its surface, and many an oar ploughing through its surf, and the flags of all nations waving joyously together, with its rocks and wrecks, its storms and battles, yet reflecting serenely all that is beneath and above and around it; if we gaze and hearken to the strange sounds rushing past our ears in unbroken strains, it seems no longer a wild tumult, but we feel as if placed within some ancient cathedral, listening to a chorus of innumerable voices: and the more intensely we listen, the more all discords melt away into higher harmonies, till at last we hear but one majestic trichord, or a mighty unison, as at the end of a sacred symphony. Such visions will float through the study of the grammarian, and in the midst of toilsome researches his heart will suddenly beat, as he feels the conviction growing upon him that men are brethren in the simplest sense of the word--the children of the same father--whatever their country, their language, and their faith.
The curves of his smile become the waves in my ocean.
How sweet the music of this first heavenly chime floating across the waters of death from the towers of the New Jerusalem. Pilgrim, faint under thy long and arduous pilgrimage, hear it! It is REST. Soldier, carrying still upon thee blood and dust of battle, hear it! It is REST. Voyager, tossed on the waves of sin and sorrow, driven hither and thither on the world's heaving ocean of vicissitude, hear it! The haven is in sight; the very waves that are breaking on thee seem to murmur--"_So He giveth His beloved_ REST." It is the long-drawn sigh of existence at last answered. The toil and travail of earth's protracted week is at an end. The calm of its unbroken Sabbath is begun. Man, weary man, has found at last the long-sought-for _rest_ in the bosom of his God!--_Macduff._
In the winter season, for seven days of calm, Alcyone broods over her nest on the surface of the waters while the sea-waves are quiet. Through this time Aeolus keeps his winds at home, and ocean is smooth for his descendants’ sake.
There is no sea more dangerous than the ocean of practical politics--none in which there is more need of good pilotage and of a single, unfaltering purpose when the waves rise high.
The basin of the Mediterranean Sea was especially well adapted, from its physical conditions, to be the birth-place of such fables. It is a region frequently shaken by earthquakes, and contains two distinct centres of volcanic activity, one in the Aegean Sea and one in Italy. It is bounded on the north by a long succession of lofty snow-capped mountain-ranges, whence copious rivers, often swollen by heavy rains or melted snows, carry the drainage into the sea. On the south it boasts the Nile, once so full of mystery; likewise wide tracts of arid desert with their dreaded dust storms. The Mediterranean itself, though an inland sea, is subject to gales, which, on exposed coasts, raise breakers quite large enough to give a vivid impression of the power of ocean waves. The countries that surround this great sheet of water display in many places widely-spread deposits full of sea shells, like those that still live in the neighbouring bays and gulfs. Such a region was not only well fitted to supply subjects for mythology, but also to furnish, on every side, materials which, in their interest and suggestiveness, would appeal to the reason of observant men. Entry: PART
Next we arrive at painting, in which the third dimension is dismissed altogether, and nothing is actually reproduced, in full or partially, except the effect made by the appearance of natural objects upon the retina of the eye. The consequence is that this art can range over distance and multitude, can represent complicated relations between its various figures and groups of figures, extensive backgrounds, and all those infinite subtleties of appearance in natural things which depend upon local colours and their modification in the play of light and shade and enveloping atmosphere. These last phenomena of natural things are in our experience subject to change in a sense in which the substantial or solid properties of things are not so subject. Colours, shadows and atmospheric effects are naturally associated with ideas of transition, mystery and evanescence. Hence painting is able to extend its range to another kind of facts over which sculpture has no power. It can suggest and perpetuate in its imitation, without breach of its true laws, many classes of facts which are themselves fugitive and transitory, as a smile, the glance of an eye, a gesture of horror or of passion, the waving of hair in the wind, the rush of horses, the strife of mobs, the whole drama of the clouds, the toss and gathering of ocean waves, even the flashing of lightning across the sky. Still, any long or continuous series of changes, actions or movements is quite beyond the means of this art to represent. Painting remains, in spite of its comparative width of range, tied down to the inevitable conditions of a space-art: that is to say, it has to delight the mind by a harmonious variety in its effects, but by a variety apprehended not through various points of time successively, but from various points in space at the same moment. The old convention which allowed painters to indicate sequence in time by means of distribution in space, dispersing the successive episodes of a story about the different parts of a single picture, has been abandoned since the early Renaissance; and Wordsworth sums up our modern view of the matter when he says that it is the business of painting Entry: 2
And thus have these naked Nantucketers, these sea hermits, issuing from their ant-hill in the sea, overrun and conquered the watery world like so many Alexanders; parcelling out among them the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans, as the three pirate powers did Poland. Let America add Mexico to Texas, and pile Cuba upon Canada; let the English overswarm all India, and hang out their blazing banner from the sun; two thirds of this terraqueous globe are the Nantucketer's. For the sea is his; he owns it, as Emperors own empires; other seamen having but a right of way through it. Merchant ships are but extension bridges; armed ones but floating forts; even pirates and privateers, though following the sea as highwaymen the road, they but plunder other ships, other fragments of the land like themselves, without seeking to draw their living from the bottomless deep itself. The Nantucketer, he alone resides and riots on the sea; he alone, in Bible language, goes down to it in ships; to and fro ploughing it as his own special plantation. THERE is his home; THERE lies his business, which a Noah's flood would not interrupt, though it overwhelmed all the millions in China. He lives on the sea, as prairie cocks in the prairie; he hides among the waves, he climbs them as chamois hunters climb the Alps. For years he knows not the land; so that when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, more strangely than the moon would to an Earthsman. With the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; so at nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales.
He is in the tremendous sea. Under foot he has nothing but what flees and crumbles. The billows, torn and lashed by the wind, encompass him hideously; the tossings of the abyss bear him away; all the tongues of water dash over his head; a populace of waves spits upon him; confused openings half devour him; every time that he sinks, he catches glimpses of precipices filled with night; frightful and unknown vegetations seize him, knot about his feet, draw him to them; he is conscious that he is becoming an abyss, that he forms part of the foam; the waves toss him from one to another; he drinks in the bitterness; the cowardly ocean attacks him furiously, to drown him; the enormity plays with his agony. It seems as though all that water were hate.
"'When, parted hence, the wind, that ready waits For Sicily, shall bear you to the straits Where proud Pelorus opes a wider way, Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea: Veer starboard sea and land. Th' Italian shore And fair Sicilia's coast were one, before An earthquake caus'd the flaw: the roaring tides The passage broke that land from land divides; And where the lands retir'd, the rushing ocean rides. Distinguish'd by the straits, on either hand, Now rising cities in long order stand, And fruitful fields: so much can time invade The mold'ring work that beauteous Nature made. Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides: Charybdis roaring on the left presides, And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides; Then spouts them from below: with fury driv'n, The waves mount up and wash the face of heav'n. But Scylla from her den, with open jaws, The sinking vessel in her eddy draws, Then dashes on the rocks. A human face, And virgin bosom, hides her tail's disgrace: Her parts obscene below the waves descend, With dogs inclos'd, and in a dolphin end. 'T is safer, then, to bear aloof to sea, And coast Pachynus, tho' with more delay, Than once to view misshapen Scylla near, And the loud yell of wat'ry wolves to hear.
Thou seek'st a pleasant voyage home again, Renown'd Ulysses! but a God will make That voyage difficult; for, as I judge, Thou wilt not pass by Neptune unperceiv'd, Whose anger follows thee, for that thou hast Deprived his son Cyclops of his eye. At length, however, after num'rous woes Endur'd, thou may'st attain thy native isle, If thy own appetite thou wilt controul And theirs who follow thee, what time thy bark Well-built, shall at Thrinacia's shore arrive, Escaped from perils of the gloomy Deep. There shall ye find grazing the flocks and herds Of the all-seeing and all-hearing Sun, Which, if attentive to thy safe return, Thou leave unharm'd, though after num'rous woes, Ye may at length arrive in Ithaca. But if thou violate them, I denounce Destruction on thy ship and all thy band, And though thyself escape, late shalt thou reach Thy home and hard-bested, in a strange bark, All thy companions lost; trouble beside Awaits thee there, for thou shalt find within Proud suitors of thy noble wife, who waste Thy substance, and with promis'd spousal gifts Ceaseless solicit her to wed; yet well Shalt thou avenge all their injurious deeds. That once perform'd, and ev'ry suitor slain Either by stratagem, or face to face, In thy own palace, bearing, as thou go'st, A shapely oar, journey, till thou hast found A people who the sea know not, nor eat Food salted; they trim galley crimson prow'd Have ne'er beheld, nor yet smooth-shaven oar, With which the vessel wing'd scuds o'er the waves. Well thou shalt know them; this shall be the sign-- When thou shalt meet a trav'ler, who shall name The oar on thy broad shoulder borne, a van, There, deep infixing it within the soil, Worship the King of Ocean with a bull, A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seek Thy home again, and sacrifice at home An hecatomb to the Immortal Gods, Adoring each duly, and in his course. So shalt thou die in peace a gentle death, Remote from Ocean; it shall find thee late, In soft serenity of age, the Chief Of a blest people.--I have told thee truth.
"Ah, yes, the hashish is beginning its work. Well, unfurl your wings, and fly into superhuman regions; fear nothing, there is a watch over you; and if your wings, like those of Icarus, melt before the sun, we are here to ease your fall." He then said something in Arabic to Ali, who made a sign of obedience and withdrew, but not to any distance. As to Franz a strange transformation had taken place in him. All the bodily fatigue of the day, all the preoccupation of mind which the events of the evening had brought on, disappeared as they do at the first approach of sleep, when we are still sufficiently conscious to be aware of the coming of slumber. His body seemed to acquire an airy lightness, his perception brightened in a remarkable manner, his senses seemed to redouble their power, the horizon continued to expand; but it was not the gloomy horizon of vague alarms, and which he had seen before he slept, but a blue, transparent, unbounded horizon, with all the blue of the ocean, all the spangles of the sun, all the perfumes of the summer breeze; then, in the midst of the songs of his sailors,--songs so clear and sonorous, that they would have made a divine harmony had their notes been taken down,--he saw the Island of Monte Cristo, no longer as a threatening rock in the midst of the waves, but as an oasis in the desert; then, as his boat drew nearer, the songs became louder, for an enchanting and mysterious harmony rose to heaven, as if some Loreley had decreed to attract a soul thither, or Amphion, the enchanter, intended there to build a city.
In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening, when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea to listen to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet. It was a monotonous yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was far different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its hills are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky, and when troubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively infant when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.
Now Turnus, posted on a hill, from far Beheld the progress of the moving war: With him the Latins view'd the cover'd plains, And the chill blood ran backward in their veins. Juturna saw th' advancing troops appear, And heard the hostile sound, and fled for fear. Aeneas leads; and draws a sweeping train, Clos'd in their ranks, and pouring on the plain. As when a whirlwind, rushing to the shore From the mid ocean, drives the waves before; The painful hind with heavy heart foresees The flatted fields, and slaughter of the trees; With like impetuous rage the prince appears Before his doubled front, nor less destruction bears. And now both armies shock in open field; Osiris is by strong Thymbraeus kill'd. Archetius, Ufens, Epulon, are slain (All fam'd in arms, and of the Latian train) By Gyas', Mnestheus', and Achates' hand. The fatal augur falls, by whose command The truce was broken, and whose lance, embrued With Trojan blood, th' unhappy fight renew'd. Loud shouts and clamors rend the liquid sky, And o'er the field the frighted Latins fly. The prince disdains the dastards to pursue, Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few; Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain, He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain. Juturna heard, and, seiz'd with mortal fear, Forc'd from the beam her brother's charioteer; Assumes his shape, his armor, and his mien, And, like Metiscus, in his seat is seen.
Now was the world forsaken by the sun, And Phoebe half her nightly race had run. The careful chief, who never clos'd his eyes, Himself the rudder holds, the sails supplies. A choir of Nereids meet him on the flood, Once his own galleys, hewn from Ida's wood; But now, as many nymphs, the sea they sweep, As rode, before, tall vessels on the deep. They know him from afar; and in a ring Inclose the ship that bore the Trojan king. Cymodoce, whose voice excell'd the rest, Above the waves advanc'd her snowy breast; Her right hand stops the stern; her left divides The curling ocean, and corrects the tides. She spoke for all the choir, and thus began With pleasing words to warn th' unknowing man: "Sleeps our lov'd lord? O goddess-born, awake! Spread ev'ry sail, pursue your wat'ry track, And haste your course. Your navy once were we, From Ida's height descending to the sea; Till Turnus, as at anchor fix'd we stood, Presum'd to violate our holy wood. Then, loos'd from shore, we fled his fires profane (Unwillingly we broke our master's chain), And since have sought you thro' the Tuscan main. The mighty Mother chang'd our forms to these, And gave us life immortal in the seas. But young Ascanius, in his camp distress'd, By your insulting foes is hardly press'd. Th' Arcadian horsemen, and Etrurian host, Advance in order on the Latian coast: To cut their way the Daunian chief designs, Before their troops can reach the Trojan lines. Thou, when the rosy morn restores the light, First arm thy soldiers for th' ensuing fight: Thyself the fated sword of Vulcan wield, And bear aloft th' impenetrable shield. To-morrow's sun, unless my skill be vain, Shall see huge heaps of foes in battle slain." Parting, she spoke; and with immortal force Push'd on the vessel in her wat'ry course; For well she knew the way. Impell'd behind, The ship flew forward, and outstripp'd the wind. The rest make up. Unknowing of the cause, The chief admires their speed, and happy omens draws.
Then thus the mighty Ruler of the Main: "What may not Venus hope from Neptune's reign? My kingdom claims your birth; my late defense Of your indanger'd fleet may claim your confidence. Nor less by land than sea my deeds declare How much your lov'd Aeneas is my care. Thee, Xanthus, and thee, Simois, I attest. Your Trojan troops when proud Achilles press'd, And drove before him headlong on the plain, And dash'd against the walls the trembling train; When floods were fill'd with bodies of the slain; When crimson Xanthus, doubtful of his way, Stood up on ridges to behold the sea; (New heaps came tumbling in, and chok'd his way;) When your Aeneas fought, but fought with odds Of force unequal, and unequal gods; I spread a cloud before the victor's sight, Sustain'd the vanquish'd, and secur'd his flight; Ev'n then secur'd him, when I sought with joy The vow'd destruction of ungrateful Troy. My will's the same: fair goddess, fear no more, Your fleet shall safely gain the Latian shore; Their lives are giv'n; one destin'd head alone Shall perish, and for multitudes atone." Thus having arm'd with hopes her anxious mind, His finny team Saturnian Neptune join'd, Then adds the foamy bridle to their jaws, And to the loosen'd reins permits the laws. High on the waves his azure car he guides; Its axles thunder, and the sea subsides, And the smooth ocean rolls her silent tides. The tempests fly before their father's face, Trains of inferior gods his triumph grace, And monster whales before their master play, And choirs of Tritons crowd the wat'ry way. The marshal'd pow'rs in equal troops divide To right and left; the gods his better side Inclose, and on the worse the Nymphs and Nereids ride.
"Aye, aye! a strange sight that, Parsee:--a hearse and its plumes floating over the ocean with the waves for the pall-bearers. Ha! Such a sight we shall not soon see."
Then thus Idothea answer'd all-divine. I will inform thee true. Soon as the sun Hath climb'd the middle heav'ns, the prophet old, Emerging while the breezy zephyr blows, And cover'd with the scum of ocean, seeks His spacious cove, in which outstretch'd he lies. The phocæ also, rising from the waves, Offspring of beauteous Halosydna, sleep Around him, num'rous, and the fishy scent Exhaling rank of the unfathom'd flood. Thither conducting thee at peep of day I will dispose thee in some safe recess, But from among thy followers thou shalt chuse The bravest three in all thy gallant fleet. And now the artifices understand Of the old prophet of the sea. The sum Of all his phocæ numb'ring duly first, He will pass through them, and when all by fives He counted hath, will in the midst repose Content, as sleeps the shepherd with his flock. When ye shall see him stretch'd, then call to mind That moment all your prowess, and prevent, Howe'er he strive impatient, his escape. All changes trying, he will take the form Of ev'ry reptile on the earth, will seem A river now, and now devouring fire; But hold him ye, and grasp him still the more. And when himself shall question you, restored To his own form in which ye found him first Reposing, then from farther force abstain; Then, Hero! loose the Antient of the Deep, And ask him, of the Gods who checks thy course Hence to thy country o'er the fishy flood.
To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. Oh Queen! the task were difficult to unfold In all its length the story of my woes, For I have num'rous from the Gods receiv'd; But I will answer thee as best I may. There is a certain isle, Ogygia, placed Far distant in the Deep; there dwells, by man Alike unvisited, and by the Gods, Calypso, beauteous nymph, but deeply skill'd In artifice, and terrible in pow'r, Daughter of Atlas. Me alone my fate Her miserable inmate made, when Jove Had riv'n asunder with his candent bolt My bark in the mid-sea. There perish'd all The valiant partners of my toils, and I My vessel's keel embracing day and night With folded arms, nine days was borne along. But on the tenth dark night, as pleas'd the Gods, They drove me to Ogygia, where resides Calypso, beauteous nymph, dreadful in pow'r; She rescued, cherish'd, fed me, and her wish Was to confer on me immortal life, Exempt for ever from the sap of age. But me her offer'd boon sway'd not. Sev'n years I there abode continual, with my tears Bedewing ceaseless my ambrosial robes, Calypso's gift divine; but when, at length, (Sev'n years elaps'd) the circling eighth arrived, She then, herself, my quick departure thence Advised, by Jove's own mandate overaw'd, Which even her had influenced to a change. On a well-corded raft she sent me forth With num'rous presents; bread she put and wine On board, and cloath'd me in immortal robes; She sent before me also a fair wind Fresh-blowing, but not dang'rous. Sev'nteen days I sail'd the flood continual, and descried, On the eighteenth, your shadowy mountains tall When my exulting heart sprang at the sight, All wretched as I was, and still ordain'd To strive with difficulties many and hard From adverse Neptune; he the stormy winds Exciting opposite, my wat'ry way Impeded, and the waves heav'd to a bulk Immeasurable, such as robb'd me soon Deep-groaning, of the raft, my only hope; For her the tempest scatter'd, and myself This ocean measur'd swimming, till the winds And mighty waters cast me on your shore. Me there emerging, the huge waves had dash'd Full on the land, where, incommodious most, The shore presented only roughest rocks, But, leaving it, I swam the Deep again, Till now, at last, a river's gentle stream Receiv'd me, by no rocks deform'd, and where No violent winds the shelter'd bank annoy'd. I flung myself on shore, exhausted, weak, Needing repose; ambrosial night came on, When from the Jove-descended stream withdrawn, I in a thicket lay'd me down on leaves Which I had heap'd together, and the Gods O'erwhelm'd my eye-lids with a flood of sleep. There under wither'd leaves, forlorn, I slept All the long night, the morning and the noon, But balmy sleep, at the decline of day, Broke from me; then, your daughter's train I heard Sporting, with whom she also sported, fair And graceful as the Gods. To her I kneel'd. She, following the dictates of a mind Ingenuous, pass'd in her behaviour all Which even ye could from an age like hers Have hoped; for youth is ever indiscrete. She gave me plenteous food, with richest wine Refresh'd my spirit, taught me where to bathe, And cloath'd me as thou seest; thus, though a prey To many sorrows, I have told thee truth.
Then thus Achilles matchless in the race. Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd! I must with plainness speak my fixt resolve Unalterable; lest I hear from each The same long murmur'd melancholy tale. For I abhor the man, not more the gates Of hell itself, whose words belie his heart. So shall not mine. My judgment undisguised Is this; that neither Agamemnon me Nor all the Greeks shall move; for ceaseless toil Wins here no thanks; one recompense awaits The sedentary and the most alert, The brave and base in equal honor stand, And drones and heroes fall unwept alike. I after all my labors, who exposed My life continual in the field, have earn'd No very sumptuous prize. As the poor bird Gives to her unfledged brood a morsel gain'd After long search, though wanting it herself, So I have worn out many sleepless nights, And waded deep through many a bloody day In battle for their wives. I have destroy'd Twelve cities with my fleet, and twelve, save one, On foot contending in the fields of Troy. From all these cities, precious spoils I took Abundant, and to Agamemnon's hand Gave all the treasure. He within his ships Abode the while, and having all received, Little distributed, and much retained; He gave, however, to the Kings and Chiefs A portion, and they keep it. Me alone Of all the Grecian host he hath despoil'd; My bride, my soul's delight is in his hands, And let him, couch'd with her, enjoy his fill Of dalliance. What sufficient cause, what need Have the Achaians to contend with Troy? Why hath Atrides gather'd such a host, And led them hither? Was't not for the sake Of beauteous Helen? And of all mankind Can none be found who love their proper wives But the Atridæ? There is no good man Who loves not, guards not, and with care provides For his own wife, and, though in battle won, I loved the fair Briseïs at my heart. But having dispossess'd me of my prize So foully, let him not essay me now, For I am warn'd, and he shall not prevail. With thee and with thy peers let him advise, Ulysses! how the fleet may likeliest 'scape Yon hostile fires; full many an arduous task He hath accomplished without aid of mine; So hath he now this rampart and the trench Which he hath digg'd around it, and with stakes Planted contiguous--puny barriers all To hero-slaughtering Hector's force opposed. While I the battle waged, present myself Among the Achaians, Hector never fought Far from his walls, but to the Scæan gate Advancing and the beech-tree, there remain'd. Once, on that spot he met me, and my arm Escaped with difficulty even there. But, since I feel myself not now inclined To fight with noble Hector, yielding first To Jove due worship, and to all the Gods, To-morrow will I launch, and give my ships Their lading. Look thou forth at early dawn, And, if such spectacle delight thee aught, Thou shalt behold me cleaving with my prows The waves of Hellespont, and all my crews Of lusty rowers active in their task. So shall I reach (if Ocean's mighty God Prosper my passage) Phthia the deep-soil'd On the third day. I have possessions there, Which hither roaming in an evil hour I left abundant. I shall also hence Convey much treasure, gold and burnish'd brass, And glittering steel, and women passing fair My portion of the spoils. But he, your King, The prize he gave, himself resumed, And taunted at me. Tell him my reply, And tell it him aloud, that other Greeks May indignation feel like me, if arm'd Always in impudence, he seek to wrong Them also. Let him not henceforth presume, Canine and hard in aspect though he be, To look me in the face. I will not share His counsels, neither will I aid his works. Let it suffice him, that he wrong'd me once, Deceived me once, henceforth his glozing arts Are lost on me. But let him rot in peace Crazed as he is, and by the stroke of Jove Infatuate. I detest his gifts, and him So honor as the thing which most I scorn. And would he give me twenty times the worth Of this his offer, all the treasured heaps Which he possesses, or shall yet possess, All that Orchomenos within her walls, And all that opulent Egyptian Thebes Receives, the city with a hundred gates, Whence twenty thousand chariots rush to war, And would he give me riches as the sands, And as the dust of earth, no gifts from him Should soothe me, till my soul were first avenged For all the offensive license of his tongue. I will not wed the daughter of your Chief, Of Agamemnon. Could she vie in charms With golden Venus, had she all the skill Of blue-eyed Pallas, even so endow'd She were no bride for me. No. He may choose From the Achaians some superior Prince, One more her equal. Peleus, if the Gods Preserve me, and I safe arrive at home, Himself, ere long, shall mate me with a bride. In Hellas and in Phthia may be found Fair damsels many, daughters of the Chiefs Who guard our cities; I may choose of them, And make the loveliest of them all my own. There, in my country, it hath ever been My dearest purpose, wedded to a wife Of rank convenient, to enjoy in peace Such wealth as ancient Peleus hath acquired. For life, in my account, surpasses far In value all the treasures which report Ascribed to populous Ilium, ere the Greeks Arrived, and while the city yet had peace; Those also which Apollo's marble shrine In rocky Pytho boasts. Fat flocks and beeves May be by force obtain'd, tripods and steeds Are bought or won, but if the breath of man Once overpass its bounds, no force arrests Or may constrain the unbodied spirit back. Me, as my silver-footed mother speaks Thetis, a twofold consummation waits. If still with battle I encompass Troy, I win immortal glory, but all hope Renounce of my return. If I return To my beloved country, I renounce The illustrious meed of glory, but obtain Secure and long immunity from death. And truly I would recommend to all To voyage homeward, for the fall as yet Ye shall not see of Ilium's lofty towers, For that the Thunderer with uplifted arm Protects her, and her courage hath revived. Bear ye mine answer back, as is the part Of good ambassadors, that they may frame Some likelier plan, by which both fleet and host May be preserved; for, my resentment still Burning, this project is but premature. Let Phoenix stay with us, and sleep this night Within my tent, that, if he so incline, He may to-morrow in my fleet embark, And hence attend me; but I leave him free.