Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.[209-3]
If others have their will Ann hath a way.
I know no method to secure the repeal of bad or obnoxious laws so effectual as their strict construction.
A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals to discovery.
Education of youth is not a bow for every man to shoot in that counts himself a teacher, but will require sinews almost equal to those which Homer gave Ulysses.
Let us have peace.
Ipsa quidem virtus sibimet pulcherrima merces (Virtue herself is her own fairest reward).--SILIUS ITALICUS (25?-99): _Punica, lib. xiii. line 663._ The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hands on kings.
Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes=--He who saw the manners of many men and cities.
I propose to fight it out on this line, if it takes all summer.
I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.
History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
It's no use, says he. Force, hatred, history, all that. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life.
An artist is the magician put among men to gratify — capriciously — their urge for immortality. The temples are built and brought down around him, continuously and contiguously, from Troy to the fields of Flanders. If there is any meaning in any of it, it is in what survives as art, yes even in the celebration of tyrants, yes even in the celebration of nonentities. What now of the Trojan War if it had been passed over by the artist's touch? Dust. A forgotten expedition prompted by Greek merchants looking for new markets. A minor redistribution of broken pots. But it is we who stand enriched, by a tale of heroes, of a golden apple, a wooden horse, a face that launched a thousand ships — and above all, of Ulysses, the wanderer, the most human, the most complete of all heroes — husband, father, son, lover, farmer, soldier, pacifist, politician, inventor and adventurer.
Im Leben ist der Mensch zehn Jahre in Kriege und zehn in der Irre, gleich dem Ulysses=--Man, like Ulysses, spends ten years in war and ten in wandering.
Though I have been trained as a soldier, and participated in many battles, there never was a time when, in my opinion, some way could not be found to prevent the drawing of the sword. I look forward to an epoch when a court, recognized by all nations, will settle international differences.
Let no guilty man escape, if it can be avoided. No personal considerations should stand in the way of performing a duty.
It is as painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born.
It is not everybody who can bend the bow of Ulysses, and most men only do themselves a mischief by trying to bend it.
Love loves to love love.
Mores multorum vidit=--He saw the manners of many men.
I know no method to secure the repeal of bad or obnoxious laws so effective as their stringent execution.
When we embark in the dangerous ship called Life, we must not, like Ulysses, be tied to the mast; we must know how to listen to the songs of the sirens and to brave their blandishments.--_Arsène Houssaye._
The mocker is never taken seriously when he is most serious.
No other terms than unconditional and immediate surrender. I propose to move immediately upon your works.
A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery. -- James Joyce, "Ulysses"
The Priest's grey nimbus in a niche where he dressed discreetly. I will not sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go. A voice, sweetened and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. A sleek brown head, a seal's, far out on the water, round. Usurper. -- James Joyce, "Ulysses"
I remember Ulysses well... Left one day for the post office to mail a letter, met a blonde named Circe on the streetcar, and didn't come back for 20 years.
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.
To whom the spirit of Amphimedon. Illustrious Agamemnon, King of men! All this I bear in mind, and will rehearse The manner of our most disastrous end. Believing brave Ulysses lost, we woo'd Meantime his wife; she our detested suit Would neither ratify nor yet refuse, But, planning for us a tremendous death, This novel stratagem, at last, devised. Beginning, in her own recess, a web Of slend'rest thread, and of a length and breadth Unusual, thus the suitors she address'd.
So spake the Queen; we, unsuspicious all, With her request complied. Thenceforth, all day She wove the ample web, and by the aid Of torches ravell'd it again at night. Three years she thus by artifice our suit Eluded safe, but when the fourth arrived, And the same season, after many moons And fleeting days, return'd, a damsel then Of her attendants, conscious of the fraud, Reveal'd it, and we found her pulling loose The splendid web. Thus, through constraint, at length, She finish'd it, and in her own despight. But when the Queen produced, at length, her work Finish'd, new-blanch'd, bright as the sun or moon, Then came Ulysses, by some adverse God Conducted, to a cottage on the verge Of his own fields, in which his swine-herd dwells; There also the illustrious Hero's son Arrived soon after, in his sable bark From sandy Pylus borne; they, plotting both A dreadful death for all the suitors, sought Our glorious city, but Ulysses last, And first Telemachus. The father came Conducted by his swine-herd, and attired In tatters foul; a mendicant he seem'd, Time-worn, and halted on a staff. So clad, And ent'ring on the sudden, he escaped All knowledge even of our eldest there, And we reviled and smote him; he although Beneath his own roof smitten and reproach'd, With patience suffer'd it awhile, but roused By inspiration of Jove Ægis-arm'd At length, in concert with his son convey'd To his own chamber his resplendent arms, There lodg'd them safe, and barr'd the massy doors Then, in his subtlety he bade the Queen A contest institute with bow and rings Between the hapless suitors, whence ensued Slaughter to all. No suitor there had pow'r To overcome the stubborn bow that mock'd All our attempts; and when the weapon huge At length was offer'd to Ulysses' hands, With clamour'd menaces we bade the swain Withhold it from him, plead he as he might; Telemachus alone with loud command, Bade give it him, and the illustrious Chief Receiving in his hand the bow, with ease Bent it, and sped a shaft through all the rings. Then, springing to the portal steps, he pour'd The arrows forth, peer'd terrible around, Pierced King Antinoüs, and, aiming sure His deadly darts, pierced others after him, Till in one common carnage heap'd we lay. Some God, as plain appear'd, vouchsafed them aid, Such ardour urged them, and with such dispatch They slew us on all sides; hideous were heard The groans of dying men fell'd to the earth With head-strokes rude, and the floor swam with blood. Such, royal Agamemnon! was the fate By which we perish'd, all whose bodies lie Unburied still, and in Ulysses' house, For tidings none have yet our friends alarm'd And kindred, who might cleanse from sable gore Our clotted wounds, and mourn us on the bier, Which are the rightful privilege of the dead.
So saying, his tatter'd wallet o'er his back He cast, suspended by a leathern twist, Eumæus gratified him with a staff, And forth they went, leaving the cottage kept By dogs and swains. He city-ward his King Led on, in form a squalid beggar old, Halting, and in unseemly garb attired. But when, slow-travelling the craggy way, They now approach'd the town, and had attain'd The marble fountain deep, which with its streams Pellucid all the citizens supplied, (Ithacus had that fountain framed of old With Neritus and Polyctor, over which A grove of water-nourish'd alders hung Circular on all sides, while cold the rill Ran from the rock, on whose tall summit stood The altar of the nymphs, by all who pass'd With sacrifice frequented, still, and pray'r) Melantheus, son of Dolius, at that fount Met them; the chosen goats of ev'ry flock, With two assistants, from the field he drove, The suitors' supper. He, seeing them both, In surly accent boorish, such as fired Ulysses with resentment, thus began.
Not far remote, as thou shalt soon thyself Perceive, oh venerable Chief! he stands, Who hath convened this council. I, am He. I am in chief the suff'rer. Tidings none Of the returning host I have received, Which here I would divulge, nor bring I aught Of public import on a different theme, But my own trouble, on my own house fall'n, And two-fold fall'n. One is, that I have lost A noble father, who, as fathers rule Benign their children, govern'd once yourselves; The other, and the more alarming ill, With ruin threatens my whole house, and all My patrimony with immediate waste. Suitors, (their children who in this our isle Hold highest rank) importunate besiege My mother, though desirous not to wed, And rather than resort to her own Sire Icarius, who might give his daughter dow'r, And portion her to whom he most approves, (A course which, only named, moves their disgust) They chuse, assembling all within my gates Daily to make my beeves, my sheep, my goats Their banquet, and to drink without restraint My wine; whence ruin threatens us and ours; For I have no Ulysses to relieve Me and my family from this abuse. Ourselves are not sufficient; we, alas! Too feeble should be found, and yet to learn How best to use the little force we own; Else, had I pow'r, I would, myself, redress The evil; for it now surpasses far All suff'rance, now they ravage uncontroul'd, Nor show of decency vouchsafe me more. Oh be ashamed yourselves; blush at the thought Of such reproach as ye shall sure incur From all our neighbour states, and fear beside The wrath of the Immortals, lest they call Yourselves one day to a severe account. I pray you by Olympian Jove, by her Whose voice convenes all councils, and again Dissolves them, Themis, that henceforth ye cease, That ye permit me, oh my friends! to wear My days in solitary grief away, Unless Ulysses, my illustrious Sire, Hath in his anger any Greecian wrong'd, Whose wrongs ye purpose to avenge on me, Inciting these to plague me. Better far Were my condition, if yourselves consumed My substance and my revenue; from you I might obtain, perchance, righteous amends Hereafter; you I might with vehement suit O'ercome, from house to house pleading aloud For recompense, till I at last prevail'd. But now, with darts of anguish ye transfix My inmost soul, and I have no redress.
She ceased; then brave Ulysses toil-inured Rejoiced that, soothing them, she sought to draw From each some gift, although on other views, And more important far, himself intent.
Amphimedon! by what disastrous chance, Coœvals as ye seem, and of an air Distinguish'd all, descend ye to the Deeps? For not the chosen youths of a whole town Should form a nobler band. Perish'd ye sunk Amid vast billows and rude tempests raised By Neptune's pow'r? or on dry land through force Of hostile multitudes, while cutting off Beeves from the herd, or driving flocks away? Or fighting for your city and your wives? Resolve me? I was once a guest of yours. Remember'st not what time at your abode With godlike Menelaus I arrived, That we might win Ulysses with his fleet To follow us to Troy? scarce we prevail'd At last to gain the city-waster Chief, And, after all, consumed a whole month more The wide sea traversing from side to side.
Thus then replied Ulysses, ever-wise. To me the safest counsel and the best Seems this. First wash yourselves, and put ye on Your tunics; bid ye, next, the maidens take Their best attire, and let the bard divine Harping melodious play a sportive dance, That, whether passenger or neighbour near, All may imagine nuptials held within. So shall not loud report that we have slain All those, alarm the city, till we gain Our woods and fields, where, once arriv'd, such plans We will devise, as Jove shall deign to inspire.
He said; _His_ limbs new terrors at that sound Shook under him; into the middle space They led him, and each raised his hands on high. Then doubtful stood Ulysses toil-inured, Whether to strike him lifeless to the earth At once, or fell him with a managed blow. To smite with managed force at length he chose As wisest, lest, betray'd by his own strength, He should be known. With elevated fists Both stood; him Irus on the shoulder struck, But he his adversary on the neck Pash'd close beneath his ear; he split the bones, And blood in sable streams ran from his mouth. With many an hideous yell he dropp'd, his teeth Chatter'd, and with his heels he drumm'd the ground. The wooers, at that sight, lifting their hands In glad surprize, laugh'd all their breath away. Then, through the vestibule, and right across The court, Ulysses dragg'd him by the foot Into the portico, where propping him Against the wall, and giving him his staff, In accents wing'd he bade him thus farewell.
Oh worthy of Achaia's highest praise, And her chief ornament, Ulysses, speak! Will he defend the fleet? or his big heart Indulging wrathful, doth he still refuse?
Arise, Penelope! dear daughter, see With thy own eyes thy daily wish fulfill'd. Ulysses is arrived; hath reach'd at last His native home, and all those suitors proud Hath slaughter'd, who his family distress'd, His substance wasted, and controul'd his son.
That scar, while chafing him with open palms, The matron knew; she left his foot to fall; Down dropp'd his leg into the vase; the brass Rang, and o'ertilted by the sudden shock, Poured forth the water, flooding wide the floor. _Her_ spirit joy at once and sorrow seized; Tears fill'd her eyes; her intercepted voice Died in her throat; but to Ulysses' beard Her hand advancing, thus, at length, she spake.
So Pallas spake, Goddess cærulean-eyed, And o'er the untillable and barren Deep Departing, Scheria left, land of delight, Whence reaching Marathon, and Athens next, She pass'd into Erectheus' fair abode. Ulysses, then, toward the palace moved Of King Alcinoüs, but immers'd in thought Stood, first, and paused, ere with his foot he press'd The brazen threshold; for a light he saw As of the sun or moon illuming clear The palace of Phæacia's mighty King. Walls plated bright with brass, on either side Stretch'd from the portal to th' interior house, With azure cornice crown'd; the doors were gold Which shut the palace fast; silver the posts Rear'd on a brazen threshold, and above, The lintels, silver, architraved with gold. Mastiffs, in gold and silver, lined the approach On either side, by art celestial framed Of Vulcan, guardians of Alcinoüs' gate For ever, unobnoxious to decay. Sheer from the threshold to the inner house Fixt thrones the walls, through all their length, adorn'd, With mantles overspread of subtlest warp Transparent, work of many a female hand. On these the princes of Phæacia sat, Holding perpetual feasts, while golden youths On all the sumptuous altars stood, their hands With burning torches charged, which, night by night, Shed radiance over all the festive throng. Full fifty female menials serv'd the King In household offices; the rapid mills These turning, pulverize the mellow'd grain, Those, seated orderly, the purple fleece Wind off, or ply the loom, restless as leaves Of lofty poplars fluttering in the breeze; Bright as with oil the new-wrought texture shone. Far as Phæacian mariners all else Surpass, the swift ship urging through the floods, So far in tissue-work the women pass All others, by Minerva's self endow'd With richest fancy and superior skill. Without the court, and to the gates adjoin'd A spacious garden lay, fenced all around Secure, four acres measuring complete. There grew luxuriant many a lofty tree, Pomegranate, pear, the apple blushing bright, The honied fig, and unctuous olive smooth. Those fruits, nor winter's cold nor summer's heat Fear ever, fail not, wither not, but hang Perennial, whose unceasing zephyr breathes Gently on all, enlarging these, and those Maturing genial; in an endless course Pears after pears to full dimensions swell, Figs follow figs, grapes clust'ring grow again Where clusters grew, and (ev'ry apple stript) The boughs soon tempt the gath'rer as before. There too, well-rooted, and of fruit profuse, His vineyard grows; part, wide-extended, basks, In the sun's beams; the arid level glows; In part they gather, and in part they tread The wine-press, while, before the eye, the grapes Here put their blossom forth, there, gather fast Their blackness. On the garden's verge extreme Flow'rs of all hues smile all the year, arranged With neatest art judicious, and amid The lovely scene two fountains welling forth, One visits, into ev'ry part diffus'd, The garden-ground, the other soft beneath The threshold steals into the palace-court, Whence ev'ry citizen his vase supplies.
Now came a public mendicant, a man Accustom'd, seeking alms, to roam the streets Of Ithaca; one never sated yet With food or drink; yet muscle had he none, Or strength of limb, though giant-built in show. Arnæus was the name which at his birth His mother gave him, but the youthful band Of suitors, whom as messenger he served, All named him Irus. He, arriving, sought To drive Ulysses forth from his own home, And in rough accents rude him thus rebuked.
Then, girding up his rags, Ulysses sprang With bow and full-charged quiver to the door; Loose on the broad stone at his feet he pour'd His arrows, and the suitors, thus, bespake.
To whom the noble swine-herd thus replied. Alas, old man! no trav'ler's tale of him Will gain his consort's credence, or his son's; For wand'rers, wanting entertainment, forge Falsehoods for bread, and wilfully deceive. No wand'rer lands in Ithaca, but he seeks With feign'd intelligence my mistress' ear; She welcomes all, and while she questions each Minutely, from her lids lets fall the tear Affectionate, as well beseems a wife Whose mate hath perish'd in a distant land. Thou could'st thyself, no doubt, my hoary friend! (Would any furnish thee with decent vest And mantle) fabricate a tale with ease; Yet sure it is that dogs and fowls, long since, His skin have stript, or fishes of the Deep Have eaten him, and on some distant shore Whelm'd in deep sands his mould'ring bones are laid. So hath he perish'd; whence, to all his friends, But chiefly to myself, sorrow of heart; For such another Lord, gentle as he, Wherever sought, I have no hope to find, Though I should wander even to the house Of my own father. Neither yearns my heart So feelingly (though that desiring too) To see once more my parents and my home, As to behold Ulysses yet again. Ah stranger; absent as he is, his name Fills me with rev'rence, for he lov'd me much, Cared for me much, and, though we meet no more, Holds still an elder brother's part in me.
To whom the cloud-assembler God replied. What word hath pass'd thy lips, daughter belov'd? Hast thou not purpos'd that arriving soon At home, Ulysses shall destroy his foes? Guide thou, Telemachus, (for well thou canst) That he may reach secure his native coast, And that the suitors baffled may return.
To whom Ulysses, ever-shrewd, replied. Such close similitude, O ancient dame! As thou observ'st between thy Lord and me, All, who have seen us both, have ever found.
The Hero spake, and from his chariot cast Thymbræus to the ground pierced through the pap, While by Ulysses' hand his charioteer Godlike Molion, fell. The warfare thus Of both for ever closed, them there they left, And plunging deep into the warrior-throng Troubled the multitude. As when two boars Turn desperate on the close-pursuing hounds, So they, returning on the host of Troy, Slew on all sides, and overtoil'd with flight From Hector's arm, the Greeks meantime respired. Two warriors, next, their chariot and themselves They took, plebeians brave, sons of the seer Percosian Merops in prophetic skill Surpassing all; he both his sons forbad The mortal field, but disobedient they Still sought it, for their destiny prevail'd. Spear-practised Diomede of life deprived Both these, and stripp'd them of their glorious arms, While by Ulysses' hand Hippodamus Died and Hypeirochus. And now the son Of Saturn, looking down from Ida, poised The doubtful war, and mutual deaths they dealt. Tydides plunged his spear into the groin Of the illustrious son of Pæon, bold Agastrophus. No steeds at his command Had he, infatuate! but his charioteer His steeds detain'd remote, while through the van Himself on foot rush'd madly till he fell. But Hector through the ranks darting his eye Perceived, and with ear-piercing cries advanced Against them, follow'd by the host of Troy. The son of Tydeus, shuddering, his approach Discern'd, and instant to Ulysses spake.
To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. Telemachus! it is not well, my son! That thou should'st greet thy father with a face Of wild astonishment, and stand aghast. Ulysses, save myself, none comes, be sure. Such as thou seest, after ten thousand woes Which I have borne, I visit once again My native country in the twentieth year. This wonder Athenæan Pallas wrought, She cloath'd me even with what form she would, For so she can. Now poor I seem and old, Now young again, and clad in fresh attire. The Gods who dwell in yonder heav'n, with ease Dignify or debase a mortal man.