They furnish'd, and, adjusting next their oars
Each to its groove with smoothest leather lin'd,
Unfurl'd their shining canvass to the gale*.

Their bold attendants brought them then their arms
And thrusting forth the galley till she swam,

They moor'd her fast, then went themselves on board,
And, supping, waited for the dusk of eve.

But when Penelope, the palace stairs
Remounting, had her upper chamber reach'd,
There, unrefresh'd with either food or wine,
She laid her down, her noble son the theme
Of all her musings, whether he should 'scape
His impious foes, or perish by their hands.
Num'rous as are the lion's thoughts, who sees,
Not without fear, a multitude with toils
Encircling him around, such num'rous thoughts
Her bosom occupied, till, sleep at length
Invading her, she sank in soft repose.

Then Pallas, teeming with a new design,

Set forth an airy phantom in the form
Of fair Iphthima, daughter of the brave

The scholiast asks, Why do they set up the mast, if they purpose to use their oars? and concludes it to be only that the vessel may make the better appearance. But Clarke asks, why might they not use both?

What is here called the groove, the watermen on the Thames call the thole.

Icarius, and Eumelus' wedded wife

In Pheræ *. Shap'd like her the dream she sent
Into the mansion of the godlike chief,

Ulysses, with kind purpose to abate

The sighs and tears of sad Penelope.

Ent'ring the chamber-portal where the bolt

Secur'd it, at her head the image stood,
And thus, in terms compassionate, began:
Sleep'st thou, distress'd Penelope? The Gods,
Happy in everlasting rest themselves,
Forbid thy sorrows. Thou shalt yet behold
Thy son again, who hath by no offence
Incurr'd at any time the wrath of Heav'n.

To whom, sweet-slumb'ring in the shadowy gate By which dreams pass, Penelope replied:

What cause, my sister, brings thee, who art seen Unfrequent here, for that thou dwell'st remote ? And thou enjoin'st me a cessation too

From sorrows num'rous, and which, fretting, wear
My heart continual; first my spouse I lost
With courage lionlike endow'd, a prince
All-excellent, whose never-dying praise
Through Hellas and all Argos flew diffus'd
And now my only son, new to the toils

* A city of Thessaly, so named from Pheres the founder of it.-B.

And hazards of the sea, nor less untaught

The arts of traffic, in a ship is gone

Far hence, for whose dear cause I sorrow more
Than for his sire himself, and even shake
With terrour, lest he perish by their hands,
To whom he goes, or in the stormy Deep;
For num'rous are his foes, and all intent
To slay him, ere he reach his home again *.

Then answer thus the shadowy form return'd:
Take courage; suffer not excessive dread
To overwhelm thee, for secur'd he goes

By Pallas; a protectress such as all

Would wish to gain; for harm can ne'er betide

* Spondanus, though ready to grant every thing to maternal love, accounts the affection shown by Penelope to her husband, in this instance, inferiour to the requisitions of the Divine Law, as they are urged on us. Yet he allows (but it is an allowance not called for) that the grief of Penelope on account of Ulysses is, if not almost obliterated by time, yet certainly much abated. But there are many reasons, as Barnes observes, to justify her deeper concern for Telemachus on the present occasion, to which, though the poet has mentioned them, Spondamus was not attentive. Telemachus wanted experience, but Ulysses in that respect, as well as in point of uncommon natural sagacity, was eminently qualified to encounter danger. Ulysses, when he went to Troy, was aware of all the hazard of the enterprise, but his son is ignorant that an ambush is set for his life, from which he can hardly escape but by a miracle. And, after all, says Barnes, whether greater conjugal affection than Penelope manifests is required of us or not, certain it is, that we see few instances of any like it.

Whom she defends. In pity of thy woes

She urg'd me forth, and charg'd me thus to speak.

Then thus Penelope the wise replied:

O! if thou art a Goddess, and hast heard
A Goddess' voice, rehearse to me the lot
Of that unhappy one, if yet he live
Spectator of the cheerful beams of day,
Or if, already dead, he dwell below.

Then answer thus the fading form return'd:
Vain words are evil. Whether he be dead,
Or still alive, rest uninform'd by me*.

So saying, her egress swift beside the bolt She made, and melted into air. Upsprang From sleep Icarius' daughter, and her heart Felt heal'd within her, by that dream impress'd Distinctly in the noiseless night serene.

Mean-time the suitors urg'd their wat❜ry way,
To instant death devoting in their hearts
Telemachus. There is a rocky isle

In the mid sea, Samos the rude between
And Ithaca, not large, nam'd Asteris,

* This answer of the phantom, says Eustathius, is dexterously managed; for to have proceeded to tell the whole truth, and to have informed her that Ulysses was still alive, would have been incompatible with the sequel, to which it is essential, that Ulysses at his return should be unknown to all, but especially to Penelope.-C.

It hath commodious havens, into which

A

passage clear opens on either side,

And there the ambush'd Greeks his coming watch'd*.

* The concluding lines of this Book have been altered, but, by an oversight of the Translator, so altered, that, for an obvious reason, the editor is obliged to give them in a note, or not at all:

Midway between the rugged Samian † shore
And Ithaca, there lies, not large, an isle
Nam'd Asteris, with ports at either end
Accessible; among the rocks conceal'd
There lay the suitors, watching his return.

† Or Cephallenian ;-B. & C. for Cephallenia is sometimes called by Homer Same, or Samos, from a town in it of that name.

Apollodorus says, that the island continued in his time such as Homer describes it, and had a small city in it, on that side next to the continent, called Alalcomene. But Strabo is so much at a loss about it, that he thinks Homer must have misrepresented the place, either for want of sufficient acquaintance with it, or for the sake of his fable.-C.