No More Learning

At length, (both hunger satisfied and thirst)
Thus Nestor, the Gerenian Chief, began.
Now with more seemliness we may enquire,
After repast, what guests we have received.
Our guests! who are ye? Whence have ye the waves
Plough'd hither? Come ye to transact concerns 90
Commercial, or at random roam the Deep
Like pirates, who with mischief charged and woe
To foreign States, oft hazard life themselves?
Him answer'd, bolder now, but still discrete,
Telemachus. For Pallas had his heart
With manly courage arm'd, that he might ask
From Nestor tidings of his absent Sire,
And win, himself, distinction and renown.
Oh Nestor, Neleus' son, glory of Greece!
Thou askest whence we are. I tell thee whence. 100
From Ithaca, by the umbrageous woods
Of Neritus o'erhung, by private need,
Not public, urged, we come. My errand is
To seek intelligence of the renown'd
Ulysses; of my noble father, prais'd
For dauntless courage, whom report proclaims
Conqueror, with thine aid, of sacred Troy.
We have already learn'd where other Chiefs
Who fought at Ilium, died; but Jove conceals
Even the death of my illustrious Sire 110
In dull obscurity; for none hath heard
Or confident can answer, where he dy'd;
Whether he on the continent hath fall'n
By hostile hands, or by the waves o'erwhelm'd
Of Amphitrite, welters in the Deep.
For this cause, at thy knees suppliant, I beg
That thou would'st tell me his disast'rous end,
If either thou beheld'st that dread event
Thyself, or from some wanderer of the Greeks
Hast heard it: for my father at his birth 120
Was, sure, predestin'd to no common woes.
Neither through pity, or o'erstrain'd respect
Flatter me, but explicit all relate
Which thou hast witness'd. If my noble Sire
E'er gratified thee by performance just
Of word or deed at Ilium, where ye fell
So num'rous slain in fight, oh, recollect
Now his fidelity, and tell me true.
Then Nestor thus Gerenian Hero old.
Young friend! since thou remind'st me, speaking thus, 130
Of all the woes which indefatigable
We sons of the Achaians there sustain'd,
Both those which wand'ring on the Deep we bore
Wherever by Achilles led in quest
Of booty, and the many woes beside
Which under royal Priam's spacious walls
We suffer'd, know, that there our bravest fell.
There warlike Ajax lies, there Peleus' son;
There, too, Patroclus, like the Gods themselves
In council, and my son beloved there, 140
Brave, virtuous, swift of foot, and bold in fight,
Antilochus. Nor are these sorrows all;
What tongue of mortal man could all relate?
Should'st thou, abiding here, five years employ
Or six, enquiring of the woes endured
By the Achaians, ere thou should'st have learn'd
The whole, thou would'st depart, tir'd of the tale.
For we, nine years, stratagems of all kinds
Devised against them, and Saturnian Jove
Scarce crown'd the difficult attempt at last. 150
There, no competitor in wiles well-plann'd
Ulysses found, so far were all surpass'd
In shrewd invention by thy noble Sire,
If thou indeed art his, as sure thou art,
Whose sight breeds wonder in me, and thy speech
His speech resembles more than might be deem'd
Within the scope of years so green as thine.
There, never in opinion, or in voice
Illustrious Ulysses and myself
Divided were, but, one in heart, contrived 160
As best we might, the benefit of all.
But after Priam's lofty city sack'd,
And the departure of the Greeks on board
Their barks, and when the Gods had scatter'd them,
Then Jove imagin'd for the Argive host
A sorrowful return; for neither just
Were all, nor prudent, therefore many found
A fate disast'rous through the vengeful ire
Of Jove-born Pallas, who between the sons
Of Atreus sharp contention interposed. 170
They both, irregularly, and against
Just order, summoning by night the Greeks
To council, of whom many came with wine
Oppress'd, promulgated the cause for which
They had convened the people. Then it was
That Menelaus bade the general host
Their thoughts bend homeward o'er the sacred Deep,
Which Agamemnon in no sort approved.
His counsel was to slay them yet at Troy,
That so he might assuage the dreadful wrath 180
Of Pallas, first, by sacrifice and pray'r.
Vain hope!