So nor Achilles' chase could reach the flight of Hector's pace, Nor Hector's flight enlarge itself of swift Achilles' chase.
But how chanced this? How, all this time, could Hector bear the knees
Of fierce Achilles with his own, and keep off destinies,
If Phoebus, for his last and best, through all that course had failed
To add his succours to his nerves, and, as his foe assailed,
Near and within him, fed his 'scape? Achilles yet well knew
His knees would fetch him, and gave signs to some friends,
making show
Of shooting at him, to forbear, lest they detracted so
From his full glory in first wounds, and in the overthrow Make his hand last. But when they reached the fourth time the two founts,
Then Jove his golden scales weighed up, and took the last
Of Fate for Hector; putting in for him and Peleus' son
Two fates of bitter death, of which high heaven received the one,
The other hell; so low declined the light of Hector's life.
From The Odyssey Book XI, 1616
Spirits in Hades
I saw likewise stand,
Up to the chin, amidst a liquid lake,
Tormented Tantalus, yet could not slake
His burning thirst. Oft as his scornful cup
Th' old man would taste, so oft twas swallow'd up,
And all the black earth to his feet descried;
Divine power (plaguing him) the lake still dried.
About his head, on high trees clustering, hung,
Pears, apples, granates, olives ever-young,
Delicious figs, and many fruit-trees more
Of other burthen; whose alluring store
When th' old soul striv'd to pluck, the winds from sight,
In gloomy vapours, made them vanish quite.
There saw I Sisyphus in infinite moan, With both hands heaving up a massy stone, And on his tip-toes racking all his height, To wrest up to a mountain-top his freight; When prest to rest it there (his nerves quite spent) Down rusht the deadly quarry, the event Of all his torture, new to raise again; To which straight set his never-rested pain. The sweat came gushing out from ev'ry pore, And on his head a standing mist he wore, Reeking from thence, as if a cloud of dust
Were rais'd about it. Down with these was thrust
The idol of the force of Hercules
But his firm self did no such Fate oppress,
He feasting lives amongst th' immortal States,
White-ankled Hebe and himself made mates
In heavenly nuptials; Hebe, Jove's dear race,
And Juno's, whom the golden sandals grace.
About him flew the clamours of the dead
Like fowls, and still stoopt cuffing at his head.
He with his bow, like Night, stalkt up and down,
His shaft still nockt, and hurling round his frown
At those vex'd hoverers, aiming at them still,
And still, as shooting out, desire to still.
A horrid bawdrick wore he thwart his breast,
The thong all gold, in which were forms imprest,
Where art and miracle drew equal breaths,
In bears, boars, lions, battles, combats, deaths.
Who wrought that work, did never such before,
Nor so divinely will do ever more.
Soon as he saw, he knew me, and gave speech:
'Son of Laertes, high in wisdom's reach,
And yet unhappy wretch, for in this heart,
Of all exploits achiev'd by thy desert,
Thy worth but works out some sinister Fate,
As I in earth did. I was generate
By Jove himseli, and yet past mean opprest
By one my far inferior, whose proud hest
Impos'd abhorred labours on my hand.
Of all which, one was, to descend this strand
And hale the dog from thence.
An act that danger could make deeper sink.
And yet this depth I drew, and fetcht as high,
As this was low, the dog. The Deity
Of sleight and wisdom, as of downright power,
Both stoopt, and rais'd, and made me conqueror.'
This said, he made descent again as low
As Pluto's court; when I stood firm, for show
Of more Heroës of the times before;
And might perhaps have seen my wish of more,
(As Theseus and Pirithous, deriv'd
From roots of Deity) but before th' achiev'd
Rare sight of these, the rank-soul'd multitude
In infinite flocks rose, venting sounds so rude,
That pale Fear took me, lest the Gorgon's head
Rusht in amongst them, thrust up, in my dread,
By grim Persephone. I therefore sent
My men before to ship, and after went.
Where, boarded, set, and launcht, th' ocean wave
Our oars and forewinds speedy passage gave.
From The Odyssey Book XII, 1616
In mean time flew our ships, and straight we fetcht
The Sirens' Isle; a spleenless wind so stretcht
Her wings to waft us, and so urg'd our keel.
But having reacht this Isle, we could not feel
The least gasp of it, it was stricken dead,
And all the sea in prostrate slumber spread,
The Sirens' devil charm'd all. Up then flew
My friends to work, strook sail, together drew,
And under hatches stow'd them, sat, and plied
Their polisht oars, and did in curls divide
The white-head waters. My part then came on;
A mighty waxen cake I set upon,
Chopt it in fragments with my sword, and wrought
With strong hand every piece, till all were soft.
The great power of the sun, in such a beam
As then flew burning from his diadem,
To liquefaction helpt us. Orderly
I stopt their ears; and they as fair did ply
My feet and hands with cords, and to the mast
With other halsers made me soundly fast.
Then took they seat, and forth our passage strook,
The foamy sea beneath their labour shook,
Row'd on, in reach of an erected voice.
The Sirens soon took note, without our noise,
Tun'd those sweet accents that made charms so strong,
And these learn'd numbers made the Sirens' song:
Come here, thou worthy of a world of praise,
That dost so high the Grecian glory raise,
Ulysses! stay thy ship, and that song hear
That none past ever but it bent his ear,
But left him ravish, and instructed more
By us, than any ever heard before.
For we know all things whatsoever were
In wide Troy labour'd; whatsoever there
The Grecians and the Trojans both sustain'd,
By those high issues that the Gods ordain'd.
And whatsoever all the earth can show
T' inform a knowledge of desert, we know.'
This they gave accent in the sweetest strain
That ever open'd an enamour'd vein.
When my constrain'd heart needs would have mine ear
Yet more delighted, force way forth, and hear.
To which end I commanded with all sign
Stern looks could make (for not a joint of mine
Had power to stir) my friends to rise, and give
My limbs free way. They freely striv'd to drive
Their ship still on. When, far from will to lose,
Eurylochus and Perimedes rose
To wrap me surer, and opprest me more
With many a halser than had use before.
When, rowing on without the reach of sound,
My friends unstopt their ears, and me unbound,
And that Isle quite we quitted.
From The Mirror for Magistrates, The Induction, 1559-1571
Led by Sorrow the Poet visits the place of the dead
I shall thee guide first to the grisly lake,
And thence unto the blissful place of rest,
Where thou shalt see, and hear, the plaint they make
That whilom here bare swinge among the best:
This shalt thou see: but great is the unrest
That thou must bide, before thou canst attain
Unto the dreadful place where these remain.
And, with these words, as I upraised stood,
And 'gan to follow her that straight forth pac'd,
Ere I was ware, into a desert wood
We now were come, where, hand in hand embrac❜d,
She led the way, and through the thick so trac'd,
As, but I had been guided by her might,
It was no way for any mortal wight.
But lo, while thus amid the desert dark
We passed on with steps and pace unmeet,
A rumbling roar, confus'd with howl and bark
Of dogs, shook all the ground under our feet,
And struck the din within our ears so deep,
As, half distraught, unto the ground I fell,
Besought return, and not to visit Hell.
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