Epic Poetry

"This said, he reach’d to take his son; who, of his arms afraid, And then the horse-hair plume, with which he was so overlaid, Nodded so horribly, he cling’d back to his nurse, and cried. Laughter affected his great sire, who doff’d, and laid aside His fearful helm, that on the earth cast round about it light; Then took and kiss'd his loving son, and (balancing his weight In dancing him) these loving vows to living Jove he us'd And all the other bench of Gods: “O you that have infus’d Soul to this infant, now set down this blessing on his star;— Let his renown be clear as mine; equal his strength in war; And make his reign so strong in Troy, that years to come may yield His facts this fame, when, rich in spoils, he leaves the conquer’d field Sown with his slaughters: ‘These high deeds exceed his father's worth.’”"

"The house then cleans’d, they brought the women out, And put them in a room so wall’d about That no means serv’d their sad estates to fly. Then said Telemachus: “These shall not die A death that lets out any wanton blood, And vents the poison that gave lust her food, The body cleansing, but a death that chokes The breath, and altogether that provokes And seems as bellows to abhorréd lust, That both on my head pour’d depraves unjust, And on my mother’s, scandalling the Court, With men debauch’d, in so abhorr’d a sort.” This said, a halser of a ship they cast About a cross-beam of the roof, which fast They made about their necks, in twelve parts cut, And hal’d them up so high they could not put Their feet to any stay. As which was done, Look how a mavis, or a pigeon, In any grove caught with a springe or net, With struggling pinions ’gainst the ground doth beat Her tender body, and that then strait bed Is sour to that swing in which she was bred; So striv’d these taken birds, till ev’ry one Her pliant halter had enforc’d upon Her stubborn neck, and then aloft was haul’d To wretched death. A little space they sprawl’d, Their feet fast moving, but were quickly still."

"Ulysses and his son the flyers chas’d, As when, with crooked beaks and seres, a cast Of hill-bred eagles, cast-off at some game, That yet their strengths keep, but, put up, in flame The eagle stoops; from which, along the field The poor fowls make wing, this and that way yield Their hard-flown pinions, then the clouds assay For ’scape or shelter, their forlorn dismay All spirit exhaling, all wings’ strength to carry Their bodies forth, and, truss’d up, to the quarry Their falconers ride-in, and rejoice to see Their hawks perform a flight so fervently; So, in their flight, Ulysses with his heir Did stoop and cuff the Wooers, that the air Broke in vast sighs, whose heads they shot and cleft, The pavement boiling with the souls they reft."

"They first slit both his nostrils, cropp’d each ear, His members tugg’d off, which the dogs did tear And chop up bleeding sweet; and, while red-hot The vice-abhorring blood was, off they smote His hands and feet; and there that work had end. Then wash’d they hands and feet that blood had stain’d, And took the house again."

"Thus many tales Ulysses told his wife, At most but painting, yet most like the life; Of which her heart such sense took through her ears, It made her weep as she would turn to tears. And as from off the mountains melts the snow, Which Zephyr’s breath conceal’d, but was made flow By hollow Eurus, which so fast pours down, That with their torrent floods have overflown; So down her fair cheeks her kind tears did glide, Her miss’d lord mourning set so near her side. Ulysses much was mov’d to see her mourn, Whose eyes yet stood as dry as iron or horn In his untroubled lids, which in his craft Of bridling passion he from issue saft."

"From his throat brake out My wine, with man’s-flesh gobbets, like a spout, When, loaded with his cups, he lay and snor’d."

"And now man-slaught’ring Pallas took in hand Her snake-fring’d shield, and on that beam took stand In her true form, where swallow-like she sat. And then, in this way of the house and that, The Wooers, wounded at the heart with fear, Fled the encounter; as in pastures where Fat herds of oxen feed, about the field (As if wild madness their instincts impell’d) The high-fed bullocks fly, whom in the spring, When days are long, gad-bees or breezes sting."

"He wept for joy, t’ enjoy a wife so fit For his grave mind, that knew his depth of wit, And held chaste virtue at a price so high, And as sad men at sea when shore is nigh, Which long their hearts have wish’d, their ship quite lost By Neptune’s rigour, and they vex’d and tost ’Twixt winds and black waves, swimming for their lives, A few escap’d, and that few that survives, All drench’d in foam and brine, crawl up to land, With joy as much as they did worlds command; So dear to this wife was her husband’s sight."

"Nor was he Like any man that food could possibly Enhance so hugely, but, beheld alone, Show’d like a steep hill’s top, all overgrown With trees and brambles"

"There, close upon the sea, sweet meadows spring; That yet of fresh streams want no watering To their soft burthens, but of special yield. Your vines would be there; and your common field But gentle work make for your plow, yet bear A lofty harvest when you came to shear; For passing fat the soil is."

"He answer’d nothing, but rush’d in, and took Two of my fellows up from earth, and strook Their brains against it. Like two whelps they flew About his shoulders, and did all embrue The blushing earth. No mountain lion tore Two lambs so sternly, lapp’d up all their gore Gush’d from their torn-up bodies, limb by limb (Trembling with life yet) ravish’d into him. Both flesh and marrow-stufféd bones he eat, And ev’n th’ uncleanséd entrails made his meat."

"Two nights, yet, and days He spent in wrastling with the sable seas; In which space, often did his heart propose Death to his eyes. But when Aurora rose, And threw the third light from her orient hair, The winds grew calm, and clear was all the air, Not one breath stirring. Then he might descry, Rais’d by the high seas, clear, and land was nigh. And then, look how to good sons that esteem Their father’s life dear, (after pains extreme, Felt in some sickness, that hath held him long Down to his bed, and with affections strong Wasted his body, made his life his load, As being inflicted by some angry God) When on their pray’rs they see descend at length Health from the heav’ns, clad all in spirit and strength, The sight is precious; so, since here should end Ulysses’ toils, which therein should extend Health to his country, held to him his sire And on which long for him disease did tire, And then, besides, for his own sake to see The shores, the woods so near, such joy had he, As those good sons for their recover’d sire. Then labour’d feet and all parts to aspire To that wish’d continent."

"A grove grew In endless spring about her cavern round, With odorous cypress, pines, and poplars, crown’d, Where hawks, sea-owls, and long-tongued bittours bred, And other birds their shady pinions spread; All fowls maritimal; none roosted there, But those whose labours in the waters were. A vine did all the hollow cave embrace, Still green, yet still ripe bunches gave it grace. Four fountains, one against another, pour’d Their silver streams; and meadows all enflower’d With sweet balm-gentle, and blue-violets hid, That deck’d the soft breasts of each fragrant mead."

"Jove heard it, sitting on his hill, and laugh’d to see the Gods Buckle to arms like angry men."

"A most disorder’d store Of words he foolishly pour’d out, of which his mind held more Than it could manage; any thing, with which he could procure Laughter, he never could contain. He should have yet been sure To touch no kings; t’ oppose their states becomes not jesters’ parts. But he the filthiest fellow was of all that had deserts In Troy’s brave siege; he was squint-ey’d, and lame of either foot; So crook-back’d, that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoot (Here and there spers’d) thin mossy hair."

"Then from an anvil rose Th’ unwieldy monster, halt’d down, and all awry he went. He took his bellows from the fire, and ev’ry instrument Lock’d safe up in a silver chest. Then with a sponge he drest His face all over, neck and hands, and all his hairy breast; Put on his coat, his sceptre took, and then went halting forth, Handmaids of gold attending him, resembling in all worth Living young damsels, fill’d with minds and wisdom, and were train’d In all immortal ministry, virtue and voice contain’d, And mov’d with voluntary pow’rs; and these still wait’d on Their fi’ry sov’reign."

"Th’ out-law’d Cyclops’ land we fetch’d; a race Of proud-liv’d loiterers, that never sow, Nor put a plant in earth, nor use a plow, But trust in God for all things; and their earth, Unsown, unplow’d, gives ev’ry offspring birth That other lands have; wheat, and barley, vines That bear in goodly grapes delicious wines; And Jove sends show’rs for all. No councils there, Nor councillors, nor laws; but all men bear Their heads aloft on mountains, and those steep, And on their tops too; and their houses keep In vaulty caves, their households govern’d all By each man’s law, impos’d in several, Nor wife, nor child awed, but as he thinks good, None for another caring."

"‘Cyclop! now, As thou demand’st, I’ll tell my name, do thou Make good thy hospitable gift to me. My name is No-Man; No-Man each degree Of friends, as well as parents, call my name.’ He answer’d, as his cruel soul became: ‘No-Man! I’ll eat thee last of all thy friends; And this is that in which so much amends I vow’d to thy deservings, thus shall be My hospitable gift made good to thee.’"

"Dog’s face, with heart but of a hart."

"Achilles’ baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that impos’d Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls loos’d From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave; To all which Jove’s will gave effect; from whom first strife begun Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis’ godlike son."

"The cunning Pylian orator, whose tongue pour’d forth a flood Of more-than-honey-sweet discourse."

"He said; and his black eyebrows bent; above his deathless head Th’ ambrosian curls flow’d; great heav’n shook."

"The man, O Muse, inform, that many a way Wound with his wisdom to his wished stay; That wander’d wondrous far, when he the town Of sacred Troy had sack’d and shiver’d down; The cities of a world of nations, With all their manners, minds, and fashions, He saw and knew; at sea felt many woes, Much care sustain’d, to save from overthrows Himself and friends in their retreat for home; But so their fates he could not overcome, Though much he thirsted it. O men unwise, They perish’d by their own impieties! That in their hunger’s rapine would not shun The oxen of the lofty-going Sun, Who therefore from their eyes the day bereft Of safe return."

"He stoop’d Pieria, and thence Glid through the air, and Neptune’s confluence Kiss’d as he flew, and check’d the waves as light As any sea-mew in her fishing flight, Her thick wings sousing in the savory seas."

"We only trust the voice of fame, know nothing."

"The multitude exceed my song, though fitted to my choice Ten tongues were, harden’d palates ten, a breast of brass, a voice Infract and trump-like."

"They could not choose but welcome her, and rather they accus’d The Gods than beauty."

"Come, do not think I lay the wars, endur’d by us, on thee, The Gods have sent them, and the tears in which they swum to me."

"Two princes of the people yet, I nowhere can behold, Castor, the skilful knight on horse and Pollux, uncontroll’d For all stand-fights, and force of hand; ... My natural brothers; either here they have not followéd From lovely Sparta, or, arriv’d within the sea-born fleet, In fear of infamy for me, in broad field shame to meet."

"Earth flow’d with blood. And as from hills rainwaters headlong fall, That all ways eat huge ruts, which, met in one bed, fill a vall With such a confluence of streams, that on the mountain grounds Far off, in frighted shepherds’ ears, the bustling noise rebounds: So grew their conflicts."

"Then comes the black increase Of griefs (like Greeks on Ilion)."

"O moral Gower, this book I directe To thee."

"And whan that he was slayn in this manere, His lighte goost ful blisfully is went Up to the holownesse of the seventh spere, In convers letinge every element; And ther he saugh, with ful avysement, The erratik sterres, herkeninge armonye With sownes fulle of hevenish melodye. And doun from thennes faste he gan avyse This litel spot of erthe, that with the see Enbraced is, and fully gan despyse This wrecched world, and held al vanitee To respect of the pleyn felicitee That is in hevene above."

"Go, litel book, go litel myn tregedie, Ther god thy maker yet, er that he dye, So sende might to make in som comedie! But litel book, no making thou nenvye, But subgit be to alle poesye; And kis the steppes, wher-as thou seest pace Virgile, Ovyde, Omer, Lucan, and Stace. And for ther is so greet diversitee In English and in wryting of our tonge, So preye I god that noon miswryte thee, Ne thee mismetre for defaute of tonge. And red wher-so thou be, or elles songe, That thou be understonde I god beseche!"

"O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she, In which that love up groweth with your age, Repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee, And of your herte up-casteth the visage To thilke god that after his image Yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre This world, that passeth sone as floures fayre. And loveth him, the which that right for love Upon a cros, our soules for to beye, First starf, and roos, and sit in hevene a-bove; For he nil falsen no wight, dar I seye, That wol his herte al hoolly on him leye. And sin he best to love is, and most meke, What nedeth feyned loves for to seke?"

"Ye, fare-wel al the snow of ferne yere!"

"This sodein Diomede."

"Eek greet effect men wryte in place lyte. Th' entente is al, and nought the lettres space."

"Lo here, of Payens corsed olde rytes, Lo here, what alle hir goddes may availle; Lo here, these wrecched worldes appetytes; Lo here, the fyn and guerdon for travaille Of Jove, Appollo, of Mars, of swich rascaille!"

"They take it wysly, faire and softe."

"I am right sory for your hevinesse."

"For he that nought nassayeth, nought nacheveth."

"But manly set the world on sixe and sevene; And, if thou deye a martir, go to hevene."

"A wonder last but nyne night never in toune."

"For tyme y-lost may not recovered be."

"Paradys stood formed in hir yën."

"For of fortunes sharp adversitee The worst kinde of infortune is this, A man to have ben in prosperitee, And it remembren, whan it passed is."

"And as the newe abaysshed nightingale, That stinteth first whan she biginneth singe."

"And held aboute him alwey, out of drede, A world of folk."

"For I have seyn, of a ful misty morwe Folwen ful ofte a mery someres day."