The Odyssey

by Homer
BOOK I

Tell me, O muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy.

Many cities did he visit, and many were the nations with whose manners and customs he was acquainted;

moreover he suffered much by sea while trying to save his own life and bring his men safely home; but do what he might he could not save his men, for they perished through their own sheer folly in eating the cattle of the Sun-god Hyperion; so the god prevented them from ever reaching home.

Tell me, too, about all these things, O daughter of Jove, from whatsoever source you may know them.

So now all who escaped death in battle or by shipwreck had got safely home except Ulysses, and he, though he was longing to return to his wife and country, was detained by the goddess Calypso, who had got him into a large cave and wanted to marry him.

But as years went by, there came a time when the gods settled that he should go back to Ithaca; even then, however, when he was among his own people, his troubles were not yet over; nevertheless all the gods had now begun to pity him except Neptune, who still persecuted him without ceasing and would not let him get home.

Now Neptune had gone off to the Ethiopians, who are at the world's end, and lie in two halves, the one looking West and the other East.

He had gone there to accept a hecatomb of sheep and oxen, and was enjoying himself at his festival;

but the other gods met in the house of Olympian Jove, and the sire of gods and men spoke first.

At that moment he was thinking of Aegisthus, who had been killed by Agamemnon's son Orestes; so he said to the other gods:

"See now, how men lay blame upon us gods for what is after all nothing but their own folly.

Look at Aegisthus; he must needs make love to Agamemnon's wife unrighteously and then kill Agamemnon,

though he knew it would be the death of him;

for I sent Mercury to warn him not to do either of these things, inasmuch as Orestes would be sure to take his revenge when he grew up and wanted to return home.

Mercury told him this in all good will but he would not listen, and now he has paid for everything in full."

The Garden

The Garden

by Andrew Marvell

How vainly men themselves amaze

To win the Palm, the Oke, or Bayes;

And their uncessant Labours see

Crown'd from some single Herb or Tree,

Whose short and narrow verged Shade

Does prudently their Toyles upbraid;

While all Flow'rs and all

Trees do close To weave the Garlands of repose.

Fair quiet, have I found thee here,

And Innocence thy Sister dear!

Mistaken long, I sought you then

In busie Companies of Men.

Your sacred Plants, if here below, Only among the

Plants will grow.

Society is all but rude,

To this delicious Solitude.

No white nor red was ever seen

So am'rous as this lovely green.

Fond Lovers, cruel as their Flame,

Cut in these Trees their Mistress name.

Little, Alas, they know, or heed,

How far these Beauties Hers exceed!

Fair Trees! where s'eer you barkes I wound,

No Name shall but your own be found.

When we have run our Passions heat,

Love hither makes his best retreat.

The Gods, that mortal Beauty chase,

The Gods, that mortal Beauty chase,

Apollo hunted Daphne so,

Only that She might Laurel grow.

And Pan did after Syrinx speed,

Not as a Nymph, but for a Reed.

What wond'rous Life in this I lead!

Ripe Apples drop about my head;

The Luscious Clusters of the Vine

Upon my Mouth do crush their Wine;

The Nectaren, and curious Peach,

Into my hands themselves do reach;

Stumbling on Melons, as I pass,

Insnar'd with Flow'rs, I fall on Grass.

Mean while the Mind, from pleasure less,

Withdraws into its happiness:

The Mind, that Ocean where each kind

Does streight its own resemblance find;

Yet it creates, transcending these,

Far other Worlds, and other Seas;

Annihilating all that's made

To a green Thought in a green Shade.

Here at the Fountains sliding foot,

Or at some Fruit-tress mossy root,

Casting the Bodies Vest aside,

My Soul into the boughs does glide:

There like a Bird it sits, and sings,

Then whets, and combs its silver Wings;

And, till prepar'd for longer flight,

Waves in its Plumes the various Light.

Such was that happy Garden-state,

While Man there walk'd without a Mate:

After a Place so pure, and sweet,

What other Help could yet be meet!

But 'twas beyond a Mortal's share

To wander solitary there:

Two Paradises 'twere in one

To live in Paradise alone.

How well the skilful Gardner drew

Of flow'rs and herbes this Dial new;

Where from above the milder Sun

Does through a fragrant Zodiack run;

And, as it works, th' industrious Bee

Computes its time as well as we.

How could such sweet and wholsome

Hours Be reckon'd but with herbs and flow'rs!