Which Translation: The Odyssey

Earl of Carnarvon

1886 · Blank verse

Features

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148
Holdings
4
Reviews

Biography

Henry Howard Molyneux Herbert, 4th Earl of Carnarvon (1831-1890), was a prominent British Conservative politician who served twice as Colonial Secretary. He was educated at Eton and Christ Church, Oxford. His son, the 5th Earl, became famous for sponsoring Howard Carter’s excavation of Tutankhamun’s tomb.

Carnarvon translated Books I-XII of the Odyssey into blank verse, ‘the best compromise between the inevitable redundancy of rhyme and the stricter accuracy of prose.’ He used Greek rather than Roman nomenclature for proper names and chose to end at Book XII as ‘a natural half-way-house in the story.’

His Odyssey was a minor literary sideline to his political career. He also produced a verse translation of Aeschylus’s Agamemnon (1879). His essays, addresses, and translations were posthumously collected in a two-volume set edited by Sir Robert Herbert.

Earl of Carnarvon on Wikipedia ↗

Publication History

  • 1886 — Macmillan, The Odyssey of Homer, Books I-XII; translated into English verse ★

Reviews

The proem

1.1–11
Tell me, O Muse, of that quick witted Chief,
Who, when the sacred citadel of Troy
Was wasted by his arms, wandered abroad,
And many towns beheld and many men,
And knew their ways and purposes; and oft
He suffered trouble on the stormy deep,
Striving for life and seeking a return
For his companions. Yet not even so
Might he achieve deliverance for his friends.
They in their folly perished—the the fools,
Who dared to feast upon the sacred kine
Of Helios, Heavenly King; from whom the God
Withheld the day of safe return to home.
So tell us, of this wife, daughter of Zeus
The story of these doings.

Penelope's weaving trick

2.96–111
‘Ye youths who seek my hand
Now that the great Odysseus is no more,
Howe’er intent upon my bridal, stay-
Stay till my task is done, till this sad shroud
On which I labour for Laertes’ corse,
Is wrought, and he bows to the stroke of death
That lays men low; so shall my woven web
Not be in vain, so shall nor wife nor maid
Among Achæan wome give me blame,
For that so great a prince should in his grave
Unbroidered and unhonoured lie.’
Thus she
Was wont to talk and we gave heed to her.
But all day long she wove the mighty web
And through the night by the bright torches’ light,
Her labours she undid, and for three years
She by her craft beguiled th’ Achæan chies.
But when the circling hours the fourth year brought
One of her women who knew all, disclosed
The secret, and we came upon the Queen
Unravelling her wondrous web; then she
Sorely against her will fulfilled her task.

Calypso's double standard

5.118–131
“O hard and envious are th’ Immortal Gods,
Grudging whene’er amongst the sons of men
A Goddess finds a partner of her love.
So when bright Eos to Orion stooped;
The happy Gods grudged her and him their bliss,
Till in Ortygia holy Artemis
Smote him and slew him with her painless shafts.
So when the golden-tressed Demeter erst,
In the safe shelter of the thrice-ploughed field,
Yielded herself in passionate embrace
Unto Iasion’s love, Zeus heard the tale,
And smote and slew him with his dazzling bolt.
And now, ye Gods! ye envy me in turn
My mortal mate, whom clinging to the keel
Of his upturned bark alone I saved,

Weeping on Calypso's shore

5.151–159
On the sea-shore he sat. Ever the tears
Streamed from his eyes; and, pining for his home,
In all the sweetness of his life he seemed
To waste away. For her he had no care,
But in the hollow grot against his will,
Unloving captive to a loving mate,
He spent the livelong nights; and all the day
On shore and rock reclining he gazed forth
Over the barren sea, and gazing wept.

Nausicaa finds Odysseus

6.127–141
He spake, and crept
From out his covert, breaking a thick bough
Wherewith to clothe himself. And so he went,
As goes a mountain lion in his strength
Through rain and storm, and in his eyes a flame
Glares murderous, as when on herds or flocks
Or the wild hart intent, he fareth forth,
For famine pangs drive him to make assault
Against the weaklings of the crowded fold.
So was Odysseus ‘mid those fair-tressed girls
Constrained though naked to come forth; and fierce
And terrible he seemed stained with the brine.
And in disorder and dismay they fled
By shelving edge and jutting spit of shore.
But not Alcinous’ daughter. She stood fast;
Athene gave her courage, and her limbs
Shook not with fear,

War-widow simile

8.521–532
But as he sang Odysseus’ heart waxed faint,
And o’er his cheeks flowed down the silent tears.
So wails a wife o’er her fall’n hero, who
In sight of country and his countrymen
Dies in defence of children and of home;
So as she sees him drawing his last breath
She casts her arms around him and laments,
Whilst the stern foemen coming up behind
Smite her on back and shoulders with their spears,
And lead her into bondage harsh and hard.
As thus her tears of saddest sorrow flow,
So did Odysseus weep;

Cyclops eats the men

9.287–299
Thus I; but he with merciless intent
Made answer none, but rushing on us seized
Two of my band, and, dashing them like whelps
Upon the ground, beat out their brains, till all
The rocky floor was swimming with their blood.
Then limb by limb he hewed them into bits,
And making ready for his evening meal,
Like mountain lion gorged himself on flesh,
On entrails, bone, and marrow, and ceased not
Whilst aught remained. But we the witnesses
Of these foul deeds held up our hands to Zeus
In helpless anguish and with bitter tears.
Now when the Cyclops’ greedy maw was filled
With milk and human flesh, he stretched himself
At length within the cave amid his flocks;

The Nobody trick

9.364–371
‘Cyclops, erewhile
Thou didst desire to know the name whereby
I have been famous, hearken then and give
As host to stranger guest thy promised gift.
My name is Noman; Noman am I styled
By sire and mother and my comrades all.’
Thus I, but he with purpose pitiless
Made answer;
‘Thee then, Noman, last of all
Will I devour, and this thy gift shall be.’

Circe recognizes Odysseus

10.325–336
‘Who and whence art thou among mortal men?
Who were thy parents, what thy native land?
Much do I marvel thou couldst scatheless drink
From that charmed cup, which never man before
Could bear to taste. But now thy soul is proof
To all my incantations. Surely thou
Art that Odysseus quick and keen of wit,
Whom Hermes ever said should come one day
In his black ship, as home from Troy he fared.
Come then put up thy sword, and on my couch
We will take thought of love and trustful rest.’

Anticlea's shade

11.204–215
She ceased from speech,
And I, much craving to embrace her form,
Thrice did essay; thrice she, like empty dream
Or passing shadow, glided through my hands.
Then bitter grief possessed my soul, and thus
I said; “O Mother mine, wilt thou not stay?
May I not round thee cast my longing arms,
And even in this joyless land of gloom
Our sorrows and affliction interchange?
Is it for this Persephone has raised
A mocking phantom for my greater grief?”

Achilles in the underworld

11.488–501
“Nay, think not light of death; rather would I
Toil as a bondsman to some needy hind,
Than reign o’er all the dead that e’er have died.
But tell me tidings of my noble son;
Holds he in fight and fray the foremost place?
And tell me too of Peleus, fares he well?
Lives he in honour ’midst his Myrmidons,
Or hath his name no worship in the realm
Of Phthia where he ruled, now that old age
Hath bound him hand and foot, and I his son,
Who in my strength went warring against Troy,
And humbled their best champions to the death,

The Sirens' song

12.184–192
‘Noble Odysseus, glory of thy race;
Moor here thy bark and hearken to our lay,
For never mariner in his dark ship
Doth pass our shore but tarrieth to hear
Our honied strain; then joyous saileth on,
Taking more wisdom with him than he brought.
For we are wise; we know each toil and woe
Argive and Trojan in broad Troy endured
By Heaven’s design; we know whatever things
Are doomed to be upon the fruitful earth.’

Hyperion's cattle

12.341–352
To mortal man, come in what guise it will,
Death comes abhorrent; but of all most sad
It is to meet our doom by famine’s pang.
Take we the choicest then of Helios’ kine,
And to th’ Immortal Gods who dwell in Heaven
Offer in sacrifice; and if at last
We come to Ithaca our native land,
We will to Helios, King Hyperion, raise
A costly shrine and fill it with fair gifts.
But if in wrath for his straight-horned kine
King Helios willeth to destroy our ship,
And if so minded are the other Gods,
Be mine to drink the salt wave and to die
Rather than waste away in desert isle.’