Which Translation: The Odyssey

George Musgrave

1865 · Blank verse

Features

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35
Holdings
4
Reviews

Biography

George Musgrave (1798-1883) was an English clergyman and translator, educated at Brasenose College, Oxford. He served as rector of Bexwell, Norfolk and vicar of Borden, Kent before retiring to devote himself to literary pursuits.

Musgrave translated the Odyssey into blank verse across two volumes. He aimed for a modern translation that preserved all the detailed descriptions and repeated epithets of the original, even if this meant considerably expanding its line count.

Musgrave’s Odyssey received limited critical attention and was overshadowed by competing Victorian translations, including those by Worsley and Bryant. It remains a minor entry in the history of English Homer translations.

George Musgrave on Wikidata ↗

Publication History

  • 1865 — Bell and Daldy, The Odyssey of Homer; rendered into English blank verse ★
  • 1869 — Bell and Daldy, The Odyssey of Homer; rendered into English blank verse (2nd ed.)

Reviews

The proem

1.1–11
Tell me, O Muse, declare to me that man
Tost to and fro by fate, who, when his arms
Had laid Troy’s holy city in the dust,
Far wand’ring roam’d on many a tribe of men
To bend his gaze, their minds and thoughts to learn.
Grief upon grief encounter’d he, when, borne
On ocean-waves, his life he carried off
A prize from perils rescued, and would fain
Have homeward led his brethren in arms;
But, not to him,—not to his anxious zeal
Was giv’n their rescue; destin’d as they were
In their mad arrogance to perish; fools!
That dared to seize, and to consume for food,
Hyperion’s herds, the oxen of the Sun
That walks on high, by whose behest the day
Of their return was evermore denied.
And thou, too, goddess daughter of great Jove,
The theme pursue, and thine own record bear!

Penelope's weaving trick

2.96–111
“Young men, who seek my hand! since that great chief,
So like a god, Ulysses, is no more,—
Forbear to press my nuptials till this veil
I shall have finish’d, that the threads I use
May not with purpose unfulfill’d be spoilt.
A shroud is it for that heroic chief
Laertes, when that fearful doom is nigh
Which shall arrest, and lay him out at length:
Lest any one among the dames of Greece
Upbraidings should upon me heap, if he,
Who liv’d in affluence, should lie entomb’d
Without such covering.” These were her words,
And we, right-minded men, at once complied.
But, hereupon, throughout the day she plied
Her work of weaving upon that vast web,
And when the night drew on, with torches plac’d
Beside her, she unloosen’d all the threads!
Thus through three years did she by stratagem
Evade us, and upon the Greeks prevail’d.
But, as the hours sped on, and this fourth year
At length was come, a handmaid, (one of those
Well ‘ware of it,) the fact to us reveal’d—
Aye—and we came upon her picking out
That glorious web : so that, against her will,
She only by constraint completed it.

Calypso's double standard

5.118–131
“Stern and unfeeling are ye all, ye gods!
In jealousy unmatch’d! who thus in grudge
That nuptial couch to goddesses deny
(By no clandestine marriage-rite obtain’d)
Which they as happy wives of mortals won.
Thus,—when Aurora, rosy-finger’d, chose
Orion,—you immortals, who in ease
Eternal live, with hate’s invidious eye
Her lot beheld till, on Ortygia’s isle,
Chaste Dian, goddess of the golden throne,
(With darts that slay with easiest, gentlest death)
His life extinguish’d. So, when Ceres, too,—
That fair-hair’d one! by tend’rest impulse mov’d,
In love and wedlock with Jasion join’d,
And upon thrice-plow’d fallows made their home
Not slow was Jove to learn of that deed done,
Nor with white vivid flash to lay him low!
Thus now you gods on high would umbrage take
That any mortal born should of my home
A sharer live ;—the man whom I, alone,
From shipwreck snatch’d, as to the upturn’d keel

Weeping on Calypso's shore

5.151–159
Upon the shore she found him. There sate he
His eyes still moist with tears, and what of life
Had sweet appear’d was gone! consuming fast—
For now that voyage home must he deplore
Which in the nymph rous’d bitter wrath and woe.
But through Night’s hours he slumber’d (so compell’d)
Within those cav’rnous grots—unwilling couch’d
By one most willing! Through the livelong day
As on some crag, along the beach, he sate—
(In tears and moans and misery consum’d—)
Across the barren sea he gaz’d, and wept,

Nausicaa finds Odysseus

6.127–141
Thus speaking, from the shrubs Ulysses rush’d,
And with his brawny hand a leafy branch
From out the thicket pluck’d, wherewith he might
His naked frailties hide. And forth he stole:—
As when a Lion, in the mountain fed,
On his vast strength reliant, braving rain
And storm alike—his eyeballs flashing fire—
Creeps warily on oxen, sheep, or deer;
(For rav’ning hunger to th’ enclosing fold
Impels him oft, his chance to try with th’ sheep)
E’en thus Ulysses, all uncloth’d, went forth
Those fair-hair’d nymphs t’ encounter: need so stern
That moment lay upon him! But his mien,
By salt sea-wave disfigur’d, in their eyes
Revolting seem’d, and, panic-struck, each fled
Now here, now there, through all the rocks on shore.
Alone, unmov’d Alcinoüs’ daughter stood:
For Pallas had this trusting strength infus’d,
And from her frame all trembling terror chas’d.

War-widow simile

8.521–532
On such exploits the Bard his lay attun’d,
And, as he sang, Ulysses’ heart gave way,
And from beneath his eyelids many a tear
His cheeks bedew’d :—And as when some lorn wife
On her lov’d husband throws herself,—to grief
Abandon’d,—when, before the city walls,
And in the eyes of all its citizens,
His death-blow he receives, but, by that death
A fearful doom from their domestic hearths
And children has averted,—she her gaze
Upon him fixes, as he gasps and dies,
And all the air with shrill lament resounds,
While foes behind, with javelins her back
And shoulders goad, to drive her captive thence,
A life of labour and of woe to lead,
Where piteous misery her cheek shall pale:—
So, from beneath his eyelids the sad tear
Ulysses shed,—

Cyclops eats the men

9.287–299
Such was my reply;
But utt’rance none did that ferocious mind
In answer prompt; for, with a sudden rush
On my companions both his hands he laid,
And clutching, as he would at dogs, two men,
He dash’d them to the ground, whereon their brains
Burst forth and all the earth around them stain’d,
And cutting them asunder, limb by limb,
He made his ev’ning meal, on which he fed
As would a lion that in mountain woods
His prey devours: nor entrails left he there,
Nor parts of flesh, or bones with marrow fill’d.
We, all in tears, beholding this dread sight,
Our hands upheld to Jove; and desperate grief
O’ercame us quite. At length, when his vast paunch
The Cyclops, rav’ning on man’s flesh, had fill’d,
And thereupon a draught of milk drunk down,
Within the cavern at his length he lay,
His limbs extending wide among the sheep.

The Nobody trick

9.364–371
“‘O Cyclops! didst thou seek to know the name
By which men call me? I will tell it thee:
But, to thy promise true, do thou present
Such gift as guests should from their hosts receive:
My name is “No ONE!” She who gave me birth,
My father, also, and my comrades all
By this name “No ONE” call me.’ Thus spoke I,
And, in return, from that inhuman soul,
These words he utter’d :
‘After his comates
I will eat “No ONE” last: the others first;
This grace most certainly will I bestow,
As between host and guest!’

Circe recognizes Odysseus

10.325–336
‘Who art thou?
From whence, ‘mid mortal men? Thy city, where?
And where thy parents? Wonder fills my soul
That those drugs drinking thou hast felt no spell:
For not till now hath Man, whoever drank
And took them on his lips, those poisons brook’d!
But, in that breast of thine there is a soul
All proof against enchantment! Art thou, then,
Ulysses—, that shrewd wily one, whom he
That bears the golden wand,—that Argus slew—
Time after time foretold as sure to come
On his return, in his dark ship, from Troy?
Nay, then,—thy weapon in its sheath replace,
And we this couch on high will occupy,
That thus in union and affection blent
Each in the other may henceforth trust.’

Anticlea's shade

11.204–215
Thus spake she:
Whereat—a moment musing, strong desire
Impell’d me my departed mother’s shade
To grasp at, and the effort thrice I made;
And thrice, an airy nothing! vision like,
My clutch it fled; and then did keener grief
Within me ‘gin to rise, and with these words
Of rapid utt’rance I again spoke out:—
“‘O mother mine!—say, wherefore would’st thou not
Awhile here tarry for me, longing thus
To take thee by the hand, that even here
In Hades, with one mutual close embrace,
We might e’en to the last our grief exhaust.
Hath Proserpine this image of thyself
Thus to my vision offer’d, that my heart
Might only with yet sharper woe lament?’

Achilles in the underworld

11.488–501
‘Ulysses! glorious chief!
Make thou not light of death to me! Well pleas’d
Would I—if but on Earth I now might live—
My wages as a serving man from one
Of lowly grade and slend’rest means receive,
Rather than all the dead supremely rule.
But, oh! do thou the history recount
Of my illustrious son: Did he with us
The war pursue, and to a chieftain’s rank
Attain or not? and say if tidings thou
Of Peleus, that all perfect man, hast gain’d:
Among the Myrmidons’ unnumber’d host,
Is he in high renown still reverenc’d,
Or in all Greece and Phthia have they yet
With contumely despis’d him, for that now
Old age extreme his hands and feet hath seiz’d?
For, now no longer in the sunbeams’ light
Can I his champion prove; the selfsame man
Who in the cause of Greece her battles fought
And all the flow’r of mighty Ilion’s hosts
Laid low in death.

The Sirens' song

12.184–192
‘O thou, whom all men laud!
Ulysses! glory of all Greece! here stay,
And hither come! that thou our voice may’st hear;
For none hath ever in a dark-ribb’d ship
By this spot pass’d, ere he the dulcet notes
Of our blent voices’ melody had heard,
Then to depart, all extasy, and taught
In knowledge new and ample. Well can we
All those events recount,—the suff’rings all
By Greeks and Trojans (so the gods decreed)
In wide-built Troy endur’d; and well we know
Whate’er in this all-feeding earth transpires.’

Hyperion's cattle

12.341–352
Death is in all shapes to unhappy men
A fearful fate: but misery extreme
Were it our own destruction to provoke
And die of hunger. Come, then! When the best
Of all these herds of oxen of the Sun
We shall have seiz’d to kill, a sacrifice
Will we to those immortals, who in Heav’n
High overarching dwell, here offer up:
And if on Ithaca, our native soil,
We ever shall set foot, to Sol, that god
Who in the Empyrean walks on high,
A splendid fane will we with speed erect,
And statues many and most beautiful
Therein enshrine. Still, should he in his wrath
Indignant on these straight-horn’d beeves’ account
Our vessel seek in shipwreck to destroy,
And should all other deities that wish
With Phœbus share, far sooner would I then
The briny waters gulping down, expire,
Than here upon a barren isle detain’d,
Lose by degrees all strength, and wear away.’

Argos recognizes Odysseus

17.324–328
With those words
The noble house he enter’d, and his steps
To where the suitor train were thronging bent.
But, in the selfsame hour in which his eyes
Upon Ulysses, after twenty years,
One moment rested, the dark gloom of death
On Argus fell.

Sleepless Odysseus

20.25–34
But, ev’n as when a man at some fierce fire
A savory paunch with fat and blood replete
From side to side turns oft, intent with speed
Most prompt to roast it;—so, from right to left
Ulysses swaying lay, as he his plans
Revolv’d how, single against numbers, he
That daring band of suitors might arrest.
And, now, from Heav’n descending, to his side
Minerva’s self drew near,—a female form
Presenting, as above his head she stood,
And in these words appealing spake:—“Why thus
A sleepless watcher liest thou, whose fate
‘Bove all men’s seemeth hardest!

Stringing the bow

21.404–412
Ulysses, when the mighty bow in hand
He freely held, and on all sides survey’d,
(Like one who, both in harp and song adept,
With ease a string to a new peg adapts,
The sheep-gut at both ends well fastening)
Bent with all ease that pond’rous bow, whose string
With his right hand he seiz’d and, stretching, tried:
And with euphonious note it instant twang’d
Which might a swallow’s emulate:

Odysseus reveals himself

22.1–8
And now Ulysses, of his beggar’s guise
Th’ encumb’ring tatters having cast aside,
On to the broad and spacious threshold leap’d,
The bow and the full quiver in his hands
Fast holding, till, outpour’d before his feet
The arrows on the pavement lay; and thus
The suitors he address’d:—“At length, the end
Of all this contest is attain’d, and none
Can overturn it: but, I now must learn
Whether with like success another mark
I may but hit, which not a man as yet
Hath ever touch’d: but may Apollo’s self
My pray’r’s entreaty hear!”

The disloyal maids

22.465–474
He spake ;—and to a lofty pillar’s shaft
The hawser binding of a dark-ribb’d ship,
Around the vaulted roof the rope he cast
And from on high a running noose drew down,
Whence none the pavement with her feet could touch:
And as when thrushes, with their outspread wings,
Or doves, against a net, which in some copse
Extended hangs have on a sudden dash’d,
(As they their nests were nearing), and a bed,
Which hath their foe become, includes them all—
So did this female group their heads in line
One with the other hold, and round their necks
Were slip-knots run, that by the direst death
They all might perish. For a space, indeed,
They with their feet in grasping spasm strove,
But, all was over soon.

The olive-tree bed

23.181–190
She ceas’d;
Her lord hereby intent to test,—who thus
The wife who well her duty conjugal
Knew how to fill, in mournful tone address’d:—
“Lady ! heart-grieving and most sad is this
Which thou hast just commanded! Who is it
That hath my bed to any spot remote
From where it stood, remov’d! An arduous task
Were it for any one, however skill’d,
That couch to shift;—except some god, indeed,
Who might with ease, if so he will’d, anew
Its station fix. But, not a man that lives,—
Though with the strength of youthful prime endow’d,
Could without toil extreme that couch displace.
A feature of great note is in its frame
(So curiously wrought) work’d up,—whereon my hand
Alone, and no one’s else, was occupied:—

Shipwrecked sailor simile

23.233–241
And, as when land
A sight most precious to the swimmer’s eyes
At length begins to loom, when in the deep
Some goodly bark by Neptune has been merg’d,
‘Mid sweeping hurricanes and billows dark;
And small their number is who in that wreck
By swimming on to shore the hoary waves
Of ocean have evaded, and with limbs
In spume saline encas’d, have on the beach
At length set foot, from dread destruction freed,—
Thus, in her sight delightful to regard
Seem’d great Ulysses, from around whose neck
Her fair white arms not yet had she releas’d;