Which Translation: The Odyssey

John Ogilby

1665 · Heroic couplets

Features

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244
Holdings
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Reviews

Biography

John Ogilby (c. 1600-1676) was a Scottish polymath whose career encompassed dance instruction, theater management, classical translation, publishing, and cartography. He managed Dublin’s first theater, and published the first survey-based road atlas of England and Wales.

Ogilby studied Greek specifically to translate Homer’s work, and his Odyssey was published in 1665 as a lavish folio edition adorned with engraved plates and extensive annotations. These editions continue to be valued for their production value today.

However, Ogilby’s reputation as a poet and translator was severely damaged by John Dryden in Mac Flecknoe (1682) and by Pope in The Dunciad (1728). As a result, his Odyssey remains obscure, despite the fact that it was Ogilby’s illustrated Homer that ‘first allured Pope to read the Iliad when he was a boy at school,’ and Pope ‘did not disdain to borrow from his version.’ Today it is mostly of interest for the insight it provides into the evolving English Homer tradition.

John Ogilby on Wikipedia ↗

Publication History

  • 1665 — Thomas Roycroft, Homer his Odysses translated adorn'd with sculpture and illustrated with annotations
  • 1669 — James Fletcher, Homer his Odysses translated adorn'd with sculpture and illustrated with annotations ★

Reviews

The proem

1.1–11
That Prudent Hero’s Wandring, Muse, reherse,
Who (Troy being Sack’d) coasting the Universe,
Saw many Cities, and their various Modes,
Much suffering toss’d by Storms on raging Floods,
His Friends Conducting to their Native Coast;
But all in vain: for he his Navy lost,
And they their Lives, prophanely feasting on
Herds Consecrated to the Glorious Sun;
Who much incens’d, obstructed so their way,
They ne’re return’d: Jove’s Daughter this display!

Penelope's weaving trick

2.96–111
Though my Lord be dead,
Suspend your Suit, and urge me not to wed,
Till this be wrought, which, when his sad Fates call,
Must serve Laertes for his Funeral Pall:
So shall no Grecian Lady me asperse,
That I with nought adorn’d his Funeral Hearse.
Thus did the Queen our easie minds perswade,
By night unravelling what by day she made,
And held three Summers thus and Winters on:
But when the fourth year’s gliding spheres begun,
One of her Women her design reveal’d,
And busie her unweaving we beheld.
Discover’d thus, her work she finish’d straight.

Calypso's double standard

5.118–131
You envious Gods delight
In nothing more then thus to wreak your Spight;
Who’l not allow a Goddess in her House
To treat a Mortal, though she him espouse.
So when Aurora with Orion match’d,
Until her golden Bow Diana drew,
And with her Shafts him in this Island slew.
And so when Ceres did to Passion yield,
Injoying Jasin in a thrice-plow’d Field,
Jove, soon inform’d, adjudg’d the fact a Fault,
And slew him with a blazing Thunder-bolt.
So I a Mortal spousing shall be serv’d.
On’s turn’d-up Keel him riding I preserv’d,

Weeping on Calypso's shore

5.151–159
Whom finding on the Beach disconsolate,
With floods of Tears lamenting his sad Fate,
No hope of getting thence, seven years expir’d,
Now with a Goddesse’s Imbraces tir’d,
Isles’d each night within her shady Grot
To warm her Side, will he or will he not,
(Yet all the day plac’d on the rocky Shores,
Viewing the restless Billows, he deplores
Himself with Sighs would rend a Heart in twain)

Nausicaa finds Odysseus

6.127–141
This said, he steals
From the’ring Shrubs, and with a Branch conceals
His modest parts; then up he runs amain.
Like a huge Lion beat with Wind and Rain,
Who forc’d by Want (his Eyes like Beacons) falls
On Sheep, Beeves, Deer, breaks Houses, storms high halls,
So to the Virgins drawing near he shews,
Horrid with cursting Brine and parched Owse.
To shelter all dispersed fly, except
Alsinoe Daughter; for her Station kept,
By Pallas Instigation bolder made.

War-widow simile

8.521–532
Thus sung the Poet, whilst Ulysses sleeps
His Cheeks with Tears: And as a Woman weeps
Her dearest Lord imbracing on the Plain,
(For’s Country fighting and his Children slain)
Or seeing him in Death’s Convulsions lie,
Falls on him groaning with a dolefull Cry;
But they strike on, and drag the Pris’ner where
He must, surviving, feel more Toil and Care:
So sad Ulysses briny Tears distills,

Cyclops eats the men

9.287–299
He, raging, answer’d not, but at us flew,
And in his mighty Paw straight snatch’d up two
Of us like Whelps, and dash’d against the Floor,
Sprinkling the ground with recking Brains and Gore;
Then like a Lion them in piece-meal tears,
And eating, nor their Bones nor Bowels spares;
Whilst weeping we the woful Sight beheld.
Soon as the Monster had his Belly fill’d
With humane Flesh, and stuff’d with Milk and Whey,
Amidst his Flocks stretch’d on the Floor he lay.

The Nobody trick

9.364–371
Thou ask’dst my Name, which I shall let thee know;
Keep promise, and some Gift on me bestow.
My Name is Nemo, so my Parents, all
My Kindred me and best Relations call.
Then he reply’d; Thee I shall kindly treat,
Thou shalt, good Nemo, be the last I’ll eat.
Of all my Friends; my Promise I will keep.

Circe recognizes Odysseus

10.325–336
Who art? whence com’st thou? of what wondrous Stock!
I am amaz’d thou art not yet transform’d: Stock?
Who e’re tills this is to some purpose charm’d.
Thou art the first escap’d that e’re did sip,
Or let one dram o’th’ Bottle pass his Lip.
What wondrous Antidote thus steel’d thy Heart?
Sure thou’rt Ulysses that so subtil art,
Whom Hermes oft told me I should enjoy
Returning from the Sack of wealthy Troy.
Put up that Weapon. Must we have a bout?
In Bed with other Arms let’s fight it out.
There charge me home, I dare your worst of Spight:
All Duels there Love seconds and Delight.

Anticlea's shade

11.204–215
Stirr’d by Affiction, when she thus had said,
I stepp’d in to imbrace my Mother’s Shade:
Thrice I attempt it, and as often fail;
She fled me like a Dream or nimble Gale.
O’repow’r’d with Grief whilst thus I strove in vain,
Of her Unkindness thus did I complain;
Why meet’st thou not, dear Mother, my Embrace,
That here we may in this most dismall place
A Comfort find, and in the midst of Grief
Conjoyning hands, though small, get some Relief?
This all the Favour Proserpine bestows,
To shew thee onely to augment my Woes?

Achilles in the underworld

11.488–501
Thou of the Dead a weak Discourse dost make.
I rather would a Rustick be, and serve
A Swain for Hire, ready almost to starve,
And living be ’mongst all Misfortunes hurl’d,
Then dead be Emperour in this shady World.
But of my Son I fain would something know;
Came he to th’ Ilian Leaguer, yea or no?
Of my dear Father’s Fortunes something say,
If yet the Myrmidons his Pow’r obey;
Or have they shook his Scepter off, and hold
Him now not fit to rule grown Weak and Old?
I am not now as when I fought at Troy,
And Regiments could in my Rage destroy.

The Sirens' song

12.184–192
Ulysses, Glory of the Greeks, draw near,
Thy Vessel stay, and our sweet Voices hear.
None ever past this way that went from hence
Till they had feasted first their Hearing Sense:
Then they departed pleas’d, and wiser too.
We know what Trojan suffer’d, and what you,
What Fate in ten years Siege on each Side hurl’d,
And all Transadtions of the busie World.

Hyperion's cattle

12.341–352
All Deaths to Mortals bitter are like Gall;
But Starving, that’s the bitterest of all.
The fattest of these Bullocks let us fell,
And offer to the Gods in high Heav’n dwell:
And when our Native Country we obtain,
Let’s promise to the Sun a stately Fane,
And to adorn it richly be engag’d.
But if he, for their Slaughter much enrag’d,
Will grant no Pardon, but our Vessel bulge,
Nor any other Gods will us indulge;
How-e’re, ’mongst Waves better at once be lost,
Then longer languish on a desert Coast.

Argos recognizes Odysseus

17.324–328
This said, he ventur’d through the arched Gate,
And went directly where the Suitors sate.
But Argus Eys the sullen Parcae seal’d,
Having’s Lord after twenty years beheld.

Sleepless Odysseus

20.25–34
As one a Pudding broiling on the Coals,
Well stuff’d with Fat and Blood, lest it should burn,
Ne’r lets it rest: so did he restless turn,
Contriving how the Suitors to destroy.
Pallas descending then from Seats of Joy,
Like a fair Lady, drawing near him, spake;
Why troubled thus keep’st thou thy self awake?

Stringing the bow

21.404–412
Thus jear’d the Suitors, whilst Ulysses bore
The able Bow, perusing it all o’re.
A skilfull Harper so, before he sings,
Winds up and down with ease concording Strings,
Pitching the Sheep-gut either high or low;
As did Ulysses ordering his strong Bow.
Then taking ‘t up, he twangs the well-stretch’d String,
Which like a Swallow’s shriller Voice did ring.

Odysseus reveals himself

22.1–8
But now the King himself from’s Tatters strips,
And with his Bow and well-fill’d Quiver leaps
On the broad Threshold; out his Shafts then shakes
Before his Foot, then to the Gang thus speaks;
This Game is wone, though difficult to win,
But now a harder Match we must begin,
Which will, if Phoebus help, make up two Games.

The disloyal maids

22.465–474
This said, a Rope on a cross Beam he bound,
High, lest their dangling Feet should touch the Ground.
So her expanded Wings a Dove or Thrush
Shakes in the Net conccal’d within a Bush,
Entring the Hedge catch’d in unhappy Beds:
So noos’d in wofull order hung their Heads,
Shaking their Feet a while, untill their Breath
Stifled, they dy’d a due and shamefull Death.

The olive-tree bed

23.181–190
Thus said the Queen, her dearest Lord to trie.
But he, offended, made this rough Reply;
Strangely you talk, your Order’s something odd:
Who can remove that Bed, unless some God
Celestials may by their supernal Power,
But never Mortal shall, though in his Flower.
This as a Signal fram’d I with much Art;
I made it big; ’twas I perform’d that part.

Shipwrecked sailor simile

23.233–241
As when the Skie after a Tempest clears,
And Land to Storm-strest Mariners appears,
Of whom some scaping swim unto the Shoar,
But their bulg’d Ship with Sand leave cover’d o’re,
Their Bodies wrapt in Weeds, the Banks they reach,
Their weary Limbs reposing on the Beach:
So glad was he her Husband to behold,
Nor would her Arms from his Embrace unfold.