Poem by Edmund Clarence Stedman

Penelope

  Not thus, Ulysses, with a tender word,
  Pretence of state affairs, soft blandishment,
  And halt assurances, canst thou evade
  My heart’s discernment. Think not such a film
  Hath touched these aged eyes, to make them lose
  The subtlest mood of those even now adroop,
  Self-conscious, darkling from my nearer gaze.
  Full well I know thy mind, O man of wiles!
  O man of restless yearnings—fate-impelled,
  Fate-conquering—like a waif thrown back and forth
  O’er many waters! Oft I see thee stand
  At eve, a landmark on the outer cliff,
  Looking far westward; later, when the feast
  Smokes in the hall, and nimble servants pass
  Great bowls of wine, and ancient Phemeus sings
  The deeds of Peleus’ son, thy right hand moves
  Straight for its sword-hilt, like a ship for home;
  Then, when thou hearest him follow in the song
  Thine own miraculous sojourn of long years
  Through stormy seas, weird islands, and the land
  Of giants, and the gray companions smite
  Their shields, and cry, _What do we longer here?_
  _Afloat! and let the great waves bear us on!_
  I know thou growest weary of the realm,
  Thy wife, thy son, the people, and thy fame.

    I too have had my longings. Am I not
  Penelope, who, when Ulysses came
  To Sparta, and Icarius bade her choose
  Betwixt her sire and wooer, veiled her face
  And stept upon the galley silver-oared,
  And since hath kept thine Ithacensian halls?
  Then when the hateful Helen fled to Troy
  With Paris, and the Argive chieftains sailed
  Then ships to Aulis, I would have thee go—
  Presaging fame, and power, and spoils of war.
  So ten years passed; meanwhile I reared thy son
  To know his father’s wisdom, and, apart
  Among my maidens, wove the yellow wool.
  But then, returning one by one, they came,—
  The island-princes; high-born dames of Crete
  And Cephalonia saw again their lords;
  Only Ulysses came not; yet the war
  Was over, and his vessels, like a troop
  Of cranes in file, had spread their wings for home.
  More was unknown. Then many a winter’s night
  The servants piled great fagots, smeared with tar,
  High on the palace-roof; with mine own hands
  I fired the heaps, that, haply, far away
  On the dark waters, might my lord take heart
  And know the glory of his kingly towers.

    So winter passed; and summer came and went,
  And winter and another summer; then—
  Alas, how many weary months and days!
  But he I loved came not. Meanwhile thou knowest
  Pelasgia’s noblest chiefs, with kingly gifts
  And pledge of dower, gathered in the halls;
  But still this heart kept faithful, knowing yet
  Thou wouldst return, though wrecked on alien shores.
  And great Athenè often in my dreams
  Shone, uttering words of cheer. But, last of all,
  The people rose, swearing a king should rule,
  To keep their ancient empery of the isles
  Inviolate and thrifty: bade me choose
  A mate, nor longer dally. Then I prayed
  Respite, until the web within my loom,
  Of gold and purple curiously devised
  For old Laertes’ shroud, should fall complete
  From hands still faithful to his blood. Thou knowest
  How like a ghost I left my couch at night,
  Unravelling the labor of the day,
  And warded off the fate, till came that time
  When my lost sea-king thundered in his halls,
  And with long arrows clove the suitors’ hearts.
  So constant was I! now not thirty moons
  Go by, and thou forgettest all. Alas!
  What profit is there any more in love?
  What thankless sequel hath a woman’s faith!

    Yet if thou wilt,—in these thy golden years,
  Safe-housed in royalty, like a god revered
  By all the people,—if thou yearnest yet
  Once more to dare the deep and Neptune’s hate,
  I will not linger in a widowed age;
  I will not lose Ulysses, hardly found
  After long vigils; but will cleave about
  Thy neck, with more than woman’s prayers and tears,
  Until thou take me with thee. As I left
  My sire, I leave my son, to follow where
  Ulysses goeth, dearer for the strength
  Of that great heart which ever drives him on
  To large experience of newer toils!

    Trust me, I will not any hindrance prove,
  But, like Athenè’s helm, a guiding star,
  A glory and a comfort! O, be sure
  My heart shall take its lesson from thine own!
  My voice shall cheer the mariners at their oars
  In the night watches; it shall warble songs,
  Whose music shall o’erpower the luring airs
  Of Nereïd or Siren. If we find
  Those isles thou namest, where the golden fount
  Gives youth to all who taste it, we will drink
  Deep draughts, until the furrows leave thy brow,
  And I shall walk in beauty, as when first
  I saw thee from afar in Sparta’s groves.
  But if Charybdis seize our keel, or swift
  Black currents bear us down the noisome wave
  That leads to Hades, till the vessel sink
  In Stygian waters, none the less our souls
  Shall gain the farther shore, and, hand in hand,
  Walk from the strand across Elysian fields,
  ’Mong happy thronging shades, that point and say:
  “There go the great Ulysses, loved of gods,
  And she, his wife, most faithful unto death!”

1. W. W.
2. The Singer
3. Heliotrope
4. Too Late
5. Voice of the Western Wind

Dorothy Parker Penelope ("In the pathway of the sun")

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