The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft by George Gissing

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Nothing in all Homer pleases me more than the bedstead of Odysseus. I have tried to turn the passage describing it into English verse, thus: --

Here in my garth a goodly olive grew; Thick was the noble leafage of its prime, And like a carven column rose the trunk. This tree about I built my chamber walls, Laying great stone on stone, and roofed them well, And in the portal set a comely door, Stout-hinged and tightly closing. Then with axe I lopped the leafy olive's branching head, And hewed the bole to foursquare shapeliness, And smoothed it, craftsmanlike, and grooved and pierced, Making the rooted timber, where it grew, A corner of my couch. Labouring on, I fashioned all the bed-frame; which complete, The wood I overlaid with shining gear Of gold, of silver, and of ivory. And last, between the endlong beams I stretched Stout thongs of ox-hide, dipped in purple dye. Odyssey, XXIII 190-–-201.

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