Public Domain Poetry And Stories - Translation of: The Odyssey of Homer: Book II by William Cowper
Public domain poetry and public domain stories from the literary greats of yesteryear.
Main Menu

Home

Latest Poetry

Latest Authors

Authors Surname

Authors First Name

Poetry Title

Poetry First Lines

Latest Stories

Stories Title

Top Authors

Top Poetry


Top Stories Etc.

Search

Contact Us

Useless Information!!

Store



Top Sites, Click here to vote for our site

Sponsored Links

Read, Rate, Comment on or Submit your poetry

Translation of: The Odyssey of Homer: Book II

    By William Cowper



    ARGUMENT

    Telemachus having convened an assembly of the Greecians, publicly calls on the Suitors to relinquish the house of Ulysses. During the continuance of the Council he has much to suffer from the petulance of the Suitors, from whom, having informed them of his design to undertake a voyage in hope to obtain news of Ulysses, he asks a ship, with all things necessary for the purpose. He is refused, but is afterwards furnished with what he wants by Minerva, in the form of Mentor. He embarks in the evening without the privity of his mother, and the Goddess sails with him.


            Aurora, rosy daughter of the dawn,
            Now ting'd the East, when habited again,
            Uprose Ulysses' offspring from his bed.
            Athwart his back his faulchion keen he flung,
            His sandals bound to his unsullied feet,
            And, godlike, issued from his chamber-door.
            At once the clear-voic'd heralds he enjoin'd
            To call the Greeks to council; they aloud
            Gave forth the summons, and the throng began.
            When all were gather'd, and the assembly full,
            Himself, his hand arm'd with a brazen spear,
            Went also; nor alone he went; his hounds
            Fleet-footed follow'd him, a faithful pair.
            O'er all his form Minerva largely shed
            Majestic grace divine, and, as he went,
            The whole admiring concourse gaz'd on him,
            The seniors gave him place, and down he sat
            On his paternal Throne. Then grave arose
            The Hero, old Ægyptius; bow'd with age
            Was he, and by experience deep-inform'd.
            His son had with Ulysses, godlike Chief,
            On board his fleet to steed-fam'd Ilium gone,
            The warrior Antiphus, whom in his cave
            The savage Cyclops slew, and on his flesh
            At ev'ning made obscene his last regale.
            Three sons he had beside, a suitor one,
            Eurynomus; the other two, employ
            Found constant managing their Sire's concerns.
            Yet he forgat not, father as he was
            Of these, his absent eldest, whom he mourn'd
            Ceaseless, and thus his speech, weeping, began.
                Hear me, ye men of Ithaca, my friends!
            Nor council here nor session hath been held
            Since great Ulysses left his native shore.
            Who now convenes us? what especial need
            Hath urged him, whether of our youth he be,
            Or of our senators by age matured?
            Have tidings reach'd him of our host's return,
            Which here he would divulge? or brings he aught
            Of public import on a diff'rent theme?
            I deem him, whosoe'er he be, a man
            Worthy to prosper, and may Jove vouchsafe
            The full performance of his chief desire!
                He ended, and Telemachus rejoiced
            In that good omen. Ardent to begin,
            He sat not long, but, moving to the midst,
            Received the sceptre from Pisenor's hand,
            His prudent herald, and addressing, next,
            The hoary Chief Ægyptius, thus began.
                Not far remote, as thou shalt soon thyself
            Perceive, oh venerable Chief! he stands,
            Who hath convened this council. I, am He.
            I am in chief the suff'rer. Tidings none
            Of the returning host I have received,
            Which here I would divulge, nor bring I aught
            Of public import on a different theme,
            But my own trouble, on my own house fall'n,
            And two-fold fall'n. One is, that I have lost
            A noble father, who, as fathers rule
            Benign their children, govern'd once yourselves;
            The other, and the more alarming ill,
            With ruin threatens my whole house, and all
            My patrimony with immediate waste.
            Suitors, (their children who in this our isle
            Hold highest rank) importunate besiege
            My mother, though desirous not to wed,
            And rather than resort to her own Sire
            Icarius, who might give his daughter dow'r,
            And portion her to whom he most approves,
            (A course which, only named, moves their disgust)
            They chuse, assembling all within my gates
            Daily to make my beeves, my sheep, my goats
            Their banquet, and to drink without restraint
            My wine; whence ruin threatens us and ours;
            For I have no Ulysses to relieve
            Me and my family from this abuse.
            Ourselves are not sufficient; we, alas!
            Too feeble should be found, and yet to learn
            How best to use the little force we own;
            Else, had I pow'r, I would, myself, redress
            The evil; for it now surpasses far
            All suff'rance, now they ravage uncontroul'd,
            Nor show of decency vouchsafe me more.
            Oh be ashamed[6] yourselves; blush at the thought
            Of such reproach as ye shall sure incur
            From all our neighbour states, and fear beside
            The wrath of the Immortals, lest they call
            Yourselves one day to a severe account.
            I pray you by Olympian Jove, by her
            Whose voice convenes all councils, and again
            Dissolves them, Themis, that henceforth ye cease,
            That ye permit me, oh my friends! to wear
            My days in solitary grief away,
            Unless Ulysses, my illustrious Sire,
            Hath in his anger any Greecian wrong'd,
            Whose wrongs ye purpose to avenge on me,
            Inciting these to plague me. Better far
            Were my condition, if yourselves consumed
            My substance and my revenue; from you
            I might obtain, perchance, righteous amends
            Hereafter; you I might with vehement suit
            O'ercome, from house to house pleading aloud
            For recompense, till I at last prevail'd.
            But now, with darts of anguish ye transfix
            My inmost soul, and I have no redress.
                He spake impassion'd, and to earth cast down
            His sceptre, weeping. Pity at that sight
            Seiz'd all the people; mute the assembly sat
            Long time, none dared to greet Telemachus
            With answer rough, till of them all, at last,
            Antinoüs, sole arising, thus replied.
                Telemachus, intemp'rate in harangue,
            High-sounding orator! it is thy drift
            To make us all odious; but the offence
            Lies not with us the suitors; she alone
            Thy mother, who in subtlety excels,
            And deep-wrought subterfuge, deserves the blame.
            It is already the third year, and soon
            Shall be the fourth, since with delusive art
            Practising on their minds, she hath deceived
            The Greecians; message after message sent
            Brings hope to each, by turns, and promise fair,
            But she, meantime, far otherwise intends.
            Her other arts exhausted all, she framed
            This stratagem; a web of amplest size
            And subtlest woof beginning, thus she spake.
            Princes, my suitors! since the noble Chief
            Ulysses is no more, press not as yet
            My nuptials, wait till I shall finish, first,
            A fun'ral robe (lest all my threads decay)
            Which for the antient Hero I prepare,
            Laertes, looking for the mournful hour
            When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest;
            Else I the censure dread of all my sex,
            Should he, so wealthy, want at last a shroud.
            So spake the Queen, and unsuspicious, we
            With her request complied. Thenceforth, all day
            She wove the ample web, and by the aid
            Of torches ravell'd it again at night.
            Three years by such contrivance she deceived
            The Greecians; but when (three whole years elaps'd)
            The fourth arriv'd, then, conscious of the fraud,
            A damsel of her train told all the truth,
            And her we found rav'ling the beauteous work.
            Thus, through necessity she hath, at length,
            Perform'd the task, and in her own despight.
            Now therefore, for the information clear
            Of thee thyself, and of the other Greeks,
            We answer. Send thy mother hence, with charge
            That him she wed on whom her father's choice
            Shall fall, and whom she shall, herself, approve.
            But if by long procrastination still
            She persevere wearing our patience out,
            Attentive only to display the gifts
            By Pallas so profusely dealt to her,
            Works of surpassing skill, ingenious thought,
            And subtle shifts, such as no beauteous Greek
            (For aught that we have heard) in antient times
            E'er practised, Tyro, or Alcemena fair,
            Or fair Mycene, of whom none in art
            E'er match'd Penelope, although we yield
            To this her last invention little praise,
            Then know, that these her suitors will consume
            So long thy patrimony and thy goods,
            As she her present purpose shall indulge,
            With which the Gods inspire her. Great renown
            She to herself insures, but equal woe
            And devastation of thy wealth to thee;
            For neither to our proper works at home
            Go we, of that be sure, nor yet elsewhere,
            Till him she wed, to whom she most inclines.
                Him prudent, then, answer'd Telemachus.
            Antinoüs! it is not possible
            That I should thrust her forth against her will,
            Who both produced and reared me. Be he dead,
            Or still alive, my Sire is far remote,
            And should I, voluntary, hence dismiss
            My mother to Icarius, I must much
            Refund, which hardship were and loss to me.
            So doing, I should also wrath incur
            From my offended Sire, and from the Gods
            Still more; for she, departing, would invoke
            Erynnis to avenge her, and reproach
            Beside would follow me from all mankind.
            That word I, therefore, never will pronounce.
            No, if ye judge your treatment at her hands
            Injurious to you, go ye forth yourselves,
            Forsake my mansion; seek where else ye may
            Your feasts; consume your own; alternate feed
            Each at the other's cost. But if it seem
            Wisest in your account and best to eat
            Voracious thus the patrimonial goods
            Of one man, rend'ring no account of all,
            Bite to the roots; but know that I will cry
            Ceaseless to the eternal Gods, in hope
            That Jove, in retribution of the wrong,
            Shall doom you, where ye have intruded, there
            To bleed, and of your blood ask no account.
                So spake Telemachus, and while he spake,
            The Thund'rer from a lofty mountain-top
            Turn'd off two eagles; on the winds, awhile,
            With outspread pinions ample side by side
            They floated; but, ere long, hov'ring aloft,
            Right o'er the midst of the assembled Chiefs
            They wheel'd around, clang'd all their num'rous plumes,
            And with a downward look eyeing the throng,
            Death boded, ominous; then rending each
            The other's face and neck, they sprang at once
            Toward the right, and darted through the town.
            Amazement universal, at that sight,
            Seized the assembly, and with anxious thought
            Each scann'd the future; amidst whom arose
            The Hero Halitherses, antient Seer,
            Offspring of Mastor; for in judgment he
            Of portents augural, and in forecast
            Unerring, his coevals all excell'd,
            And prudent thus the multitude bespake.
                Ye men of Ithaca, give ear! hear all!
            Though chief my speech shall to the suitors look,
            For, on their heads devolved, comes down the woe.
            Ulysses shall not from his friends, henceforth,
            Live absent long, but, hasting to his home,
            Comes even now, and as he comes, designs
            A bloody death for these, whose bitter woes
            No few shall share, inhabitants with us
            Of pleasant Ithaca; but let us frame
            Effectual means maturely to suppress
            Their violent deeds, or rather let themselves
            Repentant cease; and soonest shall be best.
            Not inexpert, but well-inform'd I speak
            The future, and the accomplishment announce
            Of all which when Ulysses with the Greeks
            Embark'd for Troy, I to himself foretold.
            I said that, after many woes, and loss
            Of all his people, in the twentieth year,
            Unknown to all, he should regain his home,
            And my prediction shall be now fulfill'd.
                Him, then, Eurymachus thus answer'd rough
            The son of Polybus. Hence to thy house,
            Thou hoary dotard! there, prophetic, teach
            Thy children to escape woes else to come.
            Birds num'rous flutter in the beams of day,
            Not all predictive. Death, far hence remote
            Hath found Ulysses, and I would to heav'n
            That, where he died, thyself had perish'd too.
            Thou hadst not then run o'er with prophecy
            As now, nor provocation to the wrath
            Giv'n of Telemachus, in hope to win,
            Perchance, for thine some favour at his hands.
            But I to _thee_ foretell, skilled as thou art
            In legends old, (nor shall my threat be vain)
            That if by artifice thou move to wrath
            A younger than thyself, no matter whom,
            Woe first the heavier on himself shall fall,
            Nor shalt thou profit him by thy attempt,
            And we will charge thee also with a mulct,
            Which thou shalt pay with difficulty, and bear
            The burthen of it with an aching heart.
                As for Telemachus, I him advise,
            Myself, and press the measure on his choice
            Earnestly, that he send his mother hence
            To her own father's house, who shall, himself,
            Set forth her nuptial rites, and shall endow
            His daughter sumptuously, and as he ought.
            For this expensive wooing, as I judge,
            Till then shall never cease; since we regard
            No man--no--not Telemachus, although
            In words exub'rant; neither fear we aught
            Thy vain prognostics, venerable sir!
            But only hate thee for their sake the more.
            Waste will continue and disorder foul
            Unremedied, so long as she shall hold
            The suitors in suspense, for, day by day,
            Our emulation goads us to the strife,
            Nor shall we, going hence, seek to espouse
            Each his own comfort suitable elsewhere.
                To whom, discrete, Telemachus replied.
            Eurymachus, and ye the suitor train
            Illustrious, I have spoken: ye shall hear
            No more this supplication urged by me.
            The Gods, and all the Greeks, now know the truth.
            But give me instantly a gallant bark
            With twenty rowers, skill'd their course to win
            To whatsoever haven; for I go
            To sandy Pylus, and shall hasten thence
            To Lacedemon, tidings to obtain
            Of my long-absent Sire, or from the lips
            Of man, or by a word from Jove vouchsafed
            Himself, best source of notice to mankind.
            If, there inform'd that still my father lives,
            I hope conceive of his return, although
            Distress'd, I shall be patient yet a year.
            But should I learn, haply, that he survives
            No longer, then, returning, I will raise
            At home his tomb, will with such pomp perform
            His fun'ral rites, as his great name demands,
            And give my mother's hand to whom I may.
                This said, he sat, and after him arose
            Mentor, illustrious Ulysses' friend,
            To whom, embarking thence, he had consign'd
            All his concerns, that the old Chief might rule
            His family, and keep the whole secure.
            Arising, thus the senior, sage, began.
                Hear me, ye Ithacans! be never King
            Henceforth, benevolent, gracious, humane
            Or righteous, but let every sceptred hand
            Rule merciless, and deal in wrong alone,
            Since none of all his people, whom he sway'd
            With such paternal gentleness and love,
            Remembers the divine Ulysses more!
            That the imperious suitors thus should weave
            The web of mischief and atrocious wrong,
            I grudge not; since at hazard of their heads
            They make Ulysses' property a prey,
            Persuaded that the Hero comes no more.
            But much the people move me; how ye sit
            All mute, and though a multitude, yourselves,
            Opposed to few, risque not a single word
            To check the license of these bold intruders!
                Then thus Liocritus, Evenor's son.
            Injurious Mentor! headlong orator!
            How dar'st thou move the populace against
            The suitors? Trust me they should find it hard,
            Numerous as they are, to cope with us,
            A feast the prize. Or should the King himself
            Of Ithaca, returning, undertake
            T' expell the jovial suitors from his house,
            Much as Penelope his absence mourns,
            His presence should afford her little joy;
            For fighting sole with many, he should meet
            A dreadful death. Thou, therefore, speak'st amiss.
            As for Telemachus, let Mentor him
            And Halytherses furnish forth, the friends
            Long valued of his Sire, with all dispatch;
            Though him I judge far likelier to remain
            Long-time contented an enquirer here,
            Than to perform the voyage now proposed.
                Thus saying, Liocritus dissolved in haste
            The council, and the scattered concourse sought
            Their sev'ral homes, while all the suitors flock'd
            Thence to the palace of their absent King.
            Meantime, Telemachus from all resort
            Retiring, in the surf of the gray Deep
            First laved his hands, then, thus to Pallas pray'd.
                O Goddess! who wast yesterday a guest
            Beneath my roof, and didst enjoin me then
            A voyage o'er the sable Deep in quest
            Of tidings of my long regretted Sire!
            Which voyage, all in Ithaca, but most
            The haughty suitors, obstinate impede,
            Now hear my suit and gracious interpose!
                Such pray'r he made; then Pallas, in the form,
            And with the voice of Mentor, drawing nigh,
            In accents wing'd, him kindly thus bespake.
                Telemachus! thou shalt hereafter prove
            Nor base, nor poor in talents. If, in truth,
            Thou have received from heav'n thy father's force
            Instill'd into thee, and resemblest him
            In promptness both of action and of speech,
            Thy voyage shall not useless be, or vain.
            But if Penelope produced thee not
            His son, I, then, hope not for good effect
            Of this design which, ardent, thou pursuest.
            Few sons their fathers equal; most appear
            Degenerate; but we find, though rare, sometimes
            A son superior even to his Sire.
            And since thyself shalt neither base be found
            Nor spiritless, nor altogether void
            Of talents, such as grace thy royal Sire,
            I therefore hope success of thy attempt.
            Heed not the suitors' projects; neither wise
            Are they, nor just, nor aught suspect the doom
            Which now approaches them, and in one day
            Shall overwhelm them all. No long suspense
            Shall hold thy purposed enterprise in doubt,
            Such help from me, of old thy father's friend,
            Thou shalt receive, who with a bark well-oar'd
            Will serve thee, and myself attend thee forth.
            But haste, join thou the suitors, and provide,
            In sep'rate vessels stow'd, all needful stores,
            Wine in thy jars, and flour, the strength of man,
            In skins close-seam'd. I will, meantime, select
            Such as shall voluntary share thy toils.
            In sea-girt Ithaca new ships and old
            Abound, and I will chuse, myself, for thee
            The prime of all, which without more delay
            We will launch out into the spacious Deep.
                Thus Pallas spake, daughter of Jove; nor long,
            So greeted by the voice divine, remain'd
            Telemachus, but to his palace went
            Distress'd in heart. He found the suitors there
            Goats slaying in the hall, and fatted swine
            Roasting; when with a laugh Antinoüs flew
            To meet him, fasten'd on his hand, and said,
                Telemachus, in eloquence sublime,
            And of a spirit not to be controul'd!
            Give harbour in thy breast on no account
            To after-grudge or enmity, but eat,
            Far rather, cheerfully as heretofore,
            And freely drink, committing all thy cares
            To the Achaians, who shall furnish forth
            A gallant ship and chosen crew for thee,
            That thou may'st hence to Pylus with all speed,
            Tidings to learn of thy illustrious Sire.
                To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied.
            Antinoüs! I have no heart to feast
            With guests so insolent, nor can indulge
            The pleasures of a mind at ease, with you.
            Is't not enough, suitors, that ye have used
            My noble patrimony as your own
            While I was yet a child? now, grown mature,
            And competent to understand the speech
            Of my instructors, feeling, too, a mind
            Within me conscious of augmented pow'rs,
            I will attempt your ruin, be assured,
            Whether at Pylus, or continuing here.
            I go, indeed, (nor shall my voyage prove
            Of which I speak, bootless or vain) I go
            An humble passenger, who neither bark
            Nor rowers have to boast my own, denied
            That honour (so ye judg'd it best) by you.
                He said, and from Antinoüs' hand his own
            Drew sudden. Then their delicate repast
            The busy suitors on all sides prepar'd,
            Still taunting as they toil'd, and with sharp speech
            Sarcastic wantoning, of whom a youth,
            Arrogant as his fellows, thus began.
                I see it plain, Telemachus intends
            Our slaughter; either he will aids procure
            From sandy Pylus, or will bring them arm'd
            From Sparta; such is his tremendous drift.
            Even to fruitful Ephyre, perchance,
            He will proceed, seeking some baneful herb
            Which cast into our cup, shall drug us all.
                To whom some haughty suitor thus replied.
            Who knows but that himself, wand'ring the sea
            From all his friends and kindred far remote,
            May perish like Ulysses? Whence to us
            Should double toil ensue, on whom the charge
            To parcel out his wealth would then devolve,
            And to endow his mother with the house
            For his abode whom she should chance to wed.
                So sported they; but he, ascending sought
            His father's lofty chamber, where his heaps
            He kept of brass and gold, garments in chests,
            And oils of fragrant scent, a copious store.
            There many a cask with season'd nectar fill'd
            The grape's pure juice divine, beside the wall
            Stood orderly arranged, waiting the hour
            (Should e'er such hour arrive) when, after woes
            Num'rous, Ulysses should regain his home.
            Secure that chamber was with folding doors
            Of massy planks compact, and night and day,
            Within it antient Euryclea dwelt,
            Guardian discrete of all the treasures there,
            Whom, thither call'd, Telemachus address'd.
                Nurse! draw me forth sweet wine into my jars,
            Delicious next to that which thou reserv'st
            For our poor wand'rer; if escaping death
            At last, divine Ulysses e'er return.
            Fill twelve, and stop them close; pour also meal
            Well mill'd (full twenty measures) into skins
            Close-seam'd, and mention what thou dost to none.
            Place them together; for at even-tide
            I will convey them hence, soon as the Queen,
            Retiring to her couch, shall seek repose.
            For hence to Sparta will I take my course,
            And sandy Pylus, tidings there to hear
            (If hear I may) of my lov'd Sire's return.
            He ceas'd, then wept his gentle nurse that sound
            Hearing, and in wing'd accents thus replied.
                My child! ah, wherefore hath a thought so rash
            Possess'd thee? whither, only and belov'd,
            Seek'st thou to ramble, travelling, alas!
            To distant climes? Ulysses is no more;
            Dead lies the Hero in some land unknown,
            And thou no sooner shalt depart, than these
            Will plot to slay thee, and divide thy wealth.
            No, stay with us who love thee. Need is none
            That thou should'st on the barren Deep distress
            Encounter, roaming without hope or end.
                Whom, prudent, thus answer'd Telemachus.
            Take courage, nurse! for not without consent
            Of the Immortals I have thus resolv'd.
            But swear, that till eleven days be past,
            Or twelve, or, till enquiry made, she learn
            Herself my going, thou wilt not impart
            Of this my purpose to my mother's ear,
            Lest all her beauties fade by grief impair'd.
                He ended, and the antient matron swore
            Solemnly by the Gods; which done, she fill'd
            With wine the vessels and the skins with meal,
            And he, returning, join'd the throng below.
                Then Pallas, Goddess azure-eyed, her thoughts
            Elsewhere directing, all the city ranged
            In semblance of Telemachus, each man
            Exhorting, at the dusk of eve, to seek
            The gallant ship, and from Noëmon, son
            Renown'd of Phronius, ask'd, herself, a bark,
            Which soon as ask'd, he promis'd to supply.
                Now set the sun, and twilight dimm'd the ways,
            When, drawing down his bark into the Deep,
            He gave her all her furniture, oars, arms
            And tackle, such as well-built galleys bear,
            Then moor'd her in the bottom of the bay.
            Meantime, his mariners in haste repair'd
            Down to the shore, for Pallas urged them on.
            And now on other purposes intent,
            The Goddess sought the palace, where with dews
            Of slumber drenching ev'ry suitor's eye,
            She fool'd the drunkard multitude, and dash'd
            The goblets from their idle hands away.
            They through the city reeled, happy to leave
            The dull carousal, when the slumb'rous weight
            Oppressive on their eye-lids once had fall'n.
            Next, Pallas azure-eyed in Mentor's form
            And with the voice of Mentor, summoning
            Telemachus abroad, him thus bespake.
                Telemachus! already at their oars
            Sit all thy fellow-voyagers, and wait
            Thy coming; linger not, but haste away.
                This said, Minerva led him thence, whom he
            With nimble steps follow'd, and on the shore
            Arrived, found all his mariners prepared,
            Whom thus the princely voyager address'd.
                Haste, my companions! bring we down the stores
            Already sorted and set forth; but nought
            My mother knows, or any of her train
            Of this design, one matron sole except.
                He spake, and led them; they, obedient, brought
            All down, and, as Ulysses' son enjoin'd,
            Within the gallant bark the charge bestow'd.
                Then, led by Pallas, went the prince on board,
            Where down they sat, the Goddess in the stern,
            And at her side Telemachus. The crew
            Cast loose the hawsers, and embarking, fill'd
            The benches. Blue-eyed Pallas from the West
            Call'd forth propitious breezes; fresh they curled
            The sable Deep, and, sounding, swept the waves.
            He loud-exhorting them, his people bade
            Hand, brisk, the tackle; they, obedient, reared
            The pine-tree mast, which in its socket deep
            They lodg'd, then strain'd the cordage, and with thongs
            Well-twisted, drew the shining sail aloft.
            A land-breeze fill'd the canvas, and the flood
            Roar'd as she went against the steady bark
            That ran with even course her liquid way.
            The rigging, thus, of all the galley set,
            Their beakers crowning high with wine, they hail'd
            The ever-living Gods, but above all
            Minerva, daughter azure-eyed of Jove.
            Thus, all night long the galley, and till dawn
            Had brighten'd into day, cleaved swift the flood.



Extra Info:
From: Poemata: Latin, Greek And Italian Poems By John Milton Translated by William Cowper


[6] The reader is to be reminded that this is not an assembly of the suitors only, but a general one, which affords Telemachus an opportunity to apply himself to the feelings of the Ithacans at large.



Printable Page

Add Your Thoughts on this poem.



This page viewed 545 times.
Sponsored Links


Your Shops - Affordable Ecommerce stores and cheaper goods for customers - No listing fees!



Our Sites