Greek Context Annex

1.1–4Tell me, O Muse, of the man of many devices, who wandered full many ways after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy. Many were the men whose cities he saw and whose mind he learned, aye, and many the woes he suffered in his heart upon the sea,

1.5–9seeking to win his own life and the return of his comrades. Yet even so he saved not his comrades, though he desired it sore, for through their own blind folly they perished—fools, who devoured the kine of Helios Hyperion; but he took from them the day of their returning.

1.10–14Of these things, goddess, daughter of Zeus, beginning where thou wilt, tell thou even unto us. Now all the rest, as many as had escaped sheer destruction, were at home, safe from both war and sea, but Odysseus alone, filled with longing for his return and for his wife, did the queenly nymph Calypso, that bright goddess,

1.15–19keep back in her hollow caves, yearning that he should be her husband. But when, as the seasons revolved, the year came in which the gods had ordained that he should return home to Ithaca, not even there was he free from toils, even among his own folk. And all the gods pitied him

1.20–24save Poseidon; but he continued to rage unceasingly against godlike Odysseus until at length he reached his own land. Howbeit Poseidon had gone among the far-off Ethiopians—the Ethiopians who dwell sundered in twain, the farthermost of men, some where Hyperion sets and some where he rises,

1.25–29there to receive a hecatomb of bulls and rams, and there he was taking his joy, sitting at the feast; but the other gods were gathered together in the halls of Olympian Zeus. Among them the father of gods and men was first to speak, for in his heart he thought of noble Aegisthus,

1.30–34whom far-famed Orestes, Agamemnon's son, had slain. Thinking on him he spoke among the immortals, and said: “Look you now, how ready mortals are to blame the gods. It is from us, they say, that evils come, but they even of themselves, through their own blind folly, have sorrows beyond that which is ordained.

1.35–39Even as now Aegisthus, beyond that which was ordained, took to himself the wedded wife of the son of Atreus, and slew him on his return, though well he knew of sheer destruction, seeing that we spake to him before, sending Hermes, the keen-sighted Argeiphontes, that he should neither slay the man nor woo his wife;

1.40–44for from Orestes shall come vengeance for the son of Atreus when once he has come to manhood and longs for his own land. So Hermes spoke, but for all his good intent he prevailed not upon the heart of Aegisthus; and now he has paid the full price of all.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him:

1.45–49“Father of us all, thou son of Cronos, high above all lords, aye, verily that man lies low in a destruction that is his due; so, too, may any other also be destroyed who does such deeds. But my heart is torn for wise Odysseus, hapless man, who far from his friends has long been suffering woes

1.50–54in a sea-girt isle, where is the navel of the sea. 'Tis a wooded isle, and therein dwells a goddess, daughter of Atlas of baneful mind, who knows the depths of every sea, and himself holds the tall pillars which keep earth and heaven apart.

1.55–59His daughter it is that keeps back that wretched, sorrowing man; and ever with soft and wheedling words she beguiles him that he may forget Ithaca. But Odysseus, in his longing to see were it but the smoke leaping up from his own land, yearns to die. Yet thy

1.60–64heart doth not regard it, Olympian. Did not Odysseus beside the ships of the Argives offer thee sacrifice without stint in the broad land of Troy? Wherefore then didst thou conceive such wrath against him, O Zeus?” Then Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, answered her and said: “My child, what a word has escaped the barrier of thy teeth?

1.65–69How should I, then, forget godlike Odysseus, who is beyond all mortals in wisdom, and beyond all has paid sacrifice to the immortal gods, who hold broad heaven? Nay, it is Poseidon, the earth-enfolder, who is ever filled with stubborn wrath because of the Cyclops, whom Odysseus blinded of his eye—

1.70–74even the godlike Polyphemus, whose might is greatest among all the Cyclopes; and the nymph Thoosa bore him, daughter of Phorcys who rules over the unresting sea; for in the hollow caves she lay with Poseidon. From that time forth Poseidon, the earth-shaker,

1.75–79does not indeed slay Odysseus, but makes him a wanderer from his native land. But come, let us who are here all take thought of his return, that he may come home; and Poseidon will let go his anger, for he will in no wise be able, against all the immortal gods and in their despite, to contend alone.”

1.80–84Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “Father of us all, thou son of Cronos, high above all lords, if indeed this is now well pleasing to the blessed gods, that the wise Odysseus should return to his own home, let us send forth Hermes, the messenger, Argeiphontes,

1.85–89to the isle Ogygia, that with all speed he may declare to the fair-tressed nymph our fixed resolve, even the return of Odysseus of the steadfast heart, that he may come home. But, as for me, I will go to Ithaca, that I may the more arouse his son, and set courage in his heart

1.90–94to call to an assembly the long-haired Achaeans, and speak out his word to all the wooers, who are ever slaying his thronging sheep and his sleek kine of shambling gait. And I will guide him to Sparta and to sandy Pylos, to seek tidings of the return of his dear father, if haply he may hear of it,

1.95–99that good report may be his among men.” So she spoke, and bound beneath her feet her beautiful sandals, immortal, golden, which were wont to bear her both over the waters of the sea and over the boundless land swift as the blasts of the wind. And she took her mighty spear, tipped with sharp bronze,

1.100–104heavy and huge and strong, wherewith she vanquishes the ranks of men—of warriors, with whom she is wroth, she, the daughter of the mighty sire. Then she went darting down from the heights of Olympus, and took her stand in the land of Ithaca at the outer gate of Odysseus, on the threshold of the court. In her hand she held the spear of bronze,

1.115–119seeing in thought his noble father, should he perchance come from somewhere and make a scattering of the wooers in the palace, and himself win honor and rule over his own house. As he thought of these things, sitting among the wooers, he beheld Athena, and he went straight to the outer door; for in his heart he counted it shame

1.120–124that a stranger should stand long at the gates. So, drawing near, he clasped her right hand, and took from her the spear of bronze; and he spoke, and addressed her with winged words: “Hail, stranger; in our house thou shalt find entertainment and then, when thou hast tasted food, thou shalt tell of what thou hast need.”

1.125–129So saying, he led the way, and Pallas Athena followed. And when they were within the lofty house, he bore the spear and set it against a tall pillar in a polished spear-rack, where were set many spears besides, even those of Odysseus of the steadfast heart.

1.130–134Athena herself he led and seated on a chair, spreading a linen cloth beneath—a beautiful chair, richly-wrought, and below was a footstool for the feet. Beside it he placed for himself an inlaid seat, apart from the others, the wooers, lest the stranger, vexed by their din, should loathe the meal, seeing that he was in the company of overweening men;

1.135–139and also that he might ask him about his father that was gone. Then a handmaid brought water for the hands in a fair pitcher of gold, and poured it over a silver basin for them to wash, and beside them drew up a polished table. And the grave housewife brought and set before them bread,

1.140–144and therewith dainties in abundance, giving freely of her store. And a carver lifted up and placed before them platters of all manner of meats, and set by them golden goblets, while a herald ever walked to and fro pouring them wine. Then in came the proud wooers, and thereafter

1.145–149sat them down in rows on chairs and high seats. Heralds poured water over their hands, and maid-servants heaped by them bread in baskets, and youths filled the bowls brim full of drink; and they put forth their hands to the good cheer lying ready before them.

1.150–154Now after the wooers had put from them the desire of food and drink, their hearts turned to other things, to song and to dance; for these things are the crown of a feast. And a herald put the beautiful lyre in the hands of Phemius, who sang perforce among the wooers;

1.155–159and he struck the chords in prelude to his sweet lay. But Telemachus spoke to flashing-eyed Athena, holding his head close, that the others might not hear: “Dear stranger, wilt thou be wroth with me for the word that I shall say? These men care for things like these, the lyre and song,

1.160–164full easily, seeing that without atonement they devour the livelihood of another, of a man whose white bones, it may be, rot in the rain as they lie upon the mainland, or the wave rolls them in the sea. Were they to see him returned to Ithaca, they would all pray to be swifter of foot,

1.165–169rather than richer in gold and in raiment. But now he has thus perished by an evil doom, nor for us is there any comfort, no, not though any one of men upon the earth should say that he will come; gone is the day of his returning. But come, tell me this, and declare it truly.

1.170–174Who art thou among men, and from whence? Where is thy city and where thy parents? On what manner of ship didst thou come, and how did sailors bring thee to Ithaca? Who did they declare themselves to be? For nowise, methinks, didst thou come hither on foot. And tell me this also truly, that I may know full well,

1.175–179whether this is thy first coming hither, or whether thou art indeed a friend of my father's house. For many were the men who came to our house as strangers, since he, too, had gone to and fro among men.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “Therefore of a truth will I frankly tell thee all.

1.180–184I declare that I am Mentes, the son of wise Anchialus, and I am lord over the oar-loving Taphians. And now have I put in here, as thou seest, with ship and crew, while sailing over the wine-dark sea to men of strange speech, on my way to Temese for copper; and I bear with me shining iron.

1.185–189My ship lies yonder beside the fields away from the city, in the harbor of Rheithron, under woody Neion. Friends of one another do we declare ourselves to be, even as our fathers were, friends from of old. Nay, if thou wilt, go and ask the old warrior Laertes, who, they say,

1.190–194comes no more to the city, but afar in the fields suffers woes attended by an aged woman as his handmaid, who sets before him food and drink, after weariness has laid hold of his limbs, as he creeps along the slope of his vineyard plot. And now am I come, for of a truth men said that he,

1.195–199thy father, was among his people; but lo, the gods are thwarting him of his return. For not yet has goodly Odysseus perished on the earth, but still, I ween, he lives and is held back on the broad sea in a sea-girt isle, and cruel men keep him, a savage folk, that constrain him, haply sore against his will.

1.200–204Nay, I will now prophesy to thee, as the immortals put it in my heart, and as I think it shall be brought to pass, though I am in no wise a soothsayer, nor one versed in the signs of birds. Not much longer shall he be absent from his dear native land, no, not though bonds of iron hold him.

1.205–209He will contrive a way to return, for he is a man of many devices. But come, tell me this and declare it truly, whether indeed, tall as thou art, thou art the son of Odysseus himself. Wondrously like his are thy head and beautiful eyes; for full often did we consort with one another

1.210–214before he embarked for the land of Troy, whither others, too, the bravest of the Argives, went in their hollow ships. But since that day neither have I seen Odysseus, nor he me.” Then wise Telemachus answered her: “Therefore of a truth, stranger, will I frankly tell thee all.

1.215–219My mother says that I am his child; but I know not, for never yet did any man of himself know his own parentage. Ah, would that I had been the son of some blest man, whom old age overtook among his own possessions. But now of him who was the most ill-fated of mortal men

1.220–224they say that I am sprung, since thou askest me of this.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “Surely, then, no nameless lineage have the gods appointed for thee in time to come, seeing that Penelope bore thee such as thou art. But come, tell me this and declare it truly.

1.225–229What feast, what throng is this? What need hast thou of it? Is it a drinking bout, or a wedding feast? For this plainly is no meal to which each brings his portion, with such outrage and overweening do they seem to me to be feasting in thy halls. Angered would a man be at seeing all these shameful acts, any man of sense who should come among them.”

1.230–234Then wise Telemachus answered her: “Stranger, since indeed thou dost ask and question me of this, our house once bade fair to be rich and honorable, so long as that man was still among his people. But now the gods have willed otherwise in their evil devising,

1.235–239seeing that they have caused him to pass from sight as they have no other man. For I should not so grieve for his death, if he had been slain among his comrades in the land of the Trojans, or had died in the arms of his friends, when he had wound up the skein of war. Then would the whole host of the Achaeans have made him a tomb,

1.240–244and for his son, too, he would have won great glory in days to come. But as it is, the spirits of the storm have swept him away and left no tidings: he is gone out of sight, out of hearing, and for me he has left anguish and weeping; nor do I in any wise mourn and wail for him alone, seeing that the gods have brought upon me other sore troubles.

1.245–249For all the princes who hold sway over the islands—Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus—and those who lord it over rocky Ithaca, all these woo my mother and lay waste my house. And she neither refuses the hateful marriage,

1.250–254nor is she able to make an end; but they with feasting consume my substance: ere long they will bring me, too, to ruin.” Then, stirred to anger, Pallas Athena spoke to him:“Out on it! Thou hast of a truth sore need of Odysseus that is gone, that he might put forth his hands upon the shameless wooers.

1.255–259Would that he might come now and take his stand at the outer gate of the house, with helmet and shield and two spears, such a man as he was when I first saw him in our house drinking and making merry, on his way back from Ephyre, from the house of Ilus, son of Mermerus.

1.260–264For thither, too, went Odysseus in his swift ship in search of a deadly drug, that he might have wherewith to smear his bronze-tipped arrows; yet Ilus gave it not to him, for he stood in awe of the gods that are forever; but my father gave it, for he held him strangely dear.

1.265–269Would, I say, that in such strength Odysseus might come amongst the wooers; then should they all find swift destruction and bitterness in their wooing. Yet these things verily lie on the knees of the gods, whether he shall return and wreak vengeance in his halls, or whether he shall not; but for thyself, I bid thee take thought

1.270–274how thou mayest thrust forth the wooers from the hall. Come now, give ear, and hearken to my words. On the morrow call to an assembly the Achaean lords, and speak out thy word to all, and let the gods be thy witnesses. As for the wooers, bid them scatter, each to his own;

1.275–279and for thy mother, if her heart bids her marry, let her go back to the hall of her mighty father, and there they will prepare a wedding feast, and make ready the gifts full many—aye, all that should follow after a well-loved daughter. And to thyself will I give wise counsel, if thou wilt hearken.

1.280–284Man with twenty rowers the best ship thou hast, and go to seek tidings of thy father, that has long been gone, if haply any mortal may tell thee, or thou mayest hear a voice from Zeus, which oftenest brings tidings to men. First go to Pylos and question goodly Nestor,

1.285–289and from thence to Sparta to fair-haired Menelaus; for he was the last to reach home of the brazen-coated Achaeans. If so be thou shalt hear that thy father is alive and coming home, then verily, though thou art sore afflicted, thou couldst endure for yet a year. But if thou shalt hear that he is dead and gone,

1.290–294then return to thy dear native land and heap up a mound for him, and over it pay funeral rites, full many as is due, and give thy mother to a husband. Then when thou hast done all this and brought it to an end, thereafter take thought in mind and heart

1.295–299how thou mayest slay the wooers in thy halls whether by guile or openly; for it beseems thee not to practise childish ways, since thou art no longer of such an age. Or hast thou not heard what fame the goodly Orestes won among all mankind when he slew his father's murderer,

1.300–304the guileful Aegisthus, for that he slew his glorious father? Thou too, my friend, for I see that thou art comely and tall, be thou valiant, that many an one of men yet to be born may praise thee. But now I will go down to my swift ship and my comrades, who, methinks, are chafing much at waiting for me.

1.305–309For thyself, give heed and have regard to my words.” Then wise Telemachus answered her: “Stranger, in truth thou speakest these things with kindly thought, as a father to his son, and never will I forget them. But come now, tarry, eager though thou art to be gone,

1.310–314in order that when thou hast bathed and satisfied thy heart to the full, thou mayest go to thy ship glad in spirit, and bearing a gift costly and very beautiful, which shall be to thee an heirloom from me, even such a gift as dear friends give to friends.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him:

1.315–319“Stay me now no longer, when I am eager to be gone, and whatsoever gift thy heart bids thee give me, give it when I come back, to bear to my home, choosing a right beautiful one; it shall bring thee its worth in return.” So spoke the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, and departed,

1.320–324flying upward as a bird; and in his heart she put strength and courage, and made him think of his father even more than aforetime. And in his mind he marked her and marvelled, for he deemed that she was a god; and straightway he went among the wooers, a godlike man.

1.325–329For them the famous minstrel was singing, and they sat in silence listening; and he sang of the return of the Achaeans—the woeful return from Troy which Pallas Athena laid upon them. And from her upper chamber the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, heard his wondrous song,

1.330–334and she went down the high stairway from her chamber, not alone, for two handmaids attended her. Now when the fair lady had come to the wooers, she stood by the door-post of the well-built hall, holding before her face her shining veil;

1.335–339and a faithful handmaid stood on either side of her. Then she burst into tears, and spoke to the divine minstrel: “Phemius, many other things thou knowest to charm mortals, deeds of men and gods which minstrels make famous. Sing them one of these, as thou sittest here,

1.340–344and let them drink their wine in silence. But cease from this woeful song which ever harrows the heart in my breast, for upon me above all women has come a sorrow not to be forgotten. So dear a head do I ever remember with longing, even my husband, whose fame is wide through Hellas and mid-Argos.”

1.345–349Then wise Telemachus answered her: “My mother, why dost thou begrudge the good minstrel to give pleasure in whatever way his heart is moved? It is not minstrels that are to blame, but Zeus, I ween, is to blame, who gives to men that live by toil, to each one as he will.

1.350–354With this man no one can be wroth if he sings of the evil doom of the Danaans; for men praise that song the most which comes the newest to their ears. For thyself, let thy heart and soul endure to listen; for not Odysseus alone lost

1.355–359in Troy the day of his return, but many others likewise perished. Nay, go to thy chamber, and busy thyself with thine own tasks, the loom and the distaff, and bid thy handmaids ply their tasks; but speech shall be for men, for all, but most of all for me; since mine is the authority in the house.”

1.360–364She then, seized with wonder, went back to her chamber, for she laid to heart the wise saying of her son. Up to her upper chamber she went with her handmaids, and then bewailed Odysseus, her dear husband until flashing-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.

1.365–369But the wooers broke into uproar throughout the shadowy halls, and all prayed, each that he might lie by her side. And among them wise Telemachus was the first to speak: “Wooers of my mother, overweening in your insolence, for the present let us make merry with feasting,

1.370–374but let there be no brawling; for this is a goodly thing, to listen to a minstrel such as this man is, like to the gods in voice. But in the morning let us go to the assembly and take our seats, one and all, that I may declare my word to you outright that you depart from these halls. Prepare you other feasts,

1.375–379eating your own substance and changing from house to house. But if this seems in your eyes to be a better and more profitable thing, that one man's livelihood should be ruined without atonement, waste ye it. But I will call upon the gods that are forever, if haply Zeus may grant that deeds of requital may be wrought.

1.380–384Without atonement, then, should ye perish within my halls.” So he spoke, and they all bit their lips and marvelled at Telemachus, for that he spoke boldly. Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, answered him:“Telemachus, verily the gods themselves are teaching thee

1.385–389to be a man of vaunting tongue, and to speak with boldness. May the son of Cronos never make thee king in sea-girt Ithaca, which thing is by birth thy heritage.” Then wise Telemachus answered him: “Antinous, wilt thou be wroth with me for the word that I shall say?

2.60–64As for me, I am no-wise such as he to ward it off. Nay verily, even if I try I shall be found a weakling and one knowing naught of valor. Yet truly I would defend myself, if I had but the power; for now deeds past all enduring have been wrought, and past all that is seemly has my house been destroyed. Take shame upon yourselves,

2.65–69and have regard to your neighbors who dwell roundabout, and fear the wrath of the gods, lest haply they turn against you in anger at your evil deeds. I pray you by Olympian Zeus, and by Themis who looses and gathers the assemblies of men,

2.70–74forbear, my friends, and leave me alone to pine in bitter grief—unless indeed my father, goodly Odysseus, despitefully wrought the well-greaved Achaeans woe, in requital whereof ye work me woe despitefully by urging these men on. For me it were better

2.75–79that ye should yourselves eat up my treasures and my flocks. If ye were to devour them, recompense would haply be made some day; for just so long should we go up and down the city, pressing our suit and asking back our goods, until all was given back. But now past cure are the woes ye put upon my heart.”

2.80–84Thus he spoke in wrath, and dashed the staff down upon the ground, bursting into tears; and pity fell upon all the people. Then all the others kept silent, and no man had the heart to answer Telemachus with angry words. Antinous alone answered him, and said:

2.85–89“Telemachus, thou braggart, unrestrained in daring, what a thing hast thou said, putting us to shame, and wouldest fain fasten reproach upon us! Nay, I tell thee, it is not the Achaean wooers who are anywise at fault, but thine own mother, for she is crafty above all women. For it is now the third year and the fourth will soon pass,

2.90–94since she has been deceiving the hearts of the Achaeans in their breasts. To all she offers hopes, and has promises for each man, sending them messages, but her mind is set on other things. And she devised in her heart this guileful thing also: she set up in her halls a great web, and fell to weaving—

2.95–99fine of thread was the web and very wide; and straightway she spoke among us: “‘Young men, my wooers, since goodly Odysseus is dead, be patient, though eager for my marriage, until I finish this robe—I would not that my spinning should come to naught—a shroud for the lord Laertes, against the time when

2.100–104the fell fate of grievous death shall strike him down; lest any of the Achaean women in the land should be wroth with me, if he, who had won great possessions, were to lie without a shroud.’ “So she spoke, and our proud hearts consented. Then day by day she would weave at the great web,

2.105–109but by night would unravel it, when she had let place torches by her. Thus for three years she by her craft kept the Achaeans from knowing, and beguiled them; but when the fourth year came as the seasons rolled on, even then one of her women who knew all told us, and we caught her unravelling the splendid web.

2.110–114So she finished it against her will, perforce. Therefore to thee the wooers make answer thus, that thou mayest thyself know it in thine heart, and that all the Achaeans may know. Send away thy mother, and command her to wed whomsoever her father bids, and whoso is pleasing to her.

2.115–119But if she shall continue long time to vex the sons of the Achaeans, mindful in her heart of this, that Athena has endowed her above other women with knowledge of fair handiwork and an understanding heart, and wiles, such as we have never yet heard that any even of the women of old knew, of those who long ago were fair-tressed Achaean women—

2.120–124Tyro and Alcmene and Mycene of the fair crown—of whom not one was like Penelope in shrewd device; yet this at least she devised not aright. For so long shall men devour thy livelihood and thy possessions, even as long as she shall keep the counsel which

2.125–129the gods now put in her heart. Great fame she brings on herself, but on thee regret for thy much substance. For us, we will go neither to our lands nor else whither, until she marries that one of the Achaeans whom she will.” Then wise Telemachus answered him, and said:

2.130–134“Antinous, in no wise may I thrust forth from the house against her will her that bore me and reared me; and, as for my father, he is in some other land, whether he be alive or dead. An evil thing it were for me to pay back a great price to Icarius, as I must, if of my own will I send my mother away. For from her father's hand shall I suffer evil, and heaven

2.135–139will send other ills besides, for my mother as she leaves the house will invoke the dread Avengers; and I shall have blame, too, from men. Therefore will I never speak this word. And for you, if your own heart is wroth here at, get you forth from my halls and prepare you other feasts,

2.240–244sit thus in silence, and utter no word of rebuke to make the wooers cease, though ye are many and they but few.” Then Leocritus, son of Euenor, answered him:“Mentor, thou mischief-maker, thou wanderer in thy wits, what hast thou said, bidding men make us cease? Nay, it were a hard thing

2.245–249to fight about a feast with men that moreover outnumber you. For if Ithacan Odysseus himself were to come and be eager at heart to drive out from his hall the lordly wooers who are feasting in his house, then should his wife have no joy

2.250–254at his coming, though sorely she longed for him, but right here would he meet a shameful death, if he fought with men that outnumbered him. Thou hast not spoken aright. But come now, ye people, scatter, each one of you to his own lands. As for this fellow, Mentor and Halitherses will speed his journey, for they are friends of his father's house from of old.

2.255–259But methinks he will long abide here and get his tidings in Ithaca, and never accomplish this journey.” So he spoke, and hastily broke up the assembly. They then scattered, each one to his own house; and the wooers went to the house of divine Odysseus.

2.260–264But Telemachus went apart to the shore of the sea, and having washed his hands in the grey seawater, prayed to Athena: “Hear me, thou who didst come yesterday as a god to our house, and didst bid me go in a ship over the misty deep to seek tidings of the return of my father, that has long been gone.

2.265–269Lo, all this the Achaeans hinder, but the wooers most of all in their evil insolence.” So he spoke in prayer, and Athena drew near to him in the likeness of Mentor, both in form and invoice; and she spoke, and addressed him with winged words:

2.270–274“Telemachus, neither hereafter shalt thou be a base man or a witless, if aught of thy father's goodly spirit has been instilled into thee, such a man was he to fulfil both deed and word. So then shall this journey of thine be neither vain nor unfulfilled. But if thou art not the son of him and of Penelope,

2.275–279then I have no hope that thou wilt accomplish thy desire. Few sons indeed are like their fathers; most are worse, few better than their fathers. But since neither hereafter shalt thou be a base man or a witless, nor has the wisdom of Odysseus wholly failed thee,

2.280–284there is therefore hope that thou wilt accomplish this work. Now then let be the will and counsel of the wooers—fools, for they are in no wise either prudent or just, nor do they know aught of death or black fate, which verily is near at hand for them, that they shall all perish in a day.

2.285–289But for thyself, the journey on which thy heart is set shall not be long delayed, so true a friend of thy father's house am I, who will equip for thee a swift ship, and myself go with thee. But go thou now to the house and join the company of the wooers; make ready stores, and bestow all in vessels—

2.290–294wine in jars, and barley meal, the marrow of men, in stout skins;—but I, going through the town, will quickly gather comrades that go willingly. And ships there are full many in sea-girt Ithaca, both new and old; of these will I choose out for thee the one that is best,

2.295–299and quickly will we make her ready and launch her on the broad deep.” So spoke Athena, daughter of Zeus, nor did Telemachus tarry long after he had heard the voice of the goddess, but went his way to the house, his heart heavy within him. He found there the proud wooers in the halls,

2.300–304flaying goats and singeing swine in the court. And Antinous with a laugh came straight to Telemachus, and clasped his hand, and spoke, and addressed him: “Telemachus, thou braggart, unrestrained in daring, let no more any evil deed or word be in thy heart.

2.305–309Nay, I bid thee, eat and drink even as before. All these things the Achaeans will surely provide for thee—the ship and chosen oarsmen—that with speed thou mayest go to sacred Pylos to seek for tidings of thy noble father.” Then wise Telemachus answered him:

2.310–314“Antinous, in no wise is it possible for me in your overweening company to sit at meat quietly and to make merry with an easy mind. Is it not enough, ye wooers, that in time past ye wasted many goodly possessions of mine, while I was still a child? But now that I am grown,

2.315–319and gain knowledge by hearing the words of others, yea and my spirit waxes within me, I will try how I may hurl forth upon your evil fates, either going to Pylos or here in this land. For go I will, nor shall the journey be in vain whereof I speak, though I voyage in another's ship, since I may not be master of ship or oarsmen.

2.320–324So, I ween, it seemed to you to be more to your profit.” He spoke, and snatched his hand from the hand of Antinous without more ado, and the wooers were busy with the feast throughout the hall. They mocked and jeered at him in their talk; and thus would one of the proud youths speak:

2.325–329“Aye, verily Telemachus is planning our murder. He will bring men to aid him from sandy Pylos or even from Sparta, so terribly is he set upon it. Or he means to go to Ephyre, that rich land, to bring from thence deadly drugs,

2.330–334that he may cast them in the wine-bowl, and destroy us all.” And again another of the proud youths would say: “Who knows but he himself as he goes on the hollow ship may perish wandering far from his friends, even as Odysseus did? So would he cause us yet more labour;

2.335–339for we should have to divide all his possessions, and his house we should give to his mother to possess, and to him who should wed her.” So they spoke, but Telemachus went down to the high-roofed treasure-chamber of his father, a wide room where gold and bronze lay piled, and raiment in chests, and stores of fragrant oil.

2.340–344There, too, stood great jars of wine, old and sweet, holding within them an unmixed divine drink, and ranged in order along the wall, if ever Odysseus should return home even after many grievous toils. Shut were

2.345–349the double doors, close-fitted; and there both night and day a stewardess abode, who guarded all in wisdom of mind, Eurycleia, daughter of Ops, son of Peisenor. To her now Telemachus, when he had called her to the treasure-chamber, spoke, and said: “Nurse, draw me off wine in jars,

2.350–354sweet wine that is the choicest next to that which thou guardest ever thinking upon that ill-fated one, if haply Zeus-born Odysseus may come I know not whence, having escaped from death and the fates. Fill twelve jars and fit them all with covers, and pour me barley meal into well-sewn skins,

2.355–359and let there be twenty measures of ground barley meal. But keep knowledge hereof to thyself, and have all these things brought together; for at evening I will fetch them, when my mother goes to her upper chamber and bethinks her of her rest. For I am going to Sparta and to sandy Pylos

2.360–364to seek tidings of the return of my dear father, if haply I may hear any.” So he spoke, and the dear nurse, Eurycleia, uttered a shrill cry, and weeping spoke to him winged words:“Ah, dear child, how has this thought come into thy mind? Whither art thou minded to go over the wide earth,

2.365–369thou who art an only son and well-beloved? But he hath perished far from his country, the Zeus-born Odysseus, in a strange land; and these men, so soon as thou art gone, will devise evil for thee hereafter, that thou mayest perish by guile, and themselves divide all these possessions. Nay, abide here in charge of what is thine; thou hast no need

2.370–374to suffer ills and go a wanderer over the unresting sea.” Then wise Telemachus answered her: “Take heart, nurse, for not without a god's warrant is this my plan. But swear to tell naught of this to my dear mother until the eleventh or twelfth day shall come,

2.375–379or until she shall herself miss me and hear that I am gone, that she may not mar her fair flesh with weeping.” So he spoke, and the old woman swore a great oath by the gods to say naught. But when she had sworn and made an end of the oath, straightway she drew for him wine in jars,

2.380–384and poured barley meal into well-sewn skins; and Telemachus went to the hall and joined the company of the wooers. Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, took other counsel. In the likeness of Telemachus she went everywhere throughout the city, and to each of the men she drew near and spoke her word,

2.385–389bidding them gather at even beside the swift ship. Furthermore, of Noemon, the glorious son of Phronius, she asked a swift ship, and he promised it to her with a ready heart. Now the sun set and all the ways grew dark. Then she drew the swift ship to the sea and

2.390–394put in it all the gear that well-benched ships carry. And she moored it at the mouth of the harbor, and round about it the goodly company was gathered together, and the goddess heartened each man. Then again the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, took other counsel. She went her way to the house of divine Odysseus,

2.395–399and there began to shed sweet sleep upon the wooers and made them to wander in their drinking, and from their hands she cast the cups. But they rose to go to their rest throughout the city, and remained no long time seated, for sleep was falling upon their eyelids. But to Telemachus spoke flashing-eyed Athena,

2.400–404calling him forth before the stately hall, having likened herself to Mentor both in form and in voice: “Telemachus, already thy well-greaved comrades sit at the oar and await thy setting out. Come, let us go, that we may not long delay their journey.”

2.405–409So saying, Pallas Athena led the way quickly, and he followed in the footsteps of the goddess. Now when they had come down to the ship and to the sea, they found on the shore their long-haired comrades, and the strong and mighty Telemachus spoke among them:

2.410–414“Come, friends, let us fetch the stores, for all are now gathered together in the hall. My mother knows naught hereof, nor the handmaids either: one only heard my word.” Thus saying, he led the way, and they went along with him. So they brought and

2.415–419stowed everything in the well-benched ship, as the dear son of Odysseus bade. Then on board the ship stepped Telemachus, and Athena went before him and sat down in the stern of the ship, and near her sat Telemachus, while the men loosed the stern cables and themselves stepped on board, and sat down upon the benches.

2.420–424And flashing-eyed Athena sent them a favorable wind, a strong-blowing West wind that sang over the wine-dark sea. And Telemachus called to his men, and bade them lay hold of the tackling, and they hearkened to his call. The mast of fir

2.425–429they raised and set in the hollow socket, and made it fast with fore-stays, and hauled up the white sail with twisted thongs of ox-hide. So the wind filled the belly of the sail, and the dark wave sang loudly about the stem of the ship as she went, and she sped over the wave accomplishing her way.

2.430–434Then, when they had made the tackling fast in the swift black ship, they set forth bowls brim full of wine, and poured libations to the immortal gods that are forever, and chiefest of all to the flashing-eyed daughter of Zeus. So all night long and through the dawn the ship cleft her way.

3.1–4And now the sun, leaving the beauteous mere, sprang up into the brazen heaven to give light to the immortals and to mortal men on the earth, the giver of grain; and they came to Pylos, the well-built citadel of Neleus.

3.5–9Here the townsfolk on the shore of the sea were offering sacrifice of black bulls to the dark-haired Earth-shaker. Nine companies there were, and five hundred men sat in each, and in each they held nine bulls ready for sacrifice. Now when they had tasted the inner parts and were burning the thigh-pieces to the god,

3.10–14the others put straight in to the shore, and hauled up and furled the sail of the shapely ship, and moored her, and themselves stepped forth. Forth too from the ship stepped Telemachus, and Athena led the way. And the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, spake first to him, and said: “Telemachus, no longer hast thou need to feel shame, no, not a whit.

3.15–19For to this end hast thou sailed over the sea, that thou mightest seek tidings of thy father,—where the earth covered him, and what fate he met. But come now, go straightway to Nestor, tamer of horses; let us learn what counsel he keepeth hid in his breast. And do thou beseech him thyself that he may tell thee the very truth.

3.20–24A lie will he not utter, for he is wise indeed.” Then wise Telemachus answered her: “Mentor, how shall I go, and how shall I greet him? I am as yet all unversed in subtle speech, and moreover a young man has shame to question an elder.”

3.25–29Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “Telemachus, somewhat thou wilt of thyself devise in thy breast, and somewhat heaven too will prompt thee. For, methinks, not without the favour of the gods hast thou been born and reared.” So spake Pallas Athena, and led the way

3.30–34quickly; but he followed in the footsteps of the goddess; and they came to the gathering and the companies of the men of Pylos. There Nestor sat with his sons, and round about his people, making ready the feast, were roasting some of the meat and putting other pieces on spits. But when they saw the strangers they all came thronging about them,

3.35–39and clasped their hands in welcome, and bade them sit down. First Nestor's son Peisistratus came near and took both by the hand, and made them to sit down at the feast on soft fleeces upon the sand of the sea, beside his brother Thrasymedes and his father.

3.40–44Thereupon he gave them portions of the inner meat and poured wine in a golden cup, and, pledging her, he spoke to Pallas Athena, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis: “Pray now, stranger, to the lord Poseidon, for his is the feast whereon you have chanced in coming hither.

3.45–49And when thou hast poured libations and hast prayed, as is fitting, then give thy friend also the cup of honey-sweet wine that he may pour, since he too, I ween, prays to the immortals; for all men have need of the gods. Howbeit he is the younger, of like age with myself,

3.50–54wherefore to thee first will I give the golden cup.” So he spake, and placed in her hand the cup of sweet wine. But Pallas Athena rejoiced at the man's wisdom and judgment, in that to her first he gave the golden cup; and straightway she prayed earnestly to the lord Poseidon:

3.55–59“Hear me, Poseidon, thou Earth-enfolder, and grudge not in answer to our prayer to bring these deeds to fulfillment. To Nestor, first of all, and to his sons vouchsafe renown, and then do thou grant to the rest gracious requital for this glorious hecatomb, even to all the men of Pylos;

3.60–64and grant furthermore that Telemachus and I may return when we have accomplished all that for which we came hither with our swift black ship.” Thus she prayed, and was herself fulfilling all. Then she gave Telemachus the fair two-handled cup, and in like manner the dear son of Odysseus prayed.

3.65–69Then when they had roasted the outer flesh and drawn it off the spits, they divided the portions and feasted a glorious feast. But when they had put from them the desire of food and drink, the horseman, Nestor of Gerenia, spoke first among them: “Now verily is it seemlier to ask and enquire

3.70–74of the strangers who they are, since now they have had their joy of food. Strangers, who are ye? Whence do ye sail over the watery ways? Is it on some business, or do ye wander at random over the sea, even as pirates, who wander hazarding their lives and bringing evil to men of other lands?”

3.75–79Then wise Telemachus took courage, and made answer, for Athena herself put courage in his heart, that he might ask about his father that was gone, and that good report might be his among men: “Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory of the Achaeans,

3.80–84thou askest whence we are, and I will surely tell thee. We have come from Ithaca that is below Neion; but this business whereof I speak is mine own, and concerns not the people. I come after the wide-spread rumor of my father, if haply I may hear of it, even of goodly Odysseus of the steadfast heart, who once, men say,

3.85–89fought by thy side and sacked the city of the Trojans. For of all men else, as many as warred with the Trojans, we learn where each man died a woeful death, but of him the son of Cronos has made even the death to be past learning; for no man can tell surely where he hath died,—

3.90–94whether he was overcome by foes on the mainland, or on the deep among the waves of Amphitrite. Therefore am I now come to thy knees, if perchance thou wilt be willing to tell me of his woeful death, whether thou sawest it haply with thine own eyes, or didst hear from some other the story

3.95–99of his wanderings; for beyond all men did his mother bear him to sorrow. And do thou nowise out of ruth or pity for me speak soothing words, but tell me truly how thou didst come to behold him. I beseech thee, if ever my father, noble Odysseus, promised aught to thee of word or deed and fulfilled it

3.100–104in the land of the Trojans, where you Achaeans suffered woes, be mindful of it now, I pray thee, and tell me the very truth.” Then the horseman, Nestor of Gerenia, answered him: “My friend, since thou hast recalled to my mind the sorrow which we endured in that land, we sons of the Achaeans, unrestrained in daring,—

3.105–109all that we endured on shipboard, as we roamed after booty over the misty deep whithersoever Achilles led; and all our fightings around the great city of king Priam;—lo, there all our best were slain. There lies warlike Aias, there Achilles,

3.110–114there Patroclus, the peer of the gods in counsel; and there my own dear son, strong alike and peerless, Antilochus, pre-eminent in speed of foot and as a warrior. Aye, and many other ills we suffered besides these; who of mortal men could tell them all?

3.115–119Nay, if for five years' space or six years' space thou wert to abide here, and ask of all the woes which the goodly Achaeans endured there, thou wouldest grow weary ere the end and get thee back to thy native land. For nine years' space were we busied plotting their ruin with all manner of wiles; and hardly did the son of Cronos bring it to pass.

3.120–124There no man ventured to vie with him in counsel, since goodly Odysseus far excelled in all manner of wiles,—thy father, if indeed thou art his son. Amazement holds me as I look on thee, for verily thy speech is like his; nor would one think

3.125–129that a younger man would speak so like him. Now all the time that we were there goodly Odysseus and I never spoke at variance either in the assembly or in the council, but being of one mind advised the Argives with wisdom and shrewd counsel how all might be for the best.

3.130–134But when we had sacked the lofty city of Priam, and had gone away in our ships, and a god had scattered the Achaeans, then, even then, Zeus planned in his heart a woeful return for the Argives, for in no wise prudent or just were all. Wherefore many of them met an evil fate

3.135–139through the fell wrath of the flashing-eyed goddess, the daughter of the mighty sire, for she caused strife between the two sons of Atreus. Now these two called to an assembly all the Achaeans, recklessly and in no due order, at set of sun—and they came heavy with wine, the sons of the Achaeans,—

3.140–144and they spoke their word, and told wherefore they had gathered the host together. Then in truth Menelaus bade all the Achaeans think of their return over the broad back of the sea, but in no wise did he please Agamemnon, for he was fain to hold back the host and to offer holy hecatombs,

3.145–149that he might appease the dread wrath of Athena,—fool! nor knew he this, that with her was to be no hearkening; for the mind of the gods that are forever is not quickly turned. So these two stood bandying harsh words; but the well-greaved Achaeans sprang up

3.235–239was slain by the guile of Aegisthus and of his own wife. But of a truth death that is common to all the gods themselves cannot ward from a man they love, when the fell fate of grievous death shall strike him down.” Then wise Telemachus answered her:

3.240–244“Mentor, no longer let us tell of these things despite our grief. For him no return can ever more be brought to pass; nay, ere this the immortals have devised for him death and black fate. But now I would make enquiry and ask Nestor regarding another matter, since beyond all others he knows judgments and wisdom;

3.245–249for thrice, men say, has he been king for a generation of men, and like unto an immortal he seems to me to look upon. Nestor, son of Neleus, do thou tell me truly: how was the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, slain? Where was Menelaus? What death did

3.250–254guileful Aegisthus plan for the king, since he slew a man mightier far than himself? Was Menelaus not in Achaean Argos, but wandering elsewhere among men, so that Aegisthus took heart and did the murderous deed?” Then the horseman, Nestor of Gerenia, answered him: “Then verily, my child, will I tell thee all the truth.

3.255–259Lo, of thine own self thou dost guess how this matter would have fallen out, if the son of Atreus, fair-haired Menelaus, on his return from Troy had found Aegisthus in his halls alive. Then for him not even in death would they have piled the up-piled earth, but the dogs and birds would have torn him

3.260–264as he lay on the plain far from the city, nor would any of the Achaean women have bewailed him; for monstrous was the deed he devised. We on our part abode there in Troy fulfilling our many toils; but he, at ease in a nook of horse-pasturing Argos, ever sought to beguile with words the wife of Agamemnon.

3.265–269Now at the first she put from her the unseemly deed, the beautiful Clytemnestra, for she had an understanding heart; and with her was furthermore a minstrel whom the son of Atreus straitly charged, when he set forth for the land of Troy, to guard his wife. But when at length the doom of the gods bound her that she should be overcome,

3.270–274then verily Aegisthus took the minstrel to a desert isle and left him to be the prey and spoil of birds; and her, willing as he was willing, he led to his own house. And many thigh-pieces he burned upon the holy altars of the gods, and many offerings he hung up, woven stuffs and gold,

3.275–279since he had accomplished a mighty deed beyond all his heart had hoped. “Now we were sailing together on our way from Troy, the son of Atreus and I, in all friendship; but when we came to holy Sunium, the cape of Athens, there Phoebus Apollo

3.280–284assailed with his gentle shafts and slew the helmsman of Menelaus, as he held in his hands the steering-oar of the speeding ship, even Phrontis, son of Onetor, who excelled the tribes of men in piloting a ship when the storm winds blow strong. So Menelaus tarried there, though eager for his journey,

3.285–289that he might bury his comrade and over him pay funeral rites. But when he in his turn, as he passed over the wine-dark sea in the hollow ships, reached in swift course the steep height of Malea, then verily Zeus, whose voice is borne afar, planned for him a hateful path and poured upon him the blasts of shrill winds,

3.290–294and the waves were swollen to huge size, like unto mountains. Then, parting his ships in twain, he brought some to Crete, where the Cydonians dwelt about the streams of Iardanus. Now there is a smooth cliff, sheer towards the sea, on the border of Gortyn in the misty deep,

3.295–299where the Southwest Wind drives the great wave against the headland on the left toward Phaestus, and a little rock holds back a great wave. Thither came some of his ships, and the men with much ado escaped destruction, howbeit the ships the waves dashed to pieces against the reef. But the five other dark-prowed ships

3.300–304the wind, as it bore them, and the wave brought to Egypt. So he was wandering there with his ships among men of strange speech, gathering much livelihood and gold; but meanwhile Aegisthus devised this woeful work at home.

3.305–309Seven years he reigned over Mycenae, rich in gold, after slaying the son of Atreus, and the people were subdued under him; but in the eighth came as his bane the goodly Orestes back from Athens, and slew his father's murderer,

3.310–314the guileful Aegisthus, for that he had slain his glorious father. Now when he had slain him, he made a funeral feast for the Argives over his hateful mother and the craven Aegisthus; and on the self-same day there came to him Menelaus, good at the war-cry, bringing much treasure, even all the burden that his ships could bear. “So do not thou, my friend, wander long far from home, leaving thy wealth behind thee and men in thy house

3.315–319so insolent, lest they divide and devour all thy wealth, and thou shalt have gone on a fruitless journey. But to Menelaus I bid and command thee to go, for he has but lately come from a strange land, from a folk whence no one would hope in his heart

3.320–324to return, whom the storms had once driven astray into a sea so great, whence the very birds do not fare in the space of a year, so great is it and terrible. But now go thy way with thy ship and thy comrades, or, if thou wilt go by land, here are chariot and horses at hand for thee,

3.325–329and here at thy service are my sons, who will be thy guides to goodly Lacedaemon, where lives fair-haired Menelaus. And do thou beseech him thyself that he may tell thee the very truth. A lie will be not utter, for he is wise indeed.” So he spoke, and the sun set, and darkness came on.

3.330–334Then among them spoke the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena: “Old man, of a truth thou hast told this tale aright. But come, cut out the tongues of the victims and mix the wine, that when we have poured libations to Poseidon and the other immortals, we may bethink us of sleep; for it is the time thereto.

3.335–339Even now has the light gone down beneath the darkness, and it is not fitting to sit long at the feast of the gods, but to go our way.” So spoke the daughter of Zeus, and they hearkenened to her voice. Heralds poured water over their hands, and youths filled the bowls brim full of drink,

4.1–4And they came to the hollow land of Lacedaemon with its many ravines, and drove to the palace of glorious Menelaus. Him they found giving a marriage feast to his many kinsfolk for his noble son and daughter within his house.

4.5–9His daughter he was sending to the son of Achilles, breaker of the ranks of men, for in the land of Troy he first had promised and pledged that he would give her, and now the gods were bringing their marriage to pass. Her then he was sending forth with horses and chariots to go her way to the glorious city of the Myrmidons, over whom her lord was king;

4.10–14but for his son he was bringing to his home from Sparta the daughter of Alector, even for the stalwart Megapenthes, who was his son well-beloved, born of a slave woman; for to Helen the gods vouchsafed issue no more after that she had at the first borne her lovely child, Hermione, who had the beauty of golden Aphrodite.

4.15–19So they were feasting in the great high-roofed hall, the neighbors and kinsfolk of glorious Menelaus, and making merry; and among them a divine minstrel was singing to the lyre, and two tumblers whirled up and down through the midst of them, as he began his song.

4.20–24Then the two, the prince Telemachus and the glorious son of Nestor, halted at the gateway of the palace, they and their two horses. And the lord Eteoneus came forth and saw them, the busy squire of glorious Menelaus; and he went through the hall to bear the tidings to the shepherd of the people.

4.25–29So he came near and spoke to him winged words: “Here are two strangers, Menelaus, fostered of Zeus, two men that are like the seed of great Zeus. But tell me, shall we unyoke for them their swift horses, or send them on their way to some other host, who will give them entertainment?”

4.30–34Then, stirred to sore displeasure, fair-haired Menelaus spoke to him: “Aforetime thou was not wont to be a fool, Eteoneus, son of Boethous, but now like a child thou talkest folly. Surely we two ate full often hospitable cheer of other men, ere we came hither in the hope that Zeus

4.35–39would hereafter grant us respite from sorrow. Nay, unyoke the strangers' horses, and lead the men forward into the house, that they may feast.” So he spoke, and the other hastened through the hall, and called to the other busy squires to follow along with him. They loosed the sweating horses from beneath the yoke

4.40–44and tied them at the stalls of the horses, and flung before them spelt, and mixed therewith white barley. Then they tilted the chariot against the bright entrance walls, and led the men into the divine palace. But at the sight they marvelled as they passed through the palace of the king, fostered of Zeus;

4.45–49for there was a gleam as of sun or moon over the high-roofed house of glorious Menelaus. But when they had satisfied their eyes with gazing they went into the polished baths and bathed. And when the maids had bathed them and anointed them with oil,

4.50–54and had cast about them fleecy cloaks and tunics, they sat down on chairs beside Menelaus, son of Atreus. Then a handmaid brought water for the hands in a fair pitcher of gold, and poured it over a silver basin for them to wash, and beside them drew up a polished table.

4.55–59And the grave housewife brought and set before them bread, and therewith dainties in abundance, giving freely of her store. And a carver lifted up and placed before them platters of all manner of meats, and set by them golden goblets. Then fair-haired Menelaus greeted the two and said:

4.60–64“Take of the food, and be glad, and then when you have supped, we will ask you who among men you are; for in you two the breed of your sires is not lost, but ye are of the breed of men that are sceptred kings, fostered of Zeus; for base churls could not beget such sons as you.”

4.65–69So saying he took in his hands roast meat and set it before them, even the fat ox-chine which they had set before himself as a mess of honor. So they put forth their hands to the good cheer lying ready before them. But when they had put from them the desire of food and drink, lo, then Telemachus spoke to the son of Nestor,

4.70–74holding his head close to him, that the others might not hear: “Son of Nestor, dear to this heart of mine, mark the flashing of bronze throughout the echoing halls, and the flashing of gold, of electrum, of silver, and of ivory. Of such sort, methinks, is the court of Olympian Zeus within,

4.75–79such untold wealth is here; amazement holds me as I look.” Now as he spoke fair-haired Menelaus heard him, and he spoke and addressed them with winged words: “Dear children, with Zeus verily no mortal man could vie, for everlasting are his halls and his possessions;

4.80–84but of men another might vie with me in wealth or haply might not. For of a truth after many woes and wide wanderings I brought my wealth home in my ships and came in the eighth year. Over Cyprus and Phoenicia I wandered, and Egypt, and I came to the Ethiopians and the Sidonians and the Erembi,

4.85–89and to Libya, where the lambs are horned from their birth. For there the ewes bear their young thrice within the full course of the year; there neither master nor shepherd has any lack of cheese or of meat or of sweet milk, but the flocks ever yield milk to the milking the year through.

4.90–94While I wandered in those lands gathering much livelihood, meanwhile another slew my brother by stealth and at unawares, by the guile of his accursed wife. Thus, thou mayest see, I have no joy in being lord of this wealth; and you may well have heard of this from your fathers, whosoever they

4.95–99may be, for full much did I suffer, and let fall into ruin a stately house and one stored with much goodly treasure. Would that I dwelt in my halls with but a third part of this wealth, and that those men were safe who then perished in the broad land of Troy far from horse-pasturing Argos.

4.110–114whether he be alive or dead. Mourned is he, I ween, by the old man Laertes, and by constant Penelope, and by Telemachus, whom he left a new-born child in his house.” So he spoke, and in Telemachus he roused the desire to weep for his father. Tears from his eyelids he let fall upon the ground, when he heard his father's name,

4.115–119and with both hands held up his purple cloak before his eyes. And Menelaus noted him, and debated in mind and heart whether he should leave him to speak of his father himself, or whether he should first question him and prove him in each thing.

4.120–124While he pondered thus in mind and heart, forth then from her fragrant high-roofed chamber came Helen, like Artemis of the golden arrows; and with her came Adraste, and placed for her a chair, beautifully wrought, and Alcippe brought a rug of soft wool

4.125–129and Phylo a silver basket, which Alcandre had given her, the wife of Polybus, who dwelt in Thebes of Egypt, where greatest store of wealth is laid up in men's houses. He gave to Menelaus two silver baths and two tripods and ten talents of gold.

4.130–134And besides these, his wife gave to Helen also beautiful gifts,—a golden distaff and a basket with wheels beneath did she give, a basket of silver, and with gold were the rims thereof gilded. This then the handmaid, Phylo, brought and placed beside her, filled with finely-spun yarn, and across it

4.135–139was laid the distaff laden with violet-dark wool. So Helen sat down upon the chair, and below was a footstool for the feet; and at once she questioned her husband on each matter, and said: “Do we know, Menelaus, fostered of Zeus, who these men declare themselves to be who have come to our house?

4.140–149Shall I disguise my thought, or speak the truth? Nay, my heart bids me speak. For never yet, I declare, saw I one so like another, whether man or woman—amazement holds me, as I look—as this man is like the son of great-hearted Odysseus, even Telemachus, whom that warrior left a new-born child in his house, when for the sake of shameless me ye Achaeans came up under the walls of Troy, pondering in your hearts fierce war.” Then fair-haired Menelaus answered her: “Even so do I myself now note it, wife, as thou markest the likeness. Such were his feet, such his hands,

4.150–154and the glances of his eyes, and his head and hair above. And verily but now, as I made mention of Odysseus and was telling of all the woe and toil he endured for my sake, this youth let fall a bitter tear from beneath his brows, holding up his purple cloak before his eyes.”

4.155–159Then Peisistratus, son of Nestor, answered him:“Menelaus, son of Atreus, fostered of Zeus, leader of hosts, his son indeed this youth is, as thou sayest. But he is of prudent mind and feels shame at heart thus on his first coming to make a show of forward words

4.160–164in the presence of thee, in whose voice we both take delight as in a god's. But the horseman, Nestor of Gerenia, sent me forth to go with him as his guide, for he was eager to see thee, that thou mightest put in his heart some word or some deed. For many sorrows has a son

4.165–169in his halls when his father is gone, when there are none other to be his helpers, even as it is now with Telemachus; his father is gone, and there are no others among the people who might ward off ruin.” Then fair-haired Menelaus answered him and said: “Lo now, verily is there come to my house the son of a man well-beloved,

4.170–174who for my sake endured many toils. And I thought that if he came back I should give him welcome beyond all the other Argives, if Olympian Zeus, whose voice is borne afar, had granted to us two a return in our swift ships over the sea. And in Argos I would have given him a city to dwell in, and would have built him a house,

4.175–179when I had brought him from Ithaca with his goods and his son and all his people, driving out the dwellers of some one city among those that lie round about and obey me myself as their lord. Then, living here, should we ofttimes have met together, nor would aught have parted us, loving and joying in one another,

4.255–259before that he reached the swift ships and the huts, then at length he told me all the purpose of the Achaeans. And when he had slain many of the Trojans with the long sword, he returned to the company of the Argives and brought back plentiful tidings. Then the other Trojan women wailed aloud, but my soul

4.260–264was glad, for already my heart was turned to go back to my home, and I groaned for the blindness that Aphrodite gave me, when she led me thither from my dear native land, forsaking my child and my bridal chamber, and my husband, a man who lacked nothing, whether in wisdom or in comeliness.”

4.265–269Then fair-haired Menelaus answered her and said:“Aye verily, all this, wife, hast thou spoken aright. Ere now have I come to know the counsel and the mind of many warriors, and have travelled over the wide earth, but never yet have mine eyes beheld such an one

4.270–274as was Odysseus of the steadfast heart. What a thing was this, too, which that mighty man wrought and endured in the carven horse, wherein all we chiefs of the Argives were sitting, bearing to the Trojans death and fate! Then thou camest thither, and it must be that thou wast bidden

4.275–279by some god, who wished to grant glory to the Trojans, and godlike Deiphobus followed thee on thy way. Thrice didst thou go about the hollow ambush, trying it with thy touch, and thou didst name aloud the chieftains of the Danaans by their names, likening thy voice to the voices of the wives of all the Argives.

4.280–284Now I and the son of Tydeus and goodly Odysseus sat there in the midst and heard how thou didst call, and we two were eager to rise up and come forth, or else to answer straightway from within, but Odysseus held us back and stayed us, despite our eagerness.

4.285–289Then all the other sons of the Achaeans held their peace, but Anticlus alone was fain to speak and answer thee; but Odysseus firmly closed his mouth with strong hands, and saved all the Achaeans, and held him thus until Pallas Athena led thee away.”

4.290–294Then wise Telemachus answered him: “Menelaus, son of Atreus, fostered of Zeus, leader of hosts, all the more grievous is it; for in no wise did this ward off from him woeful destruction, nay, not though the heart within him had been of iron. But come, send us to bed, that lulled now

4.295–299by sweet sleep we may rest and take our joy.” Thus he spoke, and Argive Helen bade her handmaids place bedsteads beneath the portico, and to lay on them fair purple blankets, and to spread there over coverlets, and on these to put fleecy cloaks for clothing.

4.300–304But the maids went forth from the hall with torches in their hands and strewed the couch, and a herald led forth the guests. So they slept there in the fore-hall of the palace, the prince Telemachus and the glorious son of Nestor; but the son of Atreus slept in the inmost chamber of the lofty house,

4.305–309and beside him lay long-robed Helen, peerless among women. So soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, up from his bed arose Menelaus, good at the war-cry, and put on his clothing. About his shoulders he slung his sharp sword, and beneath his shining feet bound his fair sandals,

4.310–314and went forth from his chamber like unto a god to look upon. Then he sat down beside Telemachus, and spoke, and addressed him: “What need has brought thee hither, prince Telemachus, to goodly Lacedaemon over the broad back of the sea? Is it a public matter, or thine own? Tell me the truth of this.”

4.485–489“‘All this will I perform, old man, even as thou dost bid. But come now, tell me this, and declare it truly. Did all the Achaeans return unscathed in their ships, all those whom Nestor and I left, as we set out from Troy? Or did any perish by a cruel death on board his ship,

4.490–494or in the arms of his friends, when he had wound up the skein of war?’ “So I spoke, and he straightway made answer, and said: ‘Son of Atreus, why dost thou question me of this? In no wise does it behove thee to know, or to learn my mind; nor, methinks, wilt thou long be free from tears, when thou hast heard all aright.

4.495–499For many of them were slain, and many were left; but two chieftains alone of the brazen-coated Achaeans perished on their homeward way ( as for the fighting, thou thyself wast there), and one, I ween, still lives, and is held back on the broad deep. “‘Aias truly was lost amid his long-oared ships.

4.500–504Upon the great rocks of Gyrae Poseidon at first drove him, but saved him from the sea; and he would have escaped his doom, hated of Athena though he was, had he not uttered a boastful word in great blindness of heart. He declared that it was in spite of the gods that he had escaped the great gulf of the sea;

4.505–509and Poseidon heard his boastful speech, and straightway took his trident in his mighty hands, and smote the rock of Gyrae and clove it in sunder. And one part abode in its place, but the sundered part fell into the sea, even that on which Aias sat at the first when his heart was greatly blinded,

4.510–514and it bore him down into the boundless surging deep. So there he perished, when he had drunk the salt water. “‘But thy brother escaped, indeed, the fates and shunned them with his hollow ships, for queenly Hera saved him. But when he was now about

4.515–519to reach the steep height of Malea, then the storm-wind caught him up and bore him over the teeming deep, groaning heavily, to the border of the land, where aforetime Thyestes dwelt, but where now dwelt Thyestes' son Aegisthus. But when from hence too a safe return was shewed him,

4.520–524and the gods changed the course of the wind that it blew fair, and they reached home, then verily with rejoicing did Agamemnon set foot on his native land, and he clasped his land and kissed it, and many were the hot tears that streamed from his eyes, for welcome to him was the sight of his land. Now from his place of watch a watchman saw him, whom

4.525–529guileful Aegisthus took and set there, promising him as a reward two talents of gold; and he had been keeping guard for a year, lest Agamemnon should pass by him unseen, and be mindful of his furious might. So he went to the palace to bear the tidings to the shepherd of the people, and Aegisthus straightway planned a treacherous device.

4.530–534He chose out twenty men, the best in the land, and set them to lie in wait, but on the further side of the hall he bade prepare a feast. Then he went with chariot and horses to summon Agamemnon, shepherd of the people, his mind pondering a dastardly deed. So he brought him up all unaware of his doom,

4.535–539and when he had feasted him he slew him, as one slays an ox at the stall. And not one of the comrades of the son of Atreus was left, of all that followed him, nor one of the men of Aegisthus, but they were all slain in the halls.’ “So he spoke, and my spirit was broken within me, and I wept, as I sat on the sands, nor had my heart

4.540–544any longer desire to live and to behold the light of the sun. But when I had had my fill of weeping and writhing, then the unerring old man of the sea said to me: “‘No more, son of Atreus, do thou weep long time thus without ceasing, for in it we shall find no help. Nay, rather, with all the speed thou canst,

4.545–549strive that thou mayest come to thy native land, for either thou wilt find Aegisthus alive, or haply Orestes may have forestalled thee and slain him, and thou mayest chance upon his funeral feast.’ “So he spoke, and my heart and spirit were again warmed with comfort in my breast despite my grief,

4.550–554and I spoke, and addressed him with winged words: “‘Of these men now I know, but do thou name the third, who he is that still lives, and is held back upon the broad sea, or is haply dead. Fain would I hear, despite my grief.’ “So I spoke, and he straightway made answer, and said:

4.555–559‘It is the son of Laertes, whose home is in Ithaca. Him I saw in an island, shedding big tears, in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who keeps him there perforce, and he cannot come to his native land, for he has at hand no ships with oars and no comrades

4.560–564to send him on his way over the broad back of the sea. But for thyself, Menelaus, fostered of Zeus, it is not ordained that thou shouldst die and meet thy fate in horse-pasturing Argos, but to the Elysian plain and the bounds of the earth will the immortals convey thee, where dwells fair-haired Rhadamanthus,

4.565–569and where life is easiest for men. No snow is there, nor heavy storm, nor ever rain, but ever does Ocean send up blasts of the shrill-blowing West Wind that they may give cooling to men; for thou hast Helen to wife, and art in their eyes the husband of the daughter of Zeus.’

4.570–574“So saying he plunged beneath the surging sea, but I went to my ships with my god like comrades, and many things did my heart darkly ponder as I went. But when I had come down to the ship and to the sea, and we had made ready our supper, and immortal night had come on,

4.575–579then we lay down to rest on the shore of the sea. And as soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, our ships first of all we drew down to the bright sea, and set the masts and the sails in the shapely ships, and the men, too, went on board and sat down upon the benches,

4.580–584and sitting well in order smote the grey sea with their oars. So back again to the waters of Aegyptus, the heaven-fed river, I sailed, and there moored my ships and offered hecatombs that bring fulfillment. But when I had stayed the wrath of the gods that are forever, I heaped up a mound to Agamemnon, that his fame might be unquenchable.

4.585–589Then, when I had made an end of this, I set out for home, and the immortals gave me a fair wind, and brought me swiftly to my dear native land. But come now, tarry in my halls until the eleventh or the twelfth day be come. Then will I send thee forth with honor and give thee splendid gifts,

4.600–604And whatsoever gift thou wouldest give me, let it be some treasure; but horses will I not take to Ithaca, but will leave them here for thyself to delight in, for thou art lord of a wide plain, wherein is lotus in abundance, and galingale and wheat and spelt, and broad-eared white barley.

4.605–609But in Ithaca there are no widespread courses nor aught of meadow-land. It is a pasture-land of goats and pleasanter than one that pastures horses. For not one of the islands that lean upon the sea is fit for driving horses, or rich in meadows, and Ithaca least of all.” So he spoke, and Menelaus, good at the war-cry, smiled,

4.610–614and stroked him with his hand, and spoke, and addressed him: “Thou art of noble blood, dear child, that thou speakest thus. Therefore will I change these gifts, for well I may. Of all the gifts that lie stored as treasures in my house, I will give thee that one which is fairest and costliest.

4.615–619I will give thee a well-wrought mixing bowl. All of silver it is, and with gold are the rims thereof gilded, the work of Hephaestus; and the warrior Phaedimus, king of the Sidonians, gave it me, when his house sheltered me as I came thither, and now I am minded to give it to thee.”

4.620–624Thus they spoke to one another, and meanwhile the banqueters came to the palace of the divine king. They drove up sheep, and brought strengthening wine, and their wives with beautiful veils sent them bread. Thus they were busied about the feast in the halls.

4.625–629But the wooers in front of the palace of Odysseus were making merry, throwing the discus and the javelin in a levelled place, as their wont was, in insolence of heart; and Antinous and godlike Eurymachus were sitting there, the leaders of the wooers, who in valiance were far the best of all.

4.630–634To them Noemon, son of Phronius, drew near, and he questioned Antinous, and spoke, and said: “Antinous, know we at all in our hearts, or know we not, when Telemachus will return from sandy Pylos? He is gone, taking a ship of mine, and I have need of her

4.635–639to cross over to spacious Elis, where I have twelve brood mares, and at the teat sturdy mules as yet unbroken. Of these I would fain drive one off and break him in.” So he spoke, and they marvelled at heart, for they did not deem that Telemachus had gone to Neleian Pylos, but that he was somewhere there

4.640–644on his lands, among the flocks or with the swineherd. Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spoke to him, saying: “Tell me the truth; when did he go, and what youths went with him? Were they chosen youths of Ithaca, or hirelings and slaves of his own? Able would he be to accomplish even that.

4.645–649And tell me this truly, that I may know full well. Was it perforce and against thy will that he took from thee the black ship? or didst thou give it him freely of thine own will, because he besought thee?” Then Noemon, son of Phronius, answered him:“I myself freely gave it him. What else could any man do,

4.650–654when a man like him, his heart laden with care, makes entreaty? Hard it were to deny the gift. The youths that are the noblest in the land after ourselves, even these have gone with him; and among them I noted one going on board as their leader, Mentor, or a god, who was in all things like unto Mentor.

4.655–659But at this I marvel. I saw goodly Mentor here yesterday at early dawn; but at that time he embarked for Pylos.” So saying he departed to his father's house, but of those two the proud hearts were angered. The wooers they straightway made to sit down and cease from their games;

4.660–664and among them spoke Antinous, son of Eupeithes, in displeasure; and with rage was his black heart wholly filled, and his eyes were like blazing fire. “Out upon him, verily a proud deed has been insolently brought to pass by Telemachus, even this journey, and we deemed that he would never see it accomplished.

4.665–669Forth in despite of all of us here the lad is gone without more ado, launching a ship, and choosing the best men in the land. He will begin by and by to be our bane; but to his own undoing may Zeus destroy his might before ever he reaches the measure of manhood. But come, give me a swift ship and twenty men,

4.670–674that I may watch in ambush for him as he passes in the strait between Ithaca and rugged Samos. Thus shall his voyaging in search of his father come to a sorry end.” So he spoke, and they all praised his words, and bade him act. And straightway they rose up and went to the house of Odysseus.

4.675–679Now Penelope was no long time without knowledge of the plans which the wooers were plotting in the deep of their hearts; for the herald Medon told her, who heard their counsel as he stood without the court and they within were weaving their plot. So he went through the hall to bear the tidings to Penelope;

4.680–684and as he stepped across the threshold Penelope spoke to him and said: “Herald, why have the lordly wooers sent thee forth? Was it to tell the handmaids of divine Odysseus to cease from their tasks, and make ready a feast for them? Never wooing any more, nor consorting together elsewhere,

4.685–689may they now feast here their latest and their last—even ye who are ever thronging here and wasting much livelihood, the wealth of wise Telemachus. Surely ye hearkened not at all in olden days, when ye were children, when your fathers told what manner of man Odysseus was among them that begat you,

4.690–694in that he wrought no wrong in deed or word to any man in the land, as the wont is of divine kings—one man they hate and another they love. Yet he never wrought iniquity at all to any man. But your mind and your unseemly deeds

4.695–699are plain to see, nor is there in after days any gratitude for good deeds done.” Then Medon, wise of heart, answered her: “I would, O queen, that this were the greatest evil. But another greater far and more grievous are the wooers planning, which I pray that the son of Cronos may never bring to pass.

4.700–704They are minded to slay Telemachus with the sharp sword on his homeward way; for he went in quest of tidings of his father to sacred Pylos and to goodly Lacedaemon.” So he spoke, and her knees were loosened where she sat, and her heart melted. Long time she was speechless, and both her eyes

4.705–709were filled with tears, and the flow of her voice was checked. But at last she made answer, and said to him: “Herald, why is my son gone? He had no need to go on board swift-faring ships, which serve men as horses of the deep, and cross over the wide waters of the sea.

4.710–714Was it that not even his name should be left among men?” Then Medon, wise of heart, answered her: “I know not whether some god impelled him, or whether his own heart was moved to go to Pylos, that he might learn either of his father's return or what fate he had met.”

4.715–719So he spoke, and departed through the house of Odysseus, and on her fell a cloud of soul-consuming grief, and she had no more the heart to sit upon one of the many seats that were in the room, but down upon the threshold of her fair-wrought chamber she sank, moaning piteously, and round about her wailed her handmaids,

4.720–724even all that were in the house, both young and old. Among these with sobs of lamentation spoke Penelope: “Hear me, my friends, for to me the Olympian has given sorrow above all the women who were bred and born with me. For long since I lost my noble husband of the lion heart,

4.725–729pre-eminent in all manner of worth among the Danaans, my noble husband, whose fame is wide through Hellas and mid-Argos. And now again my well-loved son have the storm-winds swept away from our halls without tidings, nor did I hear of his setting forth. Cruel, that ye are! Not even you took thought, any one of you,

4.730–734to rouse me from my couch, though in your hearts ye knew full well when he went on board the hollow black ship. For had I learned that he was pondering this journey, he should verily have stayed here, how eager soever to be gone, or he should have left me dead in the halls.

4.735–739But now let one hasten to call hither the aged Dolius, my servant, whom my father gave me or ever I came hither, and who keeps my garden of many trees, that he may straightway go and sit by Laertes, and tell him of all these things. So haply may Laertes weave some plan in his heart,

4.815–819pre-eminent in all manner of worth among the Danaans, my noble husband whose fame is wide in Hellas and mid-Argos. And now again my well-loved son is gone forth in a hollow ship, a mere child, knowing naught of toils and the gatherings of men. For him I sorrow even more than for that other,

4.820–824and tremble for him, and fear lest aught befall him, whether it be in the land of the men to whom he is gone, or on the sea. For many foes are plotting against him, eager to slay him before he comes back to his native land.” Then the dim phantom answered her, and said:

4.825–829“Take heart, and be not in thy mind too sore afraid; since such a guide goes with him as men have full often besought to stand by their side, for she has power,—even Pallas Athena. And she pities thee in thy sorrow, for she it is that has sent me forth to tell thee this.”

4.830–834Then again wise Penelope answered her: “If thou art indeed a god, and hast listened to the voice of a god, come, tell me, I pray thee, also of that hapless one, whether he still lives and beholds the light of the sun, or whether he is already dead and in the house of Hades.”

4.835–839And the dim phantom answered her, and said:“Nay, of him I may not speak at length, whether he be alive or dead; it is an ill thing to speak words vain as wind.” So saying the phantom glided away by the bolt of the door into the breath of the winds. And

4.840–844the daughter of Icarius started up from sleep, and her heart was warmed with comfort, that so clear a vision had sped to her in the darkness of night. But the wooers embarked, and sailed over the watery ways, pondering in their hearts utter murder for Telemachus. There is a rocky isle in the midst of the sea,

4.845–849midway between Ithaca and rugged Samos, Asteris, of no great size, but therein is a harbor where ships may lie, with an entrance on either side. There it was that the Achaeans tarried, lying in wait for Telemachus.

5.155–159in the hollow caves, unwilling beside the willing nymph, but by day he would sit on the rocks and the sands, racking his soul with tears and groans and griefs, and he would look over the unresting sea, shedding tears. Then coming close to him, the beautiful goddess addressed him:

5.160–164“Unhappy man, sorrow no longer here, I pray thee, nor let thy life pine away; for even now with a ready heart will I send thee on thy way. Nay, come, hew with the axe long beams, and make a broad raft, and fasten upon it cross-planks for a deck well above it, that it may bear thee over the misty deep.

5.165–169And I will place therein bread and water and red wine to satisfy thy heart, to keep hunger from thee. And I will clothe thee with raiment, and will send a fair wind behind thee, that all unscathed thou mayest return to thy native land, if it be the will of the gods who hold broad heaven;

5.170–174for they are mightier than I both to purpose and to fulfil.” So she spoke, and much-enduring goodly Odysseus shuddered, and he spoke, and addressed her with winged words: “Some other thing, goddess, art thou planning in this, and not my sending, seeing that thou biddest me cross on a raft the great gulf of the sea,

5.175–179dread and grievous, over which not even the shapely, swift-faring ships pass, rejoicing in the wind of Zeus. But I will not set foot on a raft in thy despite, unless thou, goddess, wilt bring thyself to swear a mighty oath that thou wilt not plot against me any fresh mischief to my hurt.”

5.180–184So he spoke, but Calypso, the beautiful goddess, smiled, and stroked him with her hand, and spoke, and addressed him: “Verily thou art a knave, and not stunted in wit, that thou hast bethought thee to utter such a word. Now therefore let earth be witness to this, and the broad heaven above,

5.185–189and the down-flowing water of the Styx, which is the greatest and most dread oath for the blessed gods, that I will not plot against thee any fresh mischief to thy hurt. Nay, I have such thoughts in mind, and will give such counsel, as I should devise for mine own self, if such need should come on me.

5.190–194For I too have a mind that is righteous, and the heart in this breast of mine is not of iron, but hath compassion.” So saying, the beautiful goddess led the way quickly, and he followed in the footsteps of the goddess. And they came to the hollow cave, the goddess and the man,

5.195–199and he sat down upon the chair from which Hermes had arisen, and the nymph set before him all manner of food to eat and drink, of such sort as mortal men eat. But she herself sat over against divine Odysseus, and before her the handmaids set ambrosia and nectar.

5.200–204So they put forth their hands to the good cheer lying ready before them. But when they had their fill of food and drink, Calypso, the beautiful goddess, was the first to speak, and said: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices,

5.205–209would'st thou then fare now forthwith home to thy dear native land! Yet, even so fare thee well. Howbeit if in thy heart thou knewest all the measure of woe it is thy fate to fulfil before thou comest to thy native land thou wouldest abide here and keep this house with me, and wouldest be immortal, for all thy desire to see

5.210–214thy wife for whom thou longest day by day. Surely not inferior to her do I declare myself to be either in form or stature, for in no wise is it seemly that mortal women should vie with immortals in form or comeliness.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said:

5.215–219“Mighty goddess, be not wroth with me for this. I know full well of myself that wise Penelope is meaner to look upon than thou in comeliness and in stature, for she is a mortal, while thou art immortal and ageless. But even so I wish and long day by day

5.220–224to reach my home, and to see the day of my return. And if again some god shall smite me on the wine-dark sea, I will endure it, having in my breast a heart that endures affliction. For ere this I have suffered much and toiled much amid the waves and in war; let this also be added unto that.”

5.225–229So he spoke, and the sun set and darkness came on. And the two went into the innermost recess of the hollow cave, and took their joy of love, abiding each by the other's side. As soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, straightway Odysseus put on a cloak and a tunic,

5.230–234and the nymph clothed herself in a long white robe, finely woven and beautiful, and about her waist she cast a fair girdle of gold, and on her head a veil above. Then she set herself to plan the sending of the great-hearted Odysseus. She gave him a great axe, well fitted to his hands,

5.235–239an axe of bronze, sharpened on both sides; and in it was a beautiful handle of olive wood, securely fastened; and thereafter she gave him a polished adze. Then she led the way to the borders of the island where tall trees were standing, alder and popular and fir, reaching to the skies,

5.240–244long dry and well-seasoned, which would float for him lightly. But when she had shewn him where the tall trees grew, Calypso, the beautiful goddess, returned homewards, but he fell to cutting timbers, and his work went forward apace. Twenty trees in all did he fell, and trimmed them with the axe;

5.245–249then he cunningly smoothed them all and made them straight to the line. Meanwhile Calypso, the beautiful goddess, brought him augers; and he bored all the pieces and fitted them to one another, and with pegs and morticings did he hammer it together. Wide as a man well-skilled in carpentry marks out the curve of the hull of a freight-ship,

5.250–254broad of beam, even so wide did Odysseus make his raft. And he set up the deck-beams, bolting them to the close-set ribs, and laboured on; and he finished the raft with long gunwales. In it he set a mast and a yard-arm, fitted to it,

5.255–259and furthermore made him a steering-oar, wherewith to steer. Then he fenced in the whole from stem to stern with willow withes to be a defence against the wave, and strewed much brush thereon. Meanwhile Calypso, the beautiful goddess, brought him cloth to make him a sail, and he fashioned that too with skill.

5.260–264And he made fast in the raft braces and halyards and sheets, and then with levers forced it down into the bright sea. Now the fourth day came and all his work was done. And on the fifth the beautiful Calypso sent him on his way from the island after she had bathed him and clothed him in fragrant raiment.

5.265–269On the raft the goddess put a skin of dark wine, and another, a great one, of water, and provisions, too, in a wallet. Therein she put abundance of dainties to satisfy his heart, and she sent forth a gentle wind and warm. Gladly then did goodly Odysseus spread his sail to the breeze;

5.270–274and he sat and guided his raft skilfully with the steering-oar, nor did sleep fall upon his eyelids, as he watched the Pleiads, and late-setting Bootes, and the Bear, which men also call the Wain, which ever circles where it is and watches Orion,

5.275–279and alone has no part in the baths of Ocean. For this star Calypso, the beautiful goddess, had bidden him to keep on the left hand as he sailed over the sea. For seventeen days then he sailed over the sea, and on the eighteenth appeared the shadowy mountains

5.280–284of the land of the Phaeacians, where it lay nearest to him; and it shewed like unto a shield in the misty deep. But the glorious Earth-shaker, as he came back from the Ethiopians, beheld him from afar, from the mountains of the Solymi: for Odysseus was seen of him sailing over the sea; and he waxed the more wroth in spirit,

5.285–289and shook his head, and thus he spoke to his own heart: “Out on it! Surely the gods have changed their purpose regarding Odysseus, while I was among the Ethiopians. And lo, he is near to the land of the Phaeacians, where it is his fate to escape from the great bonds of the woe which has come upon him.

5.310–314of the Trojans hurled upon me bronze-tipped spears, fighting around the body of the dead son of Peleus. Then should I have got funeral rites, and the Achaeans would have spread my fame, but now by a miserable death was it appointed me to be cut off.” Even as thus he spoke the great wave smote him from on high, rushing upon him with terrible might, and around it whirled his raft.

5.315–319Far from the raft he fell, and let fall the steering-oar from his hand; but his mast was broken in the midst by the fierce blast of tumultuous winds that came upon it, and far in the sea sail and yardarm fell. As for him, long time did the wave hold him in the depths, nor could he

5.320–324rise at once from beneath the onrush of the mighty wave, for the garments which beautiful Calypso had given him weighed him down. At length, however, he came up, and spat forth from his mouth the bitter brine which flowed in streams from his head. Yet even so he did not forget his raft, in evil case though he was,

5.325–329but sprang after it amid the waves, and laid hold of it, and sat down in the midst of it, seeking to escape the doom of death; and a great wave ever bore him this way and that along its course. As when in autumn the North Wind bears the thistle-tufts over the plain, and close they cling to one another,

5.330–334so did the winds bear the raft this way and that over the sea. Now the South Wind would fling it to the North Wind to be driven on, and now again the East Wind would yield it to the West Wind to drive. But the daughter of Cadmus, Ino of the fair ankles, saw him, even Leucothea, who of old was a mortal of human speech,

5.335–339but now in the deeps of the sea has won a share of honor from the gods. She was touched with pity for Odysseus, as he wandered and was in sore travail, and she rose up from the deep like a sea-mew on the wing, and sat on the stoutly-bound raft, and spoke, saying: “Unhappy man, how is it that Poseidon, the earth-shaker,

5.340–344has conceived such furious wrath against thee, that he is sowing for thee the seeds of many evils? Yet verily he shall not utterly destroy thee for all his rage. Nay, do thou thus; and methinks thou dost not lack understanding. Strip off these garments, and leave thy raft to be driven by the winds, but do thou swim with thy hands and so strive to reach

5.345–349the land of the Phaeacians, where it is thy fate to escape. Come, take this veil, and stretch it beneath thy breast. It is immortal; there is no fear that thou shalt suffer aught or perish. But when with thy hands thou hast laid hold of the land, loose it from thee, and cast it into the wine-dark sea

5.350–354far from the land, and thyself turn away.” So saying, the goddess gave him the veil, and herself plunged again into the surging deep, like a sea-mew; and the dark wave hid her. Then the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus pondered,

5.355–359and deeply moved he spoke to his own mighty spirit: “Woe is me! Let it not be that some one of the immortals is again weaving a snare for me, that she bids me leave my raft. Nay, but verily I will not yet obey, for afar off mine eyes beheld the land, where she said I was to escape.

5.360–364But this will I do, and meseems that this is best: as long as the timbers hold firm in their fastenings, so long will I remain here and endure to suffer affliction; but when the wave shall have shattered the raft to pieces, I will swim, seeing that there is naught better to devise.”

5.365–369While he pondered thus in mind and heart, Poseidon, the earth-shaker, made to rise up a great wave, dread and grievous, arching over from above, and drove it upon him. And as when a strong wind tosses a heap of straw that is dry, and some it scatters here, some there,

5.370–374even so the wave scattered the long timbers of the raft. But Odysseus bestrode one plank, as though he were riding a horse, and stripped off the garments which beautiful Calypso had given him. Then straightway he stretched the veil beneath his breast, and flung himself headlong into the sea with hands outstretched,

5.375–379ready to swim. And the lord, the earth-shaker, saw him, and he shook his head, and thus he spoke to his own heart: “So now, after thou hast suffered many ills, go wandering over the deep, till thou comest among the folk fostered of Zeus. Yet even so, methinks, thou shalt not make any mock at thy suffering.”

5.380–384So saying, he lashed his fair-maned horses, and came to Aegae, where is his glorious palace. But Athena, daughter of Zeus, took other counsel. She stayed the paths of the other winds, and bade them all cease and be lulled to rest;

5.385–389but she roused the swift North Wind, and broke the waves before him, to the end that Zeus-born Odysseus might come among the Phaeacians, lovers of the oar, escaping from death and the fates. Then for two nights and two days he was driven about over the swollen waves, and full often his heart forboded destruction.

7.215–219But as for me, suffer me now to eat, despite my grief; for there is nothing more shameless than a hateful belly, which bids a man perforce take thought thereof, be he never so sore distressed and laden with grief at heart, even as I, too, am laden with grief at heart, yet ever does my belly

7.220–224bid me eat and drink, and makes me forget all that I have suffered, and commands me to eat my fill. But do ye make haste at break of day, that ye may set me, hapless one, on the soil of my native land, even after my many woes. Yea, let life leave me, when I have seen once more

7.225–229my possessions, my slaves, and my great high-roofed house.” So he spoke, and they all praised his words, and bade send the stranger on his way, since he had spoken fittingly. Then when they had poured libations, and had drunk to their heart's content, they went each man to his home, to take their rest,

7.230–234and goodly Odysseus was left behind in the hall, and beside him sat Arete and godlike Alcinous; and the handmaids cleared away the dishes of the feast. Then white-armed Arete was the first to speak; for, as she saw it, she knew his

7.235–239fair raiment, the mantle and tunic, which she herself had wrought with her handmaids. And she spoke, and addressed him with winged words: “Stranger, this question will I myself ask thee first. Who art thou among men, and from whence? Who gave thee this raiment? Didst thou not say that thou camest hither wandering over the sea?”

7.240–244Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: “Hard were it, O queen, to tell to the end the tale of my woes, since full many have the heavenly gods given me. But this will I tell thee, of which thou dost ask and enquire. There is an isle, Ogygia, which lies far off in the sea.

7.245–249Therein dwells the fair-tressed daughter of Atlas, guileful Calypso, a dread goddess, and with her no one either of gods or mortals hath aught to do; but me in my wretchedness did fate bring to her hearth alone, for Zeus had smitten my swift ship with his bright thunderbolt,

7.250–254and had shattered it in the midst of the wine-dark sea. There all the rest of my trusty comrades perished, but I clasped in my arms the keel of my curved ship and was borne drifting for nine days, and on the tenth black night the gods brought me to the isle, Ogygia, where

7.255–259the fair-tressed Calypso dwells, a dread goddess. She took me to her home with kindly welcome, and gave me food, and said that she would make me immortal and ageless all my days; but she could never persuade the heart in my breast. There for seven years' space I remained continually, and ever

7.260–264with my tears would I wet the immortal raiment which Calypso gave me. But when the eight year came in circling course, then she roused me and bade me go, either because of some message from Zeus, or because her own mind was turned. And she sent me on my way on a raft, stoutly bound, and gave me abundant store

7.265–269of bread and sweet wine, and clad me in immortal raiment, and sent forth a gentle wind and warm. So for seventeen days I sailed over the sea, and on the eighteenth appeared the shadowy mountains of your land; and my heart was glad,

7.270–274ill-starred that I was; for verily I was yet to have fellowship with great woe, which Poseidon, the earth-shaker, sent upon me. For he stirred up the winds against me and stayed my course, and wondrously roused the sea, nor would the wave suffer me to be borne upon my raft, as I groaned ceaselessly.

7.275–279My raft indeed the storm shattered, but by swimming I clove my way through yon gulf of the sea, until the wind and the waves, as they bore me, brought me to your shores. There, had I sought to land, the waves would have hurled me upon the shore, and dashed me against the great crags and a cheerless place,

7.280–284but I gave way, and swam back until I came to a river, where seemed to me the best place, since it was smooth of rocks, and besides there was shelter from the wind. Forth then I staggered, and sank down, gasping for breath, and immortal night came on. Then I went forth from the heaven-fed river,

7.285–289and lay down to sleep in the bushes, gathering leaves about me; and a god shed over me infinite sleep. So there among the leaves I slept, my heart sore stricken, the whole night through, until the morning and until midday; and the sun turned to his setting ere sweet sleep released me.

7.290–294Then I saw the handmaids of thy daughter on the shore at play, and amid them was she, fair as the goddesses. To her I made my prayer; and she in no wise failed in good understanding, to do as thou wouldst not deem that one of younger years would do on meeting thee; for younger folk are ever thoughtless.

8.55–59Well out in the roadstead they moored the ship, and then went their way to the great palace of the wise Alcinous. Filled were the porticoes and courts and rooms with the men that gathered, for many there were, both young and old. For them Alcinous slaughtered twelve sheep,

8.60–64and eight white-tusked boars, and two oxen of shambling gait. These they flayed and dressed, and made ready a goodly feast. Then the herald drew near, leading the good minstrel, whom the Muse loved above all other men, and gave him both good and evil; of his sight she deprived him, but gave him the gift of sweet song.

8.65–69For him Pontonous, the herald, set a silver-studded chair in the midst of the banqueters, leaning it against a tall pillar, and he hung the clear-toned lyre from a peg close above his head, and showed him how to reach it with his hands. And beside him he placed a basket and a beautiful table,

8.70–74and a cup of wine, to drink when his heart should bid him. So they put forth their hands to the good cheer lying ready before them. But when they had put from them the desire of food and drink, the Muse moved the minstrel to sing of the glorious deeds of warriors, from that lay the fame whereof had then reached broad heaven,

8.75–79even the quarrel of Odysseus and Achilles, son of Peleus, how once they strove with furious words at a rich feast of the gods, and Agamemnon, king of men, was glad at heart that the best of the Achaeans were quarrelling; for thus Phoebus Apollo, in giving his response, had told him that it should be,

8.80–84in sacred Pytho, when he passed over the threshold of stone to enquire of the oracle. For then the beginning of woe was rolling upon Trojans and Danaans through the will of great Zeus. This song the famous minstrel sang; but Odysseus grasped his great purple cloak with his stout hands,

8.85–89and drew it down over his head, and hid his comely face; for he had shame of the Phaeacians as he let fall tears from beneath his eyebrows. Yea, and as often as the divine minstrel ceased his singing, Odysseus would wipe away his tears and draw the cloak from off his head, and taking the two-handled cup would pour libations to the gods.

8.90–94But as often as he began again, and the nobles of the Phaeacians bade him sing, because they took pleasure in his lay, Odysseus would again cover his head and moan. Now from all the rest he concealed the tears that he shed, but Alcinous alone marked him and took heed,

8.95–99for he sat by him, and heard him groaning heavily. And straightway he spoke among the Phaeacians, lovers of the oar: “Hear me, ye leaders and counsellors of the Phaeacians, already have we satisfied our hearts with the equal banquet and with the lyre, which is the companion of the rich feast.

8.100–104But now let us go forth, and make trial of all manner of games, that yon stranger may tell his friends, when he returns home, how far we excel other men in boxing and wrestling and leaping and in speed of foot.” So saying, he led the way, and they followed him.

8.105–109From the peg the herald hung the clear-toned lyre, and took Demodocus by the hand, and led him forth from the hall, guiding him by the self-same road by which the others, the nobles of the Phaeacians, had gone to gaze upon the games. They went their way to the place of assembly, and with them went a great throng,

8.110–114past counting; and up rose many noble youths. There rose Acroneus, and Ocyalus, and Elatreus, and Nauteus, and Prymneus, and Anchialus, and Eretmeus, and Ponteus, and Proreus, Thoon and Anabesineus,

8.115–119and Amphialus, son of Polyneus, son of Tecton; and up rose also Euryalus, the peer of man-destroying Ares, the son of Naubolus, who in comeliness and form was the best of all the Phaeacians after peerless Laodamas; and up rose the three sons of noble Alcinous, Laodamas, and Halius, and godlike Clytoneus.

8.465–469so may Zeus grant, the loud-thundering lord of Here, that I may reach my home and see the day of my returning. Then will I even there pray to thee as to a god all my days, for thou, maiden, hast given me life.” He spoke, and sat down on a chair beside king Alcinous.

8.470–474And now they were serving out portions and mixing the wine. Then the herald came near, leading the good minstrel, Demodocus, held in honor by the people, and seated him in the midst of the banqueters, leaning his chair against a high pillar. Then to the herald said Odysseus of many wiles,

8.475–479cutting off a portion of the chine of a white-tusked boar, whereof yet more was left, and there was rich fat on either side: “Herald, take and give this portion to Demodocus, that he may eat, and I will greet him, despite my grief. For among all men that are upon the earth minstrels

8.480–484win honor and reverence, for that the Muse has taught them the paths of song, and loves the tribe of minstrels.” So he spoke, and the herald bore the portion and placed it in the hands of the lord Demodocus, and he took it and was glad at heart. So they put forth their hands to the good cheer lying ready before them.

8.485–489But when they had put from them the desire of food and drink, then to Demodocus said Odysseus of many wiles: “Demodocus, verily above all mortal men do I praise thee, whether it was the Muse, the daughter of Zeus, that taught thee, or Apollo; for well and truly dost thou sing of the fate of the Achaeans,

8.490–494all that they wrought and suffered, and all the toils they endured, as though haply thou hadst thyself been present, or hadst heard the tale from another. But come now, change thy theme, and sing of the building of the horse of wood, which Epeius made with Athena's help, the horse which once Odysseus led up into the citadel as a thing of guile,

8.495–499when he had filled it with the men who sacked Ilios. If thou dost indeed tell me this tale aright, I will declare to all mankind that the god has of a ready heart granted thee the gift of divine song.” So he spoke, and the minstrel, moved by the god, began, and let his song be heard,

8.500–504taking up the tale where the Argives had embarked on their benched ships and were sailing away, after casting fire on their huts, while those others led by glorious Odysseus were now sitting in the place of assembly of the Trojans, hidden in the horse; for the Trojans had themselves dragged it to the citadel.

8.505–509So there it stood, while the people talked long as they sat about it, and could form no resolve. Nay, in three ways did counsel find favour in their minds: either to cleave the hollow timber with the pitiless bronze, or to drag it to the height and cast it down the rocks, or to let it stand as a great offering to propitiate the gods,

8.510–514even as in the end it was to be brought to pass; for it was their fate to perish when their city should enclose the great horse of wood, wherein were sitting all the best of the Argives, bearing to the Trojans death and fate. And he sang how the sons of the Achaeans

8.515–519poured forth from the horse and, leaving their hollow ambush, sacked the city. Of the others he sang how in divers ways they wasted the lofty city, but of Odysseus, how he went like Ares to the house of Deiphobus together with godlike Menelaus. There it was, he said, that Odysseus braved the most terrible fight

8.520–524and in the end conquered by the aid of great-hearted Athena. This song the famous minstrel sang. But the heart of Odysseus was melted and tears wet his cheeks beneath his eyelids. And as a woman wails and flings herself about her dear husband, who has fallen in front of his city and his people,

8.525–529seeking toward off from his city and his children the pitiless day; and as she beholds him dying and gasping for breath, she clings to him and shrieks aloud, while the foe behind her smite her back and shoulders with their spears, and lead her away to captivity to bear toil and woe,

8.530–534while with most pitiful grief her cheeks are wasted: even so did Odysseus let fall pitiful tears from beneath his brows. Now from all the rest he concealed the tears that he shed, but Alcinous alone marked him and took heed,

8.535–539for he sat by him and heard him groaning heavily. And straightway he spoke among the Phaeacians, lovers of the oar: “Hear me, leaders and counsellors of the Phaeacians, and let Demodocus now check his clear-toned lyre, for in no wise to all alike does he give pleasure with this song. Ever since we began to sup and the divine minstrel was moved to sing,

8.540–544from that time yon stranger has never ceased from sorrowful lamentation; surely, methinks, grief has encompassed his heart. Nay, let the minstrel cease, that we may all make merry, hosts and guest alike, since it is better thus. Lo, for the sake of the honored stranger all these things have been made ready,

8.545–549his sending and the gifts of friendship which we give him of our love. Dear as a brother is the stranger and the suppliant to a man whose wits have never so short a range. Therefore do not thou longer hide with crafty thought whatever I shall ask thee;to speak out plainly is the better course.

8.550–554Tell me the name by which they were wont to call thee in thy home, even thy mother and thy father and other folk besides, thy townsmen and the dwellers round about. For there is no one of all mankind who is nameless, be he base man or noble, when once he has been born, but parents bestow names on all when they give them birth.

8.555–559And tell me thy country, thy people, and thy city, that our ships may convey thee thither, discerning the course by their wits. For the Phaeacians have no pilots, nor steering-oars such as other ships have, but their ships of themselves understand the thoughts and minds of men,

9.10–14and bears it round and pours it into the cups. This seems to my mind the fairest thing there is. But thy heart is turned to ask of my grievous woes, that I may weep and groan the more. What, then, shall I tell thee first, what last?

9.15–19for woes full many have the heavenly gods given me. First now will I tell my name, that ye, too, may know it, and that I hereafter, when I have escaped from the pitiless day of doom, may be your host, though I dwell in a home that is afar. I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, who

9.20–24am known among men for all manner of wiles, and my fame reaches unto heaven. But I dwell in clear-seen Ithaca, wherein is a mountain, Neriton, covered with waving forests, conspicuous from afar; and round it lie many isles hard by one another, Dulichium, and Same, and wooded Zacynthus.

9.25–29Ithaca itself lies close in to the mainland the furthest toward the gloom, but the others lie apart toward the Dawn and the sun—a rugged isle, but a good nurse of young men; and for myself no other thing can I see sweeter than one's own land. Of a truth Calypso, the beautiful goddess, sought to keep me by her

9.30–34in her hollow caves, yearning that I should be her husband; and in like manner Circe would fain have held me back in her halls, the guileful lady of Aeaea, yearning that I should be her husband; but they could never persuade the heart within my breast. So true is it that naught is sweeter than a man's own land and his parents,

9.35–39even though it be in a rich house that he dwells afar in a foreign land away from his parents. But come, let me tell thee also of my woeful home-coming, which Zeus laid upon me as I came from Troy. “From Ilios the wind bore me and brought me to the Cicones,

9.40–44to Ismarus. There I sacked the city and slew the men; and from the city we took their wives and great store of treasure, and divided them among us, that so far as lay in me no man might go defrauded of an equal share. Then verily I gave command that we should flee with swift foot, but the others in their great folly did not hearken.

9.45–49But there much wine was drunk, and many sheep they slew by the shore, and sleek kine of shambling gait. Meanwhile the Cicones went and called to other Cicones who were their neighbors, at once more numerous and braver than they—men that dwelt inland and were skilled

9.50–54at fighting with their foes from chariots, and, if need were, on foot. So they came in the morning, as thick as leaves or flowers spring up in their season; and then it was that an evil fate from Zeus beset us luckless men, that we might suffer woes full many. They set their battle in array and fought by the swift ships,

9.55–59and each side hurled at the other with bronze-tipped spears. Now as long as it was morn and the sacred day was waxing, so long we held our ground and beat them off, though they were more than we. But when the sun turned to the time for the unyoking of oxen, then the Cicones prevailed and routed the Achaeans,

9.60–64and six of my well-greaved comrades perished from each ship; but the rest of us escaped death and fate. “Thence we sailed on, grieved at heart, glad to have escaped from death, though we had lost our dear comrades; nor did I let my curved ships pass on

9.65–69till we had called thrice on each of those hapless comrades of ours who died on the plain, cut down by the Cicones. But against our ships Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, roused the North Wind with a wondrous tempest, and hid with clouds the land and the sea alike, and night rushed down from heaven.

9.70–74Then the ships were driven headlong, and their sails were torn to shreds by the violence of the wind. So we lowered the sails and stowed them aboard, in fear of death, and rowed the ships hurriedly toward the land. There for two nights and two days continuously

9.75–79we lay, eating our hearts for weariness and sorrow. But when now fair-tressed Dawn brought to its birth the third day, we set up the masts and hoisted the white sails, and took our seats, and the wind and the helmsmen steered the ships. And now all unscathed should I have reached my native land,

9.80–84but the wave and the current and the North Wind beat me back as I was rounding Malea, and drove me from my course past Cythera. “Thence for nine days' space I was borne by direful winds over the teeming deep; but on the tenth we set foot on the land of the Lotus-eaters, who eat a flowery food.

9.85–89There we went on shore and drew water, and straightway my comrades took their meal by the swift ships. But when we had tasted food and drink, I sent forth some of my comrades to go and learn who the men were, who here ate bread upon the earth;

9.90–94two men I chose, sending with them a third as a herald. So they went straightway and mingled with the Lotus-eaters, and the Lotus-eaters did not plan death for my comrades, but gave them of the lotus to taste. And whosoever of them ate of the honey-sweet fruit of the lotus,

9.95–99had no longer any wish to bring back word or to return, but there they were fain to abide among the Lotus-eaters, feeding on the lotus, and forgetful of their homeward way. These men, therefore, I brought back perforce to the ships, weeping, and dragged them beneath the benches and bound them fast in the hollow ships;

9.100–104and I bade the rest of my trusty comrades to embark with speed on the swift ships, lest perchance anyone should eat of the lotus and forget his homeward way. So they went on board straightway and sat down upon the benches, and sitting well in order smote the grey sea with their oars.

9.105–109“Thence we sailed on, grieved at heart, and we came to the land of the Cyclopes, an overweening and lawless folk, who, trusting in the immortal gods, plant nothing with their hands nor plough; but all these things spring up for them without sowing or ploughing,

9.110–114wheat, and barley, and vines, which bear the rich clusters of wine, and the rain of Zeus gives them increase. Neither assemblies for council have they, nor appointed laws, but they dwell on the peaks of lofty mountains in hollow caves, and each one is lawgiver

9.115–119to his children and his wives, and they reck nothing one of another. “Now there is a level isle that stretches aslant outside the harbor, neither close to the shore of the land of the Cyclopes, nor yet far off, a wooded isle. Therein live wild goats innumerable, for the tread of men scares them not away,

9.120–124nor are hunters wont to come thither, men who endure toils in the woodland as they course over the peaks of the mountains. Neither with flocks is it held, nor with ploughed lands, but unsown and untilled all the days it knows naught of men, but feeds the bleating goats.

9.125–129For the Cyclopes have at hand no ships with vermilion cheeks, nor are there ship-wrights in their land who might build them well-benched ships, which should perform all their wants, passing to the cities of other folk, as men often cross the sea in ships to visit one another—

9.130–134craftsmen, who would have made of this isle also a fair settlement. For the isle is nowise poor, but would bear all things in season. In it are meadows by the shores of the grey sea, well-watered meadows and soft, where vines would never fail, and in it level ploughland, whence

9.135–139they might reap from season to season harvests exceeding deep, so rich is the soil beneath; and in it, too, is a harbor giving safe anchorage, where there is no need of moorings, either to throw out anchor-stones or to make fast stern cables, but one may beach one's ship and wait until the sailors' minds bid them put out, and the breezes blow fair.

9.140–144Now at the head of the harbor a spring of bright water flows forth from beneath a cave, and round about it poplars grow. Thither we sailed in, and some god guided us through the murky night; for there was no light to see, but a mist lay deep about the ships and the moon

9.145–149showed no light from heaven, but was shut in by clouds. Then no man's eyes beheld that island, nor did we see the long waves rolling on the beach, until we ran our well-benched ships on shore. And when we had beached the ships we lowered all the sails

9.150–154and ourselves went forth on the shore of the sea, and there we fell asleep and waited for the bright Dawn. “As soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, we roamed throughout the isle marvelling at it; and the nymphs, the daughters of Zeus who bears the aegis, roused

9.190–194For he was fashioned a wondrous monster, and was not like a man that lives by bread, but like a wooded peak of lofty mountains, which stands out to view alone, apart from the rest. “Then I bade the rest of my trusty comrades to remain there by the ship and to guard the ship,

9.195–199but I chose twelve of the best of my comrades and went my way. With me I had a goat-skin of the dark, sweet wine, which Maro, son of Euanthes, had given me, the priest of Apollo, the god who used to watch over Ismarus. And he had given it me because we had protected him with his child and wife

9.200–204out of reverence; for he dwelt in a wooded grove of Phoebus Apollo. And he gave me splendid gifts: of well-wrought gold he gave me seven talents, and he gave me a mixing-bowl all of silver; and besides these, wine, wherewith he filled twelve jars in all,

9.205–209wine sweet and unmixed, a drink divine. Not one of his slaves nor of the maids in his halls knew thereof, but himself and his dear wife, and one house-dame only. And as often as they drank that honey-sweet red wine he would fill one cup and pour it into twenty measures of water,

9.210–214and a smell would rise from the mixing-bowl marvellously sweet; then verily would one not choose to hold back. With this wine I filled and took with me a great skin, and also provision in a scrip; for my proud spirit had a foreboding that presently a man would come to me clothed in great might,

9.215–219a savage man that knew naught of justice or of law. “Speedily we came to the cave, nor did we find him within, but he was pasturing his fat flocks in the fields. So we entered the cave and gazed in wonder at all things there. The crates were laden with cheeses, and the pens were crowded

9.220–224with lambs and kids. Each kind was penned separately: by themselves the firstlings, by themselves the later lambs, and by themselves again the newly weaned. And with whey were swimming all the well-wrought vessels, the milk-pails and the bowls into which he milked. Then my comrades spoke and besought me first of all

9.225–229to take of the cheeses and depart, and thereafter speedily to drive to the swift ship the kids and lambs from out the pens, and to sail over the salt water. But I did not listen to them—verily it would have been better far—to the end that I might see the man himself, and whether he would give me gifts of entertainment.

9.230–234Yet, as it fell, his appearing was not to prove a joy to my comrades. “Then we kindled a fire and offered sacrifice, and ourselves, too, took of the cheeses and ate, and thus we sat in the cave and waited for him until he came back, herding his flocks. He bore a mighty weight of dry wood to serve him at supper time,

9.235–239and flung it down with a crash inside the cave, but we, seized with terror, shrank back into a recess of the cave. But he drove his fat flocks into the wide cavern—all those that he milked; but the males—the rams and the goats—he left without in the deep court.

9.240–244Then he lifted on high and set in place the great door-stone, a mighty rock; two and twenty stout four-wheeled wagons could not lift it from the ground, such a towering mass of rock he set in the doorway. Thereafter he sat down and milked the ewes and bleating goats

9.245–249all in turn, and beneath each dam he placed her young. Then presently he curdled half the white milk, and gathered it in wicker baskets and laid it away, and the other half he set in vessels that he might have it to take and drink, and that it might serve him for supper.

9.250–254But when he had busily performed his tasks, then he rekindled the fire, and caught sight of us, and asked: “‘Strangers, who are ye? Whence do ye sail over the watery ways? Is it on some business, or do ye wander at random over the sea, even as pirates, who wander,

9.255–259hazarding their lives and bringing evil to men of other lands?’ “So he spoke, and in our breasts our spirit was broken for terror of his deep voice and monstrous self; yet even so I made answer and spoke to him, saying: “‘We, thou must know, are from Troy, Achaeans, driven wandering

9.260–264by all manner of winds over the great gulf of the sea. Seeking our home, we have come by another way, by other paths; so, I ween, Zeus was pleased to devise. And we declare that we are the men of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, whose fame is now mightiest under heaven,

9.265–269so great a city did he sack, and slew many people; but we on our part, thus visiting thee, have come as suppliants to thy knees, in the hope that thou wilt give us entertainment, or in other wise make some present, as is the due of strangers. Nay, mightiest one, reverence the gods; we are thy suppliants;

9.270–274and Zeus is the avenger of suppliants and strangers—Zeus, the strangers' god—who ever attends upon reverend strangers.’ “So I spoke, and he straightway made answer with pitiless heart: ‘A fool art thou, stranger, or art come from afar, seeing that thou biddest me either to fear or to shun the gods.

9.275–279For the Cyclopes reck not of Zeus, who bears the aegis, nor of the blessed gods, since verily we are better far than they. Nor would I, to shun the wrath of Zeus, spare either thee or thy comrades, unless my own heart should bid me. But tell me where thou didst moor thy well-wrought ship on thy coming.

9.280–284Was it haply at a remote part of the land, or close by? I fain would know.’ “So he spoke, tempting me, but he trapped me not because of my great cunning; and I made answer again in crafty words: “‘My ship Poseidon, the earth-shaker, dashed to pieces, casting her upon the rocks at the border of your land;

9.285–289for he brought her close to the headland, and the wind drove her in from the sea. But I, with these men here, escaped utter destruction.’ “So I spoke, but from his pitiless heart he made no answer, but sprang up and put forth his hands upon my comrades. Two of them at once he seized and dashed to the earth like puppies,

9.290–294and the brain flowed forth upon the ground and wetted the earth. Then he cut them limb from limb and made ready his supper, and ate them as a mountain-nurtured lion, leaving naught—ate the entrails, and the flesh, and the marrowy bones. And we with wailing held up our hands to Zeus,

9.295–299beholding his cruel deeds; and helplessness possessed our souls. But when the Cyclops had filled his huge maw by eating human flesh and thereafter drinking pure milk, he lay down within the cave, stretched out among the sheep. And I formed a plan in my great heart

9.300–304to steal near him, and draw my sharp sword from beside my thigh and smite him in the breast, where the midriff holds the liver, feeling for the place with my hand. But a second thought checked me, for right there should we, too, have perished in utter ruin. For we should not have been able

9.305–309to thrust back with our hands from the high door the mighty stone which he had set there. So then, with wailing, we waited for the bright Dawn. “As soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, he rekindled the fire and milked his goodly flocks all in turn, and beneath each dam placed her young.

9.310–314Then, when he had busily performed his tasks, again he seized two men at once and made ready his meal. And when he had made his meal he drove his fat flocks forth from the cave, easily moving away the great door-stone; and then he put it in place again, as one might set the lid upon a quiver.

9.315–319Then with loud whistling the Cyclops turned his fat flocks toward the mountain, and I was left there, devising evil in the deep of my heart, if in any way I might take vengeance on him, and Athena grant me glory. “Now this seemed to my mind the best plan. There lay beside a sheep-pen a great club of the Cyclops,

9.320–324a staff of green olive-wood, which he had cut to carry with him when dry; and as we looked at it we thought it as large as is the mast of a black ship of twenty oars, a merchantman, broad of beam, which crosses over the great gulf; so huge it was in length and in breadth to look upon.

9.325–329To this I came, and cut off therefrom about a fathom's length and handed it to my comrades, bidding them dress it down; and they made it smooth, and I, standing by, sharpened it at the point, and then straightway took it and hardened it in the blazing fire. Then I laid it carefully away, hiding it beneath the dung,

9.330–334which lay in great heaps throughout the cave. And I bade my comrades cast lots among them, which of them should have the hardihood with me to lift the stake and grind it into his eye when sweet sleep should come upon him. And the lot fell upon those whom I myself would fain have chosen;

9.335–339four they were, and I was numbered with them as the fifth. At even then he came, herding his flocks of goodly fleece, and straightway drove into the wide cave his fat flocks one and all, and left not one without in the deep court, either from some foreboding or because a god so bade him.

9.340–344Then he lifted on high and set in place the great door-stone, and sitting down he milked the ewes and bleating goats all in turn, and beneath each dam he placed her young. But when he had busily performed his tasks, again he seized two men at once and made ready his supper.

9.345–349Then I drew near and spoke to the Cyclops, holding in my hands an ivy bowl of the dark wine: “‘Cyclops, take and drink wine after thy meal of human flesh, that thou mayest know what manner of drink this is which our ship contained. It was to thee that I was bringing it as a drink offering, in the hope that, touched with pity,

9.350–354thou mightest send me on my way home; but thou ragest in a way that is past all bearing. Cruel man, how shall any one of all the multitudes of men ever come to thee again hereafter, seeing that thou hast wrought lawlessness?’ “So I spoke, and he took the cup and drained it, and was wondrously pleased as he drank the sweet draught, and asked me for it again a second time:

9.355–359“‘Give it me again with a ready heart, and tell me thy name straightway, that I may give thee a stranger's gift whereat thou mayest be glad. For among the Cyclopes the earth, the giver of grain, bears the rich clusters of wine, and the rain of Zeus gives them increase; but this is a streamlet of ambrosia and nectar.’

9.360–364“So he spoke, and again I handed him the flaming wine. Thrice I brought and gave it him, and thrice he drained it in his folly. But when the wine had stolen about the wits of the Cyclops, then I spoke to him with gentle words: “‘Cyclops, thou askest me of my glorious name, and I

9.365–369will tell it thee; and do thou give me a stranger's gift, even as thou didst promise. Noman is my name, Noman do they call me—my mother and my father, and all my comrades as well.’ “So I spoke, and he straightway answered me with pitiless heart: ‘Noman will I eat last among his comrades,

9.370–374and the others before him; this shall be thy gift.’ “He spoke, and reeling fell upon his back, and lay there with his thick neck bent aslant, and sleep, that conquers all, laid hold on him. And from his gullet came forth wine and bits of human flesh, and he vomited in his drunken sleep.

9.375–379Then verily I thrust in the stake under the deep ashes until it should grow hot, and heartened all my comrades with cheering words, that I might see no man flinch through fear. But when presently that stake of olive-wood was about to catch fire, green though it was, and began to glow terribly,

9.380–384then verily I drew nigh, bringing the stake from the fire, and my comrades stood round me and a god breathed into us great courage. They took the stake of olive-wood, sharp at the point, and thrust it into his eye, while I, throwing my weight upon it from above, whirled it round, as when a man bores a ship's timber

9.385–389with a drill, while those below keep it spinning with the thong, which they lay hold of by either end, and the drill runs around unceasingly. Even so we took the fiery-pointed stake and whirled it around in his eye, and the blood flowed around the heated thing. And his eyelids wholly and his brows round about did the flame singe

9.390–394as the eyeball burned, and its roots crackled in the fire. And as when a smith dips a great axe or an adze in cold water amid loud hissing to temper it—for therefrom comes the strength of iron—even so did his eye hiss round the stake of olive-wood.

9.395–399Terribly then did he cry aloud, and the rock rang around; and we, seized with terror, shrank back, while he wrenched from his eye the stake, all befouled with blood, and flung it from him, wildly waving his arms. Then he called aloud to the Cyclopes, who

9.400–404dwelt round about him in caves among the windy heights, and they heard his cry and came thronging from every side, and standing around the cave asked him what ailed him: “‘What so sore distress is thine, Polyphemus, that thou criest out thus through the immortal night, and makest us sleepless?

9.405–409Can it be that some mortal man is driving off thy flocks against thy will, or slaying thee thyself by guile or by might?’ “‘Then from out the cave the mighty Polyphemus answered them: ‘My friends, it is Noman that is slaying me by guile and not by force.’ “And they made answer and addressed him with winged words:

9.410–414‘If, then, no man does violence to thee in thy loneliness, sickness which comes from great Zeus thou mayest in no wise escape. Nay, do thou pray to our father, the lord Poseidon.’ “So they spoke and went their way; and my heart laughed within me that my name and cunning device had so beguiled.

9.415–419But the Cyclops, groaning and travailing in anguish, groped with his hands and took away the stone from the door, and himself sat in the doorway with arms outstretched in the hope of catching anyone who sought to go forth with the sheep—so witless, forsooth, he thought in his heart to find me.

9.420–424But I took counsel how all might be the very best, if I might haply find some way of escape from death for my comrades and for myself. And I wove all manner of wiles and counsel, as a man will in a matter of life and death; for great was the evil that was nigh us. And this seemed to my mind the best plan.

9.425–429Rams there were, well-fed and thick of fleece, fine beasts and large, with wool dark as the violet. These I silently bound together with twisted withes on which the Cyclops, that monster with his heart set on lawlessness, was wont to sleep. Three at a time I took. The one in the middle in each case bore a man,

9.430–434and the other two went, one on either side, saving my comrades. Thus every three sheep bore a man. But as for me—there was a ram, far the best of all the flock; him I grasped by the back, and curled beneath his shaggy belly, lay there face upwards

9.435–439with steadfast heart, clinging fast with my hands to his wondrous fleece. So then, with wailing, we waited for the bright dawn. “As soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, then the males of the flock hastened forth to pasture and the females bleated unmilked about the pens,

9.440–444for their udders were bursting. And their master, distressed with grievous pains, felt along the backs of all the sheep as they stood up before him, but in his folly he marked not this, that my men were bound beneath the breasts of his fleecy sheep. Last of all the flock the ram went forth,

9.445–449burdened with the weight of his fleece and my cunning self. And mighty Polyphemus, as he felt along his back, spoke to him, saying: “‘Good ram, why pray is it that thou goest forth thus through the cave the last of the flock? Thou hast not heretofore been wont to lag behind the sheep, but wast ever far the first to feed on the tender bloom of the grass,

9.450–454moving with long strides, and ever the first didst reach the streams of the river, and the first didst long to return to the fold at evening. But now thou art last of all. Surely thou art sorrowing for the eye of thy master, which an evil man blinded along with his miserable fellows, when he had overpowered my wits with wine,

9.455–459even Noman, who, I tell thee, has not yet escaped destruction. If only thou couldst feel as I do, and couldst get thee power of speech to tell me where he skulks away from my wrath, then should his brains be dashed on the ground here and there throughout the cave, when I had smitten him, and my heart

9.460–464should be lightened of the woes which good-for-naught Noman has brought me.’ “So saying, he sent the ram forth from him. And when we had gone a little way from the cave and the court, I first loosed myself from under the ram and set my comrades free. Speedily then we drove off those long-shanked sheep, rich with fat,

9.465–469turning full often to look about until we came to the ship. And welcome to our dear comrades was the sight of us who had escaped death, but for the others they wept and wailed; yet I would not suffer them to weep, but with a frown forbade each man. Rather I bade them

9.470–474to fling on board with speed the many sheep of goodly fleece, and sail over the salt water. So they went on board straightway and sat down upon the benches, and sitting well in order smote the grey sea with their oars. But when I was as far away as a man's voice carries when he shouts, then I spoke to the Cyclops with mocking words:

9.475–479“‘Cyclops, that man, it seems, was no weakling, whose comrades thou wast minded to devour by brutal strength in thy hollow cave. Full surely were thy evil deeds to fall on thine own head, thou cruel wretch, who didst not shrink from eating thy guests in thine own house. Therefore has Zeus taken vengeance on thee, and the other gods.’

9.480–484“So I spoke, and he waxed the more wroth at heart, and broke off the peak of a high mountain and hurled it at us, and cast it in front of the dark-prowed ship. And the sea surged beneath the stone as it fell,

9.485–489and the backward flow, like a flood from the deep, bore the ship swiftly landwards and drove it upon the shore. But I seized a long pole in my hands and shoved the ship off and along the shore,

9.490–494and with a nod of my head I roused my comrades, and bade them fall to their oars that we might escape out of our evil plight. And they bent to their oars and rowed. But when, as we fared over the sea, we were twice as far distant, then was I fain to call to the Cyclops, though round about me my comrades, one after another, sought to check me with gentle words: “‘Reckless one, why wilt thou provoke to wrath a savage man,

9.495–499who but now hurled his missile into the deep and drove our ship back to the land, and verily we thought that we had perished there? And had he heard one of us uttering a sound or speaking, he would have hurled a jagged rock and crushed our heads and the timbers of our ship, so mightily does he throw.’

9.500–504“So they spoke, but they could not persuade my great-hearted spirit; and I answered him again with angry heart: “‘Cyclops, if any one of mortal men shall ask thee about the shameful blinding of thine eye, say that Odysseus, the sacker of cities, blinded it,

9.505–509even the son of Laertes, whose home is in Ithaca.’ “So I spoke, and he groaned and said in answer:‘Lo now, verily a prophecy uttered long ago is come upon me. There lived here a soothsayer, a good man and tall, Telemus, son of Eurymus, who excelled all men in soothsaying,

9.510–514and grew old as a seer among the Cyclopes. He told me that all these things should be brought to pass in days to come, that by the hands of Odysseus I should lose my sight. But I ever looked for some tall and comely man to come hither, clothed in great might,

9.515–519but now one that is puny, a man of naught and a weakling, has blinded me of my eye when he had overpowered me with wine. Yet come hither, Odysseus, that I may set before thee gifts of entertainment, and may speed thy sending hence, that the glorious Earth-shaker may grant it thee. For I am his son, and he declares himself my father;

9.520–524and he himself will heal me, if it be his good pleasure, but none other either of the blessed gods or of mortal men.’ “So he spoke, and I answered him and said:‘Would that I were able to rob thee of soul and life, and to send thee to the house of Hades,

9.525–529as surely as not even the Earth-shaker shall heal thine eye.’ “So I spoke, and he then prayed to the lord Poseidon, stretching out both his hands to the starry heaven: ‘Hear me, Poseidon, earth-enfolder, thou dark-haired god, if indeed I am thy son and thou declarest thyself my father;

9.530–534grant that Odysseus, the sacker of cities, may never reach his home, even the son of Laertes, whose home is in Ithaca; but if it is his fate to see his friends and to reach his well-built house and his native land, late may he come and in evil case, after losing all his comrades,

9.535–539in a ship that is another's; and may he find woes in his house.’ “So he spoke in prayer, and the dark-haired god heard him. But the Cyclops lifted on high again a far greater stone, and swung and hurled it, putting into the throw measureless strength. He cast it

9.540–544a little behind the dark-prowed ship, and barely missed the end of the steering-oar. And the sea surged beneath the stone as it fell, and the wave bore the ship onward and drove it to the shore. “Now when we had come to the island, where our other well-benched ships lay all together, and round about them our comrades,

9.545–549ever expecting us, sat weeping, then, on coming thither, we beached our ship on the sands, and ourselves went forth upon the shore of the sea. Then we took from out the hollow ship the flocks of the Cyclops, and divided them, that so far as in me lay no man might go defrauded of an equal share.

9.550–554But the ram my well-greaved comrades gave to me alone, when the flocks were divided, as a gift apart; and on the shore I sacrificed him to Zeus, son of Cronos, god of the dark clouds, who is lord of all, and burned the thigh-pieces. Howbeit he heeded not my sacrifice, but was planning how all

9.555–559my well-benched ships might perish and my trusty comrades. “So, then, all day long till set of sun we sat feasting on abundant flesh and sweet wine; but when the sun set and darkness came on, then we lay down to rest on the shore of the sea.

9.560–564And as soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, I roused my comrades, and bade them themselves to embark and to loose the stern cables. So they went on board straightway and sat down upon the benches, and sitting well in order smote the grey sea with their oars.

9.565–569“Thence we sailed on, grieved at heart, glad to have escaped death, though we had lost our dear comrades.

10.55–59back to the Aeolian isle; and my comrades groaned. “There we went ashore and drew water, and straightway my comrades took their meal by the swift ships. But when we had tasted of food and drink, I took with me a herald and one companion

10.60–64and went to the glorious palace of Aeolus, and I found him feasting beside his wife and his children. So we entered the house and sat down by the doorposts on the threshold, and they were amazed at heart, and questioned us: “‘How hast thou come hither, Odysseus? What cruel god assailed thee?

10.65–69Surely we sent thee forth with kindly care, that thou mightest reach thy native land and thy home, and whatever place thou wouldest.’ “So said they, but I with a sorrowing heart spoke among them and said: ‘Bane did my evil comrades work me, and therewith sleep accursed; but bring ye healing, my friends, for with you is the power.’

10.70–74“So I spoke and addressed them with gentle words, but they were silent. Then their father answered and said: “‘Begone from our island with speed, thou vilest of all that live. In no wise may I help or send upon his way that man who is hated of the blessed gods.

10.75–79Begone, for thou comest hither as one hated of the immortals.’ “So saying, he sent me forth from the house, groaning heavily. Thence we sailed on, grieved at heart. And worn was the spirit of the men by the grievous rowing, because of our own folly, for no longer appeared any breeze to bear us on our way.

10.80–84So for six days we sailed, night and day alike, and on the seventh we came to the lofty citadel of Lamus, even to Telepylus of the Laestrygonians, where herdsman calls to herdsman as he drives in his flock, and the other answers as he drives his forth. There a man who never slept could have earned a double wage,

10.85–89one by herding cattle, and one by pasturing white sheep; for the out goings of the night and of the day are close together. When we had come thither into the goodly harbor, about which on both sides a sheer cliff runs continuously, and projecting headlands opposite to one another

10.90–94stretch out at the mouth, and the entrance is narrow, then all the rest steered their curved ships in, and the ships were moored within the hollow harbor close together; for therein no wave ever swelled, great or small, but all about was a bright calm.

10.95–99But I alone moored my black ship outside, there on the border of the land, making the cables fast to the rock. Then I climbed to a rugged height, a point of outlook, and there took my stand; from thence no works of oxen or of men appeared; smoke alone we saw springing up from the land.

10.100–104So then I sent forth some of my comrades to go and learn who the men were, who here ate bread upon the earth—two men I chose, and sent with them a third as a herald. Now when they had gone ashore, they went along a smooth road by which wagons were wont to bring wood down to the city from the high mountains.

10.105–109And before the city they met a maiden drawing water, the goodly daughter of Laestrygonian Antiphates, who had come down to the fair-flowing spring Artacia, from whence they were wont to bear water to the town. So they came up to her and spoke to her,

10.110–114and asked her who was king of this folk, and who they were of whom he was lord. And she showed them forth with the high-roofed house of her father. Now when they had entered the glorious house, they found there his wife, huge as the peak of a mountain, and they were aghast at her. At once she called from the place of assembly the glorious Antiphates,

10.115–119her husband, and he devised for them woeful destruction. Straightway he seized one of my comrades and made ready his meal, but the other two sprang up and came in flight to the ships. Then he raised a cry throughout the city, and as they heard it the mighty Laestrygonians came thronging from all sides,

10.120–124a host past counting, not like men but like the Giants. They hurled at us from the cliffs with rocks huge as a man could lift, and at once there rose throughout the ships a dreadful din, alike from men that were dying and from ships that were being crushed. And spearing them like fishes they bore them home, a loathly meal.

10.125–129Now while they were slaying those within the deep harbor, I meanwhile drew my sharp sword from beside my thigh, and cut therewith the cables of my dark-prowed ship; and quickly calling to my comrades bade them fall to their oars, that we might escape from out our evil plight.

10.130–134And they all tossed the sea with their oar-blades in fear of death, and joyfully seaward, away from the beetling cliffs, my ship sped on; but all those other ships were lost together there. “Thence we sailed on, grieved at heart, glad to have escaped death, though we had lost our dear comrades;

10.135–139and we came to the isle of Aeaea, where dwelt fair-tressed Circe, a dread goddess of human speech, own sister to Aeetes of baneful mind; and both are sprung from Helius, who gives light to mortals, and from Perse, their mother, whom Oceanus begot.

10.140–144Here we put in to shore with our ship in silence, into a harbor where ships may lie, and some god guided us. Then we disembarked, and lay there for two days and two nights, eating our hearts for weariness and sorrow. But when fair-tressed Dawn brought to its birth the third day,

10.145–149then I took my spear and my sharp sword, and quickly went up from the ship to a place of wide prospect, in the hope that I might see the works of men, and hear their voice. So I climbed to a rugged height, a place of outlook, and there took my stand, and I saw smoke rising from the broad-wayed earth

10.150–154in the halls of Circe, through the thick brush and the wood. And I debated in mind and heart, whether I should go and make search, when I had seen the flaming smoke. And as I pondered, this seemed to me to be the better way, to go first to the swift ship and the shore of the sea,

10.155–159and give my comrades their meal, and send them forth to make search. But when, as I went, I was near to the curved ship, then some god took pity on me in my loneliness, and sent a great, high-horned stag into my very path. He was coming down to the river from his pasture in the wood

10.185–189But when the sun set and darkness came on, then we lay down to rest on the shore of the sea. And as soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, I called my men together, and spoke among them all: “‘Hearken to my words, comrades, for all your evil plight.

10.190–194My friends, we know not where the darkness is or where the dawn, neither where the sun, who give light to mortals, goes beneath the earth, nor where he rises; but let us straightway take thought if any device be still left us. As for me I think not that there is. For I climbed to a rugged point of outlook, and beheld

10.195–199the island, about which is set as a crown the boundless deep. The isle itself lies low, and in the midst of it my eyes saw smoke through the thick brush and the wood.’ “So I spoke, and their spirit was broken within them, as they remembered the deeds of the Laestrygonian, Antiphates,

10.200–204and the violence of the great-hearted Cyclops, the man-eater. And they wailed aloud, and shed big tears. But no good came of their mourning. “Then I told off in two bands all my well-greaved comrades, and appointed a leader for each band.

10.205–209Of the one I took command, and of the other godlike Eurylochus. Quickly then we shook lots in a brazen helmet, and out leapt the lot of great-hearted Eurylochus. So he set out, and with him went two-and-twenty comrades, all weeping; and they left us behind, lamenting.

10.210–214Within the forest glades they found the house of Circe, built of polished stone in a place of wide outlook, and round about it were mountain wolves and lions, whom Circe herself had bewitched; for she gave them evil drugs. Yet these beasts did not rush upon my men,

10.215–219but pranced about them fawningly, wagging their long tails. And as when hounds fawn around their master as he comes from a feast, for he ever brings them bits to soothe their temper, so about them fawned the stout-clawed wolves and lions; but they were seized with fear, as they saw the dread monsters.

10.220–224So they stood in the gateway of the fair-tressed goddess, and within they heard Circe singing with sweet voice, as she went to and fro before a great imperishable web, such as is the handiwork of goddesses, finely-woven and beautiful, and glorious. Then among them spoke Polites, a leader of men,

10.225–229dearest to me of my comrades, and trustiest: “‘Friends, within someone goes to and fro before a great web, singing sweetly, so that all the floor echoes; some goddess it is, or some woman. Come, let us quickly call to her.’ “So he spoke, and they cried aloud, and called to her.

10.230–234And she straightway came forth and opened the bright doors, and bade them in; and all went with her in their folly. Only Eurylochus remained behind, for he suspected that there was a snare. She brought them in and made them sit on chairs and seats, and made for them a potion of cheese and barley meal and yellow honey

10.235–239with Pramnian wine; but in the food she mixed baneful drugs, that they might utterly forget their native land. Now when she had given them the potion, and they had drunk it off, then she presently smote them with her wand, and penned them in the sties. And they had the heads, and voice, and bristles,

10.240–244and shape of swine, but their minds remained unchanged even as before. So they were penned there weeping, and before them Circe flung mast and acorns, and the fruit of the cornel tree, to eat, such things as wallowing swine are wont to feed upon. “But Eurylochus came back straightway to the swift, black ship,

10.245–249to bring tiding of his comrades and their shameful doom. Not a word could he utter, for all his desire, so stricken to the heart was he with great distress, and his eyes were filled with tears, and his spirit was set on lamentation. But when we questioned him in amazement,

10.250–254then he told the fate of the others, his comrades. “‘We went through the thickets, as thou badest, noble Odysseus. We found in the forest glades a fair palace, built of polished stones, in a place of wide outlook. There someone was going to and fro before a great web, and singing with clear voice,

10.255–259some goddess or some woman, and they cried aloud, and called to her. And she came forth straightway, and opened the bright doors, and bade them in; and they all went with her in their folly. But I remained behind, for I suspected that there was a snare. Then they all vanished together, nor did one of them

10.260–264appear again, though I sat long and watched.’ “So he spoke, and I cast my silver-studded sword about my shoulders, a great sword of bronze, and slung my bow about me, and bade him lead me back by the self-same road. But he clasped me with both hands, and be sought me by my knees,

10.265–269and with wailing he spoke to me winged words: “‘Lead me not thither against my will, O thou fostered of Zeus, but leave me here. For I know that thou wilt neither come back thyself, nor bring anyone of thy comrades. Nay, with these that are here let us flee with all speed, for still we may haply escape the evil day.’

10.360–364But when the water boiled in the bright bronze, she set me in a bath, and bathed me with water from out the great cauldron, mixing it to my liking, and pouring it over my head and shoulders, till she took from my limbs soul-consuming weariness. But when she had bathed me, and anointed me richly with oil,

10.365–369and had cast about me a fair cloak and a tunic, she brought me into the hall, and made me sit upon a silver-studded chair—a beautiful chair, richly wrought, and beneath was a foot-stool for the feet. Then a handmaid brought water for the hands in a fair pitcher of gold, and poured it over a silver basin

10.370–374for me to wash, and beside me drew up a polished table. And the grave housewife brought and set before me bread, and therewith meats in abundance, granting freely of her store. Then she bade me eat, but my heart inclined not thereto. Rather, I sat with other thoughts, and my spirit boded ill.

10.375–379“Now when Circe noted that I sat thus, and did not put forth my hands to the food, but was burdened with sore grief, she came close to me, and spoke winged words: “‘Why, Odysseus, dost thou sit thus like one that is dumb, eating thy heart, and dost not touch food or drink?

10.380–384Dost thou haply forbode some other guile? Nay, thou needest in no wise fear, for already have I sworn a mighty oath to do thee no harm.’ “So she spoke, but I answered her, and said:‘Circe, what man that is right-minded could bring himself to taste of food or drink,

10.385–389ere yet he had won freedom for his comrades, and beheld them before his face? But if thou of a ready heart dost bid me eat and drink, set them free, that mine eyes may behold my trusty comrades.’ “So I spoke, and Circe went forth through the hall holding her wand in her hand, and opened the doors of the sty,

10.390–394and drove them out in the form of swine of nine years old. So they stood there before her, and she went through the midst of them, and anointed each man with another charm. Then from their limbs the bristles fell away which the baneful drug that queenly Circe gave them had before made to grow,

10.395–399and they became men again, younger than they were before, and far comelier and taller to look upon. They knew me, and clung to my hands, each man of them, and upon them all came a passionate sobbing, and the house about them rang wondrously, and the goddess herself was moved to pity.

10.400–404“Then the beautiful goddess drew near me, and said: ‘Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, go now to thy swift ship and to the shore of the sea. First of all do ye draw the ship up on the land, and store your goods and all the tackling in caves.

10.405–409Then come back thyself, and bring thy trusty comrades.’ “So she spoke, and my proud heart consented. I went my way to the swift ship and the shore of the sea, and there I found my trusty comrades by the swift ship, wailing piteously, shedding big tears.

10.410–414And as when calves in a farmstead sport about the droves of cows returning to the yard, when they have had their fill of grazing—all together they frisk before them, and the pens no longer hold them, but with constant lowing they run about their mothers—so those men, when their eyes beheld me,

10.415–419thronged about me weeping, and it seemed to their hearts as though they had got to their native land, and the very city of rugged Ithaca, where they were bred and born. And with wailing they spoke to me winged words: “‘At thy return, O thou fostered of Zeus, we are as glad

10.420–424as though we had returned to Ithaca, our native land. But come, tell the fate of the others, our comrades.’ “So they spoke, and I answered them with gentle words: ‘First of all let us draw the ship up on the land, and store our goods and all the tackling in caves.

10.460–464Nay, come, eat food and drink wine, until you once more get spirit in your breasts such as when at the first you left your native land of rugged Ithaca; but now ye are withered and spiritless, ever thinking of your weary wanderings, nor are your

10.465–469hearts ever joyful, for verily ye have suffered much.’ “So she spoke, and our proud hearts consented. So there day after day for a full year we abode, feasting on abundant flesh and sweet wine. But when a year was gone and the seasons turned,

10.470–474as the months waned and the long days were brought in their course, then my trusty comrades called me forth, and said: “‘Strange man, bethink thee now at last of thy native land, if it is fated for thee to be saved, and to reach thy high-roofed house and thy native land.’

10.475–479“So they spoke, and my proud heart consented. So then all day long till set of sun we sat feasting on abundant flesh and sweet wine. But when the sun set and darkness came on, they lay down to sleep throughout the shadowy halls,

10.480–484but I went up to the beautiful bed of Circe, and besought her by her knees; and the goddess heard my voice, and I spoke, and addressed her with winged words: “‘Circe, fulfil for me the promise which thou gavest to send me home; for my spirit is now eager to be gone,

10.485–489and the spirit of my comrades, who make my heart to pine, as they sit about me mourning, whensoever thou haply art not at hand.’ “So I spoke, and the beautiful goddess straightway made answer: ‘Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, abide ye now no longer in my house against your will;

10.490–494but you must first complete another journey, and come to the house of Hades and dread Persephone, to seek soothsaying of the spirit of Theban Teiresias, the blind seer, whose mind abides steadfast. To him even in death Persephone has granted reason,

10.495–499that he alone should have understanding; but the others flit about as shadows.’ “So she spoke, and my spirit was broken within me, and I wept as I sat on the bed, nor had my heart any longer desire to live and behold the light of the sun. But when I had my fill of weeping and writhing,

10.500–504then I made answer, and addressed her, saying: “‘O Circe, who will guide us on this journey? To Hades no man ever yet went in a black ship.’ “So I spoke, and the beautiful goddess straightway made answer: ‘Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices,

10.505–509let there be in thy mind no concern for a pilot to guide thy ship, but set up thy mast, and spread the white sail, and sit thee down; and the breath of the North Wind will bear her onward. But when in thy ship thou hast now crossed the stream of Oceanus, where is a level shore and the groves of Persephone—

10.510–514tall poplars, and willows that shed their fruit—there do thou beach thy ship by the deep eddying Oceanus, but go thyself to the dank house of Hades. There into Acheron flow Periphlegethon and Cocytus, which is a branch of the water of the Styx;

10.515–519and there is a rock, and the meeting place of the two roaring rivers. Thither, prince, do thou draw nigh, as I bid thee, and dig a pit of a cubit's length this way and that, and around it pour a libation to all the dead, first with milk and honey, thereafter with sweet wine,

10.520–524and in the third place with water, and sprinkle thereon white barley meal. And do thou earnestly entreat the powerless heads of the dead, vowing that when thou comest to Ithaca thou wilt sacrifice in thy halls a barren heifer, the best thou hast, and wilt fill the altar with rich gifts; and that to Teiresias alone thou wilt sacrifice separately a ram,

10.525–529wholly black, the goodliest of thy flock. But when with prayers thou hast made supplication to the glorious tribes of the dead, then sacrifice a ram and a black ewe, turning their heads toward Erebus but thyself turning backward, and setting thy face towards the streams of the river. Then many

10.530–534ghosts of men that are dead will come forth. But do thou thereafter call to thy comrades, and bid them flay and burn the sheep that lie there, slain by the pitiless bronze, and make prayer to the gods, to mighty Hades and to dread Persephone.

10.535–539And do thou thyself draw thy sharp sword from beside thy thigh, and sit there, not suffering the powerless heads of the dead to draw near to the blood, till thou hast enquired of Teiresias. Then the seer will presently come to thee, leader of men, and he will tell thee thy way and the measures of thy path,

10.540–544and of thy return, how thou mayest go over the teeming deep.’ “So she spoke, and straightway came golden-throned Dawn. Round about me then she cast a cloak and tunic as raiment, and the nymph clothed herself in a long white robe, finely-woven and beautiful, and about her waist she cast

10.545–549a fair girdle of gold, and upon her head she put a veil. But I went through the halls, and roused my men with gentle words, coming up to each man in turn. “‘No longer now sleep ye, and drowse in sweet slumber, but let us go; lo! queenly Circe has told me all.’

10.550–554“So I spoke, and their proud hearts consented. But not even from thence could I lead my men unscathed. There was one, Elpenor, the youngest of all, not over valiant in war nor sound of understanding, who had laid him down apart from his comrades in the sacred house of Circe,

10.555–559seeking the cool air, for he was heavy with wine. He heard the noise and the bustle of his comrades as they moved about, and suddenly sprang up, and forgot to go to the long ladder that he might come down again, but fell headlong from the roof, and his neck

10.560–564was broken away from the spine, and his spirit went down to the house of Hades. “But as my men were going on their way I spoke among them, saying: ‘Ye think, forsooth, that ye are going to your dear native land; but Circe has pointed out for us another journey, even to the house of Hades and dread Persephone,

10.565–569to consult the spirit of Theban Teiresias.’ “So I spoke, and their spirit was broken within them, and sitting down right where they were, they wept and tore their hair. But no good came of their lamenting. “But when we were on our way to the swift ship and the shore of the sea,

10.570–574sorrowing and shedding big tears, meanwhile Circe had gone forth and made fast beside the black ship a ram and a black ewe, for easily had she passed us by. Who with his eyes could behold a god against his will, whether going to or fro?

11.1–4“But when we had come down to the ship and to the sea, first of all we drew the ship down to the bright sea, and set the mast and sail in the black ship, and took the sheep and put them aboard,

11.5–9and ourselves embarked, sorrowing, and shedding big tears. And for our aid in the wake of our dark-prowed ship a fair wind that filled the sail, a goodly comrade, was sent by fair-tressed Circe, dread goddess of human speech. So when we had made fast all the tackling throughout the ship,

11.10–14we sat down, and the wind and the helms man made straight her course. All the day long her sail was stretched as she sped over the sea; and the sun set and all the ways grew dark. “She came to deep-flowing Oceanus, that bounds the Earth, where is the land and city of the Cimmerians,

11.15–19wrapped in mist and cloud. Never does the bright sun look down on them with his rays either when he mounts the starry heaven or when he turns again to earth from heaven, but baneful night is spread over wretched mortals.

11.20–24Thither we came and beached our ship, and took out the sheep, and ourselves went beside the stream of Oceanus until we came to the place of which Circe had told us. “Here Perimedes and Eurylochus held the victims, while I drew my sharp sword from beside my thigh,

11.25–29and dug a pit of a cubit's length this way and that, and around it poured a libation to all the dead, first with milk and honey, thereafter with sweet wine, and in the third place with water, and I sprinkled thereon white barley meal. And I earnestly entreated the powerless heads of the dead,

11.30–34vowing that when I came to Ithaca I would sacrifice in my halls a barren heifer, the best I had, and pile the altar with goodly gifts, and to Teiresias alone would sacrifice separately a ram, wholly black, the goodliest of my flocks. But when with vows and prayers

11.35–39I had made supplication to the tribes of the dead, I took the sheep and cut their throats over the pit, and the dark blood ran forth. Then there gathered from out of Erebus the spirits of those that are dead, brides, and unwedded youths, and toil-worn old men, and tender maidens with hearts yet new to sorrow,

11.40–44and many, too, that had been wounded with bronze-tipped spears, men slain in fight, wearing their blood-stained armour. These came thronging in crowds about the pit from every side, with a wondrous cry; and pale fear seized me. Then I called to my comrades and bade them flay and burn

11.45–49the sheep that lay there slain with the pitiless bronze, and to make prayer to the gods, to mighty Hades and dread Persephone. And I myself drew my sharp sword from beside my thigh and sat there, and would not suffer the powerless heads of the dead

11.50–54to draw near to the blood until I had enquired of Teiresias. “The first to come was the spirit of my comrade Elpenor. Not yet had he been buried beneath the broad-wayed earth, for we had left his corpse behind us in the hall of Circe, unwept and unburied, since another task was then urging us on.

11.55–59When I saw him I wept, and my heart had compassion on him; and I spoke and addressed him with winged words: “‘Elpenor, how didst thou come beneath the murky darkness? Thou coming on foot hast out-stripped me in my black ship.’ “So I spoke, and with a groan he answered me and said:

11.60–64‘Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, an evil doom of some god was my undoing, and measureless wine. When I had lain down to sleep in the house of Circe I did not think to go to the long ladder that I might come down again, but fell headlong from the roof, and my neck

11.65–69was broken away from the spine and my spirit went down to the house of Hades. Now I beseech thee by those whom we left behind, who are not present with us, by thy wife and thy father who reared thee when a babe, and by Telemachus whom thou didst leave an only son in thy halls; for I know that as thou goest hence from the house of Hades

11.70–74thou wilt touch at the Aeaean isle with thy well-built ship. There, then, O prince, I bid thee remember me. Leave me not behind thee unwept and unburied as thou goest thence, and turn not away from me, lest haply I bring the wrath of the gods upon thee. Nay, burn me with my armour, all that is mine,

11.75–79and heap up a mound for me on the shore of the grey sea, in memory of an unhappy man, that men yet to be may learn of me. Fulfil this my prayer, and fix upon the mound my oar wherewith I rowed in life when I was among my comrades.’ “So he spoke, and I made answer and said:

11.80–84‘All this, unhappy man, will I perform and do.’ “Thus we two sat and held sad converse one with the other, I on one side holding my sword over the blood, while on the other side the phantom of my comrade spoke at large. “Then there came up the spirit of my dead mother,

11.85–89Anticleia, the daughter of great-hearted Autolycus, whom I had left alive when I departed for sacred Ilios. At sight of her I wept, and my heart had compassion on her, but even so I would not suffer her to come near the blood, for all my great sorrow, until I had enquired of Teiresias.

11.90–94“Then there came up the spirit of the Theban Teiresias, bearing his golden staff in his hand, and he knew me and spoke to me: ‘Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, what now, hapless man? Why hast thou left the light of the sun and come hither to behold the dead and a region where is no joy?

11.95–99Nay, give place from the pit and draw back thy sharp sword, that I may drink of the blood and tell thee sooth.’ “So he spoke, and I gave place and thrust my silver-studded sword into its sheath, and when he had drunk the dark blood, then the blameless seer spoke to me and said:

11.100–104“‘Thou askest of thy honey-sweet return, glorious Odysseus, but this shall a god make grievous unto thee; for I think not that thou shalt elude the Earth-shaker, seeing that he has laid up wrath in his heart against thee, angered that thou didst blind his dear son. Yet even so ye may reach home, though in evil plight,

11.105–109if thou wilt curb thine own spirit and that of thy comrades, as soon as thou shalt bring thy well-built ship to the island Thrinacia, escaping from the violet sea, and ye find grazing there the kine and goodly flocks of Helios, who over sees and overhears all things.

11.110–114If thou leavest these unharmed and heedest thy homeward way, verily ye may yet reach Ithaca, though in evil plight. But if thou harmest them, then I foresee ruin for thy ship and thy comrades, and even if thou shalt thyself escape, late shalt thou come home and in evil case, after losing all thy comrades,

11.115–119in a ship that is another's, and thou shalt find woes in thy house—proud men that devour thy livelihood, wooing thy godlike wife, and offering wooers' gifts. Yet verily on their violent deeds shalt thou take vengeance when thou comest. But when thou hast slain the wooers in thy halls,

11.120–124whether by guile or openly with the sharp sword, then do thou go forth, taking a shapely oar, until thou comest to men that know naught of the sea and eat not of food mingled with salt, aye, and they know naught of ships with purple cheeks,

11.125–129or of shapely oars that are as wings unto ships. And I will tell thee a sign right manifest, which will not escape thee. When another wayfarer, on meeting thee, shall say that thou hast a winnowing-fan on thy stout shoulder, then do thou fix in the earth thy shapely oar

11.130–134and make goodly offerings to lord Poseidon—a ram, and a bull, and a boar that mates with sows—and depart for thy home and offer sacred hecatombs to the immortal gods who hold broad heaven, to each one in due order. And death shall come to thee thyself far from the sea,

11.135–139a death so gentle, that shall lay thee low when thou art overcome with sleek old age, and thy people shall dwell in prosperity around thee. In this have I told thee sooth.’ “So he spoke, and I made answer and said: ‘Teiresias, of all this, I ween, the gods themselves have spun the thread.

11.140–144But come, tell me this, and declare it truly. I see here the spirit of my dead mother; she sits in silence near the blood, and deigns not to look upon the face of her own son or to speak to him. Tell me, prince, how she may recognize that I am he?’

11.145–149“So I spoke, and he straightway made answer, and said: ‘Easy is the word that I shall say and put in thy mind. Whomsoever of those that are dead and gone thou shalt suffer to draw near the blood, he will tell thee sooth; but whomsoever thou refusest, he surely will go back again.’

11.150–154“So saying the spirit of the prince, Teiresias, went back into the house of Hades, when he had declared his prophecies; but I remained there steadfastly until my mother came up and drank the dark blood. At once then she knew me, and with wailing she spoke to me winged words:

11.155–159“‘My child, how didst thou come beneath the murky darkness, being still alive? Hard is it for those that live to behold these realms, for between are great rivers and dread streams; Oceanus first, which one may in no wise cross on foot, but only if one have a well-built ship.

11.160–164Art thou but now come hither from Troy after long wanderings with thy ship and thy companions? and hast thou not yet reached Ithaca, nor seen thy wife in thy halls?’ “So she spoke, and I made answer and said: ‘My mother, necessity brought me down to the house of Hades,

11.360–364Aye, and I should win more respect and love from all men who should see me when I had returned to Ithaca.” Then again Alcinous made answer and said:“Odysseus, in no wise as we look on thee do we deem this of thee, that thou art a cheat and a dissembler, such as are many

11.365–369whom the dark earth breeds scattered far and wide, men that fashion lies out of what no man can even see. But upon thee is grace of words, and within thee is a heart of wisdom, and thy tale thou hast told with skill, as doth a minstrel, even the grievous woes of all the Argives and of thine own self.

11.370–374But come, tell me this, and declare it truly, whether thou sawest any of thy godlike comrades, who went to Ilios together with thee, and there met their fate. The night is before us, long, aye, wondrous long, and it is not yet the time for sleep in the hall. Tell on, I pray thee, the tale of these wondrous deeds.

11.375–379Verily I could abide until bright dawn, so thou wouldest be willing to tell in the hall of these woes of thine.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered him and said: “Lord Alcinous, renowned above all men, there is a time for many words and there is a time also for sleep.

11.380–384But if thou art fain still to listen, I would not begrudge to tell thee of other things more pitiful still than these, even the woes of my comrades, who perished afterward, who escaped from the dread battle-cry of the Trojans, but perished on their return through the will of an evil woman.

11.385–389“When then holy Persephone had scattered this way and that the spirits of the women, there came up the spirit of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, sorrowing; and round about him others were gathered, spirits of all those who were slain with him in the house of Aegisthus, and met their fate.

11.390–394He knew me straightway, when he had drunk the dark blood, and he wept aloud, and shed big tears, and stretched forth his hands toward me eager to reach me. But no longer had he aught of strength or might remaining such as of old was in his supple limbs.

11.395–399“When I saw him I wept, and my heart had compassion on him, and I spoke, and addressed him with winged words: ‘Most glorious son of Atreus, king of men, Agamemnon, what fate of grievous death overcame thee? Did Poseidon smite thee on board thy ships,

11.400–404when he had roused a furious blast of cruel winds? Or did foemen work thee harm on the land, while thou wast cutting off their cattle and fair flocks of sheep, or wast fighting to win their city and their women?’ “So I spoke, and he straightway made answer and said:

11.405–409‘Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, neither did Poseidon smite me on board my ships, when he had roused a furious blast of cruel winds, nor did foemen work me harm on the land, but Aegisthus wrought for me death and fate,

11.410–414and slew me with the aid of my accursed wife, when he had bidden me to his house and made me a feast, even as one slays an ox at the stall. So I died by a most pitiful death, and round about me the rest of my comrades were slain unceasingly like white-tusked swine, which are slaughtered in the house of a rich man of great might

11.415–419at a marriage feast, or a joint meal, or a rich drinking-bout. Ere now thou hast been present at the slaying of many men, killed in single combat or in the press of the fight, but in heart thou wouldst have felt most pity hadst thou seen that sight, how about the mixing bowl and the laden tables

11.420–424we lay in the hall, and the floor all swam with blood. But the most piteous cry that I heard was that of the daughter of Priam, Cassandra, whom guileful Clytemnestra slew by my side. And I sought to raise my hands and smite down the murderess, dying though I was, pierced through with the sword. But she, the shameless one,

11.425–429turned her back upon me, and even though I was going to the house of Hades deigned neither to draw down my eyelids with her fingers nor to close my mouth. So true is it that there is nothing more dread or more shameless than a woman who puts into her heart such deeds, even as she too devised a monstrous thing,

11.430–434contriving death for her wedded husband. Verily I thought that I should come home welcome to my children and to my slaves; but she, with her heart set on utter wickedness, has shed shame on herself and on women yet to be, even upon her that doeth uprightly.’

11.435–439“So he spoke, and I made answer and said: ‘Ah, verily has Zeus, whose voice is borne afar, visited wondrous hatred on the race of Atreus from the first because of the counsels of women. For Helen's sake many of us perished, and against thee Clytemnestra spread a snare whilst thou wast afar.’

11.440–444“So I spoke, and he straightway made answer and said: ‘Wherefore in thine own case be thou never gentle even to thy wife. Declare not to her all the thoughts of thy heart, but tell her somewhat, and let somewhat also be hidden. Yet not upon thee, Odysseus, shall death come from thy wife,

11.445–449for very prudent and of an understanding heart is the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope. Verily we left her a bride newly wed, when we went to the war, and a boy was at her breast, a babe, who now, I ween, sits in the ranks of men,

11.450–454happy in that his dear father will behold him when he comes, and he will greet his father as is meet. But my wife did not let me sate my eyes even with sight of my own son. Nay, ere that she slew even me, her husband. And another thing will I tell thee, and do thou lay it to heart:

11.455–459in secret and not openly do thou bring thy ship to the shore of thy dear native land; for no longer is there faith in women. But, come, tell me this, and declare it truly, whether haply ye hear of my son as yet alive in Orchomenus it may be, or in sandy Pylos,

11.460–464or yet with Menelaus in wide Sparta; for not yet has goodly Orestes perished on the earth.’ “So he spoke, and I made answer and said: ‘Son of Atreus, wherefore dost thou question me of this? I know not at all whether he be alive or dead, and it is an ill thing to speak words vain as wind.’

11.465–469“Thus we two stood and held sad converse with one another, sorrowing and shedding big tears; and there came up the spirit of Achilles, son of Peleus, and those of Patroclus and of peerless Antilochus and of Aias, who in comeliness and form was the goodliest

11.470–474of all the Danaans after the peerless son of Peleus. And the spirit of the swift-footed son of Aeacus recognized me, and weeping, spoke to me winged words: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, rash man, what deed yet greater than this wilt thou devise in thy heart?

11.475–479How didst thou dare to come down to Hades, where dwell the unheeding dead, the phantoms of men outworn.’ “‘So he spoke, and I made answer and said:‘Achilles, son of Peleus, far the mightiest of the Achaeans, I came through need of Teiresias, if haply

11.480–484he would tell me some plan whereby I might reach rugged Ithaca. For not yet have I come near to the land of Achaea, nor have I as yet set foot on my own country, but am ever suffering woes; whereas than thou, Achilles, no man aforetime was more blessed nor shall ever be hereafter. For of old, when thou wast alive, we Argives honored thee even as the gods,

11.485–489and now that thou art here, thou rulest mightily among the dead. Wherefore grieve not at all that thou art dead, Achilles.’ “So I spoke, and he straightway made answer and said: ‘Nay, seek not to speak soothingly to me of death, glorious Odysseus. I should choose, so I might live on earth, to serve as the hireling of another,

12.10–14to fetch the body of the dead Elpenor. Straightway then we cut billets of wood and gave him burial where the headland runs furthest out to sea, sorrowing and shedding big tears. But when the dead man was burned, and the armour of the dead, we heaped up a mound and dragged on to it a pillar,

12.15–19and on the top of the mound we planted his shapely oar. “We then were busied with these several tasks, howbeit Circe was not unaware of our coming forth from the house of Hades, but speedily she arrayed herself and came, and her handmaids brought with her bread and meat in abundance and flaming red wine.

12.20–24And the beautiful goddess stood in our midst, and spoke among us, saying: “‘Rash men, who have gone down alive to the house of Hades to meet death twice, while other men die but once. Nay, come, eat food and drink wine here this whole day through; but at the coming of Dawn

12.25–29ye shall set sail, and I will point out the way and declare to you each thing, in order that ye may not suffer pain and woes through wretched ill-contriving either by sea or on land.’ “So she spoke, and our proud hearts consented. So then all day long till set of sun

12.30–34we sat feasting on abundant flesh and sweet wine. But when the sun set and darkness came on, they lay down to rest beside the stern cables of the ship; but Circe took me by the hand, and leading me apart from my dear comrades, made me to sit, and herself lay down close at hand and asked me all the tale.

12.35–39And I told her all in due order. Then queenly Circe spoke to me and said: “All these things have thus found an end; but do thou hearken as I shall tell thee, and a god shall himself bring it to thy mind. To the Sirens first shalt thou come, who

12.40–44beguile all men whosoever comes to them. Whoso in ignorance draws near to them and hears the Sirens' voice, he nevermore returns, that his wife and little children may stand at his side rejoicing, but the Sirens beguile him with their clear-toned song,

12.45–49as they sit in a meadow, and about them is a great heap of bones of mouldering men, and round the bones the skin is shrivelling. But do thou row past them, and anoint the ears of thy comrades with sweet wax, which thou hast kneaded, lest any of the rest may hear. But if thou thyself hast a will to listen,

12.50–54let them bind thee in the swift ship hand and foot upright in the step of the mast, and let the ropes be made fast at the ends to the mast itself, that with delight thou mayest listen to the voice of the two Sirens. And if thou shalt implore and bid thy comrades to loose thee, then let them bind thee with yet more bonds.

12.55–59But when thy comrades shall have rowed past these, thereafter I shall not fully say on which side thy course is to lie, but do thou thyself ponder it in mind, and I will tell thee of both ways. For on the one hand are beetling crags, and against them

12.60–64roars the great wave of dark-eyed Amphitrite; the Planctae do the blessed gods call these. Thereby not even winged things may pass, no, not the timorous doves that bear ambrosia to father Zeus, but the smooth rock ever snatches away one even of these,

12.65–69and the father sends in another to make up the tale. And thereby has no ship of men ever yet escaped that has come thither, but the planks of ships and bodies of men are whirled confusedly by the waves of the sea and the blasts of baneful fire. One seafaring ship alone has passed thereby,

12.70–74that Argo famed of all, on her voyage from Aeetes, and even her the wave would speedily have dashed there against the great crags, had not Here sent her through, for that Jason was dear to her. “‘Now on the other path are two cliffs, one of which reaches with its sharp peak to the broad heaven, and a dark cloud surrounds it.

12.75–79This never melts away, nor does clear sky ever surround that peak in summer or in harvest time. No mortal man could scale it or set foot upon the top, not though he had twenty hands and feet; for the rock is smooth, as if it were polished.

12.80–84And in the midst of the cliff is a dim cave, turned to the West, toward Erebus, even where you shall steer your hollow ship, glorious Odysseus. Not even a man of might could shoot an arrow from the hollow ship so as to reach into that vaulted cave.

12.85–89Therein dwells Scylla, yelping terribly. Her voice is indeed but as the voice of a new-born whelp, but she herself is an evil monster, nor would anyone be glad at sight of her, no, not though it were a god that met her. Verily she has twelve feet, all misshapen,

12.90–94and six necks, exceeding long, and on each one an awful head, and therein three rows of teeth, thick and close, and full of black death. Up to her middle she is hidden in the hollow cave, but she holds her head out beyond the dread chasm,

12.95–99and fishes there, eagerly searching around the rock for dolphins and sea-dogs and whatever greater beast she may haply catch, such creatures as deep-moaning Amphitrite rears in multitudes past counting. By her no sailors yet may boast that they have fled unscathed in their ship, for with each head she carries off

12.100–104a man, snatching him from the dark-prowed ship. “‘But the other cliff, thou wilt note, Odysseus, is lower—they are close to each other; thou couldst even shoot an arrow across—and on it is a great fig tree with rich foliage, but beneath this divine Charybdis sucks down the black water.

12.105–109Thrice a day she belches it forth, and thrice she sucks it down terribly. Mayest thou not be there when she sucks it down, for no one could save thee from ruin, no, not the Earth-shaker. Nay, draw very close to Scylla's cliff, and drive thy ship past quickly; for it is better far

12.110–114to mourn six comrades in thy ship than all together.’ “So she spoke, but I made answer and said:‘Come, I pray thee, goddess, tell me this thing truly, if in any wise I might escape from fell Charybids, and ward off that other, when she works harm to my comrades.’

12.115–119“So I spoke, and the beautiful goddess answered and said: ‘Rash man, lo, now again thy heart is set on the deeds of war and on toil. Wilt thou not yield even to the immortal gods? She is not mortal, but an immortal bane, dread, and dire, and fierce, and not to be fought with;

12.120–124there is no defence; to flee from her is bravest. For if thou tarriest to arm thyself by the cliff, I fear lest she may again dart forth and attack thee with as many heads and seize as many men as before. Nay, row past with all thy might, and call upon Crataiis,

12.125–129the mother of Scylla, who bore her for a bane to mortals. Then will she keep her from darting forth again. “‘And thou wilt come to the isle Thrinacia. There in great numbers feed the kine of Helios and his goodly flocks, seven herds of kine and as many fair flocks of sheep,

12.130–134and fifty in each. These bear no young, nor do they ever die, and goddesses are their shepherds, fair-tressed nymphs, Phaethusa and Lampetie, whom beautiful Neaera bore to Helios Hyperion. These their honored mother, when she had borne and reared them,

12.135–139sent to the isle Thrinacia to dwell afar, and keep the flocks of their father and his sleek kine. If thou leavest these unharmed and heedest thy homeward way, verily ye may yet reach Ithaca, though in evil plight. But if thou harmest them, then I foretell ruin

12.140–144for thy ship and for thy comrades, and even if thou shalt thyself escape, late shalt thou come home and in evil case, after losing all thy comrades.’ “So she spoke, and presently came golden-throned Dawn. Then the beautiful goddess departed up the island, but I went to the ship and roused my comrades

12.145–149themselves to embark and to loose the stern cables. So they went on board straightway and sat down upon the benches, and sitting well in order smote the grey sea with their oars. And for our aid in the wake of our dark-prowed ship a fair wind that filled the sail, a goodly comrade, was sent

12.150–154by fair-tressed Circe, dread goddess of human speech. So when we had straightway made fast all the tackling throughout the ship we sat down, but the wind and the helmsman guided the ship. “Then verily I spoke among my comrades, grieved at heart: ‘Friends, since it is not right that one or two alone should know

12.155–159the oracles that Circe, the beautiful goddess, told me, therefore will I tell them, in order that knowing them we may either die or, shunning death and fate, escape. First she bade us avoid the voice of the wondrous Sirens, and their flowery meadow.

12.160–164Me alone she bade to listen to their voice; but do ye bind me with grievous bonds, that I may abide fast where I am, upright in the step of the mast, and let the ropes be made fast at the ends to the mast itself; and if I implore and bid you to loose me, then do ye tie me fast with yet more bonds.’

12.165–169“Thus I rehearsed all these things and told them to my comrades. Meanwhile the well-built ship speedily came to the isle of the two Sirens, for a fair and gentle wind bore her on. Then presently the wind ceased and there was a windless calm, and a god lulled the waves to sleep.

12.170–174But my comrades rose up and furled the sail and stowed it in the hollow ship, and thereafter sat at the oars and made the water white with their polished oars of fir. But I with my sharp sword cut into small bits a great round cake of wax, and kneaded it with my strong hands,

12.175–179and soon the wax grew warm, forced by the strong pressure and the rays of the lord Helios Hyperion. Then I anointed with this the ears of all my comrades in turn; and they bound me in the ship hand and foot, upright in the step of the mast, and made the ropes fast at the ends to the mast itself;

12.180–184and themselves sitting down smote the grey sea with their oars. But when we were as far distant as a man can make himself heard when he shouts, driving swiftly on our way, the Sirens failed not to note the swift ship as it drew near, and they raised their clear-toned song: “‘Come hither, as thou farest, renowned Odysseus, great glory of the Achaeans;

12.185–189stay thy ship that thou mayest listen to the voice of us two. For never yet has any man rowed past this isle in his black ship until he has heard the sweet voice from our lips. Nay, he has joy of it, and goes his way a wiser man. For we know all the toils that in wide Troy

12.190–194the Argives and Trojans endured through the will of the gods, and we know all things that come to pass upon the fruitful earth.’ “So they spoke, sending forth their beautiful voice, and my heart was fain to listen, and I bade my comrades loose me, nodding to them with my brows; but they fell to their oars and rowed on.

12.195–199And presently Perimedes and Eurylochus arose and bound me with yet more bonds and drew them tighter. But when they had rowed past the Sirens, and we could no more hear their voice or their song, then straightway my trusty comrades took away the

12.200–204wax with which I had anointed their ears and loosed me from my bonds. “But when we had left the island, I presently saw smoke and a great billow, and heard a booming. Then from the hands of my men in their terror the oars flew, and splashed one and all in the swirl, and

12.205–209the ship stood still where it was, when they no longer plied with their hands the tapering oars. But I went through the ship and cheered my men with gentle words, coming up to each man in turn: “‘Friends, hitherto we have been in no wise ignorant of sorrow; surely this evil that besets us now is no greater than when the Cyclops

12.210–214penned us in his hollow cave by brutal strength; yet even thence we made our escape through my valor and counsel and wit; these dangers, too, methinks we shall some day remember. But now come, as I bid, let us all obey. Do you keep your seats on the benches

12.215–219and smite with your oars the deep surf of the sea, in the hope that Zeus may grant us to escape and avoid this death. And to thee, steersman, I give this command, and do thou lay it to heart, since thou wieldest the steering oar of the hollow ship. From this smoke and surf keep

12.220–224the ship well away and hug the cliff, lest, ere thou know it, the ship swerve off to the other side and thou cast us into destruction.’ “So I spoke, and they quickly hearkened to my words. But of Scylla I went not on to speak, a cureless bane, lest haply my comrades, seized with fear, should cease

12.225–229from rowing and huddle together in the hold. Then verily I forgot the hard command of Circe, whereas she bade me in no wise to arm myself; but when I had put on my glorious armour and grasped in my hand two long spears, I went to the fore-deck of the ship,

12.230–234whence I deemed that Scylla of the rock would first be seen, who was to bring ruin upon my comrades. But nowhere could I descry her, and my eyes grew weary as I gazed everywhere toward the misty rock. “We then sailed on up the narrow strait with wailing.

12.235–239For on one side lay Scylla and on the other divine Charybdis terribly sucked down the salt water of the sea. Verily whenever she belched it forth, like a cauldron on a great fire she would seethe and bubble in utter turmoil, and high over head the spray would fall on the tops of both the cliffs.

12.240–244But as often as she sucked down the salt water of the sea, within she could all be seen in utter turmoil, and round about the rock roared terribly, while beneath the earth appeared black with sand; and pale fear seized my men. So we looked toward her and feared destruction;

12.245–249but meanwhile Scylla seized from out the hollow ship six of my comrades who were the best in strength and in might. Turning my eyes to the swift ship and to the company of my men, even then I noted above me their feet and hands as they were raised aloft. To me they cried aloud, calling upon me

12.250–254by name for that last time in anguish of heart. And as a fisher on a jutting rock, when he casts in his baits as a snare to the little fishes, with his long pole lets down into the sea the horn of an ox of the steading, and then as he catches a fish flings it writhing ashore,

12.255–259even so were they drawn writhing up towards the cliffs. Then at her doors she devoured them shrieking and stretching out their hands toward me in their awful death-struggle. Most piteous did mine eyes behold that thing of all that I bore while I explored the paths of the sea.

12.260–264“Now when we had escaped the rocks, and dread Charybdis and Scylla, presently then we came to the goodly island of the god, where were the fair kine, broad of brow, and the many goodly flocks of Helios Hyperion. Then while I was still out at sea in my black ship,

12.265–269I heard the lowing of the cattle that were being stalled and the bleating of the sheep, and upon my mind fell the words of the blind seer, Theban Teiresias, and of Aeaean Circe, who very straitly charged me to shun the island of Helios, who gives joy to mortals.

12.270–274Then verily I spoke among my comrades, grieved at heart: “‘Hear my words, comrades, for all your evil plight, that I may tell you the oracles of Teiresias and of Aeaean Circe, who very straitly charged me to shun the island of Helios, who gives joy to mortals;

12.275–279for there, she said, was our most terrible bane. Nay, row the black ship out past the island.’ “So I spoke, but their spirit was broken within them, and straightway Eurylochus answered me with hateful words: “‘Hardy art thou, Odysseus; thou hast strength beyond that of other men and thy limbs never

12.280–284grow weary. Verily thou art wholly wrought of iron, seeing that thou sufferest not thy comrades, worn out with toil and drowsiness, to set foot on shore, where on this sea-girt isle we might once more make ready a savoury supper; but thou biddest us even as we are to wander on through the swift night,

12.285–289driven away from the island over the misty deep. It is from the night that fierce winds are born, wreckers of ships. How could one escape utter destruction, if haply there should suddenly come a blast of the South Wind or the blustering West Wind, which oftenest

12.290–294wreck ships in despite of the sovereign gods? Nay, verily for this time let us yield to black night and make ready our supper, remaining by the swift ship, and in the morning we will go aboard, and put out into the broad sea.’ “So spoke Eurylochus, and the rest of my comrades gave assent.

12.295–299Then verily I knew that some god was assuredly devising ill, and I spoke and addressed him with winged words: “‘Eurylochus, verily ye constrain me, who stand alone. But come now, do ye all swear to me a mighty oath, to the end that, if we haply find a herd of kine or a great flock of sheep,

12.300–304no man may slay either cow or sheep in the blind folly of his mind; but be content to eat the food which immortal Circe gave.’ “So I spoke; and they straightway swore that they would not, even as I bade them. But when they had sworn and made an end of the oath,

12.305–309we moored our well-built ship in the hollow harbor near a spring of sweet water, and my comrades went forth from the ship and skilfully made ready their supper. But when they had put from them the desire of food and drink, then they fell to weeping, as they remembered their dear comrades

12.310–314whom Scylla had snatched from out the hollow ship and devoured; and sweet sleep came upon them as they wept. But when it was the third watch of the night, and the stars had turned their course, Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, roused against us a fierce wind with a wondrous tempest, and hid with clouds

12.315–319the land and sea alike, and night rushed down from heaven. And as soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, we dragged our ship, and made her fast in a hollow cave, where were the fair dancing-floors and seats of the nymphs. Then I called my men together and spoke among them:

12.320–324“‘Friends, in our swift ship is meat and drink; let us therefore keep our hands from those kine lest we come to harm, for these are the cows and goodly sheep of a dread god, even of Helios, who oversees all things and overhears all things.’ “So I spoke, and their proud hearts consented.

12.325–329Then for a full month the South Wind blew unceasingly, nor did any other wind arise except the East and the South. “Now so long as my men had grain and red wine they kept their hands from the kine, for they were eager to save their lives. But when all the stores had been consumed from out the ship,

12.330–334and now they must needs roam about in search of game, fishes, and fowl, and whatever might come to their hands—fishing with bent hooks, for hunger pinched their bellies—then I went apart up the island that I might pray to the gods in the hope that one of them might show me a way to go.

12.335–339And when, as I went through the island, I had got away from my comrades, I washed my hands in a place where there was shelter from the wind, and prayed to all the gods that hold Olympus; but they shed sweet sleep upon my eyelids. And meanwhile Eurylochus began to give evil counsel to my comrades:

12.340–344“‘Hear my words, comrades, for all your evil plight. All forms of death are hateful to wretched mortals, but to die of hunger, and so meet one's doom, is the most pitiful. Nay, come, let us drive off the best of the kine of Helios and offer sacrifice to the immortals who hold broad heaven.

12.345–349And if we ever reach Ithaca, our native land, we will straightway build a rich temple to Helios Hyperion and put therein many goodly offerings. And if haply he be wroth at all because of his straight-horned kine, and be minded to destroy our ship, and the other gods consent,

12.350–354rather would I lose my life once for all with a gulp at the wave, than pine slowly away in a desert isle.’ “So spoke Eurylochus, and the rest of my comrades gave assent. Straightway they drove off the best of the kine of Helios from near at hand, for not far from the dark-prowed ship

12.355–359were grazing the fair, sleek kine, broad of brow. Around these, then, they stood and made prayer to the gods, plucking the tender leaves from off a high-crested oak; for they had no white barley on board the well-benched ship. Now when they had prayed and had cut the throats of the kine and flayed them,

12.360–364they cut out the thigh-pieces and covered them with a double layer of fat and laid raw flesh upon them. They had no wine to pour over the blazing sacrifice, but they made libations with water, and roasted all the entrails over the fire. Now when the thighs were wholly burned and they had tasted the inner parts,

12.365–369they cut up the rest and spitted it. Then it was that sweet sleep fled from my eyelids, and I went my way to the swift ship and the shore of the sea. But when, as I went, I drew near to the curved ship, then verily the hot savour of the fat was wafted about me,

12.370–374and I groaned and cried aloud to the immortal gods: “‘Father Zeus and ye other blessed gods that are for ever, verily it was for my ruin that ye lulled me in pitiless sleep, while my comrades remaining behind have contrived a monstrous deed.’ “Swiftly then to Helios Hyperion came

12.375–379Lampetie of the long robes, bearing tidings that we had slain his kine; and straightway he spoke among the immortals, wroth at heart: “‘Father Zeus and ye other blessed gods that are for ever, take vengeance now on the comrades of Odysseus, son of Laertes, who have insolently slain my kine, in which I

12.380–384ever took delight, when I went toward the starry heaven and when I turned back again to earth from heaven. If they do not pay me fit atonement for the kine I will go down to Hades and shine among the dead.’ “Then Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, answered him and said:

12.385–389‘Helios, do thou verily shine on among the immortals and among mortal men upon the earth, the giver of grain. As for these men I will soon smite their swift ship with my bright thunder-bolt, and shatter it to pieces in the midst of the wine-dark sea.’ “This I heard from fair-haired Calypso,

12.390–394and she said that she herself had heard it from the messenger Hermes. “But when I had come down to the ship and to the sea I upbraided my men, coming up to each in turn, but we could find no remedy—the kine were already dead. For my men, then, the gods straightway shewed forth portents.

12.395–399The hides crawled, the flesh, both roast and raw, bellowed upon the spits, and there was a lowing as of kine. “For six days, then, my trusty comrades feasted on the best of the kine of Helios which they had driven off. But when Zeus, the son of Cronos, brought upon us the seventh day,

12.400–404then the wind ceased to blow tempestuously, and we straightway went on board, and put out into the broad sea when we had set up the mast and hoisted the white sail. “But when we had left that island and no other land appeared, but only sky and sea,

12.405–409then verily the son of Cronos set a black cloud above the hollow ship, and the sea grew dark beneath it. She ran on for no long time, for straightway came the shrieking West Wind, blowing with a furious tempest, and the blast of the wind snapped both the fore-stays of the mast,

12.410–414so that the mast fell backward and all its tackling was strewn in the bilge. On the stern of the ship the mast struck the head of the pilot and crushed all the bones of his skull together, and like a diver he fell from the deck and his proud spirit left his bones.

12.415–419Therewith Zeus thundered and hurled his bolt upon the ship, and she quivered from stem to stern, smitten by the bolt of Zeus, and was filled with sulphurous smoke, and my comrades fell from out the ship. Like sea-crows they were borne on the waves about the black ship, and the god took from them their returning.

12.420–424But I kept pacing up and down the ship till the surge tore the sides from the keel, and the wave bore her on dismantled and snapped the mast off at the keel; but over the mast had been flung the back-stay fashioned of ox-hide; with this I lashed the two together, both keel and mast,

12.425–429and sitting on these was borne by the direful winds. “Then verily the West Wind ceased to blow tempestuously, and swiftly the South Wind came, bringing sorrow to my heart, that I might traverse again the way to baneful Charybdis. All night long was I borne, and at the rising of the sun

12.430–434I came to the cliff of Scylla and to dread Charybdis. She verily sucked down the salt water of the sea, but I, springing up to the tall fig-tree, laid hold of it, and clung to it like a bat. Yet I could in no wise plant my feet firmly or climb upon the tree,

12.435–439for its roots spread far below and its branches hung out of reach above, long and great, and overshadowed Charybdis. There I clung steadfastly until she should vomit forth mast and keel again, and to my joy they came at length. At the hour when a man rises from the assembly for his supper,

12.440–444one that decides the many quarrels of young men that seek judgment, even at that hour those spars appeared from out Charybdis. And I let go hands and feet from above and plunged down into the waters out beyond the long spars, and sitting on these I rowed onward with my hands.

12.445–449But as for Scylla, the father of gods and men did not suffer her again to catch sight of me, else should I never have escaped utter destruction. “Thence for nine days was I borne, and on the tenth night the gods brought me to Ogygia, where the fair-tressed Calypso dwells, dread goddess of human speech,

12.450–454who gave me welcome and tendance. But why should I tell thee this tale? For it was but yesterday that I told it in thy hall to thyself and to thy noble wife. It is an irksome thing, meseems, to tell again a plain-told tale.”

13.160–164he went his way to Scheria, where the Phaeacians dwell, and there he waited. And she drew close to shore, the seafaring ship, speeding swiftly on her way. Then near her came the Earth-shaker and turned her to stone, and rooted her fast beneath by a blow of the flat of his hand, and then he was gone.

13.165–169But they spoke winged words to one another, the Phaeacians of the long oars, men famed for their ships. And thus would one speak, with a glance at his neighbor: “Ah me, who has now bound our swift ship on the sea as she sped homeward? Lo, she was in plain sight.”

13.170–174So would one of them speak, but they knew not how these things were to be. Then Alcinous addressed their company and said: “Lo now, verily the oracles of my father, uttered long ago, have come upon me. He was wont to say that Poseidon was wroth with us because we give safe convoy to all men.

13.175–179He said that some day, as a beautiful ship of the Phaeacians was returning from a convoy over the misty deep, Poseidon would smite her, and would fling a great mountain about our town. So that old man spoke, and lo, now all this is being brought to pass. But now come, as I bid let us all obey.

13.180–184Cease ye to give convoy to mortals, when anyone comes to our city, and let us sacrifice to Poseidon twelve choice bulls, if haply he may take pity, and not fling a lofty mountain about our town.” So he spoke, and they were seized with fear and made ready the bulls.

13.185–189Thus they were praying to the lord Poseidon, the leaders and counsellors of the land of the Phaeacians, as they stood about the altar, but Odysseus awoke out of his sleep in his native land. Yet he knew it not after his long absence, for about him the goddess had shed a mist,

13.190–194even Pallas Athena, daughter of Zeus, that she might render him unknown, and tell him all things, so that his wife might not know him, nor his townsfolk, nor his friends, until the wooers had paid the full price of all their transgressions. Therefore all things seemed strange to their lord,

13.195–199the long paths, the bays offering safe anchorage, the sheer cliffs, and the luxuriant trees. So he sprang up and stood and looked upon his native land, and then he groaned and smote both of his thighs with the flat of his hands, and mournfully spoke, and said:

13.200–204“Woe is me, to the land of what mortals am I now come? Are they cruel, and wild, and unjust, or do they love strangers and fear the gods in their thoughts? Whither shall I bear all this wealth, or whither shall I myself go wandering on? Would that I had remained there among the Phaeacians,

13.205–209and had then come to some other of the mighty kings, who would have entertained me and sent me on my homeward way. But now I know not where to bestow this wealth; yet here will I not leave it, lest haply it become the spoil of others to my cost. Out upon them; not wholly wise, it seems, nor just

13.210–214were the leaders and counsellors of the Phaeacians who have brought me to a strange land. Verily they said that they would bring me to clear-seen Ithaca, but they have not made good their word. May Zeus, the suppliant's god, requite them, who watches over all men, and punishes him that sins.

13.215–219But come, I will number the goods, and go over them, lest to my cost these men have carried off aught with them in the hollow ship.” So he spake, and set him to count the beautiful tripods, and the cauldrons, and the gold, and the fair woven raiment, and of these he missed nothing. Then, mournfully longing for his native land,

13.220–224he paced by the shore of the loud-sounding sea, uttering many a moan. And Athena drew near him in the form of a young man, a herdsman of sheep, one most delicate, as are the sons of princes. In a double fold about her shoulders she wore a well-wrought cloak,

13.225–229and beneath her shining feet she had sandals, and in her hands a spear. Then Odysseus was glad at sight of her, and came to meet her, and he spoke, and addressed her with winged words: “Friend, since thou art the first to whom I have come in this land, hail to thee, and mayst thou meet me with no evil mind.

13.230–234Nay, save this treasure, and save me; for to thee do I pray, as to a god, and am come to thy dear knees. And tell me this also truly, that I may know full well. What land, what people is this? What men dwell here? Is it some clear-seen island, or a shore

13.235–239of the deep-soiled mainland that lies resting on the sea?” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “A fool art thou, stranger, or art come from far, if indeed thou askest of this land. Surely it is no wise so nameless, but full many know it,

13.240–244both all those who dwell toward the dawn and the sun, and all those that are behind toward the murky darkness. It is a rugged isle, not fit for driving horses, yet it is not utterly poor, though it be but narrow. Therein grows corn beyond measure, and the wine-grape as well,

13.245–249and the rain never fails it, nor the rich dew. It is a good land for pasturing goats and kine; there are trees of every sort, and in it also pools for watering that fail not the year through. Therefore, stranger, the name of Ithaca has reached even to the land of Troy which, they say, is far from this land of Achaea.”

13.250–254So she spake, and the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus was glad, and rejoiced in his land, the land of his fathers, as he heard the word of Pallas Athena, daughter of Zeus, who bears the aegis; and he spoke, and addressed her with winged words; yet he spoke not the truth, but checked the word ere it was uttered,

13.255–259ever revolving in his breast thoughts of great cunning: “I heard of Ithaca, even in broad Crete, far over the sea; and now have I myself come hither with these my goods. And I left as much more with my children, when I fled the land, after I had slain the dear son of Idomeneus,

13.260–264Orsilochus, swift of foot, who in broad Crete surpassed in fleetness all men that live by toil. Now he would have robbed me of all that booty of Troy, for which I had borne grief of heart, passing through wars of men and the grievous waves,

13.265–269for that I would not shew favour to his father, and serve as his squire in the land of the Trojans, but commanded other men of my own. So I smote him with my bronze-tipped spear as he came home from the field, lying in wait for him with one of my men by the roadside. A dark night covered the heavens, and no

13.270–274man was ware of us, but unseen I took away his life. Now when I had slain him with the sharp bronze, I went straightway to a ship, and made prayer to the lordly Phoenicians, giving them booty to satisfy their hearts. I bade them take me aboard and land me at Pylos,

13.275–279or at goodly Elis, where the Epeans hold sway. Yet verily the force of the wind thrust them away from thence, sore against their will, nor did they purpose to play me false; but driven wandering from thence we came hither by night. With eager haste we rowed on into the harbor, nor had we any

13.295–299and deceitful tales, which thou lovest from the bottom of thine heart. But come, let us no longer talk of this, being both well versed in craft, since thou art far the best of all men in counsel and in speech, and I among all the gods am famed for wisdom and craft. Yet thou didst not know

13.300–304Pallas Athena, daughter of Zeus, even me, who ever stand by thy side, and guard thee in all toils. Aye, and I made thee beloved by all the Phaeacians. And now am I come hither to weave a plan with thee, and to hide all the treasure, which the lordly Phaeacians

13.305–309gave thee by my counsel and will, when thou didst set out for home; and to tell thee all the measure of woe it is thy fate to fulfil in thy well-built house. But do thou be strong, for bear it thou must, and tell no man of them all nor any woman that thou hast come back from thy wanderings, but in silence

13.310–314endure thy many griefs, and submit to the violence of men.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: “Hard is it, goddess, for a mortal man to know thee when he meets thee, how wise soever he be, for thou takest what shape thou wilt. But this I know well, that of old thou wast kindly toward me,

13.315–319so long as we sons of the Achaeans were warring in the land of Troy. But after we had sacked the lofty city of Priam, and had gone away in our ships, and a god had scattered the Achaeans, never since then have I seen thee, daughter of Zeus, nor marked thee coming on board my ship, that thou mightest ward off sorrow from me.

13.320–324Nay, I ever wandered on, bearing in my breast a stricken heart, till the gods delivered me from evil, even until in the rich land of the Phaeacians thou didst cheer me with thy words, and thyself lead me to their city. But now I beseech thee by thy father—for I think not

13.325–329that I am come to clear-seen Ithaca; nay, it is some other land over which I roam, and thou, methinks, dost speak thus in mockery to beguile my mind—tell me whether in very truth I am come to my dear native land.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him:

13.330–334“Ever such is the thought in thy breast, and therefore it is that I cannot leave thee in thy sorrow, for thou art soft of speech, keen of wit, and prudent. Eagerly would another man on his return from wanderings have hastened to behold in his halls his children and his wife;

13.335–339but thou art not yet minded to know or learn of aught, till thou hast furthermore proved thy wife, who abides as of old in her halls, and ever sorrowfully for her the nights and days wane, as she weeps. But as for me, I never doubted of this, but in my heart

13.340–344knew it well, that thou wouldest come home after losing all thy comrades. Yet, thou must know, I was not minded to strive against Poseidon, my father's brother, who laid up wrath in his heart against thee, angered that thou didst blind his dear son. But come, I will shew thee the land of Ithaca, that thou mayest be sure.

13.345–349This is the harbor of Phorcys, the old man of the sea, and here at the head of the harbor is the long-leafed olive tree, and near it is the pleasant, shadowy cave, sacred to the nymphs that are called Naiads. This, thou must know, is the vaulted cave in which thou

13.350–354wast wont to offer to the nymphs many hecatombs that bring fulfillment; and yonder is Mount Neriton, clothed with its forests.” So spake the goddess, and scattered the mist, and the land appeared. Glad then was the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus, rejoicing in his own land, and he kissed the earth, the giver of grain.

13.355–359And straightway he prayed to the nymphs with upstretched hands: “Ye Naiad Nymphs, daughters of Zeus, never did I think to behold you again, but now I hail you with loving prayers. Aye, and gifts too will I give, as aforetime, if the daughter of Zeus, she that drives the spoil, shall graciously grant me

13.360–364to live, and shall bring to manhood my dear son.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him again: “Be of good cheer, and let not these things distress thy heart. But let us now forthwith set thy goods in the innermost recess of the wondrous cave, where they may abide for thee in safety,

13.365–369and let us ourselves take thought how all may be far the best.” So saying, the goddess entered the shadowy cave and searched out its hiding-places. And Odysseus brought all the treasure thither, the gold and the stubborn bronze and the finely-wrought raiment, which the Phaeacians gave him.

13.370–374These things he carefully laid away, and Pallas Athena, daughter of Zeus, who bears the aegis, set a stone at the door. Then the two sat them down by the trunk of the sacred olive tree, and devised death for the insolent wooers. And the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, was the first to speak, saying:

13.375–379“Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, take thought how thou mayest put forth thy hands on the shameless wooers, who now for three years have been lording it in thy halls, wooing thy godlike wife, and offering wooers' gifts. And she, as she mournfully looks for thy coming,

13.380–384offers hopes to all, and has promises for each man, sending them messages, but her mind is set on other things.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: “Lo now, of a surety I was like to have perished in my halls by the evil fate of Agamemnon, son of Atreus,

13.385–389hadst not thou, goddess, duly told me all. But come, weave some plan by which I may requite them; and stand thyself by my side, and endue me with dauntless courage, even as when we loosed the bright diadem of Troy. Wouldest thou but stand by my side, thou flashing-eyed one, as eager as thou wast then,

13.390–394I would fight even against three hundred men, with thee, mighty goddess, if with a ready heart thou wouldest give me aid.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “Yea verily, I will be with thee, and will not forget thee, when we are busied with this work; and methinks many a one

13.395–399of the wooers that devour thy substance shall bespatter the vast earth with his blood and brains. But come, I will make thee unknown to all mortals. I will shrivel the fair skin on thy supple limbs, and destroy the flaxen hair from off thy head, and clothe thee in a ragged garment,

13.400–404such that one would shudder to see a man clad therein. And I will dim thy two eyes that were before so beautiful, that thou mayest appear mean in the sight of all the wooers, and of thy wife, and of thy son, whom thou didst leave in thy halls. And for thyself, do thou go first of all

13.405–409to the swineherd who keeps thy swine, and withal has a kindly heart towards thee, and loves thy son and constant Penelope. Thou wilt find him abiding by the swine, and they are feeding by the rock of Corax and the spring Arethusa, eating acorns to their heart's content and

13.410–414drinking the black water, things which cause the rich flesh of swine to wax fat. There do thou stay, and sitting by his side question him of all things, while I go to Sparta, the land of fair women, to summon thence Telemachus, thy dear son, Odysseus, who went to spacious Lacedaemon to the house of Menelaus,

13.415–419to seek tidings of thee, if thou wast still anywhere alive.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her: “Why then, I pray thee, didst thou not tell him, thou whose mind knows all things? Nay, was it haply that he too might suffer woes, wandering over the unresting sea, and that others might devour his substance?”

13.420–424Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “Nay verily, not for him be thy heart overmuch troubled. It was I that guided him, that he might win good report by going thither, and he has no toil, but sits in peace in the palace of the son of Atreus, and good cheer past telling is before him.

13.425–429Truly young men in a black ship lie in wait for him, eager to slay him before he comes to his native land, but methinks this shall not be. Ere that shall the earth cover many a one of the wooers that devour thy substance.” So saying, Athena touched him with her wand.

13.430–434She withered the fair flesh on his supple limbs, and destroyed the flaxen hair from off his head, and about all his limbs she put the skin of an aged old man. And she dimmed his two eyes that were before so beautiful, and clothed him in other raiment,

13.435–439a vile ragged cloak and a tunic, tattered garments and foul, begrimed with filthy smoke. And about him she cast the great skin of a swift hind, stripped of the hair, and she gave him a staff, and a miserable wallet, full of holes, slung by a twisted cord. So when the two had thus taken counsel together, they parted; and thereupon the goddess

13.440–444went to goodly Lacedaemon to fetch the son of Odysseus.

14.1–4But Odysseus went forth from the harbor by the rough path up over the woodland and through the heights to the place where Athena had shewed him that he should find the goodly swineherd, who cared for his substance above all the slaves that goodly Odysseus had gotten.

14.5–9He found him sitting in the fore-hall of his house, where his court was built high in a place of wide outlook, a great and goodly court with an open space around it. This the swineherd had himself built for the swine of his master, that was gone, without the knowledge of his mistress and the old man Laertes.

14.10–14With huge stones had he built it, and set on it a coping of thorn. Without he had driven stakes the whole length, this way and that, huge stakes, set close together, which he had made by splitting an oak to the black core; and within the court he had made twelve sties close by one another, as beds for the swine, and in each one

14.15–19were penned fifty wallowing swine, females for breeding; but the boars slept without. These were far fewer in numbers, for on them the godlike wooers feasted, and lessened them, for the swineherd ever sent in the best of all the fatted hogs,

14.20–24which numbered three hundred and sixty. By these ever slept four dogs, savage as wild beasts, which the swineherd had reared, a leader of men. But he himself was fitting boots about his feet, cutting an ox-hide of good color, while the others

14.25–29had gone, three of them, one here one there, with the droves of swine; and the fourth he had sent to the city to drive perforce a boar to the insolent wooers, that they might slay it and satisfy their souls with meat. Suddenly then the baying hounds caught sight of Odysseus,

14.30–34and rushed upon him with loud barking, but Odysseus sat down in his cunning, and the staff fell from his hand. Then even in his own farmstead would he have suffered cruel hurt, but the swineherd with swift steps followed after them, and hastened through the gateway, and the hide fell from his hand.

14.35–39He called aloud to the dogs, and drove them this way and that with a shower of stones, and spoke to his master, and said: “Old man, verily the dogs were like to have torn thee to pieces all of a sudden, and on me thou wouldest have shed reproach. Aye, and the gods have given me other griefs and sorrow.

14.40–44It is for a godlike master that I mourn and grieve, as I abide here, and rear fat swine for other men to eat, while he haply in want of food wanders over the land and city of men of strange speech, if indeed he still lives and sees the light of the sun.

14.45–49But come with me, let us go to the hut, old man, that when thou hast satisfied thy heart with food and wine, thou too mayest tell whence thou art, and all the woes thou hast endured.” So saying, the goodly swineherd led him to the hut, and brought him in, and made him sit, strowing beneath thick brushwood,

14.50–54and thereon spreading the skin of a shaggy wild goat, large and hairy, on which he was himself wont to sleep. And Odysseus was glad that he gave him such welcome, and spoke, and addressed him: “Stranger, may Zeus and the other immortal gods grant thee what most thou desirest, since thou with a ready heart hast given me welcome.”

14.55–59To him then, swineherd Eumaeus, didst thou make answer, and say: “Nay, stranger, it were not right for me, even though one meaner than thou were to come, to slight a stranger: for from Zeus are all strangers and beggars, and a gift, though small, is welcome from such as we; since this is the lot of slaves,

14.60–64ever in fear when over them as lords their masters hold sway—young masters such as ours. For verily the gods have stayed the return of him who would have loved me with all kindness, and would have given me possessions of my own, a house and a bit of land, and a wife, sought of many wooers, even such things as a kindly master gives to his thrall

14.65–69who has toiled much for him, and whose labour the god makes to prosper, even as this work of mine prospers, to which I give heed. Therefore would my master have richly rewarded me, if he had grown old here at home: but he perished—as I would all the kindred of Helen had perished in utter ruin, since she loosened the knees of many warriors.

14.70–74For he too went forth to win recompense for Agamemnon to Ilios, famed for its horses, that he might fight with the Trojans.” So saying, he quickly bound up his tunic with his belt, and went to the sties, where the tribes of swine were penned. Choosing two from thence, he brought them in and slew them both,

14.75–79and singed, and cut them up, and spitted them. Then, when he had roasted all, he brought and set it before Odysseus, hot upon the spits, and sprinkled over it white barley meal. Then in a bowl of ivy wood he mixed honey-sweet wine, and himself sat down over against Odysseus, and bade him to his food, and said:

14.80–84“Eat now, stranger, such food as slaves have to offer, meat of young pigs; the fatted hogs the wooers eat, who reck not in their hearts of the wrath of the gods, nor have any pity. Verily the blessed gods love not reckless deeds, but they honor justice and the righteous deeds of men.

14.85–89Even cruel foemen that set foot on the land of others, and Zeus gives them booty, and they fill their ships and depart for home—even on the hearts of these falls great fear of the wrath of the gods. But these men here, look you, know somewhat, and have heard some voice of a god

14.90–94regarding my master's pitiful death, seeing that they will not woo righteously, nor go back to their own, but at their ease they waste our substance in insolent wise, and there is no sparing. For every day and night that comes from Zeus they sacrifice not one victim nor two alone,

14.95–99and they draw forth wine, and waste it in insolent wise. Verily his substance was great past telling, so much has no lord either on the dark mainland or in Ithaca itself; nay, not twenty men together have wealth so great. Lo, I will tell thee the tale thereof;

14.100–104twelve herds of kine has he on the mainland; as many flocks of sheep; as many droves of swine; as many packed herds of goats do herdsmen, both foreigners and of his own people, pasture. And here too graze roving herds of goats on the borders of the island, eleven in all, and over them trusty men keep watch.

14.105–109And each man of these ever drives up day by day one of his flock for the wooers, even that one of the fatted goats which seems to him the best. But as for me, I guard and keep these swine, and choose out with care and send them the best of the boars.” So he spoke, but Odysseus eagerly ate flesh and drank wine,

14.110–114greedily, in silence, and was sowing the seeds of evil for the wooers. But when he had dined, and satisfied his soul with food, then the swineherd filled the bowl from which he was himself wont to drink, and gave it him brim full of wine, and he took it, and was glad at heart; and he spoke, and addressed him with winged words:

14.115–119“Friend, who was it who bought thee with his wealth, a man so very rich and mighty, as thou tellest? Thou saidest that he died to win recompense for Agamemnon; tell me, if haply I may know him, being such an one. For Zeus, I ween, and the other immortal gods know

14.120–124whether I have seen him, and could bring tidings; for I have wandered far.” Then the swineherd, a leader of men, answered him: “Old man, no wanderer that came and brought tidings of him could persuade his wife and his dear son; nay, at random, when they have need of entertainment, do vagabonds

14.125–129lie, and are not minded to speak the truth. Whosoever in his wanderings comes to the land of Ithaca, goes to my mistress and tells a deceitful tale. And she, receiving him kindly, gives him entertainment, and questions him of all things, and the tears fall from her eyelids, while she weeps,

14.130–134as is the way of a woman, when her husband dies afar. And readily wouldest thou too, old man, fashion a story, if one would give thee a cloak and a tunic for raiment. But as for him, ere now dogs and swift birds are like to have torn the flesh from his bones, and his spirit has left him;

14.135–139or in the sea fishes have eaten him, and his bones lie there on the shore, wrapped in deep sand. Thus has he perished yonder, and to his friends grief is appointed for days to come, to all, but most of all to me. For never again shall I find a master so kind, how far soever I go,

14.140–144not though I come again to the house of my father and mother, where at the first I was born, and they reared me themselves. Yet it is not for them that I henceforth mourn so much, eager though I am to behold them with my eyes and to be in my native land; nay, it is longing for Odysseus, who is gone, that seizes me.

14.145–149His name, stranger, absent though he is, I speak with awe, for greatly did he love me and care for me at heart; but I call him my lord beloved, for all he is not here.” Then the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus answered him: “Friend, since thou dost utterly make denial, and declarest

14.150–154that he will never come again, and thy heart is ever unbelieving, therefore will I tell thee, not at random but with an oath, that Odysseus shall return. And let me have a reward for bearing good tidings, as soon as he shall come, and reach his home; clothe me in a cloak and tunic, goodly raiment.

14.155–159But ere that, how sore soever my need, I will accept naught; for hateful in my eyes as the gates of Hades is that man, who, yielding to stress of poverty, tells a deceitful tale. Now be my witness Zeus, above all gods, and this hospitable board, and the hearth of noble Odysseus to which I am come,

14.350–354I slid down the smooth lading-plank, and brought my breast to the sea, and then struck out with both hands, and swam, and very soon was out of the water, and away from them. Then I went up to a place where there was a thicket of leafy wood, and lay there crouching.

14.355–359And they went hither and thither with loud cries; but as there seemed to be no profit in going further in their search, they went back again on board their hollow ship. And the gods themselves hid me easily, and led me, and brought me to the farmstead of a wise man; for still haply it is my lot to live.”

14.360–364To him then, swineherd Eumaeus, didst thou make answer, and say: “Ah, wretched stranger, verily thou hast stirred my heart deeply in telling all the tale of thy sufferings and thy wanderings. But in this, methinks, thou hast not spoken aright, nor shalt thou persuade me with thy tale about Odysseus. Why shouldst thou, who art in such plight

14.365–369lie to no purpose? Nay, of myself I know well regarding the return of my master, that he was utterly hated of all the gods, in that they did not slay him among the Trojans, or in the arms of his friends, when he had wound up the skein of war. Then would the whole host of the Achaeans have made him a tomb,

14.370–374and for his son too he would have won great glory in days to come. But as it is the spirits of the storm have swept him away, and left no tidings. I, for my part, dwell aloof with the swine, nor do I go to the city, unless haply wise Penelope bids me thither, when tidings come to her from anywhere.

14.375–379Then men sit around him that comes, and question him closely, both those that grieve for their lord, that has long been gone, and those who rejoice, as they devour his substance without atonement. But I care not to ask or enquire, since the time when an Aetolian beguiled me with his story,

14.380–384one that had killed a man, and after wandering over the wide earth came to my house, and I gave him kindly welcome. He said that he had seen Odysseus among the Cretans at the house of Idomeneus, mending his ships which storms had shattered. And he said that he would come either by summer or by harvest-time,

14.385–389bringing much treasure along with his godlike comrades. Thou too, old man of many sorrows, since a god has brought thee to me, seek not to win my favour by lies, nor in any wise to cajole me. It is not for this that I shall shew thee respect or kindness, but from fear of Zeus, the stranger's god, and from pity for thyself.”

14.390–394Then Odysseus of many wiles answered him, and said: “Verily thou hast in thy bosom a heart that is slow to believe, seeing that in such wise, even with an oath, I won thee not, neither persuade thee. But come now, let us make a covenant, and the gods who hold Olympus shall be witnesses for us both in time to come.

14.395–399If thy master returns to this house, clothe me in a cloak and tunic, as raiment, and send me on my way to Dulichium, where I desire to be. But if thy master does not come as I say, set the slaves upon me, and fling me down from a great cliff,

14.400–404that another beggar may beware of deceiving.” And the goodly swineherd answered him, and said: “Aye, stranger, so should I indeed win fair fame and prosperity among men both now and hereafter, if I, who brought thee to my hut and gave thee entertainment,

14.405–409should then slay thee, and take away thy dear life. With a ready heart thereafter should I pray to Zeus, son of Cronos. But it is now time for supper, and may my comrades soon be here, that we may make ready a savoury supper in the hut.” Thus they spoke to one another,

14.410–414and the swine and the swineherds drew near. The sows they shut up to sleep in their wonted sties, and a wondrous noise arose from them, as they were penned. Then the goodly swineherd called to his comrades saying: “Bring forth the best of the boars, that I may slaughter him for the stranger

15.1–4But Pallas Athena went to spacious Lacedaemon to remind the glorious son of great-hearted Odysseus of his return, and to hasten his coming. She found Telemachus and the noble son of Nestor

15.5–9lying in the fore-hall of the palace of glorious Menelaus. Now Nestor's son was overcome with soft sleep, but sweet sleep did not hold Telemachus, but all through the immortal night anxious thoughts for his father kept him wakeful. And flashing-eyed Athena stood near him, and said:

15.10–14“Telemachus, thou dost not well to wander longer far from thy home, leaving behind thee thy wealth and men in thy house so insolent, lest they divide and devour all thy possessions, and thou shalt have gone on a fruitless journey. Nay, rouse with all speed Menelaus, good at the war-cry,

15.15–19to send thee on thy way, that thou mayest find thy noble mother still in her home. For now her father and her brothers bid her wed Eurymachus, for he surpasses all the wooers in his presents, and has increased his gifts of wooing. Beware lest she carry forth from thy halls some treasure against thy will.

15.20–24For thou knowest what sort of a spirit there is in a woman's breast; she is fain to increase the house of the man who weds her, but of her former children and of the lord of her youth she takes no thought, when once he is dead, and asks no longer concerning them. Nay, go, and thyself put all thy possessions in the charge of whatsoever one

15.25–29of the handmaids seems to thee the best, until the gods shall show thee a noble bride. And another thing will I tell thee, and do thou lay it to heart. The best men of the wooers lie in wait for thee of set purpose in the strait between Ithaca and rugged Samos,

15.30–34eager to slay thee before thou comest to thy native land. But methinks this shall not be; ere that shall the earth cover many a one of the wooers that devour thy substance. But do thou keep thy well-built ship far from the islands, and sail by night as well as by day, and that

15.35–39one of the immortals, who keeps and guards thee, will send a fair breeze in thy wake. But when thou hast reached the nearest shore of Ithaca, send thy ship and all thy comrades on to the city, but thyself go first of all to the swineherd who keeps thy swine, and withal has a kindly heart toward thee.

15.40–44There do thou spend the night, and bid him to go to the city to bear word to wise Penelope that she has thee safe, and thou art come from Pylos.” So saying, she departed to high Olympus. But Telemachus woke the son of Nestor out of sweet sleep,

15.45–49rousing him with a touch of his heel, and spoke to him, saying: “Awake, Peisistratus, son of Nestor; bring up thy fiery-hoofed horses, and yoke them beneath the car, that we may speed on our way.” Then Peisistratus, son of Nestor, answered, and said: “Telemachus, in no wise may we

15.50–54drive through the dark night, how eager soever for our journey; and soon it will be dawn. Wait then, until the warrior son of Atreus, Menelaus, famed for his spear, shall bring gifts and set them on the car, and shall send us on our way with kindly words of farewell. For a guest remembers all his days

15.55–59the host who shews him kindness.” So he spoke, and presently came golden-throned Dawn. Up to them then came Menelaus, good at the war-cry, rising from his couch from beside fair-tressed Helen. And when the prince, the dear son of Odysseus, saw him,

15.60–64he made haste to put about him his bright tunic, and to fling over his mighty shoulders a great cloak, and went forth. Then Telemachus, the dear son of divine Odysseus, came up to Menelaus, and addressed him, saying: “Menelaus, son of Atreus, fostered of Zeus, leader of hosts,

15.65–69send me back now at length to my dear native land, for now my heart is eager to return home.” Then Menelaus, good at the war-cry, answered him: “Telemachus, I verily shall not hold thee here a long time, when thou art eager to return. Nay, I should blame another,

15.70–74who, as host, loves overmuch or hates overmuch; better is due measure in all things. 'Tis equal wrong if a man speed on a guest who is loath to go, and if he keep back one that is eager to be gone. One should make welcome the present guest, and send forth him that would go.

15.75–79But stay, till I bring fair gifts and put them on thy car, and thine own eyes behold them, and till I bid the women make ready a meal in the halls of the abundant store that is within. It is a double boon—honor and glory it brings, and profit withal—that the traveller should dine before he goes forth over the wide and boundless earth.

15.80–84And if thou art fain to journey through Hellas and mid-Argos, be it so, to the end that I may myself go with thee, and I will yoke for thee horses, and lead thee to the cities of men. Nor will any one send us away empty-handed, but will give us some one thing at least to bear with us, a fair brazen tripod or cauldron,

15.85–89or a pair of mules, or a golden cup.” Then wise Telemachus answered him: “Menelaus, son of Atreus, fostered of Zeus, leader of hosts, rather would I go at once to my home, for when I departed I left behind me no one to watch over my possessions.

15.90–94I would not that in seeking for my god-like father I myself should perish, or some goodly treasure be lost from my halls.” Now when Menelaus, good in battle, heard this, he straightway bade his wife and her handmaids make ready a meal in the halls of the abundant store that was within.

15.95–99Up to him then came Eteoneus, son of Boethous, just risen from his bed, for he dwelt not far from him. Him Menelaus, good at the war-cry, bade kindle a fire and roast of the flesh; and he heard, and obeyed. And Menelaus himself went down to his vaulted treasure-chamber,

15.100–104not alone, for with him went Helen and Megapenthes. But when they came to the place where his treasures were stored, the son of Atreus took a two-handled cup, and bade his son Megapenthes bear a mixing bowl of silver. And Helen came up to the chests

15.105–109in which were her richly-broidered robes, that she herself had wrought. One of these Helen, the beautiful lady, lifted out and bore away, the one that was fairest in its broideries, and the amplest. It shone like a star, and lay beneath all the rest. Then they went forth through the house until they came to

15.110–114Telemachus; and fair-haired Menelaus spoke to him, and said: “Telemachus, may Zeus, the loud-thundering lord of Here, verily bring to pass for thee thy return, even as thy heart desires. And of all the gifts that lie stored as treasures in my house, I will give thee that one which is fairest and costliest.

15.115–119I will give thee a well-wrought mixing-bowl. It is all of silver, and with gold are the rims thereof gilded, the work of Hephaestus; and the warrior Phaedimus, king of the Sidonians, gave it me, when his house sheltered me as I came thither; and now I am minded to give it to thee.”

15.120–124So saying, the warrior, son of Atreus, placed the two-handled cup in his hands. And the strong Megapenthes brought the bright mixing-bowl of silver and set it before him, and fair-cheeked Helen came up with the robe in her hands, and spoke, and addressed him:

15.125–129“Lo, I too give thee this gift, dear child, a remembrance of the hands of Helen, against the day of thy longed-for marriage, for thy bride to wear it. But until then let it lie in thy halls in the keeping of thy dear mother. And for thyself I wish that with joy thou mayest reach thy well-built house and thy native land.”

15.130–134So saying, she placed it in his hands, and he took it gladly. And the prince Peisistratus took the gifts, and laid them in the box of the chariot, and gazed at them all wondering in his heart. Then fair-haired Menelaus led them to the house, and the two sat down on chairs and high seats.

15.135–139And a handmaid brought water for the hands in a fair pitcher of gold, and poured it over a silver basin for them to wash, and beside them drew up a polished table. And the grave housewife brought and set before them bread, and therewith meats in abundance, granting freely of her store.

15.140–144And hard by the son of Boethous carved the meat, and divided the portions, and the son of glorious Menelaus poured the wine. So they put forth their hands to the good cheer lying ready before them. But when they had put from them the desire of food and drink, then Telemachus and the glorious son of Nestor

15.145–149yoked the horses and mounted the inlaid car, and drove forth from the gateway and the echoing portico. After them went the son of Atreus, fair-haired Menelaus, bearing in his right hand honey-hearted wine in a cup of gold, that they might pour libations ere they set out.

15.170–174how he might with understanding interpret the sign aright. But long-robed Helen took the word from him, and said: “Hear me, and I will prophesy as the immortals put it into my heart, and as I think it will be brought to pass. Even as this eagle came

15.175–179from the mountain, where are his kin, and where he was born, and snatched up the goose that was bred in the house, even so shall Odysseus return to his home after many toils and many wanderings, and shall take vengeance; or even now he is at home, and is sowing the seeds of evil for all the wooers.” Then again wise Telemachus answered her:

15.180–184“So may Zeus grant, the loud-thundering lord of Here; then will I even there ever pray to thee, as to a god.” He spoke, and touched the two horses with the lash, and they sped swiftly toward the plain, coursing eagerly through the city. So all day long they shook the yoke they bore about their necks.

15.185–189And the sun set, and all the ways grew dark. And they came to Pherae, to the house of Diocles, son of Ortilochus, whom Alpheus begot. There they spent the night, and before them he set the entertainment due to strangers. As soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered,

15.190–194they yoked the horses, and mounted the inlaid car, and drove forth from the gateway and the echoing portico. Then Peisistratus touched the horses with the whip to start them, and nothing loath the pair sped onward, and soon thereafter they reached the steep citadel of Pylos. Then Telemachus spoke to the son of Nestor, saying:

15.195–199“Son of Nestor, wilt thou now make me a promise, and fulfil it, as I bid? Friends from of old we call ourselves by reason of our fathers' friendship, and we are moreover of the same age, and this journey shall yet more stablish us in oneness of heart. Lead me not past my ship, O thou fostered of Zeus, but leave me there,

15.200–204lest that old man keep me in his house against my will, fain to show me kindness, whereas I must needs hasten home.” So he spoke, and the son of Nestor took counsel with his heart, how he might duly give the promise and fulfil it. And, as he pondered, this seemed to him the better course.

15.205–209He turned his horses to the swift ship and the shore of the sea, and took out, and set in the stern of the ship the beautiful gifts, the raiment and gold, which Menelaus gave him. And he urged on Telemachus, and addressed him with winged words: “Make haste now to go on board, and bid all thy comrades to do likewise,

15.210–214before I reach home and bring the old man word. For well I know this in mind and heart, so masterful is his spirit he will not let thee go, but will himself come hither to bid thee to his house; and, I tell thee, he will not go back without thee; for very wroth will he be, despite of all.”

15.215–219So saying, he drove his horses with beautiful mane back to the city of the Pylians, and speedily reached the palace. And Telemachus called to his men, and gave command to them, saying: “Set all the gear in order, men, in the black ship, and let us go on board ourselves, that we may speed on our way.”

15.220–224So he spoke, and they readily hearkened and obeyed; and at once they went on board, and sat down upon the benches. He verily was busied thus, and was praying and offering sacrifice to Athena by the stern of the ship, when there drew nigh to him a man from a far land, one that was fleeing out of Argos because he had slain a man;

15.225–229and he was a seer. By lineage he was sprung from Melampus, who of old dwelt in Pylos, mother of flocks, a rich man and one that had a very wealthy house among the Pylians, but had afterward come to a land of strangers, fleeing from his country and from great-hearted Neleus, the lordliest of living men,

15.230–234who for a full year had kept much wealth from him by force. Now Melampus meanwhile lay bound with bitter bonds in the halls of Phylacus, suffering grievous pains because of the daughter of Neleus, and the terrible blindness of heart which the goddess, the Erinys, who brings houses to ruin, had laid upon him.

15.235–239Howbeit he escaped his fate, and drove off the deep-lowing kine from Phylace to Pylos, and avenged the cruel deed upon godlike Neleus, and brought the maiden home to be his own brother's wife. For himself, he went to the land of other men, to horse-pasturing Argos, for there it was appointed him

15.240–244to dwell, bearing sway over many Argives. There he wedded a wife and built him a high-roofed house, and begot Antiphates and Mantius, two stalwart sons. Now Antiphates begot great-hearted Oicles, and Oicles Amphiaraus, the rouser of the host,

15.245–249whom Zeus, who bears the aegis, and Apollo heartily loved with all manner of love. Yet he did not reach the threshold of old age, but died in Thebe, because of a woman's gifts. To him were born sons, Alcmaeon and Amphilochus. And Mantius on his part begot Polypheides and Cleitus.

16.145–149he sits and weeps, and the flesh wastes from off his bones.” Then wise Telemachus answered him: “'Tis the sadder; but none the less we will let him be, despite our sorrow; for if in any wise all things might be had by mortals for the wishing, we should choose first of all the day of my father's return.

16.150–154No, do thou come back, when thou hast given thy message, and wander not over the fields in search of Laertes; but did my mother with all speed send forth her handmaid, the housewife, secretly, for she might bear word to the old man.” With this he roused the swineherd, and he took his sandals in his hands

16.155–159and bound them beneath his feet and went forth to the city. Nor was Athena unaware that the swineherd Eumaeus was gone from the farmstead, but she drew near in the likeness of a woman, comely and tall, and skilled in glorious handiwork. And she stood over against the door of the hut, shewing herself to Odysseus,

16.160–164but Telemachus did not see her before him, or notice her; for in no wise do the gods appear in manifest presence to all. But Odysseus saw her, and the hounds, and they barked not, but with whining slunk in fear to the further side of the farmstead. The she made a sign with her brows, and goodly Odysseus perceived it,

16.165–169and went forth from the hall, past the great wall of the court, and stood before her, and Athena spoke to him, saying: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, even now do thou reveal thy word to thy son, and hide it not, that when you two have planned death and fate for the wooers,

16.170–174you may go to the famous city. Nor will I myself be long away from you, for I am eager for the battle.” With this, Athena touched him with her golden wand. A well-washed cloak and a tunic she first of all cast about his breast, and she increased his stature and his youthful bloom.

16.175–179Once more he grew dark of color, and his cheeks filled out, and dark grew the beard about his chin. Then, when she had wrought thus, she departed, but Odysseus went into the hut. And his dear son marvelled, and, seized with fear, turned his eyes aside, lest it should be a god.

16.180–184And he spoke, and addressed him with winged words: “Of other sort thou seemest to me now, stranger, than awhile ago, and other are the garments thou hast on, and thy color is no more the same. Verily thou art a god, one of those who hold broad heaven. Nay then, be gracious, that we may offer to thee acceptable sacrifices

16.185–189and golden gifts, finely wrought; but do thou spare us.” Then the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus answered him: “Be sure I am no god; why dost thou liken me to the immortals? Nay, I am thy father, for whose sake thou dost with groaning endure many griefs, and submittest to the violence of men.”

16.190–194So saying, he kissed his son, and from his cheeks let fall a tear to earth, but before he ever steadfastly held them back. Howbeit Telemachus—for he did not yet believe that it was his father—again answered, and spoke to him, saying: “Thou verily art not my father Odysseus, but some god

16.195–199beguiles me, that I may weep and groan yet more. For nowise could a mortal man contrive this by his own wit, unless a god were himself to come to him, and easily by his will make him young or old. For verily but now thou wast an old man and meanly clad,

16.200–204whereas now thou art like the gods, who hold broad heaven.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered him, and said: “Telemachus, it beseems thee not to wonder overmuch that thy father is in the house, or to be amazed. For thou mayest be sure no other Odysseus will ever come hither;

16.205–209but I here, I, even such as thou seest me, after sufferings and many wanderings, am come in the twentieth year to my native land. But this, thou must know, is the work of Athena, driver of the spoil, who makes me such as she will—for she has the power—now like a beggar, and now again

16.210–214like a young man, and one wearing fair raiment about his body. Easy it is for the gods, who hold broad heaven, both to glorify a mortal man and to abase him.” So saying, he sat down, and Telemachus, flinging his arms about his noble father, wept and shed tears,

16.215–219and in the hearts of both arose a longing for lamentation. And they wailed aloud more vehemently than birds, sea-eagles, or vultures with crooked talons, whose young the country-folk have taken from their nest before they were fledged; even so piteously did they let tears fall from beneath their brows.

16.220–224And now would the light of the sun have gone down upon their weeping, had not Telemachus spoken to his father suddenly: “In what manner of ship, dear father, have sailors now brought thee hither to Ithaca? Who did they declare themselves to be? For nowise, methinks, didst thou come hither on foot.”

16.225–229And the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus answered him: “Then verily, my child, I will tell thee all the truth. The Phaeacians brought me, men famed for their ships, who send other men too on their way, whosoever comes to them. And they brought me as I slept in a swift ship over the sea,

16.230–234and set me down in Ithaca, and gave me glorious gifts, stores of bronze and gold and woven raiment. These treasures, by the favour of the gods, are lying in caves. And now I am come hither at the bidding of Athena, that we may take counsel about the slaying of our foes.

16.235–239Come now, count me the wooers, and tell their tale, that I may know how many they are and what manner of men, and that I may ponder in my noble heart and decide whether we two shall be able to maintain our cause against them alone without others, or whether we shall also seek out others.”

16.240–244Then wise Telemachus answered him: “Father, of a truth I have ever heard of thy great fame, that thou wast a warrior in strength of hand and in wise counsel, but this thou sayest is too great; amazement holds me. It could not be that two men should fight against many men and mighty.

17.265–269Easily might it be known, though seen among many. There is building upon building, and the court is built with wall and coping, and the double gates are well-fenced; no man may scorn it. And I mark that in the house itself many

17.270–274men are feasting: for the savour of meat arises from it, and therewith resounds the voice of the lyre, which the gods have made the companion of the feast.” To him then, swineherd Eumaeus, didst thou make answer, and say: “Easily hast thou marked it, for in all things thou art ready of wit. But come, let us take thought how these things shall be.

17.275–279Either do thou go first into the stately palace, and enter the company of the wooers, and I will remain behind here, or, if thou wilt, remain thou here and I will go before thee. But do not thou linger long, lest some man see thee without and pelt thee or smite thee. Of this I bid thee take thought.”

17.280–284Then the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus answered him: “I see, I give heed: this thou biddest one with understanding. But go thou before, and I will remain behind here; for no whit unused am I to blows and peltings. Staunch is my heart, for much evil have I suffered

17.285–289amid the waves and in war; let this too be added to what has gone before. But a ravening belly may no man hide, an accursed plague that brings many evils upon men. Because of it are the benched ships also made ready, that bear evil to foemen over the unresting sea.”

17.290–294Thus they spoke to one another. And a hound that lay there raised his head and pricked up his ears, Argos, the hound of Odysseus, of the steadfast heart, whom of old he had himself bred, but had no joy of him, for ere that he went to sacred Ilios. In days past the young men were wont to take the hound to hunt

17.295–299the wild goats, and deer, and hares; but now he lay neglected, his master gone, in the deep dung of mules and cattle, which lay in heaps before the doors, till the slaves of Odysseus should take it away to dung his wide lands.

17.300–304There lay the hound Argos, full of vermin; yet even now, when he marked Odysseus standing near, he wagged his tail and dropped both his ears, but nearer to his master he had no longer strength to move. Then Odysseus looked aside and wiped away a tear,

17.305–309easily hiding from Eumaeus what he did; and straightway he questioned him, and said: “Eumaeus, verily it is strange that this hound lies here in the dung. He is fine of form, but I do not clearly know whether he has speed of foot to match this beauty or whether he is merely as table-dogs

17.310–314are, which their masters keep for show.” To him then, swineherd Eumaeus, didst thou make answer and say: “Aye, verily this is the hound of a man that has died in a far land. If he were but in form and in action such as he was when Odysseus left him and went to Troy,

17.315–319thou wouldest soon be amazed at seeing his speed and his strength. No creature that he started in the depths of the thick wood could escape him, and in tracking too he was keen of scent. But now he is in evil plight, and his master has perished far from his native land, and the heedless women give him no care.

17.320–324Slaves, when their masters lose their power, are no longer minded thereafter to do honest service: for Zeus, whose voice is borne afar, takes away half his worth from a man, when the day of slavery comes upon him.” So saying, he entered the stately house

17.325–329and went straight to the hall to join the company of the lordly wooers. But as for Argos, the fate of black death seized him straightway when he had seen Odysseus in the twentieth year. Now as the swineherd came through the hall godlike Telemachus was far the first to see him, and quickly

17.330–334with a nod he called him and to his side. And Eumaeus looked about him and took a stool that lay near, on which the carver was wont to sit when carving for the wooers the many joints of meat, as they feasted in the hall. This he took and placed at the table of Telemachus, over against him, and there sat down himself. And a herald

17.335–339took a portion of meat and set it before him, and bread from out the basket. Night after him Odysseus entered the palace in the likeness of a woeful and aged beggar, leaning on a staff, and miserable was the raiment that he wore about his body. He sat down upon the ashen threshold within the doorway,

17.340–344leaning against a post of cypress wood, which of old a carpenter had skilfully planed, and made straight to the line. Then Telemachus called the swineherd to him, and, taking a whole loaf from out the beautiful basket, and all the meat his hands could hold in their grasp, spoke to him saying:

17.345–349“Take, and give this mess to yon stranger, and bid him go about himself and beg of the wooers one and all. Shame is no good comrade for a man that is in need.” So he spoke, and the swineherd went, when he had heard this saying, and coming up to Odysseus spoke to him winged words:

17.350–354“Stranger, Telemachus gives thee these, and bids thee go about and beg of the wooers one and all. Shame, he says, is no good thing in a beggar man.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered him, and said, “King Zeus, grant, I pray thee, that Telemachus may be blest among men,

17.355–359and may have all that his heart desires.” He spoke, and took the mess in both his hands and set it down there before his feet on his miserable wallet. Then he ate so long as the minstrel sang in the halls. But when he had dined and the divine minstrel was ceasing to sing,

17.360–364the wooers broke into uproar throughout the halls; but Athena drew close to the side of Odysseus, son of Laertes, and roused him to go among the wooers and gather bits of bread, and learn which of them were righteous and which lawless. Yet even so she was not minded to save one of them from ruin.

17.365–369So he set out to beg of every man, beginning on the right, stretching out his hand on every side, as though he had been long a beggar. And they pitied him and gave, and marvelled at him, asking one another who he was and whence he came. Then among them spoke Melanthius, the goatherd:

17.370–374“Hear me, wooers of the glorious queen, regarding this stranger, for verily I have seen him before. Truly it was the swineherd that led him hither, but of the man himself I know not surely from whence he declares his birth to be.” So he spoke, and Antinous rebuked the swineherd, saying:

17.375–379“Notorious swineherd, why, pray, didst thou bring this man to the city? Have we not vagabonds enough without him, nuisances of beggars to mar our feast? Dost thou not think it enough that they gather here and devour the substance of thy master, that thou dost bid this fellow too?”

17.380–384To him then, swineherd Eumaeus, didst thou make answer, and say: “Antinous, no fair words are these thou speakest, noble though thou art. Who pray, of himself ever seeks out and bids a stranger from abroad, unless it be one of those that are masters of some public craft, a prophet, or a healer of ills, or a builder,

17.385–389aye, or a divine minstrel, who gives delight with his song? For these men are bidden all over the boundless earth. Yet a beggar would no man bid to be burden to himself. But thou art ever harsh above all the wooers to the slaves of Odysseus, and most of all to me; yet I

17.390–394care not, so long as my lady, the constant Penelope, lives in the hall, and godlike Telemachus.” Then wise Telemachus answered him: “Be silent: do not, I bid thee, answer yonder man with many words, for Antinous is wont ever in evil wise to provoke to anger

17.430–434and I sent out scouts to go to places of outlook. But my comrades, yielding to wantonness and led on by their own might, straightway set about wasting the fair fields of the men of Egypt; and they carried off the women and little children, and slew the men; and the cry came quickly to the city.

17.435–439Then, hearing the shouting, the people came forth at break of day, and the whole plain was filled with footmen and chariots and the flashing of bronze. And Zeus, who hurls the thunderbolt, cast an evil panic upon my comrades, and none had courage to take his stand and face the foe; for evil surrounded us on every side.

17.440–444So then they slew many of us with the sharp bronze, and others they led up to their city alive, to work for them perforce. But they gave me to a friend who met them to take to Cyprus, even to Dmetor, son of Iasus, who ruled mightily over Cyprus; and from thence am I now come hither, sore distressed.”

17.445–449Then Antinous answered him, and said: “What god has brought this bane hither to trouble our feast? Stand off yonder in the midst, away from my table, lest thou come presently to a bitter Egypt and a bitter Cyprus, seeing that thou art a bold and shameless beggar.

17.450–454Thou comest up to every man in turn, and they give recklessly; for there is no restraint or scruple in giving freely of another's goods, since each man has plenty beside him.” Then Odysseus of many wiles drew back, and said to him: “Lo, now, it seems that thou at least hast not wits to match thy beauty.

17.455–459Thou wouldest not out of thine own substance give even a grain of salt to thy suppliant, thou who now, when sitting at another's table, hadst not the heart to take of the bread and give me aught. Yet here lies plenty at thy hand.” So he spoke, and Antinous waxed the more wroth at heart, and with an angry glance from beneath his brows spoke to him winged words:

17.460–464“Now verily, methinks, thou shalt no more go forth from the hall in seemly fashion, since thou dost even utter words of reviling.” So saying, he seized the footstool and flung it, and struck Odysseus on the base of the right shoulder, where it joins the back. But he stood firm as a rock, nor did the missile of Antinous make him reel;

17.465–469but he shook his head in silence, pondering evil in the deep of his heart. Then back to the threshold he went and sat down, and down he laid his well-filled wallet; and he spoke among the wooers: “Hear me, wooers of the glorious queen, that I may say what the heart in my breast bids me.

17.470–474Verily there is no pain of heart nor any grief when a man is smitten while fighting for his own possessions, whether for his cattle or for his white sheep; but Antinous has smitten me for my wretched belly's sake, an accursed plague that brings many evils upon men.

17.475–479Ah, if for beggars there are gods and avengers, may the doom of death come upon Antinous before his marriage.” Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, answered him: “Sit still, and eat, stranger, or go elsewhere; lest the young men drag thee

17.480–484by hand or foot through the house for words like these, and strip off all thy skin.” So he spoke, but they all were filled with exceeding indignation, and thus would one of the proud youths speak: “Antinous, thou didst not well to strike the wretched wanderer. Doomed man that thou art, what if haply he be some god come down from heaven!

17.485–489Aye, and the gods in the guise of strangers from afar put on all manner of shapes, and visit the cities, beholding the violence and the righteousness of men.” So spoke the wooers, but Antinous paid no heed to their words. And Telemachus nursed in his heart great grief

17.490–494for the smiting, though he let no tear fall from his eyelids to the ground; but he shook his head in silence, pondering evil in the deep of his heart. Howbeit when wise Penelope heard of the man's being smitten in the hall, she spoke among her handmaids, and said: “Even so may thine own self be smitten by the famed archer Apollo.”

17.495–499And again the housewife Eurynome said to her: “Would that fulfillment might be granted to our prayers. So should not one of these men come to the fair-throned Dawn.” And wise Penelope answered her: “Nurse, enemies are they all, for they devise evil.

17.500–504But Antinous more than all is like black fate. Some wretched stranger roams through the house, begging alms of the men, for want compels him, and all the others filled his wallet and gave him gifts, but Antinous flung a footstool and smote him at the base of the right shoulder.”

17.505–509So she spoke among her handmaids, sitting in her chamber, while goodly Odysseus was at meat. Then she called to her the goodly swineherd, and said: “Go, goodly Eumaeus, and bid the stranger come hither, that I may give him greeting, and ask him

17.510–514if haply he has heard of Odysseus of the steadfast heart, or has seen him with his eyes. He seems like one that has wandered far.” To her, then, swineherd Eumaeus, didst thou make answer, and say: “I would, O queen, that the Achaeans would keep silence, for he speaks such words as would charm thy very soul.

17.515–519Three nights I had him by me, and three days I kept him in my hut, for to me first he came when he fled by stealth from a ship, but he had not yet ended the tale of his sufferings. Even as when a man gazes upon a minstrel who sings to mortals songs of longing that the gods have taught him,

17.520–524and their desire to hear him has no end, whensoever he sings, even so he charmed me as he sat in my hall. He says that he is an ancestral friend of Odysseus, and that he dwells in Crete, where is the race of Minos. From thence has he now come on this journey hither, ever suffering woes

17.525–529as he wanders on and on. And he insists that he has heard tidings of Odysseus, near at hand in the rich land of the Thesprotians and yet alive; and he is bringing many treasures to his home.” Then wise Penelope answered him: “Go, call him hither, that he may himself tell me to my face.

17.530–534But as for these men, let them make sport as they sit in the doorway or here in the house, since their hearts are merry. For their own possessions lie untouched in their homes, bread and sweet wine, and on these do their servants feed. But themselves throng our house day after day,

17.535–539slaying our oxen, and sheep, and fat goats, and keep revel and drink the flaming wine recklessly, and havoc is made of all this wealth, for there is no man here such as Odysseus was to keep ruin from the house. But if Odysseus should come and return to his native land,

17.540–544straightway would he with his son take vengeance on these men for their violent deeds.” So she spoke, and Telemachus sneezed loudly, and all the room round about echoed wondrously. And Penelope laughed, and straightway spoke to Eumaeus winged words: “Go, pray, call the stranger here before me.

17.545–549Dost thou not note that my son has sneezed at all my words. Therefore shall utter death fall upon the wooers one and all, nor shall one of them escape death and the fates. And another thing will I tell thee, and do thou lay it to heart. If I find that he speaks all things truly,

17.550–554I will clothe him in a cloak and tunic, fair raiment.” So she spoke, and the swineherd went when he had heard this saying; and coming up to Odysseus he spoke to him winged words: “Sir stranger, wise Penelope calls for thee, the mother of Telemachus, and her heart

17.555–559bids her make enquiry about her husband, though she has suffered many woes. And if she finds that thou speakest all things truly, she will clothe thee in a cloak and tunic, which thou needest most of all. As for thy food, thou shalt beg it through the land, and feed thy belly, and whoso will shall give it thee.”

17.560–564Then the much-enduring goodly Odysseus answered him: “Eumaeus, soon will I tell all the truth to the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope. For well do I know of Odysseus, and in common have we borne affliction. But I have fear of this throng of harsh wooers,

17.565–569whose wantonness and violence reach the iron heaven. For even now, when, as I was going through the hall doing no evil, this man struck me and hurt me, neither Telemachus nor any other did aught to ward off the blow. Wherefore now bid Penelope

17.570–574to wait in the halls, eager though she be, till set of sun; and then let her ask me of her husband regarding the day of his return, giving me a seat nearer the fire, for lo, the raiment that I wear is mean, and this thou knowest of thyself, for to thee first did I make my prayer.” So he spoke, and the swineherd went when he had heard this saying.

17.575–579And as he passed over the threshold Penelope said to him: “Thou dost not bring him, Eumaeus. What does the wanderer mean by this? Does he fear some one beyond measure, or does he idly feel ashamed in the house? 'Tis ill for a beggar to feel shame.” To her, then, swineherd Eumaeus, didst thou make answer and say:

18.230–234But I am not able to plan all things wisely, for these men here thwart my will, keeping by me, one on this side and one on that, with evil purpose, and I have none to help me. Howbeit, I can tell thee, this battle between the stranger and Irus fell not out according to the mind of the wooers, but the stranger proved the better man.

18.235–239I would, O father Zeus, and Athena, and Apollo, that even now the wooers were thus subdued in our halls, and were hanging their heads, some in the court and some within the hall, and that each man's limbs were loosened, even as Irus now sits yonder by the gate of the court,

18.240–244hanging his head like a drunken man, and cannot stand erect upon his feet, or go home to whatsoever place he is wont to go, because his limbs are loosened.” Thus they spoke to one another. But Eurymachus addressed Penelope, and said:

18.245–249“Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, if all the Achaeans throughout Iasian Argos could see thee, even more wooers would be feasting in your halls from to-morrow on, for thou excellest all women in comeliness and stature, and in the wise heart within thee.”

18.250–254Then wise Penelope answered him: “Eurymachus, all excellence of mine, both of beauty and of form, the immortals destroyed on the day when the Argives embarked for Ilios, and with them went my husband Odysseus. If he might but come and watch over this life of mine,

18.255–259greater would be my fame and fairer. But now I am in sorrow, so many woes has some god brought upon me. Verily, when he went forth and left his native land, he clasped my right hand by the wrist, and said: “‘Wife, I deem not that the well-greaved Achaeans

18.260–264will all return from Troy safe and unscathed, for the Trojans, men say, are men of war, hurlers of the spear, and drawers of the bow, and drivers of swift horses, such as most quickly decide the great strife of equal war.

18.265–269Therefore I know not whether the god will bring me back, or whether I shall be cut off there in the land of Troy: so have thou charge of all things here. Be mindful of my father and my mother in the halls even as thou art now, or yet more, while I am far away. But when thou shalt see my son a bearded man,

18.270–274wed whom thou wilt, and leave thy house.’ “So he spoke, and now all this is being brought to pass. The night shall come when a hateful marriage shall fall to the lot of me accursed, whose happiness Zeus has taken away. But herein has bitter grief come upon my heart and soul,

18.275–279for such as yours was never the way of wooers heretofore. They who are fain to woo a lady of worth and the daughter of a rich man and vie with one another, these bring of themselves cattle and goodly flocks, a banquet for the friends of the bride, and give to her glorious gifts;

18.280–284but they do not devour the livelihood of another without atonement.” So she spoke, and the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus was glad, because she drew from them gifts, and beguiled their souls with gentle words, but her mind was set on other things. Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spoke to her again, and said:

18.285–289“Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, as for gifts, if any man of the Achaeans is minded to bring them hither, do thou take them; for it is not well to refuse a gift. But for us, we will go neither to our lands nor elsewhither, until thou weddest him whosoever is best of the Achaeans.”

18.290–294So spoke Antinous, and his word was pleasing to them, and each man sent forth a herald to bring his gifts. For Antinous he brought a large and beautiful robe, richly broidered, and in it were golden brooches, twelve in all, fitted with curved clasps.

18.295–299And a chain did another straightway bring to Eurymachus, one cunningly wrought of gold, strung with amber beads, bright as the sun. A pair of earrings his squires brought to Eurydamas, with three clustering drops, and great grace shone therefrom. And out of the house of lord Peisander, son of Polyctor,

18.300–304his squire brought a necklace, a jewel exceeding fair. So of the Achaeans one brought one fair gift and one another. But she thereafter, the fair lady, went up to her upper chamber, and her handmaids bare for her the beautiful gifts. But the wooers

18.305–309turned to dance and gladsome song, and made them merry, and waited for evening to come on. And as they made merry dark evening came upon them. Presently they set up three braziers in the hall to give them light, and round about them placed dry faggots, long since seasoned and hard, and newly split with the axe;

18.310–314and in the spaces between they set torches; and in turn the handmaids of Odysseus, of the steadfast heart, kindled the flame. Then Zeus-born Odysseus, of many wiles, himself spoke among the maids, and said: “Maidens of Odysseus, that has long been gone, go to the chambers where your honored queen abides,

18.315–319and twist the yarn by her side, and make glad her heart, as you sit in the chamber, or card the wool with your hands; but I will give light to all these men. For if they wish to wait for fair-throned Dawn, they shall in no wise outdo me. I am one that can endure much.”

18.320–324So he spoke, and the maids broke into a laugh, and glanced at one another. And fair-cheeked Melantho rated him shamefully, Melantho, whom Dolius begot, but whom Penelope had reared and cherished as her own child, and gave her playthings to her heart's desire. Yet even so she had at heart no sorrow for Penelope,

18.325–329but she loved Eurymachus and was wont to lie with him. She then rated Odysseus with reviling words: “Wretched stranger, thou art but a crack-brained fellow, unwilling to go to a smithy to sleep, or to a common lodge, but pratest here continually,

18.330–334unabashed in the company of many lords, and hast no fear at heart. Surely wine has mastered thy wits, or else thy mind is ever thus, that thou dost babble idly. Art thou beside thyself because thou hast beaten that vagrant Irus? Beware, lest presently another better than Irus shall rise up against thee

18.335–339to beat thee about the head with heavy hands, and befoul thee with streams of blood, and send thee forth from the house.” Then with an angry glance from beneath his brows Odysseus of many wiles answered her: “Presently shall I go yonder, thou shameless thing, and tell Telemachus, since thou speakest thus, that on the spot he may cut thee limb from limb.”

18.340–344So he spoke, and with his words scattered the women, who fled through the hall, and the limbs of each were loosened beneath her in terror, for they thought that he spoke truth. But Odysseus took his stand by the burning braziers to give light, and looked upon all the men.

18.345–349Yet other things was the heart within him pondering—things that were not to be unfulfilled. But Athena would in no wise suffer the proud wooers to abstain from bitter outrage, that pain might sink yet deeper into the heart of Odysseus, son of Laertes. So among them Eurymachus, son of Polybus, began to speak,

18.350–354jeering at Odysseus, and making mirth for his companions: “Hear me, wooers of the glorious queen, that I may say what the heart in my breast bids me. Not without the will of the gods has this man come to the palace of Odysseus; in any case there is a glare of torches from him—

19.1–4So goodly Odysseus was left behind in the hall, planning with Athena's aid the slaying of the wooers, and he straightway spoke winged words to Telemachus: “Telemachus, the weapons of war thou must needs lay away within

19.5–9one and all, and when the wooers miss them and question thee, thou must beguile them with gentle words, saying: ‘Out of the smoke have I laid them, since they are no longer like those which of old Odysseus left behind him, when he went forth to Troy, but are all befouled, so far as the breath of fire has reached them.

19.10–14And furthermore this greater fear has a god put in my heart, lest haply, when heated with wine, you may set a quarrel afoot among you, and wound one another, and so bring shame on your feast and on your wooing. For of itself does the iron draw a man to it.’” So he spoke, and Telemachus hearkened to his dear father,

19.15–19and calling forth the nurse Eurycleia, said to her: “Nurse, come now, I bid thee, shut up the women in their rooms, while I lay away in the store-room the weapons of my father, the goodly weapons which all uncared-for the smoke bedims in the hall since my father went forth, and I was still a child.

19.20–24But now I am minded to lay them away, where the breath of the fire will not come upon them.” Then the dear nurse Eurycleia answered him: “Aye, child, I would thou mightest ever take thought to care for the house and guard all its wealth. But come, who then shall fetch a light and bear it for thee,

19.25–29since thou wouldest not suffer the maids, who might have given light, to go before thee?” Then wise Telemachus answered her; “This stranger here; for I will suffer no man to be idle who touches my portion of meal, even though he has come from afar.” So he spoke, but her word remained unwinged, and she locked the doors of the stately hall.

19.30–34Then the two sprang up, Odysseus and his glorious son, and set about bearing within the helmets and the bossy shields and the sharp-pointed spears; and before them Pallas Athena, bearing a golden lamp, made a most beauteous light.

19.35–39Then Telemachus suddenly spoke to his father, and said: “Father, verily this is a great marvel that my eyes behold; certainly the walls of the house and the fair beams and cross-beams of fir and the pillars that reach on high, glow in my eyes as with the light of blazing fire.

19.40–44Surely some god is within, one of those who hold broad heaven.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered him, and said: “Hush, check thy thought, and ask no question; this, I tell thee, is the way of the gods that hold Olympus. But do thou go and take thy rest and I will remain behind here,

19.45–49that I may stir yet more the minds of the maids and of thy mother; and she with weeping shall ask me of each thing separately.” So he spoke, and Telemachus went forth through the hall by the light of blazing torches to go to his chamber to lie down, where he had heretofore been wont to rest, when sweet sleep came upon him.

19.50–54There now too he lay down and waited for the bright Dawn. But goodly Odysseus was left behind in the hall, planning with Athena's aid the slaying of the wooers. Then wise Penelope came forth from her chamber like unto Artemis or golden Aphrodite,

19.55–59and for her they set by the fire, where she was wont to sit, a chair inlaid with spirals of ivory and silver, which of old the craftsman Icmalius had made, and had set beneath it a foot-stool for the feet, that was part of the chair, and upon it a great fleece was wont to be laid. On this then wise Penelope sat down,

19.60–64and the white-armed maids came forth from the women's hall. These began to take away the abundant food, the tables, and the cups from which the lordly men had been drinking, and they cast the embers from the braziers on to the floor, and piled upon the braziers fresh logs in abundance, to give light and warmth.

19.65–69But Melantho began again a second time to rate Odysseus, saying: “Stranger, wilt thou even now still be a plague to us through the night, roaming through the house, and wilt thou spy upon the women? Nay, get thee forth, thou wretch, and be content with thy supper, or straightway shalt thou even be smitten with a torch, and so go forth.”

19.70–74Then with an angry glance from beneath his brows Odysseus of many wiles answered her: “Good woman, why, pray, dost thou thus assail me with angry heart? Is it because I am foul and wear mean raiment on my body, and beg through the land? Aye, for necessity compels me. Of such sort are beggars and vagabond folk.

19.75–79For I too once dwelt in a house of my own among men, a rich man in a wealthy house, and full often I gave gifts to a wanderer, whosoever he was and with whatsoever need he came. Slaves too I had past counting and all other things in abundance whereby men live well and are reputed wealthy.

19.80–84But Zeus, son of Cronos, brought all to naught; so, I ween, was his good pleasure. Wherefore, woman, beware lest thou too some day lose all the glory whereby thou now hast excellence among the handmaids; lest perchance thy mistress wax wroth and be angry with thee, or Odysseus come home; for there is yet room for hope.

19.85–89But if, even as it seems, he is dead, and is no more to return, yet now is his son by the favour of Apollo such as he was—even Telemachus. Him it escapes not if any of the women in the halls work wantonness; for he is no longer the child he was.” So he spoke, and wise Penelope heard him;

19.90–94and she rebuked the handmaid and spoke, and addressed her: “Be sure, thou bold and shameless thing, that thy outrageous deed is in no wise hid from me, and with thine own head shalt thou wipe out its stain. Full well didst thou know, for thou hast heard it from my own lips, that I was minded

19.95–99to question the stranger in my halls concerning my husband; for I am sore distressed.” With this she spoke also to the housewife Eurynome, and said: “Eurynome, bring hither a chair and a fleece upon it, that the stranger may sit down and tell his tale, and listen to me; for I am fain to ask him of all things.”

19.100–104So she spoke, and Eurynome speedily brought a polished chair and set it in place, and on it cast a fleece. Then the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus sat down upon it, and the wise Penelope spoke first, and said: “Stranger, this question will I myself ask thee first.

19.105–109Who art thou among men, and from whence? Where is thy city, and where thy parents?” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: “Lady, no one of mortals upon the boundless earth could find fault with thee, for thy fame goes up to the broad heaven, as does the fame of some blameless king, who with the fear of the gods in his heart,

19.110–114is lord over many mighty men, upholding justice; and the black earth bears wheat and barley, and the trees are laden with fruit, the flocks bring forth young unceasingly, and the sea yields fish, all from his good leading; and the people prosper under him.

19.115–119Wherefore question me now in thy house of all things else, but ask not concerning my race and my native land, lest thou fill my heart the more with pains, as I think thereon; for I am a man of many sorrows. Moreover it is not fitting

19.120–124that I should sit weeping and wailing in another's house, for it is ill to grieve ever without ceasing. I would not that one of thy maidens or thine own self be vexed with me, and say that I swim in tears because my mind is heavy with wine.” Then wise Penelope answered him: “Stranger, all excellence of mine, both of beauty and of form,

19.190–194Then straightway he went up to the city and asked for Idomeneus; for he declared that he was his friend, beloved and honored. But it was now the tenth or the eleventh dawn since Idomeneus had gone in his beaked ships to Ilios. So I took him to the house, and gave him entertainment

19.195–199with kindly welcome of the rich store that was in the house, and to the rest of his comrades who followed with him I gathered and gave out of the public store barley meal and flaming wine and bulls for sacrifice, that their hearts might be satisfied. There for twelve days the goodly Achaeans tarried,

19.200–204for the strong North Wind penned them there, and would not suffer them to stand upon their feet on the land, for some angry god had roused it. But on the thirteenth day the wind fell and they put to sea.” He spoke, and made the many falsehoods of his tale seem like the truth, and as she listened her tears flowed and her face melted

19.205–209as the snow melts on the lofty mountains, the snow which the East Wind thaws when the West Wind has strewn it, and as it melts the streams of the rivers flow full: so her fair cheeks melted as she wept and mourned for her husband, who even then was sitting by her side. And Odysseus

19.210–214in his heart had pity for his weeping wife, but his eyes stood fixed between his lids as though they were horn or iron, and with guile he hid his tears. But she, when she had had her fill of tearful wailing, again answered him and spoke, saying:

19.215–219“Now verily, stranger, am I minded to put thee to the test, whether or no thou didst in very truth entertain there in thy halls my husband with his godlike comrades, even as thou sayest. Tell me what manner of raiment he wore about his body, and what manner of man he was himself; and tell me of the comrades who followed him.”

19.220–224Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: “Lady, hard is it for one that has been so long afar to tell thee this, for it is now the twentieth year since he went thence and departed from my country. But I will tell thee as my mind pictures him.

19.225–229A fleecy cloak of purple did goodly Odysseus wear, a cloak of double fold, but the brooch upon it was fashioned of gold with double clasps, and on the front it was curiously wrought: a hound held in his fore paws a dappled fawn, and pinned it in his jaws as it writhed. And at this all men marvelled,

19.230–234how, though they were of gold, the hound was pinning the fawn and strangling it, and the fawn was writhing with its feet and striving to flee. And I noted the tunic about his body, all shining as is the sheen upon the skin of a dried onion, so soft it was; and it glistened like the sun.

19.235–239Verily many women gazed at him in wonder. And another thing will I tell thee, and do thou lay it to heart. I know not whether Odysseus was thus clothed at home, or whether one of his comrades gave him the raiment when he went on board the swift ship, or haply even some stranger, since to many men

19.240–244was Odysseus dear, for few of the Achaeans were his peers. I, too, gave him a sword of bronze, and a fair purple cloak of double fold, and a fringed tunic, and with all honor sent him forth on his benched ship. Furthermore, a herald

19.245–249attended him, a little older than he, and I will tell thee of him too, what manner of man he was. He was round-shouldered, dark of skin, and curly-haired, and his name was Eurybates; and Odysseus honored him above his other comrades, because he was like-minded with himself.” So he spoke, and in her heart aroused yet more the desire of weeping,

19.250–254as she recognized the sure tokens that Odysseus told her. But she, when she had had her fill of tearful wailing, made answer and said to him: “Now verily, stranger, though before thou wast pitied, shalt thou be dear and honored in my halls,

19.255–259for it was I that gave him this raiment, since thou describest it thus, and folded it, and brought it forth from the store-room, and added thereto the shining brooch to be a thing of joy to him. But my husband I shall never welcome back, returning home to his dear native land. Wherefore it was with an evil fate that Odysseus

19.260–264went forth in the hollow ship to see evil Ilios, that should never be named.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: “Honored wife of Odysseus, son of Laertes, mar not now thy fair face any more, nor waste thy heart at all in weeping for thy husband. I count it indeed no blame in thee;

19.265–269for any woman weeps when she has lost her wedded husband, to whom she has borne children in her love, though he were far other than Odysseus, who, they say, is like unto the gods. Yet do thou cease from weeping, and hearken to my words; for I will tell thee with sure truth, and will hide nothing,

19.270–274how but lately I heard of the return of Odysseus, that he is near at hand in the rich land of the Thesprotians, and yet alive, and he is bringing with him many rich treasures, as he begs through the land. But he lost his trusty comrades and his hollow ship on the wine-dark sea,

19.275–279as he journeyed from the isle Thrinacia; for Zeus and Helios waxed wroth against him because his comrades had slain the kine of Helios. So they all perished in the surging sea, but he on the keel of his ship was cast forth by the wave on the shore, on the land of the Phaeacians, who are near of kin to the gods.

19.315–319as Odysseus was among men—as sure as ever such a man there was—to send reverend strangers on their way, and to welcome them. But still, my maidens, wash the stranger's feet and prepare his bed—bedstead and cloaks and bright coverlets—that in warmth and comfort he may come to the golden-throned Dawn.

19.320–324And right early in the morning bathe him and anoint him, that in our house at the side of Telemachus he may bethink him of food as he sits in the hall. And worse shall it be for any man among them who vexes this man's soul with pain; naught thereafter shall he accomplish here, how fierce soever his wrath.

19.325–329For how shalt thou learn of me, stranger, whether I in any wise excel other women in wit and prudent counsel, if all unkempt and clad in poor raiment thou sittest at meat in my halls? Men are but short-lived. If one be himself hard, and have a hard heart,

19.330–334on him do all mortal men invoke woes for the time to come, while he still lives, and when he is dead all men mock at him. But if one be blameless and have a blameless heart, his fame do strangers bear far and wide among all men, and many call him a true man.”

19.335–339Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: “Honored wife of Odysseus, son of Laertes, verily cloaks and bright coverlets became hateful in my eyes on the day when first I left behind me the snowy mountains of Crete, as I fared on my long-oared ship.

19.340–344Nay, I will lie, as in time past I was wont to rest through sleepless nights; for many a night have I lain upon a foul bed and waited for the bright-throned Dawn. Aye, and baths for the feet give my heart no pleasure, nor shall any woman touch my foot

19.345–349of all those who are serving-women in thy hall, unless there is some old, true-hearted dame who has suffered in her heart as many woes as I; such an one I would not grudge to touch my feet.” Then wise Penelope answered him again:

19.350–354“Dear stranger, never yet has a man discreet as thou, of those who are strangers from afar, come to my house as a more welcome guest, so wise and prudent are all thy words. I have an old dame with a heart of understanding in her breast, who lovingly nursed and cherished my hapless husband,

19.355–359and took him in her arms on the day when his mother bore him. She shall wash thy feet, weak with age though she be. Come now, wise Eurycleia, arise and wash the feet of one of like age with thy master. Even such as his are now haply the feet of Odysseus, and such his hands,

19.360–364for quickly do men grow old in evil fortune.” So she spoke, and the old woman hid her face in her hands and let fall hot tears, uttering words of lamentation: “Ah, woe is me, child, because of thee, for that I can do naught. Surely Zeus hated thee above all men, though thou hadst a god-fearing heart.

19.365–369For never yet did any mortal burn to Zeus, who hurls the thunderbolt, so many fat thigh-pieces or so many choice hecatombs as thou gavest him, with prayers that thou mightest reach a sleek old age and rear thy glorious son. But lo, now, from thee alone has he wholly cut off the day of thy returning.

19.370–374Even thus, I ween, did women mock at him too, in a strange and distant land, when he came to some man's glorious house, as these shameless creatures here all mock at thee. It is to shun insult now from them and their many taunts that thou dost not suffer them to wash thy feet, but me, who am nothing loath, has

19.375–379the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, bidden to wash thee. Therefore will I wash thy feet, both for Penelope's own sake and for thine, for the heart within me is stirred with sorrow. But come now, hearken to the word that I shall speak. Many sore-tried strangers have come hither,

19.380–384but I declare that never yet have I seen any man so like another as thou in form, and in voice, and in feet art like Odysseus.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: “Old dame, so say all men whose eyes have beheld us two, that

19.385–389we are very like each other, even as thou thyself dost note and say.” So he spoke, and the old dame took the shining cauldron with water wherefrom she was about to wash his feet, and poured in cold water in plenty, and then added thereto the warm. But Odysseus sat him down away from the hearth and straightway turned himself toward the darkness,

19.390–394for he at once had a foreboding at heart that, as she touched him, she might note a scar, and the truth be made manifest. So she drew near and began to wash her lord, and straightway knew the scar of the wound which long ago a boar had dealt him with his white tusk, when Odysseus had gone to Parnassus to visit Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus,

19.395–399his mother's noble father, who excelled all men in thievery and in oaths. It was a god himself that had given him this skill, even Hermes, for to him he was wont to burn acceptable sacrifices of the thighs of lambs and kids; so Hermes befriended him with a ready heart. Now Autolycus, on coming once to the rich land of Ithaca,

19.400–404had found his daughter's son a babe new-born, and when he was finishing his supper, Eurycleia laid the child upon his knees and spoke, and addressed him: “Autolycus, find now thyself a name to give to thy child's own child; be sure he has long been prayed for.”

19.405–409Then Autolycus answered her, and said: “My daughter's husband and my daughter, give him whatsoever name I say. Lo, inasmuch as I am come hither as one that has been angered with many, both men and women, over the fruitful earth, therefore let the name by which the child is named be Odysseus. And for my part,

19.410–414when he is a man grown and comes to the great house of his mother's kin at Parnassus, where are my possessions, I will give him thereof and send him back rejoicing.” It was for this reason that Odysseus had come, that Autolycus might give him the glorious gifts. And Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus

19.415–419clasped his hands in welcome and greeted him with gentle words, and Amphithea, his mother's mother, took Odysseus in her arms and kissed his head and both his beautiful eyes. But Autolycus called to his glorious sons to make ready the meal, and they hearkened to his call.

19.420–424At once they led in a bull, five years old, which they flayed and dressed, and cut up all the limbs. Then they sliced these cunningly and pierced them with spits, and roasted them skilfully and distributed the portions. So, then, all day long till set of sun

19.425–429they feasted, nor did their hearts lack aught of the equal feast. But when the sun set and darkness came on they lay down to rest and took the gift of sleep. But as soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, they went forth to the hunt, the hounds and

19.430–434the sons of Autolycus too, and with them went goodly Odysseus. Up the steep mountain Parnassus, clothed with forests, they climbed, and presently reached its windy hollows. The sun was now just striking on the fields, as he rose from softly-gliding, deep-flowing Oceanus,

19.435–439when the beaters came to a glade. Before them went the hounds, tracking the scent, and behind them the sons of Autolycus, and among these the goodly Odysseus followed, close upon the hounds, brandishing his long spear. Now thereby a great wild boar was lying in a thick lair,

19.440–444through which the strength of the wet winds could never blow nor the rays of the bright sun beat, nor could the rain pierce through it, so thick it was; and fallen leaves were there in plenty. Then about the boar there came the noise of the feet of men and dogs

19.445–449as they pressed on in the chase, and forth from his lair he came against them with bristling back and eyes flashing fire, and stood there at bay close before them. Then first of all Odysseus rushed on, holding his long spear on high in his stout hand, eager to smite him; but the boar was too quick for him and struck him

19.450–454above the knee, charging upon him sideways, and with his tusk tore a long gash in the flesh, but did not reach the bone of the man. But Odysseus with sure aim smote him on the right shoulder, and clear through went the point of the bright spear, and the boar fell in the dust with a cry, and his life flew from him.

19.455–459Then the dear sons of Autolycus busied themselves with the carcase, and the wound of noble, god-like Odysseus they bound up skilfully, and checked the black blood with a charm, and straightway returned to the house of their dear father. And when Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus

19.460–464had fully healed him, and had given him glorious gifts, they quickly sent him back with joy to his native land, to Ithaca. Then his father and his honored mother rejoiced at his return, and asked him all the story, how he got his wound; and he told them all the truth,

19.465–469how, while he was hunting, a boar had struck him with his white tusk when he had gone to Parnassus with the sons of Autolycus. This scar the old dame, when she had taken the limb in the flat of her hands, knew by the touch, and she let fall the foot. Into the basin the leg fell, and the brazen vessel rang.

19.470–474Over it tilted, and the water was spilled upon the ground. Then upon her soul came joy and grief in one moment, and both her eyes were filled with tears and the flow of her voice was checked. But she touched the chin of Odysseus, and said: “Verily thou art Odysseus, dear child, and I knew thee not,

19.475–479till I had handled all the body of my lord.” She spoke, and with her eyes looked toward Penelope, fain to show her that her dear husband was at home. But Penelope could not meet her glance nor understand, for Athena had turned her thoughts aside. But Odysseus,

19.480–484feeling for the woman's throat, seized it with his right hand, and with the other drew her closer to him, and said: “Mother, why wilt thou destroy me? Thou didst thyself nurse me at this thy breast, and now after many grievous toils I am come in the twentieth year to my native land.

19.485–489But since thou hast found me out, and a god has put this in thy heart, be silent lest any other in the halls learn hereof. For thus will I speak out to thee, and verily it shall be brought to pass: if a god shall subdue the lordly wooers unto me, I will not spare thee, my nurse though thou art, when

19.490–494I slay the other serving-women in my halls.” Then wise Eurycleia answered him: “My child, what a word has escaped the barrier of thy teeth! Thou knowest how firm my spirit is and unyielding: I shall be as close as hard stone or iron.

19.495–499And another thing will I tell thee, and do thou lay it to heart. If a god shall subdue the lordly wooers unto thee, then will I name over to thee the women in thy halls, which ones dishonor thee, and which are guiltless.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said:

19.500–504“Mother, why, pray, wilt thou speak of them? Thou needest not at all. Of myself will I mark them well, and come to know each one. Nay, keep the matter to thyself, and leave the issue to the gods.” So he spoke, and the old woman went forth through the hall to bring water for his feet, for all the first was spilled.

19.545–549and with the voice of a mortal man checked my weeping, and said: “‘Be of good cheer, daughter of far-famed Icarius; this is no dream, but a true vision of good which shall verily find fulfillment. The geese are the wooers, and I, that before was the eagle, am now again come back as thy husband,

19.550–554who will let loose a cruel doom upon all the wooers.’ “So he spoke, and sweet sleep released me, and looking about I saw the geese in the halls, feeding on wheat beside the trough, where they had before been wont to feed.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her and said:

19.555–559“Lady, in no wise is it possible to wrest this dream aside and give it another meaning, since verily Odysseus himself has shewn thee how he will bring it to pass. For the wooers' destruction is plain to see, for one and all; not one of them shall escape death and the fates.” Then wise Penelope answered him again:

19.560–564“Stranger, dreams verily are baffling and unclear of meaning, and in no wise do they find fulfillment in all things for men. For two are the gates of shadowy dreams, and one is fashioned of horn and one of ivory. Those dreams that pass through the gate of sawn ivory

19.565–569deceive men, bringing words that find no fulfillment. But those that come forth through the gate of polished horn bring true issues to pass, when any mortal sees them. But in my case it was not from thence, methinks, that my strange dream came. Ah, truly it would then have been welcome to me and to my son.

19.570–574But another thing will I tell thee, and do thou lay it to heart. Even now is coming on this morn of evil name which is to cut me off from the house of Odysseus; for now I shall appoint for a contest those axes which he was wont to set up in line in his halls, like props of a ship that is building, twelve in all,

19.575–579and he would stand afar off and shoot an arrow through them. Now then I shall set this contest before the wooers: whosoever shall most easily string the bow in his hands, and shoot an arrow through all twelve axes, with him will I go and forsake this house

19.580–584of my wedded life, a house most fair and filled with livelihood, which, methinks, I shall ever remember even in my dreams.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: “Honored wife of Odysseus, son of Laertes, no longer now do thou put off this contest in thy halls;

19.585–589for, I tell thee, Odysseus of many wiles will be here, ere these men, handling this polished bow, shall have strung it, and shot an arrow through the iron.” Then wise Penelope answered him: “If thou couldest but wish, stranger, to sit here in my halls

19.590–594and give me joy, sleep should never be shed over my eyelids. But it is in no wise possible that men should forever be sleepless, for the immortals have appointed a proper time for each thing upon the earth, the giver of grain. But I verily will go to my upper chamber

19.595–599and lay me on my bed, which has become for me a bed of wailings, ever bedewed with my tears, since the day when Odysseus went to see evil Ilios, that should never be named. There will I lay me down, but do thou lie down here in the hall, when thou hast strewn bedding on the floor; or let the maids set a bedstead for thee.”

19.600–604So saying, she went up to her bright upper chamber, not alone, for with her went her handmaids as well. And when she had gone up to her upper chamber with her handmaids, she then bewailed Odysseus, her dear husband, until flashing-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.

21.40–44take with him on the black ships, but it lay in his halls at home as a memorial of a dear friend, and he carried it in his own land. Now when the fair lady had come to the store-room, and had stepped upon the threshold of oak, which of old the carpenter had skilfully planed and made straight to the line—

21.45–49thereon had he also fitted door-posts, and set on them bright doors—straightway she quickly loosed the thong from the handle and thrust in the key, and with sure aim shot back the bolts. And as a bull bellows

21.50–54when grazing in a meadow, even so bellowed the fair doors, smitten by the key; and quickly they flew open before her. Then she stepped upon the high floor, where the chests stood in which fragrant raiment was stored, and stretched out her hand from thence and took from its peg the bow together with the bright case which surrounded it.

21.55–59And there she sat down and laid the case upon her knees and wept aloud, and took out the bow of her lord. But when she had had her fill of tearful wailing, she went her way to the hall, to the company of the lordly wooers, bearing in her hands the back-bent bow and the quiver

21.60–64that held the arrows, and many arrows were in it, fraught with groanings. And by her side her maidens bore a chest, wherein lay abundance of iron and bronze, the battle-gear of her lord. Now when the fair lady reached the wooers, she stood by the door-post of the well-built hall,

21.65–69holding before her face her shining veil; and a faithful handmaid stood on either side of her. Then straightway she spoke among the wooers, and said: “Hear me, ye proud wooers, who have beset this house to eat and drink ever without end,

21.70–74since its master has long been gone, nor could you find any other plea to urge, save only as desiring to wed me and take me to wife. Nay, come now, ye wooers, since this is shewn to be your prize. I will set before you the great bow of divine Odysseus,

21.75–79and whosoever shall most easily string the bow in his hands and shoot an arrow through all twelve axes, with him will I go, and forsake this house of my wedded life, a house most fair and filled with livelihood, which, methinks I shall ever remember even in my dreams.”

21.80–84So she spoke, and bade Eumaeus, the goodly swineherd, set for the wooers the bow and the grey iron. And, bursting into tears, Eumaeus took them and laid them down, and in another place the neatherd wept, when he saw the bow of his lord. Then Antinous rebuked them, and spoke, and addressed them:

21.85–89“Foolish boors, who mind only the things of the day! Wretched pair, why now do you shed tears, and trouble the soul in the breast of the lady, whose heart even as it is lies low in pain, seeing that she has lost her dear husband? Nay, sit and feast in silence,

21.90–94or else go forth and weep, and leave the bow here behind as a decisive contest for the wooers; for not easily, methinks, is this polished bow to be strung. For there is no man among all these here such as Odysseus was, and I myself saw him.

21.95–99For I remember him, though I was still but a child.” So he spoke, but the heart in his breast hoped that he would string the bow and shoot an arrow through the iron. Yet verily he was to be the first to taste of an arrow from the hands of noble Odysseus, whom then he,

21.100–104as he sat in the halls, was dishonoring, and urging on all his comrades. Then among them spoke the strong and mighty Telemachus: “Lo now, of a truth Zeus, son of Cronos, has made me witless. My dear mother, for all that she is wise, declares that she will follow another lord, forsaking this house;

21.105–109yet I laugh, and am glad with a witless mind. Come then, ye wooers, since this is shewn to be your prize, a lady, the like of whom is not now in the Achaean land, neither in sacred Pylos, nor in Argos, nor in Mycene, nor yet in Ithaca itself, nor in the dark mainland.

21.110–114Nay, but of yourselves you know this—what need have I to praise my mother? Come then, put not the matter aside with excuses, nor any more turn away too long from the drawing of the bow, that we may see the issue. Yea, and I would myself make trial of yon bow. If I shall string it and shoot an arrow through the iron,

21.115–119it will not vex me that my honored mother should leave this house and go along with another, seeing that I should be left here able now to wield the goodly battle-gear of my father.” With this he flung the scarlet cloak from off his back, and sprang up erect; and he laid his sharp sword from off his shoulders.

21.120–124First then he set up the axes, when he had dug a trench, one long trench for all, and made it straight to the line, and about them he stamped in the earth. And amazement seized all who saw him, that he set them out so orderly, though before he had never seen them. Then he went and stood upon the threshold, and began to try the bow.

21.125–129Thrice he made it quiver in his eagerness to draw it, and thrice he relaxed his effort, though in his heart he hoped to string the bow and shoot an arrow through the iron. And now at the last he would haply have strung it in his might, as for the fourth time he sought to draw up the string, but Odysseus nodded in dissent, and checked him in his eagerness.

21.130–134Then the strong and mighty Telemachus spoke among them again: “Out on it, even in days to come shall I be a coward and a weakling, or else I am too young, and have not yet trust in my might to defend me against a man, when one waxes wroth without a cause. But, come now, you that are mightier than I,

21.135–139make trial of the bow, and let us end the contest.” So saying, he set the bow from him on the ground, leaning it against the jointed, polished door, and hard by he leaned the swift arrow against the fair bow-tip, and then sat down again on the seat from which he had risen.

21.140–144Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spoke among them: “Rise up in order, all you of our company, from left to right, beginning from the place where the cupbearer pours the wine.” So spoke Antinous, and his word was pleasing to them. Then first arose Leiodes, son of Oenops,

21.145–149who was their soothsayer, and ever sat by the fair mixing-bowl in the innermost part of the hall; deeds of wanton folly were hateful to him alone, and he was full of indignation at all the wooers. He it was who now first took the bow and swift arrow, and he went and stood upon the threshold, and began to try the bow;

21.150–154but he could not string it. Ere that might be his hands grew weary, as he sought to draw up the string, his unworn delicate hands; and he spoke among the wooers: “Friends, it is not I that shall string it; let another take it. For many princes shall this bow rob of spirit and of life, since verily it is better far

21.155–159to die than to live on and fail of that for the sake of which we ever gather here, waiting expectantly day after day. Now many a man even hopes in his heart and desires to wed Penelope, the wife of Odysseus; but when he shall have made trial of the bow, and seen the outcome, thereafter let him woo

21.160–164some other of the fair-robed Achaean women with his gifts, and seek to win her; then should Penelope wed him who offers most, and who comes as her fated lord.” So he spoke, and set the bow from him, leaning it against the jointed, polished door,

21.165–169and hard by he leaned the swift arrow against the fair bow-tip, and then sat down on the seat from which he had risen. But Antinous rebuked him, and spoke, and addressed him: “Leiodes, what a word has escaped the barrier of thy teeth, a dread word and grievous! I am angered to hear it,

21.170–174if forsooth this bow is to rob princes of spirit and of life, because thou art not able to string it. For, I tell thee, thy honored mother did not bear thee of such strength as to draw a bow and shoot arrows; but others of the lordly wooers will soon string it.”

21.175–179So he spoke, and called to Melanthius, the goatherd: “Come now, light a fire in the hall, Melanthius; and set by it a great seat with a fleece upon it, and bring forth a great cake of the fat that is within, that we youths may warm the bow, and anoint it with fat,

21.180–184and so make trial of it, and end the contest.” So he spoke, and Melanthius straightway rekindled the unwearied fire, and brought and placed by it a great seat with a fleece upon it, and he brought forth a great cake of the fat that was within. Therewith the youths warmed the bow, and made trial of it, but they could not

21.185–189string it, for they were far lacking in strength. Now Antinous was still persisting and godlike Eurymachus, leaders of the wooers, who were far the best in valiance; but those other two had gone forth both together from the hall, the neatherd and the swineherd of divine Odysseus;

21.190–194and after them Odysseus himself went forth from the house. But when they were now outside the gates and the court, he spoke and addressed them with gentle words: “Neatherd, and thou too swineherd, shall I tell you something or keep it to myself? Nay, my spirit bids me tell it.

21.195–199What manner of men would you be to defend Odysseus, if he should come from somewhere thus suddenly, and some god should bring him? Would you bear aid to the wooers or to Odysseus? Speak out as your heart and spirit bid you.” Then the herdsmen of the cattle answered him:

21.200–204“Father Zeus, oh that thou wouldest fulfil this wish! Grant that that man may come back, and that some god may guide him. Then shouldest thou know what manner of might is mine, and how my hands obey.” And even in like manner did Eumaeus pray to all the gods that wise Odysseus; might come back to his own home.

21.205–209But when he knew with certainty the mind of these, he made answer, and spoke to them again, saying: “At home now in truth am I here before you, my very self. After many grievous toils I am come in the twentieth year to my native land. And I know that by you two

21.210–214alone of all my thralls is my coming desired, but of the rest have I heard not one praying that I might come back again to my home. But to you two will I tell the truth, even as it shall be. If a god shall subdue the lordly wooers unto me, I will bring you each a wife, and will give you possessions

21.350–354But do thou go thy chamber, and busy thyself with thine own tasks, the loom and the distaff, and bid thy handmaids ply their tasks. The bow shall be for men, for all, but most of all for me; since mine is the authority in the house.” She then, seized with wonder, went back to her chamber,

21.355–359for she laid to heart the wise saying of her son. Up to her upper chamber she went with her handmaids, and then bewailed Odysseus, her dear husband, until flashing-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids. Now the goodly swineherd had taken the curved bow and was bearing it,

21.360–364but the wooers all cried out in the halls. And thus would one of the proud youths speak: “Whither, pray, art thou bearing the curved bow, miserable swineherd, thou man distraught? Soon by thy swine, alone and apart from men, shall the swift hounds devour thee—hounds thyself didst rear—if but Apollo

21.365–369be gracious to us, and the other immortal gods.” So they spoke, and he set down the bow, as he bore it, in that very place, seized with fear because many men were crying out aloud in the halls. But Telemachus on the other side called out threateningly: “Father, bear the bow onward—soon shalt thou rue giving heed to all—

21.370–374lest, younger though I am, I drive thee to the field, and pelt thee with stones; for in strength I am the better. I would that I were even so much better in strength and might than all the wooers that are in the house; then would I soon send many a one

21.375–379forth from our house to go his way in evil case; for they devise wickedness.” So he spoke, but all the wooers laughed merrily at him, and relaxed the bitterness of their anger against Telemachus. Howbeit the swineherd bore the bow through the hall, and came up to wise Odysseus, and put it in his hands.

21.380–384Then he called forth the nurse Eurycleia, and said to her: “Telemachus bids thee, wise Eurycleia, to bar the close-fitting doors of the hall, and if any of the women hear within groanings or the din of men within our walls, let them not

21.385–389rush out, but remain where they are in silence at their work.” So he spoke, but her word remained unwinged; and she barred the doors of the stately halls. But in silence Philoetius hastened forth from the house, and barred the gates of the well-fenced court.

21.390–394Now there lay beneath the portico the cable of a curved ship, made of byblus plant, wherewith he made fast the gates, and then himself went within. Thereafter he came and sat down on the seat from which he had risen, and gazed upon Odysseus; now he was already handling the bow, turning it round and round, and trying it this way and that,

21.395–399lest worms might have eaten the horns, while its lord was afar. And thus would one speak with a glance at his neighbor: “Verily he has a shrewd eye, and is a cunning knave with a bow. It may be haply that he has himself such bows stored away at home, or else he is minded to make one, that he thus

21.400–404turns it this way and that in his hands, the rascally vagabond.” And again another of the proud youths would say: “Would that the fellow might find profit in just such measure as he shall prove able ever to string this bow.” So spoke the wooers, but Odysseus of many wiles,

21.405–409as soon as he had lifted the great bow and scanned it on every side—even as when a man well-skilled in the lyre and in song easily stretches the string about a new peg, making fast at either end the twisted sheep-gut—so without effort did Odysseus string the great bow.

21.410–414And he held it in his right hand, and tried the string, which sang sweetly beneath his touch, like to a swallow in tone. But upon the wooers came great grief, and the faces of them changed color, and Zeus thundered loud, shewing forth his signs. Then glad at heart was the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus

21.415–419that the son of crooked-counselling Cronos sent him an omen, and he took up a swift arrow, which lay by him on the table, bare, but the others were stored within the hollow quiver, even those of which the Achaeans were soon to taste. This he took, and laid upon the bridge of the bow, and drew the bow-string and the notched arrow

21.420–424even from the chair where he sat, and let fly the shaft with sure aim, and did not miss the end of the handle of one of the axes, but clean through and out at the end passed the arrow weighted with bronze. But he spoke to Telemachus, saying: “Telemachus, the stranger

21.425–429that sits in thy halls brings no shame upon thee, nor in any wise did I miss the mark, or labour long in stringing the bow; still is my strength unbroken—not as the wooers scornfully taunt me. But now it is time that supper too be made ready for the Achaeans, while yet there is light, and thereafter must yet other sport be made

21.430–434with song and with the lyre; for these things are the accompaniments of a feast.” He spoke, and made a sign with his brows, and Telemachus, the dear son of divine Odysseus, girt about him his sharp sword, and took his spear in his grasp, and stood by the chair at his father's side, armed with gleaming bronze.

22.1–4But Odysseus of many wiles stripped off his rags and sprang to the great threshold with the bow and the quiver full of arrows, and poured forth the swift arrows right there before his feet, and spoke among the wooers:

22.5–9“Lo, now at last is this decisive contest ended; and now as for another mark, which till now no man has ever smitten, I will know if haply I may strike it, and Apollo grant me glory.” He spoke, and aimed a bitter arrow at Antinous. Now he was on the point of raising to his lips a fair goblet,

22.10–14a two-eared cup of gold, and was even now handling it, that he might drink of the wine, and death was not in his thoughts. For who among men that sat at meat could think that one man among many, how strong soever he were, would bring upon himself evil death and black fate?

22.15–19But Odysseus took aim, and smote him with an arrow in the throat, and clean out through the tender neck passed the point; he sank to one side, and the cup fell from his hand as he was smitten, and straightway up through his nostrils there came a thick jet of the blood of man; and quickly

22.20–24he thrust the table from him with a kick of his foot, and spilled all the food on the floor, and the bread and roast flesh were befouled. Then into uproar broke the wooers through the halls, as they saw the man fallen, and from their high seats they sprang, driven in fear through the hall, gazing everywhere along the well-built walls;

22.25–29but nowhere was there a shield or mighty spear to seize. But they railed at Odysseus with angry words: “Stranger, to thy cost dost thou shoot at men; never again shalt thou take part in other contests; now is thy utter destruction sure. Aye, for thou hast now slain a man who was far the best

22.30–34of the youths in Ithaca; therefore shall vultures devour thee here.” So spoke each man, for verily they thought that he had not slain the man willfully; and in their folly they knew not this, that over themselves one and all the cords of destruction had been made fast. Then with an angry glance from beneath his brows Odysseus of many wiles answered them:

22.35–39“Ye dogs, ye thought that I should never more come home from the land of the Trojans, seeing that ye wasted my house, and lay with the maidservants by force, and while yet I lived covertly wooed my wife, having no fear of the gods, who hold broad heaven,

22.40–44nor of the indignation of men, that is to be hereafter. Now over you one and all have the cords of destruction been made fast.” So he spoke, and thereat pale fear seized them all, and each man gazed about to see how he might escape utter destruction; Eurymachus alone answered him, and said:

22.45–49“If thou art indeed Odysseus of Ithaca, come home again, this that thou sayest is just regarding all that the Achaeans have wrought—many deeds of wanton folly in thy halls and many in the field. But he now lies dead, who was to blame for all, even Antinous; for it was he who set on foot these deeds,

22.110–114Thence he took four shields and eight spears and four helmets of bronze, with thick plumes of horse-hair; and he bore them forth, and quickly came to his dear father. Then first of all he himself girded the bronze about his body, and even in like manner the two slaves put on them the beautiful armour,

22.115–119and took their stand on either side of Odysseus, the wise and crafty-minded. But he, so long as he had arrows to defend him, would ever aim, and smite the wooers one by one in his house, and they fell thick and fast. But when the arrows failed the prince, as he shot,

22.120–124he leaned the bow against the door-post of the well-built hall, and let it stand against the bright entrance wall. For himself, he put about his shoulders a four-fold shield, and set on his mighty head a well-wrought helmet with horse-hair plume, and terribly did the plume wave above him;

22.125–129and he took two mighty spears, tipped with bronze. Now there was in the well-built wall a certain postern door, and along the topmost level of the threshold of the well-built hall was a way into a passage, and well-fitting folding doors closed it. This postern Odysseus bade the goodly swineherd watch,

22.130–134taking his stand close by, for there was but a single way to reach it. Then Agelaus spoke among the wooers, and declared his word to all: “Friends, will not one mount up by the postern door, and tell the people, that so an alarm may be raised straightway? Then should this fellow soon have shot his last.”

22.135–139Then Melanthius, the goatherd, answered him: “It may not be, Agelaus, fostered of Zeus, for terribly near is the fair door of the court, and the mouth of the passage is hard. One man could bar the way for all, so he were valiant. But come, let me bring you

22.140–144from the store-room arms to don, for it is within, methinks, and nowhere else that Odysseus and his glorious son have laid the arms.” So saying, Melanthius, the goatherd, mounted up by the steps of the hall to the store-rooms of Odysseus. Thence he took twelve shields, as many spears,

22.145–149and as many helmets of bronze with thick plumes of horsehair, and went his way, and quickly brought and gave them to the wooers. Then the knees of Odysseus were loosened and his heart melted, when he saw them donning armour and brandishing long spears in their hands, and great did his task seem to him;

22.150–154but quickly he spoke to Telemachus winged words: “Telemachus, verily some one of the women in the halls is rousing against us an evil battle, or haply it is Melanthius.” Then wise Telemachus answered him: “Father, it is I myself that am at fault in this, and no other

22.155–159is to blame, for I left the close-fitting door of the store-room open: their watcher was better than I. But go now, goodly Eumaeus, close the door of the store-room, and see whether it is one of the women who does this, or Melanthius, son of Dolius, as I suspect.”

22.160–164Thus they spoke to one another. But Melanthius, the goatherd, went again to the store-room to bring beautiful armour; howbeit the goodly swineherd marked him, and straightway said to Odysseus who was near: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices,

22.165–169yonder again is the pestilent fellow, whom we ourselves suspect, going to the store-room. But do thou tell me truly, shall I slay him, if I prove the better man, or shall I bring him hither to thee, that the fellow may pay for the many crimes that he has planned in thy house?”

22.170–174Then Odysseus of many wiles answered him and said: “Verily I and Telemachus will keep the lordly wooers within the hall, how fierce soever they be, but do you two bend behind him his feet and his arms above, and cast him into the store-room, and tie boards behind his back;

22.175–179then make fast to his body a twisted rope, and hoist him up the tall pillar, till you bring him near the roof-beams, that he may keep alive long, and suffer grievous torment.” So he spoke, and they readily hearkened and obeyed. Forth they went to the store-room, unseen of him who was within.

22.180–184He truly was seeking for armour in the innermost part of the store-room, and the two lay in wait, standing on either side of the door-posts. And when Melanthius, the goatherd, was about to pass over the threshold, bearing in one hand a goodly helm, and in the other a broad old shield, flecked with rust—

22.185–189the shield of lord Laertes, which he was wont to bear in his youth, but now it was laid by, and the seams of its straps were loosened—then the two sprang upon him and seized him. They dragged him in by the hair, and flung him down on the ground in sore terror, and bound his feet and hands with galling bonds,

22.190–194binding them firmly behind his back, as the son of Laertes bade them, the much enduring, goodly Odysseus; and they made fast to his body a twisted rope, and hoisted him up the tall pillar, till they brought him near the roof-beams. Then didst thou mock him, swineherd Eumaeus, and say:

22.195–199“Now verily, Melanthius, shalt thou watch the whole night through, lying on a soft bed, as befits thee, nor shalt thou fail to mark the early Dawn, golden-throned, as she comes forth from the streams of Oceanus, at the hour when thou art wont to drive thy she-goats for the wooers, to prepare a feast in the halls.”

22.200–204So he was left there, stretched in the direful bond, but the two put on their armour, and closed the bright door, and went to Odysseus, the wise and crafty-minded. There they stood, breathing fury, those on the threshold but four, while those within the hall were many and brave.

22.205–209Then Athena, daughter of Zeus, drew near them, like unto Mentor in form and voice, and Odysseus saw her, and was glad; and he spoke, saying: “Mentor, ward off ruin, and remember me, thy dear comrade, who often befriended thee. Thou art of like age with myself.”

22.210–214So he spoke, deeming that it was Athena, the rouser of hosts. But the wooers on the other side shouted aloud in the hall, and first Agelaus, son of Damastor, rebuked Athena, saying: “Mentor, let not Odysseus beguile thee with his words to fight against the wooers and bear aid to himself.

22.285–289and thereafter the herdsman of the cattle smote Ctesippus in the breast, and boasted over him, saying: “Son of Polytherses, thou lover of revilings, never more at all do thou speak big, yielding to folly, but leave the matter to the gods, since verily they are mightier far.

22.290–294This is thy gift of welcome to match the hoof which of late thou gavest to godlike Odysseus, when he went begging through the house.” So spoke the herdsman of the sleek cattle. But Odysseus wounded the son of Damastor in close fight with a thrust of his long spear, and Telemachus wounded Leiocritus, son of Evenor,

22.295–299with a spear-thrust full upon the groin, and drove the bronze clean through, and he fell headlong and struck the ground full with his forehead. Then Athena held up her aegis, the bane of mortals, on high from the roof, and the minds of the wooers were panic-stricken, and they fled through the halls like a herd of kine

22.300–304that the darting gad-fly falls upon and drives along in the season of spring, when the long days come. And even as vultures of crooked talons and curved beaks come forth from the mountains and dart upon smaller birds, which scour the plain, flying low beneath the clouds,

22.305–309and the vultures pounce upon them and slay them, and they have no defence or way of escape, and men rejoice at the chase; even so did those others set upon the wooers and smite them left and right through the hall. And therefrom rose hideous groaning as heads were smitten, and all the floor swam with blood.

22.310–314But Leiodes rushed forward and clasped the knees of Odysseus, and made entreaty to him, and spoke winged words: “By thy knees I beseech thee, Odysseus, and do thou respect me and have pity. For I declare to thee that never yet have I wronged one of the women in thy halls by wanton word or deed; nay,

22.315–319I sought to check the other wooers, when any would do such deeds. But they would not hearken to me to withhold their hands from evil, wherefore through their wanton folly they have met a cruel doom. Yet I, the soothsayer among them, that have done no wrong, shall be laid low even as they; so true is it that there is no gratitude in aftertime for good deeds done.”

22.320–324Then with an angry glance from beneath his brows Odysseus of many wiles answered him: “If verily thou dost declare thyself the soothsayer among these men, often, I ween, must thou have prayed in the halls that far from me the issue of a joyous return might be removed, and that it might be with thee that my dear wife should go and bear thee children;

22.325–329wherefore thou shalt not escape grievous death.” So saying, he seized in his strong hand a sword that lay near, which Agelaus had let fall to the ground when he was slain, and with this he smote him full upon the neck. And even while he was yet speaking his head was mingled with the dust.

22.330–334Now the son of Terpes, the minstrel, was still seeking to escape black fate, even Phemius, who sang perforce among the wooers. He stood with the clear-toned lyre in his hands near the postern door, and he was divided in mind whether he should slip out from the hall

22.335–339and sit down by the well-built altar of great Zeus, the God of the court, whereon Laertes and Odysseus had burned many things of oxen, or whether he should rush forward and clasp the knees of Odysseus in prayer. And as he pondered this seemed to him the better course, to clasp the knees of Odysseus, son of Laertes.

22.340–344So he laid the hollow lyre on the ground between the mixing-bowl and the silver-studded chair, and himself rushed forward and clasped Odysseus by the knees, and made entreaty to him, and spoke winged words: “By thy knees I beseech thee, Odysseus, and do thou respect me and have pity;

22.345–349on thine own self shall sorrow come hereafter, if thou slayest the minstrel, even me, who sing to gods and men. Self-taught am I, and the god has planted in my heart all manner of lays, and worthy am I to sing to thee as to a god; wherefore be not eager to cut my throat.

22.350–354Aye, and Telemachus too will bear witness to this, thy dear son, how that through no will or desire of mine I was wont to resort to thy house to sing to the wooers at their feasts, but they, being far more and stronger, led me hither perforce.” So he spoke, and the strong and mighty Telemachus heard him,

23.145–149of sweet song and goodly dance. So the great hall resounded all about with the tread of dancing men and of fair-girdled women; and thus would one speak who heard the noise from without the house: “Aye, verily some one has wedded the queen wooed of many.

23.150–154Cruel she was, nor had she the heart to keep the great house of her wedded husband to the end, even till he should come.” So they would say, but they knew not how these things were. Meanwhile the housewife Eurynome bathed the great-hearted Odysseus in his house, and anointed him with oil,

23.155–159and cast about him a fair cloak and a tunic; and over his head Athena shed abundant beauty, making him taller to look upon and mightier, and from his head she made locks to flow in curls like the hyacinth flower. And as when a man overlays silver with gold,

23.160–164a cunning workman whom Hephaestus and Pallas Athena have taught all manner of craft, and full of grace is the work he produces, even so the goddess shed grace on his head and shoulders, and forth from the bath he came, in form like unto the immortals. Then he sat down again on the chair from which he had risen,

23.165–169opposite his wife; and he spoke to her and said: “Strange lady! to thee beyond all women have the dwellers on Olympus given a heart that cannot be softened. No other woman would harden her heart as thou dost, and stand aloof from her husband who after many grievous toils

23.170–174had come to her in the twentieth year to his native land. Nay come, nurse, strew me a couch, that all alone I may lay me down, for verily the heart in her breast is of iron.” Then wise Penelope answered him: “Strange sir, I am neither in any wise proud, nor do I scorn thee,

23.175–179nor yet am I too greatly amazed, but right well do I know what manner of man thou wast, when thou wentest forth from Ithaca on thy long-oared ship. Yet come, Eurycleia, strew for him the stout bedstead outside the well-built bridal chamber which he made himself. Thither do ye bring for him the stout bedstead, and cast upon it bedding,

23.180–184fleeces and cloaks and bright coverlets.” So she spoke, and made trial of her husband. But Odysseus, in a burst of anger, spoke to his true-hearted wife, and said: “Woman, truly this is a bitter word that thou hast spoken. Who has set my bed elsewhere? Hard would it be for one,

23.185–189though never so skilled, unless a god himself should come and easily by his will set it in another place. But of men there is no mortal that lives, be he never so young and strong, who could easily pry it from its place, for a great token is wrought in the fashioned bed, and it was I that built it and none other.

23.190–194A bush of long-leafed olive was growing within the court, strong and vigorous, and girth it was like a pillar. Round about this I built my chamber, till I had finished it, with close-set stones, and I roofed it over well, and added to it jointed doors, close-fitting.

23.195–199Thereafter I cut away the leafy branches of the long-leafed olive, and, trimming the trunk from the root, I smoothed it around with the adze well and cunningly, and made it straight to the line, thus fashioning the bed-post; and I bored it all with the augur. Beginning with this I hewed out my bed, till I had finished it,

23.200–204inlaying it with gold and silver and ivory, and I stretched on it a thong of ox-hide, bright with purple. Thus do I declare to thee this token; but I know not, woman, whether my bedstead is still fast in its place, or whether by now some man has cut from beneath the olive stump, and set the bedstead elsewhere.”

23.205–209So he spoke, and her knees were loosened where she sat, and her heart melted, as she knew the sure tokens which Odysseus told her. Then with a burst of tears she ran straight toward him, and flung her arms about the neck of Odysseus, and kissed his head, and spoke, saying: “Be not vexed with me, Odysseus, for in all else

23.210–214thou wast ever the wisest of men. It is the gods that gave us sorrow, the gods who begrudged that we two should remain with each other and enjoy our youth, and come to the threshold of old age. But be not now wroth with me for this, nor full of indignation, because at the first, when I saw thee, I did not thus give thee welcome.

23.215–219For always the heart in my breast was full of dread, lest some man should come and beguile me with his words; for there are many that plan devices of evil. Nay, even Argive Helen, daughter of Zeus, would not have lain in love with a man of another folk,

23.220–224had she known that the warlike sons of the Achaeans were to bring her home again to her dear native land. Yet verily in her case a god prompted her to work a shameful deed; nor until then did she lay up in her mind the thought of that folly, the grievous folly from which at the first sorrow came upon us too.

23.225–229But now, since thou hast told the clear tokens of our bed, which no mortal beside has ever seen save thee and me alone and one single handmaid, the daughter of Actor, whom my father gave me or ever I came hither, even her who kept the doors of our strong bridal chamber,

23.230–234lo, thou dost convince my heart, unbending as it is.” So she spoke, and in his heart aroused yet more the desire for lamentation; and he wept, holding in his arms his dear and true-hearted wife. And welcome as is the sight of land to men that swim, whose well-built ship Poseidon

23.235–239has smitten on the sea as it was driven on by the wind and the swollen wave, and but few have made their escape from the gray sea to the shore by swimming, and thickly are their bodies crusted with brine, and gladly have they set foot on the land and escaped from their evil case; even so welcome to her was her husband, as she gazed upon him,

23.240–244and from his neck she could in no wise let her white arms go. And now would the rosy-fingered Dawn have arisen upon their weeping, had not the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, taken other counsel. The long night she held back at the end of its course, and likewise stayed the golden-throned Dawn at the streams of Oceanus, and would not suffer her

23.245–249to yoke her swift-footed horses that bring light to men, Lampus and Phaethon, who are the colts that bear the Dawn. Then to his wife said Odysseus of many wiles: “Wife, we have not yet come to the end of all our trials, but still hereafter there is to be measureless toil,

23.250–254long and hard, which I must fulfil to the end; for so did the spirit of Teiresias foretell to me on the day when I went down into the house of Hades to enquire concerning the return of my comrades and myself. But come, wife, let us to bed, that

23.255–259lulled now by sweet slumber we may take our joy of rest.” Then wise Penelope answered him: “Thy bed shall be ready for thee whensoever thy heart shall desire it, since the gods have indeed caused thee to come back to thy well-built house and thy native land.