Book XIX

There then the goodly Odysseus was left to abide in the hall,
Still pondering bane for the Wooers with Athene's help to befall,

And unto Telemachus straightly a winged word did he say:
"Telemachus, now withinward all the war-gear must thou lay,
But give soft words to the Wooers when they come the same to miss
And thereof ask thee closely: such words shalt thou speak as this:
'From out of the smoke have I laid them; for nought such are they any more
As Odysseus left behind him when he sailed for the Troy-folks' shore,
But are worsened where the edges the breath of the fire might find.
And another thing yet greater hath God put into my mind,
Lest ye, when ye are drunken, to strife of strokes may fall
And hurt you; thus befouling the feast and the Wooing withal.
For e'en of himself the Iron to battle draweth men.'"

So he spake; and his father beloved Telemachus heeded as then,
And he called to Euryclea, and spake to his nurse of old:
'Good dame, within the chamber the women do thou hold
While my father's lovely weapons in the treasure-house I stow,
Which have lain in the house unheeded, and are marred by the fire-reek now.
For far aloof was my father and I but a child at home;
But now would I lay them together where the fire's breath may not come."
Then the loved nurse Euryclea this word to him did speed:
"O child, and might'st thou do it to take on thee good heed,
And keep the house with wisdom and ward well all the gear!
But say who wendeth him with thee the brands for thee to bear,
Since the maids may not go before thee a light for thee to make?"

But Telemachus the heedful made answer thus and spake:
"This guest: for I will not suffer that any have his hand
In my meal-ark, and be deedless, though he come from a far-off land."

So he spake, and the word of his speaking unwinged with her did dwell,
And she shut the door of the chambers that were builded fair and well.
And then fell to Odysseus and his well-renowned son,
And bore out the helms of battle, and the shields with bosses done,
And the keen spears; and before them Pallas Athene went,

Holding a golden lantern, and a fair light from it sent.
Then Telemachus fell a-speaking to his father presently:
"O father! lo a marvel that mine eyes behold and see,
For lo how the walls of the chambers, and the panels fashioned fair,
And the rafters of the pine-tree, and the shafts that all uprear,
All shine unto mine eyesight as if with the fire ablaze!
Ah, some God is within of the dwellers of the wide-spread heavenly place."
But Odysseus of many a rede he spake and answered again:

"' Nay, hold thy peace, and refrain thee, and thy mind and thine asking
For this is the wont of the God-folk that hold Olympus high.
So go thou and lie thee adown, while I abide hereby, refrain,

That yet again thy mother and the handmaids I may stir,
That about al! things she shall ask me for the grief that is in her."
So he spake, and Telemachus wended his ways adown the hall,

And 'neath the blaze of the firebrands he gat to his chamber withal,
Where aforetime would he lay him when sweet sleep came his road;
There yet again he laid him, and the holy Dawn abode.
But there the goodly Odysseus was left to abide in the hall,

Still pondering the doom of the Wooers, with Athene's help to befall
And now from out her chamber came all-wise Penelope,
And like Aphrodite the golden, and Artemis was she,
And they set her a bench by the fire, and she sat her down thereon,
Of turned ivory and of silver all by a craftsman done,
Icmalius hight; and a footstool for the feet beneath had he made
That grew unjointed from out it, and thereon a great fleece was there laid.
So Penelope the all-wise sat down upon that same,
And from out the hall the damsels white-armed about her came;
And they therefrom much bread, and the boards had borne away,

And the beakers wherefrom had drunken those men o'er-haughty that day;
And they cast down the fire from the braziers, and thereon laid withal
New-quickened brands in plenty for light and heat to the hall.

But now again Melantho Odysseus fell to chide:

"Through the night season, O Stranger, will thy troubling yet abide?
About the house wilt thou loiter eyeing the women o'er?
Out, wretch! out a-doors, and there hug thee on the feast thou hast had before;
Or smitten by the firebrand thy way out shalt thou take!"

Then, from his bent brows scowling, guileful Odysseus spake:
"Yea, wench! and why fallest thou on me with thy wrath and evil will?
Is it because I am foul, and my body clad but ill?
And because through the land I go begging? Well, hard need driveth me,
And such forsooth all beggars and gangrel men must be.
And I—I once was wealthy, and midst of men did live
In a fair rich house; and to bedesmen a many did I give
Whatso they were, and whatso was the need that brought them there.
And thralls had I out of number, and all the goods and gear
Whereby men live in plenty, and for great and rich men pass.

But the Son of Cronos drained me all dry; for his will it was.
So look thou to it, O woman, lest thy fairness thou should'st lose
Wherein thou so excellest all the handmaids of the house;

Lest thy mistress have thee in anger, and her wrath lie hard on thee,
Or Odysseus return, whereof yet a grain of hope there may be.
Moreover, if he hath perished, and his homefare be but dead,

Yet by the will of Apollo a like son stands in his stead,
Telemachus: and of the women of the house that the wanton play
Shall none escape him henceforth: for ripe is his age today."
But Penelope the all-wise the thing he spake she heard,

And she spake unto the handmaid and said a chiding word:
"Thou shameless dog! thou bold-face! from me thou hid'st not away,
Thou and the deed that thou doest: but thine head therefore shall pay.
And now full well thou wottest, since the word thou heard'st me speak,
That in these halls of my dwelling of the stranger would I seek

Some tidings of my husband, since grief besetteth me sore."
To Eurynome the house-dame therewith she spake once more:
"Eurynome, bring thou the settle, and thereover cast a fell,
That thereon the guest a-sitting the tale to me may tell,
And hear my word: for his tidings I would search out thoroughly."
So right handily she brought it and set it down thereby,
The well-smoothed settle, and on it the fleecy fell she cast,
And the goodly toil-stout Odysseus sat down thereon at last,
And Penelope the all-wise took up the word and spake:
"' Now of the speech, O Stranger, beginning will I make,
And ask of what men thou comest, whence thy city and thy kin?"
But answered the wise Odysseus and thuswise did begin:
"O Queen, no man of mortals upon the boundless earth
May blame thee: for unto the heavens goeth up the fame of thy worth,
As of some king most noble; and the Gods is he worshipping,

As he rules o'er a folk that is many, and of valiant men is king;
And good manners there he upholdeth, and the black earth yields increase,
Both of the wheat and the barley, and heavy with fruit are the trees;
And the ewes bring forth and fail not, and fish the sea-flood gives.

All this from his well-ruling; for the folk beneath him thrives.
In this thine house then ask me of any other thing,
But of my land and my people nought be thou questioning,
Nor flood my heart with sorrow by very memory.
For I am a man of mourning: nor is it meet for me
Bewailing me and moaning in another's house to sit;
And ill it is to be grieving and make no end to it.
Lest one of the home-folk blame me, or e'en by thee it be said
That I in tears am swimming, my wit with wine o'erlaid."
But unto him then answered heart-wise Penelope:

"O guest, my form and my fairness and the worth that was in me
The Deathless slew when for Troy-town the Argives went aboard,
And in their fellowship wended Odysseus, once my lord.

Ah! would he but be coming, and rule o'er my livelihood,
Then greater were my glory, and my days more fair and good.
Now woe is me for the onrush of ills that the God hath sent!
For all that in these islands are kings and excellent,
In Dulichium, or Same, or Zacynthus of the trees,
Or abide in the Ithacan country clear-seen across the seas,
All these do woo me unwilling, and my house they waste and wear.
Therefore I heed no guest-folk nor of bedesmen have a care,
Nor any whit of the henchmen who the people's craftsmen be.
But in sorrow for Odysseus melts out the heart in me,
While they press on the wedding, and by cunning ways I wind.
But the first thing that God gave me, and set within my mind,
Was to gear a great loom, and be weaving a web within the hall,
Full fine and wide of measure; and I spake unto them all:

"O Wooers of mine, O younglings, since the goodly Odysseus is dead,
Stay the urging on of my wedding till this web to an end I have sped,
Lest all for nought its warp-threads on mine hands should wane away.
'Tis a shroud for the hero Laertes, for the season and the day

When the doom of death shall take him that layeth men along;
Lest some one of Achæan women on me should lay the wrong.
Lo the man of great possessions now shroudless is he laid.'
"So I spake, and the men high-hearted my bidding they obeyed,
And through the day my weaving in the mighty loom I plied.

And undid my web in the night when the torches were set by my side;
So for three years I beguiled them, and the Achæans did I tame.
But when it now was the fourth year, and around the seasons came,
And time, through the waning of months and the days' fulfilling must speed,
Then by the means of the handmaids and the wantons lacking heed
They came upon me and caught me, and loud they chided me,

And perforce my work must I finish for as loth as I might be.
"Now no more may I flee the wedding, and other device have I none,
And unto the wedding my parents now urge me, and my son
Is troubled now he noteth how his livelihood they eat;
For to manhood now is he waxen, and a man of all most meet
To heed the house; and Zeus giveth to him a glorious part.
So now withal I bid thee tell thy folk from whence thou art,
Since from no oak old in story and from no stone art thou."
But unto her in answer speaketh wise Odysseus now:
"O worshipped wife of Odysseus that was Laertes' son,
In asking of my kindred wilt thou no more be done?
Well, the tale then will I tell thee, though ye give me into the hand

Of more griefs than e'en now hold me. For still, when aloof from his land
Hath one been such a while as I have, e'en thus will the matter go,
When he hath strayed through the cities of menfolk bearing his woe.
But even so will I tell thee what thou seekest and askest of me. Igi
Now Crete is a certain country amidst of the wine-dark sea,

Fair, fat-soiled, sea-begirded; and a many men are there,
Yea, more than may be numbered; and ninety cities fair
There mingle men's tongues that are divers: there Achæans talk and tell,
And the high-heart Eteo-Cretans, and there Cydonians dwell,
And the Dorian folk three-folded, and Pelasgian folk God-bred.
And Cnosus the great city they have, in which same stead

From nine years old ruled Minos, who great Zeus for a speech-friend won,
The father of my father, high-souled Deucalion.
So Deucalion begat me and Idomeneus the King,

Who, in the beaked ship sailing to Ilios wayfaring,
Went with the sons of Atreus: while I, the younger of birth,
Am Æthon hight: but the elder is he, and the better of worth.
Now there I saw Odysseus, and the guest-gifts to him gave,
Since him for Troy-town making to Crete the strong wind drave;
For seaward from Malea it thrust him straying then,
And bound him in Amnisus, where is Eleithyias' den,
A haven strait, where hardly by the storm he failed to be caught.

So, coming unto the city, Idomeneus he sought,
For he said that he was his guest-friend, and a dear and honoured one.
But he for ten days at the least, or eleven days, was gone,

In his beaked ship unto Ilios wayfaring over the sea.

So I brought the man to my house, and guested him well with me,
And heedfully him did I cherish, for my house held many a thing,
And unto those his fellows who that man were following

Red wine and the flour of barley from the folk-store I gathered and gave,
And oxen for burnt-offering, that enow their souls might have.

"So twelve days the holy Achæans abided there in the land;
For stark drave the north wind on them that hardly might they stand,
And some God that was hard to deal with the storm-rush 'gainst them made,
But the thirteenth day the wind fell, and thereupon they weighed."

Then he stayed his feigned story, that like to the truth did he tell,
And the flesh of her was molten, and the tears as she hearkened fell;
And e'en as the snow is molten on the mountain peaks on a day,
And that which the west wind sheddeth the east wind wasteth away,
And the streams of the river are swollen by that melting off the hill,
So were her fair cheeks molten, and there she wept her fill;

And sore she bewailed her husband who beside her sat in the life.

Great pity then had Odysseus in his heart of his weeping wife,
But his eyes beneath his eyelids like horn or steel they stood
Untrembling, and he refrained him of the tears by his craftihood.

But when of her tearful wailing she was satiate at the last
Therewith again she answered, and this word to him she cast:
"Now guest, and thou guest indeed, yet thy tale I think to try;
If indeed thou there hast guested with his godlike company,
My husband in thy feast-hall, as the tale to me ye bore,
Then tell me what like was the raiment that about his body he wore,
And what was the man to look on, and his fellows, what were they?"
But Odysseus of many a counsel he fell to answer and say:
"Tis hard to tell, O woman, so long as the time doth wear;
For now indeed already hath come the twentieth year
Since the day when he departed and left my land behind.
Yet forsooth e'en so will I tell thee as the image abides in my mind.
For a well-fulled cloak of purple the goodly Odysseus wore,
Twofold; and therewith a buckle of goldsmith's work it bore
With double clasps for the tongue, and its face with wise-work wrought.
For thereon a hound in his forepaws a spotted hind had caught,

And glared upon it gasping: and all men marvelled there
At those things of gold; how he still glared on as he throttled the deer,
And how with her feet she was writhing, so sore as she longed to go free.
Now withal a gleaming kirtle on his body did I see;

As the peel that showeth outward of a thin-layered onion,
E'en so dainty was its fashion, and it shimmered as the sun,
And many women beheld it, and wondered at it sore.
And now a thing will I tell thee for thine heart to ponder o'er,
If Odysseus this weed did on him at home I nothing wot,
Or if on the ship swift-fleeting the gift of a fellow he got,
Or mayhappen of a guest-friend; for to many men was he dear,
And amidst of all the Achæans scarce might he find his peer.
But a brazen sword I gave him, and a cloak twofold and fine,
Of purple dye and lovely, and a long-skirt gaberdine,
And I brought him with all honour to his well-benched ship on the sea.
"Now there went with him an henchman, but a little older than he,
Of whom I will tell thee the fashion as truly as I can:
A black-skinned man, round-shouldered, a curly-headed man;
Eurybates his name was, and over every wight
Odysseus held him in honour, for he knew what was meet and right."
So he spake, and yet more was he stirring the longing of her woe,
As she knew the soothfast tokens that Odysseus there did show.
But when of her tearful mourning she was satiate at the last
Therewith she fell to answer, and this word to him she passed:
'Now from henceforth, O Stranger, though erst thou wert piteous,
Shalt thou be dear and honoured in the chambers of my house.
For 'twas I that dight him the raiment whereof e'en now ye told,

And I folded it up from this chamber, and did on it the buckle of gold;
Yea, e'en for his adornment. But now ne'er will he come to mine hand!
Nay never more come homeward to his lovely fatherland!

O baleful doom of Odysseus in the hollow ship to sail,
And make for the evil Ilios and the unnamed Burg of Bale!"
To her then spake in answer Odysseus of many a rede:
"O worshipped wife of Odysseus that was Laertes' seed,
Mar thy fair flesh no longer, nor waste thy soul away
In wailing for thine husband. Though no blame on thee I lay;
For thus often a woman bewaileth her lawful husband gone,

For whom she hath borne the children of their blended loving won,
Were he worser than Odysseus, whom men call the Godhead's peer.
Yet stay thy grief and be heeding the word that of me thou shalt hear;
For in good sooth shall I tell thee, nor cover up the word

Which of Odysseus' homefare a while ago I heard;
How that he is alive and near by in the rich Thesprotian land,
And goodly and great is the treasure that as now he bringeth to hand,
By seeking of gifts 'mid the people: but his trusty folk they died;
And his hollow ship was broken amid the wine-dark tide,

As he came from the Three-horned Island; for wroth were Zeus and the
With him, because his fellows the kine to death had done.
So all they perished together 'mid the clashing billows' roar. Sun

But him to the keel a-clinging the waves cast up ashore
On the land of the Phæacians, men unto the Gods akin;
From whom to his heart's desire as a God did he worship win;
And a many things they gave him, and were fain to ferry him home
All scathless; and long ago had Odysseus hither come:
But it seemed to his soul more gainful to wander wide o'er the land,
And goods and gear to gather, e'en such as might come to hand;
Since beyond all men that are death-doomed Odysseus wotteth the lore
Of waxing wealth, and no man may match him evermore.
Such tale I had of Phidon, of Thesprotian men the king,
Who swore the same in his house as he poured the drink-offering,

That the ship was shoved down to the sea, and the shipmen ready there
Who were bidden to flit Odysseus to his fatherland the dear.
But he sent me away before him, for a keel happed there, that was bound
From the folk of the Thesprotians to Dulichium's wheat-rich ground.
And there moreover he showed me Odysseus' gathered store,

That would feed to his tenth generation of men, yea even more;
In the chamber of King Phidon lay such abundant gear.
But Odysseus they said had wended to Dodona, to hearken and hear
The word and the counsel of Zeus from the oak of the lofty crest,
In what wise his home-faring to his land beloved were best,
(Whence so long aloof he had bided) or by stealth, or openly.
"Thus then the man is scathless, and e'en now is close hereby,
Nor long aloof shall be biding from his friends and his fatherland.
And forsooth an oath hereover will I swear thee out of hand.

And first: thou, Zeus, bear witness, of all Gods the highest and best,
And thou, hearth of the blameless Odysseus, whereto I am come for my
That this very tale I am telling shall be accomplished and done,
And hither shall come Odysseus in this same year of the sun, rest,

Yea, ere this same moon's waning and the next moon's waxing be."
She then in words bespake him, all-wise Penelope:
"O guest, this thing that thou tellest, may it be but even so!
Then verily of my kindness and my many gifts shouldst thou know,
And whosoever meets thee shall deem thee blest indeed.
And yet my mind forebodeth in what wise this shall speed:
Odysseus shall never come home, and no furtherance gettest thou;
For nowise like are the masters within our house as now

To Odysseus amidst of the menfolk—if ever he were indeed—
For the aiding of guests bepitied, and for taking them home in their need,
Now wash ye this man, O handmaids, and the slumber for him dight,
The bedstead and the blankets and the rugs the dainty-bright,

That he with warmth well cherished the Gold-throned Dawn may meet.
And betimes on the morrow bathe him, and sleek him soft and sweet,
That by Telemachus sitting in the feast-hall at his ease
He may have a care of his victuals: but whosoever of these

Shall grieve him in their anger shall fare the worse therefor;
And his errand here shall be bootless for all his wrath be sore.
For how shalt thou know it, O Stranger, whereby of womankind
I am excellent of counsel, and of understanding mind,
If all weather-worn and ill-clad in our hall thou sittest at meat?

"Short-lived forsooth are menfolk and swift their day to fleet,
And he who is hard-hearted and learned in cruelty,
All men pray evil on him while living he may be,

And dead he hath all men's mocking that erst alive he earned.
But he who liveth upright, and righteousness hath learned,
Far and wide amidst all menfolk goes the glory of his name,
Borne by guests; and many people tell the goodness of his fame."
But to her then spake and answered Odysseus of many a rede:
"Beworshipped wife of Odysseus, the old Laertes' seed,
But loathly to me are these mantles, and these blankets fine and meet,
Since the day when I departed from the snowy fells of Crete,
Across the sea a-faring in the long-ship of the oar:
I will lie as in sleepless night-tides I have rested oft before,
For many a night have I streaked me in full unseemly lair,
And abidden the holy morning, the Gold-throned Dawn and fair.
And moreover, this foot-washing to my mind is nothing meet,
Nor shall any of your women set hand unto my feet,
Of those in the house about thee that are serving in the place,
But it were some woman ancient, of prudent wont and ways,
Whose heart hath borne such troubles as I have had to bear:
To her I should not begrudge it that my feet she handled here."
But to him thus spake in answer heart-wise Penelope:
"Dear guest, no man aforetime hath come to my house and me
Of all far-coming strangers so heedful and so dear,
So heedfully and wisely ye speak of matters here.
Such a goodwife I have, in whose heart do wholesome counsels dwell,
Who erst that man unhappy did rear and nourish well,

And in her hands she took him when his mother brought him to light;
And she thy feet shall wash thee, though now she be minished of might.
—Ho, Euryclea, thou wiseheart! rise up, rise up to me,

To wash one of like age to thy master! Ah, now it well may be
That suchlike are the feet of Odysseus, and suchlike his hands indeed.
For mortal men age swiftly amidst of baleful need."
So she spake; but the ancient woman warm tears adown she shed,
And her face with her hands she covered, and a weary word she said:

"Woe's me, O child! I am redeless for thee whom much, and far more
Than all men, Zeus now hateth: and such godlike mind as ye bore!
And although no man of mortals unto Zeus the Thunder-fain

Burned ever thighs so many, or of hundred-folded gain
Of choice gifts gave as thou gavest, when thou wouldst speed the prayer
To come unto eld soft-faring, and thy noble son to rear.

But now from thee hath he taken thine hope and thine home-faring day.
And on him too meseemeth their mocks shall the women lay,
The mocks of the far-come stranger when he entereth houses fair,

As on thee, guest, all these bitches lay the mocking and the jeer;

So to shun their taunts and much mocking as now thou wilt not away
With their washing; but now upon me, nought loth, the bidding doth lay
The Daughter of Icarius, heart-wise Penelope.

And so for Penelope's sake will I wash thy feet for thee,
And for thine own moreover: for my heart is inly stirred
With thy griefs. But withal do thou hearken and lay to heart this word,
For hither have come a many of guests with grief foredone,
But never beheld I another so like to look upon
As thou unto Odysseus of body, of voice, and of feet."

Then answered and spake Odysseus, the rich in counsels meet:
"Yea, carline, and thus say all men, who look on us with eyes,
That we twain are alike to each other in every manner of wise,
As thou of thine understanding dost e'en now say aright."

So he spake; but the ancient woman took the bath-vat shining bright
For the washing of feet, and cold water a plenty therein did she pour,

And therewith the warm she mingled, and down by the hearth of the floor
Sat Odysseus; but now to the shadow he turned, for a thought in his mind
Foreboded, that when she should handle his body the scar she should find,
And that all the deed he was doing should be manifest today.

So she drew nigh her master to wash him, and knew the scar straightway,
E'en the wound that the wood-boar furrowed with his white tooth on the
When he to Autolycus fared, and his sons, by Parnassus' side;
The famed father of his mother, who in thievish sleight, and the shift tide
Of oaths did outgo all men; and he had it of Hermes' gift,

Unto whom he made burnt-offering, well-liked, of many a thigh
Of lambs and of kids, and the God was fain to help him thereby.
Now Autolycus, coming his ways to Ithaca's fat-fed land,

Happed there on the son of his daughter, on earth new-come to hand,
And this child, Euryclea laid it upon his kindly knees,
As he rested after his supper, and spake out words like these:

"Autolycus, some name find thou to lay on the manchild fair,
The child of thy daughter beloved, the child of many a prayer."
Her then Autolycus answered, and thus the word he said:
"O son-in-law and daughter on him let my word be laid,
Whereas I am hither, laden with the wrath of many a mood,
Of men and women dwelling on earth the wealthy of food,
So let him be called Odysseus, and have the Wrath-child's name.

But when, waxen a man, he cometh to his mother's house of fame,
When he cometh to me to Parnassus, where my wealth in store I lay,
Thereof a gift will I give him and will send him glad on his way."

So there where the gifts abode him came Odysseus to that house,
And therein Autolycus took him, and the sons of Autolycus,

With the hands they gave him welcome, and with soft sweet words of the
And the mother of his mother about Odysseus clung,
And therewith on his head she kissed him and on both his lovely eyes. tongue.
And Autolycus fell to calling on his glorious sons to arise,

And dight the feast; and they hearkened the bidding that he gave,
And a neat of five years old, a bull, thereto did they have,
And flayed him withal and dight him, and the carcase, they jointed it,
And in gobbets clave it deftly, and set it on many a spit,

And roasted it very wisely, and dealt out the shares each one.
So there daylong they feasted till the going down. of the sun,
Nor was there a soul of them lacking of one equal feast and the same.
But when the sun sank under, and the dusk and the darkness came,
There then they fell to slumber, and the gift of sleep took they.

But when shone the Mother of Morning, Rose-fingered Early Day,
Forth then they fared to the hunting, both the hounds and Autolycus' sons,
And the goodly Odysseus moreover went with those other ones.
To the steep fells then they betook them, Parnassus' wood-crowned hills,
And speedily were they gotten aloft to the windy ghylls,

Whenas the sun new risen smote the acres of the earth,
Risen up from the soft-flowing river, the deep-streamed Ocean-girth.
So unto a glade came the prickers, and following up the scent
Were the hounds before them going, and at heel of them there went
Autolycus' sons, and Odysseus the valiant went along
Close up to the hounds, and brandished a long-boled spear and strong.

Now there lay a mighty wood-boar, in a thicket so close grown
That not e'en by the might of the storm-wind was the wet blast through it
Nor did the sun bright-shining smite through it with his ray,
Nor the rain-drift pass amidst it, close grown up every way. blown,

And great store of sear leaves ever lay fallen upon its ground.
Now the din of dogs and the tramping of men's feet girt it around
As the hunt came driving against him, and out from his thicket lair

He faced them, his crest a-bristling, and his eyes, as the fire they were,
And he stood at bay anigh them: then Odysseus first of the band
Rushed on, his spear long-shafted upraised in his mighty hand,

All eager for his hurting; but the boar forewent him and drave
A gash above his knee-bone, and much flesh with his tooth he clave
As he charged him athwart; but the bone of the man he touched not it.
But a stroke Odysseus smote him, and his right shoulder he hit,
And straightway through and through him came the spear-shaft's glittering
And he fell in the dust a-grunting, and forth his spirit fled.
Then the kindly Autolycus' children the boar they dighted there, head,

And the hurt of the goodly Odysseus, the valiant godhead's peer,
Deftly they bound, and they staunched the blood with the staunching-song,
And unto the house of their father they speedily brought him along.

Him Autolycus thereafter, and the sons of Autolycus,
Having healed him well and given him gifts great and glorious,
Did truly and kindly speed him with gifts on either hand
To Ithaca, where his father and high mother to his land
Returning gave him welcome, and asked him of each deed,
And the hurt that he had gotten; and the tale to them did he speed,
How a-hunting of the wood-boar, his white tooth tore him thus,
As unto Parnassus he wended with the sons of Autolycus.

But now as the old wife took him, and with flat hand stroked him withal,
She handled the scar and knew it, and let the limb down fall,
And it came adown on the bath-vat, that with a clanging sound

Upon its side turned over, and the water spilled on the ground;
Then joy and sorrow mingled caught her heart, tears filled her eyes,
And choked was her fulness of voice, and scarce might utterance arise:
But she touched the chin of Odysseus, and spake as her voice she got:
"O thou art Odysseus!—dear child, and I, I knew thee not
Until all over my master these hands of mine had passed!"

And unto Penelope therewith a glance of her eyes she cast,
Full fain that she should be wotting that her lord was there in the place.:
But she had no might to behold him, and to look and heed his face,
For her mind thence turned Athene. But Odysseus groped about

With his hands, and so with his right hand he caught the nurse by
And with the other drew her yet nigher him and said:
Ah, nurse, wouldst thou destroy me? and thou, when me thou hast fed the throat,
On thy very breast! Yea, 'tis I, that with many a grief to bear,

Have come back to the land of my fathers at last in the twentieth year.
But now since thou hast known me, and some God thy soul hath taught,
Keep silence, lest to some other of the house the knowledge be brought;
For one thing now I tell thee, and fulfilled shall be the same:

If these high-hearted Wooers the God 'neath me shall tame,
For all that I was thy suckling from thee will I not refrain
When the other serving-women by me in the house are slain."
But the heart-wise Euryclea, she answered him and said:
"O me, my child! what a word from the hedge of thy teeth hath sped!
Thou knowest my will, how steadfast, how little I use to bend;
I will hold me hard as the iron or some stark stone to the end.
But now a thing will I tell thee; in thine heart do thou ponder it well,
If some God these high-heart Wooers beneath thine hand shall quell,
Of the women here in the hall will I give the tale to thee,
And tell thee whichso shame thee, and whichso sackless be."

But to her then spake and answered Odysseus of many a rede:
"Nay, why shouldst thou tell me, goodwife? hereof is nought of need.
Nay, each myself will I mark her, and will know how each doth live:
Hold but thy peace of speaking, and the rest to the Gods do thou give."

So he spake, and therewith the carline through the feast-hall went adown
To fetch the foot-washing water, for the first to the earth was thrown;
But when she had washed him and sleeked him with olive oil all o'er,
Then Odysseus drew the settle anigh to the fire once more,

To warm him, and hid the scar with his rags that it should not be seen
But Penelope spake amidst them, and thus said the all-wise Queen:
"O guest, yet a little longer will I ask thee in speech to abide,

For soon shall be the season of the happy slumber-tide
For him whom the sweet sleep taketh, though grieved at heart he be;,
But a sorrow without measure hath the God ordained for me.
Daylong indeed I delight me with the wailing of my woe;

As my work and the women's o'erseeing, about the house I go:
But when at last night cometh, and Sleep taketh hold of all,
Then I lie on my bed, and thick thronging the sorrows on me fall,
And bitter-sharp and ceaseless stir up my heart to wail;
As when the Pandareus' daughter, the fallow nightingale,
Singeth exceeding sweetly in the new-come Spring's increase,
Amid the close leaves sitting, and the covert of the trees;
And many a trill she turneth, and her full voice doth she pour
As that Itylus she bewaileth, her loved son, whom of yore
With the brass she slew unwitting, e'en the son of Zethus the King.
So twowise hither and thither my soul goes wavering,
Whether here by my son abiding I shall guard all steadfastly,

My treasure, and my handmaids, and my great house roofed on high,
And worship the bed of my husband, and the fame of the folk and their
Or shall follow some one of Achæans, whoso is the worthiest lord,
And wooeth me here in the halls with wooing gifts measureless great. word,
And so long as my son was light-minded and nought but a child of estate,
Then I might not wed and be leaving my child and my husband's home;
But now that great he is waxen, and to manhood's measure hath come,
He also in turn craves of me to get me gone from the hall,
Being grieved at the gear a-waning; for the Achæan lords eat all.

"But come now, hearken a dream, and the same unto me arede:
I have twenty geese in the homestead who come up from the water to feed
On the wheat; and me it delighteth to look upon the same.
But lo you, a crook-nebbed eagle adown from the mountain came,

And brake all their necks and slew them, that there on a heap they lay
In the stead, and aloft he flew to the holy lift of the day.
And for me I wept and bewailed me though nought but a dream it were,
And the well-tressed damsels Achæan were gathered about me there,
While sore I wept that the eagle had slaughtered my geese for me.

But aback came the eagle, and now on the jutting eaves sat he,
And spake with the voice of a mortal, and bade me stay my woe:
"Heart up, Icarius' Daughter, whom all the world doth know!
No dream is this, but a vision most good, and shall come to pass;
For these geese they are the Wooers, and I, the erne that was,
Now as thy very husband to thee have come back home,
And over all the Wooers shall draw a deadly doom,'
"So he spake, and Sleep the soother then let me go, and fled:
And I gazed about, and my geese, I beheld them there in the stead,
The wheat from the trough devouring, and all as it was before."
Then Odysseus of many a rede this answer toward her bore:
"How then may this dream's a-reding be turned another road,
Since the very man, e'en Odysseus himself, to thee hath showed
What wise shall all be accomplished? for manifest and plain
Shows the death for all the Wooers, none shall 'scape the doom of bane?"
But Penelope the heart-wise unto this answer fell-
"Yet, guest, dreams come to nothing and confused tales they tell,
Nor yet doth all their tokening to all men come about.
Lo now, of dreams swift-fleeting! through two gates fare they out,
And one of horn is fashioned, and one of the wood-beast's tooth,
And those through the tooth that wend them to usward, they forsooth
But vainly do beguile us with the promise idly borne;
While they that come unto menfolk by the gate of polished horn
Fulfil their tokening truly to the man who them hath seen:
But not from thence meseemeth hath the way to meward been
Of that wild dream, else welcome to me and my son it were:
But this I tell thee, and hold it in thine heart with heed and care,
That to-morrow cometh name-cursed for the day that shall sunder me
From Odysseus' house: for the contest shall I ordain it to be,
The game of the axes; which that man within our house and hall
Would set up a-row like ship-ribs to the number of twelve in all,
And, standing aloof, a long way, would shoot a shaft right through,
So this contest shall I 'stablish for them that come hither to woo.
For lo you, whoso with his palms the bow shall lightly bend,
And through all twelve of the axes a shaft therefrom shall send,
Him then shall I follow, departing from this house of the wedded wife,
This fair house, so abundant in all that upholdeth life,
Which yet shall I remember, though but in dreams it be.
Then Odysseus many-counselled he answered, and thus spake he:
"O beworshipped wife of Odysseus, that is Laertes' son,
This strife within your homestead delay not; let it be done!

For hither ere that shall Odysseus the many-counselled have come,
Ere these men have handled the bow well polished, or drawn home
The bow-string unto the nocks, or shot the iron through."

Then Penelope the heart-wise in turn made answer thereto:
"O guest, if thou wert willing to sit here in the hall

And pleasure me thus, no slumber on mine eyelids then should fall.
But nowise it availeth that sleepless men should live;
For the Deathless unto menfolk on the cornkind earth do give

Some share of sleep and slumber, yea unto every one:
Now therefore unto my chamber aloft will I be gone,
And in my bed will lay me, which is made but a place of lament,
And with my tears is watered since the day when Odysseus went

To look on evil Ilios, the nameless place of guilt.
There then will I lay me; but thou, lay thee down in this house as thou wilt,
And on the floor do thou streak thee; or a bed for thee let them dight."

So saying, her ways she wended to her bower-aloft the bright;
But not alone, for the handmaids along with her did they fare.
So, going aloft to her chamber with her women thralls, then there
She fell to bewail Odysseus her dear lord, till at last
Sweet slumber over her eyelids Grey-eyed Athene cast,