Book V

Now Dawn arose from her bed and the great Tithonus' side
To bear the light to the Deathless and to mortals far and wide j
But the gathered Gods were sitting, and there among the rest
Was Zeus the Lofty Thunderer, whose might is the mightiest.
There the manifold grief of Odysseus mindful Athene told,
For e'en yet was she heedful of him whom the house of the Nymph did hold.

"Zeus, Father and happy Godfolk of the life that never dies,
Henceforth let no king mace-bearing be kind and mild and wise,
Nor let him still be minded toward meet and righteous rede,
But rather hard and cruel and bold for godless deed;

Since none of the folk remember Odysseus great and good,
Who once was king among them as a father mild of mood.
But he in an isle is abiding and bearing heavy woe
In the halls of the nymph Calypso, who will not let him go;
And nowise is he able to win to his fathers' land,
For no oar-dight ships he hath, and no fellows are to hand,
E'en such as well might speed him o'er the broad back of the main;
And now of his dear son's slaying a certain folk are fain
As his ways he wendeth homeward; for he went of his father to hear,
To Pylos exceeding goodly and to Lacedæmon the dear."

J
Then Zeus, the Cloud-packs' Herder, he answered her and said:
"O my child, and what a word from the wall of thy teeth hath sped,
For is not e'en this counsel of thine own devising then,
That Odysseus home returning might wreak him on these men?
But with craft Telemachus speed thou, as no might thereto dost thou lack,
That unto the land of his fathers all scathless he get him aback;
And the Wooers, home be they wending in their ship with nothing done!"
And therewith he spake unto Hermes his well-beloved son:
"Hermes, since thou in all else hast ever our tidings to speed,
To the nymph of the hair well-woven now carry this unerring rede;
The return of Odysseus the patient, that homeward he may hie,
Though not by the Godfolks' guiding or the deed of men that die.
But many a grief enduring upon a raft well-bound
On the twentieth day shall he win him to Scheria's loamy ground,
To the land of those Phæacians who are the Gods' own kin;
And of them and their hearts such worship shall he have as a God may win,
And in a ship shall they send him to his fatherland the dear,
And shall give him gold and brass and abundant weed to wear;
So great that ne'er had Odysseus such spoil from Troy-town got
Had he come aback all scathless with his due and shared-out lot
For so aright is it fated that his folk and his friends he behold,
And come back to his house high-builded and the land of his fathers of old."

So he spake, and the Slayer of Argus, the Flitter, gainsaid him nought,
But straightway unto his foot-soles he bound the shoon fair-wrought,
Deathless and never-dying: o'er the wet wave him they bear,
And over the limitless land as swift as the breath of the air.
And he took his wand wherewithal he lulleth the eyelids of men,
Of those whom he willeth, but others from slumber he rouseth again.
This then in his hand thus holding flew the mighty Argus-bane,

And over Pieria wending from the heavens sank down to the main.
Then over the billows he drave; as a fowl, as a sea-mew, was he,
Who over the terrible gulf of the all unharvested sea
Fares ever hunting the fishes, and her thick wing dips in the deep.
E'en so o'er the manifold billows his way did Hermes keep;
But when he came to the island that far and far off lay,
Then forth from the dark -blue sea-flood aland he went his way,
Till unto a mighty cavern where dwelt the Nymph did he win,
E'en she of the hair well-woven; and he found her therewithin.
On the hearth burned a mighty fire, and the savour and the scent
Of the well-cleft cedar and sandal all through the island went;
And therewithin was she singing in a voice exceeding sweet
As she traversed the loom aweaving and the web with a gold comb beat.
But all about that cavern there grew a blossoming wood,
Of alder and of poplar and of cypress savouring good;
And fowl therein wing-spreading were wont to roost and be,
For owls were there and falcons, and long-tongued crows of the sea,
And deeds of the sea they deal with and thereof they have a care.
But round the hollow cavern there spread and flourished fair
A vine of garden breeding, and in its grapes was glad;
And four wells of the white water their heads together had,
And flowing on in order four ways they thence did get;
And soft were the meadows blooming with parsley and violet.
Yea, if thither indeed had come e'en one of the Deathless, e'en he
Had wondered and gladdened his heart with all that was there to see.
And there in sooth stood wondering the Flitter, the Argus-bane.
But when o'er all these matters in his soul he had marvelled amain,
Then into the wide cave went he, and Calypso, Godhead's Grace,
Failed nowise there to know him as she looked upon his face;
For never unknown to each other are the Deathless Gods, though they
Apart from one another may be dwelling far away.
But Odysseus the mighty-hearted within he met not there,
Who on the beach sat weeping, as oft he was wont to wear
His soul with grief and groaning, and weeping; yea, and he
As the tears he was pouring downward yet gazed o'er the untilled sea.
But to Hermes spake Calypso, the Godhead's Glorious One,
And said, as aloft she was sitting on her all-bright gleaming throne:
"O God of the Wand of Gold, O Hermes dread and dear,
Why comest thou now, since aforetime thou wert not frequent here?
Tell me whereof thou art minded, for my heart would have it won
If my might thereto may avail me, and if it be doomed to be done.
But fare thou forth, for the guest-cheer for thee as now would I dight."
In such wise spake the Goddess, and spread the board aright
With meat of the Deathless before him and mingled the nectar red,
And there ate and drank the Flitter, the Bane of Argus dead.
So after that he had eaten, his soul with the meat to rejoice,
He answered the speech of the Goddess and sent forth the word of his voice:

"Thou askest me why I am come, a God to a Goddess; so this
I will tell, yea, the whole tale truly, as forsooth my bidding is.
It was Zeus that sent me hither, and I not willing, for who
Such a wondrous space of the brine would be fain to hurry through, roo
And never a city of men-folk anear the road, that they
Choice gifts an hundred-folded and holy deeds might pay?
But indeed no other God the will of Zeus may transgress,
Or the rede of the Ægis-bearer may turn to emptiness.
Now he said that a man bides with thee, most hapless of the men
Who beset the city of Priam for one year short of ten;
But the tenth that town they wasted, and went on their homeward way.

But thereon against Athene they sinned and went astray,
And she raised up a blast against them and long billows of the sea,
And there all the other fellows they perished pitifully, no
But him the wind and the wave bore off and wafted here.
Him then shalt thou send away ere the least of whiles shall wear,
Since for him is it nowise fated apart from his friends to die;
But the doom is, he shall behold them and at last shall draw anigh
His house the lofty-builded and the land of his fathers' race."
He spake; but shuddered Calypso, the Godhead's very Grace,
And withal she sent forth her voice and set these words on the wing:
"Hard are ye, Gods, and grudging beyond all other thing!
Us Goddesses so begrudging if we by a man be laid
In open wise, when any of a man her mate hath made;
As when She took Orion, the Rosy-fingered Day,
Just so did the Gods begrudge her, soft lives that live alway,
Till Artemis chaste, gold-throned, in Ortygia at the last
With her gentle shafts fell on him and slew him with their cast.
Or as when fair-haired Demeter to her mind and her mood gave way
And blent her with Iasion and in love beside him lay
In the fallow thrice ploughed over: but the deed soon came to light
Zeus knew it, and straight he slew him with his thunder flashing white.
So now do ye grudge me, O Gods, this mortal man by my side,
Though him I saved, as lonely on the upturned keel did he ride,
When Zeus with his white-flashing thunder had broken utterly
And cleft the ship beneath him amidst the wine-dark sea:
Then the others, his goodly fellows, they perished there indeed,
But the wind and the waves they bore him and hither him did speed.
And I cherished him and fed him and said that he should be
Undying and unageing through all his days for me.
But since no other God may the will of Zeus transgress,
Or the will of the Ægis-bearer may turn to emptiness,
Let him go his ways! Since That One so biddeth him to wend
O'er the all unharvested ocean: yet him I will not send:
For here are no oar-dight ships, and no sea-folk are with me
Wherewith forthright to speed him o'er the broad back of the sea.
But heedfully will I forewarn him, and cover nothing o'er,
That all unscathed in the ending he may come to his fathers' shore."
But the Flitter, the Bane of Argus, thus answered to her there:
"Yea, e'en so shalt thou speed him, and of Zeus and his anger beware,
Lest wroth, with thee full hardly he deal in other days."
So the mighty Bane of Argus spake the word and went his ways;
But unto the great-heart Odysseus the glorious damsel hied,
When the word of Zeus she had hearkened and heard how all should betide.
And she found him there asitting on the beach, and ever aswim
Were his eyes with tears and weeping, and the sweet life ebbed from him
As his lost return he lamented. But he had no joy of the May,
Although perforce in the night-tide by the side of her he lay
In the hollow den of the rocks, he loth, though fain were she.
But by day on the rocks was he sitting and down by the shore of the sea,
And with grief he wore his soul and with tears, and many a moan,
As he gazed o'er the untilled sea-flood and let the tears fall down.
So the Godhead's Glory drew near him and spake as she stood anear:
"O hapless, no longer be wailing and the life within thce wear;
For now indeed with goodwill will I bring thy departure to pass.
Fall to now, the long beams be hewing, and shape thee a raft with the brass
Full wide, and withal the deck-beams aloft thereunto fit,
That over the darkling sea-flood to thy land it thee may flit.
But bread and water, and wine the ruddy therein will I lay,

E'en such as thy soul desires, that thou stave thy hunger away.
And with raiment will I clothe thee, and a following wind will I send,
That all unscathed of evil to thy fatherland thou may'st wend.
For the Gods that hold the heavens wide-spread will have it so;
And forsooth they are mightier than I to devise the deed and to do."

But thereat the goodly Odysseus, toil-stout, fell shuddering,

And his voice withal he lifted and set these words on the wing:
"Far other things than my going, O Goddess, thou wiliest for me,
When thou biddest me fare in a raft o'er the mighty gulf of the sea,
The perilous place and dreadful, where a way is scarce to be had
With a shapely ship swift-sailing, with the wind of Zeus made glad:
Against thy will, O Goddess, on the raft will I nowise fare,
But and if thou hast the heart with a mighty oath to swear
That no other baleful trouble thou wiliest on me to fall."

He spake, and the Godhead's Glory, Calypso, smiled withal,
And she stroked him down with her hand and named him, and spake for her part:

"Yea, verily art thou cunning and no scant-of-wit thou art,
That in thy mind thou hast compassed to speak such a word as this.
Now hereof may the Earth bear witness, and the Heaven aloft that is!
And Styx, the downlong water! (and this of every oath
Is the mightiest and most fearful for the blessed Gods forsooth)
That no other baleful trouble do I will and devise for thee,
But all this that I plan and think of is even such as for me
Myself would be devising, were I in such-like need;
For the soul within me is righteous, nor yet in my breast indeed
Is my spirit iron-fashioned, but compassionate am I."

So spake the Grace of the Godhead, and led on speedily,
And he followed on her footsteps and his way behind her wan
Till they came to the rock-den's hollow, the Goddess and the man,
And there he sat him adown on the throne and the lofty seat
Whence Hermes had arisen; and she set out diverse meat,
All things to eat and to drink that are food for mortal men,
And over against Odysseus the goodly she set her then,
And the meat and the drink of the Deathless the handmaids set for her.
So they stretched out their hands to the meat that lay before them there.
But when of meat and of drink desire was fully fed,
Then Calypso, Godhead's Glory, took up the word and said:
"O Zeus-born son of Laertes, Odysseus, full of guile,
And art thou then utterly minded to get thee home this while
To thy fatherland beloved? Then go, and fare thee well!
But if the soul within thee the tale could truly tell
Of the woes for thy fulfilling ere thou come to thy fatherland,
Then here with me abiding as the guard of this house wouldst thou stand,
A deathless man: though the sight of thy wife thou longest for,
Since her indeed thou desirest each day and evermore.
Although forsooth I deem me in nowise worser than she
In comeliness and stature, and meet may it never be
For the deathful with the Deathless in body and shape to contend."
Therewith all-wise Odysseus this answer forth did send:
"Be not wroth herewith, great Goddess, for I know full certainly
That lacking in all beside thee is the wise Penelope,
Both in comeliness and stature and in all wise to behold;
For she is of men that perish, and thou deathless and waxing not old.
Nevertheless e'en so all days daylong do I yearn
To get me back again homeward and to see my day of return.
But if some God should wreck me as I wend o'er the wine-dark deep
I will bear it, for in my breast an enduring heart I keep.
Many woes and toil abundant in the war, on the wave of the sea,
Have I suffered and done already; and of these let this one be."

So he spake, and the sun sank under, and the dark drew on apace;
And they gat them away together in a nook of the hollow place,
And fulfilled their love and their longing as each by each they lay.

But when shone the Mother of Morning, Rose-fingered Early Day,
His cloak and his kirtle on him Odysseus did forthright,
And the Nymph did on a garment full wide and silver-white
Of a lovely web and lightsome; and round her loins she did
A goodly golden girdle, and her head with the veil she hid.
Then for great-souled Odysseus she devised his leaving the land.
A mighty axe she gave him, made meet for the palm of his hand,
Brazen, on both sides whetted; and hefted was the head
With a full fair helve of olive firm fitted in its stead.
Then she gave him an adze well polished, and led the way along
To the utmost end of the island, where the trees grew tall and strong,
The alder and the poplar and the heaven-upreaching pine,
Well-seasoned, dry, and ancient, and light to swim the brine.
But when the place she had shown him where long the tree-boles grew
Then Calypso, Godhead's Glory, aback to her homestead drew;
And therewith he hewed the timber, and swift the work he won,
And of trees he felled him twenty, and the brass axe laid thereon,
And planed them with all cunning, and the rule along them laid.
Till Calypso, Godhead's Glory, the wimbles brought to aid,
And then all the beams did he bore, and each to each did fit,
And so with mortice and treenail each beam he mated it.
And as wide as a man well skilled in the woodwright's art would trace
The hold of a ship that beareth a freight from place to place,
So wide was Odysseus making his roomy raft to be.
Then withal to the serried ribs the deck-beams craftily
He fitted; and finished all with the long planks of the side.
But therein he stepped a mast, with a yard across it to ride;
And he wrought thereto a rudder that a straight road he might steer;
And with wicker bulwarks fenced it about and everywhere,
To ward off the wash of the billows, and heaped wood for ballasting.
Then Calypso, Godhead's Glory, a web thereto did she bring
To fashion him sails, and this also in goodly wise did he do,
And braces therewith and halyards and sheets he wrought thereto.
And then to the holy salt sea with handspikes he hove her adown.
And now by the fourth day's ending the work was throughly won,
And the fifth day fair Calypso from the isle the man did speed
When she had washed his body and clad him in fragrant weed.
And two skins in the raft laid the Goddess: of black wine was the one,
And the other, the great one, of water; and victual had she done
In a wallet, yea, many dainties to his uttermost content;
And a fair wind nothing troublous, and soft and warm, she sent.
Glad then was the goodly Odysseus as he set his sail to the wind,
And sitting down by the tiller steered on with heedful mind.
Nor yet did any slumber on his eyelids lay its weight
As he gazed upon the Pleiads and Bootes setting late,
And the Bear, which some moreover by the name of the Wain they call,
And on himself he turneth and watcheth Orion withal;
And he alone in the washing of ocean hath no share.

Now Calypso, Godhead's Glory, had so bidden him to steer
And wend his ways o'er the sea-flood on the left hand still to be;
So for seven days' space and ten he went his ways o'er the sea,

But on the eighteenth day, lo the shadowy mountains there
Of the land of the Phæacians where nighest to him they were,
And even as a war-shield on the darkling deep it showed.
But the Lord, the Shaker of Earth, from the Æthiopians' abode,
As he came, beheld him afar from the hills of the Solymi,
As he showed there a-sailing the sea-flood. Then the wrath in his soul rose high,
And wagging his head withal such words to his soul did he speed:
"Out on it! now have the Gods on Odysseus shifted their rede,
Since amid the Æthiopians awhile agone I was,
And he neareth the land of Phæacia, where to him shall it come to pass
To escape the goal of his sorrows that so sore on him do prevail.
And yet meseems shall I drive him towards full enough of bale."

He spake, and the clouds he gathered, and troubled the deeps of the sea,
His hand the tri-spear grasping; and he stirred up all blasts that may be
Of every airt of the winds, and he covered up with the drift
The earth and the sea together, and night fell down from the lift.
Then the East and the South together, and the hard-breathed West did
And the North aloft-engendered rolled huge the billowy wash.

Ah! then the knees of Odysseus fell slack, and his dear heart failed, clash,
And into his soul the mighty he spake in words that wailed:
"O me! O me unhappy! what now shall be the end?
O'er-true meseems the Goddess that word to me did send,
When she said that on the sea-flood, ere I came to my father's land,
I should fill up the measure of woes; and all is now at hand.
Ah! with what mighty cloud-rack Zeus piles the stretch of sky,
And troubleth all the sea-flood, and the blasts go hurrying by
Of every airt of the winds: now sure is the bitter bane.
O threefold, fourfold happy, ye Danaans, of your gain

Of death by Troy wide-spreading! when for Atreus' son ye wrought,
O would that I had perished and bane upon me brought
In the day when the thronging Trojans their brazen spears cast on,
When about the son of Peleus, the dead man, war we won!

E'en so had I gotten my burial, and my fame the Achæans had spread,
But now unto me is it fated in a pitiful wise to be dead."
And e'en as the word was spoken came a mighty toppling wave,
And fiercely tumbling upon him the shuddering craft it drave,
And the tiller was torn from his hand-grip, and therewithal was he cast
Afar from the raft, and moreover amidmost brake the mast
As a squall of the blended whirlwind fell on it fearfully,
And the sail withal and the yard-arm fell far amidst the sea.
Long while was he holden under, nor yet had he the might
Against the rush of the billow to heave him up forthright,
For heavily hung the raiment of Calypso the divine.
But at last and at length he came up, and spat out the bitter brine,
Which from his head moreover ran down abundantly.
But the raft he forgat in nowise though sore outworn was he,
And thereat he dashed through the billows and gat a hold of her,
And sat him down amidships and shunned the death anear:
But that craft the mighty billows drave here and there on the tide;
As when the autumn northwind o'er the plain is driving wide
The thistledown, and huddled there clingeth bur to bur,
So here and there o'er the sea-flood the wild wind shuttled her,
And whiles the South would give her to be borne by the North wind strong,
And whiles the East to the West would cast her to hurry along.
All this saw Cadmus' daughter, Ino, fair-ancled maid,
Leucothea hight, who erewhile the speech of mortals said,
But now in the salt-sea dwelling in the glory of Gods had share.
Now she pitied Odysseus bewildered, all the burden of griefs he must bear.
So now in the shape of a sea-mew she arose from the deep of the sea,
And sat on the raft hard-bounden, and therewith a word spake she:
"Hapless! why then is Poseidon, the Shaker of the Earth,
So utterly wroth against thee and such evil bringeth to birth?
Yet neither so shall he slay thee though he be fain of it.
Now therefore this wise do thou, since thou seem'st no scant-of-wit,
Do from thee these thy garments, leave the raft for the wind to bear,
And with thy hands be rowing, and strive to draw anear
The land of the Phæacians, where escape to thee shall hap,
And this my veil undying about thy body wrap.
Then nought need'st thou dread of evil or any death at hand.
But when at last with thy hand-grip thou hast taken hold of the land,
Then do it off thee and cast it away to the wine-dark deep
Afar from the land, and turn thee about and thine own way keep."

So spake the Goddess, and therewith the head-gear to him gave,
And again went under the sea-flood, uptossed with many a wave,
In the likeness of a sea-mew; and the black wave hid her again.

But the toil-stout goodly Odysseus he pondered his thought atwain,
And unto his mighty soul he spake in heavy wise:
"Woe's me! some one of the Deathless against me the guile doth devise
Once more, since thus she biddeth from the raft to get me away.
But nowise will I obey her, since mine eyes saw where it lay
Far off, that land that she told of as my refuge from the sea.
Nay rather this will I do, and the best it seemeth to me;
As long as the timbers hold, and the joints are together still,
So long will I abide here, and bear what cometh of ill:
But when the seas have shaken the raft to pieces at last
Therewith will I fall to my swimming; for no better may I forecast."
But while to his mind and his mood such thoughts as this he gave,
Poseidon, the Shaker of Earth, thrust on a mighty wave,
Rough, perilous, toppling aloft, and on him drave adown.
As it haps with a heap of chaff when the fresh wind falleth on
And tosseth it up, and scattereth the dry stuff every road,
So now were the long beams scattered: but Odysseus yet bestrode
One beam, and drave it onward as one that a horse doth bear;
And he did from off him the raiment, the gift of Calypso the fair,
And the veil of the Goddess withal he wrapped round the breast of him,
And cast himself prone on the sea-flood, and strove and fell to swim,
Stretching out either hand; but the Lord, the Shaker of Earth,
Beheld him, and wagging his head, bespake his soul in his mirth:
"Yea, thou with thy load of evil, go wandering over the sea,
Until of the men Zeus-cherished a fellow thou shalt be.
Yet not e'en so to my deeming shalt thou hold thy troubles light."
So he spake, and his fair-maned horses with the whip withal did he smite;
And came his ways to Ægæ, where his glorious house is wrought.

But the Damsel, the Daughter of Zeus, of other things had thought;
For now of the rest of the winds a bond on their goings she laid,
And caused them to cease from blowing, and to slumber and sleep she bade.
But she egged on the eager North, and brake down the seas before,
Until the Zeus-bred Odysseus, with the lovers of the oar,
The Phæacian folk, might mingle, and safe from bane might be.

Two days and nights thenceforward did he drift on the swell of the sea,
And many things of his deathday did he in his heart forecast;
But when the fair-haired Dawning the third day made at last
All dead the gale was fallen, and all was calm and clear,
And no breath of air was about; then he saw the land anear,
As he looked forth very sharply upraised on a swelling sea:
And as dear as the life of a father to his children seemeth to be,
Who in sickness hath been lying and wasting away for long,
And suffering grievous torment, and worn by the God of wrong;
But now the Gods release him, and his life is dear and good —
E'en so dear unto Odysseus was the sight of land and wood;
And he swam on stoutly, striving to tread the earth once more.
But when at last he was gotten within shouting space of the shore,
Then indeed he heard the thundering of the surf on the reefs of the sea,
For flung forth on the rocks of the mainland the swell roared dreadfully,
And all things there were weltering in the salt-sea wave and the foam,
And therein was no haven for ships and no wind-free harbouring home,
But crags and jutting nesses and reefs by the sea washed o'er.
Then loosened the knees of Odysseus, and his dear heart failed him sore,
And midst his woe was he saying to his mighty heart and bold:

"O me! now that Zeus hath granted the unhoped-for land to behold,
And that cleaving my way I have won o'er so great a gulf of the sea,
From out of the hoary water no door there seemeth for me,

For sharp upriseth the crag-wall, and about it everywhere
Are the broken billows roaring, and the rocks rise smooth and sheer
Right up from the deep of the sea; and no place for my feet to stand
Is anywhere there to be come at to escape from the evil at hand.
For if I come forth from the sea-flood by the billow shall I be caught
And flung up 'gainst the stony rocks, and my deed shall come to nought;
And if I swim along coasting and seek if yet there be
Some downward-sloping foreshore or some haven of the sea,
O then I fear lest the stormwind should catch me up once more
And over the fishy sea should drive me moaning sore.

Or against me the God, the Mighty, may send some whale of the deep
Of the many that Amphitrite the great doth cherish and keep.
For I wot of the wrath against me of the mighty Shaker of Earth."

But while in his mind and his mood such words as this had birth
A mighty billow bore him 'gainst the rugged ness of stone,
And there had his skin been stripped and broken every bone,
But the Goddess, the Grey-eyed Athene, in his mind she set a thought,
And stark with both hands straining the rock therewith he caught,
And held on groaning aloud till the mighty wave had gone by.
But when he had thus escaped it, the back-draft mightily
Fell on him, and bore against him and drave him out to sea.
As when from the place of his dwelling a cuttle-fish dragged shall be,
And about the creature's suckers cling the pebbles many an one,
So now from the mighty hands of the man by the stress of the stone
Was the skin stripped off, and his body did the swelling billow hide.
And there the hapless Odysseus in the teeth of doom had died
If the Goddess, the Grey-eyed Athene, had not taught him to understand.
So, coming up from the billows that were hurled against the land,
Coasting he swam, looking forth to the land if yet there might be
Some downward-sloping foreshore or some haven of the sea.
And lo, at the last to the mouth of a river flowing fair
He came as he swam, and he looked for the place that was likeliest there,
Smooth from all rocks, and a shelter against the blast of the wind.
And he felt the stream against him and in such wise prayed in his mind:

"Hear me, O King, whosoever thou art! to thee much beprayed
I come from the sea-flood fleeing and the threats that Poseidon hath made;
And e'en to the Gods that die not 'tis a matter for pity indeed
When a man bewildered cometh, as I come now in my need,
To thy stream, and unto thy knees with the burden of trouble on me.

Now pity me therefore, O King, for thy bedesman I boast me to be."
Then the God his tide held backward, and therewith laid the wave,
And sent a calm before him, and the man aland did he save
By the going out of the river. But weak was either knee,
And weak were his mighty hands, for his soul was worn by the sea,
And all his flesh was swollen, and the plenteous salt sea ran
From his mouth and from his nostrils: a breathless, voiceless man
He lay there fainting, and on him the weariness weighed downright.
But when he was breathed again, and his soul had gotten her might,
Therewith the Goddess' headgear he loosed away from him,
And into the sea-flowing river he cast it forth to swim,
And a great wave bore it away down the tide, and Ino fair
Caught it up in her dear hands straightway; but he turned from the river, and there,
He laid him adown on the rushes and kissed the corn-kind earth,
And in grief these words was he speaking to his soul, the mighty of worth:
"Woe's me for my weary trouble! What now shall be last to betide?
For if indeed by the river through the weary night I abide,
Then the bitter evil rime and the fresh dew of the night
Shall overcome my spirit all worsened with lack of might,
For cold blows the wind from the river when the time of the dawning is nigh.
But if I climb to the bent, and the shady wood on high,
And abide in the bushy thicket, then, though it well may be
That the cold and the weariness pass and the sweet sleep come to me,
Yet I fear that unto the beasts I become but a spoil and a prey."

But unto him turning it over the last seemed the better way,
And toward the wood he wended: to the water somewhat anear
In the midst of a glade he found it; and two -trees were waxing there
From one and the selfsame root, a wild olive and a tame,

And no blast of the wet-blowing wind through the midst of them ever came,
And never the Sun, the gleaming, shot through them with his ray,
Nor the shower soaked all through them, so exceeding thick were they
With their boughs grown interlacing. There Odysseus laid him adown,
But first with his very hands a wide bed had he strown,
For great plenty of fallen leaves lay underneath the tree,
Yea, fully enough to cover two men, or mayhappen three
In the season of the winter how hard soever it were. )
E'en these he beheld and gathered, Odysseus mighty to bear,
And he lay down there in the midmost and the leaves heaped over him high:
E'en as when 'neath the blackened embers one thrusteth a brand to lie
At the acres' uttermost ending, where no neighbours are anear,
To save the seed of fire nor seek kindling otherwhere.
So hid by the leaves was Odysseus, and therewith over his eyes
The sleep was Athene shedding, that in the speediest wise
Might end his weary trouble: so she closed his eyelids dear.