Book I

THE Hero of craft-renown, O Song-goddess, chant me his fame,
Who, when low he had laid Troy-town, unto many a far land came,
And many a city beheld he, and knew the hearts of their folk,
And by woes of the sea was unquelled, o’er the rock of his spirit that broke,
When he fain would have won for a prey his life and his friends’ return,
Yet never they saw that day, howsoever his heart might yearn,
But they perished every one, by their own mad deeds did they fall,
For they slaughtered the kine of the Sun, and devoured them,—fools we’re they all.
So in anger their home-coming day did the God take away for their guilt.
O Goddess, inspire my lay with their tale: take it up as thou wilt.
Now all the rest of the host, through the jaws of destruction that passed,
Battle-buffeted, tempest-tossed, were safe in their homes at last.
But the hero Odysseus only was kept from his wife and his rest
By a Goddess in duress lonely, Calypso the beautiful-tressed;
And she longed in her grotto-home to have him her husband for aye.
But at last, when the season was come, as the years rolled slowly away,
When the Gods had his doom-thread spun to return unto Ithaca’s isle,
To his home, yet he had not won unto that sweet rest from his toil,
Nor yet with his friends was he, and with ruth were the Gods all filled,
Save Poseidon, the Lord of the Sea, but his fury would not be stilled
Against godlike Odysseus, before to his fatherland-isle he had won.
But now to the far-off shore of the Aethiops Poseidon was gone,—
The Aethiops, sundered in twain, of all men farthest away,
These where the sun in the main sinks, those by the fountains of day,—
Where the bulls and the fat rams slain for the mighty hecatomb lay.
There did he taste the delight of the banquet, enthroned thereat.
But the rest on Olympus’ height in debate with the Thunderer sat.
And the Father of Gods and men to the rest of the Blessed began,—
For his heart in him brooded then on the fate of a high-born man,
Aegisthus, slain so late by Orestes, son of the dead,—
And calling to mind his fate, to the Deathless the Thunderer said:
“Out on it! see how these mortals are wont us Gods to upbraid,
Saying that trouble and sorrow from us are upon them laid!
Yet they of their own blind folly have woes that were never ordained;
Even as Aegisthus now hath o’erleapt his fate, and hath stained
The couch of Atreides, and slain him even as he entered his home,
With vengeance full in his sight, for we told him of that which should come,
For we warned him by Hermes, the Slayer of Argus, the Watcher keen,
That he neither should murder the king of men, neither tempt the queen,
For that vengeance for Atreus’ son should be dealt by Orestes’ hand.
So soon as he grew unto manhood, and longed for his native land.
So Hermes spake, but the soul of Aegisthus would not give heed
To the kindly warning: now doth he reap the reward of his deed.”
Then unto him did Athene the grey-eyed make reply:
“Our Father, Kronos’ son, who dost rule over princes on high,
Yea, of a truth laid low in fitting destruction he is,—
So perish all other hereafter who dareth a deed like this!
But mine heart for Odysseus the subtle of soul is riven in twain,
For the evil-starred, who hath long been suffering exile pain
In the sea-girt navel-isle of the measureless-wide sea-swell,
A forest-clad island it is, and a Goddess therein doth dwell.
The daughter of Atlas the weirdly-wise, who hath knowledge of all,
Even all the abysses of sea, and upbeareth the pillars tall
That keep the plain of the earth and the arch of the heavens apart:—
That daughter is keeping him mourning and sighing for anguish of heart.
And ever with winning and wily words doth the Goddess essay
To bewitch him, and make him forget his home; but Odysseus, aye
Yearning to have but a sight of the smoke springing up through the air
In Ithaca, longeth to die; but thou, thou dost not care,
Thine heart is not turned unto pity, Olympian!—what, did he ne’er
By the side of the ships of the Argives the fat of the sacrifice burn
In broad Troy-land? Why, Zeus, is thy wrath upon him so stern? “
Answered her Zeus, of whose hands the clouds through the welkin are swept:
“Daughter, what saying is this through the fence of thy teeth that hath leapt?
How shall I forget Odysseus, the godlike man, who is wise
Beyond all mortal folk, and hath done more sacrifice
Unto the deathless Gods who dwell in the broad-arched heaven?
But the soul of Poseidon the Girder of Earth hath never forgiven
The thing that he did to the Cyclops, robbing the giant of sight,
Polyphemus the god-strong monster, greatest in bodily might
Of all the Cyclopes; he of the sea-god Phorcys’ daughter,
Thoosa, was born by the sound of the dash of the deep sea-water:
For in hollow caverns the Lord of the Sea to his breast had caught her.
Since then, Earth-shaker Poseidon, seeing he may not slay,
Maketh Odysseus afar from his fatherland-shore to stray.
But come, let us that be here take counsel with one consent
How he may win to his home, and Poseidon shall then relent
From his anger, for surely he will not be able alone to fight
With us all, nor to take his revenge in the deathless Gods’ despite.”
Then unto him did Athene the grey-eyed make reply:
“Our Father, Kronos’ son, who dost rule over princes on high,
If this doth in truth seem good in the eyes of the Gods ever-blest
That Odysseus the subtle of soul shall win to his home and his rest,
Hermes then let us send, the Slayer of Argus, the Guide,
Unto where Ogygia lies in the midst of the lone sea-tide.
Let him there to the fair-tressed nymph our sure decree declare,
That Odysseus the steadfast-hearted back to his home may fare.
But I will away unto Ithaca’s island, and there will I fill
With courage the breast of his son, and will give him a masterful will,
That he to a folkmote may call the Achaeans with long-flowing hair, go
And before them may bid the insolent suitors all beware,
Who are slaying his sheep and his trail-foot wreath-horned kine evermore.
And then will I send him to Sparta, and Pylos, the sandy shore,
Tidings to seek of the father he loveth, if aught he may learn;
And so fair guerdon of glory of men that son shall earn.”
Then under her white feet tied the Goddess her sandals’ pride,
Ambrosial, golden-gleaming, which bore her over the main
Swift as the winds far-streaming, and o’er earth’s limitless plain.
And she grasped her war-spear strong, whose point with the keen brass shone,
Ponderous, sturdy, and long, wherewithal are the ranks overthrown
Of heroes that kindle the ire of the Child of a mighty Sire.
From the crest of Olympus adown hath she flashed through the voids of the air;
And in Ithaca’s land and town, by Odysseus’ palace fair,
She stood by the forecourt door; in her hand was the lance of brass;
And a guest-friend’s shape she wore, the Taphian Mentes he was.
And the suitors therebeside she found, and the dice they threw,
Sitting on many a hide of the kine that they lawlessly slew.
And the henchmen and serving-men were hastening hither and thither;
There were some that were mingling then the wine and the water together;
And with sponges of manifold mesh some washed the tables over,
And they set them forth, and with flesh in abundance the board did they cover.
Then was godlike Telemachus ware of Athene before the rest;
For he sat mid the suitors there with a burden of pain on his breast,
Beholding his sire in his heart, ever looking to see him come
And scatter the suitors apart, and drive them afar from his home,
And, enthroned in his kingly pride, be lord as of old of his own.
So dreaming, the sad son spied a stranger unheeded, alone:
And he ran to the porch with speed, for his heart was indignant to see
How none to a guest gave heed: to the stranger’s side came he,
And with greeting her hand he pressed, and the brazen spear did he take;
And thus to the unknown guest the son of the hero spake:
“Hail to thee, stranger: fair welcome be thine unto this mine home!
First taste of our cheer ere thou tell us thy need for the which thou art come.”
Then Telemachus led the way, and the Goddess followed him;
And anon in the hall stood they, ’neath the roof-beams lofty and dim;
Then took he the spear of his guest, and against a column’s height
Placed in a javelin-rest, where many a spear gleamed bright
That in days of yore Odysseus bore through the storm of the fight.
And on to a throne he led her, a cunningly dight fair seat
And linen thereover he spread, and a footstool he set for her feet.
And a high-seat apart from the rest of the suitors he set in quiet,
Giving heed lest the stranger-guest, being vexed by their mannerless riot,
No joy of the feast might have, in the midst of an insolent throng;
And moreover some news would he crave of his father, lost so long.
And the bright spring water was brought by a maiden, and poured from a ewer,
Golden, beautiful-wrought, into laver of silver pure
To wash withal, and she spread a table of polished sheen
By their side, and served was the bread by the stewardess modest of mien,
With all things dainty to eat, given freely of all her store;
And to these all manner of meat in platters the carver bore.
And bright on the board at their side did the golden chalices shine,
And the henchman his office plied, outpouring the flame-flushed wine.
Then into the feast-hall pressed the suitors, an arrogant throng,
And they sat them down to the feast on the high-seats ranged along.
And water the henchmen poured, o’er the banqueters’ hands was it shed,
And the maidens set forth on the board the heaped-up maunds of bread:
And the boys with the wine filled up the bowls, and they crowned each cup.
So they put forth their hands to eat of the things on the board that lay.
But when the desire of meat and of drink was clean done away,
The minds of the suitor-throng unto other delights gave place,
Even to the dance and the song, the banquet’s garland of grace.
And then did a henchman bring to the minstrel a beautiful lyre,
For to them wont Phemius to sing, in despite of his heart’s desire;
And his fingers swept the string, and the fountain of song ’gan flow.
Then to her of the bright grey eye Telemachus spake full low,
Bending his head full nigh, lest the others should hear, and know:
“Wilt thou have indignation, stranger, at that which my lips shall say?
Pleasant to these men’s hearts are the sound of the lyre and the lay,
Lightly enow, for they feast upon cheer for which he must pay
Whose bones, I ween, in the rain are bleaching and rotting away,
Lying on land, or tumbled and rolled by the waves to and fro!
Ah, if they saw him returning to Ithaca’s isle, I trow,
For swiftness of flying feet would the rabble of dastards pray
More fervently far than for treasure of gold and of gallant array!
But now he hath perished, hath perished by fate most wretched, and we
Smile not, nor are glad, if men, any dwellers on earth that be,
Tell us, ‘Lo, he is coming!’—ah no, but lost is his home-coming day!
But come now, answer me this that I ask, and without fail say:
Who art thou, and whence among men? Thy city and parents declare,
In what manner of ship didst thou come, and how did the shipmen bear
Thee unto Ithaca’s shore? What land do they boast for their own?
For I doubt thou hast scarcely come hitherward faring on foot and alone.
And prithee declare to me this in truth, to the end I may know;
Dost thou now first come, or art thou a friend of long ago
Of my father’s?—for many they were that came to our dwelling then.
In the days overpast, for my sire had dealings with many men.”
Made answer to him Athene, the Maid of the flashing eye:
“As touching all this will I make unto thee an unfeigned reply.
Mentes am I, the son of Anchialus wise and brave;
I am king of the Taphian folk, of the nation that loveth the wave.
And now am I come, as ye see, o’er the wine-dark waters to you,
Sailing to alien folk with my ship, even I and my crew,
Unto Temesa sailing for brass, and of flashing iron is my freight;
And yonder my ship off shore afar from the city doth wait,
In Reithrus’ haven, where Neius’ forests look down on the sea.
And thy father and I, old friends, and the sons of friends, are we
From the first; for witness, go and enquire of the old man hoar,
Laertes the hero: he cometh, they say, to the city no more;
But far away on his farm is he suffering trouble and care,
With none save a handmaiden old his meat and his drink to prepare,
When weariness seizeth his limbs, as to and fro he goes,
Cheerlessly creeping along the slope of his vineyard-close.
But I came as looking to find him at home,—for so did they say,—
Thy sire; but the Gods are letting him yet from his homeward way.
For Odysseus the godlike, not yet dead upon earth is he,
But somewhere is prisoned still alive in the midst of the sea,
In a wave-washed isle, and hard fierce men are his jailors there,
Holding him captive and chafing sore in caged despair.
But list to my prophecy now, as the Gods have spoken the thing
Unto my soul, and this to fulfilment, I know, shall they bring,
What though no seer I be, nor cunning to know bird-lore;—
Not much longer shall he be withheld from his fatherland-shore,
Not though encompassed about with fetters of iron he be,
He will find out a way to escape them, for manifold shifts hath he.
But come now, answer me this, and without fail tell me all,
If the son of Odysseus himself thou be, so goodly and tall.
Strangely like him dost thou seem both in head and in beautiful eyes;
For often and often we twain forgathered in friendly wise
Or ever he passed unto Troy, whither many another beside
Of the chiefs of the Argives in hollow galleys went over the tide,
Since then hath he not seen me, nor I have Odysseus espied.”
Then unto her wise-witted Telemachus answered again:
“Yea, this will I tell to thee, stranger, in truth, and I will not feign.
Begotten of him, saith my mother, am I, but I know not this
Of myself,—there never was mortal that knew his father, I wis.
O had I been sprung from a happier man, whom eld might have found
At peace in his home, with his friends and all his possessions around!
But he that is most ill-fated of all men on earth that be,
Of him, say they, was I born, seeing this thou hast asked of me.”
Then unto him Athene the grey-eyed answered again:
“Nay, but by grace of the Gods thou art come of a glorious strain,
Which yet shall be famed, since Penelope bare such a son as thou.
But come, declare unto me, and unfeignedly answer me now:
What feasting is this? what meaneth the throng? how toucheth it thee?
A banquet?—a bridal?—a fellowship-feast it cannot be.
Overbearingly insolent seemeth their riot and revel to me
In the hall as they banquet; in sooth, if a wise man hitherward came
And saw it, his wrath would be kindled, beholding such deeds of shame.”
Then unto her in reply wise-witted Telemachus spake:
“Stranger, since thou dost enquire of this, mine answer take.
Once, ah once, this house might wealthy and princely have been
In the long-ago days, when he in the midst of his people was seen;
But now those hopes by the evil resolve of the Gods are banished,
For he, by their doing, beyond all men is clean gone, vanished;
For if that he were but dead, I should not be heart-stricken so,
If he with his comrades had been in the land of Troy laid low,
Or had died in the arms of his friends, when the toils of his warfare were ended;
Then had Achaia done honour to him with death-rites splendid;
Yea, he had won great fame for his son for the unborn days.
But now have the Storm-fiends snatched him away, he hath left no trace;
He is gone beyond sight, beyond hearing, hath left me in anguish to groan.
Yea, and it is not for him, him only I make my moan,
For another burden of cares have the Gods on my shoulders thrown.
For all the chieftains that rule in the islands lying around,
Dulichium, Same, Zakynthus moreover, the forest-crowned,
And all the princes that dwell in Ithaca’s rugged isle,
All these come wooing my mother, the house they devour and spoil.
And she neither refuseth the hateful marriage, nor yet can she end
Their wooing, and ever the wealth of mine house do they recklessly spend;
And soon these ravening beasts shall turn upon me and rend.”
Then with indignant voice did Pallas Athene reply:
“O verily sore is thy need that the far-away hero were by,
That the shameless suitors might feel the weight of his mighty hand,
For if now he should come, and there on the house’s threshold stand,
With his shield, and the lances twain, and the helm-crest nodding grim,
The Odysseus of old, as he was when first I looked upon him
Drinking and tasting delight of the feast in our Taphian home,
When from Ephyre-land, from Ilus, Mermerus’ son, he had come;—
For thitherward first did Odysseus his fleet-flying galley steer
In quest of the murderous poison his brass-headed arrows to smear.
But he granted it not, for the ever-abiding Gods feared he;
But my father gave him thereof, for he loved him exceedingly;—
Ah, in such guise if Odysseus amidst of the suitors were seen,
Swift would the doom of them all be, bitter the bridal, I ween.
But in sooth on the knees of the Gods lieth all whereof we speak,
Whether or no he shall come back again, meet vengeance to wreak
Here in his palace-halls. But I bid thee counsel thine heart
How from thy doors the suitors to thrust, that the herd may depart.
Now therefore, hearken to that which I say, and give ear to my rede:
To-morrow the men of the land summon thou to the folkmote-stead;
And speak thou the word unto all, and call thou to witness the Gods.
Bid the suitors to scatter their several ways to their own abodes:
And thy mother, if so it should hap that to wed be her heart’s desire,
Let her turn again, and depart to the hall of her mighty sire;
And her kinsfolk shall order the bridal, and store of gifts shall array,
Even such as befit when a princess in marriage is given away.
And to thee thyself will I give good counsel, if thou wilt heed:
Make ready a galley of twenty rowers, thy swiftest for speed,
And go and enquire concerning thy father, long lost to his home,
If perchance any mortal will tell thee, or heaven-sent rumour come,
Such as speedeth with tidings to men, but is trackless as lightning-fire.
Go first unto Pylos, and ask thou of Nestor concerning thy sire:
Thence unto Sparta, to see Menelaus the golden-tressed,
Who of brass-mailed Greeks hath been last to find from his wanderings rest.
If so of thy father’s life and his home-coming feet thou shalt hear,
Surely, howe’er woe-worn, thou couldst bear up yet for a year.
But and if thou shalt hear of him dead, in the land of the living no more,
Thereafter turn thou again, going back to thy fatherland shore,
And heap him a barrow, and all the befitting death-rites pay
To his shade: to a husband then give thou thy mother away.
But when thou hast done these things, and the work to an end hast brought,
Counsel thy spirit thereafter, and bid thy soul take thought
How thou shalt slay these suitors by force or by subtlety,
Ridding thine house of the spoilers: behold, it is time for thee
To have done with the things of a child, for thy childhood is over and gone.
Hast thou not heard what glory the godlike Orestes hath won
In all men’s sight, by slaying the man that murdered his sire,
How he gave to Aegisthus the treacherous-souled his iniquity’s hire?
And thou, my friend, who art stately of form and goodly of face,
Be valiant, and they that are yet for to come shall speak thy praise.
But now must I hence unto where my good ship rocks on the sea,
And where my companions, I doubt, are chafing with waiting for me:
But thou take thought, and let not my words be unheeded of thee.”
Then unto her wise-witted Telemachus answer made:
“Stranger, in sooth right friendly is this that thy lips have said,
As a father might counsel a son, and thy words will I never forget.
But though thou be eager to sail, come tarry a little yet,
Until thou hast tasted the bath-delight and hast cheered thine heart;
Then with joy in thy soul and a gift in thine hand to thy galley depart.
A costly gift and a fair for an heirloom shalt thou receive,
Even such as friends unto friends from afar are wont to give.”
Answering then unto him did Athene the grey-eyed say:
“Nay, hinder me not who am steadfastly minded to go on my way;
And the gift that thine heart is fain to bestow, some other day,
When again I shall come, thou shalt give it me then, to mine home to bear;
Be it fair as thou wilt, it shall win thee a recompense even as fair.”
So when she had ended her say the Goddess flashed from his sight,
Like an eagle darting away, and she filled his spirit with might;
And courage did Pallas inspire, and more than in days overpast
She awakened thoughts of his sire; and, marking her vanishing fast,
He thrilled with amazed delight, for he guessed that a Goddess it was:
And so did the godlike wight to the herd of the suitors pass.
And the glorious bard was singing, and silently listened the throng
To the lay and the harp-notes ringing and seeming to wail with the song
Of the heaven-sent griefs of the victor-chiefs and the home-track long.
But the sound of the song divine to an upper chamber did rise
To the child of Icarius’ line, Penelope passing-wise;
And down the steep ladder and long of the mansion the lady descended;
Not alone came she to the throng, but by handmaidens twain attended.
So she came to the feasting-place of the suitors, that lady divine;
And she stood by a column tall of the richly-carven hall,
Holding in front of her face her headveil dainty and fine:
And a trusty handmaid stood by the queen upon either side;
And her tears brake forth in flood, to the bard divine as she cried:
“Minstrel, thou knowest full many another delightsome thing,
Stories of heroes and Gods, whose praises the minstrels sing;
Sing somewhat of these, in the midst of the men as thou sittest, and they
Shall hearken the while they drink, but refrain from this mournful lay
Which breaketh the heart in my breast whensoever I hear it sung,
For with pain that I cannot forget my heart, my heart is wrung;
Such a hero is he I remember and long to behold evermore,
Whose glory through Hellas wide-spreadeth from northern to southernmost shore.”
Spake unto her wise-witted Telemachus answering:
“Mother mine, prithee why dost thou grudge that the minstrel divine should sing
For our pleasure whatever his spirit doth bid him? No bards for this
Are at all to blame, but Zeus is the author thereof, I wis,
Who giveth gain-venturesome men, unto each man after his will.
Be not wroth with the bard that he singeth the fate of the Danaans still;
For ever that song hath highest guerdon of praise of men
Whose melody floateth around their ears unheard ere then.
Nay, let thy spirit endure to attend this heart-thrilling lay,
For it is not Odysseus alone that hath lost his home-coming day,
But many a hero beside did the battle and billow slay.
But thou, enter into the house, to the labours of woman give heed,
To the toils of the spindle and loom, and command thy maidens to speed
Their tasks, and leave it to men to speak, and chiefly to me,
For mine is the lordship in this mine house, and the mastery.”
And the lady, with wonder stirred, did back to the house depart,
And she pondered her son’s wise word, and she laid it up in her heart.
So she passed with her handmaidens twain to the upper chamber again;
And there for the dear days dead and the love of Odysseus she wept,
Till Athene the sleep-dews shed on her sorrowful eyes, and she slept.
But the suitors with tumult and brawl were loud through the shadowy hall,
Each claiming with passionate cries the princess’s bridal-bed:
But to them Telemachus wise of spirit full dauntlessly said:
“My mother’s suitors all, overbearingly insolent crew,
Now let us banquet in peace, make not this brawling ado;
For in sooth ’tis a glorious thing to list to the high lay ringing
From the lips of a bard till it sounds as the Gods out of heaven were singing.
But to-morrow we all will go and sit down in the folkmote-stead,
And there shall a warning from me unto you be openly said
To get you forth of my halls, and at other men’s tables carouse,
Devouring your own possessions, and changing from house to house.
But if this thing seemeth to you more honest and fair to see—
On one man only to live, and devour his goods scot-free,
Waste on, and I will cry to the Gods that endure for aye,—
If Zeus will grant a requital for these your deeds one day.
Then, when ye die in these halls, shall your blood on your own heads be.”
So the brave young voice rang clear, and biting their lips they heard,
Half wondering, half in fear, that stout and defiant word.
But Antinous answering spake unto him, Eupeithes’ son:
“Telemachus surely, I trow, the Gods themselves have begun
To teach thee to play the braggart, to speak thus hardily!
May the Son of Kronos in Ithaca weltered about by the sea
Not make thee king, which by right of thy father pertaineth to thee! “
Then unto him wise-witted Telemachus answering spake:
“Antinous, wilt thou be angry at heart for the answer I make?
I were well content if Zeus unto me this crown would give.
Dost thou say that this is the meanest thing that a man may receive?
Nay, it is well with a man that is king, for so good store
Of wealth cometh into his house, and himself is honoured the more.
But in sooth there be lords of Achaean race full many beside,
Both young men and old, in Ithaca washed by the girdling tide:
Let some one of them have this, since Odysseus the godlike hath died.
But however it fall, in any wise king of mine house will I be,
And of thralls which the spear of Odysseus the godlike won for me.”
And to him did Polybus’ son, Eurymachus, make reply:
“Telemachus, sooth these things on the knees of the high Gods lie,
Who shall be king of Achaeans in Ithaca washed by the brine;
But thou be king in thine house, and be lord over all that is thine.
May the man never come who by lawless might shall tear from thine hand
Aught of thy substance, so long as Ithaca’s town shall stand.
But, mightiest, fain would I know of the stranger that came unto thee:
Whence did he come, and what land’s son doth he boast him to be?
Yea, where is his birth-spot found, and the soil of his fatherland home?
Doth he bring any word of thy sire, as saying that soon he will come?
Or hitherward journeyed the stranger moved by a need of his own?
How suddenly sped he away, and waited not to be known!
No mean man he, but stately and goodly to look upon.”
Unto him did Telemachus wary of wit make answer and say:
“Eurymachus, utterly lost is my father’s home-coming day.
Tidings may come and may go, for I trust them no longer at all,
Neither heed I the soothsayer’s art, what though my mother may call
The seer and the soothsayer into her hall, of their lore to enquire.
But this my stranger-guest is of Taphos, a friend of my sire,
Mentes he is, the son of Anchialus wise and brave,
He is king of the Taphian folk, of the nation that loveth the wave.”
In subtlety so did he say, but his heart of the Goddess was ware.
So they to the winsome lay and the light dance turned them there;
And they revelled throughout the hall till the shadows of even should fall;
And amidst of their riotous play the folds of the evening descended,
And each one thereafter his way to his rest through the gloaming wended.
Looking forth on the courtyard-close, the beautiful pillared space,
Telemachus’ chamber rose, high-built in a far-looking place:
And thither to rest he turned, deep-pondering many a thought.
In the room bright torches burned, which the leal Eurycleia had brought,
An aged woman, the daughter of Ops, Peisenor’s son;—
Of old had Laertes bought her, and wealth for his wealth had he won;
She was yet in the bloom of young life, and twenty oxen he gave,
And even as his own true wife did the master honour the slave,
But refrained, with a wise man’s dread of the wrath of his wife, from her bed;—
Thus bare she alway the brands to his chamber, and loved him so
As did none of the maids, for her hands had nursed him years ago.
So he opened the doors that led to the chamber richly-dight,
And he sat him down on the bed, and his tunic he doffed for the night,
And he tossed it unto the old grey nurse who was waiting there,
And she took it, and meetly did fold, and she smoothed it over with care,
And she hung it on high to a peg that was nigh to the carved couch fair.
Then, through the door as she went, with the silver handle-ring
She closed it, and home she sent the bolt with the leather string.
And all through the night, as he lay ’neath the rich soft fleece of a sheep,
His heart was full of the way he must take, and he could not sleep.