Book XI

NOW the galley lay high on the land, as we left her a year agone:
So we dragged her down the strand to the billows, and launched her thereon;
And we hoisted the mast, and we shook the white sail forth to the wind,
And aboard those sheep we took, and embarked with a sorrowful mind,
Heart-overclouded with fear, and shedding full many a tear.
And a brave wind sprang up behind, and I felt the dark prow lift
As the sail bellied out with the wind, and I knew it for Circe’s gift—
Dread Goddess of voice most sweet and glorious braided hair,—
And when we had fastened the sheet and the rest of the tackling with care,
We sat in the ship at our ease, with the wind and the steersman to guide;
And the sail all day with the breeze strained over the rolling tide.
Down in the blood-red surge dipt the sun, and the earth grew dim;
And the galley had reached earth’s verge, the deep-flowing Ocean-stream.
There dwell the Cimmerian folk in a dreary and sunless town,
Overbrooded by frowning cloud, and swathed in a misty shroud
Which never the sun’s shafts broke, wherethrough he hath ne’er looked down,
Neither when up to the plain star-sown he hath mounted on high,
Nor yet in turning again his wheels to the earth from the sky;
But the pall of the night broodeth o’er the inhabitants awfully.
There ran we the galley ashore, and the sheep from her hold took we.
And we journeyed along by the sound of the ocean that darkling rolled,
Till we came to the spot of ground whereof Queen Circe had told.
There in the twilight stood Perimede and Eurylochus by
With the sheep, but my falchion good did I draw from beside my thigh:
And a trench I dug me, in compass a cubit about, foursquare:
And around it to all the dead did I pour drink-offerings there.
The first was of honey and milk, sweet wine for the next did flow,
And the third was of water; white barley-grains over all did I strow.
Then I knelt to the strengthless heads of the dead with many a vow,
How that, when I should come to mine halls, I would offer a barren cow,
My best, and withal on the altar treasures of price would heap,
And beside, to Teiresias only would sacrifice a sheep
Utterly black, the chiefest of all on mine hills that fed.
So when with prayers and with vows I had knelt to the tribes of the dead,
Then the throats of the sheep I held o’er the trench, and the blade I drew
Swiftly across, and welled the black blood thereinto;
And the nethergloom ghosts in shadowy hosts arose to my view.
Brides, sires overburdened with care, youths, tender maidens were there, young and fair:
They whose soft hearts broke under griefs first stroke, and they died,
And heroes in battle slain, stabbed through with the brazen spear,
With many a dark blood-stain bedabbling their warrior-gear:
Through the horror of darkness they leapt, or ever I knew, into sight;
And they thronged, and they glided and crept round the blood-pit to left and to right
With awful shrieks, and I felt that my cheeks were wan with affright.
Then did I straitly command my fellows that waited beside
To take those sheep, on the edge of the pitiless brass that had died,
And to flay them, and burn them, and pray to the Gods of the world of the dead,
Unto Hades enthroned in might, and Persephone’s majesty dread.
But myself, having drawn my falchion keen from beside my thigh,
Sat there, nor suffered the strengthless heads of the dead to draw nigh
To the blood, till the Theban seer to my questions should make reply.
But first to the trench drew nigh Elpenor, our comrade dead,
For his body did not yet lie at peace in the narrow bed:
For in Circe’s halls unburied we left it and unbewailed,
When on this weird quest we hurried, forbidden to tarry, and sailed.
And when I beheld him, I wept, and my heart with compassion was stirred;
And I lifted my voice, and leapt to my lips the light-winged word:
‘Elpenor, how hast thou come to the gloom of the world of the dead,
Who, swifter than I with the galley, on foot hast hitherward sped? ‘
As I spake, loud shrieked the spirit, and answered me piteously:
‘O Zeus’ and Laertes’ seed, Odysseus shiftful at need,
The curse of a God, and wine without measure to death brought me.
I had slept in Circe’s palace, and did not bethink me to go
To the place where the long ladder led from the roof to the court below;
But headlong down did I fall from the roof, bone started from bone
In my neck; and my soul from the body adown unto Hades was gone. now,—
But now I beseech thee by those left behind, that are not here
By thy wife, by the hands that sustained thee when helpless and little wast thou,
By thy son Telemachus, whom thou didst leave in thy palace alone,—
For I know that when from the mansion of Hades hence thou art gone,
Thou wilt bring thy ship to the land in the isle of Aeaea again;
And when thither thou comest, O king, I bid thee remember me then,
Nor leave me unburied, unwept; but in going forsake thou not
Me, lest for my sake upon thee the wrath of the Gods wax hot;
But burn me along with my gear, even all that pertained unto me,
And heap me a barrow beside the shore of the hoary sea,
A wretch’s memorial, a token to them that are yet for to be.
This do thou for me, and an oar on my sepulchre set up on high,
For in life ’twas my wont in the midst of my shipmates the oar to ply.’
So did he speak, and I answered, and spake to that hapless one:
‘All this, O evil-starred, shall for thee be accomplished and done.’
So sundered by blood talked we, all weirdly and mournfully,
While the sword that I held to divide us faintly-glimmering shone,
And he on the further side still hollowly murmured on.
And then, for the blood-spell brought her, a shadow drew nigh unto us,
Anticlea my mother, the daughter of high-souled Autolycus.
Ah me, but alive was she when to Ilium the sacred I went!—
Through blinding tears did I see her, for ruth were my heart-strings rent;
Yet, for all mine anguish, my mother might not to the blood draw near,
Till I should enquire of that other, Teiresias, Thebes’ great seer.
Forth of the shadowy band the form of Teiresias brake,
A sceptre of gold in his hand; and the prophet knew me and spake:
‘O Zeus’ and Laertes’ seed, Odysseus shiftful at need,
Why, hapless one, hast thou left the light of the sun, and art come
To look on the place of the dead, the joyless region of gloom?
Nay then, step back from the trench, and withdraw the keen-edged sword,
To the end I may drink of the blood, and may utter a soothfast word.’
Then from the trench drew I back, and I sheathed the white-starred blade;
And he drank of the blood-pool black, and the soothsayer spake and said:
‘Of a home-coming sweet to the soul as honey thou fain wouldst know:
But bitter and hard a God will make it for thee, for I trow
The wrath the Earth-shaker hath stored in his heart shall find thee yet:
Thou didst blind his beloved son, and he will not forgive nor forget.
Nathless, howe’er trouble-tossed, the haven of home shalt thou find,
If from sacrilege thou wilt restrain thine own and thy comrades’ mind
In the hour when anigh to Thrinacria’s isle ye shall bring your ship,
Escaping from peril sore on the face of the violet deep,
And grazing ye find the kine and the goodly sheep of the Sun,
The God that beholdeth all and heareth whatever is done.
See that thou hurt them not, and take thought for thy home-returning;
So out of woes shall ye come to the land for the which ye are yearning.
But and if thou shalt do them a mischief, destruction and shipwreck await
Galley and shipmates alike; and if thou be not joined in their fate,
After years, after loss of thy men shalt thou reach home, lonely and late:
In an alien ship shalt thou come to a house of trouble and strife,
Where insolent men are devouring thy substance, and wooing thy wife,
Giving her marriage-presents, and counting thee even as dead.
Yet shalt thou take for the violence and wrong a vengeance dread.
But so soon as the suitors within thine halls shall be slain by thine hand,—
Be it by craft, or in open fight with the brazen brand,—
Depart from thine home, and carry a well-poised oar with thee,
And journey, until thou be come to a folk knowing naught of the sea,
Who use not to mingle the savour of sea-born salt with their meat,
Nor have looked on a ship or the pinions against her sides that beat.
And the sign shall be this, when the goal is attained of thy wandering feet:
Thou shalt meet in the way as thou goest another wayfaring man,
Who shall say that thou bear’st on thy goodly shoulder a winnowing fan.
There in the ground shalt thou plant the well-poised oar thou didst bring,
And shalt offer a sacrifice fair to Poseidon the earth-shaking king,
A ram, and a bull, and a boar; and then shalt thou turn back home,
And there to the Gods everliving shalt offer a hecatomb,
In the order due, unto all that dwell in the heaven’s broad dome.
And at last in a good old age shall death come to thee out of the sea,
Softly, so softly, and painlessly laying his finger on thee
Overborne by the weight of years bliss-laden, thy people around
Happy, and thriving in weal. Lo, all this true shall be found.’
So did he speak, and I to the seer made answer and said:
‘Even so, I ween, have the high Gods spun my destiny-thread.
But come, without fail tell this unto me, for thereof am I fain:
Yonder the spirit I see of mine own dear mother dead;
But she silently sitteth anigh to the blood, and she doth not deign
To look on the face of her son, or to utter a word of greeting.
King, tell me, how shall she know me again at this last meeting? ‘
So did I speak, and he straightway made answer to me, and he said:
‘I will tell thee; and no hard saying is this in thine heart to remain:
For it shall be, that whom thou shalt suffer of all the ghosts of the dead
To draw nigh to the blood, he shall utter the truth, and he cannot feign;
Whomsoe’er thou refusest shall backward return into darkness again.’
To the mansion of Hades descended the soul of the kingly seer:
The words of the prophet ended, yet lived they still in mine ear.
Then left I the place where I stood, till anigh me my mother drew,
And drank of the dark-hued blood: then straightway her son she knew;
And she wailed at the sight, and the winged word-flight from her pale lips flew;
‘Son, how art thou come to the land that the darkness of death doth enfold,
Thou in the flesh?—it is hard for the living this land to behold;
For mightiest rivers between, and terrible torrents flow,
Yea, and the Ocean-stream,—what foot shall over it go?
Is it so, that from Troy thou hast long been constrained o’er the waters to roam,
And with ship and with crew on a dreary voyage hast hitherward come,
And hast not seen Ithaca yet, nor thy wife in the halls of thine home? ‘
So did she speak, and I unto her made answer, and said:
‘My mother, I could not choose but come to the land of the dead,
To enquire of the prophet of Thebes, Teiresias, sightless seer;
For ah, not yet to the land of Achaia have I come near,
Nor set foot on our isle, but ever am wandering trouble-tost,
From the day that first I followed with King Agamemnon’s host
Unto Ilium, the war-horse land, with the people of Priam to fight.
But come now, tell to me this, and answer me all aright:
How came the stroke of the outstretcher death that laid thee low?
Was it by long disease, or did Artemis come with her bow,
And softly chill thee to death with arrows like falling snow?
And tell me of those that I left behind, of my father and son.
Are they holding my sceptre for me, or now hath another one
Taken mine honour, saying I shall not return any more?
And tell of the mind of the wife of my youth, and what she hath done:
Doth she bide with my son still? still is she queen of mine household store?
Or hath some proud prince of Achaia already wooed her and won? ‘
So did I speak, and my reverend mother forthright replied:
‘Now nay, but still with a patient spirit thy wife doth abide
In thy halls; and evermore, for the burden of sorrow she bears,
Her days are consumed with heaviness, yea, and her nights with tears.
But thy fair honour hath no man hitherto taken, but yet
Telemachus holdeth in peace thy domain, and on high is he set
In the feasts, where it fits that a ruler of men sit princes beside,
For of all is he bidden: but ever thy sire in the field doth abide
Alone, for down to the city he never doth come, and his bed
Is not with mantles and shining rugs full softly spread;
But in winter he layeth him down in the house beside the fire
In the ashes, amid the thralls, apparelled in evil attire.
But as soon as the summer is come with a glory of golden sheaves,
Low on the ground he lieth amidst of the fallen leaves,
Anywhere under the naked sky in the vineyard-close:
There doth he lie in his anguish of heart, and his grief ever grows
With longing for thee, and now is he come unto joyless eld.
For this cause also I died, when the day of my doom I beheld.
For not in my halls did far-seeing Artemis come with her bow,
And softly chill me to death with arrows like falling snow:
No sickness was it that came upon me to steal away
The life from the tortured limbs by the wasting of long decay.
Ah no, my beloved, my son! ’twas the aching of yearning for thee,
For thy counsels and sweet lovingkindness, that broke the heart of me!’
Blazed in my bosom the fire of a vehement strong desire
My dear dead mother’s shade with the arms of my love to enfold;
Springing forward thrice I essayed in my clasp my beloved to hold:
From mine hands did she thrice take flight like a shadow or dream of the night!
O sharp was the thorn of my pain, O bitter my sore heart-ache,
As I cried through the darkness again, as from depths of despair I spake:
‘O mother, my mother, why wilt thou not wait for mine arms to enfold thee,
That even in Hades in loving embrace to my heart I may hold thee,
That from mourning’s bitter-sweet cup the chill tear-draught we may drain?
Ah, can it be that Persephone sends but a phantom vain
Hither, to double my sighing, and sharpen the tooth of my pain? ‘
Thus as I wailed, forthwith did my mother reply to me then:
‘Ah no, my son, ill-fated beyond the children of men!
It is not that Persephone cheateth thine eyes with a phantom-lie;
But thus it is ever with mortals, as soon as their lot is to die;
For no more have they sinews enwrapping the flesh and the bones of their frame;
But all these things were consumed by the might of the death-pyre flame,
So soon as the life had forsaken the white bones, quitting its clay,
And the soul as a vanishing dream upon shadowy wings fled away.
But press thou back with speed to the light of the day and of life,
And remember all thou hast seen, to tell it one day to thy wife.’
Hushed was the voice, and the ghost had departed, I saw not whither.
In her place was a countless host,—Persephone sent them thither,—
The wives and the daughters of those great heroes of olden fame;
In throngs upon throngs they arose, and around the blood they came.
And awoke the desire in my breast to ask each, there as she stood,
Her story; and thus it seemed best to attain unto that which I would:
I drew my falchion long and keen from beside my thigh,
And suffered not all the throng at once to the blood to draw nigh;
But one by one they came, and the blood gave memory and speech;
And they told me their race and name, as in order I questioned each.
First Tyro told me her story, the tale of a princely house,
Of her sire Salmoneus’ glory, of Cretheus her hero-spouse.
And she loved Enipeus divine, the beautiful-flowing stream
Whose waters the fairest shine of all that in sunlight gleam;
And all through the day by his side did she stray in a sweet love-dream.
But in shape of her lover the Shaker of Earth met the maiden sweet,
And in loving embrace did he take her, where sea-tide and river-swirl meet;
And around them on either side did the wave in a dark arch curl,
Like the swell of a mountain, to hide the God and the beautiful girl;
And her maidenhead-zone he untied, and he poured sleep over his bride.
But or ever the God took flight from the arms of the mortal maid,
Folding her fingers white in his own, he bespake her and said:
‘Have joy of thy love, my sweet: in the fulness of time shalt thou bear
Goodliest sons, for a God’s bed ever hath offspring fair.
Thou shalt needfully nurse the children that I have given to thee.
Now go to thine home, and see that thou speak unto no man of me;
For my love, for my fair, thou hast known the Earth-shaker, the Lord of the Sea.’
With a roar were the waters upheaved, and behold, he was no more there.
And Tyro thereafter conceived, and Pelias and Neleus she bare;
And the servants of Zeus they became, even kings of glorious fame,
For Pelias ruled o’er the wide sheep-tracts of Iolcos’ land,
And his brother was king beside the sea upon Pylos’ strand.
And the beautiful princess gave unto Cretheus sons of might,
Aeson and Pheres, and brave Amythaon, the warrior wight.
Then a statelier phantom came, and Antiope next saw I:
Hers was a glorious shame, in the Thunderer’s arms to lie.
Two sons did she bear to the God, Amphion and Zethus they were,
Who built Thebes-town their abode, with her seven gates stately and fair;
And they gave her a crown of pride, even rampart and tower high-pight,
For they could not in Thebe abide unfenced, for all their might.
After her Alcmene the wife of Amphitryon did I behold,
Who bare one dauntless in strife, even Heracles lion-souled;
For her mortal charms the resistless arms of Zeus did enfold.
Then Megara rose to my sight, whom Creon begat in his pride,
Whom the ever-untiring might of Heracles won for his bride.
And the mother of Oedipus there I beheld, Epicaste the fair,
Who accomplished an awful doom for herself, or ever she knew;
For she married the son of her womb: yea, first his father he slew,
Then wedded his mother, and straight the Gods made all to be known.
And in anguish bitter and great he sat upon fair Thebes’ throne;
Over Cadmus’ people he reigned, as the Gods for his ruin ordained:
But she through the portals hied whence none returneth again,
When the noose to the beam she tied, swallowed up in her heart-sick pain.
But a curse-cup bitter as gall, and filled with woes to the brim
Did she leave for his lips, even all that her Furies mingled for him.
Rose Chloris, fair beyond word, Amphion’s youngest daughter,
By whose beauty was Neleus stirred, and with countless gifts he sought her.
And the might of her father’s hand stretched over the Minyan land;
But she queened it on Pylos’ strand whereunto her husband brought her.
And with Nestor and Chromius there Periclymenus noble-souled
Was born, and a daughter fair as the Goddesses are to behold,
Even Pero, a wonder to men; and princes of many a land
Came wooing the maiden then, but her sire would bestow that hand
Only on him who, for dower, should the kine from Phylace bring,
Wresting them out of the power of Iphiclus, terrible king.
And alone on the perilous quest a peerless prophet pressed,
In vain; for the doom of a God into bonds and imprisonment brought him,
When, anigh to the goal as he trod, the herdmen waylaid him and caught him.
And slowly a year rolled round, day wearily following day,
And Melampus in duress bound, with none to deliver him, lay.
Till at last for his ransoming he must all his prophecies yield;
So Iphiclus set him free, and the counsel of Zeus was fulfilled.
And Leda beheld I there, that was wife unto Tyndareus once.
In the halls of his palace she bare two mighty-hearted sons,
Polydeuces the fist-renowned, and Castor the steed-queller, whom
The life-giving earth hath bound alive in the nether gloom:
Howbeit there have they found high honour by Zeus’s doom;
For on days interchanging they live, and anon do the gates of the grave
Each after other receive, and honour divine they have.
Then came one fair to behold, the wife of Aloeus was she,
Iphimedeia, who told of the love of the Lord of the Sea;
And she spake of her sons and their might, and the few short years that they found,
Of Otus the god-strong wight, Ephialtes far-renowned;
And they were the tallest ones that the corn-giving earth ever bred,
And the goodliest of all her sons, save Orion’s glorious head;
For when nine years scantly had rolled, nine fathom their stature was,
And in cubits nine was told the breadth of their shoulders across.
Yea, and they threatened to smite the Gods themselves, the Immortals,
In Olympus to marshal the fight, and to burst through the heavenly portals.
Yea, Ossa in fury they strove to upheave on Olympus on high,
With forest-clad Pelion above, that thence they might step to the sky.
Ay, and the deed had they done, had they reached but the noontide of life;
But Zeus’ and Leto’s son destroyed them in that first strife,
Or ever, their temples beneath, bloomed blossom of young down fair,
Or on chin and on cheek as a wreath fell the shadow of clustering hair.
And with Phaedra and Procris I saw Ariadne, the lovely daughter
Of Minos, dread giver of law; it was Theseus who fain had brought her
To the holy Athenian plain; but in sea-girt Dia, through spite
Of the Wine-god, his love lay slain by Artemis’ arrow-flight.
With Maera and Clymene rose Eriphyle, the traitress-wife,
Who received the gold of his foes for the price of her husband’s life.
—But I could not name to thee all, nor the endless array unfold
Of the wives and the daughters I saw of the glorious heroes of old;
For the darkness would flush into dawning ere half of the story were told.
But now is it time to sleep: I will go and lie down with the crew
In the galley, or here, and will trust my journey to heaven and you.”
Through the shadowy halls all round was a hush, none murmured or stirred;
But they sat as in trance, spell-bound by the charm of the tale that they heard;
Till the fair queen broke the silence, and spoke from her heart the word:
“Phaeacians, what think ye of the stranger?—how seemeth to you
His stature, his comeliness, and the mind that is matched thereunto?
In sooth he is my guest, yet do ye all in the honour share:
Wherefore haste not to send him away from our midst, neither grudgingly spare
Your gifts unto one that so sorely doth need them, for heaps of treasure
Are stored in the halls of our princes in whom the Gods take pleasure.”
Then to the princes spoke Echeneus the greybeard hoar,
The oldest of all the folk that dwelt on Phaeacia’s shore:
“Friends, fitly and well doth the wise queen speak; we must needs give ear:
Yet word and performance hang on our lord Alcinous here.”
Then unto him did Alcinous stately answer give:
“Yea, this shall be even as the Queen hath said, if indeed I live,
If indeed I sit on the throne the oar-loving nation among.
Yet let the stranger be patient, howe’er for his home he may long,
And in any wise bide till the morrow, till crowned by the gifts of mine hand
Be his store; and his journey full near unto all our hearts doth stand,
Unto mine above all, for mine is the lordship over the land.”
Then unto him subtle-witted Odysseus in answer spoke:
“Lord King Alcinous, high-renowned among all earth-folk,
If ye should bid me here through the round of a year to stay,
And thereafter with splendid gifts to mine home would help me away,
More for my gain should it be, and full fain would I be of the same,
If so with hands more full to the land of my fathers I came;
For thus should I have more worship and love in the sight of men,
Even all that beheld me thus unto Ithaca coming again.”
And Alcinous lifted his voice, and answering spake unto him:
“Odysseus, think not that we doubt thee, who look on thy face, or misdeem,
As though thou couldst be a deceiver, as they that the dark earth breeds
Broadcast, knaves springing everywhere up, as evil weeds,
Weaving the webs of their lies out of yarn gathered none knoweth whence;
But thy words are a topstone of grace on a sure foundation of sense:
And as though ’twere a great bard singing, dost thou our ears enthrall
With the tale of the troubles that came upon thee and the Argives all.
But come now, answer me this, and hide it not from me, I pray:
Sawest thou any of those, the godlike men that away
Unto Ilium passed with thee, and came there on their evil day?
Lo, yet there is much of the night, yea, a measureless length, no need
That we sleep too soon; prithee still let the marvellous story speed.
Oh, I could list till the dawning, if thou in mine hall wouldst tell
Through the charmed hours still of thy deeds, and the woes unto thee that befell.”
Then unto him subtle-witted Odysseus in answer spoke:
“Lord King Alcinous, high-renowned among all earth-folk,
In sooth there is time for much talk yet, and for slumber too.
If still ye be fain to attend, I will spare not to tell unto you
This tale—O yea, and a sadder, a darker story beside,
Even the woes of my friends, who afterward wretchedly died,
Who escaped from the edge of the sword and the roar of the death-dealing strife,
And returned home, there to be slain by the will of a traitor wife.
Into the hollows of night did the beautiful spectres fade,
Dispersed by Persephone’s might, but I thrilled as I peered through the shade;
For out of the nethergloom one heart-stricken with anguish arose,
Agamemnon, Atreus’ son; and a throng was around him of those
In Aegisthus’ hall that were slain by his side in a cursed hour.
And he drank, and he knew me again by the blood-draught’s magical power;
And he wailed, ah bitterly, shedding the tears like winter rain;
And he strove to embrace me, spreading his shadowy arms in vain.
Ah me for the king of men!—there was no strength left any more
In the frame so helpless then, in the limbs so mighty of yore!
And when I beheld him, I wept, and my heart with compassion was stirred;
And I lifted my voice, and leapt to my lips the light-winged word:
‘Agamemnon, monarch of men, good hero of high renown,
What doom of the outstretcher death unto this hath brought thee down?
Was it Poseidon against thee that wakened the maddening breath
Of the winds, and through whirlpits of ravening seas dragged thee unto death?
Or wast thou by foes in the midst of a foray o’ertaken and slain,
As seaward thou dravest their cattle and sheep from the harried plain?
Wert thou warring about some city or some fair woman again? ‘
So did I speak, and he straightway made answer to me, and replied:
‘O Zeus’ and Laertes’ son, in manifold shifts deep-tried,
It was not Poseidon against me that wakened the maddening breath
Of the winds, or through whirlpits of ravening seas dragged me unto death;
Nor did foes overmaster and slay me by land or in open fight:
But my death, but my doom by the treacherous hand of Aegisthus was dight:
For along with my murderous wife he bade me unto his hall,
And there did he slay me, as one should slaughter an ox at the stall.
So did I die a most pitiful death; and my warrior train
Were ruthlessly butchered around me, as white-tushed boars are slain,
When a mighty man of wealth will a princely banquet provide
For a marriage, for mirth with his friends, or for some high festival-tide.
Oft hast thou stood in the place where the sword was uplifted to slay,
When in single fight men died, or by hosts in the terrible fray,
Nor quailed; but thine heart had with horror turned sick hadst thou looked on that day,
To see how we lay round the wine-bowl and tables with cheer covered o’er,
And the hall in a mist with the reek of our blood steaming up from the floor.
But most piteous of all was the shriek that I heard from Priam’s daughter
Cassandra; the traitress my wife Clytaemnestra had dragged her to slaughter
To die by my side: I writhed round the sword as I lay on the ground,
Helplessly lifting and dropping my hands: but the shameless hell-hound
Left me to die, and she deigned not to press down mine eyes with her hand,
Nor to close up my lips as the soul fluttered forth to the shadow-land.
—Oh there is nothing so loathly and shameless as woman can be,
Who can plot such a deed in her breast as a woman devised against me,—
Such a horrible outrage, so ghastly a deed as she purposed and wrought,
That a wedded wife should murder her husband!—ah me, I had thought
With joy amid children and thralls in mine home to find sweet rest;
But her thoughts were abysses of horror, a hell was aflame in her breast.
Shame hath she poured on herself, and to all other women dishonour
Shall cling: though a woman should do good deeds, that stain will be on her.’
So did he speak, and I rendered him answer, and uttered my thought:
‘Alas, it hath still been by women that far-seeing Zeus hath brought
Mischief on Atreus’ seed from the first, and their ruin hath wrought.
Through Helen it was that by thousands we died on an alien strand;
And for thee when afar from thine home Clytaemnestra this treachery planned.’
So did I speak, and he straightway made answer to me, and he said:
‘Therefore do thou take heed, nor by love of thy wife be betrayed;
Tell her not all of the thing that thou knowest, but tell her in part;
There at least shall the rest of thy counsel be safe, in thine own true heart.
Yet shall not thy murder, Odysseus, at all by thy wife be wrought,
For excellent wisdom hath she, she is loyal in every thought,
That child of Icarius’ line, Penelope prudent-hearted.
In sooth we left her a fair young bride, what time we departed
To go to the war, and a babe at her breast was she nursing then;
But now, I ween, thy son shall be sitting a man amongst men.
Happy is he, for him shall his father returning see,
And he shall embrace that father, as ever it ought to be.
Ah me! for my wife suffered not that my eyes with delight should be filled
In beholding my son; ere then his father, her husband, she killed.
This too will I tell thee, and thou in thine heart my counsel store:
In secret, not openly, bring thy ship to thy fatherland-shore,
Unawares to thy wife, for no more faith in women there is.
But come now, declare unto me, and without fail tell me this:
Have ye heard of my son, of Orestes, alive? and in what strange land
Is he exiled?—Orchomenus?—Is it by Pylos’ sandy strand?
Or doth he, Menelaus my brother, protect him in Sparta the wide?
For surely I know not yet hath the godlike Orestes died.’
Eagerly spake he, but I full mournfully made reply:
‘Atreides, why dost thou ask me? I know not, neither have heard
Whether he lives or is dead, and as wind were an idle word.’
So there by the side of the blood, communing in converse drear,
And in anguish of heart we stood, as we shed full many a tear.
But there came to me chiefs of pride; came Achilles, the peerless one,
With Patroclus still by his side; came Antilochus, Nestor’s son;
Came Ajax, a stately ghost, who in comeliness once outshone
All men in the Danaan host, save matchless Peleides alone.
And anigh as Achilles drew, his comrade in battle he knew,
And he wailed at the sight, and the winged word-flight from his pale lips flew:
‘O Zeus’ and Laertes’ seed, Odysseus shiftful at need,
Desperate man!—wilt thou dare in thy soul yet a hardier deed?
How durst thou come down into Hades, where dwell but the senseless dead,
The phantoms of mortals forwearied, whose strength is utterly fled? ‘
Answering then did I speak to the hero renowned in war:
‘O scion of Peleus, mightiest of all the Achaeans by far,
I came in my need to enquire of the soul of Teiresias the seer
How I might win unto Ithaca’s island, the rugged, the dear.
For not yet have I come to Achaia, nor yet have my feet lighted down
In my kingdom, but aye have I woe to my heritage, pain for my crown.
But thou—O Achilles, no man hath been happier in days overpast,
Neither shall be; of yore as a God in thy life-days honoured thou wast
Of the Argives; and now hast thou honour and worship amongst the dead.
Ah grieve not, Achilles, to know that the years of thy life are fled.’
Instantly answered the hero with burst of passionate breath:
‘Happy!—come not unto me with thy babble of comfort in death!
Rather would I be a hireling to drudge in the fields all day
With a landless master, who sparely would feed me and niggardly pay,
Than over the hosts of the dead which have perished a sceptre to sway.
But thou, as concerning my princely son, some tidings show;
Whether he went to the war to be first in the battle, or no.
And tell me, concerning the high-born Peleus, hast aught to unfold?
Hath he honour and worship still mid the Myrmidon folk as of old?
Or through Hellas and Phthia-land now is he held in little esteem,
For that eld hath laid hold on his hands and his feet, and hath palsied him?
For I am not with him to champion his cause in the sight of the sun,
Clothed with the might that I had, when in broad Troy many an one
Of our foes, as I fought for the Argives, was sped to the shadowland-home.
For a day, for an hour, to the house of my sires as of old could I come,
Ha, they should quail at my prowess, and rue my invincible hands,
Who are evil entreating him now, and are robbing of honour and lands! ‘
So did he eagerly ask, and in answer I took up the word:
Soothly to say, of the high-born Peleus naught have I heard.
But concerning the son of thy love, Neoptolemus, now will I tell,
Even as thou bid’st me, nor false shall my tale be, but all as befell.
For, ’twas I, even I, in the galley who brought him from Scyros away
To the host of Achaeans well harnessed for battle, athirst for the fray.
And whene’er in the pauses of conflict for counsel together we drew,
First was he ever in speech, and his words were as shafts flying true.
Only Nestor the godlike and I could thy son in the council surpass:
But whene’er in the plain of the Trojans we fought with the lightning of brass,
Ne’er in the throng would he wait, nor abide in the phalanx to fight;
Far before all would he rush, for he yielded to no man in might.
And many and many a hero he slew in the terrible fray:
I never could tell thee of all of them, no, nor their names could I say,
How many a hero he slew, for the bulwark of Argives he was;
I will speak but of one, even Telephus’ son, whom he smote with the brass,
The hero Eurypylus; round him were many Keteians o’erthrown,
Who perished, by reason that presents a woman’s light fancy had won.
Save Memnon the godlike, goodlier man in the host saw I none.
Then, when we entered and crouched in the horse that Epeius had made,
We chiefs of the Argives, and all things were ordered as I had said,
When to shut and to open the ambush-cave lay only with me,
The rest of the captains and chiefs of the Danaans there might ye see
Wiping the tears from their eyes, while the limbs of them shivered for fear:
But never mine eyes might behold Neoptolemus wiping the tear;
Never in any wise faded the flush of his face into wan;
Nay, but he ever besought me to forth of the horse, and set on;
And restlessly ever his hands to the hilt of his falchion would go,
Ever shivered the lance in his grip, for he longed to be smiting the foe.
But when we had smitten the city of Priam, and parted the spoil,
He went to his galley with goodliest prey and reward of his toil,
Scarless, untouched by the rush of the lance as it leapt through the air;
He had closed in the conflict with heroes, yet none ever wounded him there,
Where few have escaped, when too mad is the War-god to favour or spare,’
Then the soul of the mighty dead, of Aeacus’ fleet-foot son,
O’er the asphodel-mead in his pride swept back with a stately stride,
Exulting because I had said that his offspring was second to none.
But the spirit of every chief beside, of the dead that had perished,
Thronged round me, stricken with grief, and they asked me of kin dear-cherished.
Only the soul of one, even Ajax, Telamon’s son,
Would not draw nigh unto me, being wroth for the victory lost
When we pleaded beside the sea in the court of the Argive host,
When the arms once borne by her son as a prize by Thetis were given;
—’Twas the sons of the Trojans at last, and Athene, the sentence that passed,—
And O that I never had won, and O that we never had striven!
So noble a head sank low for those arms into the grave,
Even Ajax, in outward show most goodly, in fight most brave
Of all the Danaan men, save the peerless Achilles alone.
And I spake to the hero then soft words, and in humblest tone:
‘O son of a glorious sire, is it so, that thou wast ordained
Not even in death to forget thy wrath for the war-gear I gained,
The accurst, which the Gods ordained for the Danaans’ ruin to be?
Such a tower of strength was in thee overthrown, and the Argives for thee
Mourned as they mourned for the head of Achilles, Peleus’ seed,
Bitterly mourned for thy death;—and who was to blame for the deed
Save Zeus, who looked on the Danaan host with a terrible hate,
And dealt unto us sore loss, and laid upon thee this fate?
O king, come hither, come hither, and list to the words that I say!
O bend the pride of thine heart, and turn from thine anger away! ‘
So I pleaded: he answered me naught, but implacable thence he strode,
And the nethergloom darkness he sought, where the rest of the spirits abode.
Howbeit e’en there had I spoken, his silence perchance had been broken;
But mine heart was fain in my breast to turn a little aside,
And to look but once on the rest of the spirits of them which had died.
There Minos did I behold, Zeus’ son, the lawgiver dread,
Grasping a sceptre of gold, giving statutes unto the dead
There as he sat, and the ghosts were enquiring their rights of him,
Sitting and standing; hosts in the gloom showing shadowy-dim.
Then before mine eyes did there pass Orion, a giant shadow,
As he drove in a huddled mass the beasts o’er the asphodel meadow,
His quarry in days of yore through many a lone hill-fold;
And a mace in his hands he bore, all brazen, of adamant mould.
And Tityus there did I see, great Earth-mother’s son was he,
Who lay fettered down on the plain over nine roods’ length extending;
Right and left of him vultures twain were sitting, his liver rending:
Into the caul pierced they, nor his hands might drive them away;
For from outrage to Leto the bride of Zeus did he not refrain
What time unto Pylos she hied through Panopeus’ beautiful plain.
Yea, Tantalus there saw I with his cup overbrimming with woes;
For he stood amid water, and high as his chin the ripples rose;
And he strained in a horrible drouth ever vainly to reach the stream;
For, as oft as the old man’s mouth quivered near to the maddening gleam,
Ever the waters would fleet swallowed up, and the earth all round
Was dry by the wretch’s feet, for a God’s power rifted the ground.
And tall trees over him stooping were swinging around him there
Their fruits; there were pomegranates drooping, the golden apple, the pear;
Sweet figs at his lips close hung, and the olives gleamed thereby;
But when that woe-wrinkled wretch to reach them his hands would stretch,
By a gust were they snatched and flung to the shadowy clouds on high.
There Sisyphus saw I receiving his guerdon of mighty pain:
A monster rock upheaving with both hands aye did he strain;
With feet firm-fixed, hands pressed, with gasps, with toil most sore
That rock up towards a crest heaved he; but a little more
And atop of the hill would it rest—resistlessly turning again
With a merciless leap, with a hurricane-sweep it hath rushed to the plain.
But toiling, straining yet, in his great despair did he thrust:
Down poured from his limbs the sweat, and arose from his head the dust.
Next after him did I see where the might of Heracles strode—
A phantom, for feasting is he in the deathless Gods’ abode,
And Hebe is there at his side, his lovely-ankled bride;
The daughter of Zeus is she, and of Here the golden-shod.
There was round him a hurtling of ghosts as of birds in terror-struck flight;
For appalled were the shadowy hosts, and gloomy he strode as the night,
Ever grasping his bow made bare, with the shaft on the string, and his eye
Flashing round with a terrible glare, he was ever in act to let fly.
And an awful belt he wore, a baldric of massy gold,
Around his breast, and it bore devices and marvels untold;
There were bears, wild boars of the wood, there were lions with furious glare;
There was battle and murder and blood, and slayings of heroes were there.
—Let him who fashioned it, king of his craft, set his hand not again
Unto any meaner thing, for higher he ne’er shall attain!
And he knew me as soon as he turned his eyes my face to see;
And the shade of the hero mourned as the light-winged words spake he:
‘O Zeus’ and Laertes’ seed, Odysseus shiftful at need!
Ah wretch, full evil thy fate, full sorry the life thou dost lead,
Even such as the burden I bore ’neath the light of the sun long ago!
Yet I was the scion of Zeus the son of Kronos; but woe
Without limit or measure I had: for a servant was I given o’er
To a man far weaker and worse, who laid on me troubles sore.
Yea, hitherward once did he send me to fetch Hell’s Dog; for he thought
No task could be sorer than this, no deed more hard to be wrought;
Yet did I bring it from Hades, and haled to the light of the day;
For me did Hermes and Pallas the grey-eyed speed on my way.’
Then Hades-ward did he set his face, and he plunged into gloom.
But there did I tarry yet, to see if perchance there would come
Other heroes famous of yore who had died in the days of old;
And of these had I seen yet more, whom my heart was fain to behold,
Peirithous and Theseus, of fame full high, who of Gods’ seed came;
But the tribes of the dead folk drew by myriads near and more near
With awful shrieks, and I knew that my cheeks were white with fear,
With a sudden horrible dread lest Persephone forth should send
From Hades the Gorgon-head of a hideous monster-fiend.
So with speed to the shore I hied me; my mates did I there command
To climb the black ship’s side, and to cast her loose from the strand.
And swiftly aboard did they go, and they sat them down to the oar;
And the Ocean-river’s flow o’er the surges the galley bore,
At the first with rowing, till came, fair-blowing, a breeze from the shore.