Book XIV

BUT he from the haven went, where the rugged pathway led
Over the woody bent, unto where Athene had said
The swine-droves wont to feed with the godlike man, who best
To the goods of his lord gave heed of the thralls that Odysseus possessed.
By the house-front sitting he found him, there where the courtyard wall,
In a place with a clear view round about, was builded tall,
Massy and fair to behold: it was reared by the swineherd’s hand,
The swine therein to fold, while his king was afar from his land.
The queen knew not, neither old Laertes, the hero-sire,
How he built it with huge stones rolled, and wattled the gaps with briar:
And he planted a palisade thereabout, on the right and the left,
Stakes many and close-arrayed, dark heart of the oak-trunk cleft.
And within the guarded space there were swine-pens two and ten,
The swine-kind’s resting-place, close-set, and in every pen
Were fifty couchers on earth pent, breeding swine were they;
But without the wall of the garth the boars through the night-tide lay.
Far fewer by tale were these, for the suitors minished them still,
Recklessly feasting at ease, and the swineherd bent to their will,
That he brought them the goodliest each day of the boars huge-fed,
So that much was consumed; yet the rest were three hundred and three-score head.
And, for nightlong guards of the fold, there were hounds thereby that slept,
Fierce, gaunt, like beasts of the wold, which the swineherd-captain kept.
And he from the hide of a steer was shaping him sandals then,
As the hero drew anear; but all the rest of the men
This way and that way had hied, as the herded swine-kind went,
Even three, and one beside to the town had the swineherd sent,
Thither to drive the beasts perforce for the suitors proud,
To be slain for the riotous feasts of the overweening crowd.
All in a moment the hounds saw Odysseus, and on him they ran
Barking, with furious bounds; but the shift-devising man
From his hand the staff let fall, and he sat on the ground straightway.
By his own farm-garth and stall had he shamefully fared that day,
But the swineherd suddenly spied, and with hurrying feet upstarted:
Straight dropped from his hand the hide as out through the porch-way he darted;
And he shouted in master-tone, and the scattering hounds fled away,
As he drave them with stone upon stone; and then to the king did he say:
‘Father, a little more, and the bandogs suddenly
Had rent thee, and then hadst thou poured the reproach thereof upon me.
Yet it needs not: the Gods have heaped me a measure of anguish and moan;
For aye for a godlike king am I sitting in grief and groan;
And I feed the goodly boars of his flock for others to eat;
And he the while, I ween, is pining for lack of meat,
As mid folk and town of an alien land he must wearily stray,
If indeed he yet be alive, and behold the light of the day.
But come, to the hut let us go, old sire, that thou too there
Mayest fill thy soul with the wine and the meat of the shepherd’s fare,
And whence thou art come mayest tell, and all thy troubles declare.’
Into the hut as he spake the godlike swineherd led;
And a brushwood pile did he take, and a seat for his guest he spread;
And he laid to cover the heap a wild goat’s shaggy fell,
Broad, thick, whereon to sleep, and it liked Odysseus well,
That welcome given to a guest; and even with the thought he said:
‘Stranger, may Zeus, and the rest of the deathless dwellers in heaven
Grant thee thy dearest wish for thy welcome kindly given.’
And thou, Eumaeus, the swineherd, madest reply to the king:
‘Though a viler than thou came, stranger, that were an impious thing,
To scorn the stranger, seeing the poor and the strangers all
Are sent of Zeus; and the gift that we give, what though it be small,
Is blessed and welcome: little in sooth to bestow hath the thrall;
For ever he standeth in fear over whom young lords bear sway.
Ah, but the Gods have taken from him his home-coming day,
Who had shewed me kindness, I ween, and had given me substance enow,
Such as a kindly king is wont on his thrall to bestow,
A home and a parcel of ground, and a dear-loved wife long sought,
When the Gods have blessed his hands, and the true work honestly wrought,
As prospereth this my toil, to the which evermore I give heed.
If my king were but here growing old, he would give me my labour’s meed.
He hath perished—and O that abasement and death had come ere then
To the house of Helen, who brought low hosts of valiant men!
For he too went overseas at King Agamemnon’s need,
To fight with the Trojan folk in the land of the battle-steed.’
Swift he upgathered and tied his tunic about with his belt;
And forth to the pens hath he hied where the folk of the swine-kind dwelt:
Thence hath he chosen him twain, and he brought them forth and slew:
He hath singed them and carved, and hath ta’en the spits and thrust them through:
And he roasted it all, and bare on the spits, as hissing it glowed,
To the hero the savoury fare, and meal thereover he strowed;
And the honey-sweet wine he poured, and mingled in ivy bowl;
And facing his guest at the board he spake, to cheer his soul:
‘Eat now, O stranger, of this, for such is the fare of the thrall;
But the flesh of the boars must go to the suitors’ banqueting-hall,
Who regard not the wrath of the Gods, and of pity they take no heed:
Yet I ween are the blessed Gods no lovers of lawless greed;
But they have respect unto justice, they honour the rightful deed.
Yea, even the wild sea-rovers, the foes of man, that live
On the substance of other folk, and the spoil that Zeus doth give,—
As they speed the laden galleys over the sea-ridges home,
Some shadow of haunting dread doth over their fierce hearts come.
But these men—surely they know, yea, the Gods have sent them a word
Of his woeful end, for they lawlessly woo the wife of my lord,
Refusing to get them gone, and they revel in riotous ease,
And as tyrants spoil his goods, nor heed nor shame have these.
For, ever as pass the days of Zeus, and the nights wear on,
They are slaughtering beasts, and it is not one, neither two alone;
And they pour out the wine, and they waste it with insolence overbold.
Ah, great was his substance aforetime, the sum thereof untold!
There be none of the heroes, none on the black-loamed mainland-shore
So rich, nor in Ithaca’s self: though there came together a score,
Were the wealth of them all as his; lo, now will I tell it thee o’er:
Twelve herds on the mainland he hath, and as many flocks of sheep,
And of forest-ranging swine, and of goats that tread the steep:
He hath hirelings and herdmen-folk of his own to tend them and keep:
And eleven goat-flocks in the uttermost part of the island feed,
And over them trusty men keep watch and ward with heed.
And of these each taketh a fatted goat, and day after day
The best of all the flock to the suitors are led away.
Yea, and moreover the swine that thou seest I guard and tend;
And the best of the herd must I choose with heed, and thitherward send.’
And Odysseus feasting heard, but he stinted not for the tale,
And he drank, and he spake not a word: but he plotted the suitors’ bale.
But when he had supped, and his soul of the food gat strengthening,
Filling his drinking-bowl, the swineherd gave to the king:
And the bubbles gleamed at the brim; so he drank, and his heart grew light.
Then spake the hero to him, and sped the winged word-flight:
‘Now tell me who is thy lord, and the name whereby they call
The mighty man of wealth who bought thee, friend, for his thrall.
For King Agamemnon’s honour he died,—so ran thy word?
Tell me: perchance it may hap I have known such a man as thy lord.
For Zeus Allfather, I ween, and the rest of the Deathless know
If aught I can tell of the man, for far have I roved to and fro.’
Answered and spake the swineherd-captain, lord of the herd:
‘Old man, no wandering wight that cometh and bringeth word
Of him, shall his wife believe, nor his well-beloved son.
But with empty lies on their tongues come vagrants many a one;
They reck not, they, of the truth, but they crave to feast of our store.
And every vagabond knave that cometh to Ithaca’s shore
Forthwith to my lady hies him away, and babbles deceit;
And she welcometh kindly, and biddeth the liar new lies repeat.
And the tears from her eyelids fall, as she mourns through the sorrowful day,
As women are wont, when husbands perish far away.
Thou, too, old man, I fear me, wouldst fashion a tale as the rest,
If one would reward thy story with guerdon of mantle or vest.
Ah no, but the dogs have torn him, the birds have come to the prey,
And have rent his skin from his bones, for his spirit hath fled away,
Or fish in the sea have devoured him: his naked bones on the strand
Are lying forlorn, enwrapped in a winding-sheet of sand.
He is lost; and of troubles he leaveth a heritage dreary behind,
Unto all his friends, and most unto me, for I never shall find,
Whithersoever I go, another king so kind;
Not though to the house of my father and mother I turned once more,
The home where first I breathed and was nursed in the days of yore.
I mourn not them so much, though I long with yearning sore
To behold them again with mine eyes, and the home on a far-away shore:
But mine heart with desire for Odysseus the lost is nigh to break.
Ah stranger, he is not here, yet his name with awe do I speak.
For he loved me well, and he cared with a kindly heart for me:
And ever I call him my lord and my love, afar though he be.’
Then unto him made answer Odysseus the troubled-tried:
‘Friend, thou art sure, good sooth, and will hear of naught beside,
But that never will he return, and thy spirit will nowise believe.
Yet this will I not say lightly, an oath thereto will I give,
That Odysseus shall surely return; and be this my tidings’ meed:
In the selfsame hour that he cometh again to his home indeed,
Then do on me beautiful raiment, a mantle and tunic-vest;
Till then will I not receive them, albeit of need hard-pressed.
For hateful to me is he as the very gates of the grave,
Who, cowed by poverty, fleeth to lies, the shield of the slave.
Bear witness Zeus, above all the Gods, and the guest-fain board,
And the hearth whereunto I am come of Odysseus thy princely lord,
That surely in all these things shall the truth of my words be shown.
In this year, even in this, shall Odysseus come to his own:
As the one moon waneth away and the next moon cometh on,
He shall come to his halls with a recompense stern for all that have done
Dishonour here to his wife, and his gallant glorious son.’
Then unto him did Eumaeus the swineherd answering say:
‘Old man, sooth never shall I such good-news-guerdon pay,
And Odysseus shall never come home: but drink thou on at thine ease,
And commune we of other things, but make no mention of these.
For keen as a stab to the heart in my bosom cometh the word,
Whensoe’er one nameth the lost, Odysseus my dear-loved lord.
Nay, we will none of thine oaths,—yet O might my king come again,
That the Queen and I might look on the day for the which we are fain,
And Laertes the old and the godlike Telemachus joy thereat!
But unceasingly now do I mourn for the son that Odysseus begat,
Telemachus: him did the Gods rear up for a goodly plant;
And I deemed that amidst the heroes nothing the son should want
Of the might of his well-loved sire, of his grace and his goodlihead;
But now hath one of the Deathless his soul for his ruin misled,
Or belike some man: he is gone unto Pylos’ sacred strand
For news of his sire; and now do the arrogant suitor-band
Lie in wait for his home-coming feet, with intent that Arkeisius’ race
May utterly fail, and his name may in Ithaca find no place.
But speak we of him no more: it may be they will take the prey,
Or Kronion will stretch out his hand for his shield in the perilous day.
But thou, old man, speak now of thyself, and thy troubles tell,
And answer the truth unto me, to the end I may know it well:
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.’
Unto him made answer Odysseus the full of devices, and spake:
‘Touching all these things unto thee an answer of truth will I make.
Had we but now good store of meat for many a day,
And of wine, and here in the hut might while the hours away,
Feasting at quiet, while others should toil and our burden bear,
I would then—ay easily—tell thee my tale through the livelong year;
Nor then should I make an end of the story of misery,
The sum of the toil and the trouble the Gods have meted to me.
I come of the race of the dwellers in Crete’s fair land and wide,
The son of a mighty man of wealth; and many beside
Tall sons in his house had he, that were born and nursed to him there,
True sons of a lawful wife; but me did a bought slave bare
Unto Kastor Hylax’ son; yet I boast myself of his race,
For still with his true-born sons he gave me an honoured place,
While he as a God was revered by the folk of the Cretan land,
For the bliss of his days and his wealth, and his sons, a glorious band.
But it fell on a day that the Fates, the dread death-dealing ones,
Bare him away unto Hades’ halls, and his proud-souled sons
Cast lots, and divided his living: for me, the son of the slave,
Little enow was there left, and naught but a dwelling they gave.
Yet in process of time did I win me a bride of wealthy men:
Myself by my manhood I won her,—I was not a weakling then;
No battle-blencher was I!—now all is past long ago:
Nathless, I ween, by the stubble the harvest’s wealth shalt thou know.
Broken I am and wasted by troubles manifold—
Ah, but the War-god of yore and Athene made me bold
With hero-quelling spirit! What time for the ambush I chose
Mightiest men, devising mischief against my foes,
Never my manful spirit looked on unto death in fear;
But far ahead of the rest would I bound, and I quenched my spear
In blood; nor availed swift feet when the foes’ array ’gan yield.
Even such in the battle was I, but I loved not to drudge in the field,
Nor to rear me goodly sons by tame house-husbandry.
But ever the tossing oars of the galley were dear unto me,
And the clash of the onset, the leap of the lance, and the arrow’s flight,.
Things bitter and stern, at the which there be that quail with affright;
But in me I ween some God the desire for these begat;
For one man taketh his joy in this, and another in that.
And, or ever the sons of Achaia to Troyland sailed to the war,
Nine times I led forth warriors and swift-tracking galleys afar
In foray on alien folk, and of booty we won great store,
Whereof I chose as I craved, and by lot there fell to me more;
And fast did my house wax great, and myself a terror became;
And through all the Cretan land with awe men spoke my name.
But at last, when wide-seeing Zeus did the hateful war-path plan,
That loosed in death the knees of many and many a man,
Then did they call upon me and Idomeneus high-renowned
To lead their galleys to Troy, and no escape was found;
Since for two to withstand their eager clamour was all too hard.
So there for nine long years the sons of Achaia warred.
In the tenth we destroyed the city of Priam, and over the tide
Sped homeward-bound; but a God dispersed the Achaeans wide.
But for wretched me did the wisdom of Zeus fresh evils devise;
For it was but a month that I tarried and restfully gladdened mine eyes
With my children and wife and possessions; and then would nothing avail,
But I needs must forth on the sea, and for Egypt be spreading the sail.
So I and my godlike comrades made ready the ships with heed;
Nine galleys we rigged for the raid, and the war-folk gathered with speed.
Thereafter for six days’ space did my stout war-fellows feast;
And day by day did I bring full many a stall-fed beast
To feed the altar-fires and the banquet-cheer to provide:
On the seventh day went we aboard, and we sailed from Crete-land wide;
And the fresh North-wind blew fair, and merrily swept us on
Smoothly, as down a stream, and of all my ships not one
Gat harm, but all unscathed and unvexed sat we at our ease;
And the ships were unswervingly sped by the helmsman’s hand and the breeze.
On the fifth day came we to where fair Egypt’s river flowed;
And there in the broad stream’s mouth our shapely galleys rode.
And now did I straitly command my comrades true and tried
To guard the galleys from mischief, and still by the keels to abide;
And I hasted the feet of the watchmen, to look from cliff and hill.
But the crews would not be controlled, and they followed their own wild will;
And in haste on the fair-tilled fields of Egypt’s folk fell they,
And they wasted the land, and they took their women and babes for a prey,
And they slaughtered the men; and swift to the city the clamour was borne.
So the townsfolk hearing the outcry came with the breaking of morn.
And now did the footmen and battle-cars the whole plain cover
With lightning-gleam of brass; and Zeus the thunder-lover
Cast into the hearts of my men foul panic, till none would abide
To withstand the charge of their foes, for bale was on every side.
So there in the rout with the sharp brass many of us they slew,
And they led off others alive, the bondslave’s work to do.
But into mine heart a device for my life did Zeus’ self send,—
But O to have perished in Egypt, and there to have come to mine end!
For floods of sorrow and pain were over me yet to pass;—
I straightway put off from mine head the well-wrought morion of brass,
And the shield from my shoulders, and cast from my hand the boot-less spear;
And then to the battle-car of the king I drew anear,
And I clasped and kissed his knees, and in ruth he reined his wrath;
And weeping I sat on the car as it rolled on the homeward path,
While the war-waves dashed on the chariot, and tossed the surge of the lances,
As the wrathful warriors howled for my life with murderous glances.
But he saved me, because that the wrath of Guest-ward Zeus he feared,
Whose anger is hot when the cry of the suppliant wronged is heard.
In their land seven years I remained, and I gathered abundantly
Of the wealth of the folk of Egypt, for all brought gifts unto me.
But it fell, when the eighth year came, as the shifting seasons rolled,
That there fared a Phoenician thither, a man deceitful-souled,
A griping knave, whose lies had undone full many before.
By his craft did he overpersuade me to sail to Phoenicia’s shore,
To the land wherein his house and his wealth ill-gotten lay.
There did I tarry with him till a full year passed away.
But at last, when the months and the days were accomplished in measure due,
And the new year came, and the round of the seasons began anew,
So he wrought, that I laid in his ship my wealth of merchandise;
And he drew me aboard, unto Libya bound, by his counsel of lies;
For he purposed to sell me there for a goodly price, for a slave.
And perforce I went in his keel, though somewhat my heart misgave,
And the ship ran over the waves with the fair fresh North-wind’s breath
Past Crete’s mid coast,—but Zeus was foredooming the traitor’s death.
Now as soon as the offing was gained, and under the dim sea-line
Sunk was the isle, and remained naught else but the sky and the brine,
Then did Kronion bring a lurid cloud overhead,
And a gloom from its shadowing wing was over the waters spread.
And with rolling and crashing of thunder the lightning of Zeus was hurled;
And the ship’s whole length thereunder shivered, and round she whirled,
Filled with a sulphurous steam, and the crew from her decks were flung:
Like the white sea-mews did they seem, as they hither and thither were swung
Round the ship mid the foam and the swell, till the faces, a moment tost,
Sank, weighted with vengeance, to hell, and the hope of their home was lost.
But even as the anguish of death o’er my fainting spirit passed,
Allfather gave to mine hands the strong unbroken mast
Of the dark-prowed ship, to the end that from bane I yet might flee.
And I clasped it around, and the fierce winds swept me over the sea.
Nine days long did I drift: on the tenth to the Thesprot land
Was I brought in the starless night, as the vast swell rolled to the strand.
And the hero Pheidon their king received me with open hand:
For his dear son came upon me on the shore as I lay half dead,
Toil-spent in the chill of the dawn; and home to the palace he led,
Having lifted me up by the hand, till we came to his father’s hall;
And a mantle and tunic he gave me, to clothe myself withal.
There of Odysseus I heard; for often the king would say
How he gave guest-welcome to him as he fared on his homeward way:
And he showed me all the wealth that thither Odysseus had brought,
The brass and the gold, and the iron in manifold fashion wrought.
Good sooth, to the tenth generation his house might live thereon;
So huge was the treasure-heap that within the king’s halls shone.
But Odysseus, he said, to Dodona was gone, to hear the behest
Of Zeus from the oak divine, the dark tree lofty-tressed,
Whether openly he should come unto Ithaca’s fruitful isle,
Or in secret, for now had he wandered thence for a weary while.
And he swore unto me, as in hall the wine of libation he poured,
That the galley was launched, and the shipmen ready to go aboard
To speed him over the seas to his own dear fatherland.
But he sent me away before; for a ship by Thesprots manned
For Dulichium’s land wheat-wealthy was spreading her woven wing:
Wherefore he bade them bear me safe to Akastus the king.
But of treacherous counsel concerning me were their false hearts fain,
To the end that I still might dwell in the midst of sorrow and pain.
So, as soon as the sea-faring galley was far from the land on the sea,
Forthwith ’gan they to contrive the day of bondage for me.
They stripped off my mantle and tunic, the raiment bestowed by the king,
And about me instead of these a wretched rag did they fling,
Even this that thou seest with thine eyes, this tunic tattered and vile.
And at eventide they came unto Ithaca’s far-seen isle.
And the captive beneath the thwarts of the well-benched galley they tied
Straitly, with ropes strong-twisted: and down from the black ship’s side
In haste they sprang, and they supped along the strand of the sea.
But the Gods themselves bent back the bonds that fettered me
Full easily; then did I shroud mine head in the tattered vest.
Down the polished rudder I slid, and softly I sank to the breast
In the sea: thereafter I swam outspreading the oars of mine hands;
And out of their reach full soon in the gloaming I trod the sands.
Then went I up unto where a thick copse covered the ground;
And I crouched and lay, and listened the while they prowled around
Groaning and grudging: howbeit they counted it labour in vain
Longer to tarry and search; so they turned them backward again,
And boarded the hollow ship; but the very Gods on high
Easily hid me, and guided; and now have they brought me nigh
To the wise man’s homestead, seeing not yet is my weird to die.’
Then thou, Eumaeus the swineherd, to him gav’st back the word:
‘Ah stranger forlorn, mine heart in my breast hast thou verily stirred
With the telling of all these things, thy woes and thy wandering.
Yet this thou hast spoken is naught: I shall never believe this thing
Concerning Odysseus;—what aileth thee, thus wild lies to tell,
And thou in such plight as thou art? Nay, surely I know too well
The tale of my king’s return, and the high Gods’ bitter spite,
Because that in Troyland they could not bring him to death in the fight,
Nor to die in the arms of his friends, with his warfare-weaving ended.
Then had Achaia done honour to him with death-rites splendid:
Yea, he had won high fame for his son for the unborn day.
But now without tidings or trace have the Storm-fiends snatched him away!
But aloof I dwell with the swine, and I go not unto the town,
Save when Penelope passing-wise doth summon me down,
When tidings have come unto her of her yearning heart’s desire;
And I see them sitting around, and of this and of that they inquire,
Both they whose hearts for their king long lost are weary and sad,
And they that, devouring his living without requital, be glad.
But for me, to seek and to ask hath my very heart abhorred,
Since the day an Aetolian cheated mine hope with a lying word,
Who had murdered a man, and had fled far-roaming o’er many a land,
Till he came to mine hut, and I welcomed him freely with open hand.
He said he had seen him in Crete with Idomeneus, there repairing
His galleys, which stormy winds had shattered in wild sea-faring.
With the summer, he said, or the autumn-tide would Odysseus come
With his godlike comrades, and bringing a mighty treasure home.
And thou, O grief-laden elder, whom hither a God hath led,
Deem not that with lies I shall count me rewarded or comforted:
For I shall not reverence thee, nor love thee for dealing so.
This do I for awe of the Guest-ward Zeus, and for ruth of thy woe.’
Answering spake Odysseus the manifold-counselled chief:
‘O but the heart in thy breast is verily slow of belief,
Seeing that not by an oath can I bring thee to trust in me!
But make we a covenant now, and thereof let the witnesses be
The Gods in Olympus that dwell, to judge between us twain.
If so it befall that thy king return to his palace again,
Then clothe me in mantle and tunic, and help me forth, to depart
Overseas to Dulichium’s land, the goal of desire to my heart.
But and if thy king come not as I say, and the new hope die,
Set on me the thralls, and drag to a cliff, and hurl from on high,
That every beggar thereafter may fear to flatter and lie.’
Answered and spake unto him the godlike warder of swine:
‘Ay stranger, and so should glory and fair good luck be mine
Among all men-folk, both now, and withal in the days to be,
Seeing thus to mine hut I have led thee, and given guest-cheer unto thee,
If then I should murder thee, and take thy life away.
Hopefully, trustfully then unto Kronos’ son should I pray!
But now is the hour of supper: even now should my mates be here
In the hut for the eventide, to prepare them abundant cheer.’
Thus in the hut they two communed with earnest words:
And anigh them the swine now drew, and the men that tended the herds:
And they drove them into the close, to sleep in their wonted wise;
And loud the clamour arose from the swine as they thronged the sties.
And then to his fellow-thralls did the godlike swineherd say:
‘Bring hither the best of the boars: for the guest from far away
Will I slay it; we too will have pleasure thereof, who day by day
Weary and toil with pain, in tending the white-tusked beasts,
While strangers devour our labour in unbought robber-feasts.’
With the brown bill then he wrought, and the keen edge cleft the wood:
And a boar his fellows brought of five years, tender and good.
By the side of the hearth he set it; nor now did the swineherd wight
The Deathless Ones forget, for the thoughts of his heart were right.
But the forelock-bristles he shore, and he cast on the fire the hair
From the head of the white-tusked boar, and put up to the Gods his prayer
For the home-returning day of Odysseus the wise of heart:
Thereafter the beast did he slay with an oak-billet cloven apart.
And the life fled away; and the hide they singed, when the throat they had cut.
And the carcase they carve and divide, and the flesh doth the swine-herd put
From the limbs on every side on the rich white fat of the brute.
And he burnt it for sacrifice; thereover the meal doth he strew:
Then the rest into pieces they slice, and they run the long spits through:
And they roasted in heedful wise all this, and the roast they withdrew.
And on chargers they piled the whole of the flesh, and to carve and to share
The swineherd arose, for his soul gave heed to the just and the fair.
And he parted in portions seven the roast that before him was piled;
And one to the Nymphs hath he given, and Hermes Maia’s child,
With a prayer thereto, and the rest hath he shared to the tenders of swine:
But he gave to Odysseus the best, the long unsevered chine
Of the beast, and he caused to rejoice the soul of his king and lord;
And Odysseus lifted his voice, and the wise-heart spake the word:
‘Mayest thou, Eumaeus, to Zeus Allfather be even as dear
As to me, who hast honoured my low estate with abundant cheer.’
And thou, Eumaeus the swineherd, to him didst make reply:
‘Nay, eat, good fellow, with joy of the things on the board that lie,
While thou mayest; for now God giveth, and now withholdeth his hand,
Even as seemeth him good, and none may his work withstand.’
Then the sacrifice-smoke rose up to the Gods that forever abide:
And the flame-flushed drops he poured; and the city-waster, his lord,
Received at his hands the cup, as he sat his portion beside.
And the bread Mesaulius brought unto each: him once on a day
For a thrall had Eumaeus bought, when his king was far away.
To the Queen was the thing not known, nor Laertes the ancient knew;
But he gat him for wealth of his own at the hands of a Taphian crew.
So they put forth their hands for to eat of the meats on the board that lay.
But when the desire of meat and of drink was clean done away,
The bread Mesaulius bare from the board; and satisfied
With the goodly evening-fare, full fain to their rest had they hied.
But the moonless dark drew on; all night the rain-floods poured,
The while from the death of the sun the West-wind mightily roared.
Then spake Odysseus, to test the swineherd’s heart by the deed,
If his cloak he would doff for the guest whom he tended with such good heed,
Or would speak unto one of the rest to yield up his own for his need:
‘Hearken to me, Eumaeus, and merry companions all:
I will make my petition; for mad wine now on my spirit doth call,—
The wine, that causeth the song to break from the wise man’s lip,
And maketh him fondly laugh, and setteth his feet to skip,
And hath thrust to the teeth-fence a word that were better unspoken, I wot.
Nevertheless, since I uttered my voice, I will hide it not.
Ah for the strength that was mine, and the youth, and the lustihead,
In the day when forth unto Troy for the ambush the heroes we led!
’Twas Odysseus and Atreus’ son Menelaus that led the band,
And myself the third with these, for so did themselves command.
So when we were come to the town and the dark wall’s twilight frown,
Mid the brushwood copses about the city we cast us down.
Mid the tangle of reeds in the marsh we lay in our battle-gear;
And the darkness deepened, the freezing north-wind whistled drear;
And the snow fell fast like rime, and froze as it touched the ground,
And jagged fringes of ice were glistening the shield-rims round.
Now all the others were clad in mantle and tunic-vest,
And, with shields overlapping their shoulders, at ease were they taking their rest.
But my cloak by the ships had I left with my friends in my heed-lessness,
For I deemed that the night would be warm, nor looked for the cold’s keen stress:
So I came with only my shield and my girdle glittering-gay.
When the third watch came, and the stars were treading the down-going way,
Then at last I spake to Odysseus, for nigh unto me he lay:
With my elbow I touched him, and straightway he hearkened with diligent heed:
“O Zeus and Laertes’ son, Odysseus shiftful at need,
No more shall I be of the living; I die with the wintry chill;
For I have not my mantle: a God misguided me thus for my ill,
That I came with naught but my tunic, and now is it past relief.”
Straightway a thought had birth in the heart of the crafty chief,—
So good in counsel still was that battle-mighty one!
And his word through the darkness came in whispered undertone:
‘Hush, lest of any Achaean beside thy speech be heard.’
Then did he prop on his elbow his head, and he spake the word:
“Hear, friends, I have dreamed a dream: ’tis a heaven-sent vision, I trow:
Behold, full far have we come from the ships; now who will go
To Atreus’ son Agamemnon, the shepherd of folk, and say
That we would he should send more men from the galleys to swell our array? ’
Straight at the word fleet Thoas, Andraimon’s son, upstarting,
Cast down his mantle of purple grain on the ground in departing;
And he hied him to run to the ships; and with joy I lay in his cloak:
And it seemed but a moment thereafter till morning the gold-throned broke.
Ah that I had but my youth, and my strength unwasted as then!
They would give me a mantle, I trow, in the hut of the swineherd men,
Moved both by love and by reverent awe of so goodly a wight:
But now am I lightly esteemed, for my body is foully dight.’
And thou to the hero, Eumaeus the swineherd, answeredst thus:
‘Yea, a right good story, father, is this thou hast told unto us:
And thou hast not spoken yet any word that the wise would hide.
Wherefore the raiment thou shalt not lack, nor aught beside
That right is to give when the suppliant cometh in woe to the door;
But to-morn must thine own rags flutter around thee even as before.
For not many mantles, nor changes of tunic-vests to don,
Are found with such as we, but only for each man one.
But as soon as hitherward cometh Odysseus’ beloved son,
Himself shall give thee raiment, a mantle and tunic-vest,
And shall send thee whither thy heart would, even as seemeth thee best.’
To his feet with the word did he leap: he hath set by the hearth a bed,
And the shaggy fells of sheep and of goats thereover hath spread.
So Odysseus laid him down, and to shield him against the cold
A mantle the swineherd hath thrown, thick-woven of ample fold,
That himself would don when the frown of the tempest darkened the wold.
Sound slept Odysseus then, where ruddy the hearth-flame gleamed,
And anigh him the younger men; but ill to the swineherd it seemed
If within the hut he should lie from the swine-host far apart.
So he dight him, forth to hie; and Odysseus rejoiced in his heart,
That the man watched well that his lord far distant should have no loss.
He flung his keen-edged sword his brawny shoulders across;
And a cloak, a defence from the blast, thick-woven, about him he cast;
And withal the shaggy skin of a great-girthed goat hath he ta’en,
And hath grasped his javelin keen, the nightly prowlers’ bane.
And he went forth into the night, to sleep mid the bristly kind
’Neath a caverned crag’s dark height, on the lee of the keen north-wind.