Book XV

BUT Pallas Athene is gone unto Lacedaemon’s plain,
To put in mind the son of the hero Odysseus again
Of his home-returning day, and to hasten him thence away.
And the Prince Telemachus there and Nestor’s scion renowned
Asleep in the porch-hall fair of King Menelaus she found,—
Nay, sooth, but sleep’s soft hold over Nestor’s son had power,
But sweet sleep could not enfold Telemachus: hour after hour
Through the balmy slumber-tide for his father he mourned awake.
Then standing hard beside him Pallas Athene spake:
‘Telemachus, ill were it done in thee far from thy palace to roam,
Leaving unguarded thy goods with lawless men in thine home.
Beware lest with insolent pride they divide and devour the rest
That remaineth to thee; so shalt thou have come on a bootless quest.
Then haste thee, beseech Menelaus the mighty-voiced in the fray
That he let thee go, ere thy mother be clean departed away.
For now is she sorely constrained to wed by her sire and her brothers,
And to choose of the suitors Eurymachus, seeing he passeth the others
In bringing of gifts, and his wooing-presents are many and fair.
See to it that nothing thou wouldst not away from thine halls they bear.
For thou knowest what manner of spirit is found in woman’s breast:
To the house of the man that doth wed her she longeth to bring of the best.
But her children, the once beloved, and her spouse of the days over-past,
The living, the dead, are forgotten; no thought unto them doth she cast.
But go thyself, and whatever thou hast to a woman commit,
Whomso thou know’st of the servants true-hearted and prudent of wit,
Till the day when the Gods for thee a helpmeet wife shall find,
I will tell thee another thing yet, and do thou lay it up in thy mind:
The chiefest of all the suitors for thee are lying in wait
Twixt Samos the rugged and Ithaca, even in the midst of the strait,
Eager to slay thee before thou be come to thy fatherland-home:
But I ween it shall not be so; nay, sooner shall earth entomb
Many of them that devour thy substance under thy roof.
But keep thou the well-wrought ship from the island far aloof:
And by night as by day shalt thou sail, and one of the Deathless shall send thee
A fair stern-wind; for there is that watcheth thee still to befriend thee.
But as soon as the ship shall have come unto Ithaca’s uttermost shore,
Thy galley and all thy companions send on to the city before;
But thou, first go to thine herder of swine that abideth afield,
And, even as in days gone by, unto thee is loyal-willed.
There shalt thou sleep that night, and shalt send him, when morn shall arise,
With a word in his mouth of thee, to Penelope passing-wise;
And so shall she know that, from Pylos returning, safe is her son.’
So speaking, the Goddess away to Olympus on high is gone.
With his foot Telemachus stirred the old king’s son as he slept;
And a sudden, an eager word to his panting lips hath leapt:
‘Rouse thee, Peisistratus, Nestor’s son! to the chariot lead
The strong-hoofed horses, and yoke them, and forth on our way let us speed.’
Answered and spake unto him Peisistratus, Nestor’s son:
‘Telemachus, hopeless it were, howsoever we long to be gone,
To drive through the mirk of the night; but soon will the dawning be here.
Tarry till Atreus’ son, the hero renowned with the spear,
Menelaus, the gifts of his bountihead on the car shall lay,
And shall speak to us kindly words of parting, and send us away.
For him doth the guest through the rest of his life-days bear in mind,
The guest-fain host who hath given him greeting and welcome kind.’
Full soon thereafter the Dawn gold-throned brought in the day;
And anigh to their couch hath drawn Menelaus renowned in the fray,
From his bed uprisen beside Queen Helen of lovely hair;
And Odysseus’ son espied the hero standing there.
On his body with haste he drew his tunic brightly dyed,
And over his shoulders threw his mantle floating wide,
And out through the door is he gone; and thus to the hero began
Telemachus, dear-loved son of Odysseus the godlike man:
‘Zeus-fostered Atreus’ son, Menelaus, captain of war,
I pray thee suffer me now to depart to my fatherland-shore;
For now mine heart is yearning to look on my home again.’
Answered and spake unto him Menelaus the battle-fain:
‘I would not hinder thy feet, not I, that they should not depart
When thy spirit is fain to be gone; yea, oft it chafeth my heart,
Beholding a host that lavisheth love overmuch on his guest,
Or overmuch showeth his hate: nay, things in measure are best.
Yea, churlish alike I count him, who hasteth his guest away
When he would not depart, and who holdeth him, loth though he be to stay.
Nay—good cheer for the guest while he tarries, good speed when he fain would be gone!
Yet wait till I bring my gifts to the chariot and set them thereon,
Fair gifts, and thine eyes shall behold them: and I will speak the word,
And the women shall set forth a plentiful feast of our best on the board.
For this is for honour, yea also for bodily strength, I trow,
That men should be feasted, or ever afar on a journey they go.
—Say, through the length and the breadth of the land wouldst thou turn aside?
Lo, I will be thy companion, a chariot myself will provide.
I will shew thee the cities of men; there be friends that shall welcome us there,
Nor send us empty away, but somewhat from all shall we bear;
A tripod of brass, or a laver their love shall bestow upon thee,
Or a couple of mules, or a golden chalice the gift shall be.’
But to him Telemachus wise of spirit in answer spoke:
‘Zeus-fostered Atreus’ son, Menelaus, chieftain of folk,
I am fain to return straightway,—for I left no warder at home
To rule mine household and guard mine own till again I should come—
Lest, as I seek for my godlike sire, myself should perish,
Or out of mine house be stolen some treasure that most I cherish.’
When the hero-king, in the fray mighty-voiced, his answer heard,
To Helen the queen straightway and the handmaids he spake the word,
To array the feastful board, and to lay of their best thereon.
And then drew nigh to his lord Eteoneus Boethius’ son;
For he rose, since he dwelt not afar, to attend on his lord’s desire.
And him Menelaus the war-wise commanded to kindle a fire,
And to roast them roast thereon; and he rendered obedience meet.
But the hero himself is gone to a chamber odorous-sweet;
Not alone, Megapenthes and fair-tressed Helen went with the king.
So when they were come unto where his treasures were glittering,
Menelaus chose from the store a double-chalice bright;
And his son at his bidding bore a bowl of the silver white.
But Helen uplifteth lid of linen press and chest
Wherein bright raiment is hid that herself, the lovely-tressed,
Had wrought, and the lady divine thence taketh the fairest of all
Whose broideries brightest shine, and whose folds the amplest fall:
And it gleamed and it flashed as a star, and the lowest of all it lay.
And through chamber and corridor they haste to the prince once more,
And thus the bright-haired war-chief Atreus’ son ’gan say:
‘May Zeus vouchsafe thee the boon for the which thine heart is yearning;
May the thundering spouse of Here grant to thee home-returning.
And of all the royal treasures within my palace that shine,
The costliest thing and the fairest to see, even this shall be thine.
I will give thee a bowl fair-carven, of silver its precious mould,
Save only the rim thereof, and it gleams with the flame of gold.
’Tis the work of Hephaestus; the hero Phaidimus gave it to me,
The Sidonians’ king, when I stood ’neath the roof of his hall by the sea,
As the home-track brought me thither; and this is the gift thou shalt take.’
He gave the double-chalice cup to his hands as he spake.
And strong Megapenthes brought and set at his feet on the ground
The silver bowl rich-wrought, and the sheen of it streamed around.
And thereafter Helen the fair-cheeked came to Odysseus’ child;
And the robe in her hands she bare, and she spake, and kind she smiled:
‘This gift moreover, beloved child, give I unto thee,
A remembrance of Helen’s hands: for the happy day let it be
When thou to thy bride shalt give it: till then, let it safely remain
In thy halls by thy mother. Farewell: soon mayest thou look full fain
On thy palace stately-reared, and thy fatherland-soil again.’
So she gave that fair-wove pall to his hands, and joyful-faced
Telemachus took it; and all in the car Peisistratus placed,
With amaze at the rich-wrought ore and the lovely child of the loom.
And Atreides went before them to lead to the banqueting-room.
So they sat upon couch and throne by Atreus’ kingly son;
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 the sewer carved the meat, and to each his portion bore;
And the son of the hero renowned the wine to the rest bare round;
So they put forth their hands to eat of the cheer on the board that lay.
But as soon as the craving for meat and for drink was clean done away,
Telemachus then and the son of Nestor the horses brought;
And they yoked them, and mounted upon the chariot cunningly wrought.
And forth they drove to the sound of the porchway echoing round;
And Atreus’ son the bright-haired hero followed behind
With the honey-heart wine in his right hand, mixed for the farewell kind,
That, or ever they went, they should pour to the Gods from the golden cup.
And he came and he stood before the chariot, and lifted it up:
‘Farewell, youths. Greet well Nestor the shepherd of folk for me:
For kind unto me evermore he was, as a father might be,
So long as we warred in Troy, we sons of Achaean men.’
And to him Telemachus wise of spirit answered then:
‘Yea verily, blessed of heaven, to him will we surely go
And speak this greeting of thine;—but O that even so
Unto Ithaca coming again, I might find Odysseus there,
And might tell of my sojourn with thee, of thy stintless loving care,
And might point to the treasures I bring, the gifts so many and fair!’
Even as he spoke, on the right flew a bird of augury by,
An eagle bearing a white goose trussed in his talons on high,
A tame fowl out of the farm; and the men and the women fast
Followed, a clamouring swarm; but the bird came darting past
In front of the car on the right; and they, as they looked thereon,
Rejoiced for the omen, and light grew the heart of every one.
And Peisistratus, Nestor’s son, to the others turned him, and spoke:
‘Menelaus, blessed of Zeus, bethink thee, chieftain of folk,
Whether the God doth send unto thee or to us this sign.’
He spake, and the War-god’s friend Menelaus essayed to divine
How he should wisely make meet answer and true, well-trowing:
But, or ever his word came, spake the lady of robes long-flowing:
‘Hearken to me, I will prophesy that which the Deathless send
Into my soul, and even as I deem shall be the end.
As the eagle born and bred on the mountain’s wild bleak face
Hath snatched away this goose soft-reared in a sheltered place,
So, after manifold troubles and rovings o’er land and sea,
Shall Odysseus with vengeance return to his home; yea now, it may be,
He is there, and for all the suitors already deviseth bane.’
Then unto her wise-witted Telemachus answered again:
‘May Zeus, loud-thundering spouse of Here, so order it now;
Then thee even there as a God will I hail with prayer and vow.’
He spake, and he laid on the lash, and away the fleet steeds dash:
Eagerly flew they, crossing the city to win to the plain.
So all through the day they went tossing the jingling yoke and the rein.
And the sun went down, and all the ways were o’ershadowed with gloom;
And they came in the evenfall unto Pherae, Diocles’ home,
Whose father Orsilochus high descent from Alpheius drew.
There for the night did they lie, and he gave them the guest-fare due.
When Dawn from her mist-veil broke with rosily-flushing light,
They put the steeds to the yoke of the chariot cunningly dight;
And forth they tramped to the sound of the porchway echoing round;
And he touched the steeds with the whip, and with right good will they flew.
And quickly anigh unto steep-built Pylos town they drew;
And then to the son of the ancient king Telemachus spake:
‘Nestor’s son, wouldst thou promise the thing that I ask for my sake—
And how perform it? For ever our fathers’ friendship endears
Each to the other: moreover we number the selfsame years;
And by this wayfaring together the closelier knit shall we be.
Drive me not otherwhere, friend, but leave me by galley and sea;
Else will the old king’s masterful love compel me to stay
His guest in his halls—but I must, O I needs must hasten away.’
So spake he, and Nestor’s seed in his heart ’gan cast about
How he might compass the deed, and the promise be stainless of doubt.
And so he devised this shift, and the best it seemed to be:
He turned the steeds to the swift black ship and the strand of the sea.
And the beautiful gifts he bare, and abaft in the galley he stored,
The gold and the raiment fair, the gifts of Sparta’s lord;
And he hastened Telemachus there, and he spake the light-winged word:
‘Now speed thee aboard, and bid thy fellows be hastening,
Before I return to the palace, and tell the ancient king.
“For indeed this thing do I know full well in my mind and my heart,
That his spirit will brook no denial; he will not let thee depart,
But himself will come hither to call thee: I trow he will not return
Empty, for indignation-kindled his anger will burn.’
So he spake, and away loose-reined went the car-steeds beautiful-maned;
Swiftly to Pylos he hied him, and came to the palace again.
And Telemachus turned him, and cried, as he stood on the shore, to his men:
‘Shipmates all, now deal with the black ship’s tackling-array;
And let us aboard ourselves, to the end we may speed on our way.’
So the shipmen-wights gave heed to his bidding with willing hearts;
And they boarded the galley with speed, and they sat them down on the thwarts.
So there toiled he; and with vow and prayer to Athene on high
He is sacrificing now by the stern;—lo, a man draweth nigh,
From a far land fleeing, because that in Argos a man had he slain.
Yet a prophet the manslayer was, and born of Melampus’ strain,
Who of old in Pylos, the mother of sheep, was wont to abide;
And his palace was great, none other o’erpassed its stately pride.
To a far land then he departed, fleeing his native place
And Neleus the mighty-hearted, the noblest of all earth’s race.
A long year wearily rolled, and his wealth through all that year
Was in Neleus’ tyrannous hold, and Melampus in duress drear,
In bonds right bitter to break, in the halls of Phylacus lay
For Neleus’ daughter’s sake, and the desperate mad essay
Whereunto a stronger drave him, the fearful Erinnys divine,
Yet ’scaped he the jaws of the grave, and he drave the bellowing kine
To Pylos from Phylace’s meads; and vengeance on Neleus’ head
He took for his shameful deeds; and withal to his brother he led
A queen for his halls and a bride: but from fatherland far went he
Unto Argos’ horsemeads wide; for so was it Fate’s decree
That there he should live out his life, and be king of the Argives there.
And he took to himself a wife, and he built halls stately and fair.
Antiphates, Mantius, these were his sons, right stalwart and bold:
And born to Antiphates was Oicles mighty-souled.
Unto him was the battle-waker Amphiaraus born,
Whom Zeus the Aegis-shaker, and He of the hair unshorn
Loved passing well: yet he won not the grey eld-threshold of life,
But at Thebes he perished, done to death by a bribe-bought wife.
Yet his sons were glorious, Alcmaeon and Amphilochus.
And to Mantius moreover were born Polypheides and Cleitus the fair;
But Cleitus the gold-throned Morn for his beauty to heaven bare;
So he dwelleth afar where the Deathless are, and she loveth him there.
But great beyond all other prophets on earth that abide
Apollo made his brother, when Amphiaraus had died.
But to far Hyperesia the seer fled, bitterly wroth with his father;
And thither, his wisdom to hear, all peoples wont to gather.
Now the child of a prophet-race—Theoklymenus named they his name—
Drew near them in desperate case; and Telemachus, even as he came,
With the cup of libation in hand, made his prayer by the swift black ship;
And the fugitive stood on the strand, and he cried with quivering lip:
‘O friend, since I find thee now doing sacrifice here on the shore,
By thy sacrifice I beseech, by the God whose grace ye implore,
By thine head, by the heads of thy fellows that follow thee, heeding thy hest,
Hide not, but give me an answer of truth unto this my request:
Who art thou?—thy nation?—thy city and parents, where be they?’
Then unto him did Telemachus prudent in spirit say:
‘Yea, I will give thee, stranger, an answer of truth in this.
Of Ithacan race am I, and my father Odysseus is,—
If ever he lived—but now hath he perished wretchedly:
Therefore with comrades and swift black ship I came over the sea,
To seek after news of my sire, who departed from us long since.’
And the godlike seer Theoklymenus answered and spake to the prince:
‘I too am afar from my land, for I slew a man and I fled,
For that many the brethren were and the kinsfolk of him that is dead;
And they mightily rule the Achaeans in Argos, the horsemead-land.
And fleeing the blackness of death at the fierce avenger’s hand,
I find no rest: I am doomed up and down among men to roam.
O give me a place in thy ship, who a fugitive suppliant come,
Lest they take me and slay; for I think they are following hard behind.’
Answered and spake unto him Telemachus prudent of mind:
‘I will thrust thee not from the shapely ship, neither spurn thy request.
Nay, follow, and thou shalt be welcome, and have thy share of the best.’
Then from the hand of the seer he received his lance, and he laid
The brazen-pointed spear on the deck of the ship wave-swayed;
And himself to the stern hath hied of the galley that useth to plough
The fields of the hoary tide; and he seateth himself, and the seer
He causeth to sit by his side, and they cast off the hawsers now.
And Telemachus called on his men to deal with the tackling-gear;
And they right hastily then to the words of his mouth gave ear;
And they hoisted the tall pine-mast, and they set it into its place
In the centre-block, and fast with the two forestays did they brace;
And they spread the white sail wide with the thongs of the twisted hide;
And a fair breeze sprang up behind—it was Pallas Athene’s gift—
A mightily-rushing wind, and the good ship leapt; and swift
O’er the brine of the sea she speeds, by foam-silver and wave-hollow-gleam;
And they flit by Cruni’s meads and by Chalcis’ beautiful stream.
And the sun went down, and all earth-ways grew dim in the gloom;
And through dusk of the evenfall ’gan Phaia’s foreland to loom;
And the breezes of heaven drave the good ship over the wave
Past Elis, the realm divine of the royal Epeian line.
So thence stood he out for the isles in the offing far away;
And he thought of the dark death-toils;—should he ’scape them, or fall their prey?
Meanwhile in the eventide the swineherd supped with his lord
In the hut; and there beside them the herdmen sat at the board.
But when hunger was done away, and the men had drunken their fill,
Then Odysseus began his say—to know of the swineherd’s will,
Whether with kindly heart he would welcome him still to stay
In the steading, or bid him depart on the cityward-tending way—
‘Hearken, Eumaeus, and ye that here be gathered beside;
I am fain to get me hence to the city at morning-tide,
To beg my bread, that I be not a burden to these and to thee.
But counsel me well, I beseech thee, and send thou a guide with me
Who shall lead me thither: but there shall I wander—for needs I must—
About the city, if any will give to me cup and crust.
To the house of Odysseus withal, thy godlike lord, would I go,
To Penelope passing-wise, to tell of him whatso I know.
Yea, withal would I go to the arrogant throng of the suitors there,
If perchance they would give me to eat, for abundance they have and to spare.
I am ready to toil for them well, whatsoever the task shall be;
For I tell thee,—and give thou heed to my saying and hearken to me—
By the favour of Hermes the Guide-god, of him that is wont to crown
The labours of all menfolk with a garland of grace and renown,
No man shall be found my match in rendering service good,
In keeping the fire ablaze, and in hewing the billets of wood,
And in carving and roasting of meats, and in pouring the wine at the feast,
Such household work as is done for the great of the earth by the least.’
But thou, Eumaeus the swineherd, criedst in sore dismay:
‘O stranger, whence this purpose that leadeth thy heart astray?
Of a truth thou art utterly minded to rush forthwith on thy bane,
If thy will be indeed to enter the throng of the suitor train,
Whose outrage and violence reacheth the iron vault of the sky.
Not such as thou are the folk that for these the house-tasks ply.
Nay, they be young; gay mantle and beautiful tunic they wear;
And their heads aye glisten with oil, and their faces are blooming and fair.
Even these are their serving-men, and their polished tables shine,
And they bend with their burden of bread, and of flesh, and of rosy wine.
Nay, tarry, for no man accounteth it ill thy face to see,
Nor I, nor any of these my fellows that dwell with me.
But when hitherward cometh the dear-loved son of a godlike sire,
He shall bestow on thee mantle and tunic, goodly attire,
And shall help thee whithersoever thine heart and spirit is fain.’
And the godlike Odysseus the toilworn answered the swineherd again:
‘May Zeus Allfather, Eumaeus, account thee as dear a friend
As I, who hast made my woes forlorn and my wanderings end!
Ah, homeless wandering is the sorest of evils to bear;
Yet ’tis tyrant hunger that bringeth on men heart-harassing care,
And feet that may find no rest, and weariful travail and pain.
But, seeing thou wilt that against his coming I here remain,
Come, touching the mother of godlike Odysseus tell me, I pray,
And the sire that he left on the threshold of eld as he went away;
Whether they yet are living beneath the rays of the sun,
Or are dead ere this, and to Hades’ shadowy halls are gone.’
Then unto him the swineherd-captain answering spake:
‘As touching all this, O stranger, an answer of truth will I make.
Still liveth Laertes; but ever on Zeus Allfather he calls
That his life from his woe-worn limbs may be severed there in his halls;
For sorely, sorely he mourns for his son, the departed, the lost,
And withal for his wise-souled wife, for he grieved for her death the most,—
And his spirit was broken, and ere the time grey eld came on,
She perished, stricken with anguish because of her glorious son,
By a wretched death:—oh never may that man know such end,
Who dwells here, dear unto me, and doeth the deeds of a friend!
So long as she yet was alive, albeit she lived in grief,
So long did I care to enquire after tidings of that lost chief,
Because that she nursed me herself with Ctimene peerless-fair,
The princess royally robed, the youngest child that she bare.
With her daughter she brought me up, and scarcely she honoured me less.
But when we were come, we twain, unto youth-tide’s loveliness,
For a bride-price untold unto Same the princess passed away;
But me did her mother the queen attire in goodly array,
In tunic and mantle and sandals, and bade her nursling depart,
In the upland pastures to toil, yet with me went her heart.
But her love and her care, I lack them now: yet the blest Gods still
Prosper the work of mine hands, for I toil with a hearty will,
I can eat, I can drink, and still for the stranger a morsel I spare.
But ne’er from our lady I hear a kindly word, and ne’er
Taste kindly deed; for a curse hath come on Odysseus’ halls,
Even overbearing men: yet sorely long we thralls
To look on the face of our lady, to ask how all things fare,
And to eat and to drink, and a gift of her bounty thence to bear
To gladden the heart of the thralls, and to make their toil seem light.’
And Odysseus the many-counselled spake to the swineherd wight:
‘Alas and alas! a little one surely thou wast in the day
When thou wanderedst far from thine home, from thy parents far away.
But come now, tell me this, and sooth be thy answering word:
Did they waste a broad wayed city of men with fire and sword
Where dwelt thy father and mother, and took thee captive in war?
Or abiding alone with the sheep or the oxen afield afar
Did sea-robbers find thee, and bear in their galleys a slave oversea,
Till in this man’s halls a goodly price was paid them for thee?’
Answered the swineherd-captain and spake to the island-king:
‘Stranger, seeing thou askest and seekest to know this thing,
Give ear, and in silence delight thee, and drink as thou sitt’st at thine ease.
There is time for sleeping—for nights exceeding long are these,—
And time for delight of stories; what boots to be slumbering
Before the time? Yea, over-sleep is a wearisome thing.
But ye, the rest of my fellows, whoso is minded so,
Let him forth and sleep, and as soon as appeareth the dawning-glow,
Let him break his fast, and follow the herds of Odysseus’ swine.
But we, let us rise not yet in the tent from the feast and the wine.
We will gladden each other with stories of travail and pain and woe;
For from springs of grief overpast may fountains of pleasure flow,
When a man hath suffered much, far-wandering to and fro.
And this I will tell, whereof thou askest and seekest to know.
Above Ortygia lieth an isle, and Syrie its name—
If perchance thou hast heard it—the sun’s path turneth aback at the same—
Not passing great is the compass thereof, but good is the ground;
For its pastures are clothed with flocks, and their corn and their wine abound;
And poverty cometh not there; and the hateful face of disease,
That vexeth wretched mortals, hath never been seen by these.
But when her people exceeding old begin to grow,
Then Artemis cometh against them, and He of the Silver Bow,
And softly chill them to death with shafts like falling snow.
Two cities there are, and between them the land is parted in twain;
And over both of these did the king my father reign,
Ctesius, Ormenus’ son, with godlike majesty crowned.
Thither there came on a day Phoenicians galley-renowned,
False knaves, with a freight of many a quaint and curious thing.
A Phoenician woman dwelt in the halls of my father the king,
Comely and tall, and cunning in labours of womankind.
Now the wily Phoenician shipmen-rogues seduced her mind:
By the ship at her linen-washing one of them found her, and lay
In loving embrace with her,—and this thing leadeth astray
Most surely a woman’s heart, be she never so cunning of hand:
And thereafter the man enquired of her name and her fatherland;
And she straightway made answer and spake of her father’s high-roofed hall;
“The Sidonian land brass-wealthy the home of my youth I call.
Great was my father Arybas, mighty in wealth overflowing,
But it fell on a day, as home from the lonely fields I was going,
That Taphian rovers seized me, and bore me away a slave,
And sold me in this man’s halls, and a goodly price he gave.”
Answered and spake the man, by her side that in stealth had lain:
“Now wouldst thou be willing to go with us back to thy country again,
On the high-roofed home and thy father and mother to look once more?
They are yet alive, and their wealth, men say, is a stintless store.”
Then spake the woman to them, and eagerly answered she:
“Yea, seafarers, that would I gladly, if ye will also agree
To be bound by an oath to carry me safe to my fatherland-shore.”
So spake she, and all the men as the woman bade them swore.
And after the swearing was done, and the oath had been spoken by each,
Answered the woman again, and spake with wary speech:
“Now beware that none of you seem to know me, or turn to greet:
But say not a word if ye meet me faring adown the street,
Nor beside the spring, lest the story some tale-bearer’s tongue should bring
To my master the old man’s hall, and me into fetters he fling,
Into bitter bonds, and for you he devise an evil fate.
But keep in your hearts my saying, and speed ye the sale of your freight.
But as soon as your traffic is done, and the victual aboard shall be,
Then let a messenger come with speed to the palace for me.
For gold will I bring, on whatsoever mine hands I may lay;
And another passage-price withal will I willingly pay.
For I nurse the child of a mighty man in the halls of his pride,
A shrewd little lad, and of strength to be running abroad by my side:
Him will I lead to the ship: he shall bring you a price untold,
When afar overseas unto outland folk the slave shall be sold.”
So speaking she turned her aback, and was gone to the palace fair.
And now for a whole year’s space the shipmen tarried there
With the hollow galley, and trafficked, and gat them abundant store,
Till the galley was freighted for sailing the homeward track once more.
And they sent a messenger then to bid the woman away.
There came a cunning man to my father’s halls on a day,
Bearing a necklace of gold, with amber drops between;
And before the maids and my mother glittered and glanced its sheen,
As they turned it about in the hall, and watched the light-play shine,
And proffered a price; but he suddenly made to the woman the sign,
And was gone unto where the galley lay by the wash of the foam.
Then took she my hand and she led me forth of the doors of my home.
And tables she found in the porch, and goblets set thereon,
For ray father’s house-carles’ feasting laid—but the men were gone;
For into the council-ring and the folkmote had they pressed;—
So she snatched three chalices up, and she hid them away in her breast.
And I in my child-simplicity followed her forth to my doom,
And the sun went down, and all the ways were o’ershadowed with gloom.
And swiftly we went, and we came to the goodly harbour-bay
Where black in the dusk the Phoenicians’ sea-swift galley lay.
And the shipmen ran her down and sailed the paths of the seas
As soon as they had us aboard, and Zeus sent behind us a breeze.
Six days steadily sailed we on through the day and the night.
But when Zeus the son of Kronos revealed the seventh day’s light,
Then Artemis arrow-triumphant her bow on the woman drew;
Down to the hold with a thud dropped she, as a dead sea-mew.
For the fishes’ and sea-calves’ prey they cast her into the sea;
And I was left forlorn, heart-stricken with misery.
Onward to Ithaca’s isle were we swept by the wind and the wave;
And there with his substance Laertes bought me to be his slave.
So came it to pass that I looked upon this land first with mine eye.’
Unto him Odysseus the Zeus-descended made reply:
‘Eumaeus, strangely the heart in my breast hath been verily moved
By the telling of all these things, and the woes that thy heart hath proved.
Yet Zeus hath ordained that good should along with the evil befall;
For after thy manifold griefs hath he brought thee unto the hall
Of a master who giveth thee meat and drink with kindly will;
And good is the life that thou livest: but I—from ill unto ill
Have I roamed, and from city to city: and lo, I am homeless still.’
So through the night talked they in the hush of the darkened place,
Till they turned to their rest, and lay in sleep for a little space;
For the fair-throned Dawn from her veil soon broke. And Telemachus’ men
Off shore were dropping the sail, and the mast they lowered then
With haste, and the oars they plied to gain the mooring-ground;
And the sleepers over the side they cast, and the hawsers bound.
Then sprang they ashore, and their feet flashed light in the hoary brine.
And they made them ready their meat, and they mingled the flame-flushed wine.
But when the desire of the bowl and the roast had been done away,
Telemachus wise of soul to the rest of the men ’gan say:
‘Now shall ye speed the black ship back on her way to the town;
But I will visit my herdmen by pasture and upland down.
City-wards down from my lands will I go with the eventide;
And a recompense for your toil in the morning mine hand shall provide;
A goodly banquet of flesh, and of pleasant-savoured wine.’
Then out and spake to the prince Theoclymenus, prophet divine:
‘And whither, dear son, shall I go? Unto which shall I take my way
Of the halls of the men that in rugged Ithaca’s isle bear sway?
Shall I turn forthright to thy mother’s palace and thine my feet?’
And Telemachus wise of spirit to him made answer meet:
‘In sooth I would bid thee a guest to our house, were it other than thus,
And well shouldst thou fare; but a sorry greeting were thine with us
Now, seeing I shall not be there, and my mother will not see thee;
For seldom before the throng of the suitors appeareth she;
But aloof from them ever she weaveth a web in an upper room.
Yet will I tell thee the name of another man, unto whom
Thou shalt come; Eurymachus, wise-heart Polybus’ glorious son.
The Ithacan folk as a God look up to that mighty one;
For the noblest he is by far, and the most doth he desire
To wed my mother, and win the state of Odysseus my sire.
But Zeus Allfather, who dwelleth in heaven, knoweth to say
Whether death shall end the story, instead of the marriage-day.’
Even as he spake, on the right a swift bird flashed through the air,
Apollo’s servant, a kite; and ever a dove he tare
Clutched in his talon-grip, and the feathers adown to the strand
Came floating between the ship and the child of the lord of the land.
Then did the prophet take the prince from the others aside;
And he grasped his hand, and he spake a word of the fateful tide:
‘Friend, none but a God hath sent this bird on thy right that flew;
For as soon as I looked thereon, the augury-fowl I knew:
For in all the Ithacan land your line is the kingliest,
And the might of Odysseus’ house overpasseth all the rest.’
Answered and spake unto him Telemachus prudent of mind:
‘Ah stranger, I would this saying of thine fulfilment may find.
Then shouldst thou know my love, and many a gift from me,
So that happy shouldst thou be accounted of whoso met with thee.’
Then to Peiraeus he spake, his comrade trusty and true:
‘Peiraeus, Clytius’ son, thou hast ever been wont to do
More for my sake than the rest that sailed unto Pylos with me:
Now also, I pray thee, take this stranger home with thee,
And kindly entreat him, and honour, till I shall return to the town.’
Made answer again Peiraeus, the hero of battle-renown:
‘Telemachus, though thou shouldst tarry for many a long day there,
This man should be still my guest, and should fare as the honoured fare.’
To the galley he turned him then, and he gave command to his men
To climb the black ship’s side, and to let the hawsers go;
And swiftly aboard they hied them, and sat on the thwarts arow.
And now hath Telemachus slipped round his feet the sandal-thong,
And his spear with the brass keen-tipped hath he grasped—it was massy and strong—
On the deck of the ship as it lay; and the hawsers the men let go;
And they ran her asea through the spray, and they sailed for the city; for so
Was the hest of the dear-loved son of Odysseus, hero divine.
But swiftly his feet sped on till he came to the garth of the swine,
Where the trusty swineherd kept his ceaseless watch and ward,
Yea, amidst of the swine-host slept, for the love that he bare to his lord.