Book XVI

AS anigh came Telemachus’ feet, the king and the swineherd wight
Made ready the morning meat, and by this was the fire alight;—
They had sent the herdmen away with the pasturing swine at the dawning;—
Lo, the dogs have forgotten to bay, and around the prince are they fawning!
And Odysseus the godlike marked the leap and the whine of the hounds
That ever at strangers barked; and his ear caught footfall-sounds.
Straightway he spake winged words to Eumaeus the master of swine:
‘Of a surety, Eumaeus, hitherward cometh a comrade of thine,
Or some one the bandogs know, and not with barking greet,
But they fawn about him; moreover I hear the treading of feet.’
Not yet were the words well done, when the porch way darkened: a face
Was there in the door,-—his son! and Eumaeus sprang up in amaze.
Dropped from his hands to the floor the bowls, wherein erst he began
The flame-flushed wine to pour, and to meet his lord he ran;
And he kissed that dear-loved head, and both his beautiful eyes;
And he kissed his hands, and he shed warm tears in his glad surprise.
And even as a father will pour forth welcome on one dear-loved
Who comes from a far-away shore where ten long years he hath roved,
His one son, stalwart and tall, for whom he hath sorrowed and yearned,
So now did the swineherd fall on the neck of the prince returned:
And he kissed him on every side, as one that had ’scaped from death;
And in sorrow and joy he cried with passionate sobbing breath:
‘Thou art come, my darling! light of mine eyes! I had thought never more
To behold thy face, when the galley had borne thee to Pylos’ shore.
Come in, come in, dear son, for mine heart is exceeding fain
To rejoice with the feast of mine eyes on my lord come hither again;
For but seldom thou farest afield to the upland pasture-ground,
But still in the city abidest; such pleasure thine heart hath found
Day after day to behold the devouring suitor-train.’
But to him wise-witted Telemachus answering spake again:
‘Father, so let it be: for thy sake hither I come,
To look upon thee with mine eyes, and tidings to ask of mine home,
Whether still my mother abideth within our halls, or is wed
To another man ere this, and Odysseus’ forsaken bed,
Stripped bare, is lying with curtains spider-wrought overspread.’
Answered and spake unto him Eumaeus the swineherd-chief,
‘Nay verily yet she remaineth with heart ever steadfast in grief
Within thine halls; but a burden of pain the long day bears,
And the wings of the night trail heavily, clogged with the rain of tears.’
So he took from Odysseus’ son the spear keen-headed with brass;
And over the threshold stone did the prince Telemachus pass.
And Odysseus uprose before him, and moved from his seat aside,
But Telemachus spake from the door to forbid it, and kind he cried:
‘Nay, stranger, rise not: myself will find me a seat otherwhere,
For the homestead is mine; yea, here is the man that my place shall prepare.’
So he sat him down, for now the swineherd hasted to strew
Full many a leafy bough; and a fleece thereover he threw;
And Odysseus’ dear-loved child sat down on the new-made seat.
And for them the swineherd piled on platters the roasted meat,
Even that which the men ate not at their supper yesternight;
And he heaped the bread, and he brought it in plaited baskets white.
Into ivy bowl he poured the mingled honey-sweet wine;
And he sat down facing his lord, the unknown hero divine;
And 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,
Then to the godlike swineherd the prince Telemachus spoke:
‘Whence, father, cometh the stranger, and how did the sailor-folk
Bring him to Ithaca’s shore? What land do they boast for their own?
For I doubt he hath scarcely come hitherward faring afoot and alone.’
Answering spakest thou, Eumaeus the warder of swine:
‘As touching this, dear son, shall soothfast answer be mine.
He boasteth the fair wide isle of Crete for his fatherland-home;
And from city to city, he saith, hath he long been tossed to roam;
For ’twas so some power in the high heaven spun his birth-tide thread;
And now from a galley of Thesprot men hath he hardly fled,
And is come to my homestead. Into thine hands do I give him; and thou
Do with him as seemeth thee good, for he is thy suppliant now.’
And Telemachus wise of spirit to him made answer again:
‘Eumaeus, the thing thou hast spoken hath filled my soul with pain.
Should the stranger lodge in mine house in this its evil plight?
For myself am as yet but young, and mine hands are but scant of might
To withstand a man, and to quell the kindled wrath of a foe.
And still is the heart of my mother wavering to and fro,
Aye doubting whether to tarry with me and to keep mine house,
Having respect to the voice of the folk and the bed of her spouse,
Or straightway to yield to be bride to the noblest man and the best
Of the princes that come to woo, and whose gifts overpass the rest.
But the guest that is come to thine house, he shall turn not empty away:
I will clothe him in mantle and tunic-vest, right seemly array;
And a two-edged sword will I give, and sandal shoes for his feet,
And will send him whither his heart will, even as seemeth him meet.
But thou, if thou wilt, shalt harbour him here by garth and stall,
And his raiment shall not be lacking; his food, I will send it all,
That to thee and thy fellows my guest may be nowise burdensome.
But thither amidst the suitors I would not have him come;—
For their insolent pride is mad, and for none are they wont to refrain;—
Lest they scoff at the stranger, and mine should be helpless shame and pain:
For a hard thing is it for one, be he never so valiant, alone go
To withstand a host, seeing many be mightier far than one.’
Then godlike Odysseus the toil-worn answering took up the word:
‘Dear friend, I cannot but speak my mind of that I have heard.
My very heart is galled and indignation-stirred
By the tale of the outrage and wrong that the insolent suitors have done
In thine halls in thy despite, and thou so goodly a one!
Say, with thine own consent art thou thus overborne? Have thy folk
Been driven to hate thee by some dire word that an oracle spoke?
Have thy brethren failed thee at need?—for men be wont to rely
On the battle-aid of such when the war-surge tosseth high.
Oh would I were young as thou, and my spirit, as now, on fire!
Oh to be son of the noble Odysseus! Oh that thy sire
Might return from his wandering!—for my hope not yet is dead.
I would not gainsay that an outland foe smote off mine head,
Save into the halls of Odysseus Laertes’ son I came
With vengeance and bale for all that have wrought these deeds of shame.
But if by a host I were mastered, one fighting against a horde,
Far liefer were I to die in mine own halls slain by the sword,
Than to look on mine household’s ruin, the deeds of shame and wrong,
On the buffeting of the stranger, the handmaids haled along
By shameful hands, while the fair halls echo the lecher’s tread,
On the drunkard swilling the wine and the glutton devouring the bread,
For the goal that shall never be won, for the work that shall never be sped.’
Answered and spake Telemachus wise in spirit, and said:
‘Stranger, herein will I tell the uttermost truth unto thee:
It is not that the folk are at all wrath-kindled to hatred of me,
Nor that brethren have failed me at need, on whom men wont to rely
For their battle-aid, whensoever the war-surge tosseth high,
For thus hath the son of Kronos narrowed our line unto one:
Arkeisius begat one son, Laertes, and him alone;
And Laertes begat but Odysseus: Odysseus begat one son.
And he left me here in his halls ere he tasted a father’s joy,
So that foes unnumbered have entered his house to waste and destroy.
For all the chieftains that rule in the islands lying around,
Dulichium, Same, Zacynthus moreover, the forest-crowned,
And all the princes that dwell in Ithaca’s rugged isle,
All these come wooing my mother; the house they devour and spoil;
And she neither refuseth the hateful marriage, nor yet can she end
Their wooing; and ever the wealth of mine house do they recklessly spend;
And soon these ravening beasts shall turn upon me and rend.
But in sooth on the knees of the Deathless the issue of all this lies.
But haste thee, father, and say to Penelope passing-wise
That safe I am and sound, and returned from Pylos home.
But myself will abide here yet, and hither again shalt thou come.
Her tell thou—none other; take heed no Achaean beside shall know,
For compassed I am with many a traitor and many a foe.’
Then thou unto him, Eumaeus the swineherd, madest reply:
‘I know it; nor witless nor slow to understand am I.
But answer me this, I beseech thee, and what is thy pleasure say:
Shall I go to Laertes the woe-ridden also with tidings to-day?
For so long as he grieved for Odysseus, albeit his grief was great,
Yet looked he unto the lands, and was wont to drink and to eat
With his thralls in the house, whensoever the thing to his heart seemed good.
But since thou wentest to Pylos over the salt sea-flood,
He hath had no heart to eat and to drink, men say, any more,
Neither to look to the lands; but he sitteth mourning sore
With sighing and groans, and the flesh from his bones is wasting away.’
Then unto him did Telemachus wise in spirit say:
‘It is hard: yet awhile let be, for all our sorrow and pain;
For if all might win with the wishing the things for the which they are fain,
Of all things first would I choose my father’s home-coming day.
But when thou hast told my mother, afield thou shalt not stray
To tell to Laertes the tidings; but speak to my mother, and say
That she send her stewardess-handmaid swiftly and secretly;
And she shall tell to the ancient the things concerning me.’
Now riseth the swineherd in haste, and his sandals taketh he,
And under his feet hath he braced, and is gone to the hall by the sea.
Yet did not Eumaeus escape in departing Athene’s eye;
But the Goddess in woman’s shape to the lonely hut drew nigh,
As a woman lovely and tall, and in marvellous loom-work wise;
And she stood in the porchway-hall, and was seen of Odysseus’ eyes.
But nothing Telemachus knew of her coming, nor saw her face;
For the Gods are seen but of few, nor reveal them to all men’s gaze.
But the awful presence divine the bandogs also espied,
Nor barked, but with low scared whine fled they to the garth’s far side.
And she signed to him, bending her brow, and Odysseus the Goddess knew;
And he went forth out of the hall, and he passed by the great garth-wall,
And he standeth before her now, and her voice is thrilling him through:
‘O Zeus’ and Laertes’ seed, Odysseus shiftful at need,
Now to thy son shalt thou tell the word, and hide it not,
That ye for the death and doom of the suitors may weave you a plot
Ere ye go to the far-famed city; and I, even I, will stay
Aloof from your side not long; for I thirst for the battle-fray.’
Then Athene with wand of gold did the hero’s body smite;
And a fair-washed mantle’s fold and a tunic of dye-hues bright
Were around his breast; and he grew more stately and blooming-young;
And darkened the ashen hue of age, and his jaws waxed long
That were toothless erst, and the hair dark-clustering clothed his chin.
Then back doth Athene fare, and Odysseus passeth within.
And he stood in the lowly place, and his son was filled with amaze;
And his eyes from the sight he withdrew, for he deemed that a God he saw;
And he spake, and the winged words flew from lips that panted with awe:
‘Other thou seemest to me, O stranger, now than before,
And other thy raiment, and wrinkled with eld is thy skin no more.
Sure thou art one of the Gods that dwell in the halls of the skies!
Be gracious, that so we may offer acceptable sacrifice
And golden gifts fair-fashioned; and spare us now, I pray.’
Then did Odysseus, the man of the manifold troubles, say:
‘No God am I: deem not that the Deathless are such as I;
But I am thy father, for whom thine heart in pain doth sigh
While the blasts of affliction madden, the waves of wrong beat high.’
Then kissed he his son, while he rained down his cheeks the tears in a shower
To the earth,—he had sternly constrained his heart and his eyes till that hour.
But Telemachus spake, because not yet could his soul believe
That his very father it was, so strange was the thing to receive:
‘Thou art not, thou art not Odysseus my father!—a God doth cast
A glamour upon me, to whelm me in wretchedness deeper at last.
For never could mind of mortal man such a thing devise
Alone, save a God himself came down from the height of the skies,
To cause that a man should be old or young, as himself should desire;
For a little agone thou wast old, and apparelled in evil attire;
But now art thou like to the Gods in the broad-arched heaven that abide.’
And Odysseus the manifold-counselled made answer to him and replied:
‘Telemachus, ill it beseemeth thee over-astonied to gaze
On thy father come back to his home, or to shame him with doubtful amaze.
For there shall not come hither again any other Odysseus beside:
But this that thou seest is he. I have suffered, have wandered wide;
And again am I come in the twentieth year to my fatherland.
Lo, this is the work of Athene; lo, here is the Prey-giver’s hand;
For she maketh me even such as seemeth her good, for she can.
Yea, now she transformed a wight to a beggar, and now to a man
Clothed with the beauty of youth, and brave in goodly array.
For easy it is for the Gods that in broad-arched heaven bear sway
To exalt or abase the deathling, and who shall their will gainsay?’
So spake he, and sat him down, and Telemachus now full fain
Round his father his arms hath thrown, and he mourneth and weepeth amain.
And a passion of crying upsprang in the hearts so mightily stirred;
More vehement-loud it rang than the scream on the mountains heard
When the eagles or vultures find the rock-ledge nest forlorn
Of the callow brood that the hind from the eyry afar hath borne.
So wildly adown from their eyes did the piteous tear-floods run:
And the sunlight had failed from the skies long ere their lament had been done,
But that first the son refrained him, and unto his father he spoke:
‘In what manner of ship, dear father, now have the shipmen folk
Brought thee to Ithaca’s shore? What land do they boast for their own?
For I doubt thou hast scarcely come hitherward faring on foot and alone.’
Answered and spake Odysseus, the toil-tried hero divine:
‘Concerning this, dear son, shall soothfast answer be mine.
The galley-renowned Phaeacians brought me, who oft speed home
Others, whoe’er to the far Phaeacian country come.
In a swift ship lay I asleep when they brought me over the wave,
And in Ithaca set me down, and glorious gifts they gave,
Brass and gold in abundance, and lovely-woven array:
And in caves these things by the grace of the Gods lie hidden away.
Athene withal put it into mine heart to betake me hither,
That here for the death of my foes we may take wise counsel together.
Come now, tell over the names of yonder suitors to me;
And so shall I know how many and who mine enemies be,
That mine heart may face the peril, and ponder thereon, and know
Whether we two shall be able alone to meet the foe,
Or whether ’twere better to seek unto others for battle-aid.’
And Telemachus prudent of spirit answered his father, and said:
‘My father, concerning thy mighty renown evermore I hear,
How wise in counsel thou art, how strong of thine hands with the spear,
But a great thing and hard hast thou said: I am stricken aghast: what hope
That two alone with a host of mighty men may cope?
For the band of the suitors is no poor ten; no, not twice ten;
But more, many more; too soon shalt thou know the tale of the men.
Fifty and two have come from Dulichium’s isle overseas,
All chosen youths; six henchmen moreover follow these:
And from Same hitherward gather spoilers twenty and four;
And out of Zacynthus are lords of Achaeans twenty more;
And of Ithaca twelve, each one the son of a princely line:
And with these is Medon the herald found, and the bard divine;
Two henchmen moreover they have in the carver’s mystery skilled.
If we meet all these, when thine halls with their multitude are filled,
Bitter and dread to thyself should the day of revenge betide.
But bethink thee well, if thou knowest of any avenger beside,
Who shall stand to defend us with right good will in the evil day.’
Then did the godlike Odysseus the toil-tried answer and say:
‘Yea, I will tell thee, and mark thou, and hearken to me with heed:
Bethink thee, will Pallas and Zeus Allfather suffice for our need?
Or hast thou bethought thee yet of another champion beside?’
Then unto him Telemachus prudent of spirit replied:
‘Sooth, these thou namest for champions, mightiest helpers be they;
Though afar up on high in the clouds they be sitting, yet these bear sway
Over men that endure for a little and Gods that abide for aye.’
Spake unto him Odysseus the godlike, the toil-tried, again:
‘Be thou sure that for no long season those mightiest ones will refrain
From the desperate strife, when the day of decision shall come, and the might
Of the suitors is weighed against ours, and mine halls are loud with the fight.
But so soon as appeareth the dawn shalt thou get thee home again,
And shalt mingle as heretofore with the arrogant suitor-train.
But after thee to the city the swineherd shall guide me tomorn
In semblance like to a beggar wretched and eld-forlorn.
And if they shall evil-entreat me, this thy spirit must bear,
And thy bosom must hide thy pain, how evil soever I fare.
Though they drag me along by the feet, and cast me forth of the place,
Though they hurl at me whatso they will,—look on, and refrain for a space,
Save only to bid the madmen forbear the impious deed,
And to plead with unangry words:—yet they will not hearken nor heed;
For the day of their doom is at hand, and the vengeance is hard by the door.
This too will I tell thee, and thou in thy bosom shalt ponder it o’er:
When Athene the manifold-counselled shall put it into mine heart,
I will nod unto thee with mine head; thou shalt mark it, and play thy part.
What weapons soever of war in the halls of the palace lie,
Thou shalt bear them away, and store in the nook of a chamber high.
Leave none behind; and a guileful answer of soft words frame,
When the suitors shall miss their sheen, and shall ask thee touching the same.
“I have taken them out of the smoke,” say thou, “for they seem no more
Like those that Odysseus left when he sailed for the Trojan shore,
But marred, wheresoever the wreaths of the fire-reek wont to roll;
And another fear and a greater Kronion hath put in my soul,
Lest perchance ye be heated with wine, and ye break into strife and jar,
And ye wound one another, and shame the feast, and your wooing mar;
For a spell to draw men on hath the steel of the battle-gear.”
But for us two set thou aside two swords, and for each a spear,
And bucklers twain of the tough bull-hide for the grasp of our hand,
That at need we may rush and seize them; but as for the suitor-band,
Athene and Zeus shall befool their hearts, and the eyes of them blind.
This too will I tell unto thee; thou store it deep in thy mind:
If thou art my son, and in deed and in truth of my blood art come,
Beware lest any man hear that Odysseus is found in his home.
Let not Laertes, nor yet the swineherd, be told of me,
Nor yet of the house-carles any, nor even Penelope.
But thou and I alone will know of the women’s mind;
And concerning the hearts of the thralls will we search out also, and find
Whether anywhere any be left to hold us in honour and dread,
And who careth not, but despiseth thee in thy goodlihead.’
Then did his glorious son make answer to him and say:
‘My father, I ween thou shalt know mine heart in the coming day:
For I have not a soul rash-witted, my lips are used to be reined.
But of this last thing that thou saidst shall none advantage be gained,
But rather for both of us harm; and I bid thee count the cost:
For in learning the minds of thy servants shall many a day be lost
As thou passest about thy lands, and the robbers in hall at their ease
Devour, and the lawless waste unshamed hath no surcease.
But concerning the women-folk, I would bid thee mark and be sure
Who are they that do thee dishonour, and who of the sin are pure.
But I would not that, trying the men, from steading to steading we wend;
But deal with them after, and bring the great work first to an end,
If thou hast sure tokens that Zeus the Aegis-lord is thy friend.’
So there of the tide fate-fraught and the deed communed these two.
And the galley goodly-wrought anigh unto Ithaca drew,—
The keel that from Pylos sailed with the prince and his shipman-band,—
And she swept round the headland, and lay at rest in the deep-channelled bay:
And the glad sea-farers haled the black ship high on the sand.
Then come the henchmen tall, and their war-gear thence they bear;
And they carry to Clytius’ hall the gifts exceeding fair.
To the halls of Odysseus the king a herald straightway hies,
Tidings of joy to bring to Penelope passing-wise,
How that afield is her son; but the galley by his behest
To the city hath hied right on, lest with terror-haunted breast
That lady of high-born line should weep and weep evermore.
And it fell that the warder of swine and the herald met at the door;
For the self-same tidings of good to the queen did these twain bring.
And so, when the feet of them stood in the halls of the godlike king,
The herald uplifted his voice in the midst of the handmaid-train:
‘O Lady and Queen, rejoice, for thy son is come home again.’
But the swineherd, drawing near to Penelope, told her there
All things whatsoever her dear son gave him command to declare.
And when he had ended all that message of comforting words,
He left the garth and the hall, and he gat him back to his herds.
But the suitors—baffled spite and amazement filled each breast;
And out of the hall forthright and the great court-wall they pressed;
There gathered the hero’s foes, and before the gates sat they.
And the son of Polybus rose, and Eurymachus ’gan his say:
‘Lo friends, how Telemachus now hath defiantly done the deed!
Lo, now is his journey accomplished!—we deemed that he never should speed.
Come, launch we the best of the galleys, and man it with fishermen
To bear them a message with speed that they hasten homeward again.’
Yet were the words on his lip when by chance Amphinomus turned,
And behold, the suitors’ ship in the deep-channelled bay he discerned;
And the sail were the shipmen taking in, and the oars were they plying;
Then into a light laugh breaking he turned to his fellows, crying:
‘No need that we send any message, for lo, they are come again!
Some God hath told them thereof, or the ship fled past amain
Full in their sight, and they laboured to overtake her in vain.’
Up rose the suitor-crew, and they hied them adown to the strand:
And they toiled with the shipmen, and drew the black ship up on the sand:
And the henchmen haughty-hearted the arms from the galley bare.
To a folkmote the suitors departed, and suffered none other there
To sit, nor aged folk, nor yet of the young men one.
And to them Antinous spoke, Eupeithes’ lawless son:
‘Out on it! how have the Gods drawn this man’s feet from the net!
Day after day on the windy height were our watchers set,
One after other, till sank the sun and the last light failed.
Even then we took not our rest on the land, but we sailed and sailed
Through the night on the dreary-weltering sea till the dawn of the day,
For Telemachus lurking in wait, with purpose to take him and slay.
Yet safely a God hath brought him home in spite of our hate.
Howbeit, here for Telemachus plan we a bitter fate;
And let him not ’scape us a second time; for never, I ween,
While he is alive shall the goal of our hearts’ desire be seen:
For himself in counsel and understanding is cunning and keen,
And the hearts of the people are not with us now, as erst it hath been.
But come now, or ever he gather together the island-folk—
For I trow he will not pass by our deeds, nor his wrath will he cloak,
But in fury will rise in the midst of them all, and will bare our plot,
And will tell how we wove him a murder-web and prospered not.
And they, when they hear of our evil deeds, will nowise praise.
Beware ye, lest they requite on our heads the evil, and chase
All us from our land, and we come to a strange folk far away.
Let us first take him afield aloof from the city, and slay,
Or else in the way; and his living and goods shall be ours that day.
We will part them, and share them amongst ourselves; and give we his house
To the stripling’s mother—nay, rather to him that shall be her spouse.
But and if my counsel be ill in your sight, and it pleaseth you rather
That he still live on, and keep whatsoe’er appertained to his father,
Then may we no longer devour at our pleasure the best of his store,
Gathering hither; but each man, haunting the palace no more,
Must woo her in courtly wise with his gifts, until she shall wed
With the man who lavisheth most, and who cometh destiny-led.’
So the fierce voice ceased; and still sat the rest, and awhile none broke
That silence heavy and chill, till at last Amphinomus spoke,—
The hero that Nisus begat, and Aretias’ grandson was he,—
Who out of Dulichium’s fat wheat-land and pasture-lea
Led forth a suitor-throng, and he pleased Penelope best
In the words that he spake with his tongue, for that wise were the thoughts of his breast;
So with kindly intent to the young men now his rede he addressed:
‘Friends, I were loth to murder Telemachus: fearful it is
To slay seed royal: enquire we first of the Gods touching this.
And if mighty Zeus’s oracles counsel us not to spare,
I will kindle the others thereto, and myself will be foremost there.
But and if they shall turn us aback from the deed, I bid you forbear.’
So did Amphinomus say, and his counsel pleased each one;
And passing thence away to Odysseus’ hall are they gone;
And entering there sat they upon couch and polished throne.
But Penelope passing-wise hath another thing yet to do,
To appear before the eyes of the insolent suitor-crew;
For the tale had been told in her ears how they plotted her dear son’s bane;
For Medon the herald, who heard their counsels, had brought her the word.
To the hall, goaded on by her fears, went she with her handmaid-train.
She came to the feasting-place of the suitors, that lady divine;
And she stood by a column tall of the goodly-fashioned hall,
Holding in front of her face her headveil dainty and fine.
And her voice through the hall-hush thrilled as her indignation spoke:
‘Antinous, insolence-filled! thou plotter of evil!—the folk
Say that of all thy peers most noble thou art and wise
In counsel and wisdom of words—thou noble! who says so, lies!
Madman, and why art thou weaving the web of murder and doom
For Telemachus, neither regardest the suppliants, witness for whom
Is Zeus?—it is impious to fashion thy fellows a garment of woe!
What, knowest thou not how thy father came hither in flight long ago,
Fleeing a nation of foes, having kindled the flame of their wrath?
For he joined him with Taphian rovers, and went on the sea-robbers’ path
In a raid on Thesprotia’s folk, and in league with my people were they.
Therefore they fain would have slain him, yea, torn his heart away,
And have parted his wealth, and devoured his possessions many and good;
But Odysseus held them in check, and he bridled their furious mood.
His house dost thou shame and devour, his wife art thou wooing—ah me!
His son wouldst thou slay; and I, I have anguish of spirit of thee.
I bid thee refrain thee, and speak to the rest that they also refrain.’
And to her Eurymachus, Polybus’ son, made answer again:
‘O child of Icarius’ line, Penelope passing-wise,
Be thou of good cheer, and banish the dread on thy heart that lies.
For there lives not the man, neither shall be, there shall not be born such an one
That shall dare to lift up his hand on Telemachus thy son,
So long as I am alive and look on the light of the day.
For this do I promise, and surely fulfilled shall be that which I say;
That man’s dark blood on my spear shall quickly be streaming adown;
For verily often Odysseus the waster of tower and town
Set me a child on his knees, and he put in these hands of mine
Roast dainties, and held to my lips the beaker of rose-flushed wine.
Wherefore of all men Telemachus most to mine heart is dear,
And his death from the suitors’ hands I bid thee in no wise fear;
But that from the Gods may none of us shun when it cometh anear.’
Cheering her thus did he say, while he plotted her darling’s doom.
And the lady passed away to her shining upper room:
And there for the dear days dead and the love of Odysseus she wept,
Till Athene the sleep-dews shed on her sorrowful eyes, and she slept.
As the sun sank low in the west came the godlike swineherd again
To the king and his son, as they dressed them their supper: and now had they slain
A young swine, tender and good:—but suddenly there doth stand
Athene, as erst she stood, and she toucheth the king with her wand.
And Odysseus Laertes’ son is again as an old man grown,
And he hath vile raiment upon his limbs, that he may not be known
When he meeteth the swineherd’s eyes, lest the man should go and reveal
To Penelope passing-wise the thing it were good to conceal,
Then first to the warder of swine Telemachus spake the word:
‘Thou art come, O godlike Eumaeus: what news in the town hast thou heard?
Have the haughty suitors home from their ambush by this come back,
Or still are they waiting to cut me off on the homeward track?’
Then thou unto him, Eumaeus the swineherd, madest reply:
‘To ask and to seek into this but little heart had I
When down to the city I hied me. My soul was exceeding fain,
As soon as my message was said, to hasten hither again.
But there met me another messenger sent by thy mates of the sea,
Who told to thy mother before me the tidings concerning thee.
This also have I to tell, for I saw the thing with mine eyes:
It was just above the town, where the Knoll Hermaean doth rise,
That, looking aback to the sea, I beheld how a swift ship ran
Into our haven, and thronging the bulwarks was many a man;
It was laden with shields and with spears two-headed gleaming arow;
And I weened that these were the suitors, but nothing thereof do I know.’
Then smiled in triumphant wise Telemachus’ sacred might,
To his father turning his eyes, but shunning the swineherd’s sight.
So when all their labour was wrought and the feast by this was prepared,
They ate, and their soul lacked nought of the banquet equal-shared.
So when they had put away the desire for the wine and the meat,
They turned to their rest, and they lay, and received the sleep-gift sweet.