Book XVII

THE Rosy-fingered smiled through the folds of the mists of the A night;
And Telemachus, dear-loved child of Odysseus the godlike wight,
His beautiful sandals placed ’neath his feet, and the thongs he braced;
And into his hands did he take the strong familiar spear,
Bound for the town; and he spake a word in the swineherd’s ear:
‘Father, I go to the city now, that my mother again
May look on my face, for I know full well that she will not refrain
From woeful lament and wail, and from shedding of tears for me,
Ere she see my very self. Now this is my hest unto thee:
This stranger forlorn shalt thou thitherward guide, to beg his meat
In the streets of the city, and whoso will shall give him to eat,
The pittance of crust and cup; but I cannot in any wise
Harbour and feed all strangers, the while on mine heart grief lies.
Let the stranger be wroth as he will, himself shall bear the smart;
I will gloze not, neither dissemble; the truth is dear to mine heart.’
Answered and spake Odysseus, in manifold counsel tried:
‘Nay, friend, I desire not myself in the house of thy thrall to abide.
Better it is in the city to beg from door to door
Than afield, and whoso is willing shall give me to eat of his store:
For now am I all too old to abide by garth and stall,
And hither and hither to go at a master’s beck and call.
Yea, go, and as thou commandest shall this man bring me on,
So soon as the fire shall have warmed me, and earth be aglow with the sun,—
For my raiment is passing vile,—lest the frost of the dawning day
Break down my strength; for the city, ye tell me, is far away.’
So he spake, and Telemachus passed through the garth, and was citywards gone,
Speeding his feet full fast, by his thoughts of revenge spurred on.
And when he was come to the fair-placed palace, the stately hall,
He leaned the spear that he bare against a column tall;
And in through the mighty door o’er the threshold of stone hath he hied.
And him, as he entered, before the rest Eurycleia espied,
As the thick-curled fleeces she spread on the cunningly carven thrones;
And weeping to meet him she sped, and around him the other ones,
The maids of Odysseus the king, the steadfast-hearted, pressed;
And with kisses of welcoming his shoulders and head they caressed.
Now forth of her bower hath gone Penelope passing-wise,
Lovely as Artemis, or as Aphrodite the golden,
And she casteth around her son fond arms, with streaming eyes;
And his beautiful eyes doth she kiss and his head in her clasp enfolden;
And the winged words brake from her lips, and she spake with moans and sighs:
‘Thou art come, Telemachus! light of mine eyes! I had thought nevermore
To behold thy face, when the galley had borne thee to Pylos’ shore
In secret against my will, to hear of thy sire well-loved.
O tell me, hast seen him at all in the lands whereunto thou hast roved?’
Then unto her wise-witted Telemachus answering spake:
‘Prithee, my mother, upraise no voice of lamenting, nor shake
The strength of mine heart who have ’scaped destruction sudden and dire.
But bathe thyself, and array thy body in stainless attire,
When thou with thine handmaid-train hast gone to thine upper room;
And vow unto all the Gods to offer a hecatomb,
If Zeus will grant that a recompense stern on the guilty may fall.
But I to the folkmote-stead am going, to bid to mine hall
A stranger who fared with me when I sailed from Pylos’ shore.
Him with my godlike comrades sent I on before:
And I bade Peiraeus take my guest with himself to his home,
And kindly entreat him, and honour, till I from the field should be come.’
And his word of weight not light-winged fled by the ears of the Queen;
But she bathed herself, and she dight her body in raiment clean;
And to all the Gods she vowed to offer a hecatomb,
If Zeus would requite on the proud oppressor a vengeance-doom.
Then forth Telemachus hied from the palace of pillared pride,
Spear in hand to the folkmote-place, and his fleet hounds followed his tread;
And over him heavenly grace did Pallas Athene shed.
And with wonder and worship the crowd beheld as anigh he drew;
Then gathered around him the proud-souled suitors, the traitorous crew,
With fair soft words on the tongue, but with blackness of spite in the heart;
And with loathing he turned from the throng of liars, and gat him apart,
Where Mentor was sitting beside Halitherses and Antiphus, they
That had been true comrades and tried of his sire in a long past day.
Thither went he, and sat him down, and they asked him of this and of that;
And Peiraeus of spear-renown drew near unto where these sat,
Bringing his prophet guest through the town to the folkmote-stead:
Nor aloof did Telemachus bide, but he came to the stranger’s side,
And first Peiraeus addressed to the prince his speech, and he said:
‘Telemachus, send with speed to mine house of thy handmaid-train,
And the gifts that the King Menelaus gave will I send thee again.’
Answered and spake unto him Telemachus prudent in mind:
‘Peiraeus, we know not as yet what end these things shall find.
Now if so it befall that the suitors slay me by murder-stealth
In mine halls, and divide amongst them all my father’s wealth,
I would have thee keep them, rather than any of these, and enjoy:
But and if I shall mete to my foes their reward, and in death destroy,
Glad shalt thou bring them to me in my triumph of banished annoy.’
Then turned he and gat him home with the stranger trouble-tried;
And so soon as the twain were come to the palace of stately pride,
Their mantles they doff, and on chair and couch they lay them, and pass
Into the lavers fair with the sheen of the polished brass.
So when each had been bathed of the maid, and anointed with unguent rare,
In tunics were they arrayed and in mantles warm for wear.
And forth of the bath are they gone, and they sit upon couch and throne.
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
Beside them, and served was the bread by the stewardess modest of mien;
And the board she covered o’er with dainties, the best of her store.
And his mother sat face to face with her son, on a couch reclining
By a broad hall-pillar’s base, her delicate wool-threads twining.
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,
Unto them Penelope passing-wise full mournfully said:
‘My son, to my bower will I go, and my limbs will I lay on my bed,
The couch that is grown but a couch of sighs for the weary-hearted,
Ever made wet with my tears since the day that Odysseus departed
With the sons of Achaia to Troy:—but thou, thou wilt not deign,
Or ever this house be thronged with the insolent suitor-train,
To tell me concerning thy father’s returning, if aught thou hast heard.’
And to her wise-witted Telemachus answering spake the word:
‘Mother mine, I will tell the truth from beginning to end unto thee.
We sailed, and to Nestor the shepherd of Pylos’ folk came we,
And me in his high-built halls did the ancient hero greet,
And kindly entreat, as a sire to his son giveth welcome sweet,
When he comes from afar long-lost, even so with heart and hand
Did the old king welcome me, he and his sons, a glorious band.
But concerning Odysseus the patient-hearted, never, he said,
Had he heard any earth-abider speak of him living or dead.
But unto the spear-renowned Menelaus, Atreus’ son,
By horses and chariot goodly-wrought did he send me on.
There looked I on Helen the Argive, her for the sake of whom
Argive and Trojan mightily strove by the high Gods’ doom.
Then asked Menelaus the battle-shouter, the hero-king,
Wherefore I came unto fair Lacedaemon journeying;
And I told him of all mine affliction, I hid not anything.
And thereto with the words of his mouth he spake, and he made reply:
‘O shame!—and these be the men that are fain in the couch to lie
Of a hero mighty-hearted,—and they such a dastard throng!
It is even as when a hind in the lair of a lion strong
Layeth her new-dropt fawns, her tender younglings, asleep;
And she tracketh the deep-grassed dells and the spurs of the mountain-steep,
Cropping the pasture, the while that lion returns to his lair,
And dealeth the weakling invaders a ghastly destruction there;
So unto them shall Odysseus a ghastly destruction bear.
O Zeus Allfather, Athene, Apollo, that this might befall,
That like as he was when erewhile by Lesbos’ stately wall
He stood up with Philomeleides in desperate wrestling-strain,
And mightily cast him down, that all the Achaeans were fain,—
Ah, in such wise if Odysseus amidst of the suitors were seen,
Swift would the doom of them all be, bitter the bridal, I ween!
And as touching the thing for the which thou prayest, and bidst me declare,
I will cheat thee not, nor speech of evasion shall answer thy prayer;
But even the things that the grey Sea-ancient spake unto me,
No word of them all will I cover, nor hide them away from thee.
In an island, said he, had he seen him stricken with mighty woe,
In the halls of Calypso the nymph; and she will not let him go,
And he cannot escape from thence, nor return to his fatherland;
No galley with oars hath he, neither arms of a trusty band,
To speed him away over long-ridging rollers of misty sea.”
Thus Atreus’ son, Menelaus the spear-famed, spake unto me.
So I ended my quest, and returned; and a breeze the Deathless gave,
And they wafted me back to my fatherland swiftly over the wave.’
So he spake; in the sad Queen’s breast her heart was mournfully stirred:
But the godlike prophet addressed to their ears a comforting word:
‘O wife of Odysseus Laertes’ son, O Queen adored,
He knoweth not—how should he know?—but hear thou this from me:
Sheer truth will I prophesy, I will hide no whit from thee.
Bear witness Zeus, above all the Gods, and the guest-fain board,
And the hearth whereunto I am come of Odysseus the princely lord,
That Odysseus is now in the land of his fathers in very deed,
Biding his time, or astir, and of these wrongs taking heed,
And ever for all the suitors he soweth vengeance-seed.
I know by the augury-fowl that appeared by the ship to mine eyes:
Yea, I expounded it then to thy son in the selfsame wise.’
Made answer to him Penelope passing-wise of mind:
‘Ah stranger, I would thy words might such an accomplishment find.
Then shouldst thou know my kindness and many a gift from me,
So that happy shouldst thou be accounted of whoso met with thee.’
So they of the thoughts of their heart were communing together apart.
But in front of the halls of the king Odysseus the suitor-crew
Did the hunting-javelins fling for their sport, and the quoits they threw,
On the level-beaten floor, where their insolence erst ran high,
Till came the feasting-hour, and the flocks of the sheep drew nigh
From the uplands on every side, as many a time before.
Then Medon the herald cried—for ever he pleased them more
Than his fellows, and sat with the princes in hall at the feast and the bowl:
‘Now gallants, seeing ye all with contests have gladdened your soul,
Come away, for the banquet is dight, and the beasts are ready to kill;
And in season to taste of the feast, I trow it is nowise ill.’
So left they the athlete-game, and arose at the herald’s call;
And when to the palace they came, the stately-standing hall,
They doffed their mantles, and threw them down upon couch and seat.
And goodly sheep they slew and fatling goats for their meat,
And many a boar huge-fed, and a pasture-fattened cow;
And so was the banquet spread. From the country citywards now
The King and Eumaeus bestirred them to set their feet on the way.
But first a counselling word doth the swineherd-captain say:
‘Stranger, seeing thy purpose is set this day to be gone
To the town as my prince hath commanded—I would thou couldst still stay on,
That here I might leave thee a trusty warder of garth and stall;
But I fear lest my lord’s upbraiding upon mine head should fall,
If I heed not his hest; and who may the chiding of princes abide?
Come now, let us go, for the day is waning to eventide,
And the cold shall be keener what time in the gloaming the ways wax dim.’
And Odysseus the manifold-counselled made answer and spake unto him:
‘I know it—no dullard am I to perceive and to comprehend.
Yea, let us go, and thou shalt guide me through to the end.
If thou hast some staff ready cut, I beseech thee, give it to me,
To prop me withal, for ye say that the path is slippery.’
Then over his shoulders he flung his unseemly wallet forlorn,
Tattered and patched, by a thong of twisted hide upborne.
And Eumaeus gave to his guest a sturdy staff for his need.
So they went, and the hounds and the rest tarried, guarding the stalls with heed,
O’er the fells as the swineherd pressed, to the city his king to lead,
A king,—but the semblance he bore of a beggar forlorn that day,
Old, bending wearily o’er a staff, and in woeful array.
But now, as faring adown the track of the rugged way,
They were drawing anigh to the town, to a fountain wrought came they,
Where the lovely waters rolled which the folk of the city drew:
King Ithacus made it of old, and princes had wrought it anew.
And round about it a wood of the aspen water-growing,
A fair green circle, stood, and adown was the cool stream flowing,
Flashing forth from a crag on high; and above was the mossy stone
Of an altar, and passers-by laid gifts to the nymphs thereon.
There to the twain drew nigh Melanthius, Dolius’ son.
She-goats was he driving, the best that in all the flocks he might find,
To be slain for the suitors’ feast, and his two men followed behind.
And he marked as the wayfarers came, and he spake a railing word,
A felon word of shame; and the soul of Odysseus was stirred:
‘Lo now is the saying true,—one rogue is guide to another.
How the Gods bring like unto like, and brother will still be with brother!
Whither, thou caitiff swineherd, art bringing this gluttonous beast,
This pestilent beggar, this cormorant hovering round the feast?
Against full many a doorpost the sluggard’s shoulder shall lean,
As he beggeth for scraps, not swords, nor the caldron’s brazen sheen.
Now if thou wouldst give him to me to abide by garth and stall,
And to sweep me the pens, and to bear green shoots to the kids, this thrall
Should get him a mighty thigh of the whey-draughts he should swill,—
Not he! he hath learnt but the trade of the rogue; he hath no will
To work as an honest man, but crouching and cringing still
He looketh by begging to fill the maw that nothing can fill.
But I tell thee, and surely accomplished shall be this saying of mine:
If ever he come to the hall of Odysseus the hero divine,
Many a footstool hurled at the buffeted sluggard’s head
Shall glance from his ribs, from the hands of the proud hall-revellers sped.’
Then on the king did he leap as he passed, in the fool’s blind wrath,
Dashing his foot on his hip; yet he stirred him not from the path:
But unstaggered remained his feet; and Odysseus wavered there—
With a bound should he reach him and beat out his life with the staff that he bare,
Or aloft in his grip should he swing him and dash his head to the ground?—
Yet he reined in his rage, and the thing he endured: but wrathfully frowned
The swineherd, upbraiding, and prayed, uplifting his hands to the skies:
‘O Nymphs of the fountain, daughters of Zeus, if in sacrifice
Odysseus to you ever burnt the fat-enfolded thighs
Of lambs and of kids, O grant this boon in our hour of need,
That Odysseus may come to his own, that a God may the long-lost lead.
Then all that insolent pride should he scatter in disarray
Wherein thine arrogance flaunts as thou gaddest day after day
To the city, while evil shepherds destroy the flocks of thy lord.’
And Melanthius, herdman of goats, flung back the bitter word:
‘Gods! how the dog speaks out, the villain mischievous-souled,
The slave that ere long I will bear in a strong-benched black ship’s hold,
That my wealth may wax from his bondage from Ithaca far away.
O that the son by Apollo the silver-bowed this day
Might as surely be smitten, or overborne by the suitor-band,
As the father’s home-coming day hath been lost in a far-off land!’
Then pressed he on before, as they fared unhastily.
Full soon to the palace door of the island-king came he;
And he entered the pillared place, and he sat at the board with the rest,
With Eurymachus face to face, for the goatherd loved him best.
And they that ministered spread before him his portion of meat;
And the stewardess brought the bread, and gave him thereof to eat.
But the hero ere long with his guide to the palace draweth anear;
Yet without for a little they bide, while a sweet sound thrilleth the ear
As the glorious lyre-notes ring, for the bard their magic awaketh.
Then speaketh the unknown king—and the hand of the swineherd he taketh:
‘Eumaeus, this house of Odysseus, stately and fair it is;
Though a thousand were clustered around it, the queen of them all were this.
Manifold are the buildings thereof, and around the great court-yard
Is a wall and a cornice; and lo the two-leaved gates strong-barred!
No man might lightly esteem it, or count it poor to see.
And I know that there banquet within a goodly company;
For the roast-reek breathes, and falleth the melody-fountain-spray
From the lyre, which the Gods have made the bride of the feast for aye.’
And thou, Eumaeus the swineherd, to him madest answer in turn:
‘Thou hast easily guessed, for in all things else art thou keen to discern.
But come, friend, take we counsel how it were best done now.
Into the palace stately-standing the first pass thou,
And into the throng of the suitors, and here will I wait outside;
Or I will go in, if it please thee, and thou without shalt bide.
Yet stay not long, lest someone should light on thee tarrying there,
And should buffet or hurl at thee: wherefore hereof take heedful care.’
And the godlike Odysseus the toil-tried spake unto him in reply:
‘I know it; nor dull to perceive nor to comprehend am I.
Pass thou in first, and I will be left for a little alone.
No stranger am I unto blows, to fear me for buffet or stone.
My spirit is hardened: woes have I suffered many and sore
By billow and battle: let this come too, it is but one more.
Who hath found out a way to hide the belly’s hungry rage,
Whereby all mortals inherit a trouble-heritage?
Yea, for its sake are the strong-benched galleys made ready to go
Over the harvestless sea to harry an alien foe.’
Thus they twain, standing anigh to the gate of the palace, said.
But a dog that was lying thereby pricked ears and uplifted his head.
It was Argus, Odysseus’ hound; himself had reared him of yore;
Yet or ever his pleasure he found in the chase, unto Ilium’s shore
Was he gone; yet the dog long ago with the young men wont to fare
Through the woodland pursuing the roe and the mountain-goat and the hare.
But he lieth a cast-off thing,—for far away now is the king,—
Where in front of the doors the dung of the mules and the kine from the stalls
Had been swept in heaps and flung, till the time should come for the thralls
To spread it forth on the tilth-lands broad of Odysseus the king.
There lieth Argus in filth, all vermin-festering.
Yet now, as his dying eyes behold Odysseus appear,
He is moving his tail as he lies for joy; he is drooping the ear:
But his strength is utterly gone, and he cannot crawl more near.
And Odysseus looking thereon must turn him away; for the tear
Sprang to his eye, but he wiped it unmarked of the swineherd, and said:
‘Eumaeus, ’tis passing strange, this hound in the litter laid,
Grand is his frame, yet what he hath been I do not know,
Whether fleetness in running he had to match this goodly show,
Or was but as the dogs that be pampered with dainties from feastful boards,
And are nurtured for vain fair-seeming by pride-uplifted lords.’
And Eumaeus the swineherd spake to the beggar-king, and replied:
‘Of a surety this is the hound of a king that afar hath died.
If his frame were but now as of old, and his deeds as the deeds of yore,
When Odysseus left him, passing away unto Troy-land shore,
Thou wouldst marvel beholding the fleetness and strength this dog showed then.
There was never a beast that escaped through the depth of the forest-glen,
Whatsoever he chased; for he followed with scent unerring the track.
But evil hath compassed him now; for the lost will never come back,
And the heedless women-folk tend him not, but they leave him to lack.
Yea, thralls, when they feel no longer the hand of their lord and the might,
Have no more will to render him honest service aright:
For the half of the manhood of man Zeus Thunderer taketh away
When his feet are caught in the net of the bondage-bringing day.’
He hath passed the threshold-stone of the palace stately and proud;
To the feast-hall straight is he gone and the arrogant suitor-crowd.
But on Argus the doom of black death suddenly came down there,
As he looked on Odysseus come back to his own in the twentieth year.
But Telemachus ere the rest through the length of the hall espied
The face of his swineherd guest, and he beckoned him unto his side,
Bending his brows, and thereat the swineherd beheld a seat,
Whereon the carver sat as he dealt the unstinted meat
To the suitors banqueting through the revelry-echoing place;
To Telemachus’ board did he bring it, and sat there face to face
At the feast with his dear-loved lord; and the heralds drew nigh him, and spread
His portion of meat on the board, and he bare from the basket the bread.
And within a little space came Odysseus into the place;
And a beggar’s semblance he bore, most woeful and eld-forlorn,
Propped on a staff; and he wore vile raiment unseemly and torn.
On the ashwood threshold screened by the shadows he sat in the door,
And against a pillar he leaned, the cypress that years before
Did the builder cunningly trim and straighten by measuring line.
And Telemachus called unto him and spake to the master of swine,
As he reached unto one of the maunds, and took him a loaf thereout,
And flesh as much as his hands could scantly compass about:
‘Bear this to the stranger and give him from me, and command him withal
That he ask of every suitor from end to end of the hall;
For shame is an evil cloak when its folds upon poverty fall.’
He spake, and the swineherd hied him as soon as the hest he had heard,
And drew near to the hero’s side; and he spake the light-winged word:
‘Stranger, Telemachus giveth thee this, and commandeth withal
That thou ask of each of the suitors from end to end of the hall,
For that shame is an evil cloak when its folds on a beggar fall.’
And Odysseus the manifold-counselled spake out unto him and replied:
‘King Zeus, be Telemachus blest above all on the earth that abide,
And whatso his spirit desires of thy grace, may nought be denied.’
Then in both hands taking the meat and the bread by the swine-herd borne,
He layeth in front of his feet that gift on the wallet forlorn,
And he ate of it even so long as the bard’s voice gladdened the feast;
And he made an end as the song of the godlike minstrel ceased;
And the riot and brawl ran high—but there cometh another One,
For Pallas had drawn anigh to Odysseus Laertes’ son;
And she moved him to gather the crust and the fragment from each of the throng,
And to know who among them were just in spirit, who lovers of wrong:
Yet she willed not that any wight should escape from the meshes of bale.
So he came unto each, from the right to the left, with the beggar’s tale,
Outstretching his hand to crave, as old in the beggar’s ways,
And stirred with compassion they gave, and beheld him with wildered amaze.
And each of his fellow beside him enquired’ Whence is he and who?’
But the goatherd Melanthius cried in his spite to the lawless crew:
‘Hearken to me, ye suitors that woo the far-famed queen.
As touching this stranger, in sooth, the wight ere now have I seen.
It was even Eumaeus the swineherd that guided him on to this place;
For himself, I know him not, neither whence he boasteth his race.’
Brake forth Antinous then, and with words of railing began:
‘Thou swineherd loon, thou scandal!—what ailed thee to bring this man
On to the town?—what, have we not vagrants enough beside,
Pestilent beggars, banquet-cormorants hungry-eyed?
Dost thou deem it as nothing that these are devouring the goods of thy lord
Hitherward thronging, but thou must be bidding this wretch to the board?’
Answering spakest thou, Eumaeus warder of swine:
‘Be thou never so noble, Antinous, folly this word is of thine.
Who goeth and biddeth a stranger, to sit at the feast and the wine,
Save the wise and the cunning of hand, that be honoured in all men’s sight,
As a seer, or a leech, a healer of sickness, or timber-wright,
Or a singer divine, whose song through the feast-hall thrilleth delight?
It is these that be bidden, wherever on earth the feast is spread;
But none to the banquet biddeth the beggar, to waste his bread.
But ’tis ever thus: to the thralls of Odysseus, and chiefly to me
Thou art harsh above all the suitors; yet nought do I care for thee
So long as I see in the halls Penelope passing-wise,
And the godlike Telemachus liveth to gladden the faithful eyes.’
Then unto him did Telemachus prudent in spirit say:
‘Prithee speak no more unto him: few words are best to-day.
But ’tis ever Antinous’ wont in evil wise to brawl
With railing words, and he eggeth the others thereto withal.’
To Antinous turned he then, and with light-winged words spake on:
‘Antinous, kindly thou carest for me, as a sire for a son,
Who givest command that the stranger be driven away from mine hall
With masterful word,—the Gods forefend that this should befall!
Give thou: I grudge not; nay rather I bid thee, and as for my mother
Thou needst not be careful for her, nor blush that any other,
Any thrall in the halls of Odysseus, be ware of the generous deed.
Ha, but the thought in thy breast is nowise to succour our need:
Thou grudgest to give, for that better thou lovest thyself to feed.’
Then out Antinous brake,—and his face glowed anger-red:—
‘Telemachus, blusterer! reinless in passion! what things hast thou said?
If all the suitors should give unto him but as much as I,
For three long months to the doors of thine house should he not draw nigh.’
Then with an evil smile did he hold the footstool up
That bare his feet the while he feasted and drained the cup.
But the rest all gave well-willed, and the wallet with plenteous store
Of bread and of flesh they filled, and now but a little more,
And the king by the threshold would taste their bounty of banquet-fare;
Yet he comes to Antinous last, and he speaketh the beggar’s prayer:
‘Give to me, friend, for among the Achaeans thou art not, I deem,
The meanest, nay rather the noblest, for like to a king dost thou seem.
Wherefore beyond the rest shouldst thou give with an open hand;
And so will I spread thy fame abroad through every land.
Time was when I in a princely palace was wont to live,
A wealthy man, and oft to the wanderer then would I give;
Whosoever he were, whatsoever his need, it mattered not.
I had thralls untold, and with all things else was my bliss full-fraught
That are found with the men that are rich and are praised for a happy lot.
But Zeus brought ruin, for so was his pleasure concerning me.
He moved my spirit to go with the rovers of the sea:
For mine own undoing I sailed o’er the long sea-waves on a raid,
Till in Egypt’s river I halted the galleys billow-swayed.
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 townsmen, 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 onset of foemen, 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.
Then they gave me a thrall unto Dmetor the lord of the Cyprian land;
And he bare me away to the isle that he ruled with a mighty hand.
Thence have I hitherward come through manifold trouble and pain.’
And Antinous lifted his voice, and to him made answer again:
‘What God hath brought on us this bane to our banquet, this gall to our wine?
Out! get thee forth to the midst, and begone from this table of mine,
Lest thou light on a bitter Egypt and Cyprus in this same place!
Lo now what a beggar is here!—thou bold knave shameless of face,
One after other thou comest to all, and they give thee, in sooth,
Recklessly lavish; with none of them all is restraining nor ruth.
They are bounteous with other men’s cheer, whereof each hath enough and to spare.’
And Odysseus the manifold-counselled turned on the railer there:
‘Gods! under this goodly form is a niggardly soul and poor!
Not a grain of salt wouldst thou give if the suppliant came to thy door,
Thou who sitt’st at the board of another, and grudgest a crumb unto me
Of the cheer that lieth before thee heaped abundantly.’
So he spake, but Antinous’ soul with a madness of anger was stirred;
And he glared with a murderous scowl as he loosed the swift-winged word:
‘Out of the house shalt thou never escape but in pitiful case,
Who castest the word unto me, and revilest a prince to his face!’
His footstool then did he fling, and it struck with a heavy shock
On the shoulder-blade of the king; but Odysseus stood as a rock,
Unstaggered by that which was sped from Antinous’ hand at him;
But he silently shook his head, dark-brooding a purpose grim.
And back to his threshold-seat did he go, and he laid by his side
The wallet fulfilled of meat, and aloud to the suitors he cried:
‘Hear me, ye suitors that woo the fair queen world-renowned;
Let me utter the word that mine heart in my breast for my lips hath found.
No shame-stab pierceth a man, that for anguish his spirit should groan,
Unto whom shrewd buffets are dealt as he fighteth defending his own,
When the spoilers come down on his white-fleeced sheep or the herd of his kine.
But this man hath struck me because of this wretched belly of mine,
This tyrant which bringeth on menfolk evils many and sore.
Wherefore, if there be Gods and Avenging Ones for the poor,
May the death-doom light on Antinous ere the bridal day!’
Unto him did Antinous son of Eupeithes fiercely say:
‘Eat sitting in silence, stranger, or get thee hence away,
Lest the young men drag thee along through the house for the word thou hast said,
By the foot or the hand, and the flesh from thy bones they strip and shred.’
But they all were kindled thereat with indignation strong;
And thus spake this one and that of the overweening throng:
‘Foul was the blow that thou to the woe-worn vagrant hast given,
Thou accursed Antinous, if there be Gods of a truth in the heaven—
Yea, the Gods in the bodies of outland strangers veil from sight
Their godhead, and pass through cities, and mark who doeth aright;
And they stand by the tyrant unseen, beholding mischief and spite.’
Yet he gave no heed to the rest as they cried with indignant cry.
But the pain in Telemachus’ breast and the anguish-surge swelled high
At the blow to his sire, yet he shed no tear from his eyelids for him;
But he silently shook his head, dark-brooding a purpose grim.
Now the tale to the bower came of Penelope passing-wise
Of the blow and the feast-hall’s shame, and she cried with flashing eyes:
‘Even so may Apollo the silver-bowed smite even thee!’
And to her spake out the stewardess-handmaid Eurynome:
‘O for accomplishment of the thing for the which we pray!
None of them should look on the fair-throned dawn of another day.’
Answered and spake unto her Penelope passing-wise:
‘Mother, they all are hateful, and nothing but evil devise;
But Antinous most is like unto black Death’s loathly face.
Here cometh a woe-worn stranger to beg in the guest-thronged place,
Asking their alms—for bitter-constraining poverty bade;—
The rest all filled his hands, and were moved with ruth as he prayed:
But this man hurled with a footstool, smiting his shoulder-blade.’
So spake in her heart-stricken pain the queen to her handmaid-train,
As she sat in her bower—and divine Odysseus was supping still;—
And she summoned the warder of swine, and she uttered forth her will:
‘Hie thee, Eumaeus the godlike, and speak to the stranger, and pray
That he come unto me: I would greet him, and know what he hath to say
Of the lost, if he haply hath heard of Odysseus the trouble-tried,
Or hath seen with his eyes; for he seemeth as one that hath wandered wide.’
Then unto her didst thou, Eumaeus the swineherd, say:
‘O Queen, if but the Achaeans their clamorous tongues would stay,
Such words flow forth of his lips, it would charm the heart in thy breast.
Three nights he abode in mine homestead, three days he tarried my guest;
For thither he came in flight from the rovers of the sea;
But not yet hath he ended the tale of his manifold misery.
And even as a man will gaze on the face of the bard who sings,
And a spell is on all men’s souls while the god-taught melody rings;
Fain would they listen for ever; he sings each heart his thrall;
So was I witchery-bound as he sat by my side in mine hall.
The friend of Odysseus he is, and their fathers were friends before,
In the days when he dwelt in Crete, where Minos ruled of yore.
Thence hath he now come hither woe-buffeted, trouble-tost.
And he sayeth, and holdeth thereto, he hath heard of Odysseus the lost,
Alive, nor afar, but anigh, in the Thesprots’ wealthy land;
And home is he coming with many a treasure-gift in his hand.’
Answered and spake unto him Penelope passing-wise:
‘Go, call him hither: himself shall say it before mine eyes.
But these—let them revel and riot at will in porchway and door,
Or here in the halls as they list: it is not their hearts that be sore;
For at home have they wealth of their own, unwasted abundant store
Of corn and of wine, and none but the house-carles to eat of the best.
But day after day they come haunting our house, that we find no rest;
And ever they slaughter our sheep, and our fatling goats, and our kine;
And they banquet, but not on their own, and they drink the flame-flushed wine
Recklessly; wide is the waste, for here no hero we have
Such as Odysseus was, from its ruin the house to save.
Ah, if Odysseus should come to his fatherland-home again,
Soon with his son would he wreak his revenge on the tyrannous men!’
From her son cometh, even as she saith it, an omen of cheering sound,
For the halls to the blast of the breath of his nostrils echo around.
And Penelope laugheth for glee, and the winged words speaketh she:
‘Hie thee, Eumaeus, and bid the stranger come hither to me.
Mark how my son hath sneezed a blessing upon my speech:
Therefore I trow Death’s shafts shall the suitors unerringly reach:
Not one of them all shall escape from the doom that is now drawn nigh.
This too will I say, and deep in thine heart let my promise lie:
If I prove that the words come true that the stranger-wight shall say,
I will clothe him in mantle and tunic-vest, right goodly array.’
She spake, and the swineherd hied him as soon as the hest he heard;
And he came to the hero’s side, and he spake the swift-winged word:
‘Father stranger, Penelope calleth thee hence to her bower apart,—
Telemachus’ mother the passing-wise,—for that fain is her heart
To hear of the man she hath loved through griefs heart-wearying.
And if she shall find that thy words are soothfast in everything,
She will clothe thee in mantle and tunic, whereof thy need is sore,
And throughout the folk shalt thou beg thy bread from door to door;
And who willeth shall give thee, and so shall thine hunger be satisfied.’
Answered and spake unto him Odysseus the trouble-tried:
‘Eumaeus’, herein should the truth full soon of my lips be told
To the child of Icarius’ line, Penelope prudent-souled:
For well do I know him; together the brunt of affliction we bore.
But the throng of the tyrannous suitors I dread, for their mad uproar
With its echoes of wrong goeth up to the heaven’s iron floor.
’Twas but now that I came to the house; no evil I wrought, but lo,
Rose this man against me, and hurled, and he dealt me a cruel blow.
Nought could Telemachus stay his hand, neither any beside.
Wherefore now, bid thou Penelope wait till the eventide,
Till the sunlight shall fade from her halls, how eager soever she be;
And then of her husband’s home-coming day let her ask of me,
Seating me nigh to the fire, for that sorriest garments I wear,
As thou knowest thyself, for first unto thee did I make my prayer.’
Then did the swineherd haste, when the words of the king he had heard.
And as over the threshold he passed, Penelope spake the word:
‘Thou bringest him not, Eumaeus? What now is the wanderer’s thought?
Is it fear of some lawless man, or is he abashed for aught?
Sooth, little of worth to a beggar-wight were a shamefast brow.’
Answering her, O swineherd Eumaeus, spakest thou:
‘Nay, well doth he speak and wisely, as any that heard him would think.
From the insolent flouts of overweening men doth he shrink.
But he biddeth thee tarry awhile till the going down of the sun:
Yea, for thyself, O Queen, I trow it were better done
That alone thou shouldst speak, and none other should hearken the stranger’s replies.’
Answered and spake unto him Penelope passing-wise:
‘Not witlessly deemeth the stranger, whatever his race and name;
For none such as these wouldst thou find among men of mortal frame,
Such hearts to devise, such hands to accomplish outrage and shame.’
So passioned the Queen; but the warder of swine hath hied him away
To the hall and its hateful disorder, as soon as he ended his say.
Eftsoons to Telemachus now he speaketh the word full low,
And anigh him his head doth he bow, lest the others may hear and know:
‘Friend, I am going away to watch over the swine and the rest,
Thy substance and mine; but here do thou order all for the best.
Unto thine own safety first let thy soul give diligent heed,
For many a foe is plotting against thee the evil deed.
Zeus blast them or ever for us fruit grow of the baleful seed!’
Unto him thereafter Telemachus prudent-witted replied:
‘Father, so shall it be: go thou at the eventide.
Come again with the dawn, and bring fair victims for sacrifice.
But these shall be dealt with by me and the Deathless that dwell in the skies.’
Then again the herdman of swine sat down on the fair-polished seat,
Till his soul was filled with wine and the strength of the stintless meat.
Then forth did he pass and away, and he left the courts and the hall
Filled with the banqueting throng; and they in the dance and the song
Revelled, for now the day died into the evenfall.