Book XXII

BUT Odysseus the crafty hath flung from his body his rags; and lo,
On the threshold-stone hath he sprung; in his hands are the quiver and bow.
Forth of the quiver the fleet-winged arrows abroad hath he poured,
Scattered in front of his feet, and he shouteth a mocking word:
‘So at last is the ordeal dread of the archery-contest o’er.
Now will I see if a mark, such as no man hath smitten before,
May be hit by my shaft, if Apollo vouchsafe me renown once more.’
As he speaks, on Antinous up to the head is he drawing the shaft:—
Of the beautiful chalice-cup in a moment more had he quaffed:
The red gold handles shine in his hands as he lifteth it high
To drink of the flame-flushing wine:—full little he thinketh to die.
For who would have dreamed it, that one in the midst of a banqueting throng,
Facing a host, alone—yea, though he were never so strong—
Would have fashioned a murder so grim with black horror of doom for him?
On to his throat hath the keen arrow flashing unerringly fled
From the hand of the hero, and clean through his throat hath the point of it sped.
Backward he reeled, and the cup, from his hand dashed, clanged on the floor:
Suddenly spirting came up through his nostrils the red-rushing gore
In a thick-welling jet; and he spurned with convulsive foot at the board,
That the table was overturned and the meats on the pavement were poured,
And with horrible crimson gouts were polluted: and rang through the hall
The startled tumultuous shouts of the suitors beholding him fall.
Up sprang they with horror-struck faces, and gazed with bewildered stare
At the walls and the naked spaces that mocked them everywhere,
For gone were the mighty spears: there was nowhere a shield they might take.
And they stormed at Odysseus in fierce indignation the while, and they spake:
‘An evil shot for thyself was this!—thou never shalt try
Thine accursed skill any more, for now shalt thou surely die!
For behold thou hast murdered a prince and a great one that had no peer
In Ithaca’s island. For this shall the vultures devour thee here!’
So cried they, for not of his will, but by foul misadventure they deemed
That the beggar-wight chanced to kill their best,—fools! little they dreamed cried:
That the doom-net sweeping adown had enclosed them on every side.
But with death in his terrible frown many-counselled Odysseus
‘Dogs! and ye said in your hearts I should never come home any more
Back from the land of the Trojans; and rioted, wasting my store:
Forcing my handmaids ye humbled them, bowing mine house ’neath the shame:
What though myself was alive, to my wife with your wooing ye came:
Nowise the Gods did ye fear, the abiders in Heaven-palace wide:
Nothing ye recked of the vengeance or wrath that from men should betide!
Now are the meshes of doom drawn about you on every side.’
Then their faces were ghastly to see, terror-writhen and white, and each eye
Glanced wildly, whither to flee from destruction swooping anigh.
And answered and spake to the hero Eurymachus alone:
‘If thou art indeed Odysseus the Ithacan come to his own,
True is the word thou hast said of the deeds of the suitors’ hands,
Of their riot and wrong in thine halls, of their spoil of thine harried lands.
But there is he now laid low, who was guilty of all that was done,
Antinous: foremost he was, and he set the others on.
Not for the love of thy Queen was he fain to have won her his bride,
But he coveted other things which Kronion this day hath denied;
For he longed in thy stead in Ithaca’s fair-citied island to reign,
And to spread the ambush-net, to the end that thy son should be slain.
He hath met his deserts, he is slain: thou then—for thy people are we—
Have mercy and spare, and so will we make atonement to thee.
For the bread in thine halls devoured, and for all the wasted wine
Shall each man bring thee a recompense of twenty kine.
Yea, brass will we pay thee and gold, that thine heart shall be warmed: good sooth,
Thou didst well to be wroth at the first, but thine anger shall melt into ruth.’
Made answer to him many-counselled Odysseus with lowering brow:
‘Eurymachus, though ye would give to me all your possessions now,
All that ye have, and would add to them treasures from otherwhere,
Yet would I nowise withhold from the slaughter mine hands at your prayer,
Or ever I had my revenge for your lawless and tyrannous wrong.
Choose, for the choice is before you, to fight as the valiant and strong,
Or to flee, if so be any dastard may ’scape from the death and the doom.
Ha, but I ween there be none but shall plunge to the netherworld gloom!’
Then their hearts were as water there, and their knees shook, loosened with dread;
But again in his great despair Eurymachus cried, and he said:
‘Friends, never will yonder man refrain his terrible hands;
But now he hath gotten the well-polished bow and the quiver, and stands
High on the threshold, his hands will be speeding the arrows’ flight
Till he slaughter us all from thence,—now nay, let us rise to the fight!
Draw ye your swords, and uplift for a shield from the speeders of bane
The tables; and all in a throng let us have at him, rushing amain,
If so be we may thrust him aback from the threshold and doorway, and gain
The city, and gather a battle-aid to our rallying-cry:
So shall this be the last of the shafts that from yonder hand shall fly—’
Leapt up a flash to his hand, as with swift-clutching fingers he drew
From the scabbard his double-edged brand, and at hero Odysseus he flew,
Shouting a battle-cry—lo, on a sudden the twang of the string—
And a shaft from the terrible bow in his breast is quivering;
And the point standeth deep in his liver: the sword from his hand hath he hurled
To the floor, and with agony-quiver across the table whirled
He sprawleth with limbs gathered up: he hath spilled on the pavement around
The meats of his feast, and the cup: with his forehead he smiteth the ground
In his anguish of spirit; and spurned by his feet as they agonize
Crasheth his throne overturned; and the death-mist floodeth his eyes.
Then rushing forward to face Odysseus the glorious lord
Amphinomus sprang from his place, and he drew his keen-edged sword, go
If perchance he would flinch from the pass; but or ever the foe drew near
Plunged in his back the brass of the prince Telemachus’ spear
’Twixt the shoulders, and onward the bloodthirsty point through his breast-bone tore.
And he fell with a heavy thud, and his brow smote flat on the floor.
Then Telemachus darted away from him, leaving the long-shadowed spear
In the corse, for he dared not stay to pluck it from thence, for fear
Lest one of the suitor-band, as he tugged at the brass, might leap
And thrust him through with his brand, or smite with a sword-edge-sweep,
So he turned him, and swiftly he fled from the corse to his father’s side;
And the rush of the winged words sped from his breathless lips, and he cried: ioo
‘Father, forthright will I bring thee a buckler and lances twain,
And a helmet of brass close-lapping thy temples, a warder of bane.
And I will array me in war-gear, and give to the swineherd-wight
And the neatherd to arm them withal: it is best to be harness-dight.’
And Odysseus the manifold-counselled made answer and spake to his son:
‘Run thou and bring them, or ever the last of mine arrows be gone;
Lest they force me away from the door, who are many, and I but one.’
Then hasted the son to obey his dear-loved father’s word:
To the chamber he gat him, where lay the war-clashing harness stored.
Four spears from the glittering store hath he ta’en, four shields flame-gleaming,
And brazen morions four, with their dark plumes heavily streaming.
And swiftly again to his dear-loved sire with his burden he came:
And himself first clad him in gear of battle, in brazen flame.
And withal the henchmen dight them in glorious battle-array;
And there on the left and the right of the war-wise king stood they.
Now the hero, while yet he had store of arrows to guard him withal,
Stood aiming the shafts, evermore smiting foe after foe in his hall:
And man upon man fell fast of the panic-huddled band.
But the arrows failed him at last, and the archer must stay his hand.
Then he set up the bow that had done its work by the door-post tall,
Where the sunlit side-walls shone at the entering-in of the hall.
Then over his shoulder he threw the fourfold shield broad-spread,
And a well-wrought helmet he drew down over his gallant head.
Terribly noddeth the mane of the crest overglooming his brow;
And brass-tipt lances twain in his grasp are quivering now.
Now high-pight up from the ground was a postern door in the wall
Where the basement-plinth ran round the stately-pillared hall;
Therewithout was a corridor, barred by a folding-door’s strong frame;
And the king had appointed to guard it the swineherd, to watch the same,
And to stand with his weapons beside it, and keep the one strait stair.
Then loud Agelaus cried unto all the quailers there:
‘Friends, is there none that will climb unto yonder postern-door,
And tell it without to the people, and raise the rallying-cry?
So never shall yonder archer shoot an arrow more.’
But to him the goatherd Melanthius answering made reply:
‘Agelaus, it may not be; for the fair hall-door of the house
Is terribly nigh, and the corridor-entrance is perilous;
And one man stalwart and dauntless might hold it against us all.
Go to, I will bring to you armour to harness yourselves withal
From the armoury-chamber: for not without the palace, but here,
I ween, did the king and his son put by the battle-gear.’
Then did the goatherd thrall Melanthius stealthily clamber
Through the rafter-gaps of the hall to Odysseus’ armoury-chamber.
Twelve shields hath he snatched from the wall; he hath ta’en twelve lances tall,
And helmets as many, with hair-crests over the brass thick-tossed.
And he hasted aback, and he bare them and gave to the suitor-host.
Then did his strong knees fail Odysseus, his bold heart shivered
When he looked on them donning the mail, and beheld how the long spears quivered
In the hands of his foes; for he knew that now was he sorely bestead:
And he turned to his son, and flew the swift-winged words, as he said:
‘Telemachus, soothly to say, there is one of the women-thralls,
Or Melanthius, kindling the battle against us now in our halls!’
Outspake to the hero Telemachus wary of wit, and replied:
‘O father, mine own was the oversight; none other beside
Is guilty thereof, for the strong-knit door of the armoury
Left I ajar: it was marked of a watcher keener than I.
But go thou, Eumaeus the godlike, and fasten the door, and give heed
If a handmaid it be that is helping our foes in our sorest need,
Or Melanthius, Dolius’ son; for I ween it is he indeed.’
Even so communed these twain touching that which were best to be done.
But the herdman of goats again to the armoury-chamber is gone
For the fetching of warrior-gear, and the godlike swineherd spied,
And he turned to Odysseus—for near was the hero—and hastily cried:
‘O Zeus’ and Laertes’ seed of the guile-shifts manifold,
Lo there that caitiff again, even he that our hearts foretold!
To the chamber he goeth: but thou give clear behest in this:
Shall I smite him and slay, if so be that my strength overmaster his,
Or hale him hither to thee, to the end that the wretch may atone
For the treason that here he hath plotted, the deeds of outrage done?’
Unto him did Odysseus the manifold-counselled answering say:
‘I and my son will hold the arrogant suitors in play.
They shall not win forth of mine halls, be they never so furious-fain.
But wrench ye his feet and his hands behind his back, ye twain.
Cast ye him into the room, lash planks unto ankle and wrist;
And make ye fast to his body a cable of hempen twist;
Then trail ye him up by a pillar, and nigh to the rafters sling,
That alive long time he may hang in agony languishing.’
So he spake, and they hearkened with heed, neither stayed from obeying the word.
To the chamber they gat them with speed: he was there, but he saw not nor heard;
He was searching the chamber about, to gather him battle-gear store;
And these twain stood without upon either side of the door.
Back over the threshold fareth Melanthius, goatherd-wight,
And a beautiful helmet he beareth in one hand, strong and bright;
In the other an ancient shield, broad, marred with a leprous mould,
Which Laertes wont to wield in his warrior-youth of old.
Unstitched were the thongs; it had lain long time unheeded there.
They have darted upon him and ta’en, and they drag him within by the hair:
Down on the floor have they dashed him, all startled and terror-aghast;
And his feet and his hands have they lashed with a galling bond full fast.
Yea, deftly aback did they twine them and knotted, obeying the word
Of Laertes’ son, the divine Odysseus, their toil-tried lord.
With a cable of hempen ply his body aloft they swung;
Up a pillar they trailed him on high, and anear to the rafters they slung;
And a scoff and a triumph-cry at the wretch Eumaeus flung:
‘Soft lying for thee, Melanthius! Now shalt thou watch through the night,
Laid on an easeful couch, as for thee it is meet and right:
And for slumber thou shalt not miss when the gold-throned Dawn upspringing
Comes from the Ocean-stream, what time thou wendest, bringing
Goats for the suitors to feast in the palace revelry-ringing.’
So there was he left in a bond of despair strained, biding his doom.
Then their harness of battle they donned, and they shut the door of the room.
And they sped to Odysseus again, to the shiftful in counsel of war:
There fury-breathing and fain of the fight on the threshold stood four,
But many and mighty for bane were their foes on the feast-hall floor.
Ha, who is the fifth drawn near?—Zeus’ daughter Athene is here,
Like unto Mentor in voice, and veiled in Mentor’s form!
Then did Odysseus rejoice, and he cried through the battle-storm:
‘Mentor, stand up for mine help for the sake of the days gone by!—
For my kindness’ sake!—we were boys together, thou and I!’
But he deemed her, even as he spake it, Athene the battle-aider.
Then madly the fierce shouts brake from the suitors, fain to have frayed her.
And first did Damastor’s son, Agelaus, threatening say:
‘Mentor, beware lest the words of Odysseus lead thee astray
To cause thee to strike on his side this day, and to fight against us;
For thy purpose shall perish, but ours shall be surely accomplished thus:
As soon as these, yon father and son, by our hands shall fall,
Thou too, for the deeds thou art minded to do unto us in the hall,
Shalt perish, and so shalt thou bring on thine own head bitter reward:
And when we have reft away your strength with the edge of the sword,
Thy wealth, even all that thou hast, thy lands and thy treasure-store
Will we cast with the heap of the spoils of Odysseus: thy sons no more
Will we suffer to live in thine halls, nor thy daughters; thy dear wife’s feet
Shall never go to and fro any more in Ithaca’s street.’
But the heart of Athene burned the hotter for this that he spake;
Fierce on Odysseus she turned, and the flame of her scorn outbrake:
‘Odysseus, thy prowess is gone from thee! Quenched is the battle-fire
That was thine when for Helen, the white-armed child of a glorious sire,
Nine years with the Trojans thou warredst unblenching evermore,
And many a hero didst slay in the terrible battle-roar;
And by thy device was the wide-wayed city of Priam ta’en.
How is it that, now thou art come to thine halls and possessions again,
Thou quailest before the suitors, thy spirit is waxen acold?
What ho! come hither, my friend, and stand by my side, and behold!
Thou shalt see what manner of man is Mentor amidst of the foe,
How Alcimus’ son requiteth the kindness of long ago.’
So she spake, yet awhile she denied that the king should be victory-crowned:
But she trieth him yet in the fight, to make uttermost proof of his might,—
The might of the man toil-tried and his dear son battle-renowned.
She is gone:—on the smoke-besmirched hall-rafters dusky and dim
Ye shall see but a swallow perched,—yet Athene looks down upon him.
Up sprang Demoptolemus, and arose Damastor’s son,
Amphimedon, Eurynomus, and they cheered the suitors on.
To the front Peisander hath pressed and Polybus warrior-souled,
For that these beyond the rest of the suitors were stalwart and bold,
Even all that were yet not slain, and they fought for their lives in despair,
For the bitter arrow-rain had slaughtered the rest that were there.
Out spake Agelaus then to the remnant there arrayed:
‘O friends, at last shall yon man’s terrible hands be stayed!
Lo, Mentor hath uttered but empty vaunts, and behold, he is gone;
And there at the entering-in of the doors are they left alone.
Now hurl ye your lances—but not in the selfsame instant all;
But rather let six of you cast at the first, if so be it may fall
That Zeus will vouchsafe us to slay this Odysseus, and win us renown.
Nothing we reck of the rest, when once this man shall be down.’
Then, six together, they darted the long-shadowed lances amain.
But Pallas Athene thwarted their spears, and she made all vain.
For one a column hath hit of the stately-pillared hall;
And into the door close-knit hath it chanced to another to fall;
And heavy with brass the head of another crashed on the wall.
Lo, the spears of the suitors are sped, and bootless the cast of them all!
And cried Odysseus the toil-tried then to his valiant few:
‘Now, O my friends, will I give my commandment also to you!
Hurl at the throng of the suitors, the felons furious-fain
To add to their crimes overpast the blood of the true men slain!’
Then were the keen spears sped true-aimed at the hero’s command.
Demoptolemus lieth dead by the lance from Odysseus’ hand;
By the prince is Euryades slain, and the swineherd is Elatus’ bane;
And the lance of the neatherd hath hit Peisander, and laid him low:
Then fell they together, and bit the earth in their agony-throe.
To the hall’s far corner anon the remnant of suitors fled;
And the king and his men rushed on, and they plucked their spears from the dead.
And again the suitors darted the long-shadowed lances amain;
But Pallas Athene thwarted the more part, making them vain;
For one a column hath hit of the stately-pillared hall;
And into the door close-knit hath it chanced to another to fall:
And the brass-heavy ash of a third with a crash plunged into the wall.
Yet the lance of Amphimedon missed not utterly; lightly it grazed
Telemachus’ hand at the wrist, and the face of the skin hath it razed:
And the spear of Ctesippus sped o’er the shield that the swineherd bore,
And it scratched but his shoulder, and fled on past, and it fell on the floor.
Then the folk of Odysseus the war-wise manifold-counselled king
Their javelins keen once more at the throng of the suitors fling.
And the waster of tower and town hath stricken Eurydamas down;
By the prince is Amphimedon slain, and the swineherd is Polybus’ bane.
Through the breast of Ctesippus hath crashed the oxen-warder’s spear;
So down on the ground hath he dashed him, and shouteth a triumph-jeer:
‘O lover of gibes, Polytherses’ son, never more at all
Shalt thou bluster with great words, making thy tongue thy folly’s thrall!
Have respect to the Gods in thy speech, for what is thy strength in their sight?
Lo there thy reward for the hoof that thou gavest the beggar-wight,
When Odysseus begged in the halls wherein all was his own of right!’
So spake the warder of wreath-horned kine; but the king rushed on,
And his long spear dealt swift death as he closed with Damastor’s son.
Lo, how Leiocritus reels when Telemachus’ lance he feels!
For from navel to back the thrust through his shuddering entrails tore,
As he fell on his face in the dust, and his brow smote flat on the floor.
Then, then from the rafters’ height did Pallas Athene shake
Her aegis, and thrilled with affright did the souls of the suitors quake.
And this way and that from the king they fled, as the cattle flee
When the hovering gadfly’s sting is driving them over the lea,
When the long days come with the Springtide up from the south-land sea.
But the king and his folk—as the bow-beaked, crook-taloned vultures swoop
From the crags on the mountain’s brow, on the harmless fowl to stoop,
Which, afar from the clouds low-cowering, scurry along the ground;
But from down-rushing wing and devouring beak no rescue is found,
Neither any escape; and with glee are the field-carles watching the chase;
So smite they the suitors that flee through the murder-ravening place.
And rang through the slaughter the shriek and the ghastly moan evermore,
As they hacked at their heads; and the reek of their blood steamed up from the floor.
Then rushed Leiodes, and clasped the knees of Odysseus there,
And with quivering lips he gasped forth terror-winged words of prayer:
’: I bow at thy knees, Odysseus, have mercy upon me and spare!
Never, O never, to one of the maids in thine halls, I swear,
Have I spoken or done any shame or wrong; but I wont to plead
With the others, essaying to stay them from evil word and deed.
Yet they would not hearken to me, to refrain their hands from sin;
And they ran their folly’s race, and a ghastly goal they win.
But I—I have been but their priest, I have not done anything:
And lo, I must die: so kindness goeth unthanked, O king.’
But darkly frowning Odysseus the manifold-counselled said:
‘If thou wert the priest of the evil-doers that here lie dead,
Many a time in mine halls thou couldst not choose but pray
That the happy hour of my home-return might be far away,
That my wife might follow thee hence, and my love bear children to thee:—
From death the outstretcher in misery-sleep shalt thou nowise flee.’
And his sinewy hand, as he saith it, hath caught up a sword that lay
On the floor,—Agelaus in death wild-reeling had hurled it away;—
Down with a lightning-sweep through the midst of his neck he shore;
And the prayer yet moaned on his lip as his head was rolled on the floor.
But the eyes of the lovely in song not yet had been flooded with night,
Of Phemius, who sang to the throng at their feasts in his heart’s despite.
But in trembling hands he bore his lyre of the strain clear-ringing,
As he stood by the postern-door; and wavered his thoughts to and fro:—
Shall he steal from the hall, and fly to the courtyard, and sit fast-clinging
Unto Zeus the Garth-ward’s high-reared altar?—in days long ago
Many thighs had Odysseus the king and Laertes offered there,—
Or rush to Odysseus, and cling to his knees in desperate prayer?
Terror-goaded he thought; and of these him seemed it were better done
That his hands should cling to the knees of Odysseus Laertes’ son.
Then his carven lyre, the soul-enchanter, laid the bard
On the floor betwixt the bowl and a bright throne silver-starred.
And he ran ’neath the sword, and he clasped the knees of Odysseus there;
And with quivering lips he gasped forth terror-winged words of prayer:
‘I bow at thy knees, Odysseus, have mercy upon me and spare!
Thyself wilt have sorrow and ruth hereafter, if now thou dost slay
A bard that chanteth to Gods and to menfolk his lovely lay.
No man hath taught me: my manifold song-craft came unto me
By the gift of a God, and as unto a God would I sing unto thee.
Ah let not the flame of thine anger be slaked with my blood, O king!
For I swear—and thy dear-loved son will tell thee the selfsame thing—
That not of my will did I come to thine halls, neither coveting aught
Day after day at the feasts of the suitors I wont to sing.
They were more, they were stronger than I, whom hither by force they brought.’
And Telemachus’ sacred might heard how that suppliant cried;
And he spake to his sire forthright, as he stood by the hero’s side:
‘Forbear, neither pierce this man with the brass; for guiltless is he:
And Medon the herald withal will we spare—who cared for me
Evermore in our halls, when I was but a child, and thou oversea,—
If he have not been slain of the swineherd or neatherd, or crossed thy path
When the lightnings of death flashed wide through the hall from the storm of thy wrath.’
So speaks he, and Medon the wise-heart heareth the blessed sound,
Under a throne as he lies, with a new-flayed hide wrapped round,
And shrinking terror-aghast from black death’s beckoning finger.
He hath leapt to his feet, he hath cast off the hide; no whit doth he linger;
But he rushed to the prince and he clasped the knees of Telemachus there,
And with quivering lips he gasped forth terror-winged words of prayer:
‘O friend, I am here!—refrain thee from smiting, and speak to thy sire
Lest he slay me, now that his might is awakened, his heart on fire,
Vengeance-whetted on those mad fools, that with riot and wrong
Wasted his wealth in his halls, and mocked at thee so long.’
Smileth upon him Odysseus the manifold-wise, and he saith:
‘Be of good cheer, seeing this man hath drawn thee aback from death,
To the end thou mayst know in thine heart, and mayst tell unto others this—
How that better by far than the evil dealing the good deed is.
But get you forth of the hall, from the blood of the slaughtered throng,
And sit ye down in the court, even thou and the glorious in song,
Till I make full end of the work that hath waited mine hands o’er-long.’
So did he speak, and they hied them forth from the hall of bane;
And they sat them down beside the altar of Zeus, they twain;
And there terror-dazed ever round them they gazed, in dread to be slain.
Then did Odysseus glare through the hall in the gathering gloom
To behold whether any man there yet shrank from the clutches of Doom.
There was none had escaped him; in gore and in dust lay the host of the spoilers
Heaps upon heaps on the floor, as the fish that the tired sea-toilers
Out of the sea-wash hoar in a many-meshed net have haled
High up on the shelving shore; and the captives silver-scaled
Lie heaped on the sands, and they yearn for the waves and the dear cool spray;
But the pitiless sunbeams burn, and they gasp their lives away;
So heaped were the carcases one on another of suitors dead.
Then Odysseus spake to his son, and the manifold-counselled said:
‘Prithee call hither to me Eurycleia the nurse straightway;
For mine heart hath gotten a word that my lips in her ears must say.’
So he spake, and Telemachus hied him to do his father’s will.
And he smote on the door, and he cried through the halls so fear-fully still:
‘Arise, thou ancient woman, the child of a long-gone day,
Who hast watched with diligent heed the maids in our halls alway;
My father calleth for thee, for that somewhat he hath to say.’
So he spake, neither light-winged sped that word to be wasted in air;
But she opened the doors that led from the women’s chambers fair;
And she came,—but Telemachus passed before to the Hall of Bane,—
And lo, the revenge at last, and Odysseus amidst of the slain!
Gore-dabbled and dust-besprent, as a lion he was to see
Coming up from the prey, which hath rent and devoured an ox of the lea;
And his shaggy chest all o’er, and his red jaws gnashing grim
Are besmeared and matted with gore,—thou wouldst shudder to look upon him;
Even so with his feet all red, and his hands, Odysseus stood:
And she stared at the heaps of the dead, and the measureless rivers of blood.
Then a shout triumphant rushed to her lips for the great deed wrought;
But, even as they parted, he hushed her sternly, and suffered her not,
Though her soul was exceeding fain; and the swift-winged words spake he:
‘Rejoice in thine heart, and refrain, neither shout for the victory.
Unholy it is to triumph over a slaughtered foe:
’Tis the doom of the Gods, and their own ill deeds, that have laid these low;
For all that abide on the earth in their pride would they flout and contemn,
The base and the noble alike, whosoever should come unto them.
So they ran their folly’s race, and a ghastly goal they win.
But thou, tell over to me the women mine halls within,
Both them that be daughters of shame, and them that be stainless of sin.’
Made answer to him Eurycleia the nurse, and thus spake she:
‘Yea, O my son, I will tell the tale of them soothly to thee:
Fifty women there be in my lord Odysseus’ halls,
Handmaids, the which we have taught to toil at the toils of thralls,
And to card the tangled fleeces, and under the yoke to bend.
There be twelve that have turned them aside on the paths of shame to wend;
No honour they rendered to me, to the lady Penelope none.
And it is but as yesterday that thy son unto manhood hath grown;
And his mother would not he should speak to the handmaids a word of power.
But come, let me now go up to thy wife in her shining bower,
Where a God on her eyelids hath shed sleep-dews in a cool still shower.’
Unto her did Odysseus the manifold-counselled make reply:
‘Wake her not yet; but bid thou the handmaids hither ward hie
Which have wrought the deed of shame in the hateful days gone by.’
Forth fareth the ancient-hoary handmaid, hastening
To bear to the women the story, and bid them to come to the king.
Then calleth the hero divine his son and the neatherd-wight,
And Eumaeus the warder of swine, and he speedeth the winged word-flight:
‘Be the corpses borne forth now: therein shall the women toil.
And thereafter the beautiful tables and thrones from crimson soil
Shall be cleansed with streams from the fountain and sponges of manifold pore:
And so when the house shall be orderly dight, and pure all o’er,
Ye shall lead the handmaids forth of the stately-pillared hall
To the mid space twixt the dome and the goodly courtyard-wall,
And smite with the keen-edged sword till the shuddering souls shall fleet
From their limbs, and they quite forget the dalliance shameful-sweet
Which they knew when in secret wise they wont with the suitors to meet.’
Then the handmaids came to the door, all huddled together for fear,
Wailing and mourning sore, and shedding full many a tear.
First, forth of the hall did they bear the bodies of slaughtered men;
And under the porch of the fair-walled court they laid them then,
Propped one on another; and aye was Odysseus speeding them on,
That they could not choose but obey, till the ghastly labour was done.
Then the clots and the stains of slaughter from throne and from burnished board
Cleansed they with the bright spring-water and sponges myriad-pored.
Therewithal doth Telemachus toil with the warders of penfold and stall
In scraping the murder-soil from the floor of the rich-wrought hall;
And with shuddering these offscourings the maids from the feast-hall bare,
Till the stains of the sword’s devourings were cleansed, and the place dight fair.
Then caused they the women to come from the stately-pillared hall
To the mid space ’twixt the dome and the goodly forecourt wall.
In the strait wall-nook did they pen them, whence none could in any wise flee:
But the prince bethought him then, and thus to his friends spake he:
‘By none save an unclean death will I take their lives away
Which have poured reproach on mine head and my mother for many a day,
And have dallied o’erlong with the suitor-throng in their wanton play.’
Then the rope of an azure-prowed ship round a lofty pillar he cast:
O’er the peak of the dome did he slip it, and lashed he the ends of it fast;
And he strained it up high, that the feet of none on the ground should light.
And as broad-winged thrushes, or sweet-cooing doves, in their homeward flight
Dash headlong into a net mid the twilight bushes set,
And, as merrily nestward they go, into hatefullest bed they fall,—
So held they their heads arow, and around the necks of them all
The strangling nooses clung, a death most wretched to die.
And their feet for a little—not long—there quivered convulsively.
To the court through the porchway-door Melanthius then brought they.
With the pitiless brass they shore his nose and his ears away;
And they tare out his manhood, and flung to the dogs the blood-raw meat,
And with stern hearts anger-stung did they slash off his hands and his feet.
Then their hands and their feet from the stain of the blood and the dust thereon
They washed, and they went in again to Odysseus. The work is done.
Then to the aged nurse Eurycleia spake the king:
‘Bring to me sulphur, the healer of evil, and fire shalt thou bring;
To the end that with sulphur-reek I may purify the hall:
And thereafter my wife and her handmaid-train shalt thou hither-ward call.
Bid all mine handmaids throughout mine house that they come unto me.’
But the dear nurse spake yet again to her lord, and answered she:
‘Yea, well hast thou spoken, my son, and so shall it fall for the best:
But first let me bring thee, I pray thee, a mantle and tunic-vest.
Stand not in thine halls with thy goodly shoulders wretchedly dight
In rags; for to anger and shame all hearts would be stirred at the sight.’
Sternly to her did Odysseus the manifold-counselled say:
‘First let the fire be brought to me now in mine halls straightway.’
So did he speak, and in nought did the ancient nurse disobey:
But with fire and with sulphur she came, and Odysseus purified
The hall with the hallowing flame, and the house, and the forecourt wide.
Through the fair halls wended the hoary handmaid, hastening
To bear to the women the story, and bid them to come to the king.
And they entered, and streaming before came the light from the brands that they bore:
And around Odysseus they poured, and they greeted him there full fain:
On the shoulders and head of their lord glad kisses of love did they rain,
As they clung to his hands; and a deep sweet yearning thrilled him through
To lift up his voice and to weep; for he knew they were faithful and true.