Book XXIV

THEN from the light of the day the souls of the suitor-band
Did Hermes summon away; and his golden rod in his hand,
The Wand of the Spells, hath he ta’en, that charms into slumber deep
Whomsoever he will, and again it breaketh the bands of sleep.
Therewithal doth he drive them and herd them: with gibbering low they follow:
And even as bats in a weird vast cavern’s twilight hollow
Flutter around faint-squealing, when breaketh the cluster that hung
All day from the dim rock-ceiling, wherefrom the foul things clung,
Even such was the sound of their crying; and Hermes went ever before,
As adown mirk pathways flying they swept to the sunless shore.
By the lone White Rock are they gone, by Ocean’s sleepless streams,
They have passed by the gates of the sun, they are come to the land of dreams.
Eftsoons is the drear goal won, the Meadow of Asphodel,
Where the souls of the toil-fordone, the strengthless phantoms dwell.
There, grand in the gloaming dim, was Achilles the mighty-souled,
And Patroclus beloved of him, and Antilochus valiant of old,
And Ajax, a stately ghost, who in goodlihead once outshone
All men in the Danaan host save matchless Pelides alone.
And these were drawn to the side of the peerless in battle-pride;
And out of the nethergloom one heart-stricken with anguish rose,
Agamemnon, Atreus’ son; and a throng was around him of those
In Aegisthus’ palace that died with their lord to his doom betrayed.
And the shade of Pelides cried unto Agamemnon’s shade:
‘Atreides, we counted thee dear unto Zeus the Thunder-lord
Evermore above all the heroes in that long leaguer that warred;
For that thou over hosts upon hosts of mighty men didst reign
In Ilium-land, where strove the Achaeans with toil and pain.
Yet was it fated that Doom should first unto thee draw nigh,
Even Death the Destroyer, whom none of the children of women may fly.
Alas, that it was not thy weird, in the flush of thy royal power,
In the land of Troy as a king to meet King Death in his hour.
Then had the host of Achaeans the death-rites rendered to thee,
Yea, thou hadst won great fame for thy son in the days to be!—
Ah no,.thou wast doomed to be trapped in a death-gin wretchedly.’
Answered and spake unto him the spirit of Atreus’ son:
‘Blest scion of Peleus, Achilles, thou godlike peerless one,
Who didst perish from Argos afar, and around thee maddened the fray
Of Achaean and Trojan slaying to win that glorious prey;
Mighty thou lay’st as the mighty should lie, with the whirlwind of war
Tossing round thee the dust, and forgattest the rush of thy battle-car.
So we grappled the livelong day, and we had not refrained us then,
But Zeus sent a hurricane stilling the storm of the battle of men.
But when from the fight to the ships we had borne thee through desperate toil,
We laid thee down on a couch, and with steaming water and oil
Cleansed we thy goodly limbs; and we shed full many a tear
Over thee, and their long-flowing hair did the Danaan princes shear.
And thy mother came up from the waves with the deathless Maids of the Sea;
And the sound of the cry of them rang o’er the great deep awfully.
And on all the Achaeans came there a shudder of mighty dread:
Upstarted they all, and now to the hollow ships had they fled;
But a hero withheld them, in manifold ancient wisdom wise,
Nestor, whose counsel aforetime was ever the best in their eyes:
And his voice of good cheer pealed far through the storm of the trampling and cries:
“Refrain you, ye Argives, ye sons of Achaia, forbear to flee!
Lo, his mother comes up from the waves with the deathless Maids of the Sea,
To the great death-greeting of him who is passing gloriously.”
Then ceased the fear of the mighty-hearted Achaean men.
And the hoar Sea-ancient’s daughters gathered around thee then
Mourning with wails heart-piercing, and wrapped thee in raiment divine:
And there moaned an answering dirge from the sweet-voiced Muses nine:
And there hadst thou seen no face of an Argive but streamed with tears,
So enthralling the clear-ringing voice of the Muses thrilled through our ears.
Night and day we bewailed thee for seven days and ten,
Both deathless Heaven-abiders and deathling children of men.
On the eighteenth day to the fire we gave thee, and round thy bier
Slew many a fatling sheep, and many a wreath-horned steer:
Thou wast burnt in the robes of the Gods, with ointment around thee streaming,
And amber honey, while heroes in battle-harness gleaming,
Footmen and horsemen, clashed as the wavering flames shot high,
And the thunder-roar of a countless host rolled up to the sky.
When the Fire-god’s breath had consumed those glorious limbs of thine,
O Achilles, we gathered the flame-bleached bones in the morning-shine,
And in pure wine laid them and ointment: a lovely golden vase
Of thy mother was given: the gift, said she, of the Wine-god it was,
Which the hands of Hephaestus had moulded, the God-smith craft-renowned:
There are thy white bones lying, Achilles glory-crowned.
There mingled with thine are the bones of Patroclus, the loved and lost;
But Antilochus’ bones otherwhere, the man that thou honouredst most
Of all thy companions, save only the dead Menoetius’ son.
And around them we heaped up a barrow, a great and a goodly one,
By the countless hands of the spearman-host of the Argive land,
High on a windy foreland on broad-flowing Hellespont’s strand,
A beacon afar to be seen over weltering leagues of sea
By the men of the days that are now, and the children of days to be.
And thy mother asked of the Gods, and for prowess of hero and kin.
Glorious prizes she set in the midst of the athlete-ring.
Oft hast thou looked on the honours that fall to the war-renowned,
When a battle-stricken king lieth down in his great earth -mound,
And the young men gird them, and gleam the prizes in goodly array:
But at this hadst thou marvelled the most, could thine eyes have beheld that day, go
What glorious prizes for thy sake Thetis the silver-shod
Set in the midst,—thou wert passing dear unto many a God.
Yea, and not even in death hast thou laid thy glory down,
But peerless amongst all men evermore is thy renown.
I knitted the war-skein up, but wherein was my joy or my gain,
Seeing Zeus in mine home-returning doomed me to bitter bane,
By the hand of my murderous wife and her paramour to be slain?’
So stood the heroes there communing of things gone by.
But the Guide, the Argus-slayer, by this is drawing nigh:
And the dark throng after him swept of the foes that Odysseus had quelled.
And to meet them these twain stept, in amaze at the thing they beheld.
Then Lord Agamemnon’s ghost knew one of that shadowy host,
Seeing Melaneus’ dear-loved son, far-famous Amphimedon, there;
Bond-friends in the earth-days gone in his Ithacan palace they were:
And the spirit of Atreus’ son first spake unto him and said:
‘What evil mischance hath brought you to this mirk land of the dead,
All chosen men like-aged? though a city were searched all through
For the goodliest men therein, they had chosen no other than you.
Was it Poseidon that met you tracking the printless way,
And smote you by armies of winds and the long sea-rollers’ array?
Or were ye by foes in the midst of a foray o’ertaken and slain
As ye swept the cattle and fatling sheep from the harried plain?
Were ye warring for some strong city or some fair woman again?
Tell me, I pray thee: thy bond-friend I am, as on earth erewhile.
Remember how I came to your halls in Ithaca’s isle,
And with me Menelaus the god-strong, to cause Odysseus to come
Unto Ilium with us in well-benched galleys over the foam.
And a whole month fled or ever we passed the broad sea-tide:
So hardly we won City-waster Odysseus to fight on our side.’
Outspake Amphimedon’s ghost to the ghost of the hero then:
‘O Atreus’ son, far-famed Agamemnon, monarch of men:
All that whereof thou hast spoken remember I full well;
And the story of all these things unto thee will I faithfully tell,
In what fashion the evil accomplishment of our death was wrought.
The wife of Odysseus the long-lost hero wooing we sought;
And she, albeit she loathed this marriage, refused not nor gave,
For her thought was to bring us to doom, and to thrust through the gates of the grave.
Yea, this thing too she devised of her wiles, our hearts to deceive:
She set up a stately loom in the house, and began to weave;
Broad, fine of thread, was her web, and straightway to us she said:
“Youths, suitors to me, since verily godlike Odysseus is dead,
Tarry, how eager soe’er for my bridal, until I have wrought
A shroud,—for I would not the work of mine hands should come to nought—
A winding-sheet for the hero Laertes, against the day
When the baneful doom of the outstretcher Death shall snatch him away;
Lest Achaia’s daughters at me should in indignation be loud,
If he, after all his wealth, should be lying without a shroud.”
So did she speak, and lightly consented our lordly will.
So through the day at the great tall web was she weaving still;
But at night she unravelled it all, with the torches beside her set.
Three years by her wiles were we baffled, and none mistrusted her yet.
But it fell, when the fourth year came, as the seasons onward passed,
And many a day was born and died, and the months fled fast,
Then one of her maidens, who knew full well, revealed it at last;
And the while she unravelled the web, we suddenly came on her there:
So perforce must she bring the work to an end, how loth soe’er.
And she showed us the mighty web, when the weaving all was done,
And she washed it, and bright as the face of the sun or the moon it shone.
Then, then did Odysseus return, led on by a fiend-god’s hand;
And he came to his swineherd’s hut in the uttermost part of the land.
Thither the dear son came of Odysseus the hero divine,
For from sandy Pylos he fared in a black ship over the brine;
And these for the host of the suitors plotted a grim doom there.
And thereafter on to the city far-renowned they fare;
But Odysseus the last, for Telemachus led the way before:
But the swineherd guided the hero, and evil attire he wore
In semblance like to a beggar wretched and eld-forlorn,
Propped on a staff, and arrayed in foul rags tattered and torn.
Was none of us all that might know him who came in such strange guise
All unforeseen, not they that were older and warier-wise.
Him did we buffet and pelt, and with words of shame revile.
But the king endured all this in his halls for a little while;
For he hardened his heart to bear foul buffet and heart-stinging word,
Till the counsel of Zeus the Aegis-tosser his spirit stirred.
Then he and his son took up the beautiful weapons of war:
In a chamber they stored them away, and the doors thereof did they bar.
Then in his fulness of craft he gave to the queen his behest
To give to the suitors the bow and the hoary steel for the test,
For the ordeal,—nay, for the doomed the beginning of murdering!
Was never a man of us all could prevail to strain the string
Of the mighty bow, for our thews too puny by far were found.
But at last to the hands of Odysseus the giant bow came round.
Burst from us all a thunder of threats and of fierce shouts there:
“Let no man give him the bow, though he plead with many a prayer! ’
But Telemachus only withstood us, and stoutly he gave command.
So godlike Odysseus the toil-tried took that bow in his hand,
And lightly he strained it and strung, and shot through the iron lane.
And he leapt on the threshold, and poured at his feet the speeders of bane,
Terribly glaring around; and he shot Antinous dead.
And thereafter the arrows of anguish at one and another he sped
With murderous aim; fast fell they in panic-huddled flight.
Then was it known that a God was helping our foes in the fight:
For fury-flushed through the hall they rushed slaying left and right;
And rang through the slaughter the shriek and the ghastly groan evermore
As they hacked at our heads, and the reek of our blood steamed up from the floor.
So, Agamemnon, we died; and our corpses yet lie there
In the halls of Odysseus, unpitied, forlorn of the death-rite care;
For nothing as yet do his friends in each man’s dwelling know,
Who would wash from the gaping gashes the blood’s black-clotted flow,
And would lay them on biers and lament, for the honour is this of the dead.’
And the ghost of Atreus’ son unto him made answer and said:
‘O happy Odysseus the shiftful, O blest Laertes’ son!
With mighty manhood-prowess a virtuous bride hast thou won!
What an excellent spirit was found in noble Penelope,
Icarius’ child!—how clave she unto the memory
Of Odysseus her wedded husband! Therefore her love’s renown
Never shall die; but the Deathless shall crown her with song for a crown,
That all men shall bless the constant-hearted Penelope’s name.
Ah, not as Tyndareus’ daughter, who wrought the deed of shame
And murdered her husband!—a byword, a song of evil fame
Shall she be among men: she hath poured upon all other women dishonour,
Yea, though a woman should do good deeds, that stain will be on her.’
So of their griefs are they telling with voices that hollowly sound,
Standing in Hades’ dwelling, the caverns underground.
But forth of the city afield are the king and his henchmen gone
To the acres goodly-tilled which Laertes’ self had won,
Wresting the fertile ground, sore toiling, from moorland and wood.
There was his homestead; around it the huts upon all sides stood,
The huts where ate and slept, and in noontide-heat sat still
The thralls that Laertes kept, and that faithfully wrought his will:
And an ancient handmaid there, a woman of Sicily’s race,
Ever served him with loving care in the lonely upland place.
Then Odysseus turned him and spake to his son and his henchmen twain:
‘Now shall ye enter the well-built house and there remain:
And there shall ye slay for our nooning the best of the swine straightway.
But for me, I will go to Laertes the old, and will make assay
If my father will know, if his eyes will kindle beholding his son,
Or if I shall be as a stranger, who many a year have been gone.’
So spake he, and straightway cast to the thralls his battle-gear.
Into the house they passed eftsoons; but the king drew near
To the fruitful vineyard, fair with the green vines’ ordered rows.
And he spied not Dolius there, as he passed through the great fruit-close,
Neither one of the old carle’s sons, nor a hind, but gone were they all
For to gather them fencing-stones for the gaps in the vineyard wall:
And with these was their old sire gone for an overseer and a guide.
But his father all alone in the fair-terraced garth he espied.
A vine-stock there was he hoeing, in earth-stained tunic clad,
Patched over, unseemly showing, and round his ankles he had
Leathern buskins, by reason of briar and thorn that shrewdly tore:
Hedgers’ gloves on his hands had the sire, and a goatskin bonnet he wore,
For he dight him in evil attire, that his sorrow might rankle the more.
Now when that drear sight was beheld of Odysseus the king toil-worn,—
That old man stricken with eld, and with weight of his woes over-borne,—
He stayed him under a pear tall-grown, for with tears was he blind.
And a little he wavereth there in the thoughts and intents of his mind,
Whether to kiss him and cling to his dear-loved head, and to tell
Of the end of his wandering, and how his return befell,
Or with questioning first to test if the old man’s heart would know.
And in this wise it seemed to him best, as he turned it to and fro,
With speech heart-thrilling to try him, and hold him awhile in play.
And the hero divine drew nigh to the Eld-forlorn straightway.
There stood he stirring the ground at the roots with low-bowed head;
And his brave son battle-renowned stood hard by his side, and he said:
‘Old sire, thou art no lack-knowledge in tending the orchard-close,
But the work of thine hands goeth well; there is nothing therein that grows,
Neither seedling, nor figtree, nor vine, nor any olive nor pear,
Nor a plot of herbs in the garden, that hath not known thy care;
This too will I tell thee, and let not thy spirit be angered for this,—
Sorry enow is the care that is taken of thee, I wis:
Thou art wretched with eld, and unkempt, and thy garments unseemly to see.
Not for a slothful servant thy lord neglecteth thee!—
Yet nothing appeareth in thee of the thrall or the underling
In stature and goodlihead, for thou seemest a very king.
Thou art like unto such an one that should bathe at his pleasure and eat,
And anon lie softly; for this for the stricken in years is meet.
But come now, answer me this, and the truth thereof declare:
Whose thrall art thou, and what man’s orchard knoweth thy care?
And tell me the truth, to the end I may know this certainly,
If indeed I am come unto Ithaca: so was it told unto me
Of a man that I met by the way but now, as I hitherward hied,
But a dull-witted wight: for he found no answer, the churl tongue-tied—
Yea, he stayed not to hearken my word—when I fain would have asked him this
As touching mine ancient friend, if alive in the land he is,
Or if he be dead, and a dweller in Hades’ dwellings drear.
Lo, now will I tell it again unto thee: thou mark me, and hear.
A man was my guest in mine own dear land in the good days gone,
Which had come to mine house, and dearer than he hath there never been one
Of all the outland folk that have come to my palace-hall:
And he named him an Ithacan born; he spake unto me withal
Of his father Laertes, Arkeisius’ son, the island-king.
I took to mine halls the hero with princely welcoming,
And entreated him lovingly, giving of all my store the best;
And I gave him the gifts that are meet and right to bestow on the guest.
Out of my treasures I brought seven talents of fine-wrought gold;
And I gave him a bowl of massy silver flower-bescrolled;
Twelve mantles of single fold, and as many tapestries,
And beautiful cloaks as many, and tunics as many with these;
And besides all these, four women, in lovely loom-work wise,
Comely withal, for himself chose them that were best in his eyes.’
M aketh answer his father, while fast and faster his hot tears flow:
‘Yea, stranger, yea; thou art come to the land of the which thou wouldst know.
But tyrannous scorners be there, and the froward rule in the land.
Vain were thy presents, all vain the untold gifts of thine hand;
For if thou hadst found him alive in the Ithacan land this day,
Then with a goodly requital of gifts had he sent thee away,
And with good guest-welcoming, paying the debt of thy kindness of old.
But answer me, answer me this, and let all be plainly told:
How many years agone was he in thine halls received,
Thine hapless guest, my son—ah mine, if ever he lived!—
The evil-fated? Afar from his friends and his fatherland
The fish in the sea have devoured him: it may be on some wild strand
The ravens have pecked his eyes, and the beasts of the field have torn;
And never did we that had borne him array him for burial, and mourn;
Never his bride, rich-dowered Penelope steadfast and true,
Wailed for her lord on the bier, as is meet for a wife to do,
When his eyes she had closed; for that is the meed of the dead which have died.
Now answer me truly this, that mine heart may be certified:
Who art thou, and whence among men?—thy city and parents where?
Where now is the swift ship moored in the which thou didst hither-ward fare
With thy godlike fellows? Or cam’st thou a passenger over the sea
In another man’s ship, which departed as soon as they landed thee?’
Unto him made answer Odysseus the full of devices, and spake:
‘Touching all these things unto thee an answer of truth will I make.
Out of Alybas came I, wherein I dwell in a far-famed hall;
Polypemon’s son Apheidas the king my father I call;
And my name is Eperitus. Over the sea was I tempest-tossed,
Driven by a God from Sicania, loth though I was, to your coast;
And my galley afar from the city is lying off the shore.
But as touching Odysseus thy son, it is four full years, and more,
Since the time when he turned from my fatherland’s halls and gat him away;
The evil-fated!—and yet had he birds fair-boding that day
On the right: I rejoiced for the same, and I bade him good-speed full fain.
Blithe-hearted he went, and we hoped one day to meet again
With feastful cheer and with giving of splendid gifts—in vain! ’
Then a black cloud sorrow-fraught enshrouded the old man round.
With both his hands hath he caught up the ashes and dust from the ground,
And he showered them down on his hoar head, groaning and groaning again.
Then the heart of the son yearned sore, and a sudden throb of pain
Through his nostrils thrilled sharp-stinging, his dear-loved father to see.
And he fell on his neck, and clinging he kissed him, and loud cried he:
‘My father, my father, lo I, even I, am thy long-sought son!
At the last in the twentieth year to my fatherland-home have I won.
O refrain thee, refrain thee from tears, and from this strong crying and wail!
For behold I will tell thee—good sooth, I must needs make speed with the tale!—
I have slain them, yea in our halls have I slain the suitor-throng,
And requited their heart-stinging scorning and all their tyrannous wrong.’
But Laertes stared all “wildered, and answered doubtfully:
‘If thou art very Odysseus my son returned unto me,
Show me a manifest token that I may be certified.’
Then Odysseus the manifold-counselled spake unto him and replied:
‘Lo there—first mark with thine eyes this scar—dost thou know it again?—
Which was gashed by the white-flashing tusk of a boar in Parnassus’ glen,
In the land whither sent of thee and the lady my mother I came
To Autolycus sire of my mother, the gifts of his words to claim,
Which he promised when hither he fared, and plighted his troth thereto.
Yet again, if thou wilt, I will tell thee the trees the orchard through
Which thou gavest to me long ago, when I asked thee of all things there,
The lad running after thy steps through the garden everywhere:
And we passed through the selfsame trees: thou didst tell me the names of them then.
Ten apple-trees gavest thou me, and pear-trees three and ten,
And fig-trees forty; and fifty rows of the vine didst thou name,
Saying, “These do I give thee”—the ripening season of none was the same.
And of manifold kind are the clusters that hang on the branches thereof,
When the seasons with sunshine and rain beat down in their strength from above.’
Lo how his knees wax weak, how the strength of his spirit is broken,
Who heareth Odysseus speak that sure and certain token!
Around his beloved he threw his arms; and the toil-tried son
Close, close with his strong clasp drew to his breast that fainting one.
But when he again breathed free, and his spirit revived in him,
Answering then spake he with a new fear dawning dim:
‘Allfather, ye Gods of a truth in Olympus on high yet abide,
If the suitors indeed have atoned for their folly and tyrannous pride.
But now am I sore afraid lest the Ithacans all straightway
Come up against us, and speed forth the tidings to bring the array
Of the folk of the Cephallenian cities on every side.’
But Odysseus the manifold-counselled spake unto him and replied:
‘Nay, be of good cheer, let thy spirit be nowise careful for this.
But let us away to the house, for anigh to the orchard it is:
Thither I sent before me the neatherd and swineherd-wight,
With my son Telemachus, there to make ready a meal forthright.’
So when they had talked, they twain to the fair house took their way:
And they came to the homestead again mid the beautiful meadows that lay.
Telemachus there, and the neatherd withal, and the warder of swine
Were carving the stintless meat and were mingling the flame-flushed wine.
But Laertes the mighty-souled was refreshed the while from his toil,
Being bathed by the handmaid old and anointed with glistening oil,
And was clad in a goodly cloak; and Athene drew nigh unto him,
And for that good shepherd of folk she swelled each kingly limb,
And she moulded him broader to see and taller than theretofore;
And forth of the laver went he, and his dear son marvelled sore,
For the old man seemed to the sight as the Gods that for ever abide;
And sped the -winged word-flight from his lips, and astonied he cried:
‘Sooth, father, one of the Deathless that dwell in the halls of the skies
Hath made thee grander in stature and goodlihead to our eyes.’
Answered and spake unto him Laertes the ancient-wise:
‘Ah Zeus Allfather, Athene, Apollo, that this might befall,
That as he who laid Nericus low, the city of stately wall,
On the mainland ness, when I ruled the Cephallenian men,
That I in our hall yestreen had been such an one as then,
With my shoulders in battle-gear clad, to have stood by thy side in the fight
Beating the suitors back; full many a strong one’s might
Had I unstrung there in thine halls, and thy heart should have glowed with delight.’
In such wise father and son were communing, the while the rest
Wrought till their labour was done, and the flesh for the feast all dressed.
Then sat they down to the meat in order on settle and chair,
And they put forth their hands for to eat:—lo, cometh another there,
Dolius the old; and his tall sons weary with labour done
Follow after him into the hall, for to call them their mother had gone,
The aged Sicilian dame which provided them meat, and aye
Cherished their sire’s bowed frame and the dear locks silver-grey.
Now when these cast eyes on the king, and were ware of Odysseus their lord,
They stood sore marvelling; but Odysseus cried from the board,
And his words of kindly cheer rang blithe through the shadowy halls:
‘Old sire, sit thee down at the meat, and forget your amazement, my thralls;
For that long have we waited a-hungred here, and restrained our will
To put forth our hands to the meat, for we tarried your coming still.’
But with outstretched hands forthright to the hero Dolius sped;
And he grasped and he lovingly kissed Odysseus’ hand at the wrist;
And fluttered the winged word-flight from his trembling lips, and he said:
‘My lord and my love—to the hearts that longed for thee sore thou art come!
Ah, we thought not to see thee;—the Gods themselves have sent thee home!
All hail unto thee! all bliss may the Gods upon thee bestow!
Yet answer me truly this, to the end I may surely know,—
Doth Penelope passing-wise know certainly touching my lord,
How that home thou art come, or send we a messenger thither-ward?’
Answered and spake unto him Odysseus the counsel-fraught:
‘Old man, she knoweth;—what need that for such things thou take thought?’
Then in the polished chair the ancient sitteth him down;
And the sons of Dolius there press round that chief of renown;
And they bid all-hail to the king, to his hands do they lovingly cling:
Then arow at the board they sat by their father, the white-haired thrall;
And a glorious feast was that in the happy-murmuring hall.
But Rumour the messenger sped through the city on every side,
Crying’ The suitors are dead, and a terrible death have they died! ‘’
And at once all heard the tale, and from all parts gathering
Came the people with sighing and wail in front of the house of the king.
And they bare forth mournfully those corpses, and laid in the grave;
But the slain of the lands oversea unto fisher-folk they gave
In the ships swift-faring to go unto each man’s town with the dead.
But themselves heart-anguished for woe thronged all to the folk-mote-stead.
And so soon as the great town-square was filled with the gathering folk,
Arose Eupeithes there in the midst of them all, and he spoke;
For a burden of grief undying on that lone heart was lying
For Antinous, him that first by the hands of Odysseus died;
And the tears for his dear son burst forth afresh, to the folk as he cried:
‘O friends, a horrible deed to the people hath this man done!
Some led he away in his galleys,—ah, many a gallant one!
The ships hath he lost: and the men—ye shall never behold them again.
Himself is returned:—Cephallenia’s noblest sons hath he slain!
Bestir you, or ever this fellow to Pylos hasten away,
Or to Elis the sacred, wherein the Epeian lords bear sway.
Let us up, else ever henceforth shall our portion be shame and scorn,
For a mock were this to be heard of them that are yet unborn,
If on them which have murdered our sons and our brethren ruthlessly
We shall not avenge us! Life should be no more sweet unto me:
Rather forthright would I perish, and hide my shame with the dead.
Up, let us go, lest they ’scape us, and over the water be fled!’
So with passionate tears did he cry, and ruth seized all that throng.
Lo, now cometh Medon anigh, and the bard of the heaven-taught song,
From the halls of Odysseus the king, for that sleep from their eyelids had flown.
And they stood in the midst of the ring, and amaze took every one.
Then spake unto them the herald, Medon the wary-wise:
‘Ithacans, list to me now: Odysseus did not devise
Aught that was done, except by the will of the Dwellers on high.
For I, even I, beheld a deathless God stand nigh,
Yea, at Odysseus’ side,—but as Mentor he seemed to the sight,—
And now as a God immortal was cheering him on to the fight,
And now, as he rushed through the hall, hurled terror the suitors among;
And fast fell this one and that of the panic-huddled throng.’
Then came upon every one strange awe and pale dismay:
And Mastor’s ancient son Polytherses began his say,
Who alone beheld the thing overpast and the thing that should be;
And amidst of the stormy ring with kindly intent spake he:
‘Give ear unto me, ye Ithacan folk, I will utter my rede:
These deeds be the harvest, my friends, but your coward sin was the seed.
For to Mentor, the people’s shepherd, and me would ye not give heed
To withhold your sons from their folly, and bridle the lawless deed.
And a horrible thing in their godless recklessness they wrought,
For they wasted the wealth of a prince, and his wife they set at nought;
And they laughed in their hearts, “He will never come back any more,” they thought.
And now let the past be past:—O hearken my counsel at last!
Let us go not up, lest some by themselves into ruin be cast.’
But for answer a mighty roar and a furious war-yell rang:
There were some tarried still, but more than the half to their feet upsprang;
They would none of his counsel, they heard but Eupeithes’ vengeful rede;
And forth of the place wrath-spurred for their harness of battle they speed.
And as soon as they all were dight in their brass-mail flashing bright,
Forth of the town are they gone, they array them in front of the gate;
And Eupeithes leadeth them on in his witlessness to their fate;
For he dreamed of revenge for his slain son—ah, but it was not his doom
To return from the battle again, but to plunge to the netherworld gloom.
But in heaven the while to Kronion Zeus did Athene cry:
‘O Kronos’ son, Allfather, who rulest o’er princes on high,
Say, what deep counsel within thy breast doth hidden lie?
Must there be more of the dread war-shout and devouring sword,
Or ordain’st thou for these henceforth sweet peace and loving accord?’
Made answer to her the Cloudrack-herder, the Thundering Sire:
‘What aileth thee, O my daughter, to search into this and enquire?
Was it not thou that devisedst the thing that hath now been done,
That with vengeance for those ill-doers Odysseus should come to his own?
Do after thy pleasure; yet thus it seemeth me best to do:
Forasmuch as Odysseus now hath requited the suitor-crew,
Be a sacrifice-covenant made, and let him be their king for aye:
And let us blot out from their hearts the remembrance of the day
When their sons and their brethren were slain, and let there be love between these,
As of old; yea, let there be plenty withal, and abundance of peace.’
Yet more enkindled now is Athene the eager-hearted;
She hath flashed from Olympus’ brow, and adown to the earth hath she darted.
Now as soon as from those at the board all hunger was done away,
A wary-counselling word ’gan Odysseus the toil-tried say:
‘Let one go forth and behold, lest the foe be already at hand.’
Then hied him a son of the old thrall forth at the hero’s command,
And he stood on the threshold and gazed; and lo, they were all hard by:
And with swift-rushing words hath he raised for Odysseus a warning cry:
‘What ho! they are here—they are close at hand! let us arm us with speed!’
Eftsoons at his cry they arose, and they clad them in battle-weed.
Of Odysseus’ band were there four: there were Dolius’ sons, six men:
And Laertes and Dolius the hoar-haired clad them in war-gear then
In eld’s despite, for that sore need made them fighters again.
And as soon as they all had dight them in brass-mail flashing bright,
Wide open they fling the doors, and the king leadeth on to the fight.
Then, to their aid drawing nigh, Zeus’ daughter Athene came;
As Mentor she seemed to the eye, and withal was her voice the same.
Then did Odysseus rejoice, the hero divine toil-tried:
Forthright he uplifted his voice, and blithe to his son he cried:
‘Telemachus, now shalt thou learn—for thyself art come this day
To the place where the dauntless-hearted are lords of the wavering fray—
Shalt learn not to shame us, the line of thy fathers, which heretofore
In prowess and manhood unblenching were peerless the wide world o’er.’
Then Telemachus cried,—and his eyes with the light of battle shone—
‘Thou shalt see, father mine, an thou wilt, what spirit is in thy son!
Bring shame on thy line!—saidst thou?—it shall never be said of me!’
Then the heart of Laertes leapt, and triumphantly shouted he:
‘What a day have I lived to see, kind Gods!—right joyful am I!
My son and my son’s son now for the palm of manhood vie!’
Drew nigh to him then and cried Athene the flashing-eyed:
‘Arkeisius’ son, who art dearer than all my fellows beside,
Pray to the grey-eyed Maiden, to Zeus Allfather pray;
Then swing up thy long-shadowed spear, and hurl at the foe straightway.’
Then Athene breathed through his breast, and flamed the battle fire.
A moment his prayer he addressed to the Child of the Mighty Sire;
And he swung up his arm, and the flight of the long-shadowed lance hath he sped;
And it smote on the morion of bright brass warding Eupeithes’ head.
Nought it availed him; the spear right on through his brain hath crashed;
Heavily fell he; his gear of battle clanged and clashed.
Then the king and his glorious son on the foremost fighters leap,
And with lightning of spears fall on, and with flame of the falchion’s sweep.
And now of the rebel array no man had returned that day;
But Athene the grey-eyed Maid, the child of the Aegis-lord,
Uplifted her voice, and she stayed them from strife with her warning word:
‘Refrain you, ye Ithacan folk, from battle bitter and stern:
So without blood shall ye part, and a remnant shall haply return.’
So Pallas Athene said, and pale fear thrilled them through;
And by reason of ghastly dread from their hands their weapons flew,
That they clattered and clashed on the ground as the great voice pealed thro’ the strife.
To the city they turned them round, each man sore fain of his life.
But from godlike Odysseus rang a terrible battle-cry;
And he crouched to the leap, and he sprang, as an eagle that swoops from on high.
Then hurled Allfather, to stay him, his bolt of the levin-fire;
And it fell at the feet of the Grey-eyed, the Child of a mighty Sire.
Then to Odysseus cried Athene the flashing-eyed:
‘O Zeus’ and Laertes’ seed, Odysseus shiftful at need,
Refrain thee! Withdraw thine hand from the struggle of bickering war,
Lest thou waken the wrath of Kronion, Zeus who beholdeth from far.’
So cried she: forthright he obeyed; ah then did his spirit rejoice;
For in shape as of Mentor arrayed, and speaking with Mentor’s voice,
Athene the Warrior-maid, the Child of the Aegis-lord,
By covenant-peace made hatred to cease in loving accord.