Book VI

SO Odysseus, the man woe-worn, in a restful slumber lay,
With toil and with sleep overborne. But Athene hied her away
To the land and the folk Phaeacian: in Ephyre dwelt they of old
Hard by the Cyclop nation, the haughty and overbold,
Who harried them day by day, being mightier in strength of hand;
So Nausithous led them away, and they gat them out of the land.
And to Scheria he brought them, afar from the haunts of grasping foes,
And with walls to fence them from war, and with dwellings, a city arose.
And the king divided the land, and fanes to the Gods did he raise,
Till, stricken by fate’s strong hand, he passed to the unseen place.
And Alcinous reigned in his stead, with the wisdom of heaven wise.
And unto his palace sped the Maid of the flashing eyes;
For still in her deepest thought the return of Odysseus she kept.
And she came to a cunningly wrought fair chamber, wherein there slept
A maiden, lovely of face and of form as the Goddesses are,
The child of the king of the race, Nausicaa peerlessly fair.
There were handmaids twain lying there—the Graces had given them a dower
Of beauty exceeding fair—and barred were the doors of her bower.
But Pallas Athene, light as a wind-breath, slipt to her bed,
And there in the silent night she bowed down over her head
In the shape of Nausicaa’s friend, the daughter of Dymas the sea-king—
By youth, by all dreams that unite young hearts, were their spirits wed—
So with her dreams did she blend, and the maid’s soul heard her speaking:
“How is it Nausicaa’s mother hath borne so careless a child?
Thy garments are lying uncared for, with all their brightness defiled.
And thy marriage is near, when thou must be attired in beauteous array,
And must give gay raiment to those that escort the bride on her way;
For from seemly and brave attire cometh good report of the bride,
And the hearts of her father and mother are filled with joy and pride.
Then let us away to the washing as soon as the day is begun;
And I will go with thee to help, that the work may be speedily done,
For the maidenhead-girdle shall soon be untied for a sweet bride won;
Seeing many Phaeacian princes already come hither to woo,
The sons of the selfsame land whereof is thine own birth too.
Come then, petition the king thy father with earliest dawn
That he bid them harness the mules and the waggon, to carry thereon
Thy sashes and flowing robes, and the rugs all brightly dyed:
Yea, for Nausicaa’s self it were more for her honour to ride
Than to walk, for afar from the town are the tanks by the riverside.”
So when she had ended her say went Pallas Athene hasting
To the heights of Olympus away, where shineth the home everlasting,
Where never the rough winds blow, no drenching rain falls there,
Nor the drifting pall of the snow, but the heavens are cloudlessly fair
With eternal summer-glow, and with radiance filling the air:
There amid bliss unbroken the high Gods dwell evermore,
So the Grey-eyed, when she had spoken, flashed to the heavenly shore.
Then Dawn, the splendour-throned, the bands of the maid’s sleep sundered,
And her beautiful raiment she donned, the while at her dream she wondered,
And forth through the palace she hied her, to speak to her parents dear.
And her mother was sitting beside the hearth with her handmaids near;
And the purple wool did she spin. But the princess found her father
Going forth to the place wherein the princes were wont to gather;
For the lords of the land in their pride were awaiting him, counsel to take.
But his daughter stole to the side of the father she loved, and she spake:
“Father, dear father, and couldst thou not get me ready the car
High-borne on its shapely wheels? I am fain to take to the river
My beautiful garments, to wash them therein, for that soiled they are.
It is seemly that thou thyself shouldst wear clean raiment, whenever
Thou dost sit in the council-chamber along with the lords of the land.
And five dear sons thou hast, the pride of thy palace-hall—
There be two that have taken a wife, there be three in the bloom of young life—
And in clothes fresh-washen delight they ever to take their stand
In the dance; and it falleth to me to take thought for the raiment of all.”
So spake she, but could not name her thought of becoming a bride
To her father, for very shame, but he knew, and he gently replied:
“Darling, I grudge not the mules, neither aught that beside thou canst name.
Go, and the serving-men shall set the polished frame
High up on the shapely wheels, and shall fittingly harness the same.”
So he gave command to his men as he said, and they straightway obeyed:
And the car from the stables then they drew, and ready they made;
And they brought up the mules to the wain, and they harnessed the team thereto.
And garments whose brilliant grain was of many a lovely hue
Out of her chamber she bore, and high on the car she piled.
And her mother laid good store of food in a chest for her child:
And meats did she put therein, and wine with flame-flushed face,
Filling a great goatskin,—and the maiden took her place
On the wain, and in golden flask she gave her the limpid oil,
That the girls, having ended their task, might bathe and anoint after toil.
And she took the whip, and she drew through her fingers the reins’ gay gleam,
And she lashed, and away they flew, and clattered the hoofs of the team.
On, without stint or stay, the maid and her raiment they bare,
Not alone, but through all the way her companions her handmaids were.
And when they were come to the river fair-flowing with beautiful stream,
There were cisterns brimful ever, and gushing with laughter-gleam
The water upwelled from below, it was pure and abundant enow
To wash the foulest white, be they never so grimed to the sight.
And there they unharnessed the team from the wain, and let them go;
And they drove them along by the stream, to graze on the sweet grass growing
By the wrinkled whirl and the dimpled swirl of the flood fair-flowing.
Then each sweet maiden with arms full-laden came from the wain,
And each cast down her load where in shadow the water flowed,
And the clothes in the cisterns they trode, in rivalry toiling amain.
And after the maidens had washed all stain and defilement away,
They took them and spread them each after other arow on the beach,
Where, by sweep of the tide updashed, the ridge of the shingle lay.
And they bathed, and with glossy gleam of the oil did their bodies shine:
Thereafter beside the stream they sat them down to dine,
Waiting until the sun should have dried the clothes on the shore.
And so, when the meal was done, and the joy of the feast was o’er,
They tossed their veils away, and at ball they fell to play.
And the white-armed princess led the sport with a rhythmic chant:
And the stately grace of her head was as hers whose white feet haunt
Taygetus’ long-ridged height, or Erymanth’s pine-woods drear,
With shafts that leap after the flight of the boar and the dappled deer,
While the daughters of him whose shield is the Aegis sport at her side,
The beautiful nymphs of the field, and Leto beholds her with pride;
And by face and by radiant head above the rest is she tall,
And, where lovely is every one, they are all by her outshone;
So did the maid unwed outshine her handmaids all.
But when it was time that again they should fare on the homeward way,
And should harness the mules to the wain, and should fold the garments gay,
Athene the flashing-eyed had another purpose then,
That Odysseus should waken and gaze on the maid of the beautiful face,
And that she should be his guide to the town of Phaeacian men.
It was then that the princess tossed the ball unto one of her girls,
But it missed her, and lo, it was lost in the river’s eddying swirls;
And loudly they shrieked thereat, and the hero awoke with a start;
And he rose, and pondering sat, as he spake to himself in his heart:
“Ah me, what manner of men shall I find in this strange place?
Are they savage of mood and brutal, a justice-scorning race,
Or folk that be kindly to strangers, that reverence the Gods on high?
’Twas but now that around me there pealed as of maidens a ringing outcry,—
Surely of nymphs, that haunt the precipitous crests of the hills,
Or the grassy reaches of meadow-land, and the fountain-rills!
Or perchance I am nigh unto men, the children of earth that be:
Go to now, I will myself make trial thereof, and see.”
Thus as Odysseus spake, he crept from the copse-wood dense:
But or ever he left the brake, his broad hand snapped from thence
A bough leaf-laden, to hide his nakedness from sight:
And as comes from the mountain-side a lion in pride of his might,
With his hide from the rain rough-staring and blown by the wind, but his eyes
With a terrible fire are glaring, as swiftly he comes to surprise
The kine, or the sheep, or the deer, and his hunger maketh him bold,
As he prowls for the flock, to draw near to the fence of the strong-built fold;
So did Odysseus pass from the covert, and set his face
Toward the maidens, unclothed as he was, for the man was in desperate case.
But terrible did he appear, with the sea-scum fouled all o’er;
And scattered they ran in their fear to the sand-spits fringing the shore.
But Alcinous’ daughter remained alone, for Athene gave
A spirit her limbs that sustained, and a heart unblenching and brave:
And facing him thus she stayed, and Odysseus pondered there
Whether, clasping the beautiful maid by her knees, he should utter his prayer,
Or should hold him aloof, yet with prayer inclining her heart unto pity,
Should petition for raiment to wear, and should ask of the way to the city.
And thus as he pondered, weighing each counsel, this seemed good,
From afar to address her, praying compassion, aloof as he stood,
Lest, clasping her knees, he should stir up wrath in the heart of the maid.
And lowly he knelt unto her, and with wise words gently he said:
“I bow the knee unto thee, O Queen, be thou mortal or god.
If so be thou art one of the Deathless that dwell in the sky-dome broad,
Likest thou art unto Artemis, daughter of Zeus, I ween,
In the majesty of thine height, in the charm of thy stately mien.
But and if thou be one of the mortals that dwell on the face of the earth,
Thrice happy thy father must be, and the mother who gave thee birth:
And the hearts of thy brothers, methinks, when a blossom so fair they see
Float on the breath of the dance, must glow with delight for thee.
O happy beyond all others the heart of the man, I ween,
Who shall win thee by gifts for his own, who shall take for his household’s queen.
For never such mortal as thou have I seen in all my days,
Nor man, nor woman; and reverence fills me the while I gaze.
Only once by the Sun-god’s altar in Delos I chanced to espy
So stately a shaft of a palm that gracefully grew thereby,—
For thither I came on a time, with a goodly array behind me,
On a journey, where many an evil hap was destined to find me,—
And even as I marvelled, to whom it never had fallen to see
Ere then, from the bosom of earth uprising so goodly a tree,—
Even so with astonied amaze do I look on thee, peerless maiden,
Not daring to touch thy knees, who with trouble and sorrow am laden.
Yestreen, on the twentieth day, I escaped from the sea at last;
So long was I hurled by the billows, and driven by the passionate blast
From the isle of Ogygia: now hath a God cast me hither ashore,
Doubtless to suffer again, for many a sharp pang more
The Gods will give me, I trow, or ever my troubles be o’er.
Have pity upon me, O Queen: out of manifold woes unto thee
First of all mortals I come, and I wot not who they be
That dwell in the city and land; they are all unknown unto me.
Show me the town, and give me a covering round me to fling,
If perchance, as thou cam’st, some wrap of the linen thou hither didst bring.
So may the Gods unto thee whatsoe’er thou desirest afford,
The love of a husband, a home, and the union of happy accord.
For of all good things they bestow, this blessing doth far excel,
When the husband and wife with hearts in loving agreement dwell
In a house: there is jealousy-pain in the soul of each envious foe,
And their friends are glad;—but the depth of their bliss they only may know.”
Then in reply unto him the white-armed princess began:
“Stranger, thou seemest neither a wicked nor witless man.
’Tis Olympian Zeus that to all their portion of blessings doth measure,
To the just and the unjust too, unto each man after his pleasure;
And thou must endure this thing, for doubtless ’tis given of his hand.
But now, inasmuch as thou thus art come to our city and land,
Raiment shall not be denied thee, nor whatsoever beside
He claimeth of right that cometh a suppliant trouble-tried.
I will point thee the way to the town, and the name of the folk will I tell;
For behold, Phaeacians are they in the city and country that dwell;
And I am Alcinous’ daughter, the child of the king of the land;
And the might and the power of the folk Phaeacian lies in his hand.”
She spake, and she lifted her voice, and she cried to her maids as they ran:
“Tarry, my handmaidens, why do ye flee at the sight of a man?
What, do ye deem him a foe? I tell you, there breathes not the wight,
Neither shall be at all, that shall come to our land with her people to fight.
For dear to the gods are we, and afar from the nations we dwell
Ringed round with the multitudinous wash of the broad sea-swell,
In the uttermost parts of the earth, and her traffickers come not near.
But this is a hapless wanderer, misery-driven here.
Him must we kindly entreat; for the poor and the strangers are all
Children of Zeus: that ye give them is blest, be it never so small.
Then hasten, my maidens, and give to the stranger to eat and to drink,
And wash him under the lee of the wind on the river’s brink.”
Then the handmaidens stood and cried to each other, “Come! fear not! “
And they led him down to the side of the stream, to a sheltered spot,
As Nausicaa gave command, the child of the king of the land.
And a tunic there did they place, and a robe for Odysseus to don;
And beside them upon the grass a golden oil-cruse shone,
And they bade him wash where the flood of the beautiful river ran;
But amidst of the maidens stood and spake the godlike man:
“Handmaids, I pray you to stand aloof, till I wash the soil
Of the brine from my shoulders myself, and anoint my body with oil;
For long hath my skin been unsleeked; but before you I will not wash,
For to make me naked in maidens’ sight doth my spirit abash.”
So did he speak, and they went, and they told the sea-king’s daughter.
And his back all brine-besprent he laved in the river water;
And over the salt that clave to his shoulders the stream he flung,
And the slimy ooze of the wave from his hair with his fingers he wrung.
So he washed him from head to foot, and with odorous oil he anointed;
And about him the raiment he put that the maiden’s care had appointed.
And statelier length of limb and goodlier breadth of frame
Did Athene bestow upon him, the Goddess of Zeus that came;
And down from his head there streamed the wealth of his wavy hair,
Like the hyacinth-blossom it seemed, with its hue of the purple rare.
And even as a craftsman wise that Hephaestus and Pallas have taught
Full many a cunning device, of whose hands rare treasures are wrought,
With the sheen of the gold overspread will a vessel of silver encase,
So on his shoulders and head did Athene pour down grace.
Then did he turn him aside, and down on the sea-shore sat,
Radiant in grace and in pride of beauty: the maiden thereat
Marvelled, and thus she addressed her handmaids beautiful-tressed:
“Hearken, my white-armed maidens, to me, and my thought will I tell:
It is not against the will of the Gods in Olympus that dwell
That yonder man in the land of the godlike Phaeacians is seen;
For he seemed erewhile unto me uncomely of favour and mean,
But now is he like to the Gods that dwell in the heaven-dome wide.
I were fain that a man such as he might one day call me his bride,
Some man in my country that dwells—and that here he were willing to tarry.
But meat and drink to the stranger do ye, my handmaids, carry.”
So to her maidens she spake, and they heard her behest, and obeyed:
And the meat and the drink did they take, and before the hero they laid.
And with ravenous haste began Odysseus thereof to eat;
For ’twas long since the woe-worn man had tasted the savour of meat.
But now to another care hath she turned her, the white-armed maid;
And she foldeth the garments fair, and all on the wain hath she laid.
And they harnessed the mules to the yoke, and she mounted, apart from the rest.
And then to Odysseus she spoke, giving words to the thought of her breast:
“Stranger, arise: to the city go. I will show thee the way
To the house of my father the wise-souled king, and there I say
The noblest of all the Phaeacian folk shalt thou see with thine eyes.
But this do thou—for it seemeth to me thou art nothing unwise—
While yet we shall pass through the fields where the toils of the husbandmen are,
So long stay thou by my maidens, and follow the mules and the car
With whatso speed thou mayst; and the way myself will show.
But when we draw nigh to the city,—around it a wall doth go
With towers embattled; on either hand is a haven fair
With a narrow approach between, and the shapely ships lie there
Fringing the road; each man’s in a several dock doth ride;
And there is Poseidon’s fane, with the market on either side,
Walled by colossal stones that are deeply embedded there.
And as for the folk of the land, ship-craft is their only care;
For twisting of cables and smoothing of oars are the arts they know:
Naught do the sons of Phaeacia reck of the quiver and bow;
But the mast and the oar and the graceful lines of the galley they love,
And over the hoary sea in these they delight to rove.
Now I shrink from the bitter sneers of the people, lest ere long
They mock me, seeing my folk are exceeding bold of their tongue.
And perchance one worse than the rest shall meet us upon the way:
‘Lo now! who is this—this stranger,’ methinks I hear him say,
‘That follows Nausicaa?—comely, I ween, and tall is he!
Where hath she lighted upon him?—’tis doubtless her husband to be.
Is it a shipwrecked wight she hath made her companion here,
A man from a far-away land, because there are no men near?
Or perchance some God long wooed hath descended to take her to wife,
And the love that hath answered her prayers shall be true all the days of her life.
’Tis better, forsooth, that gadding about for herself she should light
On a husband of outland race, for her countrymen all doth she slight.
She had many a princely suitor, but lo, they are naught in her sight! ‘
So will they say, and the taunt and the sneer upon me will they fling.
Yea, and indignant were I, were another to do such a thing
As to recklessly mingle with men, in her father’s and mother’s despite,
Or ever their hands be united in wedlock in all men’s sight.
Now therefore give heed to this word of mine, to the end that my sire
The sooner may send thee home, fulfilling thy heart’s desire:
Thou shalt find a fair grove of Athene anigh to the way thou art going,
A poplar-grove, and a meadow around, and a fountain flowing.
And there is the park of my sire, with its fruitful pleasure-ground:
And if one should shout from the city, thou thence might’st catch the sound.
There sit thou down, and tarry awhile, till we shall be gone
Into the city, and unto the house of my sire shall have won.
When thou thinkest that we must be there, thou shalt enter the town, and enquire
For Alcinous’ palace, the hall of the king, my high-souled sire.
Full easy it is to be known, and a babe might in sooth be thy guide;
For no Phaeacian mansion can match with the stately pride
Of the house of the hero-king. But thou, when thy feet shall have come
Into the court, and under the shadow of that proud dome,
Hastily pass through the hall until thou shalt come to the place
Where sitteth my mother beside the hearth in the ruddy blaze,
Spinning the yarn sea-purple—a marvel to look on is it—
And she leaneth against a pillar: behind her the handmaids sit.
And there is the throne of my father set, whereon at his ease
He sitteth and quaffeth the wine as a God in the midst of these.
Howbeit by him shalt thou pass, and thine hands shall encompass the knees
Of our mother; and so shalt thou speedily see with rejoicing the day
Of thy homeward-return, although thy country be far away.
For shouldst thou find grace in her sight, good hope shall be thine once more
To behold thy friends, and to come to thine home and thy fatherland shore.”
Thus when she had spoken, her team she touched with the shining thong;
And they passed from the sunlit stream, and lightly they ambled along.
And the mules with skill did she rein, that her car should not outstrip
The man and the damsel-train, and she heedfully handled the whip.
And the sun went down, and lo, they came to a grove most fair
Sacred to Pallas; and so the hero sat down there.
And he cried to the daughter of Zeus, and besought her to hearken his prayer:
“Hear me, thou child of the Aegis-bearer, unwearied Power!
Hearken in any wise now, who didst not hear in the hour
Of my shipwreck, what time the Earth-shaker o’erwhelmed me amidst of the sea.
Grant that Phaeacia’s people may now show kindness to me.”
So did he speak in prayer, and Pallas Athene heard.
But she did not appear to him there manifested, because she feared
Her father’s brother; for sore was the wrath in his soul that burned
Against Odysseus, before to the land of his sires he returned.