Book VII

THERE in his need thus prayed Odysseus the man toil-worn.
But on to the city the maid by the strength of the mules was borne.
And when she was come to the fair royal palace of glorious fame,
She halted the mule-team there, and her brothers around her came,
Each one like an immortal: the beasts they unharnessed, and bare
In through the stately portal the raiment clean and fair.
But the maiden her chamber sought, and therein was there kindled a fire
By Eurymedusa, brought overseas long ago for her sire
Out of Apeire-land, when the ships came back from a raid.
For thereafter the warrior-band had chosen the captive maid
As a prize for the king their lord, whom all the Phaeacian folk
As one of the Gods adored, and hearkened with awe when he spoke.
So it fell that the captive maid was the nurse of his white-armed child:
By her was the supper laid, and the brands on the hearth were piled.
Then rose Odysseus to go to the town, but Athene’s care
Made round about him to flow a veil of misty air,
Lest any Phaeacian should meet him, as nigh to the city he came,
And with scoffing words should greet him, and ask of his nation and name.
But or ever the hero’s feet in the lovely town might stand,
Did the grey-eyed Goddess meet him: Athene was hard at hand
In the shape of a maiden that bare a pitcher upon her head.
And she stood in front of him there, and Odysseus the godlike said:
“Prithee, my child, wilt thou guide me to where the palace doth lie
Of Alcinous, lord of the land? A woe-worn stranger am I
From a far-away shore who am come; and all unknown unto me
Are the men that dwell in the town and the fields that around it be.”
Made answer to him Athene, the Goddess of flashing eyes:
“Father stranger, the house will I show thee whereof thou enquirest: it lies
Hard by my noble father’s. But pass thou in silence on—
I will guide thee—nor look thou on any man: ask thou question of none.
For as for the men of the city, no lovers of strangers they are,
Nor give they kindly welcome to any that come from afar.
In the gifts of the Earth-shaker trust they: in fleet ships over the sea
Pass they; and swift as a wing or a thought their galleys be.”
Thus as Athene replied, she turned, and the way she led
Hastily on, and he hied him close on the Goddess’s tread.
And none of their coming was ware, through the midst of the town as they passed;
And, for all the thousands there, no eye on Odysseus was cast;
For the bright-haired Goddess dread suffered not that this should befall;
But a mist divine had she shed o’er her friend, to conceal him from all.
And Odysseus wondering stares at the havens with myriad throng
Of ships, and the market-squares, and the ramparts lofty and long;
A marvel to see were they, with their palisade-breastwork crowned.
But when they were come on their way to the king’s house far-renowned,
“Lo stranger, this is the palace whereof thou hast asked of me,”
The Goddess began: “heaven-fostered princes herein shalt thou see
Banqueting. Enter, and have no fear: ’tis the brave that are
Masters of men, and they prosper, though strangers they be from afar.
First in the halls shalt thou come to the queen, whom Arete they name;
And she sprang from the selfsame sires whereof Alcinous came.
First was Nausithous got by the earth-shaking Lord of the sea,
Periboea the mother that bare him,—the fairest of women was she:
And the youngest daughter she was of Eurymedon mighty-souled,
Who reigned in the olden time o’er the giants, the overbold;
But destruction he brought on himself and his folk overweening of yore:
Even her did Poseidon embrace, and a son unto him she bore,
Nausithous mighty-hearted, who ruled in Phaeacia once.
Rhexenor, Alcinous, these Nausithous begat, his sons:
But the first by the Lord of the Silver Bow in his bridal bower
Was smitten, and left no son to sit on the throne of his power.
One only daughter he left, and Alcinous married her then,
And honoured, as never was wife revered among earth-born men.
She was not as the women are, to their lords in subjection who bow;
But she had heart-worship of him, yea, so is she honoured now
Of her sons and her husband, yea, and of all the people, I ween;
For when through the city she goeth they joyfully hail their queen;
And, as though ’twere a Goddess that passed, with awe stand gazing round;
For a noble soul in her and an excellent spirit are found:
Yea, even the men she setteth at one, when quarrels arise.
Now therefore, if so it befall that thou find grace in her eyes,
Good hope shall be thine to behold thy friends, and again to come
Back to the land of thy fathers, back to thine high-roofed home.”
So spake she, and suddenly passed from his sight as a breath of the wind,
O’er the harvestless sea flying fast; and she left fair Scheria behind,
And she came unto Marathon’s plain, and to Athens, the broad-wayed town;
And she entered the mighty fane of Erechtheus of old renown.
And Odysseus held on his way to the palace; but ere he pressed
The brass on the threshold that lay, strange thoughts arose in his breast;
For with radiance as of the sun or the moon that walketh in light
The house of Alcinous shone over all its stately height.
Far stretched the brazen walls, till within they were lost to the view,
Flanking the stately halls, and around was a cornice of blue.
There were golden doors within, that massy pile to enclose;
And pillars of silver sheen on the brazen threshold rose.
And of silver the lintel’s pride, and the handle-ring was of gold;
And dogs were on either side of golden and silver mould:
The palace-warders were they, which Hephaestus with magical skill
Wrought to continue for aye, being deathless and ageless still.
And seats all round the walls upon either side were arrayed
From the doors far down through the halls, and robes thereover were laid, go
Daintily woven fine, the labour of woman’s hand.
And there at the feast and the wine sat the lords of Phaeacian land,
With their goblets crowned through the whole year’s round, a princely band.
There, each on a pedestal’s height, did golden statues stand
Uplifting torches bright, so that many a ruddy brand
Was flinging a blaze of light on the banqueting-throng through the night.
And fifty handmaids plied their toils through the mansion wide:
There were some at the quern that were grinding the grain with its apple-bloom;
There were some that the yarn were winding, and some that paced at the loom.
And their restless fingers seemed as though leaves of a poplar twinkled;
And adown from their close web streamed the oil thereupon that was sprinkled.
For, as for the men, there dwell on the earth none cunning as they
Over the great sea-swell to speed the ship on her way;
And the daughters of that land still surpass all other, to whom
Athene hath given rare skill in the beautiful works of the loom.
And hard by the doors without was an orchard stretching wide,
Four acres, and round about was a fence upon every side.
And the fat earth fed the root of many a tall tree there,
The apple-tree, lovely of fruit, the pomegranate-tree, and the pear,
And the fig with its full sweet taste, and the silvery olive’s pride.
No blight ever cometh to waste their fruit; nor in summer-tide
Nor yet in the winter it fails, but softly sighs evermore
The breath of the western gales that fairy orchard o’er.
Here blossoms are blowing, and there, fruits growing, and there, ripe store.
There is pear after pear that mellows, new clusters that aye gather bloom,
Fresh apples succeeding their fellows, new figs in the old figs’ room.
And there is a fruitful plot with vines set row upon row,
Wherein is a warm cleared spot that is parched by the strong sun’s glow.
There clusters are drying; but yonder are lying the heaps that grow
Ever higher, the while they are flinging the spoil into baskets below.
And yonder again they are treading the winefat; and, right before,
Setting grapes their blossoms are shedding, and others are darkening o’er.
And there by the last vine-row trim garden-beds are seen
Where the flowers through the long year blow, where the herbs for ever are green.
Two fountains are there ever-plashing: this fleets through the garden-close
In many a runnel flashing: but that to the palace goes,
Passing beneath the gate; and the townsfolk drink thereof.
Such are the gifts that the great Gods gave to the King that they love.
Long lingered Odysseus, lost in wonder, as round he cast
His eyes; and he seemed as one that dreamed, till, sated at last,
The shining threshold he crossed, and into the palace he passed.
And their lords and their mighty men he beheld at the banquet there.
They were pouring libations then to the mighty Argus-slayer:
’Twas the last libation of all, ere they turned them unto their rest.
But on through the stately hall Odysseus the godlike pressed,
With the mist encompassed around that Athene about him had poured,
Till the queen Arete he found, and beside her Alcinous her lord.
At the knees of Arete he bowed, and around them his arms he flung;
And gone was the magic cloud that about his body had clung.
And a great hush fell on the hall as they saw the hero there;
And they gazed, and they marvelled all. But Odysseus began his prayer:
“Arete, child of Rhexenor the godlike prince of the seas,
Out of manifold troubles I come to thine husband and unto thy knees,
And to these that be banqueting here, unto whom may the high Gods give
Blessing, and length of days, and children to whom they shall leave
Their wealth in their palace-halls, and the honours the people bestow:
But I pray you, help me hence, that away to my home I may go
With speed, for afar from my friends am I suffering woe upon woe.”
So when he had ended, low in the ashes taking his place
He sat by the hearth’s red glow; and none spake word for a space;
Till after a long time spoke Echeneus the greybeard hoar,
The oldest of all the folk that dwell on Phaeacia’s shore,
Eloquent ever in word, and in wisdom surpassing the rest;
And his heart with pity was stirred, and the lord of the land he addressed:
“Alcinous, not for thine honour is this, neither seemly is it,
That a stranger low on the ground on the hearth mid the ashes should sit;
But all these tarrying wait for the word that thou shalt reply.
Come now therefore, and lift up the stranger, and seat him on high
On a silver-studded throne, and command that yet once more
The henchmen mingle the wine, that we a libation may pour
Unto Thunderer Zeus, who taketh the suppliant under his care;
And then let the stewardess give him to eat of the best of her fare.”
When the mighty lord of the land heard that, it was good in his eyes;
And he stooped, and he took by the hand Odysseus the crafty and wise,
Out of the ashes to raise him, and seat on a shining throne.
And Laodamas yielded his place, the good king’s gallant son,
Who still sat near him, and held him dear above every one.
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
By his side, and served was the bread by the stewardess modest of mien;
And with meats she covered it o’er, giving freely of all her store.
And Odysseus of woes long-tried ate bread and drank of the wine.
And then to the henchman cried Alcinous, hero divine:
“Pontonous, mingle the bowl, and bear of the wine once more
To each several guest; for now a libation to Zeus will we pour,
The friend of the friendless strangers and all that compassion implore.”
So Pontonous mingled and filled up the wine that doth gladden the soul,
And they served; then first each spilled the sacrifice-drops from the bowl.
But when they had poured the libation and drunk, and were satisfied,
Then to the lords Phaeacian the king Alcinous cried:
“Hearken to me, ye princes and lords of Phaeacian land,
That so I may utter the words that mine heart in my breast doth command.
Now that the banquet is done, turn each to your rest, going home.
To-morrow morn shall the old men all to our palace come:
Then will we welcome our guest in our halls: fair victims shall burn
To the Gods: we will then take thought for the stranger’s home-return,
That without more hardship or toil he may go, sent away by our care,
With speed and with joy to the land of his fathers, how distant soe’er,
And be vexed in the space between by no more sorrow or pain,
Till the day when his feet shall stand on his fatherland-soil again.
And there shall he suffer his weird, which the Fates, the Spinners dread,
In the hour when his mother bare him, span with his natal thread.
But if he be one of the Gods that down from the sky hath descended,
Herein there is some new thing of the Heaven-abiders intended.
For alway the Gods ere this have been wont to appear to our eyes
In their own bright shapes, as we offer the hecatomb-sacrifice;
And they sit in the self-same place, and they feast with us, each on his throne;
Yea, and if one should encounter them whiles that he fareth alone,
No whit do they hide them; for near unto them by our lineage are we,
Even as the savage tribes of the Giants and Cyclops be.”
Then unto him keen-witted Odysseus made instant reply:
“Alcinous, think not so! not like to the Gods am I,—
The blessed Immortal Ones who dwell in the broad-arched sky,—
Neither in stature nor form, but to mortals in saddest truth:
And if any ye know woe-ridden beyond their fellows, in sooth
Even to them were I equal in heaped-up measure of ill.
Yea, and of many a trouble more could I tell thee still,
Even all the things that the Gods of their malice have made me to bear:—
But suffer me now to eat, for all my burden of care;
For no such shameless thing as the ravening belly is found;
For it biddeth us bear it in mind, and by strong constraint are we bound,
Though never so much woe-worn, heart-laden with anguish sore,
Even as the anguish of heart that is mine; yet this evermore,
This shameful shameless thing, crieth on me to eat and to drink,
Bidding me fill it, and suffers me not of my troubles to think.
But do ye make haste when the morning appeareth, that I once more,
The wretched I, of your grace may set foot on my native shore,
After all I have suffered: yea, I were even contented to die,
When my substance and thralls I have seen, and my home with its roof reared high.”
So did he answer, and they all praised him, giving advice
To send the stranger away, since the word he had uttered was wise.
And when, the libations done, they had drunk to their hearts’ content,
Homeward away each one to his rest through the gloaming went.
And there mid the stately scene did Odysseus the godlike stay,
And with him the king and the queen, and close at his side sat they;
And the maids ’gan clear the banquet gear from the board away.
And Arete the white-armed spoke—for she knew that raiment again,
Who had woven the tunic and cloak herself with her handmaid train—
And the winged words sped from her lips, and she said full earnestly:
“Stranger, of this thing first am I fain thou wouldst speak unto me:—
Who art thou?—and whence among men?—these garments, of whom were they given?
Sayest thou not that thou hitherward over the sea wast driven? “
Answered Odysseus, the man in manifold counsels keen:
“Hard were the task to tell from beginning to end, O Queen,
Of the woes that were meted to me by the dwellers in heaven above.
But this will I tell unto thee, since thou askest, enquiring thereof:—
An island lieth afar, with the sea-wash round it rolled;
There dwelleth the daughter of Atlas, Calypso the crafty-souled,
Beautiful-tressed dread Goddess; and none to her dwelling-place
Come, neither of Gods immortal, nor yet of the deathlings’ race.
But a Power that is not of earth to her hearth brought wretched me,
Alone; for the swift white flame of his levin amidst of the sea
Zeus on my galley hurled, and he utterly dashed it asunder:
Yawned the abyss, and my mates in a moment were all whelmed under.
But I clasped the keel with my arms, and despairingly clutching it tight
Nine days was I drifted along: on the tenth, in the black dark night,
The Gods of their grace brought me to the isle of Ogygia, where
Dwelleth Calypso, the Goddess dread with beautiful hair.
And she kindly received me, and loved and sustained me, and wont to say
That ageless withal she would make me, and deathless for ever and aye.
But never she overpersuaded the heart in this bosom of mine.
Seven long years a prisoner there did I linger and pine;
And the heavenly raiment Calypso had given, I bedewed it with tears.
But at last it befell unto me, in the eighth of the rolling years,
That then she consented to let me go, yea, bade me depart,
By reason of Zeus’s behest, or the changed resolved of her heart.
And she sent me away on a raft strong-knit, and she gave good store
Of corn and of wine, and the heavenly attire of her giving I wore;
And she sent me a kindly breeze that my craft aye merrily bore.
So seven days and ten o’er the waste of the waters I steered,
Until on the eighteenth day far shadowy hills appeared
Of this your land, and glad was my happy, my hapless heart;
For O, I was doomed in many a woe to bear my part—
Ah, many a woe which Poseidon the Earth-shaker brought upon me;
For he stirred up the storm-winds against me, barring my path on the sea;
And he lashed the brine into mountain waves, and the fierce surge leapt
On the raft, and heavily groaning away from her deck was I swept.
There by a hurricane-blast were the beams of the raft scattered wide:
But I swam on, cleaving the fathomless deep, until I descried
Your coast, brought nigh by the winds and the waters; and there as I tried
To win to the shore, the surge had hurled me against the land,
As it shocked on the huge overbeetling crags by the cheerless strand;
But I beat out seaward, and swam on still, till I came unto where
Seemed the fairest landing place, for the mouth of a river was there;
No barrier of rocks; but a screen from the wind was the steep bank’s height.
And I reeled forth there, and for breath sank down: then came the night.
And up from the side of the river I went, from the heaven-fed flood;
And I laid me down to sleep in a copse, and the leaves of a wood
Around me I piled; and deep, deep sleep did a God down pour.
There amid leaves, with a nightmare-pain at my sad heart’s core,
I slept through the livelong night, and the morn, and the heat of the day;
And the sun was low, and from me sweet sleep departed away.
And there on the beach I beheld the maidens of her, thy daughter,
Sporting, and she in the midst, and like to the Gods I thought her.
And I made supplication to her, and she lacked not wisdom of mind,
Nay, had more than a man, meeting one so young, had looked to find;
For they that be young are thoughtless ever, but she of her grace
Gave to me plenty of bread, and of wine with its flame-flushed face:
In the river she bathed me, and gave unto me these garments ye see.
Herein, for all my sorrow, all truth have I told unto thee.”
Out spake Alcinous then, and he answered the godlike wight:
“Stranger, in sooth herein was my child not minded aright,
In that she nowise brought thee on to our palace home
Along with her maids; yet to her didst thou first as a suppliant come.
Spake unto him Odysseus with answer wary and mild:
“Hero, upbraid not for this, I beseech thee, thy noble child.
For indeed she bade me follow along with her maids as they came;
But I would not do this thing, by reason of fear and shame,
Lest perchance thou shouldst have indignation of soul, beholding me then;
For jealous as touching the stranger are we of the tribes of men.”
Then to the hero Alcinous instant reply addressed:
“Stranger, not such is this heart of mine within my breast
As to break into causeless wrath: nay, better the right is to follow.
And I would unto Zeus Allfather, Athene, and to Apollo,
That thou being such as thou art, and with thine heart even as mine,
Mightest take my daughter to wife, be allied to my royal line,
And here abide: a house would I give thee, and substance enow
If so thou wert minded to stay:—yet none shall forbid thee to go
Of all the Phaeacians,—Zeus forefend that this should be so!
For to-morrow about this time I ordain thy departure to be.
Then shalt thou lay thee down overborne by slumber, and thee
They shall speed until thou be brought on over a sleeping sea
To thy fatherland-home: yea, whithersoever thou fain wouldst fare,
Ay, though yet farther away than the isle of Euboea it were,
Which, of all lands seen of my people, they name the remotest shore,
Even they that beheld it the day bright-haired Rhadamanthus they bore,
When he went to look upon Tityos, great Earth-mother’s son;
And thither they passed, and it wearied them not, though the goal was won
And they came back home in the selfsame day, so quick was the run.
And thy heart shall take knowledge of these my galleys, how peerless they be,
And my youths how unmatched with the oar in uptossing the foaming sea.”
Then did Odysseus rejoice, the man long trouble-oppressed;
And in prayer he uplifted his voice, and he uttered the thought of his breast:
“Grant, O Zeus Allfather, that all that the king hath said
He so may accomplish; then shall his glory unquenchably spread
O’er the corn-giving earth, and I to the land of my sires shall be sped.”
So did the hero hold sweet converse there with the king,
But Arete the white-armed told the maids of the household to bring
Into the porch a bed, and the rugs on the same to throw
Dyed of a crimson-red, and carpets thereover to strow,
And above warm mantles to lay, to cover himself withal.
And bearing a torch went they from her presence out of the hall;
And swiftly the task they plied, and made ready the stately bed;
And back to the hero they hied to bid him thither, and said:
“Go forth to thy sleep, fair guest, for thy bed is prepared for thee.”
They spake, and to him that rest seemed welcome and sweet to be.
There in the rich-wrought bed, in the great porch echoing wide,
With the dews of sleep overshed, lay Odysseus of woes long-tried.
And the queen Arete the while the couch of Alcinous shared,
In a chamber of that proud pile, which the hands of the wife had prepared.