Book VIII

ROSE-FINGERED from mists of the night sprang Dawn, and the shadows fled.
Straightway the sacred might of Alcinous rose from his bed.
And Odysseus arose with the light, city-smiter of heaven-born race;
And Alcinous’ sacred might went forth with him unto the place
Where the folk of the Sea-god’s town were assembled hard by the fleet.
So came they, and each sat down on a polished marble seat
Anigh to each other; but o’er the city Athene went,
And the form of the herald she bore that ever the wise king sent;
For still was her purpose set that the hero his home should reach.
And to every man that she met she uttered the bidding speech:
“Up and away, Phaeacian chieftains and princes of might!
Go to the folkmote-place, to hear of a stranger-wight
Who came to the prudent-souled Alcinous’ halls yestreen
Sea-tost, and like to the deathless Gods is his form to be seen.”
So with her words she awoke the spirit of each man there;
And swiftly with gathering folk that thronged to the seats of the square
It was crowded, and many an one beheld with admiring gaze
Laertes’ hero-son, for more than mortal grace
Athene shed upon him all over his head and his shoulders;
And goodlier length of limb and breadth, in the eyes of beholders
She gave him, that all who saw might love him as soon as they came,
And be filled with reverence and awe, and that he in every game
Wherein they should make assay of his manhood, the palm might win.
But when all assembled were they the gathering-place within,
Amidst of the princely array did Alcinous thus begin:
“Give ear, ye captains and mighty men of Phaeacian land,
To the end I may utter the words that my thoughts in my bosom command.
This stranger,—I know not his name,—-to my house came wandering, lost,
Whether from men of the morning-land, or a sundown coast.
For his home-return, for a sure decree thereupon, doth he pray;
And, as ever our wont hath been, let us hasten to send him away:
For of all men that ever have come to my halls, none other beside
Hath been wont to remain here mourning long for return denied.
Come, let us launch on the mighty waters a galley new,
And let them choose from the folk of the young men fifty and two,
Even of such as have proved them our best in the time before.
And ye all shall fitly lash to the thole by the thwart each oar,
And leave her so, and thereafter a hasty meal shall ye take,
When ye come to my palace, and stintless provision for all will I make.
This is my hest to the youths; but all ye others come,
Ye sceptre-swaying princes, to my fair palace-home,
To the end we may kindly welcome the stranger within mine hall.
Let no man refuse to come: and the minstrel divine shall ye call:
For above all other the Gods have bestowed upon him song-treasure,
To give delight, whensoever in singing his soul taketh pleasure.”
So he rose to depart, and they to the palace attended the king:
And the herald hasted away, the minstrel divine to bring.
And fifty and two young men, as the king had given command,
They chose, and they hied them then down unto the white sea-strand.
And as soon as the merry crew to the sea and the galley were come,
Down to the deep they drew and they launched her forth on the foam;
And the sail and the tapering mast they brought, and they laid them along
And they lashed the long oars fast, each one with its leathern thong,—
All things in order due,—and they spread the white sail wide;
And off the land in the blue sea moored her at anchor to ride.
And away they hied them then to the palace stately and strong;
And there through the porches men were streaming, a mighty throng;
And the halls were loud with the murmuring crowd of old and young.
Then straight, at the king’s behest, twelve sheep of the flock did they slay,
And eight of his white-tusked swine, and two of his trail-foot kine;
And they flayed them and daintily dressed, and they spread the banquet’s array.
Then the henchman came bringing anear the master of magical strings,
The man whom the Muse held dear, giving goodly and evil things,—
For she took from the bard his sight, but she gave him the song-gift sweet,—
And he led the minstrel-wight to a silver-studded seat
By a pillar stately and tall, the throng of the feasters among;
And above, from a nail on the wall, the lyre clear-ringing was hung
By the henchman over his head, and his hands to the place did he guide;
And he brought him the basket of bread, and a table he set by his side,
And a goblet of wine to slake his thirst whensoever he would.
So they put forth their hands to take of the stintless store of food:
But as soon as the body’s desire for the feast was banished away,
Then did the Muse inspire the bard with a glory-lay,
The tale whose fame uprose to the height of the broad-arched skies,
How the heroes became fierce foes at the Gods’ high sacrifice,
What time the strife awoke of Odysseus and Peleus’ son,
And terrible words they spoke; and gladdened was only one,
Agamemnon, the king of men, when the noblest Achasans contended:
But he knew in his heart that then his troubles were well-nigh ended;
For that was the sign that the God had given from the holy place
When the great stone threshold he trod in Pytho, seeking his face,
What time the beginning of woe upon Trojan and Greek was rolled,
Since great Zeus ordered it so by his changeless will from of old.
Proudly the melody rolled of the minstrel’s noble lay:
But Odysseus gathered a fold of his mantle crimson-gay,
And he drew it over his face, and he veiled his goodly head,
For shame lest Phaeacia’s race should witness the tears that he shed.
When the song and the music died, and the minstrel paused to rest,
His eyes the hero dried, and he drew from his head the vest;
And he lifted the goblet to pour from the massy gold a libation.
But as soon as the song once more rang out, when the lords Phaeacian
Called on the minstrel to sing, for they loved to list to the strain,
Over his head did he fling the mantle, and wept again.
And all this while were there none that marked his tears as they ran;
But the king took knowledge alone of the grief of the godlike man,
And he heard him heavily moan, for that close to his side sat he;
And straightway he spoke to the oar-loving folk, the sons of the sea; sea:
“Hearken to me, Phaeacian captains and princes of might:
Lo now of the banquet our soul hath drunken its fill of delight;
And with joy of the feast’s yokefellow, the lyre, are we satisfied.
But now let us forth to the field, and there shall your prowess be tried
In all manner of athlete-strife, that our guest to his people may tell,
When he comes to his home, how far the sons of Phaeacia excel
With the fist, in the leap, and the wrestler’s grip, and the foot’s swift stride.”
He spake, and he passed from the hall, and the people followed their king.
And the henchman hung to the wall the lyre of the ringing string;
And he took the bard by the hand, and forth from the hall he drew
Unto whither the lords of the land had hied them the games to view.
So on to the muster-place with a countless throng came they;
And the flower of the sea-kings’ race for the contest arose that day;
For Akroneos, and Okyalus, and Elatreus rose;
Ponteus, and Proreus, and Thoon, and strong Anabesineos;
Nauteus, and Prymneus, Eretmeus withal, and Anchialus,
And Polyneus, son of Tecton’s scion Amphialus.
And Euryalus rose then, like the death-dealing Lord of Fight,
Naubolus’ stately son, who in beauty and stature outshone
All the Phaeacian men, save peerless Laodamas’ might.
Clytoneus and Halius there, and Laodamas forth did stand;
Three stalwart sons they were of Alcinous, lord of the land.
Now first do they make assay of their feet in the race, and they dash i
At their uttermost speed straight away from the mark, and, as forward they flash,
From the feet of them springs sudden dust; as on wings they fly over the plain;
And in front of the rest Clytoneus hath pressed in the breathless strain:
So he came in the first from the race to his comrades that waited him there
By the length of the furrow-space of the mules that drag the share.
And then did the wrestlers strip, and Euryalus over all
Prevailed, for his giant grip was resistless in every fall.
And Amphialus sprang light in the leap, overcoming the rest:
And in speeding the quoit’s long flight was Elatreus’ arm the best.
And Laodamas, gallant son of the king, was the champion of fists,
So it fell, that when every one was filled with delight of the lists,
Laodamas spake to the rest, the prince of the royal line:
“Come friends, let us ask of our guest if aught he can skill to join
In our trials of manhood. In frame no weakling is he to behold:
His thighs and his calves are brawny, his arms are mighty of mould:
And his sinewy neck gives token of strength, and he lacketh naught
Of vigour, but low by manifold travail his might hath been brought;
For nothing there is, I trow, more shrewd than the buffeting sea
At breaking a man’s strength down, though never so stalwart he be.”
“Prince,” said Euryalus, “thou hast counselled aright; but thou
Thyself go to him, and speak the word, and challenge him now.”
When Laodamas heard it, good seemed the counsel of Euryalus;
And forth in the midst he stood, and he spake to the hero thus:
“Father stranger, approach thou too, renown in our games to win,
If aught thou knowest of such, and I trow thou hast skill therein:
For there is no greater renown for a man, while he liveth his life,
Than to do brave deeds with his feet and his hands in the athlete-strife.
Come then, make trial, commanding the cares of thy spirit to flee:
For behold thy journey is nigh, and already down to the sea
The galley is drawn, and the crew of the same are ready for thee.”
But Odysseus the subtle of wit unto him spake answering:
“Laodamas, mock me not in bidding me do this thing:
For O, much nearer mine heart than games is my burden of care,
Even all the pain and the toil I have borne, and yet shall bear.
Yea, now as I sit in your midst my heart is far away;
And only for home, still home, to the king and the people I pray.”
Answered him Euryalus to his face with a bitter gibe:
“Even so, good fellow: I ween thou art scarce of the athlete tribe.
There is many a manly sport, but these are not for thee.
Rather I count thee a wight such as maketh his trade of the sea,
A skipper of sailors,—the chaffering chapmen that buy and sell,—
With his soul wrapped up in his freight, ever grasping his gains to swell,
Sharp-eyed to the cargo:—no athlete thou, it were easy to tell.”
Sternly replied keen-witted Odysseus with lowering brow:
“Man! thou hast spoken thy shame: rash-witted, I trow, art thou!
So is it: the Gods give not unto all gifts highest of price,
Neither goodly stature, nor sense, nor excellent speech and wise.
For in comeliness one man is meaner to see than his fellows; but lo,
On the words of his mouth God putteth a crown of beauty, and so
All gaze upon him with delight as he speaks with a shamefast grace
Unfalteringly, and he shines over all that are met in the place.
And when through the city he walks, as a God they look upon him.
And another is like the Immortals in beauty of face and of limb;
But around his words no garland of grace hath enwoven its spell.
Even so thou art goodly of shape: God could not mend thee, so well
Hath he wrought: but a weakling thou art of thy wit, it were easy to tell.
What, man! it hath roused the spirit that slept within my breast,
Thine unmannerly speech:—no novice am I in the manhood-test,
As thou dost prate, but I ween I have held my place with the best,
So long as my vigour and strength of mine hands were with me still.
But now with mischance and with pain am I compassed, for many an ill
Have I borne amid wars of men, amid waves of the troublesome sea.
Howbeit, in spite of my woes, I will try in the games, if there be
Any strength in mine arm, for thine heart-cutting speech hath enkindled me.”
Up then he sprang full height,—he hath cast not his mantle away,—
He laid hold on a ponderous quoit, far huger of mass than they
Wherewith the Phaeacians hurled in contest, the sons of the land;
And he swung it, and round he whirled it, and sped from his mighty hand.
And the great stone hummed through the air, and they crouched to the earth as it came,
The Phaeacians that looked on there, the people of seafaring fame,
From the rush of the stone; and it passed over every mark beside,
Forth from his hand flying fast; and swiftly Athene hied,
And she marked the length of the cast in the shape of a man, and she cried:
“Stranger, even the blind might grope with his hands, and tell
Thy mark from the rest, for not with the crowd of the others it fell,
But far in front: thou then for this contest be merry of cheer.
There is no Phaeacian shall outcast this, nor yet come near.”
So spake she; and gladness awoke in the breast of the toil-tried man,
For joy of seeing the face of a friend in that strange place:
And lighter of heart he spoke, and in loftier tone he began:
“Now, match ye my cast, young men, and I ween I will easily throw
The quoit thus far yet again, yea, farther still shall it go.
And if any man’s spirit is moved to essay any other test,
Let him come, let him try:—ye have sorely provoked the heart in my breast!
I will box, I will wrestle or race,—there is none of your contests I shun!
Save Laodamas, all the Phaeacians I challenge; I fear not one.
But he is mine host—and who with his entertainer would fight?
Witless in very truth, and nothing worth were the wight
Who would challenge to athlete-strife the man that as guest receives him
In the stranger’s land: his folly of all he had gained bereaves him.
But of all the rest there is none I refuse; I think lightly of none:
But come to the proof, and man to man our strength shall be known.
No weakling am I in the games, even all whereof men know.
Well can I skill to put mine hand to the polished bow:
Yea, and though many a comrade beside me were ranged for the fight,
And each of them aimed at the foe, yet would I be the first to smite
The man that I would, though he stood in the midst of a throng of the foe.
Philoctetes, and he alone, outshone me in craft of the bow,
In the land of Troy, what time we Achaeans shot in the war:
But of all the rest of the archers I say I am best by far,
Yea, of all such mortals as eat bread now the wide earth o’er.
But I take not upon me to rival the men of the days of yore:
Not as Heracles was, nor such as Oechalia’s hero, am I,
Who were wont with the deathless Gods in archery-craft to vie.
Wherefore for this great Eurytus died, and to hoary age
Never came he in his halls, for Apollo in fierceness of rage
Slew him, because he had challenged the God to the strife of the bow.
Ay, farther than others can speed the arrow the lance I throw.
Only I fear in the race a Phaeacian might haply outstrip
My speed, for in pitiful wise was I beaten and crushed in my ship
By the billows that thronged without respite upon me; and scanty ease
For my body had I, and therefore unstrung is the strength of my knees.”
Silenced were all that heard by the hero’s lion-tone;
And none for a time spake word, till Alcinous answered alone:
“Stranger, we take not ill the words that here thou hast spoken,
Forasmuch as we see thou art fain of thy prowess to show some token,
Being angered because this man hath taunted thee here in our sight
In such fashion as no man would take on him ever thy manhood to slight,
Yea, none whose spirit had learnt to speak words seemly and right.
But thou, give heed to my saying, to tell it again some day
To another such hero as thou in thine own halls far away,
As thou feastest there with thy children around, and thy wife at thy side:
Forget not our prowess then, wherein is my people’s pride,
Which Zeus hath bestowed upon us from the days of our fathers down.
No mighty boxers are we, neither wrestlers of peerless renown;
But swift in the footrace we are, and our ships are surpassingly fleet;
And the banquet to us, and the lute, and the flash of the dancers’ feet,
And changes of raiment, and steaming baths, and the couch, are sweet.
—Come, ye Phaeacian dancers, who all your fellows excel,
Make sport for us now, that the stranger to far-away friends may tell,
When home he is come, how peerless we are all nations among
In the craft of the sea, in the race, in the dance, and in music and song.
And let some one hie to the palace with speed, to the bard to bring
His lute in the hall that lieth, the lyre of the ringing string.”
So spake the godlike sire, and the henchman arose at his call
To bring the carven lyre to the stately palace-hall.
Then did the Nine Men rise, who wont to make it their care
That the games in seemly wise should ever be ordered there;
And they smoothed the dancing-ground, and they cleared a fair wide ring:
And the lyre of melodious sound did the henchman thitherward bring.
And the minstrel then stepped out to the midst, and a blooming array
Of boys stood round about; well skilled in the dance were they.
And the glorious measure they beat as they danced, and Odysseus gazed
And gazed at the twinkling feet as they glanced, and his soul was amazed.
But the minstrel smote the lyre, and began the beautiful song
Of the fair-crowned Queen of Desire, and of Ares the War-god strong,
How they wantoned in secret embrace in the halls of the Lord of Flame,
When Ares by gifts found grace with the Goddess, and wrought foul shame
On the couch of Hephaestus the King: but to him the Sun-god hied
Swiftly, the tidings to bring of the folly his eye had espied.
And Hephaestus’ spirit burned when his shame was told unto him;
But into his smithy he turned, dark-brooding a purpose grim.
And the anvil he set on the block, and he hammered him chain after chain
That none should break or unlock, but should helplessly fettered remain.
And ever, the while he wrought, his heart was a fire within.
And thereafter the chamber he sought, and the bed they had marred by their sin.
And the fetters all over the bed he wreathed round post and beam,
And the mazy toils overhead from the ceiling adown let stream
As the webs of a spider fine, that they could not so much as be seen,
No, not by an eye divine: they were craftily fashioned, I ween.
But when he had wrought all so, and the snare had been set for guilt,
He made as though he would go unto Lemnos, beautiful-built,
Which is dearest to him by far of the lands on the earth that are.
And Ares with reins of gold kept no blind watch that day,
And glad was he to behold the Craft-god going away.
To the hall of the Lord of the fire, Hephaestus, swiftly he sped,
Filled with a burning desire for her of the bright-crowned head.
From the presence of Kronos’ son, her sire, was she newly come in;
And her limbs on a couch had she cast; but into the palace he passed,
And he clasped her hand in his own, and thus did Ares begin:
“Aphrodite, my sweet, come away to the rapture of love’s embrace,
For Hephaestus thy lord no longer abideth anigh this place;
He is gone unto Lemnos’ isle, to the Sintians’ barbarous race.”
And the Goddess was well content, and sweet the tempting seemed;
And so to the couch they went, and lay; and suddenly streamed
Around them the coils that Hephaestus’ toils so cunningly wove,
And they helpless remained, howsoever they strained, one limb to move;
For they knew not, nor dreamed of the snare, till it hemmed them on every hand.
And the Halt-foot One was there, by their side did the God-smith stand,
For that back had he turned him, ere he had won unto Lemnos-land;
For the God of the Sun had spied for him, and the tidings had told.
And into his palace he hied, indignant and angry-souled;
Then swift to the porch came out, by his fierceness of wrath overborne:
Far rang his terrible shout fulfilled of passion and scorn:
“O Zeus Allfather! blest Gods everliving!—come every one!
Come look on a sight for laughter,—on deeds unendurable done!
How the daughter of Zeus, Aphrodite, dishonoureth me alway
Who am lame, but she loves this murderous Ares; loves him, I say,
For that comely he is and shapely-footed: but I—I am halt!
I was born so!—my parents for this—none other but they—are in fault.
And I would that they never had borne me a mark for flouting and scorn!
See—see!—they have gone to the bed, my bed, for their wanton delight;
And there are they sleeping; and I, I am anguished at heart at the sight.
Ah but I doubt they will scantly desire any longer to lie,
Though never so loving: full soon will they weary of slumber and joy!
But my craft, but my fetters shall prison them taken, they shall not flee,
Till such time as her father give back all the sum of the bride-gifts to me,
Even all that I gave him, to win me his daughter, the shameless-faced,
Fair to behold, but her lust is unbridled, her heart is unchaste! “
Then gathered the Gods to the hall upon brazen foundations that stood:
Came Poseidon, that compasseth all the earth, and the Giver of good;
And the King of the Silver Bow, far-darting Apollo, came:
But never a Goddess would go from her dwelling, for very shame.
And into the porch they pressed, to the sight that was there revealed;
And up from the Gods ever-blest the unquenchable laughter pealed,
When they looked on the magical labour, Hephaestus’ cunning device;
And one turned unto his neighbour, and spake to him after this wise:
“Never do ill deeds thrive, but the slow overtaketh the fleet,
Even as Ares now is outstripped by Hephaestus’ feet,
Caught, though the swiftest he be of the Gods in Olympus that live,
By the sleight of the lame: satisfaction for wrong must he therefore give.”
One unto other so they spake as they looked thereupon:
And cried the King of the Bow unto Hermes, the Thunderer’s son:
“Hermes, thou giver of good unto men, and their heaven-sent guide,
Wouldst thou be contented thus in fetters constrained to abide,
Lying the while on a couch by Aphrodite’s side? “
Then unto him the Helper, the Slayer of Argus, replied:
“O King, far-darter Apollo, I would that this might be!
Though thrice so many fetters were endlessly coiled round me,
And of all the Goddesses I, and of all the Gods, were beholden,
Yet were I fain to lie by Aphrodite the golden.”
So he spake; loud laughter the while arose from the high Gods there.
Yet deigned not Poseidon to smile, and ever he made his prayer
That the Wonder-worker would set the War-god free from the net;
And Poseidon said, as the winged words sped with entreaty fair:
“Release him, I promise that Ares shall pay whatsoever is right,
Even as thou requirest, in all the Immortals’ sight.”
Answered the Halt-foot God, as Poseidon’s petition he heard:
“Ask me not this, O thou whose waters the earth engird.
Pledges of worthless ones,—right worthless to hold they be!
How in the midst of the Gods ever-living should I bind thee,
If Ares take flight, and alike from the fetters and mulct go free? “
Then unto him did the Shaker of Earth, Poseidon, say:
“Hephaestus, if so it should hap that Ares, fleeing away,
Should escape from the fine, that mulct will I, even I, lay down.”
Made answer the Halt-foot God, the Lord of craft-renown:
“It may nowise be, nor is meet, that I should say thee nay.”
Thus as he spake, the strength of Hephaestus parted the chain;
And they, delivered at length from the net’s irresistible strain,
Sprang up; and the War-god fast unto Thrace at the ends of the earth
Sped; and to Cyprus passed the Lady of laughter and mirth,
Where in Paphos her high place stands, and her altar with incense steaming:
And there by the Graces’ hands was she bathed, and with oil bright-gleaming
Perfumed,—’tis the chrism divine that on Gods everlasting doth shine,—
And was clothed in attire whence spells of desire breathed, wondrous-seeming.
So rang the glorious lay, and filled with delight in hearing
Was the hero Odysseus, and they of the land, the folk sea-faring.
Then Laodamas rose at the hest of the King to dance; at his side
Rose Halius, for none of the rest of the dancers with these twain vied.
And a beautiful ball they brought, bright-dyed with the purple gay,
By the cunning of Polybus wrought for the dancers’ marvellous play,
Which the one, back-bending, flung to the clouds that o’ershadowing hung,
And lightly upspringing to meet it the other arose with a bound,
And he caught it, or ever his feet had lighted again on the ground.
And featly and gracefully all was performed in the Dance of the Ball,
As still to the sky it went soaring on high, and was caught in the fall.
And they danced with a fairy pressure of feet on the bounteous ground,
To and fro ever changing in measure, and ranging in mazes around.
And all the rest of the boys kept time to the light feet bounding,
That a beautiful rhythmical noise of fingers and feet was sounding.
And then to Alcinous godlike Odysseus in wonder spoke:
“Lord King Alcinous, high-renowned among all earth-folk,
These dancers of thine thou saidst were unmatched, so ran thy boast;
And behold, it hath all come true, and I gaze, in amazement lost.”
He spake, and Alcinous’ breast was filled with exultation;
And straightway he cried to the rest, the lords of the oar-loving nation:
“Hearken to me, Phaeacian princes and chieftains of might:
The stranger, methinks, hath an excellent wit that discerneth aright.
Come then, let us give to him gifts, as is meet; for kings of renown
Twelve, and the thirteenth I, bear sway by upland and town.
Therefore a beautiful tunic, a mantle washen fair,
And a talent of precious gold let each to the stranger bear;
And all together with speed let us bring them before him, that so
The stranger, with these in his hands, glad-hearted to supper may go.
And let Euryalus with words and a present content the mind
Of our guest, seeing that which he spake was nowise seemly nor kind.”
So did he speak, and they commended the words of the king;
And each of them sent away a henchman the gifts to bring.
And then to Alcinous Euryalus made answer and spoke:
“Lord King Alcinous, high-renowned among all earth-folk,
I will gladden the stranger’s heart, according to thy command;
This sword will I give unto him, all brass is the blade of the brand,
And of silver the hilt, and an ivory scabbard, in rich device
Fresh-carven, wraps it about: he shall find it a gift of price.”
As he spake, in his hands he placed the silver-garnished sword;
And the costly gift he graced with a kindly-spoken word:
“Hail, father stranger: if aught hath been spoken of hard or unkind,
May it quickly be scattered and snatched away by the gusty wind.
And to thee may the high Gods grant to behold thy friends, and to go
To thy land, who afar from thy friends art suffering woe upon woe.”
Then unto him Odysseus the subtle of wit replied:
“Hail thou too, friend: all good from the Gods unto thee betide.
And never in days to come may regret be known by thee
For the sword thou hast given, with speech that hath gladdened the heart of me.”
Then over his shoulders he flung the falchion silver-wrought.
And the sun in the red west hung, and sank; and the gifts were brought.
And the lordly henchmen bare them away to the palace-door,
And the sons of Alcinous there received the costly store,
And the gifts exceeding fair to the queen their mother they bore.
Then Alcinous’ sacred might to the palace-halls led on.
There each sat down on the height of a starry-gleaming throne.
And thereafter the words of his mouth to Arete the king addressed:
“O lady mine, bring forth, I pray thee, thy goodliest chest,
And lay in the same a mantle bright and a tunic-vest.
And set on the fire a caldron, and heat the water therein;
That so, when our guest hath bathed, and the goodly store hath seen
Of the gifts the Phaeacians hither have brought for him this day,
He may have delight of the banquet, and list to the minstrel’s lay.
And this beautiful chalice of mine will I furthermore add to his store,—
’Tis of gold,—that so he may think upon me in his halls evermore,
When to Zeus and the rest of the Gods drink-offerings thence he shall pour.”
So spake that stately sire, and Arete gave instant command
To her maidens that over the fire a mighty tripod should stand:
So they brought the tripod with haste, and over the hearthstone placed,
And with water they filled, and beneath they kindled the brands, and coiling
About it the flames ’gan wreath, as arose the steam of the boiling.
And Arete the while for her guest from out of her chamber bore
A great and a goodly chest, and therein did she lay the store
Of gold and radiant vest, the gifts the Phaeacians gave;
And she added to all the rest a tunic and mantle brave.
And then to the hero she spake, and she uttered the winged words:
“Thyself now look to the lid, and speedily lash it with cords,
That none on the way may be able to rob thee, when thou in sleep
Sweetly art lying, as flieth the black ship over the deep.”
So when he had heard that saying, Odysseus the man toil-tried,
The broad lid over it laying, passed round it the ropes, and plied
Full swiftly, and wrought, as Circe had taught, knots cunningly tied. dight;
And thereafter the stewardess bade him approach to the bath ready
And his soul was exceeding glad as the laver steamed in his sight.
For no such solace had come unto him, on the way as he fared,
From the day that he left the home of Calypso the beautiful-haired;—
But with her had he had such care as tendeth a God evermore:—
So the handmaids bathed him there, and with oil they anointed him o’er;
And a mantle about him they cast, and a gay-hued tunic and fine;
And out of the bath he passed to go to the banquet of wine.
Lo, radiant there in her pride of beauty and heaven-lent bloom,
Nausicaa stood beside the door of the banqueting-room.
And she saw, and with admiration her heart within her was stirred;
And to him the maiden Phaeacian addressed the light-winged word:
“Hail, stranger: and when in thine home in the days to come thou shalt be,
Forget me not, who owest the price of thy life unto me.”
Answered Odysseus the subtle of wit with a kindly word:
“Nausicaa, child of the king of the sea, the great-souled lord,
May Zeus, the husband of Here, who thunders on high in his power,
Not grant me to win to mine home, nor to see that restfullest hour,
If I fail through the rest of my life in prayer and thanksgiving to thee
As a Goddess; for thou, sweet maiden, hast given my life unto me.”
So spake he, and passed to his seat by the king at the festal board.
And now were they sharing the meat, and the wine had they mingled and poured.
And the henchman then drew nigh, and he led the minstrel sweet,
Who of all the people was high-accounted, on to a seat,
In the midst of the banqueters all, and beside was a pillar tall.
And Odysseus carved from the chine,—yet leaving the more part over,—
The flesh of a white-tusked swine, which the rich fat-fold did cover:
And the hero summoned the henchman, and gave to his hands the meat:
“Henchman, bear to Demodocus this, and so let him eat,
And say that I greet him well, though sore heart-stricken of ill.
For amongst all men that dwell upon earth the minstrel still
Hath honour and reverence high, for the Muse by paths of song
Hath led him forth, and ever she loveth the minstrel-throng.”
So he spake, and the henchman bare to the bard, as the hero bade;
And he took that courtesy-share, and his spirit within him was glad.
So they to the things that before them were lying their hands extended,
Till the craving for meat was o’er, and desire for drinking was ended.
Unto Demodocus spake the hero Odysseus then:
“Minstrel, the praise of song shall be thine beyond all men.
Or the Muse, the child of Zeus, or Apollo, instructed thee;
For thou singest the sorrowful fate of the Greeks right marvellously,
Even all that they suffered and wrought, and the manifold troubles they bare,
As though thou hadst seen it thyself, or hadst heard it of one that was there.
But come now, change thy theme, and sing of the great horse made
Of wood, that Epeius fashioned with Pallas Athene’s aid,
Which the craft of Odysseus caused to be drawn to the citadel’s height
Filled with the men that laid strong Ilium low in a night.
Now if thou canst worthily sing me the story of this as it fell,
Unto all men that be upon earth thy song-renown will I tell,
How that the favour of heaven hath made thee therein to excel.”
And the minstrel smote the lyre, and the song burst forth again.
For now did a God inspire the rush of the glorious strain.
And he sang how the Greeks set fire to the huts of their camp on the plain,
And boarded the galleys, and went from Troyland sailing away,
Save only the heroes that pent in the cavern of pine-wood lay
Round famous Odysseus, right in the midst of a Trojan throng;
For up to their citadel’s height had the Trojans haled it along;
And there it stood, and still the folk talked waveringly
As around it they sat, and the will of the crowd was divided in three,
Or to burst through its timbers with shock of relentless twybill brown,
Or out to the brow of the rock to drag it, and hurl it adown,
Or to spare it, a gift that should plead with the high Gods, turning aside
Their wrath; and by this same rede was it doomed that the end should betide.
For fated to perish they were when the city embraced with her wall
The mountain of beams that bare the Argive heroes all,
With terrible gifts for Troy in their hands, even slaughter and doom.
And he sang how they rose to destroy the city, and out of the gloom
Of the cavernous ambush they poured; and he sang of the startled night
When hither and thither the sword went wasting the town high-pight,
While Odysseus a swift way trod to Deiphobus’ mansion, grim
As Ares, and strong as a god Menelaus followed with him:
And there in a terrible fight they closed, and the minstrel told
How they conquered at last through the might of Athene the mighty-souled.
So sang that bard of renown, but Odysseus could only languish
For the days no more, and adown his cheeks rolled tears of anguish.
And even as a woman falls on her dear-loved lord, stricken down
As he fought in front of the walls for his folk and his native town,
And battled to hold at bay from his dearest the pitiless day;
And she, beholding him gasping, and now at the point to die,
Shrieks, falling upon him and clasping with loud and bitter cry;
But the blows of the spear-staves rain on her back from the merciless foe:
She is dragged with a captive train to the slave’s lot, labour and woe;
And her cheeks grow haggard and wan with her pitiful, pitiful grief;—
So the piteous tear-drops ran from the eyes of the woe-worn chief.
And the harp rang on, and none saw the tears of his anguish roll,
But the king took knowledge alone of the grief of the hero’s soul,
And he heard him heavily moan, for that close to his side sat he;
And straightway he spoke to the oar-loving folk, the sons of the sea:
“Lords of Phaeacian folk, and captains all, give ear!
Now let Demodocus hush the lyre’s voice echoing clear;
For this that he singeth doth not please all that sit at the wine;
For since we began the feast, and arose the song divine,
From moaning and piteous crying the stranger hath had no rest.
Surely, I wot, some sorrow he hath that haunteth his breast.
Then hush the lyre and the song, that we all may rejoice as one,
Guest, and guest-receivers, for seemlier so were it done.
For all for the stranger’s sake hath this day’s work been wrought,
The galley prepared, and the gifts that to him were lovingly brought.
Even as a brother the stranger and suppliant is to the wight
Whose soul hath attained to know, though never so little, the right.
Now therefore, the thing that I ask of thee, hide it not from me, I pray,
With crafty intent; the truth it were more for thine honour to say.
Tell us the name that thy father and mother bestowed upon thee,
That they of thy city know, and the dwellers around it that be.
For in sooth there is no man found whom the folk by no name call,
Be he high-born or lowly, if once the wight hath been born at all:
But even in the hour of his birth have his parents given him a name.
And tell us thy land and thy city, and who be the folk of the same;
To the end that our ships may thitherward bear thee, finding the path
By wit of their own: no pilot the galley Phaeacian hath,
No rudder that guideth all galleys beside in the way they should go;
But the thoughts and the purpose of men of themselves do our ships know;
And all men’s cities and fruitful fields do they know full well.
And exceeding swiftly they pass o’er the fathomless-deep sea-swell
In veiling mist and cloud overmantled: no fear have they
To meet with any mischance, nor e’er to be cast away.
Yet I mind me now of a tale that I heard from my father’s lips,
How he said that Poseidon, angered against us because of our ships,
Which bear all comers unscathed to the haven wherein they would be,
Would smite a galley of ours one day in the misty sea,
As it homeward returned from some such errand across the deep,
And a monstrous hill should enshroud our town with its measureless heap.
So ran the greybeard’s tale; but this shall the God fulfil
Or leave undone, as best it shall seem to his sovereign will.
But come, tell this unto me, and without fail answer me all:
By what far lands hast thou roamed, what cities of stately wall?
And the men, were they savage and brutal, a justice-scorning kind,
Or lovers of strangers, and bearing the fear of the Gods in mind?
And whence was the grief of thine heart, and the tears from thine eyes that rolled,
When the tale of the Danaans’ fate and of Ilium’s fall was told?
For the high Gods ordered it so, and the threads of their doom span they,
That for those that are yet for to come there should be some glory-lay.
Was a valiant kinsman of thine stricken down before Troy’s wall,
Spouse of thy daughter or sire of thy wife?—for dearest of all
Are these unto men, next those of the selfsame blood that be.
Or was it perchance a friend that was dear to the heart of thee,
Noble and brave? For precious, and good to possess as a brother
Is a friend, when hearts are wise and loyal each to the other.”