Book X

TO Aeolia next did we come as we fared on over the sea;
Unto Aeolus’ island-home: full dear to the Gods was he.
A floating island it was, with a wall upon every side
Built of impregnable brass, and the cliff sprang sheer from the tide.
Twelve children the King had there, all born unto him in his hall;
Six daughters exceeding fair, and six sons comely and tall.
So these in marriage he joined, and sister he wedded to brother.
And aye at the banquet reclined by their well-loved father and mother,
They feast; and there lieth before them of dainties a measureless store;
And the moaning sough of the wind ever echoes the vast halls o’er.
So the days pass on, and at night by their beautiful brides do they lie,
Sleeping on carpets bright, upon fashioned couches high.
So we came to their city fair, girt round with its flame-like wall;
And his guest for a whole month there did he make me, and asked me of all,
Of Ilium, and of the fleet, and the heroes’ home-return;
And I told him of all, as was meet, whereof he was fain to learn.
And thereafter I prayed to depart, and that I to mine home might be sent;
So then with ungrudging heart good help for my journey he lent;
For he stripped of his mighty skin an ox nine seasons old,
And the blustering winds therein bound fast, in the hide’s dark fold.
For him hath Kronion made the warder of winds, and still
At his command are they stayed from blowing, are roused at his will.
So he fastened them down in the ship, with a shining cord around them
Of silver, that none should slip the leash of the chain that bound them.
But he lent me the west-wind fair, the course of the galley to speed,
Bearing the fleet full sail,—but all was of no avail,
For we perished, fools that we were, by our own infatuate deed!
Yet for nine days’ space we steered unswervingly, day and night,
Until on the tenth appeared our fatherland-soil in sight.
And now so near were we as the watchfire-tenders to spy:
Then sweet sleep came upon me, for that utterly wearied was I;
For that ever I kept mine hand on the sheet, and I suffered none
To take it, save me, of my band, that our home might the sooner be won.
But my men mistrusted the while, and their thoughts to each other they told,
Saying how that I bare to the isle of my fathers silver and gold,
Gifts given by Hippotes’ son, by the great-souled Aeolus.
And they looked on their fellows, and one to another ’gan whisper thus:
‘Lo you! how this man ever in honour and favour doth stand
With all manner of folk, whensoever he comes to their city or land!
From Troy is he bearing away much goodly treasure of spoil:
But we went on the same war-path, we endured the selfsame toil,
And home for our perils and pains but empty hands do we take.
Lo, this hath Aeolus lavished upon him for friendship’s sake!
Go to, let us hasten and see what thing shall be found herein,
What treasure of gold and of silver is hidden within this skin.’
So the evil advice of my crew prevailed, and they loosened the cord;
Then, rushing suddenly through, the mad winds revelled and roared.
And the hurricane snatched them and bore them away and away on the deep
Out of sight of their fatherland-shore: they could only lament and weep.
And I woke, and I saw this thing that my shipmates had done unto me;
And I wavered, whether to fling myself out to a death in the sea,
Or with patience to bear my grief, and still with the living to stay.
And at last I endured to live; but I covered my head, and lay
In the ship, and the galleys the while by the rage of the tempest were swept
Back to Aeolia’s isle, and my shipmates lamented and wept.
So there did we land, and we drew from a fountain to water the fleet.
And then did my storm-stricken crew by the galleys prepare them meat;
And we ate of it heavy-hearted, and soon as the meal was o’er
With a herald I thence departed, and one companion more,
To go to the echoing house of Aeolus. There I found him
Feasting along with his spouse, and the throng of his children around him.
And we entered in, and we sat on the threshold the pillar beside.
And all they marvelled thereat in their hearts, and to us they cried:
‘Thou here, Odysseus!—what God hath evil entreated thee so?
Did we not send thee away in peace, that thou mightest depart
To the land of thy fathers, thine home, and whereso thy will was to go? ‘
So did they speak, and to them I made answer, heavy of heart:
‘My comrades were false to me: they, and cruel slumber, betrayed me.
But heal ye my sorrow, my friends: ye only are able to aid me.’
In pitying silence they heard my sorrowful supplication:
But their father, with anger stirred, flamed forth in his indignation:
‘Avaunt from the island with haste, thou vilest of all that live!
It were impious for me to speed on his homeward way, or to give
Any help to a wretch that hath kindled the hate of the Dwellers in Bliss.
Avaunt! ’tis the hate of the Gods everlasting hath brought thee to this! ‘
So he drave me away from his door, and with sighing deep I departed,
Thence stood we out from the shore, and we sailed on, sorrowful-hearted;
And our spirits grew weary and sore with vainly toiling in rowing,
For now there appeared no more any help to our homeward-going.
Howbeit for days twice three did we toil through the day and the night:
On the seventh slow rose from the sea the city of Lamus in sight,
Laestrygonia with gates built wide, where shepherd to neatherd calls,
This, folding at eventide, that, leaving with morning the walls.
There might a sleepless wight for his toils gain twofold pay,
Yea, a double wage should he earn, tending oxen and sheep in turn,
For the goings-forth of the night are hard by the breaking of day.
And a goodly haven we found, and about it the tall cliffs stand,
As a great wall running around, unbroken on either hand.
And huge bluffs towering high rise, guarding the mouth of the bay,
Facing each other and nigh, for strait is the entrance-way. go
Then into the haven did all my crews their galleys steer,
And within the engirdling wall were they moored, to each other anear.
For no vast swell from the deep rolled darkening into the bay:
Not a wave to the shore did sweep, but within it a white calm lay.
But I, I only, refrained from bringing my galley inside:
At the outermost edge we remained: to a rock were the hawsers tied.
And I climbed to a rough crag’s height, and I gazed on the landscape then:
But there nowhere appeared in sight any labours of oxen or men,
But afar there appeared to our view, from the earth upspringing, a smoke.
Then did I send of my crew to enquire what manner of folk
Were they in the land that lived, and the fruits of the earth received.
And I chose two men for the quest, and with them a herald I sent;
So they landed, and inland they pressed by a highway, whereon wains went
Drawing the timber down from the mountains into the town.
And a maiden they met at the spring in front of the gates, drawing water,
The Laestrygonian king Antiphates’ stately daughter:
And the princess was newly come down to Artacia’s fountain fair,—
For thence the folk of the town were wont their water to bear;—
And the men drew near, and spoke to the maiden, and prayed her to say
Who was the king of the folk, and who dwelt under his sway,
And with haste she showed them the place of the palace, and entering in
They beheld with startled amaze the form of a giant queen,
Huge as a mountain-peak, and they shuddered at that dread thing.
But she rushed to the folkmote to seek her husband, the man-eating king.
Swiftly, with fearful intent, rushed on them the monster grim,
And he seized upon one, and he rent him, and horribly feasted on him.
But back to the ships with feet terror-winged did the others fly;
And shouting along the street he pursued, and came at his cry
The Laestrygonian throng by thousands from every hand,
Not like unto men, but strong and huge as a giant band.
And down from the rampart of rock great stones at the galleys they dashed;
And ever with shock upon shock the timbers shivered and crashed,
With shrieks of perishing men, and with rending of plank and keel:
Like fishes they speared them then, and they won them a horrible meal.
But while our companions died that deep sea haven within,
Swiftly I snatched from beside my thigh my falchion keen,
And with lightning-sweep of the blade cut adrift the ship dark-prowed;
And my trembling companions I bade, as I cheered them, and shouted aloud,
With might and main at the oar to tug, from the mischief to flee;
And in terror of death they tore the blades through the foam of the sea,
Till with joy from the free blue wave we beheld where the cliffs’ dark frown
Gloomed over the crimsoned grave where the rest of the fleet went down.
Thence sailed we away o’er the sea, sad-hearted leaving the coast,
Glad from the death to flee, but grieved for companions lost.
And we came to an island fair, Aeaea, wherein was the dwelling
Of Circe with beautiful hair and the voice of sweetness excelling,
Dread Goddess of many a spell, even such as Aeetes the fell;
For they both were born of the Sun that gladdeneth men with his beam,
And their mother was Perse, one of the daughters of Ocean-stream.
And in silence we came to the place, and in gloom dropped down to the land,
To a haven ample of space, led sure by a heavenly hand.
And we landed, and lying there two days, two nights did remain,
Eating our hearts with care and with grief, and with weariness-pain.
But at last, when the third morn shook bright tresses abroad, dew-streaming,
My lance in mine hand I took, and my keen sword brazen-gleaming;
And with speed from the ship went I, and I climbed a high place then,
If fields I perchance might espy, or might hear the voices of men.
And I gazed from the rocky height around me on every hand;
And a smoke appeared to my sight springing up from the broad-wayed land,
From the heart of a dark oak-wood,—where the palace of Circe stood;—
And looking thereon I wondered, and doubted within my breast
To go and to know why broke through the forest that flame-flushed smoke:
And thus thereupon as I pondered, it seemed unto me to be best
First to return to my men on the shore where the swift ship lay,
And to give them to eat, and then to send explorers away.
But as thither my steps I bent, and drew nigh to the ship and the sea,
Through the woodland alone as I went, some God had pity on me,
And a stag tall-antlered sent, so that right in my path came he.
From a glade of his forest-home that stately beast had come
To the river to drink, for the might of the sun did scorchingly shine;
And even as he turned to depart, I hurled at the noble hart,
And the brazen spear leapt right through the midst of his back at the spine;
And down in the dust he fell as shivered his dying bell.
And I set on the quarry my foot, and I drew the lance from the wound,
And there by an oak’s gnarled root I laid it along on the ground.
Then creepers and withies strong I pulled, and I deftly plied,
And a rope a fathom long, well-twisted from side to side,
Plaiting, together I bound the feet of the monstrous prey;
And I bare it, hanging around my neck, to the galley away,
Propping my steps with my spear, for I could not in any wise
By a hand on my shoulder bear it, so huge was the wood-beast’s size.
And I cast it down on the sand by the ship, and to each drawing near,
I roused my disconsolate band, and I spake to them words of cheer:
‘Ho friends! we are not to go yet to the gloom of the netherworld home,
Whatsoever our anguish of heart, till the day of our fate shall be come.
Up, for so long as meat and drink in the galley doth lie,
We will comfort our hearts with food, and by famine we will not die.’
So did I speak, and my crew right speedily hearkened to me;
And the cloaks from their heads they withdrew by the shore of the harvestless sea,
And there did they gaze on the stag with amaze, for gigantic was he.
But when they had all of them tasted delight in beholding the beast,
They washed their hands, and they hasted, and made them a goodly feast.
So through the livelong day, till the sun’s light faded away,
Sat we feasting upon sweet wine and on meats untold,
And at last, when the sun was gone, and the gloom gathered, fold upon fold,
We lay and slept where the ripples crept to the murmuring shore,
Till the Rosy-fingered, the sweet Dawn, lingered mid mists no more.
Then I gathered my comrades, and unto them all my speech I addressed:
‘Shipmates, give ear unto me, albeit by troubles oppressed:
Lo, friends, we cannot tell here where lieth the east or the west,
Neither where sinketh the sun beneath the earth to his rest,
Nor where he returneth again: but let us consider and see
If counsel be any to help us; and scarcely, I trow, shall there be.
For I saw erewhile, as I climbed a rugged rock to behold,
How that this is an island with limitless waters around it rolled.
It is low in the sea; and I saw with mine eyes, as gazing I stood,
A certain smoke that arose from the heart of a dark oak-wood.’
So did I speak, and thereat their heart was broken with grief;
For they called to remembrance that which the Laestrygonian chief
Had done, and with shuddering fears they thought of the Cyclops again;
And bitter and loud were their cries as the hot tears ran from their eyes;
Yet profit came none of their tears, and their mourning was all in vain.
And thereafter I numbered my crew, and divided in twain my band;
And appointed them captains two, the rest of the men to command.
And the troop that myself led not to Eurylochus’ hand I gave;
And a brazen morion we took, and the pebbles within it we shook,
And forth of it leapt the lot of Eurylochus godlike and brave.
So he turned him to go on the quest with the twenty and two of his band;
Weeping they went, and the rest tarried mourning behind on the strand.
Mid the glens of the forest lone the palace of Circe they found
Builded of polished stone in a fair clear parcel of ground;
And with wondering awe great wolves they saw and lions around,
Bewitched by the Goddess, when with her drugs she had wrought a charm.
Yet these rushed not on the men, neither looked as meaning them harm;
But they came with their long tails swaying caressingly, fawning and playing.
And even as around their lord throng hounds as they fawn to receive,
What time he comes from the board, the morsels he useth to give,
So fawning the wolves appeared, and the lions of mighty claw
Around those men, and they feared as the terrible monsters they saw.
And they stood in the porch of the dome of the Goddess of beautiful hair;
And a voice was singing within, clear-ringing with melody rare:
It was Circe that sang at the loom high-set and unearthly fair,
Dainty and fine, as the labours divine of Goddesses are.
And them Polites addressed, a captain of prowess in war,
Who was nearer than all the rest and dearer to me by far:
‘Friends, there is some one within at the loom that paceth about,
And the whole hall echoes again as the beautiful voice rings out:
Goddess or woman is she: let us hail her from hence with a shout.’
So did he counsel, and they uplifted their voices and cried;
And she came from her loom away, and she flung the bright doors wide.
And she bade my companions enter, and they in their ignorance went;
But Eurylochus would not venture, foreboding her guileful intent.
And she brought them to where in a chamber did thrones and couches shine:
And barley and cheese and amber honey in Pramnian wine
She mingled and stirred; but she strewed her drugs of woe in the food,
That they might no more remember their land far over the brine.
And she gave the bowl to my band, and they drank; in a moment then
She smote the men with her wand, and she drove them—swine—to a pen.
And the heads and the voices they had of swine, and the form all o’er
With loathliest bristles clad, but their mind remained as before.
Weeping and shrieking there were they penned, and Circe cast
Before them, to mock their despair, the acorn and cornel and mast
For their eating, even the meat that earth-wallowing swine ever eat.
But Eurylochus back to the fleet black galley is come flying fast,
Bringing word of the bitter fate of his friends unto us that remain;
Yet he had no power to relate the story, however fain,
Heart-stricken with anguish great: in his eyes was a very rain
Of streaming tears, and in mourning his heart was whelmed and in woe.
And we marvelled, and questioned him, burning the cause of his horror to know;
Till, in tones that were one long wail for the lost, he told his tale:
‘We passed, as thou bad’st, Odysseus, midst twilight of oak-trees round,
Till amidst of the forest glens a goodly palace we found,
Fair builded of polished stones, in a wide clear parcel of ground.
There was some one singing with voice clear-ringing, the loom as she plied,
Either Goddess or woman: my fellows uplifted their voices and cried;
And swiftly she came forth thence, and the shining doors flung wide.
And she bade them enter, and all together in ignorance went;
But alone I tarried without, foreboding her guileful intent.
And they vanished all: not one came forth to the light again,
Though long time sitting without did I eagerly watching remain.’
O’er my shoulder my brazen brand, long, silver-studded, I flung,
And I took my bow in my hand, and my quiver behind me I hung;
And I straightway commanded the man to lead me the selfsame way:
But he clasped my knees, and began in a passion of terror to pray,
And he wailed, and the hot tears ran from his eyes, and thus did he say:
‘O drag me not thither perforce, but suffer me here to remain;
For I know thou wilt never come back, nor bring one of our comrades again.
But let us with these that be left full hastily get us away,
For still, it may be, there is time to escape from the evil day.’
Then to the cowering craven in sadness and scorn I replied:
‘Even so, Eurylochus, thou in thy place shalt safely abide,
Eating and drinking beside the hollow ships and the sea;
And I will go thither alone, for a mighty constraint is on me.’
So departing from him and the rest, I went up to the unknown land:
And through solemn glens I pressed, and now was I nigh at hand
To the palace of Circe, the dread Witch-goddess of beautiful hair.
And Hermes of Golden Rod there met me, the way as I trod
On to the palace that led, and the form of a youth he bare
Whose life is lovely and young, with the first soft down on his chin;
To mine hand with his fingers he clung, and thus did he gently begin:
‘Whither, O hapless one, through the mountains alone dost thou wander,
Through places thou knowest not? Thy companions are prisoned yonder
In Circe’s palace as swine: in a dungeon-sty are they now:
And art thou come hither to free them? I tell thee, not even thou
Shalt return from the place, but thou shalt be made as one of the rest.
Nay, I will deliver thee out of the perils of this thy quest.
Lo this strong counter-charm:—thou take it, and hie thee away
To her palace: this shall avert from thine head the evil day.
All Circe’s deadly spells unto thee will I now declare:
She will mix thee a summer-draught, and drugs will she cast in there.
But she shall not have power to bewitch thee so, for the counter-charm
That I shall give unto thee shall defend thy body from harm.
Now as soon as the Goddess shall smite thy body with that long wand,
Out of the scabbard snatch thy falchion with sudden hand,
And rush upon Circe as though thou wouldst slay her; but she will crouch
Before thee in startled affright, and will bid thee unto her couch.
Then thou shalt deny her not, nor reject the Goddess’s bed,
To the end she may free thy companions, and thou mayest homeward be sped:
But command her to swear the oath of the Blessed, the oath of power,
That she will not imagine against thee some strange dark mischief and dread,
Nor quell thee and turn to the shape of a brute in thy fenceless hour.’
So speaking, the magic root the Slayer of Argus bestowed,—
In the earth it grew at his foot,—and the nature thereof he showed.
Black was the root of the same, but the flower thereof milk-white,
Which Moly the high Gods name: hard is it for mortal might
To rend the root from the ground; but the Gods’ power knoweth no bound.
Thus having spoken to me, to Olympus was Hermes gone
O’er the forest-clad isle of the sea; and I to the palace went on,
While the dark thoughts surged in my breast like the sea in its wild unrest.
And I stood at the gate of the hall of the Goddess of beautiful hair,
And I lifted my voice to call, and the Goddess heard me there;
And she came from within, and wide she flung the shining door,
Crying ‘Come! ‘; and I passed inside, but my heart with trouble was sore.
So she led me in, and she brought to a silver-studded seat
Beautiful, richly-wrought, with a footstool beneath for my feet.
And she mingled a draught for me in a goblet of massy gold,
And her drugs therein cast she, that sorceress evil-souled.
And I took the cup in my hand, and I drank, but the charm worked not:
And she smote me then with her wand, and she uttered her heart’s dark thought:
‘Depart thou now to the sty, with the rest of thy friends to lie.’
But swift at the word I snatched my sword from beside my thigh,
And I rushed, as in act to wreak the vengeance of death on her there.
But she with a loud wild shriek ran under the sword made bare,
And with white arms flung round my knees she clung with eager prayer:
‘Who art thou, and whence? and thy wife and thy parents, where do they dwell?
I marvel that drinking of this thou wast not bewitched by the spell;
For before thee hath no man’s strength availed these drugs to outlast,
When once he hath drunk, when once through the fence of his teeth they have passed.
Strangely thou hast in thy bosom a soul no charms can bind!
Can it be that thou art Odysseus, the hero of shiftful mind.
Whose coming was ever foretold me by Hermes of Golden Wand,
What time in the swift black ship thou shouldst sail from the Troad-land?
Come, put up thy sword in his sheath, and let us ascend my bed,
And from loving embrace let trustful faith in each other be bred.’
So did she speak, but in answer to her did I warily say:
‘O Circe, how canst thou bid me to turn from mine anger away,
Who hast made my companions swine in thine halls this very day,
And, having me here, dost only with treacherous heart bid me
To enter thy chamber within, and ascend thy couch with thee,
That weaponless, man no more, I may be but thy sorcery’s thrall?
I will not consent, not I, to approach to thy couch at all,
Unless thou be willing, Goddess, to take the oath of power
That thou wilt not imagine my hurt in any unguarded hour.’
So did I speak, and she swore the oath inviolate, dread.
But after the swearing was o’er, and all was done as I said,
I ascended, in peril no more, unto Circe’s lovely bed.
And Circe’s maidens the while full swiftly their labours plied,
Four handmaids that wont to toil in the halls of the palace wide;
And these are the daughters of fountains, and sprung from the forest-tree,
And of rivers that roll from the mountains their sacred streams to the sea.
And their several tasks they sped: the one upon thrones ’gan strow
Rugs dyed of the purple-red, with fair smooth cloths below;
And the second before each throne set tables of silver white,
And the bread she arrayed thereon in baskets golden-bright;
And the third in a silver bowl ’gan mingle the wine flame-faced,
That as honey is sweet to the soul, and goblets of gold she placed;
And the fourth from the fountain-stream brought sparkling water and poured
Into a tripod, and steam arose as the red flames roared.
When the water bubbled for heat in the caldron brightly-flashing,
She tempered it, making it sweet to the sense and meet for the washing.
In the laver I sat, and the maid from the mighty tripod shed
Warm streams that delightsomely strayed down over my shoulders and head,
From my limbs all dreamily taking the pain of their toils heart-breaking:
And when she had bathed me so, and anointed with unguent rare,
About me then did she throw a tunic and mantle fair.
And me from the bath she led to a silver-spangled seat
Cunningly-wrought, rug-spread, with a footstool beneath for my feet.
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
Beside me, 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 she bade me to eat of the fare; but a cloud was over my soul,
And I sat with my thoughts otherwhere, and I loathed the meat and the bowl.
But when Circe was ware of my mood, and saw that I would not take
Aught of the dainty food, but was sad with a sore heart-ache,
Anigh unto me she stood, and the light-winged words she spake:
‘Wherefore, Odysseus, thus as a man that is dumb dost thou sit,
Gnawing thine heart, and wilt not take of the wine and the meat?
Dost thou bode any treachery yet?—thou needest not: fear not thou;
For did I not swear the oath of might unto thee but now? ‘
So did she speak, but heavy reply unto her I addressed:
‘O Circe, how should a man with a loyal heart in his breast
Endure to sit at the wine, and to taste the banquet’s delight
Or ever he rescued his friends, and beheld them again in his sight?
If with all thine heart thou dost bid me to drink and to eat of thy cheer,
Free them, that I with mine eyes may behold my companions dear.’
So to the Goddess I spake, and forth of the hall she hied;
Her wand in her hand did she take, and the doors of the sty flung wide;
And forth she drove the men made like unto monstrous swine.
And she ranged them in front of her then, and she passed along the line.
With an unguent wherein there lay new magic she touched each one,
And as water fleeting away from their limbs were the bristles gone
Which had grown of the drug that before was given by the dread Spell-queen.
And lo, they were men once more, and younger than erst they had been;
And taller of stature were they, and their comeliness goodlier shone.
And they knew me, and round their chief they pressed, to my hands they clung:
And a passion of tender sadness stole through the heart of their gladness;
Weird echoes of joy and grief round the walls of the palace were flung.
Yea, the Goddess was pity-stirred, as their laughter and crying she heard;
And thus spake she, drawing nigh unto me with a counselling word:
‘O seed of Zeus and Laertes, Odysseus resourceful and wise,
Go now to the shore of the sea, to the place where the galley lies.
First haul up the ship on the land from the deep, of the surf-wash clear,
Then stow ye away in caves your goods and your tackling-gear,
And thereafter come back thyself, and bring thy companions dear.’
So did she speak, and thereto mine heart was fain to obey:
And I hied me away to my crew, on the shore where the swift ship lay.
And there as I came to the sea, I found my companions dear
Lamenting piteously with moan and with gushing tear.
And as calves on a lone farm-stead, at the hour when the kine troop home
On the pasture-grass full-fed, and unto the fold-yard come,
All leap in front of them going to the byre; in the pens not one
Will tarry, but loudly lowing around their mothers they run;
So, when after all their fears they looked with their eyes upon me,
They threw themselves on me with tears, and their mood seemed even to be
As though to their land they were come, and their town, and the market-stead
In their rugged Ithacan home wherein they were born and bred.
And wailing and weeping the light-winged words spake they unto me:
‘To see thee coming again, O hero, as glad are we
As though we had won to the fatherland-home in our hearts long-cherished,
Come, tell us concerning the rest of our friends, and how they perished.’
So did they speak, but I made answer with words of cheer:
‘First let us haul up the galley on land, of the surf-line clear,
And bestow our possessions in caverns, with all the galley’s gear.
Then get you up with speed; we will all together fare
To the palace of Circe, and so shall ye see your companions there
Eating and drinking in peace, for enough they have and to spare.’
Then with speed they began to obey, but only Eurylochus tried
My men from the venture to stay, and thus to the others he cried:
‘O wretches and doomed! do ye long for your own undoing, that thus
Ye must needs go down to the Palace of Spells, where all of us
Shall to wolves or to swine or to lions be turned by the witch-wife’s power
To keep a weariful watch around the enchanted bower?
Even so did the Cyclops in prison pen them, when into his den
Our companions went, and with them Odysseus, rashest of men;
For all of his madness it was that they wretchedly perished then.’
So did he speak, but I, in my wrath at the word that he said,
Snatched from beside my thigh my long keen-pointed blade,
And was minded to smite off his head, and to dash it adown on the ground;
Though my kinsman, his blood had I shed, but the rest of my men came round,
With soft words, each after other, to turn my purpose away:
‘Hero divine, we will heed not him, we will leave him to stay
Here, an thou wilt, and to guard the galley beside the sea;
But lead thou on unto Circe’s hall, we will follow thee.’
So went they up from the strand, nor yet Eurylochus stayed,
But he followed the rest of the band, by my terrible threat dismayed.
Meanwhile the rest of my crew by Circe with kindest care
In the bath were refreshed from their toil, and anointed with odorous oil,
And soft rich mantles she threw about them, and tunics fair.
And when these in the hall we found, glad revel there were they keeping;
And so, when the nigh-lost men beheld each other again,
The palace echoed around to the noise of their mourning and weeping;
But unto my side came the Goddess, and cried to my fellows then:
‘O Zeus and Laertes’ seed, Odysseus shiftful at need,
Weep and lament no more, for I know of myself full well
All ye have suffered, the woes on the fish-fraught sea that befell,
And the mischief that foemen have done you on many a hostile shore.
But come now, eat of my meat, and drink of the wine that I pour,
Till your spirit revive in your breast, and ye all be again stout-hearted,
Even as when at the first from your fatherland-isle ye departed:
But now is your strength dried up, there is no more spirit in you;
For ye brood on your wanderings sore, their memory ever is new,
And ye have no heart for mirth, such troubles have ye come through.’
So did the Goddess say, and our spirit consented to hear.
And tarrying day after day in her palace through all that year,
Sat we feasting upon sweet wine and on meats untold.
But after the year was gone, as the round of the seasons rolled,
And the months were born and died, and the long days dreamily sped,
Then my comrades took me aside, and thus unto me they said:
‘Dreamer, arouse thee! bethink thee at last of thy fatherland-home,
If indeed thou be fated to ’scape from thy perils, and yet to come
To the land of thy fathers again, and thy palace’s stately dome.’
So unto me did they pray, and their counsel was good in mine eyes.
Howbeit through one more day, till the sun sank out of the skies,
Sat we feasting upon sweet wine and on meats untold,
Even till the sun was gone, and the gloom gathered, fold upon fold;
And they laid them down to sleep in the halls mid the shadows deep.
But I to the high couch went of Circe passing-fair,
And low at her knees I bent, and the Goddess heard my prayer
As I knelt and addressed my humble request to the Spell-queen there:
‘O Circe, I pray thee fulfil the promise thou gavest to me
To send me home, for stirreth my spirit restlessly;
And my comrades are pining: mine heart is breaking because of their cry,
For mourning around me they come, whensoever thou art not by.’
So spake I, the Goddess divine made instant reply again:
‘O Zeus’ and Laertes’ seed, Odysseus shiftful at need,
Against your pleasure within mine halls no longer remain:
But ye needs must journey first by another path, till ye come
Unto the palace of Hades and dread Persephone’s home,
To enquire of the prophet of Thebes concerning the high Gods’ will,
Teiresias, sightless seer, who hath understanding still;
Since on him alone of the dead did Persephone sense bestow
And knowledge of things, for the rest are but shadows that flit to and fro.’
But with hearing the words that she said mine heart went nigh to break,
And I wept as I sat on the bed; no more could my spirit take
Any pleasure in still living on, and beholding the light of the sun:
But I wept and I rolled to and fro in a passion of helpless pain,
Till my heart was aweary of woe, and I answered the Goddess again:
‘O Circe, but who for such journey as this shall arise for my guide?
Unto Hades never hath black ship yet sped over the tide! ‘
So did I moan, but the Goddess divine forthright replied:
‘Zeus’ and Laertes’ seed, Odysseus, shiftful at need,
Let thy lack of a guide in thy galley in no wise disquiet thy mind,
But set up the mast, and, spreading the white sail out to the wind,
Sit still; for the breeze of the north shall carry the black ship on,
Till out of the sea and across the Ocean-stream thou be gone.
There is a lone waste beach where the groves of Persephone lie,
Where the aspens shiver, and fruits of the willow in blossoming die;
There beach ye the galley by Ocean-river’s deep-eddying flow.
But thyself to the drear dark home of Hades shalt onward go.
There into Acheron dash Pyriphlegethon’s roaring water,
And the gurgling moan of Cocytus’ river, the Styx’s daughter.
In the midst of the thunder of meeting rivers a rock doth stand:
Hero, when thither thou comest, be mindful of my command.
A trench shalt thou dig thee, in compass a cubit about, foursquare,
And around it to all the dead shalt thou pour drink-offerings there;
The first be of honey and milk, sweet wine for the next shall flow,
And the third be of water, white barley-grains over all shalt thou strow.
Thou shalt kneel to the strengthless heads of the dead with many a vow,
How that when thou art come to thine halls thou wilt offer a barren cow,
Thy best, and withal on the altar treasures of price wilt heap,
And, besides, to Teiresias only wilt sacrifice a sheep
Utterly black, the chiefest of all on thy hills that have fed.
But when thou hast ended thy prayers to the tribes of the glorious dead,
Then shalt thou sacrifice a ram and a ewe dead-black,
Turning their heads to the netherworld gloom, but thyself looking back,
Steadfastly setting thy face to the stream of the river, and then
The spirits shall come in a numberless throng, the ghosts of men.
Then shalt thou straitly command thy companions, that wait at thy side,
To take those sheep, on the edge of the pitiless brass that have died,
And to flay them, and burn them, and pray to the Gods of the world of the dead,
Unto Hades enthroned in might, and Persephone’s majesty dread.
But thyself shalt draw thy falchion keen from beside thy thigh,
And shalt sit, neither suffer the strengthless heads of the dead to draw nigh
To the blood-pool, ere thou hast seen and enquired of the Theban seer.
Straightway to thee, O captain of men, will the prophet appear
To declare thy path and the measures of all thy journey to thee,
Even thine homeward track o’er the face of the fish-fraught sea.’
Then the Child of the Mist awoke, and the Gold-enthroned shone.
Fair raiment, a tunic and cloak gave Circe to me, and anon
In a silvery-shining vest full-flowing, of delicate thread,
The Goddess her body dressed, and her dainty girdlestead
A golden girdle pressed, and a veil streamed down from her head.
And I passed through the palace then, where yet none other had stirred;
And I stood over each of my men, and aroused them with gentle word:
‘Dream no more through the flowery fields of the slumber-land,
But let us arise and depart, for Circe hath given command.’
So did I speak, and their heart was minded well to obey.
Even thence did I not depart taking all my comrades away;
For a certain Elpenor there was, our youngest, but little fit
Through the fight unto glory to pass, and scanty withal of his wit,
Who in Circe’s palace divine had gone from his comrades aloof,
And had laid him, heavy with wine, for the cool night air on the roof;
And by voices and heavy tread of his comrades that moved to and fro
Startled, he sprang from his bed, but forgat, half-wakened, to go
To the place where the long ladder led to the court in the twilight below:
But headlong with horror-struck thrill did he fall; bone started from bone
In his neck, and he lay quite still,—for the soul unto Hades was gone.
But the rest of them gathered, and then did I speak in the midst of my men:
Ye are thinking, belike, to return to your fatherland-home again;
Nay, but another road, saith Circe, we first must tread,
Even to the mansion of Hades, the home of Persephone dread,
To enquire of the spirit of Theban Teiresias, seer of the dead.’
At the word of terrible sound their heart was rent with despair;
And they sat them down on the ground, and they wept, and tore their hair;
Yet profit came none of their tears, and their moan was bootless there.
So bitterly weeping my band went down on their sorrowful way.
But when we were come to the strand and the place where the swift ship lay,
There by the black hull’s side were a ram and a ewe dead-black
Which Circe brought thither and tied, and unseen had departed back,
Easily ’scaping our ken, for a God goeth to and fro
Unmarked by the eyes of men: an he willeth not, who shall know?