If you could see as I,
what lurks in the sea-depth,
you’d pray to the ropes
and the solid timbers
like god, like god;
you’d pray to the oars and your work,
you’d pray and thank
the boat for her very self;
timber and oar and plank
and sail and the sail-ropes,
these are beautiful things and great.
But Lynceus at the prow
has nothing to do but wait
till we reach a shoal or some rocks
and then he has only to lift his arms,
right, left;
O brother,
I’d change my place
for the worst seat
in the cramped bench,
for an oar, for an hour’s toil,
for sweat and the solid floor.
I’d change my place
as I sit with eyes half closed,
if only I could see just the ring
cut by the boat,
if only I could see just the water,
the crest and the broken crest,
the bit of weed that rises on the crest,
the dolphin only when he leaps.
But Lynceus,
though they cannot guess
the hurt, though they do not thank
the oars for the dead peace
of heart and brain worn out,
you must wait,
alert, alert, alert.
Odyssey
MUSE,
tell me of this man of wit,
who roamed long years
after he had sacked
Troy’s sacred streets.
ALL the rest
who had escaped death,
returned,
fleeing battle and the sea;
only Odysseus,
captive of a goddess,
desperate and home-sick,
thought but of his wife and palace;
but Calypso,
that nymph and spirit,
yearning in the furrowed rock-shelf,
burned
and sought to be his mistress;
but years passed,
the time was ripe,
the gods decreed,
(although traitors plot
to betray him in his own court,)
he was to return
to Ithaca;
and all the gods pitied him;
but Poseidon
steadfast to the last
hated
god-like Odysseus.
The sea-god visited
a distant folk,
Ethiopians,
who at the edge of earth
are divided into two parts,
(half watch the sun rise,
half, the sun set,)
there the hecatomb
of slain sheep and oxen
await his revels:
and while he rejoiced,
seated at the feast,
the rest of the gods
gathered in the palace of Olympian Zeus;
and the father of men and of gods spoke thus:
(for he remembered bright Egisthus,
slain of Agamemnon’s child,
great Orestes:)
O you spirits,
how men hate the gods,
for they say evil comes of us,
when they themselves,
by their own wickedness,
court peril
beyond their fate;
so Egisthus, defiant,
sought Agamemnon’s wife
and slew Agamemnon
returning to his own palace,
though we ourselves
sent bright Hermes,
slayer of Argos,
to warn him
lest Orestes,
attaining to man’s estate,
demand his inheritance
and take vengeance:
we forbade him to strike the king,
we warned him to respect his wife:
but could Hermes
of gracious aspect,
subtle with kindly speech,
thus avert the foul work?