The Odyssey

by Homer

“Light of my eyes: he comes! unhoped-for joy!
Has Heaven from Pylos brought my lovely boy?
So snatch’d from all our cares!—Tell, hast thou known
Thy father’s fate, and tell me all thy own.”

“Oh dearest! most revered of womankind!
Cease with those tears to melt a manly mind
(Replied the prince); nor be our fates deplored,
From death and treason to thy arms restored.
Go bathe, and robed in white ascend the towers;
With all thy handmaids thank the immortal powers;
To every god vow hecatombs to bleed.
And call Jove’s vengeance on their guilty deed.
While to the assembled council I repair:
A stranger sent by Heaven attends me there;
My new accepted guest I haste to find,
Now to Peiraeus’ honour’d charge consign’d.”

The matron heard, nor was his word in vain.
She bathed; and, robed in white, with all her train,
To every god vow’d hecatombs to bleed,
And call’d Jove’s vengeance on the guilty deed,
Arm’d with his lance, the prince then pass’d the gate,
Two dogs behind, a faithful guard, await;
Pallas his form with grace divine improves:
The gazing crowd admires him as he moves.
Him, gathering round, the haughty suitors greet
With semblance fair, but inward deep deceit,
Their false addresses, generous, he denied.
Pass’d on, and sate by faithful Mentor’s side;
With Antiphus, and Halitherses sage
(His father’s counsellors, revered for age).
Of his own fortunes, and Ulysses’ fame,
Much ask’d the seniors; till Peiraeus came.
The stranger-guest pursued him close behind;
Whom when Telemachus beheld, he join’d.
He (when Peiraeus ask’d for slaves to bring
The gifts and treasures of the Spartan king)
Thus thoughtful answer’d: “Those we shall not move,
Dark and unconscious of the will of Jove;
We know not yet the full event of all:
Stabb’d in his palace if your prince must fall,
Us, and our house, if treason must o’erthrow,
Better a friend possess them than a foe;
If death to these, and vengeance Heaven decree,
Riches are welcome then, not else, to me.
Till then retain the gifts.”—The hero said,
And in his hand the willing stranger led.
Then disarray’d, the shining bath they sought
(With unguents smooth) of polish’d marble wrought:
Obedient handmaids with assistant toil
Supply the limpid wave, and fragrant oil:
Then o’er their limbs refulgent robes they threw,
And fresh from bathing to their seats withdrew.
The golden ewer a nymph attendant brings,
Replenish’d from the pure translucent springs;
With copious streams that golden ewer supplies
A silver layer of capacious size.
They wash: the table, in fair order spread,
Is piled with viands and the strength of bread.
Full opposite, before the folding gate,
The pensive mother sits in humble state;
Lowly she sate, and with dejected view
The fleecy threads her ivory fingers drew.
The prince and stranger shared the genial feast,
Till now the rage of thirst and hunger ceased.

When thus the queen: “My son! my only friend!
Say, to my mournful couch shall I ascend?
(The couch deserted now a length of years;
The couch for ever water’d with my tears;)
Say, wilt thou not (ere yet the suitor crew
Return, and riot shakes our walls anew),
Say, wilt thou not the least account afford?
The least glad tidings of my absent lord?”

To her the youth. “We reach’d the Pylian plains,
Where Nestor, shepherd of his people, reigns.
All arts of tenderness to him are known,
Kind to Ulysses’ race as to his own;
No father with a fonder grasp of joy
Strains to his bosom his long-absent boy.
But all unknown, if yet Ulysses breathe,
Or glide a spectre in the realms beneath;
For farther search, his rapid steeds transport
My lengthen’d journey to the Spartan court.
There Argive Helen I beheld, whose charms
(So Heaven decreed) engaged the great in arms.
My cause of coming told, he thus rejoin’d;
And still his words live perfect in my mind:

“‘Heavens! would a soft, inglorious, dastard train
An absent hero’s nuptial joys profane
So with her young, amid the woodland shades,
A timorous hind the lion’s court invades,
Leaves in that fatal lair her tender fawns,
And climbs the cliffs, or feeds along the lawns;
Meantime returning, with remorseless sway
The monarch savage rends the panting prey:
With equal fury, and with equal fame,
Shall great Ulysses reassert his claim.
O Jove! supreme! whom men and gods revere;
And thou whose lustre gilds the rolling sphere!
With power congenial join’d, propitious aid
The chief adopted by the martial maid!
Such to our wish the warrior soon restore,
As when, contending on the Lesbian shore,
His prowess Philomelides confess’d,
And loud acclaiming Greeks the victor bless’d:
Then soon the invaders of his bed, and throne,
Their love presumptuous shall by death atone.
Now what you question of my ancient friend,
With truth I answer; thou the truth attend.
Learn what I heard the sea-born seer relate,
Whose eye can pierce the dark recess of fate
Sole in an isle, imprison’d by the main,
The sad survivor of his numerous train,
Ulysses lies; detain’d by magic charms,
And press’d unwilling in Calypso’s arms.
No sailors there, no vessels to convey,
No oars to cut the immeasurable way.’
This told Atrides, and he told no more.
Then safe I voyaged to my native shore.”

He ceased; nor made the pensive queen reply,
But droop’d her head, and drew a secret sigh.
When Theoclymenus the seer began:
“O suffering consort of the suffering man!
What human knowledge could, those kings might tell,
But I the secrets of high heaven reveal.
Before the first of gods be this declared,
Before the board whose blessings we have shared;
Witness the genial rites, and witness all
This house holds sacred in her ample wall!
E’en now, this instant, great Ulysses, laid
At rest, or wandering in his country’s shade,
Their guilty deeds, in hearing, and in view,
Secret revolves; and plans the vengeance due.
Of this sure auguries the gods bestow’d,
When first our vessel anchor’d in your road.”
“Succeed those omens, Heaven! (the queen rejoin’d)
So shall our bounties speak a grateful mind;
And every envied happiness attend
The man who calls Penelope his friend.”
Thus communed they: while in the marble court
(Scene of their insolence) the lords resort:
Athwart the spacious square each tries his art,
To whirl the disk, or aim the missile dart.
Now did the hour of sweet repast arrive,
And from the field the victim flocks they drive:
Medon the herald (one who pleased them best,
And honour’d with a portion of their feast),
To bid the banquet, interrupts their play:
Swift to the hall they haste; aside they lay
Their garments, and succinct the victims slay.
Then sheep, and goats, and bristly porkers bled,
And the proud steer was o’er the marble spread.
While thus the copious banquet they provide,
Along the road, conversing side by side,
Proceed Ulysses and the faithful swain;
When thus Eumaeus, generous and humane:
“To town, observant of our lord’s behest,
Now let us speed; my friend no more my guest!
Yet like myself I wish thee here preferr’d,
Guard of the flock, or keeper of the herd,
But much to raise my master’s wrath I fear;
The wrath of princes ever is severe.
Then heed his will, and be our journey made
While the broad beams of Phœbus are display’d,
Or ere brown evening spreads her chilly shade.”
“Just thy advice (the prudent chief rejoin’d),
And such as suits the dictate of my mind.
Lead on: but help me to some staff to stay
My feeble step, since rugged is the way.”
Across his shoulders then the scrip he flung,
Wide-patch’d, and fasten’d by a twisted thong.
A staff Eumaeus gave. Along the way
Cheerly they fare: behind, the keepers stay:
These with their watchful dogs (a constant guard)
Supply his absence, and attend the herd.
And now his city strikes the monarch’s eyes,
Alas! how changed! a man of miseries;
Propp’d on a staff, a beggar old and bare
In rags dishonest fluttering with the air!
Now pass’d the rugged road, they journey down
The cavern’d way descending to the town,
Where, from the rock, with liquid drops distils
A limpid fount; that spread in parting rills
Its current thence to serve the city brings;
An useful work, adorn’d by ancient kings.
Neritus, Ithacus, Polyctor, there,
In sculptured stone immortalized their care,
In marble urns received it from above,
And shaded with a green surrounding grove;
Where silver alders, in high arches twined,
Drink the cool stream, and tremble to the wind.
Beneath, sequester’d to the nymphs, is seen
A mossy altar, deep embower’d in green;
Where constant vows by travellers are paid,
And holy horrors solemnize the shade.

Here with his goats (not vow’d to sacred fame,
But pamper’d luxury) Melanthius came:
Two grooms attend him. With an envious look
He eyed the stranger, and imperious spoke:

“The good old proverb how this pair fulfil!
One rogue is usher to another still.
Heaven with a secret principle endued
Mankind, to seek their own similitude.
Where goes the swineherd with that ill-look’d guest?
That giant-glutton, dreadful at a feast!
Full many a post have those broad shoulders worn,
From every great man’s gate repulsed with scorn:
To no brave prize aspired the worthless swain,
’Twas but for scraps he ask’d, and ask’d in vain.
To beg, than work, he better understands,
Or we perhaps might take him off thy hands.
For any office could the slave be good,
To cleanse the fold, or help the kids to food.
If any labour those big joints could learn,
Some whey, to wash his bowels, he might earn.
To cringe, to whine, his idle hands to spread,
Is all, by which that graceless maw is fed.
Yet hear me! if thy impudence but dare
Approach yon wall, I prophesy thy fare:
Dearly, full dearly, shalt thou buy thy bread
With many a footstool thundering at thy head.”

He thus: nor insolent of word alone,
Spurn’d with his rustic heel his king unknown;
Spurn’d, but not moved: he like a pillar stood,
Nor stirr’d an inch, contemptuous, from the road:
Doubtful, or with his staff to strike him dead,
Or greet the pavement with his worthless head.
Short was that doubt; to quell his rage inured,
The hero stood self-conquer’d, and endured.
But hateful of the wretch, Eumaeus heaved
His hands obtesting, and this prayer conceived:
“Daughters of Jove! who from the ethereal bowers
Descend to swell the springs, and feed the flowers!
Nymphs of this fountain! to whose sacred names
Our rural victims mount in blazing flames!
To whom Ulysses’ piety preferr’d
The yearly firstlings of his flock and herd;
Succeed my wish, your votary restore:
Oh, be some god his convoy to our shore!
Due pains shall punish then this slave’s offence,
And humble all his airs of insolence,
Who, proudly stalking, leaves the herds at large,
Commences courtier, and neglects his charge.”