The Odyssey

Tell me, O Muse, of that sagacious man Who, having overthrown the sacred town Of Ilium, wandered far and visited The capitals of many nations, learned The customs of their dwellers, and endured Great suffering on the deep: his life was oft In peril, as he labored to bring back His comrades to their homes. He saved them not, Though earnestly he strove; they perished all, Through their own folly; for they banqueted, Madmen! upon the oxen of the Sun⁠— The all-o’erlooking Sun, who cut them off From their return. O goddess, virgin-child Of Jove, relate some part of this to me.

Now all the rest, as many as escaped The cruel doom of death, were at their homes Safe from the perils of the war and sea, While him alone, who pined to see his home And wife again, Calypso, queenly nymph, Great among goddesses, detained within Her spacious grot, in hope that he might yet Become her husband. Even when the years Brought round the time in which the gods decreed That he should reach again his dwelling-place In Ithaca, though he was with his friends, His toils were not yet ended. Of the gods All pitied him save Neptune, who pursued With wrath implacable the godlike chief, Ulysses, even to his native land.

Among the Ethiopians was the god Far off⁠—the Ethiopians most remote Of men. Two tribes there are; one dwells beneath The rising, one beneath the setting sun. He went to grace a hecatomb of beeves And lambs, and sat delighted at the feast; While in the palace of Olympian Jove The other gods assembled, and to them The father of immortals and of men Was speaking. To his mind arose the thought Of that Aegisthus whom the famous son Of Agamemnon, Prince Orestes, slew. Of him he thought and thus bespake the gods:⁠—

“How strange it is that mortals blame the gods And say that we inflict the ills they bear, When they, by their own folly and against The will of fate, bring sorrow on themselves! As late Aegisthus, unconstrained by fate, Married the queen of Atreus’ son and slew The husband just returned from war. Yet well He knew the bitter penalty, for we Warned him. We sent the herald Argicide, Bidding him neither slay the chief nor woo His queen, for that Orestes, when he came To manhood and might claim his heritage, Would take due vengeance for Atrides slain. So Hermes said; his prudent words moved not The purpose of Aegisthus who now pays The forfeit of his many crimes at once.”

“What will become of me? unhappy man! I fear that all the goddess said was true, Foretelling what disasters should o’ertake My voyage ere I reach my native land. Now are her words fulfilled. How Jupiter Wraps the great heaven in clouds and stirs the deep To tumult! Wilder grow the hurricanes Of all the winds, and now my fate is sure. Thrice happy, four times happy, they who fell On Troy’s wide field, warring for Atreus’ sons: O, had I met my fate and perished there, That very day on which the Trojan host, Around the dead Achilles, hurled at me Their brazen javelins, I had then received Due burial, and great glory with the Greeks; Now must I die a miserable death.”

As thus he spake, upon him, from on high, A huge and frightful billow broke; it whirled The raft around, and far from it he fell. His hands let go the rudder; a fierce rush Of all the winds together snapped in twain The mast; far off the yard and canvas flew Into the deep; the billow held him long Beneath the waters, and he strove in vain Quickly to rise to air from that huge swell Of ocean, for the garments weighed him down Which fair Calypso gave him. But at length Emerging, he rejected from his throat The bitter brine that down his forehead streamed.

“Ah me! upon what region am I thrown? What men are here⁠—wild, savage, and unjust, Or hospitable, and who hold the gods In reverence? There are voices in the air, Womanly voices, as of nymphs that haunt The mountain summits, and the river-founts, And the moist grassy meadows. Or perchance Am I near men who have the power of speech? Nay, let me then go forth at once and learn.”

Thus having said, the great Ulysses left The thicket. From the close-grown wood he rent, With his strong hand, a branch well set with leaves And wound it as a covering round his waist. Then like a mountain lion he went forth, That walks abroad, confiding in his strength, In rain and wind; his eyes shoot fire; he falls On oxen, or on sheep, or forest-deer, For hunger prompts him even to attack The flock within its closely guarded fold. Such seemed Ulysses when about to meet Those fair-haired maidens, naked as he was, But forced by strong necessity. To them His look was frightful, for his limbs were foul With sea-foam yet. To right and left they fled Along the jutting riverbanks. Alone The daughter of Alcinoüs kept her place, For Pallas gave her courage and forbade Her limbs to tremble. So she waited there. Ulysses pondered whether to approach The bright-eyed damsel and embrace her knees And supplicate, or, keeping yet aloof, Pray her with soothing words to show the way Townward and give him garments. Musing thus, It seemed the best to keep at distance still, And use soft words, lest, should he clasp her knees, The maid might be displeased. With gentle words Skilfully ordered thus Ulysses spake:⁠—

“And then we lit a fire, and sacrificed, And ate the cheeses, and within the cave Sat waiting, till from pasturing his flocks He came; a heavy load of well-dried wood He bore, to make a blaze at suppertime. Without the den he flung his burden down With such a crash that we in terror slunk Into a corner of the cave. He drove His well-fed flock, all those whose milk he drew, Under that spacious vault of rock, but left The males, both goats and rams, without the court. And then he lifted a huge barrier up, A mighty weight; not two-and-twenty wains, Four-wheeled and strong, could move it from the ground: Such was the enormous rock he raised, and placed Against the entrance. Then he sat and milked The ewes and bleating goats each one in turn, And gave to each its young. Next, half the milk He caused to curdle, and disposed the curd In woven baskets; and the other half He kept in bowls to be his evening drink. His tasks all ended thus, he lit a fire, And saw us where we lurked, and questioned us:⁠—

“ ‘Who are ye, strangers? Tell me whence ye came Across the ocean. Are ye men of trade, Or wanderers at will, like those who roam The sea for plunder, and, with their own lives In peril, carry death to distant shores?’