The Odyssey

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.”
Pallas, the blue-eyed goddess, thus replied:⁠—

“O father, son of Saturn, king of kings!

Well he deserved his death. So perish all

Guilty of deeds like his! But I am grieved

For sage Ulysses, that most wretched man,

So long detained, repining, and afar

From those he loves, upon a distant isle

Girt by the waters of the central deep⁠—

A forest isle, where dwells a deity

The daughter of wise Atlas, him who knows

The ocean to its utmost depths, and holds

Upright the lofty columns which divide

The earth from heaven. The daughter there detains

The unhappy chieftain, and with flattering words

Would win him to forget his Ithaca.

Meanwhile, impatient to behold the smokes

That rise from hearths in his own land, he pines

And willingly would die. Is not thy heart,

Olympics, touched by this? And did he not

Pay grateful sacrifice to thee beside

The Argive fleet in the broad realm of Troy?

Why then, O Jove, art thou so wroth with him?”
Then answered cloud-compelling Jove: “My child,

What words have passed thy lips? Can I forget

Godlike Ulysses, who in gifts of mind

Excels all other men, and who has brought

Large offerings to the gods that dwell in heaven?

Yet he who holds the earth in his embrace,

Neptune, pursues him with perpetual hate

Because of Polypheme, the Cyclops, strong

Beyond all others of his giant race,

Whose eye Ulysses had put out. The nymph

Thoosa brought him forth⁠—a daughter she

Of Phorcys, ruling in the barren deep⁠—

And in the covert of o’erhanging rocks

She met with Neptune. For this cause the god

Who shakes the shores, although he slay him not,

Sends forth Ulysses wandering far away

From his own country. Let us now consult

Together and provide for his return,

And Neptune will lay by his wrath, for vain

It were for one like him to strive alone

Against the might of all the immortal gods.”
And then the blue-eyed Pallas spake again:⁠—

“O father! son of Saturn, king of kings!

If such the pleasure of the blessed gods

That now the wise Ulysses shall return

To his own land, let us at once despatch

Hermes, the Argicide, our messenger,

Down to Ogygia, to the bright-haired nymph,

And make our steadfast purpose known to bring

The sufferer Ulysses to his home,

And I will haste to Ithaca, and move

His son, that with a resolute heart he call

The long-haired Greeks together and forbid

The excesses of the suitor train, who slay

His flocks and slow-paced beeves with crooked horns.

To Sparta I will send him and the sands

Of Pylos, to inquire for the return

Of his dear father. So a glorious fame

Shall gather round him in the eyes of men.”
She spake, and fastened underneath her feet

The fair, ambrosial golden sandals worn

To bear her over ocean like the wind,

And o’er the boundless land. In hand she took,

Well tipped with trenchant brass, the mighty spear,

Heavy and huge and strong, with which she bears

Whole phalanxes of heroes to the earth,

When she, the daughter of a mighty sire,

Is angered. From the Olympian heights she plunged,

And stood among the men of Ithaca,

Just at the porch and threshold of their chief,

Ulysses. In her hand she bore the spear,

And seemed the stranger Mentes, he who led

The Taphians. There before the gate she found

The haughty suitors. Some beguiled the time

With draughts, while sitting on the hides of beeves

Which they had slaughtered. Heralds were with them,

And busy menials: some who in the bowls

Tempered the wine with water, some who cleansed

The tables with light sponges, and who set

The banquet forth and carved the meats for all.
Telemachus the godlike was the first

To see the goddess as he sat among

The crowd of suitors, sad at heart, and thought

Of his illustrious father, who might come

And scatter those who filled his palace halls,

And win new honor, and regain the rule

Over his own. As thus he sat and mused

Among the suitors, he beheld where stood

Pallas, and forth he sprang; he could not bear

To keep a stranger waiting at his door.

He came, and taking her right hand received

The brazen spear, and spake these winged words:⁠—
“Hail, stranger! thou art truly welcome here,

First come and share our feast and be refreshed,

Then say what thou requirest at our hands.”
He spake and led the way, and in his steps

Pallas Athenè followed. Entering then

The lofty halls, he set the spear upright

By a tall column, in the armory

With polished walls, where rested many a lance

Of the large-souled Ulysses. Then he placed

His guest upon a throne, o’er which he spread

A covering many-hued and beautiful,

And gave her feet a footstool. Near to her

He drew his party-colored seat, aloof

From where the suitors sat; that so his guest

Might not amid those haughty revellers

Be wearied with the tumult and enjoy

His meal the less, and that himself might ask

News of his absent father. In a bowl

Of silver, from a shapely ewer of gold,

A maid poured water for the hands, and set

A polished table near them. Then approached

A venerable matron bringing bread

And delicacies gathered from the board;

And he who served the feast before them placed

Chargers with various meats, and cups of gold;

While round the board a herald moved, and poured

Wine for the guests. The haughty suitors now

Came in, and took their places on the thrones

And couches; heralds poured upon their hands

The water; maidens heaped the canisters

With bread, and all put forth their hands to share

The banquet on the board, while to the brim

Boys filled the beakers. When the calls of thirst

And hunger were appeased, the suitors thought

Of other things that well become a feast⁠—

Song and the dance. And then a herald brought

A shapely harp, and gave it to the hands

Of Phemius, who had only by constraint

Sung to the suitors. On the chords he struck

A prelude to his lay, while, as he played,

Telemachus, that others might not hear,

Leaned forward, and to blue-eyed Pallas spake:⁠—
“My friend and guest, wilt thou take no offence

At what I say? These revellers enjoy

The harp and song, for at no cost of theirs

They waste the substance of another man,

Whose white bones now are mouldering in the rain

Upon some mainland, or are tossed about

By ocean billows. Should they see