The Odyssey

rowers, and go forth to seek

News of thy absent father. Thou shalt hear

Haply of him from someone of the sons

Of men, or else some word of rumor sent

By Jove, revealing what mankind should know.

First shape thy course for Pylos, and inquire

Of noble Nestor; then, at Sparta, ask

Of fair-haired Menelaus, for he came

Last of the mailed Achaians to his home.

And shouldst thou learn that yet thy father lives,

And will return, have patience yet a year,

However hard it seem. But shouldst thou find

That he is now no more, return forthwith

To thy own native land, and pile on high

His monument, and let the funeral rites

Be sumptuously performed as may become

The dead, and let thy mother wed again.

And when all this is fully brought to pass,

Take counsel with thy spirit and thy heart

How to destroy the suitor crew that haunt

Thy palace, whether by a secret snare

Or open force. No longer shouldst thou act

As if thou wert a boy; thou hast outgrown

The age of childish sports. Hast thou not heard

What honor the divine Orestes gained

With all men, when he slew the murderer,

The crafty wretch Aegisthus, by whose hand

The illustrious father of Orestes died?

And then, my friend⁠—for I perceive that thou

Art of a manly and a stately growth⁠—

Be also bold, that men hereafter born

May give thee praise. And now must I depart

To my good ship, and to my friends who wait,

Too anxiously perhaps, for my return.

Act wisely now, and bear my words in mind.”
The prudent youth Telemachus rejoined:⁠—

“Well hast thou spoken, and with kind intent,

O stranger! like a father to a son;

And ne’er shall I forget what thou hast said.

Yet stay, I pray thee, though in haste, and bathe

And be refreshed, and take to thy good ship

Some gift with thee, such as may please thee well,

Precious and rare, which thou mayst ever keep

In memory of me⁠—a gift like those

Which friendly hosts bestow upon their guests.”
Then spake the blue-eyed Pallas: “Stay me not,

For now would I depart. Whatever gift

Thy heart may prompt thee to bestow, reserve

Till I come back, that I may bear it home,

And thou shalt take some precious thing in turn.”
So spake the blue-eyed Pallas, and withdrew,

Ascending like a bird. She filled his heart

With strength and courage, waking vividly

His father’s memory. Then the noble youth

Went forth among the suitors. Silent all

They sat and listened to the illustrious bard,

Who sang of the calamitous return

Of the Greek host from Troy, at the command

Of Pallas. From her chamber o’er the hall

The daughter of Icarius, the sage queen

Penelope, had heard the heavenly strain,

And knew its theme. Down by the lofty stairs

She came, but not alone; there followed her

Two maidens. When the glorious lady reached

The threshold of the strong-built hall, where sat

The suitors, holding up a delicate veil

Before her face, and with a gush of tears,

The queen bespake the sacred minstrel thus:⁠—
“Phemius! thou knowest many a pleasing theme⁠—

The deeds of gods and heroes, such as bards

Are wont to celebrate. Take then thy place

And sing of one of these, and let the guests

In silence drink the wine; but cease this strain;

It is too sad; it cuts me to the heart,

And wakes a sorrow without bounds⁠—such grief

I bear for him, my lord, of whom I think

Continually; whose glory is abroad

Through Hellas and through Argos, everywhere.”
And then Telemachus, the prudent, spake:⁠—

“Why, O my mother! canst thou not endure

That thus the well-graced poet should delight

His hearers with a theme to which his mind

Is inly moved? The bards deserve no blame;

Jove is the cause, for he at will inspires

The lay that each must sing. Reprove not, then,

The minstrel who relates the unhappy fate

Of the Greek warriors. All men most applaud

The song that has the newest theme; and thou⁠—

Strengthen thy heart to hear it. Keep in mind

That not alone Ulysses is cut off

From his return, but that with him at Troy

Have many others perished. Now withdraw

Into thy chamber; ply thy household tasks,

The loom, the spindle; bid thy maidens speed

Their work. To say what words beseem a feast

Belongs to man, and most to me; for here

Within these walls the authority is mine.”
The matron, wondering at his words, withdrew

To her own place, but in her heart laid up

Her son’s wise sayings. When she now had reached,

With her attendant maids, the upper rooms,

She mourned Ulysses, her beloved spouse,

And wept, till blue-eyed Pallas closed her lids

In gentle slumbers. Noisily, meanwhile,

The suitors revelled in the shadowy halls;

And thus Telemachus, the prudent, spake:⁠—
“Ye suitors of my mother, insolent

And overbearing; cheerful be our feast,

Not riotous. It would become us well

To listen to the lay of such a bard,

So like the gods in voice. I bid you all

Meet in full council with the morrow morn,

That I may give you warning to depart

From out my palace, and to seek your feasts

Elsewhere at your own charge⁠—haply to hold

Your daily banquets at each other’s homes.

But if it seem to you the better way

To plunder one man’s goods, go on to waste

My substance; I will call the immortal gods

To aid me, and if Jupiter allow

Fit retribution for your deeds, ye die,

Within this very palace, unavenged.”
He spake; the suitors bit their close-pressed lips,

Astonished at the youth’s courageous words.

And thus Antinoüs, Eupeithes’ son,

Made answer: “Most assuredly the gods,

Telemachus, have taught thee how to frame

Grand sentences and gallantly harangue.

Ne’er may the son of Saturn make thee king

Over the seagirt Ithaca, whose isle

Is thy inheritance by claim of birth.”
Telemachus, the prudent, thus rejoined:⁠—

“Wilt thou be angry at the word I speak,

Antinoüs? I would willingly accept

The kingly station if conferred by Jove.

Dost thou indeed regard it as the worst

Of all conditions of mankind? Not so

For him who reigns; his house grows opulent,

And he the more is honored. Many kings

Within the bounds of seagirt Ithaca

There are, both young and old, let anyone

Bear rule, since great Ulysses is no more;

But I will be the lord of mine own house,

And o’er my servants whom the godlike chief,

Ulysses, brought from war, his share of spoil.”
Eurymachus, the son of Polybus,

Addressed the youth in turn: “Assuredly,

What man hereafter, of the Achaian race,

Shall bear the rule o’er seagirt Ithaca

Rests with the gods. But thou shalt keep thy wealth,

And may no