The tattered thing whose baldrick was a rope-yarn twisted thin,

  And he went and sat down on the threshold; and they withal went in,

  And amidst of merry laughter they greeted him and spake:

  “May Zeus and all the Deathless give thee, O guest, to take [dear.

  The thing that thou wouldest of all things, and that most thine heart holds

  Whereas this measureless glutton thou hast caused at last to forbear

  From begging amidst of the people; whom unto the main shall we bring

  To the manner of all mortals, e’en Echetus the King.”

  So they spake; and for valiant Odysseus that omen gladdened his heart

  But Antinoiis set by him the great paunch as his part,

  Fulfilled with the fat and the blood; and the like did Amphinomus do:

  For he took two loaves from the basket, and laid them thereunto,

  And with the gold cup pledged him, and spake, and thus said he:

  “Hail, guest and father! henceforward a happy man may’st thou be, For all that thou now art holden by many an evil need! *

  But thuswise spake in answer Odysseus of many a rede:

  “Amphinomus, surely I deem thee a man of wisdom and wit,

  And come of a glorious father; for his fame, I have heard of it,

  That Nisus of Dulichium was a man of wealth and might,

  And of him they say thou wert gotten, and knowest of speech and of right.

  So one thing now will I tell thee; and thou, do thou hearken and heed.

  There is nought more mightless than man of all that Earth doth breed,

  Of all that on Earth breatheth and that creepeth over it.

  For while God giveth him valour, and his limbs are lithe and fit,

  He saith that never hereafter the bale shall he abide;

  But when the Gods all-happy fashion his evil tide,

  Perforce that load of sorrow his stout heart beareth then;

  For in such wise still is fashioned the mood of earthly men,

  As the Father of Gods and of menfolk hath brought about their day.

  Yea, e’en I amongst men was happy in times now passed away,

  And wrought full many a folly, and gave way to my heart’s desire.

  For I trusted in the backing of my brethren and my sire.

  Therefore indeed let no man in unrighteous fashion live,

  But hold in peace and quiet such things as God may give.

  But, O me! how I see of the Wooers what fearful folly they plan,

  Whereas the goods they are wasting, and shaming the wife of the man,

  Who not for long I tell thee from his well-loved fatherland

  Will yet be aloof; nay, rather e’en now he is hard at hand.

  But thou — God lead thee hence, that this man thou may’st not meet

  When he hath gotten him homeward to his land the dear and sweet;

  For when under his roof he cometh, and they deal betwixt and between,

  The Wooers and he, nought bloodless shall be the work I weea”

  He poured and he drank of the wine heart-lulling as he spoke,

  And gave back the cup to the hands of the orderer of the folk;

  Who as through the house he wended on his heart bore heavy load;

  And he shook his head as he pondered, for his heart the bale forebode.

  But nought his doom might he flee from; for Athene bound him there To be quelled by Telemachus’ hand and the mighty edge of the spear. So he went back and sat on the high-seat, whence he had arisen erewhile.

  Now the Goddess, the Grey-eyed Athene, she set a thought of guile

  In the heart of Icarius’ daughter, all-wise Penelope,

  To show herself to the Wooers, that e’en as much as might be

  She might open their hearts unto her, and win worship even more

  From her son and from her husband than she had had before.

  So she laughed with empty laughter, and thus she fell to say:

  “Eurynome, longeth my heart as never yet on a day

  To show myself to the Wooers, for as loth as they are to me;

  And a word to my son will I speak, that better spoken will be,

  Not so wholly to blend with these Wooers, the men of masterful will;

  For soft are the words of their babble, but behind they ponder the ill.”

  Then Eurynome the handmaid she answered and ‘gan say:

  “My child, all this that thou speakest is on the meetest way.

  From thy son do thou hide it nothing, and this word of thine go tell.

  But first wash thou thy body, and thy cheeks anoint thou well,

  Nor bear thy face before him so stained with tear on tear,

  For ill it is to sorrow, and never to forbear;

  And of such age now is thy son, as thou prayedst the Deathless of grace

  That thou might’st yet behold him with the beard upon his face.”

  But her in turn thus answered the wise Penelope:

  “Eurynome, nowise bid it, though sore thou carest for me,

  That I should wash my body and sleek me o’er with oil;

  For the Gods that hold Olympus, my fairness did they soil

  Since the day when he departed in the hollow ship to wend

  But now to me Autonoe and Hippodameia send,

  That when I go down to the feast-hall they may stand on either side,

  Since for shame amid the menfolk alone I may not bide.”

  So she spake; and fared the goodwife through the feast-hall of the place,

  With the message for the women to bid them come their ways.

  But the Goddess, the Grey-eyed Athene, thought on another thing,

  For on that Icarius’ Daughter the sweet sleep did she bring,

  That she lay aback and slumbered, and all her limbs withal

  Lay loose in the chair. And the Goddess, the glory of them all,

  Gave deathless gifts, that the Achaeans might wonder at the sight:

  And first she cleared her visage with the deathless beauty bright,

  Wherewith doth sleek her over Cytheraea of the crown,

  When she unto the Graces and the lovely dance goes down;

  And she made her taller and greater for every one to see,

  And made her skin yet whiter than the new-sawn ivory.

  So wrought the Glory of Godhead, and went her ways withal,

  The while the white-armed handmaids drew thither from the hall,

  And came their ways a-talking; then the sweet sleep sped away,

  And she stroked her cheek with her hand, and therewith fell to say:

  “Soft slumber hath covered me over for all my weight of woe,

  And oh! that as soft a death-tide might Artemis bring me now,

  That no more in lamentation I my life and soul might wear,

  In my longing for all the valour of my lord the loved and dear,

  For he amidst the Achaeans was the man most excellent.”

  So speaking, down from her gleaming fair bower aloft she went,

  Not lonely, for two handmaids went beside her therewithal.

  But when came that Glory of Women to the Wooers in the hall

  She stood beside the pillar of the roof-tree fashioned stout,

  And withal her gleaming headgear she held her face about,

  And a wise and trusty handmaid each side of her there stood.

  But the limbs of those were loosened, and love beguiled their mood,

  And all they longed full sorely to lie by her abed.

  But unto Telemachus spake she, to her son beloved she said:

  “Telemachus, nothing steadfast is thy mind and thy wit as of yore;

  While yet thou wert but little thou hadst gainfuller wit and more, [youth,

  But now when great thou art waxen, and hast reached the full measure of

  And a stranger might say, beholding thy stature and beauty forsooth,

  That thou must needs be the offspring of a happy man and good,

  No longer art thou seemly of thy wit and of thy mood.

  What a deed in thine house hath befallen yea, e’en such a deed as this,

  That thou hast suffered a stranger therein to be handled amiss.

  How now, if a guest be sitting within our house and hall,

  And to him from this mishandling some evil should befall?

  Then blame and shame and unworship from men should come on thee.”

  Her then Telemachus answered, and in this wise spake he:

  “Though thou art wroth, my mother, yet me it angers not.

  Each thing that ever passeth, thereof I heed and wot,

  The better things and the worser: and erst but a babe was I.

  But lo you, not all matters can I handle heedfully;

  For out of myself they drive me, thronging thick and all around,

  And ever devising evil: and for me is no helper found.

  But in truth this broil befell not betwixt Irus and the guest

  By the willing of the Wooers; and the stranger had the best.

  Would to Father Zeus and Athene, and King Apollo withal,

  That even so the Wooers within our house and hall

  Might bow their heads so vanquished! Some out there in the close,

  And some within the chambers, and the limbs of all grow loose,

  Even as now that Irus by the garth-gate sitteth there

  Wagging his head, and faring as a drunken man may fare;

  Nor hath might to stand straight on his feet, nor homeward get him aback,

  Or whatso place he is bound for: for his limbs they lie all slack.”

  Thus unto one another the speech and the tale they sped;

  But Eurymachus fell to speaking to Penelope and said:

  “O Daughter of Icarius, all-wise Penelope,

  If all Achaeans of Argos the Iasian looked on thee,

  Then many more of Wooers in the house wherein ye dwell

  Would be feasting on the morrow; for all women ye excel

  In goodliness and stature, and in mind well-fashioned within.”

  Then Penelope the all-wise, such answer did she win:

  “My body’s guise, Eurymachus, and the worth that was in me,

  The Deathless marred, when for Ilios the Argives took the sea,

  And with them went Odysseus that was my wedded lord.

  And might he but get him homeward this life of mine to ward

  Then greater were my glory, and fairer far its tale.

  But now do I grieve, whereas God speeds on me abundance of bale.

  Yea, in the day and the hour when he left his fatherland

  How he spake, as a while he held me by the wrist of my right hand:

  ‘ O woman, nowise deem I that all the well-greaved folk,

  The Achaeans, shall win homeward unscathed of any stroke:

  For the tale goes that the Trojans wot well of the warrior’s craft;

  That there be good spear-casters and shooters of the shaft,

  And backers of swift-foot horses: all they that be the best,

  The strife of the balanced battle to doom the speediest

  Wherefore nowise am I wotting if the Gods shall give me speed

  To my home, or in Troy I be taken: so all things here do thou heed.

  Care thou for my father and mother, who dwell beneath my roof,

  As now, yea even better, when I am far aloof.

  But when our son thou beholdest with a beard upon his face

  Then wed thee with whom thou willest, and leave him here in the place.’

  — In this wise he spake unto me; and now time fulfilleth all,

  And the night when this wedding beloathed must now at the last befall

  To me undone; and my welfare doth Zeus take all away.

  And withal on my heart and my soul this sore grief comes on a day;

  For not thus have Wooers been wont, nor thus have they hitherto done.

  When the goodly wife or the daughter of some great and wealthy one

  They were fain to woo, and thereover with each other they must strive:

  Then they forsooth the oxen and the fat sheep ever drive,

  A feast for the friends of the damsel, and of rich gifts give good store,

  But eat not the wealth of another paying no atonement therefor.”

  So she spake; and the goodly Odysseus toil-stout was glad the while That she drew the gifts from out them, and their hearts did so beguile With wheedling words; but far others she pondered in her heart

  But Antinoiis, son of Eupeithes, spake to her on his part:

  “O Daughter of Icarius, all-wise Penelope,

  Take thou the gifts of Achaeans whatso they will bring to thee;

  For to gainsay the gift of the giver is neither good nor fair.

  But not to our lands will we get us, nor any otherwhere,

  Before to the man thou art wedded who of all the Achaeans is best.”

  So Antinoiis spake, and his speaking seemed good to all the rest,

  And each man sent his henchman the gifts thereto to bear.

  For Antinoiis thither brought he a great robe wondrous fair,

  All ‘broidered, with twelve brooches thereon all wrought of gold,

  And every one well-fitted with hooks well-wrought to hold.

  For Eurymachus a collar of gold most deftly done,

  All hung about with amber that shone out as the sun.

  And the swains of Eurydamas brought him two earrings wrought full fair,

  Three-beaded; and great glory from, out them glittered there.

  And the henchman of Pisander, Polyctor’s son the king,

  Brought up with him a neck-chain, a fair and seemly thing;

  And each one of the Achaeans for fair gifts to give her sent.

  So therewith the Glory of Women to the upper chamber went,

  But the lovely gifts bore the handmaids as they went with her along.

  But now unto the dancing and the love-fain tide of song

  Turned the Wooers and were merry, and for nightfall there did they dwell,

  And there as they made merry the black night on them fell.

  Then three braziers amidst of the feast-hall they set up presently,

  To give a light to all men; and around laid the bavins dry,

  Sear from of old and sapless, with the brass new-cleft to burn,

  And they set the brands amidst them: but they quickened the blaze in

  The maids of Odysseus the toil-worn; and unto them in a while [turn,

  Spake Odysseus himself, the Zeus-bred, the man of many a guile.

  “O maids of Odysseus, the king aloof for so long a tide,

  Go now your ways to the chamber where the holy Queen doth abide,

  And there the rock be twirling and do her pleasure there,

  The wool with your hands a-carding as ye sit in the chamber fair,

  But I for all these Wooers will give enough of light.

  E’en if they will to be biding the Gold-throned Day-dawn bright,

  Yet shall they not outdo me, for hardy am I to abide.”

  He spake: but they fell a-laughing, and each the other eyed,

  And that fair-cheeked Melantho, she chid him shamefully;

  E’en Dolius’ daughter, fostered of Queen Penelope

  As her very own; who had given her of playthings bounteous store;

  Yet in her heart she held not Penelope’s sorrow sore,

  But with Eurymachus ever in loving wise was blent.

  So now unto Odysseus these chiding words she sent:

  “O wretched guest, now surely right out of thy wit thou art

  Since to sleep at some man’s stithy thou hast no will to depart,

  Or unto the place of gangrels; but must tarry babbling here

  Midst these many men, in thy boldness, and thine heart without a fear.

  Yea, either wine now holdeth thine heart, or else maybe

  E’en such is thy mind at all times, and thou babblest emptily.

  Exultest thou in thy beating of the gangrel Irus there?

  Yet now lest some one better stand up, do thou beware,

  Who with sturdy hands shall smite thee a buffet over thine head,

  And with plenteous blood befoul thee and drive thee forth from the

  [stead.”

  Then spake the shifty Odysseus, as he scowled from knitted brow:

  “O dog! I will hasten and get me to Telemachus even now,

  And tell him thy tale, that limb-meal thy body he may shear.”

  So he spake, and with words so spoken the women did he scare,

  And they went their ways through the house, and their limbs, all loose

  they grew With the fear of him; for they deemed it that he spake what was but true.

  But quickening up the firebrands by the blazing hearth he stood,

  Giving heed and eye to all men; and in his mind and his mood

  He pondered other matters that should be accomplished yet.

  But those haughty Wooers Athene not even now would she let

  From their sore heart-grieving outrage, that into the heart yet more

  Of Odysseus son of Laertes might sink the sorrow sore.

  So Eurymachus, Polybus’ son, took up the mockeries

  ‘Gainst Odysseus; and midst of his fellows he made the laughter arise:

  “Ye men the high Queen wooing, come now and hearken ye,

  Till I tell you the tale of my heart and the word it biddeth me:

  Nought godless this man cometh to Odysseus’ house and our hands,

  Since from him and his head there gleameth the very light of the brands

  For no hair on his head there waxeth, however poor and small.”

  Then he turned his speech to Odysseus, the bane of burg and wall:

  “Would’st thou, O guest, that I wage thee, if I should take thee away

  Far up in the country-side (and assured should be thy pay)

  To gather stones for the garth-walls and plant the saplings tall?

  Then victuals would I find thee year-long; and therewithal

  Would I do the raiment upon thee, and give thee shoes to thy feet.

  But in naughty deeds art thou learned, and thou wilt not deem it meet

  To labour afield; but art fainer of begging about the land,

  Till for thy maw insatiate some meat may come to hand.”

  But Odysseus of many a rede, he spake and answered again:

  “Eurymachus, might there but happen a strife betwixt us twain,

  On some hour of the season of spring when the days are waxing long,

  In the grass maybe, and I holding a scythe well-curved and strong,

 

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