Complete Works of William Morris, page 657
And heedfully him did I cherish, for my house held many a thing.
And unto those his fellows who that man were following
Red wine and the flour of barley from the folk-store I gathered and gave,
And oxen for burnt-offering, that enow their souls might have.
“So twelve days the holy Achaeans abided there in the land;
For stark drave the north wind on them that hardly might they stand,
And some God that was hard to deal with the storm-rush’gainst them made,
But the thirteenth day the wind fell, and thereupon they weighed.”
Then he stayed his feigned story, that like to the truth did he tell,
And the flesh of her was molten, and the tears as she hearkened fell;
And e’en as the snow is molten on the mountain peaks on a day,
And that which the west wind sheddeth the east wind wasteth away,
And the streams of the river are swollen by that melting off the hill,
So were her fair cheeks molten, and there she wept her fill;
And sore she bewailed her husband who beside her sat in the life.
Great pity then had Odysseus in his heart of his weeping wife,
But his eyes beneath his eyelids like horn or steel they stood
Untrembling, and he refrained him of the tears by his craftihood.
But when of her tearful wailing she was satiate at the last
Therewith again she answered, and this word to him she cast:
“Now guest, and thou guest indeed, yet thy tale I think to try;
If indeed thou there hast guested with his godlike company,
My husband in thy feast-hall, as the tale to me ye bore,
Then tell me what like was the raiment that about his body he wore,
And what was the man to look on, and his fellows, what were they?”
But Odysseus of many a counsel he fell to answer and say:
“Tis hard to tell, O woman, so long as the time doth wear;
For now indeed already hath come the twentieth year
Since the day when he departed and left my land behind.
Yet forsooth e’en so will I tell thee as the image abides in my mind.
For a well-fulled cloak of purple the goodly Odysseus wore,
Twofold; and therewith a buckle of goldsmith’s work it bore
With double clasps for the tongue, and its face with wise-work wrought.
For thereon a hound in his forepaws a spotted hind had caught,
And glared upon it gasping: and all men marvelled there
At those things of gold; how he still glared on as he throttled the deer,
And how with her feet she was writhing, so sore as she longed to go free.
Now withal a gleaming kirtle on his body did I see;
As the peel that showeth outward of a thin-layered onion,
E’en so dainty was its fashion, and it shimmered as the sun,
And many women beheld it, and wondered at it sore.
And now a thing will I tell thee for thine heart to ponder o’er,
If Odysseus this weed did on him at home I nothing wot,
Or if on the ship swift-fleeting the gift of a fellow he got,
Or mayhappen of a guest-friend; for to many men was he dear,
And amidst of all the Achaeans scarce might he find his peer.
But a brazen sword I gave him, and a cloak twofold and fine,
Of purple dye and lovely, and a long-skirt gaberdine,
And I brought him with all honour to his well-benched ship on the sea.
“Now there went with him an henchman, but a little older than he,
Of whom I will tell thee the fashion as truly as I can:
A black-skinned man, round-shouldered, a curly-headed man;
Eurybates his name was, and over every wight
Odysseus held him in honour, for he knew what was meet and right.”
So he spake, and yet more was he stirring the longing of her woe,
As she knew the soothfast tokens that Odysseus there did show.
But when of her tearful mourning she was satiate at the last
Therewith she fell to answer, and this word to him she passed:
‘‘ Now from henceforth, O Stranger, though erst thou wert piteous,
Shalt thou be dear and honoured in the chambers of my house.
For ’twas I that dight him the raiment whereof e’en now ye told,
And I folded it up from this chamber, and did on it the buckle of gold;
Yea, e’en for his adornment. But now ne’er will he come to mine hand!
Nay never more come homeward to his lovely fatherland!
O baleful doom of Odysseus in the hollow ship to sail,
And make for the evil Ilios and the unnamed Burg of Bale!”
To her then spake in answer Odysseus of many a rede:
“O worshipped wife of Odysseus that was Laertes’ seed,
Mar thy fair flesh no longer, nor waste thy soul away
In wailing for thine husband. Though no blame on thee I lay;
For thus often a woman bewaileth her lawful husband gone,
For whom she hath borne the children of their blended loving won,
Were he worser than Odysseus, whom men call the Godhead’s peer.
Yet stay thy grief and be heeding the word that of me thou shalt hear;
For in good sooth shall I tell thee, nor cover up the word
Which of Odysseus’ homefare a while ago I heard;
How that he is alive and near by in the rich Thesprotian land,
And goodly and great is the treasure that as now he bringeth to hand,
By seeking of gifts ‘mid the people: but his trusty folk they died,
And his hollow ship was broken amid the wine-dark tide,
As he came from the Three-horned Island; for wroth were Zeus and the
With him, because his fellows the kine to death had done. [Sun
So all they perished together ‘mid the clashing billows’ roar.
But him to the keel a-clinging the waves cast up ashore
On the land of the Plweacians, men unto the Gods akin;
From whom to his heart’s desire as a God did he worship win;
And a many things they gave him, and were fain to ferry him home
All scathless; and long ago had Odysseus hither come:
But it seemed to his soul more gainful to wander wide o’er the land,
And goods and gear to gather, e’en such as might come to hand;
Since beyond all men that are death-doomed Odysseus wotteth the lore
Of waxing wealth, and no man may match him evermore.
Such tale I had of Phidon, of Thesprotian men the king,
Who swore the same in his house as he poured the drink-offering,
That the ship was shoved down to the sea, and the shipmen ready there
Who were bidden to flit Odysseus to his fatherland the dear.
But he sent me away before him, for a keel happed there, that was bound
From the folk of the Thesprotians to Dulichium’s wheat-rich ground.
And there moreover he showed me Odysseus’ gathered store,
That would feed to his tenth generation of men, yea even more;
In the chamber of King Phidon lay such abundant gear.
But Odysseus they said had wended to Dodona, to hearken and hear
The word and the counsel of Zeus from the oak of the lofty crest,
In what wise his home-faring to his land beloved were best,
(Whence so long aloof he had bided) or by stealth, or openly.
“Thus then the man is scathless, and e’en now is close hereby,
Nor long aloof shall be biding from his friends and his fatherland.
And forsooth an oath hereover will I swear thee out of hand
And first: thou, Zeus, bear witness, of all Gods the highest and best,
And thou, hearth of the blameless Odysseus, whereto I am come for my
That this very tale I am telling shall be accomplished and done, [rest,
And hither shall come Odysseus in this same year of the sun,
Yea, ere this same moon’s waning and the next moon’s waxing be.”
She then in words bespake him, all-wise Penelope:
“O guest, this thing that thou tellest, may it be but even so!
Then verily of my kindness and my many gifts shouldst thou know,
And whosoever meets thee shall deem thee blest indeed.
And yet my mind forebodeth in what wise this shall speed:
Odysseus shall never come home, and no furtherance gettest thou;
For nowise like are the masters within our house as now
To Odysseus amidst of the menfolk — if ever he were indeed — [need.
For the aiding of guests bepitied, and for taking them home in their
Now wash ye this man, O handmaids, and the slumber for him dight,
The bedstead and the blankets and the rugs the dainty-bright,
That he with warmth well cherished the Cold-throned Dawn may meet.
And betimes on the morrow bathe him, and sleek him soft and sweet,
That by Telemachus sitting in the feast-hall at his ease
He may have a care of his victuals: but whosoever of these
Shall grieve him in their anger shall fare the worse therefor;
And his errand here shall be bootless for all his wrath be sore.
For how shalt thou know it, O Stranger, whereby of womankind
I am excellent of counsel, and of understanding mind,
If all weather-worn and ill-clad in our hall thou sittest at meat?
“Short-lived forsooth are menfolk and swift their day to fleet,
And he who is hard-hearted and learned in cruelty,
All men pray evil on him while living he may be,
And dead he hath all men’s mocking that erst alive he earned.
But he who liveth upright, and righteousness hath learned,
Far and wide amidst all menfolk goes the glory of his name,
Borne by guests; and many people tell the goodness of his fame.”
But to her then spake and answered Odysseus of many a rede:
“Beworshipped wife of Odysseus, the old Laertes’ seed,
But loathly to me are these mantles, and these blankets fine and meet,
Since the day when I departed from the snowy fells of Crete,
Across the sea a-faring in the long-ship of the oar:
I will lie as in sleepless night-tides I have rested oft before,
For many a night have I streaked me in full unseemly lair,
And abidden the holy morning, the Gold-throned Dawn and fair.
And moreover, this foot-washing to my mind is nothing meet,
Nor shall any of your women set hand unto my feet,
Of those in the house about thee that are serving in the place,
But it were some woman ancient, of prudent wont and ways,
Whose heart hath borne such troubles as I have had to bear:
To her I should not begrudge it that my feet she handled here.”
Eut to him thus spake in answer heart-wise Penelope:
“Dear guest, no man aforetime hath come to my house and me
Of all far-coming strangers so heedful and so dear,
So needfully and wisely ye speak of matters here.
Such a goodwife I have, in whose heart do wholesome counsels dwell,
Who erst that man unhappy did rear and nourish well,
And in her hands she took him when his mother brought him to light;
And she thy feet shall wash thee, though now she be minished of might
— Ho, Euryclea, thou wiseheart! rise up, rise up to me,
To wash one of like age to thy master! Ah, now it well may be
That suchlike are the feet of Odysseus, and suchlike his hands indeed
For mortal men age swiftly amidst of baleful need”
So she spake; but the ancient woman warm tears adown she shed,
And her face with her hands she covered, and a weary word she said:
“Woe’s me, O child! I am redeless for thee whom much, and far more
Than all men, Zeus now hateth: and such godlike mind as ye bore!
And although no man of mortals unto Zeus the Thunder-fain
Burned ever thighs so many, or of hundred-folded gain
Of choice gifts gave as thou gavest, when thou wouldst speed the prayer
To come unto eld soft-faring, and thy noble son to rear.
But now from thee hath he taken thine hope and thine home-faring day.
And on him too meseemeth their mocks shall the women lay,
The mocks of the far-come sttanger when he entereth houses fair,
As on thee, guest, all these bitches lay the mocking and the jeer;
So to shun their taunts and much mocking as now thou wilt not away
With their washing; but now upon me, nought loth, the bidding doth lay
The Daughter of Icarius, heart-wise Penelope.
And so for Penelope’s sake will I wash thy feet for thee,
And for thine own moreover: for my heart is inly stirred
With thy griefs. But withal do thou hearken and lay to heart this word,
For hither have come a many of guests with grief foredone,
But never beheld I another so like to look upon
As thou unto Odysseus of body, of voice, and of feet”
Then answered and spake Odysseus, the rich in counsels meet:
“Yea, carline, and thus say all men, who look on us with eyes,
That we twain are alike to each other in every manner of wise,
As thou of thine understanding dost e’en now say aright”
So he spake; but the ancient woman took the bath-vat shining bright
For the washing of feet, and cold water a plenty therein did she pour,
And therewith the warm she mingled, and down by the hearth of the floor
Sat Odysseus; but now to the shadow he turned, for a thought in his mind
Foreboded, that when she should handle his body the scar she should find,
And that all the deed he was doing should be manifest today.
So she drew nigh her master to wash him, and knew the scar straightway,
E’en the wound that the wood-boar furrowed with his white tooth on the
When he to Autolycus fared, -and his sons, by Parnassus’ side; [tide
The famed father of his mother, who in thievish sleight, and the shift
Of oaths did outgo all men; and he had it of Hermes’ gift,
Unto whom he made burnt-offering, well-liked, of many a thigh
Of lambs and of kids, and the God was fain to help him thereby.
Now Autolycus, coming his ways to Ithaca’s fat-fed land,
Happed there on the son of his daughter, on earth new-come to hand,
And this child, Euryclea laid it upon his kindly knees,
As he rested after his supper, and spake out words like these:
“Autolycus, some name find thou to lay on the manchild fair,
The child of thy daughter beloved, the child of many a prayer.”
Her then Autolycus answered, and thus the word he said:
“O son-in-law and daughter on him let my word be laid,
Whereas I am hither, laden with the wrath of many a mood,
Of men and women dwelling on earth the wealthy of food,
So let him be called Odysseus, and have the Wrath-child’s name.
But when, waxen a man, he cometh to his mother’s house of fame,
When he cometh to me to Parnassus, where my wealth in store I lay,
Thereof a gift will I give him and will send him glad on his way.”
So there where the gifts abode him came Odysseus to that house,
And therein Autolycus took him, and the sons of Autolycus,
With the hands they gave him welcome, and with soft sweet words of the
And the mother of his mother about Odysseus clung, [tongue.
And therewith on his head she kissed him and on both his lovely eyes.
And Autolycus fell to calling on his glorious sons to arise,
And dight the feast; and they hearkened the bidding that he gave,
And a neat of five years old, a bull, thereto did they have,
And flayed him withal and dight him, and the carcase, they jointed it,
And in gobbets clave it deftly, and set it on many a spit,
And roasted it very wisely, and dealt out the shares each one.
So there daylong they feasted till the going down of the sun,
Nor was there a soul of them lacking of one equal feast and the same.
But when the sun sank under, and the dusk and the darkness came,
There then they fell to slumber, and the gift of sleep took they.
But when shone the Mother of Morning, Rose-fingered Early Day,
Forth then they fared to the hunting, both the hounds and Autolycus’ sons,
And the goodly Odysseus moreover went with those other ones.
To the steep fells then they betook them, Parnassus’ wood-crowned hills,
And speedily were they gotten aloft to the windy ghylls,
Whenas the sun new risen smote the acres of the earth,
Risen up from the soft-flowing river, the deep-streamed Ocean-girth.
So unto a glade came the prickers, and following up the scent
Were the hounds before them going, and at heel of them there went
Autolycus’ sons, and Odysseus the valiant went along
Close up to the hounds, and brandished a long-boled spear and strong.
Now there lay a mighty wood-boar, in a thicket so close grown
That not e’en by the might of the storm-wind was the wet blast through it
Nor did the sun bright-shining smite through it with his ray, [blown,
Nor the rain-drift pass amidst it, close grown up every way.
And great store of sear leaves ever lay fallen upon its ground.
Now the din of dogs and the tramping of men’s feet girt it around
As the hunt came driving against him, and out from his thicket lair
He faced them, his crest a-bristling, and his eyes, as the fire they were.
And he stood at bay anigh them: then Odysseus first of the band
Rushed on, his spear long-shafted upraised in his mighty hand,
All eager for his hurting; but the boar forewent him and drave
A gash above his knee-bone, and much flesh with his tooth he clave
