Complete Works of William Morris, page 663
To the Gods, since they full soothly are better far than thou.
Take this guest-gift for the ox-foot that thou gavest even now
Unto Odysseus the godlike when he begged adown his hall.”
Thus the herd of the shambling oxen. But Odysseus therewithal,
Hand to hand with the son of Damastor, with his long spear thrust him
And Telemachus Leocritus, Evenor’s son, did undo through,
With a spear-thrust amidst of the belly, and drave the brass right out,
And he fell on his face, and the hall-floor the breadth of his forehead smote
But her man-destroying ^Egis upheld Athene then
Aloft from the roof; and fear-struck were the souls of all those men,
And they fled about the feast-hall in such wise as the kine of the herd,
Whom the gadfly the swift-flitting hath fallen upon and scared
In the season of the spring-tide, when long out the day-time draws.
But the others, e’en as vultures hook-nebbed, of crooked claws
From out the mountains coming, stoop on the birds that go
Swift hurrying over the plain, from the high clouds cowering a-low,
And those fall on and slaughter, nor is there any might,
Nor ever a way for fleeing; and men in the prey delight:
— In such wise on the Wooers about the house fell those,
And on either hand they smote them, and fearful the groans arose
As the skulls of men were smitten, and in blood did the pavement swim.
But Leiodes ran to Odysseus, and caught the knees of him,
And fell to praying him pity; and such winged words spake he:
“By thy knees, I beseech thee, Odysseus, to have compassion on me,
For I tell thee that unto the women that are in thine house and hall
I have said and done nought wanton; but the other Wooers withal
Have I refrained them, whenever of such deeds they had a will,
Though nought to me would they hearken to hold their hands from ill.
So now for this wanton folly an ugly fate have they won:
But I, their priest of burnt-offering, who nought herein have done,
Shall fall, and no grace abideth for doing righteous deed.”
But with bent brows looking upon him spake Odysseus of many a rede: “ And if the priest of burnt-offering thou be, as thou dost say,
Many times in these halls meseemeth wilt thou have been wont to pray
That the end of my glad returning might be far away from me,
That my wife with thee might be wending and bear her babes for thee.
Therefore from the death o’ershadowing.thy life thou shalt not save.”
Therewith in his hand most mighty he caught up a battle glaive,
That lay there fallen from the hand of Agelaiis late slain,
And drave it through amidmost of his neck and clave it atwain,
So that e’en as he was speaking the head with the dust was blent.
But the son of Terpes the minstrel, yet shunning black fate went,
E’en Phemius, he who sang perforce to the Wooers’ band;
And there he stood, yet holding the shrilly harp in hand,
Hard by the postern, and pondered in his mind two ways of it,
Whether going forth of the feast-hall by the well-wrought altar to sit
Of the mighty Zeus of the Garths, whereon Laertes of old
And Odysseus had burned the ox-thighs in offerings manifold;
Or else to Odysseus running to beseech him by his knees;
And, turning it o’er in his mind, it seemed the better of these,
The knees of the son of Laertes, Odysseus, to cling around.
So therewith the harp wrought hollow he set upon the ground,
Midways betwixt the wine-bowl and the high-seat silver-wrought
And he ran straight up to Odysseus, and his knees about he caught,
And to him in supplication such winged words spake he:
“By thy knees I beseech thee, Odysseus, to have compassion on me,
For to thee shall be grief hereafter for the singer’s slaughtering
If ye slay me, who unto the Gods and unto menfolk sing;
And myself myself have learned it: and the God in the mind of me
All manner of lays hath planted; and belike I may sing unto thee
As unto a God. So desire not the smiting of my head!
Forsooth by Telemachus also, thy dear son, shall the tale be said,
That unwilling and unlonging in thine house was I harbouring,
Unto the folk of the Wooers amidst their feasts to sing,
For many men, men mightier, brought me here in mine own despite.”
So he spake, and to him was hearkening Telemachus’ holy might,
And straight he came up to his father and thuswise spake thereto;
“Withhold thee, nor yet with the brass this sackless man thrust through!
And the henchman Medon spare we, who in this house evermore
Would cherish me and heed me when a youngling heretofore,
If Philoetius or the swineherd have slain him not as yet,
Or thee in thine anger raging midst the house he hath not met”
So he spake; and Medon heard him, well learned in wisdom fair,
Who, shunning the black death-doom lay low and cowering there
‘Neath a high seat, and wrapped closely in an oxhide newly flayed;
Then straight he arose from the high-seat, and adown the oxhide laid,
And unto Telemachus running his knees he clasped about,
And to him in supplication these winged words spake out:
“O friend, I am here! withhold thee to thy father speak the word,
Lest he in his might undo me with the brass of the whetted sword
In his wrath against the Wooers, who in his house and hall
Have wasted his wealth in their folly, nor honoured him at all.”
But Odysseus of much counsel smiled in his face and spake:
“Heart up! since this man spares thee, and thy safeguard thus doth make;
That thou in thine heart may’st know it, and to other men may’st tell
That better than ill-doing are the ways of doing well.
But get ye forth from the feast-hall, to the forecourt make your ways,
And sit there aloof from the murder with the singer of many lays,
While yet in the house I labour at whatso needeth there.”
So he spake, but straight without doors and forth of the hall did they fare,
And before the great Zeus’ altar they sat them down they twain,
On all sides peering about them, and still expecting bane.
But about his house peered Odysseus, if yet a man there were
Who shunning the black doom-day was left a-lurking there;
But adown in the dust and the blood he beheld them all lying about
Yea, as many as the fishes which the fishers have drawn out
With a net of many meshes from out the hoary sea
Up on to the hollow sea-beach: there heaped up all they be
Cast up upon the sea-sand, desiring the waves of the brine;
But the sun their life is taking with the glory of his shine.
Thus then in heaps the Wooers on one another lay.
Then at last unto Telemachus did all-wise Odysseus say:
“Telemachus, go and call thou the nurse Euryclea here,
That somewhat I may tell her which on my mind I bear.”
So he spake, and Telemachus straightway his loved father obeyed,
And smote on the door and a word to the nurse Euryclea said:
“Up hither, O ancient of days, who over the women-thralls
Art ever the ward and the watcher within our house and halls;
Come! for my father calls thee, and hath a word to tell.”
So he spake; and the word was wingless and by her yet did dwell,
And therewith she opened the doors of the hall of the pleasant place,
And went her ways; but the youngling led on before her face,
And there she found Odysseus amidst the men dead slain,
With blood and gore bedabbled, as a lion stalketh amain,
Who cometh from devouring an ox of the meadowy place,
And all his breast is bloody and either side his face,
And fearful is he fashioned to look upon with eyes:
So befouled were the feet of Odysseus and his hands in e’en such wise.
But she, when she saw the corpses and that abundant blood,
Was setting up a joy-shout, so great seemed the work and so good;
But Odysseus refrained and withheld her, though yearning sore indeed,
And sent his voice out toward her, and this winged word fell to speed:
“Rejoice in thy soul, O goodwife, and thy shout of joy refrain,
For nowise is it righteous to boast above the slain.
But these men the Fate of the Gods and their wanton deeds did quell,
Whereas they honoured no man of men on the earth that dwell,
Were he good or were he evil, whosoever came their way.
So through their wanton folly met they loathly end to-day.
But come! of these home-women do thou tell the tale to me,
Whichso of them have shamed us and whichso sackless be.”
Then the loved nurse Euryclea, she spake and answered this:
“To thee, forsooth, my nursling, will I tell the tale as it is;
Within the halls of thine homestead a fifty handmaids dwell,
And to work the work of women have we learned them all right well,
Both the carding of wool and the bearing of thraldom as they may.
Of these there are twelve in all who have trodden the shameful way,
And me they nowise honour, nor yet Penelope.
And Telemachus is but new grown into manhood, nor might it be
That his mother him would suffer to order the women thralls.
But now let me go up aloft to the bright bower of the halls
To tell thy wife: for slumber some God on her hath laid.”
But Odysseus of many a rede to her made answer and said:
“Nay, nowise her shalt thou waken: go bid the women here, E’en they who deeds unseemly have wrought in days that were.”
So he spake, and adown the feast-hall therewith did the goodwife go
With the message to the women, to bid them haste thereto.
But Odysseus called unto him Telemachus, and the twain,
The neatherd and the swineherd, and spake winged words again:
“Fall to and bear out the corpses, and bid the women to aid,
And thereafter all the high seats and the tables lovely-made
With water and with sponges hole-pierced cleanse thoroughly.
But when ye have ordered all things in the house as they shall be,
Then, bringing forth the women from out the well-built hall,
Midways ‘twixt the vaulted kitchen and the forecourt’s holy wall
With the long-edged sword there smite them, till ye have undone clean
The souls of all, and no longer they remember the love that hath been
That they gat from the Wooers in secret, and mingled with them were.”
And e’en as the word he was speaking came the women huddling there,
And bitterly they bewailed them, and fast the tears they shed.
First then they bore out of the feast-hall the bodies of the dead,
And laid them under the cloister of the garth well-walled about,
Each propped against the other, and Odysseus himself gave out
The word, and the work he ordered, and perforce the women bare.
And therewithal the high-seats and the tables fashioned fair
With water and with sponges hole-pierced they washed all sweet;
But Telemachus and the swineherd, and the herder of the neat,
Throughout the house well-builded with shovels scraped the floors,
And the handmaids took the scrapings and bore them out a-doors.
But when the hall of the homestead they had set in order at last,
From out the well-built feast-hall with the women-thralls they passed
To betwixt the vaulted kitchen and the forecourt’s holy wall,
And in a strait place shut them whence no outgate was at all.
Then Telemachus to his fellows began, and thus he spake:
“By a clean death nought am I willing the lives from these to take,
Who things so grievous shameful have heaped upon my head,
And also on my mother, and have lain in the Wooers’ bed.”
So he spake; and therewith the cable of a black-prowed ship he found,
And made fast to a lofty pillar and cast it the kitchen around,
And stretched it aloft that no one might touch the earth with her feet;
And e’en as the long-winged thrushes or the doves ‘gainst a net may beat,
Which, when unto roost they betake them amidst the boughs is spread,
And verily there are they taken and they come to a loathly bed;
So these held their heads in order, and round their necks each one
Ran the noose, that they might perish by the evilest death undone;
And they writhed with their feet for a little, but their season was but short
Then did they bring Melanthius through the porch and into the court,
And they cropped with the ruthless brass the ears and the nose from his
And drew out his privy parts for the dogs to eat raw in the place, [face,
And hewed off his hands and his feet in their fierce and fell intent.
Then their hands and their feet they washed, and into the house they went.
And came unto Odysseus, and done was the work of the day.
Then unto the nurse beloved, Euryclea, did he say:
“Bring brimstone, the cure of evil, goodwife, bring fire unto me,
That I the house may hallow; then bid thou Penelope
That now she get her hither, and her handmaidens withal.
Yea, speed hither all the women that serve in our house and hall.”
But the dear nurse Euryclea in turn made answer thus:
“Yea, this thou sayest, O nursling, in manner righteous.
But come, a cloak and a kirtle, fair weed let me bring thee to hand,
Nor with broad shoulders huddled in rags thuswise do thou stand
Amidst of our halls, for soothly blameworthy this thing were.”
But Odysseus of many a rede thus spake and answered her:
“Nay, first of all I prithee let the fire in our halls be made.”
So he spake, and the nurse, beloved Euryclea, nought gainsaid,
But fetched the fire and the brimstone, and Odysseus therewithal
In goodly fashion hallowed the court and the house and the hall.
Then the goodwife went her ways through Odysseus’ house the fair
With her message to the women to bid them hasten there,
And they came forth from the chamber, and candle in hand they had,
And they hung about Odysseus, and embraced him and were glad.
And they kissed him and caressed him, his head and his shoulders withal,
And clung to his hand, and sweet longing upon his soul did fall
For weeping and for wailing; for his heart, he knew them all.
BOOK XXIII.
ARGUMENT.
ODYSSEUS MAKETH talMSELF KNOWN TO HIS WIFE PENELOPE.
THEN the old wife, joyfully laughing, to the bower-aloft did fare,
To tell the tale to her mistress that within was her husband dear;
And her knees were brisk, and beneath her her feet went trippingly:
So she stood o’er the head of the Queen, and to her the word spake she:
“Waken, Penelope! waken, dear child! that thou ma/st behold
The very thing that thou wouldest, and the hope of thy days of old;
Odysseus hath come! he hath reached his own house, though late it is,
And hath slain the masterful Wooers, who have troubled that house of his,
And have eaten his wealth, and have cowed his son so grievously.”
But therewith thus bespake her heart-wise Penelope:
‘Stark mad the Gods have made thee, dear nurse, for they have the might
To make a body witless, though full wise she be aright:
And the wanton fool into wisdom they may shift if they have the will;
And thee have they marred, who aforetime hadst a heart of wit and skill.
Ah, why then dost thou mock me, and my mind of many an ache
With these wild tales of thy telling, and me why wilt thou wake
From the sweet sleep that hath bound me and wrapped mine eyelids o’er?
Never yet in such sleep have I slumbered since Odysseus went of yore
To seek the Evil Ilios, that none should name at all.
Now therefore get thee downward and wend thy ways to the hall:
For if any one else of the women whom here I have and keep
Had come with such a story to waken me from sleep,
Then back unto the feast-hall had I sent her speedily
In woeful wise: but herein thine eld excuseth thee.”
Then the dear nurse Euryclea in such wise answered she:
“Dear child, nowise I mock thee, but in sooth and in verity
Odysseus is here in the house according to my tale;
That guest whom all men soever in the house did bemock and berail;
And Telemachus hath known him in the house this while indeed,
But of his heedful wisdom hath hidden his father’s rede,
That the better he might wreak him of the wrong of masterful men.”
She spake, and glad grew the other, and leapt from the bedplace then,
And cast her arms about her, and the tears from her eyelids shed;
And therewith her voice she uttered, and winged words she said:
“Dear friend, and tellest thou truly a soothfast tale to-day?
And in very truth hath he gotten aback to his house as ye say?
How then upon the Wooers, the shameless, laid he hand,
He one alone, and they ever in their place a steadfast band?”
But the dear nurse Euryclea thus spake to her the word:
“I saw not, nor noted, but only the groans of the dying I heard:
