Homer, Odyssey

ToposText · Homer · 2,435 sections

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§ 1.1 BOOK 1 Tell me, Muse, about the wily man who wandered long and far after he sacked the sacred citadel of Troy. He saw the cities and knew the minds of many men, but suffered at sea many sorrows in his heart,
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§ 1.5 struggling for his life and comrades' return home. But he didn't save his comrades, much though he wanted to, for by their own recklessness they perished, childish fools, who devoured the cattle of the Sun, Hyperion, who then deprived them of their homecoming day.
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§ 1.10 Tell us also, goddess, daughter of Zeus, of sundry things. Then all the rest, all who had escaped sheer destruction, were home and had escaped both war and sea. Him only, yearning for his wife and return home, the nymph, lady Calypso, a goddess divine,
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§ 1.15 detained in hollow caves, eager that he be her husband. But as the years went round, there came a year at last when the gods spun his destiny to return home to Ithaca, but he wasn't safe from trials there, even among his loved ones. All the gods felt pity for him
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§ 1.20 except Poseidon. He was incessantly incensed at godlike Odysseus until he reached his own land. But Poseidon had gone to visit the far-off Ethiopians, the Ethiopians, most remote of men, who are divided in two, some at Hyperion's setting, others at his rising,
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§ 1.25 to partake of a hecatomb of bulls and rams. He sat there enjoying himself at the feast. The others by now were together in the halls of Olympian Zeus. The father of men and gods began speaking to them, for in his heart he recalled noble Aegisthus,
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§ 1.30 whom far-famed Orestes Agamemnonides had slain. Remembering him, he addressed these words to the immortals: “Humph! How mortals now blame gods, for they say that evils are from us. Yet they themselves have woes beyond their lot by their own recklessness,
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§ 1.35 as even now, beyond his lot, Aegisthus married Atreides' wedded wife and killed him when he came home, sure of sheer destruction, after we told him beforehand, sending Hermes, sharp-sighted Argeiphontes, to neither woo his wife nor kill him,
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§ 1.40 for there'd be revenge, from Atreides' son Orestes, when he came of age and longed for his own land. So Hermes said, but he didn't win over the mind of Aegisthus, though he meant well. Now he's paid for it all all together.” Then bright-eyed goddess Athena answered him:
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§ 1.45 “Our father Cronides, your highness most supreme, just as that one lies in fitting destruction, may also any other one who does such things so perish! But my heart is troubled about skilled Odysseus, the ill-fated one, who, away from his loved ones a long time already, suffers misery
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§ 1.50 on a sea-girt island, where the sea's navel is. The island is forested, and on it a goddess makes her home, the daughter of malign Atlas, he who knows the depths of every sea and by himself holds the tall pillars that hold apart heaven and earth.
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§ 1.55 His daughter detains the unfortunate lamenter, and ever with soft and wheedling words enchants him in such a way that he'll forget Ithaca. But Odysseus, eager for even the sight of smoke rising from his land, longs to die. But there's now no care at all for him
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§ 1.60 in your dear heart, Olympian. Did not Odysseus please you he when he offered sacrifice beside the Argive ships in wide Troy? Why now, Zeus, are you so incensed with him?” Cloud-gatherer Zeus said to her in reply: “My child, what kind of talk has fled your wall of teeth?
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§ 1.65 How could I ever forget godlike Odysseus, who is superior among mortals in mind and in giving sacrifice to the immortal gods who hold wide heaven? But earth-embracing Poseidon is ever relentless in his rage because of the Cyclops whose eye Odysseus blinded,
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§ 1.70 godlike Polyphemus, whose strength is greatest of all Cyclops. The nymph Thoosa bore him. Daughter of Phorkys, ruler of the barren sea, she joined in hollow caves with Poseidon. Earth-shaker Poseidon does not kill Odysseus on his account,
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§ 1.75 but does drive him away from his father's land. But come, let all of us contrive his return for him, as he wishes. Poseidon will let go of his anger, for he'll no way be able to contend alone, opposed to all immortals, against the will of the gods.”
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§ 1.80 Then bright-eyed goddess Athena answered him: “Our father Cronides, your highness most supreme, if this is now pleasing to the blessed gods, that ingenious Odysseus would return to his home, then let's dispatch Hermes, the runner Argeiphontes,
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§ 1.85 to the island of Ogygia, to clearly speak most quickly to the fair-haired nymph our will, the return home of steadfast Odysseus, so that he may go. Then I'll go to Ithaca, to spur his son on more, and I'll put the courage in his heart
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§ 1.90 to call the hairy-headed Achaeans to assembly and speak out to all the suitors, who are always slaughtering his thick-thronging sheep and shambling curved-horned cattle. I'll send him to Sparta and to sandy Pylos, to learn of his dear father's return home, in hope he'll somehow hear
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§ 1.95 and so he'll have good repute among men.” So saying, beneath her feet she tied fine sandals, ambrosial, golden ones, that bore her, over water and boundless land, with the breezes of the wind. She grabbed a sharp spear, edged with sharp bronze,
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§ 1.100 heavy, long, and thick, with which she routs regiments of men, heroes against whom the great father's daughter bears resentment. In a rush she came down from the peaks of Olympus, and in the kingdom of Ithaca stood at the doorway of Odysseus, at the courtyard's threshold. She held the bronze spear in her palm,
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§ 1.105 disguised as a stranger, the Taphian chief Mentes. Next she found the manly suitors, who were then amusing their hearts with pebbles in front of the gate, sitting on hides of oxen that they'd killed. They had heralds and deft henchmen,
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§ 1.110 some who mixed wine and water in mixing bowls, while some, with sponges full of holes, cleaned and set the tables and others cut up lots of meat. Godlike Telemachus was first by far to see her, for he sat among the suitors, dear heart grieving,
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§ 1.115 seeing in his mind his good father, in hope he'd come from somewhere, make a scattering of the suitors throughout the house, and himself have honor and rule over his possessions. Sitting among the suitors thinking this, he caught sight of Athena. He made straight for the front doorway, displeased at heart
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§ 1.120 that a stranger stand a long time at the door. He stood close, took her right hand, and accepted her bronze spear. And, voicing winged words, he said to her: “Welcome, stranger, you'll be treated kindly by us, then when you've eaten supper, you can tell us what you need.”
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§ 1.125 So saying, he led the way, and Pallas Athena followed. When they were inside the lofty dwelling he stood the spear he carried against a tall pillar, inside a well-wrought spear rack, where many spears of steadfast Odysseus stood as well.
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§ 1.130 He led her to a fine ornamented chair, spread a cloth beneath her, and sat her down. There was a footstool underneath her feet. He set himself a variegated couch beside her, apart from the others, the suitors, lest the stranger, distressed by the din and coming among the haughty, not be satisfied with supper
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§ 1.135 and so he could ask her about his absent father. A handmaid brought water for washing in a fine golden pitcher and poured it above a silver basin so they could wash, then pulled a polished table beside them. A venerable housekeeper brought bread and set it before them
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§ 1.140 placing many foods on it, pleasing them from her stores. A carver raised and placed before them platters of meats of all kinds and put golden cups beside them. A herald came often and poured wine for them. In came the manly suitors. Then, as they
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§ 1.145 sat down in rows on chairs and couches, heralds poured water on their hands, slaves heaped bread in baskets beside them, and boys filled mixing bowls to the brim with drink. They threw their hands on the good things laid ready before them.
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§ 1.150 Then after the suitors had dispatched desire for food and drink, other things caught their minds' attention, the performance and the dance, for they accompany a feast. A herald placed a gorgeous cithara into the hands of Phemius, who sang, under duress, for the suitors.
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§ 1.155 Playing the lyre, he began to sing beautifully, but Telemachus said to bright-eyed Athena, holding his head close so others couldn't hear him: “Dear stranger, will you resent me for what I'm going to say? These things, the cithara and song, interest them
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§ 1.160 easily, since they eat without payment the substance of another, of a man whose white bones rot somewhere in a storm, lying on dry land or rolling in the waves of the sea. If they saw that one returning home to Ithaca, all would pray to be lighter on their feet
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§ 1.165 than to be richer in raiment and gold. Now he's perished by an evil fate, and we have no comfort, even if some earthly man tells us he will come. His day of homecoming is done for. But come, tell me this, and recount it exactly.
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§ 1.170 What man and from where are you? Where are your city and parents? In what kind of ship did you arrive and how did sailors bring you to Ithaca? Who did they claim to be? For I don't at all think you reached here on foot. And speak this truly to me, so I may know well
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§ 1.175 whether you're just visiting or are also a hereditary guest-friend, since many other men used to come to our house when that one too was one who had dealings with mankind.” Bright-eyed goddess Athena said back to him: “So then, I'll tell this to you quite exactly.
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§ 1.180 I claim I'm Mentes, son of skilled Anchialus, and I rule over the oar-loving Taphians. I've come this way now with my ship and comrades, sailing on the wine-dark sea to men of another language, to Temese, after copper, and I bring gleaming iron.
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§ 1.185 My ship stands over there, in the country, away from the city, in Rheithron harbor beneath wooded Neion. We claim that we're hereditary guest-friends of each other from of old. Just go and ask the old man, hero Laertes, whom they say no longer comes
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§ 1.190 to town, but suffers misery on his farm far away, with an old woman handmaid who puts food and drink beside him whenever exhaustion takes hold of his limbs, as he crawls up the hill of his wine-bearing plot. Now I've come, for they said your father was at home,
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§ 1.195 but, indeed, the gods impede him on his path. For divine Odysseus has not yet died on land, but still alive somewhere, he's held back by the wide sea on a sea-girt island. Hard men hold him, savages, who detain him against his will.
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§ 1.200 But I'll now prophesy to you, as the immortals put it in my heart and as I think that it will happen, though I'm neither a seer nor clearly know about birds of omen. He surely won't be away much longer from his beloved fatherland, not even if bonds of iron hold him.
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§ 1.205 Since he's resourceful, he'll figure out how to return. But come, tell me this, and recount it exactly, whether, big as you are, you're the son of Odysseus himself. You're terribly like him in your head and fine eyes, since we every so often got together with each other
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§ 1.210 before he went to Troy, where the rest of the best of the Argives went in their hollow ships. Since then, I've not seen Odysseus nor has he seen me.” Astute Telemachus said back to her in answer: “Well then, I'll tell you, stranger, quite exactly.
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§ 1.215 My mother says I'm his, but I don't know, for no one ever knows for sure his parentage. Would that I were the blessed son of some man whom old age came upon among his possessions. But, he who's been the unluckiest of all men,
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§ 1.220 his they say I am, since you ask me about this.” Bright-eyed goddess Athena said back to him: “The gods did not establish your line to be nameless hereafter, since Penelope gave birth to such as you. But come, tell me this, and recount it exactly.
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§ 1.225 What meal, what gathering is this? What has it to do with you? A banquet or a wedding, since this is not a meal hosted by many? They seem to me to dine haughtily, like wantons, throughout the house. Any sensible man who came to visit would be outraged seeing these many shameful deeds!”
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§ 1.230 Astute Telemachus said back to her in turn: “Stranger, since you question me and ask about this, once upon a time this house was going to be rich and noble, when that man was at home. Now the gods, scheming evil, have willed otherwise;
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§ 1.235 they've made him the most invisible of all men. I wouldn't grieve so for him even if he'd died, if he'd been tamed among his comrades in the Trojans' land or in the hands of loved ones after he wound up the war. The Panachaeans would have made a grave mound for him
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§ 1.240 and he'd have won great fame hereafter even for his son. But now the Snatchers [ Harpies ] have snatched him without tidings. He goes, unseen, unheard of, and has left me pain and lamentation. But I don't only lament and grieve for him now, since the gods have made other evil troubles for me,
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§ 1.245 for all the nobles who rule over the islands of Doulichion, Same, and wooded Zacynthus, and all who hold sway throughout rugged Ithaca, all these woo my mother and consume my house. She neither refuses hateful marriage nor can make
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§ 1.250 an end of it. They, by their eating, are wasting away my house. Quite soon they'll smash me to pieces, too.” Finding this intolerable, Pallas Athena said to him: “Humph! You fall far short of absent Odysseus, who'd lay his hands on shameless suitors,
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§ 1.255 if he came and stood now in the front door of his home, holding a helmet, a shield and two spears, as he was when I first saw him drinking and enjoying himself in our house, on his return from Ephyre and Ilus Mermerides.
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§ 1.260 For he'd gone there in a swift ship searching for a man-killing drug, to have it to rub on bronze-tipped arrows. Ilus didn't give it to him, since he feared the gods who are forever, but my father gave it to him, for he loved him terribly.
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§ 1.265 Should such an Odysseus engage the suitors, all would be bitterly betrothed and swiftly doomed. But indeed, these things lie on gods' knees, whether he'll return, and make them pay in his palace, or he won't. I urge you to consider
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§ 1.270 how to drive the suitors out of the palace. Come now, hear and heed my words. Tomorrow, call the Achaean heroes to assembly, declare your will to all, and the gods will be witnesses to it. Order the suitors to disperse to their own places,
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§ 1.275 and order your mother, if her heart moves her to marry, to go immediately to her powerful father's great palace. They'll arrange the wedding and assemble many bride gifts, just as many as should follow a dear daughter. I'll advise you shrewdly, if you'll trust me.
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§ 1.280 Rig a ship, the best you can, with twenty oars, and go inquire about your father, so long on his way. Perhaps some mortal may tell you, or you may hear a rumor from Zeus, which very often carries news to men. First go to Pylos and ask divine Nestor,
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§ 1.285 and from there go to Sparta, to blond Menelaus, for of the bronze-clad Achaeans he was last to come home. If you hear of your father's survival and return, though you'd be impoverished, you should still hold out a year, but if you hear he's dead and no longer alive,
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§ 1.290 you should then return to your beloved fatherland, pile up a barrow for him on which to pay his last rights, as many, very many, as are fitting, and give your mother to a husband. But once you've carried these things out and done them, consider then in your mind and heart
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§ 1.295 how to slay the suitors in your palace by guile or openly. You must not in any way indulge in childish ways, since you're no longer of an age for that. Haven't you heard what kind of fame divine Orestes won among all mankind, after he slew his father's killer,
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§ 1.300 cunning Aegisthus, who'd slain his famous father? You too, my friend, for I clearly see you're big and handsome, be staunch, so those born after will speak well of you. But I'll go down to my swift ship and comrades, who are likely quite impatient waiting for me.
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§ 1.305 Keep this in your mind and heed my words.” Astute Telemachus said back to her in answer: “Stranger, truly, you say these things with kindly thought, like a father to his son, and I will never forget them. But come now, stay a while, though you're eager for your journey,
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§ 1.310 so that bathed and with dear heart at ease, you'll go to your ship glad at heart, with a gift, a precious, very fine one, that you'll have as a keepsake from me, the kind dear guest-friends give to guest-friends.” Then bright-eyed goddess Athena answered him:
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§ 1.315 “Detain me now no longer, as I do want to be on my way. Whatever gift your dear heart bids you give me, give it, to be taken home, on my way back, and pick a very fine one. You'll get one worth it in exchange.” So saying, bright-eyed Athena departed,
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§ 1.320 as a bird flies up and away, and she put in his heart confidence and courage, and caused him to think of his father even more than before. When he thought it over in his mind he was astounded in his heart, for he supposed it was a god. The godlike man at once approached the suitors.
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§ 1.325 The far-famed singer sang to them, and they sat listening in silence. He sang of the Achaeans' sad return from Troy, that Pallas Athena imposed. From an upper chamber, Icarius' daughter, prudent Penelope, heard in her heart his wondrous song.
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§ 1.330 She descended her home's high staircase, not alone, but two handmaids followed with her. When the woman divine reached the suitors, she stood beside a column of the densely-built roof, holding a shiny veil against her cheeks,
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§ 1.335 and a devoted handmaid stood on either side. Then, in tears, she said to the godlike singer: “ Phemius, since you know many other things that enchant mortals, the deeds of men and gods that singers celebrate, sing one of those, as you sit beside them, and let them drink
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§ 1.340 their wine in silence. Cease this sad song that ever distresses the dear heart in my chest, since sorrow not to be forgotten comes especially upon me, for I always long for such a head, when reminded of my husband, whose fame is wide from Hellas to the middle of Argos.”
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§ 1.345 Astute Telemachus said back to her in turn: “My mother, why do you begrudge the trusty singer entertaining whatever way his mind is spurred? Singers are not at fault, but Zeus is probably to blame, who gives to men who work for bread, to each one, however he wishes.
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§ 1.350 This one's singing Danaans' evil doom is no cause for reproach, for people more applaud the song that's newest to float about the hearers. Let your heart and soul endure the hearing of it. For Odysseus was not the only one to lose his day of homecoming
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§ 1.355 in Troy, but many other men also perished. So go into the house and tend to your own work, the loom and distaff, and bid your handmaids go about their work. Speaking is of concern to men, to all, especially to me, for the power in this house is mine.”
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§ 1.360 Astonished, she went back to the house, for she put in her heart the astute words of her son. When she'd gone up to the upper floor with her handmaid women, she then wept for Odysseus, her beloved husband, until bright-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.
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§ 1.365 The suitors raised an uproar throughout the shadowy palace, and all prayed to lie in bed beside her. Then astute Telemachus was first to speak among them: “Suitors of my mother, with your arrogant wantonness, let's now enjoy our feasting, and let there be no uproar,
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§ 1.370 since it is a fine thing, listening to a singer such as this one is, in voice just like the gods. But at dawn let's go and sit down in assembly, all of us, so I may declare outright my will to you, that you leave my palace. Find other meals,
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§ 1.375 and eat your own possessions, and take turns at your houses. But if this seems more desirable and better to you, to destroy one man's substance without compensation, then consume it. I'll cry out to the everlasting gods, in hope that somehow Zeus grant that there be deeds of requital.
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§ 1.380 Then, without compensation, inside this house you'll perish!” So said he, and all bit their lips and marveled at Telemachus, because he spoke undaunted. Eupeithes' son Antinous said back to him: “ Telemachus, it must be that the gods themselves teach you
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§ 1.385 to be a bold talker and to speak undaunted. Let Cronion not make you king in sea-girt Ithaca, which is hereditary to your family!” Astute Telemachus said back to him in turn: “ Antinous, even if you'll be offended by what I say,
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§ 1.390 I'd be willing to take this for myself, if Zeus should give it. Do you think this the worst thing in the world that can happen? For there's nothing bad in being king. Suddenly, one's house becomes wealthy and oneself more esteemed. But, there are indeed Achaean kings, and also many
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§ 1.395 others in sea-girt Ithaca, young and old, any of whom may have this, once divine Odysseus has died. But I'll be lord of our house and of the slaves whom divine Odysseus took by pillage for me!” Polybus' son Eurymachus said back to him in turn:
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§ 1.400 “ Telemachus, indeed, these things lie on gods' knees, whichever Achaean will be king in sea-girt Ithaca, but may you yourself have your property and rule over your house. For let the man not come, to take by force against your will your property from you, while Ithaca is still a place to live in.
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§ 1.405 But I want to ask you, most noble sir, about the stranger. This man, where is he from, from what country does he claim to be, where is his father's farm and family, and did he bring some news of your father's coming, or did he come here wanting to do business of his own?
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§ 1.410 How quickly he sprang up and left and didn't hang around to be recognized, for he seemed nothing like a coward to my eye.” Astute Telemachus said back to him in turn: “ Eurymachus, my father's return home is surely done for. So, I neither believe news, if it comes from anywhere,
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§ 1.415 nor attend to prophecy, whatever my mother may ask about when she calls a prophet to our hall. This stranger is of my father's family from Taphos and claims he's Mentes, son of wise Anchialus, and that he rules the oar-loving Taphians.”
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§ 1.420 So said Telemachus, but in his heart he recognized the immortal goddess. Turning to dancing and delightful song, they enjoyed themselves and waited for evening to come. Dark evening came upon them as they enjoyed themselves. Then each went home to rest.
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§ 1.425 Telemachus, where a chamber had been built for him in an open place high above the gorgeous courtyard, went to bed, and in his mind he pondered many things. Devoted Eurycleia, daughter of Ops Peisenorides, carried burning torches by his side.
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§ 1.430 Laertes had bought her with his own possessions once upon a time, when she was still in the bloom of youth. He'd given twenty oxen, and in his palace valued her as equal to his devoted wife, but he avoided his wife's anger and never took her to bed. She carried burning torches by his side. Of the bondswomen,
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§ 1.435 she had loved him the most and nursed him when he was little. He opened the door of the carefully made room, sat down on the bed, took off his soft tunic, and dropped it into the crafty old woman's hands. Smoothing and folding his tunic,
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§ 1.440 she hung it on a peg beside the perforated bedframe, made her way from the room, pulled the door closed by its silver handle, and shot the bolt by its strap. There through the night, wrapped in sheep's wool, he considered in his mind the path Athena had shown him.
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§ 2.1 BOOK 2 When early-born rose-fingered Dawn appeared, Odysseus' beloved son arose from bed, put on his clothes, slung a sharp sword around his shoulder, tied fine sandals beneath sleek feet,
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§ 2.5 and made his way from the bedroom looking like a god. At once he bid his clear-voiced heralds to summon to assembly the hairy-headed Achaeans. They summoned, and they assembled very quickly. Then after they assembled and were together,
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§ 2.10 he made his way to the assembly holding a bronze spear in his palm, not alone; flashing-footed dogs followed with him. Athena poured abundant grace upon him, so all men gazed at him as he approached. He sat in his father's seat as the old men gave way.
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§ 2.15 The hero Aegyptius, who was bent with old age and had seen countless things, was the first of them to speak, for his beloved son had gone with godlike Odysseus in the hollow ships to fine-foaled Ilium, the spearman Antiphus, whom the savage Cyclops killed
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§ 2.20 in his hollow cave, the last he made a meal of. He had three others, and while one, Eurynomus, consorted with the suitors, the other two always kept their father's farm, but even so, in grief and lamentation, he did not forget him. Shedding tears for him, he spoke and said:
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§ 2.25 “Hear me now, Ithacans, hear what I say! Neither an assembly or session of ours has ever occurred from when divine Odysseus left in his hollow ship. Who's gathered us this way now? On whom has such a need come, either of the young men or of those who are older?
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§ 2.30 Or has he heard a message of the army on the way, which he might clearly tell us, that he'd heard before us? Or does he declare and speak about some other public matter? He seems a good one, a blessed one, to me. Would that Zeus accomplish good for him, whatever he has on his mind.”
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§ 2.35 So said he, and Odysseus' dear son rejoiced at the omen, and did not stay seated long. He meant to speak, and stood in the middle of the assembly. The herald Peisenor, wise in astute counsel, put a scepter in his hand. Then he addressed the old man first and said to him:
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§ 2.40 “Old man, this man is not far off, as you'll soon know yourself. I'm the one who gathered the men, and sorrow comes especially to me. I neither heard any message of an army on the way that I could tell you clearly, that I'd heard before you, nor do I declare or speak about some other public matter,
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§ 2.45 but of business of my own, that evil has befallen my house, in two ways. I've lost my good father, who once upon a time was king among you here and was kind as a father to you. Now an even much greater evil will soon dash my entire house completely to pieces and completely destroy my substance.
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§ 2.50 Suitors harass my mother, who doesn't want them, beloved sons of the men who are the best here, who've shrunk shivering from going to the house of her father Icarius, so he could accept bride gifts for his daughter and give her to whom he wished, the one who came and pleased him,

Via ToposText (topostext.org), a project of the Aikaterini Laskaridis Foundation created by Brady Kiesling. Translated by James E. Huddleston (1952-2007). Composed ca. 700 BCE. Licence: under copyright, reusable for non-commercial purposes. Source.