OdysseyBookEight

Homer, The Odyssey.
Translated by Robert Fagles
New York, Viking Penguin, 1996

Copyrighted Material posted for course use only; do not copy or download except for study purposes.

Book Eight

A Day for Songs and Contests

Transcript of the vase shown as an illustration for Book Six. Here, the clothes hanging on a tree to dry are visible behind Odysseus. In the right-hand side of the transcript, there are three maidens, two occupied with the laundry, and one, standing firmly with her hand raised in surprise, who is usually identified as Nausicaa. From Carpenter, Art and Myth in Ancient Greece (London: Thames & Hudson, 19), fig. 339.

When young Dawn with her rose red fingers shone once more

royal Alcinous, hallowed island king, rose from bed

and great Odysseus, raider of cities, rose too.

Poised in his majesty, Alcinous led the way

to Phaeacia's meeting grounds, built for all

beside the harbored ships. Both men sat down

on the polished stone benches side by side

as Athena started roaming up and down the town,

in build and voice the wise Alcinous' herald,

furthering plans for Odysseus' journey home,

and stopped beside each citizen, urged them all,

"Come this way, you lords and captains of Phaeacia,

come to the meeting grounds and learn about the stranger!

A new arrival! Here at our wise king's palace now,

he's here from roving the ocean, driven far off course--

he looks like a deathless god!"

Rousing their zeal,

their curiosity, each and every man, and soon enough

the assembly seats were filled with people thronging,

gazing in wonder at the seasoned man of war . . .

Over Odysseus' head and shoulders now .

Athena lavished a marvelous splendor, yes,

making him taller, more massive to all eyes,

so Phaeacians might regard the man with kindness,

awe and respect as well, and he might win through

the many trials they'd pose to test the hero's strength.

Once they'd grouped, crowding the meeting grounds,

Alcinous rose and addressed his island people:

"Hear me, lords and captains of Phaeacia,

hear what the heart inside me has to say.

This stranger here, our guess--

I don't know who he is, or whether he comes

from sunrise lands or the western lands of evening,

but he has come in his wanderings to my palace;

he pleads for passage, he begs we guarantee it.

So now, as in years gone by, let us press on

and grant him escort. No one, I tell you, no one

who comes to my house will languish long here,

heartsick for convoy home.

Come, my people!

Haul a black ship down to the bright sea,

rigged for her maiden voyage--

enlist a crew of fifty two young sailors,

the best in town, who've proved their strength before.

Let all hands lash their oars to the thwarts then disembark,

come to my house and fall in for a banquet, quickly.

I'll lay on a princely feast for all. So then,

these are the orders I issue to our crews.

For the rest, you sceptered princes here,

you come to my royal halls so we can give

this stranger a hero's welcome in our palace--

no one here refuse. Call in the inspired bard

Demodocus. God has given the man the gift of song,

to him beyond all others, the power to please,

however the spirit stirs him on to sing."

With those commands Alcinous led the way
and a file of sceptered princes took his lead,
while the herald went to find the gifted bard.
And the fifty two young sailors, duly chosen,
briskly following orders,
went down to the shore of the barren salt sea.
And once they reached the ship at the surf's edge,	60
first they hauled the craft into deeper water,
stepped the mast amidships, canvas brailed,
they made oars fast in the leather oarlock straps,
moored her riding high on the swell, then disembarked
and made their way to wise Alcinous' high roofed halls.
There colonnades and courts and rooms were overflowing
with crowds, a mounting host of people young and old.
The king slaughtered a dozen sheep to feed his guests,
eight boars with shining tusks and a pair of shambling oxen.
These they skinned and dressed, and then laid out a feast	70
to fill the heart with savor.
In came the herald now,
leading along the faithful bard the Muse adored
above all others, true, but her gifts were mixed
with good and evil both: she stripped him of sight
but gave the man the power of stirring, rapturous song.
Pontonous brought the bard a silver studded chair,
right amid the feasters, leaning it up against
a central column--hung his high clear lyre
on a peg above his head and showed him how
to reach up with his hands and lift it down.	80
And the herald placed a table by his side
with a basket full of bread and cup of wine
for him to sip when his spirit craved refreshment.
All reached out for the good things that lay at hand
and when they'd put aside desire for food and drink,
the Muse inspired the bard
to sing the famous deeds of fighting heroes--
the song whose fame had reached the skies those days:
The Strife Between Odysseus and Achilles, Peleus' Son ...
how once at the gods' flowing feast the captains clashed	90
in a savage war of words, while Agamemnon, lord of armies,
rejoiced at heart that Achaea's bravest men were battling so.
For this was the victory sign that Apollo prophesied
at his shrine in Pytho when Agamemnon strode across
the rocky threshold, asking the oracle for advice--
the start of the tidal waves of ruin tumbling down
on Troy's and Achaea's forces, both at once,
thanks to the will of Zeus who rules the world.

That was the song the famous harper sang
but Odysseus, clutching his flaring sea blue cape	100
in both powerful hands, drew it over his head
and buried his handsome face,
ashamed his hosts might see him shedding tears.
Whenever the rapt bard would pause in the song,
he'd lift the cape from his head, wipe off his tears
and hoisting his double handled cup, pour it out to the gods.
But soon as the bard would start again, impelled to sing
by Phaeacia's lords, who reveled in his tale,
again Odysseus hid his face and wept.
His weeping went unmarked by all the others;	110
only Alcinous, sitting close beside him,
noticed his guest's tears,
heard the groan in the man's labored breathing
and said at once to the master mariners around him,
"Hear me, my lords and captains of Phaeacia!
By now we've had our fill of food well shared
and the lyre too, our loyal friend at banquets.
Now out we go again and test ourselves in contests,
games of every kind--so our guest can tell his friends,
when he reaches home, how far we excel the world	120
at boxing, wrestling, jumping, speed of foot."

He forged ahead and the rest fell in behind.
The herald hung the ringing Iyre back on its peg
and taking Demodocus by the hand, led him from the palace,
guiding him down the same path the island lords
had just pursued, keen to watch the contests.
They reached the meeting grounds
with throngs of people streaming in their trail
as a press of young champions rose for competition.
Topsail and Riptide rose, the helmsman Rowhard too	130
and Seaman and Sternman, Surf at the Beach and Stroke Oar,
Breaker and Bowsprit, Racing the Wind and Swing Aboard
and Seagirt the son of Greatfleet, Shipwrightson
and the son of Launcher, Broadsea, rose up too,
a match for murderous Ares, death to men--
in looks and build the best of all Phaeacians
after gallant Laodamas, the Captain of the People.
Laodamas rose with two more sons of great Alcinous,
Halius bred to the sea and Clytoneus famed for ships.
And now the games began, the first event a footrace . . .	140
They toed the line--
and broke flat out from the start
with a fast pack flying down the field in a whirl of dust
and Clytoneus the prince outstripped them all by far,
flashing ahead the length two mules will plow a furrow
before he turned for home, leaving the pack behind
and raced to reach the crowds.
Next the wrestling,
grueling sport. They grappled, locked, and Broadsea,
pinning the strongest champions, won the bouts.
Next, in the jumping, Seagirt leapt and beat the field.
In the discus Rowhard up and outhurled them all by far.	150
And the king's good son Laodamas boxed them to their knees.
When all had enjoyed the games to their hearts' content
Alcinous' son Laodamas spurred them: "Come, my friends,
let's ask our guest if he knows the ropes of any sport.
He's no mean man, not with a build like that . . .
Look at his thighs, his legs, and what a pair of arms--
his massive neck, his big, rippling strength!
Nor is he past his prime,
just beaten down by one too many blows.
Nothing worse than the sea, I always say,
to crush a man, the strongest man alive."	160

And Broadsea put in quickly,
"Well said, Laodamas, right to the point.
Go up to the fellow, challenge him yourself."
On that cue, the noble prince strode up
before Odysseus, front and center, asking,
"Come, stranger, sir, won't you try your hand
at our contests now? If you have skill in any.
It's fit and proper for you to know your sports.
What greater glory attends a man, while he's alive,
than what he wins with his racing feet and striving hands?	170
Come and compete then, throw your cares to the wind!
It won't be long, your journey's not far off--
your ship's already hauled down to the sea,
your crew is set to sail."
"Laodamas,"
quick to the mark Odysseus countered sharply,
"why do you taunt me so with such a challenge?
Pains weigh on my spirit now, not your sports--
I've suffered much already, struggled hard.
But here I sit amid your assembly still,
starved for passage home, begging your king,	180
begging all your people."
"Oh I knew it!"
Broadsea broke in, mocking him to his face.
"I never took you for someone skilled in games,
the kind that real men play throughout the world.
Not a chance. You're some skipper of profiteers,
roving the high seas in his scudding craft,
reckoning up his freight with a keen eye out
for home cargo, grabbing the gold he can!
You're no athlete. I see that."
With a dark glance	190
wily Odysseus shot back, "Indecent talk, my friend.
You, you're a reckless fool--I see that. So,
the gods don't hand out all their gifts at once,
not build and brains and flowing speech to all.
One man may fail to impress us with his looks
but a god can crown his words with beauty, charm,
and men look on with delight when he speaks out.
Never faltering, filled with winning self control,
he shines forth at assembly grounds and people gaze
at him like a god when he walks through the streets.	200
Another man may look like a deathless one on high
but there's not a bit of grace to crown his words.
Just like you, my fine, handsome friend. Not even
a god could improve those lovely looks of yours
but the mind inside is worthless.
Your slander fans the anger in my heart!
I'm no stranger to sports--for all your taunts--
I've held my place in the front ranks, I tell you,
long as I could trust to my youth and striving hands.
But now I'm wrestled down by pain and hardship, look,	210
I've borne my share of struggles, cleaving my way
through wars of men and pounding waves at sea.
Nevertheless, despite so many blows,
I'll give your games a whirl. Your insults
cut to the quick--you rouse my fighting blood!"

Up he sprang, cloak and all, and seized a discus,
huge and heavy, more weighty by far than those
the Phaeacians used to hurl and test each other.
Wheeling round, he let loose with his great hand
and the stone whirred on--and down to ground they went,	220
those lords of the long oars and master mariners cringing
under the rock's onrush, soaring lightly out of his grip,
flying away past all the other marks, and Queen Athena,
built like a man, staked out the spot and cried
with a voice of triumph, "Even a blind man,
friend, could find your mark by groping round--
it's not mixed up in the crowd, it's far in front!
There's nothing to fear in this event--
no one can touch you, much less beat your distance!"

At that the heart of the long suffering hero laughed,	230
so glad to find a ready friend in the crowd that,
lighter in mood, he challenged all Phaeacia's best:
"Now go match that, you young pups, and straightaway
I'll hurl you another just as far, I swear, or even farther!
All the rest of you, anyone with the spine and spirit,
step right up and try me--you've incensed me so--
at boxing, wrestling, racing; nothing daunts me.
Any Phaeacian here except Laodamas himself.
The man's my host. Who would fight his friend?
He'd have to be good for nothing, senseless, yes,	240
to challenge his host and come to grips in games,
in a far off land at that. He'd cut his own legs short.
But there are no others I'd deny or think beneath me--
I'll take on all contenders, gladly, test them head to-head!
I'm not half bad in the world of games where men compete.
Well I know how to handle a fine polished bow,
the first to hit my man in a mass of enemies,
even with rows of comrades pressing near me,
taking aim with our shafts to hit our targets.
Philoctetes alone outshot me there at Troy	250
when ranks of Achaean archers bent their bows.
Of the rest I'd say that I outclass them all--
men still alive, who eat their bread on earth.
But I'd never vie with the men of days gone by,
not Heracles, not Eurytus of Oechalia--archers
who rivaled immortal powers with their bows.
That's why noble Eurytus died a sudden death:
no old age, creeping upon him in his halls . . .
Apollo shot him down, enraged that the man
had challenged him, the Archer God.

As for spears,	260
I can fling a spear as far as the next man wings an arrow!
Only at sprinting I fear you'd leave me in the dust.
I've taken a shameful beating out on heavy seas,
no conditioning there on shipboard day by day.
My legs have lost their spring."

He finished. All stood silent, hushed. Only
Alcinous found a way to answer. "Stranger,
friend--nothing you say among us seems ungracious.
You simply want to display the gifts you're born with,
stung that a youngster marched up to you in the games,	270
mocking, ridiculing your prowess as no one would
who had some sense of fit and proper speech.
But come now, hear me out,
so you can tell our story to other lords
as you sit and feast in your own halls someday,
your own wife and your children by your side,
remembering there our island prowess here:
what skills great Zeus has given us as well,
down all the years from our fathers' days till now.
We're hardly world class boxers or wrestlers, I admit,	280
but we can race like the wind, we're champion sailors too,
and always dear to our hearts, the feast, the Iyre and dance
and changes of fresh clothes, our warm baths and beds.
So come--all you Phaeacian masters of the dance--
now dance away! So our guest can tell his friends,
when he reaches home, how far we excel the world
in sailing, nimble footwork, dance and song.
Go, someone,
quickly, fetch Demodocus now his ringing Iyre.
It must be hanging somewhere in the palace."

At the king's word the herald sprang to his feet	290
and ran to fetch the ringing Iyre from the house.
And stewards rose, nine in all, picked from the realm
to set the stage for contests: masters at arms who
leveled the dancing floor to make a fine broad ring.
The herald returned and placed the vibrant Iyre now
in Demodocus, hands, and the bard moved toward the center,
flanked by boys in the flush of youth, skilled dancers
who stamped the ground with marvelous pulsing steps
as Odysseus gazed at their flying, flashing feet,
his heart aglow with wonder.
A rippling prelude--	300
now the bard struck up an irresistible song:
The Love of Ares and Aphrodite Crowned with Flowers . . .
how the two had first made love in Hephaestus' mansion,
all in secret. Ares had showered her with gifts
and showered Hephaestus' marriage bed with shame
but a messenger ran to tell the god of fire--
Helios, lord of the sun, who'd spied the couple
lost in each other's arms and making love.
Hephaestus, hearing the heart wounding story,
bustled toward his forge, brooding on his revenge--	310
planted the huge anvil on its block and beat out chains,
not to be slipped or broken, all to pin the lovers on the spot.
This snare the Firegod forged, ablaze with his rage at War,
then limped to the room where the bed of love stood firm
and round the posts he poured the chains in a sweeping net
with streams of others flowing down from the roofbeam,
gossamer fine as spider webs no man could see,
not even a blissful god--
the Smith had forged a masterwork of guile.
Once he'd spun that cunning trap around his bed,	320
he feigned a trip to the well built town of Lemnos,
dearest to him by far of all the towns on earth.
But the god of battle kept no blind man's watch.
As soon as he saw the Master Craftsman leave
he plied his golden reins and arrived at once
and entered the famous god of fire's mansion,
chafing with lust for Aphrodite crowned with flowers.
She'd just resumed from her father's palace, mighty Zeus,
and now she sat in her rooms as Ares strode right in
and grasped her hand with a warm, seductive urging:	330
"Quick, my darling, come, let's go to bed
and lose ourselves in love! Your husband's away--
by now he must be off in the wilds of Lemnos,
consorting with his raucous Sintian friends."
So he pressed
and her heart raced with joy to sleep with War
and off they went to bed and down they lay--
and down around them came those cunning chains
of the crafty god of fire, showering down now
till the couple could not move a limb or lift a finger--
then they knew at last: there was no way out, not now.	340
But now the glorious crippled Smith was drawing near . . .
he'd turned around, miles short of the Lemnos coast,
for the Sungod kept his watch and told Hephaestus all,
so back he rushed to his house, his heart consumed with anguish.
Halting there at the gates, seized with savage rage
he howled a terrible cry, imploring all the gods,
"Father Zeus, look here--
the rest of you happy gods who live forever--
here is a sight to make you laugh, revolt you too!
Just because I am crippled, Zeus's daughter Aphrodite	350
will always spurn me and love that devastating Ares,
just because of his stunning looks and racer's legs
while I am a weakling, lame from birth, and who's to blame?
Both my parents--who else? If only they'd never bred me!
Just look at the two lovers . . . crawled inside my bed,
locked in each other's arms--the sight makes me burn!
But I doubt they'll want to lie that way much longer,
not a moment more--mad as they are for each other.
No, they'll soon tire of bedding down together,
but then my cunning chains will bind them fast	360
till our Father pays my bride-gifts back in full,
all I handed him for that shameless bitch his daughter,
irresistible beauty--all unbridled too!"
So Hephaestus wailed
as the gods came crowding up to his bronze-floored house.
Poseidon god of the earthquake came, and Hermes came,
the running god of luck, and the Archer, lord Apollo,
while modesty kept each goddess to her mansion.
The immortals, givers of all good things, stood at the gates,
and uncontrollable laughter burst from the happy gods
when they saw the god of fires subtle, cunning work.	370
One would glance at his neighbor, laughing out,
"A bad day for adultery! Slow outstrips the Swift."

"Look how limping Hephaestus conquers War,
quickest of all the gods who rule Olympus!"

"The cripple wins by craft."
"The adulterer,
he will pay the price!"
So the gods would banter
among themselves but lord Apollo goaded Hermes on:
"Tell me, Quicksilver, giver of all good things--
even with those unwieldy shackles wrapped around you,
how would you like to bed the golden Aphrodite?~	380

"Oh Apollo, if only!" the giant-killer cried.
"Archer, bind me down with triple those endless chains!
Let all you gods look on, and all you goddesses too--
how I'd love to bed that golden Aphrodite!"

A peal of laughter broke from the deathless ones
but not Poseidon, not a smile from him; he kept on
begging the famous Smith to loose the god of war,
pleading, his words flying, "Let him go!
I guarantee you Ares will pay the price,
whatever you ask, Hephaestus,	39O
whatever's right in the eyes of all the gods."

But the famous crippled Smith appealed in turn,
"God of the earthquake, please don't urge this on me.
A pledge for a worthless man is a worthless pledge indeed.
What if he slips out of his chains--his debts as well?
How could I shackle you while all the gods look on?"

But the god of earthquakes reassured the Smith,
"Look, Hephaestus, if Ares scuttles off and away,
squirming out of his debt, I'll pay the fine myself."

And the famous crippled Smith complied at last:	400
"Now there's an offer I really can't refuse!"

With all his force the god of fire loosed the chains
and the two lovers, free of the bonds that overwhelmed them so,
sprang up and away at once, and the Wargod sped to Thrace
while Love with her telltale laughter sped to Paphos,
Cyprus Isle, where her grove and scented altar stand.
There the Graces bathed and anointed her with oil, ambrosial oil,
the bloom that clings to the gods
who never die, and swathed her round in gowns
to stop the heart . . . an ecstasy--a vision.	410

That was the song the famous harper sang
and Odysseus relished every note as the islanders,
the lords of the long oars and master mariners rejoiced.

Next the king asked Halius and Laodamas to dance,
the two alone, since none could match that pair.
So taking in hand a gleaming sea-blue ball,
made by the craftsman Polybus--arching back,
one prince would hurl it toward the shadowy clouds
as the other leaping high into the air would catch it
quickly, nimbly, before his feet hit ground again.	420
Once they'd vied at throwing the ball straight up,
they tossed it back and forth in a blur of hands
as they danced across the earth that feeds us all,
while boys around the ring stamped out the beat
and a splendid rhythmic drumming sound arose,
and good Odysseus looked at his host, exclaiming,
"King Alcinous, shining among your island people,
you boasted Phaeacia's dancers are the best--
they prove your point--I watch and I'm amazed!"

His praises cheered the hallowed island king	430
who spoke at once to the master mariners around him:
"Hear me, my lords and captains of Phaeacia,
our guest is a man of real taste, I'd say. Come,
let's give him the parting gifts a guest deserves.
There are twelve peers of the realm who rule our land,
thirteen, counting myself. Let each of us contribute
a fresh cloak and shirt and a bar of precious gold.
Gather the gifts together, hurry, so our guest
can have them all in hand when he goes to dine,
his spirit filled with joy.	440
As for Broadsea, let him make amends,
man-to-man, with his words as well as gifts.
His first remarks were hardly fit to hear."

All assented and gave their own commands,
each noble sent a page to fetch his gifts.
And Broadsea volunteered in turn, obliging:
"Great Alcinous, shining among our island people,
of course I'll make amends to our newfound friend
as you request. I'll give the man this sword.
It's solid bronze and the hilt has silver studs,	450
the sheath around it ivory freshly carved.
Here's a gift our guest will value highly."

He placed the silver-studded sword in Odysseus' hands
with a burst of warm words: "Farewell, stranger, sir--
if any remark of mine gave you offense,
may stormwinds snatch it up and sweep it off!
May the gods grant you safe passage home to see your wife--
you've been so far from loved ones, suffered so!"

Tactful Odysseus answered him in kind:
"And a warm farewell to you, too, my friend.	460
May the gods grant you good fortune--
may you never miss this sword, this gift you give
with such salutes. You've made amends in full."
With that
he slung the silver-studded sword across his shoulder.
As the sun sank, his glittering gifts arrived
and proud heralds bore them into the hall
where sons of King Alcinous took them over,
spread them out before their noble mother's feet--
a grand array of gifts. The king in all his majesty
led the rest of his peers inside, following in a file	470
and down they sat on rows of high-backed chairs.
The king turned to the queen and urged her, "Come,
my dear, bring in an elegant chest, the best you have,
and lay inside it a fresh cloak and shirt, your own gifts.
Then heat a bronze cauldron over the fire, boil water,
so once our guest has bathed and reviewed his gifts--
all neatly stacked for sailing,
gifts our Phaeacian lords have brought him now--
he'll feast in peace and hear the harper's songs.
And I will give him this gorgeous golden cup of mine,	480
so he'll remember Alcinous all his days to come
when he pours libations out in his own house
to Father Zeus and the other gods on high."

And at that Arete told her serving-women,
"Set a great three-legged cauldron over the fire--
do it right away!"
And hoisting over the blaze
a cauldron, filling it brimful with bathing water,
they piled fresh logs beneath and lit them quickly.
The fire lapped at the vessel's belly, the water warmed.
Meanwhile the queen had a polished chest brought forth	490
from an inner room and laid the priceless gifts inside,
the clothes and gold the Phaeacian lords had brought,
and added her own gifts, a cloak and a fine shirt,
and gave her guest instructions quick and clear:
"Now look to the lid yourself and bind it fast
with a good tight knot, so no one can rob you
on your voyage--drifting into a sweet sleep
as the black ship sails you home."
Hearing that,
the storm-tossed man secured the lid straightway,
he battened it fast with a swift, intricate knot	500
the lady Circe had taught him long ago.
And the housekeeper invited him at once
to climb into a waiting tub and bathe--
a hot, steaming bath . . .
what a welcome sight to Odysseus' eyes!
He'd been a stranger to comforts such as these
since he left the lovely-haired Calypso's house,
yet all those years he enjoyed such comforts there,
never-ending, as if he were a god . . . And now,
when maids had washed him, rubbed him down with oil	510
and drawn warm fleece and a shirt around his shoulders,
he stepped from the bath to join the nobles at their wine.
And there stood Nausicaa as he passed. Beside a column
that propped the sturdy roof she paused, endowed
by the gods with all her beauty, gazing at
Odysseus right before her eyes. Wonderstruck,
she hailed her guest with a winning flight of words:
"Farewell, my friend! And when you are at home,
home in your own land, remember me at times.
Mainly to me you owe the gift of life."	520

Odysseus rose to the moment deftly, gently:
"Nausicaa, daughter of generous King Alcinous,
may Zeus the Thunderer, Hera's husband, grant it so--
that I travel home and see the dawn of my return.
Even at home I'll pray to you as a deathless goddess
all my days to come. You saved my life, dear girl."

And he went and took his seat beside the king.
By now they were serving out the portions, mixing wine,
and the herald soon approached, leading the faithful bard
Demodocus, prized by all the people--seated him in a chair	530
amid the feasters, leaning it against a central column.
At once alert Odysseus carved a strip of loin,
rich and crisp with fat, from the white-tusked boar
that still had much meat left, and called the herald over:
"Here, herald, take this choice cut to Demodocus
so he can eat his fill--with warm regards
from a man who knows what suffering is . . .
From all who walk the earth our bards deserve
esteem and awe, for the Muse herself has taught them
paths of song. She loves the breed of harpers."	540

The herald placed the gift in Demodocus' hands
and the famous blind bard received it, overjoyed.
They reached for the good things that lay outspread
and when they'd put aside desire for food and drink,
Odysseus, master of many exploits, praised the singer:
"I respect you, Demodocus, more than any man alive--
surely the Muse has taught you, Zeus's daughter,
or god Apollo himself. How true to life,
all too true . . . you sing the Achaeans' fate,
all they did and suffered, all they soldiered through,	550
as if you were there yourself or heard from one who was.
But come now, shift your ground. Sing of the wooden horse
Epeus built with Athena's help, the cunning trap that
good Odysseus brought one day to the heights of Troy,
filled with fighting men who laid the city waste.
Sing that for me--true to life as it deserves--
and I will tell the world at once how freely
the Muse gave you the gods' own gift of song."

Stirred now by the Muse, the bard launched out
in a fine blaze of song, starting at just the point	560
where the main Achaean force, setting their camps afire,
had boarded the oarswept ships and sailed for home
but famed Odysseus' men already crouched in hiding--
in the heart of Troy's assembly--dark in that horse
the Trojans dragged themselves to the city heights.
Now it stood there, looming . . .
and round its bulk the Trojans sat debating,
clashing, days on end. Three plans split their ranks:
either to hack open the hollow vault with ruthless bronze
or haul it up to the highest ridge and pitch it down the cliffs	570
or let it stand--a glorious offering made to pacify the gods--
and that, that final plan, was bound to win the day.
For Troy was fated to perish once the city lodged
inside her walls the monstrous wooden horse
where the prime of Argive power lay in wait
with death and slaughter bearing down on Troy.
And he sang how troops of Achaeans broke from cover,
streaming out of the horse's hollow flanks to plunder Troy--
he sang how left and right they ravaged the steep city,
sang how Odysseus marched right up to Deiphobus' house	580
like the god of war on attack with diehard Menelaus.
There, he sang, Odysseus fought the grimmest fight
he had ever braved but he won through at last,
thanks to Athena's superhuman power.

That was the song the famous harper sang
but great Odysseus melted into tears,
running down from his eyes to wet his cheeks . . .
as a woman weeps, her arms flung round her darling husband,
a man who fell in battle, fighting for town and townsmen,
trying to beat the day of doom from home and children.	590
Seeing the man go down, dying, gasping for breath,
she clings for dear life, screams and shrills--
but the victors, just behind her,
digging spear-butts into her back and shoulders,
drag her off in bondage, yoked to hard labor, pain,
and the most heartbreaking torment wastes her cheeks.
So from Odysseus' eyes ran tears of heartbreak now.
But his weeping went unmarked by all the others;
only Alcinous, sitting close beside him,
noticed his guest's tears,	600
heard the groan in the man's labored breathing
and said at once to the master mariners around him,
"Hear me, my lords and captains of Phaeacia!
Let Demodocus rest his ringing Iyre now--
this song he sings can hardly please us all.
Ever since our meal began and the stirring bard
launched his song, our guest has never paused
in his tears and throbbing sorrow.
Clearly grief has overpowered his heart.
Break off this song! Let us all enjoy ourselves,	610
the hosts and guest together. Much the warmer way.
All these things are performed for him, our honored guest,
the royal send-off here and gifts we give in love.
Treat your guest and suppliant like a brother:
anyone with a touch of sense knows that.
So don't be crafty now, my friend, don't hide
the truth I'm after. Fair is fair, speak out!
Come, tell us the name they call you there at home--
your mother, father, townsmen, neighbors round about.
Surely no man in the world is nameless, all told.	620
Born high, born low, as soon as he sees the light
his parents always name him, once he's born.
And tell me your land, your people, your city too,
so our ships can sail you home--their wits will speed them there.
For we have no steersmen here among Phaeacia's crews
or steering-oars that guide your common craft.
Our ships know in a flash their mates' intentions,
know all ports of call and all the rich green fields.
With wings of the wind they cross the sea's huge gulfs,
shrouded in mist and cloud--no fear in the world of foundering,	630
fatal shipwreck.

True, there's an old tale I heard
my father telling once. Nausithous used to say
that lord Poseidon was vexed with us because
we escorted all mankind and never came to grief.
He said that one day, as a well-built ship of ours
sailed home on the misty sea from such a convoy,
the god would crush it, yes,
and pile a huge mountain round about our port.
So the old king foretold . . . And as for the god, well,
he can do his worst or leave it quite undone,	640
whatever warms his heart.

But come, my friend,
tell us your own story now, and tell it truly.
Where have your rovings forced you?
What lands of men have you seen, what sturdy towns,
what men themselves? Who were wild, savage, lawless?
Who were friendly to strangers, god-fearing men? Tell me,
why do you weep and grieve so sorely when you hear
the fate of the Argives, hear the fall of Troy?
That is the gods' work, spinning threads of death
through the lives of mortal men,	650
and all to make a song for those to come . . .
Did one of your kinsmen die before the walls of Troy,
some brave man--a son by marriage? father by marriage?
Next to our own blood kin, our nearest, dearest ties.
Or a friend perhaps, someone close to your heart,
staunch and loyal? No less dear than a brother,
the brother-in-arms who shares our inmost thoughts." Return to Syllabus Last updated 29 January 1998