Book XV: Return of Telemachus

Then Pallas, hastening to the mighty realmOf Lacedaemon, sought the illustrious sonOf great Ulysses, to remind the youthOf home, and bid him think of his return.She found Telemachus and Nestor’s sonUpon their couches in the porticoOf Menelaus, the renowned. Deep sleepHeld Nestor’s son; but to TelemachusThe welcome slumber came not, for his thoughtsUneasily through all the quiet nightDwelt on his father. Now beside his bedThe blue-eyed Pallas took her stand and spake:—

“Telemachus, it is no longer wellThat thou shouldst wander from thy home, and leaveAll thy possessions, and those arrogant menThat crowd thy halls. Beware, lest they devourThy substance utterly, dividing allAmong them, and this journey be for naught.Make suit to Menelaus, great in war,Quickly to send thee home, that thou mayst joinThy blameless mother in thy halls; for nowHer father and her brothers counsel herTo wed Eurymachus, whose gifts exceedThose of the other suitors, and besidesHe offers a yet richer bridal dower.It were not hard without thy leave to takeWealth from a palace. What a wife will doThou knowest. ’Tis her pleasure to increaseThe riches of the man whom she has wed.Care of her former children has she none,Nor memory of the husband whom she tookWhile yet a maid, and who is in his grave;Of these she never speaks. Return thou, then,And give thy goods in charge to one amongThe handmaids of thy household who shall seemThe fittest for the trust, until the godsBring thee a noble wife. Another wordHave I for thee, and bear thou it in mind:The chief among the suitors in the straitBetween the rugged Samos and the isleOf Ithaca are lurking, in the hopeTo slay thee on thy voyage home; but thisI think they cannot do before the earthHold many of the suitor-crew who makeThy wealth a spoil. Steer thou thy gallant barqueFar from the isles; sail only in the night.Some god, whoever it may be that keepsWatch over thee, will send a prosperous gale.When to the nearest shore of IthacaThou comest in thy ship, let it go on,With all thy comrades, to the town, while thouRepairest to the keeper of thy swine,Whose heart is faithful to thee. There remainWith him that night, and send him to the townWith tidings to the sage PenelopeThat thou art come from Pylos and art safe.”

So having said, the goddess took her wayUp to the Olympian height. TelemachusTouched with his heel and wakened Nestor’s sonFrom a soft slumber and bespake him thus:—

“Rise, Nestor’s son, Peisistratus, and bringThe firm-paced steeds and yoke them to the car,And we will now set forth upon our way.”

And Nestor’s son, Peisistratus, replied:“Telemachus, whatever be our haste,It were not well in darkness to beginOur journey, and the morn will soon be here.Remain till Menelaus, Atreus’ son,The hero mighty with the spear, shall come,And bring his gifts, and place them in our car,And send us on our way with kindly words.Well does a guest remember all his daysThe generous host who shows himself his friend.”

He spake, and quickly on her car of goldAppeared the Morn. Then Menelaus came,The great in battle, from his couch besideThe fair-haired Helen. When TelemachusKnew of the king’s approach, the hero threwIn haste his tunic o’er his noble form,And over his broad shoulders flung a cloakOf ample folds. Then, going forth, the sonOf great Ulysses met the king and said:—

“Atrides Menelaus, loved of JoveAnd sovereign of the people, send me hence,I pray, to the dear country of my birth,For earnestly I long to be at home.”

And Menelaus, great in war, replied:“Telemachus, I will not keep thee long,Since thou so much desirest to return.I am displeased with him who as a hostIs lavish of his love, for he will hateBeyond due measure; best it is to takeThe middle way. It is alike a wrongTo thrust the unwilling stranger out of doors,And to detain him when he longs to go.While he is with us we should cherish him,And, when he wishes, help him to depart.Remain until I bring thee worthy giftsAnd place them in thy chariot, that thine eyesMay look on them; and I will give commandThat in the palace here the women spreadA liberal feast from stores that lie within.But if, in turning from thy course, thou chooseTo pass through Hellas and the midland tractOf Argos, I will yoke my steeds and goWith thee, and show the cities thronged with men;Nor will they send us empty-handed thence,But bring us gifts which we may bear away—Tripod, perchance, or cauldron wrought of brass,Perchance a pair of mules or golden cup.”

Then spake discreet Telemachus in turn:“Atrides Menelaus, loved of JoveAnd sovereign of the people, rather farWould I return to my own home; for thereIs no man left in charge of what is mine,And I must go, lest, while I vainly seekMy father, I may perish, or may loseSome valued treasure from my palace rooms.”

The valiant Menelaus heard, and badeHis wife and maidens spread without delayA ready banquet from the stores within.Then Eteöneus from his morning sleep,Son of Boëtheus, came, for very nearHis dwelling was. The sovereign bade him lightA fire and roast the flesh, and he obeyed.And then into the fragrant treasure-roomDescended Menelaus, not alone;Helen and Megapenthes went with him.And when they came to where the treasures lay,Atrides took a double goblet up,And bade his son, young Megapenthes, bearA silver beaker thence, while Helen stoodBeside the coffers where the embroidered robesWrought by her hands were laid. The glorious dameTook one and brought it forth, most beautifulIn needlework, and amplest of them all.The garment glittered like a star, and layBelow the other robes. Then, passing throughThe palace halls, they found Telemachus,And thus the fair-haired Menelaus spake:—

“Telemachus, may Jove the Thunderer,Husband of Juno, grant thee to returnAccording to thy wish! I give thee hereOf all the treasures which my house containsThe fairest and most precious. I presentA goblet all of silver, save the lips,And they are bound with gold; it is the workOf Vulcan. Phaedimus the hero, kingOf the Sidonians, gave it me when onceHis palace sheltered me. He gave it meAt parting, and I now would have it thine.”

Atrides spake, and gave into his handsThe double goblet. Megapenthes nextBefore him set the shining beaker wroughtOf silver. Rosy Helen, holding upThe robe, drew near, and spake to him and said:—

“I also bring to thee, dear son, a gift,The work of Helen’s hands, which thou shalt keep,In memory of her, until the dayOf thy desired espousals, when thy brideShall wear it. Let it in the meantime lieWithin thy halls, in thy dear mother’s care;And mayst thou soon and happily arriveAt thy fair palace and thy native coast.”

So spake she, placing in his hands the robe.He took it, and was glad. PeisistratusWas moved with wonder as he saw, and laidThe presents in the car. The fair-haired kingThen led them to the hall, and seated themOn thrones and couches, where a maiden broughtWater in a fair golden ewer, and o’erA silver basin poured it for their hands,And near them set a table smoothly wrought.The matron of the palace brought them breadAnd many a delicate dish to please the tasteFrom stores within the house. Then to the boardBoëtheus’ son drew near and carved the meats,And gave to each a portion, while the sonOf glorious Menelaus poured the wine.The guests put forth their hands and shared the foodThat lay prepared before them. When the callsOf thirst and hunger ceased, TelemachusAnd Nestor’s famous son brought forth and yokedThe steeds, and climbed into the sumptuous car,And drove from out the echoing portico.Atrides Menelaus, amber-haired,Went forth with them, and, holding in his handA golden cup of generous wine, poured outAn offering for their voyage to the gods.Before the steeds he took his stand, and firstDrank from the cup, and then bespake the guests:—

“Now fare ye well, young men, and when ye comeTo Nestor, shepherd of the people, giveGreetings from me; for he was kind to meAs if he were a father, when the sonsOf Greece were warring in the realm of Troy.”

Then spake in turn discreet Telemachus:“Assuredly I shall relate to him,As soon as I am with him, all that thou,foster-child of Jove, hast bid me say;And would to heaven I might as surely tellUlysses in his palace, when againI come to Ithaca, how welcome thouHast made me here, and how I came awayWith treasures rich and many from thy court.”

As thus he spake, an eagle to the rightAppeared, that, flying, bore a large white goose,Clutched from the tame flock in the palace court;And men and women ran the way he flew,And shouted after him. Before the steedsOf the young men, and still on the right hand,The bird went sweeping on. They saw well pleased,And every heart was gladdened. To the restPeisistratus, the son of Nestor, said:—

“Now tell me, Menelaus, loved of Jove,Prince of the people! does the god who sendsThis portent mean the sign for us or thee?”

He spake; and Menelaus, dear to Mars,Paused, thinking how to answer him aright,When thus the long-robed Helen interposed:—

“Listen to me, and I will prophesyAs the gods prompt me, and as I believeThe event will be. Just as this eagle cameFrom the wild hills, his birthplace and his haunt,And seized and bore away the waterfowlReared near our halls, so will Ulysses come,After much hardship and long wanderings,To his own home, to be avenged: perchanceAlready is at home, and meditatesAn evil end to all the suitor crew.”

Then spake discreet Telemachus in turn:“May Juno’s husband, Jove the Thunderer,So order the event, and I will thereMake vows to thee as to a deity.”

He spake, and touched the coursers with the lash;And through the city rapidly they wentAnd toward the plain, and all day long they shookThe yoke upon their necks. The sun went down:The roads all lay in darkness as they cameTo Pherae, and the house of Diodes,Whose father was Orsilochus, and heThe offspring of Alpheius. There that nightThey slept; their host was liberal of his cheer.But when appeared the daughter of the Dawn,The rosy-fingered Morn, they yoked the steedsAnd climbed the sumptuous car, and drove afieldFrom underneath the echoing portico.The son of Nestor plied the lash; the steedsFlew not unwillingly, and quickly reachedThe lofty citadel of Pylos. ThereTelemachus bespake his comrade thus:—

“Wilt thou consent to do what I shall ask,O son of Nestor? ’Tis our boast that weAre friends because our fathers were; besides,We are of equal age, and journeying thusHas made our friendship firmer. Take me not,O foster-child of Jove, beyond the spotWhere lies my galley, lest against my willThe aged Nestor should detain me hereThrough kindness, when I needs must hasten home.”

He spake, and then the son of Nestor musedHow what his friend desired might best be done.And this seemed wisest after careful thought:He turned the chariot to the ship and shore,And taking out the garments and the gold—Beautiful gifts which Menelaus gave—He put them in the galley’s stern, and thusBespake Telemachus with winged words:—

“Embark in haste, and summon all thy crewOn board before I reach my home and tellThe aged king. I know how vehementHis temper is; he will not let thee go,But hastening hither to enforce thy stay,At Pylos, will not, I am sure, go backWithout thee; his displeasure will be great.”

He spake, and toward the Pylian city turnedHis steeds with flowing manes, and quickly reachedHis home. Meantime Telemachus held forthTo his companions, thus exhorting them:—

“My friends, make ready all things in our shipAnd mount the deck, for we must now set sail.”

He spake, they hearkened and obeyed, and leapedOn board and manned the benches. While he thusWas hastening his departure, offering prayerAnd pouring wine to Pallas at the stern,A stranger came, a seer, a fugitiveFrom Argos, where his hand had slain a man.Melampus was his ancestor, who dweltSome time in Pylos, mother of fair flocks—Rich, and inhabiting a sumptuous houseAmong the Pylians. Afterward he joinedAnother people, fleeing from his homeAnd from the mighty Neleus, haughtiestOf living men, who, seizing his large wealth,Held it a year by force. Melampus layMeantime within the house of PhylacusFast bound, and suffering greatly, both becauseOf Neleus’ daughter, and of his own mindDistempered by the unapproachableErinnys. Yet did he escape from death,And drove the lowing herds to PhylaceAnd Pylos, and avenged his cruel wrongOn Neleus, carrying off his child to beA consort for his brother. Then he cameInto the realm of Argos, famed for steeds;For there it was decreed that he should dwell,And rule o’er many of the Argive race.And there he took a wife and built a house—A lofty pile; and there to him were born Antiphates and Mantius, valiant men.Antiphates was father of a son,The brave Oïcleus, and to him was bornAmphioraüs, one of those whose voiceRouses the nations. Aegis-bearing JoveAnd Phoebus loved him with exceeding love;Yet reached he not the threshold of old age,But, through the treachery of his bribed wife,Perished too soon at Thebes. To him were bornTwo sons, Alcmaeon and Amphilochus.Clytus and Polyphides were the sonsOf Mantius; but Aurora, she who fillsA golden chariot, bore away to heavenClytus for his great beauty, there to dwellAmong the immortals, while Apollo gaveTo Polyphides of the noble mindTo be a prophet, first of living men,Since now Amphiaraüs was no more.His father had displeased him, and he wentTo Hyperesia, where he dwelt, and thereRevealed to all what yet should come to pass.

It was his son who now approached; his nameWas Theoclymenus; he saw the princeTelemachus, who stood beside the swiftBlack ship, and, pouring a libation, prayed;And thus he said to him in winged words:—

“My friend, whom here beside this barque I findMaking a pious offering, I entreatBoth by that offering and the deity,And by thy life, and by the lives of theseWho follow thee, declare to me the truth,And keep back naught of all that I inquire—Who art thou, from what race of men, and whereThy city lies, and who thy parents are.”

Then spake in turn discreet Telemachus:“Stranger, to every point I answer thee.I am by race a son of Ithaca,My father was Ulysses when alive,But he has died a miserable death;Long years has he been absent, and I cameWith my companions here, and this black ship,To gather tidings of my father’s fate.”

Then said the godlike Theoclymenus:“I too, like thee, am far away from home;For I have slain a man of my own tribe,And he had many brothers, many friends,In Argos famed for steeds. Great is the powerOf those Achaians, and I flee from themAnd the black doom of death, to be henceforthA wanderer among men. O, shelter meOn board thy galley! I, a fugitive,Implore thy mercy, lest they overtakeAnd slay me; they are surely on my track.”

And thus discreet Telemachus replied:“If thou desire to come on board my ship,I shall not hinder thee. Come with us then,And take a friendly share in what we have.”

So saying he received his brazen spear,And laid it on the good ship’s deck, and wentHimself on board, and, taking at the sternHis place, he seated TheoclymenusBeside him. Then the mariners cast looseThe hawsers, and Telemachus gave forthThe order to prepare for sea. They heardAnd eagerly obeyed; they raised the mast,A pine-tree stem—and, bringing it to standIn its deep socket, bound it there with cords,And hoisted by their strongly twisted thongsThe ship’s white sails. The blue-eyed Pallas sentA favorable and fresh-blowing wind,That swept the sky to drive more speedilyThe galley through the salt-sea waves. They cameTo Cruni, and to Chalcis pleasantlyWatered by rivers. Now the sun went down;Night closed around their way, but onward stillA favorable wind from JupiterToward Pherae bore them, and the hallowed coastOf Elis, where the Epeian race bear sway,And then among the isles whose rocky peaksRise from the waters. Here TelemachusMused thoughtfully on what his fate might be—To perish by the ambush or escape.

Meantime Ulysses and the swineherd satAt meat within the lodge; the other menWere at the board, and when the calls of thirstAnd hunger ceased, Ulysses spake to tryThe swineherd, whether he were bent to showYet further kindness, and entreat his stay,Or whether he would send him to the town.

“Eumaeus, hearken thou, and all the rest.Tomorrow ’tis my wish to go to town,That I may beg, and be no charge to theeAnd thy companions. Give me thy advice,And send a trusty guide to show the way.There will I roam the streets, for so I must,And haply someone there will give a cupOf wine and cake of meal. And when I findThe house of great Ulysses, I will tellThe sage Penelope the news I bring.Nay, I would even go among the crewOf arrogant suitors, who perhaps might giveA meal, for there is plenty at their feasts,And I would do whatever they require.For let me tell thee, and do thou give heed,There lives no man who can contend with meIn menial tasks—to keep alive a fireWith fuel, cleave dry wood, and carve and roastThe meat and pour the wine—whate’er is doneBy poor men waiting on the better sort.”

And thou, Eumasus, keeper of the swine,Didst answer in displeasure: “Woe is me!How could thy bosom harbor such a thought?O stranger! thou must surely be resolvedTo perish if thy purpose be to goAmong the suitor crew, whose insolenceAnd riot reach the iron vault of heaven.Not such attendants minister to themAs thou art, but fair youths arrayed in cloaksAnd tunics, with sleek heads and smooth of face.These wait at polished tables heavilyLoaded with bread and flesh and wine. Stay thouContent among us, sure that no one hereIs wearied by thy presence, neither INor any of my fellows. When he comes,The dear son of Ulysses will provideFor thee the garments thou dost need—a cloakAnd tunic—and will send thee where thou wilt.”

Ulysses, the great sufferer, answered thus:“I pray that thou mayst be as dear to Jove,The great All-Father, as thou art to me,Since through thy kindness I enjoy a pauseAmid my weary wanderings. There is naughtWorse than a wandering life. Unseemly caresA hungry stomach brings to homeless men;Hardship and grief are theirs. But since thou wiltThat I remain and wait for thy young lord,Speak to me of the mother of thy chiefUlysses, and his father, whom he leftJust on the threshold of old age, if yetThey live, and still may look upon the sun;Or have they died, and passed to Pluto’s realm?”

And then in turn the master swineherd spake:“Rightly and truly will I answer thee,stranger! still Laertes lives, but praysContinually to Jove that he may dieIn his own house; for sorely he lamentsHis son long absent, and his excellent wife,Bride of his youth, whose death has brought on himSharp sorrow, and old age before its time.By a sad death she died—through wasting griefFor her lost, glorious son. May no one here,No friend of mine, nor one who has bestowedA kindness on me, die by such a death!While yet she lived, great as her sorrow was,I loved to speak with her and hear her words;For she had reared me with her youngest-born—Her daughter, long-robed Ctimena. With herWas I brought up, and scarcely less than herWas held in honor. When at length we cameInto the pleasant years of youth, they sentThe princess hence to Samos, and received atLarge presents; but to me her mother gaveGarments of price, a tunic and a cloak,And sandals for my feet, and sent me forthInto the fields, and loved me more and more.All this is over now, yet must I sayMy calling has been prospered by the gods.From this I have the means to eat and drink,And wherewithal to feast a worthy guest;But from the queen I never have a wordOr deed of kindness, since that evil cameUpon her house—that crew of lawless men.Greatly the servants would rejoice to speakBefore their mistress, and inquire her will,And eat and drink, and carry to their homesSome gift, for gifts delight a servant’s heart.”

Again Ulysses, the sagacious, spake:“Swineherd Eumaeus, thou, while yet a child,Wert doubtless strangely tossed about the world,Far from thy kindred and thy native land.Now tell me, was the spacious town whereinThy father and thy mother dwelt laid waste?Or wert thou left among the flocks and herdsUntended, and borne off by hostile men,Who came in ships and sold thee to the lordOf these possessions for a worthy price?”

And then the master swineherd spake again:“Since thou dost ask me, stranger, hear my wordsIn silence; sit at ease and drink thy wine.These nights are very long; there’s time enoughFor sleep, and time to entertain ourselvesWith talk. It is not fitting to lie downEre the due hour arrive, and too much sleepIs hurtful. Whosoever here shall feelThe strong desire, let him withdraw and sleep,And rise with early morn and break his fast,And tend my master’s swine. Let us remainWithin, and drink and feast, and pass the timeGayly, relating what we have endured,Each one of us; for in the after timeOne who has suffered much and wandered farMay take a pleasure even in his griefs.

“But let me tell what thou hast asked of me:Beyond Ortygia lies an island namedSyria; thou must have heard of it. The sunAbove it turns his course. It is not large,But fruitful, fit for pasturage, and richIn flocks, abounding both in wine and wheat.There never famine comes, nor foul diseaseFastens on wretched mortals; but when menGrow old, Apollo of the silver bowComes with Diana, aims his silent shafts,And slays them. There two cities stand, and shareThe isle between them. There my father reigned,The godlike Ctesias, son of Ormenus,And both the cities owned him as their king.

“There came a crew of that seafaring race,The people of Phoenicia, to our isle.Shrewd fellows they, and brought in their black shipLarge store of trinkets. In my father’s houseWas a Phoenician woman, large and fair,And skilful in embroidery. As she cameA laundress to their ship, those cunning menSeduced her. One of them obtained her love—For oft doth love mislead weak womankind,Even of the more discreet. Her paramourAsked who she was, and whence. She pointed outThe lofty pile in which my father dwelt.

“ ‘At Sidon, rich in brass, I had my birth—A daughter of the opulent Arybas;And once, as I was coming from the fields,The Taphian pirates seized and bore me off,And brought me to this isle and sold me here,At that man’s house; much gold he paid for me.’

“Then said her paramour: ‘Wilt thou not thenReturn with us, that thou mayst see againFather and mother, and their fair abode?For yet they live, and rumor says are rich.’

“To this the woman answered: ‘I consentIf first ye take an oath—ye mariners—And pledge your faith to bear me safely home.’

“She spake, and they complied, and when the oathWas duly taken, thus the woman said:—

“ ‘Now hold your peace; let none of all the crewSpeak to me more, in meeting on the roadOr at the fountain, lest someone should tellThe old man at the house, and he suspectSome fraud and bind me fast, and plot your death.Lock up your words within your breast; make hasteTo buy supplies, and when the ship is fullOf all things needful, let a messengerCome to me at the palace with all speed;And I will bring with me whatever goldMy hands may find, and something else to payMy passage. I am nurse to the young heirOf the good man who dwells in yonder halls—A shrewd boy for his years, who oft goes outWith me—and I will lead him to the ship,And he will bring, in any foreign landTo which ye carry him, a liberal price.’

“The woman spake, and to our fair abodeDeparted. The Phoenician crew remainedUntil the twelvemonth’s end, and filled their shipWith many things, and, when its roomy hullWas fully laden, sent a messengerTo tell the woman. He, a cunning man,Came to my father’s house, and brought with himA golden necklace set with amber beads.The palace maidens and the gracious queen,My mother, took it in their hands, and gazedUpon it, and debated of its price.Meantime the bearer gave the sign, and soonDeparted to the ship. The woman tookMy hand and led me forth. Within the hallShe found upon the tables ready placedThe goblets for my father’s guests, his peers;But they were absent, and in council yetAmid a great assembly. She concealedThree goblets in her bosom, and bore offThe theft. I followed thoughtlessly. The sunWent down, and darkness brooded o’er the ways.Briskly we walked, and reached the famous portAnd the fast-sailing ship. They took us bothOn board, and sailed. Along its ocean pathThe vessel ran, and Jupiter bestowedA favorable wind. Six days we sailed,Both night and day; but when Saturnian JoveBrought the seventh day, Diana, archer-queen,Struck down the woman, and with sudden noiseHeadlong she plunged into the hold, as divesA seagull. But the seamen cast her forthTo fishes and to sea-calves. I was leftAlone and sorrowful. The winds and wavesCarried our galley on to Ithaca;And there Laertes purchased me, and thusI first beheld the land in which I dwell.”

And then again the great Ulysses spake:“Eumaeus, the sad story of thy wrongsAnd sufferings moves me deeply; yet hath JoveAmong thy evil fortunes given this good,That, after all thy sufferings, thou art lodgedWith a good master, who abundantlyProvides thee meat and drink; thou leadest hereA pleasant life, while I am come to theeFrom wandering long and over many lands.”

So talked they with each other. No long timeThey passed in sleep, for soon the Morning came,Throned on her car of gold. Beside the shoreThe comrades of Telemachus cast looseThe sails, took down the mast, and with their oarsBrought in the vessel to its place. They threwThe anchors out and bound the hawsers fast,And went upon the sea-beach, where they dressedTheir morning meal, and mingled purple wine.Then, when the calls of thirst and hunger ceased,Discreet Telemachus bespake the crew:—

“Take the black ship to town. I visit firstThe fields, and see my herdsmen, and at eveWill come to town. Tomorrow I will giveThe parting feast, rich meats and generous wine.”

Then said the godlike Theoclymenus:“Whither, my son, am I to go? What houseOf all the chiefs of rugged IthacaShall I seek shelter in? with thee, perhaps,In thine own palace where thy mother dwells.”

And thus discreet Telemachus replied:“I would have asked thee at another timeTo make our house thy home, for there would beNo lack of kindly welcome. ’Twere not wellTo ask thee now, for I shall not be there,Nor will my mother see thee—since not oftDoth she appear before the suitor-train,But in an upper room, apart from them,Weaves at her loom a web. Another manI name, Eurymachus, the illustrious sonOf the sage Polybus, to be thy host.The noblest of the suitors he, and seeksMost earnestly to wed the queen, and takeThe rank Ulysses held. Olympian Jove,Who dwells in ether, knows the fatal dayThat may o’ertake the suitors ere she wed.”

As thus he spake, a falcon on the rightFlew by, Apollo’s messenger. A doveWas in his talons, which he tore, and pouredThe feathers down between TelemachusAnd where the galley lay. When this was seenBy Theoclymenus, he called the youthApart, alone, and took his hand and said:—

“The bird that passed us, O Telemachus,Upon the right, flew not without a godTo guide him. When I saw it, well I knewThe omen. Not in Ithaca existsA house of a more kingly destinyThan thine, and ever will its power prevail.”

And thus discreet Telemachus replied:“O stranger, may thy saying come to pass;Then shalt thou quickly know me for thy friend,And be rewarded with such liberal giftsThat all who meet thee shall rejoice with thee.”

Then turning to Piraeus he bespakeThat faithful follower thus: “Piraeus, sonOf Clytius, thou who ever wert the firstTo move, at my command, of all the menWho went with me to Pylos, take, I pray,This stranger to thy house, and there provideFor him, and honor him until I come.”

Piraeus, mighty with the spear, replied:“Telemachus, however long thy stay,This man shall be my guest, nor ever lackBeneath my roof for hospitable care.”

He spake, and climbed the deck, and bade his menEnter the ship and cast the fastenings loose.Quickly they came together, went on boardAnd manned the benches, while TelemachusBound the fair sandals to his feet, and tookHis massive spear with its sharp blade of brassThat lay upon the deck. The men unboundThe hawsers, shoved the galley forth, and sailedTownward, as they were bidden by the sonOf great Ulysses. Meantime the quick feetOf the young chieftain bore him on untilHe reached the lodge where his great herds of swineWere fed, and, careful of his master’s wealth,Beside his charge the worthy swineherd slept.