The Odyssey Page 0,17

stood at the outer gate, with helmet, shield, and his two spears,—even such as when I saw him first at my own home, drinking and making merry, on his return from Ephyra, from Ilus, son of Mermerus. For there on his swift ship went Odysseus, seeking a deadly drug in which to dip his brazen arrows. And Ilus did not give it, for he feared the immortal gods; my father, however, gave it, for he held him strangely dear. If as he was that day Odysseus now might meet the suitors, they all would find quick turns of fate and bitter rites of marriage. Still, on the gods’ lap it lies if he shall come or no and if within his hall he shall find vengeance; but yours it is to plan to thrust these suitors from the hall. Give me your ear and heed my words. Tomorrow, summoning to an assembly the Achaean lords, announce your will to all and call the gods to witness! Bid the suitors all disperse, each to his own. And for your mother, if her heart inclines to marriage, let her go hence to her rich father’s house. They there shall make the wedding and provide the many gifts which should accompany a well-loved child. Then for yourself I offer wise advice, and you should listen. Man the best ship you have with twenty oarsmen, and go in quest of your long-absent father. Perhaps some man may give you news or you may hear some rumor sent from Zeus, which oftenest carries tidings. First go to Pylos, and question royal Nestor. Then on to Sparta, to light-haired Menelaus; for he came last of all the armed Achaeans. And if you hear your father is alive and coming home, then, worn as you are, you might endure for one year more. But if you hear that he is dead,—no longer with the living,—you shall at once return to your own native land, and pile his mound and pay the funeral rites, full many, as are due, and you shall give your mother to a husband. Moreover, after you have ended this and finished all, within your mind and heart consider next how you may slay the suitors in your halls, whether by stratagem or open force. You must behave no longer like a child, being the man you are. Have you not heard what fame royal Orestes gained with all mankind, because he slew the slayer, wily Aegisthus, who had slain his famous father? You too, my friend,—for certainly I find you fair and tall,—be strong, that men hereafter born may speak your praise. Now I will go to my swift ship and to my comrades, who tire at my delay. Rely upon yourself. Heed what I say.”

Then answered her discreet Telemachus: “Stranger, in this you speak with kindness, even as a father to a son. Never shall I forget it. But tarry now, though eager to be gone. Bathe, and refresh yourself; then glad at heart turn to your ship, bearing a gift of price and beauty, to be to you a keepsake from myself, even such a thing as dear friends give to friends.”

Then answered him the goddess, clear-eyed Athene: “Keep me no longer now, when pressing on my way. And any gift your kind heart bids you give, give when I come again, for me to carry home. Choose one exceeding beautiful; yours in return shall be of equal worth.”

Saying this, clear-eyed Athene passed away, even as a bird—a sea-hawk—takes its flight. Into his heart she had brought strength and courage, turning his thoughts upon his father more even than before. As he marked this in his mind, an awe came on him. He perceived it was a god. At once he sought the suitors, godlike himself.

To them the famous bard was singing, while they in silence sat and listened. He sang of the return of the Achaeans, the sad return, which Pallas Athene had appointed them on leaving Troy.

Now from her upper chamber, there heard this wondrous song the daughter of Icarius, heedful Penelope, and she descended the long stairway from her room, yet not alone; two slave-maids followed her.7 And when the royal lady reached the suitors, she stood beside a column of the strong-built roof, holding before her face her delicate veil, while a faithful slave-maid stood upon either hand. Then bursting into tears, she said to the noble bard:

“Phemius, many another tale you know to charm mankind, exploits