so very poor though lacking plains. Grain grows abundantly and wine as well; the showers are frequent and the dews refreshing; here is good pasturage for goats and cattle; trees of all kinds are here, and never-failing springs. So, stranger, the name of Ithaca has gone as far as Troy, which is, they say, a long way from Achaea.”
She spoke, and glad was long-tried royal Odysseus, filled with delight over his native land through what was said by Pallas Athene, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus; and speaking in winged words he said,—yet uttered not the truth, but turned his words awry, ever revolving in his breast some gainful purpose:
“In lowland Crete, I heard of Ithaca far off beyond the sea, and now I reach it—I and these goods of mine. I left an equal portion to my children and fled away from home; for I had killed the dear son of Idomeneus,am Orsilochus, the runner, who on the plains of Crete beat all us toiling men in speed of foot. The cause was this: he sought to cut me off from all the Trojan spoil to gain which I bore grief of heart, cleaving my way through wars of men and through the boisterous seas; and all because I did not, as he wished, serve with his father in the land of Troy, but led my separate men. With a bronze spear I struck him as he was coming from his farm and I was lying with a comrade near the road. A very dark night screened the sky; no man observed us; secretly I took his life. So after I had slain him with my bronze pointed spear, I straightway sought a ship, asked aid of the proud Phoenicians, and gave them from my booty what they wished. I bade them take me on their ship and set me down at Pylos, or else at sacred Elis where the Epeians rule. But strength of wind turned them aside, though much against their will; they meant no wrong; and missing our course, here we arrived last night. With much ado we rowed into the port, and gave no thought to supper, hungry although we were, but simply disembarking from the ship, we all lay down. Then, weary as I was, sweet sleep came on me; and the Phoenicians, taking my treasure from the hollow ship, laid it upon the sands where I was lying, and they embarked and sailed away to stately Sidon. So I was left behind with aching heart.”
As he thus spoke, the goddess, clear-eyed Athene, smiled and patted him with her hand. Her form grew like a woman’s,—one fair and tall and skilled in fine work,—and speaking in winged words she said:
“Prudent and wily must one be to overreach you in craft of any kind, even though it be a god who strives to match you. Bold, shifty, and insatiate of wiles, will you not now within your land cease from the false misleading tales which from the bottom of your heart you love? But let us talk no longer thus, both being versed in lies; for you are far the best of men in plots and tales, and I of all the gods am famed for craft and wiles. And yet you did not know me, Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus, me who am ever near to guard you in all toil, me who have made you welcome to all Phaeacian folk! Now I am come to frame with you a scheme to hide the treasure which the Phaeacian chiefs, through my advice and prompting, gave you at setting forth; and I will tell you too what griefs you must endure within your stately house. Bear them, because you must. Do not report to man or woman of them all that you are come from wandering; but silently receive all pains and bear men’s blows.”
Then wise Odysseus answered her and said: “Hard is it, goddess, for a man, however wise he be, to know when you are near. You take all forms. I very well remember how kind to me you were when all we young Achaeans were in the war at Troy. But since we overthrew the lofty town of Priam, since we went away in ships and God dispersed the Achaeans, I never once have seen you, daughter of Zeus, nor known you to draw near my ship protecting me from harm. Yet bearing ever in my breast a stricken heart, I wandered till the