Book XIX

1But noble Odysseus stayed behind in the hall,¹

plotting the suitors' slaughter with Athena's help.

At once he spoke winged words to Telemachus:

"Telemachus, the weapons of war must be laid away inside —

5all of them; and the suitors — when they miss them and question you —

talk them around with soft words:

'I laid them out of the smoke: they no longer looked like the arms²

Odysseus left behind when he went to Troy —

they are fouled over, as far as the breath of the fire reached.

10And a greater fear — this too a god has cast into my heart:

that in your wine you might raise a quarrel among you

and wound one another, and shame the feast

and the wooing. For iron of itself draws a man on.'"

So he spoke; and Telemachus obeyed his dear father,

15and calling out the nurse Eurycleia he said:

"Nurse, come — shut the women in their quarters for me

until I have stowed away in the storeroom my father's

beautiful arms, which the smoke dulls, uncared for, all about

the house, since my father went away. I was still a child then.

20Now I want to lay them where the breath of the fire will not reach."

Then the dear nurse Eurycleia answered him:

"Yes, child — and if only you would take up the good sense at last

to care for the house and guard all its possessions!

But come — who then will fetch a light and carry it for you,³

25if the slave-women, who would have lit you, may not come out?"

Then clear-headed Telemachus answered her:

"This stranger here. I will keep no man idle who takes

from my grain-measure, however far he has come."

So he spoke; and for her the word stayed wingless.

30And she locked the doors of the well-settled halls.

Then the two sprang up, Odysseus and his shining son,

and carried in the helmets and the bossed shields

and the sharp-pointed spears; and before them Pallas Athena,

holding a golden lamp, made a light most beautiful.⁴

35And suddenly Telemachus said to his father:

"Father — here is a great wonder my eyes look on!⁵

The walls of the hall — no question — and the fine crossbeams,

the fir rafters, and the pillars rising high

shine in my eyes as if from a blazing fire.

40Surely some god is in the house, one of those who hold wide heaven."

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered him:

"Quiet. Rein in your thought. Ask no questions.

This is the way of the gods who hold Olympus.

Go you to bed. I will remain behind here

45to stir the slave-women a little more, and your mother:⁶

in her grief she will ask me about every particular."

So he spoke; and Telemachus went out through the hall

to his chamber, under the blazing torches, to lie down

where he always slept when sweet sleep came to him.

50There he lay down now too, and waited for shining Dawn.

But noble Odysseus stayed behind in the hall,

plotting the suitors' slaughter with Athena's help.

And out of her chamber came watchful-minded Penelope,

like Artemis, or golden Aphrodite.

55They set her chair, where she always sat, beside the fire —

a chair wound round with ivory and silver, which the craftsman⁷

Icmalius once made, and fixed beneath it a footrest

all of a piece with it, where a great fleece would be thrown.

There she sat down now, watchful-minded Penelope.

60And the white-armed slave-women came in from the hall

and cleared away the piles of bread, and the tables,

and the cups from which the overbearing men had drunk;

they raked the fire from the braziers to the floor and stacked

fresh wood upon them, for light and for warmth.

65And Melantho went at Odysseus a second time:⁸

"Stranger — are you going to plague us even now, all through the night,

prowling around the house, spying on the women?

Out the door, you wretch — and be glad of the meal you got —

or you'll go out quick enough with a torch-brand at your back!"

70Then, glaring from under his brows, Odysseus of the many designs replied:

"Woman possessed — why go for me with a heart so angry?

Because I am dirty, because the clothes on my body are bad,

because I beg through the land? Necessity is on me:

that is what beggars and wandering men are like.

75I too once lived in a house among men,

a fortunate man in a wealthy one, and I often gave to a wanderer,

whoever he might be and whatever need he came in.

Slaves I had past counting, and everything in plenty

by which men live well and get the name of rich.

80But Zeus the son of Cronos stripped it all — such, no doubt, was his will.

So look to yourself, woman: take care you never lose

all that shine of yours, that sets you off among the slave-women —

in case your mistress turns on you in anger,

or Odysseus comes. For a portion of hope is left.

85And even if he is dead as you think, and past returning,

by Apollo's grace there is his son by now,

such a son — Telemachus. Not one woman in these halls

escapes his eye at her mischief. He is past that age."⁹

So he spoke; and watchful-minded Penelope heard him,

90and rounded on the handmaid, and spoke a word, and named her:

"Be sure of this, bold face, dog past all shame: your grand¹⁰

performance is not lost on me — you will wipe it off on your own head.

You knew — every part of it — you heard it from my own mouth:

that I meant to question the stranger in my halls

95about my husband, for whom I grieve past telling."

Then she spoke to Eurynome the housekeeper:

"Eurynome, bring up a bench, and a fleece on it,

for the stranger to sit and speak his word and hear me

out: I wish to question him through and through."

100So she spoke; and the woman bustled to bring the polished

bench and set it down, and threw a fleece upon it,

and there much-enduring noble Odysseus sat.

And watchful-minded Penelope began to speak among them:

"Stranger, this first will I myself ask you:

105What man are you, and from where? Where are your city and your parents?"¹¹

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered her:

"Lady, no mortal man on the boundless earth

could find a fault in you: your fame goes up to the wide sky —

like the fame of some blameless king, a god-fearing man¹²

110ruling among many people and mighty,

upholding straight judgments; and the black earth bears

wheat and barley under him, and the trees hang heavy with fruit,

the flocks throw firm young, the sea yields fish,

all from his good governing; and under him the people flourish.

115So — question me now on any other matter, here in your house,

but do not ask my race and my fathers' country,

or you will fill my heart still fuller with pains

as I remember: I am a man of many sorrows. And there is no need

to sit in a stranger's house grieving and lamenting —

120grief without respite makes everything worse —

and one of the slave-women might take offense — or you yourself —

and say I swim in tears because the wine has weighed my wits."

Then watchful-minded Penelope answered him:

"Stranger, my excellence — my face, my figure —¹³

125the deathless ones destroyed the day the Argives

boarded ship for Ilium, and my husband Odysseus with them.

If he came back — if he watched over this life of mine —

my fame would be greater so, and lovelier.

Now I only grieve: so many evils the god has driven at me.

130All the great men who hold power among the islands —

Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus —

and those whose homes are round clear-skied Ithaca itself:

they woo me against my will, and wear this house away.

So I pay no mind to strangers, none to suppliants,

135none at all to heralds, the workers for the people;

no — longing for Odysseus melts the heart in me.

They press the marriage on; and I wind out my skein of tricks.¹⁴

First it was the robe: a god breathed it into my heart —

to set up a great loom in the halls and weave at it,

140fine-threaded, beyond all measure wide; and I told them straightway:

'Young men, my suitors — since noble Odysseus is dead,¹⁵

wait, though you burn for my wedding, till I finish

this cloth — let my spinning not be wasted on the wind —

a shroud for the hero Laertes, against the day

145the ruinous doom of death that lays men low will take him:

let no Achaean woman in the land hold it against me

that a man who won so much should lie without his winding-sheet.'

So I spoke, and their proud hearts were persuaded.

Then every day I wove at the great loom,

150and every night I unwove it by torchlight.

Three years my trick escaped them, and I kept the Achaeans persuaded;

but when the fourth year came, as the seasons rolled on,

the months waning away, the long tale of days accomplished,

then — through my slave-women, those careless bitches —

155they came on me and caught me, and shouted me down.

So I finished it — against my will, under force.

And now I can neither escape the marriage nor find

any other design. My parents urge me hard¹⁶

to marry; and my son chafes as these men eat his living —

160he understands now: he is a man by now, fully able

to care for a house that Zeus grants glory to.

But even so, tell me your stock, where you are from:

you were not born of the oak in the old tales, nor of a stone."¹⁷

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered her:

165"Honored wife of Laertes' son Odysseus,

will you not leave off asking me my lineage?

Well — I will tell you. Though truly you hand me over to sorrows

more than hold me now: that is the way of it, when a man

has been gone from his country as long as I have,

170wandering through many cities of men, suffering pains.

Even so, I will tell you what you ask and probe for.

There is a land called Crete, out in the wine-dark sea,¹⁸

beautiful and rich, ringed by the water; and in it are people

past counting, and ninety cities:

175tongue mixed with tongue — Achaeans there,

great-hearted native Cretans, Cydonians,

Dorians in their three clans, and noble Pelasgians;

and among the cities is Cnossus, the great town, where Minos

was king by nine-year terms, great Zeus's intimate —¹⁹

180the father of my father, great-hearted Deucalion.

Deucalion fathered me, and lord Idomeneus;

but Idomeneus had gone in the beaked ships

to Ilium with the sons of Atreus. My famous name is Aethon —²⁰

the younger brother by birth; he was elder, and the better man.

185There I saw Odysseus, and gave him guest-gifts:²¹

for the strength of the wind had brought him down on Crete

as he made for Troy, driving him off course past Malea.

He anchored at Amnisus, by the cave of Eileithyia,

in that difficult harbor, and barely rode out the squalls.

190He came straight up to the town, asking for Idomeneus:

his guest-friend, he said, beloved and honored.

But it was now the tenth dawn for Idomeneus, or the eleventh,²²

since he had gone with the beaked ships to Ilium.

So I brought him to the house and gave him welcome,

195warm and openhanded — the house had plenty in it —

and for the rest, for the companions who followed with him,

I gathered barley-meal from the public store, and sparkling wine,

and oxen for sacrifice, till their hearts were satisfied.

Twelve days the noble Achaeans stayed with me,

200pinned there: the great North Wind held them, and would not let them

stand even on shore — some hard god had raised it.

On the thirteenth the wind dropped, and they put out to sea."

He made the many lies he told seem like the truth.²³

And as she listened her tears ran, and her flesh melted —²⁴

205as snow melts away on the high crests of the mountains,

snow the West Wind piled and the East Wind thaws,

and as it melts the rivers run full with it:

so her beautiful cheeks melted with falling tears,

as she wept for her own husband — sitting at her side. And Odysseus

210pitied his wife in his heart as she grieved,

but his eyes stood fixed as horn or iron,²⁵

unwavering in their lids: with craft he hid his tears.

And when she had taken her fill of tear-heavy mourning,

she found words again, and answered him:

215"Now, stranger, I think I shall put you to the test:²⁶

whether you truly hosted my husband there in your halls

with his godlike companions, as you say.

Tell me what kind of clothes he wore on his body,

and what kind of man he was, and the companions who followed him."

220Then Odysseus of the many designs answered her:

"Lady, that is hard — for one so long apart

to say. It is the twentieth year already

since he went from there and left my country behind.

Even so I will tell you how my heart's eye pictures him.

225Noble Odysseus wore a woolen mantle of sea-purple,

a double fold; and the brooch on it was fashioned of gold,

with paired sheaths for the pins; the face of it was a marvel:

a hound held a dappled fawn between its forepaws,²⁷

gripping it as it writhed. And everyone wondered at them —

230both of gold: the one gripping the fawn and throttling it,

the fawn straining with its feet to escape, even as it struggled.

And I noticed the tunic on his body, all a-shimmer,

like the skin that slips from a dried onion:²⁸

that soft it was, and bright as the sun itself.

235Many the women, I tell you, who gazed at him in wonder.

And another thing I will tell you: lay it up in your heart.

I do not know whether Odysseus wore these things from home,

or some companion gave them to him boarding the fast ship,

or perhaps some guest-friend, since to many men Odysseus

240was dear: few of the Achaeans were his equals.

I too gave him things: a sword of bronze, a folded mantle,

fine, sea-purple, and a fringed tunic,

and sent him off with honor on his well-benched ship.

Also a herald attended him, a little older

245than he was; and I will tell you what he looked like too:

round in the shoulders, dark-skinned, curly-headed,²⁹

Eurybates his name; and Odysseus prized him above

his other companions, for their minds ran matched.

So he spoke; and he stirred in her still more the longing for weeping,

250as she recognized the tokens Odysseus described so surely.³⁰

And when she had taken her fill of tear-heavy mourning,

then she found words again, and said to him:

"Now, stranger, pitiable as you were to me before,

in my halls you shall be dear and honored.

255It was I who gave him those clothes — I, the very clothes you speak of —³¹

folded from the storeroom, and I pinned on the shining brooch

to be his jewel. And I shall never welcome him again

come home to his own dear fatherland.

By an evil fate Odysseus went in the hollow ship

260to look on Evil-Ilium, never to be named."³²

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered her:

"Honored wife of Laertes' son Odysseus,

mar your lovely skin no more, and melt your heart

no more away, weeping for your husband. Not that I blame you at all:

265any woman mourns the husband she has lost,

the man of her youth, whose children she bore in love —

even a lesser man than Odysseus, whom they call the equal of the gods.

But cease from weeping, and attend to my word:

for I will speak the exact truth and hide nothing:

270I have already heard of Odysseus' homecoming —³³

near, in the rich land of the Thesprotian men,

alive; and he is bringing many fine treasures home,

begging his way through the country. But his trusted companions

he lost, and the hollow ship, on the wine-dark sea,

275on the way from the island of Thrinacia: for Zeus and Helios

were set at odds with him — his companions killed the Sun's cattle.³⁴

They all perished in the surging sea;

but he rode the keel of the ship, and the wave threw him ashore

on the land of the Phaeacians, whose birth is next to the gods'.

280They honored him from the heart like a god,

and gave him many things, and were themselves ready to bring him

home unharmed. And Odysseus would have been here

long since; but this seemed to his heart the more profitable way:

to travel wide and gather wealth — for beyond³⁵

285all mortal men Odysseus knows the profitable turn:

no living man could rival him at that.

So Pheidon told me all of it, the king of the Thesprotians;

and he swore an oath to me, pouring the libation in his house,

that a ship was hauled down and a crew standing ready

290to convey him home to his own dear fatherland.

But me he sent off first: for a Thesprotian ship

happened to be sailing for Dulichium, rich in wheat.

And he showed me all the treasure Odysseus had gathered:

truly it would feed a man's line to the tenth generation,

295such a store of the lord's goods lay there in his halls.

Odysseus, he said, was gone to Dodona, to hear

the will of Zeus out of the god's own high-crowned oak:

how he should come home to his own dear fatherland,

openly or in secret, after so long away.

300So he is safe; so he will come — and soon now,

very near: not far from his friends and his fathers' land

will he be for long. And still I will give you my oath on it.

Now Zeus be my witness first — highest and best of the gods —³⁶

and the hearth of blameless Odysseus, to which I have come:

305all this shall be accomplished exactly as I say.

Within this very turning of the light Odysseus will be here:

between this month's waning and the rising of the next."

Then watchful-minded Penelope answered him:

"Ah, stranger, if only that word might be accomplished:³⁷

310then you would quickly know my friendship, and gifts

in plenty from me — any man who met you would call you blessed.

But this is how my heart forebodes it, and how it will be:

Odysseus is not coming home; and you will get no passage —

for there are no masters in this house

315such as Odysseus was among men — if he ever was —

to welcome honored strangers, and to send them on.

But wash him, my handmaids, and lay out a bed:³⁸

bedstead and cloaks and shining blankets,

so he may come warm through to Dawn of the golden throne.

320And in the early morning bathe him and rub him with oil,

so that here inside, at Telemachus' side, he may look to his dinner,

seated in the hall. And the worse for any man of them

who galls him — heart-destroyer: he will accomplish nothing

here ever again, rage at it as he bitterly may.

325For how will you learn of me, stranger, whether I stand out³⁹

at all among women in mind and thoughtful counsel,

if all unwashed and badly dressed you sit at meat

in my halls? Men are creatures of a short day.

The man who is hard himself, and knows hard thoughts,

330on him all mortals call down pains to come

while he lives, and when he is dead they mock him, every one;

but the man who is blameless himself, and knows blameless thoughts —

his fame the guests he served carry wide

to all mankind, and many call him noble."

335Then Odysseus of the many designs answered her:

"Honored wife of Laertes' son Odysseus,

cloaks and shining blankets turned hateful to me

the day I first put the snowy mountains of Crete

behind me, going aboard the long-oared ship.

340I will lie this night as I have lain through sleepless nights before:

many the nights I have spent on some rough bed,

waiting it out for shining fair-throned Dawn.

Nor do foot-washings bring my heart any pleasure:

no woman shall touch this foot of mine⁴⁰

345of all those who serve about your house —

unless there is some old woman, old and faithful-hearted,

who has endured in her spirit as much as I have endured:

such a one I would not grudge the touching of my feet."

Then watchful-minded Penelope answered him:

350"Dear stranger — no man so discerning, of all the guests

from far lands, ever came more welcome to my house:

so shaped and thought-through is everything you say.

I have an old woman whose breast is packed with counsel,

who nursed and reared that unlucky man, my husband —

355took him into her arms the hour his mother bore him:

she will wash your feet, feeble with age though she is.

Up now, watchful-minded Eurycleia:⁴¹

wash him — a man the same age as your master. And perhaps Odysseus

by now is like him in his feet, like him in his hands:

360for in misfortune mortal men age fast."⁴²

So she spoke; and the old woman hid her face in her hands

and shed hot tears, and gave voice to words of mourning:

"Ah me, child, and I helpless for you! Truly Zeus⁴³

hated you beyond all men — and yours was a god-fearing heart.

365For no mortal ever burned to Zeus who delights in thunder

so many fat thigh-pieces, such choice hecatombs,

as you gave him, praying you might come

to a sleek old age and raise your shining son.

And now from you alone he has cut off the day of homecoming.

370So too, I suppose, the women mocked him —

women of strangers in far lands, when he came to some man's famous house —

just as these bitches here mock you, all of them together:

it is to dodge their insults, their crowd of taunts,

that you will not let the women wash you. And I — not at all unwilling —

375am ordered to it by Icarius' daughter, watchful-minded Penelope.

So I will wash your feet — for Penelope's own sake

and for yours as well; for the heart within me is stirred

with sorrows. But come — take in the word I say:

many a travel-worn stranger has come to this house,

380but never, I tell you, have I seen such a likeness

as you have — in body, in voice, in feet — to Odysseus."⁴⁴

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered her:

"Old mother, so they all say who have seen the two of us

with their own eyes: that we are very like each other —

385just as you yourself observe, and say."⁴⁵

So he spoke; and the old woman took the shining basin

she used for washing feet, and poured in water,

cold in plenty, then added hot to it. And Odysseus

sat down at the hearth — and swung round quickly toward the dark,⁴⁶

390for a fear came over his heart that as she took hold

she might mark the scar, and the whole work come open.

She came close and began to wash her master. And at once she knew⁴⁷

the scar — the wound the boar dealt him with its white tusk

when he went to Parnassus, to Autolycus and his sons,

395his mother's noble father, who outdid all men

in thievery and the oath: the god himself had given it him —⁴⁸

Hermes: to him he burned welcome thigh-pieces

of lambs and of kids, and the god companioned him with a will.

Once Autolycus, coming to the rich land of Ithaca,

400found his daughter's son a baby newly born;

and Eurycleia laid the child on his knees⁴⁹

as he finished supper, and spoke a word, and named him:

"Autolycus — find the name yourself, to give

your own child's child. He is a child of many prayers."

405Then Autolycus answered her and said:

"Son-in-law and daughter, give him the name I say.

Since I have come to this place at odds with many —⁵⁰

with men and with women across the nourishing earth —

let Odysseus, Man at Odds, be the name he carries.

410And for my part: when he is grown, and comes to Parnassus,

to his mother's great house, where my possessions are,

I will give him a share and send him home rejoicing."

For those gifts Odysseus went: to receive his shining presents.

And Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus

415clasped his hands in welcome, and greeted him with honeyed words;

and Amphithea, his mother's mother, folding Odysseus in her arms,

kissed his head, and both his beautiful eyes.⁵¹

Then Autolycus called to his glorious sons

to make the meal ready; and they heard his urging:

420at once they led in a bull of five years,

flayed it and dressed it, and split the whole in pieces,

and jointed the meat with skill, and fixed it on the spits,

and roasted it with care, and shared out all the portions.

So then, the whole day long until the setting of the sun,

425they feasted; and no man's appetite went short of the equal feast.

And when the sun went down and the dusk came on,

they lay down then, and took the gift of sleep.

When Dawn appeared, the early-born, with fingers of rose,

they went their way to the hunt — the hounds and with them

430the sons of Autolycus themselves; and noble Odysseus

went along with them. They climbed the steep mountain, mantled

in forest — Parnassus — and soon they reached its windy folds.

The sun was just striking the plowlands, rising⁵²

out of the deep smooth stream of Ocean,

435when the beaters came to a glen; ahead of them

ran the hounds, casting for the scent, and behind them

came the sons of Autolycus; and noble Odysseus

moved close behind the hounds, swinging his long-shadowed spear.

There, in a dense thicket, lay couched a great boar.⁵³

440No force of wet-blowing winds could pierce that covert,

no shaft of the shining sun could strike into it,

no rain drive through it, so dense it was,

and the fallen leaves lay heaped in it past counting.

Around the boar came the din of feet — men's and hounds' —

445as they pressed in on him; and out of his lair, head-on,

bristles ridged on his neck, fire standing in his eyes,

he stood at bay, close in. And first of all Odysseus

rushed him, the long spear high in his heavy hand,

hungry to strike; but the boar was quicker — gashed him

450above the knee, charging in slantwise, and ripped away

a long gouge of flesh with his tusk: but it did not reach the bone.

And Odysseus struck home on the right shoulder,

and the point of the shining spear went through and through:

down in the dust he went, bleating, and the life flew out of him.⁵⁴

455Then the dear sons of Autolycus busied themselves with the carcass,

and the wound of blameless, godlike Odysseus

they bound with skill, and with a chanted spell they stanched⁵⁵

the black blood; and quickly they came to their father's house.

And Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus

460healed him well, and gave him shining gifts,

and quickly sent him back rejoicing to his own dear country,

to Ithaca. And his father and his honored mother

rejoiced at his homecoming, and questioned him on everything —

the scar, and what had happened; and he told them all of it well:

465how the boar's white tusk had gashed him at the hunt

on his climb up Parnassus with the sons of Autolycus.

That scar — as the old woman took his leg in the flat of her hands⁵⁶

she knew it under her fingers. She let the foot drop:

the shin fell in the basin; the bronze rang out;

470the basin tipped over sideways, and the water ran on the ground.

And joy and anguish seized her mind at once: her eyes

filled up with tears; her welling voice stuck fast.

She touched Odysseus on the chin, and said:

"You are Odysseus — dear child! And I did not know you,⁵⁷

475not before I had handled all of him — my master."

She spoke, and her eyes went toward Penelope,

ready to tell her that her own husband was in the house.

But Penelope could not meet the look or take its meaning,

for Athena had turned her mind away. And Odysseus,⁵⁸

480feeling for her throat, caught it with his right hand,

and with the other pulled her closer to him, and said:

"Nurse — why would you destroy me? You yourself nursed me⁵⁹

at this breast of yours. Now, after suffering many pains,

I have come in the twentieth year to my fathers' land.

485But since you have found it out, and a god has put it in your heart,

be silent — let no one else in the halls learn of it.

For I will say this outright, and it will be accomplished:

if a god brings the haughty suitors down beneath my hands,

I will not spare even you, my nurse though you are, that day

490I kill the other slave-women in my halls."

Then watchful-minded Eurycleia answered him:

"My child, what a word has slipped the fence of your teeth!⁶⁰

You know my strength — how it stands and will not bend:

I will hold like solid stone, like iron.

495And another thing I will tell you: lay it up in your heart.

If a god brings the haughty suitors down beneath your hands,

then I will name you the women of the halls, every one:

which of them dishonor you, and which are guiltless."

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered her:

500"Nurse, why would you name them? There is no need.⁶¹

I will observe them well myself, and learn each one.

No — keep the story silent. Leave it to the gods."

So he spoke; and the old woman went off through the hall

to fetch fresh water for his feet: the first was all spilled.

505And when she had washed him and rubbed him richly with oil,

Odysseus drew his bench again nearer the fire

to warm himself, and covered the scar with his rags.⁶²

And watchful-minded Penelope began to speak among them:

"Stranger, one small thing more I will ask you myself —

510for soon enough now comes the hour of sweet rest,

for whomever sweet sleep will take, however careworn.

But to me the god has dealt grief past measuring:

by day my one delight is weeping and lamenting,⁶³

while I look to my work and the work of my women in the house;

515but when night comes, and rest takes all the others,

I lie in my bed, and crowding round my beating heart

the sharp anxieties torment me as I mourn.

As when the daughter of Pandareus, the pale-green nightingale,⁶⁴

sings beautifully at the first new standing of spring,

520perched in the thick leafage of the trees,

and pouring, turning, threads her many-noted voice,

mourning her child, her beloved Itylus, whom once with the bronze

she killed in her blindness of mind — the son of lord Zethus:

so my heart too is torn two ways, this way and that:⁶⁵

525do I stay by my son and keep everything unmoved —

my goods, my slave-women, the great high-roofed house —

respecting my husband's bed and the voice of the people;

or do I follow now whichever of the Achaeans is best

among my suitors in the halls, and offers bride-gifts past counting?

530My son — while he was still a child, and soft in mind,

he would not have me marry and leave my husband's house;

but now that he is grown, come to the measure of manhood,

he prays me to go back home, out of these halls —

chafing over the estate the Achaeans eat away.

535But come — hear this dream of mine, and read it for me.⁶⁶

I keep twenty geese about the house; they eat wheat

softened in water, and it warms me to watch them.⁶⁷

And out of the mountain came a great hook-beaked eagle

and broke all their necks, and killed them; and they lay strewn

540in a heap through the halls, while he was borne up to the bright sky.

And I wept — I wailed aloud, though it was a dream,

and around me gathered the fair-braided Achaean women,

as I grieved most pitiably because the eagle had killed my geese.

But back he came, and perched on the jut of the roof-beam,

545and with a man's voice he checked my grieving:

'Take heart, daughter of far-famed Icarius:

this is no dream but a waking sight — a good one, and it shall be accomplished.⁶⁸

The geese are the suitors; and I — I was the eagle-bird

before; but now I have come back, and I am your husband,

550and I will let loose an ugly doom on all the suitors.'⁶⁹

So he spoke; and the honey-sweet sleep let me go;

and casting about, I saw the geese there in the halls

pecking their wheat beside the trough, just where they always were."

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered her:

555"Lady, there is no way to wrench this dream aside

to read it another way: Odysseus himself, no other,

has shown you how he will end it: destruction shows plain for the suitors —

for every man of them; not one shall slip out of death and the fates."⁷⁰

Then watchful-minded Penelope answered him:

560"Stranger, dreams are hopeless things, and their talk past sorting;

not everything in them is accomplished for mortals.

For two are the gates of strengthless dreams:⁷¹

one pair is fashioned of horn, and one of ivory.

Those dreams that come through the gate of sawn ivory

565cheat and beguile: they carry words that come to nothing.

But those that come out through the gate of polished horn

accomplish true things, whenever a mortal sees them.

But my strange dream, I fear, did not come from there —

ah, welcome as that would be to me and to my child.

570And another thing I will tell you: lay it up in your heart.

Here now comes the dawn of the evil name, that will cut me⁷²

away from the house of Odysseus. For now I will set the contest:

the axes he used to stand up in a row in his halls,

like the props of a ship on the stocks — twelve in all;⁷³

575and standing far back he would shoot an arrow through them.

Now I will set this contest before the suitors:

whoever strings the bow most easily in his hands,

and shoots an arrow through all twelve axes —

him I will follow, forsaking this house,

580this house of my marriage, this beautiful house, full of all

that sustains life. I think I shall remember it even in my dreams."⁷⁴

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered her:

"Honored wife of Laertes' son Odysseus,

do not put off this contest in your house one hour.

585For Odysseus of the many designs will be here first —⁷⁵

before these men, handling and handling the polished bow,

can string the cord and shoot through the iron."

Then watchful-minded Penelope answered him:

"Stranger, if you were only willing to sit by me in the halls⁷⁶

590and give me pleasure, sleep would never settle on my eyes.

But there is no way men can go sleepless forever:

the deathless ones have set a portion for each thing

mortals do on the grain-giving earth.

So I will go up now to my upper room

595to lie on the bed that has become a bed of groaning for me,⁷⁷

forever stained with my tears, since the day Odysseus

went to look on Evil-Ilium, never to be named.

There I will lie; and you lie down in this house —

spread something on the floor, or let them set you a bed."

600So speaking she climbed to her shining upper room,

not alone: her handmaids went up with her.

Climbing to her upper room with her serving-women,

she wept there for Odysseus, her dear husband, until

gray-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.⁷⁸