Who now approach’d; he found Telemachus
Libation off’ring in his bark, and pray’r,
And in wing’d accents ardent him address’d.
I find thee, by these sacred rites and those
Whom thou ador’st, and by thy own dear life,
And by the lives of these thy mariners
I beg true answer; hide not what I ask.
Who art thou? whence? where born? and sprung from whom?
I will inform thee, stranger! and will solve
Thy questions with much truth. I am by birth
Ithacan, and Ulysses was my sire.
But he hath perish’d by a woeful death,
And I, believing it, with these have plow’d
The ocean hither, int’rested to learn
A father’s fate long absent from his home.
I also am a wand’rer, having slain
A man of my own tribe; brethren and friends
Num’rous had he in Argos steed-renown’d,
And pow’rful are the Achaians dwelling there.
From them, through terrour of impending death,
I fly, a banish’d man henceforth for ever.
Ah save a suppliant fugitive! lest death
O’ertake me, for I doubt not their pursuit.
I shall not, be assured, since thou desir’st
To join me, chace thee from my bark away.
Follow me, therefore, and with us partake,
In Ithaca, what best the land affords.
His spear, which on the deck he lay’d, then climb’d
Himself the bark, and, seated in the stern,
At his own side placed Theoclymenus.
They cast the hawsers loose; then with loud voice
Telemachus exhorted all to hand
The tackle, whom the sailors prompt obey’d.
The tall mast heaving, in its socket deep
They lodg’d it, and its cordage braced secure,
Then, straining at the halyards, hoised the sail.
Fair wind, and blowing fresh through æther pure
Minerva sent them, that the bark might run
Her nimblest course through all the briny way.
Now sank the sun, and dusky ev’ning dimm’d
The waves, when, driven by propitious Jove,
His bark stood right for Pheræ; thence she stretch’d
To sacred Elis where the Epeans rule,
And through the sharp Echinades he next
Steer’d her, uncertain whether fate ordain’d
His life or death, surprizal or escape.
Their cottage-mess, and the assistant swains
Theirs also; and when hunger now and thirst
Had ceased in all, Ulysses thus began,
Proving the swine-herd, whether friendly still,
And anxious for his good, he would intreat
His stay, or thence hasten him to the town.
It is my purpose, lest I wear thee out,
Thee and thy friends, to seek at early dawn
The city, there to beg—But give me first
Needful instructions, and a trusty guide
Who may conduct me thither; there my task
Must be to roam the streets; some hand humane
Perchance shall give me a small pittance there,
A little bread, and a few drops to drink.
Ulysses’ palace I shall also seek,
And to discrete Penelope report
My tidings; neither shall I fail to mix
With those imperious suitors, who, themselves
Full- fed, may spare perhaps some boon to me.
Me shall they find, in whatsoe’er they wish
Their ready servitor, for (understand
And mark me well) the herald of the skies,
Hermes, from whom all actions of mankind
Their grace receive and polish, is my friend,
So that in menial offices I fear
No rival, whether I be called to heap
The hearth with fuel, or dry wood to cleave,
To roast, to carve, or to distribute wine,
As oft the poor are wont who serve the great.
Thou didst reply. Gods! how could such a thought
Possess thee, stranger? surely thy resolve
Is altogether fixt to perish there,
If thou indeed hast purposed with that throng
To mix, whose riot and outrageous acts
Of violence echo through the vault of heav’n.
None, such as thou, serve them; their servitors
Are youths well-cloak’d, well-vested; sleek their heads,
And smug their countenances; such alone
Are their attendants, and the polish’d boards
Groan overcharg’d with bread, with flesh, with wine.
Rest here content; for neither me nor these
Thou weariest aught, and when Ulysses’ son
Shall come, he will with vest and mantle fair
Cloath thee, and send thee whither most thou would’st.
I wish thee, O Eumæus! dear to Jove
As thou art dear to me, for this reprieve
Vouchsafed me kind, from wand’ring and from woe!
No worse condition is of mortal man
Than his who wanders; for
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