Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
When Dawn came, rosy-fingered and early-born, the sacred strength of Alcinous rose from his bed, and Odysseus, raider of cities, sprung from the gods, rose too. The sacred strength of Alcinous led the way to the Phaeacian meeting ground, which had been built for them beside the ships. They came and sat on polished stones set close together. Meanwhile Pallas Athena went through the city, taking the shape of the herald of wise Alcinous, working out a homecoming for great-hearted Odysseus, and coming up to each man in turn she spoke:
"Come now, you lords and counselors of the Phaeacians, go to the assembly, so you may learn about the stranger who has just come to wise Alcinous's house, driven over the sea, a man who looks like the immortals."
So she spoke, and stirred the strength and spirit of each man. Quickly the assembly grounds and the seats filled with men gathering, and many marveled at the sight of the wise son of Laertes, for Athena had poured a godlike grace over his head and shoulders and made him taller and more powerful to look at, so that he would be dear to all the Phaeacians, and impressive, and worthy of respect, and would carry off the many contests with which the Phaeacians meant to test him.
When they had all gathered and were assembled together, Alcinous rose among them and spoke: "Hear me, you lords and counselors of the Phaeacians, so I may say what my heart within me bids. This stranger — I do not know who he is — has come wandering to my house, whether from the people of the east or of the west. He is pressing for passage home and begs that it be granted without fail.
As we have always done before, let us hasten to send him on his way. For no one else who ever comes to my house sits here grieving long for lack of an escort. Come, let us drag a black ship down to the bright sea, one making her first voyage, and let fifty-two young men be chosen from the district, the best there are. Let them all bind the oars well to the oarlocks, then step out, and afterward come to my house and make ready a quick feast — I will provide for all of them well. This I charge upon the young men. As for the rest of you,
you scepter-bearing kings, come to my fine house so we may welcome our guest in the halls, and let no one refuse. And call the godlike singer Demodocus, for the god has given him beyond others the gift of song, to give delight in whatever way his heart moves him to sing."
So he spoke and led the way, and the scepter-bearing lords followed with him, while the herald went to fetch the godlike singer. The fifty-two chosen young men went, as he had ordered, down to the shore of the barren sea. When they came down to the ship and to the sea,
they dragged the black ship down into the deep water, set the mast and sail aboard her, fitted the oars into leather slings, all in proper order, and spread the white sails. They moored her out in deep water, and then went on to the great house of wise Alcinous. The porticoes and courtyards and rooms filled with men gathering, many of them, both young and old. For them Alcinous slaughtered twelve sheep, eight white-tusked boars, and two shambling oxen.
These they skinned and dressed and prepared a fine feast. The herald soon came near, leading the beloved singer, whom the Muse loved above others, and gave him both good and evil — she took away his eyes, but gave him sweet song. Pontonous set a silver-studded chair for him in the middle of the feasters, leaning it against a tall pillar, and hung the clear-toned lyre on a peg just above his head, and showed him with his hands how to reach it. He set beside him a basket and a fine table, and a cup of wine to drink whenever his heart moved him.
They reached out their hands to the good food laid ready before them. When they had put away their desire for food and drink, the Muse moved the singer to sing of the famous deeds of men, from that story whose fame had then reached the wide heaven — the quarrel of Odysseus and Achilles, son of Peleus, how they once clashed at a rich feast of the gods with terrible words, and Agamemnon, lord of men, felt joy in his heart that the best of the Achaeans were quarreling. For so Phoebus Apollo had foretold to him when he crossed the stone threshold
to seek the oracle at sacred Pytho — for then the beginning of trouble was rolling down on both Trojans and Greeks by the will of great Zeus. This the famous singer sang; but Odysseus took his great purple cloak in his strong hands and drew it down over his head, hiding his handsome face, for he was ashamed to let the Phaeacians see the tears falling from beneath his brows. Whenever the godlike singer paused in his song, Odysseus wiped away his tears, drew the cloak from his head, took up his double-handled cup, and poured a libation to the gods; but whenever he began again, urged on by
the best of the Phaeacians, who delighted in his words, Odysseus would once more cover his head and groan. There he wept, unnoticed by all the others, but Alcinous alone marked it and understood, sitting close beside him, and heard the heavy sound of his groaning. At once he spoke to the oar-loving Phaeacians: "Hear me, you lords and counselors of the Phaeacians. Now we have had our fill of the shared feast and of the lyre, which goes so well with a rich banquet. Now let us go out and try our hand at contests,
all of them, so that our guest may tell his friends, when he comes home again, how far we surpass all others in boxing, wrestling, jumping, and running." So he spoke and led the way, and the others followed. The herald hung the clear lyre back on its peg, took Demodocus by the hand and led him out of the hall, guiding him along the same road the other leading Phaeacians were taking, to watch the games. They went on to the assembly ground, and with them followed a vast crowd, countless numbers; and many fine young men stood up to compete.
Up rose Acroneus and Ocyalus and Elatreus, Nauteus and Prymneus, Anchialus and Eretmeus, Ponteus and Proreus, Thoon and Anabesineus, and Amphialus, son of Polyneus son of Tecton; and Euryalus rose too, a match for man-killing Ares, son of Naubolus, the finest in form and build of all the Phaeacians after peerless Laodamas. And three sons of blameless Alcinous rose as well, Laodamas, Halius, and godlike Clytoneus. First they tried their speed on foot.
The course was marked out from the starting line, and they all sped off together, swift, raising dust across the plain. Far the best of them at running was blameless Clytoneus: as far as the furrow a pair of mules can plow in a field, so far ahead of the others he came in first, leaving the rest behind. Then they tried the grueling sport of wrestling, and there Euryalus outdid all the best men. In the long jump Amphialus was best of all; with the discus, by far the strongest was Elatreus; in boxing, Laodamas, the fine son of Alcinous.
When they had all delighted their hearts with the games, Laodamas, son of Alcinous, spoke among them: "Come, friends, let us ask the stranger whether he knows and has learned any contest. He is not badly built — look at his thighs, his calves, both his arms above, his strong neck, his great strength. He is not lacking in youth, only he has been broken by many hardships, for I say there is nothing worse than the sea to wear a man down, however strong he may be." Then Euryalus answered him and said:
"Laodamas, you have spoken well and fittingly. Go yourself now and challenge him, and put the matter to him." When the fine son of Alcinous heard this, he went and stood in the middle and said to Odysseus: "Come, you too, stranger and father, try your hand at the games, if you have learned any. It is fitting that you should know contests, for there is no greater fame for a man while he lives than what he achieves with his feet and his hands. Come, try your strength, and scatter the cares from your heart.
Your journey home will not be delayed much longer — already your ship is launched and your crew stands ready."
Resourceful Odysseus answered him: "Laodamas, why do you press me to this, taunting me? My mind is more full of cares than of games — I who have suffered so much and struggled so hard before this, and now sit here in your assembly longing for my homecoming, begging your king and all your people." Then Euryalus answered him and mocked him to his face: "No indeed, stranger, I would not take you for a man skilled
in the contests that men commonly practice. You look more like the master of a ship with many oars, who sails often, a leader of sailors who are traders — one who keeps his mind on his cargo, watches over the goods he carries, and the greedy profits he makes. You do not look like an athlete." Resourceful Odysseus looked at him darkly and said: "Stranger, that was not well spoken — you sound like a reckless man. So it is that the gods do not give all men every gift alike, not looks, nor wit, nor eloquence.
One man may be poorer in appearance, but a god crowns his words with beauty, and people look at him with delight as he speaks steadily, with modest confidence, standing out among the gathered crowd, and when he walks through the city, they look at him as if he were a god. Another may be as handsome as the immortals in form, yet no grace crowns his words. So it is with you — your looks are striking, no god could make you finer, but your mind is worthless. You have stirred my heart, my own heart within my breast, by speaking so out of order. I am no stranger to contests, as you claim, but I think I was among the best
while I still had my youth and could trust my hands. Now I am held down by hardship and pain, for I have endured much, crossing through the wars of men and the grim waves of the sea. Even so, despite all I have suffered, I will try my hand at the games, for your words have bitten deep, and you have provoked me by speaking them." So he spoke, and sprang up still wearing his cloak, and seized a discus bigger and thicker and heavier by no small measure than the ones the Phaeacians used to throw among themselves. Spinning around, he let it fly from his powerful hand,
and the stone hummed through the air, and the Phaeacians, men famous for their long oars and their ships, ducked low to the ground beneath its rushing flight. The discus flew past the marks of all the others, swift from his hand. Athena, taking the shape of a man, marked the landing spot and spoke to him: "Even a blind man, stranger, could find your mark by feeling for it, since it lies apart from all the rest, far out in front. Take heart in this contest — no Phaeacian will reach it, let alone pass it." So she spoke, and much-enduring, godlike Odysseus rejoiced, glad that he had found a friendly ally there among the assembled crowd.
Then he spoke more lightly to the Phaeacians: "Now match that, young men. And soon after, I think I will send another throw as far, or farther still. As for the rest of you, whoever's heart and spirit urge him, let him come try me now, since you have angered me quite enough, in boxing, wrestling, or even running — I do not refuse anyone, any Phaeacian at all, except Laodamas himself. He is my host — who would fight the man who befriends him? Only a witless, worthless man would challenge his host to a contest
in a foreign land — he only cuts off his own chances. But I do not refuse or scorn any of the rest — I am willing to know them and test myself against them face to face. I am not bad at any contest men engage in. I know well how to handle a polished bow; I would be first to strike a man with an arrow shot into a crowd of enemy fighters, however many companions stood close beside him aiming their own bows. Only Philoctetes outdid me with the bow among the army of the Trojans, whenever we Achaeans took up our bows.
But of all others now alive on the earth who eat bread, I claim to be far the best. I would not compare myself, though, with the men of an earlier age, neither Heracles nor Eurytus of Oechalia, who used to rival even the immortals with the bow. That is why great Eurytus died young and never reached old age in his halls, for Apollo grew angry and killed him, because he had dared to challenge him to a shooting match. With the spear I can throw farther than anyone else can shoot an arrow. In a footrace alone I fear that some of the Phaeacians might outrun me,
for I was shamefully worn down by the many waves of the sea, since there was no steady care for my body aboard the ship — that is why my limbs are weakened." So he spoke, and they all fell silent. Alcinous alone answered him: "Stranger, since what you say among us is not ungracious, but you wish to show the worth that is truly yours, angry because this man stood up in the assembly and mocked you in a way no man of sound judgment, one who knows how to speak fittingly, would ever mock your worth —
come now, listen to my words, so that you may tell some other hero, when you feast in your own halls beside your wife and children, remembering our skill, what deeds Zeus has granted us as well, without a break, ever since our fathers' time. We are not outstanding boxers or wrestlers, but we run swiftly on our feet and are the best with ships, and always dear to us are feasting, the lyre, dancing, changes of clothing, warm baths, and soft beds. Come now, you Phaeacian dancers, the best among you,
dance, so that our guest may tell his friends, when he returns home, how far we surpass others in seamanship, running, dancing, and song. Let someone go quickly and bring Demodocus his clear-toned lyre, wherever it lies in our house." So spoke godlike Alcinous, and the herald rose to fetch the hollow lyre from the king's house. Nine chosen stewards stood up, men of the public who managed everything well at the contests; they smoothed the dancing ground and made the wide space ready.
The herald came near, carrying the clear-toned lyre for Demodocus, who then went to the center of the floor; around him stood boys in the first bloom of youth, skilled in dancing, and they struck the wondrous dancing floor with their feet. Odysseus watched the flashing of their feet and marveled in his heart. Then the singer struck up his lyre and began a beautiful song about the love of Ares and garland-crowned Aphrodite, how they first lay together in secret in the house of Hephaestus — how Ares gave her many gifts, and defiled the bed and marriage-bed of lord Hephaestus. Quickly a messenger came to him,
Helios, who had seen them joined together in love. When Hephaestus heard the news that stung his heart, he went to his forge, brooding evil in his mind, set his great anvil on its block, and hammered out chains that could not be broken or loosed, so that they would hold the pair fast in place. When he had finished the trap, made in anger against Ares, he went to the chamber where his own bed lay, and poured the chains all around the bedposts in a circle; and many more hung down from the roof-beams above, fine as spider webs, so fine that no one could see them,
not even one of the blessed gods, so cunningly were they made. When he had spread the whole snare around the bed, he made as if to go to Lemnos, that well-built city, which of all lands is dearest to him by far. Nor did gold-reined Ares keep a careless watch: as soon as he saw famous Hephaestus going off, he made his way to the house of glorious Hephaestus, eager for the love of garland-crowned Cytherea. She had just come from her father, mighty Cronus's son, and was sitting down when Ares came in through the door,
and clasped her hand and spoke to her: "Come, my love, let us go to bed and take our pleasure together, for Hephaestus is no longer in the land — he has already gone off to Lemnos, to the wild-voiced Sintians." So he spoke, and it seemed welcome to her to lie down with him. So the two of them went to the bed and lay down to sleep, and around them fell the cunning chains of skillful Hephaestus, so that they could not move a limb or rise up at all. Then at last they knew there was no escaping. And close beside them came the famous god of the double forge,
Ares had turned back before he ever reached the shore of Lemnos, for the Sun had kept watch for him and brought him word. He strode toward his own dear house, his heart heavy, and stopped in the doorway while a wild rage seized him. He let out a terrible shout, calling to all the gods so they would hear:
"Father Zeus, and all you other blessed gods who live forever, come and see a shameful thing, not to be borne — how Aphrodite, Zeus's daughter, forever scorns me because I am lame, and instead loves destructive Ares, because he is handsome and sound of limb, while I was born a weakling. No one is to blame for that but my two parents — would that they had never gotten me! But come and see where the two of them lie sleeping together in love, in my own bed, and the sight tortures me. Yet I do not think they will want to lie like that much longer, however much they desire each other — soon enough they will have no wish to sleep, but my snare and my chains will hold them fast until her father pays back every gift I gave him for his shameless daughter's hand — for she is lovely, but she has no self-control."
So he spoke, and the gods gathered at his bronze-floored house. Poseidon the earth-shaker came, and Hermes the runner came, and lord Apollo who strikes from afar came too, but the goddesses stayed home out of modesty, each in her own house. So the gods, the givers of good things, stood in the doorway, and uncontrollable laughter rose among the blessed ones as they looked upon the cunning work of clever Hephaestus. And one would glance at his neighbor and say:
"Wrongdoing does not pay — see how the slow catches the swift. Just now slow Hephaestus has caught Ares, fastest of all the gods who hold Olympus, by his craft, lame as he is. Now Ares owes the adulterer's fine."
So they talked with one another, and Apollo, son of Zeus, spoke to Hermes:
"Hermes, son of Zeus, guide of souls, giver of good things — would you be willing to lie in bed beside golden Aphrodite, even pressed down by strong chains?"
And the messenger, the slayer of Argus, answered him:
"If only that might happen, lord Apollo, archer from afar! Let three times as many unbreakable chains bind me round, and let all you gods look on, and every goddess too — only let me sleep beside golden Aphrodite!"
He spoke, and laughter rose among the deathless gods. But Poseidon was not amused — he kept begging renowned Hephaestus to set Ares free, and he spoke to him, saying:
"Release him. I promise you that he will pay everything owed, as is right, before the gods who never die."
And the famous smith of the strong arms answered him:
"Do not ask this of me, earth-shaking Poseidon. Pledges given for the worthless are worthless in return. How could I bind you before the deathless gods if Ares should slip free of both debt and chains and run off?"
And Poseidon, shaker of the earth, answered him again:
"Hephaestus, even if Ares should run off, slipping free of the debt, I myself will pay you what is owed."
Then the famous smith of the strong arms answered him:
"It is not right, and I cannot refuse what you ask."
With that Hephaestus loosed the chains, and once the pair were freed from the bonds — strong as those bonds had been — they sprang up at once. Ares went off to Thrace, while laughter-loving Aphrodite went to Cyprus, to Paphos, where she has her sacred grove and smoking altar. There the Graces bathed her and anointed her with the immortal oil that clings to the gods who live forever, and dressed her in lovely robes, a wonder to behold.
So the famous singer sang these things, and Odysseus took joy in his heart to hear them, and so did the other Phaeacians, men famed for their long oars. Then Alcinous told Halius and Laodamas to dance alone, since no one could match them.
They took up a fine ball, dyed purple, that skilled Polybus had made for them. One would bend back and hurl it up toward the shadowy clouds, and the other would leap from the ground and catch it easily before his feet touched earth again. When they had tried their skill throwing the ball straight up, they began to dance upon the earth that feeds so many, trading places rapidly, while the other young men stood around the ring keeping time, and a great clatter of applause rose up.
Then godlike Odysseus spoke to Alcinous:
"Lord Alcinous, most honored of all your people, you promised your dancers were the best, and now I see it proven true — I am struck with wonder as I watch."
So he spoke, and the sacred strength of Alcinous was glad, and he said at once to the oar-loving Phaeacians:
"Hear me, leaders and counselors of the Phaeacians. This stranger seems to me a man of good sense. Come, let us give him a guest-gift, as is fitting. Twelve glorious kings hold sway among our people as rulers, and I myself am the thirteenth. Let each of us bring a freshly washed cloak and tunic and a talent of precious gold. Let us gather all these gifts quickly, so the stranger may hold them in his hands and go to supper with a glad heart. And let Euryalus make amends to him with words and with a gift, since what he said was not fitting."
So he spoke, and all the others approved and agreed, and each man sent his herald to fetch the gifts. Then Euryalus answered him and said:
"Lord Alcinous, most honored of all your people, I will indeed make amends to the stranger, as you ask. I will give him this sword, all bronze, with a silver hilt, and a scabbard of freshly cut ivory fitted around it. It will be worth a great deal to him."
So saying he placed the silver-studded sword in his hands, and spoke to him, saying:
"Good health to you, father and stranger. If any harsh word was spoken, let the storm winds carry it off at once. May the gods grant you to see your wife again and reach your homeland, since you have long suffered far from your loved ones."
Then resourceful Odysseus answered him:
"And good health to you too, friend — may the gods grant you prosperity. And may you never miss this sword you have given me, making amends with your words."
So he spoke, and slung the silver-studded sword about his shoulders. The sun set, and the splendid gifts were brought to him. Noble heralds carried them to the house of Alcinous, where the blameless sons of Alcinous received them and set the beautiful gifts down before their honored mother.
The sacred strength of Alcinous led the way for the rest, and they came in and sat upon the high seats. Then the strength of Alcinous spoke to Arete, saying:
"Come, wife, bring the finest chest we have, and lay in it a freshly washed cloak and tunic. Heat a cauldron of bronze over the fire for him, and warm water, so that after he has bathed and seen all the fine gifts the blameless Phaeacians have brought him laid in order, he may enjoy the feast and the singer's song. And I myself will give him this beautiful cup of mine, made of gold, so that all his days he may remember me when he pours libations in his hall to Zeus and the other gods."
So he spoke, and Arete told her serving women to set a great tripod over the fire as quickly as they could. They set the bath-water tripod over the blazing fire and poured in water and lit the wood beneath it. The fire licked around the tripod's belly and the water grew warm, while Arete brought out from the storeroom a beautiful chest for her guest and laid the lovely gifts inside it, the clothing and gold the Phaeacians had given him. She herself laid in it a cloak and a fine tunic, and spoke to him, saying:
"Now see to the lid yourself, and tie the cord quickly around it, so that no one robs you on the road, whenever you fall into sweet sleep as you travel in your black ship."
When patient, godlike Odysseus heard this, he fitted the lid at once and tied a clever knot around it, one that queenly Circe had once taught him. Then the housekeeper told him to go and bathe in the tub, and he was glad in his heart to see the warm water, since he had had little care for himself since he left the house of lovely-haired Calypso, where he had been tended constantly as if he were a god. When the serving women had bathed him and rubbed him with oil, and thrown a fine cloak and tunic around him, he came up from the bath and went to join the men at their wine. Nausicaa, whose beauty came from the gods, stood by a pillar of the sturdy-built roof, marveling as she looked upon Odysseus with her eyes, and she spoke to him, saying:
"Farewell, stranger — and when you are home again in your own land, remember me sometimes, since to me above all you owe the price of your life."
And resourceful Odysseus answered her:
"Nausicaa, daughter of great-hearted Alcinous, may Zeus, Hera's loud-thundering husband, grant that I reach my home and see the day of my return. Then, even there, I will pray to you as to a god, all my days, for it was you, girl, who gave me back my life."
So he spoke, and went to sit on a chair beside king Alcinous. Already they were serving out portions and mixing the wine, when a herald came near, leading the beloved singer Demodocus, honored by the people, and set him in the middle of the feasters, leaning him against a tall pillar. Then resourceful Odysseus spoke to the herald, cutting a portion from the loin of a white-tusked boar, with rich fat still around it, of which much still remained:
"Herald, take this meat and give it to Demodocus, that he may eat, and I will greet him warmly despite my grief. For among all men on earth singers deserve honor and respect, because the Muse has taught them the paths of song and loves the whole tribe of singers."
So he spoke, and the herald carried it and set it in the hero Demodocus's hands, and he received it gladly, glad at heart. The others reached out their hands to the good food laid ready before them. And when they had put away their desire for food and drink, resourceful Odysseus spoke to Demodocus, saying:
"Demodocus, I praise you above all mortals. Surely the Muse, daughter of Zeus, taught you, or else Apollo, for you sing the fate of the Achaeans in such perfect order — all they did and suffered, all the hardship they endured — as if you yourself had been there, or heard it from one who was. Come now, change your theme and sing of the building of the wooden horse, which Epeius made with Athena's help, the cunning trick that godlike Odysseus once led up into the citadel, filled with the men who sacked Troy. If you can tell me this tale in its proper order, I will proclaim at once to all mankind how freely a god has granted you the gift of divine song."
So he spoke, and the singer, moved by the god, began, and let his song be seen, taking it up from where the Argives, after setting fire to their huts, had boarded their well-benched ships and were sailing away, while the men already famous around Odysseus sat hidden inside the horse in the meeting-place of the Trojans — for the Trojans themselves had dragged it up into their citadel. So it stood there, while the Trojans sat around it talking endlessly, and their counsel split three ways: whether to hack open the hollow timber with pitiless bronze, or drag it to the height and hurl it down over the rocks, or let it stand as a great offering to appease the gods — and that, in the end, was how it was fated to turn out,
since it was their doom to perish once their city closed around the great wooden horse, where all the best of the Argives sat waiting, bringing death and destruction to the Trojans. And he sang how the sons of the Achaeans sacked the city, pouring out from the horse, leaving their hollow ambush behind. He sang how one man ravaged the steep city here, another there, and how Odysseus went, like Ares himself, together with godlike Menelaus, to the house of Deiphobus. There, he sang, Odysseus dared the most terrible fight of all, and won it at last with great-hearted Athena's help.
So the famous singer sang these things, and Odysseus melted, and tears wet his cheeks beneath his eyelids. As a woman weeps, falling upon the body of her beloved husband, who has fallen before his city and his people, fighting to keep the pitiless day of doom from his town and his children — she sees him dying, gasping his last, and throws herself upon him, wailing with a piercing cry, while the enemy behind her beat her back and shoulders with their spear-shafts and lead her off into slavery, to bear labor and grief, and her cheeks waste away with the most pitiful sorrow —
so Odysseus let fall a pitiful tear from beneath his brows. No one else noticed the tears he was shedding, but Alcinous alone marked and understood it, sitting close beside him, and heard him groan heavily. At once he spoke to the oar-loving Phaeacians:
"Hear me, leaders and counselors of the Phaeacians. Let Demodocus now silence his clear-voiced lyre, for this song he sings does not please everyone alike. Ever since we began our supper and the godlike singer rose to sing, this stranger has not once ceased his sorrowful weeping — grief, it seems, has overwhelmed his heart. Let the singer stop, so that we may all enjoy ourselves together, both hosts and guest — that will be far better. All this has been prepared for the sake of our honored guest, his escort home and the friendly gifts we give him out of love. A guest and a suppliant are as dear as a brother to any man whose mind has even a little understanding. So now do not hide behind clever evasions whatever I ask you — it is better that you speak plainly. Tell me the name by which your mother and father called you there at home, and the others in your city and those who dwell around it — for no man is altogether without a name, be he base or noble, once he is born, but parents give a name to every child they bring into the world. Tell me too your land, your people, and your city, so that our ships, which know their way by their own thought, may carry you there. For the Phaeacians have no steersmen, nor any rudders such as other ships carry — our ships themselves know the thoughts and minds of men, and know the cities and rich fields of every people,
and cross the gulf of the sea most swiftly, hidden in mist and cloud, and never do they fear harm or wreck. Yet I once heard my father Nausithous say a thing — he used to tell how Poseidon holds a grudge against us because we give safe escort to all who ask it. He said that one day, as a Phaeacian ship returned home from such an escort over the misty sea, the god would wreck it, and pile a great mountain around our city to hide it from view. So the old man used to say — and whether the god will bring this to pass or leave it undone, as pleases his own heart, only he knows. But come, tell me this and recount it truthfully — where you wandered, and what lands of men you came to, both the people themselves and their well-settled cities, both those who are harsh and wild and lawless, and those who welcome strangers and have a god-fearing mind. Tell me too why you weep and grieve within your heart when you hear the fate of the Argive Danaans and of Troy. That was the gods' own doing — they wove destruction for men, so that there might be a song for those yet to come.
Did some kinsman of yours die before Troy, some good man, a son-in-law or father-in-law — those who are dearest to us after our own blood and kin? Or perhaps some companion, a man after your own heart, a good man — for a loyal companion who knows how to think well is worth no less than a brother."