Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
"Then, once we had gone down to the ship and the sea, first of all we hauled the ship down into the bright water, and set the mast and the sail in the black hull, took the sheep aboard, and led them in, and we ourselves climbed after, grieving, shedding heavy tears. But behind our dark-prowed ship Circe of the lovely hair, that dread goddess with a human voice, sent us a following wind, a good companion, filling our sail. We saw to all the ship's gear and then sat down, and the wind and the helmsman kept her straight.
All day long her sails strained as she cut through the water, and the sun went down and all the ways grew dark. She came to the edge of deep-flowing Ocean. There is the land and city of the Cimmerian people, wrapped in mist and cloud. The bright sun never looks down on them with his rays, neither when he climbs toward the starry sky nor when he turns back again from the sky toward earth — a deadly night is stretched over those wretched mortals forever. There we brought the ship to shore and took out the sheep, and walked ourselves along the stream of Ocean until we reached the place Circe had told us of.
There Perimedes and Eurylochus held the victims fast, while I drew my sharp sword from beside my thigh and dug a pit as long and wide as a forearm's reach, and around it poured a libation to all the dead — first with honeyed milk, then with sweet wine, and third with water, and over it I sprinkled white barley. And I made many prayers to the powerless heads of the dead, promising that when I came home to Ithaca I would sacrifice in my halls the best barren cow I had and heap the pyre with fine things, and to Tiresias alone I would offer a ram, pure black, the finest of our flocks.
When I had called on the dead, that whole nation of them, with prayers and vows, I took the sheep and cut their throats over the pit, and the dark blood flowed, and the souls of the dead came gathering up out of Erebus — brides, and young unmarried men, and old men who had suffered much, and tender girls whose hearts still ached with fresh grief, and many men wounded by bronze spears, warriors killed in battle, still wearing their blood-stained armor. They came crowding around the pit from every side with an unearthly cry, and pale fear seized me.
Then I called out and urged my companions to skin and burn the sheep that lay there slaughtered by the pitiless bronze, and to pray to the gods, to mighty Hades and dread Persephone. I myself drew my sharp sword from beside my thigh and sat there, not letting the powerless heads of the dead come near the blood until I had questioned Tiresias.
The first to come was the spirit of my companion Elpenor, for he had not yet been buried beneath the wide earth. We had left his body behind in Circe's hall, unwept and unburied, since other work pressed upon us. I wept to see him and pitied him in my heart, and I spoke to him, calling out these winged words: "Elpenor, how have you come here, down into this misty darkness? You have arrived on foot faster than I in my black ship."
So I spoke, and he answered me, groaning: "Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus — an evil fate and too much wine undid me. I lay down to sleep in Circe's hall and did not think to go back down by the long ladder, but fell straight off the roof, and my neck was broken away from the spine, and my spirit went down to the house of Hades.
Now I beg you, by those you left behind, who are not here — by your wife, and by your father who raised you when you were small, and by Telemachus, whom you left alone in your halls — for I know that when you leave this place, you'll bring your well-built ship back to the island of Aeaea. There, my lord, I ask you to remember me.
Do not leave me behind unwept and unburied when you go, and turn your back on me, or I may become a cause of the gods' anger against you. Burn me instead with all the armor that is mine, and heap up a mound for me on the shore of the gray sea, a marker for men still to come, for a luckless man. Do this for me, and plant on my tomb the oar I rowed with while I lived, among my companions."
So he spoke, and I answered him: "All this, unlucky man, I will carry out and do."
So the two of us sat there exchanging these grim words — I on one side, holding my sword over the blood, while on the other side the ghost of my companion spoke on and on. Then came the spirit of my dead mother, Anticleia, daughter of great-hearted Autolycus, whom I had left alive when I sailed for sacred Troy. I wept to see her and pitied her in my heart, but even so I would not let her come near the blood first, grieved as I was, until I had questioned Tiresias.
Then came the spirit of Theban Tiresias, holding a golden staff, and he knew me and spoke to me: "Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus — why, unlucky man, have you left the light of the sun and come down to see the dead in this joyless place? Draw back from the pit and hold your sharp sword away, so that I may drink the blood and tell you the truth."
So he spoke, and I drew back and drove my silver-studded sword into its sheath. When he had drunk the dark blood, then at last the blameless seer spoke to me:
"You seek a sweet homecoming, shining Odysseus, but a god will make it a hard one for you — for I do not think you will escape the notice of the Earthshaker, who holds a grudge against you in his heart, angry that you blinded his own son. Yet even so, though you suffer hardship, you may still reach home, if you are willing to master your own desire, and your companions', when you first bring your well-built ship near the island of Thrinacia, escaping the violet sea, and find there grazing the cattle and fat sheep of Helios, who sees all things and hears all things.
If you leave these unharmed and keep your mind on home, you may yet reach Ithaca, though you will suffer hardship. But if you harm them, then I foretell ruin for your ship and your companions, and even if you yourself escape, you will come home late and badly, having lost all your companions, on another man's ship, and you will find trouble in your house: arrogant men eating up your livelihood, courting your godlike wife and offering her bridal gifts.
But you will avenge their violence when you come. Once you have killed the suitors in your halls, whether by cunning or openly with the sharp bronze, then you must take up a well-shaped oar and travel on, until you come to men who know nothing of the sea, who eat their food without salt, who know nothing of ships painted red at the bow, or of the shaped oars that serve ships as wings.
I will tell you a very clear sign, and it will not escape you: when another traveler you meet says you carry a winnowing-fan on your bright shoulder, then you must plant your well-shaped oar in the earth and offer fine sacrifices to lord Poseidon — a ram, a bull, and a boar that mounts sows — and go home again and offer sacred hecatombs to the deathless gods who hold the wide heaven, all of them, each in turn.
And death will come to you yourself far from the sea, a very gentle death, which will take you when you are worn down by sleek old age, and your people around you will be prosperous. All this I tell you is the truth."
So he spoke, and I answered him: "Tiresias, all this the gods themselves, I suppose, have spun into my fate. But come, tell me this, and speak it truly: I see here the spirit of my dead mother. She sits close to the blood in silence, and cannot bear to look her own son in the face or speak to him. Tell me, lord, how might she come to know that it is I?"
So I spoke, and he answered me at once: "I will tell you an easy rule and set it in your mind. Whichever of the dead who have perished you allow to come near the blood will speak the truth to you; whomever you deny it to will turn back again."
So the ghost of lord Tiresias spoke, and having told me all the god's decrees, went back into the house of Hades. But I stayed there unmoved until my mother came and drank the dark blood. She knew me at once, and grieving she spoke to me, calling out these winged words:
"My child, how have you come down into this misty darkness, still living? It is hard for the living to look upon these things. Between us lie great rivers and terrible streams, Ocean first of all, which no one may cross on foot, without a well-built ship. Have you only now come here from Troy, after wandering so long with your ship and your companions? Have you not yet reached Ithaca, and seen your wife in your halls?"
So she spoke, and I answered her: "My mother, need brought me down here to Hades, to consult the spirit of Theban Tiresias. I have not yet come near Achaea, nor set foot on my own land, but have wandered on and on in misery ever since I first followed noble Agamemnon to Troy of the fine horses, to fight against the Trojans.
But come, tell me this, and speak it truly: what fate of grim death overcame you? Was it a long illness, or did Artemis who showers arrows come upon you and kill you with her gentle shafts? Tell me of my father and my son, whom I left behind — does my honor still rest with them, or has some other man taken it now, and do they say I will never come home? Tell me the mind and intention of my wedded wife: does she stay by our son and keep everything safe, or has she already married whichever of the Achaeans is best?"
So I spoke, and my honored mother answered at once: "She waits for you still, indeed, with a heart that endures, in your own halls, but her nights and days waste away always in sorrow, shedding tears. No one yet holds your fine honor, but Telemachus keeps your lands undisturbed and shares fairly in the feasts that a man who judges others ought to attend, for everyone invites him. But your father stays out there in the country and does not come down to the city.
He has no bed with blankets and bright coverlets, but in winter he sleeps where the slaves sleep in the house, in the ashes near the fire, and wears poor clothes on his body. But when summer comes and the ripe harvest of autumn, low beds of fallen leaves are spread for him anywhere along the slopes of his vineyard. There he lies grieving, and a great sorrow grows in his heart, longing for your return, and hard old age comes upon him.
For I too died that way and met my fate. It was not the sharp-eyed archer goddess who came upon me in my halls and killed me with her gentle arrows, nor did any illness come over me, the kind that most often steals the life from the limbs with hateful wasting — no, it was longing for you, my shining Odysseus, for your kindness and your gentle heart, that took my sweet life from me."
So she spoke, and I longed, turning it over in my heart, to embrace the spirit of my dead mother. Three times I started forward, for my heart urged me to hold her, and three times she slipped from my hands like a shadow, or like a dream, and flew away. And the pain grew sharper in my heart, and I spoke to her, calling out these winged words:
"My mother, why do you not stay for me, eager as I am to hold you, so that even here in the house of Hades we might throw our arms around each other and take our fill of cold grief together? Or is this only a phantom that great Persephone has sent me, to make me grieve and groan still more?"
So I spoke, and my honored mother answered at once: "Oh my child, most ill-fated of all men, Persephone, daughter of Zeus, is not deceiving you — this is simply the way of mortals, when someone dies. The sinews no longer hold the flesh and bones together; once the life-force has left the white bones, the strong might of blazing fire consumes them all, and the spirit flies off like a dream and is gone. But hurry now, back toward the light, and remember all these things, so that later you may tell them to your wife."
So we two spoke back and forth in this way, and then the women came — for great Persephone had roused them — all who had been wives and daughters of great men. They gathered in a crowd around the dark blood, and I thought how I might question each of them in turn. And this plan seemed best to my mind:
I drew my long, sharp sword from beside my strong thigh and would not let them all drink the dark blood at once. So they came forward one by one, and each told me of her lineage, and I questioned them all in turn.
The first I saw was Tyro, of noble father, who said she was the daughter of blameless Salmoneus, and had been the wife of Cretheus, son of Aeolus. She had fallen in love with a river, divine Enipeus, by far the most beautiful of all the rivers that pour over the earth, and she used to walk beside the lovely waters of Enipeus.
Taking the river's shape, the Earthshaker who holds the earth lay with her at the mouths of the swirling river. A dark wave rose and stood around them like a mountain, arched high, and hid the god and the mortal woman together. He loosed her maiden girdle and poured sleep over her. And when the god had finished the act of love, he took her by the hand, spoke to her, and called her by name:
"Rejoice, woman, in this love, and when the year has come full circle you will bear splendid children — for the beds of the immortals are never without fruit. Care for them and raise them well.
Now go home, and hold your tongue, and do not speak my name. But know that I am Poseidon, shaker of the earth."
So he spoke, and sank beneath the swelling sea. And she conceived and bore Pelias and Neleus, who both became mighty servants of great Zeus. Pelias lived in wide-lawned Iolcus, rich in flocks, and Neleus in sandy Pylos. And the queen among women bore the rest of her sons to Cretheus — Aeson, and Pheres, and Amythaon, who fought from a chariot.
After her I saw Antiope, daughter of Asopus, who boasted that she had slept in the arms of Zeus himself, and bore two sons, Amphion and Zethus, who first founded the seat of seven-gated Thebes and walled it round, for they could not live in wide Thebes unwalled, mighty as the two of them were.
After her I saw Alcmene, wife of Amphitryon, who bore Heracles, bold-hearted and lion-spirited, after lying in the arms of great Zeus; and Megara, daughter of proud Creon, whom the son of Amphitryon, whose strength never failed, held as his wife.
And I saw the mother of Oedipus, fair Epicaste, who in the blindness of her mind did a monstrous thing: she married her own son. He married her after killing his own father, and soon the gods made these things known to men. Yet he, suffering agonies, went on ruling the Cadmeans in lovely Thebes through the gods' terrible design; but she went down to the house of Hades, the strong gatekeeper, tying a steep noose from a high rafter, overcome by her own grief, and left behind for him all the sorrows that a mother's Furies bring to pass.
And I saw beautiful Chloris, whom Neleus once married for her beauty, after giving countless gifts for her — the youngest daughter of Amphion, son of Iasus, who once ruled with might in Minyan Orchomenus. She was queen of Pylos, and bore him splendid children: Nestor, and Chromius, and lordly Periclymenus.
After them she bore mighty Pero, a wonder to mortals, whom all the men nearby sought in marriage; but Neleus would not give her to any man unless he drove off from Phylace the cattle with the curving horns and broad foreheads that belonged to mighty Iphicles — cattle hard to take. Only a blameless seer undertook to drive them off, but a harsh fate from a god bound him fast, with painful chains, and rough herdsmen.
But when the months and days were being completed, as the year turned round and the seasons came on, then at last mighty Iphicles set him free, once he had told all the god's decrees; and so the will of Zeus was fulfilled.
And I saw Leda, wife of Tyndareus, who bore Tyndareus two strong-hearted sons, Castor the horse-tamer and Polydeuces, skilled with his fists.
"Those two the life-giving earth still holds, both of them alive, and even beneath the ground they hold honor from Zeus: on alternate days they live, and on the days between they are dead, and they are granted honor equal to the gods.
"After her I saw Iphimedeia, wife of Aloeus, who claimed she had lain with Poseidon. She bore two sons, though they lived only a short while, godlike Otus and far-famed Ephialtes, the tallest men the grain-giving earth ever raised, and the handsomest by far after glorious Orion himself. At nine years old they were nine cubits across and nine fathoms tall. These were the two who threatened even the immortals on Olympus, that they would raise the din of furious war against them. They meant to pile Ossa on Olympus, and on Ossa leafy Pelion, so that the sky itself could be climbed. And they would have done it, had they reached the age of manhood, but the son of Zeus, whom fair-haired Leto bore, destroyed them both before the down had bloomed beneath their temples and thickened their cheeks with a young man's beard.
"I saw Phaedra and Procris, and lovely Ariadne, daughter of grim Minos, whom Theseus once tried to carry off from Crete to the hill of sacred Athens, but got no joy of her: Artemis killed her first, on the island of Dia, on the testimony of Dionysus.
"I saw Maera and Clymene, and hateful Eriphyle, who took precious gold as the price of her own husband's life. But I cannot tell of all the rest, or name them one by one, all the wives and daughters of heroes that I saw — the immortal night itself would fail before I finished. And now it is time to sleep, whether I go to the swift ship and my crew, or stay here. My passage home lies in the gods' hands and in yours."
So he spoke, and all of them fell silent, held in a spell of wonder through the shadowed hall. Then white-armed Arete began to speak among them.
"Phaeacians, what do you make of this man now, his looks, his stature, the good sense balanced within him? He is my guest, true, but each of you shares in that honor. So do not hurry him off, and do not stint the gifts to a man in such need — for you have great treasures stored in your halls, by the gods' favor."
Then the old hero Echeneus spoke among them too, the eldest of the Phaeacian men.
"Friends, our wise queen's words are not wide of the mark, nor off the point — so heed her. Yet it is Alcinous here whose word and deed must decide this."
Alcinous answered him and said,
"Then this shall be as she says, as surely as I live and rule the oar-loving Phaeacians. But let our guest, however eager for his homecoming, consent to wait until tomorrow, until I have made the gift complete. His safe passage will be every man's concern, mine most of all, since the power in this land rests with me."
Resourceful Odysseus answered him,
"Lord Alcinous, most honored of all your people — if you asked me to stay a whole year, and pressed on the sending and gave splendid gifts, I would agree to that too, and it would serve me far better to come home to my own dear country with a fuller hand. I would be held in more respect and more affection by everyone who saw me return to Ithaca."
Alcinous answered him again,
"Odysseus, looking at you, we take you for no liar or cheat, of the kind the dark earth breeds in such numbers scattered everywhere, men who dress up lies that no one could ever see through. But in you there is beauty of speech, and sound sense within. You have told your tale with the skill of a poet — all the grim sorrows of the Argives, and your own as well. But come, tell me this, and speak it truly: did you see any of your godlike comrades who went with you to Troy and met their fate there? This night is long, endlessly long, and it is not yet time to sleep in the hall. Go on telling me these wonders. I could hold out until the bright dawn, if you could bear to tell me of your sufferings that long."
Resourceful Odysseus answered him,
"Lord Alcinous, most honored of all your people, there is a time for long stories and a time for sleep. But if you still long to hear more, I will not begrudge you this — I will tell you other things more pitiful still, the sorrows of my comrades who died later, who escaped the screaming din of the Trojans but perished on the way home, through the will of a wicked woman.
"Now when holy Persephone had scattered the souls of the women, each her own way, there came the soul of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, grieving, and around him gathered the others, all who died with him and met their fate in the house of Aegisthus. He knew me at once, as soon as he had drunk the dark blood, and he wept aloud, shedding great tears, reaching his hands toward me, longing to touch me — but there was no strength left in him now, no force at all, nothing like what had once lived in his supple limbs.
"I wept at the sight of him and pitied him in my heart, and I spoke to him, saying,
'Most glorious son of Atreus, lord of men, Agamemnon, what death laid you low, what fate that lays men flat? Did Poseidon destroy you on your ships, raising a monstrous blast of cruel winds? Or did hostile men cut you down on land, as you were rounding up cattle or fine flocks of sheep, or fighting for a city and its women?'
"So I spoke, and at once he answered me,
'Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, no, Poseidon did not destroy me on my ships, raising a monstrous blast of cruel winds, nor did hostile men cut me down on land — it was Aegisthus who devised my death and doom, and killed me, with the help of my own accursed wife, after inviting me to his house, giving me a feast, and slaughtering me as a man slaughters an ox at its manger. So I died the most pitiful of deaths, and around me my companions were cut down without mercy, like white-tusked pigs slaughtered for the wedding, or the feast, or the rich banquet of some powerful, wealthy man. You have seen men killed before, one at a time and in the press of fierce battle, but your heart would have ached most to see what we saw then, lying around the mixing bowl and the loaded tables, all through the hall, the whole floor steaming with blood. But the most pitiful cry I heard was that of Priam's daughter, Cassandra, whom treacherous Clytemnestra killed at my side, while I lifted my hands from the ground and beat them down, dying, around the sword — and that shameless woman turned away from me, and did not even trouble, though I was going down to the house of Hades, to close my eyes with her hand or shut my mouth. There is nothing more terrible, nothing more like a dog, than a woman who sets such deeds in her heart as she did, plotting that vile act, murder for her own wedded husband. And I had truly hoped to come home welcomed by my children and my household slaves — but she, with her mind set on utter horror, poured shame on herself and on all women still to come, even on the ones who prove faithful.'
"So he spoke, and I answered him in turn,
'Ah, truly Zeus who thunders wide has hated the line of Atreus bitterly from the start, through the schemes of women — many of us died for Helen's sake, and while you were far away Clytemnestra was weaving her treachery against you.'
"So I spoke, and at once he answered me,
'So now, never be too gentle with your own wife either. Do not tell her everything you know in your mind — say some things, but let others stay hidden. Yet you, Odysseus, will not meet your death at a wife's hands, for Penelope, daughter of Icarius, is far too sensible, and her mind is stocked with good sense. She was a young bride when we left her, going off to war, and she had a baby at her breast — that child must be sitting now among grown men, and lucky he is, for his own father will come home and see him, and he will embrace his father as is right and proper. But my wife did not even let me feast my eyes on my son — she killed me first, before that. I will tell you one more thing, and you should store it in your heart: bring your ship in to your own dear homeland secretly, not openly, for there is no longer any trusting women. But come, tell me this, and speak it truly — have you heard that my son is still alive, perhaps in Orchomenus, or in sandy Pylos, or with Menelaus in broad Sparta? For godlike Orestes has not yet died on the earth.'
"So he spoke, and I answered him in turn,
'Son of Atreus, why do you ask me this? I do not know at all whether he lives or is dead — it does no good to speak idle words.'
"So the two of us stood there, trading these grim words, grieving, shedding great tears, when the soul of Achilles, son of Peleus, came up, and Patroclus, and blameless Antilochus, and Ajax, who in looks and build was the finest of all the Danaans after the flawless son of Peleus. The soul of the swift-footed grandson of Aeacus knew me, and spoke to me in sorrow, winged words:
'Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, reckless man, what greater deed will you still plot in your heart? How did you dare come down to Hades, where the mindless dead dwell, mere phantoms of worn-out men?'
"So he spoke, and I answered him in turn,
'Achilles, son of Peleus, far the mightiest of the Achaeans, I came for Tiresias's sake, to see if he could tell me some counsel for reaching rugged Ithaca. I have not yet come near Achaea, nor set foot on my own land — trouble dogs me always. But you, Achilles, no man before you was so fortunate, nor will any be after. While you lived we Argives honored you as we did the gods, and now that you are here, you rule mightily over the dead. So do not grieve at all that you have died, Achilles.'
"So I spoke, and at once he answered me,
'Do not try to console me for death, glorious Odysseus. I would rather be above the ground still, serving as another man's laborer, some poor man with little enough to live on himself, than be king over all the dead and gone. But come, tell me news of my noble son — did he go to war as a leader, or did he not? And tell me of blameless Peleus, if you have heard anything — does he still hold his honor among the many Myrmidons, or do they slight him through Hellas and Phthia because old age has bound his hands and feet? For I am no longer there to help him under the light of the sun, not as I once was on the wide plain of Troy, when I killed the best of their army, defending the Argives. If I could come, even briefly, as I was then, to my father's house, I would make my strength and my unstoppable hands hateful to any who use force against him and keep him from his honor.'
"So he spoke, and I answered him in turn,
'Of blameless Peleus I have heard nothing at all, but of your dear son Neoptolemus I will tell you the whole truth, exactly as you ask. I myself brought him in my own trim hollow ship from Scyros to join the well-greaved Achaeans. And whenever we sat in council before the city of Troy, he was always the first to speak, and he never spoke amiss — only godlike Nestor and I could outdo him. And when we fought the Trojans with bronze on the plain, he never stayed back among the crowd or the throng of men, but always ran far out ahead, yielding his fury to no one, and he killed many men in the terrible fighting. I could not tell of all of them or name them, how many men he killed defending the Argives, but I will tell you of one, the son of Telephus he brought down with bronze, the hero Eurypylus, and many of his Ceteian comrades were slaughtered around him, all for the sake of a woman's gifts. He was the handsomest man I ever saw after godlike Memnon. And when we who were the best of the Argives climbed down into the horse that Epeius built, and the whole task fell to me, both to open the tight ambush and to close it again, the other leaders and counselors of the Danaans were wiping away tears, and every man's limbs shook beneath him — but your son, I never once saw him, not with my own eyes, turn pale in his handsome face or wipe away a tear from his cheek. Instead he begged me again and again to let him out of the horse, and kept gripping the hilt of his sword and his bronze-heavy spear, eager to do the Trojans harm. And when we had sacked Priam's steep city, he boarded his ship with his share of the plunder and a fine prize of honor, unhurt, not struck by the sharp bronze nor wounded in close combat, as so often happens in war — for Ares rages indiscriminately.'
"So I spoke, and the soul of the swift-footed grandson of Aeacus went striding off in long steps across the field of asphodel, glad that I had told him his son was so outstanding.
"The other souls of the dead and gone stood there grieving, each asking after her own sorrows. Only the soul of Ajax, son of Telamon, stood apart, still angry over the victory I had won against him, when we contended by the ships over the arms of Achilles — his own mother had set them as the prize, and the sons of the Trojans and Pallas Athena judged between us. I wish I had never won such a contest, for the earth closed over so fine a man on account of it, Ajax, who in looks and deeds surpassed all the other Danaans after the flawless son of Peleus. I spoke to him with gentle words:
'Ajax, son of noble Telamon, could you not, even in death, let go of your anger against me over those cursed arms? The gods made them a plague to the Argives, for in losing you we lost a great tower of strength. We Achaeans grieve for your death as much as we grieve for the death of Achilles, son of Peleus, without end — and no one else is to blame, only Zeus, who hated the army of Danaan spearmen bitterly, and laid this doom upon you. Come closer, my lord, and hear my word and my speech — master your fury, your proud spirit.'
"So I spoke, but he answered me nothing, and went off after the other souls of the dead and gone into Erebus. Even so he might still have spoken to me, angry as he was, or I to him, but the heart in my chest wanted to see the souls of the other dead as well.
"There I saw Minos, glorious son of Zeus, holding a golden scepter, giving judgments to the dead as they sat and stood around him throughout the wide gates of the house of Hades, asking their king for his rulings.
"After him I noticed huge Orion, driving together across the field of asphodel the very beasts he himself had killed on the lonely mountains, holding in his hands a club of solid bronze that never wears away.
"And I saw Tityus, son of glorious Earth, lying on the ground, stretched over nine acres, while two vultures sat on either side and tore at his liver, plunging into his belly, and he could not beat them off with his hands — for he had once dragged off Leto, the honored consort of Zeus, as she made her way toward Pytho through lovely Panopeus with its dancing-grounds.
"And I saw Tantalus too, suffering terrible torments, standing in a pool of water that reached up to his chin. He stood there parched with thirst, but could not reach the water to drink it — every time the old man bent down, eager to drink, the water would drain away and vanish, and at his feet the black earth would show itself, dried up by some power. And tall leafy trees hung their fruit down over his head, pears and pomegranates and apple trees heavy with bright fruit, sweet figs and ripe olives — but whenever the old man reached up to grasp them in his hands, a wind would toss them up toward the shadowy clouds.
"And I saw Sisyphus too, suffering terrible torments, wrestling with both hands against a monstrous boulder. Bracing himself with hands and feet, he would heave the stone up toward the top of a hill, but just as he was about to send it over the crest, its sheer weight would turn it back, and the shameless stone would come crashing down again to the plain. Then he would strain and push it back up, sweat pouring from his limbs, dust rising from his head.
After him I made out mighty Heracles — his phantom, that is, for the man himself feasts among the deathless gods, at ease, married to lovely-ankled Hebe, daughter of great Zeus and gold-sandaled Hera. Around him the dead cried out like startled birds, scattering in every direction. He came on like black night, bow bare in his hand, an arrow laid on the string, glaring around him fiercely, like a man forever about to shoot. Terrible was the belt that crossed his chest, a golden strap worked with wonders beyond telling — bears, wild boars, and lions with blazing eyes, and battles, clashes, killings, and the slaughter of men. Whoever designed that belt with such skill will never make its like again, nor try.
He knew me the moment his eyes fell on me, and grieving he spoke to me in winged words: 'Son of Laertes, sprung from the gods, Odysseus of many resources, so you too, poor man, drag out some hard fate under the light of the sun, the same doom I once bore.
I was son of Zeus, son of Cronus, and yet my suffering knew no measure — I was bound in service to a man far beneath me, who laid brutal labors on me. Once he even sent me down here to fetch the hound of hell — he could think of no harder task to set me than that one. I hauled the beast up and led him out of Hades' realm, with Hermes and gray-eyed Athena as my guides.'
So he spoke, and went back into the house of Hades, while I stayed where I was, holding my ground, in case any more of the heroes who died long ago should come. And I would have seen still more of the men of old, the ones I longed to see — Theseus and Pirithous, glorious children of gods — but before that could happen the countless tribes of the dead came pressing around me with an unearthly clamor, and pale fear seized me, that dread Persephone might send up from Hades the Gorgon's head, that monstrous horror.
At once I went back to the ship and told my crew to board and cast off the stern lines, and they climbed aboard quickly and took their places at the oars. The current of the river Ocean carried the ship along, first under our rowing, and then a fair wind rose to fill the sail.