Translation of: The Odyssey of Homer: Book XIV

ARGUMENT     Ulysses arriving at the house of Eumus, is hospitably entertained, and spends the night there.             Leaving the haven-side, he turn'd his steps             Into a rugged path, which over hills             Mantled with trees led him to the abode             By Pallas mention'd of his noble friend[61]             The swine-herd, who of all Ulysses' train             Watch'd with most diligence his rural stores.             Him sitting in the vestibule he found             Of his own airy lodge commodious, built             Amidst a level lawn. That structure neat             Eumus, in the absence of his Lord,             Had raised, himself, with stones from quarries hewn,             Unaided by Laertes or the Queen.             With tangled thorns he fenced it safe around,             And with contiguous stakes riv'n from the trunks             Of solid oak black-grain'd hemm'd it without.             Twelve penns he made within, all side by side,             Lairs for his swine, and fast-immured in each             Lay fifty pregnant females on the floor.             The males all slept without, less num'rous far,             Thinn'd by the princely wooers at their feasts             Continual, for to them he ever sent             The fattest of his saginated charge.             Three hundred, still, and sixty brawns remained.             Four mastiffs in adjoining kennels lay,             Resembling wild-beasts nourish'd at the board             Of the illustrious steward of the styes.             Himself sat fitting sandals to his feet,             Carved from a stain'd ox-hide. Four hinds he kept,             Now busied here and there; three in the penns             Were occupied; meantime, the fourth had sought             The city, whither, for the suitors' use,             With no good will, but by constraint, he drove             A boar, that, sacrificing to the Gods,             Th' imperious guests might on his flesh regale.                 Soon as those clamorous watch-dogs the approach             Saw of Ulysses, baying loud, they ran             Toward him; he, as ever, well-advised,             Squatted, and let his staff fall from his hand.             Yet foul indignity he had endured             Ev'n there, at his own farm, but that the swain,             Following his dogs in haste, sprang through the porch             To his assistance, letting fall the hide.             With chiding voice and vollied stones he soon             Drove them apart, and thus his Lord bespake.                 Old man! one moment more, and these my dogs             Had, past doubt, worried thee, who should'st have proved,             So slain, a source of obloquy to me.             But other pangs the Gods, and other woes             To me have giv'n, who here lamenting sit             My godlike master, and his fatted swine             Nourish for others' use, while he, perchance,             A wand'rer in some foreign city, seeks             Fit sustenance, and none obtains, if still             Indeed he live, and view the light of day.             But, old friend! follow me into the house,             That thou, at least, with plenteous food refresh'd,             And cheer'd with wine sufficient, may'st disclose             Both who thou art, and all that thou hast borne.                 So saying, the gen'rous swine-herd introduced             Ulysses, and thick bundles spread of twigs             Beneath him, cover'd with the shaggy skin             Of a wild goat, of which he made his couch             Easy and large; the Hero, so received,             Rejoiced, and thus his gratitude express'd.                 Jove grant thee and the Gods above, my host,             For such beneficence thy chief desire!                 To whom, Eumus, thou didst thus reply.             My guest! I should offend, treating with scorn             The stranger, though a poorer should arrive             Than ev'n thyself; for all the poor that are,             And all the strangers are the care of Jove.             Little, and with good will, is all that lies             Within my scope; no man can much expect             From servants living in continual fear             Under young masters; for the Gods, no doubt,             Have intercepted my own Lord's return,             From whom great kindness I had, else, received,             With such a recompense as servants gain             From gen'rous masters, house and competence,             And lovely wife from many a wooer won,             Whose industry should have requited well             His goodness, with such blessing from the Gods             As now attends me in my present charge.             Much had I, therefore, prosper'd, had my Lord             Grown old at home; but he hath died--I would             That the whole house of Helen, one and all,             Might perish too, for she hath many slain             Who, like my master, went glory to win             For Agamemnon in the fields of Troy.                 So saying, he girdled, quick, his tunic close,             And, issuing, sought the styes; thence bringing two             Of the imprison'd herd, he slaughter'd both,             Singed them, and slash'd and spitted them, and placed             The whole well-roasted banquet, spits and all,             Reeking before Ulysses; last, with flour             He sprinkled them, and filling with rich wine             His ivy goblet, to his master sat             Opposite, whom inviting thus he said.                 Now, eat, my guest! such as a servant may             I set before thee, neither large of growth             Nor fat; the fatted--those the suitors eat,             Fearless of heav'n, and pitiless of man.             Yet deeds unjust as theirs the blessed Gods             Love not; they honour equity and right.             Even an hostile band when they invade             A foreign shore, which by consent of Jove             They plunder, and with laden ships depart,             Even they with terrours quake of wrath divine.             But these are wiser; these must sure have learn'd             From some true oracle my master's death,             Who neither deign with decency to woo,             Nor yet to seek their homes, but boldly waste             His substance, shameless, now, and sparing nought.             Jove ne'er hath giv'n us yet the night or day             When with a single victim, or with two             They would content them, and his empty jars             Witness how fast the squand'rers use his wine.             Time was, when he was rich indeed; such wealth             No Hero own'd on yonder continent,             Nor yet in Ithaca; no twenty Chiefs             Could match with all their treasures his alone;             I tell thee their amount. Twelve herds of his             The mainland graze;[62] as many flocks of sheep;             As many droves of swine; and hirelings there             And servants of his own seed for his use,             As many num'rous flocks of goats; his goats,             (Not fewer than eleven num'rous flocks)             Here also graze the margin of his fields             Under the eye of servants well-approved,             And ev'ry servant, ev'ry day, brings home             The goat, of all his flock largest and best.             But as for me, I have these swine in charge,             Of which, selected with exactest care             From all the herd, I send the prime to them.                 He ceas'd, meantime Ulysses ate and drank             Voracious, meditating, mute, the death             Of those proud suitors. His repast, at length,             Concluded, and his appetite sufficed,             Eumus gave him, charged with wine, the cup             From which he drank himself; he, glad, received             The boon, and in wing'd accents thus began.                 My friend, and who was he, wealthy and brave             As thou describ'st the Chief, who purchased thee?             Thou say'st he perish'd for the glory-sake             Of Agamemnon. Name him; I, perchance,             May have beheld the Hero. None can say             But Jove and the inhabitants of heav'n             That I ne'er saw him, and may not impart             News of him; I have roam'd through many a clime.                 To whom the noble swine-herd thus replied.             Alas, old man! no trav'ler's tale of him             Will gain his consort's credence, or his son's;             For wand'rers, wanting entertainment, forge             Falsehoods for bread, and wilfully deceive.             No wand'rer lands in Ithaca, but he seeks             With feign'd intelligence my mistress' ear;             She welcomes all, and while she questions each             Minutely, from her lids lets fall the tear             Affectionate, as well beseems a wife             Whose mate hath perish'd in a distant land.             Thou could'st thyself, no doubt, my hoary friend!             (Would any furnish thee with decent vest             And mantle) fabricate a tale with ease;             Yet sure it is that dogs and fowls, long since,             His skin have stript, or fishes of the Deep             Have eaten him, and on some distant shore             Whelm'd in deep sands his mould'ring bones are laid.             So hath he perish'd; whence, to all his friends,             But chiefly to myself, sorrow of heart;             For such another Lord, gentle as he,             Wherever sought, I have no hope to find,             Though I should wander even to the house             Of my own father. Neither yearns my heart             So feelingly (though that desiring too)             To see once more my parents and my home,             As to behold Ulysses yet again.             Ah stranger; absent as he is, his name             Fills me with rev'rence, for he lov'd me much,             Cared for me much, and, though we meet no more,             Holds still an elder brother's part in me.                 Him answer'd, then, the Hero toil-inured.             My friend! since his return, in thy account,             Is an event impossible, and thy mind             Always incredulous that hope rejects,             I shall not slightly speak, but with an oath--             Ulysses comes again; and I demand             No more, than that the boon such news deserves,             Be giv'n me soon as he shall reach his home.             Then give me vest and mantle fit to wear,             Which, ere that hour, much as I need them both,             I neither ask, nor will accept from thee.             For him whom poverty can force aside             From truth--I hate him as the gates of hell.             Be Jove, of all in heav'n, my witness first,             Then, this thy hospitable board, and, last,             The household Gods of the illustrious Chief             Himself, Ulysses, to whose gates I go,             That all my words shall surely be fulfill'd.             In this same year Ulysses shall arrive,             Ere, this month closed, another month succeed,             He shall return, and punish all who dare             Insult his consort and his noble son.                 To whom Eumus, thou didst thus reply.             Old friend! that boon thou wilt ne'er earn from me;             Ulysses comes no more. But thou thy wine             Drink quietly, and let us find, at length,             Some other theme; recall not this again             To my remembrance, for my soul is grieved             Oft as reminded of my honour'd Lord.             Let the oath rest, and let Ulysses come             Ev'n as myself, and as Penelope,             And as his ancient father, and his son             Godlike Telemachus, all wish he may.             Ay--there I feel again--nor cease to mourn             His son Telemachus; who, when the Gods             Had giv'n him growth like a young plant, and I             Well hoped that nought inferior he should prove             In person or in mind to his own sire,             Hath lost, through influence human or divine,             I know not how, his sober intellect,             And after tidings of his sire is gone             To far-famed Pylus; his return, meantime,             In ambush hidden the proud suitors wait,             That the whole house may perish of renown'd             Arcesias, named in Ithaca no more.             But whether he have fallen or 'scaped, let him             Rest also, whom Saturnian Jove protect!             But come, my ancient guest! now let me learn             Thy own afflictions; answer me in truth.             Who, and whence art thou? in what city born?             Where dwell thy parents; in what kind of ship             Cam'st thou? the mariners, why brought they thee             To Ithaca? and of what land are they?             For, that on foot thou found'st us not, is sure.                 Him answer'd, then, Ulysses, ever-wise.             I will with truth resolve thee; and if here             Within thy cottage sitting, we had wine             And food for many a day, and business none             But to regale at ease while others toiled,             I could exhaust the year complete, my woes             Rehearsing, nor, at last, rehearse entire             My sorrows by the will of heav'n sustained.                 I boast me sprung from ancestry renown'd             In spacious Crete; son of a wealthy sire,             Who other sons train'd num'rous in his house,             Born of his wedded wife; but he begat             Me on his purchased concubine, whom yet             Dear as his other sons in wedlock born             Castor Hylacides esteem'd and lov'd,             For him I boast my father. Him in Crete,             While yet he liv'd, all reverenc'd as a God,             So rich, so prosp'rous, and so blest was he             With sons of highest praise. But death, the doom             Of all, him bore to Pluto's drear abode,             And his illustrious sons among themselves             Portion'd his goods by lot; to me, indeed,             They gave a dwelling, and but little more,             Yet, for my virtuous qualities, I won             A wealthy bride, for I was neither vain             Nor base, forlorn as thou perceiv'st me now.             But thou canst guess, I judge, viewing the straw             What once was in the ear. Ah! I have borne             Much tribulation; heap'd and heavy woes.             Courage and phalanx-breaking might had I             From Mars and Pallas; at what time I drew,             (Planning some dread exploit) an ambush forth             Of our most valiant Chiefs, no boding fears             Of death seized me, but foremost far of all             I sprang to fight, and pierced the flying foe.             Such was I once in arms. But household toils             Sustain'd for children's sake, and carking cares             T' enrich a family, were not for me.             My pleasures were the gallant bark, the din             Of battle, the smooth spear and glitt'ring shaft,             Objects of dread to others, but which me             The Gods disposed to love and to enjoy.             Thus diff'rent minds are diff'rently amused;             For ere Achaia's fleet had sailed to Troy,             Nine times was I commander of an host             Embark'd against a foreign foe, and found             In all those enterprizes great success.             From the whole booty, first, what pleased me most             Chusing, and sharing also much by lot             I rapidly grew rich, and had thenceforth             Among the Cretans rev'rence and respect.             But when loud-thund'ring Jove that voyage dire             Ordain'd, which loos'd the knees of many a Greek,             Then, to Idomeneus and me they gave             The charge of all their fleet, which how to avoid             We found not, so importunate the cry             Of the whole host impell'd us to the task.             There fought we nine long years, and in the tenth             (Priam's proud city pillag'd) steer'd again             Our galleys homeward, which the Gods dispersed.             Then was it that deep-planning Jove devised             For me much evil. One short month, no more,             I gave to joys domestic, in my wife             Happy, and in my babes, and in my wealth,             When the desire seiz'd me with sev'ral ships             Well-rigg'd, and furnish'd all with gallant crews,             To sail for gypt; nine I fitted forth,             To which stout mariners assembled fast.             Six days the chosen partners of my voyage             Feasted, to whom I num'rous victims gave             For sacrifice, and for their own regale.             Embarking on the sev'nth from spacious Crete,             Before a clear breeze prosp'rous from the North             We glided easily along, as down             A river's stream; nor one of all my ships             Damage incurr'd, but healthy and at ease             We sat, while gales well-managed urged us on.             The fifth day thence, smooth-flowing Nile we reach'd,             And safe I moor'd in the gyptian stream.             Then, charging all my mariners to keep             Strict watch for preservation of the ships,             I order'd spies into the hill-tops; but they             Under the impulse of a spirit rash             And hot for quarrel, the well-cultur'd fields             Pillaged of the gyptians, captive led             Their wives and little ones, and slew the men.             Soon was the city alarm'd, and at the cry             Down came the citizens, by dawn of day,             With horse and foot, and with the gleam of arms             Filling the plain. Then Jove with panic dread             Struck all my people; none found courage more             To stand, for mischiefs swarm'd on ev'ry side.             There, num'rous by the glittering spear we fell             Slaughter'd, while others they conducted thence             Alive to servitude. But Jove himself             My bosom with this thought inspired, (I would             That, dying, I had first fulfill'd my fate             In gypt, for new woes were yet to come!)             Loosing my brazen casque, and slipping off             My buckler, there I left them on the field,             Then cast my spear away, and seeking, next,             The chariot of the sov'reign, clasp'd his knees,             And kiss'd them. He, by my submission moved,             Deliver'd me, and to his chariot-seat             Raising, convey'd me weeping to his home.             With many an ashen spear his warriors sought             To slay me, (for they now grew fiery wroth)             But he, through fear of hospitable Jove,             Chief punisher of wrong, saved me alive.             Sev'n years I there abode, and much amass'd             Among the gyptians, gifted by them all;             But, in the eighth revolving year, arrived             A shrewd Phoenician, in all fraud adept,             Hungry, and who had num'rous harm'd before,             By whom I also was cajoled, and lured             T' attend him to Phoenicia, where his house             And his possessions lay; there I abode             A year complete his inmate; but (the days             And months accomplish'd of the rolling year,             And the new seasons ent'ring on their course)             To Lybia then, on board his bark, by wiles             He won me with him, partner of the freight             Profess'd, but destin'd secretly to sale,             That he might profit largely by my price.             Not unsuspicious, yet constrain'd to go,             With this man I embark'd. A cloudless gale             Propitious blowing from the North, our ship             Ran right before it through the middle sea,             In the offing over Crete; but adverse Jove             Destruction plann'd for them and death the while.             For, Crete now left afar, and other land             Appearing none, but sky alone and sea,             Right o'er the hollow bark Saturnian Jove             A cloud crulean hung, dark'ning the Deep.             Then, thund'ring oft, he hurl'd into the bark             His bolts; she smitten by the fires of Jove,             Quaked all her length; with sulphur fill'd she reek'd,             And, o'er her sides precipitated, plunged             Like gulls the crew, forbidden by that stroke             Of wrath divine to hope their country more.             But Jove himself, when I had cast away             All hope of life, conducted to my arms             The strong tall mast, that I might yet escape.             Around that beam I clung, driving before             The stormy blast. Nine days complete I drove,             And, on the tenth dark night, the rolling flood             Immense convey'd me to Thesprotia's shore.             There me the Hero Phidon, gen'rous King             Of the Thesprotians, freely entertained;             For his own son discov'ring me with toil             Exhausted and with cold, raised me, and thence             Led me humanely to his father's house,             Who cherish'd me, and gave me fresh attire.             There heard I of Ulysses, whom himself             Had entertain'd, he said, on his return             To his own land; he shew'd me also gold,             Brass, and bright steel elab'rate, whatsoe'er             Ulysses had amass'd, a store to feed             A less illustrious family than his             To the tenth generation, so immense             His treasures in the royal palace lay.             Himself, he said, was to Dodona gone,             There, from the tow'ring oaks of Jove to ask             Counsel divine, if openly to land             (After long absence) in his opulent realm             Of Ithaca, be best, or in disguise.             To me the monarch swore, in his own hall             Pouring libation, that the ship was launch'd,             And the crew ready for his conduct home.             But me he first dismiss'd, for, as it chanced,             A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, bound             To green Dulichium's isle. He bade the crew             Bear me to King Acastus with all speed;             But them far other thoughts pleased more, and thoughts             Of harm to me, that I might yet be plunged             In deeper gulphs of woe than I had known.             For, when the billow-cleaving bark had left             The land remote, framing, combined, a plot             Against my liberty, they stripp'd my vest             And mantle, and this tatter'd raiment foul             Gave me instead, which thy own eyes behold.             At even-tide reaching the cultur'd coast             Of Ithaca, they left me bound on board             With tackle of the bark, and quitting ship             Themselves, made hasty supper on the shore.             But me, meantime, the Gods easily loos'd             By their own pow'r, when, with wrapper vile             Around my brows, sliding into the sea             At the ship's stern, I lay'd me on the flood.             With both hands oaring thence my course, I swam             Till past all ken of theirs; then landing where             Thick covert of luxuriant trees I mark'd,             Close couchant down I lay; they mutt'ring loud,             Paced to and fro, but deeming farther search             Unprofitable, soon embark'd again.             Thus baffling all their search with ease, the Gods             Conceal'd and led me thence to the abode             Of a wise man, dooming me still to live.                 To whom, Eumus, thou didst thus reply,             Alas! my most compassionable guest!             Thou hast much moved me by this tale minute             Of thy sad wand'rings and thy num'rous woes.             But, speaking of Ulysses, thou hast pass'd             All credence; I at least can give thee none.             Why, noble as thou art, should'st thou invent             Palpable falsehoods? as for the return             Of my regretted Lord, myself I know             That had he not been hated by the Gods             Unanimous, he had in battle died             At Troy, or (that long doubtful war, at last,             Concluded,) in his people's arms at home.             Then universal Greece had raised his tomb,             And he had even for his son atchiev'd             Immortal glory; but alas! by beaks             Of harpies torn, unseemly sight, he lies.             Here is my home the while; I never seek             The city, unless summon'd by discrete             Penelope to listen to the news             Brought by some stranger, whencesoe'er arrived.             Then, all, alike inquisitive, attend,             Both who regret the absence of our King,             And who rejoice gratuitous to gorge             His property; but as for me, no joy             Find I in list'ning after such reports,             Since an tolian cozen'd me, who found             (After long wand'ring over various lands             A fugitive for blood) my lone retreat.             Him warm I welcom'd, and with open arms             Receiv'd, who bold affirm'd that he had seen             My master with Idomeneus at Crete             His ships refitting shatter'd by a storm,             And that in summer with his godlike band             He would return, bringing great riches home,             Or else in autumn. And thou ancient guest             Forlorn! since thee the Gods have hither led,             Seek not to gratify me with untruths             And to deceive me, since for no such cause             I shall respect or love thee, but alone             By pity influenced, and the fear of Jove.                 To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.             Thou hast, in truth, a most incredulous mind,             Whom even with an oath I have not moved,             Or aught persuaded. Come then--let us make             In terms express a cov'nant, and the Gods             Who hold Olympus, witness to us both!             If thy own Lord at this thy house arrive,             Thou shalt dismiss me decently attired             In vest and mantle, that I may repair             Hence to Dulichium, whither I would go.             But, if thy Lord come not, then, gath'ring all             Thy servants, headlong hurl me from a rock,             That other mendicants may fear to lie.                 To whom the generous swine-herd in return.             Yes, stranger! doubtless I should high renown             Obtain for virtue among men, both now             And in all future times, if, having first             Invited thee, and at my board regaled,             I, next, should slay thee; then my pray'rs would mount,             Past question, swiftly to Saturnian Jove.             But the hour calls to supper, and, ere long,             The partners of my toils will come prepared             To spread the board with no unsav'ry cheer.                 Thus they conferr'd. And now the swains arrived,             Driving their charge, which fast they soon enclosed             Within their customary penns, and loud             The hubbub was of swine prison'd within.             Then call'd the master to his rustic train.             Bring ye the best, that we may set him forth             Before my friend from foreign climes arrived,             With whom ourselves will also feast, who find             The bright-tusk'd multitude a painful charge,             While others, at no cost of theirs, consume             Day after day, the profit of our toils.                 So saying, his wood for fuel he prepared,             And dragging thither a well-fatted brawn             Of the fifth year his servants held him fast             At the hearth-side. Nor failed the master swain             T' adore the Gods, (for wise and good was he)             But consecration of the victim, first,             Himself performing, cast into the fire             The forehead bristles of the tusky boar,             Then pray'd to all above, that, safe, at length,             Ulysses might regain his native home.             Then lifting an huge shive that lay beside             The fire, he smote the boar, and dead he fell,             Next, piercing him, and scorching close his hair,             They carv'd him quickly, and Eumus spread             Thin slices crude taken from ev'ry limb             O'er all his fat, then other slices cast,             Sprinkling them first with meal, into the fire.             The rest they slash'd and scored, and roasted well,             And placed it, heap'd together, on the board.             Then rose the good Eumus to his task             Of distribution, for he understood             The hospitable entertainer's part.             Sev'n-fold partition of the banquet made,             He gave, with previous pray'r, to Maia's son[63]             And to the nymphs one portion of the whole,             Then served his present guests, honouring first             Ulysses with the boar's perpetual chine;             By that distinction just his master's heart             He gratified, and thus the Hero spake.                 Eumus! be thou as belov'd of Jove             As thou art dear to me, whom, though attired             So coarsely, thou hast served with such respect!                 To whom, Eumus, thou didst thus reply.             Eat, noble stranger! and refreshment take             Such as thou may'st; God[64] gives, and God denies             At his own will, for He is Lord of all.                 He said, and to the everlasting Gods             The firstlings sacrificed of all, then made             Libation, and the cup placed in the hands             Of city-spoiler Laertiades             Sitting beside his own allotted share.             Meantime, Mesaulius bread dispensed to all,             Whom, in the absence of his Lord, himself             Eumus had from Taphian traders bought             With his own proper goods, at no expence             Either to old Laertes or the Queen.             And now, all stretch'd their hands toward the feast             Reeking before them, and when hunger none             Felt more or thirst, Mesaulius clear'd the board.             Then, fed to full satiety, in haste             Each sought his couch. Black came a moonless night,             And Jove all night descended fast in show'rs,             With howlings of the ever wat'ry West.             Ulysses, at that sound, for trial sake             Of his good host, if putting off his cloak             He would accommodate him, or require             That service for him at some other hand,             Addressing thus the family, began.                 Hear now, Eumus, and ye other swains             His fellow-lab'rers! I shall somewhat boast,             By wine befool'd, which forces ev'n the wise             To carol loud, to titter and to dance,             And words to utter, oft, better suppress'd.             But since I have begun, I shall proceed,             Prating my fill. Ah might those days return             With all the youth and strength that I enjoy'd,             When in close ambush, once, at Troy we lay!             Ulysses, Menelaus, and myself             Their chosen coadjutor, led the band.             Approaching to the city's lofty wall             Through the thick bushes and the reeds that gird             The bulwarks, down we lay flat in the marsh,             Under our arms, then Boreas blowing loud,             A rueful night came on, frosty and charged             With snow that blanch'd us thick as morning rime,             And ev'ry shield with ice was crystall'd o'er.             The rest with cloaks and vests well cover'd, slept             Beneath their bucklers; I alone my cloak,             Improvident, had left behind, no thought             Conceiving of a season so severe;             Shield and belt, therefore, and nought else had I.             The night, at last, nigh spent, and all the stars             Declining in their course, with elbow thrust             Against Ulysses' side I roused the Chief,             And thus address'd him ever prompt to hear.                 Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd!             I freeze to death. Help me, or I am lost.             No cloak have I; some evil dmon, sure,             Beguil'd me of all prudence, that I came             Thus sparely clad; I shall, I must expire.                 So I; he, ready as he was in arms             And counsel both, the remedy at once             Devised, and thus, low-whisp'ring, answer'd me.                 Hush! lest perchance some other hear--He said,             And leaning on his elbow, spake aloud.                 My friends! all hear--a monitory dream             Hath reach'd me, for we lie far from the ships.             Haste, therefore, one of you, with my request             To Agamemnon, Atreus' son, our Chief,             That he would reinforce us from the camp.                 He spake, and at the word, Andrmon's son             Thoas arose, who, casting off his cloak,             Ran thence toward the ships, and folded warm             Within it, there lay I till dawn appear'd.             Oh for the vigour of such youth again!             Then, some good peasant here, either for love             Or for respect, would cloak a man like me,             Whom, now, thus sordid in attire ye scorn.                 To whom, Eumus, thou didst thus reply.             My ancient guest! I cannot but approve             Thy narrative, nor hast thou utter'd aught             Unseemly, or that needs excuse. No want             Of raiment, therefore, or of aught beside             Needful to solace penury like thine,             Shall harm thee here; yet, at the peep of dawn             Gird thy own tatters to thy loins again;             For we have no great store of cloaks to boast,             Or change of vests, but singly one for each.             But when Ulysses' son shall once arrive,             He will himself with vest and mantle both             Cloath thee, and send thee whither most thou would'st.                 So saying, he rose, and nearer made his couch             To the hearth-side, spreading it thick with skins             Of sheep and goats; then lay the Hero down,             O'er whom a shaggy mantle large he threw,             Which oft-times served him with a change, when rough             The winter's blast and terrible arose.             So was Ulysses bedded, and the youths             Slept all beside him; but the master-swain             Chose not his place of rest so far remote             From his rude charge, but to the outer court             With his nocturnal furniture, repair'd,             Gladd'ning Ulysses' heart that one so true             In his own absence kept his rural stores.             Athwart his sturdy shoulders, first, he flung             His faulchion keen, then wrapp'd him in a cloak             Thick-woven, winter-proof; he lifted, next,             The skin of a well-thriven goat, in bulk             Surpassing others, and his javelin took             Sharp-pointed, with which dogs he drove and men.             Thus arm'd, he sought his wonted couch beneath             A hollow rock where the herd slept, secure             From the sharp current of the Northern blast.