The Odyssey: Book 24

That stopped our panicked forces in their tracks
as the Old Man of the Sea's daughters gathered round you—
wailing, heartsick—dressed you in ambrosial, deathless robes
and the Muses, nine in all, voice-to-voice in choirs,
their vibrant music rising, raised your dirge.

...a long cortege of Argive heroes
paraded in review, in battle armor round your blazing pyre,
men in chariots, men on foot—a resounding roar went up.

Your mother gave us a gold two-handled urn,
a gift from Dionysus, she said,
a masterwork of the famous Smith, the god of fire.

You in your day have witnessed funeral games
for many heroes, games to honor the death of kings,
when young men cinch their belts, tense to win some prize—

And back too,
to the same place, came Odysseus' own dear son,
scudding home in his black ship from sandy Pylos.

A far cry from the daughter of Tyndareus, Clytemnestra—
what outrage she committed, killing the man she married once!—
yes, and the song men sing of her will ring with loathing.

Odysseus
wandered off, approaching the thriving vineyard, searching,
picking his way down to the great orchard, searching,
but found neither Dolius nor his sons nor any hand.

But he did find
his father, alone, on that well-worked plot,
spading round a sapling—clad in filthy rags,
in a patched, unseemly shirt...

...he had some oxhide leggings strapped, patched too,
to keep from getting scraped, and gloves on his hands
to fight against the thorns, and on his head
he wore a goatskin skullcap
to cultivate his misery that much more...

Enough to be stooped with age
but look how squalid you are, those shabby rags.

There's nothing of slave about your build or bearing.

Both hands clawing the ground for dirt and grime,
he poured it over his grizzled head, sobbing, in spasms.

He threw his arms around his own dear son, fainting
as hardy great Odysseus hugged him to his heart...

If only—Father Zeus, Athena and lord Apollo—
I were the man I was, king of the Cephallenians
when I sacked the city of Nericus, sturdy fortress
out on its jutting cape!

"She knows by now,
old man," his wily master answered brusquely.

At last the old warrior Halitherses, Mastor's son—
who alone could see the days behind and days ahead—
rose up and spoke, distraught for each man there...

You never listened to me or the good commander Mentor,
you never put a stop to your sons' senseless folly.

What fine work they did, so blind, so reckless,
carving away the wealth, affronting the wife
of a great and famous man, telling themselves
that he'd return no more!

They ran for armor
and once they'd harnessed up in burnished bronze
they grouped in ranks before the terraced city.

So Athena commanded. Terror blanched their faces,
they went limp with fear, weapons slipped from their hands
and strewed the ground at the goddess' ringing voice.