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(From The Odyssey, Book XXIV) Translated by W. C. Bryant
ULYSSES passed | |
| Into the fruitful orchard, there to prove | |
| His father. Going down and far within | |
| The garden-plot, he found not Dolius there, | |
| Nor any of the servants, nor his sons. | 5 |
| All were abroad, old Dolius leading them. | |
| They gathered thorns to fence the garden-grounds. | |
| There, delving in that fertile spot, around | |
| A newly planted tree, Ulysses saw | |
| His father only, sordidly arrayed | 10 |
| In a coarse tunic, patched and soiled. He wore | |
| Patched greaves of bullock’s hide upon his thighs, | |
| A fence against the thorn; and on his hands | |
| Gloves, to protect them from the prickly stems | |
| Of bramble; and upon his head a cap | 15 |
| Of goatskin. There he brooded o’er his grief. | |
| Him when the much-enduring chief beheld, | |
| Wasted with age and sorrow-worn, he stopped | |
| Beside a lofty pear-tree’s stem and wept, | |
| And pondered whether he should kiss and clasp | 20 |
| His father in his arms, and tell him all, | |
| How he had reached his native land and home, | |
| Or question first and prove him. Musing thus | |
| It pleased him to begin with sportive words: | |
| And thus resolved, divine Ulysses drew | 25 |
| Near to his father stooping at his task, | |
| And loosening the hard earth about a tree, | |
| And thus the illustrious son accosted him:— | |
| “O aged man! there is no lack of skill | |
| In tending this fair orchard, which thy care | 30 |
| Keeps flourishing; no growth is there of fig, | |
| Vine, pear, or olive, or of plants that grow | |
| In borders, that has missed thy friendly hand. | |
| Yet let me say, and be thou not displeased, | |
| Thou art ill cared for, burdened as thou art | 35 |
| With years, and squalid, and in mean attire. | |
| It cannot be that for thy idleness | |
| Thy master treats thee thus; nor is there seen | |
| Aught servile in thy aspect,—in thy face | |
| Or stature; thou art rather like a king; | 40 |
| Thou seemest one who should enjoy the bath | |
| And banquet, and lie soft,—for this befits | |
| Old men like thee. Now say, and tell me true, | |
| Who may thy master be? whose orchard this | |
| Which thou dost tend? And, more than this, declare, | 45 |
| For much I long to know, if I am come | |
| To Ithaca, as I just now was told | |
| By one who met me as I came,—a man | |
| Not overwise, who would not stop to tell | |
| What I desired to learn, nor bear to hear | 50 |
| My questions, when I asked him if a guest | |
| Of mine were living yet in health, or dead | |
| And in the realm of Pluto. Let me speak | |
| Of him, and mark me well, I pray; I lodged | |
| Once, in my native land, a man who came | 55 |
| Into my house, and never stranger yet | |
| More welcome was than he. He was by birth | |
| Of Ithaca, he said, Laertes’ son, | |
| And grandson of Arcesias. Him I led | |
| Beneath my roof, and hospitably lodged, | 60 |
| And feasted in the plenty of my home, | |
| And gave such gifts as might become a host,— | |
| Seven talents of wrought gold, a silver cup | |
| All over rough with flowers, twelve single cloaks, | |
| Twelve mats, twelve mantles passing beautiful, | 65 |
| And tunics twelve, and, chosen by himself, | |
| Twelve graceful damsels, skilled in household arts.” | |
| And then his father answered, shedding tears: | |
| “Thou art indeed, O stranger, in the land | |
| Of which thou dost inquire, but wicked men | 70 |
| And lawless now possess it. Thou hast given | |
| Thy generous gifts in vain; yet hadst thou found | |
| Ulysses living yet in Ithaca, | |
| Then would he have dismissed thee recompensed | |
| With gifts and liberal cheer, as is the due | 75 |
| Of him who once has been our host. Yet say, | |
| And truly say, how many years have passed | |
| Since thou didst lodge my son, if he it was, | |
| Thy hapless guest, whom, far, away from home | |
| And all his friends, the creatures of the deep, | 80 |
| And the foul birds of air, and beasts of prey, | |
| Already have devoured. No mother mourned | |
| His death and wrapped him in his shroud, nor I, | |
| His father; nor did chaste Penelope, | |
| His consort nobly dowered, bewail the man | 85 |
| She loved upon his bier with eyes dissolved | |
| In tears, as fitting was,—an honor due | |
| To those who die. Now, further, truly tell, | |
| For I would learn, what is thy name, and whence | |
| Thou comest, from what tribe, thy city where, | 90 |
| And who thy parents. Where is the good ship | |
| At anchor which has brought thee and thy friends? | |
| Or hast thou landed from another’s bark, | |
| Which put thee on the shore and left the isle?” | |
| Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: | 95 |
| “I will tell all and truly. I am come | |
| From Alybas; a stately dwelling there | |
| Is mine, Apheidas is my father, son | |
| Of royal Polypemon, and my name | |
| Eperitus. Some deity has warped | 100 |
| My course astray from the Sicanian coast, | |
| And brought me hitherward against my will. | |
| My bark lies yonder, stationed by the field | |
| Far from the city. This is the fifth year | |
| Since parting with me thy Ulysses left | 105 |
| My native land for his, ill-fated man! | |
| Yet there were flights of birds upon the right | |
| Of happy presage as he sailed, and I | |
| Dismissed him cheerfully, and cheerfully | |
| He went. We hoped that we might yet become | 110 |
| Each other’s guests, exchanging princely gifts.” | |
| He spake, and a dark cloud of sorrow came | |
| Over Laertes. With both hands he grasped | |
| The yellow dust, and over his white head | |
| Shed it with piteous groans. Ulysses felt | 115 |
| His heart within him melted; the hot breath | |
| Rushed through his nostrils as he looked upon | |
| His well-beloved father, and he sprang | |
| And kissed and clasped him in his arms, and said:— | |
| “Nay, I am he, my father; I myself | 120 |
| Am he of whom thou askest. I am come | |
| To mine own country in the twentieth year. | |
| But calm thyself, refrain from tears, and grieve | |
| No more, and let me tell thee, in a word, | |
| I have slain all the suitors in my halls, | 125 |
| And so avenged their insolence and crimes.” | |
| And then Laertes spake again, and said: | |
| “If now thou be Ulysses, my lost son, | |
| Give some plain token, that I may believe.” | |
| Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: | 130 |
| “First, then, behold with thine own eyes the scar | |
| Which once the white tusk of a forest boar | |
| Inflicted on Parnassus, when I made | |
| The journey thither, by thy own command, | |
| And by my gracious mother’s, to receive | 135 |
| Gifts which her father, King Autolycus, | |
| Once promised, when he came to Ithaca. | |
| And listen to me further; let me name | |
| The trees which in thy well-tilled orchard ground | |
| Thou gavest me; I asked them all of thee, | 140 |
| When by thy side I trod the garden walks, | |
| A little boy. We went among the trees, | |
| And thou didst name them. Of the pear thirteen, | |
| And of the apple ten thou gavest me, | |
| And forty fig-trees; and thou didst engage | 145 |
| To give me fifty rows of vines, each row | |
| Of growth to feed the winepress. Grapes are there | |
| Of every flavor when the hours of Jove | |
| Shall nurse them into ripeness from on high.” | |
| He spake; a trembling seized the old man’s heart | 150 |
| And knees, as he perceived how true were all | |
| The tokens which Ulysses gave. He threw | |
| Round his dear son his arms. The hardy chief, | |
| Ulysses, drew him fainting to his heart. | |
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