Argicide, our messenger, Down to Ogygia, to the bright-haired nymph, And make our steadfast purpose known to bring The sufferer Ulysses to his home, And I will haste to Ithaca, and move His son, that with a resolute heart he call The long-haired Greeks together and forbid The excesses of the suitor train, who slay His flocks and slow-paced beeves with crooked horns. To Sparta I will send him and the sands Of Pylos, to inquire for the return Of his dear father. So a glorious fame Shall gather round him in the eyes of men.”
She spake, and fastened underneath her feet The fair, ambrosial golden sandals worn To bear her over ocean like the wind, And o’er the boundless land. In hand she took, Well tipped with trenchant brass, the mighty spear, Heavy and huge and strong, with which she bears Whole phalanxes of heroes to the earth, When she, the daughter of a mighty sire, Is angered. From the Olympian heights she plunged, And stood among the men of Ithaca, Just at the porch and threshold of their chief, Ulysses. In her hand she bore the spear, And