deem, proceed Upon thy voyage. He hath laid up wrath Against thee in his heart, for that thy hand Deprived his son of sight. Yet may ye still Return, though after many hardships borne, If thou but hold thy appetite in check, And that of thy companions, when thou bring Thy gallant barque to the Trinacrian isle, Safe from the gloomy deep. There will ye find The beeves and fading wethers of the Sun— The all-beholding and all-hearing Sun. If these ye leave unharmed, and keep in mind The thought of your return, ye may go back, Though sufferers, to your home in Ithaca; But if thou do them harm, the event will be Destruction to thy ship and to its crew; And thou, if thou escape it, wilt return Late to thy country, all thy comrades lost, And in a foreign barque, and thou shalt find Wrong in thy household—arrogant men who waste Thy substance, wooers of thy noble wife, And offering bridal gifts. On thy return Thou shalt avenge thee of their violent deeds; And when thou shalt have slain them in thy halls, Whether by stratagem or by the sword In open fight, then take a shapely oar And journey on, until thou meet with men Who have not known the sea nor eaten food Seasoned with salt, nor ever have beheld Galleys with crimson prows, nor shapely oars, Which are the wings of ships. I will declare A sign by which to know them, nor canst thou Mistake it. When a traveller, meeting thee, Shalt say that thou dost bear a winnowing-fan Upon thy sturdy shoulder, stop and plant Thy shapely oar upright in earth, and there Pay to King Neptune solemn sacrifice— A ram, a bull, and from his herd of swine A boar. And then returning to thy home, See that thou offer hallowed hecatombs To all the ever-living ones who dwell In the broad heaven, to each in order due. So at the last thy death shall come to thee Far from the sea, and gently take thee off In a serene old age that ends among A happy people. I have told thee true.’
“He spake, and thus I answered him: ‘The gods, Tiresias, have decreed as thou hast said. But tell, and tell me truly—I behold The soul of my dead mother; there she sits In silence by the blood, and will not deign To look upon her son nor speak to him. Instruct me, mighty prophet, by what means To make my mother know me for her son.’