earnest thou, Elpenor, hither into these abodes Of night and darkness? Thou hast made more speed, Although on foot, than I in my good ship.’
“I spake; the phantom sobbed and answered me:—
‘Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise, Ulysses! ’twas the evil doom decreed By some divinity, and too much wine, That wrought my death. I laid myself to sleep In Circè’s palace, and, remembering not The way to the long stairs that led below, Fell from the roof, and by the fall my neck Was broken at the spine; my soul went down To Hades.
I conjure thee now, by those Whom thou hast left behind and far away, Thy consort and thy father—him by whom Thou when a boy wert reared—and by thy son Telemachus, who in thy palace-halls Is left alone—for well I know that thou, In going hence from Pluto’s realm, wilt moor Thy gallant vessel in the Aeaean isle— That there, O king, thou wilt remember me, And leave me not when thou departest thence Unwept, unburied, lest I bring on thee The anger of the gods.
But burn me there With all the armor that I wore, and pile, Close to the hoary deep, a mound for me— A hapless man of whom posterity Shall hear. Do this for me, and plant upright Upon my tomb the oar with which I rowed, While yet a living man, among thy friends.’
“He spake and I replied:
‘Unhappy youth, All this I duly will perform for thee.’
“And then the soul of Anticleia came— My own dead mother, daughter of the king Autolycus, large-minded. Her I left Alive, what time I sailed