“ ‘Hear, my companions, sufferers as ye are, The words that I shall speak. All modes of death Are hateful to the wretched race of men; But this of hunger, thus to meet our fate, Is the most fearful. Let us drive apart The best of all the oxen of the Sun, And sacrifice them to the immortal ones Who dwell in the broad heaven. And if we come To Ithaca, our country, we will there Build to the Sun, whose path is o’er our heads, A sumptuous temple, and endow its shrine With many gifts and rare. But if it be His will, approved by all the other gods, To sink our barque in anger, for the sake Of these his high-horned oxen, I should choose Sooner to gasp my life away amid The billows of the deep, than pine to death By famine in this melancholy isle.’
“So spake Eurylochus; the crew approved. Then from the neighboring herd they drove the best Of all the beeves; for near the dark-prowed ship The fair broad-fronted herd with crooked horns Were feeding. Round the victims stood my crew, And, offering their petitions to the gods, Held tender oak-leaves in their hands, just plucked From a tall tree, for in our good ship’s hold Was no white barley now. When they had prayed, And slain and dressed the beeves, they hewed away The thighs and covered them with double folds Of caul, and laid raw slices over these. Wine had they not to pour in sacrifice Upon the burning flesh; they poured instead Water, and roasted all the entrails thus. Now when the thighs were thoroughly consumed, And entrails tasted, all the rest was carved Into small portions, and transfixed with spits.
“Just then the gentle slumber left my lids. I hurried to the shore and my good ship, And, drawing near, perceived the savory steam From the burnt-offering. Sorrowfully then I called upon the ever-living gods:—
“ ‘O Father Jove, and all ye blessed gods, Who live forever, ’twas a cruel sleep In which ye lulled me to my grievous harm; My comrades here have done a fearful wrong.’