She spake; Ulysses, the great sufferer, Rejoiced to be in his own land, whose name Pallas, the child of aegis-bearing Jove, Had just now uttered. Then with winged words He spake, but not the truth; his artful speech Put that aside, forever in his breast The power of shrewd invention was awake:—
“In the broad fields of Crete, that lie far off Beyond the sea, I heard of Ithaca, To which I now am come with these my goods. I left as many for my sons and fled, For I had slain Orsilochus, the fleet Of foot, the dear son of Idomeneus, Who overcame by swiftness in the race The foremost runners in the realm of Crete. He sought to rob me wholly of my share Of Trojan spoil, for which I had endured Hardships in war with heroes, and at sea Among the angry waves. The cause was this: I would not in the siege of Troy submit To serve his father, but, apart from him, I led a troop, companions of my own. The youth returning from the fields I met, And smote him with the spear—for near the way I lay in ambush with a single friend. A night exceeding dark was in the sky; No human eye beheld, nor did he know Who took his life. When I had slain him thus With the sharp spear I hastened to a ship Of the Phoenicians, and besought their aid, And gave them large reward, and bade them steer To Pylos, bearing me, and leave me there, Or where the Epeians hold the hallowed coast Of Elis. But the force of adverse winds Drove them unwilling thence; they meant no fraud. We wandered hither, just at night we came; And rowing hard, the seamen brought their ship Within the port. No word was said of food, Though great our need. All disembarked in haste And lay upon the shore. Deep was the sleep That stole upon my weary limbs. The men Took from the hold my goods, and, bearing them To where I slumbered on the sand, set sail For populous Sidonia, leaving me Here quite alone with sorrow in my heart.”