many droves; as many flocks of goats Are tended there by strangers, and by hinds, His servants. Here moreover, in the fields Beyond us, graze eleven numerous flocks Of goats, attended by his trusty men, Each one of whom brings daily home a goat, The finest of the fatlings. I meantime Am keeper of these swine, and from the drove I choose and to the palace send the best.”
So spake the swineherd, while Ulysses ate The flesh with eager appetite, and drank The wine in silence, meditating woe To all the suitors. When the meal was o’er, And he was strengthened by the food, his host Filled up with wine the cup from which he drank. And gave it to Ulysses, who, well pleased, Received it, and with winged words replied:—
“What rich and mighty chief was he, my friend, Of whom thou speakest, and who purchased thee? Thou sayest that he died to swell the fame Of Agamemnon. Tell his name, for I Perchance know somewhat of him. Jupiter And the great gods know whether I have seen The man, and have some tidings for thy ear; For I have wandered over many lands.”
And then again the noble swineherd spake: “O aged man, no wanderer who should bring News of Ulysses e’er would win his wife And son to heed the tale. For roving men, In need of hospitality, are prone To falsehood, and will never speak the truth. The vagabond who comes to Ithaca Goes straightway to my mistress with his lies. Kindly she welcomes him, and cherishes And questions him, while tears abundantly Fall from her lids—such tears as women shed Whose lords have perished in a distant land. Thou too, old man, perchance, couldst readily Frame a like fable, if someone would give A change of raiment for thy news—a cloak And tunic. But the dogs and fowls of air Have doubtless fed upon the frame from which The life has passed, and torn from off his bones The skin, or fishes of the deep have preyed Upon it, and his bones upon the shore Lie whelmed in sand. So is he lost to us, And sorrow is the lot of all his friends, Mine most of all; for nowhere shall I find So kind a