The evening brought them to the pleasant fields Of Ithaca. They bound me in the ship With a strong cord, and disembarked, and took A hasty meal upon the ocean-side; Easily did the gods unbind my limbs.
I wrapped a tattered cloth about my head, And, slipping from the polished rudder, brought My bosom to the sea, and spread my hands, And swam away. I soon had left the crew At distance; then I turned and climbed the shore, Where it was dark with forest, and lay close Within its shelter, while they wandered round And grumbled, but they ventured not to pass Into the island farther on their search.
They turned, and went on board their roomy barque. Thus mightily the gods delivered me, And they have brought me to a wise man’s lodge, And now I see it is my lot to live.”
Then thou, Eumaeus, thus didst make reply: “Unhappy stranger, thou hast deeply moved My heart in telling all that thou hast borne, And all thy wanderings. Yet are some things wrong. Thou hast not spoken of Ulysses well. Why should a man like thee invent such tales, So purposeless? Of one thing I am sure Concerning his return—the gods all hate My master, since they neither caused his death In the great war of Troy, nor, when the war Was over, suffered him to die at home, And in the arms of those who loved him most; For then would all the Greeks have reared to him A monument, and mighty would have been The heritage of glory for his son; But now ingloriously the harpy brood Have torn him.
I, apart among my swine, Go never to the town, unless, perchance, The sage Penelope requires me there, When someone comes with tidings from abroad.