Ulysses, the great sufferer, answered thus:
“I pray that thou mayst be as dear to Jove, The great All-Father, as thou art to me, Since through thy kindness I enjoy a pause Amid my weary wanderings. There is naught Worse than a wandering life. Unseemly cares A hungry stomach brings to homeless men; Hardship and grief are theirs. But since thou wilt That I remain and wait for thy young lord, Speak to me of the mother of thy chief Ulysses, and his father, whom he left Just on the threshold of old age, if yet They live, and still may look upon the sun; Or have they died, and passed to Pluto’s realm?”
And then in turn the master swineherd spake:
“Rightly and truly will I answer thee, stranger! still Laertes lives, but prays Continually to Jove that he may die In his own house; for sorely he laments His son long absent, and his excellent wife, Bride of his youth, whose death has brought on him Sharp sorrow, and old age before its time. By a sad death she died—through wasting grief For her lost, glorious son. May no one here, No friend of mine, nor one who has bestowed A kindness on me, die by such a death!
While yet she lived, great as her sorrow was, I loved to speak with her and hear her words; For she had reared me with her youngest-born— Her daughter, long-robed Ctimena. With her Was I brought up, and scarcely less than her Was held in honor. When at length we came Into the pleasant years of youth, they sent The princess hence to Samos, and received at Large presents; but to me her mother gave Garments of price, a tunic and a cloak, And sandals for my feet, and sent me forth Into the fields, and loved me more and more.