Book XXIV

lawless now possess it. Thou hast given Thy generous gifts in vain; yet hadst thou found Ulysses living yet in Ithaca, Then would he have dismissed thee recompensed With gifts and liberal cheer, as is the due Of him who once has been our host. Yet say, And truly say, how many years have passed Since thou didst lodge my son, if he it was, Thy hapless guest, whom, far away from home And all his friends, the creatures of the deep, And the foul birds of air, and beasts of prey, Already have devoured. No mother mourned His death and wrapped him in his shroud, nor I, His father; nor did chaste Penelope, His consort nobly dowered, bewail the man She loved upon his bier with eyes dissolved In tears, as fitting was⁠—an honor due To those who die. Now, further, truly tell, For I would learn, what is thy name, and whence Thou comest, from what tribe, thy city where, And who thy parents. Where is the good ship At anchor which has brought thee and thy friends? Or hast thou landed from another’s barque, Which put thee