Epic poetry, Greek -- Adaptations; Odysseus, King of Ithaca (Mythological character) -- Fiction; Tales -- Greece
Her words were kind, but some anger lurked in her tone, which Odysseus
hastened to appease. "Fair goddess," he answered, "be not wroth with
me. I know that thou art more lovely far than my wife Penelope; for
thou art divine, and she is but a mortal woman. Nevertheless I long
day and night to see her face, and to sit beneath the shadow of my own
rooftree. And if I be stricken again by the hand of Heaven on the
purple sea, I will bear it, for I have a very patient heart. Long have
I toiled, and much have I suffered, amid waves and wars. If more
remains, I will endure that also."
II
At early dawn, when the eastern wave was just silvered by the dim
light, Calypso roused Odysseus, and equipped him for the task of the
day. First she gave him a weighty two-edged axe, well balanced on its
haft of olive-wood, and an adze, freshly ground; then she showed him
where the tall trees grew, and bade him fall to work with the axe.
Twenty great trees fell beneath his sturdy strokes, and he trimmed the
trunks with the axe, and stripped off the bark. Meanwhile Calypso had
brought him an augur, and he bored the timbers, and fitted them
together, and fastened them with bolts and cross-pieces. So the raft
grew under his hands, broad as the floor of a stout merchantship. And
he fenced her with bulwarks, piling up blocks of wood to steady them.
Last of all he made mast and sail and rigging; and when all was ready
he thrust the frail vessel with rollers and levers down to the sea.
Four times the sun had risen and set before his labour was ended; and
on the fifth day Calypso brought him provisions for the voyage, a
great goatskin bottle full of water, and a smaller one of wine, and a
sack of corn, with other choice viands as a relish to his bread.
A joyful man was Odysseus when he spread his sail, and took his place
at the helm, and waved a last farewell to his gentle friend. A fair
breeze wafted him swiftly from the shore, and ere long that lovely
island, at once his home and his prison for seven long years, became a
mere shadow in the distance. All night he sat sleepless, tiller in
hand, watching the pilot stars, the Pleiades, and Boötes, and the
Bear, named also the Wain, which turns on one spot, and watches Orion,
and never dips into the ocean stream. For the goddess Calypso had
bidden him keep that star on the left hand as he sailed the seas. Thus
he voyaged for seventeen days, and on the eighteenth he saw afar off,
dimly outlined, a range of hills, rising, like the back of a shield,
above the horizon's verge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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