Epic poetry, Greek -- Translations into English; Homer -- Translations into English; Odysseus, King of Ithaca (Mythological character)
“So spake I, and with a moan he answered me, saying: ‘Son of Laertes,
of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, an evil doom of some god
was my bane and wine out of measure. When I laid me down on the
house-top of Circe I minded me not to descend again by the way of the
tall ladder, but fell right down from the roof, and my neck was broken
off from the bones of the spine, and my spirit went down to the house
of Hades. And now I pray thee in the name of those whom we left, who
are no more with us, thy wife, and thy sire who cherished thee when as
yet thou wert a little one, and Telemachus, whom thou didst leave in
thy halls alone; forasmuch as I know that on thy way hence from out the
dwelling of Hades, thou wilt stay thy well-wrought ship at the isle
Aeaean, even then, my lord, I charge thee to think on me. Leave me not
unwept and unburied as thou goest hence, nor turn thy back upon me,
lest haply I bring on thee the anger of the gods. Nay, burn me there
with mine armour, all that is mine, and pile me a barrow on the shore
of the grey sea, the grave of a luckless man, that even men unborn may
hear my story. Fulfil me this and plant upon the barrow mine oar,
wherewith I rowed in the days of my life, while yet I was among my
fellows.’
“Even so he spake, and I answered him saying: ‘All this, luckless man,
will I perform for thee and do.’
“Even so we twain were sitting holding sad discourse, I on the one
side, stretching forth my sword over the blood, while on the other side
the ghost of my friend told all his tale.
“Anon came up the soul of my mother dead, Anticleia, the daughter of
Autolycus the great-hearted, whom I left alive when I departed for
sacred Ilios. At the sight of her I wept, and was moved with
compassion, yet even so, for all my sore grief, I suffered her not to
draw nigh to the blood, ere I had word of Teiresias.
“Anon came the soul of Theban Teiresias, with a golden sceptre in his
hand, and he knew me and spake unto me: ‘Son of Laertes, of the seed of
Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, what seekest thou NOW, wretched man,
wherefore hast thou left the sunlight and come hither to behold the
dead and a land desolate of joy? Nay, hold off from the ditch and draw
back thy sharp sword, that I may drink of the blood and tell thee
sooth.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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