The Odyssey: Rendered into English prose for the use of those who cannot read the originalHomer
General
The Odyssey: Rendered into English prose for the use of those who cannot read the original
Homer
Epic poetry, Greek -- Translations into English; Homer -- Translations into English; Odysseus, King of Ithaca (Mythological character)
Here poor Ulysses would have certainly perished even in spite of his
own destiny, if Minerva had not helped him to keep his wits about him.
He swam seaward again, beyond reach of the surf that was beating
against the land, and at the same time he kept looking towards the
shore to see if he could find some haven, or a spit that should take
the waves aslant. By and by, as he swam on, he came to the mouth of a
river, and here he thought would be the best place, for there were no
rocks, and it afforded shelter from the wind. He felt that there was a
current, so he prayed inwardly and said:
“Hear me, O King, whoever you may be, and save me from the anger of the
sea-god Neptune, for I approach you prayerfully. Any one who has lost
his way has at all times a claim even upon the gods, wherefore in my
distress I draw near to your stream, and cling to the knees of your
riverhood. Have mercy upon me, O king, for I declare myself your
suppliant.”
Then the god staid his stream and stilled the waves, making all calm
before him, and bringing him safely into the mouth of the river. Here
at last Ulysses’ knees and strong hands failed him, for the sea had
completely broken him. His body was all swollen, and his mouth and
nostrils ran down like a river with sea-water, so that he could neither
breathe nor speak, and lay swooning from sheer exhaustion; presently,
when he had got his breath and came to himself again, he took off the
scarf that Ino had given him and threw it back into the salt54 stream
of the river, whereon Ino received it into her hands from the wave that
bore it towards her. Then he left the river, laid himself down among
the rushes, and kissed the bounteous earth.
“Alas,” he cried to himself in his dismay, “what ever will become of
me, and how is it all to end? If I stay here upon the river bed through
the long watches of the night, I am so exhausted that the bitter cold
and damp may make an end of me—for towards sunrise there will be a keen
wind blowing from off the river. If, on the other hand, I climb the
hill side, find shelter in the woods, and sleep in some thicket, I may
escape the cold and have a good night’s rest, but some savage beast may
take advantage of me and devour me.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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