Athena counsels a voyage

15Again Telemachus, the prudent, spoke: —
“Since you do ask me, stranger, know that once
Rich and illustrious might this house be called
While yet the chief was here. But now the gods
Have grown unkind and willed it otherwise,
They make his fate a mystery beyond
The fate of other men. I should not grieve
So deeply for his loss if he had fallen
With his companions on the field of Troy,
Or midst his kindred when the war was over.
Then all the Greeks had built his monument,
And he had left his son a heritage
Of glory. Now has he become the prey
Of Harpies, perishing ingloriously,
Unseen, his fate unheard of, and has left
Mourning and grief, my portion. Not for him
Alone I grieve; the gods have cast on me
Yet other hardships. All the chiefs who rule
The isles, Dulichium, Samos, and the groves
That shade Zacynthus, and who bear the sway
In rugged Ithaca, have come to woo
My mother, and from day to day consume
My substance. She rejects not utterly
Their hateful suit, and yet she cannot bear
To end it by a marriage. Thus they waste
My heritage, and soon will seek my life.”

16Again in grief and anger Athena spoke: —
“Yea, greatly do you need the absent chief
Odysseus here, that he might lay his hands
Upon these shameless suitors. Were he now
To come and stand before the palace gate
With helm and buckler and two spears, as first
I saw him in our house, when drinking wine
And feasting, just returned from Ephyre
Where Ilus dwelt, the son of Mermerus —
For thither went Odysseus in a barque,
To seek a deadly drug with which to taint
His brazen arrows; Ilus gave it not;
He feared the immortal gods; my father gave
The poison, for exceedingly he loved
His guest —could now Odysseus, in such guise,
Once meet the suitors, short would be their lives
And bitter would the marriage banquet be.
Yet whether he return or not to take
Vengeance, in his own palace, on this crew
Of wassailers, rests only with the gods.
Now let me counsel you to think betimes
How you shall thrust them from your palace gates.
Observe me, and attend to what I say:
Tomorrow you shall call the Achaian chiefs
To an assembly; speak before them all,
And be the gods your witnesses. Command
The suitors all to separate for their homes;
And if your mother’s mind be bent to wed,
Let her return to where her father dwells,
A mighty prince, and there they will appoint
Magnificent nuptials, and an ample dower
Such as should honor a beloved child.
And now, if you will heed me, I will give
A counsel for your good. Man your best ship
With twenty rowers, and go forth to seek
News of your absent father. You shall hear
Haply of him from someone of the sons
Of men, or else some word of rumor sent
By Zeus, revealing what mankind should know.
First shape your course for Pylos, and inquire
Of noble Nestor; then, at Sparta, ask
Of fair-haired Menelaus, for he came
Last of the mailed Achaians to his home.
And should you learn that yet your father lives,
And will return, have patience yet a year,
However hard it seem. But should you find
That he is now no more, return forthwith
To your own native land, and pile on high
His monument, and let the funeral rites
Be sumptuously performed as may become
The dead, and let your mother wed again.
And when all this is fully brought to pass,
Take counsel with your spirit and your heart
How to destroy the suitor crew that haunt
Your palace, whether by a secret snare
Or open force. No longer should you act
As if you were a boy; you have outgrown
The age of childish sports. Have you not heard
What honor the divine Orestes gained
With all men, when he slew the murderer,
The crafty wretch Aegisthus, by whose hand
The illustrious father of Orestes died?
And then, my friend —for I perceive that you
Are of a manly and a stately growth —
Be also bold, that men hereafter born
May give you praise. And now must I depart
To my good ship, and to my friends who wait,
Too anxiously perhaps, for my return.
Act wisely now, and bear my words in mind.”