Tiresias’s Prophecy

8“And then the soul of Anticleia came —
My own dead mother, daughter of the king
Autolycus, large-minded. Her I left
Alive, what time I sailed for Troy, and now
I wept to see her there, and pitied her,
And yet forbade her, though with grief, to come
Near to the blood till I should first accost
Tiresias. He too came, the Theban seer,
Tiresias, bearing in his hand a wand
Of gold; he knew me and bespoke me thus: —

9“ ‘Why, O unhappy mortal, have you left
The light of day to come among the dead
And to this joyless land? Go from the trench
And turn your sword away, that I may drink
The blood, and speak the word of prophecy.’

10“He spoke; withdrawing from the trench, I thrust
Into its sheath my silver-studded sword,
And after drinking of the dark red blood
The blameless prophet turned to me and said: —

11“ ‘Illustrious chief Odysseus, your desire
Is for a happy passage to your home,
Yet will a god withstand you. Not unmarked
By Poseidon shall you, as I deem, proceed
Upon your voyage. He has laid up wrath
Against you in his heart, for that your hand
Deprived his son of sight. Yet may you still
Return, though after many hardships borne,
If you but hold your appetite in check,
And that of your companions, when you bring
Your gallant barque to the Thrinacian isle,
Safe from the gloomy deep. There will you find
The beeves and fading wethers of Helios —
The all-beholding and all-hearing Helios.
If these you leave unharmed, and keep in mind
The thought of your return, you may go back,
Though sufferers, to your home in Ithaca;
But if you do them harm, the event will be
Destruction to your ship and to its crew;
And you, if you escape it, will return
Late to your country, all your comrades lost,
And in a foreign barque, and you shall find
Wrong in your household —arrogant men who waste
Your substance, wooers of your noble wife,
And offering bridal gifts. On your return
You shall avenge you of their violent deeds;
And when you shall have slain them in your halls,
Whether by stratagem or by the sword
In open fight, then take a shapely oar
And journey on, until you meet with men
Who have not known the sea nor eaten food
Seasoned with salt, nor ever have beheld
Galleys with crimson prows, nor shapely oars,
Which are the wings of ships. I will declare
A sign by which to know them, nor can you
Mistake it. When a traveller, meeting you,
Shall say that you do bear a winnowing-fan
Upon your sturdy shoulder, stop and plant
Your shapely oar upright in earth, and there
Pay to King Poseidon solemn sacrifice —
A ram, a bull, and from his herd of swine
A boar. And then returning to your home,
See that you offer hallowed hecatombs
To all the ever-living ones who dwell
In the broad heaven, to each in order due.
So at the last your death shall come to you
Far from the sea, and gently take you off
In a serene old age that ends among
A happy people. I have told you true.’