Reunion with Anticleia

15“ ‘How did you come, my child, a living man,
Into this place of darkness? Difficult
It is for those who breathe the breath of life
To visit these abodes, through which are rolled
Great rivers, fearful floods —the first of these
Oceanus, whose waters none can cross
On foot, or save on board a trusty barque.
Have you come hither on your way from Troy,
A weary wanderer with your ship and friends?
And have you not been yet at Ithaca,
Nor in your island palace seen your wife?’

16“She spoke, I answered: ‘ It is necessity,
Dear mother, that has brought me to the abode
Of Hades, to consult the Theban seer,
Tiresias. Not to the Achaian coast
Have I returned, nor reached our country, yet
Continually I wander; everywhere
I meet misfortune —even from the time
When, in the noble Agamemnon’s train,
I came to Ilium, famed for steeds, and made
War on its dwellers. Tell me now, I pray,
And truly, how it was that fate on you
Brought the long sleep of death? by slow disease?
Or, stealing on you, did the archer-queen,
Artemis, slay you with her silent shafts?
And tell me of my father, and the son
Left in my palace. Rests the sway I bore
On them, or has another taken it,
Since men believe I shall return no more?
And tell me of my wedded wife, her thoughts
And purposes, and whether she remains
Yet with my son. Is she the guardian still
Of my estates, or has the noblest chief
Of those Achaians led her thence a bride?’

17“I spoke; my reverend mother answered thus: —
‘Most certain is it that she sadly dwells
Still in your palace. Weary days and nights
And tears are hers. No man has taken yet
Your place as ruler, but Telemachus
Still has the charge of your domain, and gives
The liberal feasts which it befits a prince
To give, for all invite him. In the fields
Your father dwells, and never in the town
Is seen; nor beds nor cloaks has he, nor mats
Of rich device, but, all the winter through,
He sleeps where sleep the laborers, on the hearth,
Amid the dust, and wears a wretched garb;
And when the summer comes, or autumn days
Ripen the fruit, his bed is on the ground,
And made of leaves, that everywhere are shed
In the rich vineyards. There he lies and grieves,
And, cherishing his sorrow, mourns your fate,
And keenly feels the miseries of age.
And thus I underwent my fate and died;
For not the goddess of the unerring bow
Stealing upon me smote me in your halls
With silent arrows, nor did slow disease
Come over me, such as, wasting cruelly
The members, takes at last the life away;
But constant longing for you, anxious thoughts
Of you, and memory of your gentleness,
Odysseus, made an end of my sweet life.’

18“She spoke; I longed to take into my arms
The soul of my dead mother. Thrice I tried,
Moved by a strong desire, and thrice the form
Passed through them like a shadow or a dream.
And then did the great sorrow in my heart
Grow sharper, and in winged words I said: —

19“ ‘Beloved mother, why will you not keep
Your place, that I may clasp you, so that here,
In Hades’ realm and in each other’s arms,
We each might in the other soothe the sense
Of misery? Has mighty Persephone
Sent but an empty shade to meet me here,
That I might only grieve and sigh the more?’

20“I spoke, and then my reverend mother said: —
‘Believe not that Zeus’ daughter Persephone
Deceives you. It is the lot of all our race
When they are dead. No more the sinews bind
The bones and flesh, when once from the white bones
The life departs. Then like a dream the soul
Flies off, and flits about from place to place.
But haste you to the light again, and mark
What I have said, that you in after days
May tell it to your wife on your return.’