An Oath and a Story

12Odysseus, the great sufferer, thus replied:
“Since then, my friend, you do not say nor think
That he will come again, nor will believe
My words, I now repeat, but with an oath,
Odysseus will return. Let this reward
Be given for my good news: the very hour
When he once more is in his house, bestow
On me a comely change of raiment —cloak
And tunic —nor will I accept the gift,
Though great my need, until he comes again.
For as the gates of hell do I detest
The man who, tempted by his poverty,
Deceives with lying words. Now Zeus
Bear witness, and this hospitable board
And hearth of good Odysseus where I sit,
That all which I foretell will come to pass.
This very year Odysseus will return.
He, when this month goes out, and as the next
Is entering, will be here in his domain,
To be avenged on those, whoever they be,
That dare insult his wife and noble son.”

13And then, Eumaeus, you did answer thus:
“Old man, I shall not give you that reward,
For never will Odysseus come again
To his own palace. Drink your wine in peace,
And let us give our thoughts to other things.
Remind me not of this again; my heart
Grows heavy in my bosom when I hear
My honored master named. But leave the oath
Unsworn, and may Odysseus come, as we
Earnestly wish —I and Penelope,
And old Laertes, and the godlike youth
Telemachus. And then, again, I bear
Perpetual sorrow for Telemachus,
My master’s son, to whom the gods had given
A generous growth like that of some young plant,
And who, I hoped, would prove no less in worth
Than his own father, and of eminent gifts
In form and mind. Some god, perchance some man,
Has caused that mind to lose its equal poise,
And he is gone to Pylos the divine
For tidings of his father. Meanwhile here
The arrogant suitors plan to lie in wait
For him as he returns, that utterly
The stock of great Arcesius from our isle
May perish, and its name be heard no more.
Speak we no more of him, be it his fate
To fall or flee; but O, may Cronus’ son
Protect him with his arm! And now, old man,
Relate, I pray, your fortunes; tell me true,
That I may know who you may be, and whence
You came, where your city lies, and who
Your parents were, what galley landed you
Upon our coast, and how the manners
Brought you to Ithaca, and of what race
They claim to be; for I may well suppose
You have not come to Ithaca on foot.”