The Bard’s Plea

46Phemius, the son of Terpius, skilled in song,
Alone escaped the bitter doom of death.
He by constraint had sung among the train
Of suitors, and was standing now beside
The postern door, and held his sweet-toned lyre,
And pondered whether he should leave the hall,
And sit before the altar of the great
Herceian Zeus, where, with Laertes, once
Odysseus oft had burned the thighs of beeves,
Or whether he should fling himself before
Odysseus, as a suppliant, at his knees.
This to his thought seemed wisest —to approach
Laertes’ son, and clasp his knees. He placed
His sweet harp on the floor, between the cup
And silver-studded seat, and went and clasped
The hero’s knees, and said in winged words: —

47“I come, Odysseus, to your knees. Respect
And spare me. It will be a grief to you,
Hereafter, should you slay a bard, who sings
For gods and men alike. I taught myself
This art; some god has breathed into my mind
Songs of all kinds, and I could sing to you
As to a god. O, seek not then to take
My life! Your own dear son Telemachus
Will bear me witness that not willingly
Nor for the sake of lucre did I come
To sing before the suitors at their feasts
And in your palace, but was forced to come
By numbers and by mightier men than I.”

48He ceased; Telemachus, the mighty, heard
And thus bespoke his father at his side: —