Odysseus Tests Father

14“O aged man! there is no lack of skill
In tending this fair orchard, which your care
Keeps flourishing; no growth is there of fig,
Vine, pear, or olive, or of plants that grow
In borders, that has missed your friendly hand.
Yet let me say, and be you not displeased,
You are ill cared for, burdened as you are
With years, and squalid, and in mean attire.
It cannot be that for your idleness
Your master treats you thus; nor is there seen
Aught servile in your aspect —in your face
Or stature; you are rather like a king;
You seem one who should enjoy the bath
And banquet, and lie soft —for this befits
Old men like you. Now say, and tell me true,
Who may your master be? whose orchard this
Which you do tend? And, more than this, declare,
For much I long to know, if I am come
To Ithaca, as I just now was told
By one who met me as I came —a man
Not overwise, who would not stop to tell
What I desired to learn, nor bear to hear
My questions, when I asked him if a guest
Of mine were living yet in health, or dead
And in the realm of Hades. Let me speak
Of him, and mark me well, I pray; I lodged
Once, in my native land, a man who came
Into my house, and never stranger yet
More welcome was than he. He was by birth
Of Ithaca, he said, Laertes’ son,
And grandson of Arcesias. Him I led
Beneath my roof, and hospitably lodged,
And feasted in the plenty of my home,
And gave such gifts as might become a host —
Seven talents of wrought gold, a silver cup
All over rough with flowers, twelve single cloaks,
Twelve mats, twelve mantles passing beautiful,
And tunics twelve, and, chosen by himself,
Twelve graceful damsels, skilled in household arts.”

15And then his father answered, shedding tears:
“You are indeed, O stranger, in the land
Of which you do inquire, but wicked men
And lawless now possess it. You have given
Your generous gifts in vain; yet had you found
Odysseus living yet in Ithaca,
Then would he have dismissed you recompensed
With gifts and liberal cheer, as is the due
Of him who once has been our host. Yet say,
And truly say, how many years have passed
Since you did lodge my son, if he it was,
Your hapless guest, whom, far away from home
And all his friends, the creatures of the deep,
And the foul birds of air, and beasts of prey,
Already have devoured. No mother mourned
His death and wrapped him in his shroud, nor I,
His father; nor did chaste Penelope,
His consort nobly dowered, bewail the man
She loved upon his bier with eyes dissolved
In tears, as fitting was —an honor due
To those who die. Now, further, truly tell,
For I would learn, what is your name, and whence
You come, from what tribe, your city where,
And who your parents. Where is the good ship
At anchor which has brought you and your friends?
Or have you landed from another’s barque,
Which put you on the shore and left the isle?”

16Odysseus, the sagacious, answered thus:
“I will tell all and truly. I am come
From Alybas; a stately dwelling there
Is mine, Apheidas is my father, son
Of royal Polypemon, and my name
Eperitus. Some deity has warped
My course astray from the Sicanian coast,
And brought me hitherward against my will.
My barque lies yonder, stationed by the field
Far from the city. This is the fifth year
Since parting with me your Odysseus left
My native land for his, ill-fated man!
Yet there were flights of birds upon the right
Of happy presage as he sailed, and I
Dismissed him cheerfully, and cheerfully
He went. We hoped that we might yet become
Each other’s guests, exchanging princely gifts.”