Book XII

But after our ship had left the stream of Ocean’s river and came to the swell of the broad-wayed sea, and the Aiaian isle, where are the home and dancing-lawns of early Dawn and the risings of the Sun — there on our coming we grounded the ship on the sands, and ourselves went forth upon the shore of the sea; there we fell fast asleep and waited for the bright Dawn. Soon as early-born Dawn appeared, rosy-fingered, then I sent my companions forth to the house of Circe to bring back the dead man, Elpenor, who had perished. Quickly we cut billets of wood where the headland juts farthest seaward, and buried him sorrowing, shedding big tears. But when the dead man was burnt, and the armour of the dead, we heaped a mound and dragged a pillar-stone upon it, and planted on the mound’s crest his well-polished oar.

We then were busied with these several tasks; yet Circe was not unaware of our return from the house of Hades, but swiftly she arrayed herself and came; her handmaids brought with her bread and abundant meat and flaming red wine. The bright goddess stood in our midst and spoke among us: “Rash men, who alive have gone down to the house of Hades, twice-doomed, while other mortals die but once. Nay, come, take food and drink wine here the whole day long; at the first showing of dawn you shall sail, and I will point the path and show you each sign clearly, so that no grievous device of misery on sea or land may make you suffer pain.” So she spoke, and our proud hearts were persuaded. Then all day long till the sun went down we sat feasting on boundless meat and sweet wine. When the sun sank and darkness came on, they lay down to sleep beside the hawsers of the ship, but she took me by the hand, far from my dear companions, and made me sit and questioned me about each matter; and I recounted everything in due order. Then queenly Circe spoke these words to me: “So all this is now finished. But listen, and I will tell you the way, and the god himself shall remind you. The Sirens you will meet first, who enchant all men who come near them. Whoever in ignorance draws close and hears the Sirens’ voice — for him no wife and little children stand beside him at his homecoming, nor take joy; but the Sirens enchant him with their clear-toned song as they sit in a meadow, and a great heap of bones lies about them from rotting men, and the flesh shrivels upon them. Row past them. Smear the ears of your companions with sweet bee’s wax, kneaded soft, so that none of the others may hear; but if you yourself are fain to listen, let them bind you hand and foot in the swift ship, upright against the mast-step, and lash the rope-ends to it, so that you may delight in the Sirens’ voice. If you beg your companions and bid them set you free, let them cast more bonds upon you then. But when your men have rowed past those dangers, then I will no more tell you continuously which way your course shall be, but your heart itself must plan; I will tell you both choices. On the one side are beetling rocks, against them the great wave of dark-eyed Amphitrite thunders — the blessed gods call them the Wandering Rocks. Not even winged things can pass by safely, not even the trembling doves that bring Zeus ambrosia, but the sheer rock always snatches one away, and the Father sends another to fill the number. No ship of men has ever come near and escaped, but the waves of the sea and whirlwinds of deadly fire carry off the ship’s timbers and the bodies of men. Only one seafaring ship has passed by that way: Argo, the world’s care, sailing from Aietes; and even her the waves would soon have dashed against the great rocks, if Hera had not sped her through, for the love of Jason.

The other side holds two crags: the one reaches the broad heaven with its sharp peak, round which a dark cloud settles and never leaves; no clear air ever clothes its top, neither summer nor harvest; no mortal man could climb it or stand on its top, not though he had twenty hands and feet; for the rock is smooth as if polished. Halfway up the cliff is a misty cavern, facing toward the west, toward Erebus, into which you shall steer your hollow ship, O shining Odysseus. A man in his youth could not shoot an arrow from the hollow ship to that cavern’s mouth. Therein dwells Scylla, barking with a fearsome voice; a yelp like a new-born whelp comes from her, but she herself is an evil monster; no one would rejoice at the sight, not even a god who met her. She has twelve legs, all dangling, and six long necks, and on each neck a ghastly head, and in each head three rows of teeth, filled with black death, thick-sewn. Her middle body hides within the hollow cave, but she thrusts out her heads from that terrible rift and fishes about, groping round the rock, for dolphins and sea-dogs, and whatever bigger beast she may catch that deep-moaning Amphitrite nurses in multitudes. Never yet have sailors boasted they escaped her unharmed; with each head she snatches and carries off a man from the dark-prowed ship.

The other crag you will see, Odysseus, lower than that one: they are close together; you could shoot an arrow across. On it there is a great fig tree, leafy and tall; under it monstrous Charybdis swallows down the black water. Three times a day she spews it up, three times she sucks it down terribly. May you not be there when she sucks it down! For not even the Earth-shaker could save you from ruin. No, steer your ship close to Scylla’s rock, and drive past quickly; far better to lose six of your companions than your whole crew at once.”

So she spoke, and I made answer and said to her: “Come, goddess, tell me truly: is there some way I might escape from deadly Charybdis and yet repel that other one, when she preys on my company?”

So I spoke, and the bright goddess answered me at once: “Alas, stubborn man, still bent on deeds of war and labour! Will you not yield even to immortal gods? She is no mortal, but an undying bane, dread, fierce, not to be fought with, and there is no defence; the best course is flight. If you linger to arm beside the rock, I fear she will dart out again and seize you with as many heads and carry off as many men. Row hard past her, and call on Crataïs, the mother who bore her as a bane to men; she will keep her from darting forth again.

Then you will reach the island Thrinacia: there the abundant cattle and fat flocks of the Sun graze — Helios Hyperion. Seven herds of cattle, and as many fair flocks of sheep, fifty in each. No births, no deaths ever diminish them. Goddesses are their shepherds, beautiful-haired nymphs, Phaëthousa and Lampetië, whom shining Neaera bore to Helios Hyperion. After their mother bore and nursed them, she set them in the isle of Thrinacia, far away, to guard their father’s sheep and curling-horned cattle. If you leave these unharmed and keep your mind on home, you may still reach Ithaca, though after much suffering. But if you harm them, then I foretell destruction for your ship and your companions; and even if you yourself escape, you will come home late, in evil plight, having lost all your men.”

So she spoke, and golden-throned Dawn appeared. The beautiful goddess departed through the island; but I went to the ship and roused my companions to go aboard and cast off the stern hawsers. They came quickly and took their places on the benches and sat in rows, and smote the gray sea with their oars. Behind our dark-prowed ship Circe, the fair-tressed goddess, dread speaker of human speech, sent a following wind that filled the sail, a goodly comrade. So when we had made fast all the tackling throughout the ship, we sat down, and the wind and the helmsman steered her straight.

Then, sore at heart, I spoke among my companions: “Friends, it is not right that one man alone, or two, should know the oracles that queenly Circe foretold me; so I will tell you, that knowing our fate we may either die or, escaping, shun doom. First she bids us avoid the divine Sirens and their song and their flowery meadow. Only I, she said, must hear their voice; but you must bind me with painful bonds, so that I stay fast, upright against the mast-step, and lash the rope-ends to it. If I beg you and bid you set me free, then force more bonds on me.”

So I told my companions everything in order; meanwhile the well-built ship swiftly reached the island of the two Sirens, for a fair wind drove her on. Then straightway the wind ceased, and a breathless calm fell, and some god lulled the waves to sleep. My companions rose and furled the sail, stowed it in the hollow ship, and sitting down to their oars made the sea white with the polished blades. But I, taking a great round of wax, cut it small with sharp bronze and kneaded it in my strong hands; soon the wax grew soft, mastered by the great force and the rays of the sun-god, the lord, Hyperion. One by one I stopped the ears of all my companions. They bound me hand and foot in the ship, upright against the mast-step, and lashed the rope-ends to it; then they sat down and smote the gray sea with their oars. But when we were so far away as a man’s shout can carry, beating the water swiftly, the sea-going ship did not escape their notice as it drew near, and the Sirens lifted their thrilling song:

“Come hither, renowned Odysseus, great glory of the Achaeans; stop your ship, that you may hear our voice. No man ever passes this shore in his dark ship till he has listened to the honey-sweet song from our lips; then he goes on, glad, and knowing more. For we know all that the Argives and Trojans suffered in broad Troy by the will of the gods; we know all that happens on the nurturing earth.”

So they sang, sending forth their beautiful voice, and my heart longed to listen; I ordered my companions with a nod of my brows to set me free; but they bent over their oars and rowed on, and Perimedes and Eurylochus rose and bound me with more bonds and drew them tighter. Then, when we had passed them by, and no longer could hear the Sirens’ voice or their song, my trusty companions took the wax from their ears, which I had laid there, and loosed me from my bonds.

But when we had left that island, immediately I saw smoke and a great wave and heard a thundering. Their oars flew from their hands in terror, and they splashed down through the water; the ship halted there, for no hands held the polished blades. I walked through the ship, urging my men with soothing words, standing beside each one:

“Friends, we are not strangers to miseries; this evil is no worse than when the Cyclops penned us in his hollow cave by brutal force. Yet even from there we escaped by my courage, my counsel, and my wits; I think we will remember these things some day. Come, let us all obey as I command. You with your oars, sit tight upon the benches and smite the deep sea, hoping that Zeus may grant us to flee and escape this ruin. And to you, helmsman, I give this order; lay it to heart, since you steer the hollow ship’s tiller: keep the ship clear of this smoke and surge, and hug the cliff, lest she swerve to the other side unawares and you hurl us to destruction.”

So I spoke, and they quickly obeyed my words. I said nothing about Scylla, that inescapable anguish, lest my companions in fear should drop their oars and huddle inside the hold. Then I forgot the hard command of Circe, that I must not arm at all, but I put on my glorious armour, took two long spears in my hands and went to the fore-deck of the ship; from there I thought I might first see Scylla of the rock, who brought woe to my men. But I could nowhere spy her out; my eyes grew weary as I peered at the misty cliff on every side.

So we sailed on through the narrow strait, groaning: on one side Scylla, on the other divine Charybdis terribly sucked down the salt sea-water. When she disgorged it, the whole wave boiled like a cauldron on a great fire, and high overhead spray fell on the tops of both crags. But when she swallowed down the sea-water, the sea appeared churned inwardly, and round about the rock there was terrible thunder, and beneath the earth showed dark with sand. Pale fear gripped my men. We looked toward her and dreaded destruction; but meanwhile Scylla snatched from the hollow ship six of my companions, the best in hands and strength. And turning my eyes to the swift ship and in search of my crew, I saw their feet and hands already dangling high above me. They cried aloud, calling my name aloud for the last time, in agony of heart. As a fisherman, from a jutting rock, with a long rod casting food as a snare for the small fish, flings out a horn of the field ox into the sea, and then snatches the struggling creature up and out — so they were drawn up, struggling, toward the cliff. At the cavern’s mouth she devoured them, screaming and stretching their hands toward me in the last death-struggle. The most pitiful thing my eyes have ever seen, of all the griefs I endured on the pathways of the sea.

Then, having escaped the crags, dreaded Scylla and Charybdis, we came shortly to the excellent island of the god, where the broad-browed cattle and rich flocks of Helios Hyperion were. While I was still out on the sea in the dark ship, I heard the lowing of the cattle stalled and the bleating of the sheep. Then the words of the blind seer Theban Teiresias came to my mind, and of Aiaian Circe, who both had warned me earnestly to shun the island of the Sun, the giver of delight to mortals. So, sore at heart, I spoke among my companions:

“Listen to my words, though you suffer, comrades, so that I may tell you the oracles of Teiresias and of Aiaian Circe, who warned me earnestly to shun the island of the Sun, the giver of delight to mortals; for there, she said, the most dreadful evil awaits us. So row the dark ship past the island.”

So I spoke, and their heart was broken. Eurylochus straightway answered me with evil words: “You are a hard man, Odysseus, full of strength beyond other men, and your limbs never tire; surely your body is all iron, that you will not let your companions, worn with toil and lack of sleep, set foot on land, where on the sea-girt island we might again cook a meal for ourselves. Instead you bid us wander aimlessly through the swift night, driven off this island, into the misty deep. In the night dangerous winds arise, the wreckers of ships. How could a man escape utter ruin if suddenly a blast of a storm comes, either from the South or the stormy West, which most often shatter ships in despite of the gods, the lords of the sky? But let us now yield to black night and make our supper beside the swift ship; at dawn we will go aboard again and push out into the great sea.”

So spoke Eurylochus, and my other companions assented. Then I knew that a god was indeed devising sorrows, and I spoke and addressed him in winged words:

“Eurylochus, truly you force me now, since I stand alone; but come, all of you swear a strong oath to me: if you find a herd of cattle or a great flock of sheep, let no man in reckless folly slaughter a single cow or sheep; but eat in peace the food that immortal Circe gave you.”

So I spoke, and they straightway swore as I bade them. And when they had sworn and concluded the oath, we brought our well-built ship to a harbour within the hollow island, near sweet water; and my companions went ashore and skillfully prepared a meal. But when they had driven away the craving for food and drink, they remembered their dear companions whom Scylla had snatched away from the hollow ship and devoured, and they wept, and sweet sleep came upon them as they wept. Now when it was the third watch of the night, and the stars had turned their course, Zeus the cloud-gatherer stirred up a tempest with a furious wind, and covered land and sea with clouds; night rushed down from heaven. Then when early-born Dawn appeared, rosy-fingered, we dragged our ship into a hollow cave where the nymphs had their beautiful dancing-floors and seats. There I called an assembly and spoke among them:

“Friends, we have food and drink in our swift ship; let us keep our hands from the cattle, lest we come to grief. These are the cattle and fat flocks of a terrible god, Helios, who watches all things and hears all things.”

So I spoke, and their proud hearts obeyed. But for a whole month the South wind blew unceasingly, and no other wind rose, only the South and the East. So long as we had food and red wine, my men kept their hands from the cattle, striving to preserve their lives. But when all the stores in the ship were exhausted, then they were forced to wander in search of game, with bent hooks fishing for fish, for hunger gnawed their bellies. I went up the island to pray to the gods, if any might show me some way of return. And when I had gone through the island far from my companions, I washed my hands in a sheltered place, and prayed to all the gods who hold Olympus; and they poured sweet sleep upon my eyelids. Meanwhile Eurylochus began giving evil counsel to my comrades:

“Listen to my words, though you suffer, friends; all deaths are hateful to wretched mortals, but to die of hunger and meet one’s fate is the most pitiful. Come, let us drive off the best of the cattle of Helios and sacrifice to the immortals who hold broad heaven. If ever we return to our own land of Ithaca, we will build a rich temple to Helios Hyperion, and place there many precious offerings. But if he be angered over his straight-horned cattle, and choose to destroy our ship, and the other gods consent, I would rather, with one gulp of the sea, lose my life than slowly waste away on a desert island.”

So spoke Eurylochus, and my other companions assented. Straightway they drove off the best of the cattle of Helios from nearby — for they were grazing not far from the dark-prowed ship, the beautiful, broad-browed, curling-horned cattle. They stood round them and prayed to the gods, plucking the tender leaves of a lofty oak, for they had no white barley to scatter in the hollow ship. After the prayer they cut the throats and flayed the cattle, cut out the thigh-pieces and covered them with fat, a double fold, and laid raw strips upon them. They had no wine to pour over the burning sacrifice, but they made libation with water and roasted all the entrails. When they had burnt the thigh-bones and tasted the inner parts, they cut up the rest and spitted it.

Then sweet sleep fled from my eyelids, and I went down to the swift ship and the shore of the sea. As I drew near the curving ship, the savour of roasting fat came round me. I groaned and cried aloud to the immortal gods: “Father Zeus, and you other blessed gods who live forever, truly you have lulled me in cruel sleep to ruin me, and my companions remaining here have devised a monstrous deed.”

Swiftly to Helios Hyperion long-robed Lampetië came with the tidings that we had killed his cattle. He, angered at heart, spoke at once among the immortals: “Father Zeus, and you other blessed gods who live forever, take vengeance on the comrades of Odysseus, son of Laertes, who have wantonly slain my cattle, in which I delighted as I climbed the starry heaven and whenever I turned back again toward the earth. Unless they pay me a fit atonement for the cattle, I will go down to Hades and shine among the dead.”

Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered him: “Helios, for your part keep on shining among the immortals and for mortals upon the grain-giving earth. Soon with my bright thunderbolt I will strike their swift ship into splinters in the middle of the wine-dark sea.”

This I learned from fair-tressed Calypso, who said she herself had heard it from the messenger Hermes.

But when I came down to the ship and the sea, I went up to each man, rebuking them; yet we could find no remedy, for the cattle were already dead. Straightway the gods showed portents among them: the hides crawled, and the flesh mooed on the spits, both raw and roasted, and a sound like a lowing of cattle arose. For six days then my trusty companions feasted on the best of the cattle of Helios, which they had driven off. But when Zeus, son of Cronus, brought the seventh day upon us, then the wind ceased its stormy roar, and we went on board and pushed out into the great sea, setting the mast and hoisting the white sail.

But when we had left the island and could see no other land, only sky and sea, then the son of Cronus set a dark cloud above the hollow ship, and the sea grew dark beneath it. She ran on for only a very short time, for soon a shrieking West wind came on, full of a furious tempest; a gust struck the two fore-stays of the mast, and both snapped; the mast fell backward, and all the tackling poured into the bilge. The mast struck the helmsman on the head and crushed all the bones of his skull; like a diver he fell from the deck, and his proud spirit left his bones. At the same time Zeus thundered and cast a bolt on the ship; she spun round, struck by the lightning of Zeus, and was filled with sulphur; my companions fell from the ship, and like sea-crows they were borne on the waves about the dark ship, and the god cut off their return.

But I kept ranging through the ship, until the surge tore the sides from the keel; the waves carried her bare and snapped the mast at the keel; but the back-stay, made of oxhide, had fallen onto the ship. I lashed both together, keel and mast, and sitting on them I was borne by the deadly winds.

Then the West wind ceased its tempestuous roar, and swift at once the South wind came, bringing grief to my heart, to carry me back again toward deadly Charybdis. All night I was borne; at sunrise I came to the rock of Scylla and dread Charybdis. She was sucking down the salt sea-water. I leaped up to the high fig tree, and held fast, clinging like a bat; I could nowhere firmly plant my feet or climb up, for its roots were far below and its branches wide-spread, huge, overshadowing Charybdis. There I hung on relentlessly, until she should vomit up the mast and keel again; to my great longing they came at last. At the hour when a man rises from the assembly for his evening meal, who settles the many disputes of young men seeking judgment, at that hour the timbers appeared from out of Charybdis. I let go hands and feet and fell with a splash in the middle of the sea, clear of the long timbers; I got astride them, and rowed along with my hands. But Scylla the destroyer of men the father of gods and men did not let look again upon me; else I could not have escaped utter ruin.

From there I was borne for nine days; on the tenth night the gods brought me to the isle Ogygia, where fair-tressed Calypso dwells, a dread goddess of human speech; she received me and cared for me. Why should I tell this tale again? Already yesterday I told it in your hall to yourself and your stately wife; I hate to rehearse a tale once it has been plainly told.”