The Odyssey is one of two major epics of ancient Greek literature attributed to Homer. It is one of the oldest surviving works of literature and remains popular with modern audiences. Like the Iliad, the Odyssey is divided into 24 books. It follows the heroic king of Ithaca, Odysseus, also known by the Latin variant Ulysses, and his homecoming journey after the ten-year-long Trojan War. His journey from Troy to Ithaca lasts an additional ten years, during which time he encounters many perils and all of his crewmates are killed. In Odysseus's long absence, he is presumed dead, leaving his wife Penelope and son Telemachus to contend with a group of unruly suitors competing for Penelope's hand in marriage.
Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy. Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds, many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea, fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.
1–5 (tr. Robert Fagles).
Αὐτῶν γὰρ σφετέρῃσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὄλοντο.
The recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all.
Not that I'd grudge a tear for any man gone down to meet his fate. What other tribute can we pay to wretched men than to cut a lock, let tears roll down our cheeks?
And may the gods accomplish your desire: a home, a husband, and harmonious converse with him – the best thing in the world being a strong house held in serenity where man and wife agree. Woe to their enemies, joy to their friends! But all this they know best.
Behold on wrong Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong! Dwells there a god on all the Olympian brow More swift than Mars, and more than Vulcan slow? Yet Vulcan conquers, and the god of arms Must pay the penalty for lawless charms.
So nothing is as sweet as a man's own country, his own parents, even though he's settled down in some luxurious house, off in a foreign land and far from those who bore him.
So, strangers, who are you? From where was it you sailed here over the watery ways? On business? Or are you reckless rovers, cruising the sea like pirates, who, at risk of their own lives, go around making trouble for men from other lands?
Three times I rushed toward her, desperate to hold her, three times she fluttered through my fingers, sifting away like a shadow, dissolving like a dream.
Three times I rushed toward her, desperate to hold her, three times she fluttered through my fingers, sifting away like a shadow, dissolving like a dream.
206–208 (tr. Robert Fagles); Odysseus attempting to embrace his mother's spirit in the Underworld.
Compare Virgil, Aeneid, II. 792–793 (tr. C. Pitt):
Thrice round her neck my eager arms I threw; Thrice from my empty arms the phantom flew.
Ὥρη μὲν πολέων μύθων, ὥρη δὲ καὶ ὕπνου.
There is a time for many words and there is a time also for sleep.
... I, as I lay dying Upon the sword, raised up my hands to smite her; And shamelessly she turned away, and scorned To draw my eye-lids down or close my mouth, Though I was on the road to Hades' house.
By god, I'd rather slave on earth for another man— some dirt-poor tenant farmer who scrapes to keep alive— than rule down here over all the breathless dead.
489–492 (tr. Robert Fagles); Achilles' ghost to Odysseus.
Alexander Pope's translation:
Rather I'd choose laboriously to bear A weight of woes, and breathe the vital air, A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread, Than reign the sceptred monarch of the dead.
With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone; The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground. P. S. Worsley's translation:
Rather would I, in the sun's warmth divine, Serve a poor churl who drags his days in grief, Than the whole lordship of the dead were mine.
With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone; The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.
It's wrong, my friend, to send any stranger packing— even one who arrives in worse shape than you. Every stranger and beggar comes from Zeus and whatever scrap they get from the likes of us, they'll find it welcome.
I want to brag a little. I am dizzy, under the influence of wine, which makes even the wisest people sing and giggle, and dance, and say things best not spoken.
I hope nothing valuable may have been taken from the house in spite of you, but you know what women are—they always want to do the best they can for the man who marries them, and never give another thought to the children of their first husband, nor to their father either when he is dead and done with.
Alike he thwarts the hospitable end, Who drives the free, or stays the hasty friend: True friendship's laws are by this rule expressed, Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.
Long nights the now declining year bestows; A part we consecrate to soft repose, A part in pleasing talk we entertain; For too much rest itself becomes a pain.
392–394 (tr. Alexander Pope).
A man who has been through bitter experiences and travelled far can enjoy even his sufferings after a time.
But let us, you and I, sit in my cottage over food and wine, and take some joy in hearing how much pain we each have suffered. After many years of agony and absence from one's home, a person can begin enjoying grief.
398–401 (tr. Emily Wilson).
Alexander Pope's translation:
Here let us feast, and to the feast be joined Discourse, the sweeter banquet of the mind; Review the series of our lives, and taste The melancholy joy of evils passed: For he who much has suffered, much will know, And pleased remembrance builds delight on woe.
Meanwhile let us two, here in the hut, over our food and wine, regale ourselves with the unhappy memories that each can recall. For a man who has been through bitter experiences and travelled far can enjoy even his sufferings after a time.
Servants, when their lords no longer sway, Their minds no more to righteous courses bend. Half that man's virtue doth Zeus take away, Whom he surrenders to the servile day.
320–323 (tr. Worsley).
Αἰδὼς δ' οὐκ ἀγαθὴ κεχρημένῳ ἀνδρὶ παρεῖναι.
How ill, alas! do want and shame agree!
347 (tr. Alexander Pope).
Ἐπεὶ οὔ τις ἐπίσχεσις οὐδ' ἐλεητὺς ἀλλοτρίων χαρίσασθαι.
Shameless they give, who give what's not their own.
Two gates there are for our evanescent dreams, one is made of ivory, the other made of horn. Those that pass through the ivory cleanly carved are will-o'-the-wisps, their message bears no fruit. The dreams that pass through the gates of polished horn are fraught with truth, for the dreamer who can see them.
Indeed, it may be doubted whether Ulysses, who by the way seems to have had the best stomach of all the heroes in that eating poem of the Odyssey, ever made a better meal.
Henry Fielding, The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling (1749), bk. ix, ch. 5
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