Book XIX · Ῥαψωδία τ

But Odysseus, that goat, stayed posted up in the hall after everyone dipped,

out here plotting the suitors' whole funeral arc with Athena riding shotgun.

And straight away he let the winged words fly at Telemachus:

"Telemachus, listen, we gotta stash all the war gear inside, every last piece,

all of it, no exceptions: and when the suitors clock it's gone and start asking,

say 'yeah I tucked it away from the smoke, since it wasn't giving the same energy

as that time Odysseus left it behind when he shipped out to Troy,

it's all wrecked now, deep-fried by however far the fire's breath reached.

And on top of that, a bigger thing the gods dropped straight into my head:

and stab somebody and trash the whole feast,

plus the courtship: because steel by itself out here pulls a man in.'"

That's what he said, and Telemachus locked in, listening to his dear dad,

and he called Eurycleia, his old nurse, out to him and hit her with this:

so I can stash my dad's armour away in the storeroom proper,

the gorgeous stuff just sitting round the house catching the smoke and getting wrecked,

because my dad's been gone forever, and I was just a clueless little kid back then:

now I wanna lock it away somewhere the fire's breath can't reach it."

"Aw, child, I swear, if only you'd finally pick up some big-brain sense

and actually mind the house and keep all the property on lock.

But hold up, who's gonna walk with you and carry the light then?

You wouldn't let the maids come out, the ones who'd be doing the lighting."

"This guest right here: because I'm not having anybody loaf around who's touching

my grain, not even if he rolled up from the ends of the earth."

That's what he said, and for her the words landed wingless, no comeback,

and she locked the doors of the well-built halls up tight.

and started hauling in the helmets, the bossed shields with the bumps,

and the pointy spears: and out front Pallas Athena

held a golden lamp up and was throwing out this stunning glow.

Right then Telemachus turned and hit his dad with this real quick:

the walls of the halls and the gorgeous crossbeams,

the firwood rafters and the pillars holding everything up high

are glowing to my eyes like a fire's blazing in here.

For real, some god's up in this house, one of the ones who run the wide sky."

"Hush, hold it down inside your head, and don't go asking:

this is just how the gods do it, the ones who run Olympus.

Look, you go lie down, and I'll hang back right here,

so I can keep poking at the maids and at your mum:

That's what he said, and Telemachus took off through the hall,

heading to his room under the glow of the blazing torches,

to the same spot where he always crashed when sweet sleep came for him:

and that's where he lay down then too, waiting on the divine Dawn.

out here plotting the suitors' whole funeral arc with Athena riding shotgun.

And down she came out of her room, big-brain Penelope,

giving full Artemis energy, or like golden Aphrodite herself.

And they set down her chair by the fire, right where she always sat,

Icmalius built back in the day, with a footstool fixed to it

growing straight off the chair itself, and a big fleece tossed over the top.

That's where big-brain Penelope parked herself then.

And the white-armed maids came filing out from the hall.

and the cups the high-and-mighty men had been drinking from:

they shook the fire out of the lampstands down onto the floor, and stacked

loads of fresh wood on top of them, for light and for warmth.

And Melantho started in on Odysseus all over again, second round:

spinning round the house, eyeing up the women?

Get out the door, you sad case, and just be grateful for the meal,

or else you're catching a firebrand to the face and getting tossed out, quick."

And big-brain Odysseus shot her this dark side-eye and said:

Is it because I'm dirty and I've got rags on my body,

and I'm out here begging through the town? Yeah, hard times force my hand.

That's just how it goes for beggars and the wandering folks.

Because me too, once upon a time, I had a house among people,

just like this one, whoever he was, however hard up he rolled in:

and I had countless servants and loads of other stuff,

the kind of life where you live good and folks call you rich.

But Zeus, son of Kronos, wiped it all out: I guess that's just what he wanted.

of that glow-up you've got going right now, the one that's got you flexing over the other maids,

in case your mistress gets heated and comes down hard on you,

or Odysseus comes home: because there's still a slice of hope left in this.

But say he's actually dead and his comeback's truly over,

Telemachus: and not one woman in these halls

slips past him acting reckless, because he's not a little kid anymore."

That's what he said, and big-brain Penelope caught every word,

and she rounded on the maid, calling her out and saying it straight:

pulling this nasty stunt, the kind you'll wipe clean off on your own head.

Because you knew the whole thing perfectly, you heard it from me myself,

how I was planning to question this guest in my own halls

about my husband, since I'm absolutely gutted with grief."

"Eurynome, come bring out a chair and toss a fleece on it,

so this guest can sit down, say his piece and hear me out,

this guest of mine: because I'm dead set on grilling him."

That's what she said, and quick as anything Eurynome hauled out

and that's where Odysseus, that goat who's been through it, parked himself then.

And big-brain Penelope kicked off the conversation:

"Guest, first thing, this question I'm gonna ask you myself:

who are you and where from? Where's your city and your folks?"

"My lady, not a single mortal across the endless earth

could come for you: your fame literally hits the wide sky,

like that of some flawless king, a god-fearing one,

who lords it over loads of mighty men

wheat and barley, the trees buckle under their fruit,

the flocks pump out young like clockwork, the sea coughs up fish

under his solid rule, and the people thrive with him in charge.

So go ahead and ask me anything else in your house,

don't go flooding my chest with even more aching pain

by making me remember: because I'm carrying so much sorrow already: and there's no need

for me to sit here in another man's house wailing and weeping,

since it's a bad look to just grieve nonstop with no end:

and says I'm bobbing about in tears with my head fried on wine."

And big-brain Penelope answered him then with this:

"Guest, listen, my own worth, my looks, my whole figure,

the immortals trashed it the day the Argives boarded the ships

If only that man would come back and watch over my life,

my reputation would be way bigger and so much lovelier this way.

But as it stands I'm gutted: a god heaped this much misery on me.

Because every single big shot who runs these islands,

plus everyone lording it over sunny Ithaca,

they're all courting me against my will and bleeding the house dry.

So I couldn't care less about guests or supplicants

or any heralds either, the ones who do public work:

They're rushing the wedding: and me, I'm out here spinning my own schemes.

First a god slipped this idea into my head, a shroud,

to set up a massive loom in the halls and weave away,

something fine and huge: and right after I said this to their faces:

hold off pressing me to marry, hang tight until I finish

this shroud, so my thread doesn't all go to waste for nothing,

a burial cloth for the hero Laertes, for whenever

grim fate drops him in the long-suffering sleep of death:

if a man who racked up so much lies there with no shroud.'

That's what I said, and their proud hearts bought it, every one.

So by day I'd weave away at the massive loom,

but by night I'd unravel it again, once I set the torches up beside me.

but when the fourth year rolled in and the seasons came back round,

the months wearing thin, and loads of days got ticked off,

that's when, thanks to the maids, those dogs who couldn't care less,

they came in and caught me and bawled me out with their words.

and now I can't dodge the wedding, and I can't find any other

clever play left: my parents are pushing me hard

to marry, and my son's heated watching them eat through his inheritance,

clocking it all: because he's already grown into the kind of man

But even so, tell me your bloodline, where you're actually from:

because you didn't spring from some old fairy-tale oak or some rock."

And big-brain Odysseus came back at her with this:

"O respected lady, wife of Laertes' son Odysseus,

Fine, I'll tell you. Even though you're gonna load me up with grief,

way more than I'm already carrying: that's just how it goes, when a man's

been away from his homeland as long as I have now,

out here wandering through loads of mortal cities, catching pain.

There's a land called Crete out in the middle of the wine-dark sea,

gorgeous and rich, ringed all round by water: and in it the people

are loads, countless, and there's ninety cities:

and the languages are all mixed up, one different from the next: there's Achaeans in there,

the Dorians split three ways and the godlike Pelasgians too:

and among them is Knossos, that massive city, where Minos

ruled nine years at a stretch, mate of mighty Zeus,

my father's father, of big-hearted Deucalion.

but he sailed off in the curved ships to Ilion

with the sons of Atreus: and my famous name's Aethon,

the younger by birth: he was the older one and the better fighter.

That's where I laid eyes on Odysseus and gave him guest-gifts.

heading for Troy, blown off course past Maleia:

it parked him in Amnisos, where the cave of Eileithyia is,

in those rough harbours, and he barely dodged the storms.

He came straight up to town and asked after Idomeneus:

But for him it was already the tenth or eleventh dawn

since he'd shipped out in the curved ships to Ilion.

So I brought him to my place and hosted him properly,

showing him real care, since there was plenty around the house:

I gathered barley and gleaming wine from the public stores

and cattle to slaughter, so they could fill their bellies up.

For twelve days the godlike Achaeans stayed there:

because a big north wind kept them pinned and wouldn't let them

on the thirteenth the wind dropped, and they launched out."

He kept spinning lie after lie that landed just like the truth:

and as she listened, the tears came pouring, her skin melting away.

Like when snow melts down across the high mountain peaks,

and as it melts the rivers swell and run brimming over:

that's how her gorgeous cheeks melted as the tears poured down,

crying for her own man, sitting right beside her. But Odysseus,

deep in his chest he felt for his weeping wife, all the pity,

dead steady in their sockets: he had the tears on lockdown, all cunning.

And once she'd had her fill of the tear-soaked wailing,

she answered him again, hitting him back with this:

"Now, guest, I reckon I'm finally gonna put you to the test,

you hosted my husband in your halls, like you're saying.

Tell me what kind of clothes he had wrapped round his body,

what he looked like himself, and the companions who followed him."

And big-brain Odysseus came back at her with this:

because this is already the twentieth year now

since he left there and shipped out from my homeland:

but I'll tell you anyway, how he pops up in my heart.

Odysseus, that goat, had a thick purple cloak on him,

with twin tubes: and the front of it was a whole work of art:

a hound holding a dappled fawn in its front paws,

clamping it down as it thrashed: everybody used to gawp at it,

the way they were both gold, and the one was clamping the fawn, choking it,

And I clocked the tunic round his body, all glossy,

soft like the skin off a dried-out onion:

that's how soft it was, and it shone bright like the sun.

For real, loads of the women were straight-up gawping at him.

I don't know if Odysseus had these on his body from home,

or some crewmate gave them when he was boarding the fast ship,

or maybe some guest-friend did, since Odysseus had

loads of friends: because few of the Achaeans were on his level.

a gorgeous purple one, and a tunic with a proper hem,

and I sent him off with full respect on his well-benched ship.

And there was a herald tagging along with him, a bit older than him,

following close: I'll describe that one too, exactly how he was:

and his name was Eurybates: and Odysseus prized him over the rest

of his crew, because he and the man's head were always on the same page."

That's what he said, and he stirred up in her an even bigger urge to weep,

once she recognised the signs Odysseus laid out rock-solid for her.

that's when she answered him back with these words:

"Now, guest, you who were already someone I pitied,

in my halls you're gonna be a dear and respected friend:

because I'm the one who handed over those very clothes you're describing,

to be a keepsake for him. But I'll never welcome him back again

home, coming back safe to his own beloved homeland.

So it was a wicked fate that carried Odysseus off in the hollow ship,

gone to set eyes on Evil-Ilion, the city not to be named."

"O respected lady, wife of Laertes' son Odysseus,

stop wrecking your gorgeous skin now, and quit melting your heart down

crying for your husband. I'm not knocking you for it, not at all:

because anyone would grieve like this losing the husband

let alone Odysseus, who they say was just like the gods.

But knock off the wailing, and take in what I'm telling you:

because I'm gonna give it to you straight, no holding anything back,

how I already heard about Odysseus and his comeback,

alive: and he's hauling loads of treasure, the good stuff,

collecting it through the country. But his ride-or-die crew

he lost, and his hollow ship out on the wine-dark sea,

on his way from the island of Thrinacia: because Zeus and Helios

So they all went down in the wave-battered sea:

but the swell tossed him on his ship's keel up onto dry land,

to the country of the Phaeacians, who are basically born next to the gods:

and they honoured him in their hearts like a god,

home unharmed. And honestly Odysseus would've been here long ago:

but it seemed the smarter play to him, deep in his chest,

to keep stacking goods, travelling round through loads of lands:

that's how far past every other mortal Odysseus knows

That's how Pheidon, king of the Thesprotians, laid it out for me:

and he swore to me himself, pouring a libation in his house,

that the ship was hauled down and the crew was on standby,

the ones who'd see him off to his own beloved homeland.

happened to be heading out to Dulichium, the wheat-rich one.

And he showed me all the treasure Odysseus had stacked up:

enough to feed somebody else right down to the tenth generation,

that's how much master's loot was sitting there in his halls.

high-crowned oak he could hear out Zeus's plan,

on how to make it back home to his own beloved homeland,

already gone so long, whether out in the open or on the low.

So that's how he's safe and he's coming back already,

much longer at all: but look, I'll even swear you an oath on it."

Let Zeus be my witness first, the top of the gods and the absolute best,

and the hearth of flawless Odysseus too, the one I've literally pulled up to:

no cap, all this is gonna go down exactly the way I'm calling it.

right as one month's clocking out and the next one's clocking in.

Then switched-on Penelope came back at him with this:

"Ahh stranger, if only those words of yours actually landed for real:

then you'd clock my warmth and the heap of gifts coming

But here's how it's sitting in my chest, here's how it's gonna be:

Odysseus isn't coming home, and you're not gonna get

any send-off either, because there's nobody running this house

the way Odysseus was the man among men, if he ever even existed,

But come on, handmaids, wash him up and lay out his bed,

the bedding and the cloaks and the gleaming rugs,

so he's tucked in toasty and comfy till golden-throned Dawn pulls up.

And bright and early at dawn, give him a wash and rub him down with oil,

sat in the hall: and it's gonna be rougher on whichever one of those clowns

keeps trying to grind this man's spirit down: he won't get a single thing

done in here, no matter how outrageously heated he is.

Because how, stranger, are you gonna clock me, how I'm a cut above

if I just let you sit there grimy, dressed in rags at the feast

in my own halls? People only last a hot minute on this earth.

Whoever's a cold-hearted piece of work and his mind plays cold-hearted games,

every mortal alive calls down nothing but grief on him down the line

but whoever's flawless himself and his heart runs flawless,

his fame gets carried far and wide by the guests he treated right,

all across the world, and crowds of people speak his name as a real one."

Then big-brain Odysseus came back at her with this answer:

honestly the cloaks and the gleaming rugs started giving me the ick

the moment I first left the snowy mountains of Crete

way behind me, shipping out on the long-oared boat:

so I'll bed down the way I always do, riding out these sleepless nights.

I've crashed and just waited out the divine well-throned Dawn.

And foot-baths? Yeah, getting my feet done holds zero appeal to me,

not in my chest at all: no woman's laying a hand on this foot of mine,

none of the ones who work the chores all over your house,

who's been through as much hardship in her heart as I have:

that one, I wouldn't begrudge her getting her hands on my feet."

Then switched-on Penelope came back at him with this:

"Dear guest: because no man this switched-on

the way you lay every single thing out so clear and so smart:

I've got an old woman, the kind with tight, locked-in wisdom in her chest,

the one who fed and raised that poor man so well, looked after him,

caught him in her own two hands the moment his mother first birthed him:

But come on now, get up, switched-on Eurycleia,

go wash the feet of your master's exact peer: and Odysseus by now,

he's probably got feet like this and hands like this too,

because mortals age up fast when they're stuck in the hard times."

let the hot tears spill, and out came these grieving words:

"Oh my days, baby, I'm helpless over you: honestly Zeus

hated you above all men, even with that god-fearing heart you carry.

Because nobody ever burned for Zeus, the one who vibes off thunder,

as you used to give him, praying you'd live to reach

a cushy old age and raise your golden boy:

but now you're the only one he's straight up snatched the homecoming day from.

That's probably how it went for him too, women clowning on him,

exactly like these dogs here are all clowning on you,

the ones whose nastiness and endless shame you're trying to dodge

when you won't let them wash you: but me, no need to twist my arm,

the daughter of Icarius said do it, switched-on Penelope.

and for your sake, since my heart's churning right up inside me

with sorrow. But come on now, catch this thing I'm about to say:

loads of beat-down guests have pulled up here over the years,

but I'm telling you, I've never once laid eyes on anybody

Then big-brain Odysseus came back at her with this answer:

"Old woman, yeah, that's what everybody says who's eyeballed

the two of us, that we're seriously a dead ringer for each other,

just like you yourself are clocking it and calling it out."

she used for washing feet, poured in a load of water,

the cold first, then splashed the hot in after. But Odysseus

shifted over off the hearth and spun fast towards the shadows:

because right away it hit him in his chest, he was scared she'd grab hold,

She came in close and started washing her master: and instantly she knew

the scar, the one a boar gashed into him with its white tusk

way back when he'd gone to Parnassus to see Autolycus and his sons,

his mother's noble father, the man who out-ran every mortal

Hermes, since he burned thigh-bones the god loved,

from lambs and kids: so Hermes had his back, rolling with him eager.

And Autolycus, when he came to the rich land of Ithaca,

found his daughter's kid freshly born, brand new on the scene:

right as he wrapped up dinner, found her voice and said:

"Autolycus, now you yourself pick out a name, whatever you wanna lay

on your child's dear child: this is one heavily prayed-for kid."

Then Autolycus came back at her and let the words fly:

because I've pulled up here being a sore spot to loads of people,

men and women alike, all across the earth that feeds us all:

so let his name be Odysseus, the man people are sore at. And me, I'm telling you,

the second he's grown and comes to his mother's big family house

I'll hand him a cut of it and send him off buzzing."

That's what Odysseus came for, so the man could load him with glorious gifts.

And Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus, the lot of them,

greeted him with handshakes and soft, sweet words:

and kissed him on the head and on both his gorgeous eyes.

And Autolycus called out to his glory-flexing sons

to get dinner prepped: and they heard him giving the orders.

Straight up they led in a bull, a male, five years old:

chopped it up like absolute pros, ran the spits clean through it,

roasted it all proper, and dished the portions out.

So then for the whole day right up till the sun clocked out

they feasted, and not one heart went wanting at that fair-share spread:

that's when they crashed out and took the gift of sleep.

And the second early-born rosy-fingered Dawn pulled up,

they set off to the hunt, the hounds and the men themselves,

the sons of Autolycus: and with them Odysseus, that goat,

Parnassus, and quick enough they hit the wind-whipped folds of it.

The Sun was just then starting to hit the fields with fresh light,

rising up out of the gentle-flowing, deep-running Ocean,

and the beaters dropped down into the glen: and out front of them

came the sons of Autolycus: and with them Odysseus, that goat,

moved up close on the hounds, his long-shadowed spear quivering ready.

And right there in a thick tangle of brush a massive boar was bedded down:

no force of the wet-blowing winds could ever cut through it,

and the rain never made it all the way through: that's how dense

it was, plus a deep heaped-up pile of fallen leaves.

And the thudding of the men's and hounds' feet rolled in close to him

as they pressed the chase: he came charging out to face them from his lair,

and pulled up dead in front of them. And that's when Odysseus, first of the lot,

came lunging in, hoisting that long spear up in his thick fist,

itching to gore it: but the boar got there first, jamming a tusk

in above the knee, and ripped out a chunk of flesh with that tusk,

And Odysseus stabbed it, landing it clean through the right shoulder,

and the point of the gleaming spear punched all the way out the other side:

and it dropped in the dust with a squeal, and its spirit flew right out.

And the dear sons of Autolycus crowded round to handle the boar,

they bound up like pros, and with a chanted spell they stopped

the dark blood, and quick enough they got back to their dear father's house.

And Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus, the whole crew,

patched him up nice and loaded him with glorious gifts,

back to Ithaca. And there his dad and his queenly mum

were buzzing he'd made it back and they grilled him on every detail,

the scar, how he caught it: and he laid it all out for them clean,

how a boar gashed him with its white tusk while he was hunting,

This is the scar the old woman took in her flat palms,

and the second she ran her hand over it, she knew, and let the foot drop:

the leg flopped down into the basin, the bronze clanged out loud,

and it tipped right over sideways: and the water gushed out across the floor.

welled right up with tears, and her thick voice got jammed in her throat.

And reaching up to touch his chin she said to Odysseus:

"It's actually you, you really are Odysseus, my dear baby: and I never

clocked it, not till I'd run my hands over my master, every inch."

desperate to flag it, that her dear husband was right there in the house.

But Penelope couldn't catch her glance or pick up on a thing:

because Athena had steered her mind elsewhere. Meanwhile Odysseus

felt for her throat, clamped on with his right hand,

"Nanny, why you trying to end me? You're the one who raised me yourself

on your own breast: and now after grinding through endless pain

I've made it back, twenty years on, to my homeland.

But since you've clocked it and a god slotted it into your chest,

Because here's the deal, and trust me it's gonna go down:

if a god folds these flashy suitors right under my hand,

I won't even spare you, my own nurse, when I get round

to killing the rest of the serving women here in my halls."

"My baby, what kind of talk just slipped past the gate of your teeth.

You know how my nerve's rock solid and never once buckles:

I'll hold it like a hard slab of stone or iron.

And here's another thing I'll tell you, so stash it in your chest:

then yeah, I'll run you the full list of the women in the halls,

which ones disrespect you and which ones are totally clean."

Then big-brain Odysseus came back at her with this answer:

"Nanny, why would you even count them off? No need for that:

Just keep it locked behind silence, and leave it to the gods."

That's what he said, and the old woman went off through the hall

to fetch more wash-water: because the first lot had all spilled out.

And once she'd washed him and rubbed him glossy with oil,

to warm up, and tucked the scar away under his rags.

And switched-on Penelope kicked off the talking among them:

"Stranger, there's just this one tiny bit more I'll ask you myself:

because soon enough it'll be the hour for sweet sleep,

But me, some spirit handed me a sorrow with no measure to it:

because in the daytime I get my comfort just sobbing and wailing,

keeping an eye on my work and the handmaids' work round the house:

but the second night comes and sleep grabs everybody,

these sharp little worries come needling me till I'm crying.

Like the daughter of Pandareus, the pale-green nightingale,

who sings so pretty when the springtime's freshly settling in,

perched up there in the dense leaves of the trees,

grieving for her boy Itylus, the one she once killed

with bronze by accident, the son of lord Zethus:

that's how my own heart pulls me two ways, this way and that,

whether I stay put with my son and keep everything locked down,

out of respect for my husband's bed and what the people would say,

or whether I finally go with whichever of the Achaeans is the best

courting me in the halls, the one offering bride-gifts past counting.

While my son was still a baby and soft in the head,

but now that he's grown big and hit the full measure of youth,

he's actually begging me to head back out of the halls,

fuming over the property the Achaeans are eating up.

But come on, hear out this dream of mine and read it for me.

out of the water, and I get all warm inside watching them:

then this huge eagle with a hooked beak came down off the mountain

and snapped every one of their necks and killed them: and they got strewn

in a heap all over the halls, and he soared up into the bright sky.

and the pretty-haired Achaean women came gathering round me,

as I wailed so pitifully that the eagle had killed my geese.

But back he came and settled himself on a roof-beam jutting out,

and in a human voice he held me back and spoke up:

this isn't a dream, it's a real waking vision, and it's gonna land.

The geese are the suitors, and I'm the one who was the eagle bird

just now, but for real now I'm your own husband, finally back,

the one who's gonna drop a hideous death on every last suitor."

and glancing round I clocked the geese still in the halls

pecking at their wheat by the trough, exactly where they were before."

Then big-brain Odysseus came back at her with this answer:

"Lady, there's just no way to read this dream

told you straight how he'll finish it: ruin's showing up plain

for the suitors, all of them, and not one's dodging death and the fates."

Then switched-on Penelope came back at him with this:

"Stranger, look, dreams are slippery things, just baffling babble,

Because there's two gates for the flimsy passing dreams:

one set's built out of horn, the other set out of ivory.

The ones that come gliding through the sawn ivory,

those are the ones that deceive you, carrying words that flop out unfulfilled:

those bring the real deal to pass, whenever some mortal sees them.

But me, I don't reckon my grim dream came pulling up from there,

out of the horn: oh it'd be a welcome thing for me and my son if it did.

And here's another thing I'll tell you, so stash it in your chest:

out of Odysseus's house: because now I'm gonna set up a contest,

those axes, the ones that man used to stand up in his own halls

lined up in a row, like ship-props, twelve of them total:

and standing way back he'd shoot an arrow clean through the lot.

and whoever stretches the bow in his bare hands the easiest

and shoots an arrow straight through all twelve of the axes,

that's the one I'll follow, walking out on this house

of my marriage, so lovely, so packed full of livelihood,

Then big-brain Odysseus came back at her with this answer:

"Respected lady, wife of Laertes' son Odysseus,

don't put this contest off any longer in your halls:

because big-brain Odysseus is gonna pull up here

can string the cord and shoot an arrow through the iron."

Then switched-on Penelope came back at him with this:

"Stranger, if only you'd be willing to sit by me in the halls

and keep me company, sleep wouldn't dare settle on my eyelids.

without sleep: because the immortals laid down a set portion

for every mortal on the grain-giving earth.

So me, I'll head on up to my upstairs room

and lie down in bed, the one that's basically built out of my groaning,

shipped off to gaze at Evil-Ilion, the name I won't even say nice.

That's where I'll lie down: and you bed down here in this house,

either spread something on the floor, or let them lay out a proper bed."

Saying this she headed up to her gleaming upstairs rooms,

And once she'd climbed up to the upper room with her handmaid women

she cried then for Odysseus, her dear husband, until

Athena, eyes glinting, dropped sweet sleep onto her eyelids.