Book X

We came to the isle of Aeolia, where Aeolus made his home, son of Hippotas, beloved by the deathless gods above. He dwells on a floating island, ringed by a rampart wall of bronze, unbreakable, and a sheer cliff of stone soars high. Twelve children were born to him and raised within his halls, six daughters and six sons in the full bloom of youth. And there he gave his daughters to his sons as wedded wives. Forever at the side of their dear father and noble mother they feast, with countless delicacies spread out before them. The house, rich with the savor of the feast, echoes in its court all day; but when night comes, they lie beside their honored wives on soft-piled rugs and bedsteads intricately carved. We came to their city and saw their magnificent halls. For a whole month he hosted me, asking of every turn: of Ilion, the Argive ships, the Achaeans’ long return. And I recounted all to him, just as it came to pass. But when I, in my turn, requested leave and urged him then to send me on, he did not refuse, but prepared my way. He gave me a bag he had flayed from the hide of a nine-year ox, and in it bound the pathways of the blustering winds. For the son of Cronos made him the steward of the gales, to calm them or to rouse them, whichever was his will. In my hollow ship he secured it with a gleaming silver cord, so not the slightest breath of wind could slip aside and blow. But for my sake he sent the breath of the West Wind out to blow, to carry our ships and ourselves. Yet this was not to be, for we were lost, and by our own reckless foolishness.

For nine whole days we sailed, by night and day alike, and on the tenth our native land at last appeared. We were so close we saw the men who tended beacon-fires. Just then, sweet sleep washed over me, worn out from the long toil, for I had held the ship’s sheet fast, never entrusting it to any of my crew, so we might reach our home the sooner. But my companions spoke among themselves with reckless words, and said I brought home gold and silver for myself, as gifts from great-hearted Aeolus, son of Hippotas. And one would glance at his neighbor, murmuring words like these: “By the gods, how this man is loved and honored by all people, whatever city, whatever land he comes upon! He carries many fine treasures home from the spoils of Troy, while we, who finished the same long journey at his side, are heading home with empty hands to show for it. And now Aeolus, out of friendship, gives him these gifts too. Come on, let’s look and see at once what is inside— just how much gold and silver is hidden in that bag.”

So they spoke, and their evil counsel overcame my crew. They untied the bag, and at once all the winds rushed out. A sudden tempest seized my men and swept them out to sea, weeping, far from their fatherland. And as for me, I woke, and in my noble heart I debated what to do: should I leap from the ship and perish there in the sea, or endure in silence and remain among the living? I chose to endure and stay. I covered up my head and lay down in the ship. The fleet was borne by the evil gale back to the isle of Aeolia, as my companions groaned. There we went ashore and drew fresh water from the springs, and my companions quickly took their meal by the swift ships. When we had satisfied our need for food and drink, I took a herald and one companion with me then and went to the famed palace of Aeolus. I found him feasting beside his wife and all his children. We came into the house and sat upon the threshold by the doorposts, and they, astonished in their hearts, began to question me: “How have you returned, Odysseus? What evil god assailed you? Surely we sent you off with care, so you might reach your homeland and your house, or any place you wished to go.”

So they spoke, and I answered them, my heart consumed with grief: “My own bad crew has brought me ruin, and with them, a cruel sleep. But you, my friends, can mend this; the power is in your hands.” So I spoke, trying to sway them with my gentle words, but they fell silent. Then the father answered me in turn: “Get off this island, quickly! You most cursed of all the living! It is not my place to help or send upon his way a man who is so hated by the blessed, immortal gods. Begone! You have returned because the gods despise you.” With that, he sent me from his house, groaning in my despair. And from there we sailed onward, with aching hearts. The spirit of my men was worn away by the weary toil of rowing, all through our own foolishness, for no magical wind appeared.

For six whole days we sailed, by night and day alike, and on the seventh we reached the steep citadel of Lamus, Telepylus, the Laestrygonian land, where a shepherd driving in his flock can hail another driving his out, who hears and answers him. There a man who never slept could earn himself a double wage, one for herding cattle, one for pasturing silver-fleeced sheep, for the pathways of the night and day lie close together there. We entered a renowned harbor, which on either side a sheer cliff face runs up unbroken, all around, and two projecting headlands stretch opposite each other across the mouth, leaving a narrow channel for the entrance. There all the others steered their curved ships in and moored them close to one another inside the hollow harbor’s calm. For never did a wave swell up within it, large or small, but a bright and windless calm was shining all around. I alone kept my black ship outside the harbor’s mouth, there at the farthest point, and tied her cables to a rock. Then I climbed a rugged lookout point and took my stand. From there no works of men or oxen could be seen, only a wisp of smoke rising up from the land. So I sent some of my companions forth to learn what sort of men who live on bread were dwelling on this earth, choosing two men, and sending a herald as the third. They disembarked and went along a level road, where wagons would bring timber down from the high mountains to the town. And there, before the city, they met a young girl drawing water, the powerful daughter of Antiphates, the Laestrygonian king. She had come down to Artacia, the fair-flowing spring from which the people of the city drew their water. My men approached and spoke to her, and asked her who was king of this land, and what people he ruled over. She pointed out at once her father’s high-roofed hall. But when they entered that famed house, they found a woman there as huge as a mountain peak, and they stared at her in horror. She rushed to the assembly place and called her glorious husband, Antiphates, who plotted a ghastly death for them. He instantly snatched up one of my men and prepared his meal. The other two sprang back and fled, reaching the ships in terror. But the king raised a cry throughout the city, and hearing it, the mighty Laestrygonians came swarming from all sides— thousands of them, not like men, but like the race of Giants. From the cliffs they hurled down boulders a man could barely lift, and at once a dreadful din of death arose among the ships, of men being killed and vessels being smashed to pieces. Spearing my men like fish, they carried them away for their repulsive feast. While they were slaughtering them inside the deep harbor, I drew the sharp sword from my thigh and with it hacked the hawsers of my dark-prowed ship. Then I roused my companions, crying out and ordering them to fall upon their oars, that we might flee this evil fate. And all of them, in terror of death, churned the sea with their blades. To our relief, my ship escaped into the open sea, out from the beetling cliffs. But all the other ships were lost.

From there we sailed onward, with aching hearts, glad to have escaped from death, but grieving for our comrades lost. We came then to the island of Aeaea, where there dwelt Circe of the lovely braids, a fearsome goddess, human-voiced, own sister to the baleful-minded king Aeetes. Both were the children of the Sun, who brings light to all mortals, and their mother was Perse, a daughter born of Ocean’s stream. We brought our ship to shore there and beached her in silence within a sheltering harbor, guided by some god. Then we disembarked, and for two days and for two nights we lay there, eating out our hearts with weariness and grief. But when the lovely-braided Dawn brought on the third day, I took my spear and my sharp sword in hand and went up from the ship with haste to a high lookout point, to see if I could glimpse the works of men or hear a voice. I climbed a rugged crag and from my vantage point I saw a plume of smoke rising from the wide-pathed earth below, from Circe’s halls, deep in a thicket of oak and wood. And then I pondered in my mind and in my spirit whether to go and search it out, now I had seen the smoke. But as I thought on it, this seemed the better course to me: first to return to my swift ship upon the sea-coast, give my companions their meal, and send them out to learn. But as I was approaching my curved ship on my return, some god took pity on me, alone as I was, and sent a great, high-antlered stag right across my path. He was coming from his pasture in the woods down to the river to drink, for the sun’s power and heat were pressing on him hard. As he emerged, I struck him on the spine, right in the middle, and the bronze point of my spear passed clean through to the other side. He fell crying in the dust, and his life-spirit flew away. I planted my foot on him and from the wound drew out the bronze-tipped spear, then laid it on the ground and let it lie. Next I pulled up shoots of willow and some supple vines, and plaited from them a strong rope, a full fathom in length, with which I bound the feet of the tremendous creature fast. I went back toward the black ship, carrying him across my neck, leaning upon my spear, for there was no way I could hoist him onto one shoulder with one hand—the beast was far too huge. I cast him down before the ship and roused my comrades, speaking to each man in turn with reassuring words: “My friends, though we are suffering, we will not yet go down into the house of Hades before our fated day arrives. Come now, while there is food and drink aboard our swift ship, let us remember to eat, and not be wasted by our hunger.”

So I spoke, and they quickly obeyed my words. They drew the coverings from their heads there by the barren sea and marvelled at the stag, for it was a magnificent beast. But when they had delighted their eyes with looking on it, they washed their hands and prepared a truly splendid feast. So for the whole day long, until the sun went down, we sat and feasted on boundless meat and sweet wine. But when the sun had set and darkness came upon the earth, we lay down to our rest upon the breaking of the sea. When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, I called my men to an assembly and spoke to them all: “Listen to my words, my friends, despite the ills we suffer. We do not know where the darkness is, nor where the dawn, nor where the sun that brings light to mortals sinks below the earth, nor where it rises. So let us quickly consider if any plan is left to us. For my part, I think not. For when I climbed the rugged lookout, I could see an island, crowned all round by the boundless, open sea. The island itself lies low, and in its very center my own eyes saw a wisp of smoke above the woods and thickets.” So I spoke, and their own dear hearts were broken in their chests as they remembered the deeds of Antiphates the Laestrygonian, and the violence of the great-hearted, man-eating Cyclops. They cried aloud, letting the heavy tears stream down their cheeks, but no good came of all their lamentation.

Then I divided all my well-greaved comrades into two platoons and appointed a leader for each company. I myself took command of one; godlike Eurylochus, the other. We quickly shook the lots inside a helmet made of bronze, and the lot of great-hearted Eurylochus leaped out. So he set off, and with him went two-and-twenty men, all weeping; and they left us behind them, also grieving. In a clearing in the vales they found the house of Circe, built of polished stones, in a place that could be seen from far. All around it there were mountain wolves and lions, whom she herself had bewitched with the evil drugs she gave them. They did not rush upon my men, but instead they rose and fawned around them, wagging their long tails. And as dogs will fawn about their master when he comes from a feast, for he always brings them morsels to appease their spirits, so the strong-clawed wolves and lions fawned about my men. But they were seized with fear when they saw the dreadful beasts. They stood in the gateway of the goddess with the lovely braids, and from within they could hear Circe singing in her lovely voice, as she moved about her great, immortal loom, weaving the kind of fine and graceful and glorious work the goddesses produce. Then Polites, a leader of men, spoke out among them, the one who was dearest and most trusted of my comrades: “Friends, someone inside is moving about a great loom and singing beautifully, and the whole floor echoes with the sound. A goddess or a woman. Come, let us call to her at once.”

So he spoke, and they called out and hailed her. She came out at once, opening her shining doors, and called them in. And all of them, in their folly, followed her. Only Eurylochus remained behind, for he suspected it was a trap. She led them in and seated them on chairs and high-backed thrones, and for them she mixed cheese and barley-meal and yellow honey with Pramnian wine, but in the food she mingled baleful drugs, so they might utterly forget their native land. And when she had given it and they had drunk it down, she then struck them with her wand and penned them in the pigsties. They had the heads and voice and bristles and the bodies of swine, but their minds remained unchanged, just as they were before. So they were penned in, weeping, and before them Circe threw acorns and mast and the fruit of the cornel tree to eat, such things as ground-wallowing swine are always wont to eat.

Eurylochus came quickly back to our swift, black ship to bring the news about his men and their unseemly fate. He could not speak a single word, though he was desperate to, his heart was so stricken with a great and profound grief. His eyes were filled with tears, his mind was bent on lamentation. But when we all, in our amazement, began to question him, at last he told the story of the others’ destruction: “We went, as you commanded, through the thickets, glorious Odysseus. We found in a clearing in the vales a beautiful house built of polished stones, in a place that could be seen from far. Someone there was moving about a great loom, singing in a clear voice, a goddess or a woman. My companions called to her. She came out at once, opening her shining doors, and called them in. And all of them, in their folly, followed her. But I remained behind, for I suspected it was a trap. And then they vanished all together, and not one of them appeared again, though I sat there a long time and kept watch.”

So he spoke, and I slung my silver-studded sword across my shoulders—a great blade of bronze—and my bow with it, and I ordered him to lead me back along that very road. But he clasped my knees with both his hands and pleaded with me, and weeping, spoke to me these winged words: “Do not lead me there against my will, O heaven-born, but leave me here. For I know you will not return yourself, nor will you bring back any of your companions. No, let us flee with these men now, for we might still escape the evil day of our doom.” So he spoke, and I answered him in turn and said: “Eurylochus, you may stay here in this place, for your part, eating and drinking by the hollow, black ship. But as for me, I will go. A powerful need is laid on me.” With that, I turned and went up from the ship and from the sea.

But as I was walking through the sacred glens, and about to reach the great house of Circe, the mistress of potions, there Hermes of the golden wand appeared and met me as I neared the house. He looked just like a young man with the first down on his lip, the age when youth is most graceful. He clasped my hand in his and spoke to me, and called me by my name: “Where are you going now, my luckless man, alone among these hills, a stranger to this country? Your companions are penned up in Circe’s halls, like swine, kept in crowded sties. Have you come here hoping to set them free? I tell you, you will not return yourself, but will stay here with the others. But come now, I will save you and deliver you from harm. Here, take this potent herb and go to Circe’s halls; it will ward the day of evil from your head. I will tell you all the deadly stratagems of Circe. She will mix a potion for you, and cast drugs into the food. But even so she cannot bewitch you, for the potent herb I will give you will prevent it. And I will tell you all the rest. When Circe strikes you with her immensely long wand, you must then draw the sharp sword from beside your thigh and rush at Circe, as if you meant to take her life. And she, in terror, will invite you to her bed. At that point you must not refuse the goddess’s embrace, so that she may release your men and give you welcome. But first, command her to swear the great oath of the blessed gods that she will plot no other wicked harm against you, lest she make you weak and unmanned when you are stripped bare.”

So spoke the Slayer of Argus, and he gave the herb to me, pulling it from the ground, and showed me what it was like. Its root was black, but its flower was like milk. The gods call it moly. It is hard for mortal men to dig it up, but the gods have power to do all things. Then Hermes left, departing for the heights of long Olympus across the wooded island, and I went on to Circe’s house, and my heart was dark and churning as I walked. I stood at the gates of the goddess with the lovely braids; I stood there and I called, and the goddess heard my voice. She came out at once, opening her shining doors, and called me in. I followed her, my heart consumed with grief. She led me in and seated me on a silver-studded throne, a beautiful, crafted chair, with a stool beneath my feet. She mixed a potion for me in a cup of gold, for me to drink, and into it she put a drug, with evil in her heart. But when she had given it and I had drunk, and was not charmed, she struck me with her wand and spoke a word and called my name: “Go now to the pigsty, and lie down with your other friends.” So she spoke, but I drew the sharp sword from beside my thigh and rushed at Circe, as if I meant to take her life. She gave a great cry and ran beneath my blade and clasped my knees, and weeping, she spoke to me with winged words: “Who are you and from where? Where is your city? Your parents? I am filled with wonder that you drank my drugs and were not charmed. For no other man has ever withstood these drugs of mine, no one who drank them, once they passed the barrier of his teeth. But you must have a mind within your chest that cannot be enchanted. Surely you are Odysseus, the man of many turns, whom the Slayer of Argus with the golden wand always told me would come here on his way back from Troy in his swift, black ship. But come now, put your sword back in its sheath, and let us two climb into my bed, so that we may, joined together in love and sleep, learn to place our trust in one another.”

So she spoke, and I answered her in turn and said: “O Circe, how can you ask me to be gentle with you, you who have turned my companions into swine within your halls, and now you keep me here, and with a treacherous heart you bid me go to your chamber and climb into your bed, so that you can make me weak and unmanned when I am stripped bare? I will not be willing to climb into your bed unless you can bring yourself, goddess, to swear a great oath that you will plot no other wicked harm against me.” So I spoke, and she at once swore the oath, as I commanded. And when she had sworn and brought the solemn oath to its conclusion, then at last I climbed into the beautiful bed of Circe.

Meanwhile, four handmaids were at work within her halls, who served as attendants throughout her house. They are born from the springs and from the sacred groves, and from the holy rivers that flow onward to the sea. One of them threw beautiful coverings on the chairs, purple cloths on top, with linen underneath. A second drew up silver tables before the chairs and set upon them baskets fashioned out of gold. A third one mixed the honey-hearted, pleasant wine in a silver bowl, and served it in cups of gold. The fourth brought water and kindled a great fire beneath a massive tripod, and the water warmed. When the water boiled in the cauldron of gleaming bronze, she sat me in a tub and bathed me from the great tripod, mixing the water to a pleasant warmth, pouring it over my head and shoulders, until she had washed away the soul-destroying weariness from all my limbs. When she had bathed me and anointed me with rich olive oil, she dressed me in a handsome cloak and tunic, and led me in and seated me on a silver-studded throne, a beautiful, crafted chair, with a stool beneath my feet. A handmaid brought water in a pitcher, a lovely one of gold, and poured it over a basin of silver for me to wash, and beside me she drew up a polished table. A revered housekeeper brought bread and set it by me, adding many delicacies, giving freely of her stores. She urged me to eat, but this brought no pleasure to my heart. I sat with other thoughts, and my spirit foresaw evils.

When Circe noticed I was sitting there, not reaching out my hands for the food, but nursing a powerful grief, she came and stood beside me and spoke with winged words: “Why do you sit like this, Odysseus, as if you were struck dumb, eating your heart out, touching neither food nor drink? Do you suspect some other trick? You have no need to fear, for I have already sworn a binding oath to you.” So she spoke, and I answered her in turn and said: “O Circe, what man, if he were just, could bring himself to taste of food or drink before he had freed his men and seen them with his own eyes? If you truly wish me to eat and drink, then set them free, so my own eyes may see my loyal companions.”

So I spoke, and Circe went out through the great hall, a wand in her hand, and opened the doors of the pigsty, and drove them out, looking like nine-year-old fattened hogs. They stood there before her, and she went among them, anointing each one with another kind of drug. And from their limbs the bristles fell away that had been grown by the accursed potion queenly Circe gave to them. They became men again, younger than they were before, and much more handsome and taller to behold. They knew me at once, and each man clasped my hands in his. A passionate weeping rose in all of them, and the house around them echoed with the dreadful sound. The goddess herself felt pity. Then the queen of goddesses stood beside me and she said: “Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many wiles, go now to your swift ship beside the breaking of the sea. First of all, you must haul your vessel up onto the land, and stow your goods and all your gear inside the hollow caves. Then come back yourself and bring your loyal companions.” So she spoke, and my own proud heart was won over. I went on my way to my swift ship beside the breaking of the sea. There by the swift ship I found my loyal companions, lamenting pitifully, shedding thick tears. As when the calves in a farmyard gather round the herd of cows returning to the pen, once they have grazed their fill, and all leap up together to greet them, and the pens no longer can hold them, but with constant lowing they run to circle their mothers; so my men, when they saw me with their own eyes, poured around me, weeping. And in their hearts it seemed as if they had returned to their own fatherland and city, in rugged Ithaca, where they were raised and born. And weeping, they addressed me with these winged words: “We are as joyful at your return, O heaven-born, as if we had arrived in Ithaca, our native land. But come, tell us the fate of all our other comrades.”

So they spoke, and I answered them with gentle words: “First of all, let us haul our vessel up onto the land, and stow our goods and all our gear inside the hollow caves. Then you must all make haste and come along with me, so you may see your comrades in the sacred halls of Circe, eating and drinking, for they have provisions for all time.” So I spoke, and they quickly obeyed my words. Eurylochus alone tried to hold back all my men; he raised his voice and spoke to them with winged words: “Ah, you poor wretches, where are we going? Why do you long for these evils, to go down to Circe’s hall? She will turn us all into pigs or wolves or lions, and we will be forced to guard her great house for her, just as the Cyclops did when our companions went into his courtyard, and with them went this reckless Odysseus. It was through his foolhardiness that those men also perished.”

So he spoke, and I considered in my mind drawing the long, sharp sword from beside my sturdy thigh and striking off his head and sending it to the ground, though he was my kinsman by marriage. But my companions held me back from all sides with soothing words: “Seed of Zeus, let us leave this man, if you command it, to stay here by the ship and to protect the ship. But you, lead us to the sacred halls of Circe.” So they spoke, and went up from the ship and from the sea. Nor was Eurylochus left by the hollow ship, but he followed, for he feared my terrible rebuke.

Meanwhile, Circe had bathed the other men in her halls with every care, and anointed them with rich olive oil, and dressed them in warm woolen cloaks and tunics. We found them all feasting well within the halls. When they saw each other and recognized each other face to face, they wept and wailed, and the whole house echoed with their grief. Then the queen of goddesses stood beside me and she said: “Do not stir up this flood of weeping any longer. I myself know all the pains you have suffered on the fish-filled sea, and all the wrongs that hostile men have done you on the land. But come now, eat your food and drink your wine, until you get the spirit back inside your chests, the way it was when you first left your native land of rugged Ithaca. Now you are withered and dispirited, always remembering your hard wandering, and your hearts have known no joy, for you have truly suffered much.” So she spoke, and our own proud hearts were won over. There we sat for the full circle of a year, day after day, feasting on boundless meat and sweet wine. But when a year was done, and the seasons had turned, as the months waned, and the long days were all fulfilled, then my loyal companions called me out and said: “Strange man, it is time now to remember your own native land, if it is fated that you will be saved and you will reach your high-roofed house and your own fatherland again.” So they spoke, and my own proud heart was won over. So for the whole day long, until the sun went down, we sat, feasting on boundless meat and sweet wine. But when the sun had set and darkness came upon the earth, they lay down to sleep throughout the shadowy halls. But I went up to Circe’s beautiful bed and clasped her knees in prayer, and the goddess heard my voice. I spoke to her and addressed her with these winged words: “O Circe, fulfill the promise that you made to me, to send me home. My spirit is eager for it now, and so are my companions, who wear away my heart with their laments around me, whenever you are gone.”

So I spoke, and the queen of goddesses answered at once: “Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many wiles, you must no longer stay here in my house against your will. But first you must complete another journey and arrive at the house of Hades and of dread Persephone, to seek the counsel of the spirit of Theban Teiresias, the blind prophet, whose mind remains steadfast. To him alone, though he is dead, Persephone has given true understanding; the others flit about like shadows.” So she spoke, and my own dear heart was broken in my chest. I sat on the bed and wept, and my heart no longer wished to live or to see the light of the sun. But when I had my fill of weeping and of writhing there, then at last I answered her and spoke these words: “O Circe, who will be the guide for me on this journey? No one has ever yet arrived at Hades in a black ship.”

So I spoke, and the queen of goddesses answered at once: “Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many wiles, let no thought of a guide for your ship trouble you. Just set up your mast, and spread the white sails wide, and take your seat; the breath of the North Wind will carry her. But when your ship has crossed the stream of Ocean, you will find a level shore and the groves of Persephone— tall black poplars and willows that shed their fruit too soon. There you must beach your ship by the deep-eddying Ocean and go yourself to the moldering house of Hades. There into Acheron the rivers Pyriphlegethon and Cocytus flow, which is a branch of the water of the Styx, and there is a rock where two loud-roaring rivers meet. There, hero, you must draw near, as I command you, and dig a pit, about a cubit square each way, and around it pour a libation to all the dead, first with milk and honey, then with sweet wine, and third with water. And over it sprinkle white barley meal. And pray earnestly to the strengthless heads of the dead, vowing that when you come to Ithaca, you will sacrifice a barren heifer in your halls, the best you have, and load a pyre with treasures; and to Teiresias alone you will offer a ram, all black, that is finest of your flocks. And when with prayers you have beseeched the glorious tribes of the dead, then you must sacrifice a ram and a black ewe, turning their heads toward Erebus, but turning yourself away, toward the river’s streams. And there the many spirits of the dead who have perished will come to you. Then you must call upon your men and command them to flay and burn the sheep that lie there, slain by the pitiless bronze, and pray to the gods, to mighty Hades and dread Persephone. But you yourself must draw the sharp sword from beside your thigh and sit there, and not let the strengthless heads of the dead draw near the blood, before you have questioned Teiresias. There the prophet will come to you at once, O leader of men, and he will tell you your path and the measure of your journey, and your return, how you will pass over the fish-filled sea.”

So she spoke, and at once came Dawn upon her golden throne. She dressed me in a cloak and tunic as my clothing. The nymph herself put on a great, shimmering white robe, fine-spun and graceful, and around her waist she cast a belt, a lovely one of gold, and on her head she set a veil. Then I went through the house and roused my companions, speaking to each man in turn with reassuring words: “No longer now should you be sleeping, tasting sweet slumber, but let us go, for the queenly Circe has instructed me.” So I spoke, and their own proud hearts were won over. But not even from there did I lead my companions away unscathed. There was one, Elpenor, the youngest of them all, not very valiant in war nor sound of mind. He had lain down apart from his friends in Circe’s sacred house, heavy with wine, seeking the cool air. When he heard the stir and noise of his companions moving, he sprang up suddenly and forgot in his mind to go back down by way of the long ladder, but fell headfirst from the roof. And his neck was broken from the vertebrae, and his spirit went down to the house of Hades. As my men were coming along, I spoke this word to them: “You think, no doubt, that you are going home to your own dear land, but Circe has marked out for us another journey, to the house of Hades and of dread Persephone, to seek the counsel of the spirit of Theban Teiresias.” So I spoke, and their own dear hearts were broken in their chests. They sat down right where they were and wept and tore their hair. But no good came of all their lamentation.

But as we were going to our swift ship and the shore of the sea, grieving and shedding thick tears, Circe in the meantime had gone to the black ship and had tied beside it a ram and a black ewe, slipping past us easily. For who with his own eyes could see a god who did not wish it, coming here or there?