a man from the dark-prowed craft and whisks him off.
The other crag is lower —you will see, Odysseus —
though both lie side-by-side, an arrow-shot apart.
Atop it a great fig-tree rises, shaggy with leaves,
115 beneath it awesome Charybdis gulps the dark water down.
Three times a day she vomits it up, three times she gulps it down,
that terror! Don’t be there when the whirlpool swallows down —
not even the earthquake god could save you from disaster.
No, hug Scylla’s crag —sail on past her —top speed!
120 Better by far to lose six men and keep your ship
than lose your entire crew.’
‘Yes, yes,
but tell me the truth now, goddess,’ I protested.
‘Deadly Charybdis —can’t I possibly cut and run from her
and still fight Scylla off when Scylla strikes my men?’
‘So stubborn!’ the lovely goddess countered.
‘Hell-bent yet again on battle and feats of arms?
Can’t you bow to the deathless gods themselves?
Scylla’s no mortal, she’s an immortal devastation,
terrible, savage, wild, no fighting her, no defense —
130 just flee the creature, that’s the only way.
Waste any time, arming for battle beside her rock,
I fear she’ll lunge out again with all of her six heads
and seize as many men. No, row for your lives,
invoke Brute Force, I tell you, Scylla’s mother —
she spawned her to scourge mankind,
she can stop the monster’s next attack!
Then you will make the island of Thrinacia . . .
where herds of the Sungod’s cattle graze, and fat sheep
and seven herds of oxen, as many sheepflocks, rich and woolly,
140 fifty head in each. No breeding swells their number,
nor do they ever die. And goddesses herd them on,
142 nymphs with glinting hair, Phaëthousa, Lampetie,
143 born to the Sungod Helios by radiant Neaera.
Their queenly mother bred and reared them both
then settled them on the island of Thrinacia —
their homeland seas away —
to guard their father’s sheep and longhorn cattle.
148 Leave the beasts unharmed, your mind set on home,
and you all may still reach Ithaca —bent with hardship,
150 true —but harm them in any way, and I can see it now:
your ship destroyed, your men destroyed as well!
And even if you escape, you’ll come home late,
all shipmates lost, and come a broken man.’
At those words Dawn rose on her golden throne
and lustrous Circe made her way back up the island.
I went straight to my ship, commanding all hands
to take to the decks and cast off cables quickly.
They swung aboard at once, they sat to the oars in ranks
and in rhythm churned the water white with stroke on stroke.
160 And Circe the nymph with glossy braids, the awesome one
who speaks with human voice, sent us a hardy shipmate,
yes, a fresh following wind ruffling up in our wake,
bellying out our sail to drive our blue prow on as we,
securing the running gear from stem to stern, sat back
while the wind and helmsman kept her true on course.
At last, and sore at heart, I told my shipmates,
‘Friends . . . it’s wrong for only one or two
to know the revelations that lovely Circe
made to me alone. I’ll tell you all,
170 so we can die with our eyes wide open now
or escape our fate and certain death together.
First, she warns, we must steer clear of the Sirens,
their enchanting song, their meadow starred with flowers.
I alone was to hear their voices, so she said,
but you must bind me with tight chafing ropes
so I cannot move a muscle, bound to the spot,
erect at the mast-block, lashed by ropes to the mast.
And if I plead, commanding you to set me free,
then lash me faster, rope on pressing rope.’
180 So I informed my shipmates point by point,
all the while our trim ship was speeding toward
the Sirens’ island, driven on by the brisk wind.
But then —the wind fell in an instant,
all glazed to a dead calm . . .
a mysterious power hushed the heaving swells.
The oarsmen leapt to their feet, struck the sail,
stowed it deep in the hold and sat to the oarlocks,
thrashing with polished oars, frothing the water white.
Now with a sharp sword I sliced an ample wheel of beeswax
190 down into pieces, kneaded them in my two strong hands
and the wax soon grew soft, worked by my strength
and Helios’ burning rays, the sun at high noon,
and I stopped the ears of my comrades one by one.
They bound me hand and foot in the tight ship —
erect at the mast-block, lashed by ropes to the mast —
and rowed and churned the whitecaps stroke on stroke.
We were just offshore as far as a man’s shout can carry,
scudding close, when the Sirens sensed at once a ship
was racing past and burst into their high, thrilling song:
200 ‘Come closer, famous Odysseus —Achaea’s pride and glory —
moor your ship on our coast so you can hear our song!
Never has any sailor passed our shores in his black craft
until he has heard the honeyed voices pouring from our lips,
and once he hears to his heart’s content sails on, a wiser man.
We know all the pains that the Greeks and Trojans once endured
on the spreading plain of Troy when the gods willed it so —
all that comes to pass on the fertile earth, we know it all!’
So they sent their ravishing voices out across the air
and the heart inside me throbbed to listen longer.
210 I signaled the crew with frowns to set me free —
they flung themselves at the oars and rowed on harder,
Perimedes and Eurylochus springing up at once
to bind me faster with rope on chafing rope.
But once we’d left the Sirens fading in our wake,
once we could hear their song no more, their urgent call —
my steadfast crew was quick to remove the wax I’d used
to seal their ears and loosed the bonds that lashed me.
We’d scarcely put that island astern when suddenly
I saw smoke and heavy breakers, heard their booming thunder.
220 The men were terrified —oarblades flew from their grip,
clattering down to splash in the vessel’s wash.
She lay there, dead in the water . . .
no hands to tug the blades that drove her on.
But I strode down the decks to rouse my crewmen,
halting beside each one with a bracing, winning word:
‘Friends, we’re hardly strangers at meeting danger —
and this danger is no worse than what we faced
when Cyclops penned us up in his vaulted cave
with crushing force! But even from there my courage,
230 my presence of mind and tactics saved us all,
and we will live to remember this someday,
I have no doubt. Up now, follow my orders,
all of us work as one! You men at the thwarts —
lay on with your oars and strike the heaving swells,
trusting that Zeus will pull us through these straits alive.
You, helmsman, here’s your ord
er —burn it in your mind —
the steering-oar of our rolling ship is in your hands.
Keep her clear of that smoke and surging breakers,
head for those crags or she’ll catch you off guard,
240 she’ll yaw over there —you’ll plunge us all in ruin!’
So I shouted. They snapped to each command.
No mention of Scylla —how to fight that nightmare? —
for fear the men would panic, desert their oars
and huddle down and stow themselves away.
But now I cleared my mind of Circe’s orders —
cramping my style, urging me not to arm at all.
I donned my heroic armor, seized long spears
in both my hands and marched out on the half-deck,
forward, hoping from there to catch the first glimpse
250 of Scylla, ghoul of the cliffs, swooping to kill my men.
But nowhere could I make her out —and my eyes ached,
scanning that mist-bound rock face top to bottom.
Now wailing in fear, we rowed on up those straits,
Scylla to starboard, dreaded Charybdis off to port,
her horrible whirlpool gulping the sea-surge down, down
but when she spewed it up —like a cauldron over a raging fire —
all her churning depths would seethe and heave —exploding spray
showering down to splatter the peaks of both crags at once!
But when she swallowed the sea-surge down her gaping maw
260 the whole abyss lay bare and the rocks around her roared,
terrible, deafening —
bedrock showed down deep, boiling
black with sand —
and ashen terror gripped the men.
But now, fearing death, all eyes fixed on Charybdis —
now Scylla snatched six men from our hollow ship,
the toughest, strongest hands I had, and glancing
backward over the decks, searching for my crew
I could see their hands and feet already hoisted,
flailing, high, higher, over my head, look —
wailing down at me, comrades riven in agony,
270 shrieking out my name for one last time!
Just as an angler poised on a jutting rock
flings his treacherous bait in the offshore swell,
whips his long rod —hook sheathed in an oxhorn lure —
and whisks up little fish he flips on the beach-break,
writhing, gasping out their lives . . . so now they writhed,
gasping as Scylla swung them up her cliff and there
at her cavern’s mouth she bolted them down raw —
screaming out, flinging their arms toward me,
lost in that mortal struggle . . .
280 Of all the pitiful things I’ve had to witness,
suffering, searching out the pathways of the sea,
this wrenched my heart the most.
But now, at last,
putting the Rocks, Scylla and dread Charybdis far astern,
we quickly reached the good green island of the Sun
285 where Helios, lord Hyperion, keeps his fine cattle,
broad in the brow, and flocks of purebred sheep.
Still aboard my black ship in the open sea
I could hear the lowing cattle driven home,
the bleating sheep. And I was struck once more
290 by the words of the blind Theban prophet, Tiresias,
and Aeaean Circe too: time and again they told me
to shun this island of the Sun, the joy of man.
So I warned my shipmates gravely, sick at heart,
‘Listen to me, my comrades, brothers in hardship,
let me tell you the dire prophecies of Tiresias
and Aeaean Circe too: time and again they told me
to shun this island of the Sun, the joy of man.
Here, they warned, the worst disaster awaits us.
Row straight past these shores —race our black ship on!’
300 So I said, and the warnings broke their hearts.
But Eurylochus waded in at once —with mutiny on his mind:
‘You’re a hard man, Odysseus. Your fighting spirit’s
stronger than ours, your stamina never fails.
You must be made of iron head to foot. Look,
your crew’s half-dead with labor, starved for sleep,
and you forbid us to set foot on land, this island here,
washed by the waves, where we might catch a decent meal again.
Drained as we are, night falling fast, you’d have us desert
this haven and blunder off, into the mist-bound seas?
310 Out of the night come winds that shatter vessels —
how can a man escape his headlong death
if suddenly, out of nowhere, a cyclone hits,
bred by the South or stormy West Wind? They’re the gales
that tear a ship to splinters —the gods, our masters,
willing or not, it seems. No, let’s give way
to the dark night, set out our supper here.
Sit tight by our swift ship and then at daybreak
board and launch her, make for open sea!’
So Eurylochus urged, and shipmates cheered.
320 Then I knew some power was brewing trouble for us,
so I let fly with an anxious plea: ‘Eurylochus,
I’m one against all —the upper hand is yours.
But swear me a binding oath, all here, that if
we come on a herd of cattle or fine flock of sheep,
not one man among us —blind in his reckless ways —
will slaughter an ox or ram. Just eat in peace,
content with the food immortal Circe gave us.’
They quickly swore the oath that I required
and once they had vowed they’d never harm the herds,
330 they moored our sturdy ship in the deep narrow harbor,
close to a fresh spring, and all hands disembarked
and adeptly set about the evening meal.
Once they’d put aside desire for food and drink,
they recalled our dear companions, wept for the men
that Scylla plucked from the hollow ship and ate alive,
and a welcome sleep came on them in their tears.
But then,
337 at the night’s third watch, the stars just wheeling down,
Zeus who marshals the stormclouds loosed a ripping wind,
a howling, demonic gale, shrouding over in thunderheads
340 the earth and sea at once —and night swept down from the sky.
When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more
we hauled our craft ashore, securing her in a vaulted cave
where nymphs have lovely dancing-rings and hold their sessions.
There I called a muster, warning my shipmates yet again,
‘Friends, we’ve food and drink aplenty aboard the ship —
keep your hands off all these herds or we will pay the price!
The cattle, the sleek flocks, belong to an awesome master,
Helios, god of the sun who sees all, hears all things.’
So I warned, and my headstrong men complied.
350 But for one whole month the South Wind blew nonstop,
no other wind came up, none but the South, Southeast.
As long as our food and ruddy wine held out, the crew,
eager to save their lives, kept hands off the herds.
But then, when supplies aboard had all run dry,
when the men turned to hunting, forced to range
for quarry with twisted hooks: for fish, birds,
anything they could lay their hands on —
hunger racked their bellies —I struck inland,
up the island, there to pray to the gods.
360 If only one might show me some way home!
Crossing into the heart
land, clear of the crew,
I rinsed my hands in a sheltered spot, a windbreak,
but soon as I’d prayed to all the gods who rule Olympus,
down on my eyes they poured a sweet, sound sleep . . .
as Eurylochus opened up his fatal plan to friends:
‘Listen to me, my comrades, brothers in hardship.
All ways of dying are hateful to us poor mortals,
true, but to die of hunger, starve to death —
that’s the worst of all. So up with you now,
370 let’s drive off the pick of Helios’ sleek herds,
slaughter them to the gods who rule the skies up there.
If we ever make it home to Ithaca, native ground,
erect at once a glorious temple to the Sungod,
line the walls with hoards of dazzling gifts!
But if the Sun, inflamed for his longhorn cattle,
means to wreck our ship and the other gods pitch in —
I’d rather die at sea, with one deep gulp of death,
than die by inches on this desolate island here!’
So he urged, and shipmates cheered again.
380 At once they drove off the Sungod’s finest cattle —
close at hand, not far from the blue-prowed ship they grazed,
those splendid beasts with their broad brows and curving horns.
Surrounding them in a ring, they lifted prayers to the gods,
384 plucking fresh green leaves from a tall oak for the rite,
since white strewing-barley was long gone in the ship.
Once they’d prayed, slaughtered and skinned the cattle,
they cut the thighbones out, they wrapped them round in fat,
a double fold sliced clean and topped with strips of flesh.
And since they had no wine to anoint the glowing victims,
390 they made libations with water, broiling all the innards,
and once they’d burned the bones and tasted the organs —
hacked the rest into pieces, piercing them with spits.
That moment soothing slumber fell from my eyes
and down I went to our ship at the water’s edge
but on my way, nearing the long beaked craft,
the smoky savor of roasts came floating up around me . . .
I groaned in anguish, crying out to the deathless gods:
‘Father Zeus! the rest of you blissful gods who never die —
you with your fatal sleep, you lulled me into disaster.
400 Left on their own, look what a monstrous thing
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