第2章

Hesawtheseafromthehill-topglitteringasofyore，buttherewerenobrownsailsoffisher-boatsonthesea。Allthelandthatshouldnowhavewavedwiththewhitecornwasgreenwithtangledweeds。Half-

waydowntheruggedpathwasagroveofalders，andthebasinintowhichwaterflowedfromtheoldfountainoftheNymphs。Butnomaidensweretherewiththeirpitchers；thebasinwasbroken，andgreenwithmould；thewaterslippedthroughthecrevicesandhurriedtothesea。

Therewerenoofferingsofwayfarers，ragsandpebbles，bythewell；

andonthealtaroftheNymphstheflamehadlongbeencold。Theveryasheswerecoveredwithgrass，andabranchofivyhadhiddenthestoneofsacrifice。

OntheWandererpressedwithaheavyheart；nowthehighroofofhisownhallandthewidefencedcourtswerewithinhissight，andhehurriedforwardtoknowtheworst。

Toosoonhesawthattheroofsweresmokeless，andallthecourtwasdeepinweeds。WherethealtarofZeushadstoodinthemidstofthecourttherewasnownoaltar，butagreat，greymound，notofearth，butofwhitedustmixedwithblack。Overthismoundthecoarsegrassprickedupscantily，likethinhaironaleprosy。

ThentheWanderershuddered，foroutofthegreymoundpeepedthecharredblackbonesofthedead。Hedrewnear，and，lo！thewholeheapwasofnothingelsethantheashesofmenandwomen。Deathhadbeenbusyhere:heremanypeoplehadperishedofapestilence。Theyhadallbeenconsumedononefuneralfire，whiletheywholaidthemtheremusthavefled，fortherewasnosignoflivingman。Thedoorsgapedopen，andnoneentered，andnonecameforth。Thehousewasdead，likethepeoplewhohaddweltinit。

ThentheWandererpausedwhereoncetheoldhoundArgoshadwelcomedhimandhaddiedinthatwelcome。There，unwelcomed，hestood，leaningonhisstaff。Thenasuddenrayofthesunfellonsomethingthatglitteredintheheap，andhetoucheditwiththeendofthestaffthathehadinhishand。Itslidjinglingfromtheheap；itwastheboneofaforearm，andthatwhichglitteredonitwasahalf-moltenringofgold。Onthegoldlambdathesecharacterswereengraved:

(Icmaliosmademe。)

AtthesightofthearmlettheWandererfellontheearth，grovellingamongtheashesofthepyre，forheknewthegoldringwhichhehadbroughtfromEphyrelongago，foragifttohiswifePenelope。Thiswasthebraceletofthebrideofhisyouth，andhere，amockeryandaterror，werethosekindarmsinwhichhehadlain。Thenhisstrengthwasshakenwithsobbing，andhishandsclutchedblindlybeforehim，andhegathereddustandcastituponhisheadtillthedarklocksweredefiledwiththeashesofhisdearest，andhelongedtodie。

Therehelay，bitinghishandsforsorrow，andforwrathagainstGodandFate。Therehelaywhilethesunintheheavenssmotehim，andheknewitnot；whilethewindofthesunsetstirredinhishair，andhestirrednot。Hecouldnotevenshedonetear，forthiswasthesorestofallthesorrowsthathehadknownonthewavesofthesea，oronlandamongthewarsofmen。

Thesunfellandthewaysweredarkened。Slowlytheeasternskygrewsilverwiththemoon。Anight-fowl’svoicewasheardfromafar，itdrewnearer；thenthroughtheshadowofthepyretheblackwingsflutteredintothelight，andthecarrionbirdfixeditstalonsanditsbeakontheWanderer’sneck。Thenhemovedatlength，tossedupanarm，andcaughtthebirdofdarknessbytheneck，andbrokeit，anddasheditontheground。Hissickheartwasmadwiththelittlesuddenpain，andheclutchedfortheknifeinhisgirdlethathemightslayhimself，buthewasunarmed。Atlastherose，muttering，andstoodinthemoonlight，likealioninsomeruinouspalaceofforgottenkings。

Hewasfaintwithhungerandweakwithlonglamenting，ashesteppedwithinhisowndoors。Therehepausedonthathighthresholdofstonewhereoncehehadsatinthedisguiseofabeggar，thatverythresholdwhence，onanotherday，hehadshottheshaftsofdoomamongthewooersofhiswifeandthewastersofhishome。Butnowhiswifewasdead:allhisvoyagingwasendedhere，andallhiswarswerevain。Inthewhitelightthehouseofhiskingshipwasnomorethantheghostofahome，dreadful，unfamiliar，emptyofwarmthandloveandlight。

Thetableswerefallenhereandtherethroughoutthelonghall；

moulderingbones，fromthefuneralfeast，andshatteredcupsanddisheslayinoneconfusion；theivorychairswerebroken，andonthewallsthemoonbeamsglistenednowandagainfrompointsofsteelandbladesofbronze，thoughmanyswordsweredarkwithrust。

Butthere，initsgleamingcase，layonethingfriendlyandfamiliar。

TherelaytheBowofEurytus，thebowforwhichgreatHeracleshadslainhisownhostinhishalls；thedreadfulbowthatnomortalmanbuttheWanderercouldbend。Hewasneverusedtocarrythispreciousbowwithhimonshipboard，whenhewenttothewars，buttreasureditathome，thememorialofadearfriendfoullyslain。Sonow，whenthevoicesofdog，andslave，andchild，andwifeweremute，thereyetcameoutofthestillnessawordofwelcometotheWanderer。Forthisbow，whichhadthrilledinthegripofagod，andhadscatteredtheshaftsofthevengeanceofHeracles，waswondrouslymadeandmagical。

Aspiritdweltwithinitwhichknewofthingstocome，whichbodedthebattlefromafar，andthereforealwaysbeforetheslayingofmenthebowsangstrangelythroughthenight。Thevoiceofitwasthinandshrill，aringingandasingingofthestringandofthebow。WhiletheWandererstoodandlookedonhisweapon，hark！thebowbegantothrill！Thesoundwasfaintatfirst，athinnote，butashelistenedthevoiceofitinthatsilencegrewclear，strong，angryandtriumphant。Inhisearsandtohisheartitseemedthatthewordlesschantrangthus:

KeenandlowDoththearrowsingTheSongoftheBow，Thesoundofthestring。

Theshaftscryshrill:

Letusforthagain，LetusfeedourfillOnthefleshofmen。

GreedyandfleetDoweflyfromfar，LikethebirdsthatmeetForthefeastofwar，TilltheairoffightWithourwingsbestirred，AsitwhirrsfromtheflightOftheraveningbird。

LiketheflakesthatdriftOnthesnow-wind’sbreath，Manyandswift，Andwingedfordeath——

Greedyandfleet，Dowespeedfromfar，LikethebirdsthatmeetOnthebridgeofwar。

Fleetasghoststhatwail，Whenthedartstrikestrue，Dotheswiftshaftshail，Tilltheydrinkwarmdew。

KeenandlowDothegreyshaftssingTheSongoftheBow，Thesoundofthestring。

ThiswasthemessageofDeath，andthiswasthefirstsoundthathadbrokenthestillnessofhishome。

Atthewelcomeofthismusicwhichspoketohisheart——thismusichehadheardsomanyatime——theWandererknewthattherewaswarathand。Heknewthatthewingsofhisarrowsshouldbeswifttofly，andtheirbeaksofbronzewerewhettedtodrinkthebloodofmen。Heputouthishandandtookthebow，andtriedthestring，anditansweredshrillasthesongoftheswallow。

Thenatlength，whenheheardthebowstringtwangtohistouch，thefountainsofhissorrowwereunsealed；tearscamelikesoftrainsonafrozenland，andtheWandererwept。

Whenhehadhisfillofweeping，herose，forhungerdrovehim——hungerthatisofallthingsthemostshameless，beingstrongerfarthansorrow，orlove，oranyotherdesire。TheWandererfoundhiswaythroughthenarrowdoorbehindthedais，andstumblingnowandagainoverfallenfragmentsofthehomewhichhehimselfhadbuilt，hewenttotheinner，secretstorehouse。Even/he/couldscarcelyfindthedoor，forsaplingsoftreeshadgrownupaboutit；yethefounditatlast。Withintheholywellthewaterwasyetbabblingandshininginthemoonlightoverthesilversands；andhere，too，therewasstoreofmoulderinggrain，forthehousehadbeenabundantlyrichwhenthegreatplaguefelluponthepeoplewhilehewasfaraway。Sohefoundfoodtosatisfyhishunger，afterasort，andnexthegatheredtogetheroutofhistreasure-chestthebeautifulgoldenarmourofunhappyParis，sonofPriam，thefalseloveoffairHelen。ThesearmshadbeentakenatthesackofTroy，andhadlainlonginthetreasuryofMenelausinSparta；butonadayhehadgiventhemtoOdysseus，thedearestofallhisguests。TheWanderercladhimselfinthisgoldengear，andtooktheswordcalled“Euryalus’sGift，“abronzebladewithasilverhilt，andasheathofivory，whichastrangerhadgivenhiminafar-offland。Alreadytheloveoflifehadcomebacktohim，nowthathehadeatenanddrunk，andhadheardtheSongoftheBow，theSlayerofMen。Helivedyet，andhopelivedinhimthoughhishousewasdesolate，andhisweddedwifewasdead，andtherewasnonetogivehimtidingsofhisonechild，Telemachus。Evensolifebeatstronginhisheart，andhishandswouldkeephisheadifanysea-robbershadcometothecityofIthacaandmadetheirhomethere，likehawksintheforsakennestofaneagleofthesea。Sohecladhimselfinhisarmour，andchoseouttwospearsfromastandoflances，andcleanedthem，andgirtabouthisshouldersaquiverfullofshafts，andtookinhandhisgreatbow，theBowofEurytus，whichnoothermancouldbend。

Thenhewentforthfromtheruinedhouseintothemoonlight，wentforthforthelasttime；forneveragaindidthehighroofechotothefootstepofitslord。Longhasthegrassgrownoverit，andthesea-

windwailed！

Thefragrantnightwasclearandstill，thesilencescarcebrokenbythelappingofthewaves，astheWandererwentdownfromhisfallenhometothecityonthesea，walkingwarily，andwatchingforanylightfromthehousesofthepeople。Buttheywereallasdarkashisown，manyofthemrooflessandruined，for，aftertheplague，anearthquakehadsmittenthecity。Thereweregapingchasmsintheroad，hereandthere，andthroughriftsinthewallsofthehousesthemoonshonestrangely，makingraggedshadows。AtlasttheWandererreachedtheTempleofAthene，theGoddessofWar；buttheroofhadfallenin，thepillarswereoverset，andthescentofwildthymegrowinginthebrokenpavementrosewherehewalked。Yet，ashestoodbythedoorofthefane，wherehehadburnedsomanyasacrifice，atlengthhespiedalightblazingfromthewindowsofagreatchapelbythesea。ItwastheTempleofAphrodite，theQueenofLove，andfromtheopendoorasweetsavourofincenseandagoldenblazerushedforthtilltheywerelostinthesilverofthemoonshineandinthesaltsmellofthesea。

ThithertheWandererwentslowly，forhislimbswereswayingwithweariness，andhewashalfinadream。Yethehidhimselfcunninglyintheshadowofalongavenueofmyrtles，forheguessedthatsea-

robberswerekeepingrevelintheforsakenshrine。ButheheardnosoundofsingingandnotreadofdancingfeetwithinthefaneoftheGoddessofLove；thesacredplotofthegoddessandherchapelsweresilent。Hehearkenedawhile，andwatched，tillatlasthetookcourage，drewnearthedoors，andenteredtheholyplace。Butinthetall，bronzebrazierstherewerenofaggotsburning，norweretheretorcheslightedinthehandsofthegoldenmenandmaids，theimagesthatstandwithinthefaneofAphrodite。Yet，ifhedidnotdream，nortakemoonlightforfire，thetemplewasbathedinshowersofgoldbyasplendourofflame。Nonemightseeitscentrenoritsfountain；itsprangneitherfromthealtarnorthestatueofthegoddess，butwaseverywhereimminent，aglorynotofthisworld，afireuntendedandunlit。Andthepaintedwallswiththestoriesofthelovesofmenandgods，andthecarvenpillarsandthebeams，andtheroofofgreen，werebrightwithflamingfire！