Quisquis ad haec vertit peregrinam litora puppim,
ille mihi de te multa rogatus abit, 60
quamque tibi reddat, si te modo viderit usquam,
traditur huic digitis charta notata meis.
nos Pylon, antiqui Neleia Nestoris arva,
misimus; incerta est fama remissa Pylo.
misimus et Sparten; Sparte quoque nescia veri. 65
quas habitas terras, aut ubi lentus abes?
utilius starent etiamnunc moenia Phoebi—
irascor votis, heu, levis ipsa meis!
scirem ubi pugnares, et tantum bella timerem,
et mea cum multis iuncta querela foret. 70
quid timeam, ignoro—timeo tamen omnia demens,
et patet in curas area lata meas.
quaecumque aequor habet, quaecumque pericula tellus,
tam longae causas suspicor esse morae.
haec ego dum stulte metuo, quae vestra libido est, 75
esse peregrino captus amore potes.
forsitan et narres, quam sit tibi rustica coniunx,
quae tantum lanas non sinat esse rudes.
fallar, et hoc crimen tenues vanescat in auras,
neve, revertendi liber, abesse velis! 80
Me pater Icarius viduo discedere lecto
cogit et immensas increpat usque moras.
increpet usque licet—tua sum, tua dicar oportet;
Penelope coniunx semper Ulixis ero.
ille tamen pietate mea precibusque pudicis 85
frangitur et vires temperat ipse suas.
Dulichii Samiique et quos tulit alta Zacynthos,
turba ruunt in me luxuriosa proci,
inque tua regnant nullis prohibentibus aula;
viscera nostra, tuae dilacerantur opes. 90
quid tibi Pisandrum Polybumque Medontaque dirum
Eurymachique avidas Antinoique manus
atque alios referam, quos omnis turpiter absens
ipse tuo partis sanguine rebus alis?
Irus egens pecorisque Melanthius actor edendi 95
ultimus accedunt in tua damna pudor.
Tres sumus inbelles numero, sine viribus uxor
Laertesque senex Telemachusque puer.
ille per insidias paene est mihi nuper ademptus,
dum parat invitis omnibus ire Pylon. 100
di, precor, hoc iubeant, ut euntibus ordine fatis
ille meos oculos conprimat, ille tuos!
hac faciunt custosque boum longaevaque nutrix,
Tertius inmundae cura fidelis harae;
sed neque Laertes, ut qui sit inutilis armis, 105
hostibus in mediis regna tenere potest—
Telemacho veniet, vivat modo, fortior aetas;
nunc erat auxiliis illa tuenda patris—
nec mihi sunt vires inimicos pellere tectis.
tu citius venias, portus et ara tuis! 110
est tibi sitque, precor, natus, qui mollibus annis
in patrias artes erudiendus erat.
respice Laerten; ut tu sua lumina condas,
extremum fati sustinet ille diem.
Certe ego, quae fueram te discedente puella, 115
protinus ut venias, facta videbor anus.
59 Whoso turns to these shores of ours his stranger ship is plied with many a question ere he go away, and into his hand is given the sheet writ by these fingers of mine, to render up should he but see you anywhere. We have sent to Pylos, the land of ancient Nestor, Neleus’ son; the word brought back from Pylos was nothing sure. We have sent to Sparta, too; Sparta also could tell us nothing true. In what lands are you abiding, or where do you idly tarry? Better for me, were the walls of Phoebus still standing in their place—ah me inconstant, I am wroth with the vows myself have made! Had they not fallen, I should know where you were fighting, and have only war to fear, and my plaint would be joined with that of many another. But now, what I am to fear I know not—yet none the less I fear all things, distraught, and wide is the field lies open for my cares. Whatever dangers the deep contains, whatever the land, suspicion tells me are cause of your long delay. While I live on in foolish fear of things like these, you may be captive to a stranger love—such are the hearts of you men! It may be you even tell how rustic a wife you have—one fit only to dress fine the wool. May I be mistaken, and this charge of mine be found slight as the breeze that blows, and may it not be that, free to return, you will to be away!
81 As for me—my father Icarius enjoins on me to quit my widowed couch, and ever chides me for my measureless delay. Let him chide on — yours I am, yours must I be called; Penelope, the wife of Ulysses, ever shall I be. Yet is he bent by my faithfulness and my chaste prayers, and of himself abates his urgency. The men of Dulichium and Samos, and they whom high Zacynthus bore—a wanton throng—come pressing about me, suing for my hand. In your own hall they are masters, with none to say them nay; your goods, my very life, are being pillaged. Why tell you of Pisander, and of Polybus, and of Medon the cruel, and of the grasping hands of Eurymachus and Antinous, and of others, all of whom through shameful absence you yourself are feeding fat with store that was won at cost of your blood? Irus the beggar, and Melanthius, who drives in your flocks to be consumed, are the crowning disgrace now added to your ruin.
97 We number only three, unused to war—a powerless wife; Laertes, an old man; Telemachus, a boy. He was of late all but waylaid and taken from me, while making ready, against the will of all of them, to go to Pylos. The gods grant, I pray, that our fated ends may come in due succession—that he be the one to close my eyes, the one to close yours! To sustain our cause are the guardian of your cattle and the ancient nurse, and, as a third, the faithful ward of the unclean stye; but neither Laertes, unable as he is to wield arms now, can sway the sceptre in the midst of our foes—Telemachus, indeed, so he live on, will arrive at years of strength, but now should have his father’s aid and guarding—nor have I strength to repel the enemy from our halls. Do you yourself make haste to come, haven and altar of safety for your own! You have a son—and may you have him ever, is my prayer—who in his tender years should have been trained by you in his father’s ways. Have regard for Laertes; in the hope that you will come at last to close his eyes, he is withstanding the final day of fate.
115 As for myself, who when you left my side was but a girl, though you should come straightway, I surely shall seem grown an aged dame.