This is not princely, to be sweptaway by wonder at your father’s presence.No other Odysseus will ever come,for he and I are one, the same; his bitterfortune and his wanderings are mine.Twenty years gone, and I am back againon my own island.
“Dear father! Tell mewhat kind of vessel put you here ashore on Ithaca? Your sailors, who were they?I doubt you made it, walking on the sea!”
He never shrank from any savage thing he’d brought to bay in the deep woods; on the scent no other dog kept up with him. Now misery has him in leash. His owner died abroad, and here the women slaves will take no care of him. You know how servants are: without a master they have no will to labor, or excel.
Odysseus only shook his head, containing thoughts of bloody work, as he walked on, then sat, and dropped his loaded bag again upon the door sill.