pointed out the divine swineherd, who most of his biotos
had care of the domestics, whom divine Odysseus acquired.

          Him—voilà—he came across sitting on the porch, where his court
          had been built high, with a view all around,
          fine and grand, encircling it: which, note, the swineherd
          himself built for his pigs while the lord was absent,
          apart from the mistress and old man Laertes,
          with stones he’d hauled, and he topped it with prickly pear:
          and outside he drove stakes all along, here, and here,
          thick and fast, splitting apart the black of the oak:
          but inside the court he made twelve sties
          near one another, beds for pigs: and in each
          fifty ground-bedding pigs were penned…

But still, you, I think, looking at the straw,
recognize it: ah, heaping misery has hold of me.

Oh yes Ares and Athena gave me daring,
and man-crushing strength: whenever I am choosing for the ambush
men who are best, sowing evils for enemies,
never does death my spirit manly foresee for me,
but leaping far the foremost I’d take with my spear
men, enemies, whoever yielded to me with his feet.

          That’s how I was in war. As for work, it never did please me,
          nor the growing of the household, which nurtures shining children.
          But for me, oared ships were always dear,
          and wars, and sharp javelins and arrows,
          baneful things, that come as a shudder to others.
          Well, these things were dear to me, that I guess a god put in my head;
          different men, you know, like different kinds of “work”!
          Before the sons of the Achaeans landed at Troy,
          nine times I led men and sea-coursing ships
          against men of other lands, and many things fell in my lap.
          Of these I picked out what suited me, and a lot, later,
          fell to my lot. And pretty quick my household grew, and then you bet
          I got myself feared and revered among the Cretans.

                                  and god fosters his work even more,
as even in my case this work is fostered, in which I persist.

For a month, only, I stayed, enjoying my children
and my wedded wife and possessions. But then
my thumos urged me to sail for Egypt

O popoi, how little you were, swineherd Eumaeus,
when you were driven far from your fatherland and your parents!
But come, tell me this and tally it precisely,
was it ravaged by men—the town with wide ways,
in which your father lived and your mistress mother,
or while you were alone among sheep or cattle
did hostile men take you in ships and cross you over
to the house of this man, and he gave a worthy price?

There is a certain island called Syrie—perhaps you’ve heard of it:
above Ortygia, where are the turnings of the sun.
Not at all too populous, but good:
good for grazing, good for flocks, full of wine, lots of wheat.
Hunger never approaches the people, nor does any other
illness come around, chilling for poor mortals.
But when they get old, the tribes of folks in this city,
approaching, silver-bowed Apollo, with Artemis,
with their gentle arrows plying, put to death.
There are two cities, and every thing is divided in twain:
and of them both my father was the king,
Ktesios son of Ormenos, like to the immortals.

First, as she was washing, someone mingled with her by a hollow ship
in bed and in love, which beguile the minds
of tender women, even one ever so good at her work.

so clever/profitable is he, running along outside:
him I can bring on board, and he would fetch you an exorbitant price,
wherever you sell him among foreign peoples.