‘Arete, daughter of godlike Rhexenor, after many labours I come as a suppliant to your knees, at your husband’s feet and your guests’, and may the gods bring them happiness in life, and may each leave the wealth of these halls, and his honours from the people, to his children. But let me be returned quickly to my own land, for I have long suffered trouble far from my friends.’


Then resourceful Odysseus
spoke to him, saying:

‘Do not imagine so, Alcinous, since I have neither the looks nor stature of the immortals who inhabit wide heaven, but those of mortal men. Whoever you know that bear the heaviest burden of suffering, I might compare myself to them in sorrow. Yes, and the tale of all the troubles that by the gods’ will I have endured, would be longer. But despite my grief, let me eat, since there is nothing more shameful than the wretched stomach that demands a man’s attention however deep his distress, or heavy his heart, and my heart is heavy now, yet my stomach goes on insisting I eat and drink, making me forget what I suffered, demanding its fill. Then at daybreak, indeed, hurry to return me to my native soil, wretched as I am, and after all my troubles. Then, let me die, having seen again my goods, my servants, my vaulted halls.’