The Odyssey

“I spake; Achilles quickly answered me:—‘Noble Ulysses, speak not thus of death,As if thou couldst console me. I would beA laborer on earth, and serve for hireSome man of mean estate, who makes scant cheer,Rather than reign o’er all who have gone downTo death. Speak rather of my noble son,Whether or not he yet has joined the warsTo fight among the foremost of the host.

“There I beheld the shade of SisyphusAmid his sufferings. With both hands he rolledA huge stone up a hill. To force it up,He leaned against the mass with hands and feet;But, ere it crossed the summit of the hillA power was felt that sent it rolling back,And downward plunged the unmanageable rockBefore him to the plain. Again he toiledTo heave it upward, while the sweat in streamsRan down his limbs, and dust begrimed his brow.

These nights are very long; there’s time enoughFor sleep, and time to entertain ourselvesWith talk. It is not fitting to lie downEre the due hour arrive, and too much sleepIs hurtful. Whosoever here shall feelThe strong desire, let him withdraw and sleep,And rise with early morn and break his fast,And tend my master’s swine. Let us remainWithin, and drink and feast, and pass the timeGayly, relating what we have endured,Each one of us; for in the after timeOne who has suffered much and wandered farMay take a pleasure even in his griefs.