ad
given them to Odysseus, the dearest of all his guests. The Wanderer
clad himself in this golden gear, and took the sword called "Euryalus's
Gift," a bronze blade with a silver hilt, and a sheath of ivory, which
a stranger had given him in a far-off land. Already the love of life
had come back to him, now that he had eaten and drunk, and had heard the
Song of the Bow, the Slayer of Men. He lived yet, and hope lived in him
though his house was desolate, and his wedded wife was dead, and there
was none to give him tidings of his one child, Telemachus. Even so
life beat strong in his heart, and his hands would keep his head if any
sea-robbers had come to the city of Ithaca and made their home there,
like hawks in the forsaken nest of an eagle of the sea. So he clad
himself in his armour, and chose out two spears from a stand of lances,
and cleaned them, and girt about his shoulders a quiver full of shafts,
and took in hand his great bow, the Bow of Eurytus, which no other man
could bend.

Then he went forth from the ruined house into the moonlight, went
forth for the last time; for never again did the high roof echo to the
footstep of its lord. Long has the grass grown over it, and the sea-wind
wailed!

II

THE VISION OF THE WORLD'S DESIRE

The fragrant night was clear and still, the silence scarce broken by the
lapping of the waves, as the Wanderer went down from his fallen home to
the city on the sea, walking warily, and watching for any light from the
houses of the people. But they were all as dark as his own, many of them
roofless and ruined, for, after the plague, an earthquake had smitten
the city. There were gaping chasms in the road, here and there, and
through rifts in the walls of the houses the moon shone strangely,
making ragged shadows. At last the Wanderer reached the Temple of
Athene, the Goddess of War; but the roof had fallen in, the pillars were
overset, and the scent of wild thyme growing in the broken pavement rose
where he walked. Yet, as he stood by the door of the fane, where he had
burned so many a sacrifice, at length he spied a light blazing from the
windows of a great chapel by the sea. It was the Temple of Aphrodite,
the Queen of Love, and from the open door a sweet savour of incense and
a golden blaze rushed forth till they were lost in the silver of the
moonshine and in the salt smell of the sea. Thither the Wanderer went
slowly, for his limbs were swaying with weariness, and he was