“Doubtless, O guest! great laud and praise were mine
(Replied the swain, for spotless faith divine),
If after social rites and gifts bestow’d,
I stain’d my hospitable hearth with blood. 
How would the gods my righteous toils succeed,
And bless the hand that made a stranger bleed? 
No more—­the approaching hours of silent night
First claim refection, then to rest invite;
Beneath our humble cottage let us haste,
And here, unenvied, rural dainties taste.”

Thus communed these; while to their lowly dome
The full-fed swine return’d with evening home;
Compell’d, reluctant, to their several sties,
With din obstreperous, and ungrateful cries. 
Then to the slaves:  “Now from the herd the best
Select in honour of our foreign guest: 
With him let us the genial banquet share,
For great and many are the griefs we bear;
While those who from our labours heap their board
Blaspheme their feeder, and forget their lord.”

Thus speaking, with despatchful hand he took
A weighty axe, and cleft the solid oak;
This on the earth he piled; a boar full fed,
Of five years’ age, before the pile was led: 
The swain, whom acts of piety delight,
Observant of the gods, begins the rite;
First shears the forehead of the bristly boar,
And suppliant stands, invoking every power
To speed Ulysses to his native shore. 
A knotty stake then aiming at his head,
Down dropped he groaning, and the spirit fled. 
The scorching flames climb round on every side;
Then the singed members they with skill divide;
On these, in rolls of fat involved with art,
The choicest morsels lay from every part. 
Some in the flames bestrew’d with flour they threw;
Some cut in fragments from the forks they drew: 
These while on several tables they dispose. 
A priest himself the blameless rustic rose;
Expert the destined victim to dispart
In seven just portions, pure of hand and heart. 
One sacred to the nymphs apart they lay: 
Another to the winged sons of May;
The rural tribe in common share the rest,
The king the chine, the honour of the feast,
Who sate delighted at his servant’s board;
The faithful servant joy’d his unknown lord. 
“Oh be thou dear (Ulysses cried) to Jove,
As well thou claim’st a grateful stranger’s love!”

“Be then thy thanks (the bounteous swain replied)
Enjoyment of the good the gods provide. 
From God’s own hand descend our joys and woes;
These he decrees, and he but suffers those: 
All power is his, and whatsoe’er he wills,
The will itself, omnipotent, fulfils.” 
This said, the first-fruits to the gods he gave;
Then pour’d of offer’d wine the sable wave: 
In great Ulysses’ hand he placed the bowl,
He sate, and sweet refection cheer’d his soul. 
The bread from canisters Mesaulius gave
(Eumaeus’ proper treasure bought this slave,
And led from Taphos, to attend his board,
A servant added to his absent lord);
His task it was the wheaten loaves to lay,
And from the banquet take the bowls away. 
And now the rage of hunger was repress’d,
And each betakes him to his couch to rest.