So he spoke, and they all fell silent through the shadowed hall, held by the charm of his story. Then Alcinous answered:
“Odysseus, now that you have reached my house, I do not think you will suffer more on the road home, however much you have endured. But to you others who drink my best wine night after night and hear the bard: our guest already has the clothes, worked gold, and gifts you brought him. Let each of us give him a large tripod and a cauldron as well. We will pay ourselves back with a general levy.”
They all agreed and went home to sleep. When early-born Dawn appeared, they hurried to the ship with the cauldrons. Alcinous stowed everything under the benches so nothing would shift and hurt the rowers. Then they returned to his house. He sacrificed a bull to Zeus who rules over all. They ate well, and Demodocus sang.
But Odysseus kept turning his eyes toward the sun, wishing it down, hungry to be gone. As a plowman who has worked a fallow field all day rejoices when night comes, so Odysseus rejoiced when the sun set, and he spoke to the Phaeacians, and to Alcinous above all:
“Lord, and all of you, farewell. Pour the drink-offerings and send me on my way glad: you have given me escort and gifts, and may the gods let me use them well. May I find my wife living in peace among friends, and may you I leave behind please your wives and children. May the gods grant you every good thing, and may no evil fall on your people.”
So he spoke. They approved. Alcinous said to his servant: “Pontonous, mix wine and hand it round, so we may pray to father Zeus and speed our guest.” Pontonous served them. Each man poured an offering to the blessed gods.
Odysseus rose and set the double cup in queen Arete’s hands: “Farewell, queen, from now on and forever, until age and death, the common lot of mankind, lay hold of you. Be happy in this house with your children, your people, and with king Alcinous.”
He crossed the threshold. Alcinous sent a man to lead him to the ship. Arete sent maidservants — one with a clean shirt and cloak, another with his strong-box, a third with grain and wine. The crew stowed these with the meat and drink.
For Odysseus they spread a rug and linen sheet in the stern so he might sleep sound. He went aboard and lay down without a word. The crew took their places and loosed the hawser. When they began rowing out to sea, Odysseus fell into a deep, sweet, almost deathlike sleep.
The ship bounded forward the way a four-horse chariot flies when the horses feel the whip. Her prow lifted like a stallion’s neck, and a dark-blue wave seethed in her wake. Even a falcon could not have kept pace. So she cut through the water, carrying a man as cunning as the gods — now sleeping in peace, forgetful of all he had suffered.