The guide, the slayer of Argus, did not disobey. He bound on his golden sandals that carry him over water and earth with the wind, took the wand that charms men’s eyes, and flew. Piercing the air he came upon Pieria and dropped to the sea, skimming the waves like a seabird hunting fish in the barren gulfs.
At the distant island he left the dark-blue sea and came to a great cave. A fire of cedar and juniper burned fragrant. Calypso was inside singing as she wove with a golden shuttle. Round about grew alder and black poplar and sweet-smelling cypress; long-winged birds nested there. A vine trailed rich with grapes; four springs flowed near one another; soft meadows blossomed with violet and parsley. Even a deathless god would gaze and take delight.
Calypso knew him at once — gods are not unknown to one another, even far apart. Odysseus was not inside; he sat on the shore weeping, looking over the barren sea. She seated Hermes in a shining chair, set ambrosia and nectar before him, and asked why he had come.
When he had eaten he told the truth: Zeus had sent him. Who would willingly race across so much salt water, with no city nearby offering hecatombs? But no god can cross or make nothing of Zeus’s will.
“There is a man here with you — the most ill-fated of those who fought nine years round Priam’s city and in the tenth sacked it. On the way home they offended Athena; she raised evil wind and high waves. His companions died; wind and water brought him here. Now Zeus orders you to send him off as soon as you can. It is not his destiny to die far from his friends. It is still his destiny to see them and reach his high-roofed house.”