Pylos

The sun sprang up, leaving the brilliant waters in its wake, climbing the bronze sky to shower light on immortal gods and mortal men across the plowlands ripe with grain (III. 1-3)
And you, my friend—how tall and handsome I see you now—be brave, you too, so men to come will sing your praises down the years (III. 226-8)
Lovely Polycaste… [quick-witted] daughter of Nestor, Neleus’ son… bathed Telemachus. rinsing him off now, rubbing him down with oil, she drew a shirt and handsome cape around him.
Out of his bath he stepped, glistening like a god (III. 521-5)

Ogygia

A great fire blazed on the hearthand the smell of cedar cleanly split and sweetwood burning bright wafted a cloud of fragrance down the island.
Deep inside she sang, the goddess Calypso, lifting her breathtaking voice as she glided back and forth before her loom, her golden shuttle weaving.
Thick luxuriant woods grew round the cave,alders and black poplars, pungent cypress too,and there birds roosted, folding their long wings,owls and hawks and the spread-beaked ravens of the sea,black skimmers who make their living off the waves.
And round the mouth of the cavern trailed a vineladen with clusters, bursting with ripe grapes.
Four springs in a row, bubbling clear and cold,running side-by-side, took channels left and right.
Soft meadows spreading round were starred with violets, lush with beds of parsley. Why, even a deathless god who came upon that place would gaze in wonder, heart entranced with pleasure. (V. 65-82)

Phaeacia

Outside the courtyard, fronting the high gates, a magnificent orchard stretches four acres deep with a strong fence running round it side-to-side.
Here luxuriant trees are always in their prime, pomegranates and pears, and apples glowing red, succulent figs and olives swelling sleek and dark.
And the yield of all these trees will never flag or die neither in winter nor in summer, a harvest all year round for the West Wind always breathing through will bring some fruits to the bud and others warm to ripeness—pear mellowing ripe on pear, apple on apple,cluster of grapes on cluster, fig crowding fig.
And here is a teeming vineyard planted for the kings, beyond it an open level bank where the vintage grapes lie baking to raisins in the sun while pickers gather others;
some they trample down in vats, and here in the front rows bunches of unripe grapes have hardly shed their blooms while others under the sunlight slowly darken purple.
And there by the last rows are beds of greens, bordered and plotted, greens of every kind, glistening fresh, year in, year out. And last, there are two springs, one rippling in channels over the whole orchard—the other, flanking it, rushes under the palace gates to bubble up in front of the lofty roofs where the city people come and draw their water.
Such were the gifts, the glories showered down by the gods on King Alcinous’ realm. (VII. 129-157)

Wine

This wine…
he drew it off in generous wine-jars, twelve in all, all unmixed—and such a bouquet, a drink fit for the gods! …
Whenever they’d drink the deep-red mellow vintage, twenty cups of water he’d stir in one of wine and what an aroma wafted from the bowl—
what magic, what a godsend—
no joy in holding back when that was poured (IX. 226-235)

The Love of Home

[There will be an end to Odysseus’s suffering,] he shall see his loved ones, reach his high-roofed house, his native land at last. (V. 45-6)
Sunny Ithaca is my home. Atop her stands our seamark, Mount Neriton’s leafy ridges shimmering in the wind.
Around her a ring of islands circle side-by-side,
Dulichion, Same, wooded Zacynthus too, but mine lies low and away, the farthest out to sea, rearing into the western dusk while the others face the east and breaking day.
Mine is a rugged land but good for raising sons—
and I myself, I know no sweeter sight on earth than a man’s own native country. (IX. 23-32)

Skill in Service of Love

[Our bedroom, a temple to our love,] I built myself—no one else…
There was a branching olive-tree inside our court, grown to its full prime, the bole like a column, thickset.
Around it I built my bedroom, finished off the walls with good tight stonework, roofed it over soundly and added doors, hung well and snugly wedged.
Then I lopped the leafy crown of the olive, clean cutting the stump bare from roots up, planing it round with a bronze smoothing-adze—
I had the skill—I shaped it plumb to the line to make my bedpost, bored the holes it needed with an auger.
Working from there I built my bed, start to finish, I gave it ivory inlays, gold and silver fittings, wove the straps across it, oxhide gleaming red.
There’s our secret sign, I tell you, our life story! (XXIII 213-226)

Joy and Abundance

The crown of life, I’d say. There’s nothing better than when deep joy holds sway throughout the realm and banqueters up and down the palace sit in ranks, enthralled to hear the bard, and before them all, the tables heaped with bread and meats, and drawing wine from a mixing-bowl the steward makes his rounds and keeps the winecups flowing.
This, to my mind, is the best that life can offer. (IX. 5-11)

Mortal Love (lyric conception of beauty)

Ah great goddess, …look at my wise Penelope. She falls far short of you, your beauty, stature. She is mortal after all and you, you never age or die…
Nevertheless I long—I pine, all my days—
to travel home and see the dawn of my return (V. 237-243)

Beauty as Communal Blessing

Are you a goddess or a mortal? …
If you’re one of the mortals living here on earth, three times blest are your father, your queenly mother,three times over your brothers too. How often their hearts must warm with joy to see you striding into the dances—
such a bloom of beauty (VI. 164-172)

Natural Beauty as Theophany

In Delos, beside Apollo’s altar—
the young slip of a palm-tree springing into the light…
That vision! … I stood there gazing… (VI. 178-182)

A Reputation for the Arts of Life

Come now, hear me out, so you can tell our story to other lords as you sit and feast in your own halls someday, your own wife and your children by your side, remembering there our island prowess here:
what skills great Zeus has given us as well…
we can race like the wind, we’re champion sailors too, and always dear to our hearts, the feast, the lyre and dance and changes of fresh clothes, our warm baths and beds.
So come—all you Phaeacian masters of the dance—
now dance away! So our guest can tell his friends, when he reaches home, how far we excel the world in sailing, nimble footwork, dance and song. (VIII. 273-286)

Making Love Not War

Come, sheathe your sword, let’s go to bed together, Mount my bed and mix in the magic work of love—
We’ll breed deep trust between us.
… Straightaway
She began to swear the oath that I required—never,
She’d never do me harm—and when she’d finished,
Then, at last, I mounted Circe’s gorgeous bed… (X 370-86)

Sensual Luxury

At the same time her handmaids bustled through the halls, four in all who perform the goddess’ household tasks:
nymphs, daughters born of the springs and groves and the sacred rivers running down to open sea.
One draped the chairs with fine crimson covers over the seats she’d spread with linen cloths below.
A second drew up silver tables before the chairs and laid out golden trays to hold the bread.
A third mulled heady, heart-warming wine in a silver bowl and set out golden cups.
A fourth brought water and lit a blazing fire beneath a massive cauldron. The water heated soon, and once it reached the boil in the glowing bronze she eased me into a tub and bathed me from the cauldron, mixing the hot and cold to suit my taste, showering head and shoulders down until she’d washed away the spirit-numbing exhaustion from my body.
The bathing finished, rubbing me sleek with oil, throwing warm fleece and a shirt around my shoulders, she led me in to sit on a silver-studded chair, ornately carved, with a stool to rest my feet.
A maid brought water soon in a graceful golden pitcher and over silver basin tipped it out so I might rinse my hands, then pulled a gleaming table to my side.
A staid housekeeper brought on bread to serve me, appetizers aplenty too, lavish with her bounty. (X. 386-412)

The Poet’s Gifts

From a man who knows what suffering is…
from all who walk the earth our bards deserve esteem and awe, for the Muse herself has taught them paths of song. (VIII. 537-540)
What a fine thing it is to listen to such a bard as we have here—the man sings like a god.
The crown of life, I’d say. (IX. 3-5)

Kindness

If a man is kind by nature, kind in action, his guests will carry his fame across the earth and people all will praise him from the heart (XIX.381-3)

Beloved Ruler

Alcinous… honors her…
Such is her pride of place…
Dear to her loving children, to Alcinous himself and all our people. They gaze on her as a god, saluting her warmly on her walks through town.
She lacks nothing in good sense and judgment—
she can dissolve quarrels, even among men (VII. 77-85)

A Balanced Human

A god can crown [one’s] words with beauty, charm and [people] look on with delight when [this one] speaks out.
Never faltering, filled with winning self-control, … shin[ing] forth at assembly grounds and people gaze at [this one] like a god when he [or she] walks through the streets (VIII. 196-200)

The Reputation of Penelope

“Happy Odysseus!”
Agamemnon’s ghost cried out. “Son of old Laertes—
mastermind—what a fine, faithful wife you won!
What good sense resided in your Penelope—
How well Icarius’ daughter remembered you, Odysseus, the man she married once!
The fame of her great virtue will never die.
The immortal gods will lift a song for all mankind, a glorious song in praise of self-possessed Penelope. (XXIV. 210-218)