As for her who is
dead, thy dear wife Penelope, thou didst love her with a loyal heart,
but never with a heart of fire. Nay, she was but thy companion, thy
housewife, and the mother of thy child. She was mingled with all the
memories of the land thou lovest, and so thou gavest her a little love.
But she is dead; and thy child too is no more; and thy very country is
as the ashes of a forsaken hearth where once was a camp of men. What
have all thy wars and wanderings won for thee, all thy labours, and all
the adventures thou hast achieved? For what didst thou seek among
the living and the dead? Thou soughtest that which all men seek--thou
soughtest _The World's Desire_. They find it not, nor hast thou found
it, Odysseus; and thy friends are dead; thy land is dead; nothing lives
but Hope. But the life that lies before thee is new, without a remnant
of the old days, except for the bitterness of longing and remembrance.
Out of this new life, and the unborn hours, wilt thou not give, what
never before thou gavest, one hour to me, to be my servant?"
The voice, as it seemed, grew softer and came nearer, till the Wanderer
heard it whisper in his very ear, and with the voice came a divine
fragrance. The breath of her who spoke seemed to touch his neck; the
immortal tresses of the Goddess were mingled with the dark curls of his
hair.
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