
He kisses the ground of home
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ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ καὶ κεῖθεν ἐφαίνετο νόστος ἀπήμων, ἂψ δὲ θεοὶ οὖρον στρέψαν, καὶ οἴκαδʼ ἵκοντο, ἦ τοι ὁ μὲν χαίρων ἐπεβήσετο πατρίδος αἴης καὶ κύνει ἁπτόμενος ἣν πατρίδα· πολλὰ δʼ ἀπʼ αὐτοῦ δάκρυα θερμὰ χέοντʼ, ἐπεὶ ἀσπασίως ἴδε γαῖαν.
But when from there too the homecoming showed unharmed, and the gods turned the fair wind back again, and they came home, then rejoicing he stepped onto his fatherland's soil, and kissed it, touching his native land; and many warm tears streamed down from him, for gladly he saw his own land.
The gale passes. The wind turns fair, and Agamemnon's ships at last make landfall on his own soil. He does not know whose coast this now is.
Everything the poem earlier promised a returning man now seems to arrive at once. The wind comes fair, the ships make land, and Agamemnon — like any long exile — goes down and kisses the ground, weeping for gladness. It is the pure image of nostos, homecoming achieved.
And it is undone the moment it is granted. Homer has already set a paid watchman on the headland above this beach; the phrase ‘homecoming unharmed’ hangs over a man walking into a rigged house. The warm tears are real and the danger is real, and only Agamemnon cannot see both at once. The kiss on the soil is the last thing he does as a free and living king.
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