The Siren Vase — Odysseus bound to the mast; Attic red-figure, c. 480 BC, British Museum
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Odyssey 6.198 · Book 6, lines 198–203

Stand fast: no enemy can reach us

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ἦ ῥα καὶ ἀμφιπόλοισιν ἐυπλοκάμοισι κέλευσε·
Nausicaa — στῆτέ μοι, ἀμφίπολοι· πόσε φεύγετε φῶτα ἰδοῦσαι; ἦ μή πού τινα δυσμενέων φάσθʼ ἔμμεναι ἀνδρῶν; οὐκ ἔσθʼ οὗτος ἀνὴρ διερὸς βροτὸς οὐδὲ γένηται, ὅς κεν Φαιήκων ἀνδρῶν ἐς γαῖαν ἵκηται δηιοτῆτα φέρων· μάλα γὰρ φίλοι ἀθανάτοισιν.

She spoke, and called to her fair-tressed handmaids: Stand, my handmaids! Where do you flee at the sight of a man? Surely you do not think him some man of hostile folk? No living mortal exists, nor shall one be born, who would come to the land of the Phaeacian men bringing war; for we are very dear to the immortals.

Word by word

êShe spokeῥαrha(then)καὶkaìandἀμφιπόλοισινamphipóloisinher handmaidsἐυπλοκάμοισιeuplokámoisifair-tressedκέλευσεkéleuseshe called to·
Nausicaa
στῆτέstêtéStandμοιmoiI pray,ἀμφίπολοιamphípoloihandmaids·πόσεpósewhereφεύγετεpheúgetedo you fleeφῶταphôtaa manἰδοῦσαιidoûsaiat the sight of;êSurelyμήmḗnotπούpoúperhapsτιναtinasomeδυσμενέωνdysmenéōnof hostileφάσθʼphásth’you think [him]ἔμμεναιémmenaito beἀνδρῶνandrônmen;οὐκouknotἔσθʼésth’there existsοὗτοςhoûtosthatἀνὴρanḕrmanδιερὸςdieròslivingβροτὸςbrotòsmortalοὐδὲoudènorγένηταιgénētaicould be born,ὅςhóswhoκενken(would)ΦαιήκωνPhaiḗkōnof the Phaeacianἀνδρῶνandrônmenἐςestoγαῖανgaîanthe landἵκηταιhíkētaiwould comeδηιοτῆταdēiotêtawarφέρωνphérōnbringing·μάλαmálaveryγὰρgàr(for)φίλοιphíloidear [are we]ἀθανάτοισινathanátoisinto the immortals.

The setting

At the stranger's sudden appearance the maids scattered in fear; only Nausicaa stood fast. Here she calls them back and shames their panic, insisting no harm can reach the Phaeacians.

A note on this passage

Nausicaa calls her scattered maids back and scolds their flight: why run at the sight of one man? She reassures them with the pride of her people — no enemy could ever set foot here, for the Phaeacians are too dear to the gods and too far from the world to be reached in war.

The boast defines this people. The Phaeacians live at the rim of everything, a charmed seafaring folk whom no hostile ship can find — which is exactly why they can be the last vessel that carries a lost man home. There is a quiet irony in it: the untouched people is about to take in the most battered wanderer alive, and their gift to him will not go unnoticed by the gods.

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