The Siren Vase — Odysseus bound to the mast; Attic red-figure, c. 480 BC, British Museum
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Odyssey 8.55 · Book 8, lines 55–60

The house fills for the feast

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ὑψοῦ δʼ ἐν νοτίῳ τήν γʼ ὥρμισαν· αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα βάν ῥʼ ἴμεν Ἀλκινόοιο δαΐφρονος ἐς μέγα δῶμα. πλῆντο δʼ ἄρʼ αἴθουσαί τε καὶ ἕρκεα καὶ δόμοι ἀνδρῶν ἀγρομένων· πολλοὶ δʼ ἄρʼ ἔσαν, νέοι ἠδὲ παλαιοί. τοῖσιν δʼ Ἀλκίνοος δυοκαίδεκα μῆλʼ ἱέρευσεν, ὀκτὼ δʼ ἀργιόδοντας ὕας, δύο δʼ εἰλίποδας βοῦς·

High up in the deep water they moored her; then they went to the great house of wise Alcinous. And the porticoes and courts and halls were filled with men gathering; many there were, young and old. For them Alcinous slaughtered twelve sheep, eight white-tusked swine, and two shambling oxen;

Word by word

ὑψοῦhypsoûhigh upδʼd’(and)ἐνeninνοτίῳnotíōithe deep waterτήνtḕnherγʼg’(indeed)ὥρμισανhṓrmisanthey moored·αὐτὰρautàrthenἔπειταépeitathereafterβάνbánthey wentῥʼrh’(then)ἴμενímento goἈλκινόοιοAlkinóoioof Alcinousδαΐφρονοςdaḯphronoswiseἐςestoμέγαmégathe greatδῶμαdômahouse.πλῆντοplêntowere filledδʼd’(and)ἄρʼár’(then)αἴθουσαίaíthousaíthe porticoesτεte(both)καὶkaìandἕρκεαhérkeathe courtsκαὶkaìandδόμοιdómoithe hallsἀνδρῶνandrônwith menἀγρομένωνagroménōngathering·πολλοὶpolloìmanyδʼd’(and)ἄρʼár’(indeed)ἔσανésanthere were,νέοιnéoiyoungἠδὲēdèandπαλαιοίpalaioíold.τοῖσινtoîsinfor themδʼd’(and)ἈλκίνοοςAlkínoosAlcinousδυοκαίδεκαduokaídekatwelveμῆλʼmêl’sheepἱέρευσενhiéreusenslaughtered,ὀκτὼoktṑeightδʼd’(and)ἀργιόδονταςargiódontaswhite-tuskedὕαςhýasswine,δύοdýotwoδʼd’(and)εἰλίποδαςeilípodasshamblingβοῦςboûsoxen·

The setting

The ship is moored and the crew joins the gathering at Alcinous's palace. The porticoes and courtyards fill with Phaeacians young and old, and the king slaughters a lavish array of animals for the feast.

A note on this passage

The scene shifts from shore to hall. The moored ship left behind, the crowd streams into Alcinous's palace — porticoes, courts, and rooms packed with men young and old — and the king slaughters twelve sheep, eight swine, and two oxen. The feast is built before our eyes, counted out beast by beast.

The undercurrent is scale as a statement. The exact tally — twelve, eight, two — is the poem showing Phaeacian abundance as fact, not adjective. This is a people rich enough to feast a whole town for one unknown guest. Against it stands the household the poem keeps in view: Ithaca, where other young men are eating a kingdom bare. Here plenty is generosity; there it is ruin.

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