The Siren Vase — Odysseus bound to the mast; Attic red-figure, c. 480 BC, British Museum
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Odyssey 9.136 · Book 9, lines 136–141

A harbour that needs no mooring

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ἐν δὲ λιμὴν ἐύορμος, ἵνʼ οὐ χρεὼ πείσματός ἐστιν, οὔτʼ εὐνὰς βαλέειν οὔτε πρυμνήσιʼ ἀνάψαι, ἀλλʼ ἐπικέλσαντας μεῖναι χρόνον εἰς ὅ κε ναυτέων θυμὸς ἐποτρύνῃ καὶ ἐπιπνεύσωσιν ἀῆται. αὐτὰρ ἐπὶ κρατὸς λιμένος ῥέει ἀγλαὸν ὕδωρ, κρήνη ὑπὸ σπείους· περὶ δʼ αἴγειροι πεφύασιν.

In it is a harbour with good anchorage, where there is no need of a cable, neither to cast anchor-stones nor to make fast stern-cables, but, once beached, to wait a while until the sailors' heart urges them on and the breezes blow. And at the head of the harbour bright water flows, a spring beneath a cave; and round about poplars have grown.

Word by word

ἐνenin it [is]δὲ(and)λιμὴνlimḕna harbourἐύορμοςeúormoswith good anchorage,ἵνʼhín’whereοὐounoχρεὼchreṑneedπείσματόςpeísmatósof a cableἐστινestinthere is,οὔτʼoút’neitherεὐνὰςeunàsanchor-stonesβαλέεινbaléeinto castοὔτεoútenorπρυμνήσιʼprymnḗsi’stern-cablesἀνάψαιanápsaito make fast,ἀλλʼall’butἐπικέλσανταςepikélsantashaving beachedμεῖναιmeînaito waitχρόνονchrónona whileεἰςeisuntilwhenκεke(should)ναυτέωνnautéōnof the sailorsθυμὸςthymòsthe heartἐποτρύνῃepotrýnēiurges [them] onκαὶkaìandἐπιπνεύσωσινepipneúsōsinblow forthἀῆταιaêtaithe breezes.αὐτὰρautàrandἐπὶepìatκρατὸςkratòsthe headλιμένοςliménosof the harbourῥέειrhéeiflowsἀγλαὸνaglaònbrightὕδωρhýdōrwater,κρήνηkrḗnēa springὑπὸhypòbeneathσπείουςspeíousa cave·περὶperìround aboutδʼd’(and)αἴγειροιaígeiroipoplarsπεφύασινpephýasinhave grown.

The setting

The island even offers a perfect anchorage. Odysseus describes a harbour so sheltered that ships need no cables or anchor-stones — you simply run ashore and wait — with fresh spring water and poplars at its head.

A note on this passage

The description turns to the harbour, and it is flawless: so well sheltered that a crew needs neither anchor-stones nor stern-cables, only to beach the ship and wait until they choose to sail again. At its head bright water runs from a spring under a cave, with poplars grown around it. Everything a mariner could want is here, unclaimed.

The detail is doing double work. As travel-writing it is exact and inviting; as narrative it is a trap gently baited. This is the shore Odysseus will beach on in the dark, the water he will drink, the safe threshold from which he crosses to the Cyclops's cave. The poem lingers on the harbour's kindness just before it spends that goodwill on horror.

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