Tell me, O Muse, of the Shifty, the man who wandered afar.
After the Holy Burg, Troy town, he had wasted with war;
He saw the towns of menfolk, and the mind of men did he learn;
As he warded his life in the world, and his fellow-farers' return,
Many a grief of heart on the deep-sea flood he bore,
Nor yet might he save his fellows, for all that he longed for it sore
They died of their own soul's folly, for witless as they were
They ate up the beasts of the Sun, the Rider of the air,
And he took away from them all their dear returning day;
O goddess, O daughter of Zeus, from whencesoever ye may,
Gather the tale, and tell it, yea even to us at the last!