Apollo in the Odyssey (up to book 20). The god of sudden death, archery, beauty, prophecy.
Nestor Odyssey 3.306 (Lombardo). Apollo kills suddenly.
“Menelaus and I were sailing then
On our way back from Troy, the brest of friends.
But when we came to holy Sunium,
The cape of Athens, Phoebus Apollo
Shot Menelaus’ pilot with his arrows,
Killing him softly as he held the tiller
of the speecing ship — Phrontis his name,
The best rough-weather pilot in all the world.”
Penelope Odyssey 17.535 (Lombardo). Penelope prays that Apollo kill Antinous.
When Penelope, sitting with her maids,
Heard the stranger had been struck, she said:
“So may you be struck by the Archer God.”
[and of course, Antinous will be the first to taste Odysseus’ arrows: 22.16]
Beggar Odysseus Odyssey 19.92 (Lombardo). Apollo guards the house and gives grace.
“But even if, as seems likely, Odysseus is dead
And will never return, his son, Telemachus,
Is now very much like him, by Apollo’s grace,
And if any of the women are behaving loosely
It won’t get by him. He’s no longer a child.”
Penelope Odyssey 19.625 (Lombardo). Odysseus was an expert bowman.
“Odysseus used to line up axes inside his hall,
Twelve of them, like the curved chocks
That prop up a ship when it is being built,
And he would stand far off and send an arrow
Whizzing through them all. I will propose
This contest to my suitors, and whoever
Can bend that bow and slip the string on its notch
And shoot an arrow through all twelve axes,
With him I will go…”
Eurycleia Odyssey 20.163 (Lombardo). The suitors’ last day on earth will be a holiday (for Apollo).
“Some of you get busy and sweep the hall
And sprinkle it, and put the purple coverlets
On the good chairs. And we’ll need some others,
To sponge down the tables, and wash the bowls
And goblets. The rest of you go down
And fetch water from the spring, quickly.
The suitors will be here early today.
It’s a feast day, a holiday for everyone.”
Odyssey 20.298 (Lombardo) Apollo’s festival.
Meanwhile, down in the town, heralds
Were leading a sacrifice of one hundred bulls
Through the streets, and Achaean men,
Their long hair flowing, were gathering
In a shady grove sacred to Apollo,
The god whose arrows strike from afar.
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