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When they had all eaten and drunk to their hearts' content, the hero begged Demodokos to sing about the invention of the wooden horse with which Odysseus had artfully tricked the Trojans to their own destruction.
The minstrel felt the inspiration of the song, and began where the Greeks threw firebrands into their own tents and sailed away from Troy, pretending that they had given up the war.
He told how the Trojans wondered what to do with the huge wooden horse which the enemy had left in their city, whether to hew it to pieces and burn it, or to drag it to the edge of a high rock and throw it over, or whether to spare it as an act of reverence to the gods. This last was done, and in the night Odysseus and his men came out of the great wooden trap and set fire to the city while the men of Troy slept.
As Demodokos sang, tears rolled down the cheeks of Odysseus. but no one noticed his weeping except the king, who said: "It is better to stop the song of Demodokos, as it does not delight us all. Ever since the bard began to sing, our guest has been weeping. He carries some great trouble in his heart. Let the song cease, and let us all make merry. Let no grief mar our banquet. And, honored stranger, tell us the name of thy father, and the city which is thy home. Our seamen shall take thee safely to thine own land, although there is a prophecy that one of our good ships shall be changed into a high rock, to stand forever in front of our city, if we show such courtesies to strangers.
"Tell us truly who thou art and whither thou hast roamed, what tribes of men thou hast seen, and why thou dost weep when the minstrel sings of Troy. Didst thou lose a noble kinsman there, or a dear friend? For a friend is often dearer than a brother." Odysseus replied: "In truth, O king, it is a pleasant thing to listen to a bard like Demodokos, for his voice is as sweet as the voice of a god.
"And I cannot think of anything more delightful than the joy of a contented people listening to a great poet and singer while seated at a feast in a royal hall. But I pine to be at home, and I will declare my name and tell the story of my sufferings.
"I am the chieftain Odysseus, son of Laertes, and widely known to fame. I dwell in sunny Ithaca, whose high mountains are seen from afar, covered with rustling trees. Around it are many smaller islands, full of people. Ithaca has low shores on the east. It is a rugged island, but it is the sweetest land on earth, and has a noble race of mortals. When the Trojan war was at an end, I started for home with my twelve ships, but a contrary wind drove us to Ismaros, the city of the Kikonians.
"We captured it and put the inhabitants to the sword. Then I exhorted my comrades to fly, but, like madmen, they remained on the sea-shore. Then they slaughtered a large number of sheep and oxen and made a feast. The Kikonians called on their strong neighbors to come and help them, and they came in swarms with their brazen spears. They fell upon our men and killed six of them from each ship, and drove the rest back to their boats.
"Brisk handling of our oars soon carried us out into the sea, but Jove sent a hurricane that tore our sails and split our masts, so that our sailors drew them into the ships in fear. Two days and nights we lay helpless in our boats, worn out with fear and grief, but the third day the sun shone on us again, and we raised the masts and sails to take the breeze, hoping to reach our own land."