Afflict his queen, and with a murderous hand

Destroy his heir!—but cease, ’tis I command.”


“Far hence those fears (Eurymachus replied,)

O prudent princess! bid thy soul confide.

Breathes there a man who dares that hero slay,

While I behold the golden light of day?

No: by the righteous powers of heaven I swear,

His blood in vengeance smokes upon my spear.

Ulysses, when my infant days I led,

With wine sufficed me, and with dainties fed:

My generous soul abhors the ungrateful part,

And my friend’s son lives nearest to my heart.

Then fear no mortal arm; if Heaven destroy,

We must resign: for man is born to die.”


Thus smooth he ended, yet his death conspired:

Then sorrowing, with sad step the queen retired,

With streaming eyes, all comfortless deplored,

Touch’d with the dear remembrance of her lord:

Nor ceased till Pallas bids her sorrows fly,

And in soft slumber seal’d her flowing eye.


And now Eumaeus, at the evening hour,

Came late, returning to his sylvan bower.

Ulysses and his son had dress’d with art

A yearling boar, and gave the gods their part.

Holy repast! That instant from the skies

The martial goddess to Ulysses flies:

She waves her golden wand, and reassumes

From every feature every grace that blooms;

At once his vestures change; at once she sheds

Age o’er his limbs, that tremble as he treads:

Lest to the queen the swain with transport fly,

Unable to contain the unruly joy;

When near he drew, the prince breaks forth: “Proclaim

What tidings, friend? what speaks the voice of fame?

Say, if the suitors measure back the main,

Or still in ambush thirst for blood in vain?”


“Whether (he cries) they measure back the flood,

Or still in ambush thirst in vain for blood,

Escaped my care: where lawless suitors sway,

Thy mandate borne my soul disdain’d to stay.

But from the Hermaean height I cast a view,

Where to the port a bark high-bounding flew;