Sunk was each heart, and pale was every face,

Signs from above ensued: the unfolding sky

In lightning burst; Jove thunder’d from on high.

Fired at the call of heaven’s almighty Lord,

He snatch’d the shaft that glitter’d on the board

(Fast by, the rest lay sleeping in the sheath,

But soon to fly the messengers of death).


Now sitting as he was, the cord he drew,

Through every ringlet levelling his view:

Then notch’d the shaft, released, and gave it wing;

The whizzing arrow vanished from the string,

Sung on direct, and threaded every ring.

The solid gate its fury scarcely bounds;

Pierced through and through the solid gate resounds,

Then to the prince: “Nor have I wrought thee shame;

Nor err’d this hand unfaithful to its aim;

Nor prov’d the toil too hard; nor have I lost

That ancient vigour, once my pride and boast.

Ill I deserved these haughty peers’ disdain;

Now let them comfort their dejected train,

In sweet repast their present hour employ,

Nor wait till evening for the genial joy:

Then to the lute’s soft voice prolong the night;

Music, the banquet’s most refined delight.”


He said, then gave a nod; and at the word

Telemachus girds on his shining sword.

Fast by his father’s side he takes his stand:

The beamy javelin lightens in his hand.


BOOK XXII.


ARGUMENT.

THE DEATH OF THE SUITORS.


Ulysses begins the slaughter of the suitors by the death of Antinous. He

declares himself, and lets fly his arrows at the rest. Telemachus assists and

brings arms for his father, himself, Eumaeus, and Philaetius. Melanthius does

the same for the wooers. Minerva encourages Ulysses in the shape of Mentor. The

suitors are all slain, only Medon and Phemius are spared. Melanthius and the

unfaithful servants are executed. The rest acknowledge their master with all

demonstrations of joy.


Then fierce the hero o’er the threshold strode;

Stripp’d of his rags, he blazed out like a god.