Around his neck their longing arms they cast,

His head, his shoulders, and his knees embraced;

Tears followed tears; no word was in their power;

In solemn silence fell the kindly shower.

The king too weeps, the king too grasps their hands;

And moveless, as a marble fountain, stands.


Thus had their joy wept down the setting sun,

But first the wise man ceased, and thus begun:

“Enough—on other cares your thought employ,

For danger waits on all untimely joy.

Full many foes and fierce, observe us near;

Some may betray, and yonder walls may hear.

Re-enter then, not all at once, but stay

Some moments you, and let me lead the way.

To me, neglected as I am I know

The haughty suitors will deny the bow;

But thou, Eumaeus, as ’tis borne away,

Thy master’s weapon to his hand convey.

At every portal let some matron wait,

And each lock fast the well-compacted gate:

Close let them keep, whate’er invades their ear;

Though arms, or shouts, or dying groans they hear.

To thy strict charge, Philaetius, we consign

The court’s main gate: to guard that pass be thine.”


This said, he first return’d; the faithful swains

At distance follow, as their king ordains.

Before the flame Eurymachus now stands,

And turns the bow, and chafes it with his hands

Still the tough bow unmoved. The lofty man

Sigh’d from his mighty soul, and thus began:


“I mourn the common cause: for, oh, my friends,

On me, on all, what grief, what shame attends!

Not the lost nuptials can affect me more

(For Greece has beauteous dames on every shore),

But baffled thus! confess’d so far below

Ulysses’ strength, as not to bend his bow!

How shall all ages our attempt deride!

Our weakness scorn!” Antinous thus replied:


“Not so, Eurymachus: that no man draws

The wondrous bow, attend another cause.

Sacred to Phœbus is the solemn day,

Which thoughtless we in games would waste away:

Till the next dawn this ill-timed strife forego,