Aslope they glanced, the sinewy fibres tore,

And bared the bone; Ulysses undismay’d,

Soon with redoubled force the wound repaid;

To the right shoulder-joint the spear applied,

His further flank with streaming purple dyed:

On earth he rushed with agonizing pain;

With joy and vast surprise, the applauding train

View’d his enormous bulk extended on the plain.

With bandage firm Ulysses’ knee they bound;

Then, chanting mystic lays, the closing wound

Of sacred melody confess’d the force;

The tides of life regain’d their azure course.

Then back they led the youth with loud acclaim;

Autolycus, enamoured with his fame,

Confirm’d the cure; and from the Delphic dome

With added gifts return’d him glorious home.

He safe at Ithaca with joy received,

Relates the chase, and early praise achieved.


Deep o’er his knee inseam’d remain’d the scar;

Which noted token of the woodland war

When Euryclea found, the ablution ceased:

Down dropp’d the leg, from her slack hand released;

The mingled fluids from the base redound;

The vase reclining floats the floor around!

Smiles dew’d with tears the pleasing strife express’d

Of grief and joy, alternate in her breast.

Her fluttering words in melting murmurs died;

At length abrupt—“My son!—my king!”—she cried.

His neck with fond embrace infolding fast,

Full on the queen her raptured eye she cast

Ardent to speak the monarch safe restored:

But, studious to conceal her royal lord,

Minerva fix’d her mind on views remote,

And from the present bliss abstracts her thought.

His hand to Euryclea’s mouth applied,

“Art thou foredoom’d my pest? (the hero cried:)

Thy milky founts my infant lips have drain’d;

And have the Fates thy babbling age ordain’d

To violate the life thy youth sustain’d?

An exile have I told, with weeping eyes,

Full twenty annual suns in distant skies;

At length return’d, some god inspires thy breast

To know thy king, and here I stand confess’d.