But (hapless youth) the hideous Cyclops tore

His quivering limbs, and quaff’d his spouting gore.

Three sons remain’d; to climb with haughty fires

The royal bed, Eurynomus aspires;

The rest with duteous love his griefs assuage,

And ease the sire of half the cares of age.

Yet still his Antiphus he loves, he mourns,

And, as he stood, he spoke and wept by turns,


“Since great Ulysses sought the Phrygian plains,

Within these walls inglorious silence reigns.

Say then, ye peers! by whose commands we meet?

Why here once more in solemn council sit?

Ye young, ye old, the weighty cause disclose:

Arrives some message of invading foes?

Or say, does high necessity of state

Inspire some patriot, and demand debate?

The present synod speaks its author wise;

Assist him, Jove, thou regent of the skies!”


He spoke. Telemachus with transport glows,

Embraced the omen, and majestic rose

(His royal hand the imperial sceptre sway’d);

Then thus, addressing to AEgyptius, said:


“Reverend old man! lo here confess’d he stands

By whom ye meet; my grief your care demands.

No story I unfold of public woes,

Nor bear advices of impending foes:

Peace the blest land, and joys incessant crown:

Of all this happy realm, I grieve alone.

For my lost sire continual sorrows spring,

The great, the good; your father and your king.

Yet more; our house from its foundation bows,

Our foes are powerful, and your sons the foes;

Hither, unwelcome to the queen, they come;

Why seek they not the rich Icarian dome?

If she must wed, from other hands require

The dowry: is Telemachus her sire?

Yet through my court the noise of revel rings,

And waste the wise frugality of kings.

Scarce all my herds their luxury suffice;

Scarce all my wine their midnight hours supplies.

Safe in my youth, in riot still they grow,

Nor in the helpless orphan dread a foe.

But come it will, the time when manhood grants