So perish’d he: and left (for ever lost)

Much woe to all, but sure to me the most.

So mild a master never shall I find;

Less dear the parents whom I left behind,

Less soft my mother, less my father kind.

Not with such transport would my eyes run o’er,

Again to hail them in their native shore,

As loved Ulysses once more to embrace,

Restored and breathing in his natal place.

That name for ever dread, yet ever dear,

E’en in his absence I pronounce with fear:

In my respect, he bears a prince’s part;

But lives a very brother in my heart.”


Thus spoke the faithful swain, and thus rejoin’d

The master of his grief, the man of patient mind:

“Ulysses, friend! shall view his old abodes

(Distrustful as thou art), nor doubt the gods.

Nor speak I rashly, but with faith averr’d,

And what I speak attesting Heaven has heard.

If so, a cloak and vesture be my meed:

Till his return no title shall I plead,

Though certain be my news, and great my need.

Whom want itself can force untruths to tell,

My soul detests him as the gates of hell.


“Thou first be witness, hospitable Jove!

And every god inspiring social love!

And witness every household power that waits,

Guard of these fires, and angel of these gates!

Ere the next moon increase or this decay,

His ancient realms Ulysses shall survey,

In blood and dust each proud oppressor mourn,

And the lost glories of his house return.”


“Nor shall that meed be thine, nor ever more

Shall loved Ulysses hail this happy shore.

(Replied Eumaeus): to the present hour

Now turn thy thought, and joys within our power.

From sad reflection let my soul repose;

The name of him awakes a thousand woes.

But guard him, gods! and to these arms restore!

Not his true consort can desire him more;

Not old Laertes, broken with despair:

Not young Telemachus, his blooming heir.

Alas, Telemachus! my sorrows flow

Afresh for thee, my second cause of woe!