His blackening chin receives a deeper shade;

Then from his eyes upsprung the warrior-maid.


The hero reascends: the prince o’erawed

Scarce lifts his eyes, and bows as to a god,

Then with surprise (surprise chastised by fears):

“How art thou changed! (he cried)—a god appears!

Far other vests thy limbs majestic grace,

Far other glories lighten from thy face!

If heaven be thy abode, with pious care,

Lo! I the ready sacrifice prepare:

Lo! gifts of labour’d gold adorn thy shrine,

To win thy grace: O save us, power divine!”


“Few are my days (Ulysses made reply),

Nor I, alas! descendant of the sky.

I am thy father. O my son! my son!

That father, for whose sake thy days have run

One scene of woe! to endless cares consign’d,

And outraged by the wrongs of base mankind.”


Then, rushing to his arms, he kiss’d his boy

With the strong raptures of a parent’s joy.

Tears bathe his cheek, and tears the ground bedew:

He strain’d him close, as to his breast he grew.

“Ah me! (exclaims the prince with fond desire)

Thou art not—no, thou canst not be my sire.

Heaven such illusion only can impose,

By the false joy to aggravate my woes.

Who but a god can change the general doom,

And give to wither’d age a youthful bloom!

Late, worn with years, in weeds obscene you trod;

Now, clothed in majesty, you move a god!”


“Forbear (he cried,) for Heaven reserve that name;

Give to thy father but a father’s claim;

Other Ulysses shalt thou never see,

I am Ulysses, I, my son, am he.

Twice ten sad years o’er earth and ocean toss’d,

’Tis given at length to view my native coast.

Pallas, unconquer’d maid, my frame surrounds

With grace divine: her power admits no bounds;

She o’er my limbs old age and wrinkles shed;

Now strong as youth, magnificent I tread.

The gods with ease frail man depress or raise,

Exalt the lowly, or the proud debase.”


He spoke and sate. The prince with transport flew,