Sent the sad sire in solitude to stray;

Yet busied with his slaves, to ease his woe,

He dress’d the vine, and bade the garden blow,

Nor food nor wine refused; but since the day

That you to Pylos plough’d the watery way,

Nor wine nor food he tastes; but, sunk in woes,

Wild springs the vine, no more the garden blows,

Shut from the walks of men, to pleasure lost,

Pensive and pale he wanders half a ghost.”


“Wretched old man! (with tears the prince returns)

Yet cease to go—what man so blest but mourns?

Were every wish indulged by favouring skies,

This hour should give Ulysses to my eyes.

But to the queen with speed dispatchful bear,

Our safe return, and back with speed repair;

And let some handmaid of her train resort

To good Laertes in his rural court.”


While yet he spoke, impatient of delay,

He braced his sandals on, and strode away:

Then from the heavens the martial goddess flies

Through the wild fields of air, and cleaves the skies:

In form, a virgin in soft beauty’s bloom,

Skill’d in the illustrious labours of the loom.

Alone to Ithaca she stood display’d,

But unapparent as a viewless shade

Escaped Telemachus (the powers above,

Seen or unseen, o’er earth at pleasure move):

The dogs intelligent confess’d the tread

Of power divine, and howling, trembling, fled.

The goddess, beckoning, waves her deathless hands:

Dauntless the king before the goddess stands:


“Then why (she said), O favour’d of the skies!

Why to thy godlike son this long disguise?

Stand forth reveal’d; with him thy cares employ

Against thy foes; be valiant and destroy!

Lo! I descend in that avenging hour,

To combat by thy side, thy guardian power.”


She said, and o’er him waves her wand of gold

Imperial robes his manly limbs infold;

At once with grace divine his frame improves;

At once with majesty enlarged he moves:

Youth flush’d his reddening cheek, and from his brows

A length of hair in sable ringlets flows;