But thou preferr’st neither to know nor ask
Concerning them, till some experience first
Thou make of her whose wasted youth is spent
In barren solitude, and who in tears
Ceaseless her nights and woeful days consumes.
I ne’er was ignorant, but well foreknew
That not till after loss of all thy friends
Thou should’st return; but loth I was to oppose
Neptune, my father’s brother, sore incensed
For his son’s sake deprived of sight by thee.
But, I will give thee proof—come now—survey
These marks of Ithaca, and be convinced.
That, the huge olive at the haven’s head;
Fast by it, thou behold’st the pleasant cove
Umbrageous, to the nymphs devoted named
The Naiads; this the broad-arch’d cavern is
Where thou wast wont to offer to the nymphs
Many a whole hecatomb; and yonder stands
The mountain Neritus with forests cloath’d.
His eyes all darkness, and he knew the land.
Then felt Ulysses, Hero toil-inured,
Transport unutterable, seeing plain
Once more his native isle. He kiss’d the glebe,
And with uplifted hands the nymphs ador’d.
To see you more, whom yet with happy vows
I now can hail again. Gifts, as of old,
We will hereafter at your shrines present,
If Jove-born Pallas, huntress of the spoils,
Grant life to me, and manhood to my son.
Take courage; trouble not thy mind with thoughts
Now needless. Haste—delay not—far within
This hallow’d cave’s recess place we at once
Thy precious stores, that they may thine remain,
Then muse together on thy wisest course.
Caliginous, and its secret nooks explored
From side to side; meantime, Ulysses brought
All his stores into it, the gold, the brass,
And robes magnificent, his gifts received
From the Phæacians; safe he lodg’d them all,
And Pallas, daughter of Jove Ægis-arm’d,
Closed fast, herself, the cavern with a stone.
Both seated, they in consultation plann’d
The deaths of those injurious suitors proud,
And Pallas, blue-eyed Goddess, thus began.
Laertes’ noble son, Ulysses! think
By what means likeliest thou shalt assail
Those shameless suitors, who have now controuled
Three years thy family, thy matchless wife
With language amorous and with spousal gifts
Urging importunate; but she, with tears
Watching thy wish’d return, hope gives to all
By messages of promise sent to each,
Framing far other purposes the while.
Ah, Agamemnon’s miserable fate
Had surely met me in my own abode,
But for thy gracious warning, pow’r divine!
Come then—Devise the means; teach me, thyself,
The way to vengeance, and my soul inspire
With daring fortitude, as when we loos’d
Her radiant frontlet from the brows of Troy.
Would’st thou with equal zeal, O Pallas! aid
Thy servant here, I would encounter thrice
An hundred enemies, let me but perceive
Thy dread divinity my prompt ally.
And such I will be; not unmark’d by me,
(Let once our time of enterprize arrive)
Shalt thou assail them. Many, as I judge,
Of those proud suitors who devour thy wealth
Shall leave their brains, then, on thy palace floor.
But come. Behold! I will disguise thee so
That none shall know thee! I will parch the skin
On thy fair body; I will cause thee shed
Thy wavy locks; I will enfold thee round
In such a kirtle as the eyes of all
Shall loath to look on; and I will deform
With blurring rheums thy eyes, so vivid erst;
So shall the suitors deem thee, and thy wife,
And thy own son whom thou didst leave at home,
Some sordid wretch obscure. But seek thou first
Thy swine-herd’s mansion; he, alike, intends
Thy good, and loves, affectionate, thy son
And thy Penelope; thou shalt find the swain
Tending his herd; they feed beneath the rock
Corax, at side of Arethusa’s fount,
On acorns dieted, nutritious food
To them, and drinking of the limpid stream.
There waiting, question him of thy concerns,
While I from Sparta praised for women fair
Call home thy son Telemachus, a guest
With Menelaus now, whom to consult
In spacious Lacedæmon he is gone,
Anxious to learn if yet his father lives.
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