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But in his heart Telemachus that blow Resented, anguish-torn, yet not a tear He shed, but silent shook his brows, and mused Terrible things. Penelope, meantime, Told of the wandrer so abused beneath Her roof, among her maidens thus exclaimd. Thee also. Then Eurynome replied, Should see bright-charioted Aurora more. Nurse! they are odious all, for that alike All teem with mischief; but Antinoüs looks Remind me ever of the gloom of death. A stranger hath arrived who, begging, roams The house, (for so his penury enjoins) The rest have givn him, and have filld his bag With viands, but Antinoüs hath bruised His shoulder with a foot-stool hurld at him. In her own chamber sat, Ulysses made Plenteous repast. Then, calling to her side Eumæus, thus she signified her will. Yon stranger. I would speak with him, and ask If he has seen Ulysses, or have heard Tidings, perchance, of the afflicted Chief, For much a wandrer by his garb he seems. Were those Achaians silent, thou shouldst hear, O Queen! a tale that would console thy heart. Three nights I housed him, and within my cot Three days detaind him, (for his ship he left A fugitive, and came direct to me) But half untold his histry still remains. As when his eye one fixes on a bard From heavn instructed in such themes as charm The ear of mortals, ever as he sings The people press, insatiable, to hear, So, in my cottage, seated at my side, That stranger with his tale enchanted me. Laertes, he affirms, hath been his guest Erewhile in Crete, where Minos race resides, And thence he hath arrived, after great loss, A suppliant to the very earth abased; He adds, that in Thesprotias neighbour realm He of Ulysses heard, both that he lives, And that he comes laden with riches home. Haste; call him. I would hear, myself, his tale. Meantime, let these, or in the palace gate Sport jocular, or here; their hearts are light, For their possessions are secure; their wine None drinks, or eats their viands, save their own, While my abode, day after day, themselves Haunting, my beeves and sheep and fatted goats Slay for the banquet, and my casks exhaust Extravagant, whence endless waste ensues; For no such friend as was Ulysses once Have I to expel the mischief. But might he Revisit once his native shores again, Then, aided by his son, he should avenge, Incontinent, the wrongs which now I mourn. That all the palace rang; his mother laughd, And in wingd accents thus the swain bespake. Propitious of my son? oh might it prove A presage of inevitable death To all these revellers! may none escape! Now mark me well. Should the event his tale Confirm, at my own hands he shall receive Mantle and tunic both for his reward. Arriving, in wingd accents thus began. Calls thee, the mother of Telemachus. Oppressd by numrous troubles, she desires To ask thee tidings of her absent Lord. And should the event verify thy report, Thy meed shall |
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