No More Learning

Three nights I housed him, and within my cot
Three days detain'd him, (for his ship he left
A fugitive, and came direct to me) 620
But half untold his hist'ry still remains.
As when his eye one fixes on a bard
From heav'n 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, 630
A suppliant to the very earth abased;
He adds, that in Thesprotia's neighbour realm
He of Ulysses heard, both that he lives,
And that he comes laden with riches home.
To whom Penelope, discrete, replied.
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, 640
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.
Then sneezed Telemachus with sudden force, 650
That all the palace rang; his mother laugh'd,
And in wing'd accents thus the swain bespake.
Haste--bid him hither--hear'st thou not the sneeze
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.
She spake; he went, and where Ulysses sat 660
Arriving, in wing'd accents thus began.
Penelope, my venerable friend!
Calls thee, the mother of Telemachus.
Oppress'd by num'rous troubles, she desires
To ask thee tidings of her absent Lord.
And should the event verify thy report,
Thy meed shall be (a boon which much thou need'st)
Tunic and mantle; but she gives no more;
Thy sustenance thou must, as now, obtain,[78]
Begging it at their hands who chuse to give. 670
Then thus Ulysses, Hero toil-inured.
Eumaeus! readily I can relate
Truth, and truth only, to the prudent Queen
Icarius' daughter; for of him I know
Much, and have suff'red sorrows like his own.
But dread I feel of this imperious throng
Perverse, whose riot and outrageous acts
Of violence echo through the vault of heav'n.
And, even now, when for no fault of mine
Yon suitor struck me as I pass'd, and fill'd 680
My flesh with pain, neither Telemachus
Nor any interposed to stay his arm.
Now, therefore, let Penelope, although
Impatient, till the sun descend postpone
Her questions; then she may enquire secure
When comes her husband, and may nearer place
My seat to the hearth-side, for thinly clad
Thou know'st I am, whose aid I first implored.
He ceas'd; at whose reply Eumaeus sought
Again the Queen, but ere he yet had pass'd 690
The threshold, thus she greeted his return.
Com'st thou alone, Eumaeus? why delays
The invited wand'rer? dreads he other harm?
Or sees he aught that with a bashful awe
Fills him? the bashful poor are poor indeed.