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Then came they to the island where are
fed the Oxen of the Sun; and because his comrades would slay them,
destruction came upon them, and Ulysses alone came alive to the isle
of Calypso.


_III_. --_How Ulysses Came Back to Ithaca_

Now, when Ulysses had made an end, it pleased Alcinous and all the
Phaeacians that they should speed him home with many rich gifts. So
they set him in a ship, and bore him to Ithaca, and laid him on
the shore, yet sleeping, with all the goodly gifts about him, and
departed. But he, waking, wist not where he was till Pallas came
to him. Who counselled him how he should deal with the Wooers, and
disguised him as a man ancient and worn.

Then Ulysses sought and found the faithful swine-herd Eumaeus, who made
him welcome, not knowing who he was, and told him of the ill-doing of
the suitors. But Pallas went and brought back Telemachus from Sparata,
evading the Wooers' ambush.

Out rushed amazed Eumaeus, and let go
The cup to earth, that he had laboured so,
Cleansed for the neat wine, did the prince surprise,
Kissed his fair forehead, both his lovely eyes,
And wept for joy. Then entering, from his seat
His father rose to him; who would not let
The old man remove, but drew him back, and prest
With earnest terms his sitting, saying, "Guest,
Take here your seat again. "

Eumaeus departing, Pallas restored Ulysses to his own likeness, and he
made himself known to Telemachus, and instructed him.

"Go them for home, and troop up with the Wooers,
Thy will with theirs joined, power with their rude powers;
And after shall the herdsmen guide to town
My steps, my person wholly overgrown
With all appearance of a poor old swain,
Heavy and wretched. If their high disdain
Of my vile presence made them my desert
Affect with contumelies, let thy loved heart
Beat in fixed confines of thy bosom still,
And see me suffer, patient of their ill.
But when I give the sign, all th' arms that are
Aloft thy roof in some near room prepare--
Two swords, two darts, two shields, left for us twain.
But let none know Ulysses near again.
"
But when air's rosy birth, the morn, arose,
Telemachus did for the turn dispose
His early steps; went on with spritely pace,
And to the Wooers studied little grace . . .
And now the king and herdsman from the field
Drew nigh the town; when in the yard there lay
A dog called Argus, which, before his way
Assumed for Ilion, Ulysses bred,
Yet stood his pleasure then in little stead,
As being too young, but, growing to his grace,
Young men made choice of him for every chase,
Or of their wild goats, of their hares, or harts;
But, his king gone, and he, now past his parts,
Lay all abjectly on the stable's store
Before the ox-stall, and mules' stable-door,
To keep the clothes cast from the peasants' hands
While they laid compass on Ulysses' lands,
The dog, with ticks (unlook'd to) overgrown.
But by this dog no sooner seen but known
Was wise Ulysses; who now enter'd there.
Up went his dog's laid ears, coming near,
Up he himself rose, fawned, and wagged his stern,
Couch'd close his ears, and lay so; nor discern
Could ever more his dear-loved lord again.
Ulysses saw it, nor had power t'abstain From
shedding tears; but (far-off seeing his swain)
His grief dissembled. . . . Then they entered in
And left poor Argus dead; his lord's first sight
Since that time twenty years bereft his sight.

Telemachus welcomed the wayworn suppliant; the feasting Wooers, too,
sent him portions of meat, save Antinous, who

Rapt up a stool, with which he smit
The king's right shoulder, 'twixt his neck and it.
He stood him like a rock. Antinous' dart
Stirred not Ulysses, who in his great heart
Deep ills projected.

The very Wooers were wroth. Which clamour Penelope hearing, she sent
for Eumaeus, and bade him summon the stranger to her; but he would
not come till evening, by reason of the suitors, from whom he had
discourteous treatment.