|
|
| Now had Minerva reach'd those ample plains, |
|
|
| Famed for the dance, where Menelaus reigns: |
|
|
| Anxious she flies to great Ulysses' heir, |
|
|
| His instant voyage challenged all her care. |
|
|
| Beneath the royal portico display'd, |
|
|
| With Nestor's son Telemachus was laid: |
|
|
| In sleep profound the son of Nestor lies; |
|
|
| Not thine, Ulysses! Care unseal'd his eyes: |
|
|
| Restless he grieved, with various fears oppress'd, |
|
|
| And all thy fortunes roll'd within his breast. |
|
|
| When, "O Telemachus! (the goddess said) |
|
|
| Too long in vain, too widely hast thou stray'd, |
|
|
| Thus leaving careless thy paternal right |
|
|
| The robbers' prize, the prey to lawless might. |
|
|
| On fond pursuits neglectful while you roam, |
|
|
| E'en now the hand of rapine sacks the dome. |
|
|
| Hence to Atrides; and his leave implore |
|
|
| To launch thy vessel for thy natal shore; |
|
|
| Fly, whilst thy mother virtuous yet withstands |
|
|
| Her kindred's wishes, and her sire's commands; |
|
|
| Through both, Eurymachus pursues the dame, |
|
|
| And with the noblest gifts asserts his claim. |
|
|
| Hence, therefore, while thy stores thy own remain; |
|
|
| Thou know'st the practice of the female train, |
|
|
| Lost in the children of the present spouse, |
|
|
| They slight the pledges of their former vows; |
|
|
| Their love is always with the lover past; |
|
|
| Still the succeeding flame expels the last. |
|
|
| Let o'er thy house some chosen maid preside, |
|
|
| Till Heaven decrees to bless thee in a bride. |
|
|
| But now thy more attentive ears incline, |
|
|
| Observe the warnings of a power divine; |
|
|
| For thee their snares the suitor lords shall lay |
|
|
| In Samos' sands, or straits of Ithaca; |
|
|
| To seize thy life shall lurk the murderous band, |
|
|
| Ere yet thy footsteps press thy native land. |
|
|
| No!—sooner far their riot and their lust |
|
|
| All-covering earth shall bury deep in dust! |
|
|
| Then distant from the scatter'd islands steer, |
|
|
| Nor let the night retard thy full career; |
|
|
| Thy heavenly guardian shall instruct the gales |
|
|
| To smooth thy passage and supply thy sails: |
|
|
| And when at Ithaca thy labour ends, |
|
|
| Send to the town the vessel with thy friends; |
|
|
| But seek thou first the master of the swine |
|
|
| (For still to thee his loyal thoughts incline); |
|
|
| There pass the night: while he his course pursues |
|
|
| To bring Penelope the wish'd-for news, |
|
|
| That thou, safe sailing from the Pylian strand, |
|
|
| Art come to bless her in thy native land." |
|
|
| Thus spoke the goddess, and resumed her flight |
|
|
| To the pure regions of eternal light, |
|
|
| Meanwhile Pisistratus he gently shakes, |
|
|
| And with these words the slumbering youth awakes: |
|
|
|
|
| "If with desire so strong thy bosom glows, |
|
|
| Ill (said the king) should I thy wish oppose; |
|
|
| For oft in others freely I reprove |
|
|
| The ill-timed efforts of officious love; |
|
|
| Who love too much, hate in the like extreme, |
|
|
| And both the golden mean alike condemn. |
|
|
| Alike he thwarts the hospitable end, |
|
|
| Who drives the free, or stays the hasty friend: |
|
|
| True friendship's laws are by this rule express'd, |
|
|
| Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest. |
|
|
| Yet, stay, my friends, and in your chariot take |
|
|
| The noblest presents that our love can make; |
|
|
| Meantime commit we to our women's care |
|
|
| Some choice domestic viands to prepare; |
|
|
| The traveller, rising from the banquet gay, |
|
|
| Eludes the labours of the tedious way, |
|
|
| Then if a wider course shall rather please, |
|
|
| Through spacious Argos and the realms of Greece, |
|
|
| Atrides in his chariot shall attend; |
|
|
| Himself thy convoy to each royal friend. |
|
|
| No prince will let Ulysses' heir remove |
|
|
| Without some pledge, some monument of love: |
|
|
| These will the caldron, these the tripod give; |
|
|
| From those the well-pair'd mules we shall receive, |
|
|
| Or bowl emboss'd whose golden figures live." |
|
|
|
|
| His purpose when the generous warrior heard, |
|
|
| He charged the household cates to be prepared. |
|
|
| Now with the dawn, from his adjoining home, |
|
|
| Was Boethoedes Eteoneus come; |
|
|
| Swift at the word he forms the rising blaze, |
|
|
| And o'er the coals the smoking fragments lays. |
|
|
| Meantime the king, his son, and Helen went |
|
|
| Where the rich wardrobe breathed a costly scent; |
|
|
| The king selected from the glittering rows |
|
|
| A bowl; the prince a silver beaker chose. |
|
|
| The beauteous queen revolved with careful eyes |
|
|
| Her various textures of unnumber'd dyes, |
|
|
| And chose the largest; with no vulgar art |
|
|
| Her own fair hands embroider'd every part; |
|
|
| Beneath the rest it lay divinely bright, |
|
|
| Like radiant Hesper o'er the gems of night, |
|
|
| Then with each gift they hasten'd to their guest, |
|
|
| And thus the king Ulysses' heir address'd: |
|
|
| "Since fix'd are thy resolves, may thundering Jove |
|
|
| With happiest omens thy desires approve! |
|
|
| This silver bowl, whose costly margins shine |
|
|
| Enchased with old, this valued gift be thine; |
|
|
| To me this present, of Vulcanian frame, |
|
|
| From Sidon's hospitable monarch came; |
|
|
| To thee we now consign the precious load, |
|
|
| The pride of kings, and labour of a god." |
|
|
|
|
| She said, and gave the veil; with grateful look |
|
|
| The prince the variegated present took. |
|
|
| And now, when through the royal dome they pass'd, |
|
|
| High on a throne the king each stranger placed. |
|
|
| A golden ewer the attendant damsel brings, |
|
|
| Replete with water from the crystal springs; |
|
|
| With copious streams the shining vase supplies |
|
|
| A silver layer of capacious size. |
|
|
| They wash. The tables in fair order spread, |
|
|
| The glittering canisters are crown'd with bread; |
|
|
| Viands of various kinds allure the taste, |
|
|
| Of choicest sort and savour; rich repast! |
|
|
| Whilst Eteoneus portions out the shares |
|
|
| Atrides' son the purple draught prepares, |
|
|
| And now (each sated with the genial feast, |
|
|
| And the short rage of thirst and hunger ceased) |
|
|
| Ulysses' son, with his illustrious friend, |
|
|
| The horses join, the polish'd car ascend, |
|
|
| Along the court the fiery steeds rebound, |
|
|
| And the wide portal echoes to the sound. |
|
|
| The king precedes; a bowl with fragrant wine |
|
|
| (Libation destined to the powers divine) |
|
|
| His right hand held: before the steed he stands, |
|
|
| Then, mix'd with prayers, he utters these commands: |
|
|
|
|
| Whilst yet the monarch paused, with doubts oppress'd |
|
|
| The beauteous queen relieved his labouring breast: |
|
|
| "Hear me (she cried), to whom the gods have given |
|
|
| To read this sign, and mystic sense of heaven, |
|
|
| As thus the plumy sovereign of the air |
|
|
| Left on the mountain's brow his callow care, |
|
|
| And wander'd through the wide ethereal way |
|
|
| To pour his wrath on yon luxurious prey; |
|
|
| So shall thy godlike father, toss'd in vain |
|
|
| Through all the dangers of the boundless main, |
|
|
| Arrive (or if perchance already come) |
|
|
| From slaughter'd gluttons to release the dome." |
|
|
|
|
| He said; and bending o'er his chariot, flung |
|
|
| Athwart the fiery steeds the smarting thong; |
|
|
| The bounding shafts upon the harness play, |
|
|
| Till night descending intercepts the way. |
|
|
| To Diocles at Pherae they repair, |
|
|
| Whose boasted sire was sacred Alpheus' heir; |
|
|
| With him all night the youthful stranger stay'd, |
|
|
| Nor found the hospitable rites unpaid, |
|
|
| But soon as morning from her orient bed |
|
|
| Had tinged the mountains with her earliest red, |
|
|
| They join'd the steeds, and on the chariot sprung, |
|
|
| The brazen portals in their passage rung. |
|
|
|
|
| The hero paused, and ponder'd this request, |
|
|
| While love and duty warr'd within his breast. |
|
|
| At length resolved, he turn'd his ready hand, |
|
|
| And lash'd his panting coursers to the strand. |
|
|
| There, while within the poop with care he stored |
|
|
| The regal presents of the Spartan lord, |
|
|
| "With speed begone (said he); call every mate, |
|
|
| Ere yet to Nestor I the tale relate: |
|
|
| 'Tis true, the fervour of his generous heart |
|
|
| Brooks no repulse, nor couldst thou soon depart: |
|
|
| Himself will seek thee here, nor wilt thou find, |
|
|
| In words alone, the Pylian monarch kind. |
|
|
| But when, arrived, he thy return shall know |
|
|
| How will his breast with honest fury glow!" |
|
|
| This said, the sounding strokes his horses fire, |
|
|
| And soon he reached the palace of his sire. |
|
|
|
|
| Meantime the prince with sacrifice adores |
|
|
| Minerva, and her guardian aid implores; |
|
|
| When lo! a wretch ran breathless to the shore, |
|
|
| New from his crime; and reeking yet with gore. |
|
|
| A seer he was, from great Melampus sprung, |
|
|
| Melampus, who in Pylos flourish'd long, |
|
|
| Till, urged by wrongs, a foreign realm he chose, |
|
|
| Far from the hateful cause of all his woes. |
|
|
| Neleus his treasures one long year detains, |
|
|
| As long he groan'd in Philacus' chains: |
|
|
| Meantime, what anguish and what rage combined |
|
|
| For lovely Pero rack'd his labouring mind! |
|
|
| Yet 'scaped he death; and vengeful of his wrong |
|
|
| To Pylos drove the lowing herds along: |
|
|
| Then (Neleus vanquish'd, and consign'd the fair |
|
|
| To Bias' arms) he so sought a foreign air; |
|
|
| Argos the rich for his retreat he chose, |
|
|
| There form'd his empire; there his palace rose. |
|
|
| From him Antiphates and Mantius came: |
|
|
| The first begot Oicleus great in fame, |
|
|
| And he Amphiaraus, immortal name! |
|
|
| The people's saviour, and divinely wise, |
|
|
| Beloved by Jove, and him who gilds the skies; |
|
|
| Yet short his date of life! by female pride he dies. |
|
|
| From Mantius Clitus, whom Aurora's love |
|
|
| Snatch'd for his beauty to the thrones above; |
|
|
| And Polyphides, on whom Phoebus shone |
|
|
| With fullest rays, Amphiaraus now gone; |
|
|
| In Hyperesia's groves he made abode, |
|
|
| And taught mankind the counsels of the god. |
|
|
| From him sprung Theoclymenus, who found |
|
|
| (The sacred wine yet foaming on the ground) |
|
|
| Telemachus: whom, as to Heaven he press'd |
|
|
| His ardent vows, the stranger thus address'd: |
|
|
|
|
| "Stranger (replied the prince) securely rest |
|
|
| Affianced in our faith; henceforth our guest." |
|
|
| Thus affable, Ulysses' godlike heir |
|
|
| Takes from the stranger's hand the glittering spear: |
|
|
| He climbs the ship, ascends the stern with haste |
|
|
| And by his side the guest accepted placed. |
|
|
| The chief his order gives: the obedient band, |
|
|
| With due observance wait the chief's command: |
|
|
| With speed the mast they rear, with speed unbind |
|
|
| The spacious sheet, and stretch it to the wind. |
|
|
| Minerva calls; the ready gales obey |
|
|
| With rapid speed to whirl them o'er the sea. |
|
|
| Crunus they pass'd, next Chalcis roll'd away, |
|
|
| With thickening darkness closed the doubtful day; |
|
|
| The silver Phaea's glittering rills they lost, |
|
|
| And skimm'd along by Elis' sacred coast. |
|
|
| Then cautious through the rocky reaches wind, |
|
|
| And turning sudden, shun the death design'd. |
|
|
|
|
| "Yet one night more, my friends, indulge your guest; |
|
|
| The last I purpose in your walls to rest: |
|
|
| To-morrow for myself I must provide, |
|
|
| And only ask your counsel, and a guide; |
|
|
| Patient to roam the street, by hunger led, |
|
|
| And bless the friendly hand that gives me bread. |
|
|
| There in Ulysses' roof I may relate |
|
|
| Ulysses' wanderings to his royal mate; |
|
|
| Or, mingling with the suitors' haughty train, |
|
|
| Not undeserving some support obtain. |
|
|
| Hermes to me his various gifts imparts. |
|
|
| Patron of industry and manual arts: |
|
|
| Few can with me in dexterous works contend, |
|
|
| The pyre to build, the stubborn oak to rend; |
|
|
| To turn the tasteful viand o'er the flame; |
|
|
| Or foam the goblet with a purple stream. |
|
|
| Such are the tasks of men of mean estate, |
|
|
| Whom fortune dooms to serve the rich and great." |
|
|
|
|
| "Alas! (Eumaeus with a sigh rejoin'd). |
|
|
| How sprung a thought so monstrous in thy mind? |
|
|
| If on that godless race thou would'st attend, |
|
|
| Fate owes thee sure a miserable end! |
|
|
| Their wrongs and blasphemies ascend the sky, |
|
|
| And pull descending vengeance from on high. |
|
|
| Not such, my friend, the servants of their feast: |
|
|
| A blooming train in rich embroidery dress'd, |
|
|
| With earth's whole tribute the bright table bends, |
|
|
| And smiling round celestial youth attends. |
|
|
| Stay, then: no eye askance beholds thee here; |
|
|
| Sweet is thy converse to each social ear; |
|
|
| Well pleased, and pleasing, in our cottage rest, |
|
|
| Till good Telemachus accepts his guest |
|
|
| With genial gifts, and change of fair attires, |
|
|
| And safe conveys thee where thy soul desires." |
|
|
|
|
| To him the man of woes; "O gracious Jove! |
|
|
| Reward this stranger's hospitable love! |
|
|
| Who knows the son of sorrow to relieve, |
|
|
| Cheers the sad heart, nor lets affliction grieve. |
|
|
| Of all the ills unhappy mortals know, |
|
|
| A life of wanderings is the greatest woe; |
|
|
| On all their weary ways wait care and pain, |
|
|
| And pine and penury, a meagre train. |
|
|
| To such a man since harbour you afford, |
|
|
| Relate the farther fortunes of your lord; |
|
|
| What cares his mother's tender breast engage, |
|
|
| And sire forsaken on the verge of age; |
|
|
| Beneath the sun prolong they yet their breath, |
|
|
| Or range the house of darkness and of death?" |
|
|
|
|
| To whom the swain: "Attend what you enquire; |
|
|
| Laertes lives, the miserable sire, |
|
|
| Lives, but implores of every power to lay |
|
|
| The burden down, and wishes for the day. |
|
|
| Torn from his offspring in the eve of life, |
|
|
| Torn from the embraces of his tender wife, |
|
|
| Sole, and all comfortless, he wastes away |
|
|
| Old age, untimely posting ere his day. |
|
|
| She too, sad mother! for Ulysses lost |
|
|
| Pined out her bloom, and vanish'd to a ghost; |
|
|
| (So dire a fate, ye righteous gods! avert |
|
|
| From every friendly, every feeling heart!) |
|
|
| While yet she was, though clouded o'er with grief. |
|
|
| Her pleasing converse minister'd relief: |
|
|
| With Climene, her youngest daughter, bred, |
|
|
| One roof contain'd us, and one table fed. |
|
|
| But when the softly-stealing pace of time |
|
|
| Crept on from childhood into youthful prime, |
|
|
| To Samos' isle she sent the wedded fair; |
|
|
| Me to the fields; to tend the rural care; |
|
|
| Array'd in garments her own hands had wove, |
|
|
| Nor less the darling object of her love. |
|
|
| Her hapless death my brighter days o'ercast, |
|
|
| Yet Providence deserts me not at last; |
|
|
| My present labours food and drink procure, |
|
|
| And more, the pleasure to relieve the poor. |
|
|
| Small is the comfort from the queen to hear |
|
|
| Unwelcome news, or vex the royal ear; |
|
|
| Blank and discountenanced the servants stand, |
|
|
| Nor dare to question where the proud command; |
|
|
| No profit springs beneath usurping powers; |
|
|
| Want feeds not there where luxury devours, |
|
|
| Nor harbours charity where riot reigns: |
|
|
| Proud are the lords, and wretched are the swains." |
|
|
|
|
| The suffering chief at this began to melt; |
|
|
| And, "O Eumaeus! thou (he cries) hast felt |
|
|
| The spite of fortune too! her cruel hand |
|
|
| Snatch'd thee an infant from thy native land! |
|
|
| Snatch'd from thy parents' arms, thy parents' eyes, |
|
|
| To early wants! a man of miseries! |
|
|
| The whole sad story, from its first, declare: |
|
|
| Sunk the fair city by the rage of war, |
|
|
| Where once thy parents dwelt? or did they keep, |
|
|
| In humbler life, the lowing herds and sheep? |
|
|
| So left perhaps to tend the fleecy train, |
|
|
| Rude pirates seized, and shipp'd thee o'er the main? |
|
|
| Doom'd a fair prize to grace some prince's board, |
|
|
| The worthy purchase of a foreign lord." |
|
|
|
|
| "If then my fortunes can delight my friend, |
|
|
| A story fruitful of events attend: |
|
|
| Another's sorrow may thy ears enjoy, |
|
|
| And wine the lengthen'd intervals employ. |
|
|
| Long nights the now declining year bestows; |
|
|
| A part we consecrate to soft repose, |
|
|
| A part in pleasing talk we entertain; |
|
|
| For too much rest itself becomes a pain. |
|
|
| Let those, whom sleep invites, the call obey, |
|
|
| Their cares resuming with the dawning day: |
|
|
| Here let us feast, and to the feast be join'd |
|
|
| Discourse, the sweeter banquet of the mind; |
|
|
| Review the series of our lives, and taste |
|
|
| The melancholy joy of evils pass'd: |
|
|
| For he who much has suffer'd, much will know, |
|
|
| And pleased remembrance builds delight on woe. |
|
|
|
|
| "Above Ortygia lies an isle of fame, |
|
|
| Far hence remote, and Syria is the name |
|
|
| (There curious eyes inscribed with wonder trace |
|
|
| The sun's diurnal, and his annual race); |
|
|
| Not large, but fruitful; stored with grass to keep |
|
|
| The bellowing oxen and the bleating sheep; |
|
|
| Her sloping hills the mantling vines adorn, |
|
|
| And her rich valleys wave with golden corn. |
|
|
| No want, no famine, the glad natives know, |
|
|
| Nor sink by sickness to the shades below; |
|
|
| But when a length of years unnerves the strong, |
|
|
| Apollo comes, and Cynthia comes along. |
|
|
| They bend the silver bow with tender skill, |
|
|
| And, void of pain, the silent arrows kill. |
|
|
| Two equal tribes this fertile land divide, |
|
|
| Where two fair cities rise with equal pride. |
|
|
| But both in constant peace one prince obey, |
|
|
| And Ctesius there, my father, holds the sway. |
|
|
| Freighted, it seems, with toys of every sort, |
|
|
| A ship of Sidon anchor'd in our port; |
|
|
| What time it chanced the palace entertain'd, |
|
|
| Skill'd in rich works, a woman of their land: |
|
|
| This nymph, where anchor'd the Phoenician train, |
|
|
| To wash her robes descending to the main, |
|
|
| A smooth tongued sailor won her to his mind |
|
|
| (For love deceives the best of womankind). |
|
|
| A sudden trust from sudden liking grew; |
|
|
| She told her name, her race, and all she knew, |
|
|
| 'I too (she cried) from glorious Sidon came, |
|
|
| My father Arybas, of wealthy fame: |
|
|
| But, snatch'd by pirates from my native place, |
|
|
| The Taphians sold me to this man's embrace.' |
|
|
|
|
| "'Swear first (she cried), ye sailors! to restore |
|
|
| A wretch in safety to her native shore.' |
|
|
| Swift as she ask'd, the ready sailors swore. |
|
|
| She then proceeds: 'Now let our compact made |
|
|
| Be nor by signal nor by word betray'd, |
|
|
| Nor near me any of your crew descried, |
|
|
| By road frequented, or by fountain side. |
|
|
| Be silence still our guard. The monarch's spies |
|
|
| (For watchful age is ready to surmise) |
|
|
| Are still at hand; and this, revealed, must be |
|
|
| Death to yourselves, eternal chains to me. |
|
|
| Your vessel loaded, and your traffic pass'd, |
|
|
| Despatch a wary messenger with haste; |
|
|
| Then gold and costly treasures will I bring, |
|
|
| And more, the infant offspring of the king. |
|
|
| Him, child-like wandering forth, I'll lead away |
|
|
| (A noble prize!) and to your ship convey.' |
|
|
|
|
| "Thus spoke the dame, and homeward took the road. |
|
|
| A year they traffic, and their vessel load. |
|
|
| Their stores complete, and ready now to weigh, |
|
|
| A spy was sent their summons to convey: |
|
|
| An artist to my father's palace came, |
|
|
| With gold and amber chains, elaborate frame: |
|
|
| Each female eye the glittering links employ; |
|
|
| They turn, review, and cheapen every toy. |
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| He took the occasion, as they stood intent, |
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| Gave her the sign, and to his vessel went. |
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| She straight pursued, and seized my willing arm; |
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| I follow'd, smiling, innocent of harm. |
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| Three golden goblets in the porch she found |
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| (The guests not enter'd, but the table crown'd); |
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| Hid in her fraudful bosom these she bore: |
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| Now set the sun, and darken'd all the shore. |
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| Arriving then, where tilting on the tides |
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| Prepared to launch the freighted vessel rides, |
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| Aboard they heave us, mount their decks, and sweep |
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| With level oar along the glassy deep. |
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| Six calmy days and six smooth nights we sail, |
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| And constant Jove supplied the gentle gale. |
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| The seventh, the fraudful wretch (no cause descried), |
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| Touch'd by Diana's vengeful arrow, died. |
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| Down dropp'd the caitiff-corse, a worthless load, |
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| Down to the deep; there roll'd, the future food |
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| Of fierce sea-wolves, and monsters of the flood. |
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| An helpless infant I remain'd behind; |
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| Thence borne to Ithaca by wave and wind; |
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| Sold to Laertes by divine command, |
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| And now adopted to a foreign land." |
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| So passed in pleasing dialogue away |
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| The night; then down to short repose they lay; |
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| Till radiant rose the messenger of day. |
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| While in the port of Ithaca, the band |
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| Of young Telemachus approach'd the land; |
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| Their sails they loosed, they lash'd the mast aside, |
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| And cast their anchors, and the cables tied: |
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| Then on the breezy shore, descending, join |
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| In grateful banquet o'er the rosy wine. |
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| When thus the prince: "Now each his course pursue; |
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| I to the fields, and to the city you. |
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| Long absent hence, I dedicate this day |
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| My swains to visit, and the works survey. |
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| Expect me with the morn, to pay the skies |
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| Our debt of safe return in feast and sacrifice." |
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| The prince return'd: "Renown'd in days of yore |
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| Has stood our father's hospitable door; |
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| No other roof a stranger should receive, |
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| No other hands than ours the welcome give. |
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| But in my absence riot fills the place, |
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| Nor bears the modest queen a stranger's face; |
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| From noiseful revel far remote she flies, |
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| But rarely seen, or seen with weeping eyes. |
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| No—let Eurymachus receive my guest, |
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| Of nature courteous, and by far the best; |
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| He woos the queen with more respectful flame, |
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| And emulates her former husband's fame, |
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| With what success, 'tis Jove's alone to know, |
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| And the hoped nuptials turn to joy or woe." |
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| With that, their anchors he commands to weigh, |
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| Mount the tall bark, and launch into the sea. |
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| All with obedient haste forsake the shores, |
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| And, placed in order, spread their equal oars. |
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| Then from the deck the prince his sandals takes; |
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| Poised in his hand the pointed javelin shakes. |
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| They part; while, lessening from the hero's view |
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| Swilt to the town the well-row'd galley flew: |
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| The hero trod the margin of the main, |
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| And reach'd the mansion of his faithful swain. |
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