THE RETURN OF ULYSSES

Ithaca: the seashore. Thick mist thro’ which Ulysses can scarcely be discerned asleep under a tree. In the foreground, Athena. ATHENA. This day, the last of twenty fateful years, Fulfils the toil and wanderings of the Greeks, Who sailed with Agamemnon against Troy To win back Argive Helen; for to-day Ulysses, last and most despaired of all, Is safe again in Ithaca: and in truth Have I, Athena, though the wisest power And mightiest in Olympus, striven long In heaven and earth to save him from the wrath 10Of great Poseidon; but at length my will Nears its accomplishment, for on this isle Of Ithaca was he at break of morn Landed by good Phæacian mariners, Who ply the convoys of the dangerous sea; Even as they promised him, their king and queen, Alcinous and Aretè, honouring him With loving gifts, tripods of bronze and iron, Raiment and bowls of gold: thro’ blackest night, And the confusion of the baffling waters, 20With sail and oar urging their keel they bore him, Who all the while wrapt in sound slumber lay Deep likest death; and in that trance they laid him Beneath yon olive tree, and, by his feet, The gifts they brought: there may ye see him lying, And there the gifts: and yet ye scarce may see, With so thick darkness have I drenched the air, Lest when he wake, the sight and sweet desire Of home supplant his cunning, and he rise Forthwith, and entering suddenly his house 30Fall by the treachery of the infatuate lords, Who prey there on his substance unrestrained, Sitting in idle suit to woo his wife, Who weeps his fate unknown; and thus my will At last were crossed. So hither am I come Myself to break the sleep I sent, and warn him Against his foes. And now must I awake him; But first will doff my helmet, and appear In mortal semblance, as a delicate youth, Some prince of the isle: so shall my javelin, 40Long robe and shining sandals not betray My godhead. He to me, disguised and strange, Will answer nothing truly, nor believe What truth I tell: ’tis thus I love to prove him, And catch his ready mind at unawares. Wake, merchant, wake, awake; whoe’er thou beest, That sleepest thus so nigh the public road: Arouse thee, man, and guard thy store: Look to it! Ay, if some passer-by have not already Filched from thee a sad loan of bronze or iron. For though we reverence Zeus, thou giv’st occasion 51To make a thief even of an honest man. ULYSSES (awaking). Hail, friend, whom first my waking eyes behold Here in this land: and since thou speakest friendly, Prove now my friend, and show how best to save These few things, ay, and save myself, being here Without thee friendless. And, I prithee, tell me What land is this? What people dwell herein? Is it an island, or some mainland shore That from its fertile plains shelves to the deep? 60Ath. What hast thou asked, man? Couldst thou hither come, Not shipwrecked, as is plain, and yet not know Our famous isle? Not so am I deceived. Thyself tell rather who thou art and whence, Else learn’st thou nought of me: And speak but truth. Ill speeds entreaty on a lying tongue. Ul. Indeed I speak but truth, friend, when I say I know not where I stand; as thou must grant At hearing how I came: for from wide Crete Have I fared over sea with these my goods— 70Where to my sons I left as much again, When thence I fled in fear, because I slew The noble and swift-footed prince of Crete, Orsilochus, son of Idomeneus; Who threatened to despoil me of the wealth I won at Troy, suffering for many years The woes of that long war; and all his grudge Was that I had not served the king his father, But kept my own retainers—for which thing He would have robbed me: but I smote him dead.— 80Ath. Ah, king of ready wile, what tale is this Of Crete and of thy sons, which when I bid thee Speak truth, trips on thy tongue? Dost thou not know Thy goddess, great Athena? Was’t not I Who stirred the hearts of those Phæacian men To bring thee hither? Wherefore in my ears Pourest thou fables? Ul.’Tis thy voice indeed, Which tho’ my eyes were blinded, well I knew. Voice of Athena, dearest of the gods! Now with my soul I grasp thee, now I see, 90And worship thee, divine one, and thy knees Embrace: but in this darkness and disguise Not even a god had known thee; blame me not. Ath. Nor for thy false tale to a stranger spoken? Ul. Since thou who lackest cause hast more deceived. And I—where were I now without my guile, Without thy help? Ath.If I should help thee still, What wouldst thou ask? Ul.Answer me.—Say, what shore Is this I stand on, which is hidden from me By so thick mist: whether they promised true 100Who brought me hither, and it be indeed Ithaca, or whether, as I rather fear, Some other land, to which my fated curse Hales me, or ever I may see my own? Ath. ’Tis Ithaca. Ul.I pray thee by my longing For that dear boon, goddess, deceive me not. Ath. Thou dost not yet believe; but if I show thee Thy very Ithaca, wilt thou believe? Turn now and set thy back against the noise Of the stilly-moaning surge and look inland. 110Ul. Nought. Ath.Look! Ul.I see nought. ’Tis a thicker mist Than ever in my own cloud-gathering isle Clung to the frowning cliffs, when the warm south Beat up the vapours from the seas at morn. Ath. Look. Ul.Now it brightens somewhat, or mine eye Wearies with vainly poring on the dark. Ath. Look. Ul.Ay, the vapours lift, the highlands loom, The air obeys thee: thro’ its thinning veils The figure of some mountain jags the sky; And those should be my hills: ’tis Neritos, ’Tis Ithaca indeed. 120Ath.’Tis Ithaca. Ul. O Blessed Light, that unto all men’s eyes Shewest the lands and waters: that uprisest Day after day upon the windy seas And fertile plains, valleys and lovely hills, Rivers and shores, and heights and peopled towns; Now in all Greece is no tongue praiseth thee As mine, nor heart thanketh; nor any eye Rejoicest thou as mine. Ath.Turn now to left. There is the haven of Phorcys, here the tree, 130Thy well-remembered olive; and to right The rock-roofed cave, where thou so oft hast done Sweet sacrifice unto the native Nymphs. Ul. Soil of my dear-desirèd fatherland, For warrant that I dream not, take this kiss; My home! And ye, dear sisters of the spring, I raise my hands to you, whom nevermore I looked to greet; but now, children of heaven, As once of old I praise you, and henceforth Will pay with loving vows, if your fair queen 140But grant me life, and comfort in my son. Ath. Now thou believest. Ul.See, there be the firs, Which eastward of my house bar the red dawn With black, and in their feathery tops at night Sigh to the moon. Ay, and my house I see Unchanged. ’Tis Ithaca. Ath.Wilt thou not go Now to thy home, and with the sweet surprise Of thy desired return gladden thy wife, And greet thy son, a man, whom thou didst leave In cradle? See, I here will guard thy goods. Thou wouldst be gone. 150Ul.Goddess, if strong desire Could ever conquer me, now should I do A thing for which no man might blame me, nay Even tho’ he pitied me, if too great longing Should fool me to my ruin. But in my heart Are other thoughts. The wife of Agamemnon At his return welcomed the king with state, And to his chamber led, but in the bath Soon as he lay, giving him honied words, She slew him with a dagger, to the deed 160Being prompted by her guilty paramour, Ægisthus. Ten years numbered since that crime Double the equal motive of my fear: Nor can a woman, when her lord, tho’ loved, Is long away, be trusted, that she should not In weariness at last forsake her faith. Wherefore I would not enter in my house, Nay, nor be known of any, till I hear Such tidings as bespeak my coming well. Ath. O brave! thy wary mind has gone before, 170The way I would have led it: thou art as ever Fore-reckoner with chance, to take thy stand Armed at all points. Ul.This fear, goddess, I learnt Of blind Tiresias, when at Circe’s bidding I sailed for south beyond the coasts of men, To dark Cimmerian cloud-land, and I saw The hapless king himself, who with thin voice Poured forth his wrongs; and many more I saw, Who suffered pain: the tearful shadows penned In mansions of austere Persephonè. 180From that old prophet’s tongue of warning weird Still for myself in the end I gathered hope, And treasured it, but from thy tongue fear ill. Ath. Yet shouldst thou cherish all the words he spake. Ul. I ask not now what shall be, but what is. Beneath yon roof what passes? Thou canst give Present assurance. Tell me then. My wife— She is well? Ath.And beautiful. Ul.Faithful? Ath.And brave. Ul. My son Telemachus? Ath.He too is well. Ul. Great are the gods in heaven! I need no more. 190Thee, Goddess, will I worship while I live. Ath. And much thou needest me yet. Hark while I tell. Three years thy house hath been the hostelry Of dissolute and shameless men, the lords And princes of the isles and western shores; Who woo thy wife, and feasting in thy halls Make waste of all thy substance day and night. As men besiege a city, and their host Encamp about and let none out nor in, Waiting the day when hunger and sore need, 200Sharper than iron and cruder than fire, Shall bow the starvèd necks beneath the yoke: So sit they there: and ’mong them is an oath That none will leave till one be satisfied; Whoe’er it be that in the end shall take Thy fair wife, and thy house and goods and lands; Which false and covetous oath, since all have shared, Must be the death of all. Ul.Now with thine aid Shall they be scattered, were their cursed swarm Thick as the rooks, which from his new-sown fields 210The husbandman a moment stays to scare, Raising both hands. Ath.Not so may they escape. Better thou hadst not now returned, if one Of all these men avoid his destined death. Ul. How say’st thou, goddess, shall these men be slain? Ath. How were Ulysses’ foes then wont to die? Ul. It may not be. Ath.Thou wert not used to fear. Ul. Nay, but returned from exile and hard war, I would not usher battle in my home. Ath. Think’st thou of peace? Hadst thou but hence been stayed 220So long as shall suffice yon dying moon To launch her young bark on the western sea, Then had Penelope no more been thine. Ul. Thou saidst that she was faithful. Ath.She withstands The urgence of the wooers day by day; But ’gainst herself, to save thy house from loss, Deeming thee dead indeed, now falls to yield. Ul. Vengeance upon them! Grant me but thine aid, And though they count by hundreds they shall die. Ath. If one escape, his joy will be for thine. 230Ul. All shall be slain, though ’twere a task too heavy For great Alcides. But my son in this Should stand with me. May I not see him first? Shall he not know me, and, in that embrace I yearn for, knit his willing strength with mine? Ath. Telemachus hath lately at my bidding Sailed hence to Lacedæmon, there to inquire What might be learnt of thee. Ul.Was this well done, Or kindly of thee, who couldst have told him all: To send him far, upon a useless errand, 240Out of my sight, the eve of my return? Ath. I sent him for his safety, there to win Opinion too of such as knew him not, And rouse remembrance of thee in the world. To-day is he returned: I have brought his ship North of the island, as was need, to shun The wooers’ galley sent to take him; there Is he disbarked alone. Thou mayst be first To meet him. Ul.Lead me thither. Ath.Ah! thou forgettest. If any one but he should see thy face?— 250Ul. Contrive then that I meet with him alone. Ath. How if my plot were better, so that all Might see thee, yet none know thee but thy son? Ul. What manner of disguise is in thy thought? Ath. Disfigurement, which thou mayst shrink to bear. Ul. Ay, if my son behold me ill transformed. Ath. Yet he alone shall see thee as thou art. Ul. Then tell me, goddess, what thou wouldst: thou knowest 258Playing another’s part I am most myself. Ath. But I will make thee now least like thyself. Ul. How! shall I stoop then to be less than man? Ath. Nay, but of men the vilest, though a man. For that thou mayst be hidden, lo! I will change Thy outward seeming to the piteous aspect Of age and beggary. Thy supple skin I’ll wrinkle on thy joints, thy thick brown hair Rob from thy head, and dim thy radiant eyes, And o’er thy shoulders bowed cast sorry rags, To make thee loathed of men. In such disguise Mayst thou in safety seek thy herdsman’s hut, 270Eumæus: he is faithful, and with kindness Will serve thee as a stranger in distress, No less than he will welcome thee revealed. Accept his food and shelter, and the while Learn from his lips what friends thou hast to look for, What foes to reckon with, what wrongs to avenge; And humour as thou wilt his honest ears, Awaiting till I thither send thy son. Ul. When wilt thou send him? Ath.He will come ere noon. Ul. Then must he first behold me thus deformed? Ath. He cannot know thee. Thou betray thyself 281No whit; I will be near and make occasion To shew thee to him, as thou art, alone. Ul. I have had no hope, goddess, but in thine aid: Long as that tarried I despaired not then; How should I, when thou comest, deny thee now? Ath. Then first unto the cave, therein to stow These goods; and after by this olive trunk Sit we awhile together: when thou hast heard My counsel, I will work this change upon thee, 290That one who saw thee now of kingly port, Hale and well-liking, ay, and bowed the head, Should, when he next saw, spurn thee with his foot; Thus must it be. Come, let us to the cave.

The hut of EUMÆUS. (Same background as Act I.) Some swine seen thro’ pens. EUMÆUS (who is cutting a thong for his sandal). Let man serve God, but not for that require An answerable favour: there is none Outside himself: but yet within himself He hath his guerdon and may be content. Some three and thirty years of servitude Have taught me this; dependence on the gods 300Wins independence of the gods and fate. I that was born a prince have lived a slave,— No fault of mine;—and still if Zeus so willed That man might look for favour, I might hope Once more, ere I grow old, to make return Unto my royal home and kingly sire, —If yet he lives,—and rule myself the realm I was born heir to: be good king Eumæus, So should it be, Eumæus, king of men. 309Nay—I must play the king over these swine; This homestead for my kingdom, this hut for palace, This bench my throne, these crowded pens and styes My city; and I will boast ’twere hard to find A commonwealth of men, whom equal justice Flattered in distribution to this pitch Of general content, such fat well-being As holds among my folk, their laws regardant Of them they govern and their good alone. Ay, so: a king of beasts, no king at all. Swineherd Eumæus; who would call me king? Fool, fool! Serve God, Eumæus, and mend thy shoes. 321And why complain? Had not Laertes too A son that feared the gods? and where is he? Would he not now be glad to be alive, Were’t but to envy me who feed his swine, And guard his goods from robbers, and pretend The hope of his return; which is less like For that Ulysses than for this Eumæus;— There too I best him,—since ’tis easier For any living slave to climb a throne, 330Than for a king once dead to step again Upon the joyous threshold of his house, And take the loving kisses from the lips Of wife and child.—Hark to the hounds. What foe Invades my kingdom? O a piteous sight. Off, dogs;—why they will rend him—Mesaulius, ho! Cottus, call off the dogs! Will they not leave him? To kennel, curs!—Ye heavens! Beggary Is beggared in this miserable beggar. Enter Ulysses (disguised). How wast thou near, old man, to end thy days Beside my gate, and bring me shame and sorrow: 341And that no fault of mine, so suddenly Hast thou appeared. Come, come, sir; step within. Surely ’tis food thou needest. On this table Are bread and wine, and I can bring thee meat: Sit and be satisfied. ULYSSES. Now may the gods, Since thou this day giv’st me so good a welcome, Grant thee thy dearest wish, whate’er it be. Eum. Thou art my guest, old man: and if there came A meaner even than thou, I should not stint 350To offer of my best. Strangers and beggars Are sent from Zeus: and tho’ a poor man’s gift Be poor, a hearty welcome makes it rich. Ul. I pray the gods reward thee. Eum.Nay, there’s the meat; I’ll fetch it thee. [Exit. Ul.Was ever sound on earth So musical as the remembered voice That welcomes home? By heaven, ’twas yesterday That I was here. No change at all: this bench, This board:—the very hogs might be the same. O my good bread and wine! And here’s his loaf, 360The shape he ever made; and cut the same, Scooped to the thumb. Hail, grape of Ithaca! Good day to thee! (Drinks.) Eum. (re-entering). See, here is meat in plenty: Fall to and spare not. Ul.Thank thee, sir; I thank thee. Eum. Art thou of Ithaca, old man? Ul.Nay, sir; Indeed I am not. Eum.When cam’st thou then among us? Ul. With this day’s sun I first beheld your isle. Eum. Eh! hath a ship arrived so late in harbour? Whence hails she? Ul.From Thesprotia coasting south; But driven far out to sea in beating back 370Put in for water; when the notion took me To leave her, and pursue my own starvation Without the risk of drowning. Eum.And how then Cam’st thou aboard a vessel so ill-found? Ul. My tale were long, sir, should I once begin: And since I have seen no food since yestermorn, Believe I’d lend thee ear rather than mouth. Eum. Ay, so, no fool, and I was but a churl To bid thee talk and eat: eat, sir, in peace. Ul. I pray thee while I eat tell of thyself, 380Whom here thou servest, and who rules this isle. Eum. I am a servant, sir, that hath no master: These swine I tend are no man’s: those I kill I kill for any one; for on this isle We pay our service to a gap between A grandsire and a grandchild. Dost thou take me? Ul. Yes, friend: thy master is away or dead. Eum. Both as I think. The while, for lack of tidings, We make believe he lives. His ancient father, Decrepit and despairing, lies aloof,— 390We call him king no longer;—and his son, The old man’s grandchild, is away on quest Of any tidings to be gleaned from those Who years agone fought with his sire at Troy. His widow keeps his house, and hath in hand Some five or six score suitors. Judge from this What hope hath beggary in Ithaca. Ul. In all my wanderings never have I found A kinder host. But since thou sayest thy master, Whose absence makes thee masterless, was one 400Who fought at Troy, I too was in that war; If thou wouldst tell his name, I may know somewhat To cheer his wife and child. Eum.Try not that talk, Old man. No more of him shall traveller hither Come bringing tidings that may win their ear. Lightly indeed for welcome’s sake will vagrants Speak false, nor have they cause to wish for truth. Nay, and there’s none strays to this isle, but goes Seeking my mistress, and there spins his lie; While she with tender care asks of each thing, 410And from her sorrowing eyes the tears fall fast, Hearing the name she doth not dare to speak. And soon enough wouldst thou too coin thy tale, Couldst thou but win a blanket for thy back: The while for him vultures and wolves are like To have stripped his bones of flesh—ay, ay, he is dead— Or fish have preyed upon him, and his ribs Bleach on the sea-shore, sunk in drifting sand. Such fate is his, grievous to all who loved him, And most to me; who ne’er shall find again 420So kind a lord, wherever I may go: Not even again if home to father and mother I should return, where I was bred and born. Nor are my tears for them, yearn as I do With these eyes to behold them, and my country; But my desire is for Ulysses gone: Speaking whose name, stranger, tho’ far from hearing I do obeisance (towards Ul.); for he loved me well; And worshipful I call him, be he dead. Ul. If ’tis Ulysses, friend, whom thou lamentest, I know he lives. 430Eum.Try not that tale, I say. Ul. Now, sir, tho’ thou deny it and think I lie, Ulysses will return, and on that day Give me my due; since I dare call on Zeus, First of the gods, and by this friendly table Swear, and his dear home whither I be come, This thing shall be, and with the running year He shall return. Eum.Nay, ’tis not I shall pay Thy recompense. Content thee, man, and drink. Why wouldst thou force persuasion? Tell me rather 440Thy own true story, who thou art and whence. Ul. Would then that thou couldst give me food and wine, Ay, and the gods fair sunshine and no toil, The while my tale should last: for on this bench Would I take comfort of thee many a day. But of thy lord ... Eum.Wilt thou not cease from that! Ul. With my own ships I fought at Ilion; And tho’ I look not now, in age and rags, A master among men, nay, nor a foe Many would fear, yet mayst thou see on me 450The sign of what I have been, and I think Still from the gratten one may guess the grain. Eum. (aside). How age and misery will brag! And this To me, who really am a king. Ul.’Twas then I knew Ulysses, and have since, like him And many a Greek, striven against destiny To gain my home:—at length our ship was cast On mountainous Thesprotia, where the king Pheidon was kind to me, and there I heard— Nor yet are many weeks passed since that day— 460Full tidings of Ulysses, and I saw What wealth his arm had gotten: he himself Was travelled to Dodona, but by this Should be returned. Eum.Stranger, if all thy words, That grow in number, should outreach in tale The moments of his absence, they were vainly Poured in mine ears. Ul.Nay, then, and if indeed Ulysses came himself, here of his friends He would not be received. Eum.Ay, that may be: And time will change a man so from himself, 470That oft I wonder none have e’er contrived To make pretence to be Ulysses’ self. That were a game for thee, old man, if age Did not so far belie thee. Nay, nay, nay! Signs there would be: and if these eyes should see him, And seeing know not, I would serve them so That they should see no more. Ul.Now when he comes ... Eum. Still harking back! I tell thee, friend, our thought Is rather for his son Telemachus, And his return; who when he promised well 480To be his father’s match, went wandering hence To Lacedæmon, seeking for his sire: An idle quest and perilous, for I say ’Twould much increase the tender love of them That woo the mother, could they kill the son, And quarrel for the inheritance: and now They have sent a ship to take him in the straits, As he comes home: but may the gods protect him. Tho’, till I see him safe, my heart is vexed. Ul. Fear not; the gods will save him. Eum.Thank thee, sir. Hast ever been in Sparta? 490Ul.Ask me nought, If thou wilt credit nought; or shall I say I have never lodged in Pitanè, nor drunk Out of Eurotas, nor on summer noons Gazed on the steep sun-checquered precipices Of huge Taygetus? Eum.Thy pardon, sir. Hast eaten well? Ul.Ay, to content: but, friend, I shall not prey upon thee: an hour or two I’ll rest me here; then, if thou shew the road To good Ulysses’ house, I’ll e’en be gone. 500Food must be there in plenty: I make no doubt To beg a meal till I may serve for hire. Eum. Why, man, what put this folly in thy head? ’Twere the short way to end thy days, to go Among that insolent and godless herd, To tempt their violence. Not such as thou Their servants are: they that attend on them Are young and gaily clad and fair of face: And though the polished tables lack not food, ’Tis not for such as thou the hot feast smokes 510From morn till eve, and the red wine is poured. Bide here; for here thou vexest none, nor me Nor any of my fellows. Bide awhile, And if Telemachus return, I warrant Thou shalt have no complaint. Hark, I hear feet: Some one now comes. Ul.And ’tis a friend; the dogs Bark not, but fawn around. (Aside.) If this be he! I dare not rise and look. Enter Telemachus. Eum.Why he! ’tis he! Telemachus, my son Telemachus, Art thou returned in safety? Ul. (aside.) Praised be the gods! I see my son indeed! TELEMACHUS (to Eum.). 520You see me, father. Eum. Light of mine eyes, thou’rt come, Telemachus; All shall go forward with us once again. Ul. (aside). He calls him father, and I may not speak. Tel. Hath aught been wrong? Eum.Nay, nought is changed for that. ’Twas only lack of thee: and with the fear Some ill might hap to thee, what dost thou think Must old Eumæus feel? Tel. What couldst thou fear? Eum. Didst thou not know? The wooers sent a ship To take thee, son. Thou didst not? Well, some god 531Protected thee. Now let me look on thee. Come within. Sit thee down. Tel.So will I gladly. Ere I would venture to the house, I came To talk with thee, and learn if aught has passed. My mother?... Eum.All is well, prince, yet; she bides Patient and brave, and weeps both day and night; Weeps too for thee. Give me thy spear, my son. Now sit thee down. I say we have feared for thee. Tel. (to Ul.). Nay, rise not, stranger; there be other seats, 540And men to set them.—Pardon me that my joy O’erlooked thee. Thou hast guests, Eumæus? Eum.Nay, None but this ancient father. Tel.And who is he? Eum. To me is he a stranger as to thee. ’Twas yesterday, he tells me, that his ship Thesprotian, as he says, driven from her course, Put in for water: when for some mistrust Or weariness of voyage he remained. He hath fed with me, but thou being now returned He looks to be a suppliant at the house. He is thy man. 550Tel.Eumæus, thou must know I could not, whatsoe’er his claim, receive him Where I myself am threatened: and even my mother Holds no sure mind, wavering from day to day Who shall be master. No: there is no place For suppliants at the house: but as thy guest I still may treat him well: here he shall have Raiment and all he needs, and I will give him A sword, and bid him fare where’er he will. But not to the house I bid him come, for fear 560Violence befall him and I be accursed. Ul. Sir, since thy kindness makes me bold to speak, Thou hast my thanks; nor can I hear thy wrongs, Nor see thy shame unmoved, for thou art noble. Hast thou provoked this, tell me, or are thy people Moved by some god to hate, or is’t thy brethren Play thee false? Tel.Nay, there is neither grudge nor hate Betwixt me and my folk, nor do my brethren Stand faithlessly aloof. ’Tis all to say That Zeus hath made our house of single heirs: 570Arceisios gat one only son Laertes, And he one only son, Ulysses; I, Ulysses’ son, am too his only child: And he hath left his house the prey of foes. I cannot aid thee, stranger. Ul.O would that I Were young as thou, and in my present mood; That I were this Ulysses or his son: Far rather would I die slain in my halls By my thick foes, than see this reckless wrong; My good farms plundered, and my herds devoured, 580My red wine wasted, and my handmaidens Hither and thither haled about, at will Of such a rabble as fear not God nor man, Spoilers and robbers, who have set their hearts Vainly upon a purpose, which I say Shall never be accomplished. Athena appears at the door to Ulysses. Tel.I pray the gods It never be, and thank thee well, my friend, For thy good will. Eum.How art thou moved, old man. Ul. The heart unmoved by others’ wrongs is dead: And yet maybe I am somewhat overwrought; If I may go within ... 590Eum.Ay, go within, And rest thee; thou hast need. Ul.I thank thee, friend. I’ll lay me down to sleep: here I but shackle Your private talk. Eum.Be at thy ease, I pray. Tel. Go, father; rest thee well. Ul.I thank thee, sir. [Exit. Eum. How earnest thou, son? Where didst thou land? Tel.Is’t true The wooers sent a ship? Eum.Didst thou not meet them? Tel. Hark now, and hear in what strange manner warned I knew their ambush, to avoid them. Eum.Ah! Thou knewest it, thou knewest! Tel.Wilt thou think 600I was at Sparta but three days ago? There in my sleep the goddess, at whose word I made this voyage, came and stood beside me, Called me by name, and bade me quick return; And for my safety warned me that a ship ’Twixt Ithaca and Samè lay in wait; Which if I would avoid I must sail round, Keeping the west of the isle; and for that voyage She promised a fair wind. So the next morn Was I at Pylos; whence as I set forth, 610I found the wind, and sailing day and night, With swift unbroken passage came to shore Last evening north of the isle. Hither alone I passed in the dark, and sent my ship about. Eum. That was well done: I praise the gods for that. I knew that they would save thee. Tel.But, Eumæus, What of the ship? What knowest thou? What means it? Were all agreed plotting my life together, Or whose deed is it? Eum.One rancorous spirit rules them,— Save Lord Amphinomus, who stands as ever 620Within the bounds: of all the rest there’s none That would not take thy life by stealth, nor one Who openly would dare. Tel.Who sailed the ship? Eum. Antinous. Tel.Ah! Eum.And if I die to avenge it, Son, he shall pay for it. Tel.Talk, I pray, of safety, Not of revenge. Shall I make bold to go Straight to the house, or must I hide me here? Eum. Bide, son, bide! ’Tis not safe. Let me go, son. When once ’tis known in the isle that thou’rt returned, Then thou mayst shew thyself. The cowards fear 630The love the people bear thee. Let me go. Tel. Is all else well? Eum.All’s well where ill is well. Tel. Eumæus, I’ll not venture yet: but thou Haste to the house, and in my mother’s ear Whisper I am here: but let none other guess That thou hast tidings of me. Eum.Not to tell Thy grandsire, son? He scarce hath eat or drunk While thou hast been away: ’twere well he knew, And quickly; for an hour is much to one Whose life leans on the grave. Tel.My safe return 640Can be no secret, but my hiding-place Must not be known: therefore I would not have Thee for my herald. Thou mayst bid my mother Send one to comfort him; but go not thou Wandering among the hills. My bidding done, Make swift return. I shall be here. Eum.I pray Let not that old man here come round thee, son, With idle stories of thy sire: he is full Of tales of Troy: and if he win thine ear He hath a purpose. Tel.He! Nay, trust me, father. 650Eum. Well, he will try. Tel.Fear not. Eum.He hath a tongue: He saith he fought at Ilion. Then, he saith He knew Ulysses. Tel.Saith he so? Eum.And then He hath been in Lacedæmon too. Tel.His talk While thou’rt away may well beguile the time. Eum. Ay, and thee too. Thou hast not heard, I fear, Aught of thy father now, where thou hast been? Tel. Somewhat, but nothing recent. What I know I’ll tell thee later. Thou couldst gather nought From this old man? Eum.He is cunning: didst thou see 660How he could counterfeit? I tell thee, son, He hath not been here an hour, and never knew Aught of thy father; but he plucks from me The story word by word, and then at once Bursts out,—he knew Ulysses: ay, he stayed Eating to speak of him. Tel.What said he of him? Eum. I would not hear him, son: I would not hear him. Tel. Think you he lied? Eum.Ay, ay. Why, how believe Thy father now is in Thesprotia, Where the king Pheidon hath a ship all stored To bring him home? 670Tel.Eumæus, good Eumæus! What if ’tis true? Eum.True! There, ’tis as I thought: I would not leave thee with him, son; he is quick: He will delude thee. Tel.I must hear his tale, Though it be false. Go thou: my ship will else Be round before thee. Go, and never fear That this old man will turn my head. Eum.Be warned. Trust him not, son. There is something strange about him I like not. Tel.Come: as far as to the gate I will go with thee. [Exeunt. Re-enter Ulysses as himself. Ul. Lo! now the sun in the mid goal of heaven Hath climbed to view my fortunes, and my shade 682On this well-trodden floor falls neither way: So towers my genius; so my future and past Lie gathered for the moment.—How oft in dreams, When longing hath forecast this hour, I have loved The rescuing tears that loosed my heart: and now The womanish water wells, I bid it back: For nature stammers in me, and I see 689Imagination hath a grasp of joy Finer than sense; and my most passionate spirit, When most it should leap forth, hangs back unwilling To officer the trembling instruments, By which delight is served. Back, then, my tears! Fate rules; reason should fashion me.—And welcome Even this harshness of fate; for if my son Shall know me as I am, not as a merchant Should I return at ease, that men might ask Whether Ulysses were returned or no; Rather in blood than doubt.—Here on this bench 700I’ll wait him, nor myself be first to speak: And ’twill be tried for once how a man’s son Shall know his father, never having seen him. Re-enter Telemachus. Tel. Why, who art thou? Not he that on this bench Sattest so late! In truth I much mistook thee, Or thou art changed. Thy hair was thin and white, Thy body rough and pinched with age, thy clothes Were meanest rags. Say art thou he, the same, Eumæus’ guest from the Thesprotian ship? Ul. Ay, son, I am. Tel.Surely thou art a god. Be gracious to our house! [Kneels. 710Ul. (rising). Nay, rise, my son. I am no god. Why wilt thou liken me To those immortals? I am thy father, son, Ulysses to my home at last returned. [Kisses him. Tel. Alas, thou art a god, and thy words mock me. Ul. Thou knowest me not. [Sits. Tel.Say, if thou wert a man, How couldst thou put that change of semblance on, Which only gods may use? Ul.The wise Athena Uses me as she will: then was I old That none might know me; now I am myself 720That thou mayst know.—’Tis I. Tel.Father! my father! O, happy day. [Weeps on his neck. Ul.Thy kisses, O, my son: Thy kisses and thy tears, my son, my son. Tel. O, thou art come. O, happy, happy day. Ul. I am come, Telemachus: but how to know ’Tis I? Tel.O, I am sure; who could be like thee? I knew too thou wouldst come, dear father, and yet I never honoured thee enough: I thought I should be worthy of thee: now I fear ... Ul. I must be unlike thy thought, son; but in thee 730I see myself again of twenty years: Nay, I was somewhat thicker, but maybe That will make up; and thou hast got instead Thy mother’s grace. ’Tis true we mostly shape Less to the father. Tel.How, sire, didst thou come? Ul. A good Phæacian ship brought me last night. I came to land in the dark: and all the spoils I have brought with me are hidden in the cave, 738Till we may fetch them forth. Tel.First come thou home. Ul. And would I might. The hope of twenty years Is gathered in this hour. Come home, thou sayst: Ah, son; and would I might; but what of them That stop the way? Tel.The suitors of my mother? O, they will fly to hear of thy return. Ul. They must not fly. All, where they have done me wrong, Must with their lives atone. This is the cause Of my disguise, that none should know me here But thou, to whom alone I am revealed, That plotting with thee I may draw the net About them. This the goddess bids me, son; To slay thy mother’s wooers. 750Tel.Father, I know Thou art unmatchable among the Greeks In warriorship and wisdom, ay, and here Is none would dare to face thee: yet by tens They reckon, and I fear would overpower thee By very number. Ul.Say: how many be they? Tel. Out of Dulichium there be two and fifty Princes and lords, each with his serving-man: From Samè, four and twenty: from Zakynthus A score; and even of Ithaca itself 760Twelve of the best, with Phemius the bard, Medon, and many followers: ’gainst all these We are but two. Ul.I fear them not, my son. Tel. Seek other aid, I pray, ere ’gainst so many We venture. Ul.What, son, sayst thou, if Athena And father Zeus aid us? will they, thou thinkest, Suffice, or must we cast about to find Some other champion? Tel.Truly they are the best Thou namest, father; tho’ among the clouds Their seat is, and their countenance withheld From mortal men. 770Ul.They will not hold aloof, When once our spears are plunging in the breasts Of that vain rabble. Goes thy heart with mine? Tel. With thee and for thee, father, will I fight, Askest thou? Ul.Wilt thou bear to look on me As late thou sawest me, and seeing me so, Find not the least diminishment of love? Tel. I never shall forget this godlike mien, Whence to disguise thou deignest as a god. Ul. But when thou seest me mocked and scorned, a slave, 780A beggar where I am lord, wilt thou discover No indignation? Tel.I will hide my wrath. Ul. For I must be thy guest among my foes. Tel. To be my guest, if they should set upon thee To drive thee forth, will force me to resist. Ul. Fear not the threatenings of those doomèd men. Tel. They all are armed, and thou wilt be unarmed. Ul. Tho’ they provoke me I will bide my time. Tel. But how if they assault thee unprepared? Ul. The goddess will withhold their impious hands. 790Tel. Lurk rather here until the plot be ripe. Ul. Nay, son; and were the lure of home less strong To me so long deprived, yet would I see Myself the wrongs there done me, see the shame Of which men speak; and, once within the hall, I can take count and measure of my foes. A just cause, bold heart, and the aid of heaven Should still thy fear. Tel.Tell me thy bidding, father! Ul. Ay, so ’tis best: and thro’ thee I may come To see thy mother;—hark, the course is plain: 800Go to the town; announce thine own return; Thence to the house, and to Eumæus say Thou wilt receive me; he must know no more: Bid him to-morrow fetch me to the hall. And when thou seest thy mother, tell her thus; Thou hast seen a stranger in Eumæus’ hut, Who having known thy father, carries news That he is near. As to confirm thy tale, Bring her to speech with me when none are by. Ourselves may meet at night, and then consult 810In secret on what stratagem may grow From that occasion, or what further thing The goddess may command. Tel.Now thy disguise Is my chief fear, father; I know these men: Their insolent assumption would not brook Any intruder, but against a beggar They will make sport of outrage. Ul.Sayst thou so? Then shall we prove them thus: be they good men They will show pity: if they mock my rags, Try if they honour thee; and bid them make, 820Each of his own, a portion unto me. I then shall see their hearts: the more they rage, Force them the more with full authority. This canst thou well do. ’Tis thy harder task Not to betray me. Youth is bold of heart And hot in battle, but to guard the tongue And to restrain the hand come with long years. Tel. Now let this trial prove me once for all, Whether in keeping counsel and in battle I am thy true son, or another man. 830Ul. All hangs on thee; for none but thou must know, Not even thy mother. Tell me, I would learn If in her thought I am alive or dead; And what thine own mind was, fear not to say. Tel. Truly ’twixt hope and hopelessness, we stood In blank uncertainty; and if not yet Our wishes wore the colour of our fears, Now was the turn. Ul.I come then not too soon? Tel. Nay, nor too late. Ul.’Tis well, but time is short; Tarry no longer. Get thee home, and there 840Ordain a sacrifice, such as befits This day of days: such as may well content The favourable deities, and appease The unfriendly. Guess, son, if thy heart is stirred, How ’tis with me. The ties of home are dear, And what a man is born to, both the place, Where’er it be, that hath received his being Out of oblivion, and given his mind The shapes and hues of earth, the sights of heaven, The place whence he sets forth to meet strange things, 850Whither returns to find his own, himself; This bides, the harbour of his fancy,—and draws him Spite of all else from world’s end to world’s end. And more, more dear, are those whose place it was, Whose name he is called by, whom he calls his own, Whose love hath borne and nurtured him, whose life He is offshoot of and diligent support. This love thou knowest, and being to-day returned But from short voyage, mayst in little gauge My joy returning after many years. 860But what thou know’st not—mayst thou come to know!— I’ll tell thee. There be ties dearer than place Or parents; there be bonds that break in pieces The hearts that break them, and whose severance Is more than banishment. Boy, ’tis thy mother That makes this Ithaca the world to me; These tears are hers: and seeing thee, my son, Whose picture I have carried in my heart, And year by year have checked and altered still With vain imagination to thy growth 870Since last I left thee fondled in her arms, I learn how dear art thou. Now on thy brow I’ll set this kiss. Begone and do my bidding. The goddess calls me: I must take again That shape which late thou saw’st me in. Farewell. Forget not when I am changèd what I am. Tel. Thy first commands are dear, sire; I obey.

Hall in house of Ulysses: [as described, in note]. EURYMACHUS, AMPHINOMUS, CTESIPPUS, PHEMIUS, and many suitors. Noise and brawling. Remains of feast. EURYMACHUS. Peace! Will none hear? Silence! O peace, I say. Will ye not hearken? (Some abatement.) AMPHINOMUS. Friends, give ear awhile, And hearken to Eurymachus. CTESIPPUS. For one, I am not of his party. A SUITOR. 880Nay, nor I, Let him command his own. Eur.Princes and lords! Have ye not chosen me to rule your feasts? I claim no more precedence; I would urge Nought but your honour, which ye go to shame By such disordered brawling. Ctes.O, we know thee. ’Tis nought Penelope should deem we lie Under thy thumb! A suitor.Ay, or what matters else How these old beams may shake? Ctes.What hast thou done? Amph. My lords, ye do forget yourselves. Ctes.O, nay. 890Why went not Lord Eurymachus himself To seize Telemachus? Doth he not bide For the main chance? Will he not watch the play, The while Antinous is furthered forth? And—O, we know—when Lord Antinous Returns, and saith The thing ye wish is done; Telemachus is dead, and he who now Winneth the widow winneth house and lands And kingship; then the rich Eurymachus Will raise his hands and weep, The very thing 900I would have stayed. Alas! the neediness And avarice of some! Amph.Why, good Ctesippus, Seek not a quarrel. Ctes.Nay, but is’t not so? Amph. ’Twill never be. The just and equal gods Have yet respect unto Ulysses’ house. And were’t their will Telemachus should die, He that went forth to slay him is the man Whose heart they turned to do it. For me, I say, I willed it not, and think ’twill never be. Ctes. Thou’rt but a craven! Eur.Get ye to your seats: 910Pass we the bowl in peace, and while we drink Let Phemius soothe our rivalries with song. But one can win the prize, and whose ’twill be Lies in the lap of Zeus. Fair play and peace! Amph. And shame not this good house. Lack we a lord, This courtesy is due unto ourselves. Ctes. When brave Antinous returns, I say, We shall grow warm again. Eur.Peace for the bard! PHEMIUS. 1. Follow my song that leads, Ye wooers all, and come 920To praise the flock, that feeds Upon the grassy meads Of fair Dulichium: Where Acheloüs laves with rippling sweet The low fields red with wheat. 2. For thee, I praise, Amphinomus, thou prince, Shepherd of sunset pastures; and I tell Again what once befell Nisus, thy sire, long since: To fruitful Lacedæmon when he came, 930With lords that made resort From Calydon’s high court, And western isles, at call of Helen’s fame, Wooing the hand of Leda’s heavenly daughter: But soon such jealousy and deadly gall Inflamed the suitors all, That then and there the fated slaughter Of Danaans had begun, Had not grave Tyndareus, her mortal sire, To quench the kindling fire, 940Called on Laertes’ son. 3. “Wisest of men, Ulysses, tell me true, If skill or grace to keep the peace may be Among the lawless princes, here that sue For Helen’s hand; if ever as of old My house from curse of bloodshed may go free, Do thou the rede unfold.” Straight answered him the wise Ulysses then, “O son of Thestius, ’tis in my mind, That thou these lawless men 950 By firmest oath shouldst bind To honour him, and give him all their aid, Whose suit shall favour find, And honour from the maid; 1 a. “Whoever it may be Who in fair Helen’s eye His favour first may see; And thus shall they agree.” Whereto did all comply; And gave to Tyndareus their banded troth, 960And singly took this oath: 1 b. “To keep good peace we swear, And let that man go free, Who winneth Helen fair, And from all wrong whate’er Shield him, whoe’er he be. Good or ill fortune lieth in the lap Of Zeus, what haps let hap.” 2 a. So goodly Menelaus, whom erelong Fair Helen chose of all the lords of Greece, 970His bride led home in peace; And no man did him wrong. Then Tyndareus to good Icarius spake, “Since now by one man’s wit Our house is saved, ’tis fit That thou this day be friendly for my sake, So at our hands he go not unrewarded: Give him thy daughter, fair Penelope, If so it pleaseth thee.” Who to this brother then the boon accorded: 980And thus the wooers’ strife Ulysses by good counsel quelled, and won Of Thestius’ other son, Penelope for wife. 3 a. But when in time fair Helen’s virtue failed, He with the suitors bounden to befriend Wronged Menelaus, against Ilion sailed, And joined his arms, pledged by that oath with them; Till Priam’s broad-wayed city in the end Fell by his stratagem. 989 But long being not returned, and passed for dead, There gathered suitors in his house to woo His fair wife in his stead; And strife among them grew. Nor is his arm more lacked to guard his walls, Than his good counsel true To keep peace in his halls. 1 c. Which counsel I reclaim, Remembered for your use, Ye wooers, even the same Which saved from blood and shame 1000 The house of Tyndareus. So now unto my song your chorus bear, As Helen’s suitors sware. Chor. 1 d. To keep good peace we swear, And let that man go free, Nor do him hurt whate’er, Whoever wins the fair And wise Penelope. Good or ill fortune lieth in the lap 1010Of Zeus; what haps let hap. Amph. I thank thee for my father, Phemius. Eur. Thy tale is twice a tale told at this time. Ctes. I’ll hold it, that an oath sung out of tune Binds not the singer. Enter Herald. HERALD. Tidings, my lords. Eur.Speak forth. Her. Be it known the prince Telemachus is come. [Suitors rise and murmur. Eur. Shame on you. Silence. Sir, we are much rejoiced To learn the prince’s safety. When arrived he? Her. He landed yestereve. We brought the ship This morn in harbour. Eur.Where disbarked the prince? Her. Northward by Ægilips. 1020 Eur.Is’t known? Her.My lord, I speed to tell it. [Exit. Eur.Friends, if this be true, We are baffled. Ctes.False, ’tis false. Eur.And nought remains But man a galley, that shall bear the tidings To Lord Antinous and his men, who else Will lie out watching for him in the straits. Amph. Yet even that pains is spared us. Looking forth I see two ships in harbour side by side, And not far off a company of men, I take to be Antinous and his band. Ctes. How so? 1030 Amph.See then. Ctes.O, true: they are at the gate. How hath it happed? Amph.Prophesy, sir, and tell us Whether some god forewarned Telemachus, Or if they gave him chase and could not catch him. Enter Antinous and his men. WOOERS. Hail, Lord Antinous! Eur.How went it with thee? ANTINOUS. Where is the prince? Amph.Why, where’s the prince? he saith. Where is the prince? Eur.How missed you him? Ant.Curst luck! All day our scouts kept up unbroken guard Along the windy headlands, and at night None slept ashore, but cruising to and fro, 1040We watched the narrow channels until dawn, Lying in wait to take him when he came. And lo! he is here, hath run by into port, And beached his ship upon the royal stade, Before we knew it. Curst luck! Have ye seen him? Eur. Nay, for he landed by the northern shore, And sent his ship about: a god hath warned him. Ant. God or no god, plant we before he comes An ambush in the hills, and slay him there: For once he reach the town alive, be sure 1050He is the huntsman then and we the game. Ay, he hath wit eno’ ere he come hither To babble of our plot, and ’fore the folk Will, with his pretty face and cunning tears And speeches of his mother, stir them up To rise against us. Look, sirs, while he lives We can do nothing, but if we should kill him, His lands and goods are ours: we may divide The wealth and let who will possess the widow. That is my counsel, lords: but if ye suffer 1060This baby to return, then this I say— Make we at once our gifts,—myself I count it No satisfaction,—but that one of us Should win at least the dame and such few chattels As may go with her, is the only credit We have to look for. Ctes.What is that to us? Ant. What say ye, lords? Amph.Why, ’tis a pretty plan. We came to woo the dame; but since ’tis clear All cannot have her, in the general interest Change we our purpose, saith he, kill the son, 1070And make division. Well! What say ye, lords? Ctes. Hark not to him: he hath a specialty. Amph. Imbrue ye not your hands in innocent blood, Nor touch Telemachus: for ’tis a thing Abhorred of Zeus to meddle with a life Of royal strain. There be the oracles; Consult ye them: and if Telemachus Must die and ’tis decreed, I shall be last Of men to oppose it: otherwise I stand Against Antinous, ay, sword to sword: 1080Whose insolence, I say, the gods already Have baulked and will not suffer. Eur.Spoken well, Amphinomus; yet hast thou shewn no way To avoid the mischief that must fall on us, If now Telemachus return alive. Enter from the gallery above, Penelope. Suitors. The queen, the queen! PENELOPE. Ye shameless men, and thou most shamed of all, Antinous—nay, never think I know not Because I hold aloof; or that I hear not Because ye see me not. I know you all, 1090And none is there among you who more wrongs The hospitality ye all constrain, Than that Antinous:—doth he remember How once his sire Eupeithes to this house Fled from the people, when they would have slain him For joining in the Taphian piracies ’Gainst the Thesprotians, who were then our friends And good allies as now; but my Ulysses Took him, and by great favour won his life? And now his son against our noble son 1100Plotteth to kill him: is all due regard For sacred ties ’twixt house and house so lost? That ye too here, who sit in idleness To waste the substance of my absent lord, Hark to such insolent and bloody malice, The while ye sue me for my hand? Pretence! I say: ye are constant lovers, but ’tis wine And meat ye love, and me ye only wrong. Eur. And us thou wrongest, wise Penelope, Deeming thy son hath not such friends among us, 1110As make his coming hither and his going And converse with us safe. If one had dared To plot his death, this spear, that now is bright, Were red to-day with blood: for me too, lady, Hath good Ulysses in the days gone by Set on his knee, and to my boyish lips Tendered the wine-cup: wherefore is his son Dear to my soul, and from no man that moves Within my reach, need he fear death or harm. Ctes. (aside). Hark to him now! Ant. (to Pen.). We all are bounden, lady, 1120To serve thy house; and I above the rest Have shewn my zeal, sailing my galley forth To meet thy son with honour, and in safety To escort him home. Pen.Standing but late above I overheard your council; look, I bid you Depart, lest on a sudden ye encounter Him whom ye willed to slay. The gods have brought him In safety home: he will be here; so ye Go to your lodges, nor to-morrow morn Come as your wont, unless ye bring in hand 1130Each of you, for a pledge of truth and peace, Some gift of price. Strange suitors are ye, lying Here at my charges, feasting day by day, Nor ever make such offerings as a woman Must look for where she is loved or wooed: begone. My son hath passed the town. I have a message He will be here. (Voices without.) Ay, now, before ye go He is come. I hear him. Enter Telemachus, spear in hand at back; the wooers throng round him as he presses forward. Eur.Welcome, noble prince. Amph. All hail, Telemachus! Ant.The gods be praised. Chor. Hail, noble offspring of a noble sire!— 1140Most gracious son of a most gracious lady!— Dear to our eyes as is the light of morn— Welcome as softest rain to new-sown fields— Ctes. (aside). Or like a frost in spring. TELEMACHUS. My lords and friends, I thank you all. (To Pen.) See me returned, dear mother. Pen. Welcome, my son. I knew that thou wert come: ’Tis good. (Aside to Telem.) I had now discharged these lords: I pray thee Rid us their company. Tel.My friends, I fear My entrance, just as ye were stood to go, Delays your going: feel not such constraint, 1150Beseech you. We may look to meet again, If I mistake not. Ant. (aside to wooers). See how haughtily He bears himself. Ctes. (aside). Yield not an inch: abide! Eur. My lords, let all depart. Amph. (to Pen.). Lady, farewell, To-morrow I will offer at thy feet The best I have. All.And I, and I. Pen.Farewell. Tel. Farewell, my lords. Ant. Would I might stay to see the melting joy Of this most happy meeting. Pen.Go thy way. If ever grace spake false, ’twas on thy tongue, 1160Falsest Antinous. Suitors (going). Farewell, Farewell. [They are heard singing without. To keep good peace we swear, etc.] Tel. My dearest mother. Pen.O, my noble son, ’Tis joy to kiss thee. Do I see thee safe? But O, thou hast tarried long! And was it kind To make thy journey hence without a word? If thou couldst but have seen my pain, the day I found thee gone, thy pity had surely made Thy duty, and held thee back. But now to see thee, And as thou earnest those rude men abashed,— O, I was proud! Tel.Thou canst not more rejoice Than I. 1170Pen. I wonder not they were abashed; Thou hast a freer step, a manlier bearing: I am much to blame keeping thee here at home, Away from fellowship of noble spirits. Whom hast thou seen? Tel.Why that were long to tell. Pen. I saw thy ship sail in, and then there came Eumæus, saying how thou wert with him, And wouldst not come: then came thy messenger, That thou wert in the town, and on thy way. How was it? Tel.See, I am just escaped with life: 1180Spare questioning. First let the gods be served: Go bid thy maidens, ere the night close in, Prepare a worthy sacrifice to Zeus; Ay, such a sacrifice, as to this day This house has never seen. Pen.’Tis very meet. Yet why this urgence? there hath something passed Thou keepest back. Is’t possible, my boy, That in the southern courts some lady’s eyes Have drawn thee to vow hecatombs? Tel.Nay, mother. Pen. I should be glad. What is it then hath changed thee? Tel. How am I changed? 1190 Pen.Thou art aloof and strange. Tel. It ever dulled my kinder spirits to view These robbers in my father’s hall. Pen.Alas! What could I do, my son, and thou away? Here is no change, nor ever any tidings. I have neither power nor reason on my side: I cannot say My lord is yet alive, Wherefore depart, ye wrong me; nor as little My lord is dead, I will requite your honour, And choose the worthiest. O, where’er thou hast been, 1200If aught thou hast learned of any certainty, Speak now, whate’er it be, fear not to tell: Tell of thy sire, my son, though ’tis his death! Tel. Now heaven forbid that word. Pen.Alas, Telemachus; What is our hope? Or if thou know of any, Why art thou reticent of it? Tel.Hearken, mother: If thou wilt hear me, I will tell my story, As time allows, stripped of all circumstance. First sailed I then to Pylos, where I found Nestor, who lovingly my stay entreated, 1210And held me as his son, but, when he learned My quest, and nothing knew of my dear father, Would have me go, and with a royal escort Conveyed me to the court of Menelaus: There I saw Argive Helen.— But Menelaus, when I told my tale Brake out in anger, and I think few words Would draw him hither with his dukes to sweep Our house of its dishonour; but in fine Thus much he said, that still Ulysses lived, 1220But with the nymph Calypso in her isle By subtle sleights withheld; in whom it lay That he was not returned, and might not yet; But there abode. Then, since he knew no more, I sped me home, and should have sped to death, Had not divine Athenè sent a dream To warn me of the ambush, with the wind To bring me round the isle: wherefore I bid thee Perform the sacrifice, lest for such favour We seem ungrateful. Pen.Didst thou never ask 1230Of Menelaus, how he came to know Thy father’s fate? Tel.It was the wizard Proteus, Whom strangely he entamed and all his art, When he lay windbound in the isle of Pharos; Who told him, for he held him fast for all His magic shifts and slippery changefulness, Becoming first a bearded lion, thereafter A snake, a leopard, and a bristly boar; And then as running water seemed he, or A tall and flowering tree ... Pen.My son, my son, 1240These are mere tales. When was this said to have been? Tel. ’Twas scarce two years. Pen.Ah, and so long! Tel.’Tis tidings Both sure and good, mother; and yet ’tis nought To what remains. The thing I sought abroad Has come to me at home: but if I tell thee, Thou in thine inmost heart store it,—no word Even to Eumæus, tho’ ’twas in his hut, —Where as I crossed the isle I turned aside,— I found an aged man, his beggar guest: Whom, for Eumæus warned me he was full 1250Of tales of Troy, I held of no account When first he spoke, but soon I learnt he knew. He was himself at Troy, and, as he saith, Hath lately seen my father, who is free, And bent on swift return. Pen.Is this thy news? Tel. Is’t not then news? Pen.Nay, nay, thou art deceived. An idle tale Eumæus would not hear: A rogue he warned thee of, and not the first That thus hath lied. Tel.There hath been none like him. Pen. Their tale is still the same, and spiced to match Any credulity. 1260Tel.I would not have Thy mind less wary, nor bespeak thy credit. To-morrow I will bring him here, and then, He being our guest, thyself mayst question him. And be thou not persuaded, I will look No longer for my father’s wished return; Nor after lend an ear to any man, But hold him as our enemy, who saith Ulysses lives. Pen.In hoping and despairing Thou art too quick, my son; and past occasions Have taught thee nought. Come, tell me of thyself, 1271And of thy journey. Tell me too of Helen, Is she still beautiful? and doth she live Forgiven of Menelaus and beloved? Tel. In good time, mother, shalt thou hear all this, And more. Consider now how best to prove This beggar, when I bring him. Pen.If need were ’Twere easy.—Yet, how should Eumæus err? Hath he not means to sift the false from true? Could such a guest as this thou deemest dwell With him unknown? 1280Tel.Thou shalt thyself enquire. Weigh well what proof to use, but now no longer Delay the sacrifice my safety calls. [Going. Pen. My son! Tel.Adieu, I go into the town. Pen. Why wilt thou go? Tel.First I must make report To good Noëmon of his ship returned; Then to pay off my crew. Pen.Ah, prithee son, Have care: the robbers have a plot to kill thee: They now may lie in wait. ’Tis early dusk. Tel. I fear them not. 1289 Pen.Indeed I know their minds. Tel. The goddess will withhold their impious hands. Pen. What goddess trustest thou to aid thee so? Tel. Why who but she that hath preserved my sire? Pen. Alas! Then take Eumæus with thee, son. Tel. I need him not. Farewell. Pen.Then if thou goest, Farewell. But do not tarry. Tel.Bid prepare My chamber; for at night I shall return. [Exit. Pen. The gods protect thee.—Would the gods, that made him So handsome, loving, noble, brave, and good, Had given him wisdom; for without that gift, 1300Grace bears no fruit. ’Tis plain to all, my son Hath not the truth of his advertisement: He wears the semblance only, such as lures And flatters the deceiver. If I am vexed, ’Tis with myself: I looked for better things And suffer in rebuff. That Menelaus, The delicate, self-seeking Menelaus, Should leave his easeful home to avenge a friend, And that friend dead: and then the wizard tales, Calypso and Proteus, and whatever else, 1310And worst of all this ancient beggar-man, Who hath a tale better than all the tales! Alas, alas! my son, thou wilt have need Of much good care. ’Twas ill I did not send Eumæus with him. Now till he return, Patience—and when he is returned, again Patience—’tis so: patience was made for me; And one by one my deprecative days Bring nought, but as they flee, still cry to-morrow.

The same: many wooers seated about the hall over remains of feast. In front of stage TELEMACHUS (L.), EURYMACHUS (C.), AMPHINOMUS and ANTINOUS (R.). Phemius sitting near: at left of stage a table piled with gifts. EURYMACHUS. Order thou as thou wilt; with mine own hand Will I present my gift. ANTINOUS. 1320And so will I. Shall there be no distinction? TELEMACHUS. Sirs, consider How ye would make distinction. Ye are many, And acquiescence in a preference Of two or three were the self-forfeiture By all the rest of further claim in suit. AMPHINOMUS. Hark, ’tis well said, Eurymachus; and for one I were content. Eur.Why this is nought to me. All cannot give; but we and such beside, Whose title we acknowledge, may present 1330Our gifts in person: let the rest lay theirs Here on the table: nor will we admit More than are present now within the hall: All others with the henchmen may remain, Where they sit feasting, in the outer court. Ant. So be it, I say. Eur.’Twas on her own demand We brought our gifts to-day: shall we not give them? Ant. ’Tis fit there be reception. Here we wait Since noon, and still she comes not. Will she come? Tel. I am here, my lords, to tell you she will come. Prepare to see her. 1340Eur.My place is first: ye two Will follow. For the rest, is’t left to me To fix the order? Amph.I would urge to abide By what the prince desires. Tel.Nay, nay, my lords. I waive all word: the matter rests with you. I say but this: since ’tis not possible That each in person should present his gift, My mother’s will is that ye lay them here Upon the table. Yet if one or two Command distinction, there is nought so far Forbids exception. 1350Eur.Lords, then sit we down; Thence may we pass the word to whom we will. And say that while we wait our lady’s coming, Good Phemius sing. Prince, wilt thou sit by me? Tel. Nay, I will take my seat where I was wont. [They sit down. Eur. Serve us some wine. Tel.Phemius, I’d have thy song Tell of my father. Music. (All are seated.) Enter Eumæus with Ulysses disguised. EUMÆUS. This way, old man, now art thou in the hall Of good Ulysses. Eur.Stay, stay, who come here Breaking the music. Ant.’Tis the wretched swineherd. Eur. Prince, bid him hence! Ant. What ruffian brings he with him? 1360 Amph. Who is this ancient patch? Ant.O miserable Tatterdemalion! CTESIPPUS. What a scurvy beggar! Eur. Eumæus, I bid thee take thy plague away! A suitor. Nor want we thee to-day, old swine-driver. Another. When the meat fails, we’ll send. Ctes.Rascally knave. Another. Go fat thy pigs! Ctes.The hog-tub stands without: If thy old man be hungry, take him there. Another. Ctesippus, force them forth. Ctes.Begone, I say: Or I will drive you quicker than ye came. 1370Eur. Eumæus, hear me: take thy man away. Eum. Nay, Lord Eurymachus, ’tis never thou Canst say begone to any from this hall, Nay, nor Antinous nor Ctesippus either: But if to me ye say it, ye forget How I stand here of right; nor is it like I stir for you. As for your music-making, Be still yourselves, and we can sit in peace, And listen with you. Ant.Ye to sit with us, Insolent villain! Eur.Whatsoe’er thy right, 1380This filthy beggar is beyond all reason. Who is he? Eum.Lord Eurymachus, this man, Mean as he is, hath here more privilege Than thou. He comes by invitation hither; He is the prince’s suppliant. Eur.Now, Telemachus, Thou art reproached in this. Eum.Come to reproach, I know a word. Ant.Wag not thy beard at us, Thou low-bred hind. Tel.Indeed, Eurymachus, I am not disgraced; for in my father’s hall Was ever room and welcome for all such 1390As needed food and shelter: nay, and they Who most have need stand first; as doth this man. As for my servant, he hath given an answer To those that have reviled him. Amph.If so be This beggar is thy guest and suppliant, His fitter place were still the outer court: Invite him thither. Tel.I have bid him here. And here he shall remain. Fear not, good father, Go sit thee by the hearth: and thou, Amphinomus, Urge me not. I will have my way in this: 1400Were there no other reason than this one, That I will have my way. Take thou that stool, Old man, and sit at ease: none here can touch thee. Ctes. (to Ul. aside). Dare! Ant. (to Eur.). Shall we brook this? Eur.Prince Telemachus, Though thou be very son of great Ulysses, Think not to overrule us thus with words. Dispose thou mayst within fair reason’s bounds Even as thou wilt: so much in courtesy We grant, but not for fear; nor are our spirits Of stuff to suffer what indignities 1410Thy haughty temper may prepare. In this We shall resist thee. Tel.There be men in Ithaca Call thee not king, Eurymachus; though here Thou take so much on thee. Ant.Ha! threat’st thou us? Telemachus! what next? This is’t to have been In Lacedæmon. Now may we, who ne’er Have looked upon the godlike Menelaus, Behold his mirror. Why, what game is this? Think’st thou with strength and might upon our side We bandy words? I say this ragged loon 1420Shall not have place with us: the sight of him Hath turned my stomach. If for any bond Of blood or service thou set store by him, Thou mayst do better for his skinny bones Than stow them here. ’Twill not be many hours That he shall trouble us. Tel.Ay, so may be. But wouldst thou kill him, Lord Antinous, It had been better to have waylaid his ship, Or set an ambush for him in the hills. Ant. (aside). By heaven, I smart. Eur.Peace, peace! Amph.Hark, if the prince 1430Persist, we may not say him nay. Be seated. Maybe our lady’s voice may interpose: Let us defer our grievance to the word Of sage Penelope. Ant.How shall I sit In presence of such insult? Eur.Sit thou down. Ant. (aside to Ul.). Man, as thou lovest life, fly while thou mayst. ULYSSES (to Ant.). Kind sir, I am deaf. Ant.I’ll make thee deafer yet. Tel. Phemius, we listen. Sit thou there, old man. Eumæus, take him meat and wine. Ul. (sitting at r. front). I thank thee. Ctes. Go further off, I pray; I’m not thy friend, Thou hoary plague. 1440Eur.Silence, the music sounds. (Eumæus bears food to Ulysses, who eats and drinks during Phemius’ ode.) PHEMIUS. 1. Happy are the earth’s heirs: Who, that his toilsome lot And hard-won gain compares, Admires and envies not? At one time one, at another another best, Come mortal pleasures, troubling sweet content; But two above the rest Are ever of worth, Everywhere are praisèd and excellent, 1450To live and possess the earth: And my name—ranked desire ’mong graven things— Would live with the island kings. 2. Happy Telemachus then art thou, Ithaca’s true-born lord: Rejoice and welcome him now Safe to his home restored. Shout—O well is thee! The gods in worship and joy, pray we, —And high desert uplifts the prayer— Grant thee here in plenty the good thou meritest, 1461Nor to fall in a like snare With him from whom thou inheritest, Ulysses, Laertes’ son. 1a. Twenty are the years gone Since in another’s strife, To win a faithless wife He vexed the true, his own. For her new-married he left and his newborn boy, His true-born prince to manhood now upgrown, To fight at fateful Troy. 1470 In front of the strife Fought he, and fell not there, nor lies entombed By mighty Achilles’ side; Nor yet returned he home, but wandering wide To alien death was doomed. 2a. Weep for him, ye that around his board Sit in the bright fire-shine: No more shall Ithaca’s lord Stretch his hand to the wine. 1480Sing a mournful strain! Alas, he counteth not loss nor gain; His wife is wooed, and he makes no sign; Thralls go here and there, but another beckoneth. For the dead hath no desire, He knoweth nothing, nor reckoneth; He is cold, and feels not the fire. [He plays sad music in silence. Enter suddenly Penelope (with some six maids attendant). Ul. (aside). I see the beacon of my life undimmed. PENELOPE. Hush ye these mournful strains!—’tis music’s skill To comfort and wean sorrow’s heart away 1490With beautiful distractions from its woe: Not to be plunged therein, and chafe remembrance With added echoes. Oh, I have wept enough. Would you my life should faster waste in grief, That ye must widen more its aching channels With melancholy dirges? These are fit For souls at ease; ay, such as ye, my lords, Who feel no thorns prick you, may love to drink The soft compunctious mimicries of woe. But me with all your pleasures still ye vex, 1500In mine own house, forgetful of my wounds. —And thou, whom servest thou, Phemius, that thy mistress Thou disobeyest? Ul. (aside). Spoke like a goddess. Tel.’Twas at my command. Forgive me, mother. Pen.Thou wert used, I think, To know me better, son. Tel.If thou art come To take the presents which thy wooers bring, See where they lie. Ul. (aside). Now what to say? Pen.My lords, the prince hath shewn me These gifts: they are well my due, and some amends 1510For your continual spending, which to grudge Were unbecoming, were this house my own. Ul. (aside). That is well said: now may she fairly spoil them. Pen. But since I keep it for its absent lord ... Ul. (aside). Good. Eur. Oh, lady, he is dead. Pen.How know’st thou so? Ul. (aside). Well asked. Amph. Sagest Penelope, thou triflest still. The time is fled when hope might yet imagine Thy husband lived: so long to have sent no word 1520Is surest tidings: if Ulysses lived He would be here. Ul. (aside).True, sir. Amph.Thy needful patience Have all admired: perpetual widowhood The gods and we forbid. To make an end Of all that thou mislikest in our suit, Is but the boon we crave: choose one of us, Whoe’er it be—to-day. Pen.Would all of ye Assent to this? Ant.Ay, wherefore sit we here? Pen. Indeed, my lords, ye best know why ye came. Eur. Worshipful lady, if but all the Achæans Who speak thy name could now behold and hear thee, Then not this house, nay, nor this island’s round, 1532Would hold thy thronging wooers, by so far Outshinest thou all women of the earth In beauty and in wisdom. Pen.Still too wise To fall to flattery; but my grace and favour The gods destroyed that day the Argives sailed ’Gainst Ilion, and bore hence with them my lord: But should he come to rule again his house, Fairer than ever then my fame would be 1540For all this grief and the thick thrusts of fate. But he, in farewell ere he left his home, Took my right hand in his, and said to me, Dear wife, we must not think the Achæan army Will all, as they set forth, return from Troy, In numbers and in bravery safe and sound: Our foes are warriors skilled in spear and bow, And horsemen good, say they, such as most quickly Are wont in equal fight to turn the day; Wherefore I know not what may be my hap: But, come the worst, thou here must guard the house, 1551And aye to sire and mother both be kind As now, or more, since I shall be away. And should I not return to thee, abide Until thou seest our babe upgrown and bearded, When marry whom thou wilt and quit the house. ’Twas thus he spake, and thus ’tis come about: And not far off that night of hateful marriage Confronts me now; for Zeus hath killed my hope. But ye add pain and anger to my grief, 1560Who come not in the manner of our sires To woo, when every man that wooed a lady Of substance, rank, and worth, vied with his equals In gifts of flocks and herds, and banqueted All the bride’s household, offering of his own; Not wasting as do ye the house ye seek, And without recompense. Ant.See then our gifts. Pen. Ay, true: to where your late amendment lies. Let us o’erlook these offerings, ere my maids Bear them away. Eur.But first, O queen, 1570Take at my hands the gift I bring, This yellow-glistening chain,—whereof The amber beads may tell my love, The mesh of golden work between, The homage of my wealth may show,— Worthy of any neck but thine: No lover, mortal nor divine, Who made so fair an offering, But might with pride his gift bestow; Tho’ not to thee Eurymachus. 1580Yet ’tis the best and richest thing Of countless jewels rich and fine, Stored in his house; and wouldst thou make The rest thine own, he for love’s sake Were not ashamed in giving thus. Pen. My thanks: ’tis brave and sweet attire. Long hath thy wealth been known to me, And grateful would thy marriage be Both to my brethren and my sire. What have we here? Ant.Lady, my gift. 1590This ample robe my servants bear, White as the snow’s fresh-wandered drift, Light as the air and beautiful, Is woven of the softest wool Our curly highland chilvers wear; Fresh from the loom: and on the robe Twelve golden brooches, globe to globe, With fretted clasps of Syrian art, Which, brought by war to Egypt’s mart, From thence—with many gawds beside, Now mine—my grandsire took, when he, 1600 Crossing in ship the Libyan sea, Sailed up the mighty river wide; But these for beauty stood alone. Pen. I thank thee. This I’ll not deny For some misdeeds may well atone. Who cometh next? Amph.Lady, ’tis I: And give my homage one kind word, I shall not scorn to come but third. My offering is this veil. Pen. O wondrous work and rare! 1610 ’Tis like the golden mail Of Hera’s braided hair, Which every step sets hovering, Her brow discovering. Amph. So ’tis most fit for thee, Rarest Penelope. Pen. Or such methinks love’s queen Across her forehead tieth, Whene’er along the green 1620Of river-banks she hieth, To cheer with sweet embraces Her sister graces. Amph. Therefore most fit for thee, Queenly Penelope. Pen. Oh, ’tis most fine: I thank thee. Is’t thy meaning That I should wear the veil? Amph. ’Twould deck thee well. Ul. (aside). Here is some favour shewn. Pen. My gracious thanks. 1630A suitor. See now my gift, O queen. Ul. (aside to Amph.). Sir, I would speak with thee. Amph.Nay, man; be silent.— Pen. Ah, ’tis Peisander, what brings he? The suitor. Lady, if ever thou didst see Three dewdrops gathered full within Some unawakened lily’s cup, Each swollen to fall, or e’er begin The stalks to dress themselves aright: For yet the sun, that hasteth up, Pricks not their delicate stems, 1640Nor spreads the crimson petals bright: That were an image of the gems Which in this casket lie, a pair Fit for thine ears to wear. Pen. I thank thee, good Peisander; set it down Here with the rest. Ul. (aside to Amph.). Sir, I would speak with thee. Amph. (to Ul.). Nay, stand aloof.— Pen.Ye do me honour, lords; Yet must reception end. I will take all, And note the givers. Now my constant grief Is strangely awakened. (To maids.) Gather up the gifts. 1650Ul. (aside to Amph.). Sir! speak with me. Amph. (to Ul.). What wouldst thou? Ant. See, the rogue Begins to beg. Eur.Lady, ere yet thou go, Grant me thine ear. There is come into the hall A beggar, who for mere propriety [Ul. sits. We would were housed without. The prince, thy son, Against our general comfort bids him here. Let thy kind favour spare us this annoyance. Pen. That is he? Eur.Ay. Ant.Lo! by the fire he sits. Pen. (aside). How strange a man. (To Tel.) Is this thy guest, my son? Tel. ’Tis he I spoke of. Pen. (to Tel.). Surely the complaint Hath a fair ground. To save offence ’twere best Dismiss him with some gift—I leave, my lords, 1662This matter where it lies: My son rules here. Farewell. Keep peace amongst you. (To maids.) Bear off the gifts. [Exit. All. Farewell, fairest Penelope. Eur. Ere now we sit again, I ask the prince once more if he persist To vex our party with this beggar’s presence. Tel. Press me not, lords, ye know my will: and how In night and darkness should I turn away 1670A houseless guest? Nay, but for you ’tis time Ye sought your lodges. Ant. (to Eum.). Thou presumptuous swineherd, Why drovest thou this nuisance to the town? Had we not tramps and scamps eno’, starved beggars And needy scavengers, haunting the place, Ravening thy master’s substance, that thou now Must fetch in this one too? Eum.Antinous, Thou speak’st not fair, lord tho’ thou be; that here Set at another’s board wouldst judge and grudge The spending of thy host. I know that thou 1680Art like the world, who bid unto their tables But such as can repay them well in kind, Or by some service or amusement made; And none will ever ask a beggar-man To help him eat. Thou too wast always hard Above all here to all, and most to me. But I care not, while my dear gracious mistress Dwells with the prince, my master. Tel. (aside to Eum.). Hush, Eumæus; Truth is the hardest taunt to bear. Ant.Thou hind! Answerest thou me? Tel.I laugh, Antinous, 1690To have thee play the master in this house. Bid me dismiss my guest? The gods forfend! Thee rather bid I help to entertain him. Lo! thou hast feasted well: give off thy plate Thy leavings to this beggar. Go, old man,— These lords can of their surplus well afford To furnish thee a supper,—go, I charge thee, And take what each may give. Ant.By Zeus in heaven, Thou bear’st me hard. If all but give as I, He shall not make the round. Ul. (coming to Ant.). Sir, give me somewhat. 1700Thou comest, I warrant, of no common stock, But of some great house: thou’rt featured like a king: Thou wilt not stint thy hand: and, treat me well, It lies in chance I yet may make return. For I too once had my own house, and lived In state, nor e’er turned any from my doors, Whoever he might be, whate’er his need. I had my slaves and thralls, and all in plenty, That rich men have; but Zeus made nought of all: For his will surely ’twas, who sent me forth 1710With wandering pirates, sailing up the river Of Egypt, a long voyage—and to my ruin: For tarrying there, my crews in mutiny Brake from me, and doing bloody violence Unto the people of the king, were slain, And I enslaved. But of the king’s good pleasure, With whom I lacked not favour, I was sent In time to Cyprus ... Ant.Plague thee and thy lies! Stand off, back from my table; lest thou come To a bitter Egypt, and a mournful Cyprus. Begone, I say. 1720Ul.Lo! now I see thou lackest Wisdom unto thy beauty. Of thine own Thou wouldst not give away a pinch of salt, Since thou withholdest here what costs thee nothing. Ant. Then take what I would give thee ere thou go. [Strikes him. Ul. Ha! wilt thou strike me!—Why, and even a blow Thou giv’st not well. Amph.Shame, shame! Eur.Enough, Antinous. Eum. To strike a man so old, thy fellow-guest! Come back, good father, to thy seat. Ul.Now, hear me, Ye wooers of the queen, for I will speak. 1730Many hard blows in honourable fight I have borne, and held them nought; but to be smitten For being an-hungered, tho’ the hurt be small ’Tis huge in wrong; and as there is a god To avenge the poor, I say this ill-bred lord Shall never live to see his marriage day. Eum. And so say I. Ant.Now for thy paltry curse Think thyself lucky I bid not my men Hale thee without, and flay thee with their whips. Some wooers (murmuring). How will Antinous woo our queen, Having his hand accursed with shame?— 1740 Doth he forget the gods have been In such disguise?—How Zeus once came Thus to Lycaon’s feast unbid:— Or how in Celeus’ house, ’tis said, Demeter at Eleusis hid?— And were he but a man, ’tis dread To smite in wrath the hoary head. Amph. Father, I bring thee meat. May happiness Ere long be thine, for what thou sufferest now. 1750Ul. (reseated at front, to Amph.). I thank thee, lord Amphinomus, and since I see thee like thy father, wise and good, Old Nisus of Dulichium, I will say What thrice thou hast refused to hear: Attend. Of all that moves and breathes upon the earth, Nóthing is found more únstáble than man. Awhile his spirit within him is gay, his limbs Light, and he saith, No ill shall overtake me. Then evil comes: and lo! he beareth it Patiently, in its turn as God provides. 1760So I too once looked to be ever happy, And gave the rein to wantonness, and now— Thou seest me ... Wherefore, say I, let no man Be lawless, but in quiet and reserve Possess whatever good the gods have sent. And this I witness ’gainst the deeds I see, These wooers, full of mischief, making waste, And doing such dishonour to a lady, 1768Whose lord not long will tarry: nay, I tell thee He is very near,—ay, near. May thy good genius Withdraw thee soon, lest thou shouldst meet his wrath When he returns: for not without blood-spilling Will they be sundered, these infatuate wooers And he, when he comes stepping thro’ his house. Eur. What saith this ancient seer, that makes thy brow To cloud? Ul. (aside to Amph.) Fly hence to-night. Amph.Ill hath been done him: Shew him more kindness. Eur.Why, methinks I see A fine celestial glory on his crown, So brightly gleams the torchlight on it: nay, And never a hair at all. (To Ul.) Old man, ’tis true 1780Thou’rt out at elbows; wilt thou earn a living, I’ll take thee on. If thou canst gather stones Or trench, I’ll find thee wages and good food, Ay, and a coat and shoes: but well I know Thou’rt practised but in sloth, or if thou bend Thy body, ’tis in louting thro’ the land To beg thy bellyful. Ul.Now, lord Eurymachus, I would that there might be a trial of labour ’Twixt us in springtide, when the days grow long, In the deep grass; and I would have my scythe, 1790And thou another, striking blow for blow, Fasting from dawn till dark: Or give us each A plow, and for a team four sturdy oxen, Frammard and toward to break up between us A stubble of thirty acres; thou shouldst see If I could veer out straight: Or would, I say, That Zeus would send us war,—I care not whence,— To-day;—then set a helmet on my brows, And give me in either hand a spear and shield; Thou shouldst not taunt me with my belly then. 1800Now art thou merely insolent and rough, Because thy fellows are so few and feeble: And if Ulysses came and faced thee here, Those doors, wide as they are, would seem too small And narrow for thee, in thy haste to fly. Eur. Try thou their width then. [Throws a stool and hits Ctesippus. Ctes.Gods, my head! Amph. By me, old man. Ctes. (to Eur.). Now curse thee for a fool. Take it back, thus: (throws) and mend thy aim. Eur.Ctesippus! Tel. My lords, my lords! Eur.Thy pardon, good Ctesippus! Ctes. In time: thou’st broke my head. Ant.By heaven, this beggar 1810Grows to be some one: let us drive him forth. Amph. Peace, peace! Ant.See where he stands. Eur. (to Amph.). Wilt thou protect him? Tel. Lords, are ye mad? The god disturbs your wits. Else what ye have drunk declares ’tis time ye part. Ant. Then list to me. Let us begone, but first Rouse we the game: start we this beggar hence, And hunt him at the spear-point thro’ the town. With me for sport! Some wooers.Hie there, hie! Tally ho! Eum. Not if I die for it. Amph.Fools! Give o’er. Tel.Now, lords, What keeps you back? Re-enter suddenly Penelope with maids. 1820Pen. Shame, shame! what vile and drunken brawl is this, That reaching to my chamber, brings me down At mid of night in fear lest in your revels Ye stain my floors with blood? Ah, now ye are shamed. How rose this sudden uproar ’mongst you, lords? Honour ye not my son, that in his presence, The morrow of his return, ye are broken forth In more disordered noise than e’er before? If ye respect not him, me ye respect: Who answers for you? Ant.That impertinent swineherd ... Eur. The wretch I spake of ... 1830Ctes.Nay, Eurymachus, ’Twas thou as much. Pen.Speak one for all. Eur.O lady, Thy son hath fetched a beggar in to mock us. Pen. Telemachus, what is it? Tel.Of this riot The whole occasion lies but with these lords; Who have raised their hands to strike their fellow-guest, And as thou cam’st were risen to drive him forth. Pen. I know not, sirs, what sort of man this is, That so hath stirred your wrath: but be ye sure That shelter offered here is shelter given. 1840Yet at your instance I will take upon me To make enquiry, and will give your wishes All fair allowance, as my older guests. Meanwhile depart: ye have feasted long: depart: ’Tis time indeed: I bid you all good-night. Eur. The queen has spoken, lords; depart at once. Ant. The villain will escape us yet. Ctes.He shall not, If he go forth to-night. Ant.And if he stay, To-morrow I will serve him. Tel.Lords, depart! Ant. Fare thee well, prince; I shall return at morn. Wooers. Good-night, rarest Penelope.— 1850 Fair queen of Ithaca, good-night.— [Going. Eur. Until to-morrow, fairest queen, adieu. [Exit. Pen. (to Eum.). Eumæus, hither; who is this old man? Eum. Why ’tis a strange old man, and full of lies: Yet ’tis an honest and a wise old man. Pen. How full of lies and honest? Eum.Gracious madam, I have looked on many men, and by their gait And voice and eyes are honest men well known; And this old man is such: but when he speaks 1860Such floods of words run o’er his aged lips, Ay, and such tales,—and ever when he draws To make conclusion, ’tis the same old fable, That he hath seen the master, that the master Will soon return:—therefore I say he lies. Pen. Hath he been with us long? Eum.’Twas yestermorn He came. Pen. Enough. Thou mayst go home. Good-night. Eum. Good-night, my lady. [Exit. Pen.O my son, my son; I think that years and use, which perfect others, Serve but to blunt thy reason: as a child 1870Thou hadst a shrewder wit, and quick enough; But now, when any man to look on thee Would say that thou wert some one, thy behaviour Would blast his praise. Tel.Tell me what ill I have done. Pen. What thou hast done? My heart was full of hope; I looked for thy return as happiness, How hast thou dashed it. I had well forgot The empty tales thou broughtest me for tidings, Nor marked the fault, seeing thy zeal in love Outrun thy judgment: but when thou hast invited 1880Thy man to be our guest, and canst not then Protect him: this is shame. Tel.Mother, I think To do a wrong is shame: to suffer wrong Asks not for pardon. Pen.Ay, but what to do? Thy guest hath been insulted: hast thou power To punish that? and of the two reproaches, To suffer it again, or to dismiss, As must be, him to whom thou offeredst shelter, I know not which is worse. Tel.Wilt thou dismiss The herald of such hope? Pen.Eumæus saith His tales are lies. 1890Tel.Speak with him but thyself: Make proof thyself: if thou be not persuaded, He shall not bide the night. Nay, if he lies, Let him go starve. See, I will bring thee to him. Pen. If so thou wilt. (To maids.) Maidens, begone. [Exeunt maids. Tel.Old man, The words which thou hast told me, now make good Unto my honoured mother. [Exit. Pen. Thou strange old man, whose thin and sorry rags Speak thee no friend of heaven; whose many years Find thee a wanderer in a foreign land; 1900Who art thou, I will ask, and with what tale Winning my son, thou comest to the house Of good Ulysses, and to me his wife Pretendest tidings of my long-lost lord? Ul. O lady, there is none in all the world Would blame the word thou sayest, so fair thy fame: Nay, for thy spirit is gentle: yet ask me not Thus of myself, for I have seen much woe: And tears might flood my face; till thou perchance Shouldst think my temper soft, or drowned in wine. Pen. Whate’er my fame, stranger, it lacketh much 1911In losing of my lord; if he were here Then I were proud. But ’tis of him we speak. Tell me then whence thou art, and what thou knowest. Ul. If tell I must: there is a beauteous isle, Which men call Crete, washed by the Libyan sea: Ninety fair cities hath it, and the men Who dwell there are of various race, Achæans, Cydonians, Dorians, and Pelasgians, Beside the native Cretan. There is Gnossus, Where Minos dwelt, and took his law from Zeus: 1921He was my grandsire, and Deucalion His son, my father, had another son Idomeneus, elder and better gifted Than I, who am callèd Æthon. Now it happed, That when not many days, Idomeneus Had sailed away for Troy, thy lord Ulysses, Bound thither too, was driven aside to Crete, And sheltered at Amnisos; and when thence He sent up heralds to the king, as one 1930Whose welcome was assured, it fell to me To play awhile my elder brother’s part, And entertain him and his men. Twelve days He stayed, for even so long the mad North wind Abated not, but with such fury blew That far from putting out, they scarce could keep Their feet on land: but on the thirteenth day It fell, and let them forth to sail for Troy. Pen. Friend then, if so thou art, that courtesy Thus royal shewedst to my lord, forgive 1940My thought to prove thee, if indeed these things Were as thou sayest. When thou sawest my lord, How was he clad, and what lords followed him? Ul. Lady, ’tis hard with such a time between To say—’tis twenty years; and yet, methinks, My memory shows him to me, as he was. Thy lord Ulysses wore a purple robe Of double woof, and on the golden brooch, Which two pins held, was wrought a rare device; A hound that had o’ertaken a hunted fawn, Stood on’t and gazed: and none who saw the work 1951But marvelled, so was nature done to life. The linen too about his neck was bright, And fine in tissue as the silvery coat, Which the lithe snake among the withered grass Leaves off unrent. Ay, and his squire I see, A man round-shouldered, tanned, and curly-haired, Eurybates, that was his name; and him Ulysses loved and honoured ’bove the rest. 1959Pen. Now, stranger, for the shame, which thou hast found Within my halls, shalt thou find love and honour. The garments which thou sawest are the garments I gave to him myself: the golden brooch Of rare device I chose to be his jewel, On that accursed day when he set forth For evil Ilion, never to be named. Ul. O honoured wife of great Laertes’ son, Waste not thy soul in weeping for thy lord! Pen. Hath sorrow taught thee, friend, that tears are vain? Ul. Love’s tokens were not given to man for nought. Pen. Blamest thou then a woman, if she weep 1971Her lord’s decease? Ul.Nay, many dames that mourn Their lords fordone at Troy, lament unblamed. Pen. Then why say’st thou to me, weep not; who knowest My loss so well, knewest so well my lord? Ul. Since thy lord lives, therefore I say weep not. Pen. I knew that thou wouldst say Ulysses lives. Ul. ’Tis to no purpose then I bring thee joy? Pen. Many have falsely brought this hope before. Ul. And yet unwittingly they spake the truth. Ulysses lives. 1980Pen.Prince Æthon, if so thou be, I came to hear thy tale, ’twas well begun: Shew proof as fair for what thou goest to tell. Ul. Lady, indeed Ulysses lives, and now He is in Thesprotia, as I lately heard, And gathers gifts and treasures as he comes: The which I saw, a kingly wealth, enough To dower his children’s children o’er and o’er. His brave companions all were gone, but he From untold perils was come out unscathed. Pen. Where learnedst thou this?1990 Ul.Being in Thesprotia Not many days ago, the good king Pheidon Told me these things, and shewed me too a ship For voyage stored, wherein he said Ulysses Should shortly sail; and with him I had come, But that a vessel there discharging corn, Left for Dulichium, and gave me passage. Pen. Thou saw’st him not? Ul.True, lady, I saw him not; He had travelled to Dodona, to consult The oracle. Pen.Nay, and alas thou hast seen him Scarce later than have I. 2000Ul.May Zeus himself Be witness first, and then this kindly house Of good Ulysses, whither I am come, He shall return to thee ere this moon change. Pen. I thank thee, sir; and wish right well thy word Might be accomplished: I would so reward thee, That all who looked on thee should call thee blessed. But in my heart I know ’twill not be so; Nor shew’st thou proof. Ul.What of my oath? Pen.Indeed I doubt not thy good will, nor thy good faith; 2010But nought can come of it; and much I fear That thou wilt scarce win escort from this house, So are its masters changed. Ul.Mean as I am, I fear not them thou hintest; nor in thy house Will they dare hurt me. I will here remain, Until Ulysses comes. Pen.O, thou knowest little. Now is the end. I’ll tell thee. When at first These princes came to woo me against my will, I put them off with guile; and some good spirit Prompting my heart, I set up in the hall 2020A loom, and rolled upon the beam a warp Ample and long, and said My lordly wooers, Abide, nor press my marriage till this cloth Be made, for I would weave the threads I span. ’Tis old Laertes’ shroud, against the day Which is not far, when death must take him hence. For since my lord is dead, I would not leave His house, without this honour paid his sire. And stealing thus their courteous consent, I used by day to weave, but every night 2030Would silently creep down, and by the loom Setting the torches, soon unravelling all, Undid the work of the day. Thus for three years I wove and prospered, and the web stood still: But in the fourth, by blabbing of my maidens Was all discovered, and since then I have known Reproach, nor now can longer ’scape. My friends And parents urge me, and my son himself, Who once was with me, begs me leave the house, Ere his good father’s wealth be all consumed. Ul. Well done of thee! Fear not. Ulysses cometh 2041To slay these robbers like a flock of sheep. Pen. Against conviction, friend, thy words are pleasant: None yet hath thus talked with me; and ere I go To sleep or weep upon my lonely couch, I’ll tell thee of a dream I lately dreamed, Much of thy meaning. There were twenty geese, Which in the courtyard I had watched with pleasure, Raising their bills above their well-filled trough. 2049Now in my dream a furious eagle flew Down from the hills, and with his crooked beak Brake all their necks, and killed them, and they lay Strewn in the yard; but he flew off to heaven. Then cried I out, as in my sleep it seemed, Aloud, and all my maidens came about me, And mourned with me my geese the eagle had killed. But he returned, and perching on the wall, Spake in man’s voice to me and said, Fear not, O daughter of Icarius, No dream thou sawest, but a vision true. The geese are all thy wooers, and the eagle2060 That was, am now thy husband safe returned, Who will slay all those men as thou hast seen. Thus spake he, and I awaked; and looking forth I saw my geese all standing by the trough, Eating the wheaten meal as heretofore. Ul. Now blessed be the gods, who thus will visit In sleep the attentive spirits of them they love. Pen. Two gates there are in heaven of shadowy dreams, 2069One pair of ivory wrought, and one of horn: And dreams that through the ivory come to men Are cheating, and show things that shall not be; But such as through the polished horn fly down Are true in issue to their glad beholders: But thence came not my strange dream as I fear, Welcome as ’twere to me and to my son. Ul. The dream was true; the interpretation true. If yet thou doubt, me too a goddess sent To warn thee of the thing, which thou, alas, For weariness of hope and long misgiving, 2080Art slow to hear. Pen.What is man’s hope, good friend? Is’t not a beggar in the land of doubt, Seeking as thou shelter and fire and food From day to day? and, while she finds a little, She travels on, comforting life’s affections With scraps and crumbs fall’n from the dish of joy. ’Tis thus hope lives, patient and pleasureless: But time will come when hope must die; she feels The gathering cold and creeping touch of death, And hath no thought but how to pass in peace. 2090Even such my hope, agèd and white as thou, And near her term. Persist not! Rudely to arouse her But hastens her sure end. Like in spent ashes Which fuel chokes, what little fire remains Burns best unmended. Ul.Thou wouldst wrong the gods, Who show such care for thee. Pen.Friend, what to do? To-morrow I had purposed—ah, evil morn!— To end disorder, and to do a thing Should part me from this house. I had bethought me Of good Ulysses’ bow, to bring it forth, 2100And make therewith a contest to the wooers; That if among them there was one could string it, And shoot an arrow thro’ the axes’ heads Set up in line as he was used to set them, That that man I would marry,—and with him Quit my dear home for ever. Now thou say’st Ulysses comes, give me thy counsel, friend, If I should do this thing or wait awhile. Ul. Lady, some god hath put it in thine heart: Set thou the axes up: Bring forth the bow: 2110Here is there none can bend it; and maybe That he, while they but strive with that same bow Shall work thee full revenge for all their wrongs. Pen. Bid’st thou me so? Ul.Fear not! To-morrow morn Bring forth the bow, the axes, and the arrows. Pen. And shall I marry him who shooteth true? Ul. Thou shalt find here no archer like thy lord. Pen. Then will the bow be offered them in vain? Ul. More than in vain for them, but not for thee. Pen. Be it so. Yet would I that pure Artemis Might give me an easy death in sleep this night, 2121Even now; that I no more in sorrow of heart Should waste my life, longing for my dear lord’s Manifold excellence. Ul.Thy constant love Is witness that he lives. A rootless flower Blooms not so long. Be sure that he will come. Pen. Friend, all thy words console me: wert thou willing I could sit here by thee, nor wish for sleep. But ’tis full time I leave. I go to send One to strew bedding for thee.— Ul.Beseech thee, lady, 2130I’ll lay me on this fleece and take my rest. A beggar such as I needeth no more. Pen. The god of sleep visit thee soon. Farewell. Ul. Lady, good-night. [Exit Penelope. The firelight is failing. Now could I weep, and from the springs of pity Forgive some wrong. Yet in the goddess’ hest, Away my softness! Surely in these things Is her hand seen. My bow! ay, from that bow The arrows were not wont to fly in vain. But now to find my son, my trust in him 2140Hath grown with this day’s doings. Enter in the gallery above Maids whispering and tittering. MAIDS. See there he sits— Hush! hush! He talketh to the fire— ’Cause of his wandering wits.— He! he! he! he! What makes he here?— He hath come over sea With old tales of the sire.— Why who would lend him ear? 2150He! he! How could the prince give heed?— How can our lady trust This object of disgust?— Or how hath she agreed To take him here among The wooers as her guest? Half crazed too, I’ll be bound— He! he! he! he! And treat him like the rest, 2160So noble all and young? Hush! hush! His old bones creak! Hush! hush! He looks, he turns around, He sees us, he will speak. Hush! Ul. Ye miserable women, accurst of fate, Unknowing on the eve of doom ye are come To anger justice. Go! your wanton lovers 2170Are gone; ye never shall concern them more. Nor none of them, nor ye that mock old men Shall know what ’tis to have grey hairs. Begone! For when Ulysses cometh, as men hang Bunches of grapes upon a string to dry, So shall he set you dangling in the court By your white necks. Fly to your chambers! Fly! Ulysses comes. Maids. Ah, ah, ah! Mercy on us! [Exeunt. Ul. Now first to find my son. If I dare call. [Goes to L. Softly—Telemachus!—Telemachus! Tel. (enters L.). Father. 2180 Ul.Speak softly, son, lest any hear. The goddess guides us well. The plot is laid: ’Tis but to tell it thee. I have won thy mother To confidence, tho’ yet she knows me not. To-morrow morn will she bring forth my bow, And make therewith a contest for the wooers, Pledging to marry him who strings the bow, And shoots an arrow through the axes’ heads. Now thou must set them up, as I will shew thee, In the outer court; that they who come to shoot May stand where we are standing—as I was wont,— 2191Sending the arrows thro’ the open doorway. But when ’tis seen that none can string the bow, Then I shall take it, and be that our sign. With the first shaft I loose a foe will fall, And war begins; and when I speak my name, Thou and Eumæus join me; for the rest, Soon will they fly for safety to the court: But let its outer gate be barred; then we Here at the doorway can at leisure aim, 2200Nor fear not any numbers. Learn thy part: To bar the gate of the court on the outer side, To close the postern, and set up the axes. And have good care their heads sit loose upon them, Nor bound unto the shafts; else might they serve For arms against us. As for other weapons They bear not many: those that here be hung Upon the walls, must we take down and hide. Which, if thou help me now, may soon be done. First let me put this blazing log aside, Lest light betray us. 2210Tel.Father, how shall we see To move the arms? Ul.Now had the goddess made me As blind as old, I should not need to grope In my own house: and all, I have marked it well, Hang where I hung them there: each spear and shield I know the touch and weight of. Tel.None hath dared To change a thing. Ul.Lift off that shield. Tel.I have it. Ul. And that and these. Have care, son, lest the bronze Ring and betray us. Tel.Now the helmet, father. Ul. Reach me those spears above, Tel.What is that light, 2220That dances so and plays about the beams? Ul. Now mayst thou see the goddess aiding us. Tel. It shimmers like the moonlight on the sea. Ul. ’Tis the same fierce ethereal flame of heaven, Which makes the lightning; but the wise Athenè Hath tamed it for her common servicings. Stay not to look on’t; ’tis to aid our work. Tel. ’Tis certain we shall prosper. Ul.Take thou those, I these. Follow me up the stair. Step slow And soft. Let nothing in thy burden shift. Come thou. Tel.I follow. 2230Ul.Stealthily, my son, Soon shall we set them out of reach. [Going up the stairs.