To whom the swain: "Attend what you inquire;

Laërtes lives, the miserable sire,

Lives, but implores of every power to lay

The burden down, and wishes for the day.
Torn from his offspring in the eve of life,
Torn from th' embraces of his tender wife,
Sole, and all comfortless, he wastes away
Old age, untimely posting ere his day.
She too, sad mother! for Ulysses lost

Pined out her bloom, and vanish'd to a ghost;
(So dire a fate, ye righteous gods! avert
From every friendly, every feeling heart!)

While yet she was, though clouded o'er with grief,
Her pleasing converse minister'd relief:
With Climene, her youngest daughter, bred,
One roof contain'd us, and one table fed.
But when the softly-stealing pace of time
Crept on from childhood into youthful prime,
To Samos' isle she sent the wedded fair;
Me to the fields, to tend the rural care;
Array'd in garments her own hands had wove,
Nor less the darling object of her love.
Her hapless death my brighter days o'ercast,
Yet Providence deserts me not at last;
My present labours food and drink procure,
And more, the pleasure to relieve the poor.
Small is the comfort from the queen to hear
Unwelcome news, or vex the royal ear;
Blank and discountenanced the servants stand,
Nor dare to question where the proud command:
No profit springs beneath usurping powers;
Want feeds not there, where luxury devours,
Nor harbours charity where riot reigns:

Proud are the lords, and wretched are the swains."
The suffering chief at this began to melt;

And, "O Eumæus! thou (he cries) hast felt

The spite of fortune too! her cruel hand
Snatch'd thee an infant from thy native land!
Snatch'd from thy parents' arms, thy parents' eyes,
To early wants! a man of miseries!

The whole sad story, from its first, declare:
Sunk the fair city by the rage of war,

Where once thy parents dwelt? or did they keep
In humbler life, the lowing herds and sheep?

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So left perhaps to tend the fleecy train,

Rude pirates seized, and shipp'd thee o'er the main ?
Doom'd a fair prize to grace some prince's board,

The worthy purchase of a foreign lord."

"If then my fortunes can delight my friend,

A story fruitful of events attend:

Another's sorrow may thy ear enjoy,
And wine the lengthen'd intervals employ.
Long nights the now declining year bestows;
A part we consecrate to soft repose,
A part in pleasing talk we entertain;
For too much rest itself becomes a pain.
Let those, whom sleep invites, the call obey,
Their cares resuming with the dawning day:
Here let us feast, and to the feast be join'd
Discourse, the sweeter banquet of the mind;
Review the series of our lives, and taste
The melancholy joy of evils pass'd:

For he who much has suffer'd, much will know,
And pleased remembrance builds delight on woe.
"Above Ortygia lies an isle of fame,

Far hence remote, and Syria is the name

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(There curious eyes inscribed with wonder trace The sun's diurnal, and his annual race);

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Not large, but fruitful; stored with grass, to keep

The bellowing oxen and the bleating sheep;
Her sloping hills the mantling vines adorn,
And her rich valleys wave with golden corn.
No want, no famine, the glad natives know,
Nor sink by sickness to the shades below;

But when a length of years unnerves the strong,
Apollo comes, and Cynthia comes along.

They bend the silver bow with tender skill,
And, void of pain, the silent arrows kill.
Two equal tribes this fertile land divide,
Where two fair cities rise with equal pride.
But both in constant peace one prince obey,
And Ctesius there, my father, holds the sway.
Freighted, it seems, with toys of every sort,
A ship of Sidon anchor'd in our port;
What time it chanced the palace entertain'd,
Skill'd in rich works, a woman of their land:

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This nymph, where anchor'd the Phoenician train,

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To wash her robes descending to the main,

A smooth-tongued sailor won her to his mind
(For love deceives the best of womankind).
A sudden trust from sudden liking grew;
She told her name, her race, and all she knew.
'I too (she cried) from glorious Sidon came,
My father Arybas, of wealthy fame:

But, snatch'd by pirates from my native place,
The Taphians sold me to this man's embrace.'

"Haste then (the false designing youth replied),
Haste to thy country; love shall be thy guide;
Haste to thy father's house, thy father's breast,
For still he lives, and lives with riches blest.'
"Swear first (she cried), ye sailors! to restore

A wretch in safety to her native shore.'
Swift as she ask'd, the ready sailors swore.
She then proceeds: 'Now let our compact made
Be nor by signal nor by word betray'd,
Nor near me any of your crew descried,
By road frequented, or by fountain side.

Be silence still our guard. The monarch's spies
(For watchful age is ready to surmise)
Are still at hand; and this, reveal'd, must be
Death to yourselves, eternal chains to me.

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Your vessel loaded, and your traffic pass'd,
Despatch a wary messenger with haste;
Then gold and costly treasures will I bring,
And more, the infant-offspring of the king.
Him, child-like wandering forth, I'll lead away
(A noble prize!) and to your ship convey.'

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"Thus spoke the dame, and homeward took the road.

A year they traffic, and their vessel load.

Their stores complete, and ready now to weigh,

A spy was sent their summons to convey:
An artist to my father's palace came,

With gold and amber chains, elaborate frame :
Each female eye the glittering links employ;
They turn, review, and cheapen every toy.
He took th' occasion, as they stood intent,
Gave her the sign, and to his vessel went.

She straight pursued, and seized my willing arm;
I follow'd smiling, innocent of harm.
Three golden goblets in the porch she found
(The guests not enter'd, but the table crown'd);
Hid in her fraudful bosom these she bore:
Now set the sun, and darken'd all the shore.
Arriving then, where tilting on the tides
Prepared to launch the freighted vessel rides,

With level oar along the glassy deep.

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Aboard they heave us, mount their decks, and sweep

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Six calmy days and six smooth nights we sail,

And constant Jove supplied the gentle gale.

The seventh, the fraudful wretch (no cause descried),
Touch'd by Diana's vengeful arrow, died.

Down dropp'd the caitiff-corse, a worthless load,
Down to the deep; there roll'd, the future food
Of fierce sea-wolves, and monsters of the flood.
An helpless infant I remain'd behind;

Thence borne to Ithaca by wave and wind;
Sold to Laërtes by divine command,
And now adopted to a foreign land.”

To him the king: "Reciting thus thy cares,

My secret soul in all thy sorrow shares;

But one choice blessing (such is Jove's high will)
Has sweeten'd all thy bitter draught of ill:
Torn from thy country to no hapless end,
The gods have, in a master, given a friend.

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Whatever frugal nature needs is thine

(For she needs little), daily bread and wine. While I, so many wanderings past, and woes, Live but on what thy poverty bestows."

So passed in pleasing dialogue away

The night; then down to short repose they lay;
Till radiant rose the messenger of day.

While in the port of Ithaca, the band

Of young Telemachus approach'd the land;

Their sails they loosed, they lash'd the mast aside,
And cast their anchors, and the cables tied :
Then on the breezy shore, descending, join

In grateful banquet o'er the rosy wine.

When thus the prince: "Now each his course pursue;
I to the fields, and to the city you.
Long absent hence, I dedicate this day
My swains to visit, and the works survey.
Expect me with the morn, to pay the skies
Our debt of safe return in feast and sacrifice."
Then Theoclymenus: "But who shall lend,
Meantime, protection to thy stranger friend?
Straight to the queen and palace shall I fly,
Or yet more distant, to some lord apply?"

The prince return'd: "Renown'd in days of yore

Has stood our father's hospitable door;
No other roof a stranger should receive,

No other hands than ours the welcome give.

But in my absence riot fills the place,

Nor bears the modest queen a stranger's face;
From noiseful revel far remote she flies,
But rarely seen, or seen with weeping eyes.
No-let Eurymachus receive my guest,
Of nature courteous, and by far the best;
He woos the queen with more respectful flame,
And emulates her former husband's fame :
With what success, 'tis Jove's alone to know,
And the hoped nuptials turn to joy or woe."
Thus speaking, on the right up-soar'd in air
The hawk, Apollo's swift-wing'd messenger:

1

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1 The hawk. Colonel Mure has pointed out, with a delicacy and acuteness of judgment that cannot be too highly commended, the gradual dawning of the fate of the suitors. He well remarks that, "In order rightly to apprehend the spirit of these mysterious forewarnings of the impending fatality, it