Of wine, that he might drink when he desired; Then all put forth their hands and shared the feast.
And when their thirst and hunger were allayed, The Muse inspired the bard to sing the praise Of heroes; ’twas a song whose fame had reached To the high heaven, a story of the strife Between Ulysses and Achilles, son Of Peleus, wrangling at a solemn feast Made for the gods. They strove with angry words, And Agamemnon, king of men, rejoiced To hear the noblest of the Achaian host Contending; for all this had been foretold To him in sacred Pythia by the voice Of Phoebus, when the monarch to inquire At the oracle had crossed the rock which formed Its threshold. Then began the train of woes Which at the will of sovereign Jupiter Befell the sons of Ilium and of Greece.
So sang renowned Demodocus. Meanwhile Ulysses took into his brawny hands An ample veil of purple, drawing it Around his head to hide his noble face, Ashamed that the Phaeacians should behold The tears that flowed so freely from his lids. But when the sacred bard had ceased his song, He wiped the tears away and laid the veil Aside, and took a double beaker filled With wine, and poured libations to the gods. Yet when again the minstrel sang, and all The chiefs of the Phaeacian people, charmed To hear his music, bade the strain proceed, Again Ulysses hid his face and wept. No other eye beheld the tears he shed. Alcinoüs only watched him, and perceived His grief, and heard the sighs he drew, and spake To the Phaeacians, lovers of the sea:—
“Now that we all, to our content, have shared The feast and heard the harp, whose notes so well Suit with a liberal banquet, let us forth And try our skill in games, that this our guest, Returning to his country, may relate How in the boxing and the wrestling match, In leaping and in running, we excel.”
He spake, and went before; they followed him. Then did the herald hang the clear-toned harp Again on high, and taking by the hand Demodocus,