Then spake the blue-eyed Pallas: “Stay me not, For now would I depart. Whatever gift Thy heart may prompt thee to bestow, reserve Till I come back, that I may bear it home, And thou shalt take some precious thing in turn.”
So spake the blue-eyed Pallas, and withdrew, Ascending like a bird. She filled his heart With strength and courage, waking vividly His father’s memory. Then the noble youth Went forth among the suitors. Silent all They sat and listened to the illustrious bard, Who sang of the calamitous return Of the Greek host from Troy, at the command Of Pallas. From her chamber o’er the hall The daughter of Icarius, the sage queen Penelope, had heard the heavenly strain, And knew its theme. Down by the lofty stairs She came, but not alone; there followed her Two maidens. When the glorious lady reached The threshold of the strong-built hall, where sat The suitors, holding up a delicate veil Before her face, and with a gush of tears, The queen bespake the sacred minstrel thus:—
“Phemius! thou knowest many a pleasing theme— The deeds of gods and heroes, such as bards Are wont to celebrate. Take then thy place And sing of one of these, and let the guests In silence drink the wine; but cease this strain; It is too sad; it cuts me to the heart, And wakes a sorrow without bounds—such grief I bear for him, my lord, of whom I think Continually; whose glory is abroad Through Hellas and through Argos, everywhere.”
And then Telemachus, the prudent, spake:— “Why, O my mother! canst thou not endure That thus the well-graced poet should delight His hearers with a theme to which his mind Is inly moved? The bards deserve no blame; Jove is the cause, for he at will inspires The lay that each must