sing. Reprove not, then, The minstrel who relates the unhappy fate Of the Greek warriors. All men most applaud The song that has the newest theme; and thou— Strengthen thy heart to hear it. Keep in mind That not alone Ulysses is cut off From his return, but that with him at Troy Have many others perished. Now withdraw Into thy chamber; ply thy household tasks, The loom, the spindle; bid thy maidens speed Their work. To say what words beseem a feast Belongs to man, and most to me; for here Within these walls the authority is mine.”
The matron, wondering at his words, withdrew To her own place, but in her heart laid up Her son’s wise sayings. When she now had reached, With her attendant maids, the upper rooms, She mourned Ulysses, her beloved spouse, And wept, till blue-eyed Pallas closed her lids In gentle slumbers. Noisily, meanwhile, The suitors revelled in the shadowy halls; And thus Telemachus, the prudent, spake:—
“Ye suitors of my mother, insolent And overbearing; cheerful be our feast, Not riotous. It would become us well To listen to the lay of such a bard, So like the gods in voice. I bid you all Meet in full council with the morrow morn, That I may give you warning to depart From out my palace, and to seek your feasts Elsewhere at your own charge—haply to hold Your daily banquets at each other’s homes. But if it seem to you the better way To plunder one man’s goods, go on to waste My substance; I will call the immortal gods To aid me, and if Jupiter allow Fit retribution for your deeds, ye die, Within this very palace, unavenged.”
He spake; the suitors bit their close-pressed lips, Astonished at the youth’s courageous words. And thus Antinoüs, Eupeithes’ son, Made answer: “Most assuredly the gods, Telemachus, have taught thee how to frame Grand sentences and gallantly harangue. Ne’er may the son of Saturn make thee king Over the seagirt Ithaca, whose isle Is thy inheritance by claim of birth.”