Penelope, The daughter of Icarius. When we went To war, we left her a young bride; a babe Was at her breast, a boy, who now must sit Among grown men; and fortunate is he, For certainly his father will behold The youth on his return, and he embrace His father, as is meet. But as for me, My consort suffered not my eyes to feed Upon the sight of my own son; for first She slew me. This, then, I admonish thee— Heed thou my words. Bring not thy ship to land Openly in thy country, but by stealth, Since now no longer can we put our trust In woman. Meantime, tell me of my son, And faithfully, if thou hast heard of him As living, whether in Orchomenus, Or sandy Pylos, or in the broad realm Of Menelaus, Sparta; for not yet Has my Orestes passed from earth and
“He spake, and I replied: ‘Why ask of me That question, O Atrides? I know not Whether thy son be living or be dead, And this is not a time for idle words.’
“Thus in sad talk we stood, and freely flowed Our tears. Meanwhile the ghosts of Peleus’ son Achilles, and Patroclus, excellent Antilochus, and Ajax, all drew near— Ajax for form and stature eminent O’er all the Greeks save Peleus’ faultless son. Then did the soul of fleet Aeacides Know me, and thus in winged words he said:—
“ ‘Ulysses! what hath moved thee to attempt This greatest of thy labors? How is it That thou hast found the courage to descend To Hades, where the dead, the bodiless forms Of those whose work is done on earth, abide?’
“He spake; I answered: > ‘Greatest of the Greeks! Achilles, son of Peleus! ’Twas to hear The counsel of Tiresias that I came, If haply he