The loud-mouthed dogs that saw Ulysses come Ran toward him, fiercely baying. He sat down At once, through caution, letting fall his staff Upon the ground, and would have suffered there Unseemly harm, within his own domain, But then the swineherd, following with quick steps, Rushed through the vestibule, and dropped the hide. He chid the dogs and, pelting them with stones, Drave them asunder, and addressed the king:—
“O aged man, the mastiffs of the lodge Had almost torn thee, and thou wouldst have cast Bitter reproach upon me. Other griefs And miseries the gods have made my lot. Here sorrowfully sitting I lament A godlike master, and for others tend His fading swine; while, haply hungering For bread, he wanders among alien men In other kingdoms, if indeed he lives And looks upon the sun. But follow me, And come into the house, that there, refreshed With food and wine, old man, thou mayst declare Whence thou dost come and what thou hast endured.”
So the good swineherd spake, and led the way Into the lodge, and bade his guest sit down, And laid thick rushes for his seat, and spread On these a wild goat’s shaggy hide to make A soft and ample couch. Rejoiced to meet So kind a welcome, thus Ulysses spake:—
“May Jupiter and all the deathless gods Bestow on thee, my host, in recompense Of this kind welcome, all thy heart’s desire!”
And then, Eumaeus, thou didst answer thus: “My guest, it were not right to treat with scorn A stranger, though he were of humbler sort Than thou, for strangers and the poor are sent By Jove; our gifts are small, though gladly given, As it must ever be with those who serve Young masters, whom they fear. The gods themselves Prevent, no doubt, the safe return of him Who loved me much, and would ere this have given What a kind lord is wont to give his hind— A house, a croft, the wife whom he has wooed, Rewarding faithful services which God Hath