is loyal, and he loves Thy son and the discreet Penelope. There wilt thou find him as he tends his swine, That find their pasturage beside the rock Of Corax, and by Arethusa’s fount. On nourishing acorns they are fed, and drink The dark clear water, whence the flesh of swine Is fattened. There remain, and carefully Inquire of all that thou wouldst know, while I, Taking my way to Sparta, the abode Of lovely women, call Telemachus, Thy son, Ulysses, who hath visited King Menelaus in his broad domain, To learn if haply thou art living
Ulysses, the sagacious, answered her:
“Why didst not thou, to whom all things are known, Tell him concerning me? Must he too roam And suffer on the barren deep, and leave To others his estates, to be their spoil?”
And then the blue-eyed goddess spake again:
“Let not that thought distress thee. It was I Who sent him thither, that he might deserve The praise of men. No evil meets him there; But in the halls of Atreus’ son he sits, Safe mid the abounding luxuries. ’Tis true That even now the suitors lie in wait, In their black ship, to slay him ere he reach His native land; but that will hardly be Before the earth shall cover many a one Of the proud suitors who consume thy wealth.”
So Pallas spake, and touched him with her wand, And caused the blooming skin to shrivel up On his slow limbs, and the fair hair to fall, And with an old man’s wrinkles covered all His frame, and dimmed his lately glorious eyes.