Book XIV

Telemachus, My master’s son, to whom the gods had given A generous growth like that of some young plant, And who, I hoped, would prove no less in worth Than his own father, and of eminent gifts In form and mind. Some god, perchance some man, Hath caused that mind to lose its equal poise, And he is gone to Pylos the divine For tidings of his father. Meanwhile here The arrogant suitors plan to lie in wait For him as he returns, that utterly The stock of great Arcesius from our isle May perish, and its name be heard no more. Speak we no more of him, be it his fate To fall or flee; but O, may Saturn’s son Protect him with his arm! And now, old man, Relate, I pray, thy fortunes; tell me true, That I may know who thou mayst be, and whence Thou earnest, where thy city lies, and who Thy parents were, what galley landed thee Upon our coast, and how the manners Brought thee to Ithaca, and of what race They claim to be; for I may well suppose Thou hast not come to Ithaca on