long before had reared, but left Untried, when for the hallowed town of Troy He sailed. The young men oft had led him forth In eager chase of wild goats, stags, and hares; But now, his master far away, he lay Neglected, just before the stable doors, Amid the droppings of the mules and beeves, Heaped high till carried to the spacious fields Of which Ulysses was the lord. There lay Argus, devoured with vermin. As he saw Ulysses drawing near, he wagged his tail And dropped his ears, but found that he could come No nearer to his master. Seeing this, Ulysses wiped away a tear unmarked By the good swineherd, whom he questioned thus:—
“Eumaeus, this I marvel at—this dog, That lies upon the dunghill, beautiful In form, but whether in the chase as fleet As he is fairly shaped I cannot tell. Worthless, perchance, as house-dogs often are, Whose masters keep them for the sake of show.”
And thus, Eumaeus, thou didst make reply: “The dog belongs to one who died afar. Had he the power of limb which once he had For feats of hunting when Ulysses sailed For Troy and left him, thou wouldst be amazed Both at his swiftness and his strength. No beast In the thick forest depths which once he saw, Or even tracked by footprints, could escape. And now he is a sufferer, since his lord Has perished far from his own land. No more The careless women heed the creature’s wants; For, when the master is no longer near, The servants cease from their appointed tasks, And on the day that one becomes a slave The Thunderer, Jove, takes half his worth away.”
He spake, and, entering that fair dwelling-place, Passed through to where the illustrious suitors sat, While over Argus the black night of death Came suddenly as soon as he had seen Ulysses, absent now for twenty years. Telemachus, the godlike, was the first To mark the swineherd coming through the hall, And, nodding, called to him. The swineherd looked About him, and beheld a seat on which The carver of the feast