She spake, the swineherd went, and, drawing near Ulysses, said to him in winged words:—
“Stranger and father, sage Penelope, The mother of the prince, hath sent for thee. Though sorrowing, she is minded to inquire What of her husband thou canst haply say; And should she find that all thy words are true, She will bestow a tunic and a cloak, Garments which much thou needest. For thy food, What will appease thy hunger thou wilt find Among the people; ask, and each will give.”
Ulysses, much-enduring man, replied: “Eumaeus, faithfully will I declare All that I know to sage Penelope, The daughter of Icarius. Well I knew Her husband, and with like calamities We both have suffered. But I greatly dread This reckless suitor-crew, whose riotous acts And violence reach to the iron heavens. Even now, when that man dealt me, as I passed, A painful blow, though I had done no harm, None interposed, not even Telemachus, In my defence. Now, therefore, ask, I pray, Penelope that she will deign to wait Till sunset in her rooms, though strong her wish To hear my history. Of her husband then, And his return, she may inquire, while I Sit by the blazing hearth; for scant have been My garments, as thou knowest, since the day When first I came, a suppliant, to thy door.”
He spake; the swineherd went, and as he crossed The threshold of Penelope she said:—
“Thou bringst him not, Eumaeus? What may be The wanderer’s scruple? Fear of someone here? Or in a palace is he filled with awe? To be a bashful beggar is most hard.”
And thus, Eumaeus, thou didst answer her: “Rightly he speaks, and just as one would think Who shuns the encounter of disorderly men. He prays that thou wilt wait till set of sun; And better were it for thyself, O queen, To speak with him and hear his words alone.”