And thus the nurse, Dame Eurycleia, said: “Would that at length, my child, thou didst exert Thy proper wisdom here, and take in charge Thy house and thy possessions. But who goes With thee to bear a torch, since none of these, Thy handmaids, are allowed to light thy way?”
And thus discreet Telemachus replied: “This stranger. No man may be idle here Who eats my bread, though from a distant land.”
He spake, nor flew his words in vain. The nurse Closed all the portals of that noble pile. Ulysses and his glorious son in haste Bore off the helmets, and the bossy shields, And the sharp spears, while Pallas held to them A golden lamp, that shed a fair clear light. Then to his father spake Telemachus:—
“Father! my eyes behold a marvel. All The palace walls, each beautiful recess, The fir-tree beams, the aspiring columns, shine, Before my eyes, as with a blaze of fire. Some god is surely here, someone of those Who make their dwelling in the high broad heaven.”
Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: “Keep silence; give thy thought no speech, nor ask Concerning aught. Such is the wont of those Who dwell upon Olympus. Now withdraw To rest upon thy couch, while I remain, For I would move thy mother and her maids To ask of what concerns me. She, I deem, Full sadly will inquire of many things.”
He spake; Telemachus departed thence, By torchlight, to his chamber, there to rest Where he was wont to lie when gentle sleep Came over him. There lay he down to wait The hallowed morning, while Ulysses, left Within the palace, meditated still Death to the suitors with Minerva’s aid.
The sage Penelope now left her bower; Like Dian or like golden Venus came The queen. Beside the hearth they placed for her The throne where she was wont to sit, inlaid With ivory and silver, which of yore The