And then the sage Penelope rejoined:
“Though anxious for my sake, persuade me not, Eurynomè, to bathe, nor to anoint My cheeks with oil. The gods inhabiting Olympus took away their comeliness When in his roomy ships my husband sailed; But bid Antinoe come, and call with her Hippodameïa, that they both may stand Beside me in the hall. I will not go Alone among the men, for very shame.”
She spake, the aged dame went forth to bear The message, and to bring the women back. While blue-eyed Pallas had yet other cares, She brought a balmy sleep, and shed it o’er The daughter of Icarius, as she lay Reclined upon her couch, her limbs relaxed In rest. The glorious goddess gave a dower Of heavenly graces, that the Achaian chiefs Might look on her amazed. She lighted up Her fair face with a beauty all divine, Such as the queenly Cytherea wears When in the mazes of the dance she joins The Graces. Then she made her to the sight Of loftier stature and of statelier size, And fairer than the ivory newly carved. This having done, the gracious power withdrew, While from the palace came the white-armed maids, And prattled as they came. The balmy sleep Forsook their mistress at the sound. She passed Her hands across her cheeks, and thus she spake:—
“ ’Twas a sweet sleep that, in my wretchedness, Wrapped me just now. Would that, this very hour, The chaste Diana by so soft a death Might end me, that my days might be no more Consumed in sorrow for a husband lost, Of peerless worth, the noblest of the Greeks.”
She spake, and from the royal bower went down, Yet not alone; two maidens went with her. And when that most august of womankind