made good; But those which pass the doors of polished horn, And are beheld of men, are ever true. And yet I cannot hope that my strange dream Came through them, though my son and I would both Rejoice if it were so. This let me say, And heed me well. Tomorrow brings to us The hateful morn which takes me from my home, The palace of Ulysses. I shall now Propose a contest. In the palace court Ulysses in a row set up twelve stakes, Like props that hold a galley up; each stake Had its own ring; he stood afar, and sent An arrow through them all. I shall propose This contest to the suitors. He who bends The bow with easy mastery, and sends Through the twelve rings an arrow, I will take To follow from the palace where I passed My youthful married life—a beautiful home, And stored with wealth; a home which I shall long Remember, even in my nightly dreams.”
Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: “O gracious consort of Laertes’ son! Let not this contest be delayed; the man Of ready wiles, Ulysses, will be here Ere, tampering with the hero’s polished bow, The suitors shall prevail to stretch the cord, And send an arrow through the rings of steel.”
And thus the sage Penelope rejoined: “Stranger, if, sitting in the palace here, Thou still wouldst entertain me as thou dost, Sleep would not fall upon my lids; and yet Sleepless the race of mortals cannot be, So have the gods ordained, who measure out His lot to man upon the nourishing earth. I to the upper rooms withdraw, to take My place upon the couch which has become To me a place of sorrow and of tears Since my Ulysses went away to Troy, That fatal town which should be named no more. And I will lay me down; but thou remain Within these walls, and make the floor thy bed, Or let these maidens spread a couch for thee.”
Penelope, thus having spoken, went Up to her royal bower, but not alone; Her maids went with her. When they were within She wept for her dear husband, till at length The blue-eyed Pallas graciously distilled Upon her closing lids the balm of sleep.