Drew near the suitors, at the door she stopped Of that magnificent hall, and o’er her cheeks Let fall the lustrous veil, while on each side A modest maiden stood. The suitors all Felt their knees tremble, and were sick with love, And all desired her. Then the queen bespake Telemachus, her well-beloved son:—
“Telemachus, thy judgment is not firm, Nor dost thou think aright. While yet a boy Thy thought was wiser. Now that thou art grown, And on the verge of manhood, so that one Who comes from far and sees thy noble part And stature well may say thou art the son Of a most fortunate father, yet to think And judge discreetly thou art not as then, For what a deed is this which has been done Even here! Thou hast allowed a stranger guest To be assaulted rudely. How is this? If one who sits a guest beneath our roof Be outraged thus, be sure it brings to thee Great shame and rank dishonor among men.”
To this discreet Telemachus replied:
“Mother, I cannot take it ill that thou Shouldst be offended. But of many things I have a clear discernment, and can weigh The good and bad. I was till now a child, Yet even now I cannot always see The wiser course. These men bewilder me, As, sitting side by side, they lay their plots Against me, and I have no helper here. When Irus and the stranger fought, the strife Had no such issue as the suitors wished. The stranger conquered. Would to Father Jove, To Pallas and Apollo, that the crew Of suitors here might sit with nodding heads Struck down upon the spot, within these halls Or in the courts, and all with powerless limbs, As Irus sits beside the gate and nods, Like one o’ercome with wine, nor can he stand Upon his feet, nor go to where he dwells, If home he has, so feeble are his limbs.”