while pondering how To lay a strong hand on the multitude Of shameless suitors—he but one, and they So many. Meantime Pallas, sliding down From heaven, in form a woman, came, and there Beside his bed stood over him, and spake:—
“Why, most unhappy of the sons of men, Art thou still sleepless? This is thine abode, And here thou hast thy consort and a son Whom any man might covet for his own.”
Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: “Truly, O goddess, all that thou hast said Is rightly spoken. This perplexes me— How to lay hands upon these shameless men, When I am only one, and they a throng That fill the palace. Yet another thought, And mightier still—if, by thy aid and Jove’s, I slay the suitors, how shall I myself Be safe thereafter? Think, I pray, of this.”
And thus in turn the blue-eyed Pallas said: “O faint of spirit! in an humbler friend Than I am, in a friend of mortal birth And less farseeing, one might put his trust; But I am born a goddess, and protect Thy life in every danger. Let me say, And plainly say, if fifty armed bands Of men should gather round us, eager all To take thy life, thou mightest drive away, Unharmed by them, their herds and pampered flocks. But give thyself to sleep. To wake and watch All night is most unwholesome. Thou shalt find A happy issue from thy troubles yet.”
She spake, and, shedding slumber on his lids, Upward the glorious goddess took her way Back to Olympus, when she saw that sleep Had seized him, making him forget all care And slackening every limb. His faithful wife Was still awake, and sat upright and wept On her soft couch, and after many tears The glorious lady prayed to Dian thus:—
“Goddess august! Diana, child of Jove! I would that thou wouldst send into my heart A shaft to take my life, or that a storm Would seize and hurl me through the paths of air, And cast me into ocean’s restless