Who bore the sumptuous presents, while below The suitors turned them to the dance and song, Amused till evening came. Its darkness stole Over their pastime. Then they brought and placed Three hearths to light the palace, heaping them With wood, well dried and hard and newly cleft. With this they mingled flaming brands. The maids Of the great sufferer, Ulysses, fed The fire by turns. To them the hero spake:—
“Ye maidens of a sovereign absent long, Withdraw to where your highborn mistress sits; There turn the spindle, seeking to amuse Her lonely hours; there comb with your own hands The fleece, and I will see that these have light.
Even though they linger till the Morn is here In her bright car, they cannot overcome My patience. I am practised to endure.”
So spake he, and the maidens, as they heard, Cast at each other meaning looks, and laughed, And one Melantho, of the rosy cheeks, Railed at him impudently. She was born To Dolius, but Penelope had reared The damsel as a daughter of her own, And given her, for her pleasure, many things; Yet for the sorrows of Penelope Melantho little cared. Eurymachus Had made the girl his paramour. She spake, And chid Ulysses with unmannerly words:—
“Outlandish wretch! thou must be one whose brain Is turned, since thou wilt neither go to sleep Within a smithy, nor in any place Of public shelter, but wilt stay and prate Among this company with no restraint Or reverence. Either wine has stolen away Thy senses, or thy natural mood, perchance, Prompts thee to chatter idly. Art thou proud Of conquering Irus, that poor vagabond? Beware lest someone of robuster arms Than Irus seize and thrust thee out of doors With a bruised head and face begrimed with blood.”