He ended, and the assembly all sat mute Till Agelaüs spake, Damastor’s son:—
“O friends! let no man here with carping words Gainsay what is so rightly said, nor yet Insult the stranger more, nor one of those Who serve the household of the godlike chief Ulysses in his palace. I would say This word in kindness to Telemachus And to his mother; may it please them both! While yet the hope was cherished in your hearts That wise Ulysses would return, no blame Could fasten on the queen that she remained Unwedded, and resisted those who came To woo her in the palace. Better so, Had he come home again. Yet now, ’tis clear, He comes no more. Go then, Telemachus, And, sitting by thy mother, bid her wed The noblest of her wooers, and the one Who brings the richest gifts; and thou possess Thy father’s wealth in peace, and eat and drink At will, while she shall find another home.”
And thus discreet Telemachus replied: “Nay, Agelaüs, for I swear by Jove, And by my father’s sufferings, who has died, Or yet is wandering, far from Ithaca, That I do nothing to delay the choice And marriage of my mother. I consent That she become the wife of whom she list, And him who offers most. But I should feel Great shame to thrust her forth against her will, And with unfilial speeches; God forbid!”
He ended here, and Pallas, as he spake, To inextinguishable laughter moved The suitors. There they sat with wandering minds; They swallowed morsels foul with blood; their eyes Were filled with tears; their hearts foreboded woe. Then spake the godlike Theoclymenus:—
“Unhappy men! what may this evil be That overtakes you? Every brow and face And each one’s lower limbs are wrapped in night, And moans arise, and tears are on your cheeks. The walls and all the graceful cornices Between the pillars are bedropped with blood, The portico is full, these halls are full Of shadows, hastening down to Erebus Amid the gloom. The sun is blotted out From heaven, and fearful darkness covers all.”