hard one; or Ulysses may come back— And there is hope of that. Or if it be That he has perished, and returns no more, There still remains his son Telemachus, Who by Apollo’s grace is now a man, And no one of the women in these halls May think to misbehave, and yet escape His eye, for he no longer is a
He spake; Penelope, the prudent, heard, And, calling to her maid, rebuked her thus:—
“O bold and shameless! I have taken note Of thy behavior; thou hast done a wrong For which thy head should answer. Well thou know’st, For thou hast heard me say, that I would ask The stranger in these halls if aught he knows Of my Ulysses, for whose sake I grieve.”
Then to the matron of the household turned The queen, and thus bespake Eurynomè:—
“Bring now a seat, Eurynomè, and spread A fleece upon it, where the stranger guest May sit at ease, and hear what I shall say, And answer me, for I have much to ask.”
She spake; the ancient handmaid brought with speed A polished seat, and o’er it spread a fleece. Ulysses, much-enduring chief, sat down, And thus the sage Penelope began:—
“First will I ask thee who thou art, and whence, Where is thy birthplace, and thy parents who?”
Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: > “O lady, none in all the boundless earth Can speak of thee with blame. Thy fame has reached To the great heavens. It is like the renown Of some most excellent king, of godlike sway O’er many men and mighty, who upholds Justice