Thus having said, he drew from the broad scar The covering rags; they looked and knew it well, And wept, and round Ulysses threw their arms, And kissed in that embrace the hero’s head And shoulders, while Ulysses also kissed Their heads and hands. The sun would have gone down Upon their weeping, but for him. He said:—
“Cease now from tears, lest someone from the hall Should see us, and report of us within. Now let us enter, not in company— I first, and ye thereafter, one by one, And let the sign be this: the others all— The haughty suitors—will refuse to me The bow and quiver. When thou bearest it, My noble friend Eumaeus, through the halls, Bring it and place it in my hands, and charge The women to make fast the solid doors; And then if any one of them should hear A groan or other noise of men within, Let her not issue forth, but silently Pursue her task. Meantime be it thy care, My good Philoetius, with a key to lock The portals of the court and fix the chain.”
Thus having said, into that noble pile He passed again, and took the seat from which He lately rose, and afterward, in turn, Entered the servants of the godlike chief.
Eurymachus was busy with the bow, Turning and warming it before the blaze On both its sides. He could not bend it thus. There came a deep sigh from his boastful heart, And greatly was he vexed, and sadly said:—
“Alas! great cause of grief indeed is here For me and all. ’Tis not that I lament So much the losing of the bride, although That also vexes me—there yet remain Many fair ladies of the Achaian stock, Both in the seagirt lands of Ithaca And other regions—yet if we be found To fall in strength of arm so far below The great Ulysses that we cannot bend His bow, our sons will hear of it with shame.”