from Ithaca Three hundred sheep and those who tended them. For this Ulysses, though a stripling yet, Came that long voyage, on an embassy, Sent by his father and the other chiefs. And Iphitus had come in search of steeds Which he had lost—twelve mares, and under them Twelve hardy mules, their foals. That errand brought The doom of death upon him. For he came, In journeying, to the abode of Hercules, The mighty hero-son of Jupiter, Famed for his labors, who, in his own house, Slew Iphitus, the stranger. Cruel wretch! Who reverenced not the vengeance of the gods, Nor what was due to his own board, at which He placed his guest, and slew him afterward, And in his stables kept the goodly mares. ’Twas when this guest was seeking for his steeds He met Ulysses, and bestowed on him The bow, which mighty Eurytus once bore, And dying in his lofty palace left The weapon to his son. Ulysses gave In turn a trenchant sword and massive lance, A pledge of kindly hospitality, Begun, but not continued till they sat Each at the other’s table; for the son Of Jove first took the life of him who gave The bow, the godlike son of Eurytus. That bow Ulysses, when he went to war In his black galleys, never took with him, But left it in his palace, to be kept In memory of a beloved friend, And only bore it in his own domain.
Now when the glorious lady reached the room, And stood upon the threshold, wrought of oak And polished by the workman’s cunning hand, Who stretched the line upon it, and set up Its posts, and hung its shining doors, she loosed With a quick touch the thong that held the ring, Put in the key, and with a careful aim Struck back the sounding bolts. As when a bull Roars in the field, such sound the beautiful doors, Struck with the key, gave forth, and instantly They opened to her. Up the lofty floor She stepped, where stood the coffer that contained The