Then Eurycleia, the dear nurse, rejoined: “What words are these, my child, that pass thy lips? Sayst thou, then, that thy husband, who now stands Upon thy hearthstone, never will return? O slow of faith! but thou wert ever thus. Come, then, I give a certain proof. I saw Myself, when he was at the bath, the scar Left on him by the white tusk of a boar, And would have told thee, but he laid his hands Upon my mouth, and would not suffer me To bear the tidings, such his forecast was. Now follow me; I give my life in pledge. If I deceive thee, slay me ruthlessly.”
Then spake discreet Penelope again: “Dear nurse, though thou in many things art wise, Think not to scan the counsels of the gods, Who live forever. Yet will we descend, And meet my son, and look upon the slain, And see the avenger by whose hand they fell.”
She spake, and from the royal bower went down, Uncertain whether she should stand aloof And question there her lord, or haste to him And clasp his hands in hers and kiss his brow. But having passed the threshold of hewn stone, Entering she took her seat right opposite Ulysses, in the full glow of the fire, Against the other wall. Ulysses sat Beside a lofty column with his eyes Cast down, and waiting for his highborn wife To speak when she had seen him. Long she sat In silence, for amazement overpowered Her senses. Sometimes, looking in his eyes, She saw her husband there, and then again, Clad in those sordid weeds, she knew him not. Then spake Telemachus, and chid her thus:—
“Mother, unfeeling mother! hard of heart Art thou; how else couldst thou remain aloof? How keep from taking, at my father’s side, Thy place, to talk with him, and question him? No other wife could bring herself to bear Such distance from a husband, just returned After long hardships, in the twentieth year Of absence, to his native land and her. Mother! thy heart is harder than a stone.”