And thus the sage Penelope replied: “Dear child, my faculties are overpowered With wonder, and I cannot question him, Nor even speak to him, nor fix my looks Upon his face. But if it be indeed Ulysses, and he have returned, we soon Shall know each other; there are tokens known To both of us, to none but him and me.”
She ended, and the much-enduring chief Ulysses, smiling at her words, bespake Telemachus at once, in winged words:—
“Suffer thy mother, O Telemachus, To prove me; she will know me better soon. My looks are sordid, and my limbs are wrapped In tattered raiment, therefore does she think Meanly of me, and cannot willingly Believe that I am he. But let us now Consider what most wisely may be done. He who hath slain, among a tribe of men, A single one with few to avenge his death, Flees from his kindred and his native land; But we have slain the champions of the realm, The flower of all the youth of Ithaca. Therefore, I pray thee, think what shall be done.”
And then discreet Telemachus replied: “Look thou to that, dear father; for they say That thou of all mankind wert wont to give The wisest counsels. None of mortal birth In this was deemed thy peer. We follow thee With cheerful hearts; nor will our courage fail, I think, in aught that lies within our power.”
Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: “Then will I tell thee what I deem most wise. First take the bath, and then array yourselves In tunics, bid the palace-maidens choose Fresh garments; let the godlike bard, who bears The clear-toned harp, be leader, and strike up A melody to prompt the festive dance, That all may say who hear it from without— Whether the passers by or dwellers near— ‘It is a wedding.’ Else throughout the land The rumor of the slaughter we have wrought Among the suitors may have spread before We reach our wooded farm, and there consult Beneath the guidance of Olympian Jove.”