not willingly Nor for the sake of lucre did I come To sing before the suitors at their feasts And in thy palace, but was forced to come By numbers and by mightier men than I.”
He ceased; Telemachus, the mighty, heard And thus bespake his father at his side:—
“Refrain; smite not the guiltless with the sword; And be the herald, Medon, also spared, Who in our palace had the care of me Through all my childhood; if he be not slain Already by Philoetius, or by him Who tends the swine, or if he have not met Thyself, when thou wert ranging through the hail.”
He spake, and the sagacious Medon heard, As crouching underneath a throne he lay, Wrapped in the skin just taken from a steer, To hide from the black doom of death. He came From where he lay, and quickly flung aside The skin, and, springing forward, clasped the knees Of the young prince, and said in winged words:—
“Dear youth, behold me here; be merciful; Speak to thy father, that he put not forth His sword to slay me, eager as he is For vengeance, and incensed against the men Who haunt these halls to make his wealth a spoil, And in their folly hold thyself in scorn.”
He spake; the sage Ulysses smiled and said:
“Be of good cheer, since this my son protects And rescues thee. Now mayst thou well perceive, And say to other men, how much more safe Is doing good than evil. Go thou forth Out of this slaughter to the open court, Thou and the illustrious bard, and sit ye there, While here within I do what yet I must.”
He spake; they moved away and left the hall, And by the altar of almighty Jove Sat looking round them, still in fear of death.