Meantime, Ulysses passed with searching look O’er all the place, to find if yet remained A single one of all the suitor-crew Alive, and skulking from his bitter doom. He saw that all had fallen in blood and dust, Many as fishes on the shelving beach Drawn from the hoary deep by those who tend The nets with myriad meshes. Poured abroad Upon the sand, while panting to return To the salt sea they lie, till the hot sun Takes their life from them; so the suitors lay Heaped on each other. Then Ulysses took The word, and thus bespake Telemachus:—
“Go now, Telemachus, and hither call The nurse, Dame Eurycleia. I would say Somewhat to her that comes into my thought.”
So spake the chief. Telemachus obeyed The word, and smote the door, and called the nurse:—
“Come hither, ancient dame, who hast in charge To oversee the women in their tasks; My father calls thee, and would speak with thee.”
He spake; nor flew the word in vain; she flung Apart the portals of those stately rooms, And came in haste. Before her went the prince. Among the corpses of the slain they found Ulysses, stained with blood, and grimed with dust. As when a lion, who has just devoured A bullock of the pasture, moves away, A terror to the sight, with breast and cheeks All bathed in blood; so did Ulysses seem, His feet and hands steeped in the blood of men. She, when she saw the corpses and the pools Of blood, and knew the mighty task complete, Was moved to shout for joy. Ulysses checked Her eager zeal, and said in winged words:—
“Rejoice in spirit, dame, but calm thyself, And shout not. To exult aloud o’er those Who lie in death is an unholy thing. The pleasure of the gods, and their own guilt, Brought death on these; for no respect had they To any of their fellow-men—the good Or evil—whosoever he might be That came to them, and thus on their own heads They drew this fearful fate.