“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
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.”
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.”