gave, nor will I keep it back from thee, That when another traveller whom I meet Shall say it is a winnowing-fan I bear On my stout shoulder, there he bade me plant The oar upright in earth, and offer up To monarch Neptune there a ram, a bull, And sturdy boar, and then, returning home, Burn hallowed hecatombs to all the gods Who dwell in the broad heaven, each one in turn. At last will death come over me, afar From ocean, such a death as peacefully Shall take me off in a serene old age, Amid a people prosperous and content. All this, the prophet said, will come to
And then the sage Penelope rejoined:
“If thus the immortals make thy later age The happier, there is hope that thou wilt find Escape from evil in the years to come.”
So talked they with each other. Meantime went Eurynomè, attended by the nurse, And in the light of blazing torches dressed With soft fresh drapery a bed; and when Their busy hands had made it full and high, The aged dame withdrew to take her rest In her own chamber, while Eurynomè, Who kept the royal bower, upheld a torch And thither led the pair, and, when they both Were in the chamber, went her way. They took Their place delighted in the ancient bed. The prince, the herdsman, and the swineherd ceased Meantime to tread the dance, and bade the maids Cease also, and within the palace-rooms Dark with night’s shadow, sought their place of rest. Then came the time of pleasant mutual talk, In which that noblest among women spake Of wrongs endured beneath her roof from those Who came to woo her—an insatiate crew— Who made of beeves and fatlings of the flock Large slaughter, and drained many a wine-cask dry. Then nobly born Ulysses told what woes His valor brought on other men; what toils And suffering he had borne; he told her all, And she, delighted, heard him, nor did sleep Light on her eyelids till his tale was done.