And how he next through many hardships came To the Phaeacians, and they welcomed him And honored him as if he were a god, And to his native country in a barque Sent him with ample gifts of brass and gold And raiment. As he uttered this last word, Sleep softly overcame him; all his limbs Lay loose in rest, and all his cares were calmed.
The blue-eyed Pallas had yet new designs; And when she deemed Ulysses was refreshed With rest and sleep, in that accustomed bed, She called the Morning, daughter of the Dawn, To rise from ocean in her car of gold, And shed her light on men. Ulysses rose From his soft couch, and thus enjoined his spouse:—
“O wife! enough of misery have we borne Already—thou in weeping for my long Unhappy absence—I for years withheld By Jupiter and all the other gods From my return to this dear land, although I pined for home. Now since upon this couch We take the place so earnestly desired, Take thou the charge of all that I possess Here in the palace. For the herds and flocks Which those high-handed suitors have devoured, I shall seize many others as a spoil; The rest the Greeks will bring me, till my stalls Are filled again. I hasten to my farm Embowered in trees, to greet the aged man My excellent father, who continually Grieves for me. Prudent as thou art, I give This charge; a rumor, with the rising sun, Will quickly go abroad that I have slain The suitors in the palace. Now withdraw, Thou and thy maidens, to the upper room, And sit and look not forth, nor ask of aught.”
So spake the chief, and on his shoulders braced His glorious armor. Then he called his son, The herdsman, and the swineherd, bidding them To take in hand their weapons. They obeyed, And, having armed themselves in brass, they threw The portals open. As they all went forth, Ulysses led the way. The early light Was on the earth, but Pallas, shrouding them In darkness, led them quickly through the town.