And then discreet Penelope replied, Still sweetly slumbering at the Gate of Dreams:—
“Why, sister, art thou here, who ne’er before Hast come to me? The home is far away In which thou dwellest. Thou exhortest me To cease from grieving, and to lay aside The painful thoughts that crowd into my mind, And torture me who have already lost A noble-minded, lionhearted spouse, One eminent among Achaia’s sons For every virtue, and whose fame was spread Through Hellas and through Argos. Now my son, My best beloved, goes to sea—a boy, Unused to hardships, and unskilled to deal With strangers. More I sorrow for his sake Than for his father’s. I am filled with fear, And tremble lest he suffer wrong from those Among whom he has gone, or on the deep, Where he has enemies who lie in wait To slay him ere he reach his home again.”
And then the shadowy image spake again:— “Be of good courage; let not fear o’ercome Thy spirit, for there goes with him a guide Such as all others would desire to have Beside them ever, trusting in her power— Pallas Athene, and she looks on thee With pity. From her presence I am sent, Her messenger, declaring this to thee.”
Again discreet Penelope replied:— “If then thou be a goddess and hast heard A goddess speak these words, declare, I pray, Of that ill-fated one, if yet he live And look upon the sun, or else have died And passed to the abodes beneath the earth.”
Once more the shadowy image spake: “Of him Will I say nothing, whether living yet Or dead; no time is this for idle words.”
She said, and from the chamber glided forth Beside the bolt, and mingled with the winds. Then quickly from her couch of sleep arose The daughter of Icarius, for her heart Was glad, so plainly had the dream conveyed Its message in the stillness of the night.