Now Pallas framed a new device; she called A phantom up, in aspect like the dame Iphthime, whom Eumelus had espoused In Pherae, daughter of the high-souled chief Icarius. Her she sent into the halls Of great Ulysses, that she might beguile The sorrowful Penelope from tears And lamentations. By the thong that held The bolt she slid into the royal bower And standing by her head bespake the queen:—
“Penelope, afflicted as thou art, Art thou asleep? The ever-blessed gods Permit thee not to grieve and weep; thy son, Who has not sinned against them, shall return.”
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.”