And he, the noble wanderer, spoke Of many a deed of peril sore, Of men who fell beneath his stroke, Of all the sorrowing tasks he bore. She listened with delighted ear; Sleep never came her eyelids near, Till all the tale was o’er.” Ulysses next discovers himself to his father; and they two, with their friends, succeed in putting down the adherents of the suitors and restoring peace to the kingdom. Among the most beautiful passages of the Odyssey is that in which the poet introduces us to the happy household of Alcinoüs, king of an island on which Ulysses was thrown. Charming is the simple sketch he gives of the unaffected princess of this isle, just before her marriage, driving her maidens to the river in her father’s chariot, to wash the robes of state, lunch, and disport upon the bank while the clothes are drying. The royal mother superintends the weaving, the royal daughter the washing. We quote Homer’s description of the PALACE AND GARDEN OF ALCINOÜS. “Ulysses, then, toward the palace moved Of King Alcinoüs, but immersed in thought Stood first and paused, ere with his foot he pressed The brazen threshold; for a light he saw, As of the sun or moon, illuming clear The palace of Phæacia’s mighty king. Walls plated bright with brass on either side Stretched from the portal to the interior house, With azure cornice crowned; the doors were gold, Which shut the palace fast; silver the posts Reared on a brazen threshold, and above, The lintels, silver architraved with gold. Mastiffs, in gold and silver, lined the approach On either side, by art celestial framed Of Vulcan, guardians of Alcinoüs’ gate Forever, unobnoxious to decay. Sheer from the threshold to the inner house Fixed thrones the walls, through all their length, adorned, With mantles overspread of subtlest warp Transparent, work of many a female hand. On these the princes of Phæacia sat, Holding perpetual feasts, while golden youths On all the sumptuous altars stood, their hands With burning torches charged, which, night by night, Shed radiance over all the festive throng. Full fifty female menials served the king In household offices; the rapid mills These turning, pulverize the mellowed grain; Those, seated orderly, the purple fleece Wind off, or ply the loom, restless as leaves Of lofty poplars fluttering in the breeze; Bright as with oil the new-wrought texture shone.