_Ul._ I thank thee, sir. [_Exit._ _Eum._ How earnest thou, son? Where didst thou land? _Tel._ Is’t true The wooers sent a ship? _Eum._ Didst thou not meet them? _Tel._ Hark now, and hear in what strange manner warned I knew their ambush, to avoid them. _Eum._ Ah! Thou knewest it, thou knewest! _Tel._ Wilt thou think I was at Sparta but three days ago? 600 There in my sleep the goddess, at whose word I made this voyage, came and stood beside me, Called me by name, and bade me quick return; And for my safety warned me that a ship ’Twixt Ithaca and Samè lay in wait; Which if I would avoid I must sail round, Keeping the west of the isle; and for that voyage She promised a fair wind. So the next morn Was I at Pylos; whence as I set forth, I found the wind, and sailing day and night, 610 With swift unbroken passage came to shore Last evening north of the isle. Hither alone I passed in the dark, and sent my ship about. _Eum._ That was well done: I praise the gods for that. I knew that they would save thee. _Tel._ But, Eumæus, What of the ship? What knowest thou? What means it? Were all agreed plotting my life together, Or whose deed is it? _Eum._ One rancorous spirit rules them,— Save Lord Amphinomus, who stands as ever Within the bounds: of all the rest there’s none 620 That would not take thy life by stealth, nor one Who openly would dare. _Tel._ Who sailed the ship? _Eum._ Antinous. _Tel._ Ah! _Eum._ And if I die to avenge it, Son, he shall pay for it. _Tel._ Talk, I pray, of safety, Not of revenge. Shall I make bold to go Straight to the house, or must I hide me here? _Eum._ Bide, son, bide! ’Tis not safe. Let me go, son. When once ’tis known in the isle that thou’rt returned, Then thou mayst shew thyself. The cowards fear The love the people bear thee. Let me go. 630 _Tel._ Is all else well? _Eum._ All’s well where ill is well. _Tel._ Eumæus, I’ll not venture yet: but thou Haste to the house, and in my mother’s ear Whisper I am here: but let none other guess That thou hast tidings of me. _Eum._ Not to tell Thy grandsire, son? He scarce hath eat or drunk While thou hast been away: ’twere well he knew, And quickly; for an hour is much to one Whose life leans on the grave.