_Ul._ Lo! now the sun in the mid goal of heaven Hath climbed to view my fortunes, and my shade On this well-trodden floor falls neither way: 682 So towers my genius; so my future and past Lie gathered for the moment.—How oft in dreams, When longing hath forecast this hour, I have loved The rescuing tears that loosed my heart: and now The womanish water wells, I bid it back: For nature stammers in me, and I see Imagination hath a grasp of joy 689 Finer than sense; and my most passionate spirit, When most it should leap forth, hangs back unwilling To officer the trembling instruments, By which delight is served. Back, then, my tears! Fate rules; reason should fashion me.—And welcome Even this harshness of fate; for if my son Shall know me as I am, not as a merchant Should I return at ease, that men might ask Whether Ulysses were returned or no; Rather in blood than doubt.—Here on this bench I’ll wait him, nor myself be first to speak: 700 And ’twill be tried for once how a man’s son Shall know his father, never having seen him. _Re-enter Telemachus._ _Tel._ Why, who art thou? Not he that on this bench Sattest so late! In truth I much mistook thee, Or thou art changed. Thy hair was thin and white, Thy body rough and pinched with age, thy clothes Were meanest rags. Say art thou he, the same, Eumæus’ guest from the Thesprotian ship? _Ul._ Ay, son, I am. _Tel._ Surely thou art a god. Be gracious to our house! [_Kneels._ _Ul._ (_rising_). Nay, rise, my son. 710 I am no god. Why wilt thou liken me To those immortals? I am thy father, son, Ulysses to my home at last returned. [_Kisses him._ _Tel._ Alas, thou art a god, and thy words mock me. _Ul._ Thou knowest me not. [_Sits._ _Tel._ Say, if thou wert a man, How couldst thou put that change of semblance on, Which only gods may use? _Ul._ The wise Athena Uses me as she will: then was I old That none might know me; now I am myself That thou mayst know.—’Tis I. 720 _Tel._ Father! my father! O, happy day. [_Weeps on his neck._ _Ul._ Thy kisses, O, my son: Thy kisses and thy tears, my son, my son. _Tel._ O, thou art come. O, happy, happy day. _Ul._ I am come, Telemachus: but how to know ’Tis I? _Tel._ O, I am sure; who could be like thee? I knew too thou wouldst come, dear father, and yet I never honoured thee enough: I thought I should be worthy of thee: now I fear ...