To this Ulysses: “O celestial maid! Praised be thy counsel, and thy timely aid; Else had I seen my native walls in vain, Like great Atrides, just restored and slain. Vouchsafe the means of vengeance to debate, And plan with all thy arts the scene of fate. Then, then be present, and my soul inspire, As when we wrapp’d Troy’s heaven-built walls in fire. Though leagued against me hundred heroes stand. Hundreds shall fall, if Pallas aid my hand.” She answer’d: “In the dreadful day of fight Know, I am with thee, strong in all my might. If thou but equal to thyself be found, What gasping numbers then shall press the ground! What human victims stain the feastful floor! How wide the pavements float with guilty gore! It fits thee now to wear a dark disguise, And secret walk unknown to mortal eyes. For this, my hand shall wither every grace, And every elegance of form and face; O’er thy smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread, Turn hoar the auburn honours of thy head; Disfigure every limb with coarse attire, And in thy eyes extinguish all the fire; Add all the wants and the decays of life; Estrange thee from thy own; thy son, thy wife; From the loathed object every sight shall turn, And the blind suitors their destruction scorn. “Go first the master of thy herds to find, True to his charge, a loyal swain and kind; For thee he sighs; and to the loyal heir And chaste Penelope extends his care. At the Coracian rock he now resides, Where Arethusa’s sable water glides; The sable water and the copious mast Swell the fat herd; luxuriant, large repast! With him rest peaceful in the rural cell, And all you ask his faithful tongue shall tell. Me into other realms my cares convey, To Sparta, still with female beauty gay; For know, to Sparta thy loved offspring came, To learn thy fortunes from the voice of Fame.” At this the father, with a father’s care: “Must he too suffer? he, O goddess! bear Of wanderings and of woes a wretched share? Through the wild ocean plough the dangerous way, And leave his fortunes and his house a prey? Why would’st not thou, O all-enlighten’d mind! Inform him certain, and protect him, kind?” To whom Minerva: “Be thy soul at rest; And know, whatever heaven ordains is best. To fame I sent him, to acquire renown; To other regions is his virtue known; Secure he sits, near great Atrides placed; With friendships strengthen’d, and with honours graced, But lo! an ambush waits his passage o’er; Fierce foes insidious intercept the shore; In vain; far sooner all the murderous brood This injured land shall fatten with their blood.”