“All, all (Ulysses instant made reply), I tell thee all, my child, my only joy! Phæacians bore me to the port assign’d, A nation ever to the stranger kind; Wrapp’d in the embrace of sleep, the faithful train O’er seas convey’d me to my native reign: Embroider’d vestures, gold, and brass, are laid Conceal’d in caverns in the sylvan shade. Hither, intent the rival rout to slay, And plan the scene of death, I bend my way; So Pallas wills—but thou, my son, explain The names and numbers of the audacious train; ’Tis mine to judge if better to employ Assistant force, or singly to destroy.” “O’er earth (returns the prince) resounds thy name, Thy well-tried wisdom, and thy martial fame, Yet at thy words I start, in wonder lost; Can we engage, not decades but an host? Can we alone in furious battle stand, Against that numerous and determined band? Hear then their numbers; from Dulichium came Twice twenty-six, all peers of mighty name. Six are their menial train: twice twelve the boast Of Samos; twenty from Zacynthus’ coast: And twelve our country’s pride; to these belong Medon and Phemius, skill’d in heavenly song. Two sewers from day to day the revels wait, Exact of taste, and serve the feast in state. With such a foe the unequal fight to try, Were by false courage unrevenged to die. Then what assistant powers you boast relate, Ere yet we mingle in the stern debate.” “Mark well my voice, (Ulysses straight replies:) What need of aids, if favour’d by the skies? If shielded to the dreadful fight we move, By mighty Pallas, and by thundering Jove?” “Sufficient they (Telemachus rejoin’d) Against the banded powers of all mankind: They, high enthroned above the rolling clouds, Wither the strength of man, and awe the gods.” “Such aids expect (he cries,) when strong in might We rise terrific to the task of fight. But thou, when morn salutes the aërial plain, The court revisit and the lawless train: Me thither in disguise Eumaeus leads, An aged mendicant in tatter’d weeds. There, if base scorn insult my reverend age, Bear it, my son! repress thy rising rage. If outraged, cease that outrage to repel; Bear it, my son! howe’er thy heart rebel. Yet strive by prayer and counsel to restrain Their lawless insults, though thou strive in vain: For wicked ears are deaf to wisdom’s call, And vengeance strikes whom Heaven has doom’d to fall. Once more attend: when she whose power inspires The thinking mind, my soul to vengeance fires, I give the sign: that instant, from beneath, Aloft convey the instruments of death, Armour and arms; and, if mistrust arise, Thus veil the truth in plausible disguise: