So spoke the wretch, but, shunning farther fray, Turn’d his proud step, and left them on their way. Straight to the feastful palace he repair’d, Familiar enter’d, and the banquet shared; Beneath Eurymachus, his patron lord, He took his place, and plenty heap’d the board. Meantime they heard, soft circling in the sky Sweet airs ascend, and heavenly minstrelsy (For Phemius to the lyre attuned the strain): Ulysses hearken’d, then address’d the swain: “Well may this palace admiration claim, Great and respondent to the master’s fame! Stage above stage the imperial structure stands, Holds the chief honours, and the town commands: High walls and battlements the courts inclose, And the strong gates defy a host of foes. Far other cares its dwellers now employ; The throng’d assembly and the feast of joy: I see the smokes of sacrifice aspire, And hear (what graces every feast) the lyre.” Then thus Eumaeus: “Judge we which were best; Amidst yon revellers a sudden guest Choose you to mingle, while behind I stay? Or I first entering introduce the way? Wait for a space without, but wait not long; This is the house of violence and wrong: Some rude insult thy reverend age may bear; For like their lawless lords the servants are.” “Just is, O friend! thy caution, and address’d (Replied the chief, to no unheedful breast:) The wrongs and injuries of base mankind Fresh to my sense, and always in my mind. The bravely-patient to no fortune yields: On rolling oceans, and in fighting fields, Storms have I pass’d, and many a stern debate; And now in humbler scene submit to fate. What cannot want? The best she will expose, And I am learn’d in all her train of woes; She fills with navies, hosts, and loud alarms, The sea, the land, and shakes the world with arms!” Thus, near the gates conferring as they drew, Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew: He not unconscious of the voice and tread, Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head; Bred by Ulysses, nourish’d at his board, But, ah! not fated long to please his lord; To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain; The voice of glory call’d him o’er the main. Till then in every sylvan chase renown’d, With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around; With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn, Or traced the mazy leveret o’er the lawn. Now left to man’s ingratitude he lay, Unhoused, neglected in the public way; And where on heaps the rich manure was spread, Obscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed. He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet; In vain he strove to crawl and kiss his feet; Yet (all he could) his tail, his tears, his eyes, Salute his master, and confess his joys. Soft pity touch’d the mighty master’s soul; Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole, Stole unperceived: he turn’d his head and dried The drop humane: then thus impassion’d cried: