“May what I speak your princely minds approve, Ye peers and rivals in this noble love! Not for the hurt I grieve, but for the cause. If, when the sword our country’s quarrel draws, Or if, defending what is justly dear, From Mars impartial some broad wound we bear, The generous motive dignifies the scar. But for mere want, how hard to suffer wrong! Want brings enough of other ills along! Yet, if injustice never be secure, If fiends revenge, and gods assert the poor, Death shall lay low the proud aggressor’s head, And make the dust Antinous’ bridal bed.” “Peace, wretch! and eat thy bread without offence (The suitor cried), or force shall drag thee hence, Scourge through the public street, and cast thee there, A mangled carcase for the hounds to tear.” His furious deed the general anger moved, All, even the worst, condemn’d; and some reproved. “Was ever chief for wars like these renown’d? Ill fits the stranger and the poor to wound. Unbless’d thy hand! if in this low disguise Wander, perhaps, some inmate of the skies; They (curious oft of mortal actions) deign In forms like these to round the earth and main, Just and unjust recording in their mind, And with sure eyes inspecting all mankind.” Telemachus, absorb’d in thought severe, Nourish’d deep anguish, though he shed no tear; But the dark brow of silent sorrow shook: While thus his mother to her virgins spoke: “On him and his may the bright god of day That base, inhospitable blow repay!” The nurse replies: “If Jove receives my prayer, Not one survives to breathe to-morrow’s air.” “All, all are foes, and mischief is their end; Antinous most to gloomy death a friend (Replies the queen): the stranger begg’d their grace, And melting pity soften’d every face; From every other hand redress he found, But fell Antinous answer’d with a wound.” Amidst her maids thus spoke the prudent queen, Then bade Eumaeus call the pilgrim in. “Much of the experienced man I long to hear, If or his certain eye, or listening ear, Have learn’d the fortunes of my wandering lord?” Thus she, and good Eumaeus took the word: “A private audience if thy grace impart, The stranger’s words may ease the royal heart. His sacred eloquence in balm distils, And the soothed heart with secret pleasure fills. Three days have spent their beams, three nights have run Their silent journey, since his tale begun, Unfinish’d yet; and yet I thirst to hear! As when some heaven-taught poet charms the ear (Suspending sorrow with celestial strain Breathed from the gods to soften human pain) Time steals away with unregarded wing, And the soul hears him, though he cease to sing “Ulysses late he saw, on Cretan ground (His fathers guest), for Minos’ birth renown’d. He now but waits the wind to waft him o’er, With boundless treasure, from Thesprotia’s shore.”