The ready swains obey’d with joyful haste, Behind the felon unperceived they pass’d, As round the room in quest of arms he goes (The half-shut door conceal’d his lurking foes): One hand sustain’d a helm, and one the shield Which old Laertes wont in youth to wield, Cover’d with dust, with dryness chapp’d and worn, The brass corroded, and the leather torn. Thus laden, o’er the threshold as he stepp’d, Fierce on the villain from each side they leap’d, Back by the hair the trembling dastard drew, And down reluctant on the pavement threw. Active and pleased the zealous swains fulfil At every point their master’s rigid will; First, fast behind, his hands and feet they bound, Then straighten’d cords involved his body round; So drawn aloft, athwart the column tied, The howling felon swung from side to side. Eumaeus scoffing then with keen disdain: “There pass thy pleasing night, O gentle swain! On that soft pillow, from that envied height, First may’st thou see the springing dawn of light; So timely rise, when morning streaks the east, To drive thy victims to the suitors’ feast.” This said, they, left him, tortured as he lay, Secured the door, and hasty strode away: Each, breathing death, resumed his dangerous post Near great Ulysses; four against an host, When lo! descending to her hero’s aid, Jove’s daughter, Pallas, War’s triumphant maid: In Mentor’s friendly form she join’d his side: Ulysses saw, and thus with transport cried: “Come, ever welcome, and thy succour lend; O every sacred name in one, my friend! Early we loved, and long our loves have grown; Whate’er through life’s whole series I have done, Or good, or grateful, now to mind recall, And, aiding this one hour, repay it all.” Thus he; but pleasing hopes his bosom warm Of Pallas latent in the friendly form. The adverse host the phantom-warrior eyed, And first, loud-threatening, Agelaus cried: “Mentor, beware, nor let that tongue persuade Thy frantic arm to lend Ulysses aid; Our force successful shall our threat make good, And with the sire and son commix thy blood. What hopest thou here? Thee first the sword shall slay, Then lop thy whole posterity away; Far hence thy banish’d consort shall we send; With his thy forfeit lands and treasures blend; Thus, and thus only, shalt thou join thy friend.” His barbarous insult even the goddess fires, Who thus the warrior to revenge inspires: “Art thou Ulysses? where then shall we find The patient body and the constant mind? That courage, once the Trojans’ daily dread, Known nine long years, and felt by heroes dead? And where that conduct, which revenged the lust Of Priam’s race, and laid proud Troy in dust? If this, when Helen was the cause, were done; What for thy country now, thy queen, thy son? Rise then in combat, at my side attend; Observe what vigour gratitude can lend, And foes how weak, opposed against a friend!”