Meantime, rekindled at the royal charms, Tumultuous love each beating bosom warms; Intemperate rage a wordy war began; But bold Telemachus assumed the man. “Instant (he cried) your female discord end, Ye deedless boasters! and the song attend; Obey that sweet compulsion, nor profane With dissonance the smooth melodious strain. Pacific now prolong the jovial feast; But when the dawn reveals the rosy east, I, to the peers assembled, shall propose The firm resolve, I here in few disclose; No longer live the cankers of my court; All to your several states with speed resort; Waste in wild riot what your land allows, There ply the early feast, and late carouse. But if, to honour lost, ’tis still decreed For you my bowl shall flow, my flock shall bleed; Judge and revenge my right, impartial Jove! By him and all the immortal thrones above (A sacred oath), each proud oppressor slain, Shall with inglorious gore this marble stain.” Awed by the prince, thus haughty, bold, and young, Rage gnaw’d the lip, and wonder chain’d the tongue. Silence at length the gay Antinous broke, Constrain’d a smile, and thus ambiguous spoke: “What god to your untutor’d youth affords This headlong torrent of amazing words? May Jove delay thy reign, and cumber late So bright a genius with the toils of state!” “Those toils (Telemachus serene replies) Have charms, with all their weight, t’allure the wise. Fast by the throne obsequious fame resides, And wealth incessant rolls her golden tides. Nor let Antinous rage, if strong desire Of wealth and fame a youthful bosom fire: Elect by Jove, his delegate of sway, With joyous pride the summons I’d obey. Whene’er Ulysses roams the realm of night, Should factious power dispute my lineal right, Some other Greeks a fairer claim may plead; To your pretence their title would precede. At least, the sceptre lost, I still should reign Sole o’er my vassals, and domestic train.” To this Eurymachus: “To Heaven alone Refer the choice to fill the vacant throne. Your patrimonial stores in peace possess; Undoubted, all your filial claim confess: Your private right should impious power invade, The peers of Ithaca would arm in aid. But say, that stranger guest who late withdrew, What and from whence? his name and lineage shew. His grave demeanour and majestic grace Speak him descended of no vulgar race: Did he some loan of ancient right require, Or came forerunner of your sceptr’d sire?” “Oh son of Polybus!” the prince replies, “No more my sire will glad these longing eyes; The queen’s fond hope inventive rumour cheers, Or vain diviners’ dreams divert her fears. That stranger-guest the Taphian realm obeys, A realm defended with encircling seas. Mentes, an ever-honour’d name, of old High in Ulysses’ social list enroll’d.”