Urged by the precepts by the goddess given, And fill’d with confidence infused from Heaven, The youth, whom Pallas destined to be wise And famed among the sons of men, replies: “Inquir’st thou, father! from what coast we came? (Oh grace and glory of the Grecian name!) From where high Ithaca o’erlooks the floods, Brown with o’er-arching shades and pendent woods Us to these shores our filial duty draws, A private sorrow, not a public cause. My sire I seek, where’er the voice of fame Has told the glories of his noble name, The great Ulysses; famed from shore to shore For valour much, for hardy suffering more. Long time with thee before proud Ilion’s wall In arms he fought; with thee beheld her fall. Of all the chiefs, this hero’s fate alone Has Jove reserved, unheard of, and unknown; Whether in fields by hostile fury slain, Or sunk by tempests in the gulfy main? Of this to learn, oppress’d with tender fears, Lo, at thy knee his suppliant son appears. If or thy certain eye, or curious ear, Have learnt his fate, the whole dark story clear And, oh! whate’er Heaven destined to betide, Let neither flattery soothe, nor pity hide. Prepared I stand: he was but born to try The lot of man; to suffer, and to die. Oh then, if ever through the ten years’ war The wise, the good Ulysses claim’d thy care; If e’er he join’d thy council, or thy sword, True in his deed, and constant to his word; Far as thy mind through backward time can see Search all thy stores of faithful memory: ’Tis sacred truth I ask, and ask of thee.”