“Right well (replied the king) your speech displays The matchless merit of the chief you praise: Heroes in various climes myself have found, For martial deeds and depth of thought renown’d; But Ithacus, unrivall’d in his claim, May boast a title to the loudest fame: In battle calm he guides the rapid storm, Wise to resolve, and patient to perform. What wondrous conduct in the chief appear’d, When the vast fabric of the steed we rear’d! Some demon, anxious for the Trojan doom, Urged you with great Deiphobus to come, To explore the fraud; with guile opposed to guile. Slow-pacing thrice around the insidious pile, Each noted leader’s name you thrice invoke, Your accent varying as their spouses spoke! The pleasing sounds each latent warrior warm’d, But most Tydides’ and my heart alarm’d: To quit the steed we both impatient press Threatening to answer from the dark recess. Unmoved the mind of Ithacus remain’d; And the vain ardours of our love restrain’d; But Anticlus, unable to control, Spoke loud the language of his yearning soul: Ulysses straight, with indignation fired (For so the common care of Greece required), Firm to his lips his forceful hands applied, Till on his tongue the fluttering murmurs died. Meantime Minerva, from the fraudful horse, Back to the court of Priam bent your course.” “Inclement fate! (Telemachus replies,) Frail is the boasted attribute of wise: The leader mingling with the vulgar host, Is in the common mass of matter lost! But now let sleep the painful waste repair Of sad reflection and corroding care.” He ceased; the menial fair that round her wait, At Helen’s beck prepare the room of state; Beneath an ample portico they spread The downy fleece to form the slumberous bed; And o’er soft palls of purple grain unfold Rich tapestry, stiff with interwoven gold: Then, through the illumined dome, to balmy rest The obsequious herald guides each princely guest; While to his regal bower the king ascends, And beauteous Helen on her lord attends. Soon as the morn, in orient purple dress’d, Unbarr’d the portal of the roseate east, The monarch rose; magnificent to view, The imperial mantle o’er his vest he threw; The glittering zone athwart his shoulders cast, A starry falchion low-depending graced; Clasp’d on his feet the embroidered sandals shine; And forth he moves, majestic and divine, Instant to young Telemachus he press’d; And thus benevolent his speech addressed: “Say, royal youth, sincere of soul report Whit cause hath led you to the Spartan court? Do public or domestic care constrain This toilsome voyage o’er the surgy main?”