For such another Lord, gentle as he, 170 Wherever sought, I have no hope to find, Though I should wander even to the house Of my own father. Neither yearns my heart So feelingly (though that desiring too) To see once more my parents and my home, As to behold Ulysses yet again. Ah stranger; absent as he is, his name Fills me with rev'rence, for he lov'd me much, Cared for me much, and, though we meet no more, Holds still an elder brother's part in me. 180 Him answer'd, then, the Hero toil-inured. My friend! since his return, in thy account, Is an event impossible, and thy mind Always incredulous that hope rejects, I shall not slightly speak, but with an oath-- Ulysses comes again; and I demand No more, than that the boon such news deserves, Be giv'n me soon as he shall reach his home. Then give me vest and mantle fit to wear, Which, ere that hour, much as I need them both, 190 I neither ask, nor will accept from thee. For him whom poverty can force aside From truth--I hate him as the gates of hell. Be Jove, of all in heav'n, my witness first, Then, this thy hospitable board, and, last, The household Gods of the illustrious Chief Himself, Ulysses, to whose gates I go, That all my words shall surely be fulfill'd. In this same year Ulysses shall arrive, Ere, this month closed, another month succeed, 200 He shall return, and punish all who dare Insult his consort and his noble son. To whom Eumæus, thou didst thus reply. Old friend! that boon thou wilt ne'er earn from me; Ulysses comes no more. But thou thy wine Drink quietly, and let us find, at length, Some other theme; recall not this again To my remembrance, for my soul is grieved Oft as reminded of my honour'd Lord. Let the oath rest, and let Ulysses come 210 Ev'n as myself, and as Penelope, And as his ancient father, and his son Godlike Telemachus, all wish he may. Ay--there I feel again--nor cease to mourn His son Telemachus; who, when the Gods Had giv'n him growth like a young plant, and I Well hoped that nought inferior he should prove In person or in mind to his own sire, Hath lost, through influence human or divine, I know not how, his sober intellect, 220 And after tidings of his sire is gone To far-famed Pylus; his return, meantime, In ambush hidden the proud suitors wait, That the whole house may perish of renown'd Arcesias, named in Ithaca no more. But whether he have fallen or 'scaped, let him Rest also, whom Saturnian Jove protect! But come, my ancient guest! now let me learn Thy own afflictions; answer me in truth. Who, and whence art thou? in what city born? 230