In quest of Him, but hither speed again. Rather request my mother that she send Her household's governess without delay Privately to him; she shall best inform The ancient King that I have safe arrived. He said, and urged him forth, who binding on His sandals, to the city bent his way. Nor went Eumæus from his home unmark'd By Pallas, who in semblance of a fair Damsel, accomplish'd in domestic arts, 190 Approaching to the cottage' entrance, stood Opposite, by Ulysses plain discern'd, But to his son invisible; for the Gods Appear not manifest alike to all. The mastiffs saw her also, and with tone Querulous hid themselves, yet bark'd they not. She beckon'd him abroad. Ulysses saw The sign, and, issuing through the outer court, Approach'd her, whom the Goddess thus bespake. Laertes' progeny, for wiles renown'd! 200 Disclose thyself to thy own son, that, death Concerting and destruction to your foes, Ye may the royal city seek, nor long Shall ye my presence there desire in vain, For I am ardent to begin the fight. Minerva spake, and with her rod of gold Touch'd him; his mantle, first, and vest she made Pure as new-blanch'd; dilating, next, his form, She gave dimensions ampler to his limbs; Swarthy again his manly hue became, 210 Round his full face, and black his bushy chin. The change perform'd, Minerva disappear'd, And the illustrious Hero turn'd again Into the cottage; wonder at that sight Seiz'd on Telemachus; askance he look'd, Awe-struck, not unsuspicious of a God, And in wing'd accents eager thus began. Thou art no longer, whom I lately saw, Nor are thy cloaths, nor is thy port the same. Thou art a God, I know, and dwell'st in heav'n. 220 Oh, smile on us, that we may yield thee rites Acceptable, and present thee golden gifts Elaborate; ah spare us, Pow'r divine! To whom Ulysses, Hero toil-inured. I am no God. Why deem'st thou me divine? I am thy father, for whose sake thou lead'st A life of woe, by violence oppress'd. So saying, he kiss'd his son, while from his cheeks Tears trickled, tears till then, perforce restrained. Telemachus, (for he believed him not 230 His father yet) thus, wond'ring, spake again. My father, said'st thou? no. Thou art not He, But some Divinity beguiles my soul With mock'ries to afflict me still the more; For never mortal man could so have wrought By his own pow'r; some interposing God Alone could render thee both young and old, For old thou wast of late, and foully clad, But wear'st the semblance, now, of those in heav'n! To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. 240 Telemachus! it is not well, my son!