Telemachus she had from Medon learn'd, The herald, for his ear had caught the sound. Toward the hall with her attendant train She moved, and when, most graceful of her sex, Where sat the suitors she arrived, between The columns standing of the stately dome, 490 And covering with her white veil's lucid folds Her features, to Antinoüs thus she spake. Antinoüs, proud, contentious, evermore To mischief prone! the people deem thee wise Past thy compeers, and in all grace of speech Pre-eminent, but such wast never thou. Inhuman! why is it thy dark design To slay Telemachus? and why with scorn Rejectest thou the suppliant's pray'r,[72] which Jove Himself hath witness'd? Plots please not the Gods. 500 Know'st not that thy own father refuge found Here, when he fled before the people's wrath Whom he had irritated by a wrong Which, with a band of Taphian robbers joined, He offer'd to the Thesprots, our allies? They would have torn his heart, and would have laid All his delights and his possessions waste, But my Ulysses slaked the furious heat Of their revenge, whom thou requitest now Wasting his goods, soliciting his wife, 510 Slaying his son, and filling me with woe. But cease, I charge thee, and bid cease the rest. To whom the son of Polybus replied, Eurymachus.--Icarius' daughter wise! Take courage, fair Penelope, and chace These fears unreasonable from thy mind! The man lives not, nor shall, who while I live, And faculty of sight retain, shall harm Telemachus, thy son. For thus I say, And thus will I perform; his blood shall stream 520 A sable current from my lance's point That moment; for the city-waster Chief Ulysses, oft, me placing on his knees, Hath fill'd my infant grasp with sav'ry food, And giv'n me ruddy wine. I, therefore, hold Telemachus of all men most my friend, Nor hath he death to fear from hand of ours. Yet, if the Gods shall doom him, die he must. So he encouraged her, who yet, himself, Plotted his death. She, re-ascending, sought 530 Her stately chamber, and, arriving there, Deplored with tears her long-regretted Lord Till Athenæan Pallas azure-eyed Dews of soft slumber o'er her lids diffused. And now, at even-tide, Eumæus reach'd Ulysses and his son. A yearling swine Just slain they skilfully for food prepared, When Pallas, drawing nigh, smote with her wand Ulysses, at the stroke rend'ring him old, And his apparel sordid as before, 540 Lest, knowing him, the swain at once should seek Penelope, and let the secret forth. Then foremost him Telemachus address'd. Noble Eumæus! thou art come; what news Bring'st from the city? Have the warrior band