From sandy Pylus borne; they, plotting both A dreadful death for all the suitors, sought Our glorious city, but Ulysses last, And first Telemachus. The father came Conducted by his swine-herd, and attired In tatters foul; a mendicant he seem'd, Time-worn, and halted on a staff. So clad, And ent'ring on the sudden, he escaped 190 All knowledge even of our eldest there, And we reviled and smote him; he although Beneath his own roof smitten and reproach'd, With patience suffer'd it awhile, but roused By inspiration of Jove Ægis-arm'd At length, in concert with his son convey'd To his own chamber his resplendent arms, There lodg'd them safe, and barr'd the massy doors Then, in his subtlety he bade the Queen A contest institute with bow and rings 200 Between the hapless suitors, whence ensued Slaughter to all. No suitor there had pow'r To overcome the stubborn bow that mock'd All our attempts; and when the weapon huge At length was offer'd to Ulysses' hands, With clamour'd menaces we bade the swain Withhold it from him, plead he as he might; Telemachus alone with loud command, Bade give it him, and the illustrious Chief Receiving in his hand the bow, with ease 210 Bent it, and sped a shaft through all the rings. Then, springing to the portal steps, he pour'd The arrows forth, peer'd terrible around, Pierced King Antinoüs, and, aiming sure His deadly darts, pierced others after him, Till in one common carnage heap'd we lay. Some God, as plain appear'd, vouchsafed them aid, Such ardour urged them, and with such dispatch They slew us on all sides; hideous were heard The groans of dying men fell'd to the earth 220 With head-strokes rude, and the floor swam with blood. Such, royal Agamemnon! was the fate By which we perish'd, all whose bodies lie Unburied still, and in Ulysses' house, For tidings none have yet our friends alarm'd And kindred, who might cleanse from sable gore Our clotted wounds, and mourn us on the bier, Which are the rightful privilege of the dead. Him answer'd, then, the shade of Atreus' son. Oh happy offspring of Laertes! shrewd 230 Ulysses! matchless valour thou hast shewn Recov'ring thus thy wife; nor less appears The virtue of Icarius' daughter wise, The chaste Penelope, so faithful found To her Ulysses, husband of her youth. His glory, by superior merit earn'd, Shall never die, and the immortal Gods Shall make Penelope a theme of song Delightful in the ears of all mankind. Not such was Clytemnestra, daughter vile 240 Of Tyndarus; she shed her husband's blood, And shall be chronicled in song a wife Of hateful memory, by whose offence