Resorted in those happier days, for he Drew pow'rful to himself the hearts of all. Then Pallas thus, Goddess cærulean-eyed. I will with all simplicity of truth Thy questions satisfy. Behold in me Mentes, the offspring of a Chief renown'd In war, Anchialus; and I rule, myself, An island race, the Taphians oar-expert. With ship and mariners I now arrive, Seeking a people of another tongue 230 Athwart the gloomy flood, in quest of brass For which I barter steel, ploughing the waves To Temesa. My ship beneath the woods Of Neïus, at yonder field that skirts Your city, in the haven Rhethrus rides. We are hereditary guests; our Sires Were friends long since; as, when thou seest him next, The Hero old Laertes will avouch, Of whom, I learn, that he frequents no more The city now, but in sequester'd scenes 240 Dwells sorrowful, and by an antient dame With food and drink supplied oft as he feels Refreshment needful to him, while he creeps Between the rows of his luxuriant vines. But I have come drawn hither by report, Which spake thy Sire arrived, though still it seems The adverse Gods his homeward course retard. For not yet breathless lies the noble Chief, But in some island of the boundless flood Resides a prisoner, by barbarous force 250 Of some rude race detained reluctant there. And I will now foreshow thee what the Gods Teach me, and what, though neither augur skill'd Nor prophet, I yet trust shall come to pass. He shall not, henceforth, live an exile long From his own shores, no, not although in bands Of iron held, but will ere long contrive His own return; for in expedients, framed With wond'rous ingenuity, he abounds. But tell me true; art thou, in stature such, 260 Son of himself Ulysses? for thy face And eyes bright-sparkling, strongly indicate Ulysses in thee. Frequent have we both Conversed together thus, thy Sire and I, Ere yet he went to Troy, the mark to which So many Princes of Achaia steer'd. Him since I saw not, nor Ulysses me. To whom Telemachus, discrete, replied. Stranger! I tell thee true; my mother's voice Affirms me his, but since no mortal knows 270 His derivation, I affirm it not. Would I had been son of some happier Sire, Ordain'd in calm possession of his own To reach the verge of life. But now, report Proclaims me his, whom I of all mankind Unhappiest deem.--Thy question is resolved. Then answer thus Pallas blue-eyed return'd. From no ignoble race, in future days, The Gods shall prove thee sprung, whom so endow'd With ev'ry grace Penelope hath borne. 280 But tell me true. What festival is this?