That guested here so late? From whence? And what In any region boasted he his state? His race? His country? Brought he any news Of thy returning father? Or for dues Of moneys to him made he fit repair? How suddenly he rush’d into the air, Nor would sustain to stay and make him known! His port show’d no debauch’d companion.” He answer’d: “The return of my lov’d sire Is past all hope; and should rude Fame inspire From any place a flatt’ring messenger With news of his survival, he should bear No least belief off from my desp’rate love. Which if a sacred prophet should approve, Call’d by my mother for her care’s unrest, It should not move me. For my late fair guest, He was of old my father’s, touching here From sea-girt Taphos; and for name doth bear Mentas, the son of wise Anchialus; And governs all the Taphians studious Of navigation.” This he said, but knew It was a Goddess. These again withdrew To dances and attraction of the song; And while their pleasures did the time prolong, The sable Even descended, and did steep The lids of all men in desire of sleep. Telemachus, into a room built high, Of his illustrious court, and to the eye Of circular prospect, to his bed ascended, And in his mind much weighty thought contended Before him Euryclea (that well knew All the observance of a handmaid’s due, Daughter to Opis Pisenorides) Bore two bright torches; who did so much please Laërtes in her prime, that, for the price Of twenty oxen, he made merchandise Of her rare beauties; and love’s equal flame, To her he felt, as to his nuptial dame, Yet never durst he mix with her in bed, So much the anger of his wife he fled. She, now grown old, to young Telemachus Two torches bore, and was obsequious Past all his other maids, and did apply Her service to him from his infancy. His well-built chamber reach’d, she op’d the door, He on his bed sat, the soft weeds he wore Put off, and to the diligent old maid Gave all; who fitly all in thick folds laid, And hung them on a beam-pin near the bed, That round about was rich embroidered. Then made she haste forth from him, and did bring The door together with a silver ring, And by a string a bar to it did pull. He, laid, and cover’d well with curled wool Wov’n in silk quilts, all night employ’d his mind About the task that Pallas had design’d. FINIS LIBRI PRIMI HOM. ODYSS. [1] The information or fashion of an absolute man; and necessary (or fatal) passage through many afflictions (according with the most Sacred Letter) to his natural haven and country, is the whole argument and scope of this inimitable and miraculous poem. And therefore is the epithet _πολὐτροπον_ given him in the first verse: _πολὐτροπος_ signifying, _Homo cujus ingenium velut per multas et varias vias vertitur in verum._ [2] These notes following I am forced to insert (since the words they contain differ from all other translations) lest I be thought to err out of that ignorance that may perhaps possess my depraver.