A goose, all-white, and huge, a household one, Which men and women, crying out upon, Pursued, but she, being near the guests, her flight Made on their right hand, and kept still fore-right Before their horses; which observ’d by them, The spirits in all their minds took joys extreme, Which Nestor’s son thus question’d: “Jove-kept king,[2] Yield your grave thoughts, if this ostentful thing (This eagle, and this goose) touch us, or you?” He put to study, and not knowing how To give fit answer, Helen took on her Th’ ostent’s solution, and did this prefer: “Hear me, and I will play the prophet’s part, As the Immortals cast it in my heart, And as, I think, will make the true sense known: As this Jove’s bird, from out the mountains flown, (Where was her eyrie, and whence rose her race,) Truss’d up this goose, that from the house did graze, So shall Ulysses, coming from the wild Of seas and suff’rings, reach, unreconcil’d, His native home, where ev’n this hour he is, And on those house-fed Wooers those wrongs of his Will shortly wreak, with all their miseries.” “O,” said Telemachus, “if Saturnian Jove To my desires thy dear presage approve, When I arrive, I will perform to thee My daily vows, as to a Deity.” This said, he us’d his scourge upon the horse, That through the city freely made their course To field, and all day made that first speed good. But when the sun set, and obscureness stood In each man’s way, they ended their access At Pheras, in the house of Diocles, Son to Orsilochus, Alphëus’ seed, Who gave them guest-rites; and sleep’s natural need They that night served there. When Aurora rose, They join’d their horse, took coach, and did dispose Their course for Pylos; whose high city soon They reach’d. Nor would Telemachus be won To Nestor’s house, and therefore order’d thus His speech to Nestor’s son, Pisistratus: “How shall I win thy promise to a grace That I must ask of thee? We both embrace The names of bed-fellows, and in that name Will glory as an adjunct of our fame; Our fathers’ friendship, our own equal age, And our joint travel, may the more engage Our mutual concord. Do not then assay, My God-lov’d friend, to lead me from my way To my near ship, but take a course direct And leave me there, lest thy old sire’s respect, In his desire to love me, hinder so My way for home, that have such need to go.” This said, Nestorides held all discourse In his kind soul, how best he might enforce Both promise and performance; which, at last; He vow’d to venture, and directly cast His horse about to fetch the ship and shore. Where come, his friends’ most lovely gifts he bore Aboard the ship, and in her hind-deck plac’d The veil that Helen’s curious hand had grac’d, And Menelaus’ gold, and said: “Away, Nor let thy men, in any least date, stay, But quite put off, ere I get home, and tell The old duke, you are past; for passing well I know his mind to so exceed all force Of any pray’r, that he will stay your course,