Whose walls were hung with men, young, old, thrust there In mighty concourse; for whose promis’d cheer Alcinous slew twelve sheep, eight white-tooth’d swine, Two crook-haunch’d beeves; which flay’d and dress’d, divine The show was of so many a jocund guest, All set together at so set a feast. To whose accomplish’d state the herald then The lovely singer led; who past all mean The Muse affected, gave him good, and ill, His eyes put out, but put in soul at will. His place was giv’n him in a chair all grac’d With silver studs, and ’gainst a pillar plac’d: Where, as the centre to the state, he rests, And round about the circle of the guests. The herald on a pin above his head His soundful harp hung, to whose height he led His hand for taking of it down at will, A board set by with food, and forth did fill A bowl of wine, to drink at his desire. The rest then fell to feast, and, when the fire Of appetite was quench’d, the Muse inflam’d The sacred singer. Of men highliest fam’d He sung the glories, and a poem penn’d, That in applause did ample heav’n ascend. Whose subject was, the stern Contentión Betwixt Ulysses and great Thetis’ son, As, at a banquet sacred to the Gods, In dreadful language they express’d their odds. When Agamemnon sat rejoic’d in soul To hear the Greek peers jar in terms so foul; For augur Phœbus in presage had told The King of men (desirous to unfold The war’s perplex’d end, and being therefore gone In heav’nly Pythia to the porch of stone,) That then the end of all griefs should begin ’Twixt Greece and Troy, when Greece (with strife to win That wish’d conclusion) in her kings should jar, And plead, if force or wit must end the war. This brave Contention did the poet sing, Expressing so the spleen of either king, That his large purple weed Ulysses held Before his face and eyes, since thence distill’d Tears uncontain’d; which he obscur’d, in fear To let th’ observing presence note a tear. But, when his sacred song the mere divine Had giv’n an end, a goblet crown’d with wine Ulysses, drying his wet eyes, did seize,[1] And sacrific’d to those Gods that would please T’ inspire the poet with a song so fit To do him honour, and renown his wit. His tears then stay’d. But when again began, By all the kings’ desires, the moving man, Again Ulysses could not choose but yield To that soft passion, which again, withheld, He kept so cunningly from sight, that none, Except Alcinous himself alone, Discern’d him mov’d so much. But he sat next, And heard him deeply sigh; which his pretext Could not keep hid from him. Yet he conceal’d His utt’rance of it, and would have it held From all the rest, brake off the song, and this Said to those oar-affecting peers of his: “Princes, and peers! We now are satiate With sacred song that fits a feast of state, With wine and food. Now then to field, and try In all kinds our approv’d activity, That this our guest may give his friends to know, In his return, that we as little owe