  Ulysses and Telemachus remove the arms from the hall to an upper-chamber. The Hero then confers with Penelope, to whom he gives a fictitious narrative of his adventures. Euryclea, while bathing Ulysses, discovers him by a scar on his knee, but he prevents her communication of that discovery to Penelope. > With linen soft, with fleecy gaberdinesAnd rugs of splendid hue, that he may lie Waiting, well-warm’d, the golden morn’s return. Attend him also at the peep of day With bath and unction, that, his seat resumed Here in the palace, he may be prepared For breakfast with Telemachus; and woe To him who shall presume to incommode Or cause him pain; that man shall be cashier’d Hence instant, burn his anger as it may. For how, my honour’d inmate! shalt thou learn That I in wisdom oeconomic aught Pass other women, if unbathed, unoiled, Ill-clad, thou sojourn here? man’s life is short, Whoso is cruel, and to cruel arts Addict, on him all men, while yet he lives, Call plagues and curses down, and after death Scorn and proverbial mock’ries hunt his name. To offices humane, from land to land Are rumour’d honourably by their guests, And ev’ry tongue is busy in their praise. Her answer’d then, Ulysses, ever-wise. Consort revered of Laertiades! Warm gaberdines and rugs of splendid hue To me have odious been, since first the sight Of Crete’s snow-mantled mountain-tops I lost, Sweeping the billows with extended oars. No; I will pass, as I am wont to pass The sleepless night; for on a sordid couch Outstretch’d, full many a night have I reposed Till golden-charioted Aurora dawn’d. Nor me the foot-bath pleases more; my foot Shall none of all thy ministring maidens touch, Unless there be some ancient matron grave Among them, who hath pangs of heart endured Num’rous, and keen as I have felt myself; Her I refuse not. She may touch my feet. Him answer’d then prudent Penelope. Dear guest! for of all trav’llers here arrived From distant regions, I have none received Discrete as thou, or whom I more have lov’d, So just thy matter is, and with such grace Express’d. I have an ancient maiden grave, The nurse who at my hapless husband’s birth Receiv’d him in her arms, and with kind care Maternal rear’d him; she shall wash thy feet, Although decrepid. Euryclea, rise! Wash one coeval with thy Lord; for such The feet and hands, it may be, are become Of my Ulysses now; since man beset With sorrow once, soon wrinkled grows and old. She said, then Euryclea with both hands Cov’ring her face, in tepid tears profuse Dissolved, and thus in mournful strains began. Alas! my son, trouble for thy dear sake Distracts me. Jove surely of all mankind Thee hated most, though ever in thy heart Devoutly giv’n; for never mortal man So many thighs of fatted victims burn’d, And chosen hecatombs produced as thou That he would grant thee a serene old age, And to instruct, thyself, thy glorious son. Yet thus the God requites thee, cutting off All hope of thy return—oh ancient sir! Him too, perchance, where’er he sits a guest Beneath some foreign roof, the women taunt, As all these shameless ones have taunted thee, Fearing whose mock’ry thou forbidd’st their hands This office, which Icarius’ daughter wise To me enjoins, and which I, glad perform. Yes, I will wash thy feet; both for her sake And for thy own,—for sight of thee hath raised A tempest in my mind. Hear now the cause! Full many a guest forlorn we entertain, But never any have I seen, whose size, The fashion of whose foot and pitch of voice, Such likeness of Ulysses show’d, as thine. To whom Ulysses, ever-shrewd, replied. Such close similitude, O ancient dame! As thou observ’st between thy Lord and me, All, who have seen us both, have ever found. He said; then taking the resplendent vase Allotted always to that use, she first Infused cold water largely, then, the warm. Ulysses (for beside the hearth he sat) Turn’d quick his face into the shade, alarm’d Lest, handling him, she should at once remark His scar, and all his stratagem unveil. She then, approaching, minister’d the bath To her own King, and at first touch discern’d That token, by a bright-tusk’d boar of old Impress’d, what time he to Parnassus went To visit there Autolycus and his sons, His mother’s noble sire, who all mankind In furtive arts and fraudful oaths excell’d. For such endowments he by gift receiv’d From Hermes’ self, to whom the thighs of kids The watchful Hermes never left his side. Autolycus arriving in the isle Of pleasant Ithaca, the new-born son Of his own daughter found, whom on his knees At close of supper Euryclea placed, And thus the royal visitant address’d. Thyself, Autolycus! devise a name For thy own daughter’s son, by num’rous pray’rs |
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