Book XXI

NOW She of the Flashing Eyes so wrought that the queen bethought her—
Penelope passing-wise, Icarius’ stately daughter—
To set, for the suitors to try, the bow and the steel hoar-grey
In Odysseus’ halls, for a prize and withal a beginning of slaughter.
And up the staircase high of her palace she went her way.
In her soft white hand she took the graceful-bended key,
The beautiful brazen hook, with its handle of ivory.
So she hied with her handmaid-train to the innermost chamber door,
To the room where long had lain the lost king’s treasure-store,
The flame-flash of brass, and the glow of gold, and iron huge-wrought.
And therein was the twi-curved bow, and the quiver arrow-fraught,
Full-fraught with the bearers of doom that were winged with gasping and moan;
The gifts of a stranger whom in Sparta Odysseus had known,
Even Iphitus, Eurytus’ son, a hero grand as a god:
For they met in the days long gone, when the shore of Messene they trod;
In Orsilochus’ palace they met; for thither Odysseus came
Fearlessly claiming his debt of the nation that owed him the same.
For Messenians over the deep had come down upon Ithaca’s shore,
And thence three hundred sheep with the shepherds their galleys bore,
So Odysseus a long way went on an ambassage, lad though he was;
For his sire and the elders sent him to claim them, pleading their cause.
But Iphitus came in quest of horses that lacked from his stall:
Twelve mares had he lost, and the best of his toil-strong mules therewithal.
Yet an evil lure for him unto murder and doom were these,
In the hour when he came unto grim strong-hearted Heracles,
The hero whom Zeus begat; yet a deed of horror he wrought,
For he slew him, a guest as he sat in his house mistrustful of nought!
Of the God’s wrath nothing he recked—sin-hardened!—the guest-hallowed board
He held not in any respect, but with murder reddened his sword.
So the strong-hoofed steeds of the guest in the stalls of the robber abode.
With Odysseus he met on the quest after these, and the bow he bestowed;
And this was the selfsame one that Eurytus bare in his might,
And bequeathed in his halls to his son, when he passed to the Land of Night.
And a keen-edged battle-brand was Odysseus’ gift, and a spear,
At the first troth-clasp of the hand: yet never mid feastful cheer
Unto dearer knowledge they won, seeing Heracles slew ere then
Iphitus Eurytus’ son, who was like to a god among men,
Who gave to Odysseus the bow. Yet the king took it not in the day
When he hied him to meet the foe in his black ships far away:
But it lay in his halls, and there kept green the memory
Of the dear dead friend: but he bare it at home by forest and lea.
So now is that lady bright to the chamber door drawn nigh,
And the threshold of oak which the wright in the happy days gone by
Cunningly polished, and laid the levelling line along;
And he set up the posts, and he made the shining doors and strong.
And she hasted and loosened the string that was tied to the handle-ring:
And therethrough hath she thrust the key, and hath struck back the bolts of the door
With a straight thrust skilfully: came a crash, and, loud as the roar
Of a meadow-pasturing bull, the thundering echoes rang
As the key struck fair and full, and wide the door-leaves sprang.
Then she stept on the high-built floor where stood in goodly array
The chests in the which fair store of scented raiment lay.
Then took she the bow on the wall as it hung of the treasure-room,
And the bright case therewithal that was sheathing the speeder of doom.
And she sat with the bow-sheath lying across her knees, and the place
Thrilled with the voice of her crying; then drew she the bow from the case.
But her heart grew lighter at last for her weeping long and loud:
And adown to the hall she passed to the haughty suitor-crowd,
Bearing the twi-curved bow and the quiver arrow-fraught—
Ay, many a bearer of woe was therein, for the vengeance wrought.
And behind her the handmaids bare a chest, steel axes enow
And axes of brass lay there which the king won long ago.
So she came to the feasting-place of the suitors, that lady divine,
And she stood by a column tall of the richly-carven hall,
Holding before her face her headveil dainty and fine;
And a trusty handmaid stood by the queen upon either side.
And straightway in mournfullest mood in the midst of the suitors she cried:
‘Hearken to me, ye arrogant suitors, who day by day
Afflict mine house with devouring and drinking its wealth alway,
While my lord hath been long time gone: and through all this weary tide
Could your false hearts find for your lips no word-pretence beside,
Save this, that each of you sorely desired to win me his bride.
Come, suitors—for this is the contest appointed your wooing to end—
I will set you the mighty bow of Odysseus the hero divine:
Whosoe’er of you all with his hands shall the bow most easily bend,
And shoot through the rings of the axes twelve ranged all in line,
Him will I follow, forsaking this beautiful home of mine,—
Dear home, that knew me a bride, with its wealth of abundant store!
I shall never forget it; in dreams I shall see it for evermore.’
Then the lady turned her, and spake unto godlike Eumaeus her hest,
The bow to the suitors to take and the hoary steel for the test.
Sore weepeth the warder of swine as he taketh and layeth it down;
Sore weepeth the herdman of kine, as he seeth that bow of renown.
But Antinous snarled at their tears, and in angry wise did he say:
‘Oafs, acre-abiding loons, whose thoughts are of nought but to-day!
Spiritless wretches, why weep ye to stir up the heart of the queen
By your tears to a passion of sorrow?—without your provoking, I ween,
Lieth her spirit in anguish for him she shall see never more.
Sit ye in silence, and feast, or get you forth of the door,
And weep as ye list without, and leave unto us the bow.
Unto all the suitors an ordeal dread shall it be, for I trow
This well-polished bow shall be nowise easily bended and strung;
For never a man shall be found the host of the suitors among
Like to Odysseus: myself beheld him in days gone by:
I remember his goodlihead still—yet a young child then was I.’
So he cried, but a hope in his breast ever whispered him better things,
That with might overpassing the rest he should string it, and shoot through the rings.
Ah, but the first of their band must he taste the arrow that came
From the hero Odysseus’ hand unto whom he had wrought foul shame
As he sat in his halls, and stirred up his fellows to do him despite.
Then rose and took up the word Telemachus’ sacred might:
‘Ha! what is this that Kronion hath done to me?—madness is this!
This dear-loved mother of mine, albeit so wise she is,
Hath pledged her a bride: ere long from the ancient halls shall she part:—
And behold, on my lips is there laughter, and joy in my foolish heart!
But come now, ye suitors, behold what a prize for your prowess is here!
In all the Achaean land no woman is found her peer;
Not in Pylos the sacred, in Argos, Mycenae the rampart-crowned,
Nor in Ithaca’s isle nor the dark-loamed mainland-shore is there found;—
What do I to praise my mother?—yourselves have beheld her, and know,
Seek ye not therefore excuse for delay, neither shrink from the bow,
That the stringing thereof should tarry long, to the end we may see.
Yea I, even I, will essay if the deed may be done by me:
If my hands shall prevail to strain it and shoot through the iron lane,
Then shall I not be left to inherit nothing but pain
In the halls of my mother forsaken, since I in my father’s might
On the spoils of his prowess will lay mine hand by a hero’s right.’
Forth in their midst doth he stand, and his crimson cloak hath he flung
From his shoulders: his battle-brand keen-edged hath he swiftly unslung.
Then the row of the axes he placed, for he dug him a long trench there;
For the twelve but one furrow he traced, and straight he drew it and fair:
And he stamped the earth down flat: so deftly he wrought, that the men
Stared all in amazement thereat, for he never had seen it ere then.
To the threshold now doth he go, and he maketh assay of the bow.
Thrice did he tug and strain, while quivered the bow of his sire:
Thrice must his sinews refrain, albeit his soul was afire
To bend it, to string it, and speed the shaft through the iron lane:
The fourth, he had done it indeed, sore striving with might and main;
But Odysseus shook his head, and he stayed in his heart’s despite.
Then spake to the suitors and said Telemachus’ sacred might:
‘Ha! not in the days to come shall mine heart and mine arm be strong:
Or as yet am I over young, and I needs must tarry long
Ere mine hands shall maintain my cause against him that doeth me wrong.
Come, ye of the mightier thews, of the sinews battle-tried,
Make proof of the bow, let the contest be ended, and won be the bride.’
Then he put from his hands the bow, and he leaned it against the wall,
Where the panels gleamed arow by the door of the feasting-hall;
And the swift shaft therebeside ’gainst the fair bow-tip did he rest;
And back to his throne hath he hied whence he rose for the archer-test;
And Antinous straightway cried to the suitors his masterful hest:
‘From the left to the right in order, companions all, rise up,
Beginning where first the cupbearer poureth the wine in the cup.’
So spake he, and so it was done, for his counsel was good in their eyes.
And then did Leiodes the son of Oenops first arise.
Now the man was the suitors’ priest, and he sat ever next to the bowl
In the innermost place at their feast; but their deeds were abhorred of his soul:
For his spirit at all the train was with indignation aglow.
Lo first in his hands hath he ta’en the swift-winged shaft and the bow.
On the great stone threshold he stands: he essayeth that bow to strain:
But the horn bends not: and his hands grow weary with tugging in vain,
For that tender and soft were they; and he turned to the suitors and said:
‘String it I cannot, my friends; let another essay in my stead:
For from many a hero, from many a prince shall life and breath
Be reft by this same bow, since better by far were death
Than life, if it means but despair of the prize for the which ever-more
In the longing of hope deferred we have thronged to the palace-door.
Now each of you hopes in his soul—ay, longs with a passionate yearning
To wed with Penelope, wife of Odysseus the unreturning.
But so soon as his hands shall have tried, or his eyes shall have seen this bow,
Ah then to another lovely-robed Greek girl let him go,
To woo her in courtly wise with his gifts: and the queen shall wed
With the man who lavisheth most, and who cometh destiny-led.’
Then he put from his hands the bow, and he leaned it against the wall,
Where the panels gleamed arow by the door of the feasting-hall;
And the swift shaft therebeside ’gainst the fair bow-tip did he rest;
And back to his throne hath he hied, whence he rose for the archer-test.
But Antinous cried out upon him, and angrily chiding said:
‘What word, Leiodes, is this through the fence of thy teeth that hath fled?
A shameful word and a grievous? I hear with indignant scorn!
Must it needs be that princes be left of spirit and breath forlorn,
For that thou in thy impotent strength canst nowise bend it and string?
Tush! never, I trow, thy mother bare thee, thou puny thing,
For a bender of bows among men, and a speeder of arrows keen;
Yet lordly suitors be here that full lightly shall string it, I ween.’
So speaks he; and now on Melanthius, herdman of goats, doth he call:
‘Bestir thee, Melanthius, bestir thee, and kindle a fire in the hail;
And a great chair set thereby, and thereover lay thou a fleece,
And bring from the household store a broad thick cake of grease:
And there shall the young men warm it, and rub with the streaming oil,
To the end we may try this bow and accomplish the ordeal-toil.’
Swift did Melanthius light the flame’s unwearying might;
And thither a chair he bore, and thereover he spread a fleece,
And he brought from the household store a broad thick cake of grease.
So they warmed it, and each ’gan strain at the bow; but ever they toiled
With desperate tugging in vain, and their best were utterly foiled,
Till Antinous bided the test with Eurymachus, godlike wight,
They only, who passed the rest of the suitors in manful might.
Then forth of the feast-hall hied two true men side by side,
The henchmen that guarded the swine and the beeves of Odysseus’ stall;
And Odysseus the hero divine went forth to them out of the hall.
But when they were gotten without the doors and the compassing court,
The hero turned him about, and he spake in kindly sort:
‘Herdman—swineherd—hearken: a tale shall my lips begin,—
Shall I hide it?—“Nay, speak out! “mine heart is crying within.
What manner of men would ye be by Odysseus in battle to stand,
If he suddenly came to his own, by a God brought back to his land?
Would ye fight in that day for the suitors, or stand by Odysseus your lord?
Answer me, even as your heart and your spirit prompteth the word.’
Made answer and spake unto him the henchman, the warder of kine:
‘Ah Zeus Allfather, that thou wouldst fulfil this wish of mine,
That Odysseus might come to his own, by a God’s hand hitherward led!
Then shouldst thou know that the strength of mine hands is not yet dead.’
Then also Eumaeus prayed to the Gods in the selfsame strain,
That Odysseus the long-delayed might return to his home again.
And as soon as Odysseus knew that their hearts were flawless in faith,
He spake to the faithful and true, and in tones deep-thrilling he saith:
‘Lo I, even I, am he: out of manifold troubles and sore
In the twentieth year am I come to the home on my fatherland-shore.
And I know that of all my thralls there is none save you alone
That have longed to behold my return: of the rest have I heard not one
Who prayed that my feet might stand again in the ancient hall.
But to you true promise I give, and the thing shall surely befall:
If God subdueth beneath me the lawless children of pride,
Fair wives will I give unto both of you; wealth shall be yours beside,
And houses builded beside mine own; and in days to be
For my son’s companions and brothers shall ye be accounted of me.
Lo now I will show you a sign and a token that cannot deceive,
To the end ye may know me well, and your inmost hearts may believe:
Lo the scar that the white-flashing tusk of the wild boar dealt me once,
What time to the dells of Parnassus I went with Autolycus’ sons.’
From the great scar then he drew the tatters thereover that fell;
And they looked thereupon, and they knew, for they minded the token well.
And they wept, as their arms they flung around the lost restored,
And aye as they lovingly clung kissed the shoulders and head of their lord;
And kisses the hero rained on them, kisses on shoulders and head.
So wept they, the light of the sun had gone down ere their mourning was done;
But Odysseus himself restrained their passionate crying, and said:
‘Cease from your tears and your moans, lest it chance that some-one behold,
Coming forth of the hall, and the tale unto them within be told.
But now, not all together, but one after one, pass in;
And myself will be first, and let this be the sign for our deeds to begin:
For the lordly suitors, uplifting their voices threateningly,
Will essay to let thee from bearing the bow and the quiver to me.
But thou, Eumaeus the godlike, bear onward the bow through the hall,
And deliver it into mine hands: thou shalt speak to the women withal
That they shut the doors of their chamber massy and bolt-gripped close:
And if from within they shall hear any groaning or clashing of blows
In the place of the chambers of men, they shall not stir forth of the door;
But there shall they tarry in quiet, and heed their toil as before.
And, hero Philoetius, I give thee command that thou lock with the key
The forecourt-gates, and with ropes shalt thou lash them speedily.’
So spake he, and entered the fair-set, stately-builded pile,
And again sat down on the chair from the which he had risen erewhile.
And the thralls in a little space came back each man to his place.
And now was Eurymachus turning to this side and that side the bow,
As in front of the hearth bright-burning he warmed it: yet not even so
Might he string it, but struggled in vain, till his proud heart heavily sighed,
And a groan of indignant pain burst forth of his lips, and he cried:
‘Gods! anguish of spirit have I for myself and for all the rest!
Not for the bride that I lose is the bitterest pang in my breast:
There is many a Greek girl lovely and sweet to be won for a bride
In Ithaca sea-encompassed and many a city beside:
But to think that our bodily prowess falleth so far below
The godlike Odysseus’ might, that we cannot string his bow!—
O the shame, O the scorning for them that are yet to be born to know!’
But Antinous son of Eupeithes shouted across the hall:—
‘Eurymachus, no!—thou knowest thyself—this shall not befall.
For to-day to the Archer-god is a sacred feast in the town;
And how should the bow be bent?—nay, quietly lay it down.
And as touching the axes, what if we leave them all to stay
Standing arow? for I ween no man will take them away,
Entering into the hall of Laertes’ son this day.
But come, let the cupbearer pour in the goblets orderly,
To the end we may spill the libation, and put the curved bow by.
And tomorn shall Melanthius, herdman of goats, bring down at our hest
She-goats from the mountain pastures, even his goodliest.
And so to Apollo the bow-renowned will we burn their thighs,
And thereafter will deal with the bow; and the best shall win the prize.’
So the son of Eupeithes said, and his counsel pleased the rest.
And water the henchmen shed on the hands of every guest;
And they mingled the wine, and they poured till the great bowl mantled up;
The libation from board to board they bare, then crowned each cup.
But when they had spilled the wine, and had drunk, and were satisfied,
Then the wise-heart hero divine with guileful purpose cried:
‘Hear me, ye suitors that woo the fair queen world-renowned:
Let me utter the word that my heart in my breast for my lips hath found.
Eurymachus most I entreat, with Antinous, godlike wight,—
Seeing that this last word he hath uttered is meet and right,—
That ye let be the bow for to-day, and commit to the Gods the rest;
So tomorn shall the God give mastery-might as seemeth him best.
But give me, I pray you, the bow, that I may essay in your sight
The strength of mine hands, whether yet in my sinews abideth the might
That my lithe limbs nowise lacked in the warrior days of old,
Or if this have been wasted by want and by wanderings manifold.’
Ha, but their souls were aglow with the wrath of their haughty scorn,
Yea, even with fear lest the bow should be strung by that beggar forlorn.
And Antinous chode with him there, and fiercely shouted he:
‘Ha! scurvy knave, no shadow of wit is found in thee!
Doth this not content thee, to sit midst the pride of the princes here
Feasting in peace?—to be stinted in nought of the banquet-cheer,
And to hearken our speech and our counsel?—no stranger-beggar beside
May list to our high discourse at the princes’ feastful tide.
’Tis the wine that hath done thee a mischief, which tangleth and trippeth the wit
Of many a sot whose drouth heedeth nought that is seemly and fit.
’Twas the wine-cup that maddened the Centaur Eurytion famous of old,
When the revel was high in the halls of Peirithous mighty-souled;
For he came to the Lapithan feast, and there was he wine-distraught,
So that outrage in king Peirithous’ halls in his frenzy he wrought.
Sprang up the heroes in anguish of passion, and forth of the door
Through the forecourt they dragged him; his ears and his nose from his face they shore
With the pitiless brass; and he, with a fire in his frenzied brain,
Went raving under his burden of folly and madness-pain.
Therefrom between centaurs and men was there stirred up a murderous fray.
Yet, wine-besotted, himself on himself brought bane that day.
Even so unto thee do I promise requital of bitter pain,
If thou stringest the bow; and none shall deliver thee out of thy bane,
No man in our land: forthright will we send thee over the sea
Unto Echetus, unto the king that destroyeth ruthlessly:
Out of his hands shalt thou never deliver thee. Fool!—sit still:
Drink on, neither strive with the noble and young in warrior-skill.’
But Penelope passing-wise spake out to the churl forthright:
‘Antinous, shameful and wrongful it were to do despite
To Telemachus’ guests, whosoever it be that shall sit at his board.
What, do ye fear, if the stranger should string the great bow of my lord,
Putting his trust in the might of his hands and his thews well-tried,
That the wight would lead me away to his home, and make me his bride?
Himself in his inmost heart never dreamed such a dream at all.
Let no man for this cause reckon the banquet as wormwood and gall,
In his soul’s grief: never, O never may such dishonour befall!’
Spake Eurymachus, Polybus’ son, slow-lifting his shame-heavy eyes:
‘O child of Icarius’ line, Penelope passing-wise,
We deem not that this man might win thee; for never such thing could be.
Nay, for the tongues of men and of women ashamed are we,
Lest base folk take up a scoff and a byword against us then,
Telling how that a hero’s wife was wooed by worser men
Whose puny strength prevailed not so much as to string his bow;
But there came by another, a beggar-wight wandering to and fro,
And he easily strung it, and clean through the iron lane shot he:
So shall our shame go abroad, and a mock in their mouths shall we be.’
Flashed out her answer to him Penelope passing-wise:
‘Talk ye of honour and fame, and of worship in menfolk’s eyes,
Ye that with darkest dishonour devour a hero’s store!—
O steeped to the lips in reproach, should this thing shame you more?
But as touching this stranger, stalwart he is, well-knit withal;
And he tells of the sire that begat him, a king in a royal hall.
Nay, give to his hands the well-polished bow, to the end we may see.
For thus do I promise, and surely accomplished my word shall be:
If he string it, if Phoebus vouchsafe him renown in the archer-test,
I will give to him beautiful raiment, a mantle and tunic-vest,
And a javelin to guard him, if dogs or evil men would molest;
And a two-edged sword will I give him, and sandal-shoon for his feet,
And will send him whither his heart will, even as seemeth him meet.’
Then to the queen wise-witted Telemachus made reply:
‘Mother mine, none other hath power and authority more than I
To give this bow unto whomsoever I will, or deny.
No man out of all the princes in Ithaca craggy-crowned,
Nor of all that in isles of the sea unto horse-fed Elis be found,
Shall overbear my pleasure as touching this bow, I say;
Though it pleased me to give it outright to the stranger to bear away.
But thou, enter into the house, to the labours of woman give heed,
To the toils of the spindle and loom; and command thy maidens to speed
Their tasks; and leave unto men the bow, and chiefly to me;
For mine is the lordship in this mine house, and the mastery.’
And the lady with wonder stirred did back to the house depart;
And she pondered her son’s wise word, and she laid it up in her heart.
So she passed with her handmaidens twain to the upper chamber again;
And there for the dear days dead and the love of Odysseus she wept,
Till Athene the sleep-dews shed on her sorrowful eyes, and she slept.
Then the bow did the swineherd take, and was bearing it unto the king;
But there burst an angry shout from the suitors all about;
And the flash of a fierce threat brake through the thunder of clamour:
‘Whither art bearing the bow, thou caitiff swineherd-loon?
Truant!—the hounds shall devour thee amidst the swine-pens soon!
In a lone place, even by the teeth of the hounds thou hast fed shalt thou die,
If Apollo show grace unto us, with the rest of the Deathless on high.’
And the swineherd faltered, and laid down the bow even there where he stood;
For their multitude made him afraid as they shouted in furious mood.
Then sternly, nothing dismayed, did the prince Telemachus say:
‘Bear onward the bow! Thou shalt find many masters are ill to obey!
Have a care lest, young though I be, to the field I chase thee away,
Yea, pelting thee hence with stones:—I trow I am stronger than thou.
Ah would that in might of mine hands I were so much stronger now
Than all the suitors whose feet unbidden trample our floor!
There be some that in sorriest plight I would soon send forth of my door:
They should flee far away; they should travail with mischief here nevermore.’
Loud laughed that reckless train his helpless anger to see,
And they could not choose but refrain from their wrath for their mirth and their glee.
But the swineherd is hastening through the hall with the bow, and he stands
By Odysseus the war-wise king, and he giveth it into his hands:
Then he calleth the nurse Eurycleia without, and thus saith he:
‘Eurycleia exceeding-wise, Telemachus biddeth thee
That thou shut the doors of the chamber, massy and bolt-gripped close;
And if from within they shall hear any groaning or clashing of blows
In the place of the chambers of men, they shall not stir forth of the door,
But there shall they tarry in quiet, and heed their toil as before.’
So did he speak, neither passed that word light-flitting away:
But she locked the bower-doors fast—lo, the net is enclosing the prey!
Forth of the banqueting-hall sped Philoetius silently,
And the gate in the strong-fenced wall of the forecourt fastened he.
And a rope in the porch hath he found, a hawser of byblus-cord,
And he lasheth the gate-posts round therewithal; and aback to the board
And aback to his seat hath he hied, and he waiteth what next shall betide:
Watching Odysseus he sat. Now the hero was handling the bow,
Looking keenly on this side and that, slow turning it to and fro,
Lest worms should have eaten the horn while its lord was far away.
And they glanced at each other in scorn, and mockingly one ’gan say:
‘What, our knave is a chapman of bows, shrewd-eyed and cunning of touch!
Or belike mid his treasures at home he hath even another such:
Or his wrightship is minded to make one,—lo, how to right and to left
He turns it about in his hands, the vagabond knavery-deft!’
And thereafter another cried, as they sneered in their spite and their pride:
‘May the varlet light on advantage, and prosper even so
As the strength of his arms shall avail for the stringing of yonder bow!’
So the laugh and the jeer rang out, but Odysseus the manifold-wise,—
For by this had he turned it about, and had needfully scanned with his eyes,—
Even as a man that can skill to play on the lyre and to sing,
On a new-fixed peg at his will full easily stretcheth the string,
Straining the sheep-gut taut, having tied it above and below,
So laboured Odysseus naught, but—lo, he hath strung the bow!
With his right hand thereafter to try it he twangeth the fateful string:
Clear-sweet to his touch as the cry of a swallow in chase did it sing.
Started the suitors with sore dismay: they grew white with their dread.
Through the hush came the crash and the roar of the thunder of Zeus overhead.
Then bounded the heart and rejoiced in the woe-worn hero divine,
That Kronion the thunder-voiced spake forth to him, sending a sign.
And a swift-winged shaft hath he ta’en that lay bare on the board by his side,
—But the rest of the speeders of bane in the hollow quiver abide;
And their deadly-bitter taste full soon the Achaeans shall know:—
Now on the string hath he placed it; now is he drawing the bow
Even from his seat on the chair; and he speedeth the arrow’s flight,
Aiming it straight and fair: through the axe-heads all forthright
Hath it leapt: it hath missed not one, but clear through the twelve rings flying
The brass-heavy arrow hath gone; and the king to his son spake crying:
‘Thy guest in thine halls that sitteth, Telemachus, shameth thee not!
No whit have I missed the mark, neither wearied me long, I wot,
Toiling in stringing the bow; but unbroken abideth my might.
Not in this shall the suitors contemn me, for all their scorn and their spite.
But now is it time to prepare them a supper, yea, ere night:
And to make them sport thereafter with feast-tide revelry-play,
With song and the voice of the string; for the crown of the banquet are they.’
Then bent he his brows for the sign: swift girdeth about him his sword
Telemachus, son of divine Odysseus the dauntless lord:
And his spear hath he gripped in his hand, and now at the side of his sire
By the throne hath he taken his stand with his war-weapons flaming as fire.