She wept for her dear husband, till at length
The blue-eyed Pallas graciously distilled
Upon her closing lids the balm of sleep.

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BOOK XX.

'HE noble chief, Ulysses, in the porch

TH

Lay down to rest. An undressed bullock's

hide

Was under him, and over that the skins
Of sheep, which for the daily sacrifice
The Achaians slew. Eurynomè had spread
A cloak above him. There he lay awake,
And meditated how he yet should smite
The suitors down. Meantime, with cries of mirth
And laughter, came the women forth to seek
The suitors' arms. Ulysses, inly moved
With anger, pondered whether he should rise
And put them all to death, or give their shame
A respite for another night, the last.

His heart raged in his bosom.

As a hound

5

Growls, walking round her whelps, when she be

holds

A stranger, and is eager for the attack,

So growled his heart within him, and so fierce
Was his impatience with that shameless crew.
He smote his breast, and thus he chid his heart:

15

"Endure it, heart! thou didst bear worse than

this.

When the grim Cyclops of resistless strength Devoured thy brave companions, thou couldst still Endure, till thou by stratagem didst leave

20

The cave in which it seemed that thou must die."
Thus he rebuked his heart, and, growing calm, 25

His heart submitted; but the hero tossed
From side to side. As when one turns and turns
The stomach of a bullock filled with fat
And blood before a fiercely blazing fire

And wishes it were done, so did the chief
Shift oft from side to side, while pondering how
To lay a strong hand on the multitude

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Of shameless suitors,

he but one, and they

So many. Meantime Pallas, sliding down.

From heaven, in form a woman, came, and there 35
Beside his bed stood over him, and spake :-

"Why, most unhappy of the sons of men,
Art thou still sleepless? This is thine abode,
And here thou hast thy consort and a son
Whom any man might covet for his own."
Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:
"Truly, O goddess, all that thou hast said
Is rightly spoken. This perplexes me,
How to lay hands upon these shameless men,
When I am only one, and they a throng
That fill the palace. Yet another thought,
And mightier still, if, by thy aid and Jove's,

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45

I slay the suitors, how shall I myself

Be safe thereafter? Think, I pray, of this."

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And thus in turn the blue-eyed Pallas said: "O faint of spirit! in an humbler friend Than I am, in a friend of mortal birth And less far-seeing, one might put his trust; But I am born a goddess, and protect Thy life in every danger. Let me say, And plainly say, if fifty armed bands Of men should gather round us, eager all To take thy life, thou mightest drive away, Unharmed by them, their herds and pampered flocks.

But give thyself to sleep. To wake and watch
All night is most unwholesome. Thou shalt find
A happy issue from thy troubles yet."

She spake, and, shedding slumber on his lids,
Upward the glorious goddess took her way
Back to Olympus, when she saw that sleep
Had seized him, making him forget all care
And slackening every limb. His faithful wife
Was still awake, and sat upright and wept
On her soft couch, and after many tears
The glorious lady prayed to Dian thus:-

"Goddess august! Diana, child of Jove!

I would that thou wouldst send into my heart
A shaft to take my life, or that a storm

Would seize and hurl me through the paths of air,

And cast me into ocean's restless streams,

K

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65

70

75

As once a storm, descending, swept away
The daughters born to Pandarus. The gods
Had slain their parents, and they dwelt alone
As orphans in their palace, nourished there
By blessed Venus with the curds of milk,
And honey, and sweet wine, while Juno gave
Beauty and wit beyond all womankind,
And chaste Diana dignity of form,
And Pallas every art that graces life.

Then, as the blessed Venus went to ask
For them, of Jove the Thunderer, on the heights
Of his Olympian mount, the crowning gift
Of happy marriage,- for to Jove is known
Whatever comes to pass, and what shall be
The fortune, good or ill, of mortal men,-
The Harpies came meantime, bore off the maids,
And
gave them to the hateful sisterhood

Of Furies as their servants. So may those
Who dwell upon Olympus make an end

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Of me, or fair-haired Dian strike me down,

95

That, with the image of Ulysses still

Before my mind, I may not seek to please

One of less worth. This evil might be borne
By one who weeps all day, and feels at heart
A settled sorrow, yet can sleep at night.
For sleep, when once it weighs the eyelids down,
Makes men unmindful both of good and ill,
And all things else. But me some deity
Visits with fearful dreams. There lay by me,

100

This very night, one like him, as he was
When with his armed men he sailed for Troy;
And I was glad, for certainly I deemed

It was a real presence, and no dream."

She spake. Just then, upon her car of gold,
Appeared the Morn. The great Ulysses heard
That voice of lamentation; anxiously

He mused; it seemed to him as if the queen
Stood over him and knew him. Gathering up
In haste the cloak and skins on which he slept,
He laid them in the palace on a seat,
But bore the bull's hide forth in open air,

And lifted up his hands and prayed to Jove:

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105

ΙΙΟ

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120

"O Father Jove, and all the gods! if ye Have led me graciously, o'er land and deep, Across the earth, and, after suffering much, To mine own isle, let one of those who watch Within the palace speak some ominous word, And grant a sign from thee without these walls." So prayed he. All-providing Jupiter Hearkened, and thundered from the clouds around The bright Olympian peaks. Ulysses heard With gladness. From a room within the house, In which the mills of the king's household stood, A woman, laboring at the quern, gave forth An omen also. There were twelve who toiled In making flour of barley and of wheat, — The strength of man. The rest were all asleep; Their tasks were done; one only, of less strength

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