Book XXIV: Conclusion

Cyllenian Hermes summoned forth the soulsOf the slain suitors. In his hand he boreThe beautiful golden wand, with which at willHe shuts the eyes of men, or opens themFrom sleep. With this he guided on their wayThe ghostly rout; they followed, utteringA shrilly wail. As when a flock of bats,Deep in a dismal cavern, fly aboutAnd squeak, if one have fallen from the placeWhere, clinging to each other and the rock,They rested, so that crowd of ghosts went forthWith shrill and plaintive cries. Before them movedBeneficent Hermes through those dreary ways,And past the ocean stream they went, and pastLeucadia’s rock, the portals of the Sun,And people of the land of dreams, untilThey reached the fields of asphodel, where dwellThe souls, the bodiless forms of those who die.

And there they found the soul of Peleus’ son,His friend Patroclus, and the blameless chiefAntilochus, and Ajax, who excelledIn stature and in form all other GreeksSave the great son of Peleus. These were groupedAround Achilles. Then approached the ghostOf Agamemnon, Atreus’ son; he seemedIn sorrow, and around him others stood,Who in the palace of Aegisthus metTheir fate and died. The son of Peleus tookThe word, and spake to Agamemnon thus:—

“Atrides, we had thought that Jove, who wieldsThe thunder, favored thee, through all thy years,Beyond all other men—thou didst bear ruleOver so many and such valiant menUpon the plain of Troy, where we of GreeceEndured such sufferings. Yet all too soonThe cruel doom of death, which no man bornOf woman can escape, has fallen on thee.O, if amid the honors of thy swayThat doom had overtaken thee, while yetIn Troy’s far realm, then would the assembled GreeksHave built a tomb to thee! Thou wouldst have leftA heritage of glory to thy son;Now hast thou died a most unhappy death.”

And then the soul of Agamemnon said:“Fortunate son of Peleus, godlike chiefAchilles, who didst die upon the fieldOf Ilium, far from Argos, while there fellAround thee many of the bravest sonsOf Troy and Greece, who fought for thee, and thouWert lying in thy mighty bulk, amidWhirlwinds of dust, forgetful evermoreOf horsemanship. All that day long we fought,Nor stayed our hands till Jove, to part us, sentA hurricane. When we had borne thee thenceAnd brought thee to the fleet, upon a bierWe laid thee, pouring o’er thy shapely limbsWarm water, and anointing them with oil.Round thee the Achaians stood in tears, hot tears,And cut their hair away. From ocean’s depthThy mother, when she heard the tidings, roseWith her immortal sea-nymphs. MournfullyCame o’er the waves the sound of their lament.Trembled the Greeks with fear, and, rushing forth,Would have sought refuge in their roomy ships,If Nestor, wise in ancient lore, and knownFor counsels ever safe, had not restrainedTheir haste, and thus declared his prudent thought:—

“ ‘Stay, Argives, youths of Greece; think not of flight!It is his mother; from the sea she comesTo her dead son, and brings her deathless nymphs.’

“He spake; his words withheld the valiant GreeksFrom flight. And now around thee came and stoodThe daughters of the Ancient of the Deep,Lamenting bitterly. Upon thy corseThey put ambrosial robes. The Muses nineBewailed thee with sweet voices, answeringEach other. Then wouldst thou have seen no oneOf all the Argive host with eyes unwet,The Muses’ song so moved them. Seventeen daysAnd nights we mourned thee—both the immortal onesAnd mortals. On the eighteenth day we gaveThy body to the fire, and at the pileSlew many fatling ewes, and many an oxWith crooked horns. In raiment of the godsThe fire consumed thee midst anointing oilsAnd honey. Many heroes of our hostIn armor and in chariots, or on foot,Contended round thy funeral pyre in games,And mighty was the din. And when at lengthThe fires of Vulcan had consumed thy flesh,We gathered up at morning thy white bones,Achilles, pouring over them pure wineAnd fragrant oils. Thy mother brought a vaseOf gold, which Bacchus gave, she said, the workOf Vulcan the renowned, and in it now,Illustrious son of Peleus, thy white bonesAre lying, and with thine are mingled thoseOf dead Patroclus Menoetiades.Apart we placed the ashes of thy friendAntilochus, whom thou didst honor mostAfter the slain Patroclus. O’er all theseThe sacred army of the warlike GreeksBuilt up a tomb magnificently vastUpon a cape of the broad Hellespont,There to be seen, far off upon the deep,By those who now are born, or shall be bornIn future years. Thy mother, having firstPrayed to the gods, appointed noble games,Within the circus, for the Achaian chiefs.Full often have I seen the funeral ritesOf heroes, when the youth, their chieftain dead,Were girded for the games, and strove to winThe prizes; but I most of all admiredThose which the silver-footed Thetis gaveTo mark thy burial, who wert loved by allThe immortals. So thou hast not lost by deathThy fame, Achilles, and among the tribesOf men thy glory will be ever great;But what hath it availed me to have broughtThe war on Ilium to an end, since JoveDoomed me to be destroyed on my return,Slain by Aegisthus and my guilty wife?”

So talked they with each other. Now approachedThe herald Argus-queller, bringing downThe souls of suitors by Ulysses slain.Both chiefs moved toward them, wondering at the sight.The soul of Agamemnon, Atreus’ son,Knew well-renowned Amphimedon, whose birthWas from Melanthius, and by whom he onceWas welcomed to his house in Ithaca;And him the son of Atreus first bespake:—

“Amphimedon, what sad mischance has broughtYou all, who seem like chosen men, and allOf equal age, into these drear abodesBeneath the earth? ’Twere hard indeed to find,In a whole city, nobler forms of men.Has Neptune wrecked you in your ships at seaWith fierce winds and huge waves, or armed menSmitten you on the land, while carrying offTheir beeves and sheep, or fighting to defendYour wives and city? Tell me, for I claimTo have been once your guest. Rememberest thouI lodged in thy own palace when I cameWith godlike Menelaus, and besoughtUlysses to unite his gallant fleetTo ours, and sail for Troy. A whole month longWere we in crossing the wide sea, and hardWe found the task to gain as our allyUlysses, the destroyer of walled towns.”

The soul of dead Amphimedon replied:“Atrides Agamemnon, far renowned,And king of men, I well remember allOf which thou speakest; I will now relate,And truly, how we met our evil end.We wooed the wife of the long-absent chiefUlysses; she rejected not nor yetGranted our suit, detested as it was,But, meditating our destruction, plannedThis shrewd device. She laid upon the loomWithin her rooms a web of delicate threads,Ample in length and breadth, and thus she saidTo all of us: ‘Young princes, who are comeTo woo me—since Ulysses is no more,My noble husband—urge me not, I pray,To marriage, till I finish in the loom—That so my threads may not be spun in vain—A funeral vesture for the hero-chiefLaertes, when his fatal hour shall come,With death’s long sleep; else some Achaian dameMight blame me, should I leave without a shroudHim who in life possessed such ample wealth.’Such were her words, and easily they wonUpon our generous minds. So went she onWeaving that ample web, and every nightUnravelled it by torchlight. Three full yearsShe practised thus, and by the fraud deceivedThe Grecian youths; but when the hours had broughtThe fourth year round, a woman who knew allRevealed the mystery, and we ourselvesSaw her unravelling the ample web.Thenceforth constrained, and with unwilling hands,She finished it. And when at length she showedThe vesture she had woven, the broad webThat she had bleached to brightness like the sun’sOr like the moon’s, some hostile deityBrought back Ulysses to a distant nookOf his own fields, and to his swineherd’s lodge.And thither also came in his black shipHis son, returning from the sandy coastOf Pylos. Thence the twain, when they had plannedTo slay the suitors, came within the wallsOf the great city; first Telemachus,And after him Ulysses, with his guideThe swineherd. He was clad in sordid weeds,And seemed a wretched beggar, very old,Propped on a staff. In that disguise of ragsNone knew him, as he suddenly appeared,Not even the oldest of us all. Harsh wordsAnd blows we gave him. He endured them allAwhile with patience, smitten and reviledIn his own palace. Moved at length by Jove,He and his son Telemachus bore offThe shining weapons from the hall, to lieIn a far chamber, and barred all the doors.Then, prompted by her husband’s craft, the queenProposed a game of archery, with bowAnd rings of hoary steel, to all of usIll-fated suitors. This drew on our death.Not one of us could bend that sturdy bow,None had the strength. But as it passed from usInto Ulysses’ hands, we loudly chidThe bearer, and forbade him, but in vain.Telemachus alone with stern commandBade him deliver it. When in his handsThe much-enduring chief, Ulysses, tookThe bow, he drew the string with ease, and sentA shaft through all the rings. He sprang and stoodUpon the threshold; at his feet he pouredThe winged arrows, cast a terrible glanceAround him, and laid King Antinoüs dead,Then sent the fatal shafts at those who stoodBefore him; side by side they fell and died.Some god, we saw, was with them, as they rushedUpon us mightily, and chased us throughThe palace, slaying us on every side;And fearful were the groans of dying men,As skulls were cloven, and the pavement swamWith blood. Such, Agamemnon, was the fateBy which we perished. Now our bodies lieNeglected at the palace; for not yetOur kindred, dwelling in our homes, have heardThe tidings, nor have come to cleanse our woundsFrom the dark blood, and lay us on the bierWith tears—such honors as are due the dead.”

In turn the soul of Agamemnon spake:“Son of Laertes, fortunate and wise,Ulysses! thou by feats of eminent mightAnd valor dost possess thy wife again.And nobly minded is thy blameless queen,The daughter of Icarius, faithfullyRemembering him to whom she gave her trothWhile yet a virgin. Never shall the fameOf his great valor perish, and the godsThemselves shall frame, for those who dwell on earth,Sweet strains in praise of sage Penelope.Not such was she who treacherously slewThe husband of her youth—she of the houseOf Tyndarus. Her name among mankindShall be the hateful burden of a song;And great is the dishonor it has broughtOn women, even the faithful and the good.”

So talked they with each other, standing thereIn Pluto’s realm beneath the vaulted earth.Meantime Ulysses, hastening from the town,Came to the fair fields of Laertes, tilledWith care. Laertes, after years of toil,Acquired them. There his dwelling stood; a shedEncircled it, where ate and sat and sleptThe servants of the household, who fulfilledHis slightest wish. An old Sicilian dameWas there, who waited, in that distant spot,On her old master with assiduous care.And then Ulysses to his followers said:—

“Go into that fair dwelling, and with speedSlay for our feast the fattest of the swine.I go to prove my father; I would learnWhether he knows me when he sees my face,Or haply knows me not, so long away.”

He spake, and laid his weapons in their hands.Straight toward the house they went. Ulysses passedInto the fruitful orchard, there to proveHis father. Going down and far withinThe garden-plot, he found not Dolius there,Nor any of the servants, nor his sons.All were abroad, old Dolius leading them.They gathered thorns to fence the garden-grounds.There, delving in that fertile spot, aroundA newly planted tree, Ulysses sawHis father only, sordidly arrayedIn a coarse tunic, patched and soiled. He worePatched greaves of bullock’s hide upon his thighs,A fence against the thorns; and on his handsgloves, to protect them from the prickly stemsOf bramble; and upon his head a capOf goatskin. There he brooded o’er his grief.Him when the much-enduring chief beheld,Wasted with age and sorrow-worn, he stoppedBeside a lofty pear-tree’s stem and wept,And pondered whether he should kiss and claspHis father in his arms, and tell him all,How he had reached his native land and home,Or question first and prove him. Musing thus,It pleased him to begin with sportive words;And thus resolved, divine Ulysses drewNear to his father stooping at his task,And loosening the hard earth about a tree,And thus the illustrious son accosted him:—

“O aged man! there is no lack of skillIn tending this fair orchard, which thy careKeeps flourishing; no growth is there of fig,Vine, pear, or olive, or of plants that growIn borders, that has missed thy friendly hand.Yet let me say, and be thou not displeased,Thou art ill cared for, burdened as thou artWith years, and squalid, and in mean attire.It cannot be that for thy idlenessThy master treats thee thus; nor is there seenAught servile in thy aspect—in thy faceOr stature; thou art rather like a king;Thou seemest one who should enjoy the bathAnd banquet, and lie soft—for this befitsOld men like thee. Now say, and tell me true,Who may thy master be? whose orchard thisWhich thou dost tend? And, more than this, declare,For much I long to know, if I am comeTo Ithaca, as I just now was toldBy one who met me as I came—a manNot overwise, who would not stop to tellWhat I desired to learn, nor bear to hearMy questions, when I asked him if a guestOf mine were living yet in health, or deadAnd in the realm of Pluto. Let me speakOf him, and mark me well, I pray; I lodgedOnce, in my native land, a man who cameInto my house, and never stranger yetMore welcome was than he. He was by birthOf Ithaca, he said, Laertes’ son,And grandson of Arcesias. Him I ledBeneath my roof, and hospitably lodged,And feasted in the plenty of my home,And gave such gifts as might become a host—Seven talents of wrought gold, a silver cupAll over rough with flowers, twelve single cloaks,Twelve mats, twelve mantles passing beautiful,And tunics twelve, and, chosen by himself,Twelve graceful damsels, skilled in household arts.”

And then his father answered, shedding tears:“Thou art indeed, O stranger, in the landOf which thou dost inquire, but wicked menAnd lawless now possess it. Thou hast givenThy generous gifts in vain; yet hadst thou foundUlysses living yet in Ithaca,Then would he have dismissed thee recompensedWith gifts and liberal cheer, as is the dueOf him who once has been our host. Yet say,And truly say, how many years have passedSince thou didst lodge my son, if he it was,Thy hapless guest, whom, far away from homeAnd all his friends, the creatures of the deep,And the foul birds of air, and beasts of prey,Already have devoured. No mother mournedHis death and wrapped him in his shroud, nor I,His father; nor did chaste Penelope,His consort nobly dowered, bewail the manShe loved upon his bier with eyes dissolvedIn tears, as fitting was—an honor dueTo those who die. Now, further, truly tell,For I would learn, what is thy name, and whenceThou comest, from what tribe, thy city where,And who thy parents. Where is the good shipAt anchor which has brought thee and thy friends?Or hast thou landed from another’s barque,Which put thee on the shore and left the isle?”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:“I will tell all and truly. I am comeFrom Alybas; a stately dwelling thereIs mine, Apheidas is my father, sonOf royal Polypemon, and my nameEperitus. Some deity has warpedMy course astray from the Sicanian coast,And brought me hitherward against my will.My barque lies yonder, stationed by the fieldFar from the city. This is the fifth yearSince parting with me thy Ulysses leftMy native land for his, ill-fated man!Yet there were flights of birds upon the rightOf happy presage as he sailed, and IDismissed him cheerfully, and cheerfullyHe went. We hoped that we might yet becomeEach other’s guests, exchanging princely gifts.”

He spake, and a dark cloud of sorrow cameOver Laertes. With both hands he graspedThe yellow dust, and over his white headShed it with piteous groans. Ulysses feltHis heart within him melted; the hot breathRushed through his nostrils as he looked uponHis well-beloved father, and he sprangAnd kissed and clasped him in his arms, and said:—

“Nay, I am he, my father; I myselfAm he of whom thou askest. I am comeTo mine own country in the twentieth year.But calm thyself, refrain from tears, and grieveNo more, and let me tell thee, in a word,I have slain all the suitors in my halls,And so avenged their insolence and crimes.”

And then Laertes spake again, and said:“If now thou be Ulysses, my lost son,Give some plain token, that I may believe.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:“First, then, behold with thine own eyes the scarWhich once the white tusk of a forest boarInflicted on Parnassus, when I madeThe journey thither, by thy own command,And by my gracious mother’s, to receiveGifts which her father, King Autolycus,Once promised, when he came to Ithaca.And listen to me further; let me nameThe trees which in thy well-tilled orchard groundsThou gavest me; I asked them all of thee,When by thy side I trod the garden walks,A little boy. We went among the trees,And thou didst name them. Of the pear thirteen,And of the apple ten thou gavest me,And forty fig-trees; and thou didst engageTo give me fifty rows of vines, each rowOf growth to feed the winepress. Grapes are thereOf every flavor when the hours of JoveShall nurse them into ripeness from on high.”

He spake; a trembling seized the old man’s heartAnd knees, as he perceived how true were allThe tokens which Ulysses gave. He threwRound his dear son his arms. The hardy chief,Ulysses, drew him fainting to his heart.But when the old man’s strength revived, and calmCame o’er his spirit, thus he spake again:—

“O father Jove, assuredly the godsDwell on the Olympian height, since we beholdThe arrogant suitors punished for their crimes.Yet much I fear lest all the IthacansThrong hither, and send messages to rouseAgainst us all the Cephallenian states.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:“Take courage; let no thought like that disturbThy mind; but let us hasten to the house.Telemachus is there, with whom I sentThe herdsman and the swineherd, bidding themMake ready with all speed our evening meal.”

Thus talked the twain, and toward the dwelling tookTheir way, and entering the commodious roomsThey found Telemachus, and by his sideThe herdsman and the keeper of the swine,Dividing for the feast the plenteous meats,And mingling the dark wine. Then to the bathCame the Sicilian dame, and ministeredTo the large-souled Laertes, and with oilAnointed him, and wrapped a sumptuous cloakAbout him. Pallas gave the monarch’s limbsAn ampler roundness; taller to the sightHe stood, and statelier. As he left the bath,His son beheld with wonder in his eyes,So like a god Laertes seemed, and thusUlysses said to him in winged words:—

“Someone among the ever-living godsHath surely shed, O father, on thy formAnd aspect all this grace and majesty.”

The sage Laertes answered: “Father Jove,And Pallas and Apollo! would that IWere now as when I took the citadelOf Nericus, the strongly built, besideThe seashore of Epirus, leading onMy Cephallenians! With such strength as then,Armed for the fray, I would have met and foughtThe suitors in the palace yesterday,And struck down many lifeless in the hall,And greatly would thy spirit have rejoiced.”

So talked they with each other. When they allCeased from their task, and saw their meal prepared,They sat them down in order on the thronesAnd seats, and each put forth his hand and sharedThe banquet. Now approached an aged man,Dolius, attended by his sons, who cameWeary with toil, for the Sicilian dame,The nurse who reared them, went and summoned them—She who in his late age with faithful careCherished the father. These, when at the boardThey saw Ulysses, and knew who he was,Stopped in the hall astonished. InstantlyUlysses called to them with friendly words:—

“Sit at the board, old man; let none of youGive way to blank amazement. Know that we,Though keen our appetite for this repast,Have waited long, expecting your return.”

He spake, and Dolius sprang with outstretched armsAnd seized Ulysses by the hand, and kissedThe wrist; and thus in winged words he spake:—

“Dear master! since thou art returned to us,Who longed and yet expected not to seeThy face again—since some divinityHas led thee hither—hail! and great may beThy happiness, and may the gods bestowAll blessings on thee! But declare, for IWould gladly know, if sage PenelopeHave heard the tidings yet of thy return,Or must we send them by a messenger.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:“My aged friend, she knows already all.Why wouldst thou take that care upon thyself?”

He spake, and Dolius on a polished seatSat down, but round the great Ulysses cameHis sons, and welcomed him with loving words,And hung upon his hand, and then they tookTheir places by their father. So they satBeneath Laertes’ roof, and banqueted.

Now through the city meantime swiftly ranThe rumor that the suitors all had metA bloody death. No sooner had men heardThe tidings than they came with cries and moansBefore the palace, moving to and fro.Each carried forth his dead, and gave to eachHis funeral rites, except to those who cameFrom distant cities; these they put on boardSwift-sailing galleys of the fishermen,That they might bear them home. And then they cameSorrowing together in the marketplace.There, when the assembly now was full, aroseEupeithes and addressed them. In his heartWas sorrow, that could never be consoled,For his slain son Antinoüs, who was firstTo fall before Ulysses. Weeping roseThe father, and harangued the assembly thus:—

“Great things, indeed, my friends, hath this man doneFor us Achaians. Many valiant menHe gathered in his ships and led abroad,And lost his gallant ships, and lost his men;And now, returning, he has put to deathThe best of all the Cephallenian race.Come, then, and ere he find a safe retreatIn Pylos, or in hallowed Elis, whereThe Epeians rule, pursue him; endless shameWill be our portion else, and they who liveIn future years will hear of our disgrace.If we avenge not on these men of bloodThe murder of our sons and brothers, lifeWill not be sweet to me, and I would goAt once, and gladly, down among the dead.Rise, then, and fall upon them ere they flee.”

So spake he, weeping; and the Greeks were movedWith pity as they heard him. Now appearedThe herald Medon and the sacred bard,As, rising from the sleep of night, they leftThe palace of Ulysses. They stood forthAmid the multitude, who all beheldWith wonder. Then sagacious Medon spake:—

“Give ear, ye men of Ithaca, and knowThat not without the approval of the godsUlysses hath done this. I saw, myself,One of the immortals taking part with him,In all things like to Mentor. Now the godStanding before Ulysses strengthened himFor combat, and now drove the routed bandOf suitors through the hall; in heaps they fell.”

He spake, and all who heard were pale with fear.The aged hero, Halitherses, sonOf Mastor, then came forward; he aloneKnew what was past and what was yet to come,And, wisely judging, to the assembly said:—

“Hear now my words, ye men of Ithaca.Through your own wrong all this has come to pass.To me ye would not hearken, nor obeyWhen Mentor, shepherd of the people, spake.On the mad doings of your sons ye putNo curb, nor checked the guilty insolenceThat dared to waste the substance and insultThe consort of a man of eminent worth,Who, so they thought, would nevermore return.Now be it as I counsel; let us notGo forth to draw down evil on our heads.”

He spake; but more than half the assembly rushedAbroad with shouts; the others kept their placeTogether. Ill the augur’s speech had pleasedThe most. Eupeithes had persuaded them.They flew to arms, and when they had put onThe glittering brass, they mustered in close ranksBefore the spacious city. At their headEupeithes led them on, who madly deemedHimself the avenger of his slaughtered son.Yet he from that encounter nevermoreWas to return; his fate o’ertook him there.

Then Pallas thus addressed Saturnian Jove:“Our Father, son of Saturn, king of kings,Tell me, I pray, the purpose of thy heartYet unrevealed. Shall there be cruel warAnd deadly combats, or wilt thou ordainThat these shall henceforth dwell in amity?”

And cloud-compelling Jove made answer thus:“My child, why ask me? Was it not with theeA cherished purpose, that, returning home,Ulysses amply should avenge himselfUpon the suitors? Do, then, as thou wilt.Yet this, as the most fitting, I advise.Now that the great Ulysses has avengedHis wrongs, let there be made a faithful leagueWith oaths, and let Ulysses ever reign;And we will cause the living to forgetTheir sons and brothers slain, and all shall dwellIn friendship as they heretofore have dwelt,And there shall be prosperity and peace.”

He spake, and eager as she was before,Encouraged by his words, the goddess plungedDown from the summits of the Olympian mount.Now when they all had feasted to the full,The much-enduring chief, Ulysses, said:“Go, one of you, and see if they are near.”

He spake; a son of Dolius at his wordWent forth, and, coming to the threshold, stopped.He saw them all at hand, and instantlyBespake Ulysses thus, with winged words:“They are upon us; we must arm at once.”

He spake; they rose, and quickly were in arms.Four were Ulysses and his friends, and sixThe sons of Dolius. Old Laertes then,And Dolius, put on armor with the rest,Gray-headed as they were, for now their aidWas needed. When they all had clad themselvesIn shining brass, they threw the portals wideAnd sallied forth, Ulysses at their head.

Now Pallas, daughter of almighty Jove,Drew near them. She had taken Mentor’s formAnd Mentor’s voice. The much-enduring chief,Ulysses, saw her and rejoiced, and saidTo his beloved son, Telemachus:—

“Now wilt thou, of thyself, Telemachus,Bethink thee, when thou minglest in the frayThat tries men’s valor, not to cast disgraceUpon thy forefathers—a race renownedFor manly daring over all the earth.”

And thus discreet Telemachus replied:“Nay, if thou wilt, my father, thou shalt seeThat by no lack of valor shall I cast,As thou hast said, dishonor on thy race.”

Laertes heard them, and rejoiced, and said:“O what a day for me, ye blessed gods,Is this! With what delight I see my sonAnd grandson rivals on the battlefield.”

And then the blue-eyed Pallas, drawing nearLaertes, said: “Son of Arcesias, lovedBy me beyond all others of my friends,Pray to Jove’s blue-eyed daughter, and to Jove,And brandish thy long spear, and send it forth.”

So Pallas spake, and breathed into his frameStrength irresistible. The aged chiefPrayed to the daughter of almighty Jove,And brandished his long spear and sent it forth.It smote Eupeithes on the helmet’s cheek.The brass stayed not the spear, the blade passed through,And heavily Eupeithes fell to earth,His armor clashing round him as he fell.Then rushed Ulysses and his valiant sonForward, the foremost of their band, and smoteTheir foes with swords and lancet double-edged,And would have struck them down to rise no more,If Pallas, daughter of the god who bearsThe aegis, had not with a mighty voiceCommanded all the combatants to cease:—

“Stay, men of Ithaca; withhold your handsFrom deadly combat. Part, and shed no blood.”

So Pallas spake, and they grew pale with awe,And fear-struck; as they heard her words they droppedTheir weapons all upon the earth. They fledTownward as if for life, while terriblyThe much-enduring chief Ulysses raisedHis voice, and shouted after them, and sprangUpon them as an eagle darts through air.Then Saturn’s son sent down a bolt of fire;It fell before his blue-eyed daughter’s feet,And thus the goddess to Ulysses called:—

“Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise,Ulysses, hold thy hand; restrain the rageOf deadly combat, lest the god who wieldsThe thunder, Saturn’s son, be wroth with thee.”

She spake, and gladly he obeyed; and thenPallas, the child of aegis-bearing Jove,Plighted, in Mentor’s form with Mentor’s voice,A covenant of peace between the foes.