Book XXIV: Conclusion

Lyrics

The souls of the suitors conducted to Hades by Mercury⁠—Agamemnon and Achilles in Hades⁠—Their meeting with the souls of the suitors, and narrative of Amphimedon⁠—Meeting and mutual recognition of Ulysses and his father in the orchard at Ithaca⁠—Insurrection of the Ithacans, with Eupeithes, the father of Antinoüs, at their head⁠—The revolt quelled, Eupeithes slain by Laertes and a lasting peace made between Ulysses and his subject. Cyllenian Hermes summoned forth the souls Of the slain suitors. In his hand he bore The beautiful golden wand, with which at will He shuts the eyes of men, or opens them From sleep. With this he guided on their way The ghostly rout; they followed, uttering A shrilly wail. As when a flock of bats, Deep in a dismal cavern, fly about And squeak, if one have fallen from the place Where, clinging to each other and the rock, They rested, so that crowd of ghosts went forth With shrill and plaintive cries. Before them moved Beneficent Hermes through those dreary ways, And past the ocean stream they went, and past Leucadia's rock, the portals of the Sun, And people of the land of dreams, until They reached the fields of asphodel, where dwell The souls, the bodiless forms of those who die. And there they found the soul of Peleus' son, His friend Patroclus, and the blameless chief Antilochus, and Ajax, who excelled In stature and in form all other Greeks Save the great son of Peleus. These were grouped Around Achilles. Then approached the ghost Of Agamemnon, Atreus' son; he seemed In sorrow, and around him others stood, Who in the palace of Aegisthus met Their fate and died. The son of Peleus took The word, and spake to Agamemnon thus:⁠— "Atrides, we had thought that Jove, who wields The thunder, favored thee, through all thy years, Beyond all other men⁠—thou didst bear rule Over so many and such valiant men Upon the plain of Troy, where we of Greece Endured such sufferings. Yet all too soon The cruel doom of death, which no man born Of woman can escape, has fallen on thee. O, if amid the honors of thy sway That doom had overtaken thee, while yet In Troy's far realm, then would the assembled Greeks Have built a tomb to thee! Thou wouldst have left A 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 chief Achilles, who didst die upon the field Of Ilium, far from Argos, while there fell Around thee many of the bravest sons Of Troy and Greece, who fought for thee, and thou Wert lying in thy mighty bulk, amid Whirlwinds of dust, forgetful evermore Of horsemanship. All that day long we fought, Nor stayed our hands till Jove, to part us, sent A hurricane. When we had borne thee thence And brought thee to the fleet, upon a bier We laid thee, pouring o'er thy shapely limbs Warm water, and anointing them with oil. Round thee the Achaians stood in tears, hot tears, And cut their hair away. From ocean's depth Thy mother, when she heard the tidings, rose With her immortal sea-nymphs. Mournfully Came 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 known For counsels ever safe, had not restrained Their haste, and thus declared his prudent thought:⁠— " 'Stay, Argives, youths of Greece; think not of flight! It is his mother; from the sea she comes To her dead son, and brings her deathless nymphs.' "He spake; his words withheld the valiant Greeks From flight. And now around thee came and stood The daughters of the Ancient of the Deep, Lamenting bitterly. Upon thy corse They put ambrosial robes. The Muses nine Bewailed thee with sweet voices, answering Each other. Then wouldst thou have seen no one Of all the Argive host with eyes unwet, The Muses' song so moved them. Seventeen days And nights we mourned thee⁠—both the immortal ones And mortals. On the eighteenth day we gave Thy body to the fire, and at the pile Slew many fatling ewes, and many an ox With crooked horns. In raiment of the gods The fire consumed thee midst anointing oils And honey. Many heroes of our host In armor and in chariots, or on foot, Contended round thy funeral pyre in games, And mighty was the din. And when at length The fires of Vulcan had consumed thy flesh, We gathered up at morning thy white bones, Achilles, pouring over them pure wine And fragrant oils. Thy mother brought a vase Of gold, which Bacchus gave, she said, the work Of Vulcan the renowned, and in it now, Illustrious son of Peleus, thy white bones Are lying, and with thine are mingled those Of dead Patroclus Menoetiades. Apart we placed the ashes of thy friend Antilochus, whom thou didst honor most After the slain Patroclus. O'er all these The sacred army of the warlike Greeks Built up a tomb magnificently vast Upon a cape of the broad Hellespont, There to be seen, far off upon the deep, By those who now are born, or shall be born In future years. Thy mother, having first Prayed to the gods, appointed noble games, Within the circus, for the Achaian chiefs. Full often have I seen the funeral rites Of heroes, when the youth, their chieftain dead, Were girded for the games, and strove to win The prizes; but I most of all admired Those which the silver-footed Thetis gave To mark thy burial, who wert loved by all The immortals. So thou hast not lost by death Thy fame, Achilles, and among the tribes Of men thy glory will be ever great; But what hath it availed me to have brought The war on Ilium to an end, since Jove Doomed me to be destroyed on my return, Slain by Aegisthus and my guilty wife?" So talked they with each other. Now approached The herald Argus-queller, bringing down The 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 birth Was from Melanthius, and by whom he once Was welcomed to his house in Ithaca; And him the son of Atreus first bespake:⁠— "Amphimedon, what sad mischance has brought You all, who seem like chosen men, and all Of equal age, into these drear abodes Beneath the earth? 'Twere hard indeed to find, In a whole city, nobler forms of men. Has Neptune wrecked you in your ships at sea With fierce winds and huge waves, or armed men Smitten you on the land, while carrying off Their beeves and sheep, or fighting to defend Your wives and city? Tell me, for I claim To have been once your guest. Rememberest thou I lodged in thy own palace when I came With godlike Menelaus, and besought Ulysses to unite his gallant fleet To ours, and sail for Troy. A whole month long Were we in crossing the wide sea, and hard We found the task to gain as our ally Ulysses, the destroyer of walled towns." The soul of dead Amphimedon replied: "Atrides Agamemnon, far renowned, And king of men, I well remember all Of which thou speakest; I will now relate, And truly, how we met our evil end. We wooed the wife of the long-absent chief Ulysses; she rejected not nor yet Granted our suit, detested as it was, But, meditating our destruction, planned This shrewd device. She laid upon the loom Within her rooms a web of delicate threads, Ample in length and breadth, and thus she said To all of us: 'Young princes, who are come To 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-chief Laertes, when his fatal hour shall come, With death's long sleep; else some Achaian dame Might blame me, should I leave without a shroud Him who in life possessed such ample wealth.' Such were her words, and easily they won Upon our generous minds. So went she on Weaving that ample web, and every night Unravelled it by torchlight. Three full years She practised thus, and by the fraud deceived The Grecian youths; but when the hours had brought The fourth year round, a woman who knew all Revealed the mystery, and we ourselves Saw her unravelling the ample web. Thenceforth constrained, and with unwilling hands, She finished it. And when at length she showed The vesture she had woven, the broad web That she had bleached to brightness like the sun's Or like the moon's, some hostile deity Brought back Ulysses to a distant nook Of his own fields, and to his swineherd's lodge. And thither also came in his black ship His son, returning from the sandy coast Of Pylos. Thence the twain, when they had planned To slay the suitors, came within the walls Of the great city; first Telemachus, And after him Ulysses, with his guide The swineherd. He was clad in sordid weeds, And seemed a wretched beggar, very old, Propped on a staff. In that disguise of rags None knew him, as he suddenly appeared, Not even the oldest of us all. Harsh words And blows we gave him. He endured them all Awhile with patience, smitten and reviled In his own palace. Moved at length by Jove, He and his son Telemachus bore off The shining weapons from the hall, to lie In a far chamber, and barred all the doors. Then, prompted by her husband's craft, the queen Proposed a game of archery, with bow And rings of hoary steel, to all of us Ill-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 us Into Ulysses' hands, we loudly chid The bearer, and forbade him, but in vain. Telemachus alone with stern command Bade him deliver it. When in his hands The much-enduring chief, Ulysses, took The bow, he drew the string with ease, and sent A shaft through all the rings. He sprang and stood Upon the threshold; at his feet he poured The winged arrows, cast a terrible glance Around him, and laid King Antinoüs dead, Then sent the fatal shafts at those who stood Before him; side by side they fell and died. Some god, we saw, was with them, as they rushed Upon us mightily, and chased us through The palace, slaying us on every side; And fearful were the groans of dying men, As skulls were cloven, and the pavement swam With blood. Such, Agamemnon, was the fate By which we perished. Now our bodies lie Neglected at the palace; for not yet Our kindred, dwelling in our homes, have heard The tidings, nor have come to cleanse our wounds From the dark blood, and lay us on the bier With 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 might And valor dost possess thy wife again. And nobly minded is thy blameless queen, The daughter of Icarius, faithfully Remembering him to whom she gave her troth While yet a virgin. Never shall the fame Of his great valor perish, and the gods Themselves shall frame, for those who dwell on earth, Sweet strains in praise of sage Penelope. Not such was she who treacherously slew The husband of her youth⁠—she of the house Of Tyndarus. Her name among mankind Shall be the hateful burden of a song; And great is the dishonor it has brought On women, even the faithful and the good." So talked they with each other, standing there In Pluto's realm beneath the vaulted earth. Meantime Ulysses, hastening from the town, Came to the fair fields of Laertes, tilled With care. Laertes, after years of toil, Acquired them. There his dwelling stood; a shed Encircled it, where ate and sat and slept The servants of the household, who fulfilled His slightest wish. An old Sicilian dame Was 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 speed Slay for our feast the fattest of the swine. I go to prove my father; I would learn Whether 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 passed Into the fruitful orchard, there to prove His father. Going down and far within The 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, around A newly planted tree, Ulysses saw His father only, sordidly arrayed In a coarse tunic, patched and soiled. He wore Patched greaves of bullock's hide upon his thighs, A fence against the thorns; and on his hands gloves, to protect them from the prickly stems Of bramble; and upon his head a cap Of goatskin. There he brooded o'er his grief. Him when the much-enduring chief beheld, Wasted with age and sorrow-worn, he stopped Beside a lofty pear-tree's stem and wept, And pondered whether he should kiss and clasp His 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 drew Near 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 skill In tending this fair orchard, which thy care Keeps flourishing; no growth is there of fig, Vine, pear, or olive, or of plants that grow In borders, that has missed thy friendly hand. Yet let me say, and be thou not displeased, Thou art ill cared for, burdened as thou art With years, and squalid, and in mean attire. It cannot be that for thy idleness Thy master treats thee thus; nor is there seen Aught servile in thy aspect⁠—in thy face Or stature; thou art rather like a king; Thou seemest one who should enjoy the bath And banquet, and lie soft⁠—for this befits Old men like thee. Now say, and tell me true, Who may thy master be? whose orchard this Which thou dost tend? And, more than this, declare, For much I long to know, if I am come To Ithaca, as I just now was told By one who met me as I came⁠—a man Not overwise, who would not stop to tell What I desired to learn, nor bear to hear My questions, when I asked him if a guest Of mine were living yet in health, or dead And in the realm of Pluto. Let me speak Of him, and mark me well, I pray; I lodged Once, in my native land, a man who came Into my house, and never stranger yet More welcome was than he. He was by birth Of Ithaca, he said, Laertes' son, And grandson of Arcesias. Him I led Beneath 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 cup All 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 land Of which thou dost inquire, but wicked men And lawless now possess it. Thou hast given Thy generous gifts in vain; yet hadst thou found Ulysses living yet in Ithaca, Then would he have dismissed thee recompensed With gifts and liberal cheer, as is the due Of him who once has been our host. Yet say, And truly say, how many years have passed Since thou didst lodge my son, if he it was, Thy hapless guest, whom, far away from home And all his friends, the creatures of the deep, And the foul birds of air, and beasts of prey, Already have devoured. No mother mourned His death and wrapped him in his shroud, nor I, His father; nor did chaste Penelope, His consort nobly dowered, bewail the man She loved upon his bier with eyes dissolved In tears, as fitting was⁠—an honor due To those who die. Now, further, truly tell, For I would learn, what is thy name, and whence Thou comest, from what tribe, thy city where, And who thy parents. Where is the good ship At 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 come From Alybas; a stately dwelling there Is mine, Apheidas is my father, son Of royal Polypemon, and my name Eperitus. Some deity has warped My course astray from the Sicanian coast, And brought me hitherward against my will. My barque lies yonder, stationed by the field Far from the city. This is the fifth year Since parting with me thy Ulysses left My native land for his, ill-fated man! Yet there were flights of birds upon the right Of happy presage as he sailed, and I Dismissed him cheerfully, and cheerfully He went. We hoped that we might yet become Each other's guests, exchanging princely gifts." He spake, and a dark cloud of sorrow came Over Laertes. With both hands he grasped The yellow dust, and over his white head Shed it with piteous groans. Ulysses felt His heart within him melted; the hot breath Rushed through his nostrils as he looked upon His well-beloved father, and he sprang And kissed and clasped him in his arms, and said:⁠— "Nay, I am he, my father; I myself Am he of whom thou askest. I am come To mine own country in the twentieth year. But calm thyself, refrain from tears, and grieve No 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 scar Which once the white tusk of a forest boar Inflicted on Parnassus, when I made The journey thither, by thy own command, And by my gracious mother's, to receive Gifts which her father, King Autolycus, Once promised, when he came to Ithaca. And listen to me further; let me name The trees which in thy well-tilled orchard grounds Thou 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 engage To give me fifty rows of vines, each row Of growth to feed the winepress. Grapes are there Of every flavor when the hours of Jove Shall nurse them into ripeness from on high." He spake; a trembling seized the old man's heart And knees, as he perceived how true were all The tokens which Ulysses gave. He threw Round his dear son his arms. The hardy chief, Ulysses, drew him fainting to his heart. But when the old man's strength revived, and calm Came o'er his spirit, thus he spake again:⁠— "O father Jove, assuredly the gods Dwell on the Olympian height, since we behold The arrogant suitors punished for their crimes. Yet much I fear lest all the Ithacans Throng hither, and send messages to rouse Against us all the Cephallenian states." Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: "Take courage; let no thought like that disturb Thy mind; but let us hasten to the house. Telemachus is there, with whom I sent The herdsman and the swineherd, bidding them Make ready with all speed our evening meal." Thus talked the twain, and toward the dwelling took Their way, and entering the commodious rooms They found Telemachus, and by his side The herdsman and the keeper of the swine, Dividing for the feast the plenteous meats, And mingling the dark wine. Then to the bath Came the Sicilian dame, and ministered To the large-souled Laertes, and with oil Anointed him, and wrapped a sumptuous cloak About him. Pallas gave the monarch's limbs An ampler roundness; taller to the sight He stood, and statelier. As he left the bath, His son beheld with wonder in his eyes, So like a god Laertes seemed, and thus Ulysses said to him in winged words:⁠— "Someone among the ever-living gods Hath surely shed, O father, on thy form And aspect all this grace and majesty." The sage Laertes answered: "Father Jove, And Pallas and Apollo! would that I Were now as when I took the citadel Of Nericus, the strongly built, beside The seashore of Epirus, leading on My Cephallenians! With such strength as then, Armed for the fray, I would have met and fought The 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 all Ceased from their task, and saw their meal prepared, They sat them down in order on the thrones And seats, and each put forth his hand and shared The banquet. Now approached an aged man, Dolius, attended by his sons, who came Weary with toil, for the Sicilian dame, The nurse who reared them, went and summoned them⁠— She who in his late age with faithful care Cherished the father. These, when at the board They saw Ulysses, and knew who he was, Stopped in the hall astonished. Instantly Ulysses called to them with friendly words:⁠— "Sit at the board, old man; let none of you Give 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 arms And seized Ulysses by the hand, and kissed The wrist; and thus in winged words he spake:⁠— "Dear master! since thou art returned to us, Who longed and yet expected not to see Thy face again⁠—since some divinity Has led thee hither⁠—hail! and great may be Thy happiness, and may the gods bestow All blessings on thee! But declare, for I Would gladly know, if sage Penelope Have 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 seat Sat down, but round the great Ulysses came His sons, and welcomed him with loving words, And hung upon his hand, and then they took Their places by their father. So they sat Beneath Laertes' roof, and banqueted. Now through the city meantime swiftly ran The rumor that the suitors all had met A bloody death. No sooner had men heard The tidings than they came with cries and moans Before the palace, moving to and fro. Each carried forth his dead, and gave to each His funeral rites, except to those who came From distant cities; these they put on board Swift-sailing galleys of the fishermen, That they might bear them home. And then they came Sorrowing together in the marketplace. There, when the assembly now was full, arose Eupeithes and addressed them. In his heart Was sorrow, that could never be consoled, For his slain son Antinoüs, who was first To fall before Ulysses. Weeping rose The father, and harangued the assembly thus:⁠— "Great things, indeed, my friends, hath this man done For us Achaians. Many valiant men He gathered in his ships and led abroad, And lost his gallant ships, and lost his men And now, returning, he has put to death The best of all the Cephallenian race. Come, then, and ere he find a safe retreat In Pylos, or in hallowed Elis, where The Epeians rule, pursue him; endless shame Will be our portion else, and they who live In future years will hear of our disgrace. If we avenge not on these men of blood The murder of our sons and brothers, life Will not be sweet to me, and I would go At once, and gladly, down among the dead. Rise, then, and fall upon them ere they flee." So spake he, weeping; and the Greeks were moved With pity as they heard him. Now appeared The herald Medon and the sacred bard, As, rising from the sleep of night, they left The palace of Ulysses. They stood forth Amid the multitude, who all beheld With wonder. Then sagacious Medon spake:⁠— "Give ear, ye men of Ithaca, and know That not without the approval of the gods Ulysses hath done this. I saw, myself, One of the immortals taking part with him, In all things like to Mentor. Now the god Standing before Ulysses strengthened him For combat, and now drove the routed band Of suitors through the hall; in heaps they fell." He spake, and all who heard were pale with fear. The aged hero, Halitherses, son Of Mastor, then came forward; he alone Knew 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 obey When Mentor, shepherd of the people, spake. On the mad doings of your sons ye put No curb, nor checked the guilty insolence That dared to waste the substance and insult The consort of a man of eminent worth, Who, so they thought, would nevermore return. Now be it as I counsel; let us not Go forth to draw down evil on our heads." He spake; but more than half the assembly rushed Abroad with shouts; the others kept their place Together. Ill the augur's speech had pleased The most. Eupeithes had persuaded them. They flew to arms, and when they had put on The glittering brass, they mustered in close ranks Before the spacious city. At their head Eupeithes led them on, who madly deemed Himself the avenger of his slaughtered son. Yet he from that encounter nevermore Was 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 heart Yet unrevealed. Shall there be cruel war And deadly combats, or wilt thou ordain That these shall henceforth dwell in amity?" And cloud-compelling Jove made answer thus: "My child, why ask me? Was it not with thee A cherished purpose, that, returning home, Ulysses amply should avenge himself Upon the suitors? Do, then, as thou wilt. Yet this, as the most fitting, I advise. Now that the great Ulysses has avenged His wrongs, let there be made a faithful league With oaths, and let Ulysses ever reign; And we will cause the living to forget Their sons and brothers slain, and all shall dwell In 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 plunged Down 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 word Went forth, and, coming to the threshold, stopped. He saw them all at hand, and instantly Bespake 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 six The sons of Dolius. Old Laertes then, And Dolius, put on armor with the rest, Gray-headed as they were, for now their aid Was needed. When they all had clad themselves In shining brass, they threw the portals wide And sallied forth, Ulysses at their head. Now Pallas, daughter of almighty Jove, Drew near them. She had taken Mentor's form And Mentor's voice. The much-enduring chief, Ulysses, saw her and rejoiced, and said To his beloved son, Telemachus:⁠— "Now wilt thou, of thyself, Telemachus, Bethink thee, when thou minglest in the fray That tries men's valor, not to cast disgrace Upon thy forefathers⁠—a race renowned For manly daring over all the earth." And thus discreet Telemachus replied: "Nay, if thou wilt, my father, thou shalt see That 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 son And grandson rivals on the battlefield." And then the blue-eyed Pallas, drawing near Laertes, said: "Son of Arcesias, loved By 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 frame Strength irresistible. The aged chief Prayed 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 son Forward, the foremost of their band, and smote Their foes with swords and lancet double-edged, And would have struck them down to rise no more, If Pallas, daughter of the god who bears The aegis, had not with a mighty voice Commanded all the combatants to cease:⁠— "Stay, men of Ithaca; withhold your hands From 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 dropped Their weapons all upon the earth. They fled Townward as if for life, while terribly The much-enduring chief Ulysses raised His voice, and shouted after them, and sprang Upon 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 rage Of deadly combat, lest the god who wields The thunder, Saturn's son, be wroth with thee." She spake, and gladly he obeyed; and then Pallas, the child of aegis-bearing Jove, Plighted, in Mentor's form with Mentor's voice, A covenant of peace between the foes.