But he, deep-musing, o’er the mountains stray’d
Through mazy thickets of the woodland shade,
And cavern’d ways, the shaggy coast along
With cliffs and nodding forests overhung. 
Eumaeus at his sylvan lodge he sought,
A faithful servant, and without a fault. 
Ulysses found him busied as he sate
Before the threshold of his rustic gate;
Around the mansion in a circle shone
A rural portico of rugged stone
(In absence of his lord with honest toil
His own industrious hands had raised the pile). 
The wall was stone from neighbouring quarries borne,
Encircled with a fence of native thorn,
And strong with pales, by many a weary stroke
Of stubborn labour hewn from heart of oak: 
Frequent and thick.  Within the space were rear’d
Twelve ample cells, the lodgments of his herd. 
Full fifty pregnant females each contain’d;
The males without (a smaller race) remain’d;
Doom’d to supply the suitors’ wasteful feast,
A stock by daily luxury decreased;
Now scarce four hundred left.  These to defend,
Four savage dogs, a watchful guard, attend. 
Here sat Eumaeus, and his cares applied
To form strong buskins of well-season’d hide. 
Of four assistants who his labour share,
Three now were absent on the rural care;
The fourth drove victims to a suitor train: 
But he, of ancient faith, a simple swain,
Sigh’d, while he furnish’d the luxurious board,
And wearied Heaven with wishes for his lord.

Soon as Ulysses near the inclosure drew,
With open mouths the furious mastiffs flew: 
Down sat the sage, and cautious to withstand,
Let fall the offensive truncheon from his hand. 
Sudden, the master runs; aloud he calls;
And from his hasty hand the leather falls: 
With showers of stones he drives then far away: 
The scattering dogs around at distance bay.

“Unhappy stranger! (thus the faithful swain
Began with accent gracious and humane),
What sorrow had been mine, if at my gate
Thy reverend age had met a shameful fate! 
Enough of woes already have I known;
Enough my master’s sorrows and my own. 
While here (ungrateful task!) his herds I feed,
Ordain’d for lawless rioters to bleed! 
Perhaps, supported at another’s board! 
Far from his country roams my hapless lord;
Or sigh’d in exile forth his latest breath,
Now cover’d with the eternal shade of death!

“But enter this my homely roof, and see
Our woods not void of hospitality. 
Then tell me whence thou art, and what the share
Of woes and wanderings thou wert born to bear.”

He said, and, seconding the kind request,
With friendly step precedes his unknown guest. 
A shaggy goat’s soft hide beneath him spread,
And with fresh rushes heap’d an ample bed;
Jove touch’d the hero’s tender soul, to find
So just reception from a heart so kind: 
And “Oh, ye gods! with all your blessings grace
(He thus broke forth) this friend of human race!”