Thus had their joy wept down the setting sun,
But first the wise man ceased, and thus begun: 
“Enough—­on other cares your thought employ,
For danger waits on all untimely joy. 
Full many foes and fierce, observe us near;
Some may betray, and yonder walls may hear. 
Re-enter then, not all at once, but stay
Some moments you, and let me lead the way. 
To me, neglected as I am I know
The haughty suitors will deny the bow;
But thou, Eumaeus, as ’tis borne away,
Thy master’s weapon to his hand convey. 
At every portal let some matron wait,
And each lock fast the well-compacted gate: 
Close let them keep, whate’er invades their ear;
Though arms, or shouts, or dying groans they hear. 
To thy strict charge, Philaetius, we consign
The court’s main gate:  to guard that pass be thine.”

This said, he first return’d; the faithful swains
At distance follow, as their king ordains. 
Before the flame Eurymachus now stands,
And turns the bow, and chafes it with his hands
Still the tough bow unmoved.  The lofty man
Sigh’d from his mighty soul, and thus began: 

“I mourn the common cause:  for, oh, my friends,
On me, on all, what grief, what shame attends! 
Not the lost nuptials can affect me more
(For Greece has beauteous dames on every shore),
But baffled thus! confess’d so far below
Ulysses’ strength, as not to bend his bow! 
How shall all ages our attempt deride! 
Our weakness scorn!” Antinous thus replied: 

“Not so, Eurymachus:  that no man draws
The wondrous bow, attend another cause. 
Sacred to Phoebus is the solemn day,
Which thoughtless we in games would waste away: 
Till the next dawn this ill-timed strife forego,
And here leave fixed the ringlets in a row. 
Now bid the sewer approach, and let us join
In due libations, and in rites divine,
So end our night:  before the day shall spring,
The choicest offerings let Melanthius bring: 
Let then to Phoebus’ name the fatted thighs
Feed the rich smokes high curling to the skies. 
So shall the patron of these arts bestow
(For his the gift) the skill to bend the bow.”

They heard well pleased:  the ready heralds bring
The cleansing waters from the limpid spring: 
The goblet high with rosy wine they crown’d,
In order circling to the peers around. 
That rite complete, uprose the thoughtful man,
And thus his meditated scheme began: 

“If what I ask your noble minds approve,
Ye peers and rivals in the royal love! 
Chief, if it hurt not great Antinous’ ear
(Whose sage decision I with wonder hear),
And if Eurymachus the motion please: 
Give Heaven this day and rest the bow in peace. 
To-morrow let your arms dispute the prize,
And take it he, the favour’d of the skies! 
But, since till then this trial you delay,
Trust it one moment to my hands to-day: 
Fain would I prove, before your judging eyes,
What once I was, whom wretched you despise: 
If yet this arm its ancient force retain;
Or if my woes (a long-continued train)
And wants and insults, make me less than man.”