“Oh! would to all the deathless powers on high,
Pallas and Jove, and him who gilds the sky! 
(Replied the king elated with his praise)
My strength were still, as once in better days: 
When the bold Cephalens the leaguer form’d. 
And proud Nericus trembled as I storm’d. 
Such were I now, not absent from your deed
When the last sun beheld the suitors bleed,
This arm had aided yours, this hand bestrown
Our shores with death, and push’d the slaughter on;
Nor had the sire been separate from the son.”

They communed thus; while homeward bent their way
The swains, fatigued with labours of the day: 
Dolius, the first, the venerable man;
And next his sons, a long succeeding train. 
For due refection to the bower they came,
Call’d by the careful old Sicilian dame,
Who nursed the children, and now tends the sire,
They see their lord, they gaze, and they admire. 
On chairs and beds in order seated round,
They share the gladsome board; the roofs resound,
While thus Ulysses to his ancient friend: 
“Forbear your wonder, and the feast attend: 
The rites have waited long.”  The chief commands
Their love in vain; old Dolius spreads his hands,
Springs to his master with a warm embrace,
And fastens kisses on his hands and face;
Then thus broke out:  “O long, O daily mourn’d! 
Beyond our hopes, and to our wish return’d! 
Conducted sure by Heaven! for Heaven alone
Could work this wonder:  welcome to thy own! 
And joys and happiness attend thy throne! 
Who knows thy bless’d, thy wish’d return? oh say,
To the chaste queen shall we the news convey? 
Or hears she, and with blessings loads the day?”

“Dismiss that care, for to the royal bride
Already is it known” (the king replied,
And straight resumed his seat); while round him bows
Each faithful youth, and breathes out ardent vows: 
Then all beneath their father take their place,
Rank’d by their ages, and the banquet grace.

Now flying Fame the swift report had spread
Through all the city, of the suitors dead,
In throngs they rise, and to the palace crowd;
Their sighs were many and the tumult loud. 
Weeping they bear the mangled heaps of slain;
Inhume the natives in their native plain,
The rest in ships are wafted o’er the main. 
Then sad in council all the seniors sate,
Frequent and full, assembled to debate: 
Amid the circle first Eupithes rose,
Big was his eye with tears, his heart with woes: 
The bold Antinous was his age’s pride,
The first who by Ulysses’ arrow died. 
Down his wan cheek the trickling torrent ran,
As mixing words with sighs he thus began: