For fire to rage Telemachus’ breast,
From him some bribe thy venal tongue requires,
And interest, not the god, thy voice inspires. 
His guideless youth, if thy experienced age
Mislead fallacious into idle rage,
Vengeance deserved thy malice shall repress. 
And but augment the wrongs thou would’st redress,
Telemachus may bid the queen repair
To great Icarius, whose paternal care
Will guide her passion, and reward her choice
With wealthy dower, and bridal gifts of price. 
Till she retires, determined we remain,
And both the prince and augur threat in vain: 
His pride of words, and thy wild dream of fate,
Move not the brave, or only move their hate,
Threat on, O prince! elude the bridal day. 
Threat on, till all thy stores in waste decay. 
True, Greece affords a train of lovely dames,
In wealth and beauty worthy of our flames: 
But never from this nobler suit we cease;
For wealth and beauty less than virtue please.”

To whom the youth:  “Since then in vain I tell
My numerous woes, in silence let them dwell. 
But Heaven, and all the Greeks, have heard my wrongs;
To Heaven, and all the Greeks, redress belongs;
Yet this I ask (nor be it ask’d in vain),
A bark to waft me o’er the rolling main,
The realms of Pyle and Sparta to explore,
And seek my royal sire from shore to shore;
If, or to fame his doubtful fate be known,
Or to be learn’d from oracles alone,
If yet he lives, with patience I forbear,
Till the fleet hours restore the circling year;
But if already wandering in the train
Of empty shades, I measure back the main,
Plant the fair column o’er the mighty dead,
And yield his consort to the nuptial bed.”

He ceased; and while abash’d the peers attend,
Mentor arose, Ulysses’ faithful friend: 
(When fierce in arms he sought the scenes of war,
“My friend (he cried), my palace be thy care;
Years roll’d on years my godlike sire decay,
Guard thou his age, and his behests obey.”)
Stern as he rose, he cast his eyes around,
That flash’d with rage; and as spoke, he frown’d,

“O never, never more let king be just,
Be mild in power, or faithful to his trust! 
Let tyrants govern with an iron rod,
Oppress, destroy, and be the scourge of God;
Since he who like a father held his reign,
So soon forgot, was just and mild in vain! 
True, while my friend is grieved, his griefs I share;
Yet now the rivals are my smallest care: 
They for the mighty mischiefs they devise,
Ere long shall pay—­their forfeit lives the price. 
But against you, ye Greeks! ye coward train! 
Gods! how my soul is moved with just disdain! 
Dumb ye all stand, and not one tongue affords
His injured prince the little aid of words.”