cloak
His cov'ring, and the fleeces, them he placed
Together on a throne within the hall,
But bore the bull's-hide forth into the air.
Then, lifting high his hands to Jove, he pray'd.
Eternal Sire! if over moist and dry
Ye have with good-will sped me to my home
After much suff'ring, grant me from the lips
Of some domestic now awake, to hear 120
Words of propitious omen, and thyself
Vouchsafe me still some other sign abroad.
Such pray'r he made, and Jove omniscient heard.
Sudden he thunder'd from the radiant heights
Olympian; glad, Ulysses heard the sound.
A woman, next, a labourer at the mill
Hard by, where all the palace-mills were wrought,
Gave him the omen of propitious sound.
Twelve maidens, day by day, toil'd at the mills,
Meal grinding, some, of barley, some, of wheat, 130
Marrow of man.[90] The rest (their portion ground)
All slept; she only from her task as yet
Ceas'd not, for she was feeblest of them all;
She rested on her mill, and thus pronounced
The happy omen by her Lord desired.
Jove, Father, Governor of heav'n and earth!
Loud thou hast thunder'd from the starry skies
By no cloud veil'd; a sign propitious, giv'n
To whom I know not; but oh grant the pray'r
Of a poor bond-woman! appoint their feast 140
This day, the last that in Ulysses' house
The suitors shall enjoy, for whom I drudge,
With aching heart and trembling knees their meal
Grinding continual. Feast they here no more!
She ended, and the list'ning Chief received
With equal joy both signs; for well he hoped
That he should punish soon those guilty men.
And now the other maidens in the hall
Assembling, kindled on the hearth again
Th' unwearied blaze; then, godlike from his couch 150
Arose Telemachus, and, fresh-attired,
Athwart his shoulders his bright faulchion slung,
Bound his fair sandals to his feet, and took
His sturdy spear pointed with glitt'ring brass;
Advancing to the portal, there he stood,
And Euryclea thus, his nurse, bespake.
Nurse! have ye with respectful notice serv'd
Our guest? or hath he found a sordid couch
E'en where he might? for, prudent though she be,
My mother, inattentive oft, the worse 160
Treats kindly,