Page:The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer (IA iliadodysseyofho02home).pdf/383

Book XVI. But wear'st the semblance, now, of those in heav'n! To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. Telemachus! it is not well, my son! That thou should'st greet thy father with a face Of wild astonishment, and stand aghast. Ulysses, save myself, none comes, be sure. Such as thou seest, after ten thousand woes Which I have borne, I visit once again My native country in the twentieth year. This wonder Athenæan Pallas wrought, She cloath'd me even with what form she would, For so she can. Now poor I seem and old, Now young again, and clad in fresh attire. The Gods who dwell in yonder heav'n, with ease Dignify or debase a mortal man. So saying, he sat. Then threw Telemachus His arms around his father's neck, and wept. Desire intense of lamentation seized On both; soft murmurs utt'ring, each indulged His grief, more frequent wailing than the bird, (Eagle, or hook-nail'd vulture) from whose nest Some swain hath stol'n her yet unfeather'd young. So from their eyelids they big drops distill'd Of tend'rest grief, nor had the setting sun Cessation of their weeping seen, had not Telemachus his father thus address'd. What ship convey'd thee to thy native shore, My father! and what country boast the crew?