Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/271

PENELOPE Their ships to Aulis, I would have thee go—

Presaging fame, and power, and spoils of war.

So ten years passed; meanwhile I reared thy son

To know his father's wisdom, and, apart

Among my maidens, wove the yellow wool.

But then, returning one by one, they came,—

The island princes; high-born dames of Crete

And Cephalonia saw again their lords;

Only Ulysses came not; yet the war

Was over, and his vessels, like a troop

Of cranes in file, had spread their wings for home.

More was unknown. Then many a winter's night

The servants piled great fagots, smeared with tar,

High on the palace-roof; with mine own hands

I fired the heaps, that, haply, far away

On the dark waters, might my lord take heart

And know the glory of his kingly towers.

So winter passed; and summer came and went,

And winter and another summer; then—

Alas, how many weary months and days!

But he I loved came not. Meanwhile thou knowest

Pelasgia's noblest chiefs, with kingly gifts

And pledges of dower, gathered in the halls;

But still this heart kept faithful, knowing yet

Thou wouldst return, though wrecked on alien shores.

And great Athenè often in my dreams

Shone, uttering words of cheer. But, last of all,

The people rose, swearing a king should rule,

To keep their ancient empery of the isles

Inviolate and thrifty: bade me choose

A mate, no longer dally. Then I prayed

Respite, until the web within my loom,

Of gold and purple curiously devised

For old Laertes' shroud should fall complete

From hands still faithful to his blood. Thou knowest

How like a ghost I left my couch at night, 241