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　　THE BENDING OF THE BOW.

　　Penelope, weary of the importunities of the suitors, determined to end the contest by giving them the bow of Ulysses and allowing the one who could successfully send the arrow through the steel rings to become her husband. Having announced her intention, she ascended the stairs to the treasure chamber, where the bow was kept.

　　Now when the glorious lady reached the room,

　　And stood upon the threshold, wrought of oak

　　And polished by the workman's cunning hand,

　　Who stretched the line upon it, and set up

　　Its posts, and hung its shining doors, she loosed

　　With a quick touch the thong that held the ring,

　　Put in the key, and with a careful aim

　　Struck back the sounding bolts. As when a bull

　　Roars in the field, such sound the beautiful doors,

　　Struck with the key, gave forth, and instantly

　　They opened to her. Up the lofty floor

　　She stepped, where stood the coffer that contained

　　The perfumed garments. Reaching forth her hand,

　　The queen took down the bow, that hung within

　　Its shining case, and sat her down, and laid

　　The case upon her knees, and, drawing forth

　　The monarch's bow, she wept aloud. As soon

　　As that new gush of tears had ceased to fall,

　　Back to the hall she went, and that proud throng

　　Of suitors, bearing in her hand the bow

　　Unstrung, and quiver, where the arrows lay

　　Many and deadly. Her attendant maids

　　Brought also down a coffer, where were laid

　　Much brass and steel, provided by the king

　　For games like these. The glorious lady then,

　　In presence of the suitors, stood beside

　　The columns that upheld the stately roof.

　　She held a lustrous veil before her cheeks,

　　And while on either side of her a maid

　　Stood modestly, bespake the suitors thus:—

　　"Hear, noble suitors! ye who throng these halls,

　　And eat and drink from day to day, while long

　　My husband has been gone; your sole excuse

　　For all this lawlessness the claim ye make

　　That I become a bride. Come then, for now

　　A contest is proposed. I bring to you

　　The mighty bow that great Ulysses bore.

　　Whoe'er among you he may be whose hand

　　Shall bend this bow, and send through these twelve rings

　　An arrow, him I follow hence, and leave

　　This beautiful abode of my young years,

　　With all its plenty,—though its memory,

　　I think, will haunt me even in my dreams."

　　She spake, and bade the master of the swine,

　　The good Eumaeus, place the bow and rings

　　Of hoary steel before the suitor train.

　　In tears he bore the bow and laid it down.

　　The herdsman also wept to see again

　　His master's bow.

　　He (Telemachus) spake and, rising, from his shoulders took

　　The purple cloak, and laid the trenchant sword

　　Aside; and first he placed the rings of steel

　　In order, opening for them in the ground

　　A long trench by a line, and stamping close

　　The earth around them. All admired the skill

　　With which he ranged them, never having seen

　　The game before. And then he took his place

　　Upon the threshold, and essayed the bow;

　　And thrice he made the attempt, and thrice gave o'er,

　　Yet hoping still to draw the cord, and send

　　An arrow through the rings. He would have drawn

　　The bow at the fourth trial, but a nod

　　Given by his father caused him to forbear,

　　Though eager for the attempt.

　　... And then Eupeithes' son,

　　Antinoüs, to the crowd of suitors said:—

　　"Rise one by one, my friends, from right to left.

　　Begin where he begins who pours the wine."

　　So spake Antinoüs, and the rest approved.

　　Then rose Leiodes, son of Oenops, first.

　　He was their seer, and always had his seat

　　Beside the ample bowl. From deeds of wrong

　　He shrank with hatred, and was sore incensed

　　Against the suitors all. He took the bow

　　And shaft, and, going to the threshold, stood

　　And tried the bow, yet bent it not; it galled

　　His hands, for they were soft, and all unused

　　To such a task.

　　... The swineherd went

　　Forward along the hall, and, drawing near

　　The wise Ulysses, gave into his hands

　　The bow.

　　... but when the wary chief

　　Had poised and shrewdly scanned the mighty bow,

　　Then, as a singer, skilled to play the harp,

　　Stretches with ease on its new fastenings

　　A string, the twisted entrails of a sheep,

　　Made fast at either end, so easily

　　Ulysses bent that mighty bow. He took

　　And drew the cord with his right hand; it twanged

　　With a clear sound as when a swallow screams.

　　The suitors were dismayed, and all grew pale.

　　Jove in loud thunder gave a sign from heaven.

　　The much-enduring chief, Ulysses, heard

　　With joy the friendly omen, which the son

　　Of crafty Saturn sent him. He took up

　　A winged arrow, that before him lay

　　Upon a table drawn; the others still

　　Were in the quiver's womb; the Greeks were yet

　　To feel them. This he set with care against

　　The middle of the bow, and toward him drew

　　The cord and arrow-notch, just where he sat,

　　And aiming opposite, let fly the shaft.

　　He missed no ring of all; from first to last

　　The brass-tipped arrow threaded every one.

　　Then to Telemachus Ulysses said:—

　　"Telemachus, the stranger sitting here

　　Hath not disgraced thee. I have neither missed

　　The rings, nor found it hard to bend the bow;

　　Nor has my manly strength decayed, as these

　　Who seek to bring me to contempt pretend;

　　And now the hour is come when we prepare

　　A supper for the Achaians, while the day

　　Yet lasts, and after supper the delights

　　Of song and harp, which nobly grace a feast."

　　He spake, and nodded to Telemachus,

　　His well-beloved son, who girded on

　　His trenchant sword, and took in hand his spear,

　　And, armed with glittering brass for battle, came

　　And took his station by his father's seat.

　　Then did Ulysses cast his rags aside,

　　And, leaping to the threshold, took his stand

　　On its broad space, with bow and quiver filled

　　With arrows. At his feet the hero poured

　　The winged shafts, and to the suitors called:—

　　"That difficult strife is ended. Now I take

　　Another mark, which no man yet has hit.

　　Now I shall see if I attain my aim,

　　And, by the aid of Phoebus, win renown."

　　He spake; and, turning, at Antinoüs aimed

　　The bitter shaft—Antinoüs, who just then

　　Had grasped a beautiful two-eared cup of gold,

　　About to drink the wine. He little thought

　　Of wounds and death; for who, when banqueting

　　Among his fellows, could suspect that one

　　Alone against so many men would dare,

　　However bold, to plan his death, and bring

　　On him the doom of fate? Ulysses struck

　　The suitor with the arrow at the throat.

　　The point came through the tender neck behind,

　　Sideways he sank to earth; his hand let fall

　　The cup; the dark blood in a thick warm stream

　　Gushed from the nostrils of the smitten man.

　　He spurned the table with his feet, and spilled

　　The viands; bread and roasted meats were flung

　　To lie polluted on the floor. Then rose

　　The suitors in a tumult, when they saw

　　The fallen man; from all their seats they rose

　　Throughout the hall, and to the massive walls

　　Looked eagerly; there hung no buckler there,

　　No sturdy lance for them to wield. They called

　　Then to Ulysses with indignant words:—

　　"Stranger! in evil hour hast thou presumed

　　To aim at men; and thou shalt henceforth bear

　　Part in no other contest. Even now

　　Is thy destruction close to thee. Thy hand

　　Hath slain the noblest youth in Ithaca.

　　The vultures shall devour thy flesh for this."

　　So each one said; they deemed he had not slain

　　The suitor wittingly; nor did they see,

　　Blind that they were, the doom which in that hour

　　Was closing round them all. Then with a frown

　　The wise Ulysses looked on them, and said:—

　　"Dogs! ye had thought I never would come back

　　From Ilium's coast, and therefore ye devoured

　　My substance here, and offered violence

　　To my maid-servants, and pursued my wife

　　As lovers, while I lived. Ye dreaded not

　　The gods who dwell in the great heaven, nor feared

　　Vengeance hereafter from the hands of men;

　　And now destruction overhangs you all."

　　He spake, and all were pale with fear, and each

　　Looked round for some escape from death.

　　Bryant's Translation, Books XXI., XXII. National Epics