and be assured in heart,--the
scar the boar dealt long ago with his white tusk, when I once journeyed to
Parnassus with Autolycus's sons."

So saying, he drew aside his rags from the great scar. And when the two
beheld and understood it all, their tears burst forth; they threw their
arms round wise Ulysses, and passionately kissed his face and neck. So
likewise did Ulysses kiss their heads and hands. And daylight had gone
down upon their weeping had not Ulysses stayed their tears and said,--

"Have done with grief and wailing, or somebody in coming from the hall may
see, and tell the tale indoors. Nay, go in one by one, not all together. I
will go first, you after. And let this be agreed: the rest within, the
lordly suitors, will not allow me to receive the bow and quiver. But,
noble Eumaeus, bring the bow along the room and lay it in my hands. Then
tell the women to lock the hall's close-fitting doors; and if from their
inner room they hear a moaning or a strife within our walls, let no one
venture forth, but stay in silence at her work. And noble Philoetius, in
your care I put the courtyard gates. Bolt with the bar and quickly lash
the fastening."

So saying, Ulysses made his way into the stately house, and went and took
the seat from which he first arose. And soon the serving-men of princely
Ulysses entered too.

Now Eurymachus held the bow and turned it up and down, trying to heat it
at the glowing fire. But still, with all his pains, he could not bend it;
his proud soul groaned aloud. Then bitterly he spoke; these were the words
he said,--

"Ah! here is woe for me and woe for all! Not that I so much mourn missing
the marriage, though vexed I am at that. Still, there are enough more
women of Achaia, both here in sea-girt Ithaca and in the other cities. But
if in strength we fall so short of princely Ulysses that we cannot bend
his bow--oh, the disgrace for future times to know!"

Then said Antinous, Eupeithes' son, "Not so, Eurymachus, and you yourself
know better. To-day throughout the land is the archer-god's high feast.
Who then could bend a bow? Nay, quietly lay it by; and for the axes, what
if we leave them standing? Nobody. I am sure, will carry one away and
trespass on the house of Laertes' son, Ulysses. Come then, and let the
wine-pourer give pious portions to our cups, that after a libation we may
lay aside curved bows. To-morrow morning tell Melanthius, the goatherd, to
drive us here the choicest go