the lifted bow he bore,
And quiver'd deaths, a formidable store;
Before his feet the rattling shower he threw,
And thus, terrific, to the suitor-crew:
"One venturous game this hand hath won to-day;
Another, princes! yet remains to play:
Another mark our arrow must attain.
Phoebus, assist! nor be the labor vain."
Swift as the word the parting arrow sings;
And bears thy fate, Antinous, on its wings.
Wretch that he was, of unprophetic soul!
High in his hands he rear'd the golden bowl:
E'en then to drain it lengthen'd out his breath;
Changed to the deep, the bitter draught of death!
For fate who fear'd amidst a feastful band?
And fate to numbers, by a single hand?
Full through his throat Ulysses' weapon pass'd,
And pierced his neck. He falls, and breathes his last.

Grimly announcing his second arrow will reach a different goal by
Apollo's aid, Ulysses shoots the insolent Antinous through the heart
and then begins to taunt and threaten the other suitors. Gazing wildly
around them for weapons or means of escape, these men discover how
cleverly they have been trapped. One after another now falls beneath
the arrows of Ulysses, who bids his son hasten to the storeroom and
procure arms for them both as there are not arrows enough to dispose
of his foes. Through Telemachus' heedlessness in leaving the doors
open, the suitors contrive to secure weapons too, and the fight in the
hall rages until they all have been slain. Then the doors are thrown
open, and the faithless maids are compelled to remove the corpses and
purify the room, before they are hanged!

_Book XXIII._ The old nurse has meantime had the privilege of
announcing Ulysses' safe return to his faithful retainers, and last of
all to the sleeping Penelope. Unable to credit such tidings,--although
the nurse assures her she has seen his scar,--Penelope imagines the
suitors must have been slain by some god who has come to her rescue.
She decides, therefore, to go down and congratulate her son upon being
rid of those who preyed upon his wealth. Seeing she does not
immediately fall upon his father's neck, Telemachus hotly reproaches
her, but she rejoins she must have some proof of the stranger's
identity and is evidently repelled by his unprepossessing appearance.
Hearing this, Ulysses suggests that all present purify themselves,
don fresh garments, and partake of a feast, enlivened by the songs of
their bard. While he is attended by t