PENELOPE
to
ULYSSES
.
Paraphras'd
from
OVID
.
THESE
Lines
I
send
,
impatient
of
your
Stay
,
To
you
,
my
Lord
,
who
kill
me
with
Delay
;
Yet
crave
not
any
Answer
back
,
beside
Yourself
,
the
best
of
Answers
to
your
Bride
.
Sure
Troy
,
so
hateful
to
the
Grecian
Dames
,
Is
ruin'd
now
,
with
dire
,
consuming
Flames
;
Tho'
scarcely
Troy
,
nor
all
her
King
could
boast
,
Was
worth
the
Trouble
,
which
her
Ruin
cost
.
O
!
had
lewd
PARIS
sunk
beneath
the
Tide
,
When
,
o'er
the
Seas
,
he
sought
the
Spartan
Bride
;
I
had
not
then
accus'd
the
ling'ring
Day
,
Nor
weav'd
,
to
charm
the
tedious
Night
away
;
Nor
in
the
Bed
,
deserted
and
forlorn
,
Lain
weeping
,
cold
and
comfortless
,
till
Morn
.
WHENE'ER
of
Dangers
in
your
Camp
I
heard
,
Those
Dangers
threaten'd
you
,
I
always
fear'd
:
For
Love
,
like
mine
,
no
cold
Indiff'rence
bears
;
It
feeds
on
tim'rous
Thoughts
,
and
anxious
Cares
.
I
fansy'd
,
furious
Trojans
round
thee
came
;
And
trembling
,
ever
dreaded
HECTOR's
Name
:
If
any
said
,
ANTILOCHUS
was
slain
,
ANTILOCHUS
was
he
who
caus'd
my
Pain
:
Or
,
if
in
borrow'd
Arms
PATROCLUS
bled
,
I
wept
,
because
his
Craft
no
better
sped
:
When
Rhodian
Blood
had
bath'd
the
Lycian
Spear
,
The
Rhodian
Tlepolemus
.
Youth
again
renew'd
my
Care
:
In
fine
,
whatever
Grecian
Chief
was
kill'd
,
My
fearful
Heart
,
like
frigid
Ice
,
was
chill'd
;
Lest
flatt'ring
Fame
my
doubtful
Ears
should
cheat
,
And
,
for
my
Lord's
,
proclaim
another's
Fate
:
But
Heav'n
,
propitious
to
my
chaste
Desire
,
Preserv'd
you
safe
,
and
Troy
consum'd
with
Fire
.
BUT
now
the
other
Grecian
Chiefs
return
,
And
on
their
smoking
Altars
Off'rings
burn
;
Their
useless
Arms
they
consecrate
to
Peace
,
And
Trojan
Spoils
the
Grecian
Temples
grace
:
Each
youthful
Bride
some
pleasing
Gift
affords
,
To
welcome
home
their
safe-returning
Lords
;
Their
safe-returning
Lords
,
in
Songs
of
Joy
,
Resound
the
vanquish'd
Fates
of
ruin'd
Troy
:
The
wond'ring
Sages
crowd
around
to
hear
,
The
trembling
Girls
admire
the
Tales
of
War
:
The
Wives
stand
list'ning
,
while
their
Husbands
tell
,
How
Greece
had
conquer'd
,
and
how
Ilion
fell
:
One
stains
a
Table
with
the
purple
Draught
,
And
shews
the
furious
Battles
,
which
you
fought
;
Paints
,
with
the
Wine
,
which
from
the
Glass
he
pours
,
Camps
,
Rivers
,
Hills
,
and
all
the
Trojan
Tow'rs
:
And
,
This
,
says
he
,
is
the
Sigean
Plain
;
And
here
the
silver
Simois
rolls
his
Train
;
There
stood
old
PRIAM's
stately
Palace
,
here
ACHILLES
pitch'd
his
Tent
,
ULYSSES
there
:
Here
mangled
HECTOR
,
dreadful
in
his
Fall
,
Affrights
the
Steeds
,
that
drag
him
round
the
Wall
.
Your
Son
,
who
sent
by
me
to
NESTOR's
Court
,
To
seek
his
Father
,
brought
me
this
Report
From
NESTOR's
Mouth
,
and
how
the
Thracian
Lord
,
In
Sleep
,
became
a
Victim
to
your
Sword
;
How
DOLON
fell
into
your
crafty
Snare
—
But
,
O
!
ULYSSES
,
you
too
boldly
dare
;
Too
fearless
,
thro'
the
Camp
of
Foes
you
rove
,
Mindful
of
Wiles
,
forgetful
of
your
Love
;
Slaying
so
many
in
the
gloomy
Night
,
One
Friend
alone
,
to
aid
you
in
the
Fight
.
It
was
not
thus
you
rashly
us'd
to
go
Among
the
midnight
Terrors
of
the
Foe
;
Fondly
of
me
you
formerly
have
thought
,
With
Prudence
acted
,
and
with
Caution
fought
.
Heav'n
knows
,
with
Fear
my
trembling
Bosom
beat
,
To
hear
my
Son
your
daring
Deeds
relate
;
Till
told
how
you
victoriously
return'd
,
Safe
,
to
your
Camp
,
with
Thracian
Spoils
adorn'd
.
BUT
what
avails
it
me
,
your
Arms
have
thrown
Troy's
stately
Walls
,
and
lofty
Turrets
down
?
As
when
they
stood
,
if
I
am
robb'd
of
thee
,
Troy's
fall'n
to
others
,
standing
still
to
me
;
To
others
,
who
,
with
captive
Oxen
,
toil
To
turn
the
Glebe
,
and
till
the
Trojan
Soil
;
And
while
,
with
crooked
Ploughs
,
they
discompose
Th'ill-bury'd
Ashes
of
their
slaughter'd
Foes
;
While
Phrygian
Fields
,
grown
fat
with
native
Blood
,
Bear
fruitful
Crops
,
where
stately
Ilion
stood
;
While
verdant
Harvests
hide
their
ruin'd
Wall
,
I
mourn
my
absent
Lord
,
who
wrought
its
Fall
;
Nor
can
I
know
the
Land
,
where
you
reside
,
Nor
who
,
nor
what
detains
you
from
your
Bride
.
WHATEVER
Sailers
on
our
Coast
appear
,
(
Hopeful
to
find
some
Tidings
of
my
Dear
)
I
fly
to
them
,
and
ask
'em
o'er
and
o'er
,
If
e'er
they
saw
you
on
some
foreign
Shore
?
Then
to
their
Hands
a
Letter
I
impart
,
To
give
it
you
,
the
Partner
of
my
Heart
;
If
Chance
,
or
Destiny
should
ever
prove
So
kind
to
lead
them
to
my
absent
Love
.
WE
sought
for
you
at
ancient
NESTOR's
Court
;
But
sought
in
vain
,
we
heard
no
true
Report
:
We
sent
to
ask
the
Spartans
too
;
but
they
Knew
not
the
Climate
,
where
you
,
ling'ring
,
stay
.
O
!
had
APOLLO
sav'd
his
sacred
Town
—
Ye
Gods
!
why
did
I
ever
wish
it
down
?
If
that
were
standing
,
and
ULYSSES
there
,
I
nothing
,
but
the
Chance
of
War
,
should
fear
:
I
should
not
then
be
singly
curst
to
cry
;
Others
would
fear
the
War
,
no
less
than
I
.
But
now
a
thousand
Whimsies
feed
my
Care
,
Nor
know
I
what
to
hope
,
or
what
to
fear
;
Yet
fearing
all
,
that
Fancy
can
suggest
,
Unnumber'd
Troubles
rack
my
anxious
Breast
:
Upon
the
Land
whatever
Dangers
reign
,
I
fear
those
Dangers
make
you
there
remain
;
Upon
the
Seas
whatever
Storms
increase
,
I
fear
those
Storms
detain
you
on
the
Seas
.
While
thus
my
foolish
Thoughts
uncertain
rove
,
Perhaps
you
revel
with
a
foreign
Love
;
Perhaps
you
ridicule
your
Bride
at
home
,
Tell
how
she
spins
,
or
drudges
in
the
Loom
:
Suspicious
Thoughts
!
that
vex
my
jealous
Mind
,
Begone
,
and
vanish
into
empty
Wind
!
If
cruel
Fate
did
not
obstruct
the
Way
,
My
Lord
would
never
make
so
long
Delay
.
Your
long
Delay
my
Father
often
blames
,
And
often
chides
me
for
my
constant
Flames
:
My
constant
Flames
shall
ever
true
remain
;
Let
Fathers
chide
,
and
Suiters
court
in
vain
.
At
length
my
Sire
,
who
finds
he
can't
remove
My
Faith
from
you
,
nor
shake
my
settled
Love
,
Remits
his
Anger
,
soften'd
with
my
Pray'rs
;
Yet
still
a
Crowd
of
Suiters
teaze
my
Ears
;
From
various
Realms
they
come
to
seek
your
Crown
,
And
feast
,
and
reign
securely
in
your
Throne
:
'Twould
tire
me
ev'n
to
count
their
Number
o'er
,
MEDON
,
PISANDER
,
and
a
hundred
more
!
All
bent
on
Love
,
and
Robbers
of
the
State
,
And
All
,
by
your
pernicious
Absence
,
great
!
To
crown
your
Shame
,
the
Beggar
IRUS
preys
Upon
your
Sheep
,
and
all
the
fattest
slays
:
And
ev'n
your
Shepherd
,
faithless
to
his
Lord
,
Slaughters
your
Lambs
,
to
grace
the
Suiter's
Board
:
Nor
have
we
Strength
,
their
Rapine
to
oppose
;
For
how
can
Three
resist
so
many
Foes
?
Your
feeble
Wife
,
your
Father
worn
with
Age
,
Your
tender
Son
,
too
weak
to
check
their
Rage
;
For
whom
they
lately
crafty
Ambush
laid
,
And
menac'd
Death
on
his
devoted
Head
;
When
,
mocking
all
their
Stratagems
,
he
crost
The
Seas
,
to
seek
you
on
the
Pylian
Coast
.
O
!
may
the
Gods
extend
his
vital
Date
,
And
guard
his
Life
,
till
ours
submit
to
Fate
:
So
may
he
close
our
Eyes
with
decent
Care
;
Such
is
your
Servant's
,
such
his
Nurse's
Pray'r
.
SINCE
then
your
aged
Father
,
feeble
grown
,
Amidst
your
Foes
,
cannot
defend
your
Crown
;
Your
Wife
,
too
weak
to
chase
the
Foes
away
,
Your
Son
,
too
young
to
bear
the
Regal
Sway
;
Haste
,
haste
,
ULYSSES
,
to
your
Royal
Seat
;
For
you
alone
can
cure
our
troubled
State
:
Think
of
your
Son
,
who
wants
you
to
inspire
His
Soul
with
all
the
Virtues
of
his
Sire
:
Think
,
on
the
Brink
of
Fate
your
Father
lies
:
Return
,
my
Lord
,
return
and
close
his
Eyes
:
Think
of
your
faithful
Wife
,
whose
youthful
Face
,
At
your
Departure
,
blush'd
with
blooming
Grace
:
But
now
I
blush
with
blooming
Grace
no
more
;
Tears
,
for
your
Absence
,
cloud
my
Beauty
o'er
.
O
!
may
you
soon
return
,
before
I
prove
An
ancient
Dame
,
unworthy
of
your
Love
.