Then answered her Eurymachus, the son of Polybus, “Daughter of Icarius, heedful Penelope, we do not think the man will marry you.  Of course that could not be.  And yet we dread the talk of men and women, and fear that one of the baser sort of the Achaians say,’Men far inferior sue for a good man’s wife, and cannot bend his polished bow.  But somebody else—­a wandering beggar—­came, and easily bent the bow and sent an arrow through the steel.’  This they will say, to us a shame indeed.”

Then said to him heedful Penelope, “Eurymachus, men cannot be in honor in the land and rudely rob the household of their prince.  Why, then, count this a shame?  The stranger is right tall, and well-knit too, and calls himself the son of a good father.  Give him the polished bow, and let us see.  For this I tell you, and it shall be done:  if he shall bend it and Apollo grants his prayer, I will clothe him in a coat and tunic, goodly garments, give him a pointed spear to keep off dogs and men, a two-edged sword, and sandals for his feet, and I will send him where his heart and soul may bid him go.”

Then answered her discreet Telemachus, “My mother, no Achaian has better right than I to give or to refuse the bow to any as I will.  And out of all who rule in rocky Ithaca, or in the islands off toward grazing Elis, none may oppose my will, even if I wished to put the bows into the stranger’s hands and let him take them once for all away.  Then seek your chamber and attend to matters of your own,—­the loom, the distaff,—­and bid the women ply their tasks.  Bows are for men, for all, especially for me; for power within this house rests here.”

Amazed, she turned to her own room again, for the wise saying of her son she laid to heart.  And coming to the upper chamber with her maids, she there bewailed Ulysses, her dear husband, till on her lids clear-eyed Athene caused a sweet sleep to fall.

Meanwhile the noble swineherd, taking the curved bow, was bearing it away.  But the suitors all broke into uproar in the hall, and a rude youth would say, “Where are you carrying the curved bow, you miserable swineherd?  Crazy fool!  Soon out among the swine, away from men, swift dogs shall eat you,—­dogs you yourself have bred,—­will but Apollo and the other deathless Gods be gracious!” At these their words the bearer of the bow laid it down where he stood, frightened because the crowd within the hall cried out upon him.  But from the other side Telemachus called threatening aloud, “Nay, father!  Carry on the bow!  You cannot well heed all.  Take care, or I, a nimbler man than you, will drive you to the fields with pelting stones.  Superior in strength I am to you.  Ah, would I were as much beyond the others in the house, beyond these suitors, in my skill and strength of arm!  Then would I soon send somebody away in sorrow from my house; for men work evil here.”

He spoke, and all burst into merry laughter and laid aside their bitter anger with Telemachus.  And so the swineherd, bearing the bow along the hall, drew near to wise Ulysses and put it in his hands; then calling aside nurse Eurycleia, thus he said,—­