His father, weeping, said:
"Stranger! The earth to which you are convey'd
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Is Ithaca; by such rude men possess'd,
Unjust and insolent, as first address'd
To your encounter; but the gifts you gave
Were given, alas! to the ungrateful grave.
If with his people, where you now arrive,
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Your fate had been to find your friend alive,
You should have found like guest-rites from his hand,
Like gifts, and kind pass to your wishèd land.
But how long since received you for your guest
Your friend, my son, who was th' unhappiest
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Of all men breathing, if he were at all?
O born when Fates and ill-aspects let fall
A cruel influence for him! Far away
From friends and country destined to allay
The sea-bred appetites, or, left ashore,
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To be by fowls and upland monsters tore,
His life's kind authors nor his wealthy wife
Bemoaning, as behoved, his parted life,
Nor closing, as in honour's course it lies
To all men dead, in bed his dying eyes.
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But give me knowledge of your name and race.
What city bred you? Where the anchoring-place
Your ship now rides at lies that shored you here?
And where your men? Or, if a passenger
In other keels you came, who (giving land
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To your adventures here, some other strand
To fetch in further course) have left to us
Your welcome presence?" His reply was thus :
"I am of Alybande, where I hold
My name's chief house, to much renown extoll'd.
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My father Aphidantes, famed to spring
From Polypemon, the Molossian king.
My name Eperitus. My taking land
On this fair isle was ruled by the command
Of God or fortune, quite against consent
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Of my free purpose, that in course was bent
For th' isle Sicania. My ship is held
Far from the city, near an ample field.
And for Ulysses, since his pass from me
'Tis now five years. Unbless'd by destiny,
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That all this time hath had the fate to err !
Though, at his parting, good birds did augur
His putting off, and on his right hand flew,
Which to his passage my affection drew,
His spirit joyful; and my hope was now
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To guest with him and see his hand bestow
Rites of our friendship." This a cloud of grief
Cast over all the forces of his life.
With both his hands the burning dust he swept
Up from the earth, which on his head he heapt,
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And fetch'd a sigh as in it life were broke.
Which grieved his son, and gave so smart a stroke
Upon his nostrils with the inward stripe,
That up the vein rose there; and weeping ripe
He was to see his sire feel such woe
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For his dissembled joy; which now let go,
He sprung from earth, embraced and kiss'd his sire,
And said: "O father! He of whom y' enquire
Am I myself, that, from you twenty years,
Is now returned. But do not break in tears,
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For now we must not forms of kind maintain,
But haste and guard the substance. I have slain
All my wife's Wooers, so revenging now
Their wrong so long time suffer'd. Take not you
The comfort of my coming then to heart
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At this glad instant, but, in proved desert
Of your grave judgment, give moan glad suspense,
And on the sudden put this consequence
In act as absolute, as all time went
To ripening of your resolute assent."
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