The Daily Odyssey: November 12
Now sitting as he was, the cord he drew,
Through every ringlet levelling his view:
Then notch’d the shaft, released, and gave it wing;
The whizzing arrow vanished from the string,
Sung on direct, and threaded every ring.
The solid gate its fury scarcely bounds;
Pierced through and through the solid gate resounds,
Then to the prince: “Nor have I wrought thee shame;
Nor err’d this hand unfaithful to its aim;
Nor prov’d the toil too hard; nor have I lost
That ancient vigour, once my pride and boast.
Ill I deserved these haughty peers’ disdain;
Now let them comfort their dejected train,
In sweet repast their present hour employ,
Nor wait till evening for the genial joy:
Then to the lute’s soft voice prolong the night;
Music, the banquet’s most refined delight.”
He said, then gave a nod; and at the word
Telemachus girds on his shining sword.
Fast by his father’s side he takes his stand:
The beamy javelin lightens in his hand.