The Daily Odyssey: November 17
Swift as he spoke, he drew his traitor sword,
And like a lion rush’d against his lord:
The wary chief the rushing foe repress’d,
Who met the point and forced it in his breast:
His falling hand deserts the lifted sword,
And prone he falls extended o’er the board!
Before him wide, in mix’d effusion roll
The untasted viands, and the jovial bowl.
Full through his liver pass’d the mortal wound,
With dying rage his forehead beats the ground;
He spurn’d the seat with fury as he fell,
And the fierce soul to darkness dived, and hell.
Next bold Amphinomus his arm extends
To force the pass; the godlike man defends.
Thy spear, Telemachus, prevents the attack,
The brazen weapon driving through his back.
Thence through his breast its bloody passage tore;
Flat falls he thundering on the marble floor,
And his crush’d forehead marks the stone with gore.
He left his javelin in the dead, for fear
The long encumbrance of the weighty spear
To the fierce foe advantage might afford,
To rush between and use the shorten’d sword.
With speedy ardour to his sire he flies,
And, “Arm, great father! arm (in haste he cries).
Lo, hence I run for other arms to wield,
For missive javelins, and for helm and shield;
Fast by our side let either faithful swain
In arms attend us, and their part sustain.”