Athena answered, "Do not try to
keep me, for I would be on my way at once. As for any present you may
be disposed to make me, keep it till I come again, and I will take it
home with me. You shall give me a very good one, and I will give you
one of no less value in return."
With these words she flew away
like a bird into the air, but she had given Telemakhos courage, and
had made him think more than ever about his father. He felt the
change, wondered at it, and knew that the stranger had been a god, so
he went straight to where the suitors were sitting.
Phemios was still singing, and
his hearers sat rapt in silence as he told the baneful tale of the
homecoming [nostos] from Troy, and the ills Athena had
laid upon the Achaeans. Penelope, daughter of Ikarios, heard his song
from her room upstairs, and came down by the great staircase, not
alone, but attended by two of her handmaids. When she reached the
suitors she stood by one of the bearing posts that supported the roof
of the cloisters with a staid maiden on either side of her. She held
a veil, moreover, before her face, and was weeping
bitterly.
"Phemios," she cried, "you know
many another feat of gods and heroes, such as poets love to
celebrate. Sing the suitors some one of these, and let them drink
their wine in silence, but cease this sad tale, for it breaks my
sorrowful heart, and reminds me of my lost husband for whom I have
grief [penthos] ever without ceasing, and whose name
[kleos] was great over all Hellas and middle
Argos."
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