With these words she flew away like a bird into the air, but she
had given Telemachus 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.

Phemius was still singing, and his hearers sat rapt in silence
as he told the sad tale of the return from Troy, and the ills
Minerva had laid upon the Achaeans. Penelope, daughter of
Icarius, 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 {8} with
a staid maiden on either side of her. She held a veil, moreover,
before her face, and was weeping bitterly.

"Phemius," 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 whom I mourn ever without ceasing,
and whose name was great over all Hellas and middle Argos." {9}

"Mother," answered Telemachus, "let the bard sing what he has a
mind to; bards do not make the ills they sing of; it is Jove,
not they, who makes them, and who sends weal or woe upon mankind
according to his own good pleasure. This fellow means no harm by
singing the ill-fated return of the Danaans, for people always
applaud the latest songs most warmly. Make up your mind to it