Silent Recognition

11She spoke, and from the royal bower went down,
Uncertain whether she should stand aloof
And question there her lord, or haste to him
And clasp his hands in hers and kiss his brow.
But having passed the threshold of hewn stone,
Entering she took her seat right opposite
Odysseus, in the full glow of the fire,
Against the other wall. Odysseus sat
Beside a lofty column with his eyes
Cast down, and waiting for his highborn wife
To speak when she had seen him. Long she sat
In silence, for amazement overpowered
Her senses. Sometimes, looking in his eyes,
She saw her husband there, and then again,
Clad in those sordid weeds, she knew him not.
Then spoke Telemachus, and chid her thus: —

12“Mother, unfeeling mother! hard of heart
Are you; how else could you remain aloof?
How keep from taking, at my father’s side,
Your place, to talk with him, and question him?
No other wife could bring herself to bear
Such distance from a husband, just returned
After long hardships, in the twentieth year
Of absence, to his native land and her.
Mother! your heart is harder than a stone.”

13And thus the sage Penelope replied:
“Dear child, my faculties are overpowered
With wonder, and I cannot question him,
Nor even speak to him, nor fix my looks
Upon his face. But if it be indeed
Odysseus, and he have returned, we soon
Shall know each other; there are tokens known
To both of us, to none but him and me.”