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Not with Telemachus, but truth contends;
Let not the hand of violence invade
The reverend stranger, or the spotless maid;
Retire we hence, but crown with rosy wine
The flowing goblet to the powers divine!
Guard he his guest beneath whose roof he stands:
This justice, this the social rite demands."
The peers assent: the goblet Mulius crown'd
With purple juice, and bore in order round:
Each peer successive his libation pours
To the blest gods who fill'd the ethereal bowers:
Then swill'd with wine, with noise the crowds obey,
And rushing forth, tumultuous reel away.
472
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