The venerable bard was sent for, and was soon conducted on board. He had a dignified bearing, and commanded an involuntary reverence. His long beard was very white, and he carried in his hand a lute made of tortoise-shell. His name was Homer.
Addressing us, he said:
"O Pheacians! ye sea-kings, who explore the marvels of the earth! may the divine gods protect your ships! My eyes are dim; no longer do I discern the meadows with their pasturing herds, nor the warriors with their dazzling armour; nay, scarce can I perceive the glorious beams of day. But the Muses from their blest abode, beside the Peneus, have endowed me with the gift of harmony and song, so that wherever I may go, I celebrate the achievements both of gods and men."
I handed the old man a cup of the choicest nectar, and, with invigorated spirit, he began to sing his songs. To me their meaning was barely intelligible; but Hanno, familiar with the Hellenic tongue, was perfectly enraptured, and made the venerable minstrel a present of his mantle, which was woven of the finest wool of Helbon, and exquisitely embroidered with flowers.
"Never have I heard anything to be compared with this," exclaimed the scribe; "in spite of their ignorance of trade and navigation, these people cannot be quite the barbarians we supposed."
Hannibal, who had hitherto looked on in silence, now observed:
"Once, when I was in the city of Our in Naharan, I came across an extraordinary man, of whom this wandering poet reminds me. He was an Egyptian, travelling about, and singing songs to his own lute, just like Homer here, but he was not so old, and the remarkable thing was that he had an ape with him that used to mimic all the events about which he sung. Now when Chryseis sings her war-songs, it is pleasant to listen, although one does not understand a word; her voice is itself a charm. But this old minstrel's songs are dull; he ought, I think, to have an ape with him, to act as an interpreter of what he sings."
Hanno sneered contemptuously, and said: