Odyssey

Ulysses thus resolv'd the king's demands:

"Alcinous, in whom this empire stands,

You should not of so natural right disherit

Your princely feast, as take from it the spirit.

To hear a poet, that in accent brings

The Gods' breasts down, and breathes them as he sings,

Is sweet, and sacred; nor can I conceive,

In any common-weal, what more doth give

Note of the just and blessed empery,

Than to see comfort universally

Cheer up the people, when in ev'ry roof

She gives observers a most human proof

Of men's contents. To see a neighbour's feast

Adorn it through; and thereat hear the breast

Of the divine Muse; men in order set;

A wine-page waiting; tables crown'd with meat,

Set close to guests that are to use it skill'd;

The cup-boards furnish'd, and the cups still fill'd;

This shows, to my mind, most humanely fair.

Nor should you, for me, still the heav'nly air,

That stirr'd my soul so; for I love such tears

As fall from fit notes, beaten through mine ears

With repetitions of what heav'n hath done,

And break from hearty apprehensión

Of God and goodness, though they show my ill.

And therefore doth my mind excite me still,

To tell my bleeding moan; but much more now,

To serve your pleasure, that to over-flow

My tears with such cause may by sighs be driv'n,

Though ne'er so much plagued I may seem by heav'n.

And now my name; which way shall lead to all

My mis'ries after, that their sounds may fall

Through your ears also, and show (having fled

So much affliction) first, who rests his head

In your embraces, when, so far from home,

I knew not where t' obtain it resting room.

I am Ulysses Laertiades,

The fear of all the world for policies,

For which my facts as high as heav'n resound.

I dwell in Ithaca, earth's most renown'd,

All over-shadow'd with the shake-leaf hill,

Tree-fam'd Neritus; whose near confines fill

Islands a number, well-inhabited,

That under my observance taste their bread;

Dulichius, Samos, and the full-of-food

Zacynthus, likewise grac'd with store of wood.

But Ithaca, though in the seas it lie,

Yet lies she so aloft she casts her eye

Quite over all the neighbour continent;

Far northward situate, and, being lent

But little favour of the morn and sun,

With barren rocks and cliffs is over-run;

And yet of hardy youths a nurse of name;

Nor could I see a soil, where'er I came,

More sweet and wishful. Yet, from hence was I

Withheld with horror by the Deity,

Divine Calypso, in her cavy house,

Enflam'd to make me her sole lord and spouse.

Circe Ææa too, that knowing dame,

Whose veins the like affections did enflame,

Detain'd me likewise. But to neither's love

Could I be tempted; which doth well approve,

Nothing so sweet is as our country's earth,

And joy of those from whom we claim our birth.

Though roofs far richer we far off possess,

Yet, from our native, all our more is less.

To which as I contended, I will tell

The much-distress-conferring facts that fell

By Jove's divine prevention, since I set

From ruin'd Troy my first foot in retreat.

From Ilion ill winds cast me on the coast

The Cicons hold, where I employ'd mine host

For Ismarus, a city built just by

My place of landing; of which victory

Made me expugner. I depeopled it,

Slew all the men, and did their wives remit,

With much spoil taken; which we did divide,

That none might need his part. I then applied

All speed for flight; but my command therein,

Fools that they were, could no observance win

Of many soldiers, who, with spoil fed high,

Would yet fill higher, and excessively

Fell to their wine, gave slaughter on the shore

Clov'n-footed beeves and sheep in mighty store.

In mean space, Cicons did to Cicons cry,

When, of their nearest dwellers, instantly

Many and better soldiers made strong head,

That held the continent, and managéd

Their horse with high skill, on which they would fight,

When fittest cause serv'd, and again alight,

With soon seen vantage, and on foot contend.

Their concourse swift was, and had never end;

As thick and sudden 'twas, as flow'rs and leaves

Dark spring discovers, when she light receives.

And then began the bitter Fate of Jove

To alter us unhappy, which ev'n strove

To give us suff'rance. At our fleet we made

Enforcéd stand; and there did they invade

Our thrust-up forces; darts encounter'd darts,

With blows on both sides; either making parts

Good upon either, while the morning shone,

And sacred day her bright increase held on,

Though much out-match'd in number; but as soon

As Phœbus westward fell, the Cicons won

Much hand of us; six proved soldiers fell,

Of ev'ry ship, the rest they did compel!

To seek of Flight escape from Death and Fate.

Thence sad in heart we sail'd; and yet our state

Was something cheer'd, that (being o'er-match'd so much

In violent number) our retreat was such

As sav'd so many. Our dear loss the less,

That they surviv'd, so like for like success.

Yet left we not the coast, before we call'd

Home to our country-earth the souls exhal'd

Of all the friends the Cicons overcame.

Thrice call'd we on them by their sev'ral name,

And then took leave. Then from the angry North

Cloud-gath'ring Jove a dreadful storm call'd forth

Against our navy, cover'd shore and all

With gloomy vapours. Night did headlong fall

From frowning heav'n. And then hurl'd here and there

Was all our navy; the rude winds did tear

In three, in four parts, all their sails; and down

Driv'n under hatches were we, prest to drown.

Up rush'd we yet again, and with tough hand

(Two days, two nights, entoil'd) we gat near land,

Labours and sorrows eating up our minds.

The third clear day yet, to more friendly winds

We masts advanc'd, we white sails spread, and sate.

Forewinds and guides again did iterate

Our ease and home-hopes; which we clear had reach'd,

Had not, by chance, a sudden north-wind fetch'd,

With an extreme sea, quite about again

Our whole endeavours, and our course constrain

To giddy round, and with our bow'd sails greet

Dreadful Maleia, calling back our fleet

As far forth as Cythera. Nine days more

Adverse winds toss'd me; and the tenth, the shore,

Where dwelt the blossom-fed Lotophagi,

I fetch'd, fresh water took in, instantly

Fell to our food aship-board, and then sent

Two of my choice men to the continent

(Adding a third, a herald) to discover

What sort of people were the rulers over

The land next to us. Where, the first they met,

Were the Lotophagi, that made them eat

Their country-diet, and no ill intent

Hid in their hearts to them; and yet th' event

To ill converted it, for having eat

Their dainty viands, they did quite forget

(As all men else that did but taste their feast)

Both countrymen and country, nor addrest

Any return t' inform what sort of men

Made fix'd abode there, but would needs maintain

Abode themselves there, and eat that food ever.

I made out after, and was feign to sever

Th' enchanted knot by forcing their retreat;

That striv'd, and wept, and would not leave their meat

For heav'n itself. But, dragging them to fleet,

I wrapt in sure bands both their hands and feet,

And cast them under hatches, and away

Commanded all the rest without least stay,

Lest they should taste the lote too, and forget

With such strange raptures their despis'd retreat.

All then aboard, we beat the sea with oars,

And still with sad hearts sail'd by out-way shores,

Till th' out-law'd Cyclops' land we fetch'd; a race

Of proud-liv'd loiterers, that never sow,

Nor put a plant in earth, nor use a plow,

But trust in God for all things; and their earth,

Unsown, unplow'd, gives ev'ry offspring birth

That other lands have; wheat, and barley, vines

That bear in goodly grapes delicious wines;

And Jove sends show'rs for all. No councils there,

Nor councillors, nor laws; but all men bear

Their heads aloft on mountains, and those steep,

And on their tops too; and their houses keep

In vaulty caves, their households govern'd all

By each man's law, impos'd in several,

Nor wife, nor child awed, but as he thinks good,

None for another caring. But there stood

Another little isle, well stor'd with wood,

Betwixt this and the entry; neither nigh

The Cyclops' isle, nor yet far off doth lie,

Men's want it suffer'd, but the men's supplies

The goats made with their inarticulate cries.

Goats beyond number this small island breeds,

So tame, that no access disturbs their feeds,

No hunters, that the tops of mountains scale,

And rub through woods with toil, seek them at all.

Nor is the soil with flocks fed down, not plow'd,

Nor ever in it any seed was sow'd.

Nor place the neighbour Cyclops their delights

In brave vermilion-prow-deck'd ships; nor wrights

Useful, and skilful in such works as need

Perfection to those traffics that exceed

Their natural confines, to fly out and see

Cities of men, and take in mutually

The prease of others; to themselves they live,

And to their island that enough would give

A good inhabitant; and time of year

Observe to all things art could order there.

There, close upon the sea, sweet meadows spring;

That yet of fresh streams want no watering

To their soft burthens, but of special yield.

Your vines would be there; and your common field

But gentle work make for your plow, yet bear

A lofty harvest when you came to shear;

For passing fat the soil is. In it lies

A harbour so oppórtune, that no ties,

Halsers, or gables need, nor anchors cast.

Whom storms put in there are with stay embrac'd,

Or to their full wills safe, or winds aspire

To pilots' uses their more quick desire.

At entry of the haven, a silver ford

Is from a rock-impressing fountain pour'd,

All set with sable poplars. And this port

Were we arriv'd at, by the sweet resort

Of some God guiding us, for 'twas a night

So ghastly dark all port was past our sight,

Clouds hid our ships, and would not let the moon

Afford a beam to us, the whole isle won

By not an eye of ours. None thought the blore,

That then was up, shov'd waves' against the shore,

That then to an unmeasur'd height put on;

We still at sea esteem'd us, till alone

Our fleet put in itself. And then were strook

Our gather'd sails; our rest ashore we took,

And day expected. When the morn gave fire,

We rose, and walk'd, and did the isle admire;

The Nymphs, Jove's daughters, putting up a herd

Of mountain goats to us, to render cheer'd

My fellow soldiers. To our fleet we flew,

Our crooked bows took, long-pil'd darts, and drew

Ourselves in three parts out; when, by the grace

That God vouchsaf'd, we made a gainful chace.

Twelve ships we had, and ev'ry ship had nine

Fat goats allotted [it], ten only mine.

Thus all that day, ev'n till the sun was set,

We sat and feasted, pleasant wine and meat

Plenteously taking; for we had not spent

Our ruddy wine aship-board, supplement

Of large sort each man to his vessel drew,

When we the sacred city overthrew

That held the Cicons. Now then saw we near

The Cyclops' late-prais'd island, and might hear

The murmur of their sheep and goats, and see

Their smokes ascend. The sun then set, and we,

When night succeeded, took our rest ashore.

And when the world the morning's favour wore,

I call'd my friends to council, charging them

To make stay there, while I took ship and stream,

With some associates, and explor'd what men

The neighbour isle held; if of rude disdain,

Churlish and tyrannous, or minds bewray'd

Pious and hospitable. Thus much said,

I boarded, and commanded to ascend

My friends and soldiers, to put off, and lend

Way to our ship. They boarded, sat, and beat

The old sea forth, till we might see the seat

The greatest Cyclop held for his abode,

Which was a deep cave, near the common road

Of ships that touch'd there, thick with laurels spread,

Where many sheep and goats lay shadowéd;

And, near to this, a hall of torn-up stone,

High built with pines, that heav'n and earth attone,

And lofty-fronted oaks; in which kept house

A man in shape immane, and monsterous,

Fed all his flocks alone, nor would afford

Commerce with men, but had a wit abhorr'd,

His mind his body answ'ring. Nor was he

Like any man that food could possibly

Enhance so hugely, but, beheld alone,

Show'd like a steep hill's top, all overgrown

With trees and brambles; little thought had I

Of such vast objects. When, arriv'd so nigh,

Some of my lov'd friends I made stay aboard,

To guard my ship; and twelve with me I shor'd,

The choice of all. I took besides along

A goat-skin flagon of wine, black and strong,

That Maro did present, Evantheus' son,

And priest to Phœbus, who had mansión

In Thracian Ismarus (the town I took).

He gave it me, since I (with rev'rence strook

Of his grave place, his wife and children's good)

Freed all of violence. Amidst a wood,

Sacred to Phœbus, stood his house; from whence

He fetch'd me gifts of varied excellence;

Sev'n talents of fine gold; a bowl all fram'd

Of massy silver; but his gift most fam'd

Was twelve great vessels, fill'd with such rich wine

As was incorruptible and divine.

He kept it as his jewel, which none knew

But he himself, his wife, and he that drew.

It was so strong that never any fill'd

A cup, where that was but by drops instill'd,

And drunk it off, but 'twas before allay'd

With twenty parts in water; yet so sway'd

The spirit of that little, that the whole

A sacred odour breath'd about the bowl.

Had you the odour smelt and scent it cast,

It would have vex'd you to forbear the taste.

But then, the taste gain'd too, the spirit it wrought

To dare things high set-up-an-end my thought.

Of this a huge great flagon full I bore,

And, in a good large knapsack, victuals store;

And long'd to see this heap of fortitude,

That so illit'rate was and upland rude

That laws divine nor human he had learn'd.

With speed we reach'd the cavern; nor discern'd

His presence there, his flocks he fed at field.

Ent'ring his den, each thing beheld did yield

Our admiration; shelves with cheeses heap'd;

Sheds stuff'd with lambs and goats, distinctly kept,

Distinct the biggest, the more mean distinct,

Distinct the youngest. And in their precinct,

Proper and placeful, stood the troughs and pails,

In which he milk'd; and what was giv'n at meals,

Set up a creaming; in the ev'ning still

All scouring bright as dew upon the hill.

Then were my fellows instant to convey

Kids, cheeses, lambs, aship-board, and away

Sail the salt billow. I thought best not so,

But better otherwise; and first would know,

What guest-gifts he would spare me. Little knew

My friends on whom they would have prey'd. His view

Prov'd after, that his inwards were too rough

For such bold usage. We were bold enough

In what I suffer'd; which was there to stay,

Make fire and feed there, though bear none away.

There sat we, till we saw him feeding come,

And on his neck a burthen lugging home,

Most highly huge, of sere-wood, which the pile

That fed his fire supplied all supper-while.

Down by his den he threw it, and up rose

A tumult with the fall. Afraid, we close

Withdrew ourselves, while he into a cave

Of huge receipt his high-fed cattle drave,

All that he milk'd; the males he left without

His lofty roofs, that all bestrow'd about

With rams and buck-goats were. And then a rock

He lift aloft, that damm'd up to his flock

The door they enter'd; 'twas so hard to wield,

That two-and-twenty waggons, all four-wheel'd,

(Could they be loaded, and have teams that were

Proportion'd to them) could not stir it there.

Thus making sure, he kneel'd and milk'd his ewes,

And braying goats, with all a milker's dues;

Then let in all their young. Then quick did dress

His half milk up for cheese, and in a press

Of wicker press'd it; put in bowls the rest,

To drink and eat, and serve his supping feast.

All works dispatch'd thus, he began his fire;

Which blown, he saw us, and did thus inquire:

'Ho! guests! What are ye? Whence sail ye these seas?

Traffic, or rove ye, and like thieves oppress

Poor strange adventurers, exposing so

Your souls to danger, and your lives to woe?'

This utter'd he, when fear from our hearts took

The very life, to be so thunder-strook

With such a voice, and such a monster see;

But thus I answer'd: 'Erring Grecians, we

From Troy were turning homewards, but by force

Of adverse winds, in far diverted course,

Such unknown ways took, and on rude seas toss'd,

As Jove decreed, are cast upon this coast,

Of Agamemnon, famous Atreus' son,

We boast ourselves the soldiers; who hath won

Renown that reacheth heav'n, to overthrow

So great a city, and to ruin so

So many nations. Yet at thy knees lie

Our prostrate bosoms, forc'd with pray'rs to try

If any hospitable right, or boon

Of other nature, such as have been won

By laws of other houses, thou wilt give.

Rev'rence the Gods, thou great'st of all that live.

We suppliants are; and hospitable Jove

Pours wreak on all whom pray'rs want pow'r to move,

And with their plagues together will provide

That humble guests shall have their wants supplied.'

He cruelly answer'd: 'O thou fool,' said he,

To come so far, and to importune me

With any God's fear, or observéd love!

We Cyclops care not for your goat-fed Jove,

Nor other Bless'd ones; we are better far.

To Jove himself dare I bid open war,

To thee, and all thy fellows, if I please.

But tell me, where's the ship, that by the seas

Hath brought thee hither? If far off, or near,

Inform me quickly.' These his temptings were;

But I too much knew not to know his mind,

And craft with craft paid, telling him the wind

(Thrust up from sea by Him that shakes the shore)

Had dash'd our ships against his rocks, and tore

Her ribs in pieces close upon his coast,

And we from high wrack sav'd, the rest were lost.

He answer'd nothing, but rush'd in, and took

Two of my fellows up from earth, and strook

Their brains against it. Like two whelps they flew

About his shoulders, and did all embrue

The blushing earth. No mountain lion tore

Two lambs so sternly, lapp'd up all their gore

Gush'd from their torn-up bodies, limb by limb

(Trembling with life yet) ravish'd into him.

Both flesh and marrow-stufféd bones he eat,

And ev'n th' uncleanséd entrails made his meat.

We, weeping, cast our hands to heav'n, to view

A sight so horrid. Desperation flew,

With all our after lives, to instant death,

In our believ'd destruction. But when breath

The fury of his appetite had got,

Because the gulf his belly reach'd his throat,

Man's flesh, and goat's milk, laying lay'r on lay'r,

Till near chok'd up was all the pass for air,

Along his den, among'st his cattle, down

He rush'd, and streak'd him. When my mind was grown

Desp'rate to step in, draw my sword, and part

His bosom where the strings about the heart

Circle the liver, and add strength of hand.

But that rash thought, more stay'd, did countermand,

For there we all had perish'd, since it past

Our pow'rs to lift aside a log so vast,

As barr'd all outscape; and so sigh'd away

The thought all night, expecting active day.

Which come, he first of all his fire enflames,

Then milks his goats and ewes, then to their dams

Lets in their young, and, wondrous orderly,

With manly haste dispatch'd his housewif'ry.

Then to his breakfast, to which other two

Of my poor friends went; which eat, out then go

His herds and fat flocks, lightly putting by

The churlish bar, and clos'd it instantly;

For both those works with ease as much he did,

As you would ope and shut your quiver lid.

With storms of whistlings then his flock he drave

Up to the mountains; and occasion gave

For me to use my wits, which to their height

I striv'd to screw up, that a vengeance might

By some means fall from thence, and Pallas now

Afford a full ear to my neediest vow.

This then my thoughts preferr'd: A huge club lay

Close by his milk-house, which was now in way

To dry and season, being an olive-tree

Which late he fell'd, and, being green, must be

Made lighter for his manage. 'Twas so vast,

That we resembled it to some fit mast,

To serve a ship of burthen that was driv'n

With twenty oars, and had a bigness giv'n

To bear a huge sea. Full so thick, so tall,

We judg'd this club; which I, in part, hew'd small,

And cut a fathom off. The piece I gave

Amongst my soldiers, to take down, and shave;

Which done, I sharpen'd it at top, and then,

Harden'd in fire, I hid it in the den

Within a nasty dunghill reeking there,

Thick, and so moist it issued ev'rywhere.

Then made I lots cast by my friends to try

Whose fortune serv'd to dare the bor'd-out eye

Of that man-eater; and the lot did fall

On four I wish'd to make my aid of all,

And I the fifth made, chosen like the rest.

Then came the even, and he came from the feast

Of his fat cattle, drave in all; nor kept

One male abroad; if, or his memory slept

By Gods' direct will, or of purpose was

His driving in of all then, doth surpass

My comprehension. But he clos'd again

The mighty bar, milk'd, and did still maintain

All other observation as before.

His work all done, two of my soldiers more

At once he snatch'd up, and to supper went.

Then dar'd I words to him, and did present

A bowl of wine, with these words: 'Cyclop! take

A bowl of wine, from my hand, that may make

Way for the man's flesh thou hast eat, and show

What drink our ship held; which in sacred vow

I offer to thee to take ruth on me

In my dismission home. Thy rages be

Now no more sufferable. How shall men,

Mad and inhuman that thou art, again

Greet thy abode, and get thy actions grace,

If thus thou ragest, and eat'st up their race.'

He took, and drunk, and vehemently joy'd

To taste the sweet cup; and again employ'd

My flagon's pow'rs, entreating more, and said:

'Good guest, again afford my taste thy aid,

And let me know thy name, and quickly now,

That in thy recompense I may bestow

A hospitable gift on thy desert,

And such a one as shall rejoice thy heart.

For to the Cyclops too the gentle earth

Bears gen'rous wine, and Jove augments her birth,

In store of such, with show'rs; but this rich wine

Fell from the river, that is mere divine,

Of nectar and ambrosia.' This again

I gave him, and again; nor could the fool abstain,

But drunk as often. When the noble juice

Had wrought upon his spirit, I then gave use

To fairer language, saying: 'Cyclop! now,

As thou demand'st, I'll tell my name, do thou

Make good thy hospitable gift to me.

My name is No-Man; No-Man each degree

Of friends, as well as parents, call my name.'

He answer'd, as his cruel soul became:

'No-Man! I'll eat thee last of all thy friends;

And this is that in which so much amends

I vow'd to thy deservings, thus shall be

My hospitable gift made good to thee.'

This said, he upwards fell, but then bent round

His fleshy neck; and Sleep, with all crowns crown'd,

Subdued the savage. From his throat brake out

My wine, with man's-flesh gobbets, like a spout,

When, loaded with his cups, he lay and snor'd;

And then took I the club's end up, and gor'd

The burning coal-heap, that the point might heat;

Confirm'd my fellow's minds, lest Fear should let

Their vow'd assay, and make them fly my aid.

Straight was the olive-lever, I had laid

Amidst the huge fire to get hard'ning, hot,

And glow'd extremely, though 'twas green; which got

From forth the cinders, close about me stood

My hardy friends; but that which did the good

Was God's good inspiratión, that gave

A spirit beyond the spirit they us'd to have;

Who took the olive spar, made keen before,

And plung'd it in his eye, and up I bore,

Bent to the top close, and help'd pour it in,

With all my forces. And as you have seen

A ship-wright bore a naval beam, he oft

Thrusts at the auger's froofe, works still aloft,

And at the shank help others, with a cord

Wound round about to make it sooner bor'd,

All plying the round still; so into his eye

The fiery stake we labour'd to imply.

Out gush'd the blood that scalded, his eye-ball

Thrust out a flaming vapour, that scorch'd all

His brows and eye-lids, his eye-strings did crack,

As in the sharp and burning rafter brake.

And as a smith, to harden any tool,

Broad axe, or mattock, in his trough doth cool

The red-hot substance, that so fervent is

It makes the cold wave straight to seethe and hiss;

So sod and hiss'd his eye about the stake.

He roar'd withal, and all his cavern brake

In claps like thunder. We did frighted fly,

Dispers'd in corners. He from forth his eye

The fixed stake pluck'd; after which the blood

Flow'd freshly forth; and, mad, he hurl'd the wood

About his hovel. Out he then did cry

For other Cyclops, that in caverns by

Upon a windy promontory dwell'd;

Who, hearing how impetuously he yell'd,

Rush'd ev'ry way about him, and inquir'd,

What ill afflicted him, that he exspir'd

Such horrid clamours, and in sacred Night

To break their sleeps so? Ask'd him, if his fright

Came from some mortal that his flocks had driv'n?

Or if by craft, or might, his death were giv'n?

He answer'd from his den: 'By craft, nor might,

No-Man hath giv'n me death.' They then said right,

'If no man hurt thee, and thyself alone,

That which is done to thee by Jove is done;

And what great Jove inflicts no man can fly.

Pray to thy Father yet, a Deity,

And prove, from him if thou canst help acquire.'

Thus spake they, leaving him; when all-on-fire

My heart with joy was, that so well my wit

And name deceiv'd him; whom now pain did split,

And groaning up and down he groping tried

To find the stone, which found, he put aside;

But in the door sat, feeling if he could

(As his sheep issued) on some man lay hold;

Esteeming me a fool, that could devise

No stratagem to 'scape his gross surprise.

But I, contending what I could invent

My friends and me from death so eminent

To get deliver'd, all my wiles I wove

(Life being the subject) and did this approve:

Fat fleecy rams, most fair, and great, lay there,

That did a burden like a violet bear.

These, while this learn'd-in-villainy did sleep,

I yok'd with osiers cut there, sheep to sheep,

Three in a rank, and still the mid sheep bore

A man about his belly, the two more

March'd on his each side for defence. I then,

Choosing myself the fairest of the den,

His fleecy belly under-crept, embrac'd

His back, and in his rich wool wrapt me fast

With both my hands, arm'd with as fast a mind.

And thus each man hung, till the morning shin'd;

Which come, he knew the hour, and let abroad

His male-flocks first, the females unmilk'd stood

Bleating and braying, their full bags so sore

With being unemptied, but their shepherd more

With being unsighted; which was cause his mind

Went not a milking. He, to wreak inclin'd,

The backs felt, as they pass'd, of those male dams,

Gross fool! believing, we would ride his rams!

Nor ever knew that any of them bore

Upon his belly any man before.

The last ram came to pass him, with his wool

And me together loaded to the full,

For there did I hang; and that ram he stay'd,

And me withal had in his hands, my head

Troubled the while, not causelessly, nor least.

This ram he grop'd, and talk'd to: 'Lazy beast!

Why last art thou now? Thou hast never us'd

To lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruis'd

The tender blossom of a flow'r, and held

State in thy steps, both to the flood and field,

First still at fold at even, now last remain?

Dost thou not wish I had mine eye again,

Which that abhorr'd man No-Man did put out,

Assisted by his execrable rout,

When he had wrought me down with wine? But he

Must not escape my wreak so cunningly.

I would to heav'n thou knew'st, and could but speak,

To tell me where he lurks now! I would break

His brain about my cave, strew'd here and there,

To ease my heart of those foul ills, that were

Th' inflictions of a man I priz'd at nought.'

Thus let he him abroad; when I, once brought

A little from his hold, myself first los'd,

And next my friends. Then drave we, and dispos'd,

His straight-legg'd fat fleece-bearers over land,

Ev'n till they all were in my ship's command;

And to our lov'd friends show'd our pray'd-for sight,

Escap'd from death. But, for our loss, outright

They brake in tears; which with a look I stay'd,

And bade them take our boot in. They obey'd,

And up we all went, sat, and us'd our oars.

But having left as far the savage shores

As one might hear a voice, we then might see

The Cyclop at the haven; when instantly

I stay'd our oars, and this insultance us'd:

'Cyclop! thou shouldst not have so much abus'd

Thy monstrous forces, to oppose their least

Against a man immartial, and a guest,

And eat his fellows. Thou mightst know there were

Some ills behind, rude swain, for thee to bear,

That fear'd not to devour thy guests, and break

All laws of humans. Jove sends therefore wreak,

And all the Gods, by me.' This blew the more

His burning fury; when the top he tore

From off a huge rock, and so right a throw

Made at our ship, that just before the prow

It overflew and fell, miss'd mast and all

Exceeding little; but about the fall

So fierce a wave it rais'd, that back it bore

Our ship so far, it almost touch'd the shore.

A bead-hook then, a far-extended one,

I snatch'd up, thrust hard, and so set us gone

Some little way; and straight commanded all

To help me with their oars, on pain to fall

Again on our confusion. But a sign

I with my head made, and their oars were mine

In all performance. When we off were set,

(Then first, twice further) my heart was so great,

It would again provoke him, but my men

On all sides rush'd about me, to contain,

And said: 'Unhappy! why will you provoke

A man so rude, that with so dead a stroke,

Giv'n with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back

Our ship so far, and near hand forc'd our wrack?

Should he again but hear your voice resound,

And any word reach, thereby would be found

His dart's direction, which would, in his fall,

Crush piece-meal us, quite split our ship and all;

So much dart wields the monster.' Thus urg'd they

Impossible things, in fear; but I gave way

To that wrath which so long I held deprest,

By great necessity conquer'd, in my breast:

'Cyclop! if any ask thee, who impos'd

Th' unsightly blemish that thine eye enclos'd,

Say that Ulysses, old Laertes' son,

Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won

Surname of City-razer, bor'd it out.'

At this, he bray'd so loud, that round about

He drave affrighted echoes through the air,

And said: 'O beast! I was premonish'd fair,

By aged prophecy, in one that was

A great and good man, this should come to pass;

And how 'tis prov'd now! Augur Telemus,

Surnam'd Eurymides (that spent with us

His age in augury, and did exceed

In all presage of truth) said all this deed

Should this event take, author'd by the hand

Of one Ulysses, who I thought was mann'd

With great and goodly personage, and bore

A virtue answerable; and this shore

Should shake with weight of such a conqueror;

When now a weakling came, a dwarfy thing,

A thing of nothing; who yet wit did bring,

That brought supply to all, and with his wine

Put out the flame where all my light did shine.

Come, land again, Ulysses! that my hand

May guest-rites give thee, and the great command,

That Neptune hath at sea, I may convert

To the deduction where abides thy heart,

With my solicitings, whose son I am,

And whose fame boasts to bear my father's name.

Nor think my hurt offends me, for my sire

Can soon repose in it the visual fire,

At his free pleasure; which no pow'r beside

Can boast, of men, or of the Deified.'

I answer'd: 'Would to God! I could compell

Both life and soul from thee, and send to hell

Those spoils of nature! Hardly Neptune then

Could cure thy hurt, and give thee all again.'

Then flew fierce vows to Neptune, both his hands

To star-born heav'n cast: 'O thou that all lands

Gird'st in thy ambient circle, and in air

Shak'st the curl'd tresses of thy sapphire hair,

If I be thine, or thou mayst justly vaunt

Thou art my father, hear me now, and grant

That this Ulysses, old Laertes' son,

That dwells in Ithaca, and name hath won

Of City-ruiner, may never reach

His natural region. Or if to fetch

That, and the sight of his fair roofs and friends,

Be fatal to him, let him that amends

For all his miseries, long time and ill,

Smart for, and fail of; nor that fate fulfill,

Till all his soldiers quite are cast away

In others' ships. And when, at last, the day

Of his sole-landing shall his dwelling show,

Let Detriment prepare him wrongs enow.'

Thus pray'd he Neptune; who, his sire, appear'd,

And all his pray'r to ev'ry syllable heard.

But then a rock, in size more amplified

Than first, he ravish'd to him, and implied

A dismal strength in it, when, wheel'd about,

He sent it after us; nor flew it out

From any blind aim, for a little pass

Beyond our fore-deck from the fall there was,

With which the sea our ship gave back upon,

And shrunk up into billows from the stone,

Our ship again repelling near as near

The shore as first. But then our rowers were,

Being warn'd, more arm'd, and stronglier stemm'd the flood

That bore back on us, till our ship made good

The other island, where our whole fleet lay,

In which our friends lay mourning for our stay,

And ev'ry minute look'd when we should land.

Where, now arriv'd, we drew up to the sand,

The Cyclops' sheep dividing, that none there

Of all our privates might be wrung, and bear

Too much on pow'r. The ram yet was alone

By all my friends made all my portion

Above all others; and I made him then

A sacrifice for me and all my men

To cloud-compelling Jove that all commands,

To whom I burn'd the thighs; but my sad hands

Receiv'd no grace from him, who studied how

To offer men and fleet to overthrow.

All day, till sun-set, yet, we sat and eat,

And lib'ral store took in of wine and meat.

The sun then down, and place resign'd to shade,

We slept. Morn came, my men I rais'd, and made

All go aboard, weigh anchor, and away.

They boarded, sat, and beat the aged sea;

And forth we made sail, sad for loss before,

Any yet had comfort since we lost no more."