The Odyssey - Book 9

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.”