Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ODYSSEY: BOOK 9, by HOMER


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ODYSSEY: BOOK 9, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Ulysses here is first made known
Last Line: And yet had comfort since we lost no more.
Subject(s): Mythology - Classical; Ulysses; Odysseus


THE ARGUMENT.

ULYSSES here is first made known;
Who tells the stern contention
His powers did against the Cicons try;
And thence to the Lotophagi
Extends his conquest; and from them
Assays the Cyclop Polypheme,
And, by the crafts his wits apply,
He puts him out his only eye.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

The strangely fed
Lotophagi.
The Cicons fled.
The Cyclop's eye.

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 every 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 heavenly 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 heaven hath done,
And break from hearty apprehension
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 driven,
Though ne'er so much plagued I may seem by heaven.
And now my name; which way shall lead to all
My miseries 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 heaven resound.
I dwell in Ithaca, earth's most renown'd,
All over-shadow'd with the shake-leaf hill,
Tree-famed 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 graced 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,
Enflamed to make me her sole lord and spouse.
Circe AEaea 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
Cloven-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 managed
Their horse with high skill, on which they would fight,
When fittest cause served, 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 flowers and leaves
Dark spring discovers, when she light receives.
And then began the bitter Fate of Jove
To alter us unhappy, which even strove
To give us suff'rance. At our fleet we made
Enforced 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 Phoebus westward fell, the Cicons won
Much hand of us; six proved soldiers fell,
Of every ship, the rest they did compell
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 saved so many. Our dear loss the less,
That they survived, 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 several name,
And then took leave. Then from the angry North
Cloud-gathering Jove a dreadful storm call'd forth
Against our navy, cover'd shore and all
With gloomy vapours. Night did headlong fall
From frowning heaven. 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
Driven 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 advanced, 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 address'd
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 strived, and wept, and would not leave their meat
For heaven 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 despised 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-lived 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 every offspring birth
That other lands have; wheat, and barley, vines
That bear in goodly grapes delicious wines;
And Jove sends showers for all. No counsels there,
Nor counsellors, 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, imposed in several,
Nor wife, nor child awed, but as he thinks good,
None for another caring. But there stood
Another little isle, well stored 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, nor 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 opportune, that no ties,
Halsers, or gables need, nor anchors cast.
Whom storms put in there are with stay embraced,
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 arrived 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 unmeasured 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-piled darts, and drew
Ourselves in three parts out; when, by the grace
That God vouchsafed, we made a gainful chace.
Twelve ships we had, and every ship had nine
Fat goats allotted [it], ten only mine.
Thus all that day, even 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-praised 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 explored 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 shadowed;
And, near to this, a hall of torn-up stone,
High built with pines, that heaven 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 answering. 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, arrived so nigh,
Some of my loved friends I made stay aboard,
To guard my ship, and twelve with me I shored,
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 Phoebus, who had mansion
In Thracian Ismarus (the town I took)
He gave it me, since I (with reverence strook
Of his grave place, his wife and children's good)
Freed all of violence. Amidst a wood,
Sacred to Phoebus, stood his house; from whence
He fetch'd me gifts of varied excellence;
Seven talents of fine gold; a bowl all framed
Of massy silver; but his gift most famed
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 illiterate 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 given at meals,
Set up a creaming; in the evening 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 heaven, to overthrow
So great a city, and to ruin so
So many nations. Yet at thy knees lie
Our prostrate bosoms, forced with prayers to try
If any hospitable right, or boon
Of other nature, such as have been won
By laws of other houses, thou wilt give.
Reverence the Gods, thou great'st of all that live.
We suppliants are; and hospitable Jove
Pours wreak on all whom prayers want power 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 observed 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 saved, 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-stuffed bones he eat,
And even th' uncleansed entrails made his meat.
We, weeping, cast our hands to heaven, to view
A sight so horrid. Desperation flew,
With all our after lives, to instant death,
In our believed 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 layer on layer,
Till near choked up was all the pass for air,
Along his den, amongst his cattle, down
He rush'd, and streak'd him. When my mind was grown
Desperate 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 powers 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 houswifery.
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 closed 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 strived 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 driven
With twenty oars, and had a bigness given
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 everywhere.
Then made I lots cast by my friends to try
Whose fortune served to dare the bored 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 God's direct will, or of purpose was
His driving in of all then, doth surpass
My comprehension. But he closed 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 dared 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 powers, 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 generous wine, and Jove augments her birth,
In store of such, with showers; 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 thee 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 snored;
And then took I the club's end up, and gored
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 hardening, 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 inspiration, that gave
A spirit beyond the spirit they used to have;
Who took the olive spar, made keen before,
And plunged 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 bored,
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 every way about him, and inquired,
What ill afflicted him, that he exspired
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 driven?
Or if by craft, or might, his death were given?
He answer'd from his den: 'By craft, nor might,
No-Man hath given 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 deceived 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-villany did sleep,
I yoked 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 groped, and talk'd to: 'Lazy beast!
Why last art thou now? Thou hast never used
To lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruised
The tender blossom of a flower, 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 heaven 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 prized at nought.'
Thus let he him abroad; when I, once brought
A little from his hold, myself first losed,
And next my friends. Then drave we, and disposed,
His straight-legg'd fat fleece-bearers over land,
Even till they all were in my ship's command;
And to our loved friends show'd our pray'd-for sight,
Escaped 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 used 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 used:
'Cyclop! thou shouldst not have so much abused
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 raised, 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,
Given with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back
Our ship so far, and near hand forced 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 urged they
Impossible things, in fear; but I gave way
To that wrath which so long I held depress'd,
By great necessity conquer'd, in my breast:
'Cyclop! if any ask thee, who imposed
Th' unsightly blemish that thine eye enclosed,
Say that Ulysses, old Laertes' son,
Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won
Surname of city-racer, bored it out.'
At this, he bray'd so loud, that round about
He drave affrighted echos 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 proved now! Augur Telemus,
Surnamed 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 power beside
Can boast, of men, or of the Deified.'
I answer'd: 'Would to God I could compel
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 heaven 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 prayer to every 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 every minute look'd when we should land.
Where, now arrived, 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 power. 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
Received 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 liberal store took in of wine and meat.
The sun then down, and place resign'd to shade,
We slept. Morn came, my men I raised, 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,
And yet had comfort since we lost no more.







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