To us consid’ring it, that staff appear’d
Tall as the mast of a huge trading bark,
Impell’d by twenty rowers o’er the Deep.
Such seem’d its length to us, and such its bulk.
Part amputating, (an whole fathom’s length)
I gave my men that portion, with command
To shave it smooth. They smooth’d it, and myself,
Shaping its blunt extremity to a point,
Season’d it in the fire; then cov’ring close
The weapon, hid it under litter’d straw,
For much lay scatter’d on the cavern-floor.
And now I bade my people cast the lot
Who of us all should take the pointed brand,
And grind it in his eye when next he slept.
The lots were cast, and four were chosen, those
Whom most I wish’d, and I was chosen fifth.
At even-tide he came, his fleecy flocks
Pasturing homeward, and compell’d them all
Into his cavern, leaving none abroad,
Either through some surmise, or so inclined
By influence, haply, of the Gods themselves.
The huge rock pull’d into its place again
At the cave’s mouth, he, sitting, milk’d his sheep
And goats in order, and her kid or lamb
Thrust under each; thus, all his work dispatch’d,
Two more he seiz’d, and to his supper fell.
I then, approaching to him, thus address’d
The Cyclops, holding in my hands a cup
Of ivy-wood, well-charg’d with ruddy wine.
Lo, Cyclops! this is wine. Take this and drink
After thy meal of man’s flesh. Taste and learn
What precious liquor our lost vessel bore.
I brought it hither, purposing to make
Libation to thee, if to pity inclined
Thou would’st dismiss us home. But, ah, thy rage
Is insupportable! thou cruel one!
Who, thinkest thou, of all mankind, henceforth
Will visit thee, guilty of such excess?
I ceas’d. He took and drank, and hugely pleas’d
With that delicious bev’rage, thus enquir’d.
Give me again, and spare not. Tell me, too,
Thy name, incontinent, that I may make
Requital, gratifying also thee
With somewhat to thy taste. We Cyclops own
A bounteous soil, which yields us also wine
From clusters large, nourish’d by show’rs from Jove;
But this—this is from above—a stream
Of nectar and ambrosia, all divine!
He ended, and received a second draught,
Like measure. Thrice I bore it to his hand,
And, foolish, thrice he drank. But when the fumes
Began to play around the Cyclops’ brain,
With show of amity I thus replied.
Cyclops! thou hast my noble name enquired,
Which I will tell thee. Give me, in return,
The promised boon, some hospitable pledge.
My name is Outis; Outis I am call’d
At home, abroad; wherever I am known.
So I; to whom he, savage, thus replied.
Outis, when I have eaten all his friends,
Shall be my last regale. Be that thy boon.
He spake, and, downward sway’d, fell resupine,
With his huge neck aslant. All-conqu’ring sleep
Soon seized him. From his gullet gush’d the wine
With human morsels mingled, many a blast
Sonorous issuing from his glutted maw.
Then, thrusting far the spike of olive-wood
Into the embers glowing on the hearth,
I heated it, and cheer’d my friends, the while,
Lest any should, through fear, shrink from his part.
But when that stake of olive-wood, though green,
Should soon have flamed, for it was glowing hot,
I bore it to his side. Then all my aids
Around me gather’d, and the Gods infused
Heroic fortitude into our hearts.
They, seizing the hot stake rasp’d to a point,
Bored his eye with it, and myself, advanced
To a superior stand, twirled it about.
As when a shipwright with his wimble bores
Tough oaken timber, placed on either side
Below, his fellow-artists strain the thong
Alternate, and the restless iron spins,
So, grasping hard the stake pointed with fire,
We twirl’d it in his eye; the bubbling blood
Boil’d round about the brand; his pupil sent
A scalding vapour forth that sing’d his brow,
And all his eye-roots crackled in the flame.
As when the smith an hatchet or large axe
Temp’ring with skill, plunges the hissing blade
Deep in cold water, (whence the strength of steel)
So hiss’d his eye around the olive-wood.
The howling monster with his outcry fill’d
The hollow rock, and I, with all my aids,
Fled terrified. He, plucking forth the spike
From his burnt socket, mad with anguish, cast
The implement all bloody far away.
Then, bellowing, he sounded forth the name
Of ev’ry Cyclops dwelling in the caves
Around him, on the wind-swept mountain-tops;
They, at his cry flocking from ev’ry part,
Circled his den, and of his ail enquired.
What grievous hurt hath caused thee, Polypheme!
Thus yelling to alarm the peaceful ear
Of night, and break our slumbers? Fear’st thou lest
Some mortal man drive off thy flocks? or fear’st
Thyself to die by cunning or by force?
Them answer’d, then, Polypheme from his cave.
Oh, friends! I die! and Outis gives the blow.
To whom with accents wing’d his friends without.
If no man harm thee, but thou art alone,
And sickness feel’st, it is the stroke of Jove,
And thou must bear it; yet invoke for aid
Thy father Neptune, Sovereign of the floods.
So saying, they went, and in my heart I laugh’d
That by the fiction only of a name,
Slight stratagem! I had deceived them all.
Then groan’d the Cyclops wrung with pain and grief,
And, fumbling, with stretch’d hands, removed the rock
From his cave’s mouth, which done, he sat him down
Spreading his arms athwart the pass, to stop
Our egress with his flocks abroad; so dull,
It seems, he held me, and so ill-advised.
I, pondering what means might fittest prove
To save from instant death, (if save I might)
My people and myself, to ev’ry shift
Inclined, and various counsels framed, as one
Who strove for life, conscious of woe at hand.
To me, thus meditating, this appear’d
The likeliest course. The
| Previous chapter/page | Back | Home | Email this | Search | Discuss | Bookmark | Next chapter/page |