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. 430
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, 440
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 450
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 460
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; 470
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. 480
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 490
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 rams well-thriven were, 500
Thick-fleeced, full-sized, with wool of sable hue.
These, silently, with osier twigs on which
The Cyclops, hideous monster, slept, I bound,
Three in one leash; the intermediate rams
Bore each a man, whom the exterior two
Preserved, concealing him on either side.
Thus each was borne by three, and I, at last,
The curl’d back seizing of a ram, (for one
I had reserv’d far stateliest of them all)
Slipp’d underneath his belly, and both hands 510
Enfolding fast in his exub’rant fleece,
Clung ceaseless to him as I lay supine.
We, thus disposed, waited with many a sigh
The sacred dawn; but when, at length, aris’n,
Aurora, day-spring’s daughter rosy-palm’d
Again appear’d, the males of all his flocks
Rush’d forth to pasture, and, meantime, unmilk’d,
The wethers bleated, by the load distress’d
Of udders overcharged. Their master, rack’d
With pain intolerable, handled yet 520
The backs of all, inquisitive, as they stood,
But, gross of intellect, suspicion none
Conceiv’d of men beneath their bodies bound.
And now (none left beside) the ram approach’d
With his own wool burthen’d, and with myself,
Whom many a fear molested. Polypheme
The giant stroak’d him as he sat, and said,
My darling ram! why latest of the flock
Com’st thou, whom never, heretofore, my sheep
Could leave behind, but stalking at their head, 530
Thou first was wont to crop the tender grass,
First to arrive at the clear stream, and first
With ready will to seek my sheep-cote here
At evening; but, thy practice chang’d, thou com’st,
Now last of all. Feel’st thou regret, my ram!
Of thy poor master’s eye, by a vile wretch
Bored out, who overcame me first with wine,
And by a crew of vagabonds accurs’d,
Followers of Outis, whose escape from death
Shall not be made to-day? Ah! that thy heart 540
Were as my own, and that distinct as I
Thou could’st articulate, so should’st thou tell,
Where hidden, he eludes my furious wrath.
Then, dash’d against the floor his spatter’d brain
Should fly, and I should lighter feel my harm
From Outis, wretch base-named and nothing-worth.
So saying, he left him to pursue the flock.
When, thus drawn forth, we had, at length, escaped
Few paces from the cavern and the court,
First, quitting my own ram, I loos’d my friends, 550
Then, turning seaward many a thriven ewe
Sharp-hoof’d, we drove them swiftly to the ship.
Thrice welcome to our faithful friends we came
From death escaped, but much they mourn’d the dead.
I suffer’d not their tears, but silent shook
My brows, by signs commanding them to lift
The sheep on board, and instant plow the main.
They, quick embarking, on the benches sat
Well ranged, and thresh’d with oars the foamy flood;
But distant now such length as a loud voice 560
May reach, I hail’d with taunts the Cyclops’ ear.
Cyclops! when thou devouredst in thy cave
With brutal force my followers, thou devour’dst
The followers of no timid Chief, or base,
Vengeance was sure
to recompense that deed
Atrocious. Monster! who wast not afraid
To eat the guest shelter’d beneath thy roof!
Therefore the Gods have well requited thee.
I ended; he, exasp’rate, raged the more,
And rending from its hold a mountain-top, 570
Hurl’d it toward us; at our vessel’s stern
Down came the mass, nigh sweeping in its fall
The rudder’s head. The ocean at the plunge
Of that huge rock, high on its refluent flood
Heav’d, irresistible, the ship to land.
I seizing, quick, our longest pole on board,
Back thrust her from the coast and by a nod
In silence given, bade my companions ply
Strenuous their oars, that so we might escape.
Procumbent, each obey’d, and when, the flood 580
Cleaving, we twice that distance had obtain’d,
Again I hail’d the Cyclops; but my friends
Earnest dissuaded me on ev’ry side.
Ah, rash Ulysses! why with taunts provoke
The savage more, who hath this moment hurl’d
A weapon, such as heav’d the ship again
To land, where death seem’d certain to us all?
For had he heard a cry, or but the voice
Of one man speaking, he had all our heads
With some sharp rock, and all our timbers crush’d 590
Together, such vast force is in his arm.
So they, but my courageous heart remain’d
Unmoved, and thus again, incensed, I spake.
Cyclops! should any mortal man inquire
To whom thy shameful loss of sight thou ow’st,
Say, to Ulysses, city-waster Chief,
Laertes’ son, native of Ithaca.
I ceas’d, and with a groan thus he replied.
Ah me! an antient oracle I feel
Accomplish’d. Here abode a prophet erst, 600
A man of noblest form, and in his art
Unrivall’d, Telemus Eurymedes.
He, prophesying to the Cyclops-race,
Grew old among us, and presaged my loss
Of sight, in future, by Ulysses’ hand.
I therefore watch’d for the arrival here,
Always, of some great Chief, for stature, bulk
And beauty prais’d, and cloath’d with wond’rous might.
But now — a dwarf, a thing impalpable,
A shadow, overcame me first by wine, 610
Then quench’d my sight. Come hither, O my guest!
Return, Ulysses! hospitable cheer
Awaits thee, and my pray’rs I will prefer
To glorious Neptune for thy prosp’rous course;
For I am Neptune’s offspring, and the God
Is proud to be my Sire; he, if he please,
And he alone can heal me; none beside
Of Pow’rs immortal, or of men below.
He spake, to whom I answer thus return’d.
I would that of thy life and soul amerced, 620
I could as sure dismiss thee down to Hell,
As none shall heal thine eye — not even He.
So I; then pray’d the Cyclops to his Sire
With hands uprais’d towards the starry heav’n.
Hear, Earth-encircler Neptune, azure-hair’d!
If I indeed am thine, and if thou boast
Thyself my father, grant that never more
Ulysses, leveller of hostile tow’rs,
Laertes’ son, of Ithaca the fair,
Behold his native home! but if his fate 630
Decree him yet to see his friends, his house,
His native country, let him deep distress’d
Return and late, all his companions lost,
Indebted for a ship to foreign aid,
And let affliction meet him at his door.
He spake, and Ocean’s sov’reign heard his pray’r.
Then lifting from the shore a stone of size
Far more enormous, o’er his head he whirl’d
The rock, and his immeasurable force
Exerting all, dismiss’d it. Close behind 640
The ship, nor distant from the rudder’s head,
Down came the mass. The ocean at the plunge
Of such a weight, high on its refluent flood
Tumultuous, heaved the bark well nigh to land.
But when we reach’d the isle where we had left
Our num’rous barks, and where my people sat
Watching with ceaseless sorrow our return,
We thrust our vessel to the sandy shore,
Then disembark’d, and of the Cyclops’ sheep
Gave equal share to all. To me alone 650
My fellow-voyagers the ram consign’d
In distribution, my peculiar meed.
Him, therefore, to cloud-girt Saturnian Jove
I offer’d on the shore, burning his thighs
In sacrifice; but Jove my hallow’d rites
Reck’d not, destruction purposing to all
My barks, and all my followers o’er the Deep.
Thus, feasting largely, on the shore we sat
Till even-tide, and quaffing gen’rous wine;
But when day fail’d, and night o’ershadow’d all, 660
Then, on the shore we slept; and when again
Aurora rosy daughter of the Dawn,
Look’d forth, my people, anxious, I enjoin’d
To climb their barks, and cast the hawsers loose.
They all obedient, took their seats on board
Well-ranged, and thresh’d with oars the foamy flood.
Thus, ‘scaping narrowly, we roam’d the Deep
With aching hearts and with diminish’d crews.
BOOK X
ARGUMENT
Ulysses, in pursuit of his narrative, relates his arrival at the island
of Æolus, his departure thence, and the unhappy occasion of his return
thither. The monarch of the winds dismisses him at last with much
asperity. He next tells of his arrival among the Læstrygonians, by whom
his whole fleet, together with their crews, are destroyed, his own ship
and crew excepted. Thence he is driven to the island of Circe. By her the
half of his people are transformed into swine. Assisted by Mercury, he
resists her enchantments himself, and prevails with the Goddess to
recover them to their former shape. In consequence of Circe’s
instructions, after having spent a complete year in her palace, he
prepares for a voyage to the infernal regions.
We came to the Æolian isle; there dwells
Æolus, son of Hippotas, belov’d
By the Immortals, in an isle afloat.
A brazen wall impregnable on all sides
Girds it, and smooth its rocky coast ascends.
His children, in his own fair palace born,
Are twelve; six daughters, and six blooming sons.
He gave his daughters to his sons to wife;
They with their father hold perpetual feast
And with their royal mother, still supplied 10
With dainties numberless; the sounding dome
Is fill’d with sav’ry odours all the day,
And with their consorts chaste at night they sleep
On stateliest couches with rich arras spread.
Their city and their splendid courts we reach’d.
A month complete he, friendly, at his board
Regaled me, and enquiry made minute
Of Ilium’s fall, of the Achaian fleet,
And of our voyage thence. I told him all.
But now, desirous to embark again, 20
I ask’d dismission home, which he approved,
And well provided for my prosp’rous course.
He gave me, furnish’d by a bullock slay’d
In his ninth
year, a bag; ev’ry rude blast
Which from its bottom turns the Deep, that bag
Imprison’d held; for him Saturnian Jove
Hath officed arbiter of all the winds,
To rouse their force or calm them, at his will.
He gave me them on board my bark, so bound
With silver twine that not a breath escaped, 30
Then order’d gentle Zephyrus to fill
Our sails propitious. Order vain, alas!
So fatal proved the folly of my friends.
Nine days continual, night and day we sail’d,
And on the tenth my native land appear’d.
Not far remote my Ithacans I saw
Fires kindling on the coast; but me with toil
Worn, and with watching, gentle sleep subdued;
For constant I had ruled the helm, nor giv’n
That charge to any, fearful of delay. 40
Then, in close conference combined, my crew
Each other thus bespake — He carries home
Silver and gold from Æolus received,
Offspring of Hippotas, illustrious Chief —
And thus a mariner the rest harangued.
Ye Gods! what city or what land soe’er
Ulysses visits, how is he belov’d
By all, and honour’d! many precious spoils
He homeward bears from Troy; but we return,
(We who the self-same voyage have perform’d) 50
With empty hands. Now also he hath gain’d
This pledge of friendship from the King of winds.
But come — be quick — search we the bag, and learn
What stores of gold and silver it contains.
So he, whose mischievous advice prevailed.
They loos’d the bag; forth issued all the winds,
And, caught by tempests o’er the billowy waste,
Weeping they flew, far, far from Ithaca.
I then, awaking, in my noble mind
Stood doubtful, whether from my vessel’s side 60
Immersed to perish in the flood, or calm
To endure my sorrows, and content to live.
I calm endured them; but around my head
Winding my mantle, lay’d me down below,
While adverse blasts bore all my fleet again
To the Æolian isle; then groan’d my people.
We disembark’d and drew fresh water there,
And my companions, at their galley’s sides
All seated, took repast; short meal we made,
When, with an herald and a chosen friend, 70
I sought once more the hall of Æolus.
Him banqueting with all his sons we found,
And with his spouse; we ent’ring, on the floor
Of his wide portal sat, whom they amazed
Beheld, and of our coming thus enquired.
William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works Page 161