Yet here I chaunt the strains which Bacchus taught,
To that Venus whom I sought
When with the Mænades I ranged.
Where, gentle Evan, dost thou tread
Alone, and from thy comrades far estranged,
Those auburn ringlets floating from thy head?
Thy votary once, but now a slave
To yonder one-eyed Cyclops, I abide
In this detested cave:
Covered with a goat’s vile hide,
Thy friend, alas! exposed to scorn
Wanders helpless and forlorn.
SIL. My sons, be silent: bid your followers drive
Their flocks into the stony cave.
CHOR. Proceed.
But wherefore, O my father, in this haste?
SIL. A Grecian vessel, stranded on the coast,
I see, and to this cave the mariners
Attend their leader, on their heads they bear
Those empty vessels which express they want
Provisions, with fresh water too their urns
Would they replenish. O unhappy strangers!
Who are they? unapprised what lord here rules,
Dread Polypheme, they in an evil hour
Are entering this inhospitable threshold,
And rushing headlong e’en into the jaws
Of this fierce Cyclops, gorged with human flesh.
But interrupt me not; I will inquire
Whence to Sicilian Ætna’s mount they came.