ULY. How, mighty Jove! shall I express myself?
The dreadful scenes I in the cave have viewed
Are so astonishing, they more resemble
Some fable than the actions of a man.
CHOR. What now, Ulysses, on your loved companions
Feasts this most impious Cyclops?
ULY. Two, the fattest,
Having well viewed and poised them in his hands——
CHOR. How did you bear, O miserable man,
These cruel outrages?
ULY. Soon as we entered
The rocky cave, he lighted first the fire,
On the wide blaze heaped trunks of lofty oaks,
A load sufficient for three wains to bear;
Then near the flaming hearth, upon the ground,
Arranged his couch of pine leaves, filled a bowl,
Holding about ten firkins, with the milk
Of heifers, and beside it placed a jug
Adorned with ivy, the circumference seemed
Three spacious ells, the depth no less than four:
Then made his cauldron bubble, and reached down
Spits burnt at the extremities, and polished
Not with a knife, but hatchets; Ætna furnished
Such instruments for sacrifice, the stems
Of thorn. No sooner had the hellish cook
Finished his preparations, than he seized
Two of my valiant comrades, whom he slew
With calm deliberation; one he cast
Into the hollow cauldron; from the ground
Then lifting up his fellow by the foot
Dashed out his brains against the pointed rock;
Severing his flesh with an enormous knife,
Part at the fire he roasted, and to boil,
His other joints into the cauldron threw.
But I, though from these eyes full many a tear
Burst forth, approached the Cyclops, and on him
Attended, while my friends, like timorous birds
Lurked in the distant crannies of the rock,
And all the blood forsook their pallid frame.
When sated with his feast the monster lay
Supine, and snored, a thought by Heaven inspired
Entered this bosom; having filled a cup
With Maron’s juice unmingled, I to him
Bore it, that he might drink; and cried, “Behold,
O Cyclops, son of Neptune, how divine
The beverage which our Grecian vineyards yield
The stream of Bacchus.” But already glutted
With his abominable food, he seized
And emptied the whole bumper at one draught,
Then lifting up, in token of applause,
His hand: “O dearest stranger,” he exclaimed,
“To a delicious banquet thou hast added
Delicious wine.” Perceiving he grew merry
I plied him with a second cup, well knowing
That wine will stagger him: he soon shall feel
Such punishment as he deserves. He sung;
I poured forth more and more, to warm his bowels
With strong potations: ’midst my weeping crew
He makes the cave with unharmonious strains
Re-echo. But I silently came forth,
And, if ye give consent, design to save
You, and myself. Say, therefore, will ye fly
From this unsocial monster, and reside
With Grecian maids beneath the roofs of Bacchus?
Your sire within approves of these proposals:
But now grown feeble and o’ercharged with wine,
Attracted by the goblet, as if birdlime
Had smeared his wings, he wavers. But with me
Do thou preserve thyself, for thou art young:
And I to Bacchus, to thy ancient friend
Far different from this Cyclops, will restore thee.
CHOR. My dearest friend, O could we see that day,
And ’scape yon impious monster! for we long
Have been deprived of the enlivening bowl,
Nor entertain a single hope of freedom.
ULY. Now hear the means by which I can requite
This odious savage, and thou too mayst ’scape
From servitude.
CHOR. Speak, for we should not hear
The sound of Asia’s harp with more delight,
Than the glad tidings of the Cyclops’ death.
ULY. By wine enlivened, he resolves to go
And revel with his brethren.
CHOR. I perceive
You mean to seize and kill him when alone,
By some enchantment, or to dash him headlong
From the steep rock.
ULY. I have no such design
As these: on craft alone my plan depends.
CHOR. How then will you proceed? For we long since
Have heard that you for wisdom are renowned.
ULY. I will deter him from the feast, and say
He must not portion out among the Cyclops
This liquor, but reserve it for himself
And lead a joyous life: when overcome
By Bacchus’ gifts he sleeps, this sword shall point
An olive pole, which to my purpose suited
Lies in the cave: I in the fire will heat,
And, when it flames, direct the hissing brand
Full on the Cyclops’ forehead, to extinguish
The orb of sight. As when some artist frames
A nautic structure, he by thongs directs
The ponderous auger: thus will I whirl round
Within the Cyclops’ eye the kindled staff,
And scorch his visual nerve.
CHOR. Ho! I rejoice;
This blest invention almost makes me frantic.
ULY. Thee, and thy friends, and thy decrepit sire,
This done, aboard my vessel will I place,
And from this region with a double tier
Of oars convey.
CHOR. But is it possible
That I, as if dread Jove were my confederate,
Shall guide the well-poised brand, and of his eyesight
Deprive the monster? For I wish to share
In such assassination.
ULY. I expect
Your aid: the brand is weighty, and requires
Our social efforts.
CHOR. I’d sustain a load
Equal to what a hundred teams convey,
Could I dash out the cursed Cyclops’ eye
E’en as a swarm of wasps.
ULY. Be silent now;
(Ye know my stratagem) and at my bidding
To those who o’er th’ adventurous scheme preside
Yield prompt obedience: for I scorn to leave
My friends within, and save this single life.
True, ’scape I might, already having passed
The cavern’s deep recess: but it were mean
If I should extricate myself alone,
False to the faithful partners of my voyage.
[_Exit_ ULYSSES.
CHOR. Who first, who next, with steadfast hand
Ordained to guide the flaming brand,
The Cyclops’ radiant eye shall pierce?
1st SEMICHOR. Silence! for from within a song
Bursts on my ear in tuneless verse,
Insensate minstrel, doomed ere long
This luxurious meal to rue,
He staggers from yon rocky cave.
Him let us teach who never knew
How at the banquet to behave,
Outrageous and unmannered hind,
Soon shall he totally be blind.
2nd SEMICHOR. Thrice blest is he, in careless play
’Midst Bacchus’ orgies ever gay,
Stretched near the social board whence glides
The vine’s rich juice in purple tides,
Who fondly clasps with eager arms
The consenting virgin’s charms;
Rich perfumes conspire to shed
Sweetest odours on his head,
While enamoured of the fair
He wantons with her auburn hair.
But hark! for surely ’tis our mate
Exclaiming, “Who will ope the gate?”