The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
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 ev’ry way about him, and inquir’d, What ill afflicted him, that he exspir’d 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 driv’n? Or if by craft, or might, his death were giv’n? He answer’d from his den: ‘By craft, nor might, No-Man hath giv’n 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 deceiv’d 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.[8] These, while this learn’d-in-villainy did sleep, I yok’d 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 grop’d, and talk’d to: ‘Lazy beast! Why last art thou now? Thou hast never us’d To lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruis’d The tender blossom of a flow’r, 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 heav’n 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 priz’d at nought.’ Thus let he him abroad; when I, once brought A little from his hold, myself first los’d, And next my friends. Then drave we, and dispos’d, His straight-legg’d fat fleece-bearers over land, Ev’n till they all were in my ship’s command; And to our lov’d friends show’d our pray’d-for sight, Escap’d 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 us’d 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 us’d: ῾Cyclop! thou shouldst not have so much abus’d 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 rais’d, 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, Giv’n with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back Our ship so far, and near hand forc’d 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 urg’d they Impossible things, in fear; but I gave way To that wrath which so long I held deprest, By great necessity conquer’d, in my breast: ‘Cyclop! if any ask thee, who impos’d[9] Th’ unsightly blemish that thine eye enclos’d, Say that Ulysses, old Laertes’ son, Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won Surname of City-razer, bor’d it out.’ At this, he bray’d so loud, that round about He drave affrighted echoes 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 prov’d now!
Augur Telemus, Surnam’d 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 pow’r beside Can boast, of men, or of the Deified.’ I answer’d: ‘Would to God! I could compell 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 heav’n 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 pray’r to ev’ry 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 ev’ry minute look’d when we should land. Where, now arriv’d, 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 pow’r. 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[10] To cloud-compelling Jove that all commands, To whom I burn’d the thighs; but my sad hands Receiv’d 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 lib’ral store took in of wine and meat. The sun then down, and place resign’d to shade, We slept. Morn came, my men I rais’d, 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, Any yet had comfort since we lost no more.”
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