O BACCHUS, what a world of toil, both now And ere these limbs were overworn with age, Have I endured for thee! First, when thou fled'st The mountain-nymphs who nurst thee, driven afar By the strange madness Juno sent upon thee; Then in the battle of the sons of Earth, When I stood foot by foot close to thy side, No unpropitious fellow combatant,
And, driving through his shield my winged spear, Slew vast Enceladus. Consider now,
Is it a dream of which I speak to thee? By Jove it is not, for you have the trophies! And now I suffer more than all before. For, when I heard that Juno had devised A tedious voyage for you, I put to sea With all my children quaint in search of you, And I myself stood on the beaked prow And fixed the naked mast; and all my boys, Leaning upon their oars, with splash and strain Made white with foam the green and purple sea,- And so we sought you, king. We were sailing Near Malea, when an eastern wind arose, And drove us to this wild Etnean rock; The one-eyed children of the Ocean God, The man-destroying Cyclopses inhabit, On this wild shore, their solitary caves;
And one of these, named Polypheme, has caught us To be his slaves; and so, for all delight Of Bacchic sports, sweet dance and melody, We keep this lawless giant's wandering flocks. My sons indeed, on far declivities,
Young things themselves, tend on the youngling But I remain to fill the water casks, Or sweeping the hard floor, or ministering Some impious and abominable meal To the fell Cyclops. I am wearied of it! And now I must scrape up the littered floor With this great iron rake, so to receive My absent master and his evening sheep
In a cave neat and clean. Even now I see My children tending the flocks hitherward. Ha! what is this? are your Sicinnian measures Even now the same as when with dance and surg You brought young Bacchus to Athaa's halls!
Be silent, sons; command the slaves to drive The gathered flocks into the rock-roofed cave.
Go! But what needs this serious haste, O father?
I see a Grecian vessel on the coast, And thence the rowers, with some general, Approaching to this cave. About their necks Hang empty vessels, as they wanted food, And water-flasks.-O miserable strangers! Whence come they, that they know not what and who My master is, approaching in ill hour The inhospitable roof of Polypheme, And the Cyclopian jaw-bone, man-destroying? Be silent, Satyrs, while I ask and hear, Whence coming, they arrive the Etnean hill.
There are not.-These lone rocks are bare of men.
And who possess the land? the race of beasts?
Cyclops, who live in caverns, not in houses
Obeying whom? Or is the state popular?
Shepherds: no one obeys any in aught.
How live they? do they sow the corn of Ceres?
On milk and cheese, and on the flesh of sheep.
Friends, can you show me some clear water spring, Have they the Bromian drink from the vine's stream?
'Twas the Gods' work-no mortal was in fault. But, O great offspring of the Ocean King! We pray thee and admonish thee with freedom, That thou dost spare thy friends who visit thee, And place no impious food within thy jaws. For in the depths of Greece we have upreared Temples to thy great father, which are all His homes. The sacred bay of Tænarus Remains inviolate, and each dim recess Scooped high on the Malean promontory, And aery Sunium's silver-veined crag, Which divine Pallas keeps unprofaned ever, The Gerastian asylums, and whate'er Within wide Greece our enterprise has kept From Phrygian contumely; and in which You have a common care, for you inhabit The skirts of Grecian land, under the roots Of Ætna and its crags, spotted with fire. Turn then to converse under human laws; Receive us shipwrecked suppliants, and provide Food, clothes, and fire, and hospitable gifts; Nor, fixing upon oxen-piercing spits Our limbs, so fill your belly and your jaws. Priam's wide land has widowed Greece enough; And weapon-winged murder heaped together Enough of dead, and wives are husbandless, And ancient women and grey fathers wail Their childless age ;-if you should roast the rest,
And 'tis a bitter feast that you prepare, Where then would any turn? Yet be persuaded; Forego the lust of your jaw-bone; prefer Pious humanity to wicked will;
Many have bought too dear their evil joys.
Let me advise you; do not spare a morsel Of all his flesh. If you should eat his tongue You would become most eloquent, O Cyclops.
Wealth, my good fellow, is the wise man's God; All other things are a pretence and boast. What are my father's ocean promontories, The sacred rocks whereon he dwells, to me? Stranger, I laugh to scorn Jove's thunderbolt, I know not that his strength is more than mine. As to the rest I care not.-When he pours Rain from above, I have a close pavilion Under this rock, in which I lie supine, Feasting on a roast calf or some wild beast, And drinking pans of milk, and gloriously Emulating the thunder of high heaven.
And when the Thracian wind pours down the
I wrap my body in the skins of beasts, Kindle a fire, and bid the snow whirl on. The earth by force, whether it will or no, Bringing forth grass, fattens my flocks and herds, Which, to what other God but to myself And this great belly, first of deities, Should I be bound to sacrifice? I well know The wise man's only Jupiter is this, To eat and drink during his little day, And give himself no care. And as for those Who complicate with laws the life of man, I freely give them tears for their reward. I will not cheat my soul of its delight, Or hesitate in dining upon you :-
And that I may be quit of all demands, These are my hospitable gifts ;-fierce fire And yon ancestral cauldron, which o'erbubbling Shall finely cook your miserable flesh. Creep in!
Ay, ay! I have escaped the Trojan toils, I have escaped the sea, and now I fall Under the cruel grasp of one impious man. O Pallas, mistress, Goddess, sprung from Jove, Now, now, assist me! Mightier toils than Troy Are these ;-I totter on the chasms of peril ;- And thou who inhabitest the thrones Of the bright stars, look, hospitable Jove, Upon this outrage of thy deity, Otherwise be considered as no God.
For your gaping gulf and your gullet wide The ravine is ready on every side;
The limbs of the strangers are cooked and done, There is boiled meat, and roast meat, and meat from the coal,
You may chop it, and tear it, and gnash it for fun, A hairy goat's skin contains the whole. Let me but escape, and ferry me o'er The stream of your wrath to a safer shore.
Soon as we came into this craggy place, Kindling a fire, he cast on the broad hearth The knotty limbs of an enormous oak, Three waggon-loads at least, and then he strewed Upon the ground, beside the red fire light, His couch of pine leaves; and he milked the cows, And pouring forth the white milk, filled a bowl Three cubits wide and four in depth, as much As would contain four amphora, and bound it With ivy wreaths; then placed upon the fire A brazen pot to boil, and make red hot The points of spits, not sharpened with the sickle, But with a fruit-tree bough, and with the jaws Of axes for Etnean slaughterings. And when this God-abandoned cook of hell Had made all ready, he seized two of us, And killed them in a kind of measured manner; For he flung one against the brazen rivets Of the huge cauldron, and seized the other By the foot's tendon, and knocked out his brains Upon the sharp edge of the craggy stone: Then peeled his flesh with a great cooking knife, And put him down to roast. The other's limbs He chopped into the cauldron to be boiled. And I, with the tears raining from my eyes, Stood near the Cyclops, ministering to him; The rest, in the recesses of the cave, Clung to the rock like bats, bloodless with fear. When he was filled with my companions' flesh, He threw himself upon the ground, and sent A loathsome exhalation from his maw. Then a divine thought came to me. I filled The cup of Maron, and I offered him
* I confess I do not understand this-Note of the Author,
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