Tears bathe his cheeks, and tears the ground bedew

  As some fond matron views in mortal fight

  Her husband falling in his country's right;

  Frantic through clashing swords she runs, she flies,

  As ghastly pale he groans, and faints and dies;

  Close to his breast she grovels on the ground,

  And bathes with floods of tears the gaping wound;

  She cries, she shrieks: the fierce insulting foe

  Relentless mocks her violence of woe:

  To chains condemn'd, as wildly she deplores;

  A widow, and a slave on foreign shores.

  So from the sluices of Ulysses' eyes

  Fast fell the tears, and sighs succeeded sighs:

  Conceal'd he grieved: the king observed alone

  The silent tear, and heard the secret groan;

  Then to the bard aloud: "O cease to sing,

  Dumb be thy voice, and mute the tuneful string;

  To every note his tears responsive flow,

  And his great heart heaves with tumultuous woe;

  Thy lay too deeply moves: then cease the lay,

  And o'er the banquet every heart be gay:

  This social right demands: for him the sails,

  Floating in air, invite the impelling gales:

  His are the gifts of love: the wise and good

  Receive the stranger as a brother's blood.

  "But, friend, discover faithful what I crave;

  Artful concealment ill becomes the brave:

  Say what thy birth, and what the name you bore,

  Imposed by parents in the natal hour?

  (For from the natal hour distinctive names,

  One common right, the great and lowly claims:)

  Say from what city, from what regions toss'd,

  And what inhabitants those regions boast?

  So shalt thou instant reach the realm assign'd,

  In wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind;

  No helm secures their course, no pilot guides;

  Like man intelligent, they plough the tides,

  Conscious of every coast, and every bay,

  That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray;

  Though clouds and darkness veil the encumber'd sky,

  Fearless through darkness and through clouds they fly;

  Though tempests rage, though rolls the swelling main,

  The seas may roll, the tempests rage in vain;

  E'en the stern god that o'er the waves presides,

  Safe as they pass, and safe repass the tides,

  With fury burns; while careless they convey

  Promiscuous every guest to every bay,

  These ears have heard my royal sire disclose

  A dreadful story, big with future woes;

  How Neptune raged, and how, by his command,

  Firm rooted in a surge a ship should stand

  A monument of wrath; how mound on mound

  Should bury these proud towers beneath the ground.

  But this the gods may frustrate or fulfil,

  As suits the purpose of the Eternal Will.

  But say through what waste regions hast thou stray'd

  What customs noted, and what coasts survey'd;

  Possess'd by wild barbarians fierce in arms,

  Or men whose bosom tender pity warms?

  Say why the fate of Troy awaked thy cares,

  Why heaved thy bosom, and why flowed thy tears?

  Just are the ways of Heaven: from Heaven proceed

  The woes of man; Heaven doom'd the Greeks to bleed,

  A theme of future song! Say, then, if slain

  Some dear-loved brother press'd the Phrygian plain?

  Or bled some friend, who bore a brother's part,

  And claim'd by merit, not by blood, the heart?"

  BOOK IX.

  THE ADVENTURES OF THE CICONS, LOTOPHAGI AND CYCLOPS

  Ulysses begins the relation of his adventures: how, after the destruction of Troy, he with his companions made an incursion on the Cicons, by whom they were repulsed; and, meeting with a storm, were driven to the coast of the Lotophagi. From there they sailed to the land of the Cyclops, whose manners and situation are particularly characterised. The giant Polyphemus and his cave described; the usage Ulysses and his companions met with there; and, lastly, the method and artifice by which he escaped.

  Then thus Ulysses: "Thou whom first in sway,

  As first in virtue, these thy realms obey;

  How sweet the products of a peaceful reign!

  The heaven-taught poet and enchanting strain;

  The well-filled palace, the perpetual feast,

  A land rejoicing, and a people bless'd!

  How goodly seems it ever to employ

  Man's social days in union and in joy;

  The plenteous hoard high-heap'd with cates divine,

  And o'er the foaming bowl the laughing wine!

  "Amid these joys, why seels thy mind to know

  The unhappy series of a wanderer's woe?

  Rememberance sad, whose image to review,

  Alas, I must open all my wounds anew!

  And oh, what first, what last shall I relate,

  Of woes unnumbered sent by Heaven and Fate?

  "Know first the man (though now a wretch distress'd)

  Who hopes thee, monarch, for his future guest.

  Behold Ulysses! no ignoble name,

  Earth sounds my wisdom and high heaven my fame.

  "My native soil is Ithaca the fair,

  Where high Neritus waves his woods in air;

  Dulichium, Same and Zaccynthus crown'd

  With shady mountains spread their isles around.

  (These to the north and night's dark regions run,

  Those to Aurora and the rising sun).

  Low lies our isle, yet bless'd in fruitful stores;

  Strong are her sons, though rocky are her shores;

  And none, ah none no lovely to my sight,

  Of all the lands that heaven o'erspreads with light.

  In vain Calypso long constrained my stay,

  With sweet, reluctant, amorous delay;

  With all her charms as vainly Circe strove,

  And added magic to secure my love.

  In pomps or joys, the palace or the grot,

  My country's image never was forgot;

  My absent parents rose before my sight,

  And distant lay contentment and delight.

  "Hear, then, the woes which mighty Jove ordain'd

  To wait my passage from the Trojan land.

  The winds from Ilion to the Cicons' shore,

  Beneath cold Ismarus our vessels bore.

  We boldly landed on the hostile place,

  And sack'd the city, and destroy'd the race,

  Their wives made captive, their possessions shared,

  And every soldier found a like reward

  I then advised to fly; not so the rest,

  Who stay'd to revel, and prolong the feast:

  The fatted sheep and sable bulls they slay,

  And bowls flow round, and riot wastes the day.

  Meantime the Cicons, to their holds retired,

  Call on the Cicons, with new fury fired;

  With early morn the gather'd country swarms,

  And all the continent is bright with arms;

  Thick as the budding leaves or rising flowers

  O'erspread the land, when spring descends in showers:

  All expert soldiers, skill'd on foot to dare,

  Or from the bounding courser urge the war.

  Now fortune changes (so the Fates ordain);

  Our hour was come to taste our share of pain.

  Close at the ships the bloody fight began,

  Wounded they wound, and man expires on man.

  Long as the morning sun increasing bright

  O'er heaven's pure azure spreads the glowing light,

  Promiscuous death the form of war confounds,

  Each adverse battle gored with equal wounds;

  But when his evening wheels o'erhung the main,

  Then conquest crown'd the fierce Ciconian train.

  Six brave companions from each ship we lost,

  The rest escape in haste, and quit the coast,

  With sails outspread we fly the unequal strife,

  Sad for their loss, but joyful of our life.

  Yet as we fled, our fellows' rites we paid,

  And thrice we call'd on each unhappy shade,

  "Meanwhile the god, whose hand the thunder forms,

  Drives clouds on clouds, and blackens heaven with storms:

  Wide o'er the waste the rage of Boreas sweeps,

  And night rush'd headlong on the shaded deeps.

  Now here, now there, the giddy ships are borne,

  And all the rattling shrouds in fragments torn.

  We furl'd the sail, we plied the labouring oar,

  Took down our masts, and row'd our ships to shore.

  Two tedious days and two long nights we lay,

  O'erwatch'd and batter'd in the naked bay.

  But the third morning when Aurora brings,

  We rear the masts, we spread the canvas wings;

  Refresh'd and careless on the deck reclined,

  We sit, and trust the pilot and the wind.

  Then to my native country had I sail'd:

  But, the cape doubled, adverse winds prevail'd.

  Strong was the tide, which by the northern blast

  Impell'd, our vessels on Cythera cast,

  Nine days our fleet the uncertain tempest bore

  Far in wide ocean, and from sight of shore:

  The tenth we touch'd, by various errors toss'd,

  The land of Lotus and the flowery coast.

  We climb'd the beach, and springs of water found,

  Then spread our hasty banquet on the ground.

  Three men were sent, deputed from the crew

  (A herald one) the dubious coast to view,

  And learn what habitants possess'd the place.

  They went, and found a hospitable race:

  Not prone to ill, nor strange to foreign guest,

  They eat, they drink, and nature gives the feast

  The trees around them all their food produce:

  Lotus the name: divine, nectareous juice!

  (Thence call'd Lo'ophagi); which whose tastes,

  Insatiate riots in the sweet repasts,

  Nor other home, nor other care intends,

  But quits his house, his country, and his friends.

  The three we sent, from off the enchanting ground

  We dragg'd reluctant, and by force we bound.

  The rest in haste forsook the pleasing shore,

  Or, the charm tasted, had return'd no more.

  Now placed in order on their banks, they sweep

  The sea's smooth face, and cleave the hoary deep:

  With heavy hearts we labour through the tide,

  To coasts unknown, and oceans yet untried.

  "The land of Cyclops first, a savage kind,

  Nor tamed by manners, nor by laws confined:

  Untaught to plant, to turn the glebe, and sow,

  They all their products to free nature owe:

  The soil, untill'd, a ready harvest yields,

  With wheat and barley wave the golden fields;

  Spontaneous wines from weighty clusters pour,

  And Jove descends in each prolific shower,

  By these no statues and no rights are known,

  No council held, no monarch fills the throne;

  But high on hills, or airy cliffs, they dwell,

  Or deep in caves whose entrance leads to hell.

  Each rules his race, his neighbour not his care,

  Heedless of others, to his own severe.

  "Opposed to the Cyclopean coast, there lay

  An isle, whose hill their subject fields survey;

  Its name Lachaea, crown'd with many a grove,

  Where savage goats through pathless thickets rove:

  No needy mortals here, with hunger bold,

  Or wretched hunters through the wintry cold

  Pursue their flight; but leave them safe to bound

  From hill to hill, o'er all the desert ground.

  Nor knows the soil to feed the fleecy care,

  Or feels the labours of the crooked share;

  But uninhabited, untill'd, unsown,

  It lies, and breeds the bleating goat alone.

  For there no vessel with vermilion prore,

  Or bark of traffic, glides from shore to shore;

  The rugged race of savages, unskill'd

  The seas to traverse, or the ships to build,

  Gaze on the coast, nor cultivate the soil,

  Unlearn'd in all the industrious art of toil,

  Yet here all produces and all plants abound,

  Sprung from the fruitful genius of the ground;

  Fields waving high with heavy crops are seen,

  And vines that flourish in eternal green,

  Refreshing meads along the murmuring main,

  And fountains streaming down the fruitful plain.

  "A port there is, inclosed on either side,

  Where ships may rest, unanchor'd and untied;

  Till the glad mariners incline to sail,

  And the sea whitens with the rising gale,

  High at the head, from out the cavern'd rock,

  In living rills a gushing fountain broke:

  Around it, and above, for ever green,

  The busy alders form'd a shady scene;

  Hither some favouring god, beyond our thought,

  Through all surrounding shade our navy brought;

  For gloomy night descended on the main,

  Nor glimmer'd Phoebe in the ethereal plain:

  But all unseen the clouded island lay,

  And all unseen the surge and rolling sea,

  Till safe we anchor'd in the shelter'd bay:

  Our sails we gather'd, cast our cables o'er,

  And slept secure along the sandy shore.

  Soon as again the rosy morning shone,

  Reveal'd the landscape and the scene unknown,

  With wonder seized, we view the pleasing ground,

  And walk delighted, and expatiate round.

  Roused by the woodland nymphs at early dawn,

  The mountain goats came bounding o'er the lawn:

  In haste our fellows to the ships repair,

  For arms and weapons of the sylvan war;

  Straight in three squadrons all our crew we part,

  And bend the bow, or wing the missile dart;

  The bounteous gods afford a copious prey,

  And nine fat goats each vessel bears away:

  The royal bark had ten. Our ships complete

  We thus supplied (for twelve were all the fleet).

  "Here, till the setting sun roll'd down the light,

  We sat indulging in the genial rite:

  Nor wines were wanting; those from ample jars

  We drain'd, the prize of our Ciconian wars.

  The land of Cyclops lay in prospect near:

  The voice of goats and bleating flocks we hear,

  And from their mountains rising smokes appear.

  Now sunk the sun, and darkness cover'd o'er

  The face of things: along the sea-beat shore

  Satiate we slept: but, when the sacred dawn

  Arising glitter'd o'er the dewy lawn,

  I call'd my fellows, and these words address'd

  'My dear associates, here indulge your rest;

  While, with my single ship, adventurous, I

  Go forth, the manners of you men to try;

  Whether a race unjust, of barbarous might,

  Rude and unconscious of a stranger's right;

  Or such who harbour pity in their breast,

  Revere the gods, and succour the distress'd,'

  "This said, I climb'd my vessel's lofty side;

  My train obey'd me, and the ship untied.

  In order seated on their banks, they sweep

  Neptune's smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep.

  When to the nearest verge of land we drew,

  Fast by the sea a lonely cave we view,

  High, and with darkening laurels covered o'er;

  Were sheep and goats lay slumbering round the shore

  Near this, a fence of marble from the rock,

  Brown with o'eraching pine and spreading oak.

  A giant shepherd here his flock maintains

  Far from the rest, and solitary reigns,

  In shelter thick of horrid shade reclined;

  And gloomy mischiefs labour in his mind.

  A form enormous! far unlike the race

  Of human birth, in stature, or in face;

  As some lone mountain's monstrous growth he stood,

  Crown'd with rough thickets, and a nodding wood.

  I left my vessel at the point of land,

  And close to guard it, gave our crew command:

  With only twelve, the boldest and the best,

  I seek the adventure, and forsake the rest.

  Then took a goatskin fill'd with precious wine,

  The gift of Maron of Evantheus' line

  (The priest of Phoebus at the Ismarian shrine).

  In sacred shade his honour'd mansion stood

  Amidst Apollo's consecrated wood;

  Him, and his house, Heaven moved my mind to save,

  And costly presents in return he gave;

  Seven golden talents to perfection wrought,

  A silver bowl that held a copious draught,

  And twelve large vessels of unmingled wine,

  Mellifluous, undecaying, and divine!

  Which now, some ages from his race conceal'd,

  The hoary sire in gratitude reveal'd.

  Such was the wine: to quench whose fervent steam

  Scarce twenty measures from the living stream

  To cool one cup sufficed: the goblet crown'd

  Breathed aromatic fragrances around.

  Of this an ample vase we heaved aboard,

  And brought another with provisions stored.

  My soul foreboded I should find the bower

  Of some fell monster, fierce with barbarous power;

  Some rustic wretch, who lived in Heaven's despite,

  Contemning laws, and trampling on the right.

  The cave we found, but vacant all within

  (His flock the giant tended on the green):

  But round the grot we gaze; and all we view,

  In order ranged our admiration drew:

  The bending shelves with loads of cheeses press'd,

  The folded flocks each separate from the rest

  (The larger here, and there the lesser lambs,

 

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