William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works

by William Cowper

Which I will tell thee. Give me, in return,

  The promised boon, some hospitable pledge.

  My name is Outis, Outis I am call’d

  At home, abroad; wherever I am known.

  So I; to whom he, savage, thus replied. 430

  Outis, when I have eaten all his friends,

  Shall be my last regale. Be that thy boon.

  He spake, and, downward sway’d, fell resupine,

  With his huge neck aslant. All-conqu’ring sleep

  Soon seized him. From his gullet gush’d the wine

  With human morsels mingled, many a blast

  Sonorous issuing from his glutted maw.

  Then, thrusting far the spike of olive-wood

  Into the embers glowing on the hearth,

  I heated it, and cheer’d my friends, the while, 440

  Lest any should, through fear, shrink from his part.

  But when that stake of olive-wood, though green,

  Should soon have flamed, for it was glowing hot,

  I bore it to his side. Then all my aids

  Around me gather’d, and the Gods infused

  Heroic fortitude into our hearts.

  They, seizing the hot stake rasp’d to a point,

  Bored his eye with it, and myself, advanced

  To a superior stand, twirled it about.

  As when a shipwright with his wimble bores 450

  Tough oaken timber, placed on either side

  Below, his fellow-artists strain the thong

  Alternate, and the restless iron spins,

  So, grasping hard the stake pointed with fire,

  We twirl’d it in his eye; the bubbling blood

  Boil’d round about the brand; his pupil sent

  A scalding vapour forth that sing’d his brow,

  And all his eye-roots crackled in the flame.

  As when the smith an hatchet or large axe

  Temp’ring with skill, plunges the hissing blade 460

  Deep in cold water, (whence the strength of steel)

  So hiss’d his eye around the olive-wood.

  The howling monster with his outcry fill’d

  The hollow rock, and I, with all my aids,

  Fled terrified. He, plucking forth the spike

  From his burnt socket, mad with anguish, cast

  The implement all bloody far away.

  Then, bellowing, he sounded forth the name

  Of ev’ry Cyclops dwelling in the caves

  Around him, on the wind-swept mountain-tops; 470

  They, at his cry flocking from ev’ry part,

  Circled his den, and of his ail enquired.

  What grievous hurt hath caused thee, Polypheme!

  Thus yelling to alarm the peaceful ear

  Of night, and break our slumbers? Fear’st thou lest

  Some mortal man drive off thy flocks? or fear’st

  Thyself to die by cunning or by force?

  Them answer’d, then, Polypheme from his cave.

  Oh, friends! I die! and Outis gives the blow.

  To whom with accents wing’d his friends without. 480

  If no man harm thee, but thou art alone,

  And sickness feel’st, it is the stroke of Jove,

  And thou must bear it; yet invoke for aid

  Thy father Neptune, Sovereign of the floods.

  So saying, they went, and in my heart I laugh’d

  That by the fiction only of a name,

  Slight stratagem! I had deceived them all.

  Then groan’d the Cyclops wrung with pain and grief,

  And, fumbling, with stretch’d hands, removed the rock

  From his cave’s mouth, which done, he sat him down 490

  Spreading his arms athwart the pass, to stop

  Our egress with his flocks abroad; so dull,

  It seems, he held me, and so ill-advised.

  I, pondering what means might fittest prove

  To save from instant death, (if save I might)

  My people and myself, to ev’ry shift

  Inclined, and various counsels framed, as one

  Who strove for life, conscious of woe at hand.

  To me, thus meditating, this appear’d

  The likeliest course. The rams well-thriven were, 500

  Thick-fleeced, full-sized, with wool of sable hue.

  These, silently, with osier twigs on which

  The Cyclops, hideous monster, slept, I bound,

  Three in one leash; the intermediate rams

  Bore each a man, whom the exterior two

  Preserved, concealing him on either side.

  Thus each was borne by three, and I, at last,

  The curl’d back seizing of a ram, (for one

  I had reserv’d far stateliest of them all)

  Slipp’d underneath his belly, and both hands 510

  Enfolding fast in his exub’rant fleece,

  Clung ceaseless to him as I lay supine.

  We, thus disposed, waited with many a sigh

  The sacred dawn; but when, at length, aris’n,

  Aurora, day-spring’s daughter rosy-palm’d

  Again appear’d, the males of all his flocks

  Rush’d forth to pasture, and, meantime, unmilk’d,

  The wethers bleated, by the load distress’d

  Of udders overcharged. Their master, rack’d

  With pain intolerable, handled yet 520

  The backs of all, inquisitive, as they stood,

  But, gross of intellect, suspicion none

  Conceiv’d of men beneath their bodies bound.

  And now (none left beside) the ram approach’d

  With his own wool burthen’d, and with myself,

  Whom many a fear molested. Polypheme

  The giant stroak’d him as he sat, and said,

  My darling ram! why latest of the flock

  Com’st thou, whom never, heretofore, my sheep

  Could leave behind, but stalking at their head, 530

  Thou first was wont to crop the tender grass,

  First to arrive at the clear stream, and first

  With ready will to seek my sheep-cote here

  At evening; but, thy practice chang’d, thou com’st,

  Now last of all. Feel’st thou regret, my ram!

  Of thy poor master’s eye, by a vile wretch

  Bored out, who overcame me first with wine,

  And by a crew of vagabonds accurs’d,

  Followers of Outis, whose escape from death

  Shall not be made to-day? Ah! that thy heart 540

  Were as my own, and that distinct as I

  Thou could’st articulate, so should’st thou tell,

  Where hidden, he eludes my furious wrath.

  Then, dash’d against the floor his spatter’d brain

  Should fly, and I should lighter feel my harm

  From Outis, wretch base-named and nothing-worth.

  So saying, he left him to pursue the flock.

  When, thus drawn forth, we had, at length, escaped

  Few paces from the cavern and the court,

  First, quitting my own ram, I loos’d my friends, 550

  Then, turning seaward many a thriven ewe

  Sharp-hoof’d, we drove them swiftly to the ship.

  Thrice welcome to our faithful friends we came

  From death escaped, but much they mourn’d the dead.

  I suffer’d not their tears, but silent shook

  My brows, by signs commanding them to lift

  The sheep on board, and instant plow the main.

  They, quick embarking, on the benches sat

  Well ranged, and thresh’d with oars the foamy flood;

  But distant now such length as a loud voice 560

  May reach, I hail’d with taunts the Cyclops’ ear.

  Cyclops! when thou devouredst in thy cave

  With brutal force my followers, thou devour’dst

  The followers of no timid Chief, or base,

  Vengeance was sure
to recompense that deed

  Atrocious. Monster! who wast not afraid

  To eat the guest shelter’d beneath thy roof!

  Therefore the Gods have well requited thee.

  I ended; he, exasp’rate, raged the more,

  And rending from its hold a mountain-top, 570

  Hurl’d it toward us; at our vessel’s stern

  Down came the mass, nigh sweeping in its fall

  The rudder’s head. The ocean at the plunge

  Of that huge rock, high on its refluent flood

  Heav’d, irresistible, the ship to land.

  I seizing, quick, our longest pole on board,

  Back thrust her from the coast and by a nod

  In silence given, bade my companions ply

  Strenuous their oars, that so we might escape.

  Procumbent, each obey’d, and when, the flood 580

  Cleaving, we twice that distance had obtain’d,

  Again I hail’d the Cyclops; but my friends

  Earnest dissuaded me on ev’ry side.

  Ah, rash Ulysses! why with taunts provoke

  The savage more, who hath this moment hurl’d

  A weapon, such as heav’d the ship again

  To land, where death seem’d certain to us all?

  For had he heard a cry, or but the voice

  Of one man speaking, he had all our heads

  With some sharp rock, and all our timbers crush’d 590

  Together, such vast force is in his arm.

  So they, but my courageous heart remain’d

  Unmoved, and thus again, incensed, I spake.

  Cyclops! should any mortal man inquire

  To whom thy shameful loss of sight thou ow’st,

  Say, to Ulysses, city-waster Chief,

  Laertes’ son, native of Ithaca.

  I ceas’d, and with a groan thus he replied.

  Ah me! an antient oracle I feel

  Accomplish’d. Here abode a prophet erst, 600

  A man of noblest form, and in his art

  Unrivall’d, Telemus Eurymedes.

  He, prophesying to the Cyclops-race,

  Grew old among us, and presaged my loss

  Of sight, in future, by Ulysses’ hand.

  I therefore watch’d for the arrival here,

  Always, of some great Chief, for stature, bulk

  And beauty prais’d, and cloath’d with wond’rous might.

  But now — a dwarf, a thing impalpable,

  A shadow, overcame me first by wine, 610

  Then quench’d my sight. Come hither, O my guest!

  Return, Ulysses! hospitable cheer

  Awaits thee, and my pray’rs I will prefer

  To glorious Neptune for thy prosp’rous course;

  For I am Neptune’s offspring, and the God

  Is proud to be my Sire; he, if he please,

  And he alone can heal me; none beside

  Of Pow’rs immortal, or of men below.

  He spake, to whom I answer thus return’d.

  I would that of thy life and soul amerced, 620

  I could as sure dismiss thee down to Hell,

  As none shall heal thine eye — not even He.

  So I; then pray’d the Cyclops to his Sire

  With hands uprais’d towards the starry heav’n.

  Hear, Earth-encircler Neptune, azure-hair’d!

  If I indeed am thine, and if thou boast

  Thyself my father, grant that never more

  Ulysses, leveller of hostile tow’rs,

  Laertes’ son, of Ithaca the fair,

  Behold his native home! but if his fate 630

  Decree him yet to see his friends, his house,

  His native country, let him deep distress’d

  Return and late, all his companions lost,

  Indebted for a ship to foreign aid,

  And let affliction meet him at his door.

  He spake, and Ocean’s sov’reign heard his pray’r.

  Then lifting from the shore a stone of size

  Far more enormous, o’er his head he whirl’d

  The rock, and his immeasurable force

  Exerting all, dismiss’d it. Close behind 640

  The ship, nor distant from the rudder’s head,

  Down came the mass. The ocean at the plunge

  Of such a weight, high on its refluent flood

  Tumultuous, heaved the bark well nigh to land.

  But when we reach’d the isle where we had left

  Our num’rous barks, and where my people sat

  Watching with ceaseless sorrow our return,

  We thrust our vessel to the sandy shore,

  Then disembark’d, and of the Cyclops’ sheep

  Gave equal share to all. To me alone 650

  My fellow-voyagers the ram consign’d

  In distribution, my peculiar meed.

  Him, therefore, to cloud-girt Saturnian Jove

  I offer’d on the shore, burning his thighs

  In sacrifice; but Jove my hallow’d rites

  Reck’d not, destruction purposing to all

  My barks, and all my followers o’er the Deep.

  Thus, feasting largely, on the shore we sat

  Till even-tide, and quaffing gen’rous wine;

  But when day fail’d, and night o’ershadow’d all, 660

  Then, on the shore we slept; and when again

  Aurora rosy daughter of the Dawn,

  Look’d forth, my people, anxious, I enjoin’d

  To climb their barks, and cast the hawsers loose.

  They all obedient, took their seats on board

  Well-ranged, and thresh’d with oars the foamy flood.

  Thus, ‘scaping narrowly, we roam’d the Deep

  With aching hearts and with diminish’d crews.

  BOOK X

  ARGUMENT

  Ulysses, in pursuit of his narrative, relates his arrival at the island

  of Æolus, his departure thence, and the unhappy occasion of his return

  thither. The monarch of the winds dismisses him at last with much

  asperity. He next tells of his arrival among the Læstrygonians, by whom

  his whole fleet, together with their crews, are destroyed, his own ship

  and crew excepted. Thence he is driven to the island of Circe. By her the

  half of his people are transformed into swine. Assisted by Mercury, he

  resists her enchantments himself, and prevails with the Goddess to

  recover them to their former shape. In consequence of Circe’s

  instructions, after having spent a complete year in her palace, he

  prepares for a voyage to the infernal regions.

  We came to the Æolian isle; there dwells

  Æolus, son of Hippotas, belov’d

  By the Immortals, in an isle afloat.

  A brazen wall impregnable on all sides

  Girds it, and smooth its rocky coast ascends.

  His children, in his own fair palace born,

  Are twelve; six daughters, and six blooming sons.

  He gave his daughters to his sons to wife;

  They with their father hold perpetual feast

  And with their royal mother, still supplied 10

  With dainties numberless; the sounding dome

  Is fill’d with sav’ry odours all the day,

  And with their consorts chaste at night they sleep

  On stateliest couches with rich arras spread.

  Their city and their splendid courts we reach’d.

  A month complete he, friendly, at his board

  Regaled me, and enquiry made minute

  Of Ilium’s fall, of the Achaian fleet,

  And of our voyage thence. I told him all.

  But now, desirous to embark again, 20

  I ask’d dismission home, which he approved,

  And well provided for my prosp’rous course.

  He gave me, furnish’d by a bullock slay’d

  In his ninth
year, a bag; ev’ry rude blast

  Which from its bottom turns the Deep, that bag

  Imprison’d held; for him Saturnian Jove

  Hath officed arbiter of all the winds,

  To rouse their force or calm them, at his will.

  He gave me them on board my bark, so bound

  With silver twine that not a breath escaped, 30

  Then order’d gentle Zephyrus to fill

  Our sails propitious. Order vain, alas!

  So fatal proved the folly of my friends.

  Nine days continual, night and day we sail’d,

  And on the tenth my native land appear’d.

  Not far remote my Ithacans I saw

  Fires kindling on the coast; but me with toil

  Worn, and with watching, gentle sleep subdued;

  For constant I had ruled the helm, nor giv’n

  That charge to any, fearful of delay. 40

  Then, in close conference combined, my crew

  Each other thus bespake — He carries home

  Silver and gold from Æolus received,

  Offspring of Hippotas, illustrious Chief —

  And thus a mariner the rest harangued.

  Ye Gods! what city or what land soe’er

  Ulysses visits, how is he belov’d

  By all, and honour’d! many precious spoils

  He homeward bears from Troy; but we return,

  (We who the self-same voyage have perform’d) 50

  With empty hands. Now also he hath gain’d

  This pledge of friendship from the King of winds.

  But come — be quick — search we the bag, and learn

  What stores of gold and silver it contains.

  So he, whose mischievous advice prevailed.

  They loos’d the bag; forth issued all the winds,

  And, caught by tempests o’er the billowy waste,

  Weeping they flew, far, far from Ithaca.

  I then, awaking, in my noble mind

  Stood doubtful, whether from my vessel’s side 60

  Immersed to perish in the flood, or calm

  To endure my sorrows, and content to live.

  I calm endured them; but around my head

  Winding my mantle, lay’d me down below,

  While adverse blasts bore all my fleet again

  To the Æolian isle; then groan’d my people.

  We disembark’d and drew fresh water there,

  And my companions, at their galley’s sides

  All seated, took repast; short meal we made,

  When, with an herald and a chosen friend, 70

  I sought once more the hall of Æolus.

  Him banqueting with all his sons we found,

  And with his spouse; we ent’ring, on the floor

  Of his wide portal sat, whom they amazed

  Beheld, and of our coming thus enquired.