And in answer to him spoke Odysseus of many counsels:
«O mighty Alcinous, most illustrious of all men, truly it is a beautiful thing to listen to a bard such as this one, whose voice is like that of the gods. For I myself declare there is no consummation more delightful than when good cheer possesses a whole people, and the banqueters throughout the halls listen to the bard, seated in rows, while beside them the tables are laden with bread and meats, and a wine-steward, drawing wine from the mixing-bowl, moves among them and pours it into their cups. This seems to my mind to be the fairest thing of all. But your heart has moved you to ask of my lamentable sorrows, so that I may grieve and groan yet more. What, then, shall I recount first, and what shall I tell last? For the heavenly gods have given me woes in abundance. Now, first, I will declare my name, so that you too may know it, and I, should I escape the pitiless day, may be a guest-friend to you, though I dwell in a home far distant.
I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, known among all men for my stratagems, and my renown reaches unto the heavens. I dwell in Ithaca, a land clear to see; on it is a mountain, leaf-quivering Neriton, standing manifest; and all around lie many islands, very near one another, Dulichium, and Same, and wooded Zacynthus. Ithaca itself lies low, the last of all in the sea toward the western gloom, while the others are set apart, toward the dawn and the sun. It is a rugged land, but a good nurse of young men; and for my part, I can look on nothing sweeter than my own native soil. Indeed, Calypso, brightest of goddesses, sought to keep me there, within her hollow caves, desiring me for her husband; and likewise Circe detained me in her halls, the enchantress of Aea, also desiring me for her husband; but never did they win over the heart within my breast. For nothing is sweeter than one's own country and one's parents, even if a man may dwell far off in a rich house in a foreign land, away from his parents.
But come, let me tell you of my woeful return, the journey Zeus ordained for me on my way from Troy.
From Ilium the wind bore me and brought me to the Cicones, to Ismarus; there I sacked the city and slew the men. And from the city we took their wives and great stores of treasure and we divided them, so that no man, by my doing, might go deprived of his equal share. Then I commanded that we flee with swift feet, but my men, in their great folly, would not obey. There much wine was drunk, and many sheep they slaughtered by the shore, and many shambling, crook-horned oxen. Meanwhile, the Cicones who had escaped went and cried out to other Cicones, who were their neighbors, and were more numerous and more valiant, men of the mainland, skilled at fighting from chariots and, when need be, on foot. They came then at dawn, as thick as the leaves and blossoms of spring.
And then it was that an evil doom from Zeus stood by us, wretched men, that we might suffer many griefs. Drawing up their lines, they fought a battle by the swift ships, and cast at one another with their bronze-pointed spears. As long as it was morning and the sacred day grew stronger, for so long we held our ground and beat them back, though they were more in number; but when the sun turned to the time of the unyoking of oxen, then at last the Cicones broke our ranks and overcame the Achaeans. From each of our ships, six of my well-greaved companions were lost; but the rest of us escaped death and doom.
From there we sailed on further, grieving in our hearts, glad to have escaped from death, yet mourning our dear companions. And my curved ships did not move onward until we had called out three times for each of our wretched companions who died on the plain, slain by the Cicones. But upon our ships cloud-gathering Zeus roused the North Wind in a divine tempest, and with clouds he shrouded the earth and sea alike; and night rushed down from the heavens. The ships were driven headlong, and their sails were rent into three and four pieces by the violence of the wind. These we lowered into the ships, for fear of utter destruction, and we ourselves rowed with all our might toward the land. There for two nights and two days we lay continuously, eating our hearts out with weariness and sorrow. But when fair-tressed Dawn brought the third day to pass, we set up our masts and, hoisting the white sails, we sat while the wind and the helmsmen kept our course. And now I would have reached my native land unharmed, but as I was doubling Cape Malea, the current and the swell and the North Wind beat me back, and drove me wide of Cythera.
Thence for nine days I was borne by ruinous winds across the teeming sea; but on the tenth day we came upon the land of the Lotus-eaters, who feed upon a flowering food. There we went ashore and drew water, and my companions quickly took their meal beside the swift ships. But when we had tasted of food and drink, I then sent forth some of my comrades to go and learn what manner of men, eaters of bread, might live upon that land; I chose two men, and sent a third with them as a herald. They went at once and mingled with the Lotus-eating men, and the Lotus-eaters did not plot destruction for our comrades, but gave them of the lotus to taste. And whichever of them ate of the honey-sweet fruit of the lotus no longer wished to bring back news nor to return, but they chose to remain there among the Lotus-eating people, feeding on lotus, and to forget their homecoming. These men I brought back to the ships by force, though they were weeping, and dragged them beneath the benches and bound them fast in the hollow ships; and I commanded the rest of my loyal companions to embark with haste upon the swift ships, lest anyone eat of the lotus and forget his return. So they embarked at once and took their places at the benches, and sitting in order they struck the grey sea with their oars.
From there we sailed on further, grieving in our hearts. And we came to the land of the Cyclopes, an arrogant and lawless race, who, trusting in the immortal gods, neither plant with their hands nor plow the soil, but all things spring up for them without sowing or plowing— wheat and barley and vines, which bear wine from heavy clusters, and the rain of Zeus gives them increase. They have no assemblies for counsel, nor any laws, but they dwell on the peaks of high mountains in hollow caves, and each is lawgiver to his own children and wives, and they have no regard for one another.
Now a lush island lies stretched out beyond the harbor, not close to the land of the Cyclopes, nor yet far off, a wooded isle; and in it, countless wild goats are born, for the tread of men does not disturb them, nor do hunters come upon it, who in the woods suffer hardships as they range the mountain peaks. It is held neither by flocks nor by tilled fields, but all its days it lies unsown and unplowed, bereft of men, and it nurtures the bleating goats. For the Cyclopes have no red-cheeked ships, nor are there shipwrights among them who might fashion well-benched vessels, which could accomplish all that is needed, journeying to the cities of men, as men often cross the sea in ships to visit one another. Such craftsmen might have made this a well-settled island for them. For it is by no means a poor land, but would bear all things in their season. Along the shores of the grey sea there are meadows, well-watered and soft; there vines would thrive without fail. And in it is level land for plowing; from it they might reap a deep harvest in season, for the soil beneath is exceedingly rich. There is a harbor with good anchorage, where no cable is needed, neither to cast anchor stones nor to make fast the stern-hawsers, but one may run the ship ashore and wait for the time when the sailors' spirits urge them forth, and the winds blow fair. And at the head of the harbor, bright water flows from a spring beneath a cave; and round about, poplars grow. There we sailed in, and some god must have been our guide through the murky night, for there was nothing to see. A deep mist was about the ships, and the moon did not shine from the sky, for it was held fast in clouds. There none of us caught sight of the island with our eyes, nor did we see the long waves rolling toward the shore, until our well-benched ships had run aground. When the ships were beached, we lowered all the sails, and we ourselves stepped out upon the breaker-beaten shore; there we fell fast asleep and awaited the divine Dawn.
When the early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, we roamed about the island, marveling at it. And the Nymphs, daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, roused the mountain-dwelling goats, so that my comrades might have their meal. At once we took our curved bows and our long-socketed javelins from the ships, and arraying ourselves in three bands, we began to shoot; and in a moment a god gave us a hunt to our hearts’ content. Twelve ships followed me, and to each one nine goats were allotted; but for me alone they set ten apart. So then for the whole day, until the setting of the sun, we sat and feasted on boundless meat and sweet wine. For the red wine was not yet all gone from the ships, but some was still within; for we had each drawn off a great store in jars when we took the sacred citadel of the Cicones. We looked across to the land of the Cyclopes, who were near, and saw their smoke, and heard the sound of their voices, and of their sheep and goats. But when the sun set and darkness came on, we lay down to sleep on the breaker-beaten shore.
When the early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, I called an assembly and spoke among them all:
‘The rest of you, my loyal companions, wait here for now; but I, with my own ship and my own comrades, will go and make trial of these men, to learn who they are, whether they are violent, savage, and unjust, or whether they are hospitable and have a god-fearing mind.’
So speaking, I went aboard the ship, and ordered my companions to come aboard themselves and to loose the stern-cables. So they embarked at once and took their places at the benches, and sitting in order they struck the grey sea with their oars. But when we reached the place, which was near at hand, there on the edge of the land we saw a cave, close to the sea, lofty and overgrown with laurels; and there many flocks, both sheep and goats, were accustomed to sleep. Around it a high-walled court had been built with deep-dug stones, with tall pines and high-crowned oaks. There a monstrous man was wont to sleep, who would shepherd his flocks all alone and far apart; and he did not mix with others, but kept to himself, his mind set on lawless things. And he was a monstrous marvel, and did not seem like a bread-eating man, but rather like a wooded peak of the high mountains, which stands out alone, apart from the rest.
Then I commanded my other loyal companions to remain there by the ship and to guard the ship. But I chose twelve of the best of my companions and went forth. I had with me a goatskin flask of dark wine, a sweet wine, which Maron, son of Euanthes, had given me, the priest of Apollo, who watched over Ismarus. He gave it because we had protected him with his child and his wife, out of reverence; for he dwelt in a wooded grove of Phoebus Apollo. And he gave me glorious gifts: he gave me seven talents of well-wrought gold, and he gave me a mixing-bowl of solid silver, and then he drew off wine for me in twelve jars in all, sweet and unmixed, a drink for the gods. And no one knew of it, neither manservant nor maidservant in his house, but only himself, his dear wife, and a single stewardess. And when they would drink that honey-sweet red wine, he would fill one cup and pour it into twenty measures of water, and a sweet scent would arise from the mixing-bowl, a divine fragrance; then it would be no pleasure to abstain. I brought a great flask filled with this, and provisions in a leather sack; for my proud heart at once divined that I would be coming upon a man clothed in great might, a savage, who knew well neither justice nor law.
Swiftly we came to the cave, but we did not find him within; he was tending his fat flocks in the pasture. Entering the cave, we gazed at everything in wonder. The racks were heavy with cheeses, and the pens were crowded with lambs and kids; and each flock was kept apart, the firstlings in one place, the middlings in another, and the newborns apart again. All the vessels were swimming with whey, the pails and bowls, well-wrought, into which he milked. Then my companions at first entreated me with words, urging me to take some of the cheeses and go back, and then swiftly to drive the kids and lambs from the pens to our swift ship, and sail over the salt water. But I would not be persuaded—though it would have been far better— for I wished to see the man himself, and learn if he might give me a guest-gift. But his appearance was not to be a welcome one for my companions.
There we kindled a fire and made a sacrifice, and we ourselves took some of the cheeses and ate, and we waited for him inside, sitting there, until he came, driving his flocks. He carried a mighty burden of dry wood, to serve for his evening meal. Throwing it down inside the cave, he made a great crash, and in terror we scurried away to a recess of the cave. But he drove his fat flocks into the wide cavern, all of those that he milked, but the males he left outside, both the rams and the billy goats, within the deep courtyard. Then he lifted up high and set in place a great door-stone, a mighty stone; not even two and twenty wagons, sturdy and four-wheeled, could have budged it from the ground. Such a towering stone he set against the doorway. Then he sat down and milked the ewes and the bleating goats, all in due order, and put a young one under each. At once he curdled one half of the white milk, and gathered it in wicker baskets and set it aside, and the other half he let stand in the vessels, so that he might have it to take and drink, and that it might serve for his supper. But when he had busily finished his tasks, he then kindled a fire, and caught sight of us, and questioned us:
‘Strangers, who are you? From where do you sail the watery ways? Is it on some business, or do you wander aimlessly, like pirates over the sea, who roam about risking their own lives and bringing evil to other men?’
So he spoke, and our own hearts were shattered within us, fearing his deep voice and his monstrous self. But even so, answering him with my own words, I addressed him:
‘We are Achaeans, driven off our course from Troy by all manner of winds over the great gulf of the sea. Striving to reach home, we have come by another way, by other paths; so, I suppose, Zeus must have willed it to be. We profess to be the men of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, whose renown is now the greatest under heaven; so great a city did he sack, and so many were the people he destroyed. But we, for our part, have chanced upon you and approach your knees, to see if you might offer us a guest-gift, or otherwise give us the present that is the custom among strangers. But show respect, O mighty one, for the gods; we are your suppliants. And Zeus is the avenger of suppliants and of strangers— Zeus, the god of guests, who attends upon strangers who deserve respect.’
So I spoke, and he answered me at once with a pitiless heart: ‘You are a fool, stranger, or have come from a faraway land, you who bid me to fear or to shun the gods. For the Cyclopes do not heed aegis-bearing Zeus, nor the blessed gods, since we are far stronger than they. Nor would I, to avoid the wrath of Zeus, spare either you or your companions, unless my own heart bade me. But tell me, where did you moor your well-wrought ship on your arrival? Was it at the far end of the island or nearby, so that I may know?’
So he spoke, testing me, but I, who knew many things, was not deceived, and I answered him in turn with crafty words:
‘My ship was shattered by Poseidon, the Earth-shaker, who cast it against the rocks at the edge of your land, driving it onto a headland; and the wind brought it in from the sea. But I, with these men here, escaped sheer destruction.’
So I spoke, and with his pitiless heart he made no answer, but springing up, he reached out his hands toward my companions. He seized two of them and dashed them against the ground like puppies, and their brains flowed out onto the earth and soaked the ground. Then he cut them limb from limb and made ready his supper. He ate like a mountain-bred lion, and left nothing behind— neither the entrails, nor the flesh, nor the marrow-filled bones. And we, weeping, held up our hands to Zeus, witnessing his cruel deeds; and helplessness took hold of our hearts. But when the Cyclops had filled his great belly, eating human flesh and drinking unmixed milk on top of it, he lay down inside the cave, stretched out amongst his sheep. And I, in my great-hearted courage, planned to draw near to him, pulling the sharp sword from my thigh, and to stab him in the chest, where the midriff holds the liver, groping for the spot with my hand. But a second thought held me back. For there we too would have perished in sheer destruction; for we would not have been able with our hands to push away from the high doorway the mighty stone he had set there. And so, groaning, we waited for the divine Dawn.
When the early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, he rekindled the fire and milked his renowned flocks, all in due order, and put a young one under each. But when he had busily finished his tasks, he once again seized two of my men and made ready his morning meal. When he had eaten, he drove his fat flocks from the cave, effortlessly taking away the great door-stone; and then he put it back, as one might put the lid on a quiver. With a great whoop, the Cyclops turned his fat flocks toward the mountain; but I was left behind, plotting evils in the depths of my heart, if somehow I might take vengeance, and Athene grant me glory. And this plan seemed to my mind to be the best: there lay by a pen the great club of the Cyclops, a green olive-wood staff; he had cut it to carry once it had dried. As we looked at it, we judged it to be as large as the mast of a black ship with twenty oars, a wide-beamed merchant vessel, that crosses the great gulf; so great was its length, so great its thickness to behold. Standing beside it, I cut off a fathom’s length of this and handed it to my companions, bidding them to shave it down. They made it smooth, and I, standing by, sharpened its point, and at once I took it and hardened it in the blazing fire. Then I laid it carefully away, hiding it under the dung, which lay in great heaps, scattered all about the cave. Then I bade the others to cast lots, to see who would dare, along with me, to lift the stake and grind it in his eye, when sweet sleep came upon him. And the lot fell upon those whom I myself would have wished to choose, four of them, and I was numbered as the fifth among them.
In the evening he returned, herding his fair-fleeced flocks. At once he drove his fat flocks into the wide cavern, all of them, and left none behind in the deep courtyard, either from some suspicion, or because a god had so commanded it. Then he lifted up high and set in place the great door-stone. And he sat down and milked the ewes and the bleating goats, all in due order, and put a young one under each. But when he had busily finished his tasks, he once again seized two of my men and made ready his supper.
And then I spoke to the Cyclops, standing close beside him, holding in my hands an ivy-wood bowl of the dark wine:
‘Cyclops, here, drink this wine, now that you have eaten of human flesh, so that you may know what sort of drink our ship was hiding. I brought it for you as a libation, in the hope that you would take pity and send me home; but your madness is no longer bearable. Cruel one, how could any other of the many men alive come to you hereafter? For you have not acted as is right.’
So I spoke, and he took it and drank it down; and he was terribly pleased to be drinking the sweet draught, and he asked me for it a second time:
‘Give me more with a willing heart, and tell me your name right now, so that I may give you a guest-gift in which you will rejoice. For the grain-giving earth bears for the Cyclopes as well wine from heavy clusters, and the rain of Zeus gives them increase; but this is a drop of ambrosia and nectar.’
So he spoke, and again I offered him the gleaming wine. Three times I brought it and gave it to him, and three times he drained it in his folly. But when the wine had stolen about the senses of the Cyclops, I then addressed him with gentle words:
‘Cyclops, you ask for my glorious name. I will tell it to you; but you must give me a guest-gift, as you have promised. Nobody is my name. Nobody is what they call me— my mother and my father and all my other companions.’
So I spoke, and he answered me at once with a pitiless heart: ‘I will eat Nobody last, after his companions, and the others before him. That shall be your guest-gift.’
He spoke, and leaning back, he fell down on his back, and then lay with his thick neck twisted to one side, and sleep, the all-conquering, took hold of him. And from his throat gushed wine and morsels of human flesh; and he belched, heavy with wine. And then I drove the stake deep under the ashes, until it should grow hot; and with my words I encouraged all my companions, lest any of them shrink back in fear. But when the stake of olive wood, green though it was, was about to catch fire in the flame and was glowing terribly, I then drew it from the fire, and my companions stood around me; and a god breathed great courage into us. They took the stake of olive wood, sharp at the point, and thrust it into his eye; and I, leaning on it from above, began to turn it, as when a man bores a ship’s timber with a drill, while others below spin it with a strap which they hold at either end, and it turns continuously; so we took the fire-sharpened stake in his eye and we spun it, and the blood flowed around it, hot as it was. And the vapor from the burning eyeball singed all his eyelids and his brows, and its roots crackled in the fire. And as when a smith dips a great axe or an adze in cold water, and it hisses loudly as he tempers it—for that is the strength of iron— so his eye sizzled around the stake of olive wood. And he cried out, terribly and loud, and the rock echoed round about, and in terror we scurried away. But he pulled the stake out of his eye, drenched with much blood. Then he threw it from him with his hands, driven mad with pain, and he called out loudly to the Cyclopes, who around him dwelt in caves among the windswept peaks. And hearing his cry, they came flocking from all sides, and standing around the cave, they asked what troubled him:
‘Why, Polyphemus, are you so distressed that you cry out like this through the immortal night and make us sleepless? Is some mortal driving away your flocks against your will? Is someone killing you yourself by trickery or by force?’
And mighty Polyphemus answered them from inside the cave: ‘My friends, Nobody is killing me by trickery, not by force.’
And they answered him in turn with winged words: ‘If, then, nobody is doing you violence while you are alone, a sickness from great Zeus is something there is no way to escape; so you had best pray to your father, the lord Poseidon.’
So they spoke and went their way, and my own heart laughed within me, at how my name and my flawless cunning had deceived them. But the Cyclops, groaning and writhing in agony, groping with his hands, took the stone from the doorway, and he himself sat down in the entrance, his hands outstretched, hoping to catch someone among the sheep as they went out the door. For he probably hoped in his heart that I was so foolish. But I was planning how all might turn out for the very best, if I could find some release from death for my companions and for myself. And I wove all manner of tricks and cunning, as a man will for his life, for a great evil was near at hand. And this plan seemed to my mind to be the best: there were rams, well-fed and with thick fleeces, handsome and large, with wool of a violet-dark hue. These I bound together in silence with twisted willow withes, on which the monstrous Cyclops, that lawless being, was accustomed to sleep. I took them three by three; the one in the middle carried a man, while the other two went on either side, saving my companions. Thus three sheep carried each man. But as for me— for there was a ram that was by far the best of all the flock— I seized him by the back, and curled up under his shaggy belly I lay; and with my hands I clung steadfastly, with an enduring heart, twisted into the marvelous fleece. And so, groaning, we waited for the divine Dawn.
When the early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, then the male flocks rushed out to the pasture, but the females, unmilked, were bleating around the pens, for their udders were bursting. But their master, racked by evil pains, felt the backs of all the sheep as they stood upright before him; but the fool did not notice how my men were bound beneath the breasts of the woolly sheep. Last of all the flock, the ram went toward the door, weighed down by his fleece and by me with my shrewd thoughts. And mighty Polyphemus, feeling him over, spoke to him:
‘My dear ram, why have you come out of the cave like this, last of the flock? Never before have you been left behind by the sheep, but you are always the very first to graze on the tender blossoms of the grass, taking long strides, and the first to reach the flowing rivers, and the first to desire to return to the fold in the evening. But now you are the very last. Surely you are grieving for your master’s eye, which an evil man put out, he and his wretched companions, after overcoming my senses with wine— Nobody, who I say has not yet escaped destruction. If only you could think as I do, and could gain a voice to tell me where he is skulking from my wrath! Then his brains would be dashed this way and that about the cave, smashed against the ground, and my heart would find relief from the evils which that good-for-nothing Nobody has brought me.’
So speaking, he sent the ram from him out the door. And when we had gone a short way from the cave and the courtyard, first I freed myself from under the ram, and then I freed my companions. Swiftly we drove the long-legged sheep, rich with fat, turning often to look back, until we came to our ship. And we were a welcome sight to our dear companions, we who had escaped death; but for the others they began to weep and wail. But I would not allow it, and with a nod of my brows to each man, I forbade the weeping. Instead, I ordered them to quickly cast the many fair-fleeced sheep into the ship, and sail over the salt water. So they embarked at once and took their places at the benches; and sitting in order they struck the grey sea with their oars. But when I was as far away as a man's voice carries when he shouts, I then addressed the Cyclops with taunting words:
‘Cyclops, it seems he was no weakling, the man whose companions you devoured in your hollow cave with your savage might. And surely your evil deeds were bound to come upon you, you cruel man, since you did not shrink from eating your own guests in your own house. For this Zeus has punished you, and the other gods.’
So I spoke, and he grew even more enraged in his heart. He broke off the peak of a great mountain and hurled it, and he cast it down in front of the dark-prowed ship, and it missed the tip of the rudder by a mere trifle. And the sea surged up from the fall of the rock, and the backwash of the wave carried the ship toward the land, a flood from the open sea, and it nearly drove us onto the shore. But I, seizing a great long pole with my hands,
pushed us off, and urging on my companions, I commanded them to fall to their oars, that we might escape this evil, giving the sign with a nod of my head. And they, leaning forward, began to row. But when we were twice as far out, traversing the salt water, I then called out to the Cyclops; but my companions around me, one after another, tried to restrain me with gentle words:
‘Cruel man, why do you seek to provoke this savage being? Just now he hurled his missile into the sea and drove our ship back to the land, and we truly thought we would perish there. And if he had heard any of us utter a sound or a word, he would have shattered our heads and the timbers of our ship, hurling a jagged rock; so far does he throw.’
So they spoke, but they could not persuade my great-hearted spirit, and I answered him again with an angry heart:
‘Cyclops, if any mortal man should ask you about the shameful blinding of your eye, say that Odysseus, sacker of cities, put it out— the son of Laertes, who has his home in Ithaca.’
So I spoke, and with a groan he answered me in turn: ‘Alas! So it is true that the prophecies of old have come upon me. There was a prophet here, a man both noble and great, Telemus, son of Eurymus, who excelled in prophecy, and grew old prophesying among the Cyclopes. He told me that all these things would come to pass in the future, that I would lose my sight at the hands of Odysseus. But I always expected some great and handsome man to come here, clothed in mighty strength. But now a man who is small, and good-for-nothing, and feeble, has blinded my eye, after overpowering me with wine. But come here, Odysseus, so that I may set guest-gifts before you, and urge the glorious Earth-shaker to grant you safe passage. For I am his son, and he declares himself to be my father. And he himself, if he so wills, will heal me, and no other, neither of the blessed gods nor of mortal men.’
So he spoke, but I answered him in turn and said: ‘I wish that I were as able to bereave you of spirit and of life, and to send you to the house of Hades, as I am certain that not even the Earth-shaker will heal your eye.’
So I spoke, and he then prayed to the lord Poseidon, stretching his hands up to the starry heavens:
‘Hear me, Poseidon, holder of the earth, dark-haired god! If I am truly yours, and you declare yourself my father, grant that Odysseus, sacker of cities, never reaches his home, the son of Laertes, who has his dwelling in Ithaca. But if it is his fate to see his friends and to reach his well-built house and his own native land, may he arrive late and in misery, having lost all his companions, on a foreign ship, and may he find troubles in his house.’
So he spoke in prayer, and the dark-haired god heard him. And the Cyclops once more lifted a stone, far larger still, and hurled it, swinging it round, and put immense force into the throw. And he cast it down behind the dark-prowed ship, and it missed the tip of the rudder by a mere trifle. And the sea surged up from the fall of the rock, and the wave carried the ship forward, and drove it to the far shore.
But when we reached the island where our other well-benched ships were waiting all together, and our companions sat grieving, ever expecting our return, when we arrived we beached our ship on the sands, and we ourselves stepped out upon the breaker-beaten shore. And taking the flocks of the Cyclops from the hollow ship, we divided them, so that no man, by my doing, might go deprived of his equal share. But the ram my well-greaved companions gave to me alone, as a special portion when the flocks were divided. And on the shore I sacrificed him to Zeus of the dark clouds, son of Cronos, who is lord of all, and burned the thigh-pieces. But he paid no heed to my sacrifice, but was instead devising how all my well-benched ships and my loyal companions might be destroyed.
So then for the whole day, until the setting of the sun, we sat and feasted on boundless meat and sweet wine. But when the sun set and darkness came on, we lay down to sleep on the breaker-beaten shore. When the early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, I roused my companions and commanded them to come aboard themselves and to loose the stern-cables. So they embarked at once and took their places at the benches, and sitting in order they struck the grey sea with their oars.
From there we sailed on further, grieving in our hearts, glad to have escaped from death, yet mourning our dear companions.