No More Learning

He feeds on the flesh and dark blood of
wretched men. I myself saw, when he caught the bodies of two of us with
his great hand, and lying back in the middle of the cave crushed them on
the rock, and the courts splashed and swam with gore; I saw when he
champed the flesh adrip with dark clots of blood, and the warm limbs
quivered under his teeth. Yet not unavenged. Ulysses brooked not this,
nor even in such straits did the Ithacan forget himself. For so soon as
he, gorged with his feast and buried in wine, lay with bent neck
sprawling huge over the cave, in his sleep vomiting gore and gobbets
mixed with wine and blood, we, praying to the great gods and with parts
allotted, pour at once all round him, and pierce with a sharp weapon the
huge eye that lay sunk single under his savage brow, in fashion of an
Argolic shield or the lamp of the moon; and at last we exultingly avenge
the ghosts of our comrades. But fly, O wretched men, fly [640-674]and
pluck the cable from the beach. . . . For even in the shape and stature
of Polyphemus, when he shuts his fleeced flocks and drains their udders
in the cave's covert, an hundred other horrible Cyclopes dwell all about
this shore and stray on the mountain heights. Thrice now does the horned
moon fill out her light, while I linger in life among desolate lairs and
haunts of wild beasts in the woodland, and from a rock survey the giant
Cyclopes and shudder at their cries and echoing feet. The boughs yield a
miserable sustenance, berries and stony sloes, and plants torn up by the
root feed me. Sweeping all the view, I at last espied this fleet
standing in to shore. On it, whatsoever it were, I cast myself; it is
enough to have escaped the accursed tribe. Do you rather, by any death
you will, destroy this life of mine.
"

'Scarcely had he spoken thus, when on the mountain top we see
shepherding his flocks a vast moving mass, Polyphemus himself seeking
the shores he knew, a horror ominous, shapeless, huge, bereft of sight.
A pine lopped by his hand guides and steadies his footsteps. His fleeced
sheep attend him, this his single delight and solace in ill. . . . After
he hath touched the deep flood and come to the sea, he washes in it the
blood that oozes from his eye-socket, grinding his teeth with groans;
and now he strides through the sea up to his middle, nor yet does the
wave wet his towering sides. We hurry far away in precipitate flight,
with the suppliant who had so well merited rescue; and silently cut the
cable, and bending forward sweep the sea with emulous oars. He heard,
and turned his steps towards the echoing sound. But when he may in no
wise lay hands on us, nor can fathom the Ionian waves in pursuit, he
raises a vast cry, at which the sea and all his waves shuddered, and the
deep land of Italy was startled, and Aetna's vaulted caverns moaned. But
the tribe of the [675-709]Cyclopes, roused from the high wooded hills,
run to the harbour and fill the shore. We descry the Aetnean brotherhood
standing impotent with scowling eye, their stately heads up to heaven, a
dreadful consistory; even as on a mountain summit stand oaks high in air
or coned cypresses, a high forest of Jove or covert of Diana. Sharp fear
urges us to shake out the sheets in reckless haste, and spread our sails
to the favouring wind. Yet Helenus' commands counsel that our course
keep not the way between Scylla and Charybdis, the very edge of death on
either hand. We are resolved to turn our canvas back. And lo!