“These words the Cyclop’s burning rage provoke;
From the tall hill he rends a pointed rock;
High o’er the billows flew the massy load,
And near the ship came thundering on the flood. 
It almost brush’d the helm, and fell before: 
The whole sea shook, and refluent beat the shore,
The strong concussion on the heaving tide
Roll’d back the vessel to the island’s side: 
Again I shoved her off:  our fate to fly,
Each nerve we stretch, and every oar we ply. 
Just ’scaped impending death, when now again
We twice as far had furrow’d back the main,
Once more I raise my voice; my friends, afraid,
With mild entreaties my design dissuade: 
’What boots the godless giant to provoke,
Whose arm may sink us at a single stroke? 
Already when the dreadful rock he threw,
Old Ocean shook, and back his surges flew. 
The sounding voice directs his aim again;
The rock o’erwhelms us, and we ‘scaped in vain.’

“But I, of mind elate, and scorning fear,
Thus with new taunts insult the monster’s ear: 
’Cyclop! if any, pitying thy disgrace. 
Ask, who disfigured thus that eyeless face? 
Say ’twas Ulysses:  ’twas his deed declare,
Laertes’ son, of Ithaca the fair;
Ulysses, far in fighting fields renown’d,
Before whose arm Troy tumbled to the ground.’

“The astonished savage with a roar replies: 
’Oh heavens! oh faith of ancient prophecies! 
This, Telemus Eurymedes foretold
(The mighty seer who on these hills grew old;
Skill’d the dark fates of mortals to declare,
And learn’d in all wing’d omens of the air);
Long since he menaced, such was Fate’s command;
And named Ulysses as the destined hand. 
I deem’d some godlike giant to behold,
Or lofty hero, haughty, brave, and bold;
Not this weak pigmy wretch, of mean design,
Who, not by strength subdued me, but by wine. 
But come, accept our gifts, and join to pray
Great Neptune’s blessing on the watery way;
For his I am, and I the lineage own;
The immortal father no less boasts the son. 
His power can heal me, and relight my eye;
And only his, of all the gods on high.’ 
“’Oh! could this arm (I thus aloud rejoin’d)
From that vast bulk dislodge thy bloody mind,
And send thee howling to the realms of night! 
As sure as Neptune cannot give thee sight.’ 
“Thus I; while raging he repeats his cries,
With hands uplifted to the starry skies? 
’Hear me, O Neptune; thou whose arms are hurl’d
From shore to shore, and gird the solid world;
If thine I am, nor thou my birth disown,
And if the unhappy Cyclop be thy son,
Let not Ulysses breathe his native air,
Laertes’ son, of Ithaca the fair. 
If to review his country be his fate,
Be it through toils and sufferings long and late;
His lost companions let him first deplore;
Some vessel, not his own, transport him o’er;
And when at home from foreign sufferings freed,