he was called Noman, the giant facetiously promised to eat
him last, before he fell into a drunken sleep. Then Ulysses and his
four men, heating the pointed pine, bored out the eye of Polyphemus,
who howled with pain:

"Sudden I stir the embers, and inspire
With animating breath the seeds of fire;
Each drooping spirit with bold words repair,
And urge my train the dreadful deed to dare.
The stake now glow'd beneath the burning bed
(Green as it was) and sparkled fiery red.
Then forth the vengeful instrument I bring;
With beating hearts my fellows form a ring.
Urged by some present god, they swift let fall
The pointed torment on his visual ball.
Myself above them from a rising ground
Guide the sharp stake, and twirl it round and round.
As when a shipwright stands his workmen o'er,
Who ply the wimble, some huge beam to bore;
Urged on all hands it nimbly spins about,
The grain deep-piercing till it scoops it out;
In his broad eye so whirls the fiery wood;
From the pierced pupil spouts the boiling blood;
Singed are his brows; the scorching lids grow black;
The jelly bubbles, and the fibres crack."

His fellow-Cyclops, awakened by his cries, gathered without his cave,
asking what was the matter. But, hearing him vehemently howl that
Noman was hurting him, they all declared he was evidently being
punished by the gods and left him to his plight!

When morning came, the groaning Cyclops rolled aside the rock,
standing beside it with arms outstretched to catch his prisoners
should they attempt to escape. Seeing this, Ulysses tied his men under
the sheep, and, clinging to the fleece of the biggest ram, had himself
dragged out of the cave. Passing his hand over the backs of the sheep
to make sure the strangers were not riding on them, Polyphemus
recognized by touch his favorite ram, and feelingly ascribed its slow
pace to sympathy with his woes.

The master ram at last approach'd the gate,
Charged with his wool and with Ulysses' fate.
Him, while he pass'd, the monster blind bespoke:
"What makes my ram the lag of all the flock?
First thou wert wont to crop the flowery mead,
First to the field and river's bank to lead,
And first with stately step at evening hour
Thy fleecy fellows usher to their bower.
Now far the last, with pensive pace and slow
Thou movest, as conscious of thy master's woe!
Seest thou these lids that now unfold in vain,
(The deed of Noman