Book IX

Then Odysseus, the man of many wiles, made answer: “Lord Alcinous, most glorious of all your people, it is a thing of beauty, truly, to hear a singer such as this man is, with a voice that rivals the gods. For I myself can think of no more perfect grace than when a spirit of joy possesses a whole people, and feasters in a hall sit listening to the bard in rows, and tables alongside them are laden with bread and meat, and the wine-steward draws from the mixing-bowl and carries it round, and pours it into their cups. This, to my mind, is the loveliest sight on earth. But your heart has moved you to ask of my grievous sorrows, that I may weep and groan yet more. What, then, shall I tell you first? And what shall be last? For the gods of heaven have given me sorrows in plenty.

First, now, I will tell you my name, so that you too may know it, and I, if I escape the pitiless day of doom, may be your guest-friend, though my home lies far away. I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, known to all men for my many stratagems; my fame has reached the heavens. I dwell in Ithaca, a sunlit isle. A mountain rises there, Neriton, with shimmering leaves, a landmark from afar. Around it, many islands lie clustered close together, Doulichion and Same and wooded Zacynthus. My homeland lies low, the last of all the islands in the sea, facing the western dark, while the others lie apart, toward the dawn. It is a rugged land, but a good nurse of heroes. And for my part, I can look on nothing sweeter than one’s own native country.

Truly Calypso, the luminous goddess, held me there in her hollow caves, longing for me to be her husband; and Circe of Aiaia, the cunning sorceress, detained me in her halls, wanting me for her husband. But never for a moment did they persuade the heart within my breast. For nothing is sweeter than a man’s own country and his parents, not even if he dwells in a rich house in a foreign land, far from the ones who bore him.

But come, let me tell you of the sorrow-laden journey home that Zeus ordained for me on my way from Troy. The wind that bore me from Ilium drove me to the Cicones, to Ismarus. There I sacked the city and killed the men. From the city we took their wives and plundered their great wealth, and shared it out, so no man would go cheated of his portion. Then I urged my men that we should flee with nimble feet, but they, in their great folly, would not listen. There much wine was drunk, and many sheep they slaughtered by the shore, and shambling, crooked-horned cattle. Meanwhile, the Cicones who had escaped went to summon others, their neighbors, who were more numerous and braver men, dwelling inland, skilled at fighting from their chariots and on foot as well, whenever the need arose. They came, as many as the leaves and flowers born in springtime, at dawn. And then an evil fate from Zeus stood over us, doomed men, that we might suffer a world of pain. Drawing up their lines, they fought a battle by the swift ships, and they cast at one another with their bronze-tipped spears. As long as it was morning and the sacred day was waxing, we held our ground and beat them back, though they outnumbered us. But when the sun turned toward the time for unyoking oxen, the Cicones broke our lines and overwhelmed the Achaeans. From each of our ships, six of my well-greaved companions were killed. The rest of us escaped from death and doom.

From there we sailed on, grieving in our hearts, relieved to have escaped death, but mourning our dear comrades. Nor did my curved ships venture any further on before we had called out three times for each of our poor friends who died on that plain, cut down by the Cicones. But Zeus the Cloud-Gatherer roused the North Wind against our ships in a monstrous tempest, and veiled in cloud the earth and sea alike, and night rushed down from heaven. The ships were driven headlong, and their sails were ripped to shreds, torn into three and four pieces by the gale’s force. We lowered them into the hulls, in terror of destruction, and rowed the ships themselves desperately toward the land. There for two nights and for two days we lay, continuously, eating our hearts out with exhaustion and with sorrow. But when the fair-tressed Dawn brought forth the third day, we stepped the masts and hoisted the white sails again, and sat, and let the wind and helmsmen keep us on our course. And I would have reached my own native land unscathed, but the swell and current, as I rounded Cape Malea, and the North Wind beat me back and drove me past Cythera.

For nine days after that I was borne by deadly winds across the fish-filled sea; but on the tenth day we came ashore in the land of the Lotus-Eaters, who eat a flowery food. There we went onto the mainland and drew water, and at once my comrades took their meal beside the swift ships. But when we had our fill of food and drink, I sent some of my companions to go and learn what sort of men, eaters of bread, lived upon that land. I chose two men, and sent a third with them, a herald. They went off straightaway and mingled with the Lotus-Eaters, and the Lotus-Eaters planned no destruction for our comrades, but gave them of the lotus plant to taste. And whichever of them ate the honey-sweet fruit of the lotus no longer wished to send back word or to return, but chose to stay there with the Lotus-Eating men, to feed on lotus and forget their journey home. I brought them back to the ships by force, while they wept, and dragged them under the rowing benches in the hollow ships and bound them. Then I commanded my other loyal companions to embark with all speed on our swift ships, lest anyone should eat the lotus and forget his homeward path. They boarded at once and sat down at the oarlocks, and sitting in their rows, they struck the gray salt sea with their oars.

From there we sailed on, grieving in our hearts, and came to the land of the overbearing, lawless Cyclopes, who, trusting in the immortal gods, neither plant with their hands nor plow the soil. Instead, all things grow for them, unsown and untilled— wheat and barley and vines, which bear them wine from heavy clusters, nourished by the rains of Zeus. They have no assemblies for counsel, nor established laws, but live on the peaks of lofty mountains in hollow caves, and each one lays down the law for his own children and his wives, and they reck nothing of each other.

Now, a fertile island stretches out beyond their harbor, not close to the land of the Cyclopes, nor far away, and it is wooded. Countless wild goats are born there, for the tread of men does not disturb them, nor do hunters venture there, who suffer hardships in the woods, tracking the mountain peaks. It is not held for flocks, nor is it put to the plow, but all its days it lies unsown and untilled, bereft of men, and it pastures the bleating goats. For the Cyclopes have no ships with crimson-painted prows, nor are there shipwrights in their land who could have fashioned well-benched vessels, which might have served their needs, visiting the towns of other men, as people often cross the sea in ships to deal with one another. Such men could have made this island a fine settlement. For it is not at all a poor land, but would bear all things in their season. Along the shores of the gray sea are meadows, well-watered and soft, where vines would never fail. The land is level for the plow; they could reap a deep harvest at the reaping time, for the soil beneath is rich. And there is a safe harbor, where no cable is required, no anchor stones to cast, no stern-lines to make fast. One need only beach the ship and wait until the sailors’ hearts are moved to go and the right winds begin to blow. And at the harbor’s head, clear water flows from a spring beneath a cave, and poplars grow around it.

There we sailed in, and some god must have been our guide through the murky night, for there was nothing to be seen. A deep fog lay about the ships, and the moon shed no light from the sky, being hidden by the clouds. No one, then, caught sight of the island with his eyes, nor did we see the long waves rolling toward the shore before our well-benched ships had run aground. Once the ships were beached, we lowered all the sails and we ourselves stepped out onto the sea’s margin. There we fell into a slumber and awaited the bright Dawn.

As soon as early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, we roamed about the island, marveling at what we saw. And the nymphs, the daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, stirred up the mountain goats, so my companions would have a meal. At once we took our curved bows and our long-socketed javelins from the ships, and arranging ourselves in three companies, we started to shoot. And soon the god gave us a satisfying hunt. Twelve ships were in my fleet, and to each one were allotted nine goats; but for me alone they set apart ten. So then for the whole day long, until the sun went down, we sat and feasted on limitless meat and sweet wine. For the red wine was not yet all gone from the ships, but some was left; for we had drawn off plenty in our jars when we took the sacred citadel of the Cicones. We looked across to the land of the Cyclopes, who were near, and could see their smoke, and hear the sound of their voices, and their sheep and goats. But when the sun went down and darkness fell, we lay down to sleep on the shore of the sea.

As soon as early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, I called an assembly and spoke among them all: ‘The rest of you stay here, my loyal companions. But I, with my own ship and my own crew, will go and try to learn what kind of men these are— whether they are violent, savage, and unjust, or hospitable to strangers, with a god-fearing mind.’ So saying, I went aboard my ship and ordered my companions to come aboard themselves and to cast off the stern-ropes. They boarded at once and sat down at the oarlocks, and sitting in their rows, they struck the gray salt sea with their oars.

But when we reached that place, which was not far away, we saw a cave at the edge of the land, near the sea, lofty and overshadowed with laurels. There many flocks, both sheep and goats, were accustomed to sleeping. Around it a high-walled court was built with deep-set stones and with tall pines and high-crested oak trees. There a monstrous man would sleep, who pastured his flocks alone and far from others; he did not mix with them, but kept apart, his mind set on lawless things. For he was a monstrous marvel, and was not like a mortal man who eats bread, but like a wooded peak of the high mountains, which stands out alone from all the rest.

Then I ordered my other loyal companions to stay there by the ship and to guard the ship, but I chose the twelve best men from my company and went forth. I had with me a goatskin flask of dark wine, sweet, which Maron, son of Euanthes, had given me, the priest of Apollo, who watched over Ismarus. We had protected him with his child and wife out of reverence, for he lived in the leafy 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. No one among his slaves or handmaids in the house knew of it, but only he himself, his dear wife, and one stewardess. And whenever they drank that honey-sweet red wine, he would fill one cup and pour it into twenty measures of water, and a sweet scent would rise from the mixing-bowl, a divine aroma; then it would be no pleasure to abstain. I carried a large flask filled with this, and provisions in a leather pouch. For my proud heart at once suspected that we would encounter a man invested with great power, a savage, who knew nothing of good customs or of law.

Swiftly we came to the cave, but we did not find him within; he was pasturing his fat flocks in the fields. We went into the cave and looked at everything in wonder. The racks were heavy with cheeses, and the pens were crowded with lambs and kids. They were all sorted into separate groups: the firstlings in one, the middlings in another, and the newborns in another. All the vessels, the pails and bowls he used for milking, were well-made and swimming with whey. At first my companions pleaded with me in their words to take some of the cheeses and come back, and then to drive the kids and lambs from their pens down to our swift ship and sail away over the salt water. But I would not be persuaded—though it would have been far better— so that I might see the man himself, and see if he would give me a host’s gift. But his appearance was to be no welcome sight for my companions.

There we kindled a fire and made an offering, and we ourselves took some of the cheeses and ate, and we sat inside and waited for him, until he came back with his flocks. He was carrying a mighty burden of dry wood, to serve for his evening meal. He threw it down inside the cave and made a huge crash, and we, in terror, scurried into the cave’s deep recess. Then he drove his fat flocks into the wide cavern, all those that he would milk, but the males he left outside, the rams and the he-goats, beyond the deep courtyard. And then he lifted up a great door-stone and set it in place, a mighty stone; not even two and twenty wagons, good, four-wheeled ones, could have pried it from the ground. Such was the towering cliff of rock he set against the door. Then he sat and milked the ewes and the bleating goats, all in due order, and put a suckling under each one. At once he curdled half of the white milk and gathered it in woven baskets and set it aside, and the other half he let stand in the pails, so that he might have it to take and drink, and for his evening meal. But when he had hurried and finished all his tasks, he then rekindled the fire, and he saw us, and he asked: ‘Strangers, who are you? From where do you sail the watery ways? Are you on some business, or do you wander aimlessly, like pirates, over the sea, who roam about staking their own lives and bringing disaster to other people?’ So he spoke, and our very hearts were broken within us, in fear of his deep voice and his monstrous self. But even so, I answered him and addressed him with my words: ‘We are Achaeans, driven off our course from Troy by all kinds of winds over the great gulf of the sea. Striving for home, we have come by another way, another path. So, I suppose, Zeus must have willed it and designed it. We declare ourselves to be the men of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, whose fame is now the greatest under heaven; for so great a city he sacked and destroyed so many people. But we, in our turn, have come to your knees as suppliants, in hope you might offer us a guest-gift, or give us in some other way the present that is the custom for strangers. But show respect, great sir, for the gods. We are your suppliants, and Zeus is the avenger of suppliants and of strangers— Zeus, god of guests, who attends upon strangers who deserve respect.’ So I spoke, and at once he answered me with a pitiless heart: ‘You are a fool, stranger, or you have come from far away, you who tell me to fear the gods or to shrink from them. For the Cyclopes do not heed aegis-bearing Zeus or the blessed gods, since we are stronger by far. Nor would I, to escape the wrath of Zeus, spare you or your companions, unless my own heart prompted me. But tell me where you moored your well-made ship when you arrived. Was it at the far end of the island, or somewhere near? I’d like to know.’ So he spoke, testing me, but his tricks did not fool me, who knows so much, and I answered him back again with words of cunning: ‘My ship was smashed by Poseidon, the Earth-Shaker, who threw it against the rocks at the borders of your land, driving it onto a headland; a wind had carried it from the open sea. But I, with these men here, escaped sheer destruction.’ So I spoke, and he, with his pitiless heart, answered me nothing, but lunged up and laid his hands upon my companions. He seized two of them and dashed them to the ground like puppies, and their brains ran out and soaked the earth. He cut them limb from limb and made ready his supper. He ate like a mountain-bred lion, leaving nothing behind— entrails and flesh and bones filled with marrow. And we, weeping, held up our hands to Zeus, watching these cruel deeds, and helplessness gripped our hearts.

But when the Cyclops had filled his enormous belly, eating human flesh and drinking unmixed milk on top of it, he lay down inside the cave, stretched out among his sheep. And I, in my great-hearted spirit, planned to draw near, pulling the sharp sword from my thigh, and stab him in the chest, where the midriff holds the liver, feeling for the spot with my hand. But a second thought restrained me. For we too would have perished there in sheer destruction, for we would not have been able to move with our hands from the high doorway the mighty stone that he had set there. And so, groaning, we waited for the bright Dawn.

As soon as early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, he rekindled the fire and milked his splendid flocks, all in due order, and put a suckling under each one. But when he had hurried and finished all his tasks, he once again seized two of my men and made ready his breakfast. When he had eaten, he drove his fat flocks out of the cave, effortlessly lifting 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, and I was left behind, plotting evils deep in my heart, wondering how I might get my revenge, if Athena would grant me the glory. And this was the plan that seemed best to my mind. A great club of the Cyclops’s lay beside a pen, of green olive wood. He had cut it to carry once it was seasoned. And we, looking at it, reckoned it to be as large as the mast of a black ship with twenty oars, a broad-beamed freighter that crosses the great gulf of the sea; such was its length, and such was its thickness to behold. Standing beside it, I cut off a fathom’s length of it and gave it to my companions, and told them to shave it down. They made it smooth, and I, standing by, sharpened the point, and at once took it and hardened it in the blazing fire. Then I hid it well, concealing it under the dung which was scattered in great heaps all through the cave. Then I bid the others cast lots among themselves, to see who would dare to lift the stake with me and grind it into his eye when sweet sleep came upon him. And the lot fell on those whom I myself would have wanted to choose, four of them, and I was counted as the fifth among them. In the evening he returned, herding his fine-fleeced flocks. At once he drove his fat flocks into the wide cavern, all of them, and left none outside in the deep courtyard, either from some suspicion, or because a god so commanded him. And then he lifted up the great door-stone and set it in place, and sitting down, he milked the ewes and the bleating goats, all in due order, and put a suckling under each one. But when he had hurried and finished all his tasks, he once again seized two of my men and made ready his supper. And then I, standing near, addressed the Cyclops, holding in my hands an ivy-wood bowl of the dark wine: ‘Cyclops, here, drink some wine, now that you have eaten your meal of human flesh, so you may know what kind of drink our ship was hiding. I brought it for you as a libation, in hope you might take pity on me and send me home. But your madness is no longer bearable. Cruel man, how can you expect any other mortal from all the world to visit you, when you have acted so lawlessly?’ So I spoke, and he took it and drank it down. And he was terribly pleased to be drinking the sweet drink, and he asked me for a second helping: ‘Give me more, freely, and tell me your name, right now, so I can give you a guest-gift that will please you. For the grain-giving earth bears for the Cyclopes wine from heavy clusters, and the rain of Zeus nourishes it for them. But this is a stream 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 drank it in his folly. But when the wine had gone to the Cyclops’s head, then I addressed him with words as sweet as honey: ‘Cyclops, you ask me my glorious name. I will tell you. And you must give me a guest-gift, just as you have promised. My name is Nobody. Nobody is what my mother and my father call me, and all my companions.’ So I spoke, and at once he answered me with a pitiless heart: ‘I will eat Nobody last, after his companions, and the others before him. That will be your guest-gift.’ He spoke, and leaning back, he fell flat on his back, and then lay there with his thick neck lolling to one side, and sleep, the all-conqueror, seized him. And from his throat gushed wine and morsels of human flesh; he retched in his drunken stupor. And then I drove the stake deep into the embers until it grew hot, and with my words I encouraged all my companions, so that no one, seized by fear, would falter. But when the olive-wood stake in the fire was about to catch flame, green though it was, and it glowed with a terrible light, then I brought it closer from the fire, and my companions stood around me. And a great divinity breathed courage into us. They took the olive-wood stake, sharp at the tip, and thrust it into his eye. And I, leaning on it from above, spun it, as when a man drills a ship’s timber with a drill, and his helpers below spin it with a leather strap, grasping it on either side, and it runs continuously. So we took the fire-hardened stake in his eye and spun it, and the blood flowed around it, hot as it was. All his eyelids and his brows were singed by the blast from the burning eyeball, and its roots crackled in the fire. As when a blacksmith plunges a great axe or an adze into cold water, and it screams aloud as he tempers it—for that is the very strength of iron— so his eye hissed and sizzled around that olive stake. He shrieked a terrible, great cry, and the rock walls echoed, and we, in terror, scurried away. But he pulled the stake out of his eye, drenched with streams of blood. Then he threw it from him, flailing with his hands in a frenzy, and he called with a great shout to the Cyclopes, who lived around him in caves among the windswept peaks. And they, hearing his cry, came from all directions, and standing around the cave, they asked what was troubling him: ‘Why, Polyphemus, are you in such pain, and why do you cry out like this through the ambrosial night, and make us sleepless? Is some mortal driving off your flocks against your will? Or is someone trying to kill you by treachery or by force?’ And from inside the cave, mighty Polyphemus answered them: ‘My friends, Nobody is killing me by treachery and not by force.’ And they, answering him, spoke with winged words: ‘Well, if nobody is doing you violence, and you are alone, a sickness from great Zeus is something you cannot escape. You should pray to your father, the lord Poseidon.’ So they spoke and went away, and my own heart laughed at how my name and my flawless cunning had deceived them. The Cyclops, groaning and writhing in agony, groped with his hands and took the stone from the doorway, and he himself sat in the entrance with his hands outstretched, hoping to catch anyone who tried to go out with the sheep. That is how foolish he must have thought me in his heart to be. But I was planning how it all might turn out for the best, if I could find some escape from death for my companions and for myself. I wove all my wiles and cunning, as a man will for his life, for a great evil was near. And this was the plan that seemed best to my mind. There were rams, well-fed and thick of fleece, handsome and large, with wool the color of dark violets. These I bound together in silence with twisted willow withes, on which the monstrous Cyclops, that lawless creature, used to sleep. I took them three at a time. The one in the middle would carry a man, while the other two went on either side to keep my companions safe. So three sheep carried each man. But as for me— there was a ram, the finest by far of all the flock. I grasped him by the back, and curled up under his shaggy belly and lay there. And with my hands I twisted myself deep into his wondrous fleece and clung on with an enduring heart. And so, groaning, we waited for the bright Dawn.

As soon as early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, the male flocks rushed out to pasture, but the females, unmilked, were bleating around the pens, for their udders were bursting. And their master, racked with terrible 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 chests of his woolly sheep. Last of all the flock, the ram started for the door, weighed down by his fleece and by me and my intricate thoughts. And mighty Polyphemus, feeling him over, spoke to him: ‘My dear ram, why have you come through the cave like this, the last of the flock? You have never been left behind by the sheep before, but 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 long to return to the steading in the evening. But now you are the very last of all. Surely you are grieving for your master’s eye, which an evil man put out, with his wretched companions, after overpowering my mind with wine— Nobody, who I say has not yet escaped destruction. If only you could think like me and were able to speak, to tell me where he is skulking from my fury. Then his brains would be smashed out on the ground and spattered all through the cave, and my heart would be relieved of the evils that this worthless Nobody has brought me.’ So saying, he sent the ram away from him and out the door.

When we had gone a little way from the cave and the courtyard, first I freed myself from under the ram, then I untied my companions. Swiftly we drove the long-legged sheep, rich with fat, turning them round and round, until we reached 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 mourn. But I would not allow it, and with a nod of my brows I checked each man from weeping, and told them to hurry and throw the many fine-fleeced sheep into the ship and sail over the salt water. They boarded at once and sat down at the oarlocks, and sitting in their rows, they struck the gray salt sea with their oars. But when I was as far away as a man’s voice can carry when he shouts, I called out to the Cyclops with words of mockery: ‘Cyclops! So you were not to eat the companions of a weakling man in your hollow cave with your savage might! Your evil deeds were sure to find you out, you cruel man, who had no shame in eating the guests in your own house. For that, Zeus has paid you back, and the other gods as well.’ So I spoke, and he grew even more enraged in his heart. He broke off the peak of a great mountain and threw it, and it landed in front of our dark-prowed ship, just short, and it failed to reach the tip of the rudder. The sea surged up as the rock came plunging down, and a backwash from the open sea, like a tidal wave, carried the ship toward the land and threatened to drive it ashore. But I, with my own hands, took up a long pole and pushed us off, and I urged my companions to fall to their oars, so we might escape this evil, nodding to them with my head. And they bent forward and rowed. But when we were twice as far out, plowing through the sea, I was about to call out to the Cyclops again. But my companions on all sides tried to restrain me with soothing words: ‘Reckless man, why do you want to provoke this savage creature? Just now he threw a missile into the sea that drove our ship back to the land, and we truly thought we would die right there. If he had heard any one of us speak or make a sound, he would have smashed our heads and our ship’s timbers by throwing a jagged rock. That is how far he can hurl it.’ So they spoke, but they did not persuade my great-hearted spirit, and I answered him back again with my heart full of anger: ‘Cyclops, if any mortal man should ask you about the shameful blinding of your eye, say that Odysseus, sacker of cities, blinded you— the son of Laertes, whose home is in Ithaca.’ So I spoke, and he, with a groan, answered me in words: ‘Ah, so it is true! The ancient prophecies have found me. There was a seer here once, a man both noble and tall, Telemus, son of Eurymus, who excelled in prophecy and grew old as a seer 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 was always expecting some man, tall and handsome, to come here, invested with great power. But now a man who is small, and worthless, and weak has blinded my eye, after overpowering me with wine. But come here, Odysseus, so I may give you guest-gifts 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 wishes, will heal me, and no one else among the blessed gods or mortal men can do it.’ So he spoke, but I answered him in turn and said: ‘I wish that I could strip you of your soul and of your life and send you down into the house of Hades, as surely as 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 heaven: ‘Hear me, Poseidon, holder of the earth, of the dark-blue hair! If I am truly yours, and you declare yourself my father, grant that Odysseus, sacker of cities, may never reach his home— the son of Laertes, whose home is in Ithaca. But if it is his fate to see his loved ones and to reach his well-built house and his own native land, may he come home late and in misery, having lost all his companions, on a stranger’s ship, and may he find trouble in his house.’ So he spoke in prayer, and the dark-haired god heard him. Then the Cyclops lifted up a rock again, far bigger than before, and swung it round and put tremendous force behind it, and he threw it, and it landed behind our dark-prowed ship, just short, and it failed to reach the tip of the rudder. The sea surged up as the rock came plunging down, and the wave carried the ship forward and drove it to the farther shore.

But when we reached the island where our other well-benched ships were waiting all together, and our companions sat around them, grieving, watching for us always, we ran our ship ashore there in the sands, and we ourselves stepped out onto the sea’s margin. We took the Cyclops’s sheep out of the hollow ship and divided them, so that no one would go cheated of his equal share. But the ram, my well-greaved companions gave to me alone as a special prize when the flocks were being divided. And on the shore I sacrificed it to Zeus of the dark clouds, son of Cronos, who is lord of all, and I burned the thigh-pieces. But he paid no heed to my offerings, but was instead pondering how all my well-benched ships and my loyal companions might be utterly destroyed. So then for the whole day long, until the sun went down, we sat and feasted on limitless meat and sweet wine. But when the sun went down and darkness fell, we lay down to sleep on the shore of the sea.

As soon as early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, I roused my companions and ordered them to come aboard themselves and to cast off the stern-ropes. They boarded at once and sat down at the oarlocks, and sitting in their rows, they struck the gray salt sea with their oars. From there we sailed on, grieving in our hearts, relieved to have escaped from death, but mourning our dear comrades.