"What hurts thee, Polypheme? what strange

affright

Thus breaks our slumbers, and disturbs the night? Does any mortal in the' unguarded hour

66

Of sleep oppress thee, or by fraud or power?
Or thieves insidious the fair flock surprise?"
Thus they. The Cyclop from his den replies-
'Friends, Noman kills me; Noman in the hour
Of sleep oppresses me with fraudful power."
"If no man hurt thee, but the hand divine
Inflicts disease, it fits thee to resign:
To Jove or to thy father Neptune pray,"
The brethren cried, and instant strode away.

'Joy touch'd my secret soul and conscious heart, Pleased with the' effect of conduct and of art. Meantime the Cyclop, raging with his wound, Spreads his wide arms, and searches round and round:

At last, the stone removing from the gate,
With hands extended in the midst he sat;
And search'd each passing sheep, and felt it o'er,
Secure to seize us ere we reach'd the door
(Such as his shallow wit, he deem'd was mine);
But secret I revolved the deep design;
"Twas for our lives my labouring bosom wrought;
Each scheme I turn'd,and sharpen'd every thought;
This way and that, I cast, to save my friends,
Till one resolve my varying counsel ends.

6

Strong were the rams, with native purple fair, Well fed, and largest of the fleecy care. These three and three, with osier bands we tied (The twining bands the Cyclops' bed supplied); The midmost bore a man; the outward two Secured each side: so bound we all the crew.

One ram remain'd, the leader of the flock;
In his deep fleece my grasping hands I lock,
And fast beneath, in woolly curls inwove,
There cling implicit, and confide in Jove.
When rosy morning glimmer'd o'er the dales,
He drove to pasture all the lusty males:
The ewes still folded, with distended thighs
Unmilk'd, lay bleating in distressful cries.
But heedless of those cares, with anguish stung,
He felt their fleeces as they pass'd along:
(Fool that he was) and let them safely go,
All unsuspecting of their freight below.

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 and his wicked train!)
Oh! didst thou feel for thy afflicted lord,
And would but Fate the power of speech afford,
Soon mightst thou tell me, where in secret here
The dastard lurks, all trembling with his fear:
Swung round and round, and dash'd from rock

to rock,

His batter'd brains should on the pavement smoke. No ease, no pleasure my sad heart receives, While such a monster as vile Noman lives."