“He answered with his deed: his bloody hand Snatch’d two, unhappy! of my martial band; And dashed like dogs against the stony floor: The pavement swims with brains and mingled gore. Torn limb from limb, he spreads his horrid feast, And fierce devours it like a mountain beast; He sucks the marrow, and the blood he drains, Nor entrails, flesh, nor solid bone remains. We see the death from which we cannot move, And humbled groan beneath the hand of Jove. His ample maw with human carnage till’d, A milky deluge next the giant swill’d; Then stretch’d in length o er half the cavern’d rock, Lay senseless, and supine, amidst the flock.” Having now made an end of his supper, he took a great draught of goat’s milk, and sank into a deep sleep. Ulysses at once drew his sword, and half resolved to thrust it into the sleeping monster; but desisted when he remembered that only Polyphemus could remove the massive stone which guarded the entrance. The night was passed in great fear. When daylight appeared the Cyclop awoke, and kindling a fire, made his breakfast on another brace of Greeks; then pushing aside the huge rock, and rolling it to its place again, he stalked toward the mountains. Toward evening he returned, smacked his lips and enjoyed another Phrygian stew. Supper over, Ulysses offered him strong wine, which the brute took and drank. He liked it so well that he told Ulysses he would show him the kindness to eat him last of all his friends. Having thus expressed his thankfulness, he sank into a dead slumber, and then Ulysses gave proof how far manly wisdom excels brutish force.