Plenteously taking; for we had not spent Our ruddy wine aship-board, supplement Of large sort each man to his vessel drew, When we the sacred city overthrew That held the Cicons. Now then saw we near The Cyclops’ late-prais’d island, and might hear The murmur of their sheep and goats, and see Their smokes ascend. The sun then set, and we, When night succeeded, took our rest ashore. And when the world the morning’s favour wore, I call’d my friends to council, charging them To make stay there, while I took ship and stream, With some associates, and explor’d what men The neighbour isle held; if of rude disdain, Churlish and tyrannous, or minds bewray’d Pious and hospitable. Thus much said, I boarded, and commanded to ascend My friends and soldiers, to put off, and lend Way to our ship. They boarded, sat, and beat The old sea forth, till we might see the seat The greatest Cyclop held for his abode, Which was a deep cave, near the common road Of ships that touch’d there, thick with laurels spread, Where many sheep and goats lay shadowéd; And, near to this, a hall of torn-up stone, High built with pines, that heav’n and earth attone, And lofty-fronted oaks; in which kept house A man in shape immane, and monsterous, Fed all his flocks alone, nor would afford Commerce with men, but had a wit abhorr’d, His mind his body answ’ring. Nor was he Like any man that food could possibly Enhance so hugely, but, beheld alone, Show’d like a steep hill’s top, all overgrown With trees and brambles; little thought had I Of such vast objects. When, arriv’d so nigh, Some of my lov’d friends I made stay aboard, To guard my ship; and twelve with me I shor’d, The choice of all. I took besides along A goat-skin flagon of wine, black and strong, That Maro did present, Evantheus’ son, And priest to Phœbus, who had mansión In Thracian Ismarus (the town I took). He gave it me, since I (with rev’rence strook Of his grave place, his wife and children’s good) Freed all of violence. Amidst a wood, Sacred to Phœbus, stood his house; from whence He fetch’d me gifts of varied excellence; Sev’n talents of fine gold; a bowl all fram’d Of massy silver; but his gift most fam’d Was twelve great vessels, fill’d with such rich wine As was incorruptible and divine. He kept it as his jewel, which none knew But he himself, his wife, and he that drew. It was so strong that never any fill’d A cup, where that was but by drops instill’d, And drunk it off, but ’twas before allay’d With twenty parts in water; yet so sway’d The spirit of that little, that the whole A sacred odour breath’d about the bowl. Had you the odour smelt and scent it cast, It would have vex’d you to forbear the taste. But then, the taste gain’d too, the spirit it wrought To dare things high set-up-an-end my thought. Of this a huge great flagon full I bore, And, in a good large knapsack, victuals store; And long’d to see this heap of fortitude, That so illit’rate was and upland rude That laws divine nor human he had learn’d.