Ah, rash Ulysses! why with taunts provoke
The savage more, who hath this moment hurl'd 685
A weapon, such as heav'd the ship again
To land, where death seem'd certain to us all?
For had he heard a cry, or but the voice
Of one man speaking, he had all our heads
With some sharp rock, and all our timbers crush'd 690
Together, such vast force is in his arm.
So they, but my courageous heart remain'd
Unmoved, and thus again, incensed, I spake.
Cyclops! should any mortal man inquire
To whom thy shameful loss of sight thou ow'st, 695
Say, to Ulysses, city-waster Chief,
Laertes' son, native of Ithaca.
I ceas'd, and with a groan thus he replied.
Ah me! an antient oracle I feel
Accomplish'd. Here abode a prophet erst, 700
A man of noblest form, and in his art
Unrivall'd, Telemus Eurymedes.
He, prophesying to the Cyclops-race,
Grew old among us, and presaged my loss
Of sight, in future, by Ulysses' hand. 705
I therefore watch'd for the arrival here,
Always, of some great Chief, for stature, bulk
And beauty prais'd, and cloath'd with wond'rous might.
But now—a dwarf, a thing impalpable,
A shadow, overcame me first by wine, 710
Then
