For arms and weapons of the sylvan war;

Straight in three squadrons all our crew we part,

And bend the bow, or wing the missile dart;

The bounteous gods afford a copious prey,

And nine fat goats each vessel bears away:

The royal bark had ten. Our ships complete

We thus supplied (for twelve were all the fleet).


“Here, till the setting sun roll’d down the light,

We sat indulging in the genial rite:

Nor wines were wanting; those from ample jars

We drain’d, the prize of our Ciconian wars.

The land of Cyclops lay in prospect near:

The voice of goats and bleating flocks we hear,

And from their mountains rising smokes appear.

Now sunk the sun, and darkness cover’d o’er

The face of things: along the sea-beat shore

Satiate we slept: but, when the sacred dawn

Arising glitter’d o’er the dewy lawn,

I call’d my fellows, and these words address’d

‘My dear associates, here indulge your rest;

While, with my single ship, adventurous, I

Go forth, the manners of yon men to try;

Whether a race unjust, of barbarous might,

Rude and unconscious of a stranger’s right;

Or such who harbour pity in their breast,

Revere the gods, and succour the distress’d,’


“This said, I climb’d my vessel’s lofty side;

My train obey’d me, and the ship untied.

In order seated on their banks, they sweep

Neptune’s smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep.

When to the nearest verge of land we drew,

Fast by the sea a lonely cave we view,

High, and with darkening laurels covered o’er;

Where sheep and goats lay slumbering round the shore:

Near this, a fence of marble from the rock,

Brown with o’erarching pine and spreading oak.

A giant shepherd here his flock maintains

Far from the rest, and solitary reigns,

In shelter thick of horrid shade reclined;

And gloomy mischiefs labour in his mind.

A form enormous! far unlike the race

Of human birth, in stature, or in face;

As some lone mountain’s monstrous growth he stood,