LITERATURE OF ANCIENT GREECE

INTRODUCTION

The Greeks are recognized as an exceptional people. They are known in history as the “noble
Greeks.” Because of their attainments in literature, sculpture, architecture, and philosophy, the
term the glory that was Greece is particularly applicable to them.

Out of the darkness of barbarism that prevailed in ancient times when absolute despots governed
their people capriciously, cruelly, and ruthlessly, when the governed were wretched and
miserable, when superstition and ignorance were rampant, the cities of Greece progressed. These
cities became centers of white-hot intellectual energy, and their inhabitants pursued beauty in all
its form and developed a passion for democracy in its true sense.

Their neighbors did not understand the Greeks and their way of life. Herodotus, the great Greek
historian, was a great traveler. When he was in Persia, the Persian queen, Atossa, asked him,
“Who are the Greeks?”

“I am a Greek,” Herodotus answered. “When you look at me, you see a Greek.”

“What master do they obey?” the queen asked again.

“The Greeks have no master; they are not slaves,” was Herodotus’ bold answer.

“Whom do they obey then?” the queen insisted.

“They obey laws!”

“The laws? What are the laws? They have no master. What a strange people” The queen shook
her head.
GREEK ART

THE Greeks produced a civilization which in many ways has never been surpassed in the world.
Of what they accomplished in art little remains, and we are not even sure that what we have is
the best. But what remains has aroused the admiration and astonishment of the world. There is no
sculpture comparable to theirs; there are no buildings more beautiful and more admirable than
those they built; there are no literary pieces superior to theirs. In fact, in literature they are all
supreme---the world has produced no epic poet to compare with Homer, no lyric poet to equal
Pindar. The Greeks cultivated prose rather late, but history has no greater practitioner than
Herodotus and Thucydides; and there is no prose; and there is no prose, aside perhaps from
Bible, more poetic than that of Plato. Of the four great tragic poets the world has produced, three
are Greek; the fourth is Shakespeare. Of their painting little has survived, but we have the
statement of a contemporary art critic commenting on painting of Helen of Troy by Polygnotus:
“In her eyes, one could read the story of the Trojan War!”
How different was Greek art from the known forms of art all over the world in those times and
even today! Egypt produced an art that was unnatural, stiff in its fixity of expression. The
Egyptian artists were unable to work with freedom. Indian art, on the other hand, was absolutely
free, but the results were strange. Consider the famous statue of Siva, an Indian god, represented
as performing an intricate dance. The god stands poised, arrested in movement; the movements
of the dance are represented by many heads and arms curving from the body to denote the
rhythm of the dance.

Now consider a Greek statue of Hermes, the messenger of the gods. The statue represents a
perfectly human form, recognizably a human being. Every detail shows an exact knowledge of
the human body. There is nothing to denote that he is a god, no halo around his head, but his
absolute beauty is the mark of his divinity.

To understand the Greeks, we must try to recapture their experiences to ask what these did for
them and what these cost. Such a search cannot be entirely successful, for to probe a distant past
is extremely difficult. Documents and monuments exist, but they are sadly incomplete and we
cannot reconstruct things as they really were. We cannot recover the sights of everyday life, the
casual conversations in field or household, the daily task of a community which would enable us
to judge the Greeks by their own standards and to understand them as they understood
themselves. Another obstacle to a true understanding is that we read Greek works only through
translations. Translations are indispensable because ancient Greek is now a dead language;
nobody speaks it any longer. But a translation can only indicate; it cannot replace the original.
This is especially lamentable in relation to Greek literature because the greater portion of their
literary works were written in poetry. We must remember that a poem, especially a typical lyric
poem, is two-thirds melody and only one-third thought. This is what particularly distinguishes
poetry from prose. Translation cannot duplicate the rhythm, the tone, the combination pf vowel
sounds and consonant values which give its inimitable and enduring quality.
GREEK LITERATURE

The history of Greek literature is divided into three periods. The first period, covering the Pre-
Homeric Age and the Homeric Age, extends from remote antiquity to the age of Herodotus (484
B.C.). This period includes the earliest poetry of Greece and the works of Homer. The second
period, which coincides with the Athenian Period to the Golden Age of Pericles, extends from
the Age of Herodotus to the death of Alexander the Great (323 B.C.). The third period, the
Period of Decline, extends from the death of Alexander the Great to the enslavement of the
Greeks by Rome and extends to A.D. 1453.

After reading Greek literature, we can say that the following are its qualities:
1. Permanence and Universality. Greek literature has an enduring quality. It is as alive
today as it was when it was written more than 3,000 years ago. It has a universality that is
truly remarkable; it is read and admired by all nations of the world regardless of race,
religion, or culture.
2. Essentially Full of Artistry. It is a product of a people who purposely and conscientiously
developed their physical and intellectual powers. Greek art is the highest form of classic
art. The Greek mind became the foundation of the literature of the Western world, and its
masterpieces afford the most splendid examples of artistic beauty and excellence that the
 world has ever known. The Greeks had such a great love of beauty that they surrounded
themselves with beautiful objects. Their wares, their vases, the baskets they used---all
were conceived in beauty. It would seem that anything ugly struck them as a physical
blow.
3. Originality. The quality of literary originality does not mean that all literary types
originated from Greece. The drama had been produced by the Egyptians and narrative
poetry had been cultivated in India, but the Greek mind had the supreme power of
modifying and improving all that it touched.

The philosophy and religion of the East they recast in moulds of beauty in their
mythology. The grotesque they softened into the graceful, and the intricate and confusing
they simplified.
4. Diversity of Talent. The Greek mind never rested complacently on any one subject; it was
ever searching, ever seeking. It was fond of diversity of application. That was why the
Greeks cultivated all literary types to perfection.
5. Intellectual Quality. This means that the Greek mind challenges one to think for some
purpose---to bring about some inner transformation.
THE EPICS OF HOMER

Many centuries must have elapsed before the literary temper of the Greeks could produce the
poems of Homer, but of this ante-Homeric literature very little remains. The dominant figure
of this early age was Homer. Seven cities contended for the honor of being the birthplace of
Homer. He was probably born about 1000 B.C.

He was called the blind poet of Greece. Very little is known about him, but his transcendent
genius is vividly impressed upon his works. His country called him “the Poet.” His two epics,
the Iliad and the Odyssey, were learned by heart, and wherever a Greek settled, he carried
with him a love for Homer.

The Iliad and the Odyssey depict the complete life of man in action. The Iliad shows us the
passions and the cruelty found in war, the Odyssey shows us great adventures. The Iliad is a
story of love and heroism. These are great epics, studies of man and the life of man, and the
way of life and ideals of a great civilization which has vanished but is still wonderfully alive
in men’s hearts.

The theme of the Iliad and the Odyssey is the affirmation of the truth that man’s fate is the
result of his actions. Ill fate results from ignorance and unguided and immoderate passions.
The gods give only what man asks for; his destiny is largely a matter of his own making.

The plot structure of the two poems forms a succession of events, each one closely linked to
the next, yet each event an interesting story by itself.
THE MYTHOLOGICAL BACKGROUND OF THE ILIAD

The mythological background of the Iliad is as follows: Zeus, the father of the Gods, seemed
to have realized that the earth was getting terribly overcrowded. To solve the problem of over
population, he devised a great war which would sweep like a conflagration over Greece. This
was the Trojan War.

A minor goddess, Thetis, was married to a mortal, Peleus. Out of this marriage, Achilles, the
greatest Greek warrior, was born. Eris, the goddess of mischief, was not invited to the
marriage east, so into the middle of the banquet hall she threw a golden apple with this note:
To the fairest of the goddesses. Each of the most beautiful of the goddesses---namely, Hera,
Athena, and Aphrodite---claimed the golden apple. A quarrel ensued and Father Zeus was
asked to decide who was the most beautiful of the three. This placed Zeus in a predicament
since Hera was his own wife and Athena and Aphrodite were his own daughters. So he
parted the clouds covering Mount Olympus, the dwelling place of the gods, and showed the
three goddesses a prince of Troy named Alexandros. Zeus suggested that three beauty
contestants take their problem to Alexandros and asked him to decide. The goddesses
descended upon the earth, circled Alexandros by turns, and each proceeded to bribe him so
that he would award her the golden apple. Hera promised him power; Athena promised him
wisdom; Aphrodite promised that she would him the most beautiful woman in the world for
his wife. Alexandros awarded the golden apple to Aphrodite.

It happened that Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world was already married to
Menelaos, king of Sparta. With the help of Aphrodite, Alexandros abducted Helen and took
her to Troy where she remained until the end of the ensuing Trojan War. That is the reason
why she is called Helen of Troy. The Greek (Achaians) banded together to restore Helen of
Menelaos. Agamemnon, king of Mycenaea, was their general. Many adventurous Greek
heroes joined the Greek expeditionary forces. Among them were Achilles, the greatest and
bravest of the Greek heroes; Odysseus, the clever and wily warrior; Diomedes, the bold one;
Nestor, the prudent old man; Aias, the giant; and a host of other heroes.

After ten years of preparation, the Greek army landed in Troy and began to attack its
fortification. The Iliad begins in the tenth year of the war. There was a prophecy that in that
year, Troy would fall and be destroyed by the victorious Greeks.
STORY OF THE ILIAD

The subject matter of the Iliad is the anger of Achilles and its consequences. The story opens
with a violent quarrel between Agamemnon, the commander in chief of the Greek army, and
Achilles, their greatest and bravest warrior. Briseis, a concubine of Achilles, is unjustly taken
by Agamemnon and as a result Achilles makes a sacred vow that he will no longer fight.

For the duration of most of the pitched battles between the Greeks and the Trojans, Achilles
stays sulking in his tent. Because of his absence from the battlefield, the Trojans, led by
Prince Hector, make bold advances in battle and the Greeks are drive back. Their situation
rapidly deteriorates until most of the Greek leaders are wounded and are forced to leave the
battle. Patroclos, the dear friend of Achilles, saddened by the growing losses of his
countrymen, begs Achilles to let him lead their men, the Myrmidons, to battle if, because of
his anger of Agamemnon, Achilles still refuses to fight. Achilles gives him his permission.
Patroclos rallies the Greeks and succeeds in making the Trojans retreat, but he is killed by
Hector, the Trojans prince who is equal to Achilles in courage and fighting skill. Angered by
the death of his dear comrade, Achilles now enters the fight, routs the Trojans, killing them
mercilessly. Filled with the dark passion of revenge, he goes after Hector and slays him. With
beastly cruelty, he ties the dead body of Hector to his chariot and drags it round and round
the city of Troy. The story ends with the funeral rites for Hector.

Outstanding episodes in the Iliad are the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles,; the
single combat between Menelaos (the wronged husband) and Alexandros (the wife stealer);
the farewell of Hector from Andromache, his beautiful, gentle, unfortunate wife, as he leaves
to fight Achilles: the single combat between Aias and Hector; the games played in the funeral
of Patroclos; the ransoming of the body o Hector by his father, King Priam; and the
lamentations of the Trojan women over the dead body of their beloved Hector, the
magnanimous defender of the city of Troy.

FAREWELL BETWEEN
HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE

(From a prose translation of the Iliad, Book VI

So Hector took his leave and went on to his own house. But he did not find Andromache
there, for she was already upon the battlements with her son and a servant, weeping in her
sorrow. Hector, finding she was not within, stood at the door and said to the maids.

“be so good as to tll me where your mistress has gone. To one of my sisters or to my good-
sisters, or to Athena’s temple where the women are making supplication?”

The housekeeper said:

“No, sir, not to any of the family, nor to Athena’s where the women are all gone to offer their
supplication. To tell the truth, she has gone up on walls, because she heard that our people
were in danger and the enemy was getting the best of it. She has just gone off in a great hurry
like one distracted, with the nurse carrying the boy.”

So Hector went back by the same way along the streets till he reached the Scain gates, by
which he meant to go out into the plin; and there his precious wife came running to meet
him. Andromache was the daughter of Eetion, the Cilician king. She came near him, and the
nurse followed with the boy in her bosom; quite a little child, cheerful and merry---their little
Hector, the tiny champion of Troy, like a shining star, whom they dearly loved. Hector called
him Scamandrios, but to others he was Astyanax.

The father smiled quietly as he looked at his son. But Andromache stood by his side with
tears running down her cheeks, and she caught his hand fast while she said:

“My dearest, how can you do it? Your courage will be your death! Have you no pity for your
baby boy, or your unhappy wife, who will soon be your widow! Soon the enemies will all
rush upon you and kill you! And I, if I lose you, it would be better for me to go down into my
grave. There will be no more comfort for me if you are killed, but only sorrow.

“I have no father and no mother now. My father was slain by Achilles; he laid waste my
home, Thebe, with its lofty towers; he killed Eetion, my father. My seven brothers all went
down to Hades in one day, for that terrible Achilles killed them all amid their cattle and
sheep. My mother, who was queen in that place, was brought away a prisoner. So you are my
father and my mother, Hector, you are my brother; you are my loving husband! Then pity me
and stay here behind the walls; do not make our boy an orphan and your wife a widow! But
post your men by the fig tree, where the wall may be scaled most easily.”

Hector answered:

“I have not forgotten all that, my wife, but I could not show my face before the men or the
women of Troy if I sulked like a coward out of the way. And I will not do it, for I have
learned how to bear myself bravely in front of the battle and to win credit for my father and
myself. One thing I know indeed in my heart and soul---a day shall come when sacred Troy
shall perish, and Priam and the people of Priam; but my sorrow is not so much for what will
happen to the people, or to my mother, or King Priam, or my brothers, when all those good
and true men shall fall in the dust before their enemies---but for you, when armed men shall
drive you away weeping and take from you the day of freedom. To think that you should live
in a foreign land, ply the loom at the orders of another woman; that you should carry water
from strange fountains, crushed under stern necessity---a hateful task! That someone should
see you shedding tears, and say “There is Hector’s wife, and he was the first and best of the
brave Trojans when there was a war about Troy”---and he will make your pain ever fresh,
while there is no such man to save you from the day of slavery. May I be dead and buried
deep in the earth before I hear your cries and see you dragged away!”

As he spoke, Hector held out his arms for his boy, but the boy shrank back into the nurse’s
bosom, crying and scared at the sight of his father; for he was afraid of the gleaming metal
and horsehair crest, when he saw that dreadful thing nodding from the top of the helmet.
Father and mother laughed aloud, and Hector took off the helmet and set it down on the
ground shining and flashing. Then he kissed his son and raised him in his hands and prayed
aloud to heaven.

“Zeus and all ye heavenly gods! Grant that this, my son, may be as notable among our people
as I am, and let him be as strong, and let him rule Troy in his strength! When he goes to war,
let them say, ‘This man is much better than his father!’ may he kill his enemy and bring
home the bloodstained spoils and give joy to his mother’s heart!”

Then he gave his boy back I to the mother’s arm, who pressed him to her sweet-scented
breast, laughing through the tears. Her husband was moved with pity as he saw this; he
stroked her forehead with his hand and said:

“My dearest, do not grieve too much. No man will send me to my grave unless it be so
ordained. But destiny is a thing which no man can escape, neither coward nor brave man,
from the day he is born. Go home now, and see to your own household work and keep your
servants to their tasks. War is man’s business and mine, especially of all those who are in
Troy.”

Then hector took up his helmet with its nodding crest, but his wife went on her way home,
turning again and again to look at him as the tears flowed down her cheeks. And when she
got to her own house while he still lived, for they never thought he would escape his enemies
and return from the battle again.

PRIAM RANSOMS
THE BODY OF HECTOR

(From the Iliad, Book XXIV)

Priam dismounted and went toward the tent of Achilles. He found Achilles alone. Only two
were waiting upon him, Automedon and Alcimos, and he had just finished eating and
drinking. The table was still beside him. He came near Achilles and clasped his knees, and
kissed the terrible murderous hands which had killed so many of his sons.

Achilles looked with amazement at the royal guest, and the two men were amazed and stared
at each other.

Then Priam mad his prayer:

“Remember your own father, most noble Prince Achilles, an old man like me near the end of
his days. It may be that he is distressed by those who lived around him, and there is no one to
defend him from peril and death. But he, indeed, so long as he hears that you still live, is glad
at heart and hopes every day that he will see his well-loved son return home from Troy. But I
am all unhappy since I had the best sons in the broad land of Troy and not one of them is left.
All have fallen in battle; and the only one, who by himself was our safeguard---that one you
killed the other day fighting for his country, Hector. For him I come now to your camp to
redeem him from you, and I bring a rich ransom. O Achilles, fear God and pity me,
remembering your own father but I am more pitied. I have endured to do what no other man
in the world has ever done---to kiss the hand of the man who slew my sons.

As he said this, he lifted his hand to the face of Achilles, and the heart of Achilles ached with
anguish at the thought of his own father. He took the old man’s hand and pushed him gently
away. So the two thought of their dead and wept, one for his Hector while crouched before
the feet of Achilles, and Achilles for his own father and then for Patroclos. When his agony
had passed and he could move again, he got up from his seat and raised the old man by hand,
pitying his white hairs and white beard, and spoke simply from heart to heart”

“Ah, poor man, indeed your heart has borne many sorrows! How could you bear to look at
the man who killed all you noble sons, as I have done? Your heart must be made of steel.
Come now, sit down upon a seat. We will let our sorrows lie deep in our hearts awhile, for
there is no profit in freezing lamentation. This I the way the gods have spun their threads for
poor mortals! Our life is all sorrow, but they are untroubled themselves.”

The old man answered:

“Tell me not yet to be seated, gracious Prince, while Hector lies here uncared or. I pray you
set him free quickly, that I may look upon him; and accept the ransom that we bring, a great
treasure. May you live to enjoy it and return to your own country, since you have spared me
first.”

Achilles frowned and said:

“I mean myself to set your hector free. Zeus sent me a message by my mother, the daughter
of the Old Man of the Sea. And I understand quite well, sir, that some god brought you into
our camp. For on mere man would dare come among us, let him be ever so young and strong.
He could not escape the guards, and he could not easily lift the bolt of our doors.”

Achilles leapt out like a lion, and the two attendants followed. They unharnessed the horses
and mules. Then they unpacked Hector’s ransom from the wagon, except two sheets and a
tunic, which they left to wrap up the body on its journey home. Achilles called for women to
wash and anoint the body.

After the women had washed the body and the anointed it with oil, and put on the tunic and
wrapped the sheet around it. Achilles himself lifted him, and laid him upon the bier, and his
attendants carried him to the mule-car.

Then Achilles returned to his hut and sat down on the bench where he had been before,
against the opposite wall, and spoke to Priam:

“Your son, sir, has been set free now as you asked, and he lies on hos bier. At break of day
you shall see him yourself, on your journey, but now let us think of supper. Venerable Prince,
let us to also think of something to eat. After that, you may weep for your son again when
you have brought him back to Troy. Many tears he will cost you!”

Then Achilles got up and killed a white lamb. His comrades flayed it and prepared it, cut it
up, spitted and broiled it, and laid the meat on the table. Automedon brought baskets of
bread, and Achilles served the meat.

When they had eaten and drunk all they wanted, Priam gazed at Achilles, admiring his fine
looks and stature---indeed he seemed like some god come down from heaven. And Achilles
gazed at Priam, admiring his noble face and speech. They looked at each other for a long
time.

When the saffron robe of dawn spread over all the earth, Priam drove toward the city,
mourning and lamenting, while the mules brought the dead. No man and no woman had seen
them coming; Cassandra was the first. She had gone up into the citadel, and from there she
caught sight of her father standing in his car, another lying on a bier in a mule-wagon. She
lifted her voice in wailing and cried for the whole town to hear:

“Come, all you men and women of Troy! You shall see Hector. Come if ever you were glad
while he lived to welcome his return from battle, for he was a great gladness to the city and
all the nation!”

Then grief intolerable came upon every heart. Not a man, not a woman was left behind in the
city; all crowded out of the gates and met the dead. First came his wife and his mother
tearing their hair; they ran to the wagon and threw their arms over his head, while the people
stood mourning around. They would have stayed there all day, weeping and wailing, but the
old king called out from his car:

Let the mule pass. When I have brought him into our house you will plenty of time to
lament.”

So the people made way for the wagon to pass.

When Hector had been brought home they laid him out on a bier and posted beside him
mourners to lead the dirge, while the women wailed in chorus. Andromache laid her white
arms about the head of her dead warrior and led the lament:

“My husband, you have perished out of life, still young, and left me a widow in the house!
The boy is only a baby, your son and my son, doomed father, doomed mother! And he I think
will never grow up to manhood; long before, our city will be utterly laid waste. For you have
perished, you our watchman, you our only savior, who kept safe our wives and little children!
They will soon be carried off in ships, and I with them. And you, my child---you will go with
me where degrading tasks will be found for you to do, driven by a merciless master; or some
enemy will catch you by the arm, and throw you over the wall to painful death, in revenge
perhaps for some brother that Hector killed, or father, or son maybe, since many a man bit
the dust under the hands of Hector. Your father was not gentle in the field of battle!
Therefore the people throughout the city lament for him---and you have brought woe and
mourning unspeakable upon your parents, Hector! But for me most of all, cruel sorrow is my
lot. For you did not stretch out to me your dying hands from your deathbed. You said no
precious word to me, which I might always remember night and day with tears!”

So Andromache spoke weeping, and the women wailed in chorus. Then Hecabe led the
lament amid her sobs:

“Hector, best beloved of all my children, dearest to my heart! Living the gods loved you
well; therefore, they have cared for you even when death is your lot. Other sons of mine
Achilles took, and he would sell them over barren sea, one to Samos, one to Imbros, or to
steaming Lamnos; but you---when he had torn out your soul with his sharp blade, he dragged
you again and again round the grave of his comrade you slew. But that did not bring him
back from the grave! And now you lie in my house fresh as the morning dew, like one that
Apollo has visited and slain with his gentle shafts!”
So Hecabe spoke weeping, and the women wailed long in chorus.

Helen came third and led the lament:

“Hector, best beloved of all my good brothers, and dearest to my heart! Indeed my husband is
Prince Alexandros, who brought me to Troy---but would that I had died first! Twenty years
have passed since I left my country and came here, but I never heard from you one unkind or
slighting word. If anyone else reproached me, a sister or brother of yours, or a brother’s wife,
or your mother---for your father was always as kind as if he were mine---you would reprove
them, you would check them with your gentle spirit and gentle words. Therefore I weep for
you, and with you for my unhappy self. For there is no one else in the length and breadth of
Troy who is kid or friendly; they all shudder at me.”

So she spoke weeping, and the people wailed long and loud.

Then old King Priam said:

“Now Trojans, fetch wood into the city, and have no fear of any ambush of our enemies. For
Achilles in parting from me promised that he would do us no harm until the twelfth day shall
dawn.

Then they put oxen and mules to their wagons and assembled before the city. Nine days they
gathered infinite quantities of wood. When the tenth day dawned, they carried out Hector,
weeping, and laid the body on the pile and set it in fire.

When on the next day Dawn showed her rosy fingers through the mists, the people gathered
round about the pyre of Hector. First they quenched the flame with wine wherever the fire
had burnt; then his brothers and his comrades gathered his white bones, with hot tears rolling
down their cheeks. They placed the bones in a golden casket which they wrapped in soft,
purple cloth. This work done, they returned to the city, and the assemblage had a famous
feast in the palace of Prim their king.

That was the funeral of Hector.

THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY

The subject matter of the Odyssey is the return of Odysseus, or Ulysses, from the Trojan
War. Because of the anger of the goddess Athena, he is made to wander in lands beyond the
range of human knowledge. He finds Ithaca, his native land, invaded by insolent suitors who
seek to kill his young son, Telemachus, and marry his wife Penelope.

The poem begins at that point where the hero is considered farthest away from his home---in
the island of Ogygia where the nymph Calypso, who has fallen in love with him, has kept
him imprisoned for seven years. Receiving a command from Zeus, Calypso releases
Odysseus and he sails happily for home. But Poseidon, the god of the sea, persecutes him
and, because of unfavorable winds, he encounters many dangers and adventures before he
reaches Ithaca. The most famous of these adventures are his encounter with Nausicaa,
daughter of the king of Phaeacia; the Cyclopes; the one-eyed giant Polyphemus; Circe, the
enchantress; the sirens; the Lotus-eaters; and his journey to the land of the dead.

King Alcinous of Phaeacia helps Odysseus return to Ithaca where danger from the aggressive
suitors of his wife threatens him. After overcoming and slaying the suitors, Odysseus is
reunited with Penelope, his faithful wife, who has waited for him with great loyalty, patience,
and shrewdness in avoiding the advances of her treacherous and wicked suitors.

ODYSSEUS AND POLYPHEMUS

(From the Odyssey, Book IX)

Thence for nine days I drifted before the deadly blast along the swarming sea; but on the
tenth we touched the land of the Lotus-eaters, men who make food of flowers. So here we
went ashore and drew us water, and soon by the swift ships my men prepared their dinner.
Then, after we had tasted food and drink, I sent some sailors forth to go and learn what men
dwell on the land---selecting two, and joining with them a herald as the third. These
straightway went and mingled with the Lotus-eaters. These Lotus-eaters had no thought of
harm against our men; indeed, they gave them lotus to taste; but whosoever of them ate the
lotus-honeyed fruit wished never to leave the place, but with the Lotus-eaters they desired to
stay, to feed on lotus and forget his going home. These men I brought back weeping to the
ship by very force, and dragging them under the benches of our hollow ships I bound them
fast and bade my other trusty men to hasten and embark on the swift ships, that none of them
might eat the lotus and forget his going home. Quickly they came aboard, took places at the
pins, and sitting in order smote the foaming water with their oars.

Thence we sailed on with aching hearts and came to the land of the Cyclops, a rude and
lawless folk who, trusting to the immortal gods, plant with their hands no plant, nor even
plow, but all things spring unsown and without plowing---wheat, barley, and grapevines with
wine in their heavy clusters; for rain from Zeus makes the grape grow. Among this people no
assemblies meet; they have no stable laws. They live on the tops of lofty hills, in hollow
caves; each gives the law to his own wife and children and cares for no one else.

Now a rough island stretches along outside the harbor, not close to the Cyclopes’ coast nor
yet far out, covered with trees. On it innumerable wild goats breed; no tread of man disturbs
them; none comes here to follow hounds, to toil through woods and climb the crest of hills.
When we reached the neighboring shore, there at an outer point, close to the sea, we found a
cave, high, overhung with laurel. Here many flocks of sheep and goats were nightly housed.
Around was built a yard with a high wall of deep-embedded stone, tall pines, and crested
oaks. Here a man-monster slept, who shepherded his flock alone and far apart; with others he
did not mingle, but aloof, followed his lawless ways.

Quickly we reached the cave but did not find him there; for he was tending his fat flock
afield. Entering the cave, we looked around. Here crates were standing loaded down with
cheese, and here pens were set with lambs and kids. In separate pens each sort was folded; by
themselves the older, by themselves the younglings. Here my men pressed me strongly to
take some cheese and go back; then later, driving the kids and lambs to our swift ship out of
the pens, to sail away over the briny water. But I refused---far better had I yielded---hoping
that I might see him and he might offer gifts. But he was to prove, when seen, no pleasures to
my men. Kindling a fire here, we made burnt offerings and we ourselves took of the cheeses
which we found in the crates and ate; and so we sat and waited in the cave until he came
from pastime. He brought a ponderous burden of dry wood to use at supper time, and tossing
it down inside the cave raised a great din. We hurried off in terror to a corner of the cave. But
into the wide-mounted cave he drove his sturdy flock, all that he milked; the males, both
rams and goats, he left outside in the high yard. And now he set in place the huge door-stone,
lifting it high in air, a ponderous thing; no two-and-twenty car, staunched and four-wheeled,
could start it from the ground: such was the rugged rock he set against the door. Then, sitting
down, he placed the ewes and bleating goats, all in due order, and underneath put each one’s
young. Straightway he curled half of the white milk, and gathering it in wicker baskets, set it
by; half of the standing in the pails, ready for him to take and drink, and have for his supper.
So after he had busily performed his task, he kindled a fire, noticed us, and asked:

“Ha, strangers, who are you? Where do you come from, sailing the watery ways? Are you
upon some business? Or do you rove at random, as the pirates roam the seas, risking their
lives and bringing ill to strangers?”

As he thus spoke, our very souls were crushed within us, dismayed by the heavy voice nd by
the monster’s self. Nevertheless, I answered thus and said:

“We are from Troy, Achaians, driven by shifting winds out of our course across the great
gulf of the sea. But chancing here, we come before your knees to ask that you offer
hospitality and, in other ways as well, give the gift which is the stranger’s due. O mighty one,
respect the gods. We are your suppliants, and Zeus is the avenger of the suppliant and the
stranger; he is the stranger’s friend, attending the deserving.”

So I spoke, and from a ruthless heart he straightway answered: “You are simple, stranger, or
come from far away, to bid me dread the gods or shrink before them. The Cyclopes pay no
heed to aegis-bearing Zeus, nor to the blessed gods because we are much stronger than
themselves.”

From a ruthless heart he started up and laid hands on my companions. He seized two and
dashed them to the ground as if they had been dogs. Their brains ran out upon the floor and
wet the earth. Tearing them limb from limb, he made his supper., and ate as does a mountain
lion, leaving nothing---entrails or flesh or marrow bones.

We in tears held up our hands to Zeus, at sight of his cruel deeds; helplessness held our
hearts. But when the Cyclops had filled his monstrous mouth by eating human flesh and
pouring down pure milk, he laid himself in the cave full length among his flock. And I then
formed the plan of closing on him, drawing my midriff holds the liver, feeling the place out
with my hand. Yet second thoughts restrained me, for then we would have met with utter
ruin; for we could never with our hands have pushed from the tail door the enormous stone
which he had set against it. Thus then, with sighs we awaited sacred dawn.

But when the early rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, he kindled a fire, milked his goodly flock,
all in due order, and underneath put each one’s young. Then after he had busily performed
his tasks, seizing once more two me, he made his morning meal. And when the meal was
ended, he drove from the cave his sturdy flock and easily moved the huge door-stone; but
afterward put it back a one might put the lid upon a box. Then to the hills, with many a call,
he steered his sturdy flock, while I was left behind brooding on evil and thinking how I might
have vengeance, would but Athena grant my prayer. And to my mind this seemed the wisest
way. There lay beside the pen a great club of the Cyclops, an olive stick still green, which he
had cut to be his staff when dried. I went and cut away a length of this, laid it before my men,
and bae them sharpen it. They made it smooth. I then stood by to point the tip and, laying
hold, I charred it in the blazing fire. The piece I now put carefully away, hiding it in the dung
which lay about the cave in great abundance; and then I bade my comrades fix by lot who the
bold men should be to help me raise the stake and grind it in the Cyclops’ eye, when pleasant
sleep should come. Those drew the lot whom I myself would have chosen; four were they,
for a fifth I counted in myself.

He came toward evening, shepherding the fleecy flock, and forthwith drove his sturdy flock
into the wide-mouthed cave, all with much care. He did not leave a sheep in the high yard
outside, either through suspicion or a god bade him to do so. Again he set in place the huge
door-stone, lifting it high in air; and sitting down he milked the ewes and bleating goats, all
in due order, and underneath put each one’s young. Then after he had busily performed his
tasks, he seized once more two men and made his supper. And now drawing near the Cyclops
I thus spoke, holding within my hands an ivy bowl filled with dark wine:

“here, Cyclops, drink some wine after your meal of human flesh and see what sort of liquor
our slip holds. I brought it as an offering, thinking that you might pity me and send me home.
But you are mad past bearing. Reckless! How should a stranger come to you again from any
people, when you do not act with decency?”

So I spoke; he took the cup and drank it off, and mighty pleased he was with the taste of the
sweet liquor. He asked for more again.

“Give me some more, and straightway tell me your name. this is a bit of ambrosia and nectar
that you have given me.”

So he spoke, and I again offered the sparkling wine. Three times I brought and gave; three
times he drank it in his folly. Then as the wine began to dull the Cyclps’ sense, in winning
words I said to him”

“Cyclops, you asked my noble name, and I will tell it. My name is Noman. Noman I am
called by Mother, Father, and by all my comrades.”
So I spoke, and from a ruthless heart he straightway answered: “Noman I eat up last, after his
comrades; all the rest first; and that shall be my gift to you.”

He spoke, and sinking back fell flat; and there he lay, lolling his thick neck over, till sleep,
that conquers all, took hold of him. Out of his throat poured wine and scraps of human flesh;
heavy with win, he spewed it forth. And now it was I drove the stake under a heap of ashes,
to bring it to a heat, and with my words emboldened all my men, that none might it to a heat,
and with my words emboldened all my men, that none might fall me through their fear. Then
when the olive stake, green though it was, was ready to take fire, and through and through
was all aglow, I snatched t from the fire, while my men stood around and Heaven inspired us
with great courage. Seizing the olive stake, sharp at the tip, they plunged it in his eye (he had
only one) and I, perched up above, whirled it around. As when a man bores ship beams with
a drill, and those below keep it in motion with a strap held by the ends, and steadily it runs;
even so we seized the fire-pointed stake and whirled it in his eye. Blood bubbled round thing.
The vapor singed the lid around the eye, and even the brows, as the ball burned and its roots
crackled in the flame. As when a smith dips a great axe or daze into cold water, hissing loud,
to temper it---for that is strength to tell---so hissed his eye about the olive stake. A hideous
roar he raised; the rocks resounded; we hurried away in terror. He wrenched the stake from
out his eye, all dabbed with blood, and flung it off in frenzy. Then he called loudly on the
Cyclopes who dwelt about him in their caves along the windy heights. They heard his cry
and ran from every side, ad standing by the cave they asked what ailed him.

“What has come on you, Polyphemus, that you scream so and keep us from sleeping? Is a
man driving off your flocks in spite of you? Is a man murdering you?”

Big Polyphemus answered: “Friends, Noman is murdering me by craft.”

But answering him in winged words they said, “I no man harms you, and you are alone, then
keep quiet and let us sleep.”

This said, they went their way, and in my heart I laughed. My name that clever notion, so
deceived them. But now the Cyclops, groaning and in agonies of anguish, by grouping with
his hands took the stone of the door, yet stayed himself inside the door with hands
outstretched to catch whoever ventured forth and thus he probably hoped to catch us. But I
was planning how it all might best be ordered that I might win escape from death both for my
men and me. So many a plot and scheme I framed, as for my life; great danger was at hand.
Then to my mind this seemed the wisest way: some rams there were of a good breed, thick in
the fleece, handsome and large, which bore a dark blue wool. These I quietly bound together
with the twisted willow thongs on which the giant Cyclops slept---the brute---taking three
sheep together. One in the middle carried a man. Thus three sheep bore a man. Then for
myself, there was a ram, by far the best of all the flock, whose back I grasped and curled
beneath his shaggy belly. There I lay, and with my hands twisted in that enormous fleece I
steadily held on, with patient heart. Thus then with sighs he awaited sacred dawn.

Soon as the early rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, the rams hastened to pasture. Their master,
racked with grievous pains, felt over the back of all the sheep as they stood up, but foolishly
did not notice how under the breasts of the wooly sheep men had been fastened. Last of the
flock, the ram stalked to the door, cramped by his fleece and me the crafty plotter; and
feeling him over the back, big Polyphemus said:

“What, my pet ram! Why do you move across the cave hindmost of all the flock? Till now
you never lagged behind, but with your long strides you were always first to crop the tender
blooms of grass; you were the first to reach the running streams and first to wish to turn to
the stall at night; yet here you are the last. Ah, but you miss your master’s eye, which a
villain has put out---he and his vile companions---blunting my wits with wine. Noman is not,
I assure him, safe from destruction yet. If only you could sympathize and get the power of
speech to say where he is skulking from my rage, then should that brain of his be knocked
about the cave and dashed upon the ground. So might my heart recover from the ills which
miserable Noman brought upon me.”

So saying, from his hand he let the ram go forth, and after we were gone a little distance from
the cave and from the yard, first from beneath the ram I freed myself and then set free my
comrades. So at quick pace we drove those long-legged sheep, heavy with fat, many time
turning round, until we reached the ship. A welcome sight we seemed to our dear friends, as
men escaped from death. Yet for the others they began to weep and wail, but by my frowns I
checked their tears. Instead I bade them straightway toss the many fleecy sheep into ship and
sail away over briny water.