Among the Lotus-eaters soon, who used No violence against their lives, but gave Into their hands the lotus plant to taste. Whoever tasted once of that sweet food Wished not to see his native country more, Nor give his friends the knowledge of his fate. And then my messengers desired to dwell Among the Lotus-eaters, and to feed Upon the lotus, never to return. By force I led them weeping to the fleet, And bound them in the hollow ships beneath The benches. Then I ordered all the rest Of my beloved comrades to embark In haste, lest, tasting of the lotus, they Should think no more of home. All straightway went On board, and on the benches took their place, And smote the hoary ocean with their oars.
“Onward we sailed with sorrowing hearts, and reached The country of the Cyclops, an untamed And lawless race, who, trusting to the gods, Plant not, nor plough the fields, but all things spring For them untended—barley, wheat, and vines Yielding large clusters filled with wine, and nursed By showers from Jove. No laws have they; they hold No councils. On the mountain heights they dwell In vaulted caves, where each one rules his wives And children as he pleases; none give heed To what the others do. Before the port Of that Cyclopean land there is an isle, Low-lying, neither near nor yet remote— A woodland region, where the wild goats breed Innumerable; for the foot of man Disturbs them not, and huntsmen toiling through Thick woods, or wandering over mountain heights, Enter not here. The fields are never grazed By sheep, nor furrowed by the plough, but lie Untilled, unsown, and uninhabited By man, and only feed the bleating goats. The Cyclops have no barques with crimson prows, Nor shipwrights skilled to frame a galley’s deck With benches for the rowers, and equipped For any service, voyaging by turns To all the cities, as is often done By men who cross the deep from place to place, And make a prosperous region of an isle. No meagre soil is there; it well might bear All fruits in their due time. Along the shore Of the gray deep are meadows smooth and moist. The vine would flourish long; the ploughman’s task Is easy, and the husbandman