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To burn the Cyclops' eye, that all may share
In the great enterprize.
We are too few;
We cannot at this distance from the door
Thrust fire into his eye.
Chorus. The same thing has occured to us ;-our ancles
Are sprained with standing here, I know not how.
Or ashes in our eyes, I know not whence.
Ulys. Cowardly dogs! ye will not aid me then?
Chorus. With pitying my own back and my back bone, And with not wishing all my teeth knocked out, This cowardice comes of itself-but stay:
I know a famous Orphic incantation
To make the brand stick of its own accord
Ulys. Of old I knew ye thus by nature; now
Of my own comrades-yet though weak of hand
The courage of my friends with your blithe words.
And parch up to dust,
The eye of the beast,
Burn and blind
The Etnean hind!
Scoop and draw,
But beware lest he claw
Cyc. Ah me! my eye-sight is parched up to cinders.
Out of this rock; I, standing at the outlet,
And besides miserable.
Why then no one
Can be to blame.
Who blinded me.
I say 'twas Nobody
Why then you are not blind.
Cyc. I wish you were as blind as I am.
It cannot be that no one made you blind.
Cyc. You jeer ine; where, I ask, is Nobody?
Cyc. It was that stranger ruined me :-the wretch
Chorus. They stand under the darkness of the rock,
At my right hand or left?
You have them.
I've cracked my skull.
Near the rock itself.
Oh, misfortune on misfortune!
Now they escape you there.
Not on that side.
Cyc. Where then?
I keep with care this body of Ulysses.
Cyc. What do you say? You proffer a new name.
I should have done ill to have burned down Troy,
Cyc. Ai! ai! the ancient oracle is accomplished;
That you should pay the penalty for this
Ulys. I bid thee weep-consider what I say,
Cyc. Not so, if whelming you with this huge stone
I will descend upon the shore, though blind,
Chorus. And we, the shipmates of Ulysses now,
TRANSLATION FROM MOSCHUS.
Of Earth and Air pined for the Satyr leaping;
The bright nymph Lyda-and so the three went weeping.
The Satyr, Lyda-and thus love consumed them.→
To bear what they inflicted, justice doomed them;
Each, loving, so was hated.--Ye that love not
That, when ye love, the like return ye prove not.
FROM THE "MAGICO PRODIGIOSO" OF CALDERON.
CYPRIAN as a Student; CLARIN and Moscon as poor
Cyprian. In the sweet solitude of this calm place,
And flowers and undergrowth of odorous plants,
And whilst with glorious festival and song
Of a proud temple to great Jupiter,
To its new shrine, I would consume what still
You, my friends,
Lives of the dying day, in studious thought,
How is it possible that on a day
Of such festivity, you can bring your mind
To come forth to a solitary country
With three or four old books, and turn your back On all this mirth?
My master's in the right;
There is not any thing more tiresome
Than a procession day, with troops of men,
And dances, and all that.
You praise not what you feel, but what he does ;
You lie under a mistake
Cyp. Enough, you foolish fellows.
You always take the two sides of one question.