I come From Ithaca.

To Troy I sailed the sea With evil-starred Ulysses, leaving home And father, Adamastus;--poor was he, And O! if such my poverty could be.
Me here my thoughtless comrades, hurrying fast To quit the cruel threshold and be free, Leave in the Cyclops' cavern.

Dark and vast That house of slaughtered men, and many a foul repast.
LXXIX.

"'Himself so tall, he strikes the lofty skies (O gods, rid earth of such a monstrous brood!), None dare with speech accost, nor mortal eyes Behold him.

Human entrails are his food.
Myself have seen him, gorged with brains and blood, Pluck forth two comrades, in his cave bent back, And dash them till the threshold swam with blood, Then crunch the gobbets in his teeth, while black With gore the limbs still quivered, and the bones did crack: LXXX.