ladden thy
heart. I and my brethren have wine in plenty, for the earth gives us
of her abundance, and the soft rain of heaven swells the grape to
ripeness; but this is a drink divine, fit for the banquets of
Olympus."

Again the cup was filled, and yet a third time; and Polyphemus drank
out every drop. Before long his great head began to droop, and his eye
blinked mistily, like the red sun looming through a fog. Seeing that
the good wine was doing its work, Odysseus lost no time in telling his
name. "Thou askest how I am called," he said in cozening tones, "and
thou shalt hear, that I may receive the gift which thou hast promised
me. My name is Noman; so call me my father and my mother, and all my
friends." When he heard that, Polyphemus "grinned horribly a ghastly
smile," and answered: "This shall be thy gift: I will eat thee last of
all, for the sake of thy good wine."

With that he sank down backward on the floor, and lay like a
leviathan, with his head lolling sideways, and his mouth gaping,
buried in drunken sleep.

"Now is our time!" whispered Odysseus, and taking the sharpened stake
from its hiding place he thrust the point into the glowing embers of
the fire. As soon as he saw that the weapon was red hot and about to
burst into flame, he took it up, and gave it to his men. Then,
breathing a prayer to Heaven for strength and courage, they stole
softly to the place where the Cyclops lay. Odysseus clambered up to
the forehead of the Cyclops, holding on by his hair, and while the
others pressed the glowing point of the ponderous stake into the
monster's eye he whirled it round by means of a thong, as men turn an
auger to bore a ship's timber. The point hissed and sputtered as it
sank deep into the pulpy substance of the eye, and there was an acrid
smell of burning flesh, while the great shaggy eyebrow took fire, and
cracked like a burning bush. "It is a fine tempering bath for this
good spear of ours," muttered Odysseus, as he worked away at the
strap. "Temper it well--Polyphemus shall have it as a parting gift"

At first the Cyclops writhed and groaned in his sleep; then with a
roar as of a hundred lions he awoke, and started up to a sitting
posture, scattering his puny tormentors, who fled in wild haste, and
hid themselves in the angle of a projecting rock. Polyphemus rose
slowly to his feet, tore the stake from the empty eye-socket, and
flung it from him, still uttering his fearful cries. His brethren
heard