ed weariness of his toils. He recognized
Achaemenides, once deserted in the midst of the crags of AEtna; and
astonished that, thus unexpectedly found again, he was yet alive, he
said, "What chance, or what God, Achaemenides, preserves thee? why is a
barbarian[17] vessel carrying {thee}, a Greek? What land is sought by
thy bark?"

No longer ragged in his clothing, {but} now his own {master},[18] and
wearing clothes tacked together with no thorns, Achaemenides says, "Again
may I behold Polyphemus, and those jaws streaming with human blood,
if my home and Ithaca be more delightful to me than this bark; if I
venerate AEneas any less than my own father. And, though I were to do
everything {possible}, I could never be sufficiently grateful. 'Tis he
that has caused that I speak, and breathe, and behold the heavens and
the luminary of the sun; and can I be ungrateful, and forgetful of this?
{'Tis through him} that this life of mine did not fall into the jaws of
the Cyclop; and though I were, even now, to leave the light of life,
I should either be buried in a tomb, or, at least, not in that paunch
{of his}. What were my feelings at that moment (unless, indeed, terror
deprived me of all sense and feeling), when, left behind, I saw you
making for the open sea? I wished to shout aloud, but I was fearful of
betraying myself to the enemy; the shouts of Ulysses were very nearly
causing[19] the destruction of even your ship. I beheld him when, having
torn up a mountain, he hurled the immense rock in the midst of the
waves; again I beheld him hurling huge stones, with his giant arms, just
as though impelled by the powers of the engine of war. And, forgetful
that I was not in it, I was now struck with horror lest the waves or the
stones might overwhelm the ship.

"But when your flight had saved you from a cruel death, he, indeed,
roaring with rage, paced about all AEtna, and groped out the woods with
his hands, and, deprived of his eye, stumbled against the rocks; and
stretching out his arms, stained with gore, into the sea, he cursed the
Grecian race, and he said, 'Oh! that any accident would bring back
Ulysses to me, or any one of his companions, against whom my anger might
find vent, whose entrails I might devour, whose living limbs I might
mangle with my right hand, whose blood might drench my throat, whose
crushed members might quiver beneath my teeth: how insignificant, or how
trifling, {then}, would be the loss of my sight, that