With the young feast oversated;
Like a merchant's vessel freighted
To the water's edge, my crop
Is laden to the gullet's top.
The fresh meadow-grass of spring
Tempts me forth thus wandering
To my brothers on the mountains,
Who shall share the wine's sweet fountains.
Bring the cask, O stranger, bring!"
He is diverted from his purpose by Ulysses; and for once Silenus acts a friendly part to him by asking his master, "What need have you of pot-companions? stay at home." Indeed the advice proceeds from a design to filch some of the wine himself—an impossibility if the cask is borne off to the village, where there will be so many eyes—single ones indeed—upon him. So it is agreed that the giant-brothers be kept in the dark, and quaff their bowls of milk, while Polyphemus drinks deep potations of Maron alone. The Greek stranger has now so ingratiated himself with his savage host, that the latter condescends to ask his name, and to promise to eat him last, in token of his gratitude for his drink and good counsel. "My name," says Ulysses, "is Nobody." With this information the Sicilian Caliban is content; and with the exception that Silenus teases him by putting the flagon out of his reach, with the above-mentioned felonious intent, all goes merry as a marriage-bell. Ulysses, now again cup-bearer, plies him so well, that the "poor monster" sees visions—
"The throne of Jove,
And the clear congregation of the Gods"—
