Aeneid 3.655-691: A Poetic Analysis

Polyphemus is likely one of the most well-known of the ancient Greek "monsters." Born the one-eyed giant son of Poseidon and Thoosa, the Cyclops's name itself foretold his future infamy: Polyphemus translates, in Ancient Greek, to "abounding in songs and legends." Yet it is not the giant himself that commands this abundant attention, but rather his mistreatment by a particular famous Greek hero: Odysseus. Popularized by Homer's The Odyssey, the tale of Odysseus and Polyphemus recounts how, to escape the island with his men uneaten by the Cyclops, Odysseus used wordplay to trick the monster into believing that a man named "Nobody" had been the one to blind him. Therefore, when injured, Polyphemus shouts out, "Nobody has hurt me," and his fellow monsters roll their eyes rather than come to his defense. Yet, in a destructive act of hubris, Odysseus reveals his name just before boarding his ship -- an action that, by precipitating Poseidon's wrath, delays his return home by another decade.

Yet, Aeneid 3.655-691 does not simply rehash this story. Virgil does not stage the blinded Cyclops at the moment of Odysseus's victory, but instead delves into the quiet aftermath, when the wound is, quite literally, still flesh. Depicting this once terrifying giant slowly, helplessly feeling his way to the sea, strikes readers with a profound empathy for this wounded creature. Indeed, because the Aeneid is the narrative not of the Greek hero, but instead his archnemesis, a Trojan survivor, Odysseus, not Polyphemus, is framed as the villain. Far from an inhuman danger, Virgil's Polyphemus is a ruined, suffering victim, and forces readers, even thousands of years later, to reevaluate how uncritically our ideas of "right" and "wrong" are formed.

The Poem Itself

*English Translation by A. S. Kline, chief translator of "Poetry in Translation"

Latin Text

Vix ea fatus erat, summo cum monte videmus

ipsum inter pecudes vasta se mole moventem

pastorem Polyphemum et litora nota petentem,

monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.

Trunca manu pinus regit et vestigia firmat;

lanigerae comitantur oves—ea sola voluptas

solamenque mali.

Postquam altos tetigit fluctus et ad aequora venit,

luminis effossi fluidum lavit inde cruorem,

dentibus infrendens gemitu, graditurque per aequor

iam medium, necdum fluctus latera ardua tinxit.

Nos procul inde fugam trepidi celerare, recepto

supplice sic merito, tacitique incidere funem;

vertimus et proni certantibus aequora remis.

Sensit, et ad sonitum vocis vestigia torsit;

verum ubi nulla datur dextra adfectare potestas,

nec potis Ionios fluctus aequare sequendo,

clamorem immensum tollit, quo pontus et omnes

contremuere undae, penitusque exterrita tellus

Italiae, curvisque immugiit Aetna cavernis.

At genus e silvis Cyclopum et montibus altis

excitum ruit ad portus et litora complent.

Cernimus adstantis nequiquam lumine torvo

Aetnaeos fratres, caelo capita alta ferentis,

concilium horrendum: quales cum vertice celso

aeriae quercus, aut coniferae cyparissi

constiterunt, silva alta Iovis, lucusve Dianae.

Praecipites metus acer agit quocumque rudentis

excutere, et ventis intendere vela secundis.

Contra iussa monent Heleni Scyllam atque Charybdin

inter, utramque viam leti discrimine parvo,

ni teneant cursus; certum est dare lintea retro.

Ecce autem Boreas angusta ab sede Pelori

missus adest. Vivo praetervehor ostia saxo

Pantagiae Megarosque sinus Thapsumque iacentem.

Talia monstrabat relegens errata retrorsus

litora Achaemenides; comes infelicis Ulixi.

English Translation

He’d barely spoken when we saw the shepherd Polyphemus

himself, moving his mountainous bulk on the hillside

among the flocks, and heading for the familiar shore,

a fearful monster, vast and shapeless, robbed of the light.

A lopped pine-trunk in his hand steadied and guided

his steps: his fleecy sheep accompanied him:

his sole delight and the solace for his evils.

As soon as he came to the sea and reached the deep water,

he washed away the blood oozing from the gouged eye-socket,

groaning and gnashing his teeth. Then he walked through

the depths of the waves, without the tide wetting his vast thighs.

Anxiously we hurried our departure from there, accepting

the worthy suppliant on board, and cutting the cable in silence:

then leaning into our oars, we vied in sweeping the sea.

He heard, and bent his course towards the sound of splashing.

But when he was denied the power to set hands on us,

and unable to counter the force of the Ionian waves, in pursuit,

he raised a mighty shout, at which the sea and all the waves

shook, and the land of Italy was frightened far inland,

and Etna bellowed from its winding caverns, but the tribe

of Cyclopes, roused from their woods and high mountains,

rushed to the harbour, and crowded the shore.

We saw them standing there, impotently, wild-eyed,

the Aetnean brotherhood, heads towering into the sky,

a fearsome gathering: like tall oaks rooted on a summit,

or cone-bearing cypresses, in Jove’s high wood or Diana’s grove.

Acute fear drove us on to pay out the ropes on whatever tack

and spread our sails to any favourable wind.

Helenus’s orders warned against taking a course between

Scylla and Charybdis, a hair’s breadth from death

on either side: we decided to beat back again.

When, behold, a northerly arrived from the narrow

headland of Pelorus: I sailed past the natural rock mouth

of the Pantagias, Megara’s bay, and low-lying Thapsus.

Such were the shores Achaemenides, the friend of unlucky Ulysses,

showed me, sailing his wandering journey again, in reverse.

Part I: Theme & Voice

In this excerpt from the Aeneid, Polyphemus is not a brutish, one-dimensional monster preying upon our hero, but rather a wounded figure whose descent our protagonist observes from a distance. Instead of subscribing to the traditional framing of Polyphemus as a monster distraught after a failed hunt, Virgil rehumanizes him, illustrating the Cyclops as a helpless predator groping his way to safety. His flock of sheep, traditionally seen only as the tool allowing for Odysseus's great escape, and his fellow Cyclopses, previously never given a second thought, are also given character in Virgil's version of the tale. Indeed, they are Polyphemus's comfort in his time of need, his equivalent of Odysseus's fellow sailors. This intentional connection between monster and hero underpins the theme of this excerpt: labels of good and evil, right and wrong, and hero and villain are simply constructs of the narrative.

The voice of this passage is Aeneas's, detailing his thoughts and reaction to the scene unfolding in front of him. Therefore, the voice's sympathy towards the wounded Cyclops and objective retelling of events directly characterizes the Aeneid's protagonist as a true hero. Indeed, by writing in a calm, grounded, and, most importantly, empathetic voice, Virgil crafts a hero that he believes deserves to be beloved. In contrast, the hero of Homer's The Odyssey is never acknowledged as a driver of the plot in Virgil's retelling and exists only as a shadowy cause of harm —a known, but never held accountable, villain. Importantly, however, Aeneas's voice here refuses to demonize Odysseus either, instead choosing to refocus on pitying the wounded monster. In doing so, Virgil reverses Homer's moral polarity and elevates his hero as the one truly deserving of praise. In the Aeneid, Odysseus is the disrupter, Polyphemus the wronged, and Aeneas the compassionate.

Part II: Meter

Like other epics of and before its time, the Aeneid is written in dactylic hexameter. Although this meter may seem to be a simple, uncontroversial choice for Virgil to write in, its complexities help drive the plot and reveal the epic's underlying themes. For example, in descriptions of Polyphemus's size and weight, the dactylic hexameter's spondaic heaviness illustrates the giant's magnanimous physical presence.  "Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum," which can be translated as "a fearful monster, vast and shapeless, robbed of the light," is built nearly entirely of long syllables. The prevalence of spondees here helps slow the line's forward motion, mirroring the monster's sluggish, pained journey to the ocean. The line's dense clusters of consonants, moreover, namely hr, rm, ng, demand more effort from the speaker (they do the opposite of "glide off the tongue"). By forcing readers themselves to exert more effort when reading Polyphemus's excerpt, Virgil ensures that we all acknowledge the monster's pained struggle.

By contrast, in moments of action, the dactylic hexameter accelerates to convey a sense of urgency. Indeed, in the line "vertimus et proni certantibus aequora remis,” translated as "then leaning into our oars, we vied in sweeping the sea," employs a greater ratio of short to long syllables, helping quicken its pace. Coupled with the use of liquid consonants (r, l) and the repetition of plosive t sounds, this line mirrors the emotional and physical experience of the Trojans' great escape. This shift from slow, spondaic drag to dactylic sprint directly mirrors this excerpt's change of subject; readers move, alongside the meter, from watching Polyphemus's lumbering approach to urging on the Trojans' getaway. Therefore, in this excerpt of the Aeneid, the dactylic hexameter becomes a dynamic tool, expanding and contracting the tempo to further engross the audience in the poem.

Part III: Rhetoric

Constructing Empathy: Asyndeton & Antithesis

The previously analyzed line “monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum” ("a fearful monster, vast and shapeless, robbed of the light") employs both asyndeton and antithesis to evoke empathy for Polyphemus within the reader. Indeed, the asyndeton (omission of conjunctions where they are needed) helps produce a swelling effect in the first half of the line. This crescendo serves two primary purposes. First, it paints an undeniably gruesome picture of Polyphemus. The emotional "horrendum" ("fearful"), visual "informe" ("shapeless"), and quantitative "ingens" ("vast") combine to provide a multifaceted and detailed portrayal of the Cyclops. Second, the choice of adjectives, which each hold negative connotations to varying degrees, summons fear and the implicit assumption that Polyphemus is the villain in the readers' minds.

But why would Virgil, whom we established intends to write a sympathetic Polyphemus, paint him as so menacing? The answer is deceptively simple: to make the realization of Polyphemus's helplessness all the more shocking. When the relative clause "cui lumen ademptum" ("robbed of the light") abruptly pivots the line's tone to one of pathos, the subversion of traditional monstrous tropes is undeniable. The audience is now drawn into a conflicted state of fear and compassion, and compelled to confront how easily Homer has manipulated them into viewing Polyphemus as the villain of the story. Additionally, in toying with his audience's emotions, Virgil highlights the power of narrative, whether his own or that of another poet, to influence audience perception.

Subtle Familiarization: Word Choice

In the third line of this excerpt of the Aeneid, Virgil makes a deliberate, at first controversial decision: to refer to Polyphemus as "pastorem" ("a pastor"). The line,

"pastorem Polyphemum et litora nota petentem," idiomatically translated as "[Polyphemus is] among the flocks, and heading for the familiar shore," directly references the Roman pastoral world, connecting the kind, familiar image of a pastor to an unfamiliar, feared monster. The association of something safe and idyllic with a Cyclops would, due to preconceived notions, lead most readers to believe that it is markedly unsafe, unsettling, yet telling. Indeed, in doing so, Virgil immediately attempts to humanize Polyphemus, reframing an alien figure into one that is similarly dependent on the respected pastoral order. This inversion, therefore, aligns with the passage's larger thematic interest of subverting hero-villain archetypes.

Creating Imagery: Hyperbole

Throughout this excerpt of the Aeneid, Virgil often employs hyperbole to express the scale of the Cyclops himself and his influence. For example, the lines “dentibus infrendens gemitu, graditurque per aequor/ iam medium, necdum fluctus latera ardua tinxit,” translated as "groaning and gnashing his teeth. Then he walked through/the depths of the waves, without the tide wetting his vast thighs," create an image of a towering, injured Polyphemus, producing conflicting emotions within readers. By concocting the image of a Polyphemus towering over the sea (the same force that controlled Aeneas and Odysseus' fates), Virgil reinforces the sheer power of the monster, both physically and within the narrative. Indeed, suppose Polyphemus is taller and more powerful than the sea. In that case, he is more powerful than the force of nature that has been driving the narrative since the beginning-- a terrifying and essential revelation for readers and Aeneas alike.

Shifting the Paradigm: Metaphor

In the lines “concilium horrendum: quales cum vertice celso/ aeriae quercus, aut coniferae cyparissi," translated as "a fearsome gathering: like tall oaks rooted on a summit/or cone-bearing cypresses," Virgil's likening of the Cyclopes to oak and cypress trees operates on multiple levels. First, it reinforces Polyphemus' scale, grounding hyperbole in an image familiar to most audiences. Second, these trees, specifically cypresses, carry with them a symbolic weight that Virgil is associating with the Cyclops. Indeed, with these trees' association with Jupiter's sacred groves, Virgil is subtly arguing that divine authority (beyond just Poseidon) may, rather than be on the side of traditional heroes, be on the side of the "villain." Considering the Gods are not only divine forces within Greek epics but characters in their own right, this association holds undeniable narrative weight.

Part IV: Audience Reception

Most audiences, before reading the Aeneid, would be familiar with the story of Polyphemus and Odysseus, made famous by Homer's The Odyssey. Therefore, these well-educated readers would have approached Virgil's work with heavily embedded preconceived notions of Polyphemus as the villain and Odysseus as the, albeit prideful and annoying, hero. By subverting their expectations and instead painting Polyphemus in a deeply sympathetic light, Virgil would do more than catch his readers off guard; he would have forced them to recognize the power of verse to shape perspective. While still appealing to their Roman sensibilities, especially through the inclusion of sweeping imagery characteristic of an epic, as well as geographic specifics familiar to readers, Virgil is pushing the bounds of hero-villain paradigms —a choice that would have impressed and excited his audience.

In conclusion...

Virgil's excerpt of the Aeneid, Aeneid 3.655-691, is a masterclass in how to redefine a narrative and all the characters within it. It forces all of its readers, even several millennia since it was first written, to reckon with the power of story to shape our notions of right and wrong, good and evil, and hero and villain. In an era where many of the most widely circulated pieces of writing attempt to persuade us to subscribe to a particular political, economic, or social ideology, it is even more crucial that we recognize just how vulnerable we are. Indeed, as readers, it appears that we are nearly helpless against the power of narrative to draw moral boundaries for us, even without our conscious consent. But Virgil's subtle reshaping of Odysseus's confrontation with Polyphemus illuminates the power that we do have to fight back: the more we read, the wider our eyes are opened.

We hope you enjoyed this poetic analysis of Aeneid 3.655-691. Please leave any comments, questions, or concerns below, and be sure to recommend future poems for us to dive into!