Homer’s Odyssey
Translated by George Chapman
Book 11.807-818
With both hands heaving up a massie stone,
And on his tip-top racking all his height
To wrest up to a mountaine top his freight:
When prest to rest it there (his nerves quiet spent)
Downe rusht the deadly Quarrie, the event
Of all his torture new to raise againe:
To which strait set his never-rested paine.
The sweate came gushing out from every Pore,
And on his head a standing mist he wore,
Reeking from thence as if a cloud of dust
Were raisd about it
Ovid- Metamorphoses: Book 10.44
Sisyphus Resting
Advertisements
